"Two eggs...three cloves of garlic." I pause, and glance at Fritz. "You got it so far?"

He barks.

I crack my knuckles. "Two sticks of butter." I add in the rest of the ingredients and lower the top of the stand mixer. "And violia! Chez magnifique!" I press the mix button, and watch my creation come to life. Okay so it's just alfredo sauce, but still...I feel like I'm accomplishing something right now. It's more than I can say for my day at school, what a damn nightmare it was.

I'm not going back.

Granted, I've gotten used to the slurs, and how my arrival in the cafeteria has been the highlight of the day for most of the kids in that school. And I mean, I'm okay with it now. I accept it...I'll let them get their kicks, and at the end of the year I'll be laughing all the way to the bank. Well, okay, maybe not laughing . I wish I could laugh all the way to the bank, but really, I don't want that money. What I want is my mom and dad back. Isn't there a way? Like, isn't there some way in the world, any way at all to resurrect them? The ancients believed that you could resurrect people from the dead. And Jesus' followers believed that he was resurrected. Can't it just be like that? A god damn miracle? Can't I just have a second chance? Is it selfish to want a second chance? A lot of people die. I mean, I can't be the only one that deserves to have their loved one's brought back. If I could, I would take requests and bring them all back at once. God, anything...

I'd do anything at all...

I have alfredo sauce in my curls.

Today, they pulled my pants down in front of the entire lunchroom. It was that guy Ricky and his friends that did it. I guess I should have seen it coming, but I was thinking about too many things and I wasn‘t focusing like I should have been. I have a ton of work to do for my English class, more than I'd expected. Not that I'm mad. I'm always up for that sort of thing. I was just trying to figure out how I was going to balance this weekend with the Enviro project and the report I'm supposed to write on the short story we read. I had my sandwich, that roast beef one. Yeah, I was thinking about that too. I didn't even see them...I didn't even know...

Until my pants where yanked down around my ankles, and I tripped...and landed on my face.

They squashed my lunch too. Again. Fucking again...with my sandwich. Ricky got in my face, and waved the crushed lunch bag in my face too. He was laughing. "Urkel...errrrr." I couldn't move. I was paralyzed, lying there on the cold linoleum floor. It smelled like cheap floor cleaning liquid I'm surprised I didn't hurl all over the place. I don't even know how I managed to hold back my tears. I mean God, my long dress shirt was the only thing covering my briefs, and there were girls around. It was so personal. I don't know how I got up. I mean I did, after about ten minutes. I had to pull my pants up in front of them all too, and buckle my belt. My face was on fire, and the laughter was still there, all around me...drowning me in embarrassment.

I left school and I'm not going back.

I stop the mixer and dip my finger in the sauce to taste. "Hmm." I take some more and lean down to Fritz, so I can get his opinion. "Now be honest," I ask him, as he licks my finger. "Is it like mommy's?"

He sits, and whimpers.

"Well you don't have to be so blunt," I mutter. "It needs salt, Justin. That's all you need to say."

"I once knew a man that spoke wit his dog." Selma closes the back door behind her and places the groceries on the table. "Dat sorta ting will only land a bawy like you in da nuthouse."

I laugh. "Selma, Fritz is no ordinary dog," I inform her. "He understands over seven hundred words, and he can also understand most sign language commands. I've taught him fifty commands." I smile proudly. "And I have the book upstairs with all the others. We learn a new one every week."

"Oi," she groans. "Somebody needs to get your young b'hind outta dis house."

Selma is Jamaican and I'm fascinated by her. I like to learn about all different kinds of nationalities, and the Jamaican culture is one I'd always had some trouble fully understanding. It's lucky for me that Selma is so willing to talk about her homeland with me. She tells me stories about her family and her ancestors. About the fruit trees in the south region and the sugar cane fields to the north. She told me how the sugar cane grows so high above your head there, that you have to chop it down with an axe. One day last week she had some sent out here from her niece, and I put it in the cake I baked. It was awesome. It's great to have such a different culture so close to me. Grandmother doesn't' think anything of it of course, but she's not really into learning about the world and different cultures and things. She likes her books...the classics. A lot of Shakespeare too. And I respect her for that. I've had several interesting conversations with her about Othello and Hamlet, my favorite plays. It's brought us closer if anything. I mean, and that's good, because I need to have some kind of bond with the woman.

Or else I'll be alone.

