"She's freaking out. If she cries, I won't know what to do. I'm not used to crying chicks. I don't think Carmen cried once during our entire relationship. In fact, I'm not sure Carmen has tear ducts. "Um...you okay?" I ask. "If this gets around, I'm never going to live it down. Oh, God, if Mrs. Peterson calls my parents I'm dead. Or at least I'll wish I was dead." She keeps talking and shaking, as if she's a car with bad shocks and no brakes. " ?" "...and my mom'll blame it on me. It's my fault, I know. But she'll freak out on me and then I'll have to explain and hope she--" Before she can get another word out I yell, "Brittany!" The girl looks up at me with an expression so confused I don't know whether to feel sorry for her or stunned she's rambling and can't seem to stop. "You're the one freakin' out," I comment, stating the obvious. Her eyes are usually clear and bright, but now they're dull and blank as if she's not all here. She looks down and around and everywhere except directly at me. "No, I'm not. I'm fine." "The hell you are. Look at me." She hesitates. "I'm fine," she says, now focused on a locker across the hall. "Just forget everything I just said." "If you don't look at me, I'm gonna bleed all over the floor and need a fuckin' transfusion. Look at me, dammit." Her breathing is still heavy as she focuses on me. "What? If you want to tell me my life is out of control, I'm already aware of it." "I know you didn't mean to hurt me," I tell her. "Even if you did, I probably deserved it." I'm hoping to lighten the mood so the girl doesn't have a complete breakdown in the hallway. "Makin' mistakes ain't a crime, you know. What's the use in having a reputation if you can't ruin it every now and then?" "Don't try and make me feel better, Alex. I hate you." "I hate you, too. Now please move out of the way so the janitor doesn't have to spend all day moppin' up my blood. He's a relative, you know." --