"Do you ever feel different?"

Madeline and I are staring up at my horrendous stucco ceiling as we do often, discussing whatever comes to mind. Once school gets out for the day, we return to my house and let our brains wander. It's what makes our friendship last.

"Yeah," she responds. "I'm too Asian to hang out with the black kids, and too black to hang out with the Asian kids."

She has recounted many instances of this to me, and I fire back with an instance of my own on another front.

"And I feel too feminine to hang out with boys, and too masculine to hang out with girls, but that's not what I meant."

Even though we lament so often about this issue of not fitting in, this is how we have become such good friends. We have only each other. I sometimes forget to be appreciative of this, despite how it looks on the outside to us. I cherish our friendship more than anything.

Madeline leans on her elbow to look down at me, and my eyes shift over to her. "Isaac, what is this about?"

"Do you remember that guy that kissed me at the party before school?"

Ilya has launched me into a torrent. He confuses me but also intrigues me, and one is a causative of the other, but a dangerous concoction as well. My parents wouldn't want me getting tangled in with him, and a part of myself agrees. Then there's that tricky other part that urges me to take a risk for once, and it's so difficult to get rid of, because it's right. I hate that it's right, and I hate that Ilya has disrupted my cycle of obedience.

"Yeah, how could I forget? It almost gave the both of us a proper heart attack," Madeline giggles.

One half of my mouth lifts up in a weak smile of acknowledgement. "Well his name is Ilya Turner, and I found out today that he is in my English class." I bite my lip and murmur, "He also gave me a ride home."

The size of her eyes doubles upon hearing his name. "Ilya Turner!"

"Do you know him?" My brows clench together.

She simmers down a bit and fakes casualness as she replies, "I've heard of him."

I'm sure everyone has heard of him. Even more, they love him. I saw the way they beheld him this afternoon during class. He has a special something that no one else has, something that draws people to him. However, Madeline doesn't seem to be a part of the Ilya fan club.

"He still remembers me from the party, too." My focus flicks away. "Is it bad that I kind of liked it?"

"Do you mean getting so intimate with someone you don't even know, or kissing guys?"

"I mean kissing Ilya." I tense up, anticipating the harsh judgment that I have always feared from the people I love.

Madeline regards me with a lens of motherly concern. "Don't tell me you're falling for the kid who basically assaulted you just to steal your drink. You know, there are better and easier ways to get a beverage at a party."

"I never said I was falling for him. I just, well, enjoyed the experience," I admit shyly.

Madeline mocks me with a pout. "Aww, baby got a boner kissing that hot and rugged stranger."

I scowl, but anyone could clearly see the smile hiding behind my lips. "Fuck off."

Madeline pats my knee. "Well it's great that you're discovering things about yourself, but I would advise you to stay away from him?"

"Why is that?" There's that awful feeling blooming in my stomach for some reason, characteristic of being let down or uncertain. Before now, it has always come along with academics.

"He dated this girl named Ainsley Pettus who broke up with him last year on account of his mental instability. Everyone was really surprised."

I don't ask how she heard about this and I didn't. I'm more worried about what she's saying about someone I, too, am unfortunately starting to admire.

"You can hang out with him occasionally if you want, but I wouldn't get too invested if if I were you."

My heart sinks. "He's just a pair of lips to me, then."