A/N: The next few chapters (and the story in general) continue to be very angsty. If you would like to know the direction in which this is headed so that you can figure out if you want to stick it out, just message me or ask in a review, and I'll let you know.

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Everything began to dissolve when Sam had to explain away the bruises on his face. He had found a turtleneck at the bottom of his dresser to cover his neck, but there was nothing to do about his cheek. The teacher called him to the front of the room, and he burned with humiliation. He felt every set of eyes in the entire room piercing his back while the teacher examined his face and asked what had happened. For some reason, he felt the need to involve his father in the fabrication, but rather than putting him at fault, he decided to talk about the version of his father that he liked. And like most good lies, it contained some truth. He told his teacher that Joshua had taken him mountainbiking over the weekend (which actually had happened the week before), but that he had hit a loose rock on the trail and landed hard against a log (which had happened the summer before, although he had bruised his hip and not his face). He played up his father's insistence on wearing a helmet (a baldfaced lie), and the teacher solemnly nodded and agreed that it was a good thing his father was watching out for him.

Then he turned back to his desk and saw Leah staring at him with disbelief in her big brown eyes, and he got angry. Why did she have to come by last night? Why did she have to know each and every little thing about him? How was it any of her business, anyway? She was going to break his cover, and then everyone would know!

As he passed her desk, she reached out for his hand. Normally he would have squeezed it before sitting down. Instead he crossed his arms over his chest and took as wide a berth around her as he could and settled into his seat. She shrank in on herself a little, and he smashed down his instinct to hug her (and, better yet, to let her hug him).

Things only got worse at lunchtime. While he stood in line to get his food, he glanced around in what he hoped was a surreptitious fashion to see if Austin, Johnny, and Bobby had rejoined the table. They hadn't, but instead were seated with Roy Jameson. He was torn. He liked his LeeLee much more than he liked the boys, but he was getting sick of being picked last for kickball, and today was going to be even worse. They were supposed to play dodgeball in gym that afternoon, and he didn't relish the idea of being singled out as a target.

He tried to be inconspicuous as he headed toward LeeLee's table, but he had to pass Austin on the way. Willing himself to be invisible didn't work, and it didn't help that Leah stood up with a bag of her double chocolate chunk cookies held high in the air, grinning at him. Why did she have to be so obvious? He didn't want to draw any more attention to himself than he already had.

"Going to sit with your girlfriend, Uley?" It sounded like a swear word coming out of Austin's mouth.

Sam froze. He knew what he was supposed to do. He was supposed to ignore Austin, or maybe say something clever back and walk away. Instead he got mad.

He muttered, "She's not my girlfriend."

Now Roy was in on it too. "Oh yeah? Then how come we've all seen you kiss her? It was gross."

"Yeah," Austin nodded smugly. "She's just a slut, you know."

Sammy's eyes widened. He didn't know exactly what it meant, but his father yelled it at his mother in drunken slurs. Whatever it was, LeeLee wasn't one. He looked at her. Her face had fallen, and she had lowered the bag of cookies. Why wasn't she defending herself? Why wasn't she running over and putting Austin in his place?

Because she was waiting for him to do it. Why, on today of all days, wasn't she going to fight her own battles? Why couldn't he be left out of it? He looked down at Austin, who took advantage of Sam's pause and went in for the kill. "Anyway, if she's not your girlfriend, we all know why you kissed her. It's to try to prove you're not a faggot. But we all know you must be, because who else would hang out with the girls so much? I'll bet when you go to her house you're trying on her dresses, stupid faggot."

Everyone gasped, and Jared Cameron in the third grade actually tripped on a loose tile as he gawked at the scene. Leah's jaw dropped open. Sammy looked between her and Austin, not knowing what to do. Punch the little punk? But then what would he do? Go sit with LeeLee and the girls and spend the rest of his life being called a faggot? He got angry. Everything was going wrong all at once, and he didn't know how to fix it.

