"Adiós Hermano!"

     Jenna was out of sight before I'd even found a parking spot. You'd think she'd at least walk into the mall with me after I'd driven her all the way here, but nope. Gone like the wind to meet her friends, leaving me to fight through the Black Friday crowd and hope a spot would open up.

     Then again, driving alone was better than listening to my little sister rant about celebrity couples and millennial pink.

     It took thirty minutes. Thirty minutes, in which I followed a bunch of people to their cars like a stalker, almost got into a fight with a middle-aged mom, and probably wasted all of my gas.

     The mall was one of the few places I went regularly where I didn't recognize almost everybody present. There were no big shopping centers in my little town, so I had to drive a few extra miles to get here, and once I left Nowhere, Nebraska, I felt as if I were in a new world. The Midview Square Mall was always full of unfamiliar faces, which was more than a little refreshing compared to my day-to-day.

     After I parked, it didn't take long to find the boys. Trevor texted me a few minutes ago that they were in Adidas—surprise, surprise—so I just needed to navigate the mall to find it.

     I would much rather be hanging out with Lucas right now, as he'd proposed, but raiding sports stores on Black Friday was a tradition among my friend group. I would have to be puking blood to get out of going—to not show up was, in their eyes, nothing short of blasphemous.

     I heard a voice hollering my name and turned around to see Cameron Schetwaldski beckoning me over. In his hands was a pair of neat looking cleats. "Watcha think of these, Jean?"

I joined him, nodding approvingly. "Sick, man. How much are they?"

Cameron scoffed. "Who the fuck cares?"

"Where is everyone?" I asked, raising my voice over the noise of the crowd. Cameron waved his hand dismissively.

"Around. Tyler's right there."

He pointed behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Tyler Fiero approaching, joggers slung over his shoulder. "Don't you already have those?" I asked, because I was pretty sure that just about every member of the boys soccer team had the basic adidas joggers. Lucas looked really good in them, by the way. Just saying. 

Tyler, however, shrugged. "Yeah, but those are a few months old now. Time for a change, dontcha think?"

And this, everyone, is why people hate rich white boys like us. Nevertheless, I nodded and said, "Yeah, 'course."

Tyler looked around for something, then turned back to me with a disappointed pout. "Yo, where's the better of the Jeans? I thought you said you were bringing Jenna, too?"

"I did, but she's off with her friends," I explained. Tyler's frown deepened.

"What a shame . . ." He said. "I was looking forward to seeing her. She's grown up so . . . nicely."

My eyes widened at the suggestive glance he exchanged with Cameron. "What the fuck, man?" I exclaimed. "She's my sister! Better yet, she's fourteen."

Cameron hummed. "She sure doesn't look it."

He and Tyler high-fived, and I had to refrain from punching them both.

We were at the mall until it closed, and we went to every athletic store and section it had to offer. I spent way too much money, but it wasn't as if I couldn't afford to. And I wasn't as bad as Shawn. I'm pretty sure he dropped quadruple digits.

     Everything seemed pretty much normal all day, until we were walking through the parking lot to find our cars. We'd spotted mine, and I'd just dropped my load of bags into the backseat when Shawn turned on me. Before I could say my farewells, he leaned against the driver's side door with his arms crossed and said, "Care to explain?"

     I blinked, partially because I had no idea what he was talking about, and partially because I was really tired and only half-processing what he was saying. Listening to these guys talk for hours was mentally draining, and shoving past crazy soccer moms trying to buy cleats for lil' Timmy's first game was physically exhausting.

     "Uh . . . Huh?"

     Shawn narrowed his eyes into a glare. "You think I never noticed your car dropping Lucas home every day?"

     Well, shit.

     "It's actually only every Friday now," I said, which probably wasn't my smartest move. Shawn only looked more aggravated.

     "Who the fuck cares?" He snapped. "I wanna know why you're doing it."

     The other boys nodded in agreement, and I realized they'd planned this conversation. At some point when I wasn't around, Shawn had shared this information with them and told them he'd confront me about it. They were his back up. Bunch of snakes.

