His alarm clock went off, blaring. The sound startled him, jolting John out of blackened sleep. He reached out, grabbing nothing but air.

John lay there before slowly sitting up. His cold feet touched the rug, rubbing against it for heat. He was surprised the sweet aroma didn't wake him up first. It smelled like bacon and eggs.

That dream plagued his mind again. John thought he was done dreaming of something he'd never have. It was about a place where green ash trees grew and kids played in the pool; a place where a curly haired toddler could drop a plate and didn't have to fear setting off his father. A place John could actually call home.

But that was impossible. People like him didn't just get out without consequence. Most of them died waiting for a light that never came. And the others spent their lives rotting in jail for crimes they didn't commit.

After massaging his eyes, pulling sleep rocks out form his lids, John blinked until his blurred vision cleared. The first thing he noticed was how blue the room was.

What the fuck.

His walls were supposed to be a disgusting cream color he'd spent years trying to cover up with posters. Then, John looked at his feet. And his floor was supposed to be hardwood, not carpet! And there wasn't a single piece of clothing anywhere. Everything was so tidy. It made him queasy. It was like he didn't live here.

John punched the button on the alarm clock with a fist. His eyes wandered around again. The nightstand was also on the wrong side of the bed. And it was six twenty-nine in the morning! Why the hell was he up so early? Wasn't it Saturday?

The commotion behind the door made his heart skip. It sounded like baby babbling. And he heard someone else. A woman. There was some stomping, too.

He wanted to open the door but the horror movies he watched with Jeremiah stopped him. Black people always raged about how can white people be so stupid when all the signs were obvious. John didn't want to be another statistic more than he already was. So he started forming a plan. There was a window he could climb out of. He also thought Sullivan laced something in their weed. He'd done that before.

The light knocking nearly made him sky rocket off his bed.

"Hey. Are you up?" A female voice behind the door asked. "We really need to get going if we're gonna make it on time."

John picked his brain, saying the first name he could find. "… Sandra?"

"Yeah?" She sounded confused.

"What're you doing here?"

"What're you talking about, John?" She asked after a beat. "This is my house. Just because I've been out most of the weekend doesn't make it yours."

John nodded numbly. It wasn't just a dream after all. He really was away. "Yeah. Right. Okay."

"Did you fall and hit your head or something?" She asked, genuinely concerned. "Should I come in there and check for a concussion?"

He rubbed his forehead. "No."

"Are you feeling sick? Nausea? Body aches? Weak?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Oh, God." She paused. "I'm disturbing you, aren't I? Are you masturbating?"

"What?! No!" He exclaimed. "It's way too early in the morning! But now that you brought it up, sometimes I can't even—"

"Look. I know I'm a nurse, but you're still my nephew, and I think I can live my entire life without knowing anything else." Sandra interrupted. "I was gonna offer to do your laundry this weekend but it looks like you're doing it on your own from now on. Forever."

"You asked! I was just being honest!"

"I know, but I'm not a urologist! I don't need details! The 'no' would've sufficed!"

"Fine. Shit! My bad!" He flounced back on the bed, staring at a ceiling he didn't know if he'd ever get used to. "So, what the fuck do you want?"

"Hey, watch your attitude and your language! There's a child running around who loves playing, 'Monkey See, Monkey Do'!"

"Okay, okay! God!" He rubbed his face with his calloused palms. "It's too early in the morning for this."

"You're telling me!" She huffed irritably. "Anyway, you should've been up fifteen minutes ago and downstairs eating breakfast. I made bacon and eggs. Hm… Maybe I should've asked before hand because… I'm not sure if you even like eggs? But I think everyone likes bacon! There's always cereal and some toast."

John didn't know what to say. The last time he'd ever been woken up to homemade breakfast was a distant feeling now, locked away in a box in his mind. He couldn't recall anything on it, not the smell, now whether both his parents had been present for those times. For the last couple of years, cigarettes and an occasional Coca-Cola was served for breakfast. That wasn't exactly the most nutritious meal, but according to his father, that was as good as any hot meal.

"I'll eat it." He responded, feeling awkward and groggy and plain weird. "I just woke up. Uh… Sorry."

