The bell rang. I slowly gathered my stuff and placed it in my backpack. Another week of school completed. Only six more to go, thank God.

I trudged to my locker and grabbed my sweater, slipping it on, and walked to the doors. Just as I got one hand on the knob, someone pulled it open.

"Let me assist you, m’lady," a male voice said. I peered around the corner and saw my best friend, Evan, standing there, huge smile plastered across his face.

Evan was a peculiar person. His mop of floppy blonde hair was tucked behind his ears, his blue eyes radiating. He never ceased to be anything but happy. Which was odd, considering his family’s lifestyle. But I won’t get into that right now. I’m supposed to be describing Evan. So where was I? Oh, yes, his physical appearance. He was about 5’11", making him a tall guy, but I would guess he only weighed around 160 pounds. That is another odd thing about him. He eats constantly, but never gains any weight. "I have a fast metabolism," he would tell me, his chest puffing out in mock pride. He almost never matched, citing "society issues" as his reason against it. (I told you he was peculiar.) Today was one of those days, I could tell. He was wearing a pair of dark green cords, a tan "Jiffy Lube ®" tee, a black button up shirt over it and a dark blue sweater. Ugh. Time to take him shopping, I thought.

"Hey, Evan, what’s up?" I asked half-heartedly, a fake smile emerging.

"Nothing much. Why so glum, Tai?" he replied, his smile disappearing.

"Oh, no big reason. I’ve got to go to my dad’s this weekend, yuck." Anyone who’s ever held so much as a five minute conversation with me knows how much I dislike my father. He and my mother never married, but I had to see him every other weekend, regardless. I tried to get out of it this weekend, but my mother insisted, because she wasn’t going to be home. My step-dad, Mike, and her were taking my little brother and sister to my Grandma’s. So it was promising to be a not too fun weekend.

"Oh. That sucks. I wanted to do something with you," Evan replied, as we began walking.

"You mean you aren’t going to come with me?" I asked, looking up.

"Just waiting for the invitation," he answered, smile wide.

"You know you are always welcome to come with me. In fact, I prefer that you do," I said with a laugh.

We talked a bit more as we walked to my house, our usual hang out after school. Evan’s house was in a not-too-safe part of the neighborhood and he always preferred me not to go. I’ve seen it and been in it before (we’ve been best friends for the majority of our lives), but he was kind of ashamed of it, and I respected his wishes by not insisting we go there. It’s sort of weird that we’re friends at all, considering our drastically different lifestyles. I come from a well-to-do family; one that has so much money it’s coming out their damn ears. We have it all: the huge house, the luxurious cars, the pool, the "in" clothes, everything. Evan, he’s, well...he’s poor. Not too poor, but enough to make him forbidden from socializing with the rich. His house is run down, they don’t own a car, and you can forget about the pool. That’s the last thing on the Hamilton’s minds right now. They are trying their best to support Evan and his 4-year-old sister, Michele, on only minimum wage and tips at the local restaurant, Al’s Place.

When we were very little (Evan being 6, myself being 5) we came across each other at the park. We were both shunned, Evan because he’s poor and me because I’m rich. He came up to me with a Batman® lunchbox and asked if he could eat lunch with me. That was ten years ago, sparking the beginning of our friendship.

I unlocked the front door to my home, holding it open for Evan and myself. Dropping my bag on the entryway floor, we made our way to my kitchen to get food. I noticed the note on the counter, and quickly read it over.

Tai (and Evan)-
Michael and I went to pick up the twins at daycare...Then we’re headed to Grandma Olsen’s. Kayla will be calling later to check in, and then you’re off to your father’s for the weekend. Yes, it’s fine if Evan goes. There’s some money in the cupboard above the refrigerator, get yourself some dinner before you leave. Have fun and stay out of trouble. Behave yourselves! Love-Mom

"Figures," I mumbled under my breath, crumpling up the note and throwing it in the trash. I forgot to mention I have three other siblings. The twins, Michael Jr. and Emily, aged 2 1/2 years. Oh yes, the toddler years: what a thrill. And then there’s Kayla, who’s 23-years-old, residing in Anaheim. She tries to be our mother, whether we like it or not. We don’t.

