Your name is Jade Harley, and this isn't home, not at all.

Placing the framed photograph of Grandpa on your desk, you step back and take a deep, shaky breath, smoothing the wrinkles from your skirt with trembling hands. He's really, actually gone, buried in a lonely grave beneath the sky on your island. Your—your island, singular now, because there's only you. No Grandpa, not anymore.

"Jade?" Mrs. Susan's voice echoes up the stairwell, warm and kindly. You immediately perk up and hurry to the door.

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Dinner's ready," she tells you as soon as your head pokes around the corner. "Come along, time to eat!"

You cast a glance backwards through the open door of your bedroom, at Grandpa's portrait. He's facing the window, the warm golden sunlight glancing off his smile. You'd like to think it's warming his face and making him happy again. Grandpa and sunlight, the late-afternoon glow of contentment and love and joy, has always meant happiness, in the past.

You turn your back on him, and the sunlight, and close the door.

dear diary,

i miss grandpa and the island so much it hurts. i want to go home.

at least mr finn and mrs susan are nice! theyre kind of formal which is weird, but im sorta glad they dont want me to call them mom and dad or anything like that. it would just feel wrong after grandpa, i think. but they're nice!

i dont think ben likes me that much, though. maybe hes just trying to get used to having a new face around the house? i dont know. but michael is sweet, i like michael.

maybe this wont be so bad. i dont know. i dont know about a lot of things, these days.

but i do know one thing, that grandpa taught me. i should never lose hope.

School is strange and terrifying. There are too many people here and most of them don't really talk to you, just give you a cursory look and walk along. No one loves nuclear physics, the teachers can't answer most of your questions, and you don't make that many new friends.

You don't think you like school very much. Especially because you don't know what half the social customs here are.

Keeping your head down, you walk into the cafeteria alone and glance at the lunch lines. They're really long and the food looks... less than appetizing, to put it mildly. Do you really have no choice but to eat this stuff? Ew.

On second thought, you aren't really hungry anyway. And you sure as heck aren't planning to eat this!

So you murmur an "excuse me" and slip out of line, ducking around people and trying to ignore the clamoring of your heartbeat in your ears because there are so many of them and how on earth are there this many people in one place, and then you make it to the cafeteria doors and burst outside into the courtyard. Oh, you can breathe again now, in the relatively fresh air. It's rather secluded out here—there's no tables, just some benches near a few floral trees.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you shake your head to clear the panicky feeling away and go over to the nearest tree, dropping your backpack to lean against the bench as you reach up and brush your fingers along a branch. The bark is mottled and thin—this is crape myrtle. Funny that you've crossed the world and yet come here to find a plant native to southeast Asia and parts of Oceania, isn't it?

It's almost like a little bit of home, but it's been displaced too...

Wait. Why are you getting emotional about a tree?

God dammit now you're thinking about planting flowers and trees with Grandpa and you are not going to cry, you are not going to cry, you are not. Going. To. Cry.

To distract yourself from thoughts of Grandpa, you pull a cluster of flowers down and sniff, catching a faint sweet scent. That's comforting and brings a smile back to your face, despite how out of place you feel at this school. (You will never ever be used to this many people in one place. Ever.)

"Hey!" a voice draws your attention and you jump, whirling around with wide eyes to see one of your classmates. Oh no, you can't remember his name!

"Hi," you greet with a little smile, hoping he'll say something that'll remind you what it was so you don't have to ask. That'll be awkward, if you have to.

He plops down on the bench without so much as a by-your-leave, grinning. "Jade, right? My name's Matthew, but call me Matt. We had biology together this morning, remember? With grumpypants Mrs. Cranshale?"

Matt sure talks a mile a minute! "Yes, it's Jade!" you say with a little laugh, feeling his enthusiasm lifting your spirits a little. "And yes, I remember. Is she always like ... that?" Mrs. Cranshale had gone over the rules rather crankily and had then proceeded to eye every single person suspiciously. She'd even singled you out as the new kid and warned you not to mess around with anything, whatever that meant. You had just nodded quickly to get her to go away!

Matt grins. "Yeah," he says, shaking his head. "She's got a reputation for being a crazy old lady. Thinks half the class cheats on every test, really needs to retire, the works. But this is public school, so whaddya expect! Of course it's shit, right?" He laughs. "But anyway. You said you were from ... shoot, where was it again? Guam?"

"Close," you smile, sitting down on the other side of the bench and swinging your feet back and forth. "It was actually my grandpa—my grandpa's private island, but it's kind of near Guam, yeah!"

He looks almost starstruck at the idea, letting out a low whistle before he says anything again. "That must have been so cool, living on a private island! If you don't mind me asking, what brought you to Oklahoma?"

"My grandpa died," you say bluntly. Matt's eyes go impossibly wide for a second.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," he scrambles to try to cover that, but you shrug slightly and give him a sad smile. "I shouldn't have asked—"

"It's fine," you shake your head quickly. "Don't worry about it! It's okay. You didn't know!"

"Are you doing okay?" he asks anxiously. "I guess you're living with family, but still that's gotta be really hard to deal with, man."

You blink. "Um, yeah! I'm fine! Well, I mean, I'm... sad, but I'm alright. My foster parents are good people!" Why is he so concerned when he just met you? Most other people at this place haven't even looked at you twice. Maybe you're about to make a new friend! That would be nice.

"Yeah, that's... good to hear," he says awkwardly. You nod because you can't think of anything else to say in response, and then both of you fall silent. The breeze picks up for a second, and you close your eyes to enjoy the feeling of it on your face. Then you laugh.

"Wow, this was a great first conversation," you say, turning back to him with a grin. "Tell me about Oklahoma, will you?"

By the way he smiles back at you, a little nervous but mostly enthusiastic and bright, you can tell you have made a new friend after all. It feels really, really good.

dear diary,

mrs susan and mr finn are less nice than i originally thought...

i cant help but feel like they dont want me here. which is strange, because youd think they wouldnt have agreed to foster a child in that case! but here i am, and here they are, and it seems wrong. i cant pinpoint an exact behavior but its like im a guest in their house, one who they always remain politely distant from! there's always this look of ... displeasure, i guess? they dont seem to like me and it hurts!

and ben is still really mean to me, i dont think hes forgiven me for moving in with them. at this point, im starting to wish i hadnt done it either!

i just feel so empty these days, ive stopped enjoying everything i used to love and i hate it! i never have the energy but i cant sleep either.

this is horrible. i want to go back home with grandpa. i just want ... i want to get out of here.

You sigh wearily as you finish scrubbing the last of the dishes, closing your eyes for a moment as you just let warm water run over your reddened hands. Taking a moment, you stand absolutely still and listen to the sound of flowing water, but then that's interrupted because you can hear the low murmurs from the sitting room next to the kitchen where the rest of the family is.

They're laughing as they play cards, but you have to finish up these chores before you're allowed to join them. So you're in here alone, not really a part of the family after all. It leaves a nasty, hollow feeling in your core, and when the dishwasher is running and the sink is clean, you wash your hands and steal away up to your room.

You don't really think you want to play cards anymore, anyway. Instead, you just text John until you cry yourself to sleep.

God, you just want to go home.

You're in the airy living room, curled up in one corner of the leather sofa with your laptop, when Rose messages you. Immediately you check what she's said—you've been talking to your friends a lot since you got here, as a coping mechanism, but you've tapered off in the last few days because you have been trying to distract yourself from memories of home, and now you miss them. As you read, you find yourself unable to suppress a small smile as you read the purple text.

— tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] at 4:32 PM —

TT: Jade?
TT: I see you're online, though whether that means your computer is on and you aren't at it, I am unsure.
TT: But for whenever you do read this,
TT: I just wanted to tell you I'm incredibly proud of you for making it this far.
TT: It's good to be talking to you again. I was worried for a while there!
TT: I know you're still grieving, but I hope you're starting to get a little better regardless.
TT: Either way, warm wishes are being sent your way.
TT: [heart]

Awww, that's sweet. You miss her too! So after a second, you touch the screen, your fingertips trailing over to brush the mauve heart, and then you shift the laptop to a more comfortable position so you can type out your reply.

GG: hi rose!
GG: i love you too [heart]
GG: sorry i havent been on much lately...
GG: theres just been a lot going on ._.

TT: I know.
TT: Don't worry about it. And don't you dare apologize to me, either.
TT: How are you?

How are you. What an intriguing question. You pause to consider that for a long moment.

GG: homesick
GG: i miss grandpa

"I miss Grandpa" seems to be such an inadequate phrase, so unsuited to try to encompass the vast, gaping hole where your heart is supposed to be. It was ripped out the day he died, and though it continues to beat, it just doesn't seem to have returned properly. You don't think it ever will sit comfortably in your chest ever again.

TT: I wish I could do more...
TT: I'm so sorry, Jade.
TT: But I am glad you're being honest with me, at least. That's one relief.
TT: If there's ever anything I can do to help, all you have to do is ask.
TT: Okay?

GG: yeah
GG: thanks rose! [heart]
GG: right now i honestly think i just need distracting
GG: i need to stop thinking about home

TT: About home?

