Max found me again during lunch. This time he was back in his thermals and was leaning over the fence to talk to me while I pretended to read under the drooping pine. Other players wandered over from time to time to gab at him, and a few even greeted me with a quick 'Hey' before turning their attention back to their teammate or the drills they were meant to be practicing.

The rest of the day passed far too slowly, and I was feeling the effects of over-socialization creeping up my spine and weighing my limbs down. My entire body was nervous jell-o and I wished for a spell that would just safely deliver me to my bedroom without anyone noticing. If one more person tried to speak to me, I thought I might explode.

When the final bell rang out I sighed heavily in relief before darting out as quickly as I could. I desperately didn't want Max to walk home with me again. I couldn't even stand the idea of him smiling at me again, so I skipped grabbing my jacket from the locker and just bolted outside.

I made it a few blocks before an SUV pulled up close to the sidewalk, it's rear window sliding open.

“Hey!” Max said, and I inwardly groaned, “Thought we missed you!”

I didn't stop walking, didn't bother to see who was driving. Max had made real friends – friends who could drive him home after school, instead of being forced to trudge home through mud and slush for nearly thirty minutes with the one person in the school with a reputation that consisted entirely of poison. He really ought to listen to those friends, and start ignoring me before reality simply folded in on itself in confusion.

“Sam has space in his car, hop in! We're heading in that direction anyway!”

Was that a joke? It had to be a joke, right? He expected me to get into the car of someone who'd made my life hell for years, and act appreciative about it? I felt like the last two days had irreparably turned my life on its side. Now it was stuck wiggling futilely in hopes it might get right-side-up again, if only it applied the right amount of force. Like a turtle. My life was like a turtle.

At some point my brain had turned off and I just kept picturing turtles stuck on their backs. When I tried to remember where exactly I had derailed so thoroughly my mind supplied an image of Roman leaning forward in his seat next to Max and saying something incomprehensible to me. Not because it was in another language, but because my brain simply couldn't register anything that wasn't directly turtle-related at that moment.

“You alright?” Again, I was struck by the oddness of Roman Miranda asking me anything, much less twice in one day. The fact that it was about my well-being was just an added bonus.

I nodded once to show I'd heard him, although I had no idea what answer I could give him.

“Great!” Max said, opening the door and sliding into the middle seat, “Get in!”

That wasn't what I'd nodded about, I thought, I hope the turtle is okay. I had a moment of clarity where I wondered what sort of hellish trick would come at the other end of this ride, but it only came after I'd buckled myself in and watched the safety of the sidewalk slip away. Around me was lively conversation that I largely ignored. Something about Coach Higgins and upcoming dances and failing science tests, among other topics that were not even remotely related to reptiles, shells or no.

I tuned them out. I focused on turtles. I didn't know nearly enough about turtles, I realized. I knew more about dragons than any of their kin, and that was entirely because I'd spent so much time with one. Not as much lately. I should visit.

The walk that would've taken me twenty minutes to complete took only four to drive. It was a small blessing when we pulled into Max's driveway, without even a little prank to even things out. I unbuckled and opened the door, darting out of the car before Sam had even put it in park. I didn't turn back as I sprinted through the bushes between our yards, waiting until my key was secure in my door before chancing a glimpse towards the others.

Max gave a hearty wave goodbye just as I slipped in and closed the door.

Mum was in the hallway when I came in, smiling her pretty smile. She gave a conspiratorial nod towards the kitchen, as though she knew I hadn't been eating well and wanted me to make up for it. She probably did know. She knew everything.

I moved over to the kitchen and opened the fridge, revealing half a box of leftover pizza haphazardly shoved in amongst the beer and condiments. Mum's smile only brightened when I turned back, two slices of chilled pizza in hand.

“You don't have to worry so much,” I said, voice rough from disuse, “I'll be okay, mum.”

