*.*.*.*.*.*

November 8

As Friday comes around and I start hoping for Shane to ask me out again, I start getting kind of annoyed with everything. It might be because of my health because the doctor said I might feel a few changes in my mood and feelings. Despite that, I can't help but get a bit frustrated with Shane too.

"Why can't he just talk to me?" I grumble to myself, punching my pillow into a more comfortable blob. "Yes, okay, he can't text or call, but will it kill him to just send me a one-sided email or something and then delete it? Stupid, stupid, stupid ..."

Grumbling to myself and complaining about everything, I fall asleep at night and wake up Friday morning, feeling better than I was last night.

Shit, diabetes sucks balls.

"I hate this cereal," I tell Mom, practically growling at my box of whole-wheat cereal mom hands me. "I hate the taste of it. I hate the look of it. I hate everything about it."

"You haven't been taking your insulin shots," Mom comments, eyeing me closely. She probably notices my eyebags and automatically attributes my grumpiness to my illness. "Really, Taylor. You need to step up and take care of yourself unless you want me to stab you with a needle in your stomach thrice every day."

I wince and squirm back. "I'm fine, really," I try to convince her. "And I'm taking insulin just fine, thank you."

Mom sighs. "You heard what the doctor said. You need to inject it into your stomach for a quick effect. And you need it thrice a day."

"I can handle it, Mom," I say, jumping off my chair and reaching for my bag. I know she's right about what she's saying but I'm not a big fan of needles. Isn't it enough that I'm stabbing my arm with a needle once every morning before going to school? It lasts me a few hours of normalcy before I start feeling the weight of diabetes again. Besides, if I've been holding on fine till now, I might be able to last a few more months.

"You're not taking this seriously enough, Taylor," Mom calls after me.

"I learned from the best," I respond sarcastically, walking out of the house and slamming the door behind me.

As harsh as it may sound, it's not entirely a lie. Mom and Dad are the masters of minimizing a problem. They minimized Carter's depression so that we didn't even know it existed until it was too late. With regard to moving on, they were in complete and utter denial about the effect Carter's death had on them. Even now, they're gladly minimizing the relationship problems they have.

They have no right to be telling me I should take diabetes more seriously.

I sit through my classes, feeling more tired than usual and wishing I was in bed. When Riley nudges me, I grimace at her and shake her off. Racheal doesn't get a response from me either and her childishness upsets me way too much. It's only after I leave the bathroom for the fourth time in two hours that I realize I missed my insulin injection in the morning.

"Just great, Taylor," I mumble to myself. "So fucking great."

I hate it. I really do. I hate being dependent on a stupid injection and some clear liquid to function during the day. I hate the individualized diet plan the doctor suggested with collaboration with the nutritionist. I hate that my mom, who spent months pretending I don't exist, suddenly wants to be best friends with me and thinks she knows what's best for me.

"Hey?"

"I hate you," I say without looking up to see who's addressing me.

He laughs, tugging at the strap of my bag as it slides down my arm and I snatch it back up.

"Whoa, are you okay? You just seem extra pissed off today," Shane says and I don't know if he's joking or if he's serious.

I don't answer, refusing to look up at him as I begin down the hallway and the next hour of torturous high school.

"Taylor, stop." He grabs my arm and spins me around.

"What do you want, Gray?" I want to snap but only manage out a tired voice that is much lower than I expected it to be. I just sound tired and low on energy, something I really am but am also too stubborn to admit.

Shane looks into my eyes, his hands on either arm of mine and holding me in place.

Fuck, he's tall.

I hate it.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks softly, lifting a hand to touch its back to my forehead.

Even with anger threatening to explode out of me with every passing moment, Shane's touch seems to cause me to break down in sweat. I don't move, his cold skin against my warm one, and I close my eyes, liking the cooling sensation spreading through my face.

"Whoa," he gasps, tightening his grip on me when I sway.

I open my eyes and see his wide ones, realizing instantly that I may not be as okay as I'm pretending to be. Maybe I'm just like Mom and Dad, so used to going through the motions that taking a few moments out for myself bothers me.

"You need to go home," Shane says.

"Your home, dude?" someone appears right behind him.

Carlos' wide grin appears in my line of vision and Shane straightens up, not relinquishing his hold on me. Shane doesn't appear amused by his friend's comment, keeping his gaze fixed on me and his grip firm.

"Not everyone is a pervert like you," I say to Carlos, not wanting to seem weak in front of him.

"All guys are perverts. Some are just better at hiding it," Carlos says with a wave of his hand.

"Let me drive you home," Shane says in a low voice.

"I have class," I speak up.

"Fuck class," Shane murmurs.

"Don't you mean 'fuck me'?" Carlos corrects.

"I'd never fuck you," I say.

"I meant Shane." Carlos narrows his eyes into slits.

"You need to learn to communicate better," I tell Carlos.

Shane huffs out an exasperated breath, clearly at the end of his patience because of my aimless banter with Carlos. I don't mind, really. I've learned that Carlos is just a little hornier and slightly more angsty version of Shane. Under the surface, the two guys are probably made of the same playdough: warm and soft.

"Come along now," Shane says, taking my hand and leading me down the hallway.

"We have a game tonight," Carlos calls after us.

Shane ignores him while I look over my shoulder and stick out my tongue. Carlos huffs, puckering up his lips like an overgrown baby.

Although my friendship with Carlos is unconventionally pretty smooth, Riley has decided she doesn't want Carlos' drama. It caught me off guard when he told me about it. He seemed pretty bummed about it but I wasn't too surprised once I talked to Riley who admitted she wasn't really looking for a long-term relationship with Carlos unless he decided to come clean about Gemma to his grandma. She doesn't want to be the secret girlfriend while Carlos pretends to like someone else.

As for Carlos, he's clear that if the choice is between dating the girl he likes and keeping his grandma happy, he's going to forget he ever knew Riley.

I can't say I blame him. I actually respect him more for valuing his family over some girl he hasn't known for more than a couple of months.

"Taylor," Shane says, dropping my hand and turning around to fold his arms across his chest as soon we're outside. "Are you sure you've seen a doctor?"

"You think I'd lie to you?" I joke.

"Yes," Shane answers seriously. "Yes, I think you would."

I don't know why his words sting and I sigh.

"Look, I saw the doctor and I didn't lie," I admit. "I just missed my insulin shot today."

He blows out a breath. "You really need to be more --"

"Careful, serious, grown-up, I know." I slump back against the wall of the school building. "Can I please go to class now?"

"No, you're going home and I'm taking you myself so you can't do any more damage to yourself," Shane says firmly.

Before I can respond, I feel my pocket buzzing. Raising a finger at Shane to shush him -- to which he rolls his eyes -- I pull out my phone and glance at the screen before answering.

"He --"

"Taylor, it's Marla!" Georgia half-yells half-pants into the speaker.

"Where is she? What happened to her?" I demand, my heart sinking.

"She blew up last night," Georgia tells me breathlessly, clearly running to some destination. "Was yelling and trying to run out of the house. Then she started crying and passed out. We got her to the hospital and she's awake now but she wants to see you."

"Is she okay?" I gasp.

"Just angry and upset. The doctor said she can go home but she's saying she won't go with us."

"What?" I frown, shocked. Marla has never been like this.

"She had a fight with Mama. She says she won't go home with us. That's why she's asking for you. Can you come and tell her to go home? Or just calm her down?"

I nod quickly, already walking to the school exit.

"I'll be right there."

*.*.*.*.*.*

A/N: I know this chapter is shorter than most but the next will be long and important so please hang in there.