Friday afternoon rolled by faster than I anticipated and I found myself exiting the Chemistry laboratory along with a dozen or so other students. Carson and I agreed last Wednesday—just outside the cafeteria, right after his heated argument with Remy, if you don't remember—that we should hold the tutoring sessions during Fridays after school, since I'm unavailable during the weekends and it was the only day he was free.

I'm actually surprised that I'm calm about the fact that I'm about to go to the journalism classroom to tutor Carson one on one, with no one else; just the two of us…all alone. I think you get my point. I'll stop now.

I walked down the crowded hallways, pushing past the students and pointedly avoiding the sweaty jocks who hung around the lockers. While I squeezed my way through other students, I heard distinct shouts of happiness and a variation of T.G.I.F.s echoing all over.

Despite being sandwiched between people with impossibly strong-scented, overly sweet-smelling colognes and being shoved and elbowed and bumped on by sharp shoulders, I found myself grinning stupidly with the others.

Thank God it's Friday.

Better yet, thank God these students still know how say the words 'Thank you'. We teenagers are usually so dramatic and self-centered, choosing to wallow in our pool of self-hate instead of finding something that we could be grateful for—I'm not even going to try and exempt myself on this one.

Finally escaping the wrath of the main corridor, I jogged towards the journalism classroom with less effort, the hallway here visibly less jam-packed. The door was slightly open when I stopped in front of it and from the tiny gap, I could make out a blue figure sitting on the desk of a chair. Cue to jaw drop and raised eyebrows. Carson was unbelievably early. And here I thought I was always in time.

How long had he been waiting in there for me?

I was expecting to enter an empty classroom and sit there for at least fifteen minutes before the person I was supposed to teach came. That was how it usually was, no matter who I taught.

How come he always defied everything I've ever expected?

How did he manage to shock me and take me out of my comfort zone every single damn time? This wasn't even funny anymore.

I could feel my earlier courage melting away and turning into an impending nervous breakdown instead.

Taking in a deep breath and forcing down the annoying, nervous lump in my throat, I shook my head. "I can do this." I told myself in an encouraging whisper. "Calm down, Raewyn." Immediately, I felt stupid for talking to myself. What sane person does that?

Apparently, Carson also had the talent to reduce me to this paranoid, nonsense-making, crazy being I was now. Maybe this was why everyone hated Carson so much: he tended to disobey every rule and normal thing you have in your personal book.

No, I don't hate him. I don't think I ever will, honestly, even if I wanted to. I'm just…scared of him, I guess. Scared of what he does and what he'll do next.

Grabbing the cold doorknob, I entered the room with a tight smile. "Hey." I greeted, walking to the chair facing his and dropping my bag to the floor. "Didn't expect you to be here already." Carson looked up from where he was glaring at the tiles and gave me a flat look.

"Yeah, well, you sure took your time." He drawled out in a tone that I couldn't quite tell whether it was sarcastic or angry.

I settled for raising my eyebrows in defense. "Hey now, don't blame me if you're early. It's not like I'm late anyway. I came just in time."

A snort escaped Carson as I sat from across him, in the process of taking out my Algebra 2 book from my bag. I frowned. Obviously, this wasn't going the way I wanted it to go. Carson was irritated for some reason, which may or may not have something to do with me. I wonder what made him upset. Had I done or said anything wrong? A tired sigh cut me out of my thoughts and I looked up from the page I was currently browsing through to look at him.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah." He answered in a way that made me think otherwise and smoothed back his hair. "Let's just…" He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose, and I couldn't help but notice that he looked a little more stressed out than that of usual. "Let's just get this shit over with."

I nodded reluctantly. "Of course."

Twenty minutes into the lesson and I could already tell that Carson wasn't paying the least bit attention. He was gazing off into the empty space to my side with his chin propped up on a closed fist, his bluish gray (or was it greenish blue? Grayish green? I don't know.) eyes glazed as if stuck in some deep thought.

The way he kept nodding his head every two minutes to support his fake listening didn't quite help either, since I stopped talking about five minutes ago. He was still nodding; I didn't know whether I should call him out on it or keep staring. A guilty part of me approved greatly of the 'keep on staring' plan. I mean, it was just hilarious to watch him nod to complete and utter silence.

On the other hand, I knew that wasn't right. He didn't deserve to be mocked like that, even when he kind of acted like a jerk to me earlier (that, and the fact that it was so amusing to watch). Maybe there was something genuinely wrong. Maybe something was bothering him. I wouldn't know.

Though I desperately want to, a creepy voice added inside my head and I blinked rapidly.

