Brandon. Yes, THAT Brandon.

Truth. Kinda.

Conner lives about ten minutes away by car. His house isn't extravagant, but it's nice.

I've never met his mom. If she works at the bank, my mom probably knows her.

It's weird; I'm constantly inviting him over, but he never says yes. I guess my questions about that could be answered by yesterday's big event, but it's still weird.

We step into Conner's house with our bags in hand. His mom--well, I'm assuming it's his mom--is hanging a picture on the wall in the other room as I can see through the window. Items are strewn along the table and boxes are stacked in the living room. I can tell it's not always like this. Regularly messy houses are different.

"Sorry. She's redecorating," Conner grumbles. "My dad is coming to see me and she's freaked out." Conner told me a while back that his parents were divorced, but I never registered it as a real thing. My mom and dad have been together forever, it seems. "Mom, I'm home!" he calls.

"Okay! Honey, I cooked pasta and it's in the--"

"I went out to eat," Conner replies. I hear a crash and shuffle before Miss Trial steps into the living room.

"I wish you would tell me these things, Conner. I went out of my way." Gosh, Conner looks just like his mom. I've never seen anyone look like a duplicate of their parent. Adults tell me I'm the spitting image of my dad; of course I don't see it. Then again, my father and I aren't on the best of terms. "Who's your friend?"

"I'm Brandon Owens," I say.

"Julie Owens' son! Your parents work in the law firm? Oh you look just like your father," she smiles and pinches my cheek. I'm assuming my facial expression is borderline disgust, because Conner laughs into his hand as he nudges me. "Well, I'll leave you two boys to do your thing. Conner, I replaced your supplies in--"

"Thank you, Mom. You may leave now," Conner interrupts.

"Okay, Sweetheart," she kisses his forehead and he groans. "I'll be back around 9. Mrs. LeBeau had her baby and I wanted to see her before--i'ts...what? 6:15? I'll--"

"Mom. You're rambling," Conner says dryly. Miss Trial pretend zips her lip and gives us a wave as she heads out the door. "I apologize for her. You know how moms are." I nod in agreement, but honestly? I'm best friends with my mom. I always wondered why. "My room is this way." I follow him like a duckling to his bedroom. "So, the quadratic formula is shit."

"So that's where you are," I chuckle. "Worst. Lesson. Ever. Show me." As Conner starts explaining what he has trouble with, he takes his jacket off. That's when I notice the hickey on his lower neck. I put it there yesterday. There's another by his ear and another--

"Brandon?"

Shit.

"Sorry...my head. My mind--it's been a day." I take my own jacket off and toss it.

"Look, if it's too much to be here, I understand completely," Conner murmurs. "You're probably wasting your time. I had Tyler explain this to me millions of times and I still can't get it." Conner shuts his book and flops on his bed.

"No, no. Sorry. Explain again." Conner tries to make sense of the bull crap math his teacher laid on them. I feel terrible having to correct him so much, but he really just has no idea what he's doing. I help him the best I can, simplifying steps and whatnot.

When he finally does get a few problems, I steal that time to scan over him. He really is a marvelous being. He's got some muscle on him, more than freshmen usually do. His hair is a medium brown in this light, and sits in a wavy flip on his head. What gets me most is how blue his eyes are and how somehow they draw attention to his salmon pink lips. Conner must have all the girls in his class in a fluster.