Andy has been suspended for two weeks. My friends are mad, they don't think it's nearly enough. Not even him being kicked out of any clubs he was in. They don't think that was a harsh enough punishment.

I'm just trying to enjoy going to school without the looming threat of the Beast.

It's exhausting. So many people want to talk to me. To apologize for hating me when they didn't know the whole story. A few even have stories of their own.

I don't even know most of their names.

My first Monday back at school is so exhausting, I get to Art and pass out with my head in my arms. Mr. Freedman lets me sleep, and wakes me up at the end of class.

Nicole and other members of the lacrosse team appoint themselves as my sort of body guards. I'm never alone now. Part of me thinks it feels weird, but another part of me likes it.

Oh, and Heather came back crying during one of David and I's study sessions in the library. My parents and the principal still want my grades up, but they've stopped bothering me about it so much, with everything that's happened. With less pressure and David's help, I think I can bump them back up to C's and B's.

Anyways, she gave me a whole sob story about... I don't know, I wasn't really listening. Something about me being her one true friend (cough cough, only option left).

She was never satisfied with us.

She was willing to throw us under the bus to stay in the Marthas.

And now that she's been kicked out, she wants to be friends again.

Oh look, she's actually crying.

She doesn't really mean it.

For once, I'm going to have to agree with you.

It's okay to not want to be friends with someone, I reassure myself. Who's to say when she'll decide again that I'm not worth her time? I don't want to worry about that.

In other news, David and I are holding hands.

It doesn't seem like much, but every time I do it, he gets this goofy smile on his face. I still don't know what we are, but I like holding his hand.

If I slip on ice while we're walking home, he's going down with me into the snow.

We haven't talked about it. Not really. Not yet. But I let him come over one Saturday. As usual, he has an armful of textbooks, a binder, lots of notes. Everything is very organized, written in neat print.

Mom isn't home, but Dad is sitting in front of the TV. He gives David a little sideways glare. David introduces himself. Dad grunts. I grab David's sleeve and drag him up the stairs to my room. The bunnies are muttering excitedly in their burrow. He's here. He's here.

We sit on the carpet. I don't understand the problems. David walks me through them. Step by step. He straightens out the letters and numbers like magic, but whenever I try I get it wrong. We spend close to an hour on the same page. I'm flustered and embarrassed by now. I just don't understand. David is patient. He sets a hand on my knee and starts from the beginning. He writes it out neatly.

The next problem is big. David hands me the pencil. I look at it. I crawl into bed and pull the pillow over my head. The bunnies whisper, why are you hiding? He's trying to help you. Talk to him.

"Melinda? Do you need a break?"

I mumble something but he can't hear me.

"We can try something else. Can you come out and tell me what you want?"

Hot tears blur my vision. I'm so stupid and small and silly. I can't do the math. I can't stop hiding in the burrow. I can't open my mouth up again and talk. I don't understand. I did it once, I told the story. Did I use up all my words?

"Do you want to go get a snack, or do something fun instead of homework?" David asks. I sigh, and sit back down, face still buried in the pillow. I tilt to the left, and now I'm leaning into David's side. And the tears won't stop.

"This isn't about math, is it?"

I shake my head. It's not about math. I just feel bad. "I don't get it."

"What don't you get?" David slowly puts his arm around me. He looks concerned when I look up for just a second. I cover my face up with the pillow again quickly. I look ugly when I cry. I don't trust my voice enough to answer.

He doesn't ask any more questions. We sit for nearly half an hour. Then, without a word, I pick the notebook back up.

We start again.