The half hour before the bell sounds for school to start at East Madison High School is affectionately known as the calm before the storm.

It's the perfect time for students to lounge in long lines on both sides of the hallway and people-watch with more fascination than paparazzi, finish their homework that they procrastinated until that morning, or gossip about who hooked up with who at Janet Spencer's latest party. She has one just about every week, complete with alcohol, hot tub and pool, and of course, no parental supervision.

Sometimes it scares me how cliché high school really is.

Then the storm occurs: a seven-minute rush of stampeding teenagers, some of whom have forgone the most important meal of the day as well as deodorant, all packed into hallways not designed for those with claustrophobic tendencies and forced to walk and/or run and/or stumble as fast as they can to their first period class room.

Fun.

I walked down the main hallway of EMHS at exactly 7:09 am, counting the seconds in my head to see how long it would be today before I was verbally assaulted by some egotistical jock with a brain the size of a walnut. There were none currently in sight, but it often surprised me how boys so big could hide in places so small and creep up behind me so quietly.

I got to my locker, gently pushed aside the gothic-looking couple making out right in front of it, and proceeded to do my combination while balancing a giant pile of books in my left arm. As soon as I had turned left to the second number, my cell phone rang.

It was Andrea. It had to be Andrea. Because no one but Andrea would call my cell this early in the morning (7:10 am) and expect me to answer it.

My ring tone was Tchaikovsky's Waltz of the Flowers, from the Nutcracker Ballet, and elicited a few looks from random kids sitting across the hall from my locker.

Why, you may wonder, is my ring tone a classical song composed by some foreign dead guy instead of the latest hip-hop sensation that's gripping the nation?

Being a dedicated ballerina for much of my life has had the effect of broadening my cultural interests to classical music and opera, instead of whatever type of music deejays are playing on the most popular radio station at the time. This isn't necessarily accepted widely by any of my peers(or accepted at all, really), and so I've gotten used to my fair share of looks.

I ignored the estranged students and fished my phone out of my pocket, still trying to keep the four unnaturally large textbooks steady.

"Yes, Andrea?"

"I got in!" she shrieked excitedly, her capacity for patience extremely low.

I tried shifting my phone to my other ear and having my books change arms in the process. It worked rather successfully until a large group of teens, who just had to walk in a straight line down the hall, bumped into me, thereby forcing me against my locker and scattering my books everywhere.

Of course, no one stopped to help.

"Lucy, you there?" asked my phone. I decided that it was best to abandon my books on the ground for a moment and focus on Andrea.

"I'm here," I said. I looked down at the mess, gave into the urge, and started picking up my books one-handed and shoving them into my locker.

"Where are you?"

"At my locker." Andrea liked to wander the halls, pretending to be going to her class, but really she was listening for small snippets of gossip or looking at the popular girls' outfits for the day to see what was new on the fashion front. She didn't have a lot of time to come see me.

"I'm right around the corner! I'll be right there."

"Okay," I said, but she had already hung up. I started taking out the books I needed for school that day from my locker. From there I would go to my first period class, which would be empty, as always, and start studying for my AP Calculus test that I had in a week. My life at school. Exciting, isn't it?

"Oh my god, isn't it so exciting?" Andrea squealed as she ran up behind me. At first I thought she was commenting about my before school routine, but I then realized that Andrea does not know what I am thinking and therefore could not be talking about that. Thank goodness.

Her long blonde hair was straightened to the point of no return, just as it was every day, and pulled back with a shiny black headband. I personally liked her naturally texture, which is what it would look like if curls and waves had a child, but it wasn't in style, so she wouldn't have anything to do with it.

"What's exciting?" I asked, turning to her.

"I got in!" she said happily, reminding me.

"Oh, yeah!" I said, giving a cheesy smile that I hoped she couldn't see through. "Yeah, it's great. I'm really proud of you."

She stared at me for a second, frowned, and cocked her head to the right. "Lucy, I'm not stupid."

I shrugged because I couldn't think of a witty response for that statement. Luckily, Andrea took it as one.

She looked around the halls, making sure nobody was listening in on our conversation. The thought made me laugh. As if.

"Queen of Hearts!" she said matter of factly, as thought it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I shook my head. "Still lost."

She rolled her eyes and nodded down the hallway, wanting me to walk with her. I sighed, grabbed my backpack and purse, shut my locker, and followed her.