"Oh, okay. Good! I have to get to work by nine and we need to be in the car by seven. We're gonna get traffic on the way to school and I don't wanna catch any more traffic than I need to—Dustin, honey! No! Don't go down the stairs like that! Wait for me!"

John found the will to get up, padding across the room to the dresser. The top drawer was full of underwear and socks. He grabbed a white pair, and slid them on, wiggling his toes in them. The first pair of socks that didn't have holes in them.

He didn't expect an answer back but asked anyway as he rummaged in the second drawer for an undershirt, "Why don't I just take a bus?"

"You will! Starting tomorrow!" She yelled. "But I need to go with you to sign up for school."

Jon halted on the way to the closet.

Oh, God. He'd actually have to show up with Sandra like he was some five year old who couldn't even write his name yet—no offense to Dustin. It wasn't embarrassing enough to be the new kid.

John scowled as he picked out long sleeve, then a short sleeve green flannel to put over it, and a pair of snug Jordache's. Un-fucking-believable. Maybe it was better off as a dream.


On the outside, Shermer High didn't look that much different from Glenbrook High.

Shermer was an enclosed school, though, unlike Glenbrook—with it's numerous pillars holding up patios that were their hallways, and gated fences with school attendants always on the lookout for skipping students. Shermer High, on the other hand, looked every bit as grey and wilting as the penitentiary he'd been in and out of all his life. Except the grass looked freshly cut. And the driveway was clean of trash. And there were no fences blocking exits. But, after all, it was just another four walls, stuck with people that would find any reason not to like him.

John's eyes were hidden behind plastic sunglasses as he and Sandra, along with Dustin, prowled the halls for the main office. They'd arrived during homeroom, spotting only two students so far in the halls. John was glad for the moment though he know it wouldn't last long. Those two would tell their friends, and their friends would tell their friends, and so on. Rumors would start soon. People always loved novelties. They'd figure out where he was from, the reputation he'd left behind but would always carry with him. He wanted to try to put the past behind him, but he didn't know if he could.

The two administrators in the office looked as unhappy as ever to be back for another school year. The office aide, on the other hand, radiated. He might as well be a puppy—a very tall, scrawny puppy. His mom probably picked out that outfit—a knit sweater with geometric patterns and highwaters that probably showed off his socks. Why couldn't it be illegal for guys to wear pants that high?

The blond smiled broadly when they entered, his braces glittering. "Good morning! How may we, uh, be of assistance?"

"Good morning." Sandra replied, indicating to John with her elbow. "I'm here to enroll the big kid in big kid school."

John shot a glare at the back of Sandra's Farah Fawcett imposter hairdo.

"Sure! Uh…" He held up a finger sheepishly. "One moment."

John mulled on his lips as the kid skirted off behind the reception dest. Only two offices were here. The rest were just desks with computers, like cubicles without the walls. It was a little bit of a tight space. The office also led up to the library.

John leaned over, until the threshold no longer blocked his view. There was a class in session, though he wasn't sure what subject. Some of the girls were cute. Real cute. One girl's cupid lips chewed on the eraser end of her pencil. And he noticed another with a particularly nice set of long legs under her miniskirt. John always had a thing for dark hair and dark eyes.

But there was one girl that caught his attention the second time he looked. She was sitting in front of someone's office, waiting to be called. John slid his sunglasses to his nose to get a clearer view.

Her hair was perfect, and warm, an auburn color that reminded him of fall leaves. Full lips. Slender neck accentuated with a short Jackie-O kind of hair cut, and real pearl his mother dreamed of having. Toned legs he wouldn't mind his head being crushed in. Taking in her clothes, and the diamonds studs in her ears, she was definitely a richie—a smoking hot one at that. So spoiled, and so not his type. But a guy could dream, right?

John moved the sunglasses to the top of his head and started walking.

"Where do you think you're going, Rome-o?" Sandra held onto his denim jacket, stopping him. "Save that for another time."

John whirled, meeting her stern gaze. Dustin looked up, eyes darting between them.

"I just wanna say 'hi'…" He tried. "Shouldn't I make friends? You want me to be lonely my last year of school?"

Sandra let him go. "You don't just say 'hi' to a girl like that."

"… So, no friends?"

Sandra rolled her eyes. "Of course you can have friends, John. You might even get a girlfriend. That's not my point."

