Long story short, although I wan't late for my voice lesson, my teacher was still in a bad mood. I really don't know why, but it didn't help either that my voice didn't seem to agree with me and wouldn't extend to my usual full range for some reason. It usually wouldn't be a big deal, but I have auditions for universities in New York too soon, and I'm already stressed enough.

Either way, Charlie and I are on our way back home now, singing along to some obnoxiously overplayed Katy Perry song that I don't think I've heard since 2012. I'm sure it'd be quite the show for onlookers as my poor brother can't sing for the life of him.

I'm already sending prayers out to whoever he marries, as they'll have to deal with this even more than I do.

By the time we pull into our driveway, there's already a perfectly polished black Mercedes-Benz parked on the street in front of our house, a tell-tale sign that our guests must have arrived already.

I can't stop myself from wondering just how many cars Bryce and his father must own. This is pushed aside in my head though as I notice my mother's car parked in the driveway. She must be having a fit inside that her sweet little children aren't inside to greet our guests.

"Mom's gonna be pissed," Charlie says as he kills the engine, unlocking the car doors.

We both step out, and he locks the car with the click of a button. We're halfway up the stairs to the front porch when my phone buzzes in my jacket pocket.

I pull it out to see the lock screen lit up with a notification.

I smile to myself, not bothering texting back as I'll see him in a moment, and also, knowing me, I'd probably tumble up the steps if I attempted to text while walking.

Charlie tries the door handle, and it's locked, so he knocks a few times and the rings the doorbell as well.

"You're going to get yelled at," I warn him, and he doesn't seem fazed. "Don't blame me, then," I add, just as the door opens.

"What took you two so long? You're late," our mother scolds immediately, not even greeting us as the quickly shoves the door shut behind us. We both kick our shoes off and I line mine up neatly on the shoe rack, before shrugging my coat off. Our mother quickly takes both of the jackets, hanging them up in the closet.

"It's rush hour. There was traffic," I answer her blankly.

Her head turns so quickly towards me that she probably could've gotten whiplash. Her eyes are in narrow slits, and one of her eyebrows is raised.

"Don't you dare talk back to me, young lady," she basically hisses. Charlie is slowly slipping away into the dining room which leads right to the kitchen, where I'm sure everybody else is, and when our eyes lock, he shrugs in defeat.

He mouths the word 'sorry', but he doesn't seem apologetic whatsoever.

I turn back to my mother nervously, really not wanting to pick a fight right now.

"I was just answering your question—" I barely get out, before she's walking back towards me in a few quick strides.

"What are you wearing?" she asks harshly, and I look down at my perfectly fine outfit that is't at all revealing, so I don't know what she's even getting at.

God, she's insane. She cares way too much about how I dress and I really just wish she would leave me alone for once.

I fully understand that there's a legitimate reason why she's this absurdly overprotective, but it still doesn't make it okay in my eyes.

"Know what? Never mind. I don't want to hear an excuse. Just come to the kitchen," she snaps, spinning around and flipping her neatly curled hair over one shoulder, heading into the kitchen the same way Charlie just did.

Our house's layout is very open. There's an entrance to the dining room right by the front door, and if you walk past the main staircase a little bit there's another entrance that opens up to the living room and the kitchen.

It's as I'm thinking this that I see a figure standing in the living room doorway, watching the whole interaction between my mother and I unfold.

"How much of that did you catch?" I ask, suddenly feeling extremely awkward.

"I heard everything," Bryce answers. He looks over his shoulder briefly, before walking over towards me. He reaches for my chin, tilting my face up to meet his. The small gesture seems to take my breath away.

"You're okay?" he asks me quietly.

"Yeah, yeah," I answer, clearing my throat. Bryce drops his hand, and I step away from him.

"I just got to run this stuff upstairs," I tell him, and he nods. I feel his gaze following me as I walk upstairs, but by the time I reach the top landing, I turn around to find that he's disappeared.

