I hated school. I hated it more than anything in the world, because I had to pretend.

I had to pretend that I was still in love with Michael, even though he was a complete asshole these days. But more importantly, I had to pretend Jackson didn't exist, even when he walked right past me in the halls and I couldn't wave or say hello because Michael was always at my side.

Monday morning came by too fast, and I instantly missed the weekend the second I arrived in Bradford High's parking lot. Dad lets me borrow his car so I don't have to ride the bus, which I'm thankful for, considering I'm claustrophobic and the idea of sitting in a crowded school bus makes my insides turn. Michael called a few different times the night before, leaving messages I was too tired to answer. I really wasn't in the mood to talk to him, but somehow he always ended up finding me before I had the chance to hide.

"Courtney," I felt a strong grip on my wrist, pulling me to the side of the hallway so that students could pass by.

I looked up at him, tall and masculine, with dark blue eyes and light brown curls. He plays football for Bradford; One of our most valuable players. I guess that's how he got those abs, or 'abdominals' as the football coach would call them, that every girl within a thirty mile radius obsesses over. Michael didn't look the least bit happy to see me. His eyes were cold and shallow, but they matched his personality right down to the core.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you back last night, if that's what you're going to ask about." I backed up against one of the pale green lockers, holding my chemistry book to my chest in defense. I knew Michael wouldn't dare lay a hand on me. He was a jerk, but he wasn't that much of a jerk. Lately, I was afraid of him, though, regardless of whether or not he would resort to physical violence.

I'm claustrophobic around him, too. He's so intimidating, being so tall and expressionless, that I feel trapped around him. Like he has me cornered with no way to escape. "No, it's not. I was going to say that I'm having a party at my house on the eighteenth, and I think you should be there. Maybe talk to some of the cheerleaders, get to know them. They really want to be friends with you, Courtney." I exhale, not even realizing that I was holding my breath to begin with.

He tilts his head a little, then looks me in the eyes. He isn't really looking at me, though; It was one of those strange, in a daze looks. He doesn't like my other friends. They're the bottom of the food chain to him. What he considers 'average'. Michael doesn't stand for average, ever. Especially since he was nowhere near it.

"I have my own friends, you know." I heard myself mumble.

"What I'm trying to say is, you should expand your friend base. It won't hurt to make new ones. But forget about it for now. You'll come, right?" He smiled, making me temporarily forget about how much of an asshole he's been.

"I guess so."

"Good. I'll see you later, alright? Gotta talk to the boys."

"Fine. Bye."

He gave me a quick peck on the lips, which only made me miss Jackson more. With him, I didn't feel intimidated, and he didn't expect too much from me like Michael did. Sometimes I wondered why Michael stuck with me; He could get any girl he wanted, without a doubt. I wasn't even the typical A-lister that the popular guys went for.

I spent fifth period in the library. Study hall was my favorite class, because I could sit there and think without being interrupted by pointless chatter and lectures. My grades were the least of my worries lately, so if you think I'd actually do homework in study hall, you've got another thing coming. Most days, I would sit on the floor in between a row of bookshelves and read The Diary of Anne Frank, over and over again, no matter how many times I've read it and already knew what happened in the end.

Margot reminded me of myself in a way. I definetely wasn't anything like Anne. She was so outspoken and brave and I was timid and lacked any sort of self-confidence I could possibly have. We were both completely different people, but I still admired her. And I'm not going to say it was because 'she was a good person'. That's the kind of stuff teachers want you to say in book reports.

I felt the pocket of my jeans vibrate. It tickled me through the denim fabric. I set Anne Frank aside and pulled my phone out. It wasn't the best, that's for sure. It was cheap and affordable. I couldn't afford anything expensive, like the iPhone. I've never been big on spending money.

New Text Message from Jackson.

"I miss you."

I smiled, looking around for the librarian before I hurriedly sent a text back.

"I miss you, too."

And suddenly everything seemed okay.
Because I had Jackson.
He had me.

And that was all that mattered.

Honestly, I didn't want to fall for Jackson. I know that might sound weird for my situation, but it's the truth.

It started out with the idea of being bed buddies, someone to cuddle with when Michael pissed me off, someone to kiss me to make up for all the times I'd been hurt. But I can't call him that anymore. It's different now, so much more different than how it was in beginning.

I was so mesmerized by him; I felt stuck in a trance, where he captivated my thoughts and appeared in my dreams every night because he was the last person I thought about before going to sleep.

I hated doing this. Hated the fact I was now a cheater.
Hated that some day I would have to tell Michael about it.

But he didn't seem to care about me anymore, and what was I supposed to do? I couldn't just break up with him, because deep down I know there's still something there. I know I'm stupid, I know it. I just can't bring myself to telling him the truth.

I could hear the rain dancing on the roof above me. It was like music, listening to the soft pitter-patter pounding against the shingles and sliding off into the night.

Eleven o'clock sharp, I heard a light knock on my bedroom window.

I was startled at first; Nobody ever came to my window, since it was on the second floor of our house. I knew it couldn't be Dad. He wasn't the kind of person to do roof work, nor would he climb up to the roof to knock on my window when he could just walk up the stairs. And my little sister Emily was definitely out of the question, since she was five and would most likely fall.

"Courtney, it's me." said the male voice I knew so well.

Jackson. My heart stopped beating so frantically as I made my way to the window and opened it for him to climb inside. He was drenched, for the rain was coming down harder now. I pulled him in for a hug even if it meant getting myself wet.

"What are you doing here? How did you get to my window?"

I stood with my head buried in his shoulder, my hands around his neck. I could feel my clothes beginning to dampen, but I didn't care. I didn't care at all. I was just happy to see him. Happy to see that he was standing here in my bedroom hugging me even if it was late on a school night.

"That tree out in your yard. The branch is close enough for me to jump onto the roof. I just needed to see you for a little while. I can't stand not being around you."

I pulled away from him, a grin sneaking on my face.

"You climbed a tree and jumped on my roof in the pouring rain just to see me?"

"Of course. I do miss you, you know. Weekdays are so hard without you. I wish we didn't have to do it like this." He sighed.

"I wish we didn't have to, either."

He leaned in to kiss me; It was so much more than what I felt when Michael kissed me these days. He was tender, and a lot more gentle with me. Kissing him was beyond perfect. He stopped, and I didn't want him to stop because I really wanted to kiss him more, but he just stared at me.

"What?"

"Nothing." He smiled, his dark brown hair swooping over his eyes in a cute, adorable little kid way. He was so breath-taking, I couldn't help but swoon over how cute and innocent he seemed.

"Why are you staring at me? Is there something on my face?" I immediately reached up to feel around for remains of dinner.

"No, no. That's not it. You're just beautiful. I'm glad to be here with you."

I laughed and felt myself blush. "Oh, come on."

"I'm serious. You're really beautiful, Courtney."

He smiled again, a gorgeous toothy-smile that makes your stomach fill up with that butterfly-like feeling and takes over your brain, making you want to draw little hearts all over your Calculus notebook instead of actually doing the math. That was the smile I fell in love with.

The past few months played a scene in my head, as I remembered all the fights with Michael and how Jackson ended up coming to my rescue. How he'd slept with me, and how he just wanted to hold me now. How he first told me he loved me, and how I had shrugged it off because I was scared.

"J-Jackson?" I stammered a little, hesitant.

"What?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"You're cheating on Michael? With Jackson Harper?" My best friend Miranda's eyes widened to the size of lemons as she cupped both hands over her mouth. We were sitting in Frank's Bar and Grill, where most teenagers from Bradford hung out before ten, when the bar would open and everyone underage would get kicked out.

"Shh, not so loud!" I kicked her underneath the table. I knew there were bound to be more than a few people we knew around, and I wouldn't know what to do if they overheard our conversation. I couldn't begin to imagine how I would get myself out of that.

"Okay, okay. I just can't believe it. Why? How? Since when?"

Her eyes practically bugged out of her face as she asked me questions. Normally, I tell Miranda everything. We have never kept any secrets from each other, but this time I felt I needed to wait. She tends to make a big deal about things, and I knew that if I told her this before, I would never hear the end of it.

"Two months ago." I revealed quietly.

She raised her left eyebrow. "And you never told me?"

"I never told anyone, Miranda. But I'm telling you now."

