Tuesday, I️ continued my days as I️ had been for weeks. I️ kept my head down as Lucas passed, and when my friends decided to bother him, I️ turned a blind eye. Wednesday, too.

Thursday morning, I️ walked to class with Shawn as per usual, pretending to listen to him talk about his night out with Celia Looslie.

Of course, my mind was elsewhere. Specifically, I️ was thinking about the fact that, as of now, I️ was free this evening, which meant Lucas could come over.

"Where's your head right now, Jean?"

I️ blinked, shaking away my distraction, and hurried to find an adequate straight-guy response. "Madeleine Montgomery, that's where," I️ said, flashing Shawn a smirk. He grinned.

"No better place to be, man," he laughed. "But seriously, did you hear anything I️ just said?"

Now that I️ was out of danger, I️ figured honesty would do no harm and shook my head. "Nah, what'd you say?"

"I️ asked if Trevor talked to you."

Hoping that he wasn't referring to what I️ thought he was referring to, I️ said, "Dude, Trevor talks to me all the time."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but I️ mean on Monday. After practice. I️ asked him to talk to you. Did he?"

Dammit. "Uh, yeah."

"And?"

"And I️ think it's pretty dumb that you want me to be a jackass just to prove to you for the hundredth time that I'm straight—which, might I remind you, I shouldn't even have to prove in the first place."

Shawn shrugged. "If you don't like him, why is it an issue?"

"How about because I'm a good person?"

Shawn snorted. "Yeah, right, Jean. If you're a good person, I'm a good person. You gonna do it or what?"

The fact that my morality was just compared to Shawn's made me want to throw up. Not as much as the underlying threat in his voice did, though. "Dude, no," I️ said. "I'm not like that."

Shawn sighed. "I'm trying to be nice here, dude. Let's try this again. Stop being a pussy and prove that you're a fucking man, or I️ let everyone know you aren't. Kay?"

An anvil plummeted in my stomach. "Why are you still doing this?" I️ groaned tiredly.

"Just to be sure," he said simply. Then he nodded his head. "Look who it is. Perfect timing."

Only a few steps ahead, putting some books in his locker, was Lucas. I️ clenched my jaw. "Cut it out, Shawn," I️ grumbled.

"Might wanna start taking me seriously right about now," he said offhandedly. He stopped walking as we reached the spot where Lucas stood. Said boy didn't even turn to look at us.

That is, until Shawn "accidentally" knocked the books out of his hands, sending them tumbling to the floor, like a classic bully.

Lucas huffed and turned to Shawn with an annoyed eye roll. "Really, Shawn? Could that have been any more typical?"

Shawn, however, wasn't looking at Lucas. He was looking at me, and I️ could tell from his gaze that he really was serious. I️ do this now, or I️ deal with the consequences.

"Pick them up, fag," I said, flinching at my own word choice. Of all words, I picked that one.

Lucas turned to look at me, his eyebrows raised like seriously? I️ could only hope that he could read the apology in my eyes as I️ continued. "What? Don't act like bending over isn't something you're used to. Pick them up."

Shawn laughed as I inwardly cringed. To both my surprise and his, Lucas actually listened. Without a word of retaliation, he bent over and gathered the books in his arms, smiling gingerly all the while. That was how I knew he was mad.

He shoved the books into his locker, flipped Shawn and I️ the bird, and walked around us to get to class.

Shawn clapped me on the back. "Nicely done, Jean. You might convince me yet."

I️ forced a grin and concentrated on telling my feet to continue forward instead of turning to run after Lucas. I️ wished Shawn would leave, so I️ could at least just shut my eyes and hate myself for a good minute or two without his interruption.

I️ could never forget the look in Lucas' eyes as he held up the books, a big fake smile on his face. There was a line, and I'd just crossed it. I'd obliterated it.

I️ spent the rest of the day with a dry, awful taste in my mouth. More often than not, I️ found myself clammy and nervous. As soon as school was over and I️ was out in the parking lot, away from the boys who I️ could just about kill at this point, I️ called Lucas. Luckily, he answered.

"Lucas I️ am so sorry about earlier, I️ had t—"

"Can we not talk about this right now?" Came his voice. I️ could hear his agitation in every word.

"Yeah, sure," I️ said, afraid of pushing him. My heart was beating uncomfortably in my chest. "You still coming over later?"

"I'll be there."