Then he heard snickering behind him. He turned around, and all the little kids were laughing at him. Stupid Paul Lahote was pointing at him. The humiliation was the last straw.

He stomped up to Leah, grabbed the proffered bag of cookies out of her hand, threw them on the ground, and ground them into crumbs under the heel of his shoe. "Get it straight, Clearwater, you're not my girlfriend. I don't like you and I don't want you. Stop following me around and making my life so complicated. I've tried to be nice to you since we go way back, but I'm not interested in giving out charity anymore." Her mouth was wide open but silent; her eyes huge and hurt. He hated the look of shock and betrayal on her face, so he slammed his tray on the table, the sudden smacking sound making her jump in surprise, and he turned his back and stormed right out of the cafeteria, down the hall, and into the yard, where he leaned against the brick wall, slid down, and buried his face in his knees.

But before he could release the tears that were building up behind his eyes, he heard clamoring from down the hallway. He stood up hastily, just in time for Austin, Johnny, Bobby, and Roy to pour out of the school. "Oh man, did you see that?" Roy was excited.

Austin crowed, "What a burn!"

"You showed her, didn't you?" Roy added.

Sammy was totally confused. One moment they were ridiculing him, and the next, he was being praised like some kind of hero. What was going on?

"She's so stuck up," Austin added. "We've been waiting for somebody to put her down, but usually she just..."

"She doesn't stay down," Johnny explained. Sammy didn't miss the grudging admiration in his voice.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "You guys just have a crush on her, that's all, and you're mad 'cause she doesn't like you back."

Austin and Roy protested heavily and turned their sights on Bobby. Sammy didn't know what to do, but they were no longer gunning for him, and that was something.

And that afternoon, Johnny was made captain on his dodgeball team and picked Sammy first, before even Austin. LeeLee was on the opposite side, crouching directly across from Sammy. She was good at the game. Really good. She had a wicked arm, and not once had he ever seen her throw like a girl.

She eyed him warily, and he eyed her back. Then the whistle blew, and she immediately darted off. Thank goodness, because he really didn't want to hit her. She was some kind of sprite, almost impossible to strike, and the few that managed to hit her she somehow caught. She hit Johnny in the shoulder almost immediately, causing him to moan in protest as he dragged himself to the bench. Austin tried to hit her, but she shifted just millimeters out of the way. Sammy got Rachel in the knee, but Bobby, who was on Leah's team, grabbed the ball as it was rolling away and threw it at Becca, who didn't mind joining her sister on the bench at all. A couple minutes later, Sam resisted the urge to smile when Leah took Austin out herself.

Soon the only players left were Sammy and Leah, facing each other off on opposites sides of the red line. Sammy had a ball in each hand, and she had one held in both hands in front of her. She was right there, knees bent, torso tilted forward, ready to spring. Waiting for him. Her eyes were steady and sad, locked on him.

Austin yelled, "Get her, Sam!"

"Take her down!" Roy added.

The gym teacher tried unsuccessfully to shush them.

Leah glanced down at her feet. There was another loose ball right there. He wondered why she didn't pick it up. She was really good at shielding herself with a ball in her left hand while she used her right to throw. She stared at it for a second, then straightened up, ignoring it. She pulled her right arm back slowly, leaving her body undefended, and giving him plenty of time to throw one of his balls directly at her stomach. He was certain it was deliberate.

She took the hit without flinching, without bothering about any pretense of jumping out of the way, and his team erupted in cheers. He turned to them and gave them a false smile and pumped his fist in the air, and she narrowed her eyes at him, waiting to see what he would do next, if anything. It wasn't the first time he tagged her out in gym class, but normally, he would follow it up with a little handshake and a "Good game!" like baseball players did on television at the end of a game.

Instead, he grinned at his teammates. "Serves you right, Clearwater!"

As he turned his back on his best friend, she let loose her ball with all her might. It caught him squarely in the back of the head and knocked him off his feet, but he stumbled without falling. The boys started yelling at Leah, but she just approached the gym teacher and said, "Sorry. It won't happen again."