She rolled my words around and her head, and I guess she didn't care about how long I kept it from her, because she started right back up with the questions again.

"Why Jackson? Don't you think he's just using you?"

She flipped her black hair over her shoulder; Sometimes it made me jealous because she was absolutely gorgeous, with pretty light blue eyes and an outstanding sense of style. I always wondered why she didn't have a ton of boyfriends. Lots of guys would die to date her. But Miranda was never the type to get wrapped up in relationships.

"No, I mean, he was there for me when Michael and I started fighting. I don't know how it happened. He's so cute, it's unbelievable. Sweet, too. He just gets me, you know?" I took a sip of my peach iced tea and stared off into the distance.

I kept thinking about the night before, when I finally told him I love him back. Part of me was in an extreme state of happiness, but the rest of me wondered if he was just a rebound for all of the hurt Michael put me through in the past few months. I pushed that aside, knowing what we had together was real.

It was an unbreakable amount of silence before I could feel the tension about to end.

Miranda cracked up. "Do you know what you're saying?"

I looked at her, a little confused. "Huh?"

"You sound like one of those lovestruck girls in the movies, when they fall in love with some dreamy poet and start acting all weird talking about how 'he's the only one that really gets her' and all of that mumbo jumbo. It's kind of funny, actually."

"Miranda!" I shook my head. "It's not like that."

At least I don't think it's like that.

"Do you love him?"

"I think so."

"Yes, it's definitely like that."

She smiled, and pushed her salad around with her fork as she picked at the croutons and left all the green things alone in the bowl. She was funny like that; She would buy a salad but wouldn't eat the lettuce. Or she'd get spaghetti just to eat the meatballs. Nobody could describe her in one word. 'Interesting' wasn't even the half of it.

"So did you -- you know..."

Her lips curled up in a smile. This was the question I knew was coming; Miranda had a perverted mind and somehow always turned a decent conversation sexual.

"I can't share that information with you."

"You did, didn't you? How was it?"

That, I definitely wasn't going to tell her about yet. It was private, not something I was willing to share so easily. Of course, it was great. More than great, to be honest. And if I really wanted to go into detail, I would. But seeing as it's none of anyone's business, I'd rather not.

I rolled my eyes. "Eat your croutons, and be quiet."

"Shh, you'll wake up your dad." Jackson put a finger to my lips as he laid on top of me in my bed. I shifted myself underneath his body and looked up at him with a sly smile on my face. His hair looked a mess and he was a little sweaty but all in all, he was still ridiculously good looking. "What are you smiling at?" he asked, somewhat out of breath.

"Nothing," I whispered, though a smile remained on my face. "Keep going."

He pushed himself into me and I wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling him closer. It was amazing that we actually didn't wake up my dad, especially after all the times I had to sneak Jackson into my room during the night. His body and mine moved together in rhythm and it just felt so good I could barely hold it in anymore. I bit my lip. That seemed to help.

"Maybe we should try this at my place next time? You've never been there and I'm kind of interested in seeing how loud you really get. Besides, your attempt to be quiet is kind of distracting, and amusing, too." Jackson winked, leaning down to plant a kiss on my lips. The mixture between the taste of his lips and the smell of his cologne made my heart beat even more rapidly.

"Oh, ha ha, aren't you just quite the jokester." I said.

He grinned, "I'm not kidding, you're going to wake up your dad one of these days. I don't want him to take out his shotgun and shoot me in the head or anything."

I shot him a look and he laughed, then rolled to my side and put his arm around my waist. "You know you're the only girl I've enjoyed having sex with, right?"

I chuckled. "Oh, sure. I totally believe that."

I felt him squeeze my side. "I'm serious. None of them were as beautiful as you. And I believe you're forgetting the fact that I poured my heart out to you recently." He smiled. It was about to be a romantic moment until he moved himself on top of me and went back to work again. It really did take me a lot of effort to muffle the sound effects, but it made him laugh. That was what mattered. Despite how kinky the situation was turning out to be.

"Oh my!" I groaned, biting my lip harder.

"What?" I heard him say. I imagined his facial expression looked confused, but I wasn't too sure since my eyes were closed.

"Now I remember why you weren't a one night stand." I managed to get out in a full sentence.

I opened my eyes and Jackson put on this fake hurt look. "Oh, that's all I am to you? A good f***? And all this time I thought you loved me! Oh, I need to cry, this is too upsetting. I never thought casual sex would do this to me." he said. I cracked up. He and I were probably the only people who could have sex and joke around at the same time without it interfering.

He leaned down to kiss me again.

"I love you so much, you know that?" This time he looked serious.

"Yeah, I do, and I love you, too." I told him.

"Are you sure? I mean, I've never felt something like this before. No one else can make my stomach flip and my heart beat as fast as you do. And I've been with others, it's not like you're the first girl to come into my life. But you are the first girl I've fallen in love with. I can't be without you."

Jackson smiled, and that's when I knew. I knew I couldn't be without him either.

Before I knew it, it was the eighteenth. I had completely forgotten about Michael's party until I looked at the calender posted on the back of my bedroom door. Miranda was invited, too. She called in the morning to ask me what I was going to wear, and I asked what she was talking about because I literally forgot all about it. I wasn't too good with dates. Besides, I was never much of a partier.

I'd managed to make myself look somewhat attractive that night, dressed in a slim skirt and a tight red top Miranda let me borrow. It wasn't my style at all. I felt uncomfortable even attending a party, let alone looking like I belonged in a men's magazine. She assured me I looked fine, which I believed after a while because plenty of cars beeped as we walked a few blocks over to Michael's house.

I was nervous. Nervous that this was all wrong, that I shouldn't even be doing this. The sun was just setting, the sky glowing an orange-pink color. It was quite a pretty sight, even while my stomach was doing flip flops and making me feel sick. I tried any excuse I could to get out of going to Michael's party, but Miranda wouldn't budge. Not even a little bit. And within a few minutes we were there. Michael's house.

People poured out the front door, and into the backyard. It was surprising to see the cops hadn't been called yet, because the music was so loud you could hear it from the next street over. His parents must have been out of town. But then again, when did they ever care if he threw wild parties in their house? It's not like they were ever home to witness it.

Almost immediately after we arrived, Miranda escaped into the crowd.

I grabbed her by the arm just in time.

"Where are you going?" I yelled above all the noise.

"Around. Go mingle, party girl!" She teased, but smiled to let me know she'd find me later. I was in sheer panic; What in the hell was I to do now? I certainly wasn't going to indulge myself in the party scene. Over half of the girls were already trashed and nearly naked, which of course brought upon a lot of wild hoots from the male population. It was already bad enough that I needed to attend.

I instantly felt alone, despite the large amount of people Michael invited. On top of my massive claustrophobic tantrum I was silently having, he wasn't anywhere to be found. I thought I had seen him once, but when I went to find him he escaped again. Typical.

About a half an hour later, I worked up the courage to pull aside one of Bradford's cheerleaders. Her name was Brooke; She had long blonde hair, a fairly large chest, and was quite under the influence of probably more than a few things at the moment. That was all I knew about her, and all I ever wanted to know.

"Hi. Excuse me..." I said, trying my best to raise my voice over the ridiculous noise level. My head was beginning to hurt from all of the commotion.

Brooke looked at me, in all different sorts of highs.

I figured this was my que to go on. "Do you know where Michael is? I can't seem to find him anywhere."

"You're, uh... the girlfriend? S***. What's your name? Casey? Colleen?"

She laughed, and I felt like giving her a good, hard smack to the face for being such a trashy idiot, but I contained myself due to the fact that I'm a nice person and have never laid a hand on anyone in my life. Dad says I'm the type of person who would never hurt a house fly. Now, I am not one to promote violence, but I do get the urge to cause physical harm to others once in a while. I believe that is natural for everyone, though.

"My name is Courtney, actually. Do you know where Michael is?" I asked again.

"Michael... Uh. I don't know... His room, maybe? I don't know, sweetie."

I rolled my eyes, so close to walking right out of the door and back home. Miranda would be okay; She was a big girl and knew how to take care of herself. It wasn't like I would find her in this mess of people anytime soon, anyway. Especially in a house as big as Michael's. I can only imagine how the drunks feel trying to navigate around the maze.

Just as I turned away from Brooke, I ran head on into the devil.

