Bright lights. Sweltering. The smell of Trent's cologne.

How many times do I need to open with a description of a place I don't want to be?

We finally discovered today what our role would be as non-participating contestants. Our role is literally to sit on a couch and listen to Bridgette and Geoff talk.

To be fair, I asked for this. I begged for this. And even though the spotlights and the instant replays are all very hard on the head, at least it's something to do outside my hotel room. At least I get my mug on TV again.

I sat next to Cody and didn't say a word. I made a promise to myself to be a bigger stick in the mud than I've ever been before, and since I've been shoved deep into that proverbial mud since the day I learned to talk, I have to bury myself awfully deep. Proverbially.

I can't help but crack a smile when Cody pulls out Gwen's bra – it was either smile or scowl. This episode focuses a lot on Trent. He was almost the Gwen to my Cody - before I discovered Cody. But I learned to keep my head and to give it up. So even if I can smell his sweat and cologne from my seat behind him, I train myself to ignore it. Because I remind myself he's a moron, and that Cody's here now.

After the buzzer sounds to end the show, we hop down off the bleachers and Cody directs me to an area off to the side.

"Do we really need to talk to him?" I lament.

"Hey, he's a cool guy. And if anyone can sympathize with someone for getting rejected by Gwen, it's me."

"Are you forgetting about your little performance on the last night at the Playa?"

"I'm trying to!"

He drags me by the shirt sleeve over to Trent, who's fastening his guitar into its case.

"Hi Trent" Cody says meekly.

Trent rises to his feet and slings his guitar over his shoulders. "Hey man."

His voice is strangely thin. He cracks the tiniest smile at me and nods. "Noah." He states.

"How are you holding up?" Cody says, a bit awkwardly, but completely incomparable to some of his previous awkward Trent moments.

"I've had better times I guess." He says with a shrug. His green eyes smolder like dying-out coals, narrow and dark at the corners.

"I know how you feel." Cody raises a hand slightly, but recoils, deciding against touching Trent. "Hey so, let me warn you, it's very boring at this hotel. A lot worse than the playa. So if you'd like to, maybe, chill sometime…I'm always open. " he pauses and resumes in a slightly more frantic pace: "And even if the offer doesn't sound so great now, trust me, after a week here, you'd hang out with Sadie."

Trent crosses his arms loosely across his chest. "That so. So what do you do?"

"Me and Noah just do…"

"Cody and Noah stuff I guess." I interrupt. On the surface, I'd actually enjoy the variety of having Trent stay with us from time to time, but somewhere in the pit of my stomach, I feel as though only more shitstorm could come from it. Or perhaps my history of wet dreams and drunken errors is what causes me to associate Trent with embarrassment.

The 'Aftermath' studio is nearly an hour away from the hotel – closer to the main shooting area for the competition than to the loser's rest spot. We take a tour bus with darkened windows back to the hotel because, once again, the producers don't want outsiders to see us coming and going. In some crazy break with routine, Cody doesn't sit beside me on the bus. Trent plops down near me instead.

His shoulders are still broad and angular, but with a more acute slope to them. There's something about his entire body language that is transformed. I feel a burn that runs through my throat, through my skin, through my freaking scalp, when I realize this new posturing makes him more attractive to me. The slight weakness is vaguely Cody-esque, creating an amalgamation that stirs up dead desires.

I hate the smell of him. Why did he sit beside me? I don't even have anything good to say to him.

"So what's been new and exciting for you, bro?" he says nonchalantly.

"Nothing ever. I'd rather move to the Tundra than put up with this long-term."

He nods. "It must be pretty bad then. I mean, if you want to go to the tundra instead."

I sigh. "Well it was my birthday this week. That was actually not a bad day, thank God."

He seems a little more alert. "What day was your birthday?"

I arch an eyebrow. "Wednesday."

"Like…September…"

"Ninth." I finish his phrase for him.

After a moment of silence, I see a flicker – a gleam in his eyes, as if he suddenly woke up. "September 9th. That's a great birthday."