"I'm okay, Selma," I reassure her with a smile, placing a light kiss on her dark cheek. "I'm cooking dinner."

She places a hand on her hip. "Nona dat weird tastin' tofu like de otha day," she warns me. "Madame nearly ‘ad a heart attack at da taste."

I laugh again. "No no, I'm off that high," I tell her. I'm weird. Really weird. Like I watched this show all about health food, and so I went out and bought tofu. I liked it, so I figured I would make Grandmother eat it too. She obliged, so I mean, I figured she'd had it before. I was wrong. I wish somebody else, like Jack, could have seen her face. It was priceless. Like that face somebody makes when they eat a really sour lemon, but ten times worse. I laughed. I laughed but she told me I was an imbecile. I felt bad. I went in my room and cried about it that night.

I'm such an idiot.

"So what is dis?" Selma points to my sauce.

"Alfredo," I grin, and open up the cabinet above my head. I pull down the canister of pasta and open the top. "I thought I'd make some Escargo in butter and garlic too," I smile. "That's why I asked you to pick up the fresh snails."

"I neva seen a man cook as much as you," she smiles, and begins to put the other groceries away; leaving the ingredients I requested from her out on the table. "Whateva woman be your wife one day, is gonna be a lucky one."

I laugh a little, but I don't say anything. I have so much stuff I'm dealing with at the moment...so much pain and things, that I can't think about girls. I guess I'm not a complete freak. I mean I had one, a girlfriend, back at Harding. We were together for three years. Elena. I loved her, and love...that's not just some word I throw around. I really was in love with her. She was the only girl that I'd ever let that close to me...that I let explore me. When I left, it was hard for us. We were still in love, and she told me that she would talk to her parents, get them to let me live with her until we graduated. I guess I could have. Her parents were really nice people, but I think part of me wanted to leave. I wanted to get away...maybe, hide. The book I read about psychology mentioned that hiding from the truth, is the number one reaction to trauma, and I guess I can't lie to myself now that I think about it. I didn't want to be reminded of everything...of my parents then. Of course now, being in this new place, in that horrible school, makes me wish I could have sucked it up and stuck around.

But I'm not going to stand here and kick myself for things I can't change.

"Should I boil the wata?," Selma asks, picking up the pot and bringing it over to the sink.

While I do love her company, I can already feel the tears forming behind my eyes. I need to be alone right now. Alone where the only one that can see me cry is Fritz. "No, Selma. Maybe Grandmother needs you in the sitting room. I'll be fine."

"All right bawy," she shoots me a knowing smile, and rubs my shoulder. "Jes let me know when dis ting is ready."

I nod, but don't say anything as I watch her leave the kitchen. A moment later I hear Grandmother mutter an order for her to do something, and I know I'm alone for the moment. I should start to fix the Escargo, but for some reason, I don't have the motivation that I did before. I lean against the counter, and run my hands through my curls. I try to think of something...anything, so I can be happy. But there is no way for me to be happy...

Ever.

The phone rings, and rings, and rings again. Then it stops. Silence. And then I hear Grandmother's voice booming from the sitting room. "Justin Randall, there is a girl from your school on the phone."

I poke my head through the doorway nervously. "Grandmother."

She begins to hand me the cordless. "No funny business young man. Where do you know this girl from?"

The only girl I've given my number to, is Meredith, and I'm assuming it's her that's calling me. She wants to know about the project of course, it couldn't possibly be anything other than that. I know it will be a cold day in hell before she'd ever actually want to hang out like friends do. But right now, after today...I really couldn't care less. "From science class, Grandmother," I say. "We've been assigned a science project. It wont effect anything."

She gives me a serious look, but she knows I would never lie to her. "Very well," she sighs, and gives me the phone. "But if this girl makes trouble, I want you to come straight to me. Do I make myself clear?"

I nod, and pray that Meredith hasn't heard any of this. I mean, I don't care what she thinks, but I don't need to sound like I'm being babied on the phone. "Hello?" I glance at Grandmother quickly, and duck back into the kitchen.

"Hey!"

I can hear loud music blaring in the background, and voices...loud voices. "Two four six eight..." Counting. I consider this for a minute. God. Cheerleading. "Hi," I finally say.

"Was that Grandma? Tell her I'm sorry I made her upset," she laughs. "She didn't sound too thrilled."