"Hey, I didn't think you were coming." His normally ice-cold eyes were warm. He looked a lot different than how he does during the week. Cute, even. I was surprised to see him looking so alive. It was probably the most alive I've seen him look in ages.

"I'm here. I was just looking for you."

"I'm glad. Can we talk? Not here, though. In private. Want to take a walk?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

We walked in silence, a few streets over from his house, to the point where we couldn't hear the music anymore. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, looking at me with such curiosity I couldn't help but wonder what was going through his head. Michael and I haven't really talked at all lately. It seemed weird, because we were together every morning at school, but conversation usually wasn't a part of it.

"Courtney," he said after what felt like an eternity.

"Yeah?"

"I've missed you."

No. No, no, no, no, no. My mind raced; It did twirls, spins, and loops throughout my whole body and my face felt warm and my heart was still.

"I've missed you too," I started out slowly, choosing my words carefully. "But not who you are now. I've missed who you used to be."

He ran a strong, masculine hand through his hair and looked at me. "I know... I know. Can I ask you something? Why haven't you broken up with me yet? I'm a terrible boyfriend."

"Michael, please don't say things like that." I shook my head.

"I'm sorry about how I've been lately. It's not me. It really isn't. I've been making so many mistakes and I haven't been paying much attention to what really matters. And that's you." He pulled me towards him and kissed me deeply. This kiss was full of meaning, and suddenly I felt just like I did the first few months of our relationship.

"Michael..." I could hear the uncertainty in my voice.

Everything was all wrong. An instant red flag appeared in my head: What about Jackson? He was the one I wanted to be with, wasn't he? This couldn't be happening now, when things with Jackson were just getting perfect. Especially not after what has happened. Not after I cheated on Michael.

"I know I haven't been good to you. But I promise, I'll make up for that." He half-smiled, and hugged me tight. And as we made our way back to his house, he reached out his hand, and his fingers found their place in between mine for the first time in a long time.

I sat on the steps to my front porch, exhausted and confused from the day's previous events. Jackson was on his way over. I had invited him. Said it was important. The night sky was pitch black; Looking up, the moon was very bright and luminant, and I wanted more than anything to be far away where I wouldn't be caught in between such a dramatic situation.

The air was a little chilly for mid-October. I was far too tired to go inside for a jacket, so I hugged myself to keep warm. I couldn't help but wonder where Miranda was as I looked down at the clothing I had worn to Michael's party. I hadn't seen her since she left me, but I knew she was okay. She's a big girl.

As usual, Jackson appeared within the next couple minutes. The expression on his face looked dazed, like he'd just gotten out of bed. I figured I'd woken him up; It was pretty late, after all. His hair was ruffled and uncombed, but somehow he still looked amazing to me.

"What's wrong?" His eyebrows furrowed as he ran a strong hand through his hair.

I motioned for him to sit down.

I had no clue what I was about to do; The feelings in my stomach were starting to stir up and I could feel the taste of vomit on my tongue, although I didn't do any actual vomiting. I clutched my side with one hand as I winced in pain momentarily. I finally looked him in the eyes, which caused a big commotion in my mind because everything I planned to say was gone once I saw his face. It disappeared, just like that.

I knew I still loved Michael, despite what he had put me through in the past few months. But I felt something for Jackson, too. Something so strong and inevitable that my thoughts were disoriented.

"Ugh, Jackson." I sighed, burying my head in my lap as I let out a rush of tears. I didn't want him to see me crying. I was sure I looked even worse now that my eyes were watery and red. I wiped them with the back of my hand and a dark black smudge of mascara left its own little tattoo on my skin.

"Babe," He took my hand and ran his fingers gently over it. "Please tell me what's wrong."

I shook my head, feeling like a major idiot for blubbering like a child.

"The party. Michael's party. He told me he's sorry. And -- And he kissed me. Oh, gosh, Jackson. I don't know. I really don't."

Jackson pulled his hand from mine so fast that I looked up at him, forgetting all about the mascara I had running down my cheeks. He looked so upset, I could have sworn he'd just been slapped. He stood up abruptly, stone cold. Then with anger, he turned and stared at me.

"You still love him, don't you? After everything we've been through? I told you I love you."

"Jackson, I've been with him for a long time. It's difficult. You know I love you." I cried.

"After everything he's done to you, Courtney. And you still want him. You still want to be with him. Does it really matter if he apologized? Sorry is just one word, and it will never erase what happened in the past."

"I know that."

"If you know that, then why are you retracing your steps? You're going right back to him. If you love him, why would you tell me you love me?"

I paused, "That's not what I'm trying to get at. I do love you, Jackson."

"Then what are you trying to get at? Because I was the one who cared. I still do care. I love you Apparently you're just throwing the word around like it means absolutely nothing. I don't want to be lead on."

Arguing with Jackson was even worse than arguing with Michael, because I wasn't used to seeing a typically quiet, down to earth person in such an upset state. I could feel the pain in my heart building; I was breaking into pieces right there on my front porch, and nothing could save me. Nothing could fix the mess I had gotten myself into.

"It does mean something. I'm just confused."

"Well, give me a call when you know what you want. Alright?"

And he walked away, leaving me alone to sort my thoughts out in the cold night.

The next few days were quiet; I hadn't talked to Miranda since the party. It seemed like every time I appeared, she would disappear within a few seconds, and I didn't understand why. Jackson wouldn't even look my way, either, let alone speak to me. Every apology I made went right through his ear and out the other. I was worried he would never forgive me, that he'd just forget about us completely. I knew I what I was doing was wrong. I knew, but I still did it anyway, regardless of what my mind kept telling me.

Dad even noticed something was wrong when I came downstairs for breakfast. He moved down the newspaper and looked at me, then asked me what the frown was about. I didn't necessarily know I was frowning, but I guess my mood was a little bit too obvious. "Nothing, Dad." I gave my best smile, and walked over to the cabinet for a glass.

As I opened the refrigerator door, I could still feel him looking at me. I felt compelled to say more.

"I just have a big test at school tomorrow. Big, big test. I'm a little bit stressed."

I turned around and he seemed to believe this excuse, thank God. "Better get studying, then. Your grades are beginning to drop." He shook his head.

I half smiled, pouring a glass of orange juice and heading back up to my room before he asked me anymore questions.

All I could think about was Jackson. I left countless voicemails on his answering machine that I wasn't sure he'd even listen to. It was worth a shot, though. I just needed to hear from him. I had to hear his voice. Hear him say, "It's okay, baby. I love you.", just one time. I missed those words. I missed them so much, and it scared me, because I wasn't sure I would ever hear them again. In cartoons, when something bad happens, a devil and an angel pop up on the character's shoulders and try to convince them what to do. That's how I felt at the moment.

"I can't do this right now."

That was the text message I received from Jackson. It sent shivers through my spine and spears through my heart.

"Please talk to me, I need you." I replied.

"Stop it, Courtney. You're playing with his head." The angel on my shoulder whispered.

Except the devil screamed, "Keep it up, Courtney. Why have one when you can have two?"

Both repeated themselves over and over again in my head. It was a constant battle, and I was stuck in the war zone. I loved Jackson; It was just that I had Michael. That night at his party, I realized that maybe we could work things out. His kiss was so sincere, like he was really sorry for hurting me. I felt bad for cheating on him.

But what I had with Jackson was incredible and the heartache in my chest after our fight was unbearable. I couldn't stand to lose him. I couldn't stand to just let things go, after everything that had happened between us; I brought him into my life to help me forget about my relationship, but my relationship was constantly on my mind since the night of the party.

It was my fault. And I knew that. But I was crazy in love with a guy that was supposed to be my 'Friend with Benefits', and I was falling in love again with a guy that was a complete asshole to me for seventy five percent of our relationship.

My phone vibrated from my bedside table, scaring me out of my thoughts.

A text message. But it wasn't from Jackson. It was from Michael. Kind of shocking.

"Meet me somewhere."

Meet him somewhere? Okay. Okay, I could do that. Maybe I could straighten things out once and for all. Maybe I could come clean about Jackson.

"Alright. Is the park good?" I texted back.

I could still hear the devil on my shoulder trying to convince me that nothing was wrong with this situation. I wanted to believe that. I really did. But I couldn't believe something that wasn't true. The devil was a liar. And I could never believe a lie.

Another vibration.

"Perfect."

