It took more false starts than I expected for me to actually say hello to Spencer in the halls.

Given it was the last official week of school, with the first exams beginning on Friday, time was running out for me, and Spencer's ability to disappear into thin air at any given moment was not helping me. The guy was like a ghost. One minute I'd track down his head bobbing among the hundred of other souls trapped at Newport High and in the next second, he would be gone. I even went so far as to walk Iris to the Arts hallway after bumping into her outside the library in the hopes of catching him.

"I heard you went to Fleur's party the other night," Iris said, hugging a notebook to her chest as she waltzed down the hall beside me.

"If by went to Fleur's party you mean showed up for a half-hour then bailed, yeah I did," I said and Iris laughed, pushing her hair behind her ear.

"I was going to say hi, but then I saw you in the kitchen talking Stanley Farns," Iris admitted, glancing up at me quickly. Her cheeks flushed red under gold highlight. "You looked pretty angry."

My jaw clenched unintentionally at those words, remembering my conversation with Stanley.

It was a last minute decision to even go to Fleur's party, made when Dad attempted to corner me into a conversation after I'd spent the night before sleeping on the couch. Walking to Fleur's house wasn't that much of a stretch, she lived in the suburbs a few blocks away from my own place in a house four times the size of all the other's on the street.

Her dad was an investment broker, rarely home, and often let Fleur and her sister do whatever they wanted. She let me stash my jacket in her room, giving me a more than friendly kiss-to-the-cheek-hello, and told me to enjoy the party. And I was, nursing a beer in the kitchen with Clark and Andrew Yang when Stanley walked in. Now I had no problem with Stanley. For the most part, he was just another student in the halls to me, but the guy always tried to get on my nerves. It had been that way since middle school, when once during English I made fun of his stutter when he was forced to read out his book report on Bridge to Terabithia. Since then he'd been on my ass, and one of the first people at school to call me out for the Barkers incident.

At first glance, Stanley wasn't the most intimidating guy. He was on the school's golf team, average in height with shaggy hair he refused to cut after shaving his head for Cancer Awareness Month back in sophomore year. Overall he seemed decent enough, so I didn't understand why the guy was so hung up on something that happened almost ten years ago. Something I didn't even remember doing until Saturday night.

"Fleur might wanna check the fire alarms in her house are working, especially if she's letting Minders roam around," Stanley said, cracking open a beer with the hand that wasn't draped along Gwen Therson's back. Gwen blushed at the words, batting Stanley's chest. She and I shared the same PE and Spanish class in junior year and since then she'd always made it a point to wave at me in the hallways.

"Nice one Stanley, managed to make it through that entire spiel with stuttering. Gold star absolutely earned," Clark applauded, tone dry.

"Can I help you, Stanley?" I asked, not in the mood for a fight when I had literally come to the party in order to avoid one. "Gwen you look gorgeous by the way, red is definitely your color."

"Thanks, Beau," she grinned, fiddling with the hem of her shirt, blushing when she caught Stanley's scowl. Beside me Clark chuckled, clapping my shoulder.

"You've had your moment of macho posturing Farns, fuck off," Clark had said, taking a drink from his cup as he waved his free hand to dismiss Stanley. I wasn't sure what it was he was drinking, the liquid suspiciously pale but definitely not vodka or gin. An identical cup sat in Andrew's hand, but the guy hadn't taken a sip of it yet. Rather, he stared down at it as though the contents came straight from the pit of Lazarus, not willing to mess with that kind of power.

"Stay out of this Jeremy, or is Beau not able to handle anything on his own?" Stanley countered, letting go of Gwen.

"I'm not doing this," I said through gritted teeth, unsure if God truly hated me or I unknowingly had 'fight me' tattooed on my forehead. Shoving my beer in Andrew's chest I waited until he fumbled to grasp it then headed to the back door. The last thing I expected was for Stanley to follow me out, feet thumping against the hard tiles of Fleur's patio.

"I heard about that queer little play you did Minders, so don't go acting like you're suddenly better than me," Stanley stated and I froze on the spot. The music outside was low enough that anyone around who wanted to listen in on us could and I suddenly became hyper-aware of that fact.

"So that caught your attention," He chuckled harshly, stopping directly behind me. "Didn't peg you for a –"

Turning around I cut Stanley's words off by tightly gripping the front collar of his shirt, yanking him until we were nose to nose. His breath reeked of the lime Kool-Aid Fleur had sitting out on the living room table and this close I could make out the surprise in his charcoal eyes.

