Henry drifts through the rest of his classes in a daze. History, Music History, whatever--they all blur together. He's just taken his final quiz in English, but when his classmates ask him how he did, he can't recall any of his answers.

His classmates see the perplexed look on his face. "Huh. That bad?" they ask, and then they hurriedly pack up their things and leave the classroom.

Henry does the same, but as he walks out the door, he collides into another body. His foot slips, and when he falls back, he hears and feels the crunch of thin metal rods breaking under his weight.

The person he ran into hears it too. One of his eyebrows quirk up. He says, "Did your spine just break?"

Henry sighs and slowly gets to his feet. "No, it's probably..." He digs in his bookbag, pulling out the crumpled remains of his umbrella. When he looks up, there's something familiar about the wince on the other boy's face.

"Vice president?" he ventures to ask.

The other boy blinks. "Oh? Wow, it's so weird being called that."

"Sorry, uh, Denny-Denise never told me your name."

"It's Brian."

"Oh, I'm Henry," Henry says, stuffing his umbrella back into his bag. He'd rather throw the umbrella into the classroom's garbage can, but the way Brian's eyeing his actions with a twist to his lips is unnerving.

"See you!" Henry exclaims, ducking his head as he tries to move past Brian. To no avail, as the other boy sidesteps into his way.

"Hey, uh, weird question, but what train do you take home?"

The question is so sudden that Henry automatically replies, "The 7."

As he reels over his answer, Brian laughs. "I'm glad. If you don't mind--this one's my last class for the day--but if you'd wait for me by my locker...uh, locker 235, that is, I can walk you home?"

Henry rubs the back of his neck. He's not sure how he feels about letting someone he barely knows walk him home, but at that moment, the late bell rings. Brian curses under his breath.

"I gotta go, but think my offer over? I'd hate for you to catch a cold because of me, bye!"

And with that rushed exclamation, Brian hurries into the classroom.

Henry adjusts the straps of his bookbag. He feels the rustling of his umbrella, its metal bits clinking against each other. It wasn't Brian's fault; Henry wasn't looking where he was going. Maybe a cold is the least he deserves.

Regardless, he heads to the second floor.

---

It's the day of their high school orientation, and Henry and Turner are taking the train to school for the first time. The train always roars as it rushes past, its cargo bleary-eyed people and a cacophony of clattering tracks.

Inside the train, it's quieter, but when it rocks, the boy next to him bumps into his side. The contact doesn't hurt, but somehow, it irritates Henry.

"Sorry," Turner murmurs, even though he isn't.

"It's fine," Henry says, just as insincerely.

Through the opposite window, he sees rooftops passing by in a blur. There are no clouds to mar the sky, and its deep blue color is warm with the promise of a sunny day.

But he's sitting in a train car, stuck with Turner for the rest of the day. The train rounds another curve in the tracks, and the way Turner's elbow digs into his side reminds him that this is their first trip without Finch, the first of many.

"You could sit further away," Henry points out.

"Yeah," Turner replies. "I could."

There's nothing cheeky in Turner's tone, but Henry's too bitter to hear it any other way.

---

"And how about you, Henry?"

The vice president's voice jolts Henry out of his thoughts. For a moment, he wonders why he was thinking about something that seems so long ago.

Then he looks to the vice president, who's leaned forward to address him with a crooked smile. Apparently, going home with the vice president means going home with half of the photography club, Denny included.

"Uh, what was the question? Sorry," Henry says.

"Oh we were just wondering if you'd like to play with us."

Henry scratches the back of his neck. "What game?"

Just as he asks, the president leans forward, displaying a pack of cards next to her toothy grin. "Strip poker," she says. "Get ready to give me your nudes."

"Don't scare him!" Brian exclaims before turning back to Henry. "We're just playing Chinese poker. Want to join?"

Chinese poker? On the train? "No, I'm fine. I'll just...I'll just watch you guys."

The choppy-haired club member next to the president lays her binder on the president's lap. As the president shuffles, she says, "So...Henry, was it? You in any other clubs?"

Before Henry can answer, Denny pipes up, "Henry? He just goes straight home every day."

"Really?" The president raises an eyebrow. She begins distributing the cards in three even piles.

"Yeah," Henry says. Something about the president's incredulous tone makes him feel like some sort of rare animal. She's even starting to gawk at him.

The president clicks her tongue three times, shaking her head. "Gotta get those extracurriculars, Henry. What will those colleges say?"

"Julie. It's freshman year. He shouldn't have to worry about that yet," Brian says as he grabs one pile of cards.

"Yeah, and you know, I see where you're coming from, Henry. What I wouldn't give to skip club activities to just go home and play video games," says the choppy-haired club member.

"You already do that!" Denny laughs.

Brian takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh. As he organizes his cards, he turns to Henry with a smile. "Sorry about all of this. What do you do at home, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I just study," Henry answers.

"Really?" the president says in that same incredulous tone. The choppy-haired club member slides a pair of 3's onto the binder's flat surface, and like that, the poker game commences.

The three of them throw down pairs until finally, Brian passes, and then Henry asks, "What do you all do at home then?"

Denny's eyes go wide. "Whoa, Henry."

"What?"

"Nothing, that was just kind of weird. You never ask people about themselves."

Henry frowns. They've only known each other for a semester, so to have Denny point out his mannerisms like this is annoying. They're not so close that Denny should be able to name these things.

The others exchange looks. The poker game's progressed to the point where the choppy-haired club member's already won, and now the president and Brian are duking it out for second place.

"Well, Brian, what do you do at home, eh?" the president asks. As soon as Brian turns to Henry, the president whips around to check the reflection of Brian's cards in the window behind them.

"I walk my dog and do my homework?" Brian offers, scratching his cheek. "Nothing exciting. Oh, right I guess I also move things on my desk and take pictures of them, but nothing really spectacular."

"I just play video games," the choppy-haired club member mutters. "And sleep."

The president lays a pair of cards down, and Brian begins to look nervous.

"Great priorities, my man," the president says. "As for me, I usually get home late, but I guess if I didn't have club activities, I'd go out and round up my friends and force them to have club activities with me."

"And that's how the photography club was born," says Brian.

And then Denny says, "Wait, but the club's been around before you guys entered school."

A small laugh leaves Henry. Seeing the club members bantering like this, he thinks back to all those pictures Finch sent him of his hang outs with the orchestra. It opened up a black pit in his chest when he saw those pictures, but with the president's shamelessness and Brian's unassuming smile, Henry wonders why he ever felt that way at all. He remembers all those times in middle school, with Finch squirming in his seat as Henry and Turner bickered over...over something. He can't recall exactly what they used to argue over, but can't recall anything but that tense three-way relationship.

Sitting here with the club members, he feels like a different person. He doesn't even mind how Denny's shoulder presses against his as she leans against him to watch the poker game.

The president lays down the last of her cards, stretching her arms out as Brian sighs.

"You win," says Brian.

"Another game?" asks the president.

"No, uh-" Brian glances up at the train's electronic screen. "Our stop's coming up soon. I'd better sit out."

"Suits me just fine. Denny, you getting in on this next game?"

"Sure!"

---

The moment they leave the subway, Henry hears again the drumming of rain against the sidewalk. Brian unfurls his umbrella, then gestures for Henry to come a bit closer.

"You'll have to lead the way, Henry. For obvious reasons, I don't know where your house is."

Henry nods and sidles in front of Brian. The rain's louder as it falls against the umbrella's black fabric. They walk in silence, save for when Brian, with his large frame, bumps into a middle-aged woman and profusely apologizes for his clumsiness. The last of his "I'm sorry"s linger in Henry's ears, even as the woman waves Brian's apologies away and leaves.

"I'm sorry," Henry echoes. "You don't have to walk me home. It's just rain."

Brian tips the umbrella forward a little, and curtains of water dance off its edge. "What?" Brian says, momentarily confused. "Oh no, I feel really bad for breaking your umbrella. Helping you get home? It's no trouble at all."

Henry goes quiet.

"So, what do you think of the photography club?" Brian asks.

"The members are..."

Brian grimaces. "They're a bit loud, but they're all nice."

"Yeah, they seem like good friends."

"Good friends. Debatable."

Despite himself, Henry lets out a derisive laugh. He's all too aware that he shouldn't be a judge of what a good friend is.

Brian's mouth twists to the side. "Is something wrong?"

"No, it's just my friends..." Henry trails off. How long has it been since he's spoken to Finch? The winter concert seems so long ago, and the possibility of losing Finch has always been this slow, creeping thing, lurking in the back of his mind, but it's caught up to him so quickly now, and it's just...

...it was surprisingly easy to let go and let it happen.

He's not sure what to think about his life. He doesn't want to think about it, but his thoughts always end up back here. It's so stupid because when he thinks about it, Finch was a constant, but so was Turner. And he's finally gotten rid of him, and maybe now he can finally reply back to Finch's message. But when he thinks, really thinks about it, the world's bigger than just Finch and Turner and he's gone this long without talking to Finch. When he thinks about it, maybe he's never really needed him either-

A hand falls on his right shoulder. Henry's back straightens as if he's been shocked by something.

"Sorry," Brian says, pulling his hand away. The other boy's eyes go to Henry's face, then to the side, then back to Henry's face. He begins speaking again, but more cautiously, "I've heard about you from Denise, and she said she's been concerned about you. Whatever it is that's worrying you, I might not be able to help. Sometimes, it's just better to talk to the people involved, let them know what you're thinking. Um."

And Brian reaches out again, gingerly patting Henry's back. The umbrella sways a little as he does so. "Feel better."

Henry blinks. Some droplets of water have splashed on his cheek, but he doesn't even care.

"Thanks."