"Meheh, you had to be there."

--Freddie Benson

i'M Sick of Watching

"What is this?" I asked immediately upon opening my locker.

"Well, what does it look like?" Amelia asked from behind me.

It looked suspiciously like the leather jacket from the mall. I took it out and found that it was the jacket from the mall.

"You didn't have to do this," I almost moaned, trying not to think how much it had cost.

"But I wanted to." She hugged me and I hugged her back convincingly enough.

It was sort of a cute gesture. Sort of.

"But you shouldn't have ..." I looked at her honestly, "It's just not ... me. I don't know when I'll want to wear it."

She looked back at me."Well ... you never know."

--

There were some sounds behind me that I subconsciously labeled as post-school hours hooligans. This was confirmed when I bothered to glance over my shoulder, more to make sure that they weren't coming my way than anything.

It was kind of distracting the way they were shouting when I was trying to remember the finer details of what would constitute homework for tonight.

"All right, the party's here!"

This glance was more in annoyance than anything. The double take was more for shock.

But the flash of blonde that I thought I'd seen was lost in the tumult of malcontents as they were all moving and shouting about something. I jerked my head back when some of them looked down my way.

Then the shouting grew slightly more subdued as the conversation changed to something I couldn't pick up. There was also a general movement as they all started down the hall. But before they passed the corner I saw what I was looking for.

Sam was hanging off of Anthony's arm and talking about something I couldn't hear over the others. And she was smiling.

Then they were gone, and their voices fading.

"Well, that's just wonderful," I muttered out loud.

But it wasn't. What was she doing with that scuz bag?

I planted my hands on either side of my locker and stared into it, trying to remember what I had been trying to remember before so that I wouldn't have to think about that ridiculously infectious smile she was giving—

I slammed the door shut.

That was it. It wouldn't be a big deal to see where they were going; just a harmless little jaunt to satisfy an innocent dash of curiosity.

I started walking off the way they'd disappeared. There was no need to hurry. Just play it cool, Freddie.

Oh my God, but what if they see me?

I jerked around and walked back to my locker. A second more of mental civil war and pounding impatiently on my locker followed. There wasn't much time—

Okay. I'll do it. I turned and started to calmly walk back the way I'd started. But what if they do see me?

I made it back to my locker, probably breaking some ten-foot dash records as I jerked the door open and shoved my arm into the rearmost recesses of my top shelf for my baseball cap.

Ramming it as far down as my head would permit, I wished I had a mirror. It would be enough though, wouldn't it?

I pulled at a handful of my shirt and groaned. Exceptionally well-pressed polo shirts didn't mesh well with punk attire—or whatever it was called.

Time, time, no time—

Then the leather jacket that Amelia had bought me was in hand and I was halfway down the hall before my locker slammed shut behind me.

I'd never really put much thought into how important arm balance was to the motions of running, but I got something of a crash course while trying to put my jacket on in the way that most Western civilizations held as correct and proper while sprinting faster than PE would ever get me to run.

Why am I running? This isn't important, there's no rush—

They were nowhere in sight when I rounded on the third hallway, and I did my best to pick up my pace. Or really tried to break even from where I'd started, which was saying something. My lungs were unionizing at about this time, probably getting ready to chuck Molotov Cocktails into my factories. In medical terms that might be termed massive heart attack.

But I began to pick up bits of their voices over the pounding in my ears before I'd completely run out of hope and hallways.

I was feeling every muscled portion of my body involuntarily dragging by the time I turned a corner and caught a glimpse of them just beginning to turn the next. This happened to be somewhere within the realm of divine timing as it allowed me to dash this one last hall and come up behind them just as they started the last hallway that led to the exit.

Trying to breathe normally when you're having an internal oxygen famine isn't easy to pull off, but only one kid tagging along at the rear even bothered to glance back at me. And he was small enough to probably be routinely mistaken for a fifth grader, so I really wasn't too worried.

I was more concerned about trying to catch a glimpse of Sam. This turned out to be harder than it should've been because she was apparently near the front and I guessed that there were probably about twenty of them.

