I doze off at around six in the morning, and an hour later the house wakes up, pulling me with it. I'm exhausted, and the emptiness still sits in my chest, but I pull myself out of the closet, walking like a zombie to the bathroom and brushing my teeth. I glance into the mirror. I look like shit, dark circles under my eyes and my hair a mess upon my head. I fiddle with it for a moment, splashing water on my face and through my locks to calm them down.

I'm shivering from lying atop my sheets all night, not having been able to even move enough to throw a blanket over me. I leave on the jeans I slept in, changing into a hoodie and layering on an old Kings jersey that hangs nearly to my knees. I trudge downstairs, entering the kitchen and slumping into my seat at the table.

"Jesse."

I jump. Michelle sits in her high chair, staring at me. I slump back down.

"Not quite, kid," I mumble, my cheek against the cold table. She giggles, and I open one eye to look at her. "Why don't you make yourself useful and get me a cup of joe."

She giggles again.

"We haven't taught her that trick yet," Jesse says, having descended the stairs behind me. He approaches the pot and grabs two mugs, filling them both and placing one in front of me. "What's wrong with you? You were conked out at nine when I checked on you."

"Eight-year-old's really take it out of me," I mumble half-heartedly, dragging myself and the mug upwards and sipping the bitter black substance. A cigarette would go really nice with this right now, but I try to ignore the itching.

"Jeez, you look like hell," Jesse comments, and I give him a mock smile.

"Always the charmer."

"You sick or something? Need to take the day off school?" He examines my eye bags skeptically, his eyes lingering on my not-so-perfect hair. I have the sudden urge to shout at him, but luckily I don't have the energy.

"And miss sniping DJ in dodgeball? Not a chance," I say, recalling how my teacher mentioned last class that we were combining with the other gym block for a friendly game of dodgeball today. Jesse chuckles.

"No head shots," he says, pointing at me. We're quiet for a minute, both of us drinking our coffee as Michelle babbles next to me. "Your cake was a hit, by the way. Oh, and Percy was looking for you before he left. Wanted to say goodbye. I think he likes you."

"I doubt it," I say with a snort, "I'm nothing but an ass to him."

Jesse shrugs. "Sometimes guys are into that."

"Well I think PJs likes him," I counter, and just then the devil herself walks into the room. She looks at me and snorts.

"You look like you got run over by a truck," she comments snidely, heading for the fridge.

"Just trying to be more like you, Mustard," I mumble, and she rolls her eyes, a cup of yogurt in hand as she heads for the stairs.

"Whatever."

"I really hate—"

"How we talk to each other?" I cut Jesse off. "So I've heard. Don't think it's gonna change any time soon."

He might get the hint that I'm not in the mood to talk, because he begins speaking to Michelle. My eyes burn from exhaustion, and I chug my coffee before pouring myself another and emptying the pot into my water bottle while Jess isn't looking. If I'm gonna destroy DJ in dodgeball today, I need all the energy I can get.

*

The ruler slaps on my desk for the fourth time, and I jump up in my seat, having dozed off on my arm again. At this point, Ms Lawson doesn't say anything to me, just hitting her wooden stick extra hard so I can feel the rush of it past my hair and my ears start to ring. Her eyes are averted to the class when I glare at her.

"Chapters 5 and 6 for this weekend, everybody!" she shouts as the bell rings, and I grumble a string of swear words that are carried away by the bustle.

"You got a little something," Percy says, pointing to my chin. I wipe off the string of drool that seeps from the corner of my mouth, and shoot him daggers despite him smiling widely at me.

I stand up, grabbing my things. I pull the water bottle of coffee from the depths of my backpack, unscrewing the top and leaving my chair untucked.

"You know," he says, following me out the door after pushing both of our chairs in, "sleeping in that class is not gonna boost your grade."

"Really?" I ask dryly, swigging back my beverage. "Because I thought that Ms Lawson would come to me in my dreams and show me the curriculum through interpretive dance."

He laughs, then crinkles his nose. "What's in that?"

"Coffee. Why, you want some?" I ask as we turn a corner, him annoyingly following me. He shakes his head.

"No. I hate coffee."

"Good, 'cause I hate sharing."

"Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed—"

"Are you following me for a reason?" I cut him off icily, but of course he's unbothered by my tone.

"We're playing you in dodgeball, remember?" he says, and I internally groan. I forgot DJ and Percy had Gym together. I guess I should be happy I can kill two birds with one stone.

We turn into the gym entrance, and he holds the door open for me. I stride through without saying thanks, and he does a little jog to catch up to me, unfazed by my lack of manners.

"Great. I've been wondering what'll wipe that smirk off your face," I say as I veer off into the girls' locker room. "I'm sure a hard rubber ball to the teeth will do the trick."