"Lucas, you've gotta believe me when I️ say—"

"Later, Nate."

I️ swallowed the lump in my throat as he hung up.

"Hey," I️ breathed when he showed up at my door after six that night. He smiled, though it looked forced, and returned the greeting.

We walked in awkward silence to my room. My apology was on the tip of my tongue, but when we sat on my bed, Lucas spoke before I️ could.

"You were different," he said, not meeting my eyes. "That's why I️ liked you. At the beginning of the year, I️ mean. Your friends would do their thing, and you were always quiet. You didn't help, which kinda sucked, but you didn't make things worse, either, and I️ took notice of that. It intrigued me, I️ guess. Set you apart from the rest of them."

I️ closed my eyes and took a deep breath, hoping I️ could at least clear my mind and not sound like an idiot. Without opening my eyes, I️ explained to him what Trevor had said to me on Monday, and what Shawn did today.

"I'm sorry," I️ said. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I️ didn't mean a word of it, and god, I️ felt sick just saying it. But what else was I️ supposed to do? Please don't be mad at me."

When I️ finally opened my eyes, they were met right away with Lucas'. "I'm not mad at you," he said with a sigh. His eyes were tired. "Frustrated, sure, but not mad. I'm mad at the situation, because it really fucking sucks that they can just hold this over you and control you like a goddamn puppet. It sucks that you're gonna have to do it again, and I'm gonna have stand there and listen to my boyfriend spit slurs at me."

I️ wanted to argue and tell him that it wouldn't happen again. The more I️ thought about it, though, the more I️ realized it would. They'd expect me to say something tomorrow, too, and the day after. And I'd have to listen.

     "I'm sorry," I️ apologized again.

      "It's okay," Lucas said, but I️ could hear the clench in his teeth.

     It all came crashing down when he left later that night. The moment the door shut behind him, I stopped and I let myself think. I knew what I was doing. I was destroying something that I needed about as much as I needed air. I was cutting off my own heartbeat. I was hurting the most important person in my life time after time, and I hated myself for it, but I didn't know how to recover.

     I cried. God, I cried hard. But when the tears stopped coming and I was still alone in my living room, my back against the wall, I didn't feel any better. Just scared. Fear could make a man do stupid, stupid things.

The next day, as expected, Shawn nudged me suggestively as we passed Lucas in the hallway. And Monday, and the day after that, and the day after that.

      Every day, I️ would call Lucas and apologize for whatever vile words I'd said. Every day, he'd say it's okay, each time sounding more strained than the last. Every day, I felt a rift between us growing larger, and every day, I found that I looked in the mirror and liked myself less and less. That sickness I used to feel was coming back—the loss of sleep, the skipping on meals because I was so nauseous, anything I ate came right back out.

      It was when I️ woke up the next Thursday that I️ noticed something heavy inside of me, something that wasn't entirely unfamiliar. I️ stood for several minutes with my hand over my stomach, wondering what the feeling was. The best way I️ could describe it was an overall discomfort—my heart beat slightly faster, my stomach churned a little, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up the smallest bit, and something in my head told me that I️ didn't want to leave the house.

     I'd felt it before, that I️ was sure of. But when? And why now? Was I️ sick? Or just scared?

      I️ pondered for a long time over what I️ was feeling and where I'd felt it before. My mind took me back to the seventh grade, when I'd first looked at a boy in the way I️ should've looked at a girl; then to freshman year, when I️ finally admitted to myself that I️ was far from straight; then to a few weeks ago, when the boys had first brought up their suspicions; then to yesterday morning, when I️ remembered that I'd have to spend another day as the main character in their cruel little game.

     The more I️ thought about it, the more I️ realized that I️ felt like this every day. Every single morning, I️ got the same sinking feeling. Today, it was just stronger than normal.

     So many of my worst moments and fears were tied to a single place—my school. Those buildings, less than twenty minutes from my house, were the focal point of my anxieties. I️ hated that place so damn much, I️ dreaded dragging myself there every morning.

     That's what I️ was feeling now. Dread. Very strong, very overwhelming dread. Dread that I️ couldn't quite ignore, because it wasn't just in my head. It coursed throughout my entire body, making my heart race and my stomach churn and my hairs stand on edge.

     I'd dreaded school for years. I️t was only now that my so-called pals had found some kind of sick enjoyment in extorting me, now that I️ genuinely couldn't think of a single moment throughout the school day that didn't make me want to throw up, that I️ realized it.

