Chapter 12

As Squid stalked out of D-Tent, he spat at the legs of his so-called home and then extended his middle fingers towards it. They may have thought they were helping with their constant questions but it only added to the hurricane crashing around though his mind, aiding the hard thumps of his steady growing headache. He pushed a hand through his hair and trudged across the compound towards the Mess Hall. A pile of pots and pans had his name all over it and, for once, he couldn't wait to do them. Maybe then he'd be left alone.

He'd only lain down for a minute and yet, when he woke up, they all looked at him as if he had come back from the dead. And they kept asking if he felt okay and if he was hungry and if he needed water. Hell, Pendanski came over and fed him some lecture about eating a proper diet. He scoffed. Like they could eat any sort of balanced meal with the crap that they bring into the camp, it could hardly be classified as food. He'd only managed to get away when he mumbled about having to get to his dish washing duty which almost brought on a new lecture about how proud Pendanski was for him accepting his responsibilities. Thank God he had a reason to get away.

The door to the Mess Hall creaked open as he stepped through and he lifted his chin in greeting to the camper that was in charge of straightening the tables and cleaning the floors. The camper lifted his chin in response and went right back to sweeping. There was no sense in prolonging their torture any more than they were already suffering. Finally his dish washing sentence was coming to an end.

He stopped in his tracks in the doorway to the back room of the Mess Hall. He shook his head in an effort to erase the image in front of him but it didn't go away. His breath came out between his teeth in one long hiss, granting him Mickey's attention even though he didn't want it. She briefly glanced at him, her expression unreadable, and then went back to washing the pot that was in her hand. A large pile of clean pots were stacked to her right and a smaller pile of dirty ones were stacked to her left.

His nostrils flared. What was she doing now? Trying to show him up? Trying to get out early for good behavior? His headache pounded harder; he wished he could take that pain and beat her with it. But that'd only result in Pendanski on his back again so instead he cleared the space between himself and Mickey and demanded, once he was close enough to her, "What do you want from me?"

Mickey's hand stilled inside a pot and she looked up at him, her eyebrows knitting together as her lisp turned down in the corners. "Nothing," she replied. He had to strain to hear her, she spoke so quietly. Once upon a time he didn't have to work so hard to understand her, but that was practically a lifetime ago.

"Bullshit," he spat before she even finished her denial. "Why the hell won't you leave me alone?"

"I'm not doing anything," she protested with a shake of her head. Her voice didn't rise in volume and she shifted her eyes from his face to her hands.

"Everything was perfectly fine before you got here, now everywhere I fucking turn there you are. Looking at me with those big, dopey eyes of yours. Acting like you're better than the rest of us."

She huffed. "I never thought—"

"And why are you washing the dishes anyway? It's not your job!" Not that he really cared about the washing but he was on a roll and couldn't stop himself. Months of pent up and untouched frustrations rose within him and he wasn't in a rush to keep them at bay.

"I-I just thought I'd help. After your seizure—"

"I'm fine," Squid all but snarled. She flinched at his tone and took a notable step away from him. His lip twitched at the sight. "I've been dealing with this since I got here. I don't need you swooping and pretending like you're some savior, got it? Before you got here people didn't know and now, thanks to you, I have Mom on my ass to check if I'm eating properly."

She sucked in a breath, her cheeks puffing out briefly and then let it out all at once. "They should have let you keep your port. It's there for a reason," Mickey commented.

"We're in fucking jail! What part of that don't you get?" He gave an incredulous laugh and crossed his arms. "And, by the way, what the fuck did you do to get sent here, Ms. Goody Two-Shoes? Apologize too much?"

"Stop," Mickey muttered.

"Did you bend over backwards too far and try to scam people for insurance?"

"Shut up."

"Have too many people walk all over you and you snapped?"

"Stop," Mickey uttered, her voice hardening.

Squid smirked and leaned closer, so close that his mouth pressed up against her ear. "And mommy didn't even bother to bail you out. Look how far the princess has fallen from her throne."

"Fuck off!" The crack in her voice only made Squid laugh as he took a step backward due to her sudden shove. "You don't know anything!"

