Grrrr, why is this so fun to write? I have my own story I should be working on! *reprimands self* Doggonit! (And yes, that is a word frequently used in my daily vocabulary). I'm like writing three stories at once. High fantasy, modern-fiction, and dystopian. I'm a writing machine right now. Please review!

I had made plans with Octavia to study the following evening. She had a paper due on the French Revolution which I was willing to help her with. When I'd told Thalia what I had planned, she'd given me a baffled look, quickly followed by the obvious, "But she's a freshman."

Which was, perhaps, why I found Octavia's company refreshing. She wasn't yet completely enamored by the prospect of boys and was too young to be graphic in the ways Thalia could be. I didn't have to worry about her mentioning some guy she'd met at a party or stealing my sweets out of the cookie jar I had stashed in the back of the pantry.

No, the only thing I had to proceed with caution on when it came to Octavia was all genetic affiliations.

And that's precisely what I did, come six o'clock. I was already caught up on homework but this was as good a time as any to finish that chapter on hematomas. I was grateful that I didn't have to go and pick up Octavia myself; Mrs. Roffan dropped her off at my house when she came off work and I led Octavia inside.

"Wow," she breathed, staring up at the high-vaulted ceiling lit by two uplight chandeliers. "Your house is . . ."

"Pretty bare," I mumbled, motioning her to take a seat anywhere in the living room. I'd turned on the TV earlier, the Friends theme song playing around the carpeted room.

"Where's your mom?" Octavia asked, setting down her backpack.

Snatching up the remote, I lowered the volume on the TV. "Work."

"Doesn't she eat?"

"She eats there."

"So then you see her after dinner?"

I sighed. "Sometimes."

For some reason, Octavia found this shocking. Her mouth popped open. "Doesn't she sleep here?"

I lifted my shoulders, returning to my seat on the white sofa. I tucked my feet beneath me. "Not always. They have on-call rooms at the hospital where she sleeps. She works a lot of thirty-four hour shifts." I didn't mention how lonely this house got at night and I didn't mention the few times I'd wake to nightmares, wanting to crawl into bed with my mom only to remember she wasn't home.

After a year with her empty bed, I'd learned how to deal with those nightmares on my own.

I could tell by Octavia's ambivalent expression she didn't want to pry, but it obviously still bothered her. Like her brother, she didn't try hard to hide what she was feeling. In fact, she let it all into her face.

"It's okay," I added, trying to comfort her for my solitude. "I'm almost an adult and I'll be moving out next year anyway."

This seemed to help some but she still looked uneasy as she retrieved her books from her bag and opened them up on the coffee table.

"If you say so," she murmured.

An hour later, a knock came from the front door.

I shut the medical textbook I'd been reading and stood. "Must be the mailman."

"At seven at night?" Octavia asked from behind her own textbook.

I shrugged but didn't offer an explanation as I hurried down the entrance hall. I honestly didn't know who it would be, but I definitely did not open the door expecting a tall, brooding figure to be on the other side of it.

My eyes widened at the sight of Bellamy, standing stoic on the weathered Welcome mat that looked about as cheerful as I felt.

I stared up at Bellamy, his dark eyes dropping to mine. My mind hit replay on our previous conversation.

I lost more. And until you've been where I've been, you don't get to say that to me.

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly feeling very dry. "Yeah?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could. It was getting harder and harder to remain nice to this guy. "Can I help you?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. With the leather jacket and dark jeans, he kind of reminded me of one of those menacing bouncers stationed outside of clubs that I never went into.

"I'm here for Octavia," he deadpanned, already glaring at me.

I shook my head, not even bothering to ask how he knew this address. I assumed Mrs. Roffan gave it to him. Either that or he Googled me. I prayed it was the first one.

I didn't even have to call for Octavia. She appeared at my side, staring up at her brother in surprise. "What're you doing here, Bell?" she asked, brows knitting together in confusion.

"I'm here to take you home," Bellamy said bluntly.

"But . . .you live downtown."

"Maureen wanted me to get you."

"She was going to pick me up at eight."

Irritation leaked into his tone. "Well, I'm picking you up now. Get your stuff and let's go."

