Bryce's head snaps up from where he's talking to our teacher, Ms. Johnson. He looks completely bored and irritated when he looks up to find the source of the comment.

"Yeah, it is. What's the big deal?"

He's staring down the poor boy that pointed out his presence in the first place, and if looks could kill, the poor guy would be slaughtered.

His name is Christopher and he was in the school musical with me last year. He seems generally friendly, something I couldn't say to describe Bryce, but I know Bryce well enough, and although he comes across as very aggressive, I know that he wouldn't actually hurt anybody without a good reason.

"Nothing. I just had heard people talking and was wondering if it was true," Christopher says softly, sinking back into his seat.

The girl sitting next to him pats him on the shoulder, and I look back to Camila, who is watching Bryce closely.

"He'd be a fun project," she says, and I feel something snap inside of me.

"What do you mean by that?" I ask, the words rushing out.

She smiles, still watching him closely, saying, "He's funny, but definitely needs some fixing up. Kind of rude clearly, but he's hot and probably just has been through some things. I'm sure there's still something to salvage."

Her speaking about Bryce like this while he's merely twelve feet away really seems to bother me. I feel suddenly like I have to stand up for him as he isn't tuned in to defend himself.

It's odd that I feel the acute need to do so as I can't be certain he would stand up for me in the same way.

"I think he's fine the way he is. I don't think you should be trying to change him at all," I say, trying really hard to keep my voice fairly quiet but clearly failing a bit as Camila raises her eyebrows at me.

She shrugs, continuing with, "You really think so? He seems like he probably has anger issues."

I blink at her. "Yeah, I think he's great. And I'm sure he doesn't have any issues."

"You're quite defensive of him," Camila observes, and I don't bother responding.

I look up to find Bryce walking over to us, and he grabs a chair from one of the tables lining the walls of the classroom to pull up next to me. He sits down promptly, leaving me right in the middle of him and Camila. I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms, which seems to give the pair the perfect chance to spark up another conversation.

Camila leans forward, biting her lip. She rests her elbows in her lap and then her chin in her hands, and I take note of the cable knit sweater she's wearing in a deep plum colour.

She's paired the top with dark jeans and black shoes, and it's the first time I've ever gotten a look at her appearance. She seems to be very put together, and even thinking back, she also seems to carry herself very well. Whenever I see her walking in the hallways, she extrudes a certain type of confidence. I'd be lying if I said I didn't envy her a little bit.

"I never got to ask, but how are you liking it here so far?" she questions, and I quickly notice something weird.

Bryce isn't bothering to make any eye contact whatsoever, and he's instead staring right down at the ground.

"I'm from here. I only lived in the US for a few years, and they certainly were not my finest years by any means," he says, cracking a joke but not even smiling himself.

"Right, right," she says, catching herself. "I definitely knew that. We went to the same school for a little while. You're enjoying being back, though?" she asks, and Bryce nods at the ground.

Camila turns away to talk to a pretty brunette girl, and that's when I rest my hand on Bryce's tattooed arm.

He instantly looks up, eyes meeting mine, and I see a flicker of a strange emotion there.

Pain, perhaps.

"You're okay?" I ask softly, and Bryce gives me a super weak smile, glancing to wear my palm is pressed against his bare skin. He stays silent for a moment, and then suddenly seems to snap.

The mask is back on, and any genuine emotion is instantly gone. His expression is restored to it's usual lighthearted way, and he just nods at me.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Sorry about that."

"No worries," I tell him dropping my hand from his arm.

Maybe I'm thinking about all of this far too much, but I've seen more sadness in Bryce's face these past couple days than I have in the entirety of our time together before he moved away. It's almost unsettling and I really do hope he's okay.

Just like that, Ms. Johnson shuts her laptop screen, standing up from her desk and stalking back over to the middle of the room. She takes a seat at the bench placed behind the large piano, pulling the long braid of her hair over one shoulder.

"If I could get everybody's attention," she starts, "I have some exciting news.

It's funny how quietly everyone settles down, the buzz of voices fading to a dull. Everyone really loves Ms. Johnson, and her students seem to enjoy how carefree and fun her classes always are.

She's definitely on the younger side of the staff at the school, and she certainly acts that way. While most of our teachers are extremely strict and set in their own ways, Ms. Johnson is always open to new ideas and new ways to make every class more interesting.