"I will not hesitate to beat the shit out of you right here, right now if you even dare to finish that sentence," I warned him, enjoying the hard swallow he took, glancing down at my fist twisting his polo. It was red, violent red and part of me wanted to drive my head forward, crack his nose and see if the blood that fell would match it. The thought terrified me, my hands twitching, nails digging into the fabric, but refusing to let go. I had no idea what came over me in that moment, the vacuum of rage I had inside had suddenly burst out and was imploding all over Stanley, who grew paler under Fleur's fairy-light lit backyard the longer I spoke.

"Unlike you I have nothing to lose if I get arrested for it, hell I'll even kick your ass on campus if you want me to. If that's what it takes to get you to leave me alone, I'll do it, because guess what? I. Don't. Care. About. You. Even though for some fucking reason you're still hung up on some shit I said when we were, what, nine years old? Children are assholes, Stanley, and if you want to hear that I'm sorry for calling you 'Stuttering Stanley' then, I'm fucking sorry. But move the fuck on, dude." I took a shaky breath then through gritted teeth, agitated when Stanley matched it my sharp exhale. "Now, when I let go of you this bullshit vendetta you seem to have is going to end and you're going to let me leave or I will kick your ass. You got that?"

On Stanley's frantic nodding I continued, leaning in close enough that only he could hear my words. "And if you ever talk to me like that again, if I ever catch you saying shit or throwing around the word queer again, you're going to wish I had kick your ass right here and now."

Dropping his shirt I winced at the ache that ran through my fingers as they straightened, not realising how tense my hold had been. I avoided eye contact with the few people who had turned to see what was happening, faint murmurs picking up the closer I got to Fleur's kitchen door and yanked it open.

"Fucking psycho," I heard Stanley mutter behind me and I slammed the door shut behind me, sagging against.

"Beau–" Clark called, shoving his drink into Andrew's startled grip. Catching my breath I gave him a weak smile, cutting across the room. The staircase was thankfully void of people so I quickly jogged up the stairs, ignoring Clark who was fast behind me. 

"What the hell was that about?" He asked. "You looked seconds from pummelling the guy in the face. What happened? What did he say?"

"Don't worry about it," I brushed him off, shouldering Fleur's bedroom door open and taking my jacket. It was an old leather one that belonged to Thomas, long in the sleeves to the point I usually bunched the material into my fists. I stared at it, laid out on Fleur's pink sheets, a mimicry of what could've been if life had dealt me a different set of cards. I brushed a hand along my cheek, meeting tacky lipstick I still hadn't managed to rub off my face, then shrugged the jacket on. Bypassing Clark's frozen form, I threw him on last look as he stood, confusion swirling in his eyes. "I'm done for the night, I'm heading out."

"Beau..."

"Beau?"

"Beau!"

I jumped when Iris placed a hand on my arm, having gotten completely lost in my own thoughts I didn't even notice I'd stopped walking and drifted off.

"Sorry," I muttered, flushing with embarrassment at the concerned look on her face.

"That's okay." Her entire face read like it wasn't alright at all. "What happened?"

"Lost my train of thought. Happens sometimes," I laughed it off and Iris eyed me warily but slowly nodded.

"If I had known you were at the party I would've stopped by to say hi before rushing out," I told her, enjoying the pleased smile that she couldn't stop from spreading across her lips.

Iris tapped her fingers against the spine of her notebook, cautiously taking a step forward and checking that this time I was following her. I did, watching the sway of her skirt with each step as I matched them with my own. She was wearing white boots, stark against her dark legs, no scuff marks in sight, which the overhead lights bounced off of. I found myself smiling at them for no reason, taking in my red sneakers that I knew were one wear away from combusting.

"How are your portraits going? I remember last time we spoke you were still struggling with them," I asked, and judging by the surprised look on her face she was amazed I even remembered. I liked that about Iris, how expressive she was. She really did wear her emotions on her sleeve.

"Good, I've actually almost finished them. Mrs. Gregs let me use the studio over the weekend so hopefully they're dry by this afternoon," she beamed, pressing her notebook a little tighter to her chest as she talked. I watched the bounce of her light brown hair, the crinkle of her nose, and nodded.

"I'm glad, things are already stressful enough with exams, would suck to have to worry about this too," I said and Iris nodded, brows furrowed.

"I know it sucks now but I'm sure as soon as graduation hits I'm going to miss all of this." She sighed, coming to a stop by the door to her classroom.

