Chapter 2

Nico's Point of View

The next morning, I consider playing sick to stay home. Jason is the last person I want to see, and he just so happens to be in four of my classes. Lucky me. He probably thinks I'm crazy, especially after last night. I don't know why I did that. Cutting, in the middle of the evening with Jason in my room and my family already worried about me. It was stupid, and crazy, and- God, he better not tell anybody. Especially not Percy. I can't handle him knowing something that personal. Not anymore. It's hard, trying to keep my distance from him while living five feet apart from each other. If he knew…

And he would tell Ms. Jackson, and God knows what she would do. I've worked so hard to keep it a secret and Jason just undid it in like, twenty minutes. I just- I got so scared, and I couldn't even breathe. Or think straight, apparently. I thought it would calm me down. And it did. It always does. But I guess I went a little deeper than I meant to. I couldn't stop the bleeding for a long while, even after Jason left. I almost got caught by Hazel, too; she barged in right after I finished hastily throwing on a sweatshirt. She's already upset with me anyways, for not eating enough. I feel bad about what I'm putting her through; I know she's worried about me. But she can't help. And it will probably hurt her less if she doesn't know.

I don't even know what Jason was thinking during that whole fiasco. I mean, he didn't seem like he thought it was funny or anything, but I can't be sure. If I'm being honest, I kind of thought he seemed like he was… concerned. Like, the way he grabbed me- his touch was so gentle. And he forced my sleeve up. What was that about? It's not like he's ever paid me a second thought before. Why would he be worried? It's not like I care if he is or not. Why would I? He's just another stupid jock. Although… I keep thinking about something he said.

When we were talking about our project, he seemed to...understand something important to me. About how Boo was made out to be a monster. I don't know, maybe it's dumb and I'm analyzing this too closely. I just didn't expect he would care about something like that. He obviously doesn't know what it's like to be seen as a freak. Or to be a joke, a spectacle for all of the normal people to laugh at. Even the ones who are actual decent human beings look at me like they would a kicked puppy, or a homeless kid on the street. And I get this all so often that I'm starting to think it's true. It's almost like I don't get to decide who I am. Who I am to the world depends on how other people see me. The rest is insignificant. I figure that everybody has this inner world that nobody ever really knows about, except for maybe a few people. Our own worlds matter to us as individuals, but we're the only ones who get to live in them, so they don't affect the outside. In the scheme of things, they don't matter. Who I really am doesn't matter. And to be honest, I try to keep it that way. I'd rather them see me as a kicked puppy and a freak than to have them really see me. It's better to deal with their laughter, and their pity, than to have them all disgusted with me.

Jason would never understand that.

Anyways, I ultimately decide to go to school; If I stay home, Ms. Jackson will coddle me all day. By the time I get to school though, I regret my decision. I feel as though my heart is going to burst through my chest.

First period I have Spanish with Jason.

To my not-so-pleasant surprise, Jason is the only one in the classroom when I walk in, besides our teacher. Usually, he's late. Just my luck: when he sees me, he stands up and follows me to my desk. Unsure of what else to do, I ignore him and sit down as usual. He kneels down next to my desk so that I can see the top of his head. I can feel his eyes on me, and eventually get too uncomfortable, so I look at him. It's almost unfair that he's so good looking, because it make it really hard for me to stay focused on hating him.

"Look, Nico," he begins. "I just wanted to say that-"

"I don't want to hear it," I snap. I'm surprised at how firm my voice sounds. "It's none of your business. And I swear to God, if you tell anybody, I'll- I'll ruin you."

Despite my threat, he looks relieved. "Is that what you're worried about? I'm not-"

The bell cuts him off. The rest of the class has filled in by now.

"To your seat, Mr. Grace," our teacher says, pointing at Jason and then to his desk.

Jason stands up but doesn't walk away yet. He just stands there staring at me with his shockingly blue eyes, sending shivers down my spine. It's almost as if they pierce through me. He keeps them on me as he speaks, leaving me feeling naked and vulnerable. "Don't worry. I'm not going to tell anyone. I'm not like that. I don't- I don't think that this is funny. Or anything to be embarrassed about."

Then he's gone.

I don't understand. Why would he care, if it wasn't for the opportunity to make an even bigger joke of me?

It's only five minutes later when I get hit in the back of the head with a paper airplane. It falls to the floor and I pick it up to throw away when I notice that there's writing on it. I turn around.

Jason is staring right at me.

I'm tempted to let him see me throw it away without reading it, but I'm far too curious for that. I open it. Scrawled in neat, vaguely feminine handwriting, it reads:

I'm sorry for acting like a dick yesterday. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.

I was just worried about you.

Please don't ignore me. I only want to help.

Um.

What?

He's actually trying to apologize?

Or is this some sort of trick?

And anyways, it's not like yesterday was the only day he acted like a complete asshole. He's always been that way. At least, his friends have always been douche bags, and he's always been content to stand by and watch. It's fucked up, and that makes him just as bad in my book.

I crumple up the paper without looking back; the hairs on my neck are standing up so I know that he's still watching my every move. I toss it nonchalantly into the trash, hoping he'll take it as a sign. The bin is only about three feet away from me. I'm kind of surprised I don't miss, if I'm being honest.