"Aww, look at the little mouse getting angry," he taunted. "Go ahead and squeak at me some more, little mouse."

Her mouth pressed into a line and he expected her to just stand there and take it as always. But then her lips parted and—"I assaulted someone, okay? That's why I'm here!"

Squid's eyebrows jumped upwards and he snorted. "You assaulted someone? You? Teeny tiny Mickey Mason assaulted someone? You freak out when you have to give an oral presentation but you can assault someone?"

Mickey shuffled her feet. "That's the word they sued. It…it wasn't assault. Not really."

"Figures." Squid rolled his eyes. "Can't even commit to assault. Though what really gets me is that your momma's not sending out a SWAT team to come get ya. Her leash aint that long."

Mickey threw her hands into the air. "I just wanted to help. I don't…I don't know why, but I did. But I get it, okay? I won't help you ever again."

"I never wanted your help." The anger rose in Squid once more, he could feel heat rising up his neck. "Never. I never wanted your pity, neither. The way you used to look at me made me sick. Like I was some charity case."

She gaped at him. "I never pitied you. I-I wouldn't do that. You were my friend, Squid, my best friend."

"Then why didn't you ever write me?" he exploded. He slammed his fist on the nearby counter-top, rattling the piles of pots and pans. The sound made her jump and squeeze her eyes shut. He could almost see her trembling as she stood in front of him. White hot rage coursed through his body and blood rushed in his ears. He brushed his hand across his mouth and took a few deep breaths as he paced, trying to regain composure. "Figured I'd at least get something after I wasted a call on you. You couldn't even spare some time as you're lookin' down from your fucking throne. Forgot about me once I was out of the picture, huh? Bet your momma loved that; Alan Carson locked up where he belongs."

"What…what are you talking about?" Mickey asked. "I wrote you."

"Bullshit," Squid immediately shot back.

"No…no, I did. I wrote to you. Every day." Her eyebrows furrowed but she didn't open her eyes, almost as if she didn't want to face him. "I did. I know I did." Her words were soft and tinged with confusion, as if she didn't trust her own memory.

Squid clamped his lips shut. He felt a little better after shouting but he wasn't so quick to trust her. Their friendship, whatever was left of it, was damaged a long time ago. He didn't even know why he chose her for his procedural one call when he was arrested. Habit, perhaps. Hope, maybe. But what good did it do him? Absolutely nothing. Mickey's mother could have gotten him off or worked harder than she did to get a lawyer for him rather than that low-rent loser masquerading as one, if she really wanted to. But she'd turned her nose down at him since day one and he could only watch as she taught Mickey the same thing. As innocent as she claimed to be, she followed in her mother's footsteps like a duckling. And besides, she was the reason they stopped being friends in the first place and the one who drove the final nail in the coffin at Travis's stupid party.

"Whatever," he finally uttered, dismissing her as much as he could with the one word. He pushed past her, bumping her aside with his shoulder, and grabbed a half clean pot. He made a face at the food that was crusted onto it but then vigorously scrubbed at it, imagining that he was scrubbing her face instead. He felt her presence nearby but didn't acknowledge her, like how she didn't acknowledge him for the past…

He frowned. How long had he been there? All the days seemed to melt into one another, like the holes they dug and stretch of desert that surrounded them. He remembered being arrested after Christmas; safe to say it wasn't his best holiday season. When his mother was coherent enough to acknowledge him, it was only so she could present him with a half-empty pack of yellow # 2 pencils as his gift. She'd spent the little amount of money she got waitressing on another round of booze for herself, unsurprisingly. So, a couple of days later, he went on another "run" to fund his own vision of Christmas. He was nabbed that night due to Santa gifting one home a new security system that blared an alarm when he opened a window.

He hummed. That put him in Camp Green Lake for the past…six months. Six months away from civilization, away from normalcy, away from home. If he could call it those things. No one seemed to miss him, evident by his lack of any sort of mail for the past half-year. All he could do was sit back and watch as Barf Bag, Armpit, and even Magnet got something but, as time wore on, even their mail trickled to a stop. At least they had a trickle. A little bit was better than nothing.