Did I really want to know?

Duh.

Okay, the snarky voice speaking inside my brain was beginning to scare me. Fine, I admit that maybe a teeny, tiny, itty-bitty, little part of me did want to know. But seriously, what was I supposed to do about it? Better yet, was I even supposed to do anything at all?

Biting my lip to prevent an exasperated sigh from coming out, I glanced up at Carson and found him still transfixed on the seemingly interesting thin air. The creases in the middle of his forehead dug a little deeper, too. Then and there, I decided, that, yes, I would have to do something about it. Not because it was expected of me, but because I wanted to.

Help, I mean, not pry.

I cleared my throat gently, letting him realize that I was still there in front of him. Carson didn't react. He didn't even budge. Taking in a deep breath, I tried again, clearing my throat louder but Carson just kept on staring and looking dazed, as if he shut out the whole world and the only thing that was there was himself and his thoughts. Wow, talk about deep contemplation. With no other options left, I tentatively reached out, keeping my eyes fixed on his troubled face the whole time.

"Carson."

My voice seemed to break the spell and he blinked rapidly, his frown disappearing. My hand froze in mid-motion and I held my breath. I wasn't expecting him to actually react (and react so fast) this time.

His eyes flickered to my stiff expression. "What?" He asked slowly, confused. The question brought back some sense of reality in me and I dropped the hand that was stuck in mid-air. "Um…" I trailed off uncomfortably, looking down at the open book and thinking of ways on how to start this undeniably awkward conversation.

"Are you…" I glanced up from beneath my eyelashes, my tone still uncertain, "okay?" Carson stared at me for a moment, silently trying to understand what the hell possessed me to ask him that question, and then shrugged.

"I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yes." He said with a roll of his eyes. One side of his mouth quirked down in what looked like impatience. "Can we continue with the lesson? As far as I know, I signed up for a tutoring session, not a check-up with the psychiatrist." I clenched my teeth at his answer and nodded. See, brain? Trying to know things you're not supposed to know gets you into trouble. Now shut up and keep your annoying ideas to yourself.

"Okay. Let's just um…" I said and swallowed, glancing down to avoid his irritated glare. "Yeah, let's go back. Sorry."

We resumed the lesson and silence stretched on between the two of us again, despite my brief explanations. Carson fixed his stare at the book, nodding as I went through the solution of the problem given as an example.

"…And so you transpose this in order to create a value for the variable. Now that we know the value of a, we can proceed to—" I stopped in the middle of my explanation when I snuck a glance at him and realized that he wasn't paying attention. Again. "—to substituting the variable…" I trailed off lamely and took in a deep breath to calm myself down and to cool my temper.

Perhaps counting to ten would help. They've always said it was an effective anger management technique.

One…two…three…

"What's bothering you, Carson?"

Shit. Okay, maybe it wasn't as effective as people thought it was.

Carson looked up at me, broken away from his trance and looking so lost that he managed to make me lose at least half of my anger—along with it came half of my courage. He blinked twice and then frowned, not at me, but at himself for getting caught.

He shook his head. "Sorry. I spaced out for a minute. Let's go back to—"

"What's bothering you?" I asked again, dropping the pen I held on the textbook. I was surprised I even found the guts to repeat my question. This wasn't like me. "Is it me? Are my explanations hard to understand? Am I going too fast?"

Scratch that. This wasn't like me at all. Where did all my control and levelheadedness fly away to?

Even Carson looked shocked at my sudden tirade of questions. I wanted to take a moment and just be proud of speaking up but I couldn't stop once I started. "Is it my voice? Is it so boring-sounding that you feel the need to fall asleep on me?"

Finally, it seemed, Carson found an opening and immediately piped in defensively, "I was not falling asleep." I paused and frowned, allowing what he said register to my brain. Well, that was true. Shaking my head, I closed the thick Algebra book and met his eyes.

"Yes, but you weren't exactly paying attention either."

The blank look he gave me was all I needed to confirm that he was surrendering, unable to think of any excuses for that. Closing my eyes, I leaned back against the chair and sighed, one of my hands flying up to cover my face. I could feel a headache brewing at the back of my head and it did not feel nice.

What had I done to get into this mess?

"Look", It was Carson who spoke up, "this has just been a really, really, really", he emphasized with a sigh and combed through his messy hair, "shitty day for me, so I'd really appreciate it if you cut me some slack." Through the gap between my fingers, I peeked at him timidly. I admit, it was kind of relieving to hear that it was this day's events that bothered him and not me or my voice. I didn't know how I'd have reacted if ever he did say that it was me that was the problem.

