What was Letti’s freaking problem? Why wouldn’t she leave me alone? She'd studiously avoided me since I had apologized to Melissa, and it wasn’t like there weren’t any other kids to harass; just this morning I’d watched Chad beat on some puny little freshman who'd accidentally bumped into Letti.

And what Melissa's problem with working at school? She’d told me she had a younger brother that wouldn’t leave her alone for a minute when she was at her house.

As I plod my slow way to the house, my thoughts on Melissa, I kick myself for being such an idiot. I was sure that the next time I saw her she’d want to know why I refused to go to her house, and though I wracked my brain, I had no idea what to say. I even rehearsed a few different conversations in my head, but by the time I reached the end of my block, I had nothing.

I sigh in relief as I near the front walk: Bruce's beat-up Carola isn't in the driveway. Even still, I have to force myself to walk to the front door and pull out my key.

Maybe, I think as I open the door and step inside, I can tell Melissa there's a party or something that I can't miss... Nah, I tell myself as I sling my backpack into my room and direct my steps toward the kitchen, that'll never work. Melissa already knows that I won’t willingly go where there's a lot of people.

Bruce isn't home, but there's a pretty huge list of stuff he wants me to do hanging on the fridge. I grumble to myself as I slide the meatloaf and spiced potatoes I’d prepared this morning into the oven, knowing that if I make him wait two nights in a row for dinner I'll get smacked.

Since he's gone, though, I do smoke a joint before starting on the chores, musing about how well Melissa has managed to insinuate herself in my life in such a short time…

We have three classes together: Homeroom, English, and History. First thing in the morning, there’s Melissa. Third period, when I’m trying to catch up on sleep in Mrs. Erickson’s class, there’s Melissa. Last class of the day and I can’t focus on anything but how much I don’t want to go back to the house, to Bruce, and there’s Melissa. And since she talked as much as she possibly could, I knew more about her than I knew about anyone.

Melissa’s father had moved the family here during the summer for what he claimed was “a change of scenery”, and what Melissa laughingly referred to as “his mid-life crisis”. Joking aside, though, Melissa was close with both her parents and all three of her siblings, even her little brother, Josh, though she claimed to be looking for a circus to sell him to. Her older brother, Michael, was in college a few states away, working on a Master's. Her younger sister, Alice, was thirteen, and was, to quote Melissa, "a ballet prodigy", which is why she was staying with her Aunt in New York. Melissa herself had been top of all of her classes in her old school and involved in all sorts of academic clubs.

The whole family, the way Melissa told it, was something that I didn’t really believe existed. I mean, I didn’t think Melissa would go out of her way to make up the stories that she told me—how her mother had taught her that family cookie recipe when she was eight; how her father showed her how to shoot when she was twelve; the stories about sneaking her little brother into PG 13 movies—but I didn’t really believe that anybody’s life could be that...nice.

But maybe, I comment to myself, moving from the kitchen to the laundry room, she really had that kind of life. Maybe her family was that way, that…good to each other. Maybe they didn’t scream at each other. Maybe nobody drank or used, and maybe they actually did love each other… There were families like that out there, weren’t there? As I fold laundry, I tell myself there has to be. Not everyone could be like Bruce, like Jason’s mom… Some people were nice. They had to be.

Like Melissa. I finish folding the laundry and put it all away, pulling out the vacuum as I ponder this last point. Maybe she actually did want to be my friend. Maybe she really was nice, and it was okay for me to let her in a little bit… It wasn’t like I really didn’t like her; I’d just been so used to pushing everyone away for so long that it was kind of habit.

Switching the vacuum for furniture polish, I thought about it. Not only was she nice, but she was pretty, too: Pert, heart-shaped face always lit with a smile, her little pixie nose twitching under those sparkling doe-brown eyes that held a light of mystery and just a touch of mischief. Underneath her sparkly, fluffy personality and clothes, Melissa actually had some common sense. And she had a fire to her that was inviting rather than scary...