"I guess it's better than no birthday." I shudder lightly. I haven't been close to Trent or given a damn about being close to Trent in a while. For the most part, I've been genuinely disinterested in Trent in the same manner I am disinterested in many things. Yet something about him now is unsettling.

"You know, this year your birthday was even more special. Ninth of ninth of ninth."

He doesn't elaborate but I understand. This Trent feels different than the old Trent, and I'm not sure if this is good or bad.

Just as Cody hoped, Trent begins to hang out with relative frequency. On many occasions we find ourselves arranged on the floor; Trent with his guitar and Cody with his songs, and me pretending to ignore their maddening sing alongs. I never found Trent's guitar playing, or any guitar-playing, particularly attractive. I don't see why girls go nuts over a guy with an acoustic.

"I had a brother who picked up guitar for awhile." I say. "It was a wonderful four months. But I guess growing up in a big family where at least, like four of us were in band, I should be used to the noise."

Trent twists a tuning peg on the head of his guitar. "How many siblings do you have, anyway? There's no way all these stories happened to the same person."

"I'm the youngest of nine."

If words could be called back, I'd do it now. His eyes lock onto mine.

"Youngest of nine." He repeats quietly.

I swallow harshly and spit out a different comment: "Um, so do you guys like…er…Green Day?"

Trent puts the strap of his guitar around his back again. "Yeah, they released their ninth album this May. It's…it's okay." His glance moves again to the floor.

I don't understand him anymore – maybe it's because until now there was little to understand. He seems less simplistic, more cryptic. And of course, a lot less cool. I try not to look at him too closely. I cross my legs and adjust my posture. Trent begins to strum a tune and Cody, once again, starts to sing.

"You might find out that your self-doubt means nothing was ever the-re, you can't go forcing somethin' if it's just not right…"

Cody's voice is very pleasant to the ears, nicer than Trent's I'd venture. It's young and untrained but pleasant. I wish we'd had a challenge of karaoke or something, or that he'd done his singing in the talent show portion of season one. The public should hear his gift. Of course, I'd only wish this if said content occurred after my departure from the show.

They want to sing another

"No, not that song." Trent begins "It reminds me too much of…"

"Gwen. Same."

"No more Green Day."

And I realize at this moment I'm stuck spending my time with two attractive boys who both have huge Gwen issues.

Alone with Trent. Oh, pourquoi?

Cody has been the eternal go-between for me and Trent. In fact, I'm not sure if I've ever talked to Trent in a context that had nothing to do with Cody. Even my Trent dreams had weird Cody undertones.

And if you've ever had a sexy dream about someone, you realize very quickly how awkward it is to see them in three dimensions. Anything I feel for Cody, I developed when fully awake. And anything for Trent, I developed in a deep sleep; feelings which make no sense when they surface under morning light.

So I'm sitting a bit too close to him on the carpeted floor while Cody goes to buy some soda from the bottom-floor snack shop. I don't want any part of me to touch him, but I don't want to make an obvious recoil. I want to divorce myself from those early attractions but I find trying to avoid those old thoughts only make them more awkward. He has a notepad in his lap. I don't dare to look down at the lined paper.

But the silence we share is uncomfortable and heavy, so when it comes to the choice of spying on his scribblings or trying to engage in conversation, I choose the former. I turn an eyeball to his lap – probably just sappy, pretentious song lyrics or something.

His writing is thick and stressed, in pencil. In front of his folded legs are eight other pencils in descending order of size. I'm beginning to wonder if he's even the same person as he once was. My eyes turn back to the text – it just seems like letters, circles and boxes. Some letters in certain scratchy, mangled words, are connected together by lines, some bold, some faint.

My curiosity gets the better of me. "Um…Buddy? What are you writing?"

Silence.

"Guitar tabs or something?"

"Noah, what's your middle name?"

I blink a couple times, because that was in no way, shape, or form an answer to my question.

"Er."

He looks back at me, pencil pointing vaguely in my direction and lips pursed.

"Lucas." I say finally.

"Noah Lucas."