But I got my chance once the group reached the first set of doors, which they of course had to kick open with their feet. Following that was a fairly short set of stairs that dropped to ground level, but it was enough for me to get a look at Sam as I reached the top of them and the front of the group began to go through the outside doors.

Sam's relatively unchanged happy countenance made me hesitate at the top of stairs, along with the merry group's choice of rhetoric, which I usually was fortunate enough to ingest from a distance.

This was as far as I'd wanted to go, right?

But I found myself hurrying to catch up with them again, trying to readjust my baseball cap and pull my collar up. I just wanted to know where they were headed, that's all. I'm sure someone would say something about it, and that's all I would need.

I caught several more glimpses of Sam and Anthony, usually whenever the group turned a corner. But that was about it in terms of productivity as I hovered near the rear, trying to remain inconspicuous, which I was never much good at in regards to these sorts of social circles.

They knocked over every trashcan and just about everything else of a similar nature wherever they could. Meanwhile I was trying not to look around to see if anyone was dialing 911 as I ran through a mental list of possible destinations.

But given this sort of crowd and their given sort of preferred entertainment, I was drawing blanks the farther we went.

"The football field?" I murmured a block before we came into view of the bits of green that made up one of the school's sports areas.

As disappointing as that practically was, it gave me something to think about as we trudged up the slight hill leading to the gates. Okay, a little harmless curiosity was perfectly understandable, but what was the difference between an innocuous destination and a … not so innocuous destination to me? Maybe my little harmless curiosity extended to seeing what they were doing—just what degree of illegal Sam was getting into. That's all. And just what exactly she was doing with that … gentleman of hers.

About a quarter of the group rushed forward ahead of the rest and scaled the gate in a couple fluid hops. I felt something akin to apprehension as the rest neared and started doing the same.

Sam made it look easy. Anthony gave her his hand as she dropped down to the other side.

I felt my mouth working in what probably looked like constipated circles.

It wasn't just that it was illegal … and the fact I really had no idea if I could hop any sort of fence in any manner passable to delinquent standards, but … actually I thought those were good enough reasons to be petrified.

I could just turn around, right? They probably wouldn't even notice, and if they did it wasn't as if they were going to recognize me.

I took a shudder that was intended to be a deep breath just before I picked up a little bit of speed and brought my foot up as I scrambled for a grip on the gate pipes. This wasn't exactly a ten-foot high chain link fence. It was just a chest high swinging gate, but it more than enough to make me nervous.

But something clicked between that and the time my feet hit the ground on the other side. I wasn't exactly feeling 'bad'—the cool sort of bad—but I was definitely somewhere between cool and ridiculously cool. Maybe it was the jacket.

At this point the group kind of lost cohesion as some of them ran off towards the concessions and announcing stand, while some of the others stood around near the gate. The vast majority, however, didn't hesitate as they made for the adjoining baseball diamond.

Sam was moving with that group, still walking close to Anthony. So I jammed my hands in my pockets and chased after them, trying to keep looking at the ground as I drew a couple of glances from the kids that had stopped.

By this time it had become almost completely overcast, and it wasn't all that warm to begin with. Certainly not warm enough for just a polo shirt. Now it wasn't just for identity purposes that I was really glad to have the jacket.

As I jogged down the slight transition from the field's grass to the dirt infield, I had to jerk my head around as Sam and Anthony turned my way. But from what I could see I had little to worry about since Sam was too wrapped up in whatever they were talking about to really pay attention to anything else. She was also wrapped up in one of his arms; she was playing the whole girlfriend-is-cold shtick that I'd seen way too many times. On other girls that is. Of course that nub who was touching her in way too many places was only wearing a T-shirt and pretending that it wasn't bothering him. I mean, it had to be.

I realized that I didn't have much of a plan as this was evidently the big bad destination. Some of them had gone into the nearest dugout while the rest milled around in front, pushing each other and doing all kinds of other stuff that I wasn't interested in.

Sadly, the one that I was interested in was now no longer consistently facing the other direction, so I more or less had to move towards one of the tamer edges of the milling group, near a trio that was talking calmly about some relatively mundane topic, like breaking into a convenience store or something like that.