"No headshots, McGill!" he calls jovially as I shake my head, disappearing into the change room. I head for a stall, not a fan of stripping naked in front of everybody. I don't need anyone asking any questions about any of the questionable scars I've acquired from growing up with my mom. I change into a pair of old shorts and leave the hoodie I had on under my jersey; at basketball, I can't hide the circular, shiny, white burns on the inner bend of my left forearm, but I've only had one question about them so far, and I told the girl they were from having chicken pox. In the dim lighting of the stall, I run my fingers over the strange divots, the melancholic state I've been in since last night making me notice them for the first time in a long time. There's four of them, tucked into the crease of my elbow, two of them overlapping and the others forming a sort of triangle. They've faded enough that I don't notice them on a daily basis, but they're still quite visible in the light, the ugly shine of them catching my eye.

Though I was young, I remember the day like it was yesterday. I was six or seven, and my mother was on one of her weekend benders. I was drawing; I was never very good at it, but I went through a phase around that age where I wanted to draw everything I saw. She was wasted, and had been for a couple of days. Some of my pencils had fallen on the ground, and she tripped on them, cutting open her elbow on the coffee table. She started yelling at me, and I started crying and saying I was sorry. The more she yelled at me, the harder I cried, and soon she held me down, took the cigarette she was smoking, and told me she'd press it into me if I didn't stop crying. But I couldn't, and so she did, four times until I could suck the tears in and she stopped. She didn't bother me again that night, and I know she felt guilty, but she never apologized. I don't think my mother has ever once apologized to me in my life.

And yet I still miss her. I try to remember all of my scars, the ones on my body and inside, and push the thoughts of our sometimes nice little life together out of my head. But the distance makes the pain fade to a dull throbbing, leaving room for my heartache to grow as I think about all the good times we had. Our late night conversations about life, about how we felt. About the shitty world and its shitty inhabitants. Here, I feel lost, floating in a state of not quite being, with no one to talk to about it.

Someone knocks on the stall door, tugging me out of my trance. I shove my sleeve down, grab my bag, and walk out.

"What, you taking a shit in there?" a big girl with a heavy Boston accent asks me. I give her a smile.

"Yeah. Watch your step."

She rolls her eyes as I slip past her, heading for a locker and shoving my bag inside with a little more aggression than usual.

"Alex!"

Christ.

"Hey, Stacey," I say with what I hope is an adequate smile. Her bubbly attitude and bouncing ponytail is not really what I need right now, but alas, here she is with a couple of her little friends, one of them being Lindsey and the others I can't quite remember the names of. I nod at them.

"So, I guess we're playing you guys," she says, waggling her eyebrows over her lids, which have been wiped of their blue eyeshadow. "You're lucky you've got Ronnie, she's got a killer throw. And Nance is a good sniper, but—"

I tune out her breakdown of my team's strengths and weaknesses, my coffee not yet having the effect I hoped it would. I walk out with Stacey and the others into the gym, where the two classes are mingling on the bleachers, still waiting for the teachers to arrive.

"—last year 'cause some of the boys started wrestling, but I'm sure Coach Denver and Mrs Raystone will go over that—"

"Hey, Alex," Percy's voice cuts off Stacey halfway through her sentence as he jogs up behind me. "The court's looking a little dirty, don't you think? It's a good thing I'm gonna wipe the floors with you."

I snort, for once grateful for his interruption. "You practice that one in the mirror this morning, Walker?"

He grins and jogs off, joining a couple of other boys that I assume are in his class. Stacey scrunches up her nose.

"Percy Walker," she says with distaste, "what a loser."

For some reason, I feel a pang of irritation shoot through my chest, but I play it off, taking a seat and tying my runners.

"Are you friends with him?" Stacey then asks, and I shake my head.

"No. The kid follows me around," I say truthfully, and she laughs.

"That is so classic. He's pathetic," she says, and this time I can't help the words that come from my mouth.

"He's not pathetic."

She raises her eyebrows at me, and I'm just as shocked with my coming to Percy's defence. I call him a loser and pathetic all the time, I'm not sure why it bothers me when Stacey says it. Again, I try to regain my composure.

"He's good for one thing — he's great to cheat off of," I reiterate. "The kid's a walking encyclopedia."

She laughs again, shrill and high. A few of her friends laugh as well. They all turn to Percy, who's now chatting it up with DJ. Stacey scoffs.

"Oh, wow," she says, "wouldn't they make a cute couple? Little Miss Crybaby and Mr Goody-Two-Shoes — what a lovely little family they could start."

I feel another wave of annoyance bite at me, but this time it feels a little different and I can't exactly place why.

