Jordan and I left the field and walked the long way back to the school. When we reached the building, Jordan pried open the heavy metal door leading to the gymnasium. It had been propped open with a doorstop, as it tended to lock as soon as it closed completely, and I'm pretty sure it couldn't be unlocked from outside. Either that or it was so old that Mr. Mason didn't have a key. Regardless of the answer, we were able to get inside.

"Your name is Elliot, right?" Jordan asked as we walked side by side down the hallway. "Elliot Goldman?"

"Yeah," I said, holding the back of my neck with both hands to try and relieve the aching in my head.

"I'm Jordan Hughes," he said. "I think we're lab partners."

"We are," I confirmed.

"It's nice to meet you," he said, sticking out his hand. I shook it quickly.

"Likewise," I told him, closing my eyes. My body swooped as my head swirled, and I wasn't sure I could stand up straight much longer.

"Whoa, are you okay?" he asked when I stopped to lean against some lockers.

"I'm fine, I just—" Everything was spinning. "I need to sit down for a minute." Jordan grabbed my arms and helped me to the floor. The contents of my stomach roiled and it wouldn't be long before I threw up.

"You don't look so good," Jordan said uneasily. "Do you need me to go get someone?"

"No, just give me a minute." I drew my knees up to my chest and held my head with both hands.

Jordan wordlessly slid down the lockers to sit beside me. He kept throwing me concerned glances. I considered telling him to stop looking at me like I was a wounded animal but refrained when I realized it would only worsen my headache.

"How long have you been bullied?" he asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I mumbled, keeping my head down so it wouldn't spin out of control.

"I may be new here, but I'm neither deaf nor blind. I can tell this wasn't a one-time deal. They've been doing it for a while. That Cole kid had a look of glee on his face when he took you down. That's not cool."

"Who?" I asked, trying to stall. This really wasn't something I wanted to talk about with a complete stranger. With anyone, really.

"I don't know all of their names," he said. "But every time we're in gym, Cole finds some way to make your life miserable."

"It doesn't matter. I'm fine."

"You're not fine, you can't even move right now," Jordan said. I couldn't tell if he was referring to my physical state or my mental one. "And it does matter."

"Why do you care so much?" I snapped. "You're a cookie-cutter popular kid. You've probably never had to deal with any shit like this in your life."

"You'd be surprised," he muttered. "Look, I'm sorry I pushed you. Bullies are the worst, and I don't like seeing stuff like that happen to people who don't deserve it. Sometimes I get a little carried away about it."

"It's okay," I breathed, leaning back and resting my head against the cool metal of the lockers. "I'm sorry I snapped. My head is killing me and it's making me more irritable than normal."

"No worries," he said. "Fresh start?"

"Sure," I agreed, and went to stand up. Jordan was immediately there to help me.

"You good?" he asked.

"As good as I'm going to be. We can't sit in the hallway all day in our gym clothes."

"That's true," he said, nodding. "Onward we go." He started walking down the hall.

"Jordan." He stopped and turned to look at me. "The nurse's office is down this hall," I said, pointing in the other direction.

"Right. I knew that."

"No, you didn't."

"Give me a break! I don't know my way around yet," he said, pouting a bit. However, it was quickly replaced by a bright smile. I found myself feeling a bit envious at how white and straight his teeth were. It must have been sorcery or something. I had worn a retainer for three years and still had a crooked tooth behind my top right canine. It drove me nuts.

The nurse's office was up ahead. "I can make it from here. You better head back to class so you can change before the bell rings."

"Yeah, I guess." He scratched the back of his neck and looked back down the hallway. "See you in chemistry then?"

"Yeah," I said, opening the door to the nurse's office. "See you." I went inside and shut the door behind me as Jordan made his way back to the locker room. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and looked up to see the nurse already watching me with her inquisitive green eyes. I gave her a small, awkward wave. "Hi, Lisa."

"Hi, Elliot." She acknowledged me with a tired but accepting expression and gestured for me to sit down.

"What happened this time?"

"I took a soccer ball to the head and I think I might've also hit it on the ground when I fell," I said as I lowered myself gently into an uncomfortable plastic chair in the corner of the room. "Mr. Mason doesn't think it's a concussion but wanted you to confirm it."

