"What did she mean by round two at breakfast?" I asked Lindsay.

         Currently, we were in our last class of the day: Gym. Even in gym class, we had uniforms, but fortunately, they were provided. They were cream-colored t-shirts with the Beaumont Academy crest displayed largely on the back, maroon running shorts, and customized maroon and cream tennis shoes. So that was why I had to state my shoe size on the enrollment paperwork.

         All of my classes had gone by pretty well. I guess I had wowed Mrs. Peterson with my academic values, because I wasn't given detention. Which made this day slightly better.

         The gym instructor, Coach Hill, wanted to test how healthy and in shape we were initially, before athletic training for the rest of the year. Meaning, we had to run two miles the first day of gym class. That had to be some sort of cruel and unusual punishment, although I wasn't sure what I had done wrong. I wanted to know if it was possible to plead the eighth.

         Lindsay and I decided to be smart and pace ourselves. This was the only class we had together. Carlisle was also in this class, as was Celia Howell, the host of last night's crazy house party. Carlisle and Celia took off running the moment Coach Hill told us to go, and now they were lagging behind us, out of breath and annoyed at their lack of stamina.

         "Who?"

         "Ivy. She said something about Tatum confronting Warren and how she thought it would be round two."

         Lindsay stayed silent for a moment, focusing on her breathing while running. Lindsay was in pretty good shape; she was a dancer. I, on the other hand, hadn't done any physical sports since I was a kid and played softball in the fifth grade. I quit soon after.

         "I don't really know how to explain it," she began. Her voice shook while she ran. "Tatum's got a history and we all know about it."

         I waited for her to explain herself. When she didn't, I said, "Well, everyone's got a history."

         "True," she replied, "but Tatum's is extra-historical."

         "How so?"

         Lindsay slowed down a bit. "Tatum's a really good guy. If I tell you, I don't want your view of him to be altered."  

         Wow. Whatever it was, it must be pretty bad. Of course, that only made me more curious. "Just tell me. I'll learn about it sooner or later."

         "Tatum spent two months in juvenile detention."

         I stopped dead in my tracks, almost getting run over by many jogging students. "What? He went to jail?"

         Lindsay motioned for me to join her. She was already at least three yards in front of me.

         I sprinted to catch up with her and when I did, I slowed back down to her pace. "Explain."

         "He beat the crap out of two people. Warren van Gerald and Jenine Darmouth."

         Warren van Gerald? His name had already come up so many times in the day or so that I'd been here. The kid didn't seem like he could keep himself out of drama. "Why?"

         "Honestly, no one knows. The only other person who knows what happened is Lysander, Carlisle's brother. It's rumored that he witnessed the entire thing, but he has never mentioned anything about it. It happened right on the coast of the large pond behind Beaumont Academy. Apparently, there was blood everywhere."

         Tatum definitely didn't seem like the type of guy who would go insane and beat the shit out of two people with no obvious reasoning. There had to be a good reason. "So, no one has any idea why it happened?" I asked.

         "Of course, everyone has their own speculation on the subject," Lindsay told me. "Warren, Jenine, Lysander, and Tatum never mentioned why it happened, they just acknowledged that it did happen. Tatum admitted that he assaulted the two, went to court, and was sentenced to two months. It was the talk of the town—or schools—when it happened."

         "Well," I began, trying to keep up my pace. A sharp pain was beginning to pierce my side, "what do you believe happened?"

         Lindsay shrugged, keeping her eyes forward on the track. "I'm not really sure. I mean, Jenine and Warren were dating at the time. Maybe Tatum started to like Jenine and just lost his cool or something... Honestly, I just don't even want to see Tatum as the sort of person who could do something like that, but there's no easy explanation to it."

         "I understand," I replied. Just two more laps until I was finished. "He seems like a good guy."

         Lindsay shot me a sincere smile. "He really is. Our parents have been friends since they were in college, so I grew up with the kid. He's so goofy and nice and he's got the best smile."

         That was true. His smile was captivating, kind, and always seemed completely genuine. It made you feel fuzzy inside, like he was actually listening and fully cared about what you were saying. I loved it. "Definitely."

         "Like I said, I don't want your view of him to be altered by that. I can see how you could form certain opinions about the guy, but he's not like that. I've known him longer than I can remember and I promise you, that's so unlike his character that it baffles me."

         "When I spoke to him, he didn't seem like the type of person to beat the shit out of anyone."

