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November 29

Staring at the lady, I hold my breath and wait for her to speak in her overly-controlled voice yet again. I can tell she's upset and yet she doesn't raise her voice, making me wonder if she's only concerned about what people might hear and not about what she's saying.

"You lost the game?" the lady asks with such incredulity even I can't help but feel ashamed. "How could you lose the game? Honey, this was your big break."

I'm surprised by her reaction. Not because it's unlikely for a parent to be disappointed at their child's loss because she says it like she can believe it. Why is it so surprising for her? Can't her son ever fail at something?

Shane doesn't answer and I can almost hear his shallow breathing.

"Your father will be so disappointed," she says, sighing mournfully. "To think I was here to congratulate you. We have been planning for a celebration for months, Shane."

I risk a glance at Shane out of the corner of my eye and see him staring at the ground at his mother's feet. A part of me wants to speak up and intervene, remind his mother that he's just faced a tragic loss and needs to be comforted rather than ashamed. I don't know how Shane will feel about that, though, so I hold my tongue and try not to feel bad for him.

"I'm sorry I let you down, Mom," he mumbles, his voice barely audible.

The woman sighs. "I just can't believe it."

"I'm sorry," Shane says, his voice so sad. "I'm sorry I failed."

And my restraint snaps.

"It's okay to fail," I say before I can stop myself, my voice more confident than I feel. "I mean --"

I glance at his mom and see her staring at me like she's seeing me for the first time.

"-- you tried your best," I add to Shane who's ghostly pale and wide-eyed. "You worked so hard for this and you played really well. Besides, it's just a game. So what if you didn't win this one? There will always be more."

Relief washes over his features at last and a shadow of a smile lights up his face which I return wholeheartedly.

"You'll go to college anyway, right?" I go on, propelled by his relaxing demeanor. "You don't have to play football. You can always do something else. Something you love and something that makes you happy. Besides, you don't have to be perfect. Nobody's ever perfect."

"Are you Shane's girlfriend?" his mother asks me, either not hear a word of mine or not caring enough about it. By the looks of it, all that matters to her is my place in her son's life and not the impact she has on him. "I didn't know Shane had one."

"She's not, we're just friends." As soon as the words leave his lips, Shane's face falls. He slips his fingers out of mine and takes a step back.

I try not to show how his simple action breaks my heart.

It's not that I expected him to stand up for me. In all honesty, we're technically just friends after all. One simple kiss in a moment of vulnerability doesn't make us any more than that. So what if I'd read more into it? It had been I who kissed Shane. He probably just kissed me back because he's such a nice guy and didn't want to embarrass me.

"And she was just leaving," he adds.

I swallow hard, lowering my gaze to my feet shuffling on the concrete.

"I should go," I say, avoiding eye contact. "It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Gray."

The woman nods, her brow furrowed. As for Shane, I don't glance at him as I turn away and make my way back to the school building, dragging my cement-block feet forward.

It doesn't make sense for me to feel so hurt. I shouldn't care so much that Shane told his mom we're friends and nothing more. Maybe he didn't let go of my hand and put more distance between us to show her. Maybe it was because he genuinely just wanted me to leave. Maybe he was watching out for me so his mom wouldn't lash out at me or blame me for his loss.

Marla drops me home, noting on the way that I'm being quieter than usual. I tell her I'm just worried about Shane losing the game, which she thankfully believes. It's part of the truth and I'm technically not lying.

Getting home, I find Mom in the kitchen. She's stirring something in a pot when I enter.

"How'd the game go?" she asks as soon as she sees me.

"Our team lost," I answer, dropping my bag on one of the chairs and slumping down in another. Stretching my arms over the kitchen island, I drop my head between them, groaning loudly as the cool marble presses against my forehead.

"And why are you so upset? I didn't think you cared about football as much."

I roll my eyes but mom can't see them.

"It's Friday, Mom, I'm just tired," I lie, not wanting to go into a long discussion about Shane and everything Mom hasn't come to know about him yet. Although she saw him in this very kitchen not too long ago, Mom hasn't questioned me about it after that first time when I told Dad and her who he is.

"Well, on the upside, the weekend's here," Mom perks up.