"Lucy, I've been talking about this for weeks!" she said in a hushed voice as we walked down the hallway, back the way I had come. "Queen of Hearts? C'mon Luce, I've told you about this. It's East Madison's exclusive high school sorority! You have to be invited into it, and everyone who is anyone is in it. Well, only girls, of course. Janet Spencer is on the council!"

"Well, that's must mean its good," I said sarcastically, referring to Andrea's last comment about Janet.

"Lucy, please!" pleaded Andrea. "This is important to me! In any case, I found a letter in my locker this morning, and it said that they were interested in me! I get to go to the callout at Janet's house and then I'll get the chance to be initiated! I'm so happy I can hardly speak."

I almost snorted. The day Andrea loses power of speech is the day I get invited to be in Queen of Hearts. In other words, not gonna happen.

I couldn't say that I was absolutely ecstatic for Andrea. I mean, she really wanted it, but ever since freshman year it had been her dream to be a part of the popular crowd. Unfortunately, the popular crowd didn't feel the same way about her. Up until now, I guess.

I had watched her try and try over the years to get Janet Spencer, Allison Hannon, or Meredith Reed to notice her in class, to say something about her outfit, her hair, her makeup, anything. She had spent 200 on this one haircut that she got in LA, and when she came back, the only person to comment on it was some random freshman girl.

She tried so hard and got nothing from it. I had made her hot chocolate and sat with her on numerous occasions, watching sappy chick flicks when she was just feeling like there was no point to life anymore. Well, not that extreme, but you know what I mean.

So it was hard for me to be happy for her. She was just going to crawl to them like a wounded puppy, completely debasing herself. Frankly, it made me sick.

Maybe I was jealous. I'd considered it, and it seemed like a plausible reaction in this situation: Friend #1 leaves Friend #2 for new friends, Friend #2 is lonely and sad. But that's not me. I have so much to do in my life, that I normally have barely any time for Andrea, let alone any other friends.

"Don't you see, Luce?" said Andrea, bringing me out of my reverie. She'd apparently been talking the entire time, and I felt bad that I hadn't listened. "This could change my life."

I looked at her. She had long, naturally blonde hair, an athletic build, and a trendy wardrobe. She looked like that classic California girl, except for the fact that we lived in Wisconsin. If I hadn't known her and just met her on the street, I would have assumed she was extremely popular.

I gave her a smile, a real one this time. "It's great, An. I'm really happy for you." She smiled back and hooked her arm through mine. We continued walking down the hall, passing what was normally the busiest intersection in the school day.

Our school colors are blue and black, and so everything in the hallway is either one of those two colors. Even the carpets are black, which is good for hiding those surreptitious stains whose origins are unknown. The lockers are blue and we also have random blue carpeting on the walls, the purpose of which remains a mystery to all.

I felt her stop and tug at my arm for a moment, and when I glanced over to where she was staring, I understood why.

It was them. East Madison High School royalty. The cream of the crop. Out of nowhere a bright light shone down from up above and a choir standing behind them hit a glorious note in 16 part harmony that was held out forever.

Okay, maybe not, but that's probably what it looked like to Andrea.

Standing right beside the intersection was Allison Hannon (the It girl), Janet Spencer (her bitch of a best friend), Meredith Reed (the sophisticated, aloof member of the group), Drew Cook (star quarterback for the EMHS Warriors as well as Meredith's cousin), Chris Andrade (Student Council President and overall good guy), Matt Earles (Can you say man-whore?), a bunch of guys from the football team, and way too many cheerleaders than should ever be in one place at the same time.

They were all chatting up a storm about…whatever they like to chat about, I guess. I don't know. I'm not really privy to that sort of classified information. But it seemed like they were having a really good time, laughing and chatting about their unknown topics.

It was like a magazine ad. Perfect teenagers all gathered around each other, wearing their perfect clothes, some guys with their hands around girl's waists, and everyone with perfect smiles... Perfection seems kinda overrated if you ask me.

Andrea had to stand there for a minute and take it all in, everything she's wanted for the past three years, and probably longer. I had to nudge her forward in order for her not to catch their attention and face their ridicule because she dared to stare.

"ANNIE!"

I sighed when I heard this. It had taken them longer than usual today.