"How were you able to hide your diabetes for so long?" Mickey asked. He glanced at her over his shoulder, her face expressionless. He'd half expected her to leave but knew, deep down, she wouldn't even when he wanted her to. For someone who claimed to be averse to confrontation she was stubborn as a bull.

Squid grunted. "S'no one's business," he replied, still furiously scrubbing.

"But how do you check your levels?"

"I don't," he replied, his words dripping with so much duh that it splattered on the floor.

"So you just play Russian Roulette with your sugar intake every day?"

"Why do you even care?" Squid demanded after heaving a sigh so forceful she was surprised he didn't double over from the effort.

"I'm trying not to," she stated. Her words were so sincere that he stopped and turned to properly look at her. She held his gaze and he felt a painful punch to his gut at her hard stare. He couldn't place why so instead he broke off their eye contact. "It's hard to undo twelve years of habit." She licked her lips. "I-I didn't expect to run into you when I got here but I did and now I'm forced to deal with you. Fine. But if we're going to be stuck together for who knows how long I…I think it'd be better if we were at least civil. If that's even possible for you."

He ignored her jab. "How long you got?"

"Eighteen months."

His mouth turned to the side. That left a year with her breathing down his neck, getting in his way, and being in his general facility until he was released. Without a word, he turned back to the pot and finished scrubbing the chili residue that clung to the metal.

The sound of her clomping boots of the wooden floors alerted him to the fact that she was finally leaving. The door to leading out to the Mess Hall creaked open but then it didn't creak on the backswing. He paused. "You know, in case you forgot, the mail works both ways. …How come you didn't write me?"

Her question hung in the air. As everyone learned in due time at Camp Green Lake, sometimes it was best to stay quiet. The door creaked as it swung forward and back in an effort to settle in the doorway; the rhythmic noise reminded him of his grandmother's porch swing up in Missouri. His ears perked up when he heard voices over the creaking, specifically when he heard someone mention his name. Armpit?

"Is he okay?" Armpit asked.

"Yeah, he'll be fine."

"Good. …It's kinda a good that you were here, huh? To save him."

He didn't hear her answer. The door had swung shut.

# # #

It felt as if he'd blinked and the hours of night shot him by; all too soon Squid found himself and the rest of his tentmates up and ready to face another day of digging holes. It had gotten past being tedious work; somewhere along the way, when he didn't expect it, digging became just another part of his life.

When he first arrived he balked at the idea of having to dig a hole day in and day out, scoffing at the idea of the activity to "build character". But then his attitude changed. Not that he looked forward to having to cross the dry lakebed over and over again but it gave him something to do. His head hurt if he thought too long about what he could do there if they didn't have to dig.

Back at home most of his free time was spent drinking, smoking, hanging around the local skatepark, avoiding his mother and, on certain days, plotting houses to hit up. The judge acted as if he chose to rob a bank each time he made a hit. They were just houses and he only took small change and soda cans; the cans were used to net him some money for the week to survive. It wasn't a steady or even large income, he averaged out about $37 a day, but it was $37 more than he had when he woke up. Sometimes he'd go for something bigger, lifting an ipod or a nice watch to pass along for a bigger chucnk of change. A job was hard to come by when you didn't have a high school degree and no one wanted to take a chance on him once they saw his address. When you're from the "wrong side of town" you tend to stay there.

The stars still twinkled in the sky as they gathered around the small table for breakfast and the Library for their shovels. He briefly caught Mickey' eye when he got his breakfast that morning—beef jerky and peanut butter—and then turned away to continue listening to some story Zigzag was telling about one time he stayed up all night and swore he saw shadow figures in his house. His stories were always outlandish but they entertained everyone.

The trek out to their digging location wasn't too long this time around; every day Mr. Sir would drive ahead of them and weed off the groups until each tent dug in their own section. He'd fill up their canteens, mark their digging spots, and move onto the next location. As soon as D-Tent was dropped off Squid dropped his canteen off to the side and pierced the crust with the tip of his shovel. Only a million more to go.