This was going fairly well, but I had to keep my face turned away and my observing to a frustrated level. Once Sam seemed to catch me looking at her, but after I jerked my head away and held my breath for a few seconds without any sign that she had, I concluded that she was entirely too distracted with that scrawny punk.

I experienced a moment of distraught when one of my glances came up Sam-less. But they had only moved with a few other kids into the dugout where they were laughing about some kind of imitation one of them was doing. Of course no one was sitting in the benches like they were supposed to, because it was cooler or something to sit on top of them. Not that it particularly bothered me. Or all the underage smoking that was going on.

Realizing that this was something resembling a chance, I causally inched over to where another trio was talking just in front of the dugout. Leaning my back against the fence, I finally was close enough to catch more than a few unintelligible snatches of the conversation.

"Yeah, that's so lame," one of them near me was saying in regards to the imitation.

"So I wouldn't make it onto iCarly?" the imitator asked in Sam's direction as there was general laughter.

"We like to have talented people on iCarly, yes," Sam nodded and there was more laughing.

"Why do you even do that kiddy show? It's so retarded," another kid spoke up.

"That's probably why you watch it," Sam countered. She made it sound so easy. And it wasn't just the quip; the delivery ensured that there would be nothing more on that topic.

It took one of the boys inside the dugout glancing out in my direction for me to realize that I was smirking.

"Hey, you guys coming or what?" one particularly hyper boy, a freshman I thought, asked as he leaned into the dugout, "We've got the cherry bombs and the lock off!"

"Don't blow yourself up," one of them said in a haughtier sort of voice, but several others were already running and shouting towards the utility shed where there was already a fair gathering.

"Stupid freshmen," one of them muttered from on top of the bench.

"That Jeff kid is going to lose an arm," one of the boys sitting next to Anthony said out loud, not sounding as if that would be something he wouldn't like to see.

The group near the shed parted enough for me to see where someone, presumably 'that Jeff' kid, was handing out a fair number of cherry bombs attached to each other somehow. Still, the whole misdemeanor in progress was a lot less distracting than the way Anthony was leaning on Sam.

"Stupid kids," Anthony, the epitome of age and maturity, said. He didn't seem like he was paying very much attention to the other kids either.

Sam smiled and looked up from between his legs where she was leaning back and playing with a cut in his jeans.

"I just want to pound that dumb one's face, what's his name?" one of the bigger kids said, the one that neatly fell into the washout jock genus.

The conversation continued on about what various degrees of stupid the other kids were and what each wanted to do to them. But I was straining to hear what Anthony and Sam were talking about in low tones, with way too much eye contact for me to totally stay above nausea.

"Too many little kids ... you wanna get out of here?" Anthony was saying.

I missed Sam's response, but a moment later there was shuffling and some of the kids asking them where they were going.

This proved to be a problem as I was immediately to the right of the dugout entrance, within easy identifying range. Sweat broke out and I made to turn the other way, but they saved me the trouble and turned to the left.

"Hey now—now Sam, keep your hands off of him—" One of the boys called after them and Anthony gave them his gestural answer without turning. Everyone in the dugout was laughing and making sounds. "But that's no joke. I wouldn't want to mess with that, way too frickin' crazy—"

I stood there, watching them walking across the football field, hand in hand.

That was it. I'd found out what I'd wanted to know, and a lot more than I would've liked. I had already stayed long enough.

I started walking back towards the gate, which was in the same general direction they were walking, so I took a little bit more of a slant to it. But it wasn't as if they were going to notice me. I even tried to pretend that I couldn't hear their voices carrying.

"—Don't get it, I thought Seattle was supposed to be rainy. New York gets more rain than this place does."

Oh yeah, I remembered that Anthony was new in school this year.

Sam was saying something and laughing in a very un-Sam way. "—Say that—It's actually because it's cloudy so often. Though it does rain a lot—"

Sam made this sort of surprised sound that was enough to make me look over at them, but it was just a case of him leaning over into her. And kissing her. Well, actually kissing would be the polite way to categorize it.

I had this immature notion to yell that I had beat him already. Not that I normally would care about that ... too much anyway. But this imploding sensation inside of me made me want to do a lot of immature things. And I knew that it wasn't just because of the kissing thing—just the fact that they were talking and laughing and enjoying each other's company, at least as far as it seemed, was enough to make me wish—a lot of things.