A group of five football players detached from the group and started lumbering down the hallway, leaving the rest of the popular crowd staring at me in confusion. I gave a small humorless laugh. As if they didn't watch this every day.

All the football players crowded around me and Andrea, creating a small circle that claustrophobic Andrea had by now gotten used to.

"Hi boys! What's up?" I said sarcastically, planting a false ditzy smile on my face.

"Oh nothing much Annie!" said Ernest "Red" Hawthorne enthusiastically. He had (big surprise) bright red hair contrasting drastically with the black and blue football jersey he was wearing. "What're you planning on having for lunch today? A peanut? A noodle?" He laughed at his own joke and so did all his friends.

"Oh Ernest, you're so funny!" I said, playing along. "No, I was thinking about actually having a real meal today. You know, a salad. But I'll just puke it all up later, like I always do." They all started "Oooh"ing, and I pushed my way out of the confined space, dragging Andrea with me. They kept shouting anorexic jokes at me down the hallways until I turned the corner, and when I did, I heard everybody break out into a fit of laughter.

Yes, in case you haven't figured it out by now, that wasn't just a silly group of football players who like to tease me and they think my name is Annie.

It had all started one day when I was walking down the hall past that intersection, and Joey Bateman had just randomly yelled out to me, "Hey! What's wrong with you? Are you like, anorexic or something?"

Then Red had looked at me and said, "You know what, Joe, I'll bet she is! She's East Madison's own little Annie Anorexic!" Clever, I know.

The name stuck, and every morning, without fail, they continue to rib me about my weight. Apparently, at East Madison, having a naturally high metabolism and being a dedicated ballet dancer(who dances almost every day and eats healthily) makes me an anorexic. Yeah, I'm don't see the logic either.

Today wasn't so bad, but it's gotten pretty rough and teachers have had come over to ask what's going on. It doesn't really bother me though, because I know they aren't the sharpest tools in the shed. I mean, bulimics are the ones who puke their food up, not anorexics. I threw it out there for them to catch, but they didn't. Just like in their football games.

"Lucy, why do you let them do that to you?" said Andrea, giving me the speech that I got after these types of encounters. "You're not anorexic."

Normally, I just shrug it off, but I had a different answer. "I know I'm not, An. And that's good enough for me." We turned into the math hallway and I started walking towards my classroom.

"But doesn't it at least bother you?" Andrea asked, genuinely confused.

"Doesn't what bother me?" I stopped and turned to her.

"What they think about you?" I sighed. Andrea had always been concerned about what other people think about her, and as a result of that, she had a bad self-image.

"Andrea, it doesn't matter what they think about me. What matters is what I think about me. I don't have to go proving to people that I'm not anorexic in order to be happy." I turned and walked into my Calculus class. Nobody there. As usual.

I sat down in my seat and pulled out my Calculus Textbook from my backpack. The test was next week, but I always had to start studying early, because my schedule never allowed me to do it the night before, like normal kids. But other things were on my mind besides Calculus.

Queen of Hearts. What an utterly ridiculous idea. Sororities were for college, not for high school. It would only give a horrible reputation to the girls for being party animals and not being capable of doing anything besides sleeping around with the football players, most of whom, might I add, were not that cute.

My thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Allison Hannon, Miss East Madison High School herself, in the doorway of the classroom. I was shocked to see her this early. Allison apparently needed some help with schoolwork, because there was no way she was ever in class before the warning bell.

Her golden-blonde hair, nothing like my sort-of-just-plain-normal blonde hair, was perfectly styled into a posh bun, complete with chopsticks, and she was decked out in a sort of blue kimono meets mini-dress. I looked down at my own outfit, skinny jeans, ballet flats, and a blouse, and took an instant hit to my self-esteem.

She walked past my desk just as I looked up, nodded her head about a centimeter, and then continued on to her desk. Okay, so maybe I wasn't as entirely transparent as I'd thought. Our teacher, Ms. Barnschlop (Yes, that is her name. We're all rooting for her and her boyfriend to tie the knot over Christmas so that we'll get to call her Mrs. Smith next semester. A lot more normal, and a hell of a lot easier to pronounce) didn't pay attention to either of us; she was lost deep inside her paperback romance novel.

I turned my attention back to Calculus. Ugh. Limits. Ms. B was generally lax about homework and such, so half the time I didn't do it, meaning half the time with this stuff, I didn't understand a single word. Or number. Whatever.