John clicked his tongue. "Well, since you mentioned 'girlfriends', I guess it's okay for me to say that I was actually gonna tell her something along the lines of—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there. I'd rather not know. I was a teenage girl once. I think I can figure it out." She shook her head, sighing in that tired adult-like sigh. "I need to remember to teach you some manners and how to properly approach girls when I get the time."

"Trust me." He leaned on the wall, hands in his pockets. "I don't need any help with that. Have I shown you my wallet?"

Sandra gave him a one up, frowning in disgust. "I'd rather not see it. And trust me, John, you'll be needing all the help you can get-especially if that's—" Sandra nudged her head in the girl's direction. "—what you're aiming for. You can thank me later. And since you're doing nothing but running your mouth, hold Dustin while I finish."

"Um, no. I don't think that's a good idea." John held his hands up in defense, Sandra not listening and scooping Dustin up. "No. No. No way—"

But Sandra deposited Dustin into his arms, dumping him like he was garbage and John was the can. He caught him before Dustin could slip and fall to the floor. His brows furrowed, watching Sandra's back as she returned to the papers. What kind of mom put their faith in a stranger—regardless if they were related? They barely knew each other. John didn't even know if he was holding Dustin right.

Dustin stared at him, blinking. He'd only seen bits of Dustin after dinner and shopping that Friday. Sandra's job kept her out often, so she left Dustin with a neighbor. John found himself alone over the weekend—not that he minded the silence at all.

"Hi."

His voice was little, light as a feather. From what John gathered, Dustin seemed shy. And he actually didn't weigh much. John wasn't sure why he thought Dustin would. He was small, and really warm.

"Hi…" John managed to say back. How the fuck do you talk to a little kid?

The toddler's eyes squinted, struggling. "… John?"

"Yeah." He replied and something just clicked in his head. "You know your name?"

He smiled, showing his dimples and some teeth growing in. "Dustin!"

This fuzzy feeling pooling in his stomach over having some toddler he barely knew smile at him made John want to puke. "Can I call you Dusty?"

Both Sandra and Dustin responded, "No."

"Why not? You guys are totally ruining my vibe today."

Dustin wailed the entire car ride to Shermer High. John had his Walkman but the volume just wasn't loud enough—and he'd had that shit turned on max. Not even Slayer could block Dustin out.

Dustin blinked again. "Why's school so big?"

"Because it's high school."

"What's that?"

John thought, then sighed. He could feel Sandra's smirk without looking at her. "Big kid school. Very big kid school."

"Do I go to big kid school?"

"No, you're too little. You gotta grow first."

Dustin giggled. "I'm not little."

John looked up. "In a few years, you'll be as tall as this ceiling."

"Mommy's tall."

"Yeah, but I'm still two inches taller."

Dustin giggled again. "No, you're little. Mommy's taller."

"It's only because she's wearing heels right now."

Sandra scoffed as she slid one of the papers across the desk to Brian. He heard her mumble you wish under her breath. John looked down, frowning when he saw her feet clad in penny loafers.

Dustin's eyes drifted closed. "I'm sleepy."

He put his head on John's shoulder, curling his little body further into him. Dustin's curls tickled his nose. His hair smelled like baby powder.

Honestly, he might as well contract the flu. John experienced many lows, probably too many to count. He could count on one hand the amount of highs. But nothing really compared to this feeling. It was better than the time he tried morphine. He didn't know how to feel about that.

John shuffled on his feet, trying to figure out if it was okay to even move Dustin around. "What's taking so long?"

Sandra glanced at them. "I'm going as fast as I can."

The boy had been watching the whole thing the entire time. "You don't have to stand. You can, uh, sit. There."

John shot a glare that spooked him but still listened, taking a seat. Sandra stayed standing, scribbling away and stopping occasionally to ask the kid for clarification on questions John didn't give a shit about.

He tried squaring his foot on his knee but it was a lot harder than it looked while holding a kid. Did parents just instinctively know this stuff? He didn't think he was cut out for this shit.

Peeking over Dustin's patch of hair, John saw the red head's cheeks were flushed. Her lips were in a tight line, hiding her smile. Did she see this? They say the way to a guy's heart was through his stomach. It was true for John. So maybe the one about kids and puppies being the way to a girl's heart had some truth to it, too.