The reason I stay with Michael is because he was the one who helped me the most through my mother's death. I fell in love with him and how much he seemed to care about me. No one seems to understand this, and I'm sure I've focused on mainly all of the bad things about Michael, but to be honest, there's a nice guy in there. Even if he has been hiding for the past couple months. I know he's still there. I also know that I'm a terrible person. I cheat on my boyfriend, and that kills me inside. I know that I've come too far now to forget about it. It wouldn't be remotely possible to do so, with the feelings I have for Jackson constantly on my mind. My heart was breaking, but I was the true heart-breaker.

I arrived at the park and Michael was sitting on the swing, completely motionless and staring up at the moon. He used to tell me staring at the moon when he's in deep thought helps him focus more. I sat down in the swing next to him and looked up at the moon, too. I don't think he truly noticed I was there until I spoke.

"What's on your mind?" I asked.

Michael shrugged. "Have you ever felt," He paused, searching for the right words to say next. "Like you did something wrong, and didn't know how to fix it?"

My heart dropped. Little did he know, I felt like that all the time, and I didn't like it one bit. "Yeah, I know what you mean." I said. He took his gaze away from the bright moon and looked at me deeply. His eyes looked pained and worrisome.

"I feel like I failed you. Like I let us fall apart, and didn't do anything about it. I lay in bed at night, and I just wonder. I wonder what the hell was wrong with me. I had problems. Big problems. But then I simply shut you out and ignored them instead of letting you in. I realize you could have helped me, like I helped you. I don't know why I kept it from you." He sighed lightly.

"Kept what from me? What kind of problems?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowing in concern and also a bit of shock. It was kind of surprising to hear that popular, well-liked jock Michael had any type of problems at all. His life seemed pretty damn great from the outside looking in. But maybe I was blind to something. Maybe he really did have problems. After all, doesn't everyone?

His expression changed and I could tell he felt uncomfortable, but he continued to talk.

"My parents aren't business people like I told you they were. They don't travel all around the world on business trips making money. You see, the truth is... My dad. He -- He's a drug addict. It's very serious."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.

"A couple of years ago, my mom walked in on him shooting up, and she found countless bags of coke underneath their mattress. It was terrible. She told him she was going to get him help, and he slapped her right across the face. You know what he said back to her? He said, 'I don't need anyone's help, and I sure as hell don't need you telling me what I need.' She was so shocked that she starting crying, so I held her in my arms, and I cried. too. I was losing my father. She was losing her husband. Then a few weeks after that, he literally pulled a bag out at the dinner table, pushed his plate to the side, and was fixated on doing a line right there. That's when my mom couldn't take anymore. She packed up their things and moved to a rehabilitation center with him so he could get the help he needed." I saw a glimmer in Michael's eyes, like he was ready to cry. It was probably the most emotional moment I have ever witnessed.

"But... But your house! Your beautiful house! You live by yourself then? How?" I wondered.

He shrugged, looking back up at the moon again. "My grandparents sent my uncle out here to buy a house. They originally wanted me to move out there with them, but no way in hell was I moving to Arizona, so along came my rich ass uncle Frank to the rescue. He lived with me for about a year, then I guess it seemed like I didn't need him anymore, because he bought an apartment a few miles away and told me to call him if I ever did. I was sixteen at the time. He pays all of the bills for me, though, so I've never had to worry about anything."

I just looked at him. I felt a mix of emotions; For one, I felt sad. He had to deal with his own dad's drug addiction at sixteen year old. It was terrible. Another emotion? Pissed off. Why couldn't he trust me to help me, like I had trusted him for help coping with the death of my mother? Tears erupted in my eyes and I could feel them rolling gently down my cheeks.

"Why didn't you tell me? I thought we could tell each other everything. You shut me out of your life for months and made mine a living hell. Why couldn't you just tell me?" I tried to wipe the tears off my face with the back of my hand but more kept appearing as I thought about the situation we were all facing.

Michael stood up, then pulled me up from the swing to hug me. "I know. I know... I don't expect you to be happy with me right now." he said, squeezing me. I wanted to pull away from his hug, but I needed the comfort. "But I do expect you to believe me when I tell you how much I wish I could go back in time."

The next day I was sitting at Michael's dining room table with a glass of wine and a plate of spaghetti. He had decided the night before that he wanted to make dinner for me, in order to help us get close again. I figured it would be a good idea, though I still had a lot of other stuff on my mind, like the fact Jackson still didn't want anything to do with me.

Maybe it was better that way, but for some reason I couldn't get rid of the pain in my chest. I wanted to fix everything, but how was the question. How would I ever get myself out that situation?

"How's the dinner?" Michael asked nervously. I could tell he spent time trying to get things absolutely perfect. "I guess I'm okay at cooking since I have to cook for myself all the time, but I never go all out and make anything fancy. Not that spaghetti is fancy, it's just not something a one-man household usually has for dinner. I normally just make soup, or grilled cheese, or something."

I grinned, not mentioning that living with more than one person necessarily means you eat spaghetti more often. I normally didn't eat spaghetti, simply because Dad spends most of his time with Emily now that our mom died and I've never really been the social type, especially after the incident, so no one bothered cooking anything fancy at our house, either.

"It's really good. Thanks. You didn't need to, though." I smiled, twirling spaghetti around my fork before popping it in my mouth.

He sipped his wine slowly, then smiled. "But I wanted to." he told me.

We continued to eat dinner for the most part in silence, aside from the occasional average conversation. He seemed to be thinking of ways to keep everything going smoothly, while I was thinking of how interesting it was that he made dinner for the two of us. If anyone at school knew this side of him, he'd be a completely different person. But no, everyone knows him as that loud, outgoing, handsome jock. Most people in those categories tend to be assholes, and he had certainly been one for months, but at least he had a reason. Maybe all the other guys had reasons, too.

As I sat there eating my spaghetti, I began to wonder if ending things with Jackson would help me fully focus on my relationship with Michael. Of course, I didn't want to end things, but it had already made plenty of problems arise and I didn't want to deal with any more of them. Besides, I was supposed to be faithful to Michael. It seems unjust to say that after the whole affair, and it is, but what else was I going to do?

Michael stood up to put his now empty plate away and I handed him mine, too. He walked into the kitchen and I heard him shuffling around with the glasses and plates in the dishwasher. "Thank you. I appreciate all of this, I really do." I called out to him.

He came back in the room and gave me a gentle look. "You're welcome. After my parents left I didn't really get the chance to do things like this for anyone, but I'm hoping this is a good start." he shrugged, standing in the doorway. "Care to watch a movie with me? If you want to spend the night, that would be fantastic. I haven't gotten to spend this much time with you in a while."

I agreed with a smile and we went upstairs to his room. I don't remember what movie we watched, but it was something in the horror genre and kind of cheesy from what I do remember. It was one of those horror movies where you can tell what is going to happen before it happens because the characters are so stupid and no matter how much you yell at the television for them not to do something, they always end up doing the most stupid thing possible.

The only other thing I remembered about that night, was that we did it. I don't know how it happened; We were kissing and he told me he loved me and then five minutes later, boom. And it was just as good as it was before. I guess that's another thing I missed about Michael.

Monday went by fast and so did Tuesday, but Wednesday seemed to be dragging on forever. By fourth period, I was dragging myself along and it felt as if it were time to go home. In reality, though, there were another four periods left to go and I had a nice, big pile of homework already. I didn't see Miranda or Michael at all, and Jackson was still ignoring me like I didn't exist. I didn't have anyone else to talk to, since I wasn't exactly a people person. Therefore I sat there, staring at the plain, off-white wall and occasionally doing some people watching, not even bothering to do anything else.

I had a calculus test that kept me occupied for twenty minutes, then it was back to being bored again for another twenty five while I watched everyone else mingle with each other and throw tiny paper airplanes all over the room. Our teacher, Mr. Johnson, didn't seem to care much now that everyone had completed his test, so he barely looked up to notice the commotion that was going on in his classroom. This girl Leah, who everyone knows as the school slut yet she's somehow still popular, was flirting with a couple of the football players all at the same time. She flipped her light brown curls over her shoulder and batted her long eyelashes at them every few seconds, and I wanted to gag at the sight. I looked around the room again. A weird boy who's name I don't even know was talking to Mr. Johnson about some scientific model he constructed. Mr. Johnson nodded often and said "Yeah" periodically, but I knew he wasn't listening.