"Are those new shoes, Stacey?" I ask in an attempt to divert her attention from Percy; she buys it, and up until Coach Denver and Mrs Raystone enter the gymnasium, she yaps on and on about her shopping escapades. I share a look with Ronnie, who I can at least tell also doesn't care for this conversation, but I'm happy that she's no longer dissing Percy.

I look over at the boy as Raystone drones on about the rules; he sits next to his guy friends now, a couple of whom I recognize from my classes, and his hair is even messier than usual. In fact, he looks like he's gonna need a haircut soon, the way his curls are gathering at the nape of his neck. My eyes scan over it, and catch something; in the harsh fluorescent lighting, I can almost see what looks like a yellowish bruise stretching from the front of his neck to the back. I try to examine it further, but suddenly everyone is standing up and heading for the court, and I lose my vision in the bustling crowd.

"Say it with me, kids!" Denver shouts over the herd, and everyone joins in as we split to our opposite sides.

"No head shots!"

We get in position, backs pressed against the walls and eyes on the line of rubber balls perched on the halfway mark. I scan the opposite crowd. Stacey is muttering strategy to Lindsey and her other friends, DJ is focused carefully on the centre of the floor, and Percy is staring right at me. When my eyes connect to his, he grins and waggles his eyebrows, and before I can roll my eyes the whistle blows and hell breaks loose.

I don't go for the balls right away. The adrenaline kicks in and my coffee starts to do its trick, but I've played enough dodgeball to know the right strategies. I remain behind the line of idiots that start rapid firing with no aim at the other team, and after a minute nearly all of them have been hit. The first wave of morons, as I like to call it. Both teams quickly lose around ten players, and that's when it starts to become a real competition.

I remain protected by the front line, picking up stray balls and nailing them at peoples' ankles. I hit around five kids before noticing that I'm being targeted. Not just by DJ, but by Percy, Stacey, and her friends as well. Stacey grins cheekily at me, and I can't help but return the favour, sniping the ball I hold right at her and narrowly missing her right hip.

DJ has the aim of a stormtrooper, and I find it easy to dodge her hits; I also find it entertaining to watch her grow more and more frustrated as I pretend not to see her when she's about to throw a ball, then stepping out of the way at the last second before it hits me.

Percy is surprisingly good. Maybe not their best player, but he's good at dodging and decent at throwing. He dances around my hits, making me grow more and more irritated at his taunting smile.

"That all you got, McGill?" he calls jovially after clearing three of my throws with ease. "My grandma throws harder than you!"

Stacey is the one I have to worry about the most, as while Percy has good aim, he seems to get far more joy out of dodging my attempts than making any of his own. Stacey, on the other hand, is ordering around her little friends to try and box me in. I've gotten about seven kids out by now, and there's around ten left on each side. Next to me, Kimmy Gibbler steps on a dodgeball and lands flat on her back, rendering her winded and sent to the benches. On the other team, Lindsey and Sasha run into each other while going for the same ball, and both of them are sent to the office with bumped heads. I catch one of Percy's friends' throws, sending him off in a huff of misogynistic anger, where he approaches Coach Denver to undoubtedly argue the rules.

It's down to about six on each side by now. Their team has Stacey, DJ, Tiffany, Percy, and two boys I don't know the names of. On my side it's me, Ronnie, Nancy, and three other people I also don't know the names of. Ronnie has a good throw, but she's slow, and after nailing the two nameless boys in an epic ricochet move, she gets caught in the ankles by Percy and has to go off. Soon after, one of the girls to my left throws a lofty ball that DJ catches, and she has to head off as well.

The game stretches on. Everyone is too good to get hit, and soon I'm sweating with the effort. One of the boys on my side got nailed by Stacey, so we're short one man until I catch Tiffany in the stomach, sending her off in a overdramatic wheezing fit.

It's three on three now, and I've been trying to get DJ out, but she's hiding behind Stacey like a coward. Percy has started trying to hit me now, which proves a worthy distraction and makes it harder for me to focus on my target. Soon, the other nameless boy on my team gets his ball caught, and then it's just me and Nancy, who's fast as hell and has a pretty good throw. She darts around the court, narrowly missing Stacey's ankles with nearly every shot. I'm still trying to get DJ, and Stacey seems to see this, so she wriggles her brows at me as if trying to catch my attention. I respond with a questioning tilt of my head, and she jerks hers slightly behind her, gesturing to DJ. I think I pick up what she's getting at, and I nod slightly. She adopts a mischievous half-smile, and throws a few haphazard throws our way so as to not raise suspicion. Nancy and Percy are busy firing at one another, so neither of them see our interaction. She raises her fingers, and I wind my arm back, putting all my strength into this throw as she starts to count down from three.