But, I ask myself while I dust the ceiling fans, do you really want to let her into your life? She was so…curious about everything. She was constantly asking me questions about my family, like how many brothers and sisters I had, how long we’d lived here, when my parents birthdays were, when my birthday was. She acted like she wanted to know everything about me. I didn't tell her much, mostly avoided the questions when I could, but still, I had told her more than I'd told anyone.

It’s not, I think as I furiously rub down the entertainment center in the living room, like I’ve ever asked her anything. I hadn’t even wanted to be friends with her in the first place. And I certainly didn’t want to go over to her stupid house and work on some dumb school project with her. It’s not like we were even really friends. I finish the dusting and throw the polish back under the sink, grumbling to myself, and head straight outside to start on the lawn and flowerbeds. Melissa was more annoying than anything else, really…

She was always convinced she was right, even about stuff she had no idea about. Infuriatingly, even though she was never right at all, she wasn’t ever exactly wrong, either. Every single time I tried to make her see facts, she either left me speechless or stammering non-words like a damn idiot. As I fling fertilizer around the plants and over the yard, I relive the last time she’d managed to make me feel like a fool...

It was a few weeks after I’d gotten my detentions, and Bruce had been in some kind of snit, making me re-do every chore he gave me, so that I hadn’t gotten to sleep until past one in the morning for a few days straight. Some freshman had been sitting under the tree in the back corner of the yard, where I usually caught up on some sleep during lunch, and he wouldn’t just move.

******

“I told you, faggot; I’m not leaving! I got here first, so tough shit for you!”

Just over five-foot, this freckled stick with glares at me from where he's lounging insolently against my tree. I stare blearily back at him, trying to force myself to stay calm and not just murder him. Melissa is with me, like she always was now, and she doesn't like confrontation.

“Lookit, ya little fuckin’ shi-“ I bite off my words as Melissa plucks at my sleeve and whispers, “Let’s just go; we can sit somewhere else, okay?”

"No," I tell her, but I go ahead and switch tactics. “Listen, kid, it’s been a real rough week. I jus’ wanna catch some sleep before th’ bell rings. How ‘bout-"

The stick-boy, having about as much brains as an actual stick, leaps to his feet, yells “Fuck you!” and pulls his fist back. Before I even really registered what I was doing, I’d knocked him to the ground with a solid right hook to the side of the head. Melissa screams as the kid goes down like a sack of bricks, and I take a small step back. The kid shakes his head and scrambles for his bag, sprinting away with a scared look on his face. I shrug and settle myself against the tree, closing my eyes and relaxing.

I hear Melissa slowly sit down near me. After a few minutes, asks me softly, “Is you hand okay?”

I slowly open my eyes to look at her. “Stings. It’ll go 'way in a minute.”

Melissa looks like she was weighing her words for a minute. “You didn’t have to hit him in the head, you know. Maybe if you’d just, I don’t know, moved out of the way and reasoned with him…”

She trails off under my incredulous stare and roots through her bag for her lunch. I snort as I answer back, “I did reason wit’ him. He chose not t’ see reason. Besides,” I told her, crossing my arms, “He swung on me first.”

“So that makes it okay?”

“Well, yeah.” Catching the look on Melissa’s face, I frown. “Wha’ was I s’posed ta’ do? Jus’ let him hit me?” Melissa just stares at me.

“Look,” I tell her, my frown deepening as I sit straight and uncross my arms, “It’s not like I feel good about it…”

“Yes you do,” Melissa interrupts, “You’re proud that you could knock that kid to the ground with one punch. I can see it on your face!” she tells me sternly when I open my mouth to dispute her, “But just because you can do something doesn’t mean that you should do it.”

I gape at her as she unwraps her sandwich and takes a bite, staring at the grass. “I didn’ have a choice, Melissa!” I argue, angry and bewildered, “Ya think I shoulda jus’ stood there an’ let him hit me?!” Melissa shrugs and takes another bite, chewing it slowly.

“No, but violence isn’t always the answer. You’re smart, Duncan, and you’re not a bully.” She turns to me, searching my eyes with hers, “You could have figured out another way to get what you wanted.”

******