There's no way he's just doing this out of the goodness of his heart. If there's any good in there, where is it when I'm getting tripped on the stairs, or pushed into lockers? Or when I'm getting called "cocksucker" and "pansy" and "fairy"? Good people don't stand by and let those things happen. Good people don't just pick and choose when they feel like being decent human beings. They don't just take breaks. No, he's just like every other popular kid at this school: obsessed with looking cool and preoccupied with how the rest of the world perceives them. He must be planning something. If he thinks I'm really that gullible…

When class is over, I rush out.

Math class passes even worse. Since the semester ends in less than two weeks, our teacher hands out slips with our current grades on them. And lets just say: oops. I'm usually a straight A student. Or I was. My sophomore year I finished with mostly Bs, which I guess isn't too bad. But now I'm failing chemistry, and apparently algebra 2. Even Percy is doing better than me. It's not like the lessons are hard or anything, but a few months ago, I got… bad. I stopped trying and paying attention and doing homework. I barely even showed up. After that, I never really caught up. And sometimes I still get really bad.

I don't even bother paying attention to today's lesson; I don't think there's any way I can get a 40% to a passing grade in two weeks. I spend the class period imagining how I'm going to explain this to Ms. Jackson.

Next I have chemistry, which doesn't go any better. We got a study guide for the final today, and it looked like it was written in a foreign language. There's no way I can pass that.

I'm actually relieved when it's time to go to lunch. Usually, that's my least favorite part of the day. Who the fuck wants to be stuck in a noisy, smelly cafeteria where most of the kids are acting like apes rather than humans? I walk to my usual spot in the back of the cafeteria, next to an exit. I sit facing the rest of the students, because the last time I turned away I ended up with a "kick me" sign on my back. It took me longer than I care to admit to figure out what was going on. Anyways, the point is, I don't take my eyes off the others.

Apparently, though, that doesn't stop them from tormenting me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something hurtling towards me, and before I can even process what's happening-

I get hit square in the face with a carton of applesauce.

What the fuck.

After the initial shock wears off, I look up and- of course. It's Dylan.

Dylan is what you might think of as a stereotypical football player; by that I mean huge, egotistical, misogynistic, homophobic and an asshole. He's been pushing me around ever since I got here. On my first day here, he welcomed me by tripping me as I walked past him. Somewhere along the line, he decided my name was "faggot". Sometimes, if I'm lucky, he uses my nickname: "Emo shitlord". Creative, I know. My nickname for him is a lot worse than that.

He's cracking up, smacking the table, surrounded by a bunch of other football players. They're all doing the same. I feel as though time slows down. I vaguely register Jason sitting one table over from them sitting completely still as if he's frozen in shock. I suddenly grow hot, and probably turn bright red; I'm fuming. I don't even like applesauce, much less in my hair and all over my clothes. And I can feel dozens of eyes on me. The cafeteria is too big for everyone to have seen, but all of the tables in the near vicinity are staring. It's enough to trigger my fight or flight reflex.

But because I'm not only scared, but also pissed off, I decide to choose fight. But I don't get very far. I start storming towards Dylan's table, but something stops me. It's Percy. I run right into him and stumble back, but he catches me. Then he pushes me toward the exit, despite my protests. A gust of cold air hits me as soon as he opens the door that takes us outside behind the school. It's pouring rain.

"Are you okay, man?" he asks, voice mingling with the pitter-patter on the pavement.

Deep down, I know he's trying to help, and deep down, I know I don't even have a very good reason to be mad at him. He's a good guy. His green eyes search me for an answer. But he's the last person- well, one of the last people- I want to be with right now. My anger is bubbling over the surface, drowning out all of the deep down thoughts. So I explode.

"Go away!" I scream at him, way louder than I should. Hopefully there's no one on yard duty out here.

He takes a few steps back from me. It gives me a sort of cruel satisfaction to know I'm making him nervous. "I just- I thought you might… I thought I could help."

"Well you thought wrong," I snap.

He takes a few steps back from me. It gives me a sort of cruel satisfaction to know that I'm making him nervous.

"My mom will come and pick you up, if you want, probably," he says lamely.

His mom. Not my mom. I don't have one of those anymore. Ms. Jackson is great, but she's not mine. Their house is not my home. And I don't want to go back there; I feel just as trapped there as I do here.

I storm off, leaving Percy bewildered. Behind me, I hear the door open again and someone calling my name. It's Hazel. Fortunately, I hear Percy telling her to leave me be. I don't know if she'll actually listen, but I don't turn back to check.

I have to walk all around the building to the school's side doors. I'm shivering violently by the time I get there. The hallway is deserted, luckily, but I still race towards the bathroom. When I enter and see myself in the mirror, tears that had been stinging my eyes begin to fall. I'm a mess. There's applesauce in my hair, on my face, my jacket, my shirt, and even my shoes. I didn't even know one container could hold that much applesauce. My cheeks are bright red, and so is my nose. My face is puffy from crying. And all of this is worsened by the fact that I look emaciated.