With that pleasant thought in my mind, I️ got ready for the day ahead.

"Give him a little shove this time."

The brilliant idea was Tyler Fiero's. My brilliant answer was "No."

"Come on," he insisted. "Don't be such a girl."

Cameron joined in. "Tyler's right, dude. Do it."

"I'm not gonna push him," I️ deadpanned. Shawn, stood on my right, raised an eyebrow.

"I️ think you are, Nate," he said. He was giving me the same look again, the one I'd grown to fear. The I️ won't take 'no' look. The do it or else look. The don't forget, I️ could tear apart your whole life with two words right now look.

      "Dude," I said seriously, staring back with the same intensity. "No. You're taking this whole thing way too far. I'm not gonna be a bully to give you whatever sick satisfaction you crave. Quit getting off on this shit and find something better to do with your time."

As Lucas' form, absentmindedly walking to class with headphones in his ears, grew nearer, the boys' edging grew stronger. Do it, they said. It's not a big deal, they said. Or else.

"No!" I said again, a little bit too loudly. My hand moved before I could tell it to stop and pushed Shawn away from me, just hard enough to make him stumble a little. The nagging stopped as his eyebrows quirked, and I gulped in anticipation of what he might do next. I half hoped he'd hit me. A fight with Shawn would be better than doing what he was asking me to do.

      Shawn smirked. "Okay," he said, and I felt my shoulders relax. He raised his hands in surrender. "I'll drop it for today."

      The words "for today" made me nervous, but at least the delay would give me time to prepare, and time to warn Lucas.

      Then, when Lucas' form was nearly in front of us, he cupped his hands around his mouth and said, loud enough for everyone in the hallway and its classrooms to hear, "Hey everybody, want some news? Nathaniel Jean's a—"

His pressure ate at my brain, instantly corroding my resolve. I️n a desperate attempt to protect myself from the knives he threw, I did it. I️ reached out and shoved Lucas by the shoulder.

I'd meant it to be a light push. Just enough to make him stumble a little, like Shawn had.

Maybe it was my panicked state of mind. Maybe I️ didn't know my own strength. Whatever the case, a loud bang sounded throughout the hallway as Lucas' hands smacked the lockers to catch himself.

    The guys around me, along with more or less everyone in the hallway, laughed. The only people who weren't laughing were Lucas and I️. I️ suppressed a gag and forced a snicker in its place.

     Lips parted and eyebrows raised slightly, Lucas turned to look at me. His expression was one of genuine disbelief.

     Apologies and questions of concern rose in my throat. Sorry. Did I hurt you? Sorry. Are you okay? Sorry!

     The word that I forced out was one I'd modeled after Shawn. After all, it was what he always said when he pulled stunts like this. A perfect blend of asswipe and douchebag. "Oops."

      It happened too quickly for me to even react. Before I️ could register what was about to go down, a thud sounded through my ears. I️ felt a dull stinging in my bottom lip. Lucas' fist was clenched, the ring on his pointer finger glimmering.

     "Oops," he mocked, his eyes narrowed in a heated glare that was directed at nobody but me. I saw his eyes dart to my bottom lip, and the expression in them seemed to shift for a moment. Then he erected his walls and hardened his gaze once more. To be honest, the hit had been louder than it was hard—it didn't hurt at all, but he had managed to bust my lip with his ring.

What the fuck just happened?

     Then Tyler Fiero was surging forward to take on someone seven inches taller than him. I️ grabbed his arm and yanked him back, hissing, "Chill," under my breath, all-the-while staring in shock at Lucas. My other hand moved to touch my lip. What the hell had just happened?

Everyone in the hall was watching now, laughing and shouting and making noise and throwing jeers. "Dude, you gonna take that?" Cameron snapped at me, giving me a slight shove toward Lucas, who had backed off now but was still glaring heatedly at me.

Without so much as glancing at him, I said the same thing I️'d said to Tyler, who was still trying to get out of my grasp. "Chill."

Cameron didn't listen. He took a threatening step forward. Lucas looked away from me to meet Cameron's eye, and he didn't back down.

Then Cameron made to lunge. He didn't get very far, though, because—to everyone's utter surprise—Shawn held him back. "Get over yourself," he snapped. "Calm the hell down and get over yourself."