"I am cutting you some slack."

Taking off my hand, I opened my eyes and met his narrowed stare without blinking. I didn't know what kept me talking but I was desperately hoping that whatever it was wouldn't go away so soon. "I can't say I'm not offended about you not paying attention but I understand that you're having trouble with…" I snapped my fingers twice, unable to explain. What was the right word for this? "…personal issues at the moment."

I bit my lip uncertainly and cleared my throat. "I understand." I told him again. "I really, really do. But you're going to have to tell me what's wrong so we could, you know, work this out." I gestured between us and looked up at him expectantly. I hope he didn't think I was crossing a line. I just wanted to help. "So, come on." I urged him, leaning forward and setting my elbows down on my knees.

"Tell me." The sooner we fix his problem, the sooner we can go back to business. This was some hard work.

Carson looked at me skeptically and glared, like he was trying to know if I was messing with him or not. "You really want to know?" He asked me doubtfully as he looked away. I let out a sigh of relief when his eyes left my face. He looked kind of scary when he was glaring.

"Yeah." I said with a nod and I watched as he slumped down on his chair in defeat. I dragged my seat an inch closer and waited for his answer.

I heard Carson sigh again and from the corner of his eye, he glanced at me. "Do you ever think about what you'll be…in the future, I mean?" His voice was quiet and if I didn't know better, I'd say he sounded ashamed of sharing.

"Of course…" I nodded cautiously and tried not to let my confusion show on my face. I didn't know what possessed him to ask that. Weren't we supposed to address his problem just now?

His tongue swiped across his lower lip in a hasty manner and Carson shifted slightly on his chair, fixing his position so he could look at me fully. "Well, I know exactly what I want to be."

"What's that?"

"I want to be the editor of the New Yorker and the youngest freelance journalist to be published in the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, the Chicago Tribune, and the Boston Globe." I inhaled sharply at his answer with round eyes and opened my mouth to comment, but I found myself speechless. His answer sounded rehearsed, as if he said it a few more times in his life than actually intended.

"Um." Was all I could get out as Carson stared pointedly, waiting, and I was under pressure to clear the fog in my head. Wow. He had big dreams. Really, really specific and big dreams. Dreams that used to be just like mine. Dreams that stabbed a certain part of me that I was sure I got rid of during the past few years.

Swallowing hard and pushing away my distracting thoughts, I blinked up at him. "And that's a problem, because….?"

Carson scowled down on the ground. "Well, in order for that to happen, I have to get into Northwestern." I nodded supportively. "Okay. So you're having problems with sending the application form?" I tried to guess and watched his reaction closely. "Or is it the application form itself?"

He shook his head and pushed his back against the back of the chair, making him slide down a little on his seat. "I already sent it." He said glumly and frowned and to my greatest horror and embarrassment, I found myself entranced by the small pout his lips formed.

"The thing is, I don't know how to impress them in order for me to get in." Carson said and paused, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, "Actually, I do know how to impress them. Ms. Sharpton—you know, the guidance counselor with the unhealthy obsession with pink?—gave me a few examples. I'm just not sure how to do it."

"O-Oh." I stuttered dumbly and forced my eyes to tear away from his mouth. I turned to the windows, busying myself with looking at the dancing leaves outside. "What were the examples anyway?"

"A collection of poems, a short story, perhaps a literary magazine, blah, blah, blah." The frown on his face dug even deeper as he continued, "I'm not a poet; sure as hell am not a novelist, too." Groaning out loud, Carson let his head fall back and I heard a dull thud as the back of his head collided with the top of the chair. His hands followed up next, covering his face. "The closest shot I have is the literary magazine and I don't have the slightest fucking clue on how to make one."

I sighed quietly, sympathizing with him. I knew how frustrating dreams and plans for the future could be. Clearing my throat to get his attention, I looked down on the book on my desk and began, "Literary magazines, huh?" I couldn't tell if he was paying attention or not because of his hands but I continued nonetheless.

"Isn't that some kind of compilation of literary submissions from different people? I think that's how you do it." I explained patiently and waited for his reply. What I got was a jumbled mess of words as a response because his hands blocked his mouth.

Frowning, I leaned in. "What? I didn't get that."

Carson lifted his head to glare at me and he repeated with irritation, "I said, fucking great." He slammed a hand down on the desk and I jumped at the sound. "Just. Fucking. Perfect!" Sarcasm was oozing out of his tone and dripping down on the tiled floor. I raised an eyebrow at his sudden anger.