Her face fell melted when the door clicked. John watched as a boy with muscles bigger than his brain came out. He was pissed, jaw clenched and looking like he had better places to be.

And the other guy that came out? John decided he hated his guts. He hadn't been wrong about Sullivan and knew he wouldn't be wrong about this guy. Why did John have this feeling he was going to see a lot of him?

The older man clutched his hips with knobby hands. His suit reminded him of something Barry Manilow would wear—rambunctious and out of style. His hawk eyes followed the athletes' every step towards the only exit.

"I don't wanna see you in here again, Andrew." He warned thinly. "I might've saved you last year from the stunt you pulled on that kid but you can kiss your LSU scholarship goodbye if you end up in here one more time."

"Whatever, scumbag." Andrew muttered with a scowl as he passed John. He reeked of sweat and tights.

The older man's eyes narrowed dangerously, having heard it. "What did you say?"

"Nothing, sir."

Andrew was gone.

Chickenshit. If it were John in his position, he wouldn't have held back. Then again, John had nothing to lose except dignity.

The older man's lip curled enough to bare his teeth. He whirled on the girl. "My office."

"Excuse me, sir?" She asked hesitantly, not getting up. "I understand what procured but I don't think I should be here—"

"If it weren't for you, none of this would've happened." He interrupted, pointing. "Principal Carmen being on leave doesn't give you kids the right to clownery! I will not have students fighting on school grounds. You should consider yourself lucky I'm not calling your father and explaining the situation."

She blanched. "But it's not a situation, sir! Andrew was just trying to—"

"Enough!" She jumped, clearly unused to being talked to like that. Even Dustin nearly roused by how loud the shout had been. "My office. Now."

Her shoulders slumped. Defeated, she got up, dragging her feet the entire way to his room. The door closed and the rest of office fell silent. As if his curiosity about her wasn't high enough, now John really wanted to know her.

"All done, Johnny-boy!" Sandra's voice snapped him out of his reverie, ruffling his hair like he was just as little as Dustin.

John grimaced, trying to slap her hand away without waking Dustin. "Now what?"

"Now you just pass him to me and fill out this paper." She shoved the paper in front of his face. He grabbed it as she carefully pried Dustin off him. "Hand it back to Brian when you're finished. Then, you start school."

"Fantastic."

"I thought it was, too! But I need to get going." She fixed Dustin's position. He mumbled something, his eyes fluttering between sleep and consciousness. "Behave, okay? And stay outta trouble!"

"Yeah, yeah. I got it." He waved her off. "Bye, Sandra-Dee."

"Oh, my God! Gross!" She almost shivered as she walked out the door. "I hate that name!"

The smirk on his lips faded when his eyes landed on the sheet he'd taken from Sandra. It was full of classes. Some of the names of the core classes boggled him. John didn't have any of these in his old school. Physics? College Ready Math? What the fuck was Statistics? And who the fuck took Trigonometry? Wasn't that a college course?

John shook his head, ignoring that side and circled the electives he liked. The max choice was three but he picked six, just because. It was improbable he'd get what he wanted, but Shermer seemed like a big enough school that maybe he could get at least one he liked.

He slid the paper over the counter and sat back down. He leaned back and waited. John waited so long he almost thought about taking a nap. Then, the loud licking of a printer started going off.

"Uh, John Bender?" Brian ripped the paper from the printer, stepping through the door that separated them. "Here's your schedule."

John was in luck. Woodworking was on his schedule, along with Ceramics. The only problem was… Woodworking was his last period of the day. There went his plans for skipping.

"I hope, uh, everything's to your liking."

"Could be worse, dork."

"My name's Brian." He corrected. "Brian Johnson."

John folded the paper, placing it in his breast pocket. "My condolences."

Brian pulled his lips, shuffling on his feet. They were almost the same height. Actually, Brian might grow to be a bit taller than him soon.

"I, uh, have to show you around." He started timidly. "It's usually student council's job but they're, uh, still deciding on a president for the, you know, new school year. So it's my job for the time being."

"Lead the way."