Lucas locked eyes with me again. His glare had only intensified, and with a contempt shrug, he turned and walked away.

Tyler whipped around to stare at me incredulously. "What the hell, man? You're gonna let him walk away like that?"

I️ didn't respond. I️ stared after Lucas as he stormed away, a sickening mixture of anger and confusion and regret playing tag in my mind.

An oblivious teacher decided to choose that moment to finally poke his out of his classroom and demand, "What's going on?"

"I'm going to assume you know why you're here?"

     Principal Harlington stared down at me through her oval-rimmed glasses, the tip of her upturned nose pointing at me like an accusing finger.

      I nodded. "I do."

     In the chair beside mine, Lucas was silent. He stared blankly ahead, but I could feel tension radiating off of him.

     "Good," Harlington said, folding her hands on top of the dark oak desk. She didn't so much as glance in Lucas' direction. "I like you, Nathaniel. You're a very nice young man. I expect better from you than getting into petty fights."

      Her words were another unpleasant reminder that the adults of this town saw me as some sort of godsend. They stared at me and saw my angelic mask. They had such high expectations of me, and I was fairly certain that I didn't meet a single one of them.

     "With all due respect, ma'am," I said, "I didn't get into a fight."

     She raised a thin, arched eyebrow. "Witnesses say otherwise. From what I've heard, there was conflict with Mr. Morgan. Am I mistaken?"

     She said Lucas' name as if it were a pungent odor. "I didn't get into a fight," I repeated.

      Her eyebrow, if possible, rose higher. "Then please, do explain the cut lip. Was it a one sided act of aggression? Did Mr. Morgan assault you, Nathaniel? If so, that is a serious offense, and we will deal with him accordingly." She spoke about him as if he wasn't sitting right there—as if she couldn't turn her head forty-five degrees and address him as well.

      Why she didn't haul her lazy ass to the monitors I was sure she had and check the camera footage herself, I didn't bother to wonder. If the confrontation had been with anyone else—Shawn, for example—maybe she would have. But when it came to Lucas, she didn't care enough about matters of guilt and innocence. Whatever I said, she'd trust.

      I could feel Lucas' eyes on me now, burning into the side of my head. Silently waiting to see what I would say. Would I lie, or would I tell the truth?

     A part of me—the part that was angry that I'd gotten punched in the fucking face—wanted to rat Lucas out. But then again, I was pretty sure I was mad at myself more than anything.

      "No," I lied seamlessly. "He didn't hit me. We just had a minor verbal disagreement. I hurt myself in PE earlier today. That's all."

As soon as we left the principal's office, Lucas had reverted back to staring ahead and only ahead. I tried to catch his eye, but he stubbornly held his gaze forward.

    "Not a word after I lied for you?" I said, irritated that he wouldn't even look at me. Then I realized how shitty that sounded, so I backtracked and said, "Please, talk to me?"

      "I didn't ask you to," Lucas countered. I couldn't help it—I scoffed.

      "Yeah? You want me to go back and tell her the truth?"

       Finally, he turned to look at me. His green eyes were stormy. "Do you want to go back and tell the truth?"

      I huffed, already feeling defeated. "No," I admitted. "I don't."

     "Awesome," he said dryly.

     "Lucas," I began with a sigh. "Please don't be like this. Can't you at least try to hear me—"

      "You sure this isn't too public a place?" Lucas interrupted. "The cameras could catch us having a conversation, god forbid."

      He clearly wasn't going to make talking easy, so I gave up on that approach. I grabbed his wrist and more or less pulled him toward the school's exit; he shrugged off my grip, but followed nonetheless.

The awkward tension between us was so thick, I felt as though I was trying to run at the bottom of the ocean. From the time we stepped onto the parking lot to the moment I pulled the car up in a very random, very secluded spot at the edge of the forested portion of the park, the air was sticky and uncomfortable.

"Okay," I said as I put the car into park, turning to look at Lucas. "One question. Why?"

Lucas kept his gaze on the windshield. "I thought we were putting on a show," was all he said.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. "I really don't think I deserved it."

Lucas made a contempt 'hm' sound. "Then I didn't deserve to get pushed around."

"You know I didn't mean anything by it," I told him. "I didn't."

"Well then neither did I."

I shut my eyes tight and rubbed my temples for a brief moment, trying to ease my aggravation. If he would just look at me.

"Lucas . . ."

