My pain and discomfort were forgotten.“Don’t cry. Please don’t cry,” I begged. Amelia looked awful; hair, usually so soft and feathery, was li...mp. She was so pale.Lifting her glasses, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, gave me a half-hearted smile, and reached for my hand. Her touch was delicate and her hand ice cold.Peter looked at me from behind her.“What did you do to her?” I asked in a whisper.Then all the memories flooded back. I inhaled sharply and winced at the pain. “Where’s. And you ... and him ... and me."I have to point out here that I misunderstood almost everything I had heard thus far. I thought that Susan, being the more feminine of the two, was offering herself, with Micky's blessing, and that was my present. "Us" in that scenario meant me and Susan, with Micky's part of the offering being that she was sharing the love of her life. I may have understood their relationship, but I still had traces of my original bias deep down in my brain. I had assigned the. Saturday nights were still date night of course, that didn’t change. And I stopped accepting rides from any of the boys.But come the end of January and our second term grades were about to come in, I knew it was almost too late. Beeder was already doing our math and science homework. Home Economics course were a breeze, all three of us whizzed through history and Art classes. It was our English classes which were tanking, our lack of finishing essays was killing our grades. And I desperately. This time I didn't look away, but he did. Staring down into his drink."You wanna talk about it?" I offered, knowing that he did."No." He picked up his drink, sipping it slowly so it burned."Hey, look ... sometimes it helps, you know? Talking to a stranger, a female to boot. It might give you a whole new perspective." I smiled supportively. "Believe me, I know about these things." You ... You got it all wrong," he sighed. "My problem isn't like that." Like what?" I prompted, refilling his glass..