I walk to my bedroom quickly, the room in the farthest corner of the hallway. I place my water bottle and folder filled with sheet music on my desk, before collapsing in the white desk chair. I lean dangerously far back in the unstable chair, staring straight up at the light fixture on the ceiling that I didn't bother turning on when I came in here.

A single stray tear rolls down my cheek.

It's just so darn frustrating to have the same argument with her over and over again. It doesn't get us anywhere, and just makes me feel like crap, which I'm sure must be her main intention.

She absolutely loves to think that The Incident hurt her more than it hurt me, which is false at so many levels. I was broken— no, still am broken— over what happened. I'm terrified to be alone at all now in fear of history repeating itself.

Meanwhile she's probably upset that it would mess up her image of the perfect family if her youngest child was never to be seen again.

I quickly wipe that one tear away, tying my hair up in a ponytail using the hair tie I had on my wrist. Standing up, I then smooth out my top before heading back downstairs.

Even though I know he's with everybody else, I still feel a little sad when I don't find Bryce still waiting by the front door.

The second I walk into the room, I feel five sets of eyes on me. Charlie is sitting at the island, sipping a can of Diet Coke, while my dad is standing in front of the sink, his arm wrapped around my mother's shoulders. Bryce is leaning against the counter, his eyes glued to me even more so than everybody else's, and his father is standing right beside him.

No wonder Bryce is so tall, as Leo is just as tall, maybe even slightly taller. They have the exact same warm brown eyes and dark hair, and I realize how Bryce is almost an exact replica of his father and barely looks at all like his mother. Leo and Bryce do have a different smile, though neither of them really genuinely smile much.

"Lexi! It's great to see you again," Leo says, pulling me in for a quick hug.

"It's good to see you too," I tell him, walking over to stand next to Bryce, as far away from my mother as possible. There's still about a foot of distance between us, but Leo seems to be watching us with a knowing glint in his eyes.

Bryce glares at him for a moment, and Leo backs down, looking to the side and shaking his head.

"Your mother was telling me about your acting career so far. Good for you," Leo compliments.

I'm not shocked to say the least. She loves to bicker with me when I'm around, but also loves to brag about my success to all her friends.

"Thanks," I reply, and Leo nods.

I'm staring at the ground now, and I catch Bryce staring at me out of the corner of his eye. It's then that I also notice he's changed into a long-sleeved turtleneck made of a thin grey material rather than his T-shirt from earlier.

Leo and my parents have started up another conversation and it's funny how quickly my mother's icy persona has lifted to this kind, caring woman. Bryce shifts closer to me the tiniest bit, bending down to whisper in my ear.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks, and though I nod at him he doesn't seem convinced as he run his fingers through my hair in a way that's oddly soothing.

"Where were you and Charlie?" he asks, his voice still soft and hushed.

I turn to face him, propping my elbow up on the counter and leaning to the side. "I was at a voice lesson," I tell him.

He seems to think for a moment, before asking, "It seems to be known that you're a good singer. You're really as good as everybody says?"

I laugh a little at that. "I guess so. We had some professional recordings done of my show over the summer and I think some of them are up online as far as I know," I tell him.

"Is that an offer to show me later?" he questions, and I look up at him.

"Yeah, I guess so."

Bryce drums his fingers against the counter for a few seconds.

"We could probably go talk somewhere else. They all seem occupied," he suggests, nodding at Charlie, who's on his phone, and our parents who are still deep in conversation.

Just as I'm about to agree, figuring no one would mind if we were sitting over in the living room instead, but a timer from the oven goes off.

"Looks like the chicken's ready," my dad says, grabbing and oven mitt and pulling the food out of the oven.

"Charlie? Lex? Could you two set the table?" he asks as my mother reaches around him to shut the oven.

Charlie huffs, standing up and walking to the cupboards. I've already begun piling six plates on the counter, when I feel Bryce walk up behind me.

"I'll grab those," he offers, picking up the plates and carrying them over to the kitchen table.

"Thank you," I say, and he gives me a small, half smile.