"Thanks for walking me, Beau." I watched as she shuffled her notebook under one arm and reached out to squeeze my bicep softly.

"Don't sweat it, Iris."

"I'm glad I got to say a proper goodbye, even if we didn't really have a chance to talk all that much this year," she said through smile that was a little sad around the edges.

I blinked at that, forgetting for a second that tomorrow was our official last day. No classes, just a two-hour long assembly rehashing what was expected of us in the exams, rules for graduation, and a short speech from the principal. I winced internally, sure my back was going to suffer having to be sat on the hard, wooden-backed chairs in the hall for such a long time.

"We still have graduation, we might even be in the same exam room for English," I reminded her and she laughed through a groan.

"I am in no way, shape, or form, ready for whatever Mr. Perez has in store for that exam," she said, running a hand through her hair then sudden stood straighter, wide eyes batting up at me. "If you're free this weekend, maybe we could meet up and study for it together?"

I took in her hopeful look, the way she worried her lip, and found myself nodding.

"Yeah, I can swing that. Give me your number and I'll text you tonight when I can meet up," I said and dutifully took down her number as she rattled it off to me quickly.

Just as Iris was moving to push the door open I found myself speaking again earnestly, surprising the both of us. "I'm glad I got to know you this year Iris."

"Don't forget you owe me a dance at graduation, Minders," Iris chided, cheeks ruddy, and I laughed. Taking a step back I waited as she walked into the classroom. She paused to hold the door open for someone slipping out just as the warning bell rang and I grinned.

It turned out walking Iris to class had paid off.

Accidentally dumping the cluster of books in his arms onto the hallway floor, I watched as Spencer kneeled without looking up, cursing as he attempted to sort the mess into a more manageable stack. Dropping to the ground in front of him I pulled loose the worn copy of Lolita that had been staring at me from across the library table the past few months, tucking it under my arm. Behind a set of glasses I was still getting used to seeing on his face, Spencer's brows furrowed at the action, looking up in confusion that quickly broke into welcomed surprise.

"I would be lying if I said I didn't want to throw this thing in the bin, it's basically looseleaf pages at this point," I said, waving the book which appropriately shed a couple of pages. Spencer hastily collected them with a scowl. Snatching the book back he carefully re-added them, glaring softly back at me.

"And here I thought you were going to be a good friend and offer to help me carry my stuff," He sighed, shoving the paperback into his already filled backpack.

"Why do you have so many things?" I asked, moving to actually helping him tidy his stuff.

"It's all the junk I've let accumulate over the semester. Stuff I never got around to taking home... until right now. I was hoping to dump them in my car before next period, but it looks like that's not going to happen," Spencer groaned as a sharp cornered textbook threatened to split the side seam of his bag. I rolled my eyes at him, standing up with my arms full of books, some alarmingly sticky and gluing themselves to my bare forearms.

"I'm sure we can make it. Most of the teachers have checked out at this point, you won't get into trouble for being a few minutes late," I brushed off his concern, nudging my head down the hall. "Show me where your car is."

"You're in a very peachy mood," Spencer noted, giving up on overstuffing his bag. Slinging it onto his shoulders, he gathered up the things that remained on the floor, including several tubes of paint that he shoved into the pocket of his jeans, decorating the front of the pockets in a rainbow of colors I couldn't bring myself to alert him of. The guy already had a streak of blue in his hair, something I found endearing, matching the tips of his stained fingers.

"Were you painting?" I asked as we moved down the hall.

Spencer shot me an amused smirk. "Perceptive as always, Beau. Yeah, Mrs. Gregs asked if I could help her repaint the back wall that had just been replastered."

"Teacher's pet," I teased, earning an affronted look.

"Not my fault I'm so charming." He grinned, kicking open the backdoor to the stairwell leading to the west carpark. Most students didn't bother parking there since none of the spots were covered and in summer that meant heatstroke the moment you sat in the driver's seat. Since we were still stepping out of the colder months the weather wasn't too bad, but the threat of rain always loomed over us. I checked the sky as we walked, a mellow blue with clouds that hid any trace of the sun.

Spencer unlocked his car, dropping his things into my arms long enough to open the trunk and pull a loose plastic-sheet flat across it. At his signal I emptied my arms, wincing when the stickier books reluctantly released my skin with a muted pop. Standing back up I noted a pair of purple roller skates tucked into the corner and glanced over at Spencer.

"You take up skating?" I asked, clenching my fingers to get rid of the tacky sensation lingering on them.