It was like something was pulling me in two directions. I just happened to be walking in one.

It didn't matter what was going on. It was none of my business. Sam could take care of herself. It was her choice.

I kept repeating that to myself, trying to convince myself that was true despite the way they were walking.

Sam can take care of herself. It's none of my business. What could I do anyway?

I slowed to a halt, my hand pounding on my leg as I watched them heading into the area where they parked all of the school buses.

There's nothing I can do.

A loud bang split through the cold air and hit my chest like a fist. I whirled to where all the shouting and laughing was coming from, and then back to where Sam and Anthony had disappeared.

It was probably something innocent, right? They were probably just going to hold hands, kiss, and continue making gooey eyes at each other, while Sam pretended to be the tough girl totally into the bad boy.

Yeah. Right. Who was I kidding?

But maybe ...

I flipped my collar down with a frustrated motion and started walking towards the buses.

I'm not going to do this, I'm not going to do this. I'm just going to go home, as I very well should.

A few dozen steps into this trajectory I began to actually listen to myself and altered direction once more. And then I stopped again.

I suppose it was kind of rude to stare down at the ground as if it could supply me with an answer.

I don't have to do anything. It's not up to me to stop Sam from making stupid decisions. If she wants to end up with ugly kids and a state financed trailer home, that's her call. I have no ... moral ... Sam's my friend.

I was turning and walking quickly towards the buses.

It doesn't matter what's happened, she's my friend.

I was kind of running.

I've gotta do something, I've gotta do something—

What, exactly, I didn't know. It was enough of a start when I made it to the buses, but after that I was lost. I didn't even know if they had just kept on going to the street.

Turning around enough times to feel a little dizzy, I began running down the rows of buses. Skidding along the dirt and gravel, I realized that I really had kinda ran all this way. My cheeks were burning against the air and I was drenched inside my jacket, which had abruptly turned into overkill.

Ducking and peering around every row I passed, I had a sick sort of feeling before I reached the end. When I did reach it I felt somewhere in the range of horrible. Fighting against despair, I glanced up and down what I could see of the street, certain that I would be able to at least hear them if they'd gone that way. Or at least kinda certain.

I rubbed my shoe in the gravel as I turned back to the buses. There was this whole split notion of wanting and not wanting to find them here. After all, the only reason why they'd be—

I began running along them again, peering into each the best I could and jumping to make up the difference. If I did happen to find them—

There. They were right there. I could see them through the back window of one of the middle buses not twenty feet away. I can't believe I missed them before.

Anthony looked like he was trying to smother her while doing the Turkish Whirlpool step.

I can't believe I missed them before.

It was the most disgusting thing I'd ever seen that I couldn't take my eyes off of. That imploding sensation in my chest hit pain threshold levels. But it was different now. Like it was a resigned sort of imploding.

Anthony was taking it a bit easier now, his hands still all tangled up in her hair and his mouth everywhere. But then he began to slow, and they stayed that way for a long moment.

I pulled my head back down to the ground and clenched my eyes shut. But that didn't last long, and when I looked back up his arm was reaching under her shirt. Sam's hands almost immediately came down to his, holding it down. He pushed her shirt up a little ways, and then she pushed it back down a little ways, and then they repeated the process. Only each time it went a little higher, and I could see a little bit more of her stomach as Anthony began sliding her down on the seat.

I found myself marching towards the opposite side of the bus, towards the door.

What can I do?

I should just go home. It didn't exactly look like Sam was in anything resembling control, but it wasn't like she was playing the maiden in distress either.

What am I doing?

That was a good question.

I reached the bus door and tried to find my breath and maybe even a plan. At the moment all thoughts of justification had fled; there was only the very real need to do something, because something very wrong was happening.

I put my head down and pounded on the door. There were some muffled voices and I pounded on it again.

The door swung open. "What are you doing you little pervert?"

Did I call Anthony a scrawny moron before? Heh. Well, I discovered that's a lot easier to do when he's not standing in front of you looking murderous.

