��������������� I’ve been staring at a photo in my hand. Three boys posing next to a red Vespa, the tallest of the three stands center. He has short platinum blonde hair, freckles that frame his captivating bright green eyes, and a closed side smile that brings out the deep dimple on his right cheek. His face had come into shape that year; jawline is prominent and covered with stubble, any trace of boyhood gone. He’s holding a rider’s helmet on one hand while his left arm rests on my shoulder. Seth stands on his right, wearing riding goggles, patches of his unruly brown hair stick out of the helmet that rests on his head; he’s holding a snow cone, his mouth wide open. He too had grown taller that year, but he looked lanky and needed to bulk up. Justin got the Vespa for his birthday; we were riding around town taking photos. I remember that summer to be the best we’ve had. It was also the last. I return the photo, carefully sliding its corners back into the small paper frame.

��������������� The first few pages of Justin’s journal were filled with sketches of his family’s house: their front door which he loved because of the bright red finish, his space themed-room which he outgrew and wanted to paint so badly, His backyard which he shared with his mother. He once told me the story of when he was a child, his mother would let him help plant different flowers there, and that was what they loved doing together.  

A few pages more he begins to write. How his day went, what he thinks about his friends and how he wished he was not alone. Now and then a page with a photo attached comes up and I take my time to look at them closely. I felt like I was being introduced to him once more, like he is here and each page makes up for the short time we spent together. I never knew he had a golden retriever named Max, who died when he was 7. I never thought he took karate lessons as a kid but quit because he hated it so much, and his dad just forced him into it.

I was about to stop reading, thinking, he gave this because he wanted me to know these details about him, how he saw the world, I know enough. But six blank pages later I find myself unable to breathe as I look down on an inked sketch. The boy is sitting on a patch of grass, his hands on the ground, arms locked straight supporting his back and his feet are crossed, he looks distant. He seems small for his age and his hair is an unruly mop of curls. Beside him lies a guitar.

I move from my desk to the floor. I feel my legs tremble as I hold onto this book. I have the urge to throw it back and to continue reading at the same time. I find myself sitting on my bedroom floor in tears as I hear his voice in my head when I read his words:

Sometimes I think I’m selfish. I pulled you into this. Were you so sure that you liked me? Are we crazy? Or is it because, like me, you’ve never felt anything this amazing. The intensity of your thoughts terrifies me. Are you worried? Do you want to end this? Should we end this? Can I tell you right now that I do not care what they think? That all that matters to me, the only one that I need is sitting there. The only person I need is you.

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��������������� I did not go any further into the book that weekend. I do not want to remember how important he was to me. I refuse to feel that way again. He’s gone, and I’m terrified to read the rest of what we were.

��������������� I spent the entire Monday keeping myself busy. I rehearsed songs for my solo audition, walked to class, listened and took down notes. I did my best to hide from Wes or David. The slightest shift in the way I talk and they would know something was up. After dinner I did my homework and took some of the pills my doctor gave me when I had trouble sleeping.

��������������� Tuesday morning I decide to do the same thing I did the day before. I stand in front of my mirror and do my tie. That right hand drawer is screaming my name.

��������������� “He’s gone.... Stop it. You can’t go back there.” I say to out loud.

��������������� I walk down the staircase headed for the breakfast lounge when I hear a familiar voice. “You have lounges here, not like cafeterias? As in better selections and possibly more edible food?” Wes chuckles, “Yes, Kurt, The omelettes and chocolate chip pancakes, best ones I’ve ever tasted, you should try them sometime. That’s about it I guess. Most of the students are on their way down to get a bite before the bell chimes. Here is you schedule and a map if you do get lost, the keys to your dorm room and on behalf of the welcoming committee, well, welcome to Dalton.”

“Thanks Wes.”

“Oh and I expect you to drop by Warblers rehearsal later. We’re happy to have you on our team now. See you later, four thirty!”

��������������� I wait for Wes to walk away. What is Kurt doing here? I straighten my blazer and walk up to him slowly. “Not spying again are we?” “Oh! You scared me!” Kurt gasps. “Sorry, didn’t mean to. How was the wedding?” I ask. “It was sweet and of course everything went well.”

“C’mon let’s get something to eat before class starts.”

“Would you like a sandwich, my treat; it’s a welcome to Dalton sandwich.” I laugh a little. “Wow, will the Warblers get me a welcome present too? Like maybe a solo for the new kid” Kurt plays along. We take our breakfast by one of the outdoor fountains.

“Karofsky’s expulsion was revoked.” Kurt started as we took our seat on the fountain- side. “The board overruled our Principal's decision and he was meant to come back today, so my dad and Carole gave up their honeymoon for me.”

“Oh...well, sorry to hear that. I bet your friends were shocked. And I can see you didn’t really want to leave. But you really are safer here and you have us to spend the boring schooldays with” I reply.

“Yeah, well, the show must go on.” He lets out a sigh. “So how do I get to my class, the Academics building looks like Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters and I do not want to attract any attention by being late.” He takes out his schedule.

“You have Mr. Simon, he’s great, a really charming teacher, loves to tell jokes. Your classroom is next to mine, we can walk together.” I offer. We go through his schedule, we have no classes together but I show him where his classrooms are through the map Wes gave him.

��������������� We finish breakfast and walk to his classroom, I could see my Literature professor was starting his lecture so we agreed to meet at the fountains for lunch.

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��������������� Mr. Cornell was making us watch a film adaptation of something but I couldn’t concentrate. Kurt’s here. We’re the same, driven out of our normal lives because of external forces. Does that mean that kids like us will never stand a chance? Are we doomed to run away? He must feel so alone right now; will he make new friends here? Would he want to make the effort to socialize? Or will he be like me? Why is he staying at the dorms? He could drive here. But that would seem tiring. Right. Is it really okay for him to join us, meaning actually competing against his friends?

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��������������� When the lunch bell chimes I race to the fountains to find out the Wes, David, Andrew and some of the other Warblers beat me to him. They were laughing and Kurt seemed at ease. I get a plate of pasta and some apple juice and sit next to David.