"No problem."

I shut the cupboard, opening the cutlery drawer and counting out some forks and knife, picking them up and carrying them over to the table where Bryce is lining up the final dinner plate. I place a fork and knife down on either side of each plate, just as my parents bring the food over to the table.

We all sit down, everybody making casual conversation as we eat. I stay mostly silent, chewing slowly so I don't have to chime in on much of the chatter happening. Bryce is having a full conversation with my dad about marketing and making money through the internet, while my mother and Charlie are talking to Leo down the table.

Everyone seems to finish eating around the same time, and though I help in clearing the table, my dad dismisses me, Bryce, and Charlie, insisting on doing the dishes himself, and so the three of us end up retreating to the living room.

Bryce and I sit down next to each other on the sectional couch, and Charlie plops down on the loveseat. None of us seem to know what to say, so Charlie just casually reaches for the television remote and presses the power button.

Just like that, the television comes to life and it dawns on me that we didn't turn down the volume from nearly full blast before we shut it off earlier.

Whoops?

Bryce nearly jumps in his seat at the sudden blaring sound, and I hear my dad curse from the other room.

"Didn't I tell you kids to turn down the volume?" he hollers, and Charlie yells back, "Sorry!"

He quickly turns down the volume to a reasonable level, and Bryce is laughing now after the initial shock.

"My God, you guys are weird."

I lean over to swat at his arm but he catches my hand mid air, guiding it back to my lap.

"Aren't you supposed to be nice? Why do you keep attacking me lately?" he teases, and I huff, leaning back into the couch.

Charlie is watching some news story about a lady in Toronto who threw a chair off an apartment balcony into a busy street, and Bryce is now rolling his eyes at my pouting.

"You really are whiny," he says, and that final comment gives me the sudden urge to yell at him, until my phone goes off, stopping me in my tracks.

"What is up with you guys and loud noises today?" my dad yells from the kitchen for the third time today as I reach for my phone from off the coffee table.

My Phantom of the Opera ringtone is certainly very loud, but I had purchased it after I got the email that I got the role over the summer out of excitement and just haven't bothered changing it back since.

I didn't think I would answer the phone as it seems rude to when we have company over, but when I see the incoming call is from Jasmine I decide it'll be a quick call.

I stand up from the couch, telling the guys, "I'm just going to take this call real quick. I'll be back."

They both nod, and I slide to answer.

"Hey. What's up?" I ask, walking out of the living room and down the narrow hallway that holds a powder room and the door to the garage. I sit down on the bench lined up against on wall, crossing my legs underneath myself and shoving some of the pillows aside.

"I need relationship advice," she blurts out, and I have to cover my mouth quickly to stop from laughing.

I'm quite possibly the worst person to ask for relationship advice. I'm the only virgin out of our friend group, not to mention that I also refuse to even consider dating a guy until college because I know that I'm moving away from here, so there's no point.

Why date someone if you don't plan on marrying them, or at least spending a significant period of time with them?

"You really shouldn't be asking me of all people," I advise her, and I hear a loud sigh from her end of the line.

"Well who else do you expect me to ask? Freaking Jordan?"

"Fair point," I laugh, just as Charlie and Bryce walk past the hallway, Bryce glancing at me briefly. They must be heading upstairs to Charlie's room to play video games or something.

"So what's up?" I ask her, and she sighs again. I hear the shutting of a door and the creaking of a bed as if she's just fallen backwards onto it.

"Daniel wants to take me out to dinner sometime this week. He's cute and all but I just don't know. I kind of have my mind on someone else," she confesses.

I have to think for a moment about what to tell her because I've never been in that situation. Guys have never offered to take me out to dinner, which isn't their fault as I make it clear I'm not interested, but it just means that I really can't relate.

"Don't go out with him then. Not if you don't think you'll be loyal," I tell her, and she's quiet for a moment.

"It's not like he asked me to be his girlfriend or anything though, right? And besides, we're still in high school. It's not like this is anything serious."