The weekend played itself in my head and I smiled somewhat happily, temporarily removing all other wandering thoughts from my mind. I did love Michael. It was obvious. He seemed to be returning to his old self, and that was definitely a good thing, but I couldn't help but feel like a terrible person. All of the thoughts flooded back into my mind in a quick rush. I was a terrible person. A terrible person.

It seemed like everything was in slow motion for me while it was in fast motion for everybody else. I looked around me and the world was moving so rapidly, but I sat there, motionless. Waiting. Waiting for the time when someone invented a remote for life. You could pause, restart, rewind, or fast forward it. But none of those options were going to happen for me, because life unfortunately wasn't a movie. And unfortunately for me, it never would be.

I decided after ten minutes that I was going to text Jackson, and so I did just that.

"You still mad at me?" I asked him. I really didn't need him to respond to this question, since I already knew it was going to be a yes before I felt the vibration of my phone a minute later.

"You still trying to have your cake and eat it too?" he replied. There was my answer.

If you could literally have your cake and eat it too, I'd imagine the world would be very obese. I, on the other hand, have never been much of a cake person, but Jackson wouldn't believe me if I told him that.

Before I could get a chance to say anything back, I was interrupted by a few taps on my desk by french-manicured fingernails. I looked up and the blonde bimbo from the party was sitting in front of me, wide-eyed and alert. I looked back at her with a weird glance, because her eyebrows furrowed and this serious look appeared on her face that I had never seen before, and I awkwardly stared back with a little eyebrow furrow of my own wondering what she wanted and not having a clue what I was supposed to say to her.

"Umm.. Courtney, correct? Listen, I need to talk to you." Brooke said, lowering her voice to a slight whisper.

I raised an eyebrow. "Okay? About what?" I asked her.

She looked around the room, making sure no one was listening in on the conversation, even though it was highly unlikely that anyone really cared. "Uh, I really can't talk about it right now, but it's kinda important.. Can you meet me at the diner on 5th street, like, after school? I know you're probably like, why the hell is this dumb b**** talking to me. But this is urgent, so I think you should come." she said in what sounded like one whole breath.

"Uh, alright then... I guess I'll be there." I said slowly and curiously. She smiled nervously, got up, and walked away.

I sat there, still motionless. What could Brooke Dawson possibly have to tell me?

I sat in the diner on 5th street worriedly, wondering if Brooke was really going to show up, or if this was some stupid prank because she didn't like me. Of course, I didn't know whether or not she liked me. I've only talked to her twice, and it was more that I didn't like her, simply because she had the IQ of a rock and was typically not the type of person I could ever see myself hanging out with. But I was curious, still.

The waitress appeared suddenly at my table and asked me if I wanted anything. I ordered a Coke. She gave me the standard smile, wrote it down on her little yellow notepad, and then proceeded to tell me about the day's specials and famous soups. I politely declined any further service, and she left. I felt bad for her. I could never be a waitress. I couldn't fake a smile for people all day long and continuously talk about soup when I had problems of my own hiding in the back of my mind.

The lady came back with my Coke shortly after. I figured out her name was Margaret by looking at her name tag. She was a younger woman. A college student, possibly. Long red hair and green eyes. A pretty girl. I wondered what a woman like her was doing working at a diner when she was probably busy with other things.

"Thank you." I said, and she smiled again before returning to work.

I sipped the drink slowly and within three minutes, I heard the bell chime off of the opening door, and in walked Brooke Dawson. Her hands were in her pockets and her head was down. She somewhat reminded me of myself for those ten seconds, shy and timid. But I knew it was an illusion. Brooke was the same loud, annoying girl who smoked marijuana daily and drank hard liquor for fun. I was the kind of person who read books and watched romance movies on Lifetime.

"Hi," she said, taking a seat across from me. Calling Margaret over briefly, she ordered a water and then looked back at me nervously.

"Hi.. Can we make this quick? I have somewhere to be." I lied, but I figured since it was her, she would believe it.

She tapped her acrylic nails on the table lightly and moved a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. I could tell she was hesitant, but I wanted her to say something already. It was starting to bug me.

"Okay," she agreed. "But you didn't hear this from me."

I nodded, feeling my stomach turn. I almost wanted to get up and leave just to avoid having this conversation. Margaret came back with the water and Brooke took her time sipping it and twirling around her straw. Then she sighed.

"I know we're not friends or anything, but I was in the bathroom at school today and Miranda was in there, too. She wasn't alone, though. She was in the stall..." she stated. I looked at her blankly, waiting for the rest. I hated the suspense. "And Michael was in there, too."

At this point I felt like my insides were going to fall out. I couldn't say anything. "I heard them together.. Kissing, or something, I don't know. But she was telling him how good it was to hook up at the party. That's when I realized, that's probably what he was doing when you were looking for him that night. I ran out of that bathroom so fast, I didn't want them to know I was in there. I don't know if they heard me, but I needed to tell you. He's my friend, but you deserve to know."

I felt an instant rush of tears I couldn't hold back. My boyfriend and my best friend? My only friend? How could that happen? I thought Miranda was a good friend. Why would she do this to me?

Brooke reached out and squeezed my hand lightly. "I'm so sorry. He's a dirt-bag." she said.

I cried, and as much as I wanted to stop, I couldn't stop crying for nearly ten minutes. Customers were glancing at me and whispering, but that couldn't stop the crying, either. I looked up and locked eyes with Margaret, and even though she was very blurry behind my teary-eyed vision, I could tell she was staring sympathetically back at me, knowing exactly what I was feeling like at that moment.

"It will be okay. You don't need him." I felt another squeeze, this time with a little more strength.

I finally looked at Brooke, who looked just as sympathetic as Margaret and was worried more than I ever thought someone like her could be about someone like me. She was right, but I didn't know what to say. I wiped away my tears, though a few more leaked out onto my cheeks. I left them there.

"I'll be okay." I said. But would I really?

On this morning, the halls at Bradford High were especially quiet. Quieter than normal, and it scared me, almost. It was cold and vacant, though plenty of people passed me as I walked down the hall. The white walls were pale and no one seemed to speak, but maybe I was just tuning them out on purpose. I didn't want to have anything to do with anyone, at all. Not Jackson. Not Michael. And especially not Miranda.

So when I saw her a few moments later, I was less than thrilled. There were a million other things I would rather be doing at that moment than confronting her. But I was going to do it, for myself, even though I was ridiculously scared out of my mind. I've never been good with confrontation.

Seconds after, I was standing in front of her, trying to put on my best courageous face.

"Hey, Courtney." she said with a smile.

Okay, this is it, I thought.

"Hi there, backstabbing 'best friend'. Great to see you today." I said, my voice raising slightly out of anger.

"What? What are you talking about?" Miranda's face turned completely white, and that's when I knew for sure that Brooke was telling the truth.

"How could you? You know exactly what I'm talking about," I said. I was getting a bit ballsy now, and it was probably just as much of a shock to her as it was to me. I wasn't the kind of girl capable of being mean. I was the girl who forgave people for their faults and felt terrible when a homeless man walked around in old, dirty clothes. I wasn't a mean person. I was a nice person. But I guess there's a first time for everything, right?

"When did you decide to start screwing my boyfriend? I know everything. I know that you've been hooking up with him... but you know what I didn't know? That my 'best friend' was such a whore."

People were staring now. Watching. Watching intently and curiously. Wondering what was happening but too interested in the fight to care. They just wanted to see a hair-pulling, b****-slapping cat fight. That's the only thing that interested them, I was sure of it. Teenagers feed off of high school drama like a dinner plate.

"Ladies!" a teacher hissed at us from down the hall.

Michael appeared at just the right time. I guess he had heard something was happening. Maybe he was a drama feeder, too. But when he saw the two of us standing there, and the obvious look of anger played out on my face, he began to back up slowly and a look of true fear displayed on his face. He knew just what was going on.

"And you! You told me you loved me! You made me dinner! Now I know why. You gave me some bullshit apology at your party because you just finished hooking up with her, and you felt guilty. Well, how do you feel now? I hope you're just overflowing with joy." I yelled in his direction with clear sarcasm.

Miranda stepped in now. "You think you're any better? I'm sure you didn't tell him what you've been doing for the past couple months."