     I shrugged. "Because it's the nice thing to do."

      Tyler Fiero scoffed and got in my face—at least, as well as he could without getting on his tip-toes. Then he, as usual, said something stupid. "So you stand up for him because it's the nice thing to do too, then?"

     I blinked at him, waiting for him to realize that what he'd said had a pretty obvious answer and didn't make him sound any tougher. He just kept staring at me, though, his chest puffed out like one of those frigate birds. "Uh, yeah," I said, maybe a bit condescendingly. "It is."

     Shawn rolled his eyes and nudged Tyler out of the way. "You know I'm startin' to think you're a fairy too, Jean. Always taking his side. You his friend or ours?"

     His. I huffed impatiently, wishing I'd just faked sick and ditched them for Lucas instead of coming here. "Being a decent human being and being gay aren't the same thing, Morgan. Not that you would know."

     I tried to push him away from my car door, but he just took this as an invitation to shove me back, way harder. I stumbled at the force, my back hitting Damien's hard chest. "Dude, what the hell?" I snapped. "Get over yourself and move!"

     Shawn stepped away from my car, only slightly. "I'm watching you, Jean. All the time. I don't want two fags on my team."

     I rolled my eyes and scoffed. "Watching me all the time, are you? All the time? You sure Lucas is the only queer in the family?"

     Maybe I was spending too much time with Lucas. That was definitely more something he'd say than I, with that smart mouth of his.

     Shawn snarled at the implication and surged forward. In all of his petty glory, he probably would've punched me had Trevor Cazamn not put a hand on his chest to stop him. Still, his shoulder nudged mine roughly as I stepped past him, and I felt his glare even as I pulled out of the spot.

I was the last person to get back to the locker room after practice the following Monday, because I'd stayed a few extra minutes to discuss strategy with coach. I only heard two voices when I finally entered, which was never a good sign. Even worse, I recognized the voices as those of the Morgan brothers, and there was yelling.

"You shouldn't even fucking be here!"

Lucas and Shawn were in the center of the locker room, where commotion seemed to always take place. Shawn was red in the face and Lucas was, as usual, acting aloof.

"Yeah well if you hadn't opened your mouth, I probably wouldn't be," he said with a shrug. Teammates were gathered around them, watching silently and not even pretending to be subtle about it.

"Do you have to take everything so fucking seriously?" Shawn yelled. "It's hard enough having to call you my brother, let alone my fucking teammate!"

Lucas' jaw dropped, and I saw a sudden shift in his demeanor. His eyes flashed angrily and for a moment, he lost his cool. "It's hard for you? You? You think I wanna be known as the fucking gay kid? You think I came out willingly? Newsflash, brother: I was outed. If it wasn't for whatever son of a bitch started spreading shit, you wouldn't think twice about having me here! You would never fucking know!"

      It was strange to think, but it was true. Nobody would ever assume that Lucas was gay if it wasn't a known fact. He didn't fit the stereotype in physique or personality or even the clothing he wore. Everything about him, from the messy style of his hair to the deep tone of his voice to the Nikes on his feet, fit the straight boy prototype pretty well.

Someone in one corner of the room snickered obnoxiously loudly, and Lucas snapped his head toward the sound. His eyes landed on Damien. "Something funny, Diggory?"

Damien sniggered again. "It's just, I thought you knew."

Lucas was regaining his composure now. His shoulders had relaxed and he put on his signature I don't care about anything you all have to say face. "You thought I knew what?"

"Who told everyone you're a fag."

Lucas raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Do you know?"

Damien smirked. "'Course I do, he said with a snort. "I'd have to, since I did it."

Lucas didn't seem to process this for a long moment. He just kept staring at Damien, shaking his head slightly and looking as confused as I'd ever seen him. Finally, he blinked, looked our goalie in the eyes, and said, "You?"

Damien crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, his eyes twinkling maliciously. "Yeah, me. That a problem?"

Lucas still seemed to have trouble accepting the fact, though I couldn't understand why. Damien was the tool of all tools, it made sense that he'd do something like that.