"What does it say?" asked Evan, looking over to me, as he dug through our cupboards for food.

"Mom’s not coming home today to take me to my dad’s. They’re leaving for Grandma’s right after they pick up the twins," I answered. "Which means we have to take the bus over there. Yet again. Ugh."

Evan laughed. "Do you really want her and your dad face to face? Besides, the bus isn’t that bad. It’s better than driving a BMW into the ghetto!"

I smiled, despite my unhappiness with the situation. "You’re right," I said. "Hey, we should skip out on dad’s altogether. There’s an idea!"

"You know Kayla’s gonna be checking in on you. Do you honestly think she’d let you go a day without some type of motherly lecture? Especially since you’d be seeing her father. She’s going to make sure you get there," Evan replied.

"Damn it. So close," I said, smiling. "Oh well. Like he’ll be home anyway. We’ll have his shit-hole apartment to ourselves. That’s something, isn’t it?"

We both laughed. Evan hated my dad as much as I did. He understood, which was nice to have, seeing as most people don’t know about my dad. Know what, you’re asking? My dad is a little...confused. He drinks, and is usually strung out on some type of drug. Not exactly the ideal husband, which is why my mom never married him. And here I am, stuck with seeing him. It’s not a very nice environment when he’s actually home (which is close to never). He yells at me quite a bit, usually just slurring about me being a mistake or something. I try not to listen, but it gets to me sometimes. Fortunately, Evan has always been there for me when it does.

So here we are, sitting in my living room, contemplating when to leave for the ever-promising weekend. Kayla called, as promised, and then we got ready. I packed a bag, and Evan did too. He usually stayed at my house on the weekends, anyway, so he made sure to have clothes and all that prepared beforehand. I took the money, grabbed two Pepsi’s for us, and we took off for the bus stop.

Blegh. I hate buses. Especially the nasty ones that run by my neighborhood. You’d think that with all the money the locals have, they’d get a better bus service. Nope. Can’t squander their money away on such useful things, that would be too easy. It’s not that I’m a little spoiled rich kid, who refuses to be in anything except a Porsche or Mercedes. In fact, I’m the exact opposite: I PREFER a bus to any of those cars. But this one harbors the homeless from time to time, and the child molesting pedophiles as well, making for quite an interesting ride. And let’s not forget the local women, who look more like expensive whores than anything else. I don’t know how they can get up in the morning and honestly think they look presentable. I just don’t get it.

I took my seat next to Evan, near the front, trying to stay as far away as possible from the aforementioned. Today it was much harder to do so.

"Hey, what’s your name?" some guy asked.

Great, I thought, another child molesting date rapist. I didn’t even bother to turn around this time. I didn’t have the patience to deal with the bus losers today.

"Hey, I asked what your name is," the guy repeated.

God, I thought. I turned around. "And I ignored you. Most people would take this as a sign. We’re not the brightest crayon in the box, are we?" I replied, and turned to face the front again.

"Fuck you," he said in response.

Intelligent. Very intelligent, I thought. I ignored him once again, and soon enough, we were at our stop. Evan got up first and grabbed my bag. I followed him off the bus and we started walking towards my dad’s apartment, which was on Edmonton.

It was hard to believe there are still people living here, as rundown as it is. There was garbage strewn along the road, and graffiti covering nearly every building. The houses that WEREN’T boarded up were very rundown, with unkempt lawns and broken windows. It was sad to think of all the children who had to live here, their houses being sights of the neighborhood drug deals in most cases. Sometimes they would even go through an entire winter without heat. It made me very upset to think of this, so I pushed it out of my mind. We remained quiet until now, about a block from our destination.

"What was up with that episode on the bus?" Evan asked, half-worriedly.