I roll my eyes. "It's okay," I mutter. I know I agreed to work with her. And when I agree to work with somebody on a project I never back down, but it doesn't excuse that fact that I'm pretty angry with her. Not only did she try to touch me the other day, for whatever sick reason she did; but today...when Ricky pulled my pants down, she was there. I looked at her for a moment, just quickly, and I saw her laughing. She was laughing right along with them. She didn't care that I was mortified, that I felt like a piece of shit groveling on the ground. I grit my teeth in frustration. "What do you want?," I mutter.

"Well I..." Her voice trails off, and I'm sure she knows that I'm mad at her. "How are you?"

I laugh bitterly. "Take a guess."

"Look, he's a jerk," she informs me, as if I didn't already know. "I'm really sorry about what happened to you today. I told him that he shouldn't have done it."

"Sure you did," I scoff. "Don't lie to me, Meredith. I saw you. You were laughing right along with the rest of them."

"Laughing?" She sounds shocked. "Justin, I wasn't laughing. I saw what happened and I started coughing! Heather had to go and get me some water."

"My, how convenient," I sigh. "Do you really think I'm that stupid?"

"I'm not lying!," she whines. "Look, you can ask Heather the next time..."

I interrupt her. "Like she's really going to give me the time of day, now that the entire school knows me as ‘ass boy‘."

This time she doesn't answer me. I hear the music again, and the cheering voices. "Are you at practice or something?" I ask. Really, I shouldn't say anything more. I should just hang up, tell her I can't be her partner when I see her again, and just forget the whole thing. I'll transfer to Vermillion and hang out with a bunch of kids I have no desire to get to know. It'll be great...

I hate life.

"I'm at cheerleading," she tells me quietly. "And actually, it's part of the reason I'm calling you."

I laugh, and walk over to the pot in the sink so I can start filling it with water. "What now? Did your water boy take ill?"

"Not exactly," she says, innocently.

I don't like it.

"We need a mascot."

"A mascot," I laugh again, and turn off the water. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No I'm not. We need somebody new this year. The guy that usually does it, broke his foot and he quit. I think it would be good for you," I can hear her smile through the phone. "You know, you could meet people and try to fit in. Plus," she giggles. "You'd get to hang around with us girls."

"You're nuts," I say, as I place the pot of water on the burner. "Did you see what happened to me today? Did you see how they all laughed at me? I doubt I'll set foot inside the school again, let alone walk onto the football field. Nice try Mere, really. Besides, I know you're up to something anyway. Somehow, I'm sure this is all some stupid plot you've conjured up with your friends to make the me look like a bigger imbecile."

"Hey! That's not fair." She sounds offended. "None of the stuff that's happened, happened because of me Justin. That was all...them."

"Oh right." I turn the burner on, and laugh into the phone. "You were just there to watch. You know...get some enjoyment..."

"Maybe I should just get to the point," she interrupts me.

"Maybe you should," I agree, even though I'd rather be complaining to her than talking rationally. I know that sounds crazy, but really, I have nobody else to vent to or get my aggressions out with. I don't even have a psychiatrist. After my parent's funeral, they sent me to one...but it was weird. I felt funny talking about how much I blame myself, and so I opted out. Grandmother didn't seem to mind too much. She'd rather not have to tell the rest of the ladies club that her grandson is ‘seeing a therapist'. However, the downfall is that I keep all of this aggression inside of me. Earlier on, before school started, I figured I would end up making a few friends who would understand me and be willing to listen to my problems. But now that I know that it's never going to happen, I'm starting to become very cold...very bitter. It's not a good way to be. I've never been this way, it's not how I was raised. But...I just can't trust anybody right now, maybe even...never again. So, I'll take what I can get. I know if I keep fighting with Meredith over the phone, it won't only release the stress and anxiety from my soul; but it will also make me feel a lot better about myself. But if I start lashing out, pointing out her flaws and things, she'll only hang up on me. Then I'll be left to my thoughts, with Fritz as my only companion. And while I love that animal, it's getting kind of lame confiding in my dog all the time.

She sighs heavily into the phone. "Practice is tomorrow," she grunts. "If you want a shot at making some friends, instead of having everybody calling you ‘ass boy', you should come down and check it out after school."

I roll my eyes, and cough a little. My chest is a little tight right now, probably because I'm stressing myself out again, and I reach for my inhaler. "Maybe I will," I say, before taking a slow hit. I clear my throat a little. "Have you started your proposal yet?"

"Oh..."