"You don't look like you think it's perfect." I pointed out the obvious, trying to coax out an explanation out of him. Preferably one that was clean and decent and void of any profanities. He let out a sigh of exasperation before grudgingly clarifying his statement.

"If you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly the most favorite person of this damn high school. How the hell am I supposed to expect literary submissions from them, if I can't even get one fucking genuine smile from a person in this campus?" He snapped and ran a hand through his hair, something that I noticed he did a lot when he was frustrated.

I shrugged consolingly. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

Carson scoffed. "Right."

He shook his head and crossed his arms, his narrowed eyes challenging me. "Last week, after a meeting with council, somebody stuck a tampon on my back and nobody even had the decency to tell me. I had to walk around with it until lunch break when a janitor finally picked it off me."

Against my will, I could feel my mouth dropping open. I bit back a horrified 'Oh my god'. I mean, that must've been so humiliating. How did he gather up the courage to go to school everyday, if it meant torture like this? I was starting to rethink of my unnecessary detachment from Carson.

It wasn't fair that I try to avoid him, just because I was scared of what he unconsciously did. He wasn't doing anything wrong and he didn't need another distant spectator to watch his misery as he suffers in it.

"Oh, and also, three days ago, I went to replace the Writers' Club flyers. Again." He said through gritted teeth and I patiently allowed him to go on with his rant. "There was a message left there and I'm pretty sure it was addressed to me rather than to anyone else in the club: We, apparently, 'Such cock'." I winced at the way he said the words without much care, though I could see in his eyes that he was still riled up about it.

He pinned his glare at me again, daring me to argue. "Tell me, Raewyn." He drawled out with barely controlled rage, his fingers clenched tight around his arms. "Do you still think that 'it's not that bad'?"

Besides the obvious, cold anger, I saw a hint of hopelessness dancing across his gaze, a flash of something that closely resembled an urge to finally give up. He was staring at me and all I could do was look back at him helplessly.

"I'm sorry."

Shock flew into Carson's expression and his eyes hardened. "What? Why?" He asked me in disbelief, his shoulders tensing up. "Did you finally realize how pathetic I was? Did you realize just now how utter miserable my life is?"

"No!" I clarified immediately, rushing to put my hands up in placating manner. I looked at him weakly, my stupid mouth stumbling over my words. "I just—that's not what I meant, okay? I'm—I didn't know t-that, um…god!" I hissed under my breath, frustrated in the way I couldn't even form a meaningful sentence. Stupid, stupid mouth.

I took in a deep breath and let it out part by part, trying not to be bothered by the way Carson was still grimacing at me. I rubbed the back of my neck. "I guess I'm sorry that I…" I swallowed and concentrated on finishing my sentence, "…that I haven't been so, you know, understanding before. I had no idea that you already suffered so much from other people. You don't need more crap from me."

Carson's glare softened and he snorted ruefully. "So, you pity me?" His eyes held a hidden tint of sadness as he spoke.

"No." I shook my head, frowning. "I just don't think it's fair to anyone to be bullied." At my answer, Carson raised an eyebrow and fought down a smile. He seemed thoroughly amused.

"Bullied?" He repeated, not quite believing me.

He shook his head and relaxed back on his chair, making the tension in the air fade away.

"Oh, please." He said with a smirk, a chuckle tagging along the end of his sentence. "I'm too mean and sarcastic and evil for their ways to be considered bullying. It wouldn't be fair to them, really. Trust me when I say that I'm far from bullied, sweetheart."

There goes my heart beat again, running a hundred miles per hour. He should really stop calling me sweetheart.

One of these days, I swear I'd die of heart failure if he ever kept that up.

"Fine." I rolled my eyes and leaned away. "Forget I ever sympathized with you. And here I thought you were an innocent victim all along." I remarked dryly and earned a pleased grin from him. He seemed much better now that we were shifting off to a safer topic but then again, we never really reached a conclusion with our previous conversation.

Deciding I'll take my chances, I pressed my lips down and turned serious once more. "Seriously, though." I told Carson as I looked out of the window again. I didn't have the courage to face him like a normal person would while talking to someone. "I'm sorry, okay? You don't deserve that kind of treatment. Nobody does. I guess society tends to shun smart and talented people."

I glanced at him shyly, uncertain of what his reaction would be and swallowed hard. To my surprise, he had a small, curious frown on his face, no traces of his earlier anger and annoyance present. I thought for sure he'd be smug at my subtle praise all alone. Carson stared, amazed, as he scrutinized me like I was some kind of specimen he'd never seen before.