"I don’t know. I didn’t feel like dealing with assholes today," I answered. "Especially stupid ones."

"Whoa...are you okay, Tai?" Evan was worried about me, I could tell. I hated worrying him, but I just didn’t feel like explaining myself.

"Yeah...It’s just...I already have to deal with my dad, you know, and I hate the bus people." Within a second, the tears started falling. I felt Evan’s arms wrap around me.

"It’s okay. Don’t worry. I’ll be there," he whispered. "It’ll be okay, Tai."

I wiped my eyes and hugged him. "Thank you," I replied, in a voice barely above a whisper. I stood there for a minute before slinging my bag over my shoulder and continuing to walk. We’d be there any minute, much to my disdain.

Within minutes, we reached the apartment building that my dad lived in. We walked past the doorman, throwing out a 'hello', and made our way to the elevator. I pushed the Floor 5 button, and soon we were moving. Immediately Evan jumped up. I didn’t question his behavior; in fact, I had grown quite accustomed to it. Every time Evan stepped into an elevator, he would jump up as it started. He said it made him feel as though he was suspended in mid air for the few seconds before he fell to the ground. (Another testament to his oddity.)

He pulled himself off the floor and smiled. "You GOTTA try that sometime," he said, laughing.

I laughed. "I doubt I’d get the same rush you do, Ev." A minute later the elevator stopped and I walked down to 5H, my dad’s apartment. Evan followed behind, with our bags. I fumbled around in my pocket for the key and upon finding it, shoved it into the door. It swung open, and I shuffled through the newspapers that were strewn amongst other articles of trash and into the kitchen. Evan had gone down the hall and into the guestroom, to drop off our bags. I found myself in the kitchen.

"Dad?" I called out, looking around. "Hey, Dad, are you here?" No answer. I came across a slip of paper hanging from the refrigerator, which explained where he was. The bar. I sighed with frustration and walked down to the guestroom. I found Evan putting away his stuff.

"Dad’s not here," I said, falling onto the bed. He looked at me sympathetically, and continued putting away his stuff.

"You okay?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, I should be used to it, right? He’s a jerk. But couldn’t he just be a real dad for once?"

Evan came and sat down beside me. "I know, Tai. But it’s just the way he is, don’t let it bring you down. You’re a great kid, don’t let your dad ruin that," he said.

I smiled. He always had some way of cheering me up. "So what do you wanna do? We could go hang out up town, but it’s kinda gross. Anything on TV you wanna see?"

"Nah, let’s just channel surf." We both got up and made our way into the living room, sitting on the couch. I somehow found the remote in all the mess, and pushed the power button. Nothing. I got up and pushed the on button on the TV. Yet again, no response. Something told me that Dad forgot to pay the bill again. This was really upsetting me. Couldn’t he act like a NORMAL person for once, and pay his bills? Spare me some embarrassment at least.

"Sorry, Ev, no TV for us. Looks like my dad forgot to pay the bill again," I said, sitting down again.

"It’s okay, there was nothing on anyway," he replied, smiling. Evan was used to this, thank God; or else I’d be even more ashamed than I already was. We sat there in silence for the next ten minutes, trying to think of something to do. Finally I got an idea. Not a fun one, but an idea none the less.

"I’m cleaning this place up. If I can’t stand the filth, then I don’t understand how he can," I said, standing up. Evan joined me, I’m convinced, for lack of better things to do. He wasn’t one to voluntarily clean anything, much less someone else’s house.

For the next hour we cleaned like our lives depended on it. I bagged all the newspapers and took them out to the recycling bin, took out the trash, washed the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. Evan swept, cleaned the bathroom, vacuumed, and dusted. Soon enough, the place was looking presentable. We gathered all the sheets, towels, clothes and other needed-to-be-washed items and took them down to the apartment’s laundry mat. No one was down there, so we got all five washers to ourselves. Within two hours, we had everything washed and dried. I loaded them into laundry baskets and we carried them back upstairs to be put away.