I tried a few sample problems from the book, and managed to botch them so badly I just shut the book hard in frustration. Ms. B didn't look up.

I looked up at the clock. Fifteen minutes until class started. Great. I drummed my fingernails on my book, too lazy start studying anything else. If only I was in the back row, then I could sleep my way through 1st period Calc. Sadly, this was not an option.

"Psst!"

I stopped drumming my fingers and looked at the doorway, figuring Andrea might have come back with a response to my logic. She hadn't.

"Psst!"

There it was again. I looked up at Ms. B. She was still engrossed in the book and had a small secretive smile on her face which I attributed to the type of book she was reading.

Gross.

Well, if it wasn't Ms. B, then who was it? No one else in the room would-

"Psst!" I thought about it for a moment, and then decided that it couldn't be. But just in case…

I turned around and there she was. Allison Hannon trying to get my attention. Will the wonders never cease? Not that there had been any wonders before this, but that's beside the point.

She gave me a little hand wave, beckoning me to come over to her chair. I pondered it for a moment, and then traversed the classroom to her desk which was on the far wall and towards the back. She had her math book open, to the exact page that I had just been studying.

"Do you get this?" she asked in a hushed irritated voice before I even got to that side of the room.

I shook my head. "Barely."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, that's more than me. Can you at least explain what you do get?" I nodded and sat down in the desk beside her. It was a large problem with complicated steps, and I had only gotten through explaining the third one before I found myself lost.

"I'm sorry. That's all I've got," I said apologetically.

She waved me off with her hand. "It's fine. I can figure it out later. I just needed to start now so I don't have to do it over the weekend."

Now, I'm not naturally a nosy person, but because she was Allison Hannon, and I knew Andrea would appreciate any bit of info about the popular crowd, I decided to pry a little bit.

"What's over the weekend?" I asked curiously.

She sighed, apparently not looking forward to it. "Q of H Planning." I must have looked confused, because she clarified for me. "Queen of Hearts." Now I knew exactly what she was talking about, but I pretended to draw a blank, hoping to get some info out of her. She looked slightly incredulous that I didn't know what Queen of Hearts was, but she must have bought it, because she started to explain it to me.

"It's basically an exclusive high school sorority. You have to be invited in, and we have weekly meetings, and it's a lot of work." She rolled her eyes again. "But it's a leadership position and colleges will love that, so I'm doing it." She sighed again. "Running it, in fact." She seemed bitter about the whole situation.

"But you don't really want to?" I asked, surprised that Allison Hannon herself would ever open up to me, Lucy Baker, relatively talented ballet dancer but otherwise complete nobody.

She looked surprised that I would even suggest it. "No! I love Queen of Hearts! I've wanted to run it ever since freshman year." She paused, thinking about what she had said. "It's just a lot of work. I mean, I've got college apps to do, and I'm on student council, and there's cheer squad, I'm captain of that, and…I don't know." She shook her head, trying to reassure herself. "I'll get it together. I always do."

She looked down at her math book, sighed, frustrated, and slammed it shut, just as I had done about five minutes back. "I'll just ask Drew. He took it last year." And with that she grabbed her purse and her book and hurried out of the room, without so much as a thank you or goodbye.

Even so, I smiled. Andrea was going to either love or hate me forever.

The school day progressed and nothing went horribly wrong or right. Ms. B gave us a study day in Calc, and Mary Addison, who is fifth in the class and also, fortunately, sits right next to me, explained everything that I'd been confused about. We had a pop quiz in European History, which was alright since I'd reviewed my notes the day before. All my others classes were just note-taking: the majority of my high school career.

Andrea had talked my ear off during lunch about Queen of Hearts, everything that they did(which, in all truth, appeared to be nothing), their contribution to the school(new cheerleading uniforms), and their influence on everybody( they make everybody strive for perfection…). I just nodded and "mm-hmm"ed at the right times, and she seemed to buy that I actually cared.

Ok, I sound mean. I do care about Andrea, who has been my best friend since seventh grade, and I guess I'm happy that she reached her goal of getting in. What I don't care about is Queen of Hearts and their sad, pathetic attempt at community service (a car wash. Whoopee).