He stares at his paper for a few seconds. "That's so cool."

"How?"

And he still doesn't speak. He turns back to me and observes me intently. I almost feel like prey being circled by a carnivorous bird. Instincts tell me to lie still and he'll fly away, but I take the risk of engaging him.

"Um, seriously, are you okay? You've been acting super weird since you got eliminated from Action. "

"It's just…Gwen." He says briefly, but I feel like that's only half the story.

"Yeah, I can tell based on yours and Cody's daily Gwen laments. But there's gotta be more than that."

He ignores me and begins to scribble in his notepad again. My desire to see Cody return increases on a linear axis with every second Trent spends scribbling and/or staring at me. This is not like my dreams at all. I peer into the book again, but at that very moment he flips to a new page.

"Listen to me, dude. Does it have something to do with your wacky number nine…stuff? I saw your clips on the aftermath. What is it with you and nine?"

He closes the notebook. "It's more than just Gwen, okay? It's just my lucky number! And not because of her, either."

"I know, I heard your story about the trains and whatever."

"Yeah but when it was pointed out to me that Gwen had 4 letters and Trent has 5 it made me realize there are more coincidences. It's amazing! It's like this number has followed me throughout my life!" He scoots slightly closer to me, and the look of excitement on his face is frankly a bit distressing.

"Well my first name has five letters. And my last has eight. Eight and five aren't nine, they don't add up to nine, either. And Gwen's first name has four letters. Her last has nine. So there's a nine. But her birthday is the eleventh day of the twelfth month. Nothing to do with nine. And if you add the year, 1992 – that makes one plus two plus one plus one plus one plus nine plus nine plus two. That's…twenty six. But on the other hand, she was born at nine nineteen in the evening. So that's something, too!"

"No, it really isn't."

"She also likes Slipknot, a band famous for their obsession with the number nine. Now I know it isn't much, so I started to look elsewhere. Who else has nines? I didn't talk to that many people. Only some of my closer friends. Cody's birthday is the first of the fourth of ninety-three. So add those digits up and you get 27. And if you go by my numerology books, you can't have double-digit numbers, you have to keep adding til you get a number under ten. So two and seven are nine! That's how I knew he could be my friend. And of course, four letters Cody and five letters Trent makes for nine. I wanted to get the list off Chris that has all the contestants' birthdays on it, but he wouldn't let me have it. So I had to investigate by myself. It's actually very fascinating."

I'm at the point where I feel legitimately creeped out by Trent. Not that my skin is crawling, but that there's something so peculiar about his behavior and so unlike what he used to be. I almost want to feel bad for him. And yet the neurosis that brought him to finding these coincidences it at least a bit fascinating. I don't wish to hear any more. But despite that, I sit here, and I keep listening, and Cody doesn't come in.

"What about your own…nines?" I say, a bit anxiously.

"My birthday, February Sixteenth. Two plus one plus six. Perfect."

He resumes:

"Now you. You're the most interesting case. You are the youngest of nine children. Your birthday is the ninth day of the ninth month. Your first name plus middle name equals nine letters. And your last name is six, so that doesn't really mean anything. But altogether, lots of nines."

He places a quasi-unwelcome palm on my leg. "You're the best case I've seen so far."

Deep breath.

Stomach acid sloshes inside me.

Cody comes in the room.

"Trent, I got Pepsi in the four hundred ninety-one millilitre bottles. There's no such thing as 900 millilitre bottles. Noah, Dr. Pepper. And orange for me. So what are we talking about?"

When he sits down, I get close to him. In fact, I'd rather curl up in Cody's lap than listen to Trent's nine dialogues for another instant.

The dynamic between the three of us has grown tense and taut, at least from my perspective. Cody and Trent seem to be friendly with each other, although they occasionally return to their sopping commentaries on their unrequited love of Gwen. I try to ignore this, but in the end remain silent.

I know that Cody has more in common with me than with Trent because in terms of social hierarchy, Trent is cool minus smart, I'm smart plus somewhat cool, and Cody is smart minus cool. So naturally, I should be the go-between, but instead I feel like a buoy bobbing between two speeding transport barges.

