Edward stood outside his classroom door. He had dropped out last year to go to Munich to visit his grandfather. Now he and his grandfather had come back to Brightdell. He knew rumors had been flying. He knew there had been rumors of rehab, prison and even fatherhood.

It was his fault, he knew. He had left without word to anyone. But it wasn’t like he had a choice. He had just come home one day. All his clothes were packed and his father had just handed him a plane ticket. Several hours later, he was on a plane to Munich.

ED sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy. He wasn’t exactly part of the “in” crowd at Brightdell, even before going away. Coming back, things wouldn’t be easier at all. He held his breath and pushed the door open.

“ED?” a female voice gasped. He turned around.

“Elle?” ED stared. Elle had been his girlfriend for a couple of months in his sophomore year. She was still as beautiful as ever. Straight blond hair that went up to just below her shoulders, her blue eyes lifted slightly at the corners, her shocked smile.

“You’re back!” she seemed genuinely happy to see him.

“Yeah, I am. How have you been holding up?” he beamed right back at her.

“I’ve been fine,” her smile and voice faltered a bit. “The rumors…” Elle trailed off.

“What have you heard?” ED’s smile vanished. “Seems like everyone’s got their own version of the Edward Dean Vance disappearance. I didn’t even know I was that famous.”

“Of course you were,” Elle smiled wanly. “You were everyone’s hero.”

“No, Joshua Milton, brainless football star was everyone’s hero,” ED laughed. It felt nice being with Elle again. He never realized how much he really missed her. He wished he had sent her a letter. But with his grandfather’s needs and his night schooling and the chores and his job, he couldn’t get anything else done.

“ED, about that…” Elle suddenly seemed on the verge of tears.

He repeated his question: “What have you heard?”

“ED, everything and nothing. Rehab?”

“Elle, that is positively atrocious. I can’t believe you could actually believe that about me.”

“ED, you just disappeared, I didn’t know what to think. No word from you at all, everyone’s versions seemed very convincing. I was alone, I…I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry,” she seemed earnestly pained.

“It’s all right, Elle,” he held out his hand. “Don’t sweat it.”

Elle tucked a lock of her blond hair behind her ear and opened her mouth. “Ed…well…there’s…you have to know.”

ED dropped his hand. “What is it, Elle?”

At that exact moment, the classroom door burst open. ED turned to look at the guy who came in. He was tall, beefy and had blond hair and blue eyes. Joshua Milton. He had his usual entourage of jocks and cheerleaders milling about him.

“Where’s my number one girl?” he announced, looking around the classroom.

Elle shifted towards ED. She looked very flustered. ED smiled down at her, assuming that it was because they had never really liked Joshua, the bighead.

Joshua’s entourage made their way to the middle of the classroom, making an enormous ruckus. Joshua was still asking for his number one girl.

“Oh, there she is!” he grinned. “Come here, baby.”

ED lifted an eyebrