Author's Note: Because I love Cameron.

I don't have friends. At least not anymore.

I don't know what happened, but somewhere between years eight and nine I went from being 'Rich' to 'Cameron', or, when Charlie is feeling exceptionally cruel or annoyed, 'Dick'. And I suddenly became more of an acquaintance than a confidant. I went from being part of the group to just being a part of the group, and trust me, there's a difference.

One moment people are inviting you along, chuckling at the way you excessively worry, slinging their arm loosely around your neck, giving you a noogie, and assuring you that there's safety in numbers. But in the blink of an eye it turns into people allowing you to tag along because you've always been there, sarcastically informing you how obvious it is that you can't get caught sneaking off campus after hours or you'll be punished six ways to Sunday. You go from the kid trying to abide by the rules to keep everyone out of trouble to the boot-licking ginger who's just a nosebleed.

For the record, I'm not a boot-licker; I just have this need to please people.

I've had to please people my entire life, and I guess I just feel into the perfectionist that feels they have to make things right with everyone. The only problem is that you can't please your parents and the faculty while at the same time pleasing your friends. They all want something different, and I'm only one person.

I've been friends with Charlie Dalton my entire life. We had been best friends since diapers, both having wealthy parents with high-standing positions in the community. We'd have sleepovers and play-dates like none other. Charlie was the cool kid, afraid of nothing. The one who would build a fort and knock it down, roaring at the top of his lungs that he was king of the castle. And I was the quiet one that stood loyally at his side, did his bidding, and continually found ways to get us out of the predicaments he more than often got us into.

Our parents were hoping I'd tame Charlie down and he'd get me out of my shell. But not too out of my shell. The perfect son is the one that remained respectable and quiet when necessary, and spoke up when any higher power saw fit. It's more than a little impossible to achieve.

But I try. I've tried since I realized that that's what expected of me. Don't get me wrong. I'm not the only person in the world that feels the pressure to be perfect. Every student that attends Welton or Henley is required to be absolutely perfect, although there are those who have parents willing to hand out large checks if their children don't meet the standards. Charlie being one of them.

He's smart. Beyond smart. He's brilliant. He's sly and cunning and he'll do anything to get what he wants. To get what's important to him. But grades are not important to Charlie. Sure, he studies, and he lets me tutor him when he's worried that he might not get a good grade, but overall, school is not number one on his list. Hell, school isn't even on his list.

And now he's not even at school.

At least not this school.

And neither is Neil.

God, Neil.

Senior year is supposed to be the best, but considering I got rid of everyone's favorite teacher, a boy I've known since first grade is dead, my ex-best friend is expelled and never going to talk to me, and the rest of the people I associated with share a great hatred towards me, I have a feeling it's going to be nowhere near the best year.