Brian shut his mouth. "Right…"

Brian froze once they were out in the hallway. John's brow rose as Brian patted himself down. He pulled out the pockets of his high waters and almost took off his sneakers, as if whatever he was looking for would actually be in there.

Brian hurried back inside and popped back out within seconds like a weasel in a hole. The hall pass dangled around his neck, something of a medal won at a science fair.

"You should've left it." John commented as they started walking.

His light green eyes widened. "If I did then I'd get in trouble with Vernon."

"Who's that?"

"The one that was speaking to Andrew, and, uh, Claire."

"Ah. That didn't sound like speaking, though."

John decided Vernon was on his list of dislikes, surpassing broccoli. Andrew seemed like he'd be fun to bug the shit out of. And Claire was obvious. He wondered if he'd ever see her again. He'd trade anything to see her pretty face over Vernon's any day.

"He's not a, you know, complete bad guy…" Brian tried. "He does a lot for us. The student body. He takes care of us."

John flicked his hair out of his face. "Doubt it."

Passing by a bulletin board, he ripped off a hanging paper. He scowled as he read through the list. It was the required reading from the past summer, books he'd never read in a million years.

John crumpled up the paper into a ball and threw it behind them.

"You shouldn't have done that… That's, uh… That's school property."

"Who cares? Being bad always feels good."

Brian's nose scrunched. "I can't understand how."

"That's 'cause you've got no idea what to do with yourself expect to be a better citizen." He stated.

He flushed. "That's not true!"

"Face it, dork. You're a parent's wet dream."

"But I don't want to be!" Brian said quietly. "That's… That's the problem, I guess."

"Tell 'em that."

Brian's jaw dropped. "Are you crazy?! My mom would throw a circus!"

"Poor baby." John said. "Then all that's left to do is take a ride on the wild side. It's real easy."

Brian grimaced. "I'd rather not."

John shrugged and Brian went off, rambling about all things school related. He talked about clubs that were still open and mentioned the brief history of the school—nothing John actually cared about.

The school newspaper on the first step of a staircase they passed by caught John's eye. The title read, Andrew Clarke Leading Shermer High Toward Another Golden Year. The black and white photograph under it confirmed it was the same kid from the office. God, and he did wear tights. Another illegality.

Brian pointed, turning John's attention back to him. "So, if you go straight, it'll take you through the, uh, activities hall. Down that way is the cafeteria."

"What do you do for fun, Big-Bri?" John asked abruptly.

"Uh…" His bony fingers fiddled with the strings holding pass. "Well, I'm in several clubs. The uh, Latin club, the math club and the, uh, physics club—"

"I said 'fun', not 'insanity'." John clarified.

"Well, in Physics, we, um, we talk about Physics—the properties of Physics." Brian explained. "In Latin, we, uh, sit around and learn about the structure of Latin. We also speak to one another in, uh, Latin…"

All John could do was stare.

Brian blushed under the intensity. "I know it, uh, doesn't sound fun to you but it's a sorta social situation and, um, enjoyable for me…"

"So it's demented and sad, yet social?"

Brian nodded weakly, continuing, "We also, you know, have a big banquet at the Hilton at the end of the year."

"You load up? You party?"

"Well, no, we get dressed up." Brian responded carefully. "I mean, we don't get, uh, we don't get high, or anything like that…"

John snorted, deciding to not take it personally. "You gotta get out more."

"Sure, that would be nice—in theory…" John beckoned him to continue with a motion of his head. "…If it weren't for my parents…"

"… So?" He asked skeptically. He honestly couldn't believe anyone's parents could be worse than his. Not this kid especially. His sweater may be ugly, and those pants tight and embarrassing, but they were polished, and wrinkle free, and still vibrant in color. Even his sneakers weren't soiled. It couldn't be all that bad. "What about 'em?"

"I'm not really, uh, comfortable describing my personal, private business."

John rolled his eyes. "Big-Bri, relax. You're not even doing any real business."

His eyes widened, body stiffened. "How do you know that?"

"When've you ever gotten laid?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

His mouth opened and closed, a fish grasping for water out in the air. "I've laid lots of times!"

"Name. One." John challenged.

Brian mulled on his lips, before he looked away. Ashamed. "She lives in Canada."

John's snort echoed through the vacant hall. "Sure."

