grab a stupid pair of gloves before I left my room.

The girl behind the counter looks at me like she’s trying to figure out where she knows me from, but

I just smile a little at her as I order my coffee. She says she’ll bring it over to my table, so I slip an extra

few dollars into the tip jar before I go to find a seat. There’s one in the corner, and by the time the girl

comes over with my coffee, I’ve already started in on reading the paper.

It’s, surprisingly, not that bad. This is actually the third edition I’ve read since I’ve been back at

school. I know, I know. Sad that this is what my life has come to these days. How far the mighty have

fallen.

I have to admit though, sitting in the cafe, the school paper spread in front of me, even if it’s on a

Friday night when almost everyone else on campus is out partying - it’s the best way I’ve found so far

to pass the time that isn’t going to class or doing homework. And really, they’ve found someone to write

that doesn’t suck, doesn’t make you want to gouge your eyes out just to save yourself from the

goddamn boredom of it all.

I’ve been checking too. Every article that’s managed to keep my attention all the way through, I’ll

check to see who wrote it. Apparently this “James Foley” guy, he’s a writer and the editor, and he’s

good. Name sounds familiar too, but hell if I know why, because I’ve never picked up the paper before.

For all I know, I could’ve slept with him. I might know if I saw him. Might not.

Still. I wonder what it’d be like to talk to the guy. Hell, if he talks anything like he writes, I might

even be able to have a conversation with him. Make my first friend. Maybe not, but I guess it doesn’t

matter either way. It’s not like I’m going to go hunting him down. That’s a little too stalker for my

tastes, thanks. I’ll keep reading the paper and if I somehow run into him that’s cool.

Probably won’t though. I figure writers for the paper are pretty out there. You know, in a social,

party way. That’s the way I remember it being in high school. And since avoiding the parties is why I’m

reading the paper in the first place, my chances of running into the guy don’t seem very high.

***

Is it pathetic to say that the cafe is becoming my home-away-from-dorm? Because it is. Getting through

the weekend and into my second week back, I’ve been here almost every day. I’m pretty sure the people

behind the counter are starting to know who I am, at least by order, because when I walked in earlier,

the girl at the register just nodded at me and said she’d bring “it” to my table. And she did. A perfect

coffee, just the way I like it.

I’ve also claimed a table as “mine”, where I always try to sit when I’m here. It’s back in the corner,

out of the way of the people just there to socialize, big enough that I can spread out a book or two if I

need to do some homework. It feels ridiculous to be so worried about school when I never was before,

but it’s what I’ve got going for me right now. It’s maybe the one thing I can at least try to be good at this

semester.

God knows I’ve got nothing else going for me right now.

I sure as hell don’t have a social life going for me, that’s for sure. And that’s one of the things about

coming to the cafe. My little table gives me the perfect spot to watch all the people that come in with

their friends, and it’s a nice, masochistic little reminder that no one’s going to come sit by me.

Since I’ve started hanging out here, I’ve seen Rizzo come in with some of the theater kids, and I’ve

seen that guy he used to hang out with come in and be all cozy with two girls. It’s easy for people to

ignore the table in the back corner though.

Especially when it’s just a guy working on his homework most of the time. I keep my head down

and the world moves around me. Even on a quiet night like this, when there’s only a few other people in

the place.

You’d think that the lack of people would make it obvious that someone’s headed to my table, but I

don’t even notice it until a chair is pulled out and someone sits across from me. I’m more than a little

surprised to look up and see that it’s Rizzo smiling back at me.

“Long time, stranger. Haven’t seen you since you got back.” He smiles more as he says it, and I

can’t help smiling in return at the familiarity. “You been hiding from me?”

I shake my head as I set down my pen, and actually glance around the cafe, checking to see if

anyone’s watching us. It’s a strange reflex, and I realize that I’m worried about people seeing us

together for his sake.

“I’ve been right here. You’ve been busy.” I’m not trying to make him feel bad, either. Not like I

maybe once would’ve. It’s just the truth: he’s been busy. Classes and the show and friends. “There’s

only so many hours in the day. You’ve got shit to do.” I quirk a smile at him. “Everyone on campus

knows that.”

He looks at me with that look I’ve gotten so used to. The one that says You are a little stupid

sometimes, aren’t you? He settles into his chair more comfortably, looking for all the world like he’s

going to be there a while, and grabs my coffee to take a drink of it. “So. How’re you settling in?”

I get the feeling that he actually wants to know, and even though it still surprises the hell out of me, I

close my book and start to talk.

Chapter 6

Don’t Tell

JAMES: With a start I wake up from that nightmare, the one where I’m covered with blood and I’m in

the shower trying to wash it off. I think it’s his blood, and I’m filled with terror, shame and disgust. But

no matter how much I scrub, it always reappears, and I start to panic. Then I realize that the blood is my

own, it’s coming out of my pores, but somehow I can’t stop scrubbing. So I scrub and scrub until my

skin turns translucent and I start to vanish, bit by bit. That’s when I wake up, my heart beating madly in

my chest, still trapped in so many layers of fear that I can’t even breathe. It takes me agonizing minutes

to calm down and find my way back into reality.

I let out a deep sigh and rub my face, hoping to shake off the broken feeling. Then I sit up and haul

my sad ass out of bed. I know it’s no use trying to go back to sleep; besides the gray hues of dawn are

already creeping in through the window, throwing long shadows on the floor. The nightmare is still

trapped inside of me, coming to life every time I close my eyes. My mind wanders back home, to how it

used to be, to Simon, to all the years between then and now that never managed to bury that day. You

can swear never to speak of something again, but nothing will keep it from haunting you.

There are things in my life that I’m not proud of, memories of when I failed to be a good son, a good

friend, a good anything. But there is one moment, one defining moment that shattered everything about

the person I’d always thought I was. Since that day, that one moment when I was sixteen, I’ve never

really been the same. You may believe that I’ve always been this jaded asshole, but nobody starts out

that way. When I look back to those days before everything changed, I cringe at how innocent I still was

in many ways. I actually believed that one day, everything would be okay. That I would miraculously

get Mom to leave Simon, and we’d start a whole new life somewhere. I thought there wouldn’t be a

price to pay. I thought we’d already paid more than our share. I was so sick of wearing turtle necks and

long-sleeved shirts every other day in summer. I was sick of pretending. They’re usually careful to only