Her smile took on that hint of concern she'd get every time I'd gotten a new bruise. I hated that look. Like she was both worried and disappointed at the same time. I changed the subject.

“I think I might've made a friend.” Her expression softened, but not by much, as if she was also waiting for the other shoe to drop. “His name is Max, he moved in next door. He even convinced Sam Kingsley to give me a ride home today. It was wild.”

Mum sighed silently and I knew she was still worried. I couldn't bear to look at her anymore, it would only make us both sad. Instead I wandered up to my little attic room and nibbled on cold pizza while I did homework.

Outside Max and his New Sports Friends had cleared all the toys from the yard, and were kicking around a soccer ball, feinting and diving and doing other terribly impressive stunts that drew my attention away from my books and chewy crust remnants. I laid down on my bed and watched through the window as they laughed and played.

Part of me wished I could join them. I was trash at soccer, or any sports really, but it would've been nice to hang out and talk about dumb stuff like TV shows or something. Of course, they'd all catch on pretty quick that I hadn't watched TV in years and add that to the list of Weird Rhydderch Kid things. I doubted they liked historical facts, and that was really all I invested time in learning about anymore.

There wasn't any time for TV. Between school and research and dealing with a finicky dragon I hardly had a second I could spare for the supposed comfort of binge-watching trending shows, or really even catching little glimpses of it. Besides, mum and I avoided the living room for the most part. It was no longer the neutral territory it had been. The shadow that made mum and I sequester ourselves in our own personal spaces had cast itself over the most of the rest of the house.

The front door opened and slammed shut. I tensed, looking over my shoulder at the trap door that was still wide open, ladder extended to the floor below. The sounds of footfalls were closing in on the stairs and I scrambled over to the ladder, pulling as hard as I could and barely managed to get it closed just as a menacing voice called out my name from below.

I'd just figuratively pricked my finger and now the smallest drop of blood had disturbed the shark infested water. I was safe for now, in this rusted old tin can of a boat, but I'd have to go to shore eventually.

I sat for a moment to catch my breath, the panic still making my body shake. When I leaned back, my wrist let out a burst of pain so bad I had to bite my cheek. I must have twisted it in the struggle. Slowly I crawled back to my bed, trying to keep my left hand close to my chest, and laid back down to peer out the window.

The soccer players had gone quiet at some point, and I found the yard empty on my return, the only proof of their fun was the damp grass and kicked up mud. It had begun to snow, the last vestiges of winter falling in heavy clumps illuminated by Max's porch light. For a moment everything seemed pure and clean, like I was a child again, playing in the snow for hours before mum called me in with a promise of cocoa and dinner.

Every snowflake served to wipe the world clean of the bad things, burying them in a blanket of perfection, and I fell asleep watching my little world being erased.

When morning came I knew it was going to be unpleasant. Judging by the noise coming from the kitchen mum wasn't going to be there to see me off again, and my wrist was intermittently surging with pain, promising an injury worse than a simple twist.

Still, I packed my bag, shuffled into some clean clothes – sans jacket, as I'd never grabbed it from my locker in my haste to escape the horror that was Max's eager friendliness. I managed to find a sweater that wasn't too worn or holy, and gently tugged it on, easing it over my injured hand. Then I collected what little energy I had and slowly opened the trap door.

It didn't go well. It actually went incredibly poorly. Since my dominant hand was useless, I was forced to use my right, which obviously wasn't as strong as my left. I lost my grip on the ladder and it flopped uselessly downward, letting out a thump that shook the whole house.

Run.

I don't know how I managed it, but suddenly I was standing on the sidewalk, breath coming out in ragged gasps. There's a glimpse of memory where a shadowy hand reached out to grab me, but I slipped out before it had the chance. Now the entire shadowy figure was lurking in the door, eyes piercing in their anger. I felt stuck to this moment for an endless amount of time, only freed when the figure drifted back into the darkness of the house, closing the door behind it.