"I can do a few tests to see if that's true. Do you need an ice pack or anything for your head?"

"Didn't my parents approve me for painkillers a while back?" I asked in a hopeful tone. I had convinced them to fill out some paperwork that allowed the school to administer certain types of over-the-counter pain medicines to me back when I needed them in freshman year. I had made up some lie about getting headaches all the time so they wouldn't worry or suspect it was due to bullying. I hoped the paperwork was still valid.

"Yes, I believe so. I'll have to double-check your records really quick, but as long as everything checks out, I do have some ibuprofen I could give you. How bad is your pain right now?"

"I have a headache and it's making me feel a bit nauseous," I mumbled.

She nodded, clicking with her mouse to select a few things on her computer screen.

After that, she administered a few concussion tests, including ones where I had to walk in a straight line, similar to the way police officers test drivers they suspect are drunk, and read some stuff from a sheet of paper.

"What's the verdict?" I asked once it appeared she was finished.

"Looks like just a bad bump on the head, no concussion. It should be healed in a couple of days on its own. In the meantime, I can give you some ibuprofen and an ice pack to get you through the rest of the day. I can write you an exempt slip for gym for the next couple of days as well."

"That would be appreciated."

Lisa disappeared to grab an ice pack and a glass of water for me from the kitchenette in the back room attached to her office. She reappeared a few minutes later and handed me both before grabbing some ibuprofen from one of the locked drawers in her desk. I gulped down the pills quickly and pressed the ice pack to my head.

"Thank you," I breathed. The bell for next period rang while I waited for her to scribble out a note for Mr. Mason. "I'll write you a late slip for your next class as well," she said after glancing at my attire.

I glanced down at myself as well—it was obvious that I still needed to change out of my gym clothes.

"Thank you," I said again. Exiting her office, I waited for the hallways to clear up a bit before making my way back to the locker room. There was no gym class this period, so I wouldn't have to deal with anyone—a fact for which I was grateful.

I swore under my breath upon entering the locker room and finding my papers and belongings scattered around the room. Kneeling down, I picked them up one by one. By the time I'd reached my locker, my despair had sunk even lower. There, on the floor, sitting in a puddle of what I could only hope was water, were my clothes.

"Great," I mumbled, setting aside my ice pack as I stooped down and pinched the wet fabric between my fingers. I lifted the mound of sopping wet clothes, grimacing as liquid practically poured off them. After giving it a sniff, I was relieved to discover that it was only water. Hopefully it was from the sink or the showers and not from one of the toilets. Carrying my articles of clothing over to the nearest sink and dropping them in, I ran some fresh water over them just in case.

"Now what?" Even after wringing them out, I couldn't just throw them in my backpack. They'd get everything else in there wet as well.

Walking back along the lockers, I managed to find an unused one in which to hang my clothes. If I left them overnight, they would hopefully be dry by tomorrow. Knowing they would likely be left alone if nobody knew who they belonged to, I focused back on my other stuff. By the time I put all my papers back into my backpack, zipped it up, and slung it over my shoulder, I was resigned to the fact that I was stuck in my gym clothes for the rest of the day. Begrudgingly, I made my way to my next class.

ø

English literature flew by quickly, especially since I'd spent so much time in the nurse's office and the locker room. Before I knew it, I was packing up and heading to chemistry.

Everyone was lined up against the back wall when I walked into the classroom. I moved to stand beside them, staring longingly at my abandoned lab seat.

"All right, class," the teacher announced. "As promised, today we are changing the seating to accommodate your new lab partners. Please wait patiently until I call out your names."

The teacher started directing students to their new seats, which gave me time to zone out. It was only when my name was called that I finally snapped to attention and walked over to where I'd been directed. Jordan plopped into the seat next to me and took out his textbook. I caught him briefly glancing at my outfit, sympathy clouding his eyes. He said nothing, though, and for that, I was glad.

Once everyone was seated, and after two or three tries getting the class to calm down, Ms. Dailey returned to the front of the classroom and began her lecture on how to calculate the standard deviation and percent relative standard deviation—or RSD—of a data set. From what I could tell, standard deviation was basically a measurement of how much our data points were spread out from each other, and the %RSD was the standard deviation compared to the average of the data. The concept seemed pretty straightforward, but the process of getting there was a little more complicated. I buried myself in my notes, doing my best to translate what was practically hieroglyphics in the equations into something more understandable. All the while, I had to ignore the concerned glances from the boy beside me.