Shit! That was a slip! This is home now, this place!

GG: i mean the island! old home!
GG: its where grandpa is you know?
GG: technically i still have the legal rights to it
GG: but i cant own property as a minor so i have to wait until im 18 to go back

TT: That is an unfortunate side-effect of majority age restrictions, yes.
TT: Only two years, hm?

GG: two years is a long time...

TT: I suppose it is. You're right.
TT: At least on the bright side, you're closer to us now!
TT: Postage will be cheaper.

GG: oh yeah! on that note i havent given you my new address have i?

TT: No, you haven't.

Well you'd better fix that! Just as you type it in and hit enter, your foster brother Ben's voice distracts you. "Hey, new girl!" he jeers as you wrinkle your nose. Ben is one year older than you and makes no secret of the fact that he doesn't really like you. You would make no secret of the fact that you don't really like him either, but Grandpa taught you better than that, and you will be damned before you dishonor Grandpa's teachings. "What're you typing? Some love letter to a boy you haven't told us about? But you don't have a boyfriend, ha! No dude would want to date a girl as annoying as you."

You purse your lips and contemplate giving him a piece of your mind, or maybe telling him "actually, she's a girl!" just to see his reaction. But you don't, and instead you go back to Rose.

Apparently Ben doesn't like being ignored, because he stomps over to you and jerks the screen up so he can see.

"Hey!" you protest at the violent treatment of your computer. He ignores you.

After a second, his eyes widen. Then he turns on you accusingly. "Who the hell is this Rose bitch?"

"Don't call her that!" you defend, grabbing your computer back and glaring at him.

"What, is she your girlfriend?" Ah, of course, his dumb barbs. Is that supposed to be an insult of some kind? "Man, I knew you were a bad idea on Mom's part, but you're a lesbian too? Seriously? Ugh, that's just gross—"

You shove him away, disgusted. "I'm not dating Rose! And even if I was, what would the big deal be? Oh no! A girl and a girl! Whatever would you do! Cry because no one would date you?" Oh, that was rude. You bite your tongue and immediately feel guilty, but you don't take it back. He was asking for it.

"Shut the fuck up," he snarls at you. "Who is she? You're just giving our address out to creeping dicks on the internet, aren't you! You're ungrateful and you're just trying to get us in trouble after all we've done for you—"

"Children!"

Both you and Ben freeze and then turn to the door to see Mr. Finn standing there, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "What exactly is going on here?" he asks sternly.

Before you can answer, Ben immediately straightens up and points a finger at you accusingly. "She's giving our address out to people," he says. "And she won't even say who they are! I bet she doesn't know, she's just a bitch who—"

"That's not true!" you cry in defense, shaking your head and ignoring the angry tears at the corners of your eyes. "She's a good friend of mine, I've known her almost all my life, and I trust her!"

Mr. Finn frowns and walks forward, holding out a hand. "Jade, the computer."

Meekly, you lower your head and hand it over, watching his face with trepidation as he reads the most recent pesterlog. His expression sours and darkens as he turns back to you.

"What is this?"

"She's my friend," you plead. "I've known her forever, she was one of the only people I knew from when I lived with Grandpa, please, she's not a bad person—"

"Give me your phone, too," he interrupts you. When you hesitate, he taps his foot impatiently and holds out his hand again. "Jade," he says. "The phone."

"I—but—I can't—" You don't know how to explain that you feel crushed and lonely without the reassurance of a way to contact your friends in your pocket, that you need that familiar weight so you don't feel panic starting to rise for no real reason. "Please, I just—I need—"

"You're wasting my time," he says, a warning note in his voice. You subside and hand him the phone, too, feeling vaguely terrified. What are you supposed to do now? How are you going to get by? You're going to be all alone! "We will have a talk about this as soon as Susan gets home. For now, go to your room."

You don't need to be told twice. As you flee the living room, stumbling over your own feet in your haste to run before you cry in front of them, the last thing you see is Ben's glower as it shifts into a smirk, directed at the tears in your eyes. When you get upstairs, you close the door and slump to the carpet, clutching the picture of Grandpa and sobbing your heart out to his smiling, deaf face. He doesn't hear a word, and you can't help but think that you're going to need to clean the frame later.

dear diary,

i cant stop crying.

i dont know what i did wrong, but the plant clippings i brought from the island to plant here are all dead.

A week passes, and Mr. Finn and Mrs. Susan still haven't given your phone or computer back. You drag yourself to school, sitting meekly in the back of class and staring longingly out the window at the blue sky. You still aren't used to seeing this many people in one place, though, and one time in history Mr. Collins calls you up to the front of the class to point out the site of some battle on the board.

There's no way to get out of this, is there?

"Ms. Harley," he calls, not unkindly. "Come on up!" He gestures to the map and beckons you forward again.

On trembling legs you stand, your fingernails digging painfully into your palms and your knuckles white from the tension in your hands. One, two, three steps, hop over a bookbag, three more steps, and you're at the front of the class.

You stare at the floor for a long time, trying to fight the growing butterflies that have skipped fluttering and are now frantically pounding away in your chest, your heart beating like it might burst. Your breaths are coming in short bursts, not slow and deep, and—

There are so many eyes on you right now oh god you've never seen this many people before in your life and then you can't take it, you drop the marker and take off running, out the classroom door and down the hallway with no clear goal in mind other than away away away. You have to escape you can't breathe oh god oh god oh god!

Somehow you end up in the bathroom, where your legs give out and you slide to the admittedly gross floor, trembling and gasping for breath. Fumbling fingers pull your glasses off and tuck them into your pocket, and then you bury your face in your hands and let out a soft sob. Then a new wave of terror crashes through you—please, oh, please let the school not tell Mrs. Susan or Mr. Finn about this, about how you ran out of class for no reason even though it very much feels like there was a definite reason, they will be so angry with you, oh god, you don't even want to consider that!

"Jade?" There's a soft voice, and you look up to see Bethany, one of the girls in your class. Mr. Collins must have sent her to check on you. "Are you alright, honey?"

She drops to her knees next to you, placing a tentative and very uncertain hand on your shoulder. You burst into a fresh round of tears and just shake your head, unable to find the words to reply.

"Shhh," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around you. You can tell she's not really sure what to do with you, what to make of you—the new kid, the weird one who doesn't understand social customs but spouts nuclear physics all the time—but she's trying, at least. "It's okay. It's okay."

It isn't, but you can pretend.

dear diary,

im lonely im so lonely oh god i cant live like this i cant live like this i cant i cant i cant! everyone hates me. i hate me! i want to go home!

theyll have forgotten about me by the time i get my phone or computer back oh god they wont even want me around anymore

i hate this i hate this i hate this!

i keep thinking this and it kind of scares me but it kind of really doesnt

i want to disappear, preferably forever, and preferably really soon, too.

When they finally give you your computer back—still no phone, though, because that's easier for you to hide your supposedly illicit activities on—they only let you use it in the living room, and you have to sit with either Mrs. Susan, Mr. Finn, or Ben every time you're using it. Michael is the ten-year-old, deemed too young to keep an eye on your illegal activities.

You nervously fiddle with your hair and the bracelet on your wrist (it's woven from all the little colorful bands you used to wear on your fingers, back on the island with Grandpa) and then turn on Pesterchum. Immediately you are assaulted with notifications upwards of one hundred from each of your friends, where do you even start first?

After a moment you decide on Dave. You haven't talked to Dave in a while and you miss him. A lot.

There is a wall of red text to be read.

TG: yo
TG: sup
TG: you busy
TG: guess so
TG: later then

TG: are you still busy
TG: dammit jade i wanted to show you the new mix i made
TG: its so sweet man
TG: better than an orange creamsicle on a fucking hot texas summer day
TG: seriously texas summers are so hot you cant even eat a goddamn creamsicle
TG: they melt as soon as you take them out of the freezer
TG: its like oh no hot place and hotter dude
TG: gotta turn into liquid
TG: wait
TG: ok i should probably not take this in the direction its going in
TG: or should i

TG: jaaaaaade
TG: why wont you answer im so damn bored

TG: ok its been like twenty four hours fifteen minutes and thirty nine seconds since you were online
TG: whats up with that

TG: are you okay
TG: youre starting to worry egbert and lalonde you know

TG: add me to that list now

TG: jade

TG: jade

TG: jade

TG: jade

TG: dammit jade please be ok

TG: jade

TG: jade

TG: im scrolling through this shit from the past few days now
TG: its been three days where are you
TG: do you want me to ramble about fucking ice cream
TG: and no i do not mean it as in "this goddamn ice cream here"
TG: i mean it as in "have sexual intercourse with the ice cream and maybe also a smuppet"
TG: if you dont answer me in five minutes
TG: i will do it
TG: ...
TG: its been five minutes
TG: i warned you

Ewwwww Dave no!

You figure it's okay if you ... sort of just ... skip the next few blocks of text. Eventually you reach the bottom, and seeing that he's online, you immediately decide to say hi. You have a plan, and you need to tell at least one of your friends something.