"What?" Michael said, confused now.

The entire student body was listening, waiting curiously to see what would happen next, as if they were watching a Lifetime movie. I was frozen, stone cold, dismissing the surrounding whispers and realizing what was really happening. Michael had been with Miranda all along. Everything after this would come to an screeching halt. There were no other options anymore.

"What?" Michael impatiently repeated himself. I didn't dare breathe. I was in a state of shock and I could hardly believe Miranda was about to rat me out.

"She was busy with Jackson Harper, doing the dirty. Oh, and did she also mention that she's in love with him? There you go, Court. I made things easier for you." SHE said, revealing everything to everyone and anyone who was listening.

Michael stared me down with the same cold blue eyes I've grown so familiar with. His eyes were like Medusa; I could practically feel myself turning to stone by the second. "I guess we're even then. Seems like you really didn't give a s*** about me, anyway. Have a good life, Courtney." he said with absolutely no emotion whatsoever.

These words pierced my heart, breaking it into millions of tiny pieces and sending me running down the hall and out the front doors for some fresh air. I couldn't go back in there. Not now. Not when the whole school probably thought I was a slut. Not when my ex-best friend was in there with my now ex-boyfriend. I sat on the front steps and buried my face in my lap. I was sad. Upset, to say the least. But for what reason? I was the one who put myself in the situation to begin with. Karma was only getting the best of me. Maybe it was for the best.

"Wanna get out of here?" I heard a voice. My head snapped up instantly, because I knew who's voice it belonged to, and also because I couldn't believe it was actually him. I turned my head and there he was, as sweet and gorgeous as always.

Jackson smiled a little, and my heart pumped ferociously just by being in his presence. I thought I was only imagining everything in my head. "Jackson?" I said, awestruck. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I would rescue the girl of my dreams. I think I'm gonna buy you staples tonight, if you don't mind." he stated simply, reaching out and pulling me up from the steps. I wiped away the few tears that had leaked onto my cheeks, and tried my best to fake a smile that seemed somewhat believable.

"Staples?" I said, confused.

He shrugged, and then chucked briefly. "I want to fix your broken heart. My mom said I'd be a good doctor."

"You're not mad anymore?" I asked him.

"Don't get things twisted, now. I'm not very happy with you, but unlike that asshole? I'm a good guy. I don't want to hurt you. That doesn't make everything okay, though. It doesn't erase the fact that you went right back go him when I was the one who showed you what true love is," Jackson said with a hint of disgust in his voice. "Now I'm here, yet again. I oughta give Michael a good punch in the face."

The thought of this made me smile. A real smile that I didn't have to fake. Jackson's look of disgust slowly transformed into a look of confusion. "What the heck are you smiling about?" he wondered out loud.

"Just thinking about you punching him in the face. It's a pretty nice visual." I admitted.

Now he smiled, too. "Yeah. It is, isn't it?" He began walking down the steps, then turned around to beckon me when he arrived at the very bottom. "You coming, Cinderella? I don't think you're gonna find your slipper anywhere around here."

Skipping school was something I've never imagined myself doing. I've heard stories of people who did things like this on a regular basis, to go smoke a few blunts and act 'too cool for school' like John Bender from The Breakfast Club. I couldn't really see the fun in that, but then again I had never smoked anything in my life, especially not a blunt.

So the day I skipped school for the first time, I was pretty relieved that I wasn't going to get high. Jackson wanted me to spend the day with him at his house. I was concerned that his mother would get mad that we weren't at school, but he said she wouldn't mind because she was a cool parent and was dying to meet me, anyway.

They lived on the other side of town, in a nice little house somewhat hidden by a giant maple tree in the front yard. It was different from the houses in East Bradford. West Bradford was a pretty quiet area, and the houses weren't anywhere near as big as the East, but they were cute for small families such as Jackson and his mother. We walked inside and the smell of coffee filled the air.

"Mom, I'm home. Courtney's here, too. Jackson called out.

A slight clash of metal erupted.

"Oh! Hold on a second," his mother said. She came hurriedly from the kitchen with a bright smile on her face. "I was just making some coffee to drink with my lunch. Hi, Courtney. I've heard a lot about you!" she smiled again.

"Mom.." Jackson warned.

"What? Did you expect me to just say hello and go away? I wanted to meet the beautiful young woman you never stop talking about. Don't be embarrassed. Girls love knowing a guy tells people about her. Right, Courtney?" She winked and laughed, and I giggled a little myself because it was true.

Jackson's mom was a very petite, pretty woman. Her exquisite features were quite obvious in him as well. The two of them looked strikingly similar, despite the fact he towered over her. She reminded me of my own mother, when she was alive. Always so nice and genuine. "I'm Brenda. You can come over anytime you'd like to, sweetie." she said, pulling me in for a hug.

"Thank you." I said awkwardly, returning her hug.

We ended up in Jackson's room after Brenda decided her coffee was going to get cold if she kept up the chit-chat, and I was completely astonished at all of the artwork covering his walls. There were so many drawings and paintings that I had absolutely no clue what color the walls actually were. "Wow, where did all this stuff come from?" I asked.

"I drew most of them." He said nonchalantly.

"Seriously? These are amazing." I exclaimed, gazing intently at a drawing of a German Shepard posted right above his bed. "Why didn't you ever tell me you could draw? I'm such a bad artist, I can't even draw a perfect circle." I pouted.

He grinned. "That's cute."

I shook my head. Cute? No. I had the artistic talent of a fourth grader. Nothing cute about that.

"I'll draw something for you sometime."

"Promise?" I said.

"Of course."

And with that, he began to teach me how to draw a circle. That was cute.

The phrase 'We need to talk' is dreaded by millions of people all over the world. There's usually never a good outcome when that talk happens. It puts many girls in tears every time. When I heard those four words, I had absolutely no idea why, or what I could have possibly done wrong, and it bothered me more than I could put into words.

I simply walked as slow as I could to the park where I was told to go, scared to the point where I could feel the goosebumps popping up all over my arms and the nauseous feeling attacking my stomach with violent force. My mind, at the moment, was working in over-time trying to figure out what this conversation was going to be about. Every little possibility that I came up with just didn't seem to fit.

I dragged my feet along heavily. The entrance to the park was in clear view. My stomach turned and I didn't know what to think. What did I do? What did I do? I kept asking myself in my head. But I didn't know. Normally, in situations like this one, I would call Miranda for advice, but I hated her now. I contempleted calling anyways, because I wanted to scream at her a bit more but talking to her would only provoke more problems.

My heart was sinking rapidly now. I could feel it panicking beneath my chest.

Jackson was sitting on the bench twiddling his thumbs when I got there. His facial expression appeared to be just as nervous as I felt. I was barely breathing when I took a seat next to him.

"So?" I said impatiently after a minute of awkward silence.

He sighed and my heart started to sink even more, to the point where it would be very deep in my stomach if it were even remotely possible. I wanted to hurry up and get the conversation over with for the sake of my stomach.

"Listen.. this is kind of important." he told me, running his hand through his hair and staring up at the cloudy sky.

"Just spit it out." I heard myself say.

"I.. I don't think.. I don't think we're going to work out."

This sentence caught me off guard more than the original 'We need to talk'. I was speechless. I didn't even know what to think, or what to feel. I opened my mouth, but nothing even slightly comprehensible came out. I was about to regain my composure when Jackson began to speak again.

"I'm just kidding! What kind of idiot would I be if I said something that dumb and actually meant it?"

I took a breath for the first time in what felt like five minutes.

"Jackson!" I groaned, partly furious and partly relieved. "That definitely wasn't necessary."

"I'm sorry. You probably almost had a bowel movement right there."

I rolled my eyes. "Funny. Ha-ha." I said in obvious sarcasm.

"Very funny. But I do have something important we need to discuss." he told me, and the stomach pains returned even though I was almost positive that whatever he needed to talk about wouldn't be bad.

"Well I was thinking," Jackson looked at me, his gorgeous white smile turning the stomach pains into pretty little, fluttering butterflies. "And normally I would never do this, but right now, it's everything I want. Everything. I mean it. I really care about you."

"I care about you, too. I always will."

He reached over and held my hand in his lap, gently running his fingers over mine.

"Be my girlfriend."

I smiled. "Of course I will."