Even her tone sounds indecisive and I feel bad that this is worrying her so much yet I can't help her.

"I don't know, Jazz. Just do what you think is right. Who's the other guy you mentioned? Do you think he likes you back?" I ask.

"He's no one important. I'm just confused. I'll let you go, you probably have shit to do. I'll see you tomorrow," she says.

"As if," I tell her. "You know that I don't do much."

A little ironic, considering that I'm actually busy today, a rare occasion when I'm not in a show. I hear her soft giggle through the speaker, and I'm glad she's not upset with me.

"Bye Lex," she tells me.

"Bye," I say, hanging up.

I quickly stand, shutting my phone off and standing up from my seat. It looked like Bryce and my brother went upstairs, so I head towards the staircase just as Charlie is running down.

"Is Bryce up there?" I ask him, and he shakes his head.

"He went outside to get some air. He's out front. I'm just down here to grab my phone," he explains.

"You left your phone down here? I ask. "I'm surprised you lasted that long without it. You're glued to the thing."

He stares blankly at me, blinks twice, then walks away with out a response.

"Love you too!" I call out after him, and he mutters something that I don't catch as he rounds the corner, through the doorway.

Deciding that Bryce probably wouldn't mind my company, I head towards the front door, opening it quietly.

The moment the door even begins to open, Bryce's head shoots around to see who it is. His expression settles when he sees that it's just me, and turns around to stare back out at the sky, the sun setting in the distance. It must be later than I realized, as the blue sky has shifted to vibrant oranges and yellows, with small hints of red and purple.

Although the surprise has faded from Bryce's face, I know that I still look shocked as I stare at the cigarette pressed between his lips.

I hate cigarettes. So much. They bring back bad memories.

"Of course you smoke," I sigh, sitting down next to him on the steps. The smell of tobacco is fairly strong but I ignore it.

Bryce doesn't say anything to me as he takes another hit of the cigarette. I sit there for a moment, but the stench becomes too overwhelming.

It isn't until I get up to leave that he stops me.

"Christ, I get it. I'll stop if you stay," he promises.

I think for a second, before settling back on the step. He drops the cigarette to the concrete of the steps, smothering it under the sole of his boot.

"You probably think I get mad drunk on weekends too, huh? Or that I have no priorities and I just waste my nights doing dumb shit that isn't going to get me anywhere in life?" he asks, his delivery cold and solemn.

My mouth falls open a little bit, and that's when I recognize that what I said may have been a bit harsh.

"I didn't mean it like that," I say softly, and just those simple words seem to release some of the tension in his shoulders.

There's a weird buzz of electricity between us, and I'm almost startled when he finally looks towards me.

His eyes are sad, so unbelievably sad. I've never seen this emotion from him in all the years we've been friends.

"I swear I'm not addicted or anything. I just smoke sometimes when I have to think," he defends, almost as if he's scared of judgement.

"It's fine. It's not like I'm your mother or anything," I joke.

But as my words sink in, I realized that I messed up.

"Thank God you're not. I'd pity you if you were anything like her," he says, and there's a sudden shift between us.

"Bryce?" I ask quietly. "What really happened with your mom?"

I don't know how I expected him to react to that question.

Perhaps he'd suddenly shut down and refuse to talk about it. Or maybe he'd laugh it off, and I find out that I'd been way overthinking all of this, and his mom is fine. Maybe she just divorced Leo and wanted to stay in Florida even though Bryce and her ex-husband moved.

But the way Bryce's hands are shaking a little bit, and how he doesn't push back the hair that fell into his eyes tells me that I'm about to uncover something serious.

He remains quiet, evidently thinking.

"You don't have to tell me," I reassure, but he shakes his head.

"No, I'm just wondering why you're still sitting so far away from me."

I carefully scoot over on the step so that we're sitting so close that we're nearly touching, and Bryce bridges the gap by wraping his arm over my shoulders. I rest my head on his shoulder, leaning into his embrace, and he then rests his head ever so slightly on mine.