Sammy was enveloped with pats on the back and congratulations for winning. He peeked over his shoulder to see Leah being reprimanded by the teacher, and she turned toward him.

He snapped his eyes away as soon as her glittering eyes met his, shame crawling through his belly.

X-x-x-x-X

He was too embarrassed to visit her that day or the next, but he had just about reached his limit. During the school day, he was welcomed into the boys' circle, while Leah was protectively sheltered by the Black twins, who glared daggers at him whenever he was foolish enough to look in their direction. In class, where he sat right behind her, it was impossible not to look at her. But while she normally spent as much time with her back turned to the teacher while chatting with him or drawing pictures in the margins of his notebooks, when she always partnered with him on projects or spent their free hours by his side, now she resolutely refused to even look at him.

So he stared miserably at her sleek hair. He had never wanted to touch it more than he did now. He knew its texture, silky and soft and smooth. He wanted to bury his face in it like he did when he snuggled against her back as they slept.

He only lasted three days, which was as long as he could go without her. Joshua had been in and out of the house briefly at least once a day but didn't seem to be sleeping there. He had no idea what was going on with his parents, and he wasn't certain he wanted to know. After his mother tucked him in Thursday night, he waited impatiently for her to go to bed as well. He pushed his covers down with his feet, yanked them back up, covered his head with them like a tent, and rolled over and back, again and again, until an hour and a half later, he finally heard the shower turn off, the hair dryer turn on, and then, silence.

After another half hour, at which time he was certain she'd be asleep, he slid open his window and silently dropped to the ground. They lived in a little ranch cottage, and it wasn't far down. In minutes, he was hoisting himself up to Leah's window. By the time he had it open, she was awake and staring at him silently.

They just looked at each other. He was a coward. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He just sat on the end of her bed with his legs tucked under him and waited for her to speak.

"I didn't think you were coming anymore," she said.

"I can't sleep," he explained.

She admitted, "Me neither."

He wanted her to flip the covers back in a signal that he could crawl in. But she didn't. She just looked at him.

"I don't know if we can still be friends at school," he finally said.

She frowned, and he stared at the little furrow in her brow. He wanted it gone. "At school?"

"I don't know how to not be friends. I just don't know if we can be friends there."

She sounded incredulous. "So we're not friends anymore?"

"No! No," he protested. He didn't know what he would do if she wasn't his friend at all. "Of course we're friends. You're my very best friend." It didn't seem like enough of a description. She was more than that, but he couldn't put it into words, so he didn't bother to try.

A little smile turned up her lips. "You're my best friend too, Sammy." When he didn't argue, she scooted toward him so that her knees touched his.

He admitted, "I don't know how not to be your friend."

"Me neither. So everything's okay now?" she asked hopefully, her dimple appearing in her right cheek. He had no idea why she was so ready to forgive him, but he'd take it.

"Mostly," he said. Then he took a deep breath and looked at his own hands, curled into fists in his lap. "But I think we need to pretend we're not. At school. Just at school. Not when it's just us."

He didn't need to look up to know the dimple had disappeared, and it crushed him. He made her sad, and he hated himself for it.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"Secret best friends," he mumbled, hoping she'd understand. He needed her, couldn't be without her, but he needed things to be easier at school since they couldn't be easier at home. "When we're alone."

"That's not a thing," she said flatly.

He nodded in protest, still not raising his eyes. "Sure it is. Or if it's not, we'll make it one."

A puff of air left her chest. "No we won't."

"Why not? We can do whatever we want! We have plenty of other secrets!" He was too ashamed to speak them out loud, but she knew what he meant. She always knew what he meant. Why couldn't she understand him now? He finally ventured a look at her.

She was mad. "If we're not friends in front of other people, we're not friends at all."

His heart fell into his stomach. "Why not? We've kept secrets before."

She shook her head again. "Not from each other. Never from each other."

"This isn't a secret from each other, it's a secret from the stupid kids at school!"