I lift my head to look at Mom through drooping eyes.

She smiles at me, holding a bowl of something in her hand before pouring it into the pot on the stove and wiping her hand on her apron.

"We can do something fun," Mom adds. "Maybe go shopping? Hiking?"

Even though she doesn't say it, I have a vague idea mom remembers it's my birthday tomorrow. It must hurt her to mention it, since it had always been Carter and I's birthday. Last year during this time, we had planned a huge party. Carter and I had turned sixteen and it was a big deal. Last year, I hated how we shared our birthday because all of my friends brought gifts for me but none for him. He barely had any friends.

I still kind of wish he had.

"You know I hate shopping," I remind her. "And my diabetes-ridden body will not be able to climb freaking mountains, Mom, have pity on me. How about we go bungee-jumping or something?"

Mom doesn't answer, laughing and shaking her head. She's always hated this about me, the tendency to make light of everything serious. I blame Carter for it. He was always joking about whatever bothered him. Maybe that's why we never noticed how depressed he was. His weight-loss was attributed by him to dieting, his insomnia to playing too many video games. Even when he looked like a ghost, he said it was because he wanted to try the emo disposition and was experimenting with identities.

It's easy to know someone is depressed if they're always crying or telling people they want to kill themselves. Others who are always laughing at their own pain and smiling widely go unnoticed.

Like Carter.

Like Shane.

The thought takes me back to Shane and the memory of his trembling fingers and shallow breathing. He was clearly afraid of his mom's reaction, scared of what she might say to him. It makes me feel worse. I feel selfish, worrying about how he'd dismissed me when he was probably going through so much on his own. How self-obsessed can I be?

"I'm going to my room," I tell Mom, getting to my feet and picking up my bag.

"But dinner?"

"I'm not hungry." I trudge toward the stairs.

"I'll bring it to your room," Mom calls after me as I ascend the stairs. "You can't skip on your insulin shots."

Despite my retaliation, Mom arrives in my room an hour later, carrying a bowl of hot-and-sour soup and forcing me to allow her to stab a needle in my belly fat. After many minutes of whining and complaining and telling her what an evil woman she is to inject me against my will -- which Mom shuts down with a single glare -- she leaves, leaving the door open behind her.

I lie awake for a few minutes, wondering if calling Shane would be appropriate. He did say he doesn't want to stay in touch on the phone which I barely even see him use during school hours.

Telling myself to stop overthinking, I drift off to sleep sometime around ten. It's still too early for me to sleep, but I wasn't entirely making up excuses when I said Friday drains me out. An entire week of school and staying back to watch football practice has been exhausting.

The buzzing of my phone against my cheek awakens me and I realize I fell asleep while watching cat videos again. Backing out of Instagram and squinting at the screen, I notice Shane's name flashing before my eyes.

Swiping my thumb twice across the screen because it doesn't work the first time, I place the phone against my ear and close my eyes. "Hullow?" I grumble, wiping the saliva dripping out of my mouth with the back of my free hand.

"Hey, can you, like, sneak out again?"

The soft whispering on the other end causes me to crack open one eye and frown to myself.

"Why is it that you're always causing me sleepless nights?" I ask in a gruff voice, slowly struggling out of my covers.

Shane chuckles. "My charm and charisma take your sleep away."

I snort, swinging my legs off the bed and reaching for my hoodie.

"You coming?" he asks.

"Yeah, just ..." I stuff my feet into my ugly fur slippers. "My face right now will haunt your nightmares."

His laugh helps ease some of my anxiety at seeing him so late at night and what he might want to talk to me about. As I gather up my mess of hair with one hand and attempt to hang up on Shane with the other, I hope everything will be okay. What I hear, though, takes my breath away and wipes away all traces of sleep.

"You already haunt my dreams, Taylor Ming," Shane whispers. "I wouldn't mind seeing you in my nightmares too."

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A/N: I LOVE SHANE AND TAYLOR, KAY? Anyways, the much-awaited update is here. I'll try updating once more before May otherwise you can expect an update on the first. Hope you're liking the story so far.

Early update because it's Sunday. Next update will probably be on the 1st of May (or earlier if I can't help myself as usual).