Lucas approached him, stopping a few feet away. He looked up at Damien, studying his face, maybe trying to gauge if he was telling the truth or not. "Why?"

"You remember Katrina Jarrows?" Damien asked. A few boys whistled appreciatively. "Yeah, she was one hell of a girl. I really liked her. And she really liked you. So I told her you were a fag."

Lucas' eyes widened. "How did you—"

"I didn't," Damien admitted. "It was just a rumor. Never thought she'd spread it so much, definitely never thought it would be true. It's your fault for admitting it, dude."

Lucas' fists clenched at his sides, and I unconsciously scooted closer, afraid that he would do something stupid. He didn't strike me as the violent type, but Damien was at least half a foot taller than him—he was at least half a foot taller than everyone—and picking a fight with him would be suicide. Then again, with the shit coming out of Damien's mouth, I wouldn't blame Lucas for trying.

"Let me get this straight," Lucas said; the low tone of his voice wasn't one I recognized, and it was alarmingly furious. The air seemed to crackle with tension around him, but Damien refused to be affected. "You told people I was gay in a place where being gay is beyond intolerable because you were jealous of me?"

Damien shrugged. "Guess so."

I watched Lucas carefully. He was seething, and Damien's nonchalant tone clearly wasn't helping.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" He shouted, surprising everybody in the room. An uneasy murmur went up among the boys—Lucas Morgan never raised his voice.

His eyes glimmered with a rage I'd never seen on him before. He looked like an entirely different person like this, stiff and stressed and angry.

"Do you have any fucking idea what you did to me, out of jealousy? This whole fucking town treats me like a goddamn criminal! I get so much shit every day, and not just from you assholes! My own brother—the one person I used to count on for everything—doesn't even want to be seen with me!"

I saw Shawn flinch then, and for the first time ever, something like guilt clouded his expression.

There was something threatening about Lucas' gaze, and for a moment he seemed to bite his tongue—also rare for Lucas. Damien stared back at him challengingly, as if daring him to say whatever it was he was thinking.

"All because one fucking girl—" Lucas growled instead, "who doesn't even live here anymore—liked me?!"

Damien shrugged again, and it was clear that he didn't think much of his actions. "Pretty much," he said, still smirking. There was a cruel satisfaction in his eyes that made me want to punch him.

Turns out, I didn't have to, because Lucas did.

The locker room erupted with excited chatter and shouts of surprise as Damien cried out in pain and gripped his nose. Blood dripped between his fingers.

He recovered quickly, though. He threw his weight at Lucas, sending them both crashing to the ground, and punched him square in the jaw, the impact making a horrible thud. I thought Lucas was done for, but before Damien could get another blow in, Lucas kicked at his chest so hard, the other boy went tumbling off of him.

I rushed in before matters could get worse, dragging Lucas to his feet and away from Damien, who was already standing again. He lunged forward, but came to a choking stop when Shawn Morgan grabbed his collar from behind and pulled him back.

"Pull yourself together!" Shawn yelled at Damien, which was in its own way more surprising than anything else that'd happened in the last ten minutes.

"Let me go!" Damien demanded, accompanied by some interesting curses. He tried again to run at Lucas, and I feared that Shawn would let him, but instead he grabbed Damien's arms and held him in place. "Who's fucking side are you on?!"

"I said pull yourself together!" Shawn repeated firmly. He whipped his head towards Lucas and I, his glare intensifying. "Get him out of here."

Lucas was leaning against the lockers, holding his jaw. I listened to Shawn—as tough as Lucas was, this was a fight he wouldn't win—and took his brother by the arm. I hadn't showered yet, and my car seats would not be happy about it, but I figured that was the least of my problems.

Lucas didn't protest as I pulled him through the crowd of sneering boys and out of the locker room. He was silent the entire car ride, despite my attempts to talk to him. He kept his head pressed against the window, his eyes glaring heatedly outside. His fists kept clenching and unclenching in his lap, as if he needed something else to punch. I was still reeling from surprise—never in a million years would I expect Lucas to lash out and hit somebody. And all of those things he said . . . they just proved that the way he was treated hurt him more than he let others see.