It wasn't long before the sun peeked over the horizon and cast its long, golden rays across the cracked desert surface. As the sun steadily rose in the air, the temperatures rose along with it. Beads of sweat gathered around Squid's hairline and the brim of the t-shirt he'd wrapped around his head to protect his neck. Every now and then a light breeze would kick up but it didn't do anything other than fling sand at his bare forearms and face. Though warm air blowing against their sun-weathered skin was better than nothing, he supposed.

Before long the rest D-Tent, rejuvenated by the sun, shook off the sleep that clung to them and spoke about anything that came to mind. And, boy, did they talk about anything. Once they had a long conversation over whether or not duck-sized dinosaurs or dinosaur-sized ducks would be more vicious. (Dinosaur-sized ducks won the majority). If someone thought it, it tended to come out. Such as their ongoing argument of who was hotter: Angelina Jolie or Scarlett Johansson. Though neither of them was technically as hot as they were, baking beneath the hot sun.

"…If we could leave today what would be the first thing you do?" Magnet asked. Every now and then this topic came up, though not as much as wondering what Barf Bag was doing or ways to improve the camp (outlandish ways but ways). Thinking too long about what they were missing out in the real world only tended to bring them down.

"Easy. I'd hit up the nearest firework stand for firecrackers and put them beneath my school's toilet seat," Zigzag replied.

"Bro, you burned down a portable classroom. D'you really think it'd be a good idea to put firecrackers in a school?" Squid questioned. He shoved the tip of his shovel into the dirt and rested his arm atop of the handle.

Zigzag shrugged. "Not a good idea, no. But it'd be a fun idea."

Squid chuckled and rolled his eyes. "You're crazy, man."

"Man, I'd stay far away from school," X-Ray commented. He lifted a pile of dirt out of his hole and tossed it aside. He flinched and turned away when some dirt flew back into his face. His dust-covered glasses became coated in another layer. "Never go back if I didn't have to. I'd head straight to my grandma's house, bask in her air conditioning and eat her food."

"Surprised you wouldn't sell lemonade," Magnet sniggered.

"Nah, that's kiddie stuff." X-Ray rubbed his chin and then snapped his fingers. "It's all about location, location, location. Why sell lemonade if you don't have prime land? You…you got your street corners, parking lots, parks. Your starter locations. If you want the big bucks, you go for the foot traffic. Churches, gas stations, Laundromats. Everyone's fighting for the space; if they had someone to hold the spot they could easy make a pretty penny in one weekend."

"Damn, X, ever think about going to business school?"

"He'd probably pay someone to go for him," Squid spoke up.

"Hey, it could work. They'd never seen my face, heard me speak." X-Ray laughed and stabbed his shovel into the dirt again. "I could pay some sap to take my place. He learns something new, I get the benefits."

"Even when he's locked up he makes get rich quick schemes." Squid shook his head, awe evident in his voice. That's the thing about X-Ray; he had the charisma and the charm to keep from being entirely insufferable. And if it weren't for him taking Squid under his wing when he first arrived, Squid would've punched him in the face by now.

"Oh yeah? What about you, hotshot?" X-Ray asked, turning the tables. "The first thing you'd do getting out of here."

Squid removed the toothpick from his mouth and then used his thumb to scratch behind his ear. Truthfully, he'd never thought too hard about it. What did he have to go back to? A run-down house, a passed out mother—assuming she hadn't skipped town or died somewhere, and a dead-end street.

"I'd jump in a car and drive away," Squid finally replied."Head out west, to Vegas or some shit. Anywhere, really, so long as it's not a desert."

He got a few nods of understandings and mumbles of agreement. Satisfied, Squid yanked his shovel out of the ground and stabbed it in again, loosening more dirt. He tossed the shovelful up and over his head, slamming the blade down again a moment later, working himself back into his rhythm.

"What about you, Mouse?" Armpit asked. "What will you do when you get out of here?"