"Nope," Spencer said, roughly. I snapped my eyes back up to him only to be met with his profile as he carelessly tossed the tubes of paint into the trunk. "Giving them back to Gillan. Forgot I even had them until they rolled out from under my passenger seat."

"How is Gillian, by the way?" It was the polite thing to say, or so I thought. Spencer's cheeks turned red and he hesitated, hands clutching the last tube as though it was a lifeline.

"We broke up," he said, as if he hadn't just tipped the entire world off its axis. Or, at least, my world. I fell silent for a moment, stunned, as Spencer shut the trunk and locked his car. When he wordlessly pocketed his keys, eyes searching mine for something other than blatant shock, I swallowed.

"Oh."

"Yeah." He was shrugging, and the longer I watched him the less it looked like faked nonchalance. Spencer really didn't seem that bothered by it, but a lingering discomfort sat on his feature, clouding his grey eyes enough that I forced myself to break eye contact with him. Hooking a thumb over my shoulder I motioned that we should start walking back and Spencer didn't fight me on it, just sighed as he fell into step with me. I glanced over at him a few times as we crossed the parking lot, took in his loose posture, the way his arms swung at his sides while mine seemed to be searching for Narnia in my jacket's pockets. Finally, when the silence became too much, I spoke up.

"What happened?"

Spencer chuckled, expression unreadable as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Good, now I wasn't the only one exploring a world full of loose threads and lint.

"Life, I guess," he said, pushing open the stairwell door. "Something changed and I realized I couldn't be with her."

When nothing else followed I shifted my gaze over to him. He kept a straight face, tipping his head towards the stairs.

"Biology, right?" He asked and I blinked, rooted to the spot in surprise at the fact he knew my schedule.

"Yeah..." I trailed off when Spencer laughed, shaking his head.

"Never mind," he said and out of nowhere, Spencer grabbed my shoulder, squeezing it and offering a smile. "I'll see you around, Beau."

The way he said it sounded so final, like a goodbye, that a part of me ached.

"Wait." I pushed his hand off my shoulder and took it in mine, dropping it when I realized what it was I was doing. "At least walk me to class, dude."

Spencer laughed, loud enough that all the tension left my body and I felt a smile relax along my lips. "And here I thought you were helping me out of the goodness of your heart. Okay, come on. I have class on the other side of school, move your ass."

I took the stairs two at a time, copied by Spencer in a way that mirrored how I had walked with Iris only minutes earlier. I remembered her soft smiles and blushing cheeks, wondering if I looked the same way every time I was around Spencer. I probably did. I wondered what Spencer thought of it, not sure what to come up with since the guy's behavior was always so confusing. I thought back to a couple of weeks ago, after the play when I wrecked my bike, and how Spencer had kissed me goodnight. I ghosted a hand over my mouth, thought about our spontaneous drive out to Lake Father, and stole a glance at Spencer, who was running a hand absentmindedly across the lockers lining the hallway, not caring that he was dotting some of them with paint. He left marks on everything he touched, I realized. I wondered if he even understood just how much he had affected me.

Spencer pulled me from my thoughts by stopping halfway down the hall from my classroom. "This is where I get off."

"Looks like it," I nodded and Spencer took a step back.

"Goodbye, Beau. Good luck with everything."

There was it again.

A final goodbye.

My entire body turned cold as I watched the confident strides he took, each step echoing off the walls as I stood there, listening. I took a deep breath, running a million and one scenarios through my mind, before settling on the one I wanted, hoped, would come from all of this.

"Spencer!" I called, just as he started to turn the corner.

He stopped, arching a brow that looked equal parts torn as it did curious.

I pulled on my bag strap for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly I wanted to say to him. When those grey eyes started to dim, something I could see even from so far away, my heart stammered faster and I took another breath, forcing an easy smile.

"Hey," I said.

His face grew confused, brows pinching together and I wondered for a second if I had royally fucked up. But then, slowly, a grin broke clean across his face and he laughed.

"See!" He called, sounding so loud in the emptiness between us, and spread his arms to gesture at the surrounding hallway. "Now, was that so hard?"

"Yeah, it was," I told him, honest, and he nodded, scuffing a foot along the floor.

"Good," he said, staring right back at me as he spoke. "The important things in life are supposed to be hard."

"Are they supposed to hurt?" I asked, unable I could stop myself and Spencer swallowed audibly, conflicted.

"Yeah. That's how you know it's all worth it in the end."