How did I get reduced to this?

I go to lock the door but instead, I get hit in the face again. I stumble back and a breathless Jason pushes through.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Can't you just leave me alone?" I shout, even though I can't seem to tell up from down. Unlike Percy, he doesn't back away. He doesn't even look away.

Maybe I'm just less threatening when I'm soaking wet, clutching my head, and too dizzy to stand up straight. He has to help me down to the floor- which, fortunately, was cleaned today. I'm too disoriented to feel embarrassed.

He continues to stare at me for a moment, wrestling with his words. Finally, instead of speaking, he grabs some paper towel and wets it in the sink. He comes back and hands it to me. I'm kind of surprised that he doesn't try to touch me again. Maybe he was actually paying attention.

"I have an extra shirt in my locker if you want it," he offers. "I think I've got some sweats, too."

I shake my head as I wipe my cheek off.

"Come on, you can't go around like that for the rest of- Oh," he seems to realize. "You can take my jacket, too, if you're worried about…"

I don't respond. It's tempting, but I still don't want to accept his help. I still don't know why he's here. Plus, I don't know what people would say if I went around in Jason's clothes all day. That would draw way too much attention to me. But… he seems so sincere. If it was anybody else, I would believe he they wanted to help. I search his face, and his eyes, and I can't find anything mean, or cruel, or guilty.

With difficulty, I stand up and head towards the sink. I run the water and, reluctantly, I dunk my head under. Immediately I jump back; It's fucking freezing. As if the 40 degree weather wasn't bad enough. But, deciding I prefer the cold to chunks of apple in my hair, I try again. When I get it all out and come back up, I feel as though I might turn blue.

That's when Jason begins taking his clothes off.

"My locker's all the way on the other side of the campus and you're shivering worse than a Chihuahua. You take these."

He first hands me his letterman jacket. It feels weird actually touching one of these things- I never thought that I would. Then he pulls off his sweatshirt and I feel my breathing go shallow. His shirt comes up with his sweatshirt, exposing his midriff and-

Stop. Don't think of him like that.

He bolts out the door before I can even say anything.

I lock the door after he leaves. Oh, I'll let him back in. I just don't want him to walk back in while I'm changing. As I shrug my jacket off and pull my shirt over my head I pace the room. Jason's sweatshirt is huge on me but soft and warm enough to make up for it. His jacket is even bigger. It really doesn't help my appearance; it dwarfs me, making me look smaller than I actually am.

Part of me is tempted to just leave. Not back to the house. But I can't think of anywhere that I wouldn't feel just as trapped as I do in this tiny bathroom. My heart has become a pounding drumbeat in my chest. It sounds much louder than it should, accompanied only by my ragged breathing and the echo of my footsteps on the tile. I keep pacing, faster and faster as my anxiety grows higher and higher. There's still anger there, too. Anger at Dylan, anger at Jason. At Percy. At me. But the anger only increases the adrenaline and worsens the fear. I feel, in a weird way, powerful, but vulnerable at the same time. I can't explain it. I just feel like I'm about to lose control. It's not a good feeling.

I really don't want Jason to see me like this. If he really does want to help-which is unlikely- then I feel bad for needing so much help. That's two breakdowns in less than 24 hours. Way to go Nico. But there's a higher chance he's looking for a way to humiliate me. I'm doing a good enough job of that myself, thanks. I sit down again with my back against the wall. I rock back and forth and try to control my breathing, like Bianca taught me to do when I was younger. After a few minutes, it starts to work.

There's a pounding on the door. "Let me in!" a voice says. "It's Jason!"

I don't know why I do as he says.

He does a double take when he says me. Then he smirks.

"What?" I demand. I know I look ridiculous, but that doesn't mean he's allowed to laugh at me.

"Nothing," he says, though the smirk on his face doesn't disappear. "Do you want these sweats?"

Hesitantly, I nod. He hands them to me. "Um, can you…"

"Oh," he says, realization dawning on him. "Right." He turns around. I was actually asking him to step outside, but I guess not.

I wriggle out of my jeans with difficulty- they're soaking wet and sticking to me. It's kind of gross. I pull the sweatpants on and roll up the ends because they're about six inches too long.

"Are you done?"

I nod before realizing that he can't see me. "Yeah," I croak.

When he sees me he can't help but laugh. I scowl at him and turn to leave but he blocks my path. "No, Nico, I'm sorry! I'm not trying to be mean. You just look-"

"Ridiculous, I got it."

"That's not what I was going to say," he says earnestly, though he looks embarrassed.

I give him a bewildered look, but he doesn't explain. A long silence follows, and he blushes. He actually blushes.

"Hey," I hesitate. "Thank you for doing this."

His blue eyes meet mine and it's like he can see right through me again, but I think I can also see through him. And I just know that he's being sincere. I think I knew from the beginning, but sometimes, if you know something like that, it's easier to pretend you don't. It's easier to push the deep down feelings even further down than to deal with what they might mean. And in this case, it means that, for whatever reason, he wants to help me.

But that doesn't mean he can.

And it doesn't mean he wouldn't change his mind the minute he got close enough to see what's going on inside of me.