Della and Tracy spent their morning in their usual spat, while Joseph sat soundlessly in the backseat. He and his mother were used to this—which was why neither of them got involved, even when Della begged them to.

Joseph's fingers tightened around the strap of his book bag, when he noticed people staring, and grimacing. Well, cats out of the bag, he thought, weaving his way through the crowd of people, who steered clear of him.

He frowned at this. Sure, he'd gotten into a fist fight with Bobby Stinger—but why was everyone acting as though Joseph had caught a deadly disease?

Then, he saw it; a picture, taped onto his locker. There he was, sitting atop of the grass, Lark Reyes in his lap, punishing smiles sprawled across their faces, as they nuzzled one another's noses.

Lark appeared behind him, gasping at the sight before him. Someone had been watching the two of them last night in the cemetery. They had even brought an entire camera?

How had they not heard it?

Lark lied a hand on Joseph's shoulder. "It's going to be alright, Joe. We can—"

"Get the hell away from me!" Lark flinched, as did others, when Joseph raised his voice. This was Lark's fault. Lark was the one who had paraded himself in front of Joseph, and made Joseph fall in—

A tear slipped down Joseph's cheek.

He'd fallen in love with Lark. He'd fallen in love with Lark's smile, with his heart, with his lips. The two had practically morphed into one since Homecoming. And Lark was to blame for that.

"J-Joe, come on. We can talk about this somewhere private—"

"I don't want to be anywhere near you." While spiting out the words that cut into Lark's very being, Joseph refused to break eye contact, hoping that Lark would take a hint—and leave him alone.

"Fine," Lark whispered beneath a shed of tears. "We'll talk late." Then, he quickly made his way out of the crowd.