Halfway to my room, Jack caught up with me. Being the lacrosse player that he was, the run was no big thing for him, but he was panting like he'd just run a marathon.

"Pen, Pen, Pen, wait up," he said, standing in front of me, his hands on his hips, trying to catch his breath. "Look, I'm really sorry about that. It's not how I wanted it to go down, I swear."

I looked at him, saying nothing. Hopefully he would get the message and leave me alone, take some of his dignity with him and run back to his adoring fans. But the chances of him letting anyone go anywhere without his express approval and without loving him were slim to none. Jackass.

"Are you going to punish me forever? Look, I'm sorry I don't like you like that, okay? I've wanted to for a long time, but it's just not there. I want to be friends, at least. Can't we be friends?" He moved his head, trying to catch my eye, smiling that English schoolboy-cum-secret agent smile. Too bad he was neither English nor a secret agent. Then he might actually be worth hanging out with.

"You don't have to leave, you know. You could contest it. That weirded me out a little bit, you know, when you didn't argue your way through it. I didn't expect that. But then, you always do the opposite of what I expect, PenVen. It's what I like best about you." I forced myself to be calm, telling myself not to get angry when he called me by that stupid pet name that I used to love hearing roll off his lips. I had thought that it meant I was special. I had thought that it meant that he liked me. Total points in round one: zero.

I didn't say anything to that either, and he looked a little disconcerted. He had never failed to get a response out of anyone before. So failing doesn't feel good, now does it? I thought maliciously. Too bad the big lawyer daddy isn't here to buy my love off me. My price is a little steep, though.

"Pen? Listen, you've gotta talk to me. I said I was sorry, didn't I? Can't you just accept that and go with it? I hate to think that you're walking away mad at me." I stepped around him and headed off for my dorm room, intent on doing just that. He dogged my heels, and since I didn't look at him, I could only hear the anger rising in his voice.

"What the hell's your problem? You don't even put up a fight, you let yourself get kicked out of school, you want to go back to that shit-hole apartment in Chicago, you're being a bitch right now. What the hell is wrong with you? You're not acting like Pen. I'm disappointed. I thought you'd be tougher to crack than this." I wanted to turn around and scream at him, swear at him for being a hypocrite and a moron and a waste of space. I wanted to beat him up for last weekend, for what he did to Gavin, for how he used people and didn't care as long as they loved him for the usage. I wanted to beat myself up for ever thinking he was worth the drama I had created for myself. I walked up the stairs of my dorm, headed to my room, which was the second on the right down a hallway of aged cherry. I had liked that authentic, old-fashioned feel when I had first come here. Now I couldn't wait to leave.

Jack was still behind me. "What are you going to tell your brother when he comes to pick you up? That you just gave up a chance at a better future?" I took out my keys, and was carefully selecting the right one. I would not fumble like an idiot in front of him. I wanted to win this, dammit. "Are you going to tell them that you let a stupid prank ruin any hope of getting into a good school? What are you—"

"You should leave her alone, I think." A deep voice said to my left. Despite myself, I looked up, my hand on my key, ready to turn it in the lock. Gavin was standing in the middle of the hallway, books in hand. He was another person who wore his uniform well, the crisp whiteness of the shirt looking better against his dark, dark, skin than it ever could on someone like Jack. "You should also step away from her door and let her do what she needs to do."

I didn't look at Jack, but I could almost see his lip curling. "So look who comes to the rescue. Is that how it is? You gonna be the White Knight in shining armor, right? Or maybe that's just how you want it to be." The words hung in the air as an open reminder of what had happened on Saturday.

"Shut up, Jack."

"What?" He turned to where I standing, my hand and my eyes on my door knob.

"Pen—" Gavin started, stepping forward.

"I said shut up, Jack." I still didn't turn, but my tone turned biting. "You think that you can do whatever the hell you want and still get away with it. You think you can apologize and everything just goes away. You think you can tell me how to live my life, or understand how I have been living it, but you don't know shit, and you never have. You're so blind you can't see good people when they're standing right in front of you, and one is," I gestured blindly at Gavin, still not taking my eyes off my door, instead gazing at the brass plated number 233 gleaming on the front, "and you're so pathetic that you think you can mask your insecurities with the same stupid color game. Gavin isn't better than you because he's black, he's better than you because you're an asshole, and he's not, and you know it. So shut the hell up, because no one here wants to listen any more." I turned my key savagely in the lock, kicking open the door. Jack didn't follow me, and I rooted about on my half of the room for the suitcases I had brought with me. Most of my stuff wasn't important, because it was stuff that Grace, Joie, and Jack had given me with their infinite amounts of money. I wouldn't need those ever again.

A noise from the doorway caused me to look up. It was Gavin, and he was waiting at the threshold of my open door. It took a moment for me to remember the strict regulations about the opposite genders being in the same room, but I didn't care anymore. I nodded at him, waving him in. He was so tall that when he sat down on my bed, his legs had to go at a ninety degree angle because of the limited space in the room. He put his books on his knee and watched me pull my things from my half of the closet.

"I know you didn't do it, Pen." He said. Since there was nothing I could say to that, I didn't respond, instead rummaged on the floor of my closet to find one of the two pairs of shoes that didn't belong to Joie. "Everyone knows."

"Oh yeah?" I said viciously, throwing one of my sneakers into the room with brutal force, and continuing the search for the other one, "how many people will know that once those bastards get through to them? You'd be surprised how many people don't know what they know. Where the hell is my shoe?"

"Look at me, Pen."

"I'm looking for my shoe—"

"Look at me." I looked. He was the only person I was going to miss here. He wasn't a scholarship kid, like me. His parents were legitimately wealthy, but I had never asked what they did, and he had never volunteered the information. That was one of the things that made him different: he didn't advertise what or who made him rich. It would have been just as easy for him to be exactly like Jack and his best guy friends, but he wasn't. He deserved better than this place. "You did what you had to do on Saturday. If you'd gone to report them, you would have left them alone. They could have gotten into a car and died. You were still their friend. You took care of them. You're doing what you have to do now, I get that. I just know how hard it's going to be when you go back, and I want to warn you." I sat back on my heels, waiting for him to finish. Since I hadn't been back home since I'd left, there was nothing really to draw me back, I had no idea what I was going back to.

"People, black people, see me, hear me speak, and tell me that I have no idea what it's like to be black. They say the same stuff that our friend Killion just said. All that crap about me wishing I was white. But you know, and I know, the truth. There is no one in this world who knows how black he is than I do. It's not about being poor or uneducated, about having to sell drugs, or do drugs, or going to jail, or running out on my kids, it's not about any of that stereotype stuff. It's about being different, being the only one who's different, in the world of the rich and powerful white men. I know you understand that, too. So I know you didn't do anything on Saturday. And what's more, I know you fought them. I bet you have a couple bruises I can't see from being held back of pushed over. And as long as I know that, you are not guilty. Let the jealous hearts do what they want with that."

I looked at him in amazement. He had always been charismatic, but he'd never been truly talkative. Maybe it was a survival skill, but he talked only when he had to. I'd never known what a good speaker he was.

"What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" I asked dazedly. He smiled a little, the whiteness of his teeth matching his shirt, and being set off by his dark lips.

"Learning. Now you should get packed up. I'll help you carry your stuff to the van."

I finished sorting my things as he helped me, and we totally ignored the fact that he was missing class for the first time since he'd come to this school.

To do list: Make distant friend into best friend on the last day of school. Check, check, check. Ironic.