—gardenGnostic [GG] is now pestering turntechGodhead [TG] as of 3:48 PM—

GG: hi dave [heart]

You really hope he'll get what you're going to try. You need to talk to him or John or Rose, but you don't know if John would get the hint and you were talking to Rose last time when they flipped out on you, so you guess Dave is the best bet.

The 'typing' icon lights up and you have a feeling you're about to receive a diatribe about disappearing from the face of the planet. Oops...

TG: yo
TG: nice to hear from you
TG: i was starting to think you dropped off the face of the earth
TG: howre things going

GG: things are going okay!
GG: honestly ive just been kind of busy these days
GG: everything happens so fast you know?
GG: you shouldnt have worried about me though :c

You wish you could tell him the real reason, but you can't. Not while stupid Ben is all but breathing down your neck, making sure you aren't saying anything you shouldn't be. So instead you act callous and indifferent, even though it hurts you to do so.

TG: jade youve gotta understand thats how i roll
TG: its like a thing that most people who are friends with each other do
TG: when they drop all communications for days
TG: people get all hella worried

You internally wince as you blatantly change the subject, because Dave just admitted he was worried. "Hella" worried. Dave never says he's worried, never ever. But now, time to give him the clue as to what you're doing...

GG: also dave!
GG: rapping is up your alley i know but i was wondering
GG: ever tried acrostic poetry?

TG: no i cant say that i have
TG: why

GG: well i dont know!
GG: a while ago i saw something and i thought of you
GG: the whole 'clever wordplay' thing seemed like it might be a thing you like!
GG: can you blame me for asking?
GG: hehe you ARE the one who sends me random raps in the middle of the night!
GG: i wish i could find the poem in question to show you though…
GG: not gonna lie it was cool!
GG: gosh though i wish i could remember the name

TG: acrostic poetry huh
TG: rapping is different from poetry though
TG: everyone can slap words together jade

GG: different how? :o

Is he responding in the same way? That could easily say "are". You guess you'll just stall with one-line replies and see. This is such a rudimentary stupid form of communication! Ugh! You hate this!

TG: you have to feel the beat for a rap
TG: on a poem its just like whatever works dude
TG: use some flowery words sure whatever

GG: and all those metaphors right? hehe, you and your metaphors!

TG: oh sure those are there too
TG: kinda like the backbone to any good rap or poem or
TG: anything really
TG: youve gotta get the metaphors down harley take notes

"Are you okay", he's asking. What is it with this question? You're so absolutely terrible at answering it. But this time, you think you'll answer with the truth: no, you really aren't okay.

GG: notes okay got it! :D
GG: okayyy metaphors hehe what else?

There's a pause. You see his icon start typing, then stop, then start again. Evidently, he hadn't been expecting you to say that, and immediately you feel bad for saying that truth because now he's worried or upset or something and you don't want that, you want him to be happy! Not worried, not upset!

Then again, are you being selfish in assuming he'd really get worried about you? You aren't sure.

TG: lots of stuff
TG: oh man there is a lot of stuff jade
TG: very serious business is going down in the wordplay world
TG: everyones like holy shit look at those goddamn stock transactions

GG: what?

TG: you heard me right im talking about metaphorical metaphors
TG: are you surprised

What...?

Oh.

Oh.

You feel a little bit warmer now.

GG: …
GG: i am not surprised
GG: after all you are a big dork [heart]

TG: im actually really cool you know
TG: …
TG: [heart] to you too though

GG: :D
GG: aw i feel special!
GG: you never do hearts back!

TG: do i not
TG: well damn i should fix that
TG: here this should help remedy all the times ive skipped out on hearts
TG: [heart]

There's no more acrostics going on now, but that's okay. This is fine. Ben probably thinks you're just being silly or flirty or whatever, but he's so wrong you could laugh if you weren't already close to crying. And Dave, oh, Dave is actually being affectionate, or as affectionate as he gets!

This makes you a little happier, at least. This is not bad.

GG: :D
GG: [heart]!

TG: [heart]
TG: god jade youre just taking all the hearts right out of me arent you
TG: what if i told you my heart only belongs to one person
TG: you cant just take it all like that
TG: although i guess you are anyway so it doesnt matter but like
TG: actually fuck it here you go [heart]

GG: hehe!
GG: how sweet you are!

TG: hell yeah you know it
TG: im the sweetest there is
TG: forget all that splenda and weak shit
TG: im the real deal
TG: refined sugarcane and all that jazz

You almost giggle out loud at that, despite the lump that's been in your throat all day. Dave always has this effect on you, doesn't he? He always can make you smile.

"What's so funny about this punk?" Ben mutters. "Stop flirting with him."

"Why?" you ask, barely stopping yourself from adding are you jealous? But that would be rude and you aren't doing that. Even though it is really tempting. Oh wait, did you just admit to flirting with Dave?

Whoops a daisy.

"Because you're trying too hard to not seem like a weird kid from nowhere who doesn't know how to function in actual society," he answers rudely. You roll your eyes—you should have known there was no point in starting conversations with him. He's just always mad at you because apparently the room you're staying in is his old one and he feels personally affronted by that, and because you had a panic attack in front of the girl he likes and took her attention away from him. Because, you know, that had been your intent, right?

"Key word," you say absently instead of letting him see that you're bothered. "Trying."

GG: yes you are [heart]
GG: youre the sweetest there is and i love you!

TG: oh damn
TG: look at this whole outpouring of love
TG: but ive gotta disagree there
TG: i cant possibly be the sweetest there is if youre literally right there
TG: im refined sugarcane youre just pure sugar
TG: which is to say youd better be smiling because you deserve it ok
TG: and that is to say
TG: love ya too harls

You do smile.

All through the next day, after your scant three or so hours of sleep out in the garden because you were outside all night—you just couldn't breathe in the house, and you were on the phone late with Dave—you're exhausted beyond belief, and you're sluggish to answer Rose and John when they pester you as they always do.

EB: how are you today? you seem kind of out of it, jade...
EB: is everything okay?

You blink. You are really bad at hiding things, aren't you? Weird, you really thought you were good at that. Maybe you just stopped being good at hiding things the same

GG: ummmm...
GG: everything is...
GG: better than it has been for a little while at least?
GG: i have my phone back after all
GG: thats gotta count for something!

EB: yeah it does!
EB: but... that doesn't fully answer my question.

You fidget for a second before you start typing out a response, frowning slightly as you do so. John is amazing and you love him, but sometimes he displays an uncanny astuteness that you're only really used to seeing in yourself—he can always pinpoint problems and tell when people are hiding things. Which is great, right up until he starts pinpointing your problems and your hidden things.

GG: i dont know john...
GG: im sad but im not as sad as i was yesterday if that helps at all
GG: but whether everything is ok i just don't know

EB: i see...
EB: well, if it isn't okay right now, that's alright!
EB: i'm going to make it okay.
EB: don't worry! dave and rose and me will take care of you!

GG: thanks john [heart]

EB: anytime [heart]

You sigh and scrub at your eyes. One day, could you maybe just stop crying? Soon, preferably? That would be nice. But you don't know if that day will come before the day you die.

That should be soon, preferably, you think, and then feel a jolt of fear that you just thought that. You bury your face in your hands and try to think of something else. You're not entirely successful.

dear diary,

something is wrong with me and i dont know what, but it scares me...

i want to go home. i want to be with my friends. i want to be anywhere but here. i cant do this. i had the most terrifying thought earlier, that i ... that i want to die, and im so scared! but at the same time i cant bring myself to care. theres no way i can tell anyone.

that scares me even more.

i want to go home. i miss grandpa.

Someone knocks on your bedroom door one evening when you're Skyping Dave; you quickly minimize the program, call "Come in!", and take one of the headphones out without a word. Dave will understand someone just knocked.

Ben pokes his head in, to your surprise. You raise an eyebrow, especially when he sort of just looks at the floor almost sheepishly.

"Yes?"

"Hey, uh... look. I have a biology exam tomorrow and I have no idea what the fuck is going on. Teach me, will you?" he mutters, scuffing his feet on your rug. You blink in surprise.

In your ear, Dave scoffs. "Tell him to fuck off," he says. You try to keep your lips from twitching and shake your head slightly.

"What's the exam on?" you ask Ben, scooting over towards your laptop to make room for him to sit on the end of your bed. He does, passing you the sheaf of papers in his hand—messy, sparse scribbles of notes. You can tell he wasn't paying attention when he took these, but you can get the general gist of the chapter—DNA replication and subsequent processes. That's easy, you can explain that with your eyes closed!

"No idea, but I'm gonna fail and Dad's gonna kill me," he shrugs. You feel a bit of sympathy stirring.

"No, you're not going to fail," you shake your head. "Don't worry! I'll teach you, you'll get it!"

He smiles at you wanly, crossing his arms loosely across his chest, and nods. "Sure."

"Are you for real, Jade?" Dave asks incredulously. "The guy's such an asshole except when he needs shit from you! Why are you helping him?"

You sigh and pick up the laptop, typing a quick message into the chat box and sending it to him.

GG: just because hes awful to me doesnt mean i have to be awful back
GG: grandpa always taught me to try to see the best in everyone!
GG: thats all im trying to do!

"You are such a damn idealist," comes the reply. You would feel a bit hurt, except his voice has gotten a lot softer. "I swear to god, you're too nice to every douche you meet. That includes me."

GG: youre not a douche dave [heart]

He laughs softly at that, and even though the video chat is still minimized you can imagine the lopsided little grin he's probably wearing right now. The thought warms your heart and brings a smile to your face, just as much as the sound of his laughter does.

"So?" Ben asks. "What the hell is all this stupid shit anyway?" He sounds frustrated. You shake your head.

"Calm down," you tell him. "You know how the DNA is in the nucleus, right? And the nucleus is covered in nuclear pores? Well, there's this thing called RNA, and that a form of that called mRNA, which means messenger RNA, is always made in the nucleus by a process called transcription..."

Several hours later, he leaves, feeling a lot more confident in his biology. You watch him go and wish him a good night, feeling a lot more confident that this family will work out after all, you just had to give it time.

"Well," Mrs. Susan says with a frown, "Mrs. Gwendoline is an old family friend, and if I were to bring a young lady over, she would expect a more, ah, refined one."

So you're staying home alone then, while they go visit a friend for dinner. Got it.

So much for the family working out.

You nod your understanding, keeping your eyes on the floor, and bite your lip hard to keep any tears from spilling. You feel so unwanted, so much like a second-class human being...

"May I be excused?" The words fall quietly from your lips, tumbling out just a split second before any tears can follow. You clam up and refuse to let them fall. It's so stupid, you have to be super courteous and polite all the time even when Ben and Michael aren't, and it hurts to act like a guest in your own home, oh god it hurts. Because this really isn't your home!

"Yes, go on," Mrs. Susan dismissively waves a hand at you. She's so distant, so cold, so different from the warm and kind woman you met the first week you were in this house. Why did she change? What did you do wrong?

You turn and hurry upstairs, closing and locking your door before you sink onto the bed, pulling the covers over your head and crying softly into your pillow.

A few minutes after that, as your tears keep soaking into the fabric, you hear the door close and the car pull out of the garage, and then there's silence. A painful, lonely silence that reminds you of days on the island, those awful few days without Grandpa...

Bzzzzz-bzzzzz. Bzzzzz-bzzzz.

Someone is calling. Sniffling, you grab your phone and look at its screen with blurred vision.

"Dave?"

"Hey, Jade—oh shit, are you okay?"

"They don't want me," you whimper, taking a deep, shaky breath. "They don't want me, oh, god, Dave, I want to go home, they don't want me here!"

"Hey, hey, hey, don't cry!" he says hurriedly. "What happened? What's wrong?"

"They basically—" you hiccup a sob and wipe at your eyes, feeling the raw pain from Mrs. Susan's words searing through you again, red hot as if she had just finished saying them. "They said I'm not really part of the family, that I'm not good enough, that I'm—I'm—" you break off, wanting to say I want to go home again, but you've already said that.

"Well, fuck them with a rusty barbed wire fence," Dave suggests, a grim and cold note in his voice that you hadn't expected. "I swear to god, if those fucking assholes make you cry again, I'm driving up there with a sword."

You cringe and shrink even further into your blankets, pulling them around you. You didn't mean to upset him, you didn't mean to upset him! "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything, I'm sorry, I—"

"Jade."

You stop. The cold anger is gone, replaced by warm concern.

He sighs. You can just imagine he's closed his eyes and is running his hand through his hair—it's a habit you've noticed in him over Skype, he always does that when he's stressed or nervous or exasperated. "Don't you dare apologize to me when you haven't done a single fucking thing wrong. We've had this discussion before and I'm not dumb enough to think we won't have it again, but I'mma say it anyway. Don't you dare. Now I want you to start smiling again, 'kay?"

You don't reply. You aren't sure you remember how to smile.

dear diary,

i have my phone back now, finally. i think maybe ill start being able to sleep properly again. is it bad that its something that makes me feel safer? i feel like if i ever need someone theyre within reach if i have it with me. mrs. susan tells me thats a bad thing, that im too tech dependent. i grew up alone! what was i supposed to do!

also people at school keep saying i have an accent and it makes me sad that they make fun of it. i hate standing out for everything like this. i want it to stop. i just want it all to stop.

Skyping Dave in the living room always makes you a little nervous, honestly, because someone is always there. Today it's Mrs. Susan. Dave's playing up the cute country boy persona, turning on his full charm—which, you have to say, is quite formidable. He is very charming. (Swoon!)

Right now he's talking about Christmas plans and things, and how lonely it gets in Houston with just him and his brother. You see Mrs. Susan shake her head out of the corner of your eye, and internally roll your eyes at her because you know precisely what it is that she's thinking—how sad it is that a good boy like him should have to grow up alone like that, and how swell it is (how swell how swell) that he's still a good boy despite that. It kind of makes you want to laugh, because she's soooo wrong and this is Dave putting on charades, but you don't have the happiness in you to really laugh right now.

You might soon, though. Dave looks like he's making his best effort to get you to smile. Maybe he'll be successful—he usually is, in this endeavor at least.

You keep on talking to him, just drinking in his presence and thinking about how there's only two years, and then you can go back home, but then suddenly Mrs. Susan says something you never in your wildest dreams thought you'd hear her say:

"Well, if you really want to, you could go visit your friend for Christmas. We'd miss you, but it would be sad to have a totally empty house for the holidays, and I'm sure David wouldn't mind your company—and you both wouldn't get up to anything improper, of course."

You have to swallow a shriek of joy that rises in your throat. Nevertheless your eyes are shining big and bright and Dave looks incredibly proud of himself, and you can't even remember the last time you felt this happy!

"Really?" you look at Mrs. Susan with awe and wonder in your face. You can't believe this is happening, you can't believe this is really happening! You're getting out of here! "Thank you so much, ma'am!" You're so excited so excited so excited! Bouncing in place, you nearly drop the laptop as you clap your hands in glee—whoops! You grab it at the last second and beam.

Dave grins broadly at you. Before he can say anything, though, Mrs. Susan frowns.

"You'll have to arrange for transportation," she says. "I'm sorry, but I don't think we can afford the airfare, and Finn can't drive all the way to Houston and back just to drop you off, Jade."

That would have popped your bubble of joy, except that before it does, Dave jumps in.

"I can," he volunteers, the picture of a respectable, good Southern boy. You wish he was here so you could just hug him! You're so happy! Is it reasonable to get so happy over a simple trip? Maybe not, but when that trip means you get a reprieve from this place and the huge family gathering happening next week—the one that means you'll get even more ostracized? You're super, super happy. "I have a truck, I can come. Whenever you need me, I'll be there."

He looks straight into the camera—straight at you—with those words, and you have a funny feeling he doesn't just mean that in terms of transportation.

"You're already on break, right, Jade?" he adds, the intentness of his gaze softening again as he plays up the charade again.

"Yes," you say, beaming at him and trying to stop being excited long enough to actually plan this out. You feel so warm and happy! "When do you want to—" you break off, swiveling your head to look at Mrs. Susan. "I mean, sorry, if that's okay with you, ma'am?"

She's not even looking at you anymore, flipping through a magazine now. "Oh, yes, that works. You can come pick her up whenever you like, at some decent hour of the day."

Dave cocks his head to the side, thinking for a second. It's frankly adorable, but you won't tell him that in front of Mrs. Susan. "How does tomorrow at four sound?" he asks, and your eyes widen because that's less than twenty four hours from now and you're going to see Dave in less than twenty four hours!

"So soon?" Mrs. Susan asks, her eyebrows raised now, and you stifle your disappointment. Of course she'd push it back.

Something in his face changes, something with distaste and irritation and something you can't place. Maybe he saw the dejection in your expression anyway. You've never been particularly good at hiding things in your facial expressions. But it looks like Dave isn't giving in that easily.

"I just live with my bro," he explains to Mrs. Susan with an easy smile that you can tell is pasted on. "Stuff is pretty chill as far as he's concerned, and he knows Jade, too. Not as well as me, but we've mailed each other stuff before, so he knows her from that, and then sometimes from Skype calls. I can text him now and double check, though."

He picks up his phone and texts his brother, receiving a response fairly quickly. Then he looks up with a bright, boyish grin that's even more adorable than his thoughtful face.

"Yup, he's cool with it!"

And just like that, your excitement and hope come back.

"Wants to know when your break ends and when I'll be takin' you back up north," he adds, and you blink and then check your school calendar.

"Um, I think three weeks from Tuesday is my first day back at school," you tell him, "so I should be back that weekend." Ew, coming back. You don't want to think about that. But on the bright side you're going to spend Christmas with Dave! You're spending Christmas with Dave! This is really, actually happening!

"Sounds good. I'll be there tomorrow, Jade. Better get packin'!" he teases, then looks around. "And I should probably clean my room."

You laugh joyously. "Yes, you should, you dork!" you giggle, but that was a mistake, because Mrs. Susan looks up sharply.

"Jade!" she reprimands sternly. "Don't be rude."

You shrink back into yourself, all your excitement gone suddenly like the popping of a balloon, just with four words. "Sorry, Dave," you murmur, biting your lip and staring at your hands in your lap. You want to disappear again...

He sounds bewildered. "You're fine." Then he gets the lighthearted note in his voice again as he says "For the record though, you're a total nerd. –Just kidding, of course."

Your eyes flicker back to the screen as you give him a wan smile. Mrs. Susan clears her throat. "Well," she says, "I really think Jade ought to go finish her chores, especially because she has to pack tonight too. The bathtub isn't going to scrub itself, after all!" She laughs as if she just made a great joke, and you press your lips together firmly.

You aren't out of hell yet, are you. "Bye, Dave."

"Bye," he says, sounding like he really doesn't want to go. "I'll see you tomorrow, kay?"

"Yeah," you say. "See you." Then you hang up and go to finish all that you have to do. Tomorrow is still a long way away, and right now it just feels like it's a far-off dream.

When he gets to your house, as soon as you see Dave you just about tackle him, squealing with excitement. He swings you around and hugs you tightly, and it's better than you could have ever imagined.

In the truck on the way home, he puts on some excellent music. Between that, this newfound sense of freedom, and—in Dave's words—being "stuck in a truck with a charming asshole for eight hours", you're feeling a lot better about life in general already!

You stop for ice cream around halfway through the drive. It's about eight or nine o'clock, so the parking lot isn't too full when Dave pulls in and you bend over to try and find your shoes somewhere on the floor. Whoops, you really should have put those on sooner, shouldn't you? Now you're holding him up and even as you slide your feet back into the sandals you can just hear Mrs. Susan telling you this is why you're a disappointment, why no one will ever want you if you don't shape up in life—

The door opens and you look up to see Dave standing there. You're expecting a 'hurry up' or a 'what's taking so long' and internally cringe, bracing yourself for that, when instead he grins. "Sweet, I got to exercise my gentlemanly skills and beat you to the door this time," he says, and you blink. What?

He offers you his hand and you take it as you clamber out of the seat and jump down from the cab—his truck is made for tall people, like him, not short people like you. He closes the door and is about to walk to the ice cream parlor, and you try to quickly swallow and banish the feelings of inadequacy that seem to swamp you as a default—you should be enjoying this more!—when he pauses, frowns, and looks back at you more carefully.

"Jade?"

"Yeah?"

For a second, he looks like he's about to say something. Then, he changes his mind and lets go of your hand to pull you into a hug again; you melt against him and bury your face in his shoulder, taking a deep breath.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, resting his cheek against your temple. "You look sad."

"I'm ... I'm okay," you murmur without pulling away. Okay or not, you want to be held. No one has held you like this since Grandpa died. This is nice, this is good, and you want it to last.

"You sure?"

Another deep, shaky breath. "Yeah. I... I just was thinking... well, I don't know. It was stupid," you say with a sheepish laugh, internally berating yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Dave wouldn't yell at you about your shoes, he's not a mean person like Mrs. Susan! God you want to stop worrying about these irrational things, but somehow you can't. Rose says she thinks it's a mark that you have an anxiety disorder and depression, but you don't really know about that. All you know is that this is stupid and you hate it.

He hugs you tighter for a second, then pulls back and looks down at you, seemingly pondering what to say. You decide you really don't want to talk about it, don't want to tell him 'whoops, I'm an idiot who thought you were going to be mad at me for some reason, and I'm really upset that my default thoughts are starting to be what they tell me about myself', so you change the subject.

"You are really tall," you tell him, looking up with a little smile—and it's true, and your smile is genuine. He is tall. You told him this when you stopped for dinner, right after he picked you up, but between then and now you managed to just sort of forget just how tall he is. All his height comes from his long legs, and when he sits next to you in the car, the difference is easy to overlook!

"You are really short," he replies with an easy grin, ruffling your hair. You laugh at that, feeling the insecurities and feelings of disgust at yourself draining away. Then he steps back, settling his arm around your waist casually, and you lean into his touch as you both walk into the ice cream parlor.

By the time you walk out, cones in hand, you feel much better again, enough to laugh at almost all of his jokes—just not the gross ones, which you tell him are gross, and then you giggle at his indignant expression. And as you get back into the truck to head down south, you keep thinking about how the woman behind the counter remarked sunnily that you both made a cute couple.

And also about how Dave nodded in agreement.

Christmas break is definitely the best thing that's happened to you all year.

Right now you're watching Star Wars, lying with your head on Dave's stomach. His fingers are playing with your hair idly even though he's watching the screen; you don't think he's even noticed what he's doing. It feels nice, though. You like people playing with your hair!

He snorts audibly when Han berates Chewbacca for "thinking with his stomach", and you giggle. That draws his attention down to you, and you wave at him with a grin.

"What?" he asks.

"I don't know!" you shrug. He rolls his eyes—you can see them now, because after you told him you liked his eyes, he's stopped wearing the shades all the time around the house—and chuckles. You scoot over a bit so your head is on his chest instead and just look up at him, thinking for a long moment about how much he means to you, because his hand just came to rest on your shoulder in a casually protective embrace and you feel a strong surge of affection for him now.

A few moments later, his gaze drifts down from the screen to you again, and he raises an eyebrow. "Weren't you the one who wanted to watch this to begin with? And now here you are, starin' at me instead. C'mon, Harley, I know I'm handsome, but really."

You laugh and lightly swat the side of his head as he grins charmingly. "I've seen it a bazillion times!"

"Me too," he shrugs. "I mean, it's Star Wars. Who hasn't seen Star Wars? Only total losers, that's who. People who need to get their lives together. That's who. And we are not those."

"True," you concur. "Besides, this part is sad! I don't wanna watch the sad part."

"Sad? How the fuck did you get sad from this part?" he asks incredulously. "There's exploding shit and demonic teddy bears with spears. Where did sad come from?"

"All the clones!" you exclaim. "They keep dying for no reason! I feel bad for them!"

He stares at you for a moment, and then he starts to laugh. After a moment, when you've lapsed into a comfortable silence again, he speaks up. "You know, I still can hardly believe you're actually here. Like, damn, we actually pulled this shit off, you know?"

You nod, your hand finding his where it rests on your shoulder. "I'm happy it worked," you say softly. "If I'd had to stay there..."

Dave gives you a comforting squeeze. "No need to dwell on what-ifs and could-have-beens," he says reasonably. "Let's just focus on the badassness of the heist we pulled off to get you here. I can't believe the Bitch actually let you get in a truck with me and drive off!" He laughs.

"The Bitch?" you ask, raising your eyebrows at him.

"Your Mrs. Susan," he shrugs. "It's what Rose, John, and I all call her."

You laugh. "You know, Mrs. Susan thinks you're super respectable. She probably thinks I'm some sort of slut, though, going over to boy's houses when I'm not even dating them. I had a study date at Matt's house the other day—and I wasn't even the only one there!—and she gave me so many dirty looks. I think she just wants to get me married off or something so she can say she's a good person for fostering a kid, without having to worry about actually raising me."

Dave shrugs again. "You're probably not wrong there," he says. "That woman's a grade A bitch. Probably thinks teenage girls can't be trusted and all that, right?" He sounds so skeptical of her that you think that if you were predisposed towards metaphors, you'd say he just rolled his eyes verbally.

"Right," you sigh in agreement. "I think I've gotten the 'don't have sex' talk about fifteen times so far. When I said I don't even have a boyfriend she was like 'that makes it worse'!"

He lets out a derisive snort. "The hell does she even want from you?"

The million dollar question! "Good question!" you throw up your hands, exasperated beyond belief with Mrs. Susan and her stupid system of hating you no matter what you do. "I think she wants me to have a boyfriend and then she wants him to be stuck with me forever. At least she'd stop yelling at me all the time if I had one, maybe. There would be an end to the 'figure out your life' and 'no one could ever want you' talks." You've had enough of both of those for several lifetimes, thanks. It's made you consider actually trying to find a boyfriend, except that there's only one boy you'd ever want to date and he's holding you right now, but you don't think that'll ever happen.

Under you, Dave stiffens slightly. "Excuse me," he says, "did you just say that she said no one would ever want you? The fuck?" He sounds indignant. You wonder if he's going to threaten to drive back to Oklahoma with a sword again. You hope not. You don't want to cause drama or make anyone, least of all him, upset.

"I don't know," you sigh, because your thoughts are honestly more than a little jumbled on the subject. "Sometimes I think she's right. Sometimes I think that can't possibly be it and that she's just hurting my feelings a lot, but ... I don't know." You've been surrounded by vitriol long enough that it's really getting into your head. You don't even know which thoughts are yours really and which ones were planted there by months of being put down!

"She's wrong," Dave says, leaving no room for doubt. "I told you before and I'll tell you again, you're great."

You turn to look up at him with a smile. "Thanks." And you mean it. It's lovely of him to say so. "Now if only someone could make Mrs. Susan stop lecturing me about it, everything would be even better!" You just really really really want that stuff out of your head all the time!

"We could tell her I'm your boyfriend," he suggests. Wait—what! Did you hear that right? You couldn't possibly have heard that right. He really just said he'd pretend to be your boyfriend, just for you? You, of all people?

"You'd do that? For me?" you breathe. He looks a bit bemused.

"Huh?"

You shift so you can look at him more directly, your eyes wide. "You'd pretend to date me, just like that, if I asked you?"

He runs his hand through his hair—a sign of nerves—and looks you straight in the eyes. "Jade," he says, "I'd actually date you, just like that, if you wanted me to."

You—Dave—you can hardly believe this. Rolling over you sit up halfway, leaning on one arm over him. Your hair falls around your face as you stare at him, still stunned but also thinking that his face is really close to yours now, and then he reaches up and gently tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek and sending a thrill zinging down your spine. You think your face goes pink, but you aren't too sure because you're focused totally on him, acutely aware of every second ticking by.

"You would?"

"Yeah," he says. "If you wanted, I would."

You lean down and kiss him softly, closing your eyes, and he wraps his arms around you and holds you close, cradles you against him so so gently, until you pull away. He smiles at you, impossibly tenderly, and then pulls you back in again, until the sudden PEW PEW! of a blaster shot from the movie makes you jump. Then you both laugh.

He gives you a simple locket for Christmas. You put a picture of the two of you inside it and clasp it around your neck, so that the pendant lies close to your heart.

On New Year's, you share a kiss as fireworks explode overhead on the beach, and it's perfect.

"Dave, stop," you plead, tears streaming down your face. He shakes his head once, curt, and resumes staring at his brother, sword in hand. "I'll—I'll go back, I'll be fine, just please don't fight, please don't get hurt, Dave..."

Bro raises an eyebrow. "Seriously, kid?" he asks, the levity of his words destroyed by the quiet gravity of his voice. "Put the damn sword down and either get in the car or go to your room, I don't give a fuck which. She's leaving today."

"No," Dave glares. "I won't, and she's not."

"Please don't fight, please don't fight, please don't fight," you repeat like a sobbed mantra, rocking back and forth and clutching your knees to your chest. "Please, please—please don't, oh god, don't fight!"

Neither one of them listens to you.

"Dave, I'm giving you one last chance to put the sword away," Bro warns, an ominous edge in his voice like the rumble of thunder before the downpour starts. "I don't care how in love or whatever you are. I'm not breaking the damn law and kidnapping her. She goes back. Now."

"No!" Dave's grip on the sword tightens ever so slightly.

"Fine." Bro's voice is quiet, but cold and hard as steel, just like the sword he slides from its sheath.

You scream as the first strike rings out, and in the end, you leave the apartment sobbing brokenly, crying so hard you can barely breathe, as you step over the unconscious and somewhat bruised form of your boyfriend.

dear diary,

im back here and i want to die.

—tentacleTherapist [TT] is now pestering gardenGnostic [GG] —

TT: Jade?

GG: hi rose

TG: How are you?

GG: do you really need to ask
GG: im back in hell!
GG: i feel SO GREAT!
GG: ...
GG: sorry that was rude wasnt it im sorry im sorry

TT: Shhh. It wasn't rude, worry not.
TT: It's okay.
TT: And you are correct, that question was rather callous.
TT: Let me rephrase then.

GG: no i know what you meant...
GG: im just sad and lonely and i kind of hate myself again
GG: i dont want to be here rose
GG: i got back a month ago and im still thinking wow i would so much rather be in texas now
GG: i left my spare keys there too
GG: maybe i could use that as an excuse to go back down!

TT: I see.
TT: That is an understandable feeling, given your situation.
TT: I wish I could do more to help. I'm just words on a screen to you.

GG: no no no no youre my friend please dont think that D:
GG: i need you please dont leave me

TT: Oh, Jade, I'm not going anywhere!
TT: I promise.
TT: [heart]

GG: thank you
GG: [heart]
GG: i have so much i need to do and i have none of the motivation i need to do it
GG: im going to fail english probably but i dont even care
GG: is that bad?

TT: I ...
TT: I suppose it depends on what you mean by bad.

GG: its bad isnt it

TT: Not in the way you're thinking, no.
TT: It's "bad" because that's a sign of a severe depressive episode.
TT: You stop caring about everything. You feel like there's no point, and so why bother?

GG: pretty much yeah
GG: everyone hates me
GG: i hate me!
GG: why do i hate myself! i shouldn't!

TT: No, you shouldn't, and that's another sign.
TT: But I can promise you that not everyone hates you, because I, John, and Dave exist.
TT: We love you, Jade. And we'll do whatever we can to help you.

GG: i ... i dont even know what to say...
GG: i love you too and also im crying right now
GG: i love you

TT: It's okay to cry. Just let it out.
TT: Tears can be quite cathartic.

GG: i cry too much ._. im sick of crying

TT: Take a hot shower, then. Temperature changes can help your mood.

GG: yeah... except that i have chores to do before i can do that
GG: if i dont finish them i wont get dinner

TT: What the hell?

GG: house rule or something i guess
GG: more like house rule for the shitty resident haha
GG: finish your work and get your food!
GG: if you dont finish the work you dont get your food!

TT: I'm pretty sure that's got to be illegal.

GG: maybe it is!
GG: who knows? not me!
GG: anyway i guess i should go do that
GG: bye rose

—gardenGnostic [GG] is offline! —

TT: Bye, Jade. [heart] I'll see you later, okay?
TT: ... Or not.
TT: Why do you always do that these days?

"Are you okay, Jade?"

The question catches you off guard and you look up quickly to see your classmate and friend Bethany looking at you with concern.

"Totally fine!" If you paste on the fakest smile you have, that'll pass and get her scrutiny onto something that actually matters, right? Your feelings aren't exactly important. You don't matter. You just kind of want to lie down and go to sleep and never wake up. And kind of means a lot, in this case.

She gives you a skeptical look and crosses her arms. "Right," she says. "That was code for 'what's wrong' actually. What's up, buttercup?"

You shrug and laugh self-depreciatingly. "Nothing important. I'm just feeling kind of ... sad, I guess. Homesick, maybe. I miss Grandpa." That's not a lie, either. It's just not the whole truth.

Bethany wraps an arm around your shoulders and hugs you. "It'll be okay," she promises, a promise that rings hollow to your ears. You smile wanly and nod at her anyway.

One of your hands comes up to brush the locket around your neck, and after a moment's thought you turn it around and open it. Dave's smiling face next to yours stares back up at you, warm and reassuring as ever. For a second you can pretend the arm around your shoulders is his, but only for a second.

Bethany peers over your shoulder. "Who is he?" she asks with a soft smile.

"My boyfriend," you answer quietly, not taking your gaze from the picture. "He lives in Texas. I miss him."

"Aww," she says sympathetically. "That must be hard. I hope you get to see him again soon..."

Your confusion—why does she hope that, why does she care? Why would anyone care about you?—must be conveyed well enough in your face, because Bethany gives you a little squeeze.

"Judging by that picture," she says, "he makes you happy. And trust me, Jade, you deserve to be happy."

She's wrong, you think hollowly. That's the last thing you deserve. But you don't think you want to put in the effort to argue that point, nor do you have the words to back it up other than "no, I don't", so you just lay your head against her shoulder and mutely lie against her, trying hard to swallow the lump in your throat.

GG: john
GG: i cant leave for spring break
GG: oh my god im going to be stuck here for spring break

EB: what?!
EB: they won't let you leave?
EB: oh man, what are we gonna do...
EB: can you get a friend to drive you to an airport or something?

GG: and then what!
GG: if i do anything like that i know theyd just throw me out!

EB: well just bring all your stuff then!

GG: thats probably illegal on a lot of levels i couldnt ask that of you and your dad
GG: oh my god im stuck here
GG: i cant
GG: i cant i cant i cant

EB: jade!
EB: breathe. i need you to breathe. do that. breathe.
EB: hello?
EB: jade?
EB: are you there?

GG: yeah sorry
GG: i went to wash my face

EB: oh gotcha, no problem!
EB: (by that i mean no apologies)
EB: (you're only allowed to apologize to me if you've done something to me)

GG: like... making you worry?

EB: no making me worry is not a reason to apologize.
EB: like my dad says, worry is just a byproduct of love!
EB: my dad is full of cheesy sayings like that, ha ha.

GG: your dad sounds nice :o

EB: he is! you should hop on a plane and come meet him!
EB: and me. :)

GG: i cant john
GG: i cant i cant i cant
GG: shit i cant breathe
GG: one minute

EB: oh my god jade... please be okay.
EB: hey!
EB: what if i came to visit you!
EB: could we do that? could one of us come visit you?
EB: jade?
EB: jade, are you there?
EB: aw man, tell me you're alright...
EB: i'm going to sit here until you respond.
EB: ...
EB: ...
EB: ...
EB: ...
EB: it's been ten minutes...
EB: everything okay?