Upon arriving at the apartment, I found the door to be open. I looked at Evan worriedly, and we pushed into the room. I dropped my laundry basket on the dining room table, and Evan followed suit. Nothing was out of order, making me believe it was just our mistake of leaving the door open. But soon enough, I found that out to be untrue. My dad stood in the kitchen, keys in his hands, a look of shock on his face.

"Hi Dad. We got bored, so we cleaned the place up for you," I said, smiling. He turned to me, and suddenly grew angry.

"You think I can’t keep my own house clean?" he yelled, throwing his keys on the table. "You little BITCH, you think I’m a loser for not keeping my house spic and span! That’s what you think, isn’t it? Isn’t it? YOU ANSWER ME NOW, OR I’LL HIT YOU SO HARD YOU WON’T SIT FOR DAYS!"

I was shocked. And scared. I knew he was drunk, but he never got this angry with me. Usually he just ignored me. "No, Dad, I don’t think that. I just...me and Evan didn’t have anything to do, cause the TV was cut off, so we just cleaned," I said quietly.

"Oh, I get it, now I’m a bum cause I can’t pay the TV bill? Let me tell you something, kiddo, I’ve got a job that I work my ass off at! Just because I can’t keep my house clean at all times, that doesn’t mean I’m a bum!" he continued. The more he would yell, the more scared I grew. By this time, Evan heard the screaming, and came into the room.

"What’s going on?" he asked, looking towards me, then to my father.

"And you, YOU, you little punk: you think I’m a loser too, don’t you? In fact, you probably came up with the cleaning idea, Tai isn’t the smartest!" Dad said, turning to Evan.

"What?" Evan said. He was confused. "What are you talking about Mr. Johnson?"

"He didn’t have anything to do with it, Dad, leave him out of it! I came up with the idea myself...he just helped me a bit!" I screamed, letting all my anger flow out steadily. "If you’re going to yell at someone, yell at me!"

"Sticking up for your little boyfriend, are you Tai? You know, I never liked you Evan! I always thought you and your family were worthless: look at your parents, they can’t even hold a job!" He had gone too far. I think he began to realize it, too, after Evan turned red.

"FUCK YOU. My family is worth more than you’ll ever be! LOOK AT YOU! You are drunk as fuck and screaming at your daughter for doing you a favor: cleaning up your shit-hole of a house! And you call my family worthless?" he yelled back. "AT LEAST THEY DON’T SCREAM AT THEIR CHILDREN AND CALL THEM STUPID. At least they TRY to clean up their house, instead of just living in the filth! AT LEAST THEY SUPPORT THEIR CHILDREN!"

A silence fell over the room. I looked to Evan in shock. I had never seen him yell like he did, no matter how much I knew he had wanted to at times. My dad was even more shocked, I believe. In all the years of knowing Evan, he had treated my dad with nothing but respect.

"I don’t need this in my own house. I’m leaving. You guys can get yourselves home on Sunday, cause I won’t be here," Dad said. He threw money for child support on the table (something he hadn’t done in a while), picked up his jacket and the keys, and left. The door slammed and I jumped in shock.

"Well..." I said, looking to Evan.

Evan walked over to me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. "I’m so sorry, Tai, I didn’t mean to yell like I did. I’m sorry."

I returned the hug and started crying. "It’s okay, Ev, it’s not your fault. It’s his fault. He had no right to attack you like he did...It’s okay." My eyes were clouded with tears and I wiped at them furiously. I hated crying in front of Evan.

He pulled back and looked in my eyes. I looked up, turning red, and offered a half smile. "What?" I asked.

"Nothing," Evan answered, smiling. I laughed, then the tears began again. The thought of my father calling me stupid was one thing, but then he treated my best friend like he was the dirt under his shoe. I couldn’t handle all of this at once...the emotions were building up inside of me for a long time, so I guess you could call this my breakdown. Finally. You have no idea how good it feels to release all your tension...or maybe you do. All I know is that I have never been more relaxed than at this time, with Evan holding me while I just sob, letting it all out.