Looking like she wanted to argue, Octavia returned to the living room to collect her books. I brought my eyes back up to Bellamy. "I can take her home at eight," I offered. "It's no problem." I could be the bigger person and take the first step here. Or at least, that was what I told myself.

Bellamy didn't even acknowledge what I'd said. "I thought I made myself clear the other day."

I crossed my own arms over my chest. "I thought I did, too."

"My sister isn't your little"—

Octavia returned then, pack slung over her shoulder. She looked between us and I nearly let her pass. But I had reached the end of my tolerance.

I held up a finger to her. "Excuse us for a second," I said, "There's some snacks in the cookie jar that's in the pantry," I added to avoid her overhearing anything. Then I stepped out and shut the door behind me.

"Okay." I turned back to Bellamy, showing him my hands. "I'm tired of doing this. Can you maybe just save us all time and tell me what your problem is with me? Because I honestly don't know. Is it because of what I said about that scholarship? If that's it then, . . . I'm sorry," I said, albeit a bit begrudgingly. "But you have said things that were way worse. And frankly, I wouldn't care. But I like Octavia. She's a good kid and if she wants to hang out with me or if she needs help on a paper, I don't want her to feel like she has to go behind her brother's back in order to do it. So just tell me, because I don't want this," I gestured between us. "Anymore."

Bellamy glowered at me, leaning down so our faces were closer. "I don't have a problem with you. You're the problem."

I raised my brows at him. "Could you elaborate, please?"

He obliged. "Your impeccable grades. Your reputation. In case you haven't noticed, my sister's been hurt enough in her life. She doesn't need some privileged chick like you acting as her friend when everyone else knows someone like you really has no interest in being her buddy."

It actually took me a minute to understand the implication in his words, and when I did, I couldn't quiet my sound of surprise. Or incredulity. "You think I'm using your sister?" I scoffed, my mouth hanging open. "For what?"

Bellamy shook his head, curly brown hair falling over his eyes. "Maybe it has to do with the fact that Charles Roffan is the head of the UW Board. Or maybe you just enjoy messing with people; putting ideas in their heads. Expectations of what success should look like when the reality is you," he pointed at my chest. "You got everything handed to you on a silver platter. That's not success. That's cheating. That's getting what you want without even working for it. And I don't want my sister to look up to someone who is where she is just by birthright."

I blanched at him, words failing me as I stared into his burnished eyes. "Let me get this straight," I said, trying to collect my scattered thoughts. "So . . . you're saying, I don't deserve to be where I am? That having a financially supportive mother somehow makes me privileged?" I dropped my arms, hands curling into fists. "That, and you think I'm using Octavia to get into UW, which I never even considered attending to begin with."

I drew in a deep breath, having the maniacal urge to laugh. "Let me tell you something, Bellamy Blake, I am where I am because of the effort I've put in. Yeah, maybe I do enjoy studying. Maybe I like reading for pleasure. But that doesn't make me any less qualified to be where I am. Octavia was right," I glared up at him. "You aren't pissed at me. You're pissed at the world and your own life that you had no control over growing up." I took a step closer, until our foreheads were practically touching. "But being mad at it doesn't get you anywhere. Just as being born a surgeon's daughter doesn't get me A's on my papers."

The muscles in his jaw grew taught and pronounced, and if looks could kill, I'd be bleeding out on the Welcome mat. "I don't care what you think of me," he said, a dark edge to his voice. "I don't care about your reasons. I don't care about you. But if you hurt my sister, I won't just sit quietly on the sidelines."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Are you threatening me?"

Bellamy leaned over, his face just inches from mine. His hand reached out, gripping the handle of the front door behind me. He pushed it open. "O, come on!"

A few seconds later, Octavia stepped out, a lollipop in her mouth. She glanced between me and her brother with an expression of pure bewilderment, sensing the tension that strained the air around us.

She clearly didn't think it wise to comment, but cast me a look of apology as she bounded down the porch steps and to the Honda waiting against the pavement.

Bellamy looked from his sister and back to me.

"Yeah," he said. "I am."