Squid didn't slow his shoveling but he did glance up to see Armpit, X-Ray, and Magnet looking right at Mickey. Judging by how tall she stood her hole wasn't as deep as theirs but it was a vast improvement to how deep her holes started out. She was still one of the last few to come in but she wasn't out all day anymore and she didn't throw up halfway through either due to the exertion. If Barf Bag hadn't already been bestowed the moniker, she would have been crowned with it ages ago.

Her shoveling slowed, almost as if she could feel people watching her, and she lifted her head. Her eyes scanned their faces and she slowly turned to look over her shoulder and then jerked the other way, like a dog trying to chase its tail. Finally she looked back at them and pointed towards herself as she said, "Are you talking to me?"

"Yeah, Mouse, we're talking to you," X-Ray replied. "What are you going to do when you get out?"

Her eyelashes fluttered due to how fast she blinked, as if the motion was going to help her comprehend their question. She blew out a breath and rubbed a gloved hand over her head. "I-I don't know…play baseball?" Her reply came out more as a question than a statement, as if she were checking for their approval on her answer.

"You play baseball?" Armpit asked, his eyebrows raising.

"Yeah…kinda."

Squid turned away, biting his lip to keep from laughing. If only they knew.

# # #

The school year had started up again much to Alan's chagrin. When the summer days enveloped him he didn't have to worry about his fate but now, as he stood on a street corner one early September day, he finally had to come face-to-face with the fact that he was repeating his junior year. While his friends and ex-classmates celebrated the year by counting down until they were free, he had an extra year tacked onto his sentence.

How fun.

"Hey Alan!" Alan nearly jumped out of his skin when Mickey greeted him. He hadn't heard her walk up, a feat that she seemed to accomplish more and more each day. She walked almost as quietly as she talked; as if making any sort of noise would inconvenience people. "Are you excited for school?"

"About as excited as I was to get my tooth pulled," he grumbled as they stared their walk down the street. The sight of the black escalade slowly trailing behind him once made his nerves stand on edge but he'd gotten used to it; even if they walked in pairs, Mrs. Mason didn't like Mickey insisting that she walk to school so her driver was tasked to follow them every morning. It'd gone on for a year now but the resentment simmering inside of him hadn't gone away. He just knew how to hide it better.

"Repeating won't be so bad," she insisted, "you know the course already. You have a leg up."

"No, that only means they expect me to try harder."

She paused and then said, "You can't help that your mom's sick. Maybe they can work with you?"

"No point, they already peg me to fail." Alan dug into his pockets, fumbling around the folds and a crease in his pockets until he found what he was looking for. He had barely removed his lighter from his pocket when Mickey snatched it out of his hand. "Seriously, Dis?"

"You'll thank me when you don't get lung cancer," she stated, dropping it into the bag that bounced against her side with every step. "I'd like to keep you around for a while."

His rolled straight up to the sky, the evasive maneuver he perfected when she got particularly sappy. "What's with the bag?" he asked.

"It's my dance bag," Mickey replied, lifting the strap higher on her shoulder.

"Dance season isn't until winter, isn't it?"

"Right, but Mom wants me to get a jump start on it this year in an effort to place higher." She sighed. "I get third place once and she loses her mind. I'm just happy she hasn't tried to put me in pageants."

Alan snorted and kicked at a rock. It bounced across the pavement and settled against the curb of the sidewalk across the street from them. "That'd be a trainwreck."

"You think I can't do it?" Mickey demanded.

He glanced at her. "No. Not in a million years."

"Thanks for the support, friend."

He smiled. It was hard for her to appear indignant when, rather than frowning, her mouth tended to turn down into a pout. "You'd hate it. You know you would."

"I know. But maybe then Mom would approve of something I do for once." Mickey's mouth twisted to the side as she looked both ways before crossing the street. Alan didn't bother to even check with his eyes, not slowing his gate at all. "So there's…something I wanted to do. But-but I'm not sure Mom would like it."

"Skip out on your traditional mani-pedis?" Alan asked. And then he frowned at having to utter such a phrase in the first place.

"No." At one point he noticed that she wasn't walking next to him and stopped and turned around. She trudged behind him, the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulder so much that she almost resembled a question mark.

"What is it, then?"