We had moved ourselves to the living room by this time, and Evan was silently comforting me, by just having his arms around me. He said nothing for what felt like a long time, but was probably more like twenty minutes. Then he spoke up.

"You’re not stupid, Tai." He tipped my chin up, looking into my eyes. "You’re not stupid, do you understand me?"

I smiled. "Yeah. I understand, I guess," I answered.

"No, Tai, no guesses. You’re NOT stupid. Your father is the stupid one. You can’t believe him, okay? Don’t let him break you, okay?" he asked. "Promise me that, Tai. Promise me."

"I promise," I answered.

Evan held up his pinky finger. "Pinky swear?"

I laughed. I held up my pinky and linked it in his as I said, "Pinky swear." Evan hadn’t made me pinky swear him anything in a long time, it was quite funny. It brought me back to our childhood, when we would do that all the time. A smile crept to my lips and I hugged him tightly. "Thank you," I whispered in his ear.

Our eyes met and Evan said, "Don’t worry about it, I love you Tai."

My heart stopped. Did he just say he loved me? Evan had always been a sensitive guy, but I had never, in the span of our friendship, heard him say this to me. There was the time where he came close to it, but he never got it out. That was three years ago, when I was only 12, and Evan was 13. It was Valentine’s Day, and no one had given me a card, leaving my heart in pieces. Evan showed up at my door later that night with a bouquet of wildflowers he had picked himself, and a small valentine card. I melted on the spot and gave him a huge hug and a small peck on the cheek. I could tell he wanted to say it, but he had to keep up the "macho" routine like all the other boys his age.

But not once had he ever said he loved me. Hearing him utter those words sent shivers down my spine and my face lit up. "I love you too, Ev," I replied.

"You need to get some sleep, sweetie, why don’t you go to bed early?" He stood up, grabbing my hand and dragging me off to our room.

"No, it’s okay, I want to stay up...I’m not tired, Ev, stop," I said in protest. He refused to let me out of the room, so I just retired to the bed. I sat down and laughed. "God, you’re like a jail warden!"

"Well, I will act as one unless you go to sleep," he replied, laughing.

"Fine," I said. "But only if you stay with me." We have always had to share the same bed when we went to my Dad’s (it was only a two bedroom apartment and neither one of us wanted to sleep on the wood floor), so Evan agreed to this. I gladly changed into my pajamas, and slipped under the covers. He lay down next to me, he too in his pajamas, after having changed in the bathroom. My dad didn’t know we shared a bed, he never had checked in on us. I’m sure he wouldn’t have been too happy with it, so it’s sort of a good thing that he was gone at night.

I remember the first time we had to share a bed. It all started in the first grade. Evan was staying over at my house for what seemed like the hundredth time. When my mom picked us up from school, she told me that my Aunt Diana and all of her seven kids were over to stay the weekend. Beds would be scarce. So that night Evan and I just climbed into my king size bed together, thinking nothing of it. Soon thereafter it became a sort of tradition of ours: every time he was over, whether at my mom’s or dad’s, we shared my bed and stayed up all night talking. Even now, with us being in the age where most boys and girls would be uncomfortable with the thought of sleeping together, we still did, not wanting to break our little tradition. It gave me a feeling of safety having him so close to me, like no one could harm me as long as he was there.

So there we were, laying next to each other in the double bed, our breaths coming and going at the same time.

"Go to sleep," he ordered, throwing his arm over my side. Immediately, I felt the arm leave my side, and knew he was red. I turned around and smiled.

"It’s okay," I said, knowing he would understand what I meant. He once again slipped his arm around me and I pushed closer to him. "Goodnight," I added, smiling.

He smiled, and lightly kissed my forehead. "Goodnight," he said. I fell asleep soon after, and felt at peace for the first time in my life.

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