I glared up at him and also discovered that I had no idea what to say. All those good reasons that had brought me here were staying maddeningly incoherent.

"Leave her—" I started.

Anthony stepped down from the bus step and shoved. Shoved me to be precise, hard enough that everything spun when my head knocked into the bus behind me. Then there was gravel digging into my cheek and mouth and hands.

"Little punk," Anthony was saying, along with various other sentence fragments as he laughed. "How does that feel?"

The 'that' in question turned out to be a foot to the stomach. And it didn't feel good.

But I had regained enough of my bearings that pure, blistering instinct was able to take over. I surged to my feet and grabbed for two handfuls of his stupid T-shirt.

I was never good at wrestling. Or any kind of organized violence for that matter. I didn't even really know what to do with the hold I had.

But Anthony did when he took an accompanying hold of my jacket.

He wrenched his arms, and by extension me, to the right. I was just able to keep from being thrown back down to the ground. We both grunted as I took in a panicked breath and tried to push back against him.

It hurt to breathe where he had kicked me.

But if he was scrawny, I was flimsy. Probably non-existent. And I was getting a good chance for a second appraisal of the muscular structure that I was grabbing at.

Anthony resisted my attempts at kinetic force and abruptly reversed his direction to wrench me to the left and into his waiting leg. In a practiced motion he was sending me back down to the dirt and gravel. This time he followed me down far enough to plant a hand on my shoulder and throw the other into my mouth.

The whole lips being smashed against teeth thing didn't feel good either, and my resistance was essentially reduced to throwing my arms up.

But Anthony was laughing again, now that he'd seen that there wasn't anything to worry about.

"You're that Benson kid, aren't you?" He stood up and wiped at his face as he laughed. "Didn't you ever take Taekwondo after Math club you freak?" He sent a foot into one of my shins.

I cried out.

Oh God, oh God he's broken my leg—

"You were friends with her, weren't you?" Anthony rubbed at his running nose again. "Don't you get—" another kick, "—It?" Another.

My legs were throbbing. I just wanted to die. Then I could stopped sniffling.

"Don't you know—"

"Wait!" It wasn't an overly concerned protest. Actually it didn't really sound like a protest at all.

I did my best little shuffling that I could manage and looked up through bleary eyes as Sam put a hand on Anthony's shoulder as she bent down over me.

"Forget it," Sam said as she kneeled on the ground, "He's done."

"Yeah, don't want to kill him," Anthony said as he caught his breath.

This wasn't pleasant. This whole crying in front of Sam thing. And the whole pain situation wasn't very nice either.

Sam fished my cell phone out of my pocket without looking at me. Flipping it open, she dialed a number and then tossed it down on my chest.

"Your little Carly cakes should be able to come once her lab's over," Sam said and Anthony laughed in a disbelieving sort of way behind us. As if he knew anything about us.

I stared up in something that probably looked like disbelief and maybe even a bit of pleading thrown in for good measure as she stood and really looked at me for the first time.

Her eyes froze, as if she hadn't planned on doing that. They dropped almost immediately from unconcerned and maybe a bit angry to something less steady.

"I thought you might not want your other Barbie doll to see you now," she mumbled.

"Maybe you should call an ambulance," Anthony said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. He gathered a little bit in the back of his throat and spit it out at me.

Sam abruptly went from being gently pulled away to the one doing the pulling. I caught one last look from her before their backs were turned.

They turned the corner and there was only his fading laughter, and then nothing.

My breathing began to slow as I tried not focus on how much every other part of my body throbbed, and how the more insistent parts of me hurt.

That was it.

I closed my cell phone, not even looking to see if Carly had picked up. Then I leaned myself back down to the ground. At some point I had stopped crying, even though this throbbing kind of hurt was probably worse than the stuff that had come at first. I had stopped crying, but I was still mad that I could feel the left overs on my cheeks.

I felt like a lot of things. And I felt a lot of things. Angry, as mentioned, but more sad than anything. I was doing my best to focus on the pain, then I wouldn't have to think about her face anymore.

Then I heard gravel crunching, almost hesitantly. My heart started to race, as fears of a Sam-less Anthony returning, or maybe some other upstanding citizen came to mind.