As soon as the bell had rung to end the school day (3:00 pm…ugh) I was up and out of my French class like a rocket. AP French is tortuous enough, but to make me have it at the end of the day, a time when I can barely speak coherent sentences in English, let alone another language…that's just mean.

I speed walked down the main hallway of EMHS, dodging the slow walkers as I went. I had to get down to the studio, stretch, and then see if I could coax Will into playing a bit for me while I practiced. It was a hopeful scenario on my part, but not entirely realistic. He usually was too engrossed in his MP3 to even look at me, let alone play the piano.

I had seen Andrea ninth period, and wouldn't see her until that time the next day, unless she decided to bless me with a visit to my house to weigh her options for popularity. After school, she usually went off to some random club she had decided to join because it would look good for college. She was in about ten of them and was constantly running around after school, trying to make it to all of the meetings for at least a little bit of time.

My schedule on the other hand, while still hectic, was a bit more lax. I just went straight to the ballet studio, had class for an hour, sometimes two, and then drove to pick up my younger brother Patrick from whatever sport he was laying that season; it was currently football.

In my opinion, the East Madison High School Student parking lot should be considered a war zone. In the morning, kids zip around on their cars as fast as they can, trying to find a parking spot that minimizes their walking time to the school, thereby lengthening it when they take too long and all the good spots are gone.

After school, kids take their time to get to their cars, which is exactly the problem. Some of us (ME!) like to get out of there quickly, and when kids are walking as slow as they can to get to their cars, people like me get frustrated and start honking horns. Then the kids get mad and start making obscene gestures at these drivers which causes yelling matches, which causes fights, brawls, etc. If, by some fortune, you manage to get out of the parking space before any kids cross your path, you will most certainly be slowed down by them as you attempt to drive out of the lot, ensuing in honking, obscene gestures, and so on and so forth.

For those reasons, I like to get to my car, a '97 Honda Civic, as fast as humanly possible. I keep slip on gym shoes in my locker just so that I can get better traction than I do with ballet flats. I'm just kidding. But honestly, I probably should.

Today wasn't so bad in terms of traffic; it only took me five minutes to get out of the lot versus the thirty minutes I get on some days.

The ballet studio was basically empty when I first arrived, and I took advantage of the time that I had before my class to get dressed, stretch, and warm up. I knew that Will would be in at any moment and I wanted to grab him before he got a chance to turn on the studio's boom box to some random Top 40 hip-hop radio station. Just in case, I hid it away underneath the desk in the administrative office, hoping he wouldn't think to look there.

I work at the ballet studio aka The Madison Ballet Academy part time as a receptionist and the other part time as an assistant for the younger classes. I really like working there, because of the people and because I love ballet, as previously mentioned. Just being in the studio makes me happy.

I was doing some barre work when I heard the front door open. Will!

"Will!" I called, coming out of my position and racing to the hallway. "Will, will you play piano for me?" He came into view slowly, backpack on shoulders, MP3 in hand.

No! I was too late.

I waved a hand in front of his face, hoping to distract him long enough to get a conversation. It had been know to fail before.

"What, Lucy?" he asked tiredly, not even looking up to see who it was. I smirked.

"Will you play a bit for me?" I asked pleadingly. "Please?" He didn't say anything. "Will." Nothing. I tried again, a bit louder this time. "Will?" Nada.

Time for Phase 3. Biting my lip, I reached up, yanked the earphones out of his ears and grabbed his MP3.

"Lucy!" he shouted angrily, turning his head to glare at me. It was almost too hard to look scared, what with how cute he looked today and all.

He was wearing his usual polo shirt, popped collar, and he smelled musky. His brown hair was short and angled in a faux-hawk that I often teased him about, and I could tell that it had been gelled that morning.

But the thing that got me, the thing that got everybody, was the eyes. Will had the most beautiful blue eyes that I had ever seen on this earth. It wasn't the color, or the size, or even the shape, though. It was the clarity. I don't even know if that makes sense, but everyone else seems to agree with me, at least at the ballet studio.

Will Morgan has been known to get sent out of a ballet class, just because the girls can't focus on dancing with him watching them. The teachers don't like that, because then they're out of a piano player, so sometimes we all just gather around Will and discuss, in front of him, what makes him so attractive. It's rather funny to watch him sit there, turning red (actually it's more pink now that he's gotten used to it) while everyone comments on his physical appearance This helps girls focus a little better on their dancing, but by not much.