She begins to explain details about the spring musical that the school puts on every year, building up anticipation.

I look around the room to find the whole class literally on the edge of their seats, eager to hear which show they'll be auditioning for.

Bryce looks bored as usual, and when he catches my eyes on him, he takes a inch or so of my hair in his hand, then proceeding to section the hair into three parts and braiding the strands together.

"You know how to braid hair?" I ask, a little surprised, and he shrugs.

"I'm thrilled to announce that this year's spring musical will be Into The Woods!" Ms. Johnson smiles, and just like that the room bursts into chatter.

There are obviously many mixed reactions, some people thrilled about the choice of show, and some clearly not.

I even hear someone ask, "Why aren't we doing Hamilton?" which makes me laugh out loud, scaring Bryce which makes him drop my hair from his grasp.

"Christ, these kids are annoying," Bryce comments, reaching to untangle the braided section of my hair.

I shake my head at him and he gives me a soft, faint smile, just as Camila taps me on the shoulder.

I turn around to meet her, and she quickly asks, "Another show where you can play the lead?"

Although it seems like she's joking, I still almost catch a hint of jealousy.

"Oh, I'm actually not going to audition. I've been really busy lately and I think I'm just goint to focus on college auditions," I tell her.

"Really?" she asks, not even hiding the shock in her voice. "Huh. This should be interesting then."

Not sure what to make of her comments, I just give her a weak smile before turning back to Bryce. I spot Ms. Johnson out of the corner of my eye, as she walks around the room taking questions from eager students, and I put on a smile as she finally walks up to Camila and I, a huge grin plastered to her face.

"I'd love if you girls would sign up for early audition slots. We like to prioritize giving seniors lead roles, so it's just easier if they audition early on."

Camila nods, beaming, but when Ms. Johnson turns to me I have to shake my head.

"I'm not going to audition actually, but thank you," I tell her.

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she tucks the pen in her hand behind her ear.

"Is that so? Well, I do hope you reconsider. And actually, Bryce," she says, looking at him, "I would appreciate if you would audition as well. We're always looking for more boys as the vast majority of our cast always ends up as girls."

Bryce looks up from his lap at her for a moment, his lips still glued shut as if he has no intention of responding. I nudge his arm a little bit, and he huffs, looking up to answer the comment.

"I think I'll pass. Thanks though," he says briefly, and Ms. Johnson nods, stalking away.

"Why are you like this? Do you just happen to dislike everyone to interact with?" I ask Bryce, and he laughs.

"No, just just the vast majority of people. But especially overly peppy people like that lovely teacher of yours. I don't understand how people wake up in the morning feeling that optimistic about life. The world is crumbling apart, but of course we should always just look on the fucking bright side!"

Something about the way he says it sends a shiver down my spine. At first I thought he was just trying to sound 'deep' or something, but now, as he's staring blankly at the wall across the room, I can't help but to begin trying to imagine who possibly could have hurt him this bad.

"I need to shut up. You should really just be ignoring all the shit coming out of my mouth by now," he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

I'm such a creep for watching him this closely.

"I didn't sleep at all last night if that's any excuse," he continues, and I suddenly feel bad for him.

"You want to talk about it?" I ask.

I'm quickly shut down with a shake of his head.

🌸🌸🌸

"I'm about to strangle you," I warn Charlie, who's sitting opposite me on the couch.

I'm trying to watch an episode of The Voice that I missed when it actually aired, but Charlie keeps obnoxiously singing along to any of the songs he remotely knows.

He snorts, throwing a piece of popcorn at my head, and just like that I lunge at him across the sofa.

"Woah!" he laughs, grabbing my wrists and pushing me back to my half of the sofa. He shoves a handful of popcorn from the bag into his mouth, chewing loudly which at least stops the awful singing for a solid six seconds.

"You're so infuriating. You're ten months older than me but act ten years younger than me," I scold, and he doesn't respond.

"Speaking of that," Charlie starts, "I really don't understand how we're so close in age. Could mom and dad really not keep it in their pants for any longer?"

It's at moments like this that I really wish I was an only child.

"My God, you're gross," I comment, reaching behind me to grab a pillow, then throwing it at Charlie's face.

"And you're a hypocrite, because you yell at me for throwing a single piece of popcorn at you but it's totally fine for you to hurl a pillow at me. Makes sense," he mocks.