Now the dimple wasn't just gone, her bottom lip was trembling and her eyes were shiny, but not in a good way. "This is you being mean to me during the day, but wanting me to be nice to you anyway. That's not friends. It's the opposite."

He wanted to strangle himself the way his father had done. But for some reason, he didn't stop himself. "That's not it at all! I just can't keep having the boys call me names and stuff!"

"Who cares what they think?"

"I do!" He had no idea why he did, but it was the truth.

She closed her eyes, and a tear rolled down her cheek. Just one. "What about what I think?" she whispered.

"What you think is more important," he admitted.

She opened her eyes again, and she looked so hopeful that his heart hurt. "Then we'll still be friends. Best friends. All the time. Just like always."

He couldn't stop himself. "Not always. I can't. Just when we're alone. And secret best friends the rest of the time."

She turned her back on him and crawled under the covers, and then she pulled them over her head. She was muffled, but he still heard her. "If we're not friends during the... the d-day," the hiccup in her voice made him want to peel the covers away and wrap himself around her, but he didn't. "Then we're not friends at all."

"LeeLee," he whispered. He scooted forward until he could reach the top of the comforter and tried to tug them back. But she had a firm grip, just like she had on his heart, and he couldn't break loose. So it fractured when he said, "I'm sorry."

All she said was, "Go away," very softly.

He sat on her bed for several more minutes, but nothing happened. She didn't move. He wasn't even sure she was breathing. He was afraid she'd suffocate under the comforter in her attempt to hide from him. Finally he crawled out the window again and slid off the roof. He forgot to shut the window, so he heard her start to cry as he dropped to the ground, and he had never hated anyone as much as he hated himself in that moment. And that was saying a lot.

LeeLee never cried. Not when she fell out of the treehouse and sprained her ankle, not when Austin called her names, not when Seth accidentally broke the little glass penguin Harry had gotten her for her seventh birthday. Not once had he seen her cry before he said those stupid, nasty things to her. His beautiful, strong LeeLee was crying because he hurt her, and for nothing. For a bunch of stupid boys who weren't worth spitting on. He ran away from the terrible sound.

On the way home, he stepped on a sharp rock and sliced open the bottom of his foot. He decided he deserved it, so upon arrival home, he neither cleaned it up nor put on a bandaid. He nearly fell asleep despite his own active self-loathing, but a clap of thunder jarred him from his rest, and he listened as a downpour covered the house. It was a heavy rain, and he wondered that perhaps it might never it would wash him away. He concentrated on the sound of the thunderstorm and the throbbing in his foot.

By the next morning, his sheets were ruined. His foot hadn't bled a lot, but a even a relatively small amount of blood on stark white sheets looked alarming. His mother panicked until he showed her his sole, which looked much better after she washed it off. It wasn't even bleeding anymore.

In school, Leah didn't show up by the time the bell rang. He worried about her, and loathed himself, and then worried some more. Had he hurt her so badly that she couldn't get out of bed? If she had told him what he told her, he didn't think he'd have survived. He wasn't sure how he was surviving. He learned to act, particularly around Austin and his new friends, but under the act he just hated himself, worried about her, and hated himself some more.

The weekend passed, boring and awful and dull. His mother wanted to know if he was going to LeeLee's, but he said she was busy and stayed in his room. He was distracted when his father came home Saturday night after he went to bed. He listened, but only heard soft words that he couldn't decipher, and the bedroom door softly closing. He didn't know if his father was still there until he found him at the kitchen table the next morning. Joshua didn't look him in the eye, and Sammy took his cereal back to his room to eat by himself. No one tried to make him come back to the table, and he refused to go to Grandma's for their waffle brunch since he couldn't bring himself to tell her why Strawberry Girl wasn't joining them.

The next morning, Leah's desk was still empty. He felt so awful about it that he slowly lowered his face to the worn wood in front of him, and he left it there.