Gwen this, Gwen that. Gwen Blasczyk is a blue-haired goddess.

As if I need to bring it up again, my tension may have a little something to do with my compounded desires for both of these lads, although now I prefer to keep Trent at arm's length to avoid learning any more peculiar statistics on the number nine. And now I even prefer to keep Cody at arm's length because our former intimate and at times mildly fluffy relationship has absolutely cooled into casual companionship. I miss the days of us as a duo.

And now I feel like a moron because I'm in the wonderful situation where I'm stuck hanging out with the two hottest guys on this show and I still am having a horrible time of it.

They're still in my room even though it's nearing one in the morning. We had another episode of Aftermath today, an occasion which never fails to charge Trent and Cody enough to keep them up (and in my room, and talking loudly) for all hours of the night.

Gwen Blasczyk is a blue-haired demon.

It's only been a week since Trent came to the hotel and I find myself reassured that once the house begins to fill up, he'll find someone else to hang out with and to play guitar with, though maybe we can still be friends when it suits me.

Trent is talking. He's trying to remember a name. He taps his pencil nine times, stops, and taps the rhythm again. The quick succession of tapping is lulling me. My head is on my pillow. I drift.

This time, when I dream, I see Gwen instead. She is taller than usual, a bit warped.

She tells me 'I keep winning.'

And I want to get mad at her because she's right, all the cute guys go for her. She rolls her eyes – 'But it's always freaks. So do you want to go to the shore or what?'

No idea what she's talking about. 'You can have Trent if you want, I like Bridgette now.'

I try to tell her that Bridgette is only interested in Geoff but the sounds in my throat sound so unlike my voice.

The short rift from 'Wake Me Up When September Ends' starts to bleed into my dream, and when I open my eyes and ears to the physical world, it's still present.

"Jesus." I mumble. "Can you cut the tunes, boys?" I say, groggily.

"Oh, if you wanna go to sleep we can leave." Trent says.

"You should have asked." Adds Cody.

"Yeah. Yeah you're right." I rub my eyes. "Please, let me go to bed." I pull myself up off the rough, carpeted floor. Trent offers me a hand, which I gingerly seize and let go of quickly as soon as I'm on my feet.

I follow the duo to the door. "So tired. Wake me up when September ends, okay?" I say nonchalantly. I must be tired to make such a dumb pun.

"Well, it's the twentieth. Um, well the twenty-first now, I guess. So…" Cody muses.

"Good night." I cut him off. He grins briefly and leaves the room.

Trent stands momentarily at the door, facing me. I stare at him, fatigued and disinterested, but he remains frozen with a knowing yet goofy smile. I raise an eyebrow sharply, and without another word, he follows Cody out of my doorway. I shut the door.

I crash into my bed with the lamp still on. Now that Gwen has been eliminated, Trent is doing everything in his power to avoid her at this hotel, and that means spending an increasing amount of time with me and Cody. I never expected this unorthodox arrangement.

Another thing I never expected was for Trent to annoy me so much. I used to think he was just excruciatingly hot and now he seems like more of a pest that wedges himself between me and Cody.A handsome pest, but still a pest. In fact, I don't think I've been alone with Cody for more than forty-five minutes since Trent arrived. And now as much as I wanted more company and something to do when it was just me and Cody, I've begun to long for those days to come back.

So I must allow this fiasco to become a cautionary tale: be careful what you wish for. Because if you're a genuine malcontent like Noah (Lucas) Khosla, you'll definitely find something to bitch about.

I realize quickly that the price I have to pay to spend alone time with Cody is to spend alone time with Trent in exchange.

It's October eleventh (seriously, the eleventh) and I've decided enough is enough. I'm going to tell Trent to fuck off today, but in kinder words.

I wander around downstairs until eleven or so. Trent stays up so late, it's predictable that he'd stay in bed equally late. I'm hanging around the free breakfast station, biding time. I absent-mindedly toast a whole-grain English muffin on the conveyor toaster after unceremoniously chopping it in half with the dull bagel-slicer.

