Kyland

"Come on, you sorta owe me." My eyes snapped to his and I saw he was kidding.

I let out a breath and offered him a smile. "Thank you, Jamie, really, for what you did. But no, I'm, um, kind of seeing someone and—" Tears started leaking out of my eyes at my own words. Was I seeing someone? God, it was all so confusing. And somehow, my heart felt as bruised as my eye.

"Hey," he said gently, "I understand. I just thought . . . you know, you and I . . ." He thinned his lips, looking as if he was considering his words. "I've never really made an effort to get to know you, and I'm sorry for that. I realize there's not much time now, but, I thought maybe a dance . . ." His eyes moved over my face. "But you're involved with someone and so I understand that he probably wants to take you to the prom."

I looked down at my lap and shook my head, but I didn't speak. Would this boy even understand what it was like to have so little that some days you were just thankful you had enough food to eat? Dances, dates . . . those things were so far outside my realm of experiences. I had no idea what it was like to do any of that. I had no idea what it was like to live a life where you had the luxury of caring about that kind of stuff.

"Thanks again," I said.

"Tenleigh?" I turned back around. "I . . . I don't know, um . . ."

"Spit it out, Jamie."

"I'm gay."

Oh. I turned all the way toward him. "So why'd you ask me to the dance then?"

"I just wanted to spend time with you."

I tilted my head. "What if I'd said yes and had hope that you liked me?" I asked.

"I . . . I guess I didn't really think that part through. Sorry."

I studied him for a second and then sighed. "No harm done."

"I can't tell my parents. I mean, I can. I'm going to. Soon. I think. Maybe." He looked out the driver's side window.

I took a deep breath and sat back. "I'm sure it'll be okay."

He looked back at me and shook his head. "No, it won't be. It won't be okay. But I guess I have to do it anyway. I thought maybe before I go off to college. That way they'll have some time to digest it while I'm away, you know?"

I nodded. "Yeah." I reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "Well, good luck."

"My dad, he grew up like you," he said, glancing over at my trailer. "In his office, he has a picture of the shack where he lived in West Virginia when he was a boy."

I pressed my lips together and scratched at my thigh. "Well, that makes it worse."

"What?" he asked, his eyes meeting my one good eye again.

"He knows how painful it is to live like this—and for us, he made it worse." For him, it was a sick, thrilling way to remind himself of how far he'd risen—and how far others were now beneath him.

Jamie flinched slightly, his eyes flitting away and then back. "I know." He paused for a second. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't like where I live either, despite everything I have." He frowned as he looked out the window behind me. "That day," his eyes met mine, "that day my dad . . . told you to leave our house, I was watching. I saw. And I wanted to go with you. I saw the way all three of you gripped hands and walked away, the way you leaned on your sister, and . . . as stupid and probably insensitive as it sounds to you to hear me say this, I wanted to go with you. I wanted what you had. A family."

I stared at him, shocked. "I wanted what you had. A family. And," I laughed softly, "some food in the fridge."

He laughed a humorless laugh that ended in a sort of grimace.

"Things are tough all over, Ponyboy," I said softly, shaking my head.

"What?"

"Nothing. Thanks again, Jamie. Good night."

He nodded, looking worried. "Good night, Tenleigh. Make sure you ice that eye."

"I will." I opened his car door and got out.

I watched him as he turned around and drove back down the road toward town. I stood there for a minute, breathing in the fresh night air, thinking about what I was going to tell my mama. I wouldn't tell her the truth. It wouldn't be helpful—there was nothing she could do about it, and it would only make her worse. I'd tell her I ran into the swinging door at work.

But as I stood there, emotion overwhelmed me. I didn't want to lie. I wanted someone to hold me as I cried. I wanted someone to tell me everything was going to be okay. Tears streaked down my face as I looked up at the sky.

"Ten?" My head whipped around at his voice. Kyland.

I swiped at my tears and turned to face him. As he came close enough that I could make out his features, he hesitated, his face contorting first in confusion and then in anger. "What the fuck?" he hissed out, moving to me quickly and tilting my face up toward the moon, toward the light.

"Who did this?" he demanded.

"Kyland," I choked out, all the fight draining out of me. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his solid, safe body. I melted into him, holding the front of his shirt in my fists as I cried. I cried not just for my battered face, but because this could happen again. I cried because I was scared and hopeless and because even though Kyland was holding me, and despite all we'd shared, I sensed a withdrawal of his emotions. I sensed him stiffening as my tears fell and I clung to him.

"Who did this to you?" he repeated, only his voice was calmer this time.