I took him to my house instead of his, because I was pretty sure neither of us wanted to deal with Shawn when he got home.

Lucas sat wordlessly on the couch and I went to the kitchen, coming back with a bag of frozen cauliflower—we didn't have peas, okay? I sat next to him and pressed the bag to his jaw, which had turned an unpleasant shade of purple.

"So . . ." I said awkwardly. "What's going on up there right now?"

Lucas didn't say anything. He took the bag from my hand and held it to his face himself. His gaze was still burning, and I could feel the heat of his anger and grief just by sitting next to him.

"Lucas," I tried again. "Talk to me."

Once again, his lips stayed shut. He turned away from me, but I still caught his fingers brushing just beneath his eyes. He was crying. "Lucas."

This time, he shook his head, and I couldn't help but feel frustrated. It was so rare for him to be closed of like this, and I was so used to him being open and honest. I knew he wasn't mad at me, but with his tense posture, his uncharacteristic lack of words, and his angry glare, I couldn't help but feel like I was the one who'd upset him.

It was like this for a while. Me, sitting awkwardly, unsure of how to handle the situation and Lucas, glaring at nothing and everything, trying to pretend he wasn't crying.

Then, something snapped. I saw it in the twitch of his lips right before he shot to his feet, the frozen cauliflower falling, forgotten, and yelled out, "I can't fucking believe him!"

Lucas' hands ran frustratedly through his hair, then dropped to his sides in angry fists. I had a feeling that if this was his house, not mine, he would have kicked the coffee table by now.

I reached up and took his wrist in my hand, gently pulling him back to the couch. He didn't protest.

"It's fucking rich, coming from him!" he snarled to no one in particular. "Fucking rich!"

"Why is it rich?" I asked tentatively.

He looked at me for the first time since the incident in the locker room. His eyes were still angry, but they were sad, too, and regretful. Mostly angry, though. More angry than I knew he could be.

     "There's only one guy in this town I've ever hooked up with. Can you guess who it was?"

My jaw might have hit the floor. Now, I knew that Lucas hadn't merely been living without any sort of intimate contact his whole life—he'd told me once that sometimes he had quick flings on vacation with boys in other places, some just outside of Nowhere, Nebraska. But the fact that he'd hooked up with someone inside the town—Damien Diggory, no less—was enough to make me question life as a whole.

"Damien's gay?" I exclaimed incredulously. Lucas shrugged.

"Maybe bi, maybe pan, maybe curious. Who the fuck cares? That son of a bitch ruined my life!"

"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked. "You could've gotten him back! Picture the look on his face if you'd—"

"I told you," Lucas cut me off. "I don't out people. I don't care what he did, I'm not gonna . . ."

Lucas stood up then, his face in his hands. I wanted to understand how he felt so I could help him, but for all of the times Lucas had wanted me to open up about my feelings, this was one conversation for which he refused to do just that.

I stood up, too; if I couldn't talk to him, I could comfort him in other ways. But when I tried to hug him, he pushed me away.

"I don't want your pity," he spat, and just as quickly as he'd stood, he sat down again. I followed his lead, sitting close enough for our shoulders to touch. He looked away stubbornly, reminding me of . . . Of me.

"It's not pity, it's support," I said. "It's something you've given to me too many times to count, so let me repay the favor."

      Lucas sighed. He rubbed his eyes, suddenly looking exhausted, and said, "Sorry."

He leaned his head against my shoulder and I put my arm around him, pulling him into my side. We were both still in our practice uniforms for soccer—socks and cleats and all—and we probably smelled like sweat, grass, and snow. Lucas picked up the frozen cauliflower and pressed it against the bruised side of his face. Every few seconds I'd see him blink, or wipe at his cheeks.

     Lucas was so much more complex than I'd realized. He wasn't all that he made himself out to be. Suddenly, I felt like I was working on a semi-impossible decoding project; I wanted to understand him, every single great and horrible aspect. I wondered if he saw me that way, too. If maybe that was why he ever took an interest in me in the first place.