"If you get to be all asshole tough-guy around your friends, why can't I?"

"You know why I do it, though," I said, exasperated. "You know what they're doing . . . You know I can't take it."

And I really, really couldn't. I couldn't take it.

"And that gives you an excuse to shove me into a locker?" He snapped. "Again?"

Giving up, I sighed. "No."

He turned to face me. As frustrated as I was, I could see the distress clear in the downturn of his lip, the furrow of his brow, the sad glint of his eyes. It was more than a push to him. Fuck.

"Who's more important to you?" He asked. "Me, or them?"

"You!" I said without hesitation. "That's not even a question!"

"And when you're off to New York, who's going to be by your side?" He continued. "Me, or them?"

"You."

"That's the plan, right?"

I nodded. "Of course."

But he wasn't done. "And what if that plan goes up in flames because I can't keep pretending I don't mind you treating me like gum on the bottom of your shoe every time your friends open their mouths?"

I ran a hand through my hair and made a fist, my head leaning back against the car seat. "God, Lucas . . ."

Then I said the one thing I'd been thinking a lot lately. The one thing I really, really didn't want to say. "Maybe we should stop, then."

Lucas was silent. He didn't ask what I meant, but I knew he didn't have to. "That's what you want?"

God, it was the farthest possible thing from what I wanted. "I want to stop doing you more harm than good," was what I said. And I really did mean it. "I can handle hurting myself. Hell, I've been doing that for years. But not . . . not you. And that's all I've done these last few weeks."

Lucas rubbed his temples. "And if we stop now," he said, "Will we ever start again?"

I wasn't sure what I'd do if we didn't. The idea of ever moving to New York without him by my side was sickening.

Then, softly, he said, "What if I don't want to stop?" I was silent, so he continued. "Because I know what you're like, and I know that this situation is making you act like someone else. And I really can't stand that someone else, but I know you're still in there, too. And if we could just make everything else stop . . ."

I knew what he was asking for. A sacrifice. One that scared the shit out of me. But this was my future speaking.

When I still didn't respond—not because I had nothing to say, but because I had so much to say, Lucas started again. "Just," he breathed out through his nose. "Just tell me how you really feel, Nate. And we'll decide where to go from there."

The first thing that came to my mind was, "I feel like an idiot."

"Good start."

I glared at him. "You're not helping."

He was silent for a while. Then his expression softened, and he seemed to realize that it hadn't been a necessary comment. "Yeah, okay."

I thought over his question for a long moment. What did I want? I wanted a million things.

I wanted to be okay. I wanted to get out of here. I wanted to do better in areas where I was weak. I wanted to be smarter. I wanted to be nicer. I wanted to be free, for god's sake. I wanted to be a good boyfriend. I wanted to strangle half of the Listrougth High population. I wanted a closer relationship with my sister. I wanted any relationship with my parents. I wanted to be out of the closet. I wanted to stay in the closet.

I wanted Lucas to not be upset with me. I wanted us to have an easy, happy, seamless relationship. Now, though, my wants seemed like hopeless wishes.

"I feel like . . ." I began slowly, carefully picking my words. "I wanna make things up to you however you'll let me. I feel like I don't wanna lose what we have because of other people who don't mean shit. I feel like I wanna become better for you. I feel . . ." I paused, then said, "like I wanna fall in love with you."

God knows, I was already way beyond in love with Lucas. I was stuck on him, no doubt. He'd had me long before he knew he'd had me. Before he even knew he could get me. But this wasn't the time to say it.

His expression eased, and a bit of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders. With a sigh, he said, "Let me see," taking my chin in his hand. He examined my face, his thumb gliding over my lip. "I'm . . . I'm sorry. This was . . . I didn't do it out of anger, you know. I'm not like that. And the hit really was just for show—I didn't want it to hurt. I forgot I was wearing the ring."

I huffed, a small smile pulling at the corners of my lips. "Well in all fairness, it didn't really hurt. And I didn't mean to push you so hard. I wasn't going to go through with it, but Shawn . . . it doesn't matter; I did it. But yeah, I know."

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"I'm sorry, too."

