"Alfred—what happened?" Ivan's house was one-story, like Alfred's, with a busted screen door, a lawn littered with patches of yellowing grass, and a crooked chain-link fence. He hadn't known what to expect; he was simply relieved that it was halfway across town from where he lived. Ivan had greeted him at the door when he knocked. Alfred hoped that he didn't look like he had been crying. He felt so vulnerable, and he hated it, but he didn't have the strength to pretend he was strong. Without replying, he walked into Ivan's house and collapsed on the cream-colored couch he found in the living room.

"What's wrong?" Ivan repeated. Alfred wished he wouldn't ask, but he knew that saying he couldn't stay at his house without providing reason was a cause for concern. Oh, what the hell, Alfred decided as Ivan took his place next to him on the couch. It would be nice to get some of his bottled-up worries off his chest.

"You know how we got report cards in the mail today?" Ivan nodded. "Well, I made the mistake of thinking my dad would like what he saw. I'm so stupid, Ivan—he told me to 'keep trying', and I just . . . lost it, I guess." Memories of the fight flooded him. It made him wonder if his father really did care. It could have been worse. He could have told him that he was useless; he did say he was glad he wasn't failing. Then again, he also implied that he was dumber than his classmates and had no chance of getting into college. "Why does everyone feel the need to tell me what I already know? I know I can't succeed; why shove it down my throat? It makes it worse, you know." He sat up. Ivan inched closer to him, but he couldn't look him in the face. His eyes were probably still red. He knew he was still helpless. "I don't really think you can understand where I'm coming from, being the genius you are, but all it takes to tell somebody what you can do is a series of letters. They define us, Ivan, our grades. All it takes for a crowd to torment me is a letter. I don't talk about my grades much at school . . . because I don't want the world to see me the way my dad does—the way I see myself." Alfred felt Ivan's arm pull him into a hug. Normally, he would have found this very awkward, but he didn't care now—it showed that Ivan actually cared about him. That was all he needed, for someone to care. He had real problems, problems that couldn't be solved by trying harder in school. The problem was that nobody understood. Nobody cared. Nobody was smart enough to figure out that his problem wasn't school. It was self-image, intense pressure, broken pride—but nobody realized this. He allowed Ivan to care about him; he allowed himself to feel relieved, just because he had a friend that took his problems seriously.

"I do understand. For me, people don't use grades to judge me. Instead, they use social skills." Ivan looked around the open room, thinking. "I'm not good at making friends. Everyone thinks I'm some kind of freak, so it doesn't really matter that I'm smart. Grades mean nothing if everyone you meet runs away from you." It struck Alfred that Ivan was just as troubled as he was. Suddenly, he felt horribly guilty; he had seemed so unhappy to see him in the hallway, so ashamed to be his friend. Ivan didn't show that he noticed, but he had to. "Why are you still here, Alfred? You haven't tried to run away yet . . . and you heard what your friends said about me today! It's all true; I didn't mean to break anything in that boy's body, but it happened!" It scared Alfred how maniacal Ivan sounded. Though the world saw something in Ivan that warned it to back off, he had no idea why . . . he stood alone, with no means of support, no friendships . . . he was ashamed to admit that Ivan scared him, when he showed this side of himself. Alfred could see his pain. He hid it so well, behind fake smiles and his imperturbable voice, but he saw it now. One accident, and the world turned its back on him. But Alfred would not turn his back on his friend.

"Let's just agree that society sucks." Alfred spoke quieter than usual because he found it hard to speak. Ivan watched him intently, as if he expected him to stand up and leave the house. "Wouldn't it be nice if there were no grades, no stereotypes, and no expectations? You'd learn what the teachers teach, and you'd practice the concepts in class, and you're only graded on tests, but it's pass or fail. No letters, just a minimum number of questions required to pass . . . and there was no shame in asking for help, and the teachers actually helped you, and nobody really cared how smart you were, or how many A's you have . . . I know it's impossible, but it can't hurt to dream, right?" Alfred leaned back, feeling much better than he had before. It was a nice feeling, to be understood. Ivan seemed to have calmed as well; he followed Alfred and the two of them stared at the plain white walls of the room. He made no move to stop Alfred from resting his feet on the coffee table, something he know would piss Arthur off to no end. Immediately, something awful occurred to him.

"Oh shit," he gasped, sitting up. Ivan followed, full of fresh concern. "My dad—he doesn't know you, and I didn't tell him where I was going, I just stormed out of the house . . . he's going to be furious!" Alfred's stomach lurched at the thought. "I can't go back; he'll murder me! Oh shit, shit, shit . . . if I stay longer, it'll get worse . . ."

"Perhaps you should explain that he is a horrible father," Ivan suggested. Alfred shook his head. He didn't want to start yet another fight with him, but it was inevitable.

"I think I should just go home, listen to his crap, and lock myself in my room," Alfred announced. "Yeah, that'll work . . ."

"If you can keep your mouth shut," Ivan added. "Which I know you can't."

"It's not like you can shut your mouth, either!" Alfred shouted. "And Dad can't fight the urge to point out my flaws, and Gilbert can't shut up either, and wow, why is everyone I know a rude bastard?" He took a moment to catch his breath. "And now I'm lashing out at you, for no reason at all. I guess I'm so used to fighting, I'm taking it out on people who don't deserve it." Ivan patted him on the back.

"You are right. We do share that problem." Ivan began to pace the room. "Maybe you should tape your mouth shut."

"I'm sure my dad would love that," Alfred admitted. "Or I could bite my tongue, or run into my room and lock the door, so I don't have to face him while he shouts at me."

"Tell him you fled to the library to study more."

"I'll just apologize. I'm not dealing with him anymore. I give up." It was the best plan he could think of. He would go back to his house, where he felt alone and stressed, face his father's awful lecture, and fall asleep. He would end this awful day—which was possibly the worst day of his life—and start anew. Maybe he could force his father to understand how he felt. Maybe he would try to improve their relationship. For now, he decided to be brave, before things got worse. Maybe his father was actually concerned about him. He'd only know if he came home.

"I'm gonna go back now," Alfred announced. "Thanks for everything, Ivan—seriously dude, you're the best person in the world." Ivan looked as if he could cry. "By the way, I'm sorry my friends were jerks to you. I—I think I'm going to tell them about our friendship. Matthew, at least, even though he thinks kids with low grades are just lazy. I'll make him see truth." Alfred was met with a crippling hug.

"I can't believe I have a friend," Ivan said. "You're the greatest friend I've ever had, Alfred." For the first time that day, he was great at something. He knew he had to leave, before he burst into tears of happiness.

"You're pretty good too, Ivan. But if you don't let go of me, you might break my back." Ivan backed away immediately, but he still smiled. This one was rare; he was genuinely happy. He made no move to hide just how lonely he was.

"Good luck, Alfred," Ivan wished. "If you ever need to escape, you can always come here. My mother works late, so it'll be all me, all night."

"Thanks, man." Alfred grinned at his friend as he reached the door. "If you're ever down, remind yourself that I would've been in more trouble if I'd never met you." The door closed behind him with a click. Beyond the broken fence, stood trouble, and pain. Surely, he could just stay with Ivan?

Surely, he could find a way to make things right.