     I decided to distract him with a very un-subtle subject change. "How's Heather's going?"

     He smiled slightly. "It's gonna be so great," he said. "Lilliana Rogue is playing Veronica, and she's so talented it physically hurts."

     I smiled; Lucas' eyes always lit up in the most infectious way when he talked about theater. Even now, when he was so distressed. "And what about that theater school place? How's that?"

      Every Saturday and Sunday, Lucas spent most of his day at a huge, expensive, exclusive theater academy about an hour out of town. He'd told me about it during the week when he wouldn't shut up in the car rides home. It was a place he'd been going to since he was in elementary school, and if it weren't for soccer and rehearsals, he'd be going at least four times a week.

      It was one of the few times I'd actually listened to what he said during those car rides. I actually really liked listening to him talk about theater, because he was just so damn incredible and he didn't seem to realize it. He'd been training in the massive school's junior high classes in fourth grade, its high school classes in eighth grade, and its adult classes since sophomore year. Lucas could get his college degree there if he wanted, and they'd be more than happy to have him. I was in love with his talent, and even more so with his passion.

Lucas glanced up at me, looking surprised that I'd even brought it up. "So you were listening when I told you all that stuff after all, huh?"

I blushed a little, but nodded nonetheless. "You were pretty damn hard to ignore."

Lucas chuckled, albeit a bit half-heartedly. "We actually have a major musical theater competition coming up in December. So yeah, that's exciting."

He was playing it off as a casual occasion, but I could tell from little details—the shift in his posture, the determination in his eyes—that it really was exciting for him. I wasn't sure how important this competition was, but it didn't matter; Lucas was a performer in body and at heart. This was the stuff he lived for.

"Is it something critical?" I asked. Lucas huffed and nodded.

"Oh, you have no idea. Especially this year, for me at least. Scouts love to show up at things like these."

"Oh shit," I breathed. "Scouts from Juilliard?"

"If I'm lucky," he said. "Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I can't fuck up."

He was getting into the conversation now, forgetting Damien Diggory as I'd hoped. "What are you performing?"

Lucas pursed his lips. "I found out yesterday that I've got a solo, a duet, and a group number. For the solo, I'm singing a song called Michael in the Bathroom, from Be More Chill." Naturally, I had no idea what that was. "I'm doing the duet with one of my friends in the class, Mark. We're going a gender-bend performance of Take Me or Leave Me from Rent." Never heard of it. And what the fuck is a gender-bend? "And for the group number, we're doing Seize the Day from Newsies."

Now that, I'd heard of. Jenna was in the middle of a major Broadway phase, and she'd convinced me to watch the live Newsies performance on Netflix with her a while back. I was half asleep while it was playing, but if I remembered anything, it was the dancing. That wouldn't be easy to pull off.

"You're gonna do that?" I said disbelievingly. "With all the jumps and spins and flips and shit? Can you even do that?"

Lucas laughed. "Yes, we are—with a lot of training—and yes, I can."

I didn't doubt it. After all, he was Lucas Morgan. He was talented way beyond his years.

And the school was made for people like him; people who were too good for their high school drama classes. The performance was bound to be impressive. And I wanted to see it.

"Where's this competition gonna be held, exactly?" I asked. "Just, you know, out of curiosity."

Lucas stared at me, eyes wide. "You would come watch?"

I couldn't help but grin at his puppy-like excitement. "Hell yeah! I wanna know what all the hype is about."

Lucas was beaming. "Well you're in luck, Jean. The competition's held at the academy this year."

"So I don't even have to go far?"

"Nope!" He popped the 'p'.

"Dude," my grin widened. "That's sick!"

Lucas groaned and rolled his eyes. "Don't you dare talk fratty to me, Nathaniel Jean."

I laughed and pulled him closer into me, until he was practically on my lap. He cuddled into my chest, chuckling with me and seeming like an entirely different person from the angry, brooding boy he'd been just minutes before. I knew then that I would have been more than willing to travel far to see his competition, just because it made him so damn happy.