She lifted her eyes to look at him, bit her lip, and said in a rush, "Don'tlaughbutIthinkIwanttotryoutforthebaseballteam."

He blinked. "You mean softball?"

"No, baseball. Only…only the practices are at the same time as dance and I know Mom won't let me but…" She some hair behind her ear and licked her lower lip, her nose wrinkling. "I want to do something different. But she says the consistency would be better for colleges. But, then again, they like to see variety." The more she spoke the faster her words came together. "I mean, I mean it's not like I'm going to make it, right? Oh God, what if this is all a mistake? What if…what if I break something? Then I can't even dance and I'll have nothing else going on with my life and I'd be forced to attend a college that brings no sort of stimulation and leave me with crippling debt that I'll have to scrape by in a soul-crushing job just to make ends meet and wind up living in my mom's backyard!"

"Disney!" Alan grabbed Mickey by the shoulders and gave her a hard shake. Her hair whipped back and forth due to the shake. A moment later a chill ran down his spine. He glanced up and over her head, catching the glaring eyes of her driver through the windshield and he let her go, taking a step back. Clearing his throat, he lightly flicked her forehead. "Relax. You've been playing all summer—"

"My mom doesn't know about that, by the way," Mickey interjected.

"—and you have a hell of an arm. They'll be crazy not to take you." He resumed walking and heard her bag bouncing as she hurried to catch up to him. The words of her rant bounced around through his mind and made his fingers curl into fists. After all, she didn't really have much to worry about. Her parents would pay for school, for housing, get her connected to a job, anything she needed they could take care of. And, sadly, her worries actually seemed big to her.

"What if they won't let me try?" Mickey's voice softened once more.

"They will," Alan replied.

"What if I don't make it?"

"Then I'll punch sense into them." He knocked against her shoulder in an attempt to jostle the pout on her face. It appeared to work as a tiny smile formed on her face.

Not too long later they arrived at the school; the lush green lawn was filled with students catching up with one another, laughing and screeching and comparing tan lines while scoping one another out. Alan immediately broke off from Mickey when he saw her friend Alexis arrive. He blew out a long breath and ducked down by the stone stairs in front of the school and dug into his bag. It was void of books save for one beaten up notebook, the only other item inside was a bottle wrapped in a paper bag. He carefully pulled it out, looked around, and took a long swig from it. If he was going to survive the year he had to take measures into his own hand.

The day passed by in a blur, though he wasn't sure if that was because it was boring or if it was because he was buzzed. He kept a pack of gum nearby to cover up his breath and made sure not to look anyone in the eye if they spoke to him. Though the teachers rarely did, instead they settled for glancing in his direction and shaking their heads before moving on. His jaw ached from chewing and clenching it by the end of the day and he wanted to head straight for the corner store but he'd promised Mickey he'd be there for her tryouts.

The coach took one look at her as she walked up and, with his pen, gestured to the other side of the field and said, "Cheerleading tryouts are over there."

"Uhm…I'm…I'm here for baseball tryouts," Mickey replied, playing with the glove in her hand.

The coach laughed. "Yeah right. Really, cheerleaders go over there."

"No…I'm here for baseball. I want to try out."

The coach's eyes narrowed and he stared down at her. Mickey gulped and shuffled her feet beneath his stern gaze. "Stop wasting my time, kid. There's gonna be no girls on my team."

"Okay! Fine, sure, you're the coach! Sorry to waste your time, won't do it again," Mickey said in a rush. She turned to hurry away but Alan reached out and grabbed her by the arm, stopping her in her tracks.

He didn't take his eyes off the coach as he said, "Man, there's no rule that states she can't be on the team."

The coach snorted. "I aint havin' any girls on my team!"

"Won't even let 'er try out?" Alan spat on the ground by the coach's feet.

"Alan, really, it's okay," Mickey said, grabbing at his arm.

"No it aint!" he insisted. "Everyone gets a fair tryout. It aint fair that you won't let her." He took a step closer to the coach, ignoring her tugging on his arm as he asked, "Are ya scared that she'll show you up?"