The looks on peoples' faces were less than pleasant after seeing me in the halls with Jackson. I could hear them whispering, and they were awfully bad at hiding it. It was clear to me that not many people approved of the new relationship as much as the old one. Maybe because it was too soon. Maybe it was because Jackson and Michael were completely opposite people and had absolutely nothing in common.

Jackson was sweet and sensitive, and Michael was an asshole. That was that. At this point I didn't even understand why Miranda wanted him; She knew exactly how he was, considering I cried to her numerous times about his outlandish ways. She had even told me a few times that he was wrong for me and that I deserved better. Funny how that worked out. I guess the rules don't work the same way for her.

But I didn't care what people thought anymore. I didn't care how they felt, or why they felt that way. These people weren't my friends. Hell, I didn't even have those anymore. So why did I care what they thought before? I didn't know the answer to that.

Before I dated Michael, no one knew my name. No one knew anything about me at all. I was the average book-worm, who sat in the library reading Anne Frank and never talked to anyone except for Miranda Foster. The girl who never tried drugs, never tried alcohol, and had never done anything bad in her life. The girl who's never had a Saturday detention or anything close to one. Now, everyone knew who I was. I was the 'slut' who cheated on the hottest guy known to Bradford and would deeply regret it. The 'b****' who completely fucked up her own relationship and hooked up with a downgrade. The 'whore' who didn't care about anyone's feelings. That part was somewhat true. I didn't care. I did at one point. Not anymore.

I did care to some extent. I cared about Jackson, his mom, my dad, and little sister. I cared about my own mom even though she was only a memory in my head now. Margaret from the diner, despite the fact I didn't have a clue what kind of person she was. And Brooke, because she cared about me when I hadn't cared about her. That was about it for my cup of care. No one else deserved it.

Jackson held my hand like it was nothing, and together we showed everyone that their opinions didn't matter to us. The gossiping didn't cease, of course, but it started to slow down, eventually. I suppose they realized that their obnoxious name-calling and immaturity wasn't striking a good enough effect on us for them. Usually that's when they decide to pick on somebody else.

Michael was obviously not thrilled about everything, either. He looked pissed off to the point that I feared he was going to say something, but instead he grabbed Miranda and kissed her on the cheek with his arm wrapped comfortably around her waist. B****, I thought. The sight of them together was sickening. Revolting, even. I hated being in their presence, probably just as much as they didn't like being in mine. Of course, I was still furious that Miranda would stoop to such a level and break the code of best-friendship. What a great friend she was. Not.

The anger I had towards Michael wasn't quite as fierce, because I knew he was an asshole and he'd probably do the same thing to Miranda, which only made me feel better about myself. It amused me how she giggled a little when she saw me and hugged him tighter, because the joke would be on her in the end. She'd feel the exact way I felt. Something about that cheered me up a bit. So I sucked it up. I was starting a whole new life now. Neither of them would affect me anymore.

And to show that, I smiled, waved, and said hello to the wonderful new couple.

It felt good to be in study hall. I missed Anne Frank more than ever, especially since the entire relationship drama-fest took over my life. It was nice to know that I wasn't the only one with problems. I guess that's one reason the book was so enjoyable to read. I missed the days when I was little, though, when my parents would tell me fairy-tales about princesses and how things always worked out for them in the end. Characters in tales like that never have any problems similar to the ones Anne and I have. Not even close. I was insanely jealous of those princesses. I wanted everything to be okay, too. I wanted true happiness.

I cuddled up with Anne's diary in the least popular aisle of the school library, therefore no one would bother me while I was finishing. I was close to the end of the book, for probably the twentieth time, and the story was still as brilliant as always. It was brutally sad, as most tragedies are, but I seemed to cry harder each time I read it, even though I already knew the ending. It was just too depressing not to cry about.

Right when I was about to let my emotions come rolling on out, I heard footsteps coming towards me from the other end of the aisle. I glanced up briefly, a little bewildered. To my surprise, it was Brooke. I supposed she was searching for me, because it was otherwise highly doubtful for her to be anywhere near the library. I set the book down beside me, prepared for conversation.

"What's up?" I said, expecting some sort of news from her that would bring me to another emotional breakdown. I definitely was not ready for another one of those. I couldn't handle it. I would probably have an anxiety attack and die if that were the case. One was enough.

"Not much, just wanted to see how things are going." she told me as she sat down beside me on the gray carpet.

"Pretty good, surprisingly. After a few days ago, at least." I admitted.

"That's great. Have you talked to Michael at all? I doubt you have, but I dunno. Who knows." Brooke wondered. She brought her knees up and rested her chin on them.

"I said hello to him and Miranda this morning. That's about it." I said.

She laughed at the humor of the situation and I told her that was why I did it in the first place.

"You and Jackson are much better together, honestly. Don't worry about anyone else. I mean, like, things will probably go a lot smoother after today, you know?" she shrugged.

I shrugged, too, because I didn't know for sure how smoothly things would go. Hopefully a lot smoother, like she said. But if not? Then I'd just have to suck it up like always. That was the smart thing to do. I didn't really have a choice.

Brooke got up to leave, mumbling something about how she needed to make posters to support the football team Friday night. I suggested that me and Jackson could possibly go to the game, and then the three of us could hang out after if she had nothing better to do. Apparently there was a big party that night after the game, but to my surprise, she didn't really want to go. She said she would rather hang out with us.

I guess that's what having a real friend is like.

"When I was six, I tripped and smacked my face off of the ground. My two front teeth came out. Looked like a hick."

Brooke, Jackson, and I were sitting on my couch after the game. The Bradford Bulldogs won 42-7 and we were having a celebratory sleepover despite how much we all despised our school. Brooke was telling us stories about her childhood, which proved she was actually a pretty interesting person and not the brain-dead drug addict whore I first thought she was.

She was surprised when I told her my first impression of her. She thought it was funny, because the first time she had even touched pot was at Michael's party and she only drank occasionally. I was kind of surprised myself.

"I can't believe you thought that about me. I have a three point six GPA. I just have blonde moments sometimes." Brooke said, taking a handful of buttery popcorn and popping each one into her mouth individually. This was true, as I had found out that night. She really wasn't dumb after all. In fact, she was quite bright, and knew some things that even I didn't know.

She got along with Jackson surprisingly well. That nervous part in the back of my brain was afraid that they wouldn't hit it off, but I was quickly relieved, as long as she didn't pull a Miranda and try to hook up with him.

"Sorry," I laughed, grabbing my own handful of popcorn. Jackson was too highly engrossed in the TV to pay any attention to the conversation. "I guess I figured you were an idiot when I talked to you at the party."

"Oh, please don't mention that night. It's a bad memory for me and you both." Brooke sighed.

Jackson snapped back to reality. "I swear to God if Michael says one word..."

"Stop." I said.

"Well, he would deserve it." Brooke stated in Jackson's defense.

He would deserve it, for all that he put me through. For all that he put Jackson and I through. I knew in my mind that it was mostly my fault, and I accepted that, but he was the one who brought these problems to the surface. Then again, I wouldn't have Jackson if Michael hadn't screwed our relationship over to begin with. A tiny part of me wanted to call and thank him. I refrained from doing so.

"You're right, but still." I shrugged, refusing to say any more. I guess they didn't want to say any more either because the three of us all stared intently at the television and Jackson laughed about something on Roseanne, which made me ease up a bit.

My dad ventured into the living room that night, sometime after the last rerun of Roseanne, and looked at the three of us in an odd, peculiar way. First, his eyes stared at me, laying in Jackson's lap with his hand resting on my stomach. A moment or so after that, he focused his gaze on Brooke, who was passed out on the other end of the couch near my feet. Then he looked at me again.

I had forgotten to tell him that Michael and I broke up, and Jackson was a secret for months, so of course Dad was completely clueless. He raised his eyebrow, wondering who the guy was on his living room couch. Jackson, of course, was fast asleep, too. Therefore, I was left alone to explain things to my father myself.

"It's a long story. I'll tell you tomorrow." I whispered, afraid I would wake them up. I'm sure he wasn't expecting another girl in our house, either. Especially a girl who wasn't Miranda. But then again, he didn't know about that story yet, either.

"Looking forward to it."

Months passed. Long months, filled with sweet things like love and friendship that kept me in happy spirits. Brooke Dawson had become my best friend during those months, and it was the most unexpected friendship I think I've ever had. Still, though, she was a better friend than Miranda had been to me. Then again, I believe anyone could be a better friend than Miranda.