The teacher gently shook his shoulder and asked if he was all right. Had he caught the bad cough that Leah had gotten? Apparently she had slept with her window open during the big storm. It had soaked her in her bed, and she had gotten very ill.

Sammy rightfully blamed himself. After all, he was the one who left it open in the first place. But when Austin snorted loudly and said that if they were lucky, she'd get pneumonia and die, he heard himself laughing hollowly along with the other boys.

That night was clear and cool. He was sick of keeping himself away from her. He could hardly remember why he tried to stop being friends with her during the day. Yes, Austin and Johnny and Roy all seemed to think he was cool now. They had stopped making fun of him and let him sit with them at lunch and picked him first in gym. But they weren't half as much fun as LeeLee, not nearly so sweet, and none of them had any good cookies to share at lunch.

So Tuesday night, after she still hadn't returned to school, he snuck out his window and jogged to her house, and he sped to a dead run when he saw that her window was cracked open. It was for him, he knew it.

But as he grabbed the porch railing and lifted his foot onto the first foothold he could find, he heard a little sob. He stopped and listened. There was another. And another. And then a cough, another sob, and a coughing fit.

Oh no. LeeLee was crying herself to sleep. Over him. Only she couldn't even cry herself to sleep because she was too sick. This was awful. Unacceptable. And it was all his fault.

He had to fix it. He lifted himself up and grabbed the drainpipe in his right hand, leaving his foot braced on the top of the porch rail. He had just hoisted himself up onto the roof when he heard another coughing fit, and a door squeaked open. He saw light from the hallway filtering into her room.

Harry's voice was low. "Honey, you okay?"

"K-Kinda," Leah answered before noisily blowing her nose.

"It's so cold in here!" Harry exclaimed. "Why is the window open again? You're never going to get better this way."

And then the window was shut.

Neither Harry nor his daughter had seen him, so he sat there waiting. He sat and sat and sat, but Harry had brought some cough syrup with him, and he didn't leave his daughter until it had kicked in and she fell asleep. By then Harry had fallen asleep as well, half propped up against his daughter's headboard.

By that time Sam was freezing, and he didn't know what to do. He needed to apologize to LeeLee, but he couldn't very well open the window while Harry was right there. When he heard Harry snoring, he gave up and went home.

The next day he prayed she'd be better and show up. He knew what to do. An apology in her bedroom would be almost useless. What he needed to do was say he was sorry in front of everyone. Right there at school. He had been an idiot and tried to tell her they couldn't be friends in public, so he'd fix it by doing just the opposite and being her very best friend in front of everyone. He'd kiss her again if she'd let him, and then he'd get her cold, and he'd deserve it, and they'd be even. He squirmed in his chair and tapped his heel on the floor, impatiently waiting for her to come.

But she didn't.

He could barely concentrate all day long. He hardly spoke to the boys; he just nodded and smiled blankly at the appropriate times (he hoped). He probably answered every single question incorrectly on their math quiz. He basically sprinted home. He wanted to go straight to her house, but his mother was waiting for him, and he couldn't get away.

That night he asked to go to bed early. Joshua and Allison had been tiptoeing awkwardly around one another every since Joshua came home, but they had identical expressions of bemusement when they told him that of course he could go to bed. He even heard his father asking his mother if his funny mood had anything to do with Leah. He didn't stick around to wait for her answer.

He climbed right out his window. It wasn't even dark out, and there was no way she'd be in bed yet, even if she was sick. Indeed, she was in the living room with Seth watching television when he got there. She was wrapped up in a blanket; she had it over her head and pulled up past her mouth; all he could see were her bright eyes and pink cheeks and little nose sticking out. She looked squishy and warm and adorable and wonderful. He climbed into the treehouse to wait, and a virtual eternity passed before Harry finally tucked her into bed and closed her door.

He would have flown to her if he could have. But it only took him a minute to appear by her window. She was right there, lying on her side facing away from him. Odd, because she always seemed to know when he was coming. And there was no way she was asleep yet.