"I mean it!"

John licked back his smirk. He'd take pity on him and change the subject. He'd gotten under Brian's skin enough. "What about Cherry?" Brian's brows furrowed. "That richie that was in the office?"

"You mean Claire Standish?" He corrected. "Are you, uh, talking about her and me?"

John blinked, taken aback. "Oh?"

"'Oh'?" Brian repeated, then realized and frantically waved his arms. "Oh, no! No. That would never happen… I don't think she knows I, uh, you know, exist."

"Aw. You like her, don't ya, Big-Bri?"

Brian shook his head. "No, but I guess I wouldn't mind, uh, associating with her. She's, you know, part of the popular group."

"Probably a pristine girl, too." John commented, remembering those legs he wouldn't mind having wrapped around him.

"I dunno what to tell you, Bender. It's not my business or anyone's business for that matter…"

"Yeah, guess it's not really anyone's business." He licked his lip. "I wanna make it my business, though."

"I don't think that's, uh, that's a good idea…" He trailed off.

"Why not?"

"Well, she's, uh, been dating this guy for about a year now." Brian explained. "He goes to a different school."

"Of course he does." He muttered. "What's he like?"

"Well dressed. Good hair. Um…" Brian paused, thinking. "Popular at his school. An athlete. And, um, he's a bit of an asshole."

John's brow rose in interest. "My level of asshole or worse?"

"I don't really know you, so I, uh, can't say." He replied. "But you don't really seem like a, you know, like an all around bad guy…"

John didn't consider himself much of a good guy.

In Glenbrook, a kid like Brian with his dorky personality and mom's sweater would've had their head in a toilet for just looking at him. John might've even taken his lunch money. He knew it was wrong but it's a dog-eat-dog world. Survival of the fittest.

And John knew it was a dumb idea. He didn't deserve to even be thinking it, but he really did want a clean slate here; to start over. In Lyons, he was on a one way street headed towards a dead end, headed towards becoming his father.

"Maybe she's got a type." John commented out loud, flicking his hair again. "You think she'd be interested in me, Brian?"

"No." Brian's blunt response caught John off guard. "I don't."

John scoffed, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "That's the last time I call you 'Brian'."


"This way, Bender." Vernon grabbed John's arm, fingers digging into his skin despite the layers of clothes. "This isn't—"

John ripped away. "Hey, keep your fuckin' hands off me! I expected better manners from ya, Dick."

Vernon clenched his jaw, slowing his pace. He let John walk ahead of him. The heels of his dress shoes on the marble sounded like chalk grating on a board. It was annoying, and rattled along with the anger pulsing through his veins.

"I should've known you'd be nothing but trouble. I should've known this would happen. Everything's just a big joke to punks like you. I should've—"

John blocked out the rest of Vernon's tantrum as they walked.

The school was as ominous empty as John expected it to be on a Saturday. Only a dumbfuck would be here. John guessed he should tattoo Captain Dumbfuck on his forehead.

If Sandra knew he was here... John wanted to sigh. He not only lied about going out job hunting today, but he'd also broken one of her rules. No drugs. He just wanted the throbbing to go away. And for his new friends not to label him as a pussy for passing up. The thought of it all coming back to her, of disappointing her, made John curl his fists in his pockets as they passed the offices. He was ready to explode any second. He couldn't say anything without the urge to scream.

John decided to make the second desk of the right row his. He dropped his sunglasses on the table, pulling out two chairs and propping his feet on one while sitting on the other.

Vernon planted himself in the front of the room, scowling and growling like some kind of starved animal, hands on his hips. "Get your feet off the seat, pal! You're not sleeping in here."

John rolled his eyes but complied—for now—making sure his feet stomped on the ground. He crossed his arms, staring at a carving someone made. I Hate Monday's. God, he missed his switchblade. It'd been confiscated back in Lyons.

Vernon jabbed a finger in his direction. "No talking, no sleeping, and don't move from your seat. Am I clear, Mr. Bender?"

Like John had thought, he saw a lot of Vernon. A lot. Any time John walked the halls, Vernon was there. Watching. Waiting. He knew, just knew, that Vernon took a peep at his school records and found the more incriminating records, not that it was hard to find. He was willing to bet his entire stash tucked safely away in his locker.