I didn't see Max on my walk this morning either, despite no early soccer drills, and for that I'm thankful. My body was practically vibrating with anxiety, my wrist ached, my eyes were red and puffy. The tears that managed to slip out between furious swipes with the sleeve of my sweater were doing their best to freeze to my cheeks, and I know I've rubbed the skin a bit raw, but I can't begin to care.

I'd been avoiding trouble really well this year, I thought. I hadn't gotten anyone's attention in months, and I'd even managed to slip by without too much injury. Now Max was here, sliding himself into my life like he'd bought front-row tickets. Now the soccer team was noticing me. Now I was stuck wondering if it was safe to go to school, or even to go home. Now I was listlessly floating through an endless void, hoping I might find a place for my feet before I got too lost. Now I was freezing and tired and lonely in a way I hadn't been in years.

The feeling of loneliness persisted. Max never greeted me at my locker. He studiously avoided my gaze in English class, and never once looked over at the drooping pine tree while the team ran drills during lunch. Somehow, completely unexpectedly and without my knowledge, I had allowed him to dig his way into my skin and settle there. Now he was gone, and it hurt.

I knew, realistically, that it was bound to happen. I knew someone would get through to him eventually, and that I'd be quickly tossed aside. Part of me had grown a little nugget of hope in the three days I'd know him. Maybe he'd stick around. Maybe he'd see through the rumors and find he could be friends with someone who was admittedly not the most socially aware person.

I wiped away a tear I refused to otherwise acknowledge, then turned my attention back to my book. It was the same reference book I'd been skimming through for days, now more for personal entertainment than any sort of attempt at deciphering answers from its many pages.

Something fell on my hand. I looked down and saw a sliver of green sitting gently against my knuckle, and watched in despair as it browned effortlessly. More pine nettles joined it, settling in my hair and on my food, each dying as quickly as the first. Above me the tree rattled, shaking free hundreds or thousands more of its green, brown, gray scales and I could feel nausea build in my stomach. I ran, leaving behind my bag and food, stomach churning and eyes watering.

I managed to make it to a bathroom stall before letting free the contents of my stomach, hands shaking as they tried to support my weight over the bowl. It was some minutes before the nausea settled enough that I could stand again, and I slowly made my way to a sink, rinsing my hands and wiping at my mouth with a paper towel. I didn't recognize the boy in the mirror. He was too skinny, too pale, and his eyes were sunken and dark from exhaustion. That boy was useless, not even able to handle his emotions well enough to stop them from affecting other things.

Briefly I wondered if the tree would survive. My heart clenched at the memory of another tree, another deep sadness that stretched out beyond my tired body and seeped deep into the earth. Once there was an apple tree in our yard. Now it was a hollow trunk, only a bit taller than me, and dead, dead, dead. The feeling had been the same. A connection, as though it could feel my pain – my fear – and was mourning with me.

I slid down against the wall and sat on the cold tile floor, time completely lost to me. I'm sure people came in, but they must have left me alone, must've made their stays short. Some may even have tried to interact with me, but my mind was so thoroughly elsewhere it was a miracle my body still remembered to breathe.

Then someone was there with me, helping me to stand and talking quietly nearby. I felt like I was surrounded by rushing water, muffling the noise almost to silence. The voice was familiar, though, so I focused on it, letting it pull me from the current of my thoughts.

“It's gonna be okay, Jules.” It said. When was the last time someone called me that? It must've been years ago. I hated nicknames. No one ever got my name right to begin with, why should I permit them to make it easier. I had to let it slide, though, as I couldn't remember whether or not I even had lips to form words with, much less a brain to create them. Besides, this intruder seemed almost kind and my shoulders relaxed just listening to him.

I could feel an arm on my back, another holding my arm to keep me steady. Hands appeared, one gently holding my cheek and another against my forehead.

“He's warm.” Another voice said, “What happened to him?”

This voice was familiar in a way that had my stomach clenching in confusion, and I fought to open my eyes.