I chuckle a little, realizing how stupid the question was to ask. It's only been a few days, and while I have my proposal in place, and a basic outline of the project sitting on my desk; I'm certain that she's barely opened her book to look the information up. Not that I can blame her. After all, she does attend public school, and she's not the brightest girl I've ever met before. But I've always known that her social life and extra curricular activities come before her studies. "You haven't started," I tell her, as the water begins to boil. I pull the clear acrylic canister closer to me and pull the linguini pasta out of it. "That leaves you hardly any time to get it done, Meredith. What did I tell you...."

"Look," she interrupts me. "I have a lot going on after school with cheerleading and my family and stuff. It's hard for me to really sit with my school work and get it done--"

"Which explains why you're failing," I interrupt, tossing the pasta into the water. "School comes first Meredith, didn't your parents teach you that?"

She's silent for a long time after that, and part of me feels that I've said to much...but I wont allow myself to believe it. So she has petty high school problems. So what? She doesn't know real pain. Nobody in that school does.

"I'm guessing you already have it like...done for us," she grunts. "Thanks for giving me a chance to prove myself, jerk."

I scoff. "You think I could get a detailed project done in three days?"

"Hey," she chuckles. "You're the genius right?"

"It's not done," I point out. "And it wont be done until the week it's due in." I lower the heat and add some salt in before replacing the lid on the pot.

"I'm confused," she admits. "You still haven't told me what we're even doing. And Justin, I have to pass this year. I failed last year, and Mr. Felps hates my guts. He‘s not going to cut me any slack...I wont graduate," she whines.

I sit down at the table and toy with the little salt shaker shaped like a mouse. "Are you even in that class, mentally?," I ask her with a smile. "Or do you just sit there and float out of yourself, Meredith? Because really, we've been studying chemical effects on the environment from day one, and that stuff is so remedial it shouldn't be allowed to be taught at a high school level." I admit, I'm probably being incorrigible right now, but I don't care. I can't stand people that allow their minds to wander when their futures depend on the grade their getting. What's worse, she's very likely to fail, and she's still not making an effort to turn things around for herself. I'm supposed to help her, get her to pass, and hope to god that she'll compensate me by introducing me to her friends in the future. But why should I have to stick out my neck for her? I didn't ask for this. I'm not the one that told her to go party instead of cracking open her books. Geez, I didn't even know she existed when she was taking this class last year. Because last year, I was in Harding. Last year, Elena and I went to the social and ate some cheese and drank wine...and kissed, and would have gone there and done it if it hadn't been for my anxiety. Last year, Jack and I planned out our goals for our senior year. We were going to compete...to see who would end up being valedictorian...who would get accepted at Stanford first.

Last year, my parents celebrated their eighteenth wedding anniversary. And that was just a week before...

"Well, I'm glad its so fucking remedial for you. I wish you would stop pointing out how much smarter you are than me. I already know okay? God...everybody knows. That's why they all think you're a weirdo. I mean you wear suits and you don't make an effort..."

She's rambling because she's angry with me and I don't feel like hearing it anymore. "We'll be studying household chemicals and the effect they have on three different types of plants," I interrupt, casually. "We'll be building a greenhouse and studying the changes in the plants on a daily basis. You'll need to come to my house after school everyday to take notes, unless of course that's too much trouble..."

"No!" She blurts out pathetically. "That's fine, I understand. I can...I can even come over tonight and see what you have for the proposal."

She's going for the easy way out, at least I think she is. She wants to come over, copy what I wrote, and turn it in on Friday. I hate her for that, but then again, if I get her over here alone...away from her stupid friends, maybe I can talk to her in a more reasonable manner. Maybe I wont be so cold...maybe she wont be so annoying. Maybe we'll actually have something to talk about, and maybe I'll finally understand why it is that she can't do her schoolwork the right way. "You want to come over?," I ask her a moment later, the surprise in my voice obvious.

"I can," she say softly. "If it will help, I can."

"Well, fine," I say sternly, and rise from the chair to check on my food. "We're about to dine, so how is eight o'clock for you?"

"You're about to what?"

I sigh. "Dine. Eat dinner. I'm sorry if my dialect is too formal for your immature ears."

"Oh." And she laughs at me just as I thought she would. "Yeah well, me and my family will be ‘dining' shortly as well. Eight o'clock sounds great, Justin."

"Be on time, okay?"

"Duh."