John picked at the fabric of his red scarf. "Crystal."

"Good. Maybe you'll learn a little something about yourself." He said, finally walking away to his office and leaving John alone.

John leaned far back against the chair, contemplating how he'd survive the next eight hours. And he didn't need Vernon to tell him that. The lesson was finally learned.

It'd been a long time coming, but this was the last time John would ever take the fall for someone.


"Bender! My man!" Dennis found John on the way to lunch, throwing an arm over his rigid shoulders, pulling him closer. Dennis reeked of piss and alcohol. He probably skipped third period to get high before lunch. It wasn't exactly uncommon for him. "How was detention?"

John's lip curled. It was Monday and he was still pissed off. The last thing he needed was Dennis' hounding and unwanted affection.

"About as good as licking gum off the fuckin' floor." John replied.

"Aw, Johnny!" He grinned. "Have I ever told ya that's one of my many talents?"

John rolled his eyes. "You might've mentioned it once or twice."

"Hey. So, listen..." Dennis trailed off, building the suspense, leaned closer so that their cheeks were almost touching and John's nostrils were overstimulated and invaded with the stench. How was this kid even functioning right now? "Just got word about one of the richies throwin' some kind of extravaganza this weekend. You in? It'd be a lot of dough."

"Can't." He replied immediately, curtly. "Sandra needs my help with something." Which wasn't a total lie.

Dennis hummed. "San-dra… Have I ever mentioned how good your aunt's been looking to me lately? She's a little too tall for me but I've never backed down from a challenge. If she needs anything, she should call me instead. I'd love to help around that house."

John ran his tongue over his teeth, clenching his jaw tightly. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much. "She doesn't fuck children."

"Who're you calling a child?" He asked, his tone a mix of humor and riled. "I'm a real man now! I can do whatever the fuck I want."

"Seventeen doesn't suddenly make ya a man, asshole. Look at you." John indicated with his hand. On top of being out of his mind stoned, Dennis looked like he just rolled out of bed, long hair tangled and teeth yellow. "You can barely take care of yourself."

Dennis gave a sly look, grabbing his unimpressive package through his acid-washed jeans with his free hand. "All she's gotta do is see this."

"I'd gladly help your sister around, ya know." John blurted the first thing that came to his mind since common sense wasn't working with Dennis. "All she's gotta do is say when."

Dennis finally finally finally retracted his arm. Despite the haze from the alcohol mixed with weed, the look in his muddy eyes spoke danger. If only Dennis knew about John's history with knives. If only. He'd direct that angry look somewhere else, if he did.

"The fuck, Bender? My little sister's off limits."

He grit his teeth. "Then stop fuckin' talking about my aunt like that."

"Ooh." He drawled. "Someone's being touchy-touchy today."

"Just leave me the fuck alone, Dennis."

Dennis held up his palms in mock defense before turning forward. "What's got your panties in a wad? Huh, Bender? You think you're a real man?"

John rolled his eyes, watching Dennis' sloppy peacock walk. It took everything in him not to trip him. All it'd take was a movement of his foot under his. But Dennis deserved so much more than that.

"Yo, Bennie!" Dennis called out excitedly. "Get over here!"

Bennie was already heading their way, looking like he was going towards the bleachers instead of the cafeteria.

"Denny!" Bennie and Dennis greeted each other with their secret handshake. "What's up?"

"A little ways gone."

"How're you still living, dude?" Bennie asked jokingly, chuckling. "All you ever do is get fucked up. I don't think there's been a day in the last five years that I haven't seen you this way."

Dennis shrugged. "Just trying out this new chronic shit."

"You're always trying out some new chronic shit... Yo, Bender!" Bennie held his hand up. "That mash potato shit was pretty awesome, right? All thanks to Denny's genius!"

John eyed it. "For you guys."

Dennis had sprinkled boxes of powder mash potatoes by the sprinklers. And, of course, John just happened to be there. And Vernon just happened to show up as they went off.

Bennie's face and arm fell. "So… How was Saturday? Vernon do you in?"

John snorted. "Like hell he could."

Marcos popped up from somewhere behind John. He had some weird obsession with James Dean and always sported a similar red jacket to the one he wore in Rebel Without a Cause. Then again, he loved anything vintage.

