"When you stop chasing the wrong things you give the right things a chance to catch you. "

- Lolly Daskal

By the time Oliver and I reach my house, it is evening. I hit the brake and get down from my bicycle. Oliver stays on his.

I put my bike inside the garage and turn around to close the front gate. Oliver is staring at me.

I hold his stare until he turns around on his bike and gets ready to leave. He glances at me one last time before vanishing into the evening.

I let the reality sink in. We bunked school, and we biked around the whole town. I wasn't planning to have Oliver with me the whole time, but he was there the whole time.

I gulp and walk inside the house. The lights are on, but I don't hear anyone. Mom and Dad should be still out, in their office.

I reach the living room. I halt in my steps. My parents are here. Dad is on the phone and mom is pinching the bridge of her nose. She looks worried.

I swallow in nervousness. I hope this isn't about me. I take a deep breath, and clear my throat, making my presence known.

Mom looks up immediately and notices me. She stands up and pats on my dad's shoulder. He looks at me too. Then he visibly sighs. Dad hangs up his phone and starts to say something. Mom interrupts.

"Chris," she warns.

Dad closes his mouth. Mom speaks. "Go to your room, Gwen. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."

I stare at my mom. She looks calm and collected. She looks different. Like she knows something that I don't. This is about me, I realize.

I am in trouble. I nod at mom and head upstairs. I hope things are not too serious.

*****

We are having dinner. Mom and Dad are both silent, and I feel a twist in my stomach. The silence lays heavy on the dinner table. If you listen closely, you can hear the sound of our breathing.

"Did you show me your last test papers?" Mom asks, looking up from her plate.

I try to remember. Oh, crap. I got a C in Math and B in Physics. Of course, I didn't show any of them to Mom. Mom still believes I get all A's.

"You didn't," Mom replies herself.

It's not like Mom always checks my test papers, but once in a while, she does. She hasn't done it in a long time as she was busy. I would have shown her some of my papers if I hadn't done so poorly.

I was doing good. I had been lagging behind, but I was holding on. Then when the spiral days happened, I completely ignored my studies. Before the exams, I freaked out. Then this happened.

I had never gotten a C in Math in my entire life. I used to win the Mathalon. Mom will never believe this.

"You don't tell us a lot of things these days," Mom accuses.

Yes, right, because they are always busy, and I don't want them to worry. Hopefully, this time I won't screw up my test because of my bad days. I will try harder.

"Like, you decided it would be a good idea to leave school at lunchtime and not go back at all," Mom says. "Then come back home and pretend you were at school the whole time."

Oliver and I did go back right after the school ended to get a few things. Our backpacks were with us anyways.

I'm an idiot. I should have changed Mom's number in the office. I am not the only one who bunks school. I have never heard of the people who bunk school getting their parents get called. It's because the message never reaches their parents. Mine surely did.

"Gwen," Mom says, and I meet her eyes.

"Do you have anything to say about what you did and why you did it?" Mom asks.

Mom trusts me, a lot. She never asks me where I am going or what I am doing. She gives me freedom. Most of the time, they are out of the house, but Mom never asks where I was, because at the end of the day, I always had good grades, and I had decent friends.

None of those I have now. Looking into Mom's eyes, I don't see that trust anymore. I think I broke it.

What am I supposed to say to defend myself? I have nothing.

"Gwen, you used to be my little good girl," Dad says. "You disappointed me today."

Dad shakes his head. This stings. A lot. More than the glare Mom is giving me.

"You are grounded," Mom says. "No going out after school. I am staying home this week. You will come back home straight from school. I am not going to get another call from the school office. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I reply.

Mom goes back to eating. I poke the food on my plate.

After dinner, Mom appears in my bedroom. I am attempting to untangle my hair, and I'm hurting myself in the process.

"Let me," Mom says, and I drop my hands from my hair.

Mom takes the brush and gently brushes out the knots, one by one. I stare at her face in the mirror.

My mother is a beautiful woman, with her round face and bright eyes. Her age lines only make her face look softer. She has a way of holding herself that makes her appear powerful and strong.