         "Exactly," Lindsay said, giving me a sideways glance. "He's not."

~~~

         The digital clock on my nightstand said it was currently half past four.

         I was still sweaty and fatigued from gym class when Marisol bounded into our room, excited and enthusiastic despite being the personification of death and misery earlier this morning. I was so jealous of her energy.

         "Kayleigh!" she exclaimed, startling me as I was reading a page out of my chemistry book. "You know how roommates do each other favors?"

         I pursed my lips together, waiting for her to continue. When she didn't, I set my textbook aside so she could have my undivided attention. This would be interesting.

         "Sure?" I said, my answer sounding more like a question.

         She nodded her head with eagerness. "Come with me to Pentry."

         I looked at her under light-brown furrowed eyebrows. "Right now?"

         "Right now."

         "Are you serious?"

         She nodded.

         "Why?"

         She let out a large exhale, sending a gust of her breath toward me. "I need to talk to Warren, but I don't want to go alone. He's on the field hockey team and they should be gathering for practice any minute now. Come with me."

         I debated on venturing to Lindsay's room to tell her of Marisol's plan. Lindsay wasn't a fan of Warren and would try to intercept it, which would mostly likely help Marisol in the long run. But Marisol was capable of making her own decisions. And, as much as I didn't want to be involved, if I did go to Pentry with Marisol, I might be able to help her with the Warren problem. Lindsay probably knew how to help her more, but I didn't want to feel like I had to flee to Lindsay whenever I was worried about Marisol. I was Marisol's roommate. I wanted her to know that I was on her side, and if I accompanied her, that might prove it to her.

         "Fine," I said, pushing myself up from my bed and marking my page on stoichiometry with a dog-eared corner. "Let's go."

         As we began to leave the room and I locked the door behind us, Carlisle showed up out of nowhere, wearing shorts that were a bit out of dress code and a t-shirt that revealed a sliver of her midriff.

         "Where are you going?" she asked Marisol.

         "Pentry," Marisol admitted. She grabbed Carlisle's arm and said, "Come with us."

         "Why are you going to Pentry?" Carlisle asked, being dragged toward the staircase against her will. After a moment, a knowing look crossed her face as she planted her feet firmly on the ground and narrowed her eyes at Marisol. "No, Marisol. Please tell me you aren't going to do what I think you're going to do."

         Marisol glanced down to the floor, aware that she was busted. "Carlisle, don't tell Lindsay. You know she'll lock me in a closet or something so I can't see him."

         "For the record, I don't approve of this, either." Carlisle stood there, her face emotionless and her arms crossed in front of her chest. "I won't tell her. But, I am going."

         Marisol seemed extremely relieved by this answer and smiled widely. "Great! The more the merrier!"

         We reached the hill beside the field of Pentry Academy only five minutes later. A group of well-dressed preppy boys fumbled around the field before practice, hitting each other with field hockey sticks and jumping on each other's backs. Boys truly don't get more mature as they grow up.

         When they saw us approaching, half of them made their way to where we were standing.

         "Carlisle!" A blonde boy with an angular face ran up the hill toward us, flailing his navy blue field hockey stick in the air. He hugged Carlisle, hit the back of her knee with the field hockey stick, and tried to mess up her red hair, but it stayed perfect.

         Marisol grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side. I knew what she was about to say before she even said it.

         "That's Lysander," she told me, her face turning blood red. "Carlisle's flawless brother."

         She wasn't joking. There was no flaw on him. His tanned-from-hours-of-outside-work skin didn't have a single blemish, and his hair, which was longer than normal for a guy but still worked on him, was frizz-free and displayed thousands of hues and shades of gold. Saying that he was toned was an understatement: He was buff. Just like Carlisle, there wasn't an ounce of fat on his tall frame.

         I felt my heart beat out of my chest as Chance approached us. Did he recognize me? Wait, the guard had probably caught up with him. Shouldn't he be in jail or kicked out of Pentry?

         I still felt extremely guilty about last night and was hoping I wouldn't run into him. With my bad luck, I knew I would. The person I was really hoping to see was nowhere to be found.

         Actually, he was. Under the awning, Tatum was talking to a short guy with a baby face that couldn't be older than thirteen or fourteen.

         "I had a dream about you last night."

         I spun around and faced Chance. He had a large smile across his face and his field hockey stick between his legs.

         "Really," I said.

