The latest football game between the Grammarville Geckoes (yes, that's seriously the team's name) and the Littlebrook Lions (our rival school) was announced the next morning. As always, a pair of endlessly preppy Year 12 students and some buffoon wearing a cheap lizard outfit showed up at the end of homeroom to promote the game, promising 'cheap snacks' and a 'roaring good time' for anyone who attended.

They needn't have bothered, anyway. Grammarville was, for all its faults, hopelessly invested in its football. And the team wasn't half bad. Most people would be there to support their Geckoes.

Granted, Robert and I weren't those people. We rarely came to a game, and we didn't care enough to hang by the bleaches after school and watch the team practice, either.

So when Robert informed me he intended to watch the upcoming game at the end of the month, I was, understandably, more than a little taken aback.

"What?" I cried is dismay, trying to wrestle my maths textbook back into its plastic sleeve. We were coming from Ms. Dainels' AP maths class, and I was laden with elaborate calculators and other various math instruments. "Why would you ever want to go to that game?"

"Ah, Alyx, as open-minded as ever," Robert snorted, patting me on the back. "And if you must know, I'm trying to impress my rich, emotionally detached, absentee Dad."

Shame came over me, and I was unable to meet Robert's eyes as we entered the science building. "Right. Of course. Sorry."

"Hey, don't sweat it. I'm just hoping that if I start quoting football positions at him, he might actually believe I know something about it."

I tugged awkwardly at a strand of hair. "He's starting to get suspicious?"

"Oh, he's beyond suspicious." Robert shrugged. How he could be so calm about it was beyond me, but Robert had always handled things this way-with a wry sense of humour. "But his business trips keep him from finding out more, and my fake Coach Westley account is a big help. Sometimes I'll just paraphrase an email at him, and that tends to shut him up for a while."

We parted ways then, Robert going to Biology and me to Chemistry, but I found myself unable to concentrate in class. Guilt clawed at my stomach, gnawing me from the inside. My friend was suffering, and yet I hadn't given it much thought, hadn't even tried to help him. I thought it'd be okay-because it was Robert, and because Robert could always deal with his problems. Because he never asked for help.

But maybe, maybe he needed it. And maybe it was my responsibility to give him that help.

Enraptured in my own thoughts, I didn't get much work done, so it wasn't a surprise when my Chemistry teacher, Mr. Leonard, asked me to wait after class to speak to him.

As the bell rang and my classmates filed out the door, he approached my desk and cleared his throat. "Mr. Miller? Is everything okay?"

Of all my teachers, I liked Mr. Leonard the most. He was a kind-looking man with soft grey eyes and a broad smile. He couldn't have been older than 30, and his wardrobe was almost entirely comprised of plaid shirts, but he seemed wise. As though he'd lived through many things, and yet, despite it all, he stood here now, tall and proud.

"Yes, sir," I said graciously, standing to gather my books. "I was just a little distracted today. I'm sorry."

"Okay..." There was a quizzical expression on his face, as though he didn't quite believe me. "But remember, help will always be available to you." He tapped the side of his nose with his index finger. "So don't hesitate to ask for it."

I thanked him cordially and quickly left the classroom, eager to be free of the awkwardness. My brain was whirling with different thoughts, turning them over and over in my head as I walked through the science building, and Mr. Leonard's words soon faded from memory. Chemistry could wait-I had an identity to find, a friend to help, and a Dad to escape. The future was all splayed out before me, like some brilliant map. I'd do better-I'd get Martin back from Lucy and Ky back from softball, and then it'd be perfect, just like the old days.

I could fix it. I could fix it all.

And I was so engrossed in the beauty of it, in the grandeur of my thoughts, that I didn't notice Tyson West lurking around the corner.

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying so far, please leave a vote and/or a comment :)