"Are those…apple-flavoured Cheerios?" I hear Owen's voice behind me.

"Hey Big O." I say, flashing him a genuine smile. "I would have thought you'd notice those."

"Oh no, they had honey nut a few days ago, trust me." His eyes sparkle as he pours a huge portion of the ring-shaped cereal into a bowl. "I love apple." He says hungrily. "If ever I need to get eaten by the other contestants on this show, I sure hope they put an apple in my mouth like those pigs on a spit."

"Ew. I don't think we'd eat you, not enough muscle tissue I think." I chuckle and pour myself a drink. "Besides, you should be dead before we put you on the spit, so how will you taste the apple?"

"Good point." He ponders deeply. He re-evaluates: "If ever you guys need to eat me…feed me apples instead."

I laugh. Though I am the cynical type, it's always the cheerful and aloof that entertain me most.

"Have you ever tried apple streusel?" I say. "Il n'est pas si mauvais." I add quietly, vaguely recalling a line from the movie I watched with Cody.

"I didn't know you spoke French!" He says wide-eyed.

"I know German too, and Portuguese." I continue, biting into my toasted muffin. "Okay, well only a little bit. But it sounds sexy and intellectual to speak a foreign language, amirite?"

"Totally….Say something cool in German. My family is German. I think. Well, my grandma on the Grosse side made the most marvelous German chocolate cake, but I don't know if that's actually German."

"Ich will nachte Hause gehen." I say, with a slight eyeroll. I over-emphasise the CH with a guttural tear from my throat.

"You are so smart, I wish we went to school together and you could help me with my work. And in return you could come to my house and take whatever you want from the cheese cellar!"

"How generous. Hey, Owen, have you seen Trent today?" I say, looking at my large friend more seriously.

"He went around that corner, like five seconds ago."

"Oh! I have to go. I have to, ehm, talk to him. I'll see you. Enjoy your…Cheerios." I snicker, looking at his bona-fide bucket of Cheerios.

Trent is sitting at a little table at the edge. Most people don't eat this time of day – if they slept in this late, they aren't in the mood for breakfast and they keep their appetite for lunch in about an hour. His plate consists of nine grapes, nine strawberries, and nine apple wedges.

Looking at his plate and at the intense expression on his face as he stares out the window, I can feel my blood pumping just a little louder. No matter how much time I've spent with Trent lately, I can never fully feel comfortable around him, as if maybe he dreamed the same dreams I did from the opposite perspective.

I pull up a seat across from him. When his glance falls upon me, he beams.

"Noah." He says warmly.

"Hey." I snip. "What's up."

My voice is pinched and my phrases short.

"Not much, I woke up a little while ago but didn't have much of an appetite. I went to the gym, I took a shower."

"Did you time it?" I say, adding another line to the list of things I shouldn't have said to Trent.

"Huh?" He cocks his head a little. Okay, what is it with me and causing people to immediately forget their previous behavior?

"Nothing, nothing. Have any…plans today?"

His eyebrows rise and his lips loosen a little. I feel my skin tingling and heating; I could have worded that better.

"Nothing important." He says coyly, poking at a strawberry on his plate.

I take a deep breath and tangle my fingers together. "I mean…"

His seat squeaks a little as he readjusts himself. He doesn't speak.

"Eh, uh." Words fail me – an unusual phenomena, for certain.

"Listen Trent. You're a pretty cool guy. Like, talented and cool, good-looking…No. I mean, it's not that you're not cool…"

The perplexed look on his face warps into pure confusion. I hate this so much, usually I'm a genuine wordsmith and here I am fumbling in the simplest of descriptions. And Trent is going to think I wanna ask him out.

"Ugh. Okay. Trent, before you came along, I spent a lot of time with Cody, and although I don't mind your company from time to time, you've shoved a wedge between me and my good friend, and I was wondering if maybe…sometime…you could let me be alone with him again. Just for a few hours. For old time's sake."

"Oh." He says simply.