"Thanks…I guess." He said slowly in the same awkward tone he used back when we first met. I spared him the discomfort of the mushy stuff and smiled a small lopsided beam.

"Don't mention it."

Silence dawned between us, this time much more bearable than the ones before, and I realized with a start that time flew by quickly without us knowing. It was already dark out as I glanced out of the open window. The late evening breeze came in and traveled around the room and both of us shivered instinctively.

"It's late." Carson noticed and turned to me with an expectant frown. "Don't you usually go home early?"

"You…" I furrowed my eyebrows at him. "You know I go home early?"

"Well, I don't see you hanging around the school campus after class, so I'm guessing that you do…Don't you?"

"I do." I admitted.

"Then why aren't you home yet?"

"Like you said…I go home early, usually." I sighed and grabbed my Algebra book, stuffing it down my bag. First day of tutoring and we haven't accomplished a single lesson. I shook my head in hidden disappointment. "I don't think I'd consider today as one of my usual days."

I didn't notice how tired I was until I had to stifle a yawn from breaking out.

"Right." Carson said shortly, watching me fix my things. He grimaced. "Are your parents strict?"

"What?"

"I mean, are you going to get grounded for this? Not that I'd care. But, if ever you'd be, just know that I'm not going to act all noble and tell you to blame me. I don't care even if you make me feel guilty about it. You're on your own." Carson remarked defensively.

I had to grin at his poor attempt to show some concern. I could tell that he was struggling with this, the 'concern' thing. It was new to him and I'd bet my life savings that this was the first time he had ever talked to someone for so long, in an actual conversation wherein he wasn't insulting the person he was talking to. "Don't worry." I reassured him, though he muttered under his breath 'I'm not worried'.

"I'm sure my dad would understand if I explain it to him properly."

"You mean if you lie?" Carson corrected flippantly, standing up the same time I did. I sent him a mock glare as we exited the classroom.

"No, I mean explain properly." I said again. "I don't lie."

"Sure. And I'm Harry Potter."

Despite rolling my eyes, I was grinning widely as the two of us walked to the student parking lot. Our cars were conveniently parked across each other. I trudged towards a grey Toyota Vios—the same car Dad used back when he was still working in the city—and Carson did the same, opening the door to his own car and getting in. I saw him throw his messenger bag to the passenger's seat and I chewed on my lower lip. "Hey, Carson!" I called out before my cowardly self could back out the last minute. He turned to the side and raised an eyebrow at me.

"Yeah?"

"I'll see you on Monday, yeah?" He looked perplexed for a minute so I decided to help him out. "I mean, you do need help with asking for literary submissions, right?" I supplied and smiled. "I figured, if you had an extra pair of hands helping you—besides the Writers Club, of course—you'd get the job done sooner."

I could feel my courage decreasing by each passing second and it wasn't helping that Carson was still gaping at me without a word. I fidgeted on my place, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. "What do you say?" I prompted one last time.

Slowly, Carson released a crooked grin that I found surprisingly handsome. I could feel my brain short-circuiting and my common sense flying out of my head. "Sounds like a plan." He answered and grinned wider and I noticed dimples forming at the corners of his mouth. I blinked rapidly, unable to form coherent thoughts. Damn him for the things he does to me.

"Bye, Raewyn."

Nodding dumbly, I got in my car. "Bye, Carson."

His car was speeding away even before I got mine into ignition.

"You were out later than usual. That's a surprise."

Craning my head awkwardly so that I could look over my shoulder at my dad, I smiled at him in a sheepish manner. "Does that mean you're not mad?" I asked and turned the faucet off so that I could face him fully. He glanced up from where he was busy reading a thick book and took off his reading glasses.

"No, of course not, honey." He told me, smiling. "I just noticed, that's all."

My dad shrugged simply and wore his glasses once more, going back to his book. I nodded at him even though he couldn't see it. I was grateful for the understanding he had; I didn't even had to explain myself to him. Walking to where the hand towel was draped, I dried my hands and headed for the stairs.

"Night, dad." I called out and climbed up the steps. It was at my fifth step that he interrupted, stopping me halfway.

"Oh, and you also seem happier today." He said thoughtfully without looking up from what he was reading. "May I ask why?"

Quietly, I smiled to myself, recalling back the events of the day. I took in a deep breath and shook my head, proceeding up the stairs. "I think I just got myself a new friend." I answered him and went to my room, closing my bedroom door just in time to hear him say, 'That's great, Wyn'.

Author's Note: Hey guys! Thanks for the reviews and the favs! :D I was really happy that you guys like it. Here's chapter three. Enjoy!