Compared to my mom, I look like a potato. I can't believe I look nowhere near as pretty as my mother. I should have had some of those genes.

"You know that we worry about you, Gwen," Mom says softly, looking at me through the mirror.

I look down at my hands. I notice my scraped nail polish. The color Mom is wearing now is crimson red. I need that color instead of my navy blue.

"Your dad can't sleep sometimes at night. He is always worried," Mom says.

"He worries all the time about you, Sam, and us. All of this," Mom says. "And then you vanish for hours, without any notice."

My phone ran out of battery an hour after we left school, so I didn't even get any messages.

I know what she is doing. She wants to know why. She wants to know what I did. She wants to know where I was.

"I was with a friend," I say quietly. "We biked around the town."

Mom sighs. "Better than sitting in the class, huh?"

I don't reply.

Mom finishes off the knots and then brushes my hair properly. My hair is almost waist length because mom wants me to keep it longer. I always wanted a bob or something like that.

Mom starts braiding it. "I haven't seen Claire in a while. How is she?"

I almost snort. I haven't talked to Claire in four months. The last time we talked was when we had one last assignment together that we needed to finish off.

"Claire is fine," I say. She should be. I hope she is.

"Bring her home sometimes. You are always alone, ever since Sam went to college," Mom says.

"I will think about it," I reply.

Then I remember all those sleepovers I had with Claire. It was so much fun. We danced, we sang our favorite songs, we watched trash romance movies, and we fooled around together, until one day, Claire decided enough was enough.

I don't need you.

"Stay at home and use the time. How much homework do you have due?" Mom asks, finishing the braid.

I snap out of my thoughts. "Quite a few."

That's not true. I have so much work, I could drown in it. I have homework I should have done last week. I have assignments that will take two weeks to finish, and I haven't even touched them. If I don't get C, who will?

"Listen," Mom taps on my head, making me look at her. "You are Gwen Bradbury. Don't forget that."

I hold her gaze and let that sink in. I won't forget that. Ever.

*****

I open my laptop with new motivation to finally finish my English assignment. Then I see the document that's titled Novel. I hover the cursor over it, not clicking. I shouldn't.

Mom did a very bad thing bringing up Claire. Now words are clawing up my throat. They want to get out. I have had a new feeling lately since I have started to write.

I don't feel happy. I don't feel sad. I feel words. They are my only feelings now.

I start to type.

I have named the main character Amelia Rose. She is someone I will become if I stop trying. She does things I sometimes want to do. She has scars. She has cuts. She is hopeless. She is alone.

I don't have scars. I am not alone, not really. I don't do any of the things Amelia does.

As I keep writing, I realize that some parts of the fiction we read are always true. Maybe it's a line, a character's habit, or the place. Whatever it is, some part of it is real. Some part is extracted from real life, shaped into words, and put inside a book. You just never know which part. The writer never tells you. That is the fun of writing, I guess.

It is a guessing game. And in my book, I am Amelia. Amelia is me. The characters I have are real. Some of them might even be you. You just never know.

****

"I am grounded," I say to Oliver.

"I am not." Oliver shrugs.

Today we are in the cafeteria. Jason is still absent. I hope he will be back soon. I sent him a get-well-soon meme last night.

Oliver is picking on his food. I see a difference. I can't help but ask, "Where is the famous book?"

"In my bag, why?" Oliver replies.

"Are you not gonna hide your face in it so you can ignore me?" I say.

"I was not hiding my face in it to ignore you. I was reading," Oliver says.

"Right," I shrug. "Go ahead and do that."

"Am I doing it?" Oliver asks.

"My question is, why aren't you?" I ask back.

Oliver leans forward and taps his index finger in my forehead. "You have a brain in there, don't you? Use it."

I stare at him. Last time we were this close was when we were on the lakeside, my body flush against his, him holding my wrist tightly so I didn't fall.

"So we are friends now?" I blurt out without thinking twice.

"We will never be friends," Oliver says, his gaze searching for something in my face.

Right. Yeah. He made that point clear quite a few times. I just never take a hint. That is my problem. I never know when you need to read the signs and take the hints.