I started to speak to him as if he was a small child. "Will, I need to develop some sort of dance for my Juilliard audition, and for that I need music, and I need music while I am dancing, so that I may come up with this dance that I am supposed to develop. Now, Juilliard is an extremely prestigious school with high rigorous standards, meaning I will have to create an extremely rigorous and developed dance. In order to do this, I will have to create the dance months in advance to the audition, yes, months. Which is why I need you, to give me some music to work with, so that I may begin to choreograph this hard and rigorous dance that I need."

Will stared at me for a second, and I stared right back at him. He shook his head. "Lucy, you use an excessive excess of words when you are speaking," he commented dryly.

"And you, Will," I said, pushing a finger into his chest, "don't use nearly enough words. Like try these: 'Yes, Lucy, I would love to play the piano for you.' Do you think you could manage that?"

He shrugged, walked to the piano, and tossed his backpack down on the floor. He sat down on the piano bench and placed his hands upon the keys, fingers poised to strike.

"What are we dancing to today?" he asked, waiting for me to get in the center of the room, where I liked to start all my dances.

"Let's do the Canon," I said, moving my arms and feet around to get into a starting position that I liked. Pachelbel's Canon was my favorite classical piece of all time, and I loved to dance to it, making up different combinations every time.

He nodded, and began to play.

You've probably heard the Canon before; it's used a lot in commercials and TV and film. It has one of those universal melodies that everybody knows, like Happy Birthday or the alphabet song. I think, when played properly by a piano, as Will does, or with an entire orchestra, that it's the most beautiful song I've ever heard. Sometimes I get so caught up in the moment that I start tearing up, and then Will had to stop and sit there awkwardly as a try to get ahold of myself.

Will, although he doesn't look it, is actually an extremely gifted pianist. His mom made him start it when he was four so that he wouldn't be so hyperactive and it's paid off over the years. He accompanies a lot of people for dance, instrumental, and vocal solos and makes a lot of money by doing it.

We've know each other for a while, ever since he started playing for the studio, and since then he's gotten used to me bugging him to play for me. He works at the studio too, not only as a piano player, but as a receptionist and janitor. He's Mr. Handy Man.

He had played it for me about three times before other dancers started coming in for the 4:00 class. I stopped immediately as the first one came in, but he kept playing, not noticing.

I have this thing about people watching me when I perform. Well, not perform, practice. I like everything about a dance to be absolutely perfect before I show anyone, and so in the practicing stages, the only one who can be in the room is Will, and he doesn't even really count because he can't see me directly.

Class lasted about an hour that day, and most of it was still review combinations for those people who had slacked off and not danced all summer. I was itching for a new position or move, but I knew that I wouldn't get one until possibly next week, or even the week after.

As we were packing up, I walked by Will and the piano to go put my stuff in the office; I was the receptionist for three hours, and after a class, I usually just stayed in my ballet clothes and did homework.

"Are you going to the game tomorrow?" asked Will coolly as I passed.

I glanced sideways at him. "Do I ever go to the football game, Will?" He had a habit of asking me every Thursday if I was going to the next night's football game, and I'd always respond with some excuse for me not to go, because, in reality, what's the point?

"No, but you might want to try something new," he said, getting up and following me into the office. "They're really not that bad."

"For you," I said pointedly. Will was actually a relatively popular guy at school. He didn't hang out with the elite or anything but people knew who he was, and he was relatively well-liked. He had no trouble making friends or finding people to hang out with at a football game. Me, on the other hand…

"You've got to expand your horizons," said Will, kneeling down on the ground and rifling through some drawers. "Doesn't Juilliard want well-rounded students?" He found a plastic bag and pulled out a chocolate chip granola bar, handmade by the owner of the studio and left here for us for after school snacks.

"I'm not going to put on my resume: 'Went to a football game'," I told him, sticking out my tongue.

"Of course not," he said, mouth full of granola bar. "You should put 'Went to football games'"

"Get out," I said, pushing him through the door and shutting it. He only reappeared, granola bar still in hand, on the other side of the desk that customers used.

The phone rang.

"Leave!" I hissed at him. He finally went off to play for the next class, leaving me to take the call in peace.

After work, I drove home, (On days that I work, my brother Patrick gets picked up by my mom) ate dinner with my family, did my homework, and went to sleep.

Story of my life.