         "Yes. You were my girlfriend and I didn't know who you were. And then I got arrested. I don't remember why," he explained to me. I could feel Carlisle's eyes piercing the back of my head. "And I don't remember meeting you." He smiled a dazzling smolder of a smile.

         "She went with me to Celia's party last night," Marisol said, showing up for my rescue and locking arms with me. "Maybe you saw her there and then dreamed about her."

         Chance's sky-blue eyes fluttered between Marisol and I. "Maybe," he said with a smirk. Carlisle called his name, and like an obedient child, he ran up behind her. At least he didn't realize what I had done.

         By this time, Tatum had noticed me and we made eye contact across the field. He began this awkward half-jog-half-walk to reach me.

         "Hey, Kayleigh," he said to me, his forehead glistening with sweat. "Why are you over here?"

         "Marisol," I replied, gesturing toward where she was conversing with Warren. Her eyes were focused on the ground, while his were focused squarely on her face, taking in each detail that it displayed.

         Tatum rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, his field hockey stick jutting out from one of his hands. "Why does she do this to herself?" he asked me, shaking his head disapprovingly.

         I shrugged. "Is he really as bad as everyone makes him seem?"

         Tatum stared intently at me, his gaze stern and firm. "Worse."

         After a moment of intense staring, our glances fell to the ground.

         "Marisol's a great person," Tatum said, his eyes looking back up into mine. "I met her when Lindsay introduced us in the sixth grade. That was when she wasn't involved in drugs or alcohol or anything like that. She was the type of person who couldn't stand to see people sad. During lunch, she'd sit with those kids that everyone thought were outcasts and would stand up for them when people picked on them. Now, it seems like she's been turning into a totally different person who lets herself get pushed around by any guy that gives her attention." He glanced over at her, where she was laughing at something Warren said. Warren stepped closer to her and she blushed. Why would she put herself through this? "I know the sixth grade Marisol is in there somewhere." Tatum looked up at me again, looking defeated. "Or, at least I hope so."

         "I'm sure she is," I said to him with a confident smile.

         He replied with a sad-looking smirk and sat on the grass. He patted the area beside him, a gesture meaning he wanted me to sit down with him. I did so.

         "I feel like no one has been themselves in a long time," he told me, his voice so quite it sounded like a whisper. "Marisol is just one example. I mean, I know her dad doesn't want anything to do with her, and that's absolutely awful, but it isn't a reason for her to keep going back to the guy who's cheated on her and tried to pressure her." He picked a dandelion and began to tear it apart. "I've known Carlisle and Lysander for a long time, too. Lysander and I have been best friends since elementary school. I've got pictures of us from kindergarten. My favorite is one of Lysander and I in our superhero underwear." Both of us chuckled, although Tatum's was louder. We laughed for a few seconds, until Tatum's expression began to turn somber. "He's changed, too."

         "How so?" I asked. I didn't know why Tatum was telling me this, but he had to get it off his chest. Fortunately, he knew I'd listen.

         "More than I could explain. Sometimes I just look at him—" Tatum paused, biting his lower lip, "—and I can't recognize him. The Lysander I knew wouldn't be drinking or using or taking advantage of really nice girls that actually like him. It sickens me sometimes. We were raised with the same morals, so I don't understand how we've become so different."

         Silence hung between us for a few seconds. In the corner of my eye, I could see Chance chasing Carlisle, tugging at the scarf she was wearing as a belt. "You seem like a good, honest guy, Tatum," I said finally.

         He looked up to me with soulful, emotional eyes and he smiled his genuine smile. "That's what I strive to be. But my dishonesty has gotten me in more trouble than you'd believe."

         "Try me."

         "That's got nothing to do with people changing, Kayleigh," he said to me, pushing himself off the ground and shaking the emotional look from his face. The dirt stained the back of his white sport shorts. He turned around, extended a hand to me, and pulled me off of the ground. "That's a story for a different afternoon. You know, if we meet for another afternoon." He smiled at me, obviously trying to see if I understood what he was hinting at.

         I nodded and smiled back. "Yeah, okay."

         "Team!" a man in his late forties yelled, carrying a box of supplies toward the field. "If your asses are not on the field in the next thirty seconds, you won't be playing in the first game of the season!"

            Allthe boys rushed onto the field, glancing back to view Marisol and Carlisle.Mostly Carlisle, of course. Only one of the boys glanced back to look at me,and I was okay with that.