He yanked the window up, but it stuck. He pulled and pulled and pulled, but it didn't move. Neither did she. He didn't even know it had a lock.

Finally he knocked on the glass. He wasn't sure if she was going to respond, but she rolled over and looked directly at him, and he saw that she was crying. Frantically, he tried to open the locked window again.

"Let me in!" he demanded.

She just frowned. "Why?"

"Because I need to talk to you!"

She sat up and pouted. "So talk!"

"Open the window first!"

"I can hear you fine," she shook her head.

"C'mon, let me in!" he protested. He was cold, and her room was warm, and she was warmer, and he wanted to be under the blanket with her.

She glared at him. "Are we friends or not?"

He was exasperated. He had been waiting all day, no, all week, just to say he was sorry. And she was blocking him. Why was she blocking him? He needed to apologize and hug her and make her his again and belong to her again and he needed to do it now! He wanted to smash through the glass and get to her! "What do you think?" he yelled back. It was the wrong answer. He meant yes, of course they were, best friends forever, and what a dumb question, because of course, yes! But that's not how she took it.

"Go away!" she yelled.

And then Harry and Sue were opening her door and glaring at him too. Little Seth was peeking in too, standing there in footy pajamas, clutching his teddy bear and blinking at him in surprise.

The window was finally open. But instead of his LeeLee opening her arms to him and ushering him through, Harry was yanking him in, through her room, into the hallway, and down the stairs. "It's a little late, and it's time for everyone to go to sleep." He sounded weary.

"I need to talk to LeeLee!" he protested.

Harry's grip on his arm didn't loosen, but he knelt down in front of the boy. "Everything okay at your house, Sammy?"

"Huh?" Who cared what was going on at his house? What was important was here. He could hear her sniffling. He had to make her stop crying!

Harry had worry lines in his forehead. "Is your mom okay?"

"What? Yeah."

"Is your dad home tonight?"

"Uh huh." He tried to pull away and go back upstairs.

He needed to go upstairs, but Harry didn't let go. But his hand on Sammy's arm didn't hurt. "Sammy, son, look at me." He finally did. "Is your dad drinking tonight?"

"No, nothing, I don't think so." Sammy shook his head.

"Is everybody safe? Are you safe?"

And Sammy finally figured out what was going on. He slumped down. "Yeah. Everybody's safe."

Harry brought him in for a surprisingly gentle hug. "You know you can come here anytime you need to, son. Day or night, rain or shine. But through the front door, okay? Can't have you falling off our roof and breaking your neck, okay?"

"Okay," Sammy mumbled.

Harry led him to the kitchen and opened their junk drawer, filled to the brim with nameless bits and bobs. He rooted around until he found what he wanted. "Hah."

He turned back and handed Sammy a key. "Front door, okay? For you and your mom."

Sammy stared at the innocuous key in his hand. "Oh." He hadn't thought about his mother using it, and that made him forget about Leah for a second.

"Don't let you dad find it, okay?" Harry instructed. "Your mom, she's, well, she's trying her best by you."

Sammy whispered back, "I know."

"Do you want to stay on the couch, son? Leah's sick, and we can't have you catching her cold. But you can stay down here if you need to. Should I get you a blanket and pillow?"

But anger flared in Sammy's chest. What did Harry know? Why did he have to know anything, anyway? Why was it any of his business? Why did anybody have to know his humiliation at all? And was his mother really doing her best by him? Was that her best? Was Joshua anywhere near his best? Was this Harry's best? If so, why did his mother ever get hurt in the first place? Why were all the grown ups such failures?

"No, Mr. Clearwater."

He didn't remember trudging home, but he did so, and with Harry by his side. Harry didn't drop him off at his own front door. He just boosted Sammy back in through his own open window. And before he walked away, he gently clasped his shoulder. "Use the key son. Anytime."

The shame was too much. He didn't use it, or the window, for months.

X-x-x-x-X

As always, thanks to my fabulous beta, Babs81410.