GG: yeah
GG: i have to go bye

—gardenGnostic [GG] is offline!—

EB: wait where are you going?
EB: god DAMMIT jade.

One day after Spring Break starts, you go downstairs to sit in the light and airy living room—it feels easier to breathe there than in your tiny and cramped bedroom. You like enjoying afternoons in here.

Michael bounces into the living room, a colorful Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack on his shoulders. "Jade!" he says happily, and you look up from texting Dave to smile slightly at him. You feel too exhausted and sad for anything more than a slight smile, but he doesn't notice anyway.

"Hey," you say. "What's up?"

"Aren't you packed yet?" he asks curiously. You blink.

"Packed for what?" You haven't been told of anything to pack for. Is there a trip? Oh no, did you somehow zone out and miss hearing Mr. Finn or Mrs. Susan talk about it? They'll be so mad!

Michael looks nonplussed. "The family reunion trip, duh," he says as though that should have been obvious. Just then, Mrs. Susan appears in the doorway behind him.

"Jade isn't coming, dear," she smiles, ruffling his hair lovingly. Your heart clenches and your stomach drops. "Go on, your father and brother are waiting in the car!"

"But it's a family reunion—" Michael starts. His mother tuts and cuts him off.

"And Jade is not part of the family," she trills, entirely too pleased by this statement. You choke and stare at your phone screen, seeing the dark shapes that are letters forming Dave's words but not comprehending a single one of them. She actually said it, oh god, she said you're not part of the family, oh god, you want to throw up you feel sick all of a sudden. Yes, you already knew it, but hearing her say it is somehow so, so much worse.

"Oh," Michael says, oblivious to the way you're trembling and fighting back tears all of a sudden. "Okay then. See you, Jade!"

He trots out the door without a second glance. Mrs. Susan turns to follow him, then stops and looks back at you over her shoulder.

"Jade," she says. "We'll be gone for the next three days. I expect you to keep the house properly in that time, and by no means are you to have people over without an adult chaperone. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," you mumble, head downcast.

"Good," she says. "We'll be back before you know it." Then she leaves too, and you're left in an empty house, shaking with vision blurred from tears.

As silence falls, you throw your phone down to the couch cushions and flee as if you're being chased by an angry hellhound, running upstairs to your room. Your foot catches on the last step and you go sprawling, letting out a gasp of pain as your cheek connects with the hardwood floor and your glasses spin off to the side. For a second you just lie there, and then you scramble to your feet and stumble to your room, not even bothering to pick up the glasses.

When you get in you reach for Grandpa's portrait, needing to see his smiling face because he's the only family you have now, even if he's gone, but your glasses aren't on and everything's blurry and you're crying and your fingers fumble and—

NO!

—and there's a horrible instant when you watch the picture fall from the desk to the floor, and then crash!

And you're standing in a sea of shards of broken glass, each more jagged than the last and none possibly as sharp as the spear rending your heart apart. You stare at the mess for a long moment, and then you let out a long, keening wail and fall to your knees. It hurts, but you don't care, you don't care that there's glass digging into your skin, you don't care! Grandpa's gone all over again!

On some level you know you're being stupid, that you just need a new photo frame, but that's drowned by the overwhelming sobs that threaten to tear themselves from your throat. Grandpa...

You pick up one of the larger pieces, turn it over in your hands.

Worthless.

The dim evening light from your window glints off the edge, and you wince at the sudden brightness. A tear slips out. Good, you need to cry.

Stupid, useless, awful.

Jade isn't a part of the family!

Another tear. You close your fist and squeeze the glass, because the pain in your hand distracts you from the pain in your heart, and you let out a sob too, even though you hate the sound of your voice against the oppressive silence hanging like a shroud.

God, your hand hurts—you didn't even notice how much it hurt until just now, for some reason, you just... you didn't, but it hurts—oh. Oh, look, there's blood. There's blood everywhere, oh god—

With another whimpered sob and a muttered "Fuck, oh god," you push yourself to your feet and stumble to the bathroom to hold your hand under a stream of cold water, dropping the bloody shard of glass into the trash can. You stand there for what feels like forever, and the blood keeps coming—how deep did you cut yourself? What have you done? Oh god, oh god...

You finally turn off the water and grab a towel, holding it against your palm and putting as much pressure as you can on it even as you whimper and blink back tears of pain. Then you sink to the floor and start to cry all over again.

There's a plethora of messages you need to reply to, though it's late enough that your friends might think you've just gone to bed if you don't.

Instead, with a strange sense of numb calmness you brew yourself a cup of green tea and wait until it's late, late at night, way later than you're usually awake, save for on those nights where you can't sleep because of the dark thoughts swirling around in your head. Those nights have gotten very common these days. You're pretty sure your average amount of sleep per night has gone down to maybe five hours.

You know what you're planning to do. It's something you've been thinking about for a while. And you know you can't make it any further, there's too long and you have nowhere to go, nowhere to turn... there's no way out. There's no way out, there's no point, you're just wasting everyone's time.

So you prepare the pistol. It's ready and loaded, and then you set it down and begin typing. There's three notes you have to leave, and it's emotionally exhausting to do each one—that might be why you saved Dave's for last. You touch the locket, lift it to press it to your lips as if that'll bring him closer, and then you start typing again, still full of something between absolute calm and utter despair. Maybe it's just certainty.

— gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 2:31 AM –

GG: hi dave…
GG: i just wanted to let you know that
GG: i love you
GG: i really love you
GG: and im sorry that im letting you down like this
GG: i just cant go on
GG: i cant do this i cant handle anymore
GG: and im sorry im so sorry because youre trying so hard to help me
GG: but im just a lost cause, im too much of a weakling
GG: i know this is going to hurt you and i am sorry
GG: i am so sorry
GG: i love you so much
GG: the last thing i would ever want to do is hurt you
GG: which i guess is fitting because its the last thing i am doing
GG: that probably makes me a horrible girlfriend
GG: well im horrible at everything else, why not this too!
GG: apparently im also horrible at writing a last letter
GG: im rambling all over the place haha
GG: god i love you
GG: please always remember that for me
GG: and dont worry about me either
GG: theres a pistol in the closet
GG: it will be fast and painless im pretty sure
GG: and im sorry that i couldnt go on
GG: i know you wanted me to
GG: all of you did
GG: i just
GG: i cant
GG: im sorry
GG: i love you

Your breath is a bit shaky now. Now that you're done with all this... there's nothing between you and the pistol.

You feel the cold metal against your temple, your finger finds the trigger—

TG: no no no no no no no no no NO

You pause, unable to go through with it while he's still typing. You—you owe him that much—he's done so much for you—

And just like that, the dam breaks and you start bawling, great heaving sobs that make you shudder so hard you end up dropping the pistol onto your bed where you're sitting with your laptop to bury your face in your hands, even though ow fuck your left is still bandaged from your incident with the glass shards. For a second you think wildly about how disappointed Grandpa would be with you now. Look what you've come to.

TG: im not reading this oh my god jade
TG: pick up your fucking phone
TG: jade
TG: JADE
TG: YOUD BETTER BE THERE DO YOU HEAR ME
TG: FUCKING ANSWER ME
TG: please answer me
TG: jade
TG: jade i need you to be okay oh my god
TG: jade please
TG: dont do this dont do this to me dont you dare do this

Your phone is buzzing nonstop—incoming call from Dave Strider. You contemplate picking up for a second, but then shake your head, heaving for breath. You can't. You almost tell him you're sorry, but then again he's always hated it when you apologize to him, hasn't he?

TG: or if youre absolutely set on it
TG: at least say a proper fucking goodbye
TG: so i can join you

What?

No, that can't mean what it looks like it means. Your heart flip-flops wildly anyway as your fingers fumble to push your glasses back on your face so you can read his messages more clearly.

TG: if you don't reply im gonna assume youre gone
TG: and this sword right here
TG: its been in my leg once
TG: that was nonfatal
TG: i think if i put it in my heart though

GG: NO!

He can't! He can't, he can't, he can't! He has to live, he has to live and be happy, oh god, he has to be okay! He can't!

TG: pick up your phone

You stare at his words, frozen. The phone buzzes, but you don't move.

TG: god DAMMIT jade i know youre there
TG: youre staring at this message crying
TG: pick up
TG: your damn
TG: phone

You accept the call, but you can't find the words. The pistol is still right next to your hand.

"Hey," he says, and you let out a sob at the sound of his voice. It's trembling. That's your fault. "Hey, Jade. Are you—are you there?"

"I'm here," you whisper, not trusting your voice not to crack. "I—Dave," and there it goes, and there you go, and now you're sobbing brokenly. This can't be what he wanted to hear, but you're just so damn worthless and stupid you can't even talk to him. God, you're so stupid you can't even kill yourself without fucking up!

"Jade," he says. No, he begs. He's begging you. "Jade, talk to me." Please, he doesn't say, but you hear anyway.