When her hand closes into a fist, she quickly dives out of the way, and I throw as hard as I can right at the spot she had been in, the spot that DJ now stands in like a deer in the headlights. The ball whizzes right at her at an aggressive speed, and she has no time to react as it hits her. Right in the face.

She falls to the ground with a yelp, sent back by the force of the throw as I swear under my breath. The whistle blows, and Stacey lets out a shocked laugh before covering her mouth. I think about running, but obviously everybody saw that it was me, so instead I take a tentative step to the other side. DJ is wailing, blood pouring out of her nose and into her open mouth. I stare at her, unsure of what to do as Denver crouches down in front of her and helps her to sit up. My eyes drift sideways to Percy, who's staring right at me, this time with no trace of his usual amusement. He looks slightly angry, and definitely disappointed, and he shakes his head before looking away and approaching DJ as well. I see him start to whisper something to her, and Denver is shining a light in her eyes.

"Everyone! To the change rooms!" he bellows. "Class is dismissed!"

I turn, eager to flee the scene, but I'm not quick enough.

"Except for you, McGill!"

I spin back on my heel and swear some more. Stacey walks past me on her way to the locker rooms, and she's still smiling like the devil.

"Nice aim, Alex," she says with a snort, and her friend Sasha snickers. I don't laugh. I don't feel very smug. I don't feel especially terrible — because although DJ is crying like a newborn baby, I know she'll be fine — but I don't feel good either. I look back at the scene, and Percy is watching me again, his eyes trailing on Stacey's back before he looks back at me. He doesn't hold my gaze for long, and suddenly I miss when he was staring at me with that creepy grin all class.

I don't really know what to do, so I stand about ten feet away, watching as DJ continues to cry and trying not to think of Danny tossing me onto the curb later today. I know I should approach her, ask her if she's okay, but my pride acts like glue on the bottom of my shoes, and the idea of apologizing makes me angry and nauseous.

"Well, you don't have a concussion," Denver is saying, "and your nose isn't broken. Walker, take her to the office and get her some ice."

Percy helps DJ stand, and without either of them even glancing my way, they head out of the gymnasium. I continue to stand awkwardly, watching their movements out of the corner of my eye and only looking back once I'm cuffed in the ear by Denver.

"Save that killer arm for the court, got it, McGill?" he points a finger at me, and I rub my head, nodding. "Now, I know you're related to Tanner, so why don't you leave your home problems at home. I don't wanna see it in my gym. We clear?"

"Crystal," I say with as little sarcasm as I can manage, which happens to still be quite a bit. He points a threatening finger at me, but walks away, grumbling about pre-teen delinquents or something of the like.

Classes are still in session, so the hallways are empty as I approach the office, where I can see DJ sitting with Percy on a bench outside, icing her nose and sniffling and leaning on his shoulder. I fight the urge to roll my eyes like an itch. They both look up when I approach, and DJ manages to glare harshly at me now that her tears have subsided. Percy stares at me with an unreadable expression. I try not to let his gaze get to me, and instead I focus on DJ as I clear my throat.

"Just wanted to make sure you weren't bleeding to death," I say, standing in front of them awkwardly. She narrows her eyes at me, as if waiting for more, and when I'm silent, she scoffs.

"That's it?" she asks icily, and I do roll my eyes this time.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? It was an accident," I defend myself. "I didn't mean to hit you in the face."

"Yes, you did!" she says loudly, and the same old irritation I always seem to get when speaking to her bites at me, stomping on my guilty conscience and replacing it with a stubborn pride.

"No, I didn't — stop being a brat," I shoot back. I hear footsteps coming my way, and I look to their source as Stacey, Tiffany, and Sasha all come walking down the hallway, freshly dressed in their school clothes and high-ponytails. Stacey pouts at DJ as she comes to stand next to me.

"Are you okay, DJ?" she asks with a tone of sincerity that hides malevolence. "That ball hit you really hard."

"I'm fine," DJ says stiffly, moving away from Percy.

"Really?" Stacey asks, her brow furrowing over her invisible smirk. "Because you were crying a lot. I thought for sure it must have been super serious."

DJ's eyes are welling up with tears, but luckily Stacey doesn't notice, instead turning to me.

"Are you coming to lunch, Alex?" she asks, her eyelids freshly adorned with blue sparkles and her lips re-glossed. I glance at DJ, who's quickly wiping her tears while Stacey looks the other way, then I nod.

"Yeah, I'm coming."

She starts walking, Sasha and Tiffany following. I stay put for a second, looking over at DJ, who refuses to look back. I consider apologizing again, but it's obvious she doesn't want to hear it, and I'm not gonna grovel for her forgiveness, so I keep my mouth shut. I glance at Percy, who looks as if he's waiting for my next move; his eyes follow me as I start down the hallway, catching up with Stacey and heading to the cafeteria.