I sit in my last period class, staring at the clock and watching the seconds tick by. When the bell finally does ring, I'm out of my seat before everyone else and already making a bee-line to my locker.

I shove my books inside and fill my bag up with the ones I need. I close my locker and shuffle away just as others reach their lockers. I walk down the hallway and stop by the far washrooms, which are vacant.

Dropping my bag onto the floor, I lean back against the wall, my head against the glass of the trophy cabinet behind me. I don't bother to check my phone. I know there are no new messages. My dad hasn't made any attempt to contact me ever since I came home late that one night and snapped at him in the morning.

A sad little part of me wishes that he did make an effort. A part of me hopes he's frantically worrying about me and is seconds away from calling the phone to make sure I'm okay. To make sure my day went well, that I'm happy and not failing classes.

I wish for something normal.

I turn around and stare at the many trophies in the cabinet. My eyes move over to one particular picture off to the side. There are two lines of boys standing side by side with their arms around each other's necks. I lock eyes onto one boy, standing with a large grin on his face, football uniform on.

My dad stares back at me from the picture and the nagging in my chest returns. He's not like that now. The boy in front of me isn't the man I see today.

Looking out of the large window beside me I notice that the weather isn't too bad. It's cold but with my coat I should be okay to just walk home. I see the yellow school buses begin to drive away, lined up one after the other.

I push my bag further up my arm and turn around, sprinting up the few stairs to the back door. The chill of the air hits me immediately but I just zip up my coat further and tuck my hands into my pockets.

But when I look up I stop.

My foot slowly presses back down on the ground and I stare back at him with confusion. His own hands are shoved into his jacket pockets and he pushes off from his truck, walking a few steps forward.

He's only a few feet away from me so I take a few steps closer.

"What are you doing?"

"I need your help," he says.

"My help?" I ask. "For what?"

"I . . . do you trust me?" he asks.

"No."

"Liar." He gives me a little smile and I give him one back.

"Okay, fine," I say. "I trust you. But that doesn't mean I'm going to jump at the chance to help you. Last time I helped you, I had blood all over my kitchen."

"You still bringing that up?" he says, and I sigh.

"What do you need?"

"Eyes," he says. "I need someone to be my eyes."

"Well there's already two on your head so I hardly think you're gonna need more."

Tyler ignores my comment. "You just need you to look out for me. Be on watch."

I walk closer to him. "What are you doing? Robbing a damn bank?"

"I need someone I trust there," he says. "Someone I know won't stab me in the back when I turn away."

I stare at him for a moment before slowly nodding. "Well you've already been stabbed in the side, so it'd be a bit of a bitch move to stab you in the back."

"Funny," he deadpans.

"So are we going, or what?" I ask.

He looks a little surprised. "You really want to do this? Having no idea what you're getting into?"

"Do you want me to change my mind?"

He raises his hands up and takes a step back. "Okay," he says. "But you can't get angry at me when I tell you what we're doing."

"Why not?" I ask, following behind him as he walks back to his truck.

"Because you came willingly," he says over his shoulder.

I walk around the front of his truck and pull open the passenger side. I hike myself up and onto the bench. It had been a tight fit for three people, but the two of us fit perfectly.

Tyler shuts his door and starts up the engine. I reach out my hand and press my fingers to the air vent. Nothing.

"What, no heating?" I ask.

"Franny, this truck's older than my grandad." He chuckles softly. "There's no heating."

"How do you manage in the winter?"

He shrugs. "Coats. There's a blanket I keep in here—I'm pretty sure you're sitting on it."

Sure enough, when I shift a little, I feel something underneath me. I reach down and pull out a thick, multicolored blanket. "You just use a blanket?"

"Yeah." He nods. "This truck doesn't really get that cold, to be honest. I have these things you pin to the corners of the windows, like curtains."

"What?" I laugh.

He nods his head toward the glove compartment and I reach forward, opening it up as he drives. I pull out two thin pieces of fabric and frown at them. "What are they?" I ask.

"Open them out."

I do so and lay them out in the space on the bench in between us. The two pieces of fabric make two different, large squares with floral patterns on them. "Floral, huh?"

"I didn't pick them out," he mutters.

"How do they stay up?"

"Suction cups in the corners," Tyler said.

"Why do you need curtains, though?"

"Sometimes I hide out in here," he says. "Sleep a bit in between fights. Fix up my face before going home."

I nod. "Right."

He continues to drive, and I lean back in the seat, pulling my leg up under me, and face him. I stare down at the seat and pick at a little loose piece of fabric.

"Where are we going?" I ask after a while. "To do your thing."

"We're gonna do that around five or six," Tyler says. "We can't go any earlier."

"You're being very secretive," I comment.

He glances at me before sighing and turning back to the road. "Okay. I need to get into the bar where I fight."

"I would advise walking through the front door."

"Ha-ha," he says. "I need to get into my boss's office . . . when he's not there."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because I need to do something that will help me in the future," he says. "Is this twenty questions or something?"

"I've still got eighteen left then." Tyler shakes his head with amusement.

"You're funny, Howard," he says.

"Aw," I tease. "Have I been demoted to last name status now?"

"That's an upgrade with me," he says quietly, and looks at me for only a moment before looking away.

I smile to myself and stare out the window.

***

The truck comes to a stop about twenty minutes later and I look out the front window. We're in a parking lot. I lean forward and stare at the building.

"Fast food?"

"I'm starving," he explains. "I didn't eat all day."

"That reminds me, why weren't you at school?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Had a lot on my mind."

He pulls the keys out of the ignition and gets out of the truck. I follow after a moment, with my school bag still over my shoulder. I don't recognize the area and wonder how far he really has driven.

When I finally catch up to Tyler he holds the door out to me and I grab it. There aren't many people inside, apart from a few families and elderly people. We sit in a booth off to the side once we have our food and I look out the window. Tyler picks up his chicken sandwich before looking over at my food and laughing.

"Really?" he asks.

"Don't even try to judge me," I say, dipping a fry into my ice cream. "It's good."

"It looks disgusting," he says and takes a large bite out of his sandwich.

"Have you even tried it?" I ask.

"I've never had the urge to," he mutters, sipping on his drink.

I grab some fries and use the spoon to get some ice cream on them. I hold it out towards him. "I dare you, Madden."

He scoffs. "No way."

"I'm sorry," I frown. "Was that a chicken I just heard?"

He gives me a flat look.

"I'm sure it was," I continue. "But how could that be? The chicken in your sandwich is surely dead. I guess that means that you're the only one left. Tyler . . . are you a chicken?"

"Don't."

"What's a little potato and some cow's milk gonna do?" I tease with a little smirk.

"For fuck's sake," he mutters and leans over.

I expect him to take the fry out of my hand but instead my eyes bulge when he opens his mouth and pulls the fry away with his teeth. I'm frozen for a moment before I finally drop my hand, the tips of my fingers warm from his breath.

He chews on it, his face scrunching up.

"So?" I ask.

He swallows and shrugs. "It's weird."

I laugh a little. "Well, that was a little anti-climactic."

He laughs with me. "Maybe I'll warm up to it."

I look at him and he doesn't pay any mind as he continues to shovel his food back. I eat my ice cream and can't help but feel like that comment has more than one meaning. I smile.

I like the idea of that.