I closed my eyes as they came closer. Given my situation and temperance I couldn't really let or keep any hopes in my head that it was her.

They stopped for a moment and then there was a hand on my leg.

I guess my cry wasn't exactly manly enough for her.

"Stop moving," Sam said as she did her best to feel at it.

I dared to open my eyes and look up at her, but she was doing her best to take an interest in every part of me other than my face.

"You know, I didn't have this conscience problem before you and Carly." She finally looked up at my face and reached for my mouth, but I pulled my head back.

"Just go away."

"How do you expect me to if you can't even do it?"

"Please?" I was admittedly feeling a bit testy. "I just want to die alone. Ahh ah!—Ouch?" I gave her a shocked expression as she touched at my lip.

"You're such a baby," she muttered, "You're not going to die."

"Maybe … and maybe I just want you to go away."

"No, you don't." She looked at me.

"Maybe I didn't before you let that idiot pound me into hamburger," I really tried to glare back at her, "I would've liked to have skipped that part."

"I was still a little angry, okay?" She was making sure not to look at me. "A lot angry."

I had enough tact not to ask what about exactly, since there was ... sort of a list. Instead I rubbed at my shoulder a bit, "Not that I couldn't've take him …"

"Uh huh," she sounded unconvinced.

"He just didn't fight fair." I saw that she was smiling and my face got an uncontrollable urge to do the same. Pain followed.

"Uh huh," she repeated, "Face it, Freddie. You're not really much of a lover, but at least we know you're definitely not a fighter."

"Oh, thanks a lot," I managed to mutter. I was sort of doing this rocking motion that distracted me enough that I was almost able to converse regularly. And keep from crying. "Sorry that I can't ever be—cool—" The rocking motion stuttered for a moment.

She kind of laughed. Kind of, but didn't. Like she was trying not to cry either. Which of course made no sense since she was Sam, for starters, and I was the one who was suffering. So I don't what it was.

"You're such a dork," she said a little unsteadily as she looked down at me. "I never wanted you to be cool, Freddie."

Somehow the way she said it inexplicably made Anthony come to mind. I think I had much preferred Pablo.

She tried to look away. And then she was raising me to my feet.

"Now … come on," she said as she slung my arm over her shoulders and half carried me.

I didn't know what to say. I wasn't even sure what she had just said. It was just about all I could do to keep from crying or passing out, and I couldn't spare the required attention to try to decode what she'd just said as we started hobbling along.

For the first minute or so we just moved in silence. Though at the pace we were making, it amounted to about a hundred feet, or to the street in other words.

"Ugh," she said with a sigh as we took a break and I leaned against the fence, "I remember when you weighed like ninety pounds."

She looked at me and I looked back. She pursed her lips as she nodded and looked off to the side.

"So are you going to say anything?" she asked.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked.

She sighed. "I don't know. Just … I want you to know … I wish this hadn't happened."

I put my hand to my lip and adopted a challenging expression. "And that means …"

"I'm sorry, okay?" she said a little forcefully. "Listen … I've really hated this. This whole thing since I stayed over at your place. And I just …" she clapped her hands and looked at me. I raised my eyebrows. "Are you going to help me at all? This is kinda your fault too, you know."

"I know." There. That hadn't been that hard.

"And I appreciate your …" she raised her eyebrows and let her head dip a little, "Completely dorky rush to save me … or whatever you call it. Not that I didn't have everything under control or …"

It was like we were taking turns raising eyebrows.

She nodded a little and then broke. "Okay. Here it comes." She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry about before and I thank you for what you just did. Okay? Is that good enough? Because I'm not doing it again. You know those are the two hardest things to say."

There was actually a third one.

But she'd done it. Everything from the time she'd slugged me to about five minutes ago now felt ridiculously stupid. Both sides of it. Okay, I'll admit that I knew I had hated it—and not just the general hostility aspect—pretty much the whole time. But I hadn't realized just how much until now. There was that immeasurable distance between knowing and realizing again.

I guess I was that much wiser for being able to see her like this. Or just plain see her at all.