I glance away from Oliver. He leans back in his seat. We eat our lunch silently until Oliver says, "That guy you almost crashed into yesterday is looking at you right now. 10 o'clock."

I glance sideways and see Dean. Oliver is right. Dean is staring at me. I should congratulate myself on the fact that I am not completely invisible to my ex boyfriend.

"Isn't his name Dean Hathaway?" Oliver says, looking at his lunch.

"Yeah, it is," I reply.

"What's his business with you? You acted weird yesterday after seeing him," Oliver says, frowning.

Why is Oliver so interested? He said we will never be friends. Then why does he even-

Wait.

We will never be friends. Now he asks about my ex-boyfriend, a guy who is currently staring at me. I hope I am not reading too much into it.

I can tell him about Dean. I got over him five seconds after we broke up. What I never really got over was the fact that I was such a fool. And I still am. I just never learn.

It is the rule of the earth, the rule of existence: survival of the fittest. You have to change and evaluate yourself to adjust to the situation. I never change; I never evaluate. I never learn from my mistakes. I make the same mistakes over and over again, for years and years.

"Dean was my boyfriend. We broke up like eight months ago." I shrug.

Oliver is listening to me intently. I want to tell him this story. I haven't told anyone. When we broke up, Claire was still my friend, but because I felt so stupid, I never told her why I broke up with Dean.

"Have you ever been in a relationship?" I ask back. If he is listening to mine, he better answer.

"Yeah, I was," Oliver says.

I am surprised he is replying to me. He is talking. He is listening. He is not hiding behind his book.

"Well, then you know how it is. At first, it's all excitement, a rush of electricity," I say. Oliver shakes his head slightly in agreement.

"All-night-long texting, empty promises," Oliver adds.

"Yeah, and all the 'I can't imagine living without you, what did I do to deserve you's," I say.

"And 'I will never let you go's" Oliver says.

Our eyes meet and we both look away. I don't know Oliver's story. Maybe I will someday.

"As time passes it starts to dim down a little, but that's when you have to hold on tighter," I say. "I sound like an relationship expert."

Oliver laughs a little. I get so shocked, I snap my head towards him.

"No, you don't," he replies. "It is true."

"And you hope he or she is on the same page with you."

Oliver says, "Yeah."

"The thing is, Dean never was. He never put in effort. Our all-night chats turned into only good mornings and good nights. My long texts started receiving one word replies. My two kisses brought back one. My hugs didn't get one back," I say. "And the worst of it is, I didn't notice. I didn't realize. I never saw it coming. I made excuses on his behalf myself."

"Thinking maybe she is busy. Maybe she will call back when she sees it. Maybe she doesn't feel great. Maybe things are alright and I am overthinking," Oliver says, looking outside.

I sigh.

"Then I see him kissing another girl right in front of my locker, making it clear that he doesn't want the relationship I have been carrying on my back, that he is done. I should have seen it coming. I should have broken up with him when I knew it was over, but I kept hoping things would change," I reply.

Oliver doesn't reply this time.

"You know what's funny?" I say. "I was completely dumb and stupefied. I stood there like a statue. I didn't leave. They did. And also, me being the idiot I am, I texted him 'it's over'. He never even checked."

I laugh after I finish. Oliver stares at my face and then looks outside.

I sigh. I shouldn't have dumped all that in front of him. It feels good to let out though. It always does.

"I don't know much about this whole love fiasco or relationships and things like that. I don't give them much thought. I just wonder if there is someone who will always be there and listen to me, and I will never have doubt about him. After a long day, I will think of home and that person will be that home," I say, again out loud like a stupid person.

I should stop. I really should.

Oliver suddenly looks at me. His gaze is so intense, it knocks my breath away.

"What?" I ask.

Oliver shakes his head and looks away. "Never mind."

He stands up. "I need to be alone."

Yeah. I guess he does after I buried him in my misery. I overwhelmed him. I always do that, dumping people with my feelings and scaring them off.

"Sure," I reply.

Oliver walks away. I stay in my seat. When I turn my head and give a sideways glance Dean's way, I find that he is no longer staring.

*****