A hint of disappointment bleeds through his words and onto his face.

"Yeah, harsh, I know. I apologize." I say, waving my hands around.

"It's alright, man. Maybe I need some space too. It's just, the two of you fit so well."

I cock an eyebrow. Fit?

"You even more than Cody. You just fit so well into the grand scheme of things. I'm glad I get to hang out with you."

"Seriously?"

His hands leave his breakfast plate and find my still-clasped fingers. "I'll leave you alone for all of Tuesday. How does that sound?"

I take a deep breath. My chest cavity feels a little vacant, I feel so off-kilter.

"I still want to know about you." He murmurs.

My English muffin vibrates in my stomach, torn apart by a gang on invisible moths. "Trent, I'm not Gwen, okay? I've told Cody this before. I'm nothing like Gwen." I try to wriggle my hands away from his. They are warm and calloused, like I expected, but somehow I imagined his grip would be stronger and more certain. I avoid his gaze for an instant, but I can keep my eyes off him for long without it looking blatantly intentional.

When I face him, his face seems neutral and unreadable. Sometimes I wonder if that 'creepy Trent' vibe is hidden to the rest of the world and I'm the only one who feels it. "I never said you were Gwen."

"I don't even know what either of us are going on about, Frankly."

He smiles. "I enjoy your voice. When you say things like that." His tone is incredibly warm.

I look down at his plate – his fruits are arranged in a perfect square. This isn't going as well as planned, although I did indeed get an answer to my original inquiry.

"Listen Trent. I think I'll go now. I'll see you later, and Tuesday is perfect for the whole 'leave me with Cody' thing."

I feel his leg brush against mine under the table and pretend that I believe it was an accident. "So see ya."

What the fuck, man.

"And anyway, Trent says that Gwen and Duncan have something going down but I'm not sure if I buy that, it might just be jealousy speaking. I mean they both have multi-coloured hair and they like metal music, black clothes, and violence, but they've never shown any particular romantic attraction. I think if I'm like super nice to Gwen later, she'll totally give me a chance, but like, I need to stay on the down-low for now, you know? Because she's fresh out of it with Trent and she probably wants some time to recoup and I don't wanna be just some rebound, you know? I'm a quality guy who deserves quality attention, I think. So maybe later on I'll go in for the kill. Well, not kill, that sounds too mean. I dunno, how many more days do you think we'll be here? Today's the thirteenth. Are we at the top 5 yet? We've gotta be at least top seven. Maybe I'll wait for the top five to start flirting with Gwen again, of course, I need to get formal permission from Trent. Maybe pointers too, or is that too insensitive? It's hard, I like them both a lot and…."

As I sit in Cody's room nursing a bowl of Tom Yum from the Thai place down the street, my brain is slowly invaded by numerous ways I could erase Gwen's existence from Cody's brain – none of which are proven to be scientifically viable. This confirms that Trent's addition is literally the worst thing that could have happened to our relationship dynamic because all Cody does now is quote Trent and talk about Gwen. I don't like this one bit.

As he rants, less and less steam billows out of his takeout box. He's letting his food and my interest go cold.

"Cody. Honey." I finally say. "You need to slow down with the ranting. Please."

"Oh."

"It's like listening to an auctioneer."

I poke at my food with my utensil. "To be fair…" I add, "There isn't a lot to talk about other than Gwen and Trent, seeing as the latter has been invading our space for the past month."

"Invading? Do you find him invasive?" He says, eyebrows scrunching together.

"Yeah, kind of. He's always got his gay little songs, and his Gwen stories, and his number nine!" My voice gets very stressed at the end of the phrase. "And in other news, I'm pretty sure Trent wants to bang me."

"Serious." He says. This is a rare occasion where Cody shows hints of doubt – and a rare occasion that my statement was certified sarcasm free.

"Yes. He flirts with me in a leering manner and he thinks I'm associated with the letter nine."

"Well…is that what you want? Him…flirting? Like I don't even know what to make of this, man."

"Not anymore." I sigh.

