I leave the house the next morning at five, Bruce snoring away in his bedroom. After grabbing a bagel and coffee from the liquor store down the street from school, I settle myself on the front steps and pull my backpack closer, taking out a schoolbook at random. I pull out my headphones and open the chemistry book, sipping my coffee as I studied to the sound of my favorite metal band.

By the time the first bell rings, signaling five minutes until class, I’ve read halfway through the book Mrs. Erickson had handed out yesterday, played around with some equations from the middle of the trigonometry book, and at least skimmed through all the others. I’ve also narrowly avoided a fight with some hulking freshman who had assumed I was an easy target, calling me a “pasty, weak nerd” and dumping my bag onto the ground.

I'm able to control myself until he knocks the book is out of my hands. I rip my earphones off and am on my feet with the same motion, glaring at this fat, greasy little midget. He has a mop of dirty-blonde hair and the squinched, tight features of a rat. As I stand, he laughs and shoves me, and I land heavily on the steps. I’m back on my feet in an instant, all the muscles in my body tensing as I prepare to launch myself at this little shit-head, and suddenly, Melissa is directly in front of me.

"Duncan, here you are!” she exclaims, completely ignoring the four and a half foot weasel that is glaring at the back of her head, “I just got dropped off; Mom was running a little late today. Want to walk to class together?”

I stare into Melissa’s beaming face, confusion slowly replacing rage. Melissa just smiles at me and crouches down to begin picking up my things. I glare at the kid, and, when he sneers at me and leaves, I kneel to help Melissa. “Let me do that,” I tell her, then turn my face away as it flames up, "Yer in a skirt, for cryin’ out loud.”

Melissa laughs and, standing, watches me cram my stuff back into my bag, answering, “I’ve got shorts on underneath, goof. Want to see?” She flips up the edge of her bright orange sundress to reveal some skin-tight shorts of the same color underneath. As I turn a deeper shade of red and clamber to my feet, she laughs again. “How long have you been here?”

I shove my books into the bag on top of my other stuff and shrug. “Not long. Let’s get t' class.”  As we walk to Homeroom, Melissa chatters away, not stopping even as we enter the classroom. I carefully avoid Mr. Leftler’s glare as I hasten for my usual spot in the back, Melissa on my heels. I can still feel his eyes on me as the class dribbles slowly into the room, and Melissa mercifully stops talking to take out her book as the bell rings and everyone settles into their seats. When Mr. Leftler shifts his gaze from us to the rest of the class, and I sigh and settle against the window.

Melissa eats lunch with me and sits beside me in our next two classes together, talking incessantly whenever she's able. She doesn't seem to mind my silence. She offered to buy me lunch, and when I refuse, offers me hers. She asks me in fifth period if I was going to take notes, then offered to copy hers over for me, so I won’t fall behind. At the end of the day, she says me she’ll meet me out front by the steps in the morning, and jokingly tells me she's going to bring me lunch tomorrow. Leaving me staring after her, she tells me to “have fun in detention”, and skips out the door front doors.

I spend the next hour sitting in the cafeteria with three other kids, each of us at a table by ourselves, and stare at the wall until Mrs. Thompson stands and announces we can leave. She throws me a nasty look as I walk past her, telling me with a satisfied smile that she’ll see me tomorrow. I just glare at her, not trusting myself to speak.

When I get to the house, though, I notice Bruce’s car is gone, and laugh out loud. Leaning up against the side of the house, I pull a rest of the joint from my pocket and light it. Sitting on the porch steps when I finish it, I smoke a few cigarettes, just because I can.

As Bruce pulls around the corner nearly twenty minutes later, I flick my cigarette into the street and spring to my feet as he rolls into the drive way. Spotting me as he gets out of the car, he barks, “Trunk. Groceries. Now.” I leave me backpack where it is on the side of the steps and begin gathering bags from the trunk after he unlocks it and heads toward the door. Laden down with as many bags as I can carry, I follow him into the house, set them on the counter and hurrying outside to grab the last two bags and my backpack.

After I put all the groceries away (briefly wondering how he managed to buy more groceries if he's out of money), I get started on dinner. Seasoning a pot roast and sliding it in the oven, along with a couple ears of corn and potatoes wrapped in tinfoil. Bruce has ignored me so far, showering and plopping right down in the front room with a six pack. He doesn't even ask why I was on the porch. As start on the housework, he still doesn’t acknowledge me, and I dare to hope that it’ll stay that way. We’ll see, though, I think to myself, when I bring him dinner.

An hour later, Bruce just grumbles at me when I bring him a plate and clear away his empty beer cans. When I come in to take his dishes after finishing the chores, he still doesn’t say anything, and I start to get paranoid.

“Um…”

Bruce turns bleary eyes on me, blinking a few times as if he can’t quite place me in memory.

“If it’s okay, I’m jus’ gonna do th’ dishes an’ go t’ bed… If ya’ ain’t got nothin’ else fer me t' do, I mean.”

Bruce blinks some more, and I hold my breath. “Bring me another six pack after you finish the dishes.”

I exhale. “Yessir." I wait a moment, then: "Ya don’ want me t’ do nothin’ else?”

“No. Go clean the kitchen and leave me alone.”

“Yessir.”

Once I’ve cleaned the kitchen, brought Bruce a fresh six-pack of beer, and showered, Bruce is dozing in his chair. I slip out the back door and smoke my nightly couple hits and a cigarette, aware that if Bruce wakes up I’ll have a hell of a time explaining myself.

I make it safely into bed, though, without Bruce stirring at all, and groan slightly as I roll from my back to my right side, trying to get more comfortable. My whole body aches, and my left side throbs every time my heart beats. At least Bruce isn’t spun anymore, I remind myself as I drift off, and this small comfort takes me through the night with no true nightmares.