The coach practically snarled that he and his boys weren't afraid of her and for her to get her ass on the field before he changed his mind. Alan glared at his retreating back and then turned to a blanching Mickey. "What did you do?" she asked quietly.

"Got you that tryout you wanted," he replied with a simple shrug. He knocked the brim of her cap down over her eyes and added, "Now go out there and kick some ass!"

He sat at the top of the bleachers, steepling his fingers as he watched the practice take place with a swimming mind and swaying vision. Every now and then he'd give his head a shake and peer intently at the green fields in an attempt to focus. And every now and then he'd catch one of the other players, who comically towered over Mickey, make a rude gesture when her back was turned or throw some gross comment her way.

From atop he saw her face redden and her shoulders hunch; she pulled the brim of her cap down over her eyes as far as it could go and kept quiet, nodding or shaking her head when she was spoken to. When it came to her turn at bat or in the field, however, the fear in her eye was replaced by a burning fire. Her shoulders lowered and she gripped the bat and the ball with so much strength he could see her knuckles turn white. And with each successful hit and every perfect catch a smirk-like smile briefly appeared on her face until, by the end of practice, she beamed and could barely contain her excitement.

"Did you see my slider? I think that was the best pitch I've ever thrown!" Mickey gushed, her eyes sparkling as she dropped down on the metal bench. Alan jerked at the noise and peered at her through blurry eyes. She immediately pouted and punched him on the arm. "You weren't even watching."

"I was," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Woul'n' miss it."

She peered at him. "Didn't get much sleep again?"

He grunted. It wasn't exactly a lie, lacking sleep had become a regular part of his life whether he liked it or not. Hearing the front door burst open in the middle of the night was enough to keep him on edge even when nothing happened (he had his mother and years of her "friends" coming around to thank for that). But it wasn't the lack of sleep that plagued him now, not that he'd tell her that. "'M fine." He grabbed his bag and stood.

"Are you sure?" Mickey asked, following him down the bleachers.

"Yeah. Don't worry about me. You should be thinking about the practice, that you crushed." He put a smile on his face and flicked her ear. "So should I show up in a cheerleader outfit for your first game?"

She giggled and shoved him. "You're such a dork!" Then she grasped his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Thanks for staying. It means a lot. When I make my first run I'll dedicate it to you."

The pride in her eyes made him nauseous. He hoped to never make that light dim.

# # #

Squid drew up the last bit of spit in his mouth and launched it into his completed hole. He dragged his dry tongue around his mouth in an effort to bring some sort of wet relief but it didn't work. The dry, dry heat attached to him like a thick blanket that day.

He glanced around at the holes. Zero was long gone, having finished digging about an hour ago. How he became the fastest digger in the camp, Squid didn't know and he for sure wasn't going to ask the kid about it. He already acted like he was better than the rest of them, not bothering to answer any of their questions or join in on their "bonding" sessions. The only time he'd ever heard the kid speak was around Caveman and that made Squid wonder if there was something special going on between them. Not that he cared one way or the other but if there was something going on, he'd like to know about it before he stumbled upon something he didn't want to see.

Armpit and Zigzag he could see in the distance, small specks on the horizon having gotten at least a ten minute lead over him. X-Ray hadn't finished too far ahead of him but he didn't walk back just yet. Squid's eyebrows furrowed as she watched him, hovering over Mickey's hole. He said something to her and she shook her head. He said something again, leaning forward and she hung her head. She dug into her pocket extended her hand, and then dropped something in X-Ray's palm. He said something else, stood, and walked off, dragging his shovel behind him. It drew a line in the sand.

Before he could stop himself, he made a beeline for her hole and stopped by the lip of it. His shadow alerted her to his presence and she squinted up at him. "What was that?" he demanded.

"What was what?"

"What you gave X."

She paused. "Nothing."

He licked his lip; the skin between the cracks stung at the bit of saliva that managed to leak through. "Look…" He crouched and rested his arms on his knees. "Trust me, being in X's debt is a blessing and a curse. Get out when you can, don't let him latch onto you."