"You should try! I wish Gwen would be obsessed with a number. I'm sure I can compile all sorts of data that associates me with whichever digit she likes best, see it's all in the cherry-picking! If she likes four, well , I was born in the fourth month and my first name has four letters! So right there!"

"Cody." I grunt, a bit angrily. "You're going to sound like Trent."

"I wouldn't mind, Trent succeeded with Gwen for a while, so that's a good sign. Being like Trent, I mean."

"Oh my God."

"And if he is right about Duncan, I'd like to try and get there first, you know? Because Duncan's kind of a douche and Gwen is a nice girl, I think, but she needs to be with someone who's nice, not mean, in order for her to also be nice, and that's why I liked her with Trent because Trent is nice, and good looking, and doesn't have a mowhawk, but now when you tell me these things about him, Wow, well I don't know what to think and maybe you're being really nuts and I dunno, maybe I should text him and ask him about you or would that be too weird? I don't know who I could ask to text Gwen for me except maybe Lindsay 'cause we're kinda friends but I don't think she likes Lindsay that much; actually I made a Venn diagram of people Gwen may or may not like and Lindsay is in the 'neutral zone' along with people like Harold and DJ…"

I squeeze the takeout box a little tighter in my fist. "You know what? I really wish you two would shut the hell up about that blue-haired bitch. She was never particularly nice to either of you, not to say you deserved niceties as you acted like a huge creep towards her at least eighty percent of the time, but she also seemed like she ogled Trent for his good looks and ignored every internal trait of his other than the whole guitar thing, because if she had paid attention for a few minutes, she may have realized he's a complete psycho. But of course, I can't blame Trent for being mentally deficient, it's her fault for not being more attentive to his shortcomings. And speaking of not attentive, you like to act like you're the nicest guy on the planet, but you seem all-around incapable of recognizing when someone does or does not hold affections towards you – how incredibly self-centred."

His mouth is agape. "What was that all about?"

"I'm mad at you. I never spend any time with just you, and when I do, it's Gwen Fest 2009 in here. Between you and Trent, I'm lucky my blood vessels are all still intact and my hair is still rooted to my scalp. I'm actually angry! " The last statement comes as a realization to me, as well.

I leave my empty food box on his table and storm towards the door. I pause for a moment with a hand on the doorknob. Why must I be so ridiculous?

I have a decent chunk of hope left that Cody and I can return to our normal friendship before we part ways at the end of the season, but anything more than that is not going to happen and I have no one but myself to blame. I measured a forgotten yet incredible success with him two months ago, which I purposefully never mentioned again despite being wholly ignorant of his thoughts on the matter. I allowed him to stay in the dark about my souring sexual feelings towards him mostly out of cowardice, and now I have a fifty-fifty chance of being mildly lusted over by a rather hot maniac.

I glide through the hallway back towards my bedroom. How was I to know that all the drama I missed in my first season would come to haunt me during the season in which I don't even participate?

I unlock my bedroom and fly in. I shut the door forcefully behind me. For a moment, I stand beside my bed, facing the bedside table, thoughts blank. How do I fix this?

The clock reads 6:39 and I pull out my phone.

With a heaving sigh, I type a message:

Come to my room.

This chapter took unnaturally long. I had hoped to get two chapters out during July but sadly I was a bit later. Originally there was another scene tacked onto the end of this chapter but I decided it would be a lot more exciting to start the next chapter off like that. Besides, that means now I already have chapter 11 started! :D HOPEFULLY after that TDA will be over because it's getting old.

I hope I did a decent job with my Trent. I wanted to make him a bit 9-crazed but I didn't want him to be downright MURDEROUS. And of course I have not seen all of TDA so some of the deets might be off - I mostly used the TDI Wiki as a source instead of watching 9 hours of TDA to write 6000 words of text.

This week was like Total Drama week for me, too. Both the TDA and TDROTI finales played on Teletoon, and while on a walk with my boyfriend he decided to grill me on all the events in total drama because he only saw the first season. He declared 'at this point, I think the host is the real villain', which is something I think the fandom can agree with.