"I don't—I don't know what to say!" you wail, and then break off into more sobs that tear themselves almost painfully from your throat. You're crying so hard you can barely even breathe at this point, and you hate yourself so much in this moment you can't even find anywhere to start with anything. You can't think straight, you're just so upset and sad and apathetic and angry at yourself, all at once!

"Well, let's just talk," Dave says. There's a catch in his voice, and suddenly you're wishing he was here, because you want nothing more than to bury your face in his shoulders and hear him tell you it'll all be okay. That's a statement that's always a lie, but coming from him, you can almost believe it.

"Jade," Dave murmurs, so softly you almost don't hear it. "Please. Put the damn pistol away."

You put the pistol in the closet and close the door.

"You feel up to getting up and walking around?" Dave asks you, almost eight hours later. The sun is shining outside, birds are chirping—it's a beautiful day that the girl you used to be would have loved, but as you are now you can't look at it as anything other than totally adverse to your mood.

"I want to sleep," you reply, drained of any energy you may have had. "Maybe forever." At this point, you don't even want to blow your brains out. You're so tired... you just want to lie down and close your eyes and not open them again.

"I take that as a no," he comments. You briefly wonder if you hear someone downstairs, but then dismiss the thought. The family who lives here—not including you, because you're not part of the family—isn't going to be back until tomorrow.

"Why? I'm not hungry, if you were going to tell me to get food," you tell him tiredly.

"I was going to tell you to open the front door," he replies, and then the door to your bedroom opens. You look up, shocked and suddenly a bit afraid of who might be there when you see Dave, and before you can even begin to process this, he's suddenly not at the door anymore, he's holding you so tightly you almost think there will be bruises on your back later, but that's the least of your concern because he's here he's really actually here oh god he's here you're safe.

"Dave?" you finally murmur, after a few heartbeats of clinging to him and taking in the fact that he's really here, really here and holding you. "You're—but—how?"

He kisses your hair. "I started driving when you picked up the phone." He kisses your forehead, too, and the tip of your nose, and your cheeks, just peppers your face with kisses and gentle touches and sweet caresses. You find yourself starting to cry again—who even knew you had tears left? "God, Jade..." he breathes, kissing your temple and stroking the tears away with a tender touch.

You wrap your arms around your neck and bury your face in his shoulder, trembling as he holds you, rubbing soothing circles into your back and whispering sweet, soft words into your ear.

"It's okay, it's okay, I love you," he tells you softly. You respond by clinging to him some more.

"I'm sorry," you finally tell him, your voice raw and shaky. I can't—you didn't have to—I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, and you could slap yourself for forgetting that he doesn't want you apologizing. He keeps telling you that, and you keep forgetting. "No, no," he says. "We're not doing the sorry game right now." His hand comes up, cups your cheek, tilts your face up to his. He waits until you meet his gaze to keep going, and the first words he says send a jolt through you. "I love you," he says simply, earnestly. "I drove here like that because I love you, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Including yourself."

You can't come up with any better response than, "I love you too. I love you, so much."

He kisses you then, desperate and loving and so very Dave that you could cry again. Your uninjured hand finds its way into his hair, stroking it like you love to do, and when he pulls back he pecks your lips softly again.

"God," you say. "I feel like such an idiot. I did all that and worried you and made you come all the way out here for nothing, because look at me, I'm fine—"

He cuts you off with another kiss, and despite your initial surprise you melt into this one too, and neither of you pulls away until you absolutely need to in order to breathe. This time, you kiss the corner of his lips and feel a little better when they twitch into a smile for a second.

"You're not fine," he shakes his head slightly, and you blink in surprise. "You're not fine, but you are perfect. God, Jade, don't you ever scare me like that again." He's being totally earnest here, again, laying bare his heart to you. Despite all the whirling maelstrom of thoughts in your head, you can see that, you can see his vulnerability in his posture, the way he's holding you, you can hear it in his voice.

"I won't," you promise. He smiles.

"Good," he says. A bit of the tension drains from his shoulders. You kiss him again.

When you break apart he studies you for a long moment, one hand cradling your cheek ever so tenderly. You lean into his touch and he smiles, chuckles, and draws you in against his chest again.

"Jade," he murmurs. "Jade. You're gonna be okay."

You find that despite yourself, you believe him.

After about thirty minutes, he disentangles himself from you and stands up on the floor. You already feel colder now that he's not holding you, but then he opens the closet door and both of your gazes fall on the pistol. If you'd been feeling a chill a second ago, there's ice in your heart now.

He gingerly picks it up, tension written in every line of his body, and then puts it on the top shelf—way out of your reach. Then he closes the door and comes back to you.

"C'mere," he says, holding out his arms, and you don't need to hear it twice before you go to him, wrapping your arms around his waist tightly. He rests his chin atop your head and strokes your hair.

"I love you," you murmur shakily.

"I love you too," he murmurs back. Then he yawns. "Let's go to sleep, darlin'," he says. "We both need it."

That casual 'darling' makes you happier than it really should have any right to. "Yeah," you agree, hugging him tighter. "Especially you." Then you turn around in his arms and pull back the covers on your bed, while he lets go of you to move your laptop and both of your phones to the desk. You glance back at him and then slide into bed, and he follows right behind you, wrapping his arms and legs around you like an affectionate octopus. The thought makes you smile as you close your eyes, snuggling into him, until sleep claims you.

Back in his apartment, the next day, you're curled up against him watching Star Trek. His arms are wrapped around you and every now and then he presses a kiss to your hair—it's obvious that he's still deeply shaken by yesterday's events. You feel more than a little bad about that, but then again you're rather deeply shaken, too.

Just as another tribble appears on-screen, Dave kisses your hair again. This time you turn in his arms and kiss his jaw, touching his cheek and looking at him for a long moment. Then you kiss him softly and settle back against his chest.

"Jade," he sighs, tightening his arms around you. "Oh, man, Jade. What am I gonna do with you?"

"Hi, you," you smile at him, gentle as can be. "I love you."

Another soft kiss, this one planted on your cheek. "I love you too," he says, caressing your shoulders. "I love you too, babe."

You shift and wriggle around and resituate yourself more cozily against him. "Dave?"

"Mmhmm?" he hums.

You go still and feel him do the same in response, tensing up ever so slightly. "Thank you," you tell him quietly. You don't need to tell him for what. He knows. For yesterday.

He goes absolutely silent for a second, though his arms tighten around you, protectively. He's very protective of you now. "Anytime," he finally says, quiet and almost casual except for the fire burning in his eyes. You get the feeling that he absolutely means it—anytime. No matter what he had to do, if he had to do something to save you he'd do it.

Then he strokes your hair back from your face, tucks it behind your ear, and pulls you in for a tender kiss. When he pulls away he hugs you tightly.

You finally settle back in, leaning against his chest with your head on his shoulder and his cheek against your hair, to keep watching Star Trek.

"You up for a group Skype call tonight?" he asks after a moment, looking down at you.

"Of course!" you chirp, beaming at the thought of seeing John and Rose on the screen. Especially because it's almost certain that you're going to go live with John now!

"Cool," he says. Then his hand trails from your shoulder down your arm to your hand—your injured hand. He picks it up and gently turns it over so the palm faces up. More quietly, he looks at you. "You never did tell me what happened here," he says softly. You wince.

"I ... it was broken glass," you say. "I was picking up broken glass."

He looks a bit unsatisfied with that answer. "Just picking up broken glass wouldn't give you a really deep cut," he says. "It might slice cleanly, but not that deep."

Shit. Why does he have so much knowledge about wounds and how to treat them! Not for the first time, you curse Bro's intensive combat training. "I—well, that's what I was doing but I sort of... was crying and stuff and there was broken glass in my hand and I—I... yeah, that," you break off uncomfortably. He can piece it together from there, right?

He's silent for a second. Then he just gathers you back into his lap and holds you, pressing you close. "I should have been there for you," he says quietly.

"You were," you reply quickly, looking up at him with concern. He'd better not be blaming himself for this! "You were, Dave! And you still are!"

He looks unsatisfied, but he nods all the same. "Okay. And I'll keep on keepin' on," he says. "Promise me something, though."

"Anything," you say without hesitation. You trust him with your life. He just saved it, after all.

"Never again," he says, looking deep into your eyes. "Never again. Promise?"

You lean in until your forehead touches his and press a hand to his cheek. He lays his hand atop yours and looks at you earnestly some more, and you're overcome for just second by how much he means to you, how much all of this, everything means to you. Your voice is soft when you finally find it again. "Promise."

And oh, do you mean it.

AN: By the way, the title of this fic comes from the song "Moving On" by James. It's really good, give it a listen!

Also, I have to come clean, I have no in-universe excuse for using [heart] instead of typing out an emote this chapter. Thanks, formatting. Thanks for nothing. (For those of you who don't know, the formatting on this site deletes the less-than sign, which turns all hearts into 3s.) Same goes for multiple exclamation points, which would be really nice to have because that's ... kind of integral to Jade's typing style... but okay, ff. Sure. You do that. :/

So yeah! Here's this fic! I might also do snippets of an epilogue, but no promises :P so I'm marking this complete, but I might come back to it!