"Yeah, I know," I felt my expression become all unangry and horribly vulnerable, "I'm sorry too ... so sorry. These past couple months have just been … so messed up."

"Yeah, totally," she said, looking away as she rubbing at her neck.

"And I've really …" I made motions with my hands mirroring the teetering sensation I was feeling. Was I really going to— "Missed you." –go there?

When she looked at me again I think it was pretty obvious. So obvious that she was quick to reassert her carrying position and start us off again with a smile.

"Come on, slugger," she said, "It's only … five or so blocks to the bus stop."

And suddenly that distance didn't sound so ridiculous, and not just because the throbbing was finally reaching almost bearable degrees and the worst of the pain had curbed.

Suddenly I was feeling a lot better.

--

We talked just to talk. That was unbelievably nice, just to be able to discuss nothing with her. Just to talk to her.

In talking with her about nothing I realized that I had missed something. A lot of somethings, actually. And not just the majority of school and major happenings that my relationship with Amelia had shut me off from.

I suspected that a lot of that appreciation was leaking out of my face, because she always looked surprised when she looked over at me. There was that and a lot of other little, exceptionally cautious aspects of her. I don't think her demeanor could've been more affected if Amelia had actually been walking alongside us.

I really wished she wouldn't be like that. In fact, for roughly the same quantity I was enjoying myself, I was hating this hanging wall about nearly as much.

I told her some joke, about my beleaguered condition (again), which I didn't actually think was that funny. That funny, I mean. But she laughed. And I could tell she didn't fake it.

"You're such a tough guy," she said as she playfully pushed her fist into my shoulder. I managed to keep most of the strangled look of pain off of my face because I didn't want to ruin the moment.

By this point I was mostly walking on my own, with only the occasional support. Of this I'll admit I was kind of proud.

"So …" I tried to begin casually. "Are you going to be seeing any other tough guys in the near future? Or maybe that … tough guy you were just with?"

"What do you think?" she gave me an amused look.

"I actually don't want to think about it at all," I gave her a pointed glance, "But I want to know what you think. And while we're at it, I'd kinda like to know what you were thinking."

Bushwell Plaza came into view.

"Why do you care so much?" she asked, sort of looking at the ground in a sort of casual way.

"I thought that's what friends did," I said and she briefly looked up at me, "So …"

She rolled her eyes. "No, Fredward. I'm not."

"Not going to …" I made a rolling motion with my hand.

"See that tough guy anymore," she finished with a monotone voice.

"That tough guy?" I pressed.

"Or any other guy that you would consider tough," she smirked, "But I've got to warn you that's not very hard going by your standards."

"Ha ha," I said, but we both fell silent as we reached the entrance to the lobby.

A few seconds into that semi-awkward silence Sam made a motion with her hand and tried to laugh a little. This time she was faking it. "So you think you can make it this far? Or should I have Lewbert get you a stretcher?"

"Yeah, it probably wouldn't get here until May."

"Oh yeah," she said, "Did he ever get your guys' air conditioner fixed?"

"No," I said and smiled quietly. From experience I didn't think we could stall this out any longer, or should for that matter.

I pushed my back against the door, turning to face her.

I paused before I put my head down a little. "So … no more tough guys?"

"No more tough guys," she agreed. Then paused.

I made to say something but it died somewhere between my brain and my mouth.

"Listen," she made a little smile as she looked at me, "I'm … trying to think of the nicest way to say this. Because I mean it, I do," she hurriedly assured. She pursed her lips. "But I can take care of myself. So … don't worry, and leave me alone—" she laughed and then added quickly, "In a nice way! In a nice way …"

She hesitated like she was going to say something else, but instead leaned in quickly and touched her lips to mine before quickly pulling back and turning and walking away and—what just happened?

My bottom lip was throbbing more than it had been a second ago and—did she just kiss me? Again? Well, I suppose the first time had technically been my thing, but—did she just kiss me?

Unsteady. And happier. Happier than my present condition should've allowed.

I sighed. And then groaned.

Complicated didn't even begin to explain it.

"Oh, just leave me alone, Freddie," I mimicked as I tried to see where she had already disappeared, "I can take care of myself. Really."

Mixed signals didn't even begin to explain it.