"Bender!" He smiled. "How was detention, bro?"

John did everything in his power not to detonate. He was so tired of that dumb, fucking question and it'd only been less than ten minutes. None of them could take a hint or a hike. They were glued to him like a pack of ducklings. He wasn't their momma duck, he didn't want any of this shit.

"Don't bother." Dennis responded with a flick of his wrist above his head. "Bender's got his panties in a bunch today."

John shot a scowl at the back of his head, wishing he had tripped him. "It was fine."

"So, what happened?" Marcos asked curiously. "Did Carl stop by? He's done that a few times with me. He's a cool dude."

"No." Carl did. He was pretty all right in John's book, for a school janitor. He shared his stash and Carl even let him have a beer. "Don't know who he is."

"Really?" Bennie asked this time. "What about writing an essay? Vernon does that sometimes. Comes up with the weirdest shit."

Marcos gave his best impersonation of Vernon, puffing out his chest and placing his hands on his hips. "'No less than a thousand words. And I do not mean a single word repeated a thousand times'!"

They all laughed, except John.

"No." At least he didn't lie about that.

"Dude, really? Nothing?" Marcos face twisted. "You got lucky."

If being locked in a storage closet after lunch was 'lucky' then John didn't know what to tell them.

Entering the crowded cafeteria, John grabbed what he wanted as quickly as possible, just an apple and milk. His friends did their thing and caused a huge commotion. He was sure if he didn't get out now, they'd start a fight with the jocks waiting in line.

He looked back, making sure none of them noted his absence. John ducked away, avoiding the eyes of the cashiers and headed outside.

Fall was on the small list of things he found pretty. Leaves falling from the boxelder trees were shades of oranges and reds that were the same colors of the sunset and Claire's hair. He hadn't seen her since his first day. They had no classes together, not even classes near each other—not to mention they were from completely opposite spectrums. He still held onto useless hope he'd get to talk to her one day.

Weaving through the milling courtyard, John wasn't shocked to see her out here. She occupied a table on her own, right under a tree. There were leaves on her clothes and in her hair. He'd been thinking over the weekend about making new friends. Maybe this was his shot. John wasn't sure what her name was, though. All he had was the fact that they shared second period English. She sat at the opposite end of the room due to assigned seating.

"So!" John announced, sitting on her same bench but at the edge, leaving plenty of space between them. He'd always in an in-your-face type of guy, but he didn't want to scare her off. "Where're your pals?"

She didn't answer. Purposely ignoring him or lost within her reading. John's head tilted, trying to get a better look at the cover. He bit into the green apple, revealing in the bitter, juicy taste. He actually knew what she was reading. Mr. Tierney assigned them the first three chapters of Tender in the Night for a quiz this Friday.

"That for Tierney?" She squeaked like some fucking furry tree animal. John didn't know what to think of it. "Hm. So you don't talk..."

He tore the milk carton open and fuck! He grabbed two percent instead of chocolate. Was this a sign of an uncanny week to come?

She didn't have any lunch in front of her besides a can of Coca-Cola. She must've gotten it from the machine in the teacher's lounge. Nice. That meant she had access to places. The flap of her bag was open, though, and he saw plastic bags of food. Sandwiches. And a bag of Doritos torn open on top of all the school supplies. A Chemistry textbook. Two composition books. A binder. And… John squinted, leaning in slightly. A sketchpad? Curiosity gnawed on him and he reached out. She was too preoccupied.

He'd only touched the tip of the hardback before she slapped his hand away, without so much as looking. It didn't sting but he still retracted it.

"Ah!" John exclaimed pleasantly surprised by her reaction. "So she's not a total gargoyle!"

She didn't offer anything. Not another movement, not another peep.

John took another bite of his apple with a scowl, the bitter taste reflecting his bitter mood. Being a pest wasn't fun when he didn't get a reaction. She probably didn't even speak human.

But the silence between them wasn't weird. He actually liked it, it didn't need to be filled with empty words. The breeze came, blowing through the almost leafless trees and John knew, sometimes, good things came in unexpected forms. They may not know each other but she seemed fine with him being here.

Maybe on the inside, Shermer High was different.