Lucas put his face in his hands, rubbing his temples, before looking back up at me. "You really have to mean that, Nate, because you've got no idea how much of a toll stuff like this takes on me. You made me feel like shit. You've been making me feel like shit. I know it's my fault since I keep telling you it's okay but I️ never wanna say anything because I know it's probably harder for you and I know . . . I know it wasn't your choice; none of it was your choice. And you can't do much about it. I'm not asking for things to go back to the way they were, believe me. I can live with walking home and seeing you less and any of that if that's what you need. But that push, and all of the jeers . . . that was too far."

"I know," I said; and I did. I'd been hearing it his voice for a while now—subtle, unintentional hints that it wasn't okay. Lucas, though he hardly ever agreed to share them, had his insecurities. He had a set of demons that he rarely unleashed, and there seemed to be a certain few things that set him off. I'd ignored the hints, though, because I hadn't known what else to do. I still didn't know what else to do, but I'd have to figure something out. "I know, and I'm sorry. I just . . . there's this voice in my head that keeps telling me there's nothing else I can do. It makes me sick, but I don't—I don't understand my own thoughts sometimes, you know? The only thing that makes any sense these days is how I feel, and I always feel so damn anxious, like I'm gonna puke at any second if I don't do what . . . and I act on that, and I pull some idiotic shit. But that doesn't make it okay, and . . . I promise I'm gonna stop, alright?"

"Promise is a strong word," Lucas said, searching my expression for hesitation.

"Yeah," I agreed. "And I mean it." I took his hand, letting my thumb run across his knuckles. "Okay? Also, I need you to promise me that you'll talk to me about these things. You're just as fucked up as I am, even if you refuse to admit it, and I know that. But, for all the time I've spent with you, you're still so hard to read. If you don't tell me when things are hurting you, my slow ass isn't gonna figure it out."

Lucas chuckled, but a shadow seemed to momentarily cross his face, and for a short second, he averted his gaze. Then he nodded and smiled slightly, intertwining his fingers with mine. "Okay. I—I promise," he said. "I wanna hug you now, but car hugs are really fucking awkward, so how about we go to my place? Shawn's going out after school, I think, and my parents haven't seen you in a while; they miss you. We can make sure you're gone before he gets back. You down?"

I grinned. I was supposed to be going out with Shawn after school, but if things were going to change, may as well start now. "Of course I'm down."

So, we weren't going to stop just yet. I'd call this a probation round; we weren't quite set in stone, either. But we were going somewhere, and if that somewhere turned out to be good, we'd keep on going. If not, we'd step on the brake.

I was nervous a lot. I'd grown so used to the feeling, it was more or less just how I lived now.

Today, though, I was more nervous than usual. It was Friday morning, and what I did today could very well be the worst decision of my eighteen years.

It wasn't as if I was going to do anything major. I wasn't going to stand on a table and scream I was gay. I wasn't going to tell my fuckboy friends to screw themselves and say whatever they wanted. I wasn't even going to do so much as to go up to Lucas and have a chat with him in the hallway.

But when the guys shared their plans for the evening with me, I told them I was busy and ignored their response. When they urged me to pick on Lucas as I passed him in the hall, I turned up the music coursing through my headphones. And at the end of the day, when I saw Lucas in the parking lot, I called him over and offered him a ride. Small changes—minuscule, even—but they didn't go unnoticed.

"The hell are you doing, Jean?" Shawn hissed in my ear. I snorted uncaringly; at the same time, though, I was hiding trembling hands behind my back.

"What's it look like, Morgan? I'm going home."

When Lucas joined me in the passenger seat, his surprise was clear in his expression. "Nate, what did you do?"

     I took a shaky breath and buckled my seatbelt a little bit too violently. "I don't know," I muttered. "Committed social suicide, probably."

      "Actually," Lucas said; when he turned to me, mischief was written all over his face. "Maybe not."

      I turned my attention from the road to raise an eyebrow at him. "And how is that, exactly?"

       He smirked. "You know Sister Marsy?"

      Oh, I knew Sister Marsy. She had to be the strictest, meanest, most unbearable woman I'd ever met. She was one of the younger nuns—that is, she was in her fifties—but you'd never know by talking to her. She had the spirit of a ninety year old woman struggling with shingles whose house was infested with roaches and whose grandkids never visited.

      "Unfortunately," I groaned. "Why?"

      Lucas smirked. "Let's just say, I've got some newfound dirt on my brother dearest that may help you out of your situation."

I challenge you lovely readers to do this: analyze both sides of the argument. See it from both points of view. And if you want, leave your input here; I'd love to see it ;)