"I didn't make some perverted comment about our parents," I retort, and he replies with an "It's not my fault you'd rather be at home watching TV on a Friday night than going out to live your life. I mean seriously, you really don't get out much, and you've really only kissed like two guys ever, not to mention you're definitely still a—"

"Charlie!" I literally screech. "This is not a conversation I want to be having with my brother!"

I reach for the television remote, turning up the volume even louder in attempt to drown out anymore of Charlie's comments.

"Suit yourself," he chuckles. "I'm sorry the truth hurts."

I turn up the volume even more.

"You're going to burst my eardrums," Charlie yells over the loud music.

"Karma!" I yell back, just as our dad comes walking into the room, overflowing grocery bags in hand.

"Why is the TV so loud?" he asks, basically screaming, setting the bags of food down on the kitchen counter, draping his coat over one of chairs at the table.

Charlie smirks at me, shutting off the TV completely. I glare at him, reaching over to flick him in the head.

I leap up off the couch, walking over to the kitchen to help my dad put away the groceries, and just as I'm about to place a cartoon on one of the shelves on the inside of the fridge doors, Dad breaks the silence, saying, "Bryce and Leo are coming over for dinner tonight, by the way."

And that's how I nearly dropped four litres of milk on my foot.

"You're the clumsiest person I know," Charlie says, placing the milk carton back on the shelf after miraculously catching it in mid air. I didn't realize he had followed me to the kitchen but I'm really glad he did.

I thought I was getting a break from Bryce's constant nagging but apparently not. All day he was driving me insane, asking stupid questions about our teachers and classmates and by the end of it I wanted to tape his mouth shut for good. I suppose it may be nice to see his father again, but I'm really not sure what to expect from him. Leo is always very friendly and has a great sense of humour like Bryce, but he also is busy running a multi-million dollar empire.

"You know I have a voice lesson tonight, right?" I ask, and Dad doesn't even bother turning away from the cupboards to answer.

"Yeah, of course, honey. I have to stay here to cook but Charlie will drive you," he tells me, offering up Charlie's time without asking. "I have no clue when your mother will be home, but she should be here soon, hopefully," he adds.

Charlie and I continue placing things in the fridge, and just as I shut the door closed, our dad looks up from where he's cutting up chicken.

"You two know what happened with Sierra, right?" he asks, mentioning Bryce's mother.

She was never really around much from what I remember of the days Charlie and I spent over at Bryce's house, but I do recall how gorgeous I always thought she was, from her sleek black hair to the long acrylic nails she always used to have. Everything about her screamed something from a movie.

"Yeah," I say, remembering how Bryce mentioned that she doesn't live with him and his father anymore. I didn't catch any of the specifics, but I'm sure there's nothing else too important to it.

I grab my water bottle from the cupboard above the sink, unscrewing the cap before filling it up using the water dispenser on the fridge.

"It's sad. He doesn't want to talk about it at all. I don't blame him, but it's sad seeing how closed off he is," Charlie says to our father, who nods in response, saying, "The poor kid has been through enough. He just needs some time to heal I'm sure."

It's tempting to chime in on the conversation, but I keep my inner thoughts to myself.

I know it must be hard for your parents to separate, especially as a seventeen year old, but I can name tons of people I know who have divorced parents and are still doing just fine. I'm sure he can figure it all out.

Then again, he seems so far off from the boy I remember that perhaps there's more to the story. Sure, he still loves to tease me and generally isn't friendly to many people, and yeah, he still has the same warm amber eyes and deep chestnut brown hair that's almost black, but whenever he isn't cracking a joke, he seems oh so distant.

I glance up at the clock on the microwave, and it reads 4:47.

"Hey Charlie, can we head out?" I ask him, not wanting to be late for my voice lesson. My teacher hates nothing more than when someone shows up late, so I screw the cap back onto my bottle, running upstairs to grab my copy of sheet music for the latest song I've been perfecting vocally. I hurry back downstairs to see Charlie standing in the open doorway, jingling his car keys in his hands.

"Ready to go?" he asks.

"Yeah," I reply, grabbing a jacket from the closet and heading out the door.

Charlie unlocks the car, and I climb into the passenger seat as he starts up the engine.

"Why are you so nervous about Bryce coming over?" he asks, and I don't reply because honestly, I don't know.

I just seem to have a bad feeling about tonight.