Speaking of my ex-best friend, she and Michael were still together, surprisingly enough. But I could tell he was cheating on her, with the way he looked at Leah Franklin when she walked by them in the halls, and the way he still looked at me when Jackson and I were around. There was no way in hell he could be faithful, especially now that he already had the title of a cheater. Miranda was just too oblivious to see through it, and I felt somewhat bad for her but it was hidden behind all of the hatred raging inside of me.

I was happy, and even that was an understatement. Everyone saw it. Even Dad approved of Jackson, which surprised me to the fullest. He didn't like any of the guys I dated. So when he told me he was happy for me, I was taken aback. I even said "Thanks" because I really didn't know what else I was supposed to say.

I sighed, staring up at the white ceiling from my bed. It was a Sunday morning and I had nothing better to do than sit around. Jackson was on vacation with his family in Florida, Emily went to church with Dad, and Brooke was out at lunch with a few of her cheerleading friends. Therefore I was home alone. By myself. Doing nothing.

The doorbell rang, and I groaned because I didn't want to get up. I considered leaving it; Ding Dong Ditch was the game to play around Bradford and I was pretty sure I was the victim. But for some reason I got up, anyway, thinking it might be someone of importance. Little did I know, it was someone of the complete opposite, and I cursed myself for getting up to begin with.

The door was open now, despite the fact I really wanted to close it and walk right back up to my room like it never happened. I couldn't do that, even though I probably should have. I had to be strong. A big girl. Walking away wouldn't benefit me at all. Besides, if I closed that door, I would never know the outcome of the situation. I would never know the reason behind the ring of the doorbell. So I stood there, out of curiosity.

"Yes?" I said, somewhat impatient.

There he stood, my devil of an ex-boyfriend, attempting to pull off a sullen expression. He stepped forward, I stepped back. I wished more than anything that Jackson could be there at that moment. He'd know what to do. Then again, his solution would probably be to punch Michael in the face, which would only cause more controversy between the two of them.

"Can I come in? I just want to talk." Michael told me.

I looked at him closely, trying to decipher what he wanted. He hadn't said a word to me since we broke up. Why now? Why when I was actually in a happy, healthy relationship? It didn't make much sense at all.

"Five minutes. That's it. My dad and sister are coming home soon and you will not be here when they get back." I couldn't believe myself. I guess I just wanted to know what he had to say. Curiosity killed that cat. He walked in and I shut the door behind him as he walked to our living room couch and sat down comfortably. It almost angered me to see him so comfortable in my house, like he still belonged there, when he clearly didn't.

I waited, sitting on the recliner across from him. He stared at me and no words were spoken for quite some time. Any day now, I thought. Couldn't wait to get him out of the house.

"I'm sorry. That is what I have to say."

"You're sorry? And that's it. That's somehow going to make everything better, because you're sorry? I think it's a little too late for apologies, Michael. It's been like, five months now." I glared straight into his eyes, obviously annoyed.

"You don't have to accept it --"

"Good, because I don't." I said.

Things were quiet. I could feel his eyes watching me, but I didn't dare look back. Instead, I focused my attention on the picture of Emily and I that was sitting right above his head on the wall. It was from two years ago, when my sister was three. Before our mom died. I exhaled a long breath that I didn't realize I was holding in.

"I don't expect you to. But you deserved an apology and I wanted to give you one. I'm a jerk." Michael stated.

I laughed. "Oh, you're just realizing that?"

"Why do you hate me so much? I was there for you through so much. Like when your mom had cancer for Christ's sake..." he said, hitting a soft spot in my heart. It always hurt a little when somebody mentioned her. I didn't like to talk about it, so I never brought it up. It wasn't that I wanted to forget about her. I just didn't want to remember what we all had to deal with.

"And I told you about my dad. No one knows about that except for you." he added.

"Not even your precious girlfriend Miranda? I bet it was great sleeping with her when you were going out with me, right? And we aren't talking about my mother. Don't even bring that up. You know how it makes me feel."

Now he laughed. "Because sleeping with that faggot boyfriend of yours is so much better?"

That pushed it. "Get out, Michael. I'm serious. You pathetically apologized, I didn't accept it, and now you're insulting my boyfriend. Goodbye."

Goodbye, and good riddance.

Jackson's smile gave me so many butterflies, it was incredible. It was the kind of feeling you get when you pet a puppy, or kiss underneath fireworks. Good feelings. In a way, I was glad I decided to cheat on Michael. That's probably not something I'd want to admit to anyone else, but it's the truth. It brought me to someone better. Someone I wanted to be with for a long time.

I couldn't say forever, because 'forever' doesn't usually happen. I'm sure my parents wanted to stay together forever, and that didn't work out in their favor. Sure, Dad keeps her in his heart at all times and refuses to date anyone else, but that doesn't mean they're still 'together'. Maybe they'll reuinite one day, if that's how things go. Who am I to say for sure?

"Thank you." Jackson said, and I must have looked confused because he smiled at me so innocently and started to talk again. "For being my good luck charm."

I didn't exactly know what he was talking about. "I gave you good luck?"

He squeezed my hand. "You sure did. I'm the luckiest guy in the world." We were laying in his bed, talking about everything we could think of but nothing in particular. He had just come home from vacation earlier that day and I was eager to see him. I was beginning to get bored of sitting at home alone, other than the days when Brooke was able to come over and hang out.

"Why?" I asked him.

"Because. You're my girl. There is no one else I would rather be with. I never thought I'd find love by randomly hooking up with someone, but I guess there's a time for everything." he said, and I couldn't have said it better myself. Every second I spent in his arms was more than worth it. I had no regrets at all.

"Mmm, so you've changed, then? Cause you made it sound like you were a little whore before you met me." I giggled.

"You caught me," Jackson smiled. I could have melted. I wondered how many other girls before me also loved his smile. Probably a lot. I couldn't blame them for that, though. I'm sure plenty of girls had fallen for that smile. "But I'm a changed man thanks to you. Congratulations."

I leaned over and planted a big kiss on his cheek. "Why thank you. Thank you very much." I tried my best Elvis Presley impersonation and failed quite miserably.

He chuckled and gave me a funny look. "You know, you're kind of weird, but I wouldn't love you as much if you weren't. I always need someone to be weird with. Without you, I'd have pretend to be normal."

Something about that was hilarious, and I laughed until my ribs hurt, which caused Jackson to laugh, too. We laid there, cracking up hysterically until we couldn't take it anymore. Then suddenly, he got up abruptly and walked over to his closet.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He opened the closet door, then began rummaging through stuff on the floor.

"I've got something for you. Don't look, okay?"

I closed my eyes, figuring he'd know I wasn't peeking, but then I realized he might think I was so I said okay and waited. I heard a lot of stuff in his closet moving around, and then finally he shut the door. I was completely clueless, but curious as of what this little present could be.

"Can I look yet?" I was a tiny bit impatient, like a little kid on Christmas.

"No, hold on a second.. not yet.. Okay.. Open your eyes."

I opened my eyes and before me was a huge canvas, with a beautifully drawn portrait on it. And to my surprise, the portrait was of me. I smiled, tearing up, and I couldn't say anything for a moment. A small tear spilled from eye and onto my cheek. I swiped it away with the sleeve of my shirt.

"Jackson, this is honestly beautiful. Why did you draw this?" I wondered.

He grinned. "Well, I promised I would draw you something, remember? I never break promises. I wanted to draw you something better than a stupid perfect circle. I mean, how perfect can a circle really be? Nothing, and certainly no shape, could be as perfect or pretty as you are. That's why I drew this. I don't want you to forget."

I didn't know what to say; I had no words good enough to describe the feeling he had given me with that drawing. I wanted to smile and I also wanted to cry, but it wouldn't be a sad cry at all. It'd be a happy one, because I finally felt complete. I finally felt loved.

"You mean everything to me." I said after some time.

He set the picture down and sat next to me, putting his arm around my waist. Everything felt right and nothing felt wrong. True happiness.

Jackson kissed my cheek, and lowered his voice to a whisper.

"I'm glad, because I feel the exact same way. I love you to the point of no return, and I never want to go back. I'm yours, Courtney. I'm yours until my very last breath, and I promise you that."