Her eyebrows knitted together and her nose crinkled as she looked up at him, probably fighting over whether or not to trust him. He didn't care, he did his part and knocked the little ball of guilt off his shoulders. He turned away from her, standing all the way, only to get a strong blast of wind to the face. "What the fuck?" he uttered, bringing his arms up to his face to block the assault of sand. He felt the gritty, coarse dust on his tongue and nestle within the spaces between his teeth. He waited for the wind to die down but it only got stronger. His stomach dropped. That couldn't be good.

Squid lowered his arms and gaped at the sight. No matter how many times he'd seen dirt devils they managed to mystify him. This, a wall of dust aiming right for them, took his breath away. Shit shit shit shit shit! Without a second thought, Squid dropped his shovel and jumped down into Mickey's hole.

"What are you—?"

"Get down!"

Squid grabbed Mickey's arm, pushed her against the side of the hole and covered her head with his arms. Only a few breathless seconds passed before he heard the roaring whistle of the winds above him. It pulled at his shirt and his jumpsuit and whipped sand across his cheeks and arms. It felt as if sand shot down his throat and coated his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. Beneath the wind he heard Mickey saying something but he couldn't make it out so he held on tighter.

Before he knew it, the wind died down to a gentle breeze. Squid could feel the layer of dirt sitting on his head and shoulders and backed away to brush it off. It was only then that he realized how hard Mickey's body shook and how hard her hands were pressed against her ears and that she kept mumbling, "No, no no, stop!" Her chest heaved and her breaths came out as loud wheezing.

"Disney—relax!" Telling someone who was having a panic attack to relax wasn't the best idea, he knew from experience, but he wasn't so sure what actually helped calm her down anymore. Or even if she had any other panic attacks. Either way, it was a safer option than outright slapping sense into her.

She slowly lowered her hands and looked at him in such a way that it made him take a step back. It was like she was trying to see straight through him. He coughed and brushed dirt off the shoulders of his shirt. He could still feel his eyes on her as he placed his hands on the side of her hole and lifted himself out in one easy lift. His gloved fingers had barely curled around the shaft of his forgotten shovel when she spoke up.

"…What was that?"

"White out," he replied. "Come out of nowhere, like a tsunami but with dust." She slowly nodded and grabbed for her shovel. He spied it shaking in her grasp. "Dust devils come by too. You get used to it."

She made a noise that was a cross between a laugh of disbelief and a scoff. He wasn't sure which par tit was aimed at, the dust devil or actually getting used to the goings on around camp. He didn't press it, already feeling a strange sense of nervousness spread through him. Again, he'd barely taken a step to leave when she spoke again.

"My mom wrote me," she stated.

Squid hummed. "Is she finding a way to plan your escape?"

Mickey smiled a wry smile and tucked her hair behind her ear. "No. That would only get her off the hook for suffering and having the attention on her." She rolled her eyes. He didn't miss the trace of bitterness that wrapped around her words. "Wondering how I could do this to her, how she didn't raise me this way, how I made her look foolish and, god forbid, how was she going to be able to face her friends?" She stabbed at the dirt with the tip of her shovel and forcefully flung the loosened dirt behind her. Most of it rained back down on her shoulders.

Squid turned his laugh into a cough when she glared at him. And then her facial muscles relaxed and he saw her smile that dimpled smile he hadn't seen in a long time. Or maybe the sun was playing a trick on him; a mirage in the hot, hot desert.

a/n: Look at that! Another update in a little over a week! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it has a bit of everything: some long awaited bonding with Squid and Mickey (newly christened Mouse!), a flashback to showcase Squid's influence on their friendship, and Squid even saving Mickey this time around. Aww, they really do love each other! You'll see the effect of the pills and the letter Mrs. Mason wrote to Squid coming up; don't worry, I didn't forget about that.

Thanks so much for the reviews, guys. It's nice to know people are still sticking around with this story and with me, I truly appreciate it. I already thought out and properly outlined how the rest of this story goes and am thinking of potential ideas for a sequel! So there's that to look forward to! (Only the story's not close to coming to an end so don't worry about that).

Please read and review!

~C.M.