"How's your head?" he whispered quietly.

"Fine," I muttered as I took down notes on summation. "It's not a concussion. The nurse told me to take it easy for a few days but said that it should heal on its own. She gave me some painkillers, so it doesn't feel too bad right now."

Apparently satisfied by my answer, Jordan nodded and returned to his own notes.

There was a tinge of darkness to the room. I glanced out the window and saw a blanket of dark clouds looming low in the sky. While a school bus full of screaming children wouldn't be the best thing for my head right now, I would need to suck it up if I didn't want to walk home in the rain.

ø

There was nothing quite like the school bus to make me wish I had my own car. I understood the logic of why my parents made El and I share one, but it wasn't fair that the only time I actually needed my own wheels was when Ellie had dibs on it. It was frustrating. I could probably count the number of times I'd driven our car on one hand, and we'd had it since our sixteenth birthday.

I rested my head against the cool glass of the bus window as I tried to drown out the sounds of the elementary kids. Pinecrest was a kindergarten to grade twelve school. The junior grades were corralled in the west wing of the school so interactions between the younger kids and the high schoolers were kept to a minimum. We all had to ride the same buses, though, so there was no escaping the chaos and screaming and high-pitched excitement of the younger kids. It was as if they saved up all their exhausted energy for the bus ride home. No one could contain them—they bounced around from seat to seat, jumped up and down, and were rambunctious until the bus driver threatened to pull over if they didn't quit it. You know: calm, relaxing, exactly what you need when you've got a head injury. Maybe walking would have been better.

Having been forced to ride the bus for most of my life, I had a sort of truce with the small children. Back when I rode the bus more frequently, I used to bring a whole bunch of extra snacks so I could bribe them to sit down and shut up. Luckily, my sister was willing to drop me off in the mornings on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays since she usually left for her morning classes at around the same time I needed to be at the school. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I usually got a ride from one of my parents. That meant I didn't have to ride the school bus in the mornings anymore, which was a blessing in itself, and since I wasn't a little kid anymore, I was allowed to walk home if I needed to. When it was nice out, I much preferred a peaceful walk to the chaotic cacophony of poorly supervised children in a confined space.

"Hey, Michael." I leaned forward and got the attention of the rowdy eight-year-old kid a few seats in front of me who was standing on the seat so he could talk to the kids in the seat behind him. His head snapped to me when he heard his name, and his large brown eyes were curious. "Do you think you could keep it down? I have a headache."

"Sorry," he said, and lowered his voice from an overly excited yell to a more normal volume. I knew he would get loud again in a few minutes, but it was better for now.

"Elliot, do you have any food?" One of the middle schoolers, a small girl with mouse-brown hair named Anne, asked me after a few moments.

"Not today," I said, watching as a pout formed on her lips. Rule number one for surviving a school bus full of children is to bring lots of food. They're always hungry. Once you realize that, you know how to appease them.

Once Anne disappeared back into her seat, I turned my focus back to the window. I couldn't really see much, since the rain was creating streams of water against the glass, but I could tell we were getting closer to my home. I was thankful for that.

About ten minutes later, the bus stopped in front of my house. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and stood to exit the bus. There were a few children darting across the aisle to switch seats whom I had to watch out for, but I was soon able to escape the big yellow rectangle of hell.

As soon as I was safe from the rain and inside, I went upstairs to search for some more painkillers. I'd already decided that I wasn't going to tell my parents about my head. Honestly, I didn't feel like it was a big deal since it would heal on its own in a few days, and I didn't want to call attention to something that didn't need the attention. It wasn't like this hadn't happened before—some random injury—but my mom had totally overreacted the first few times I came home with a black eye or a fist-sized bruise and called the school, which kicked off an even more intense time when Cole and his friends were even more pissed that I'd gotten them in trouble. They were better about hurting me after that—more psychological warfare than physical.

After taking some ibuprofen, I laid down on my bed to relax for a while. I plugged in my phone to charge and then used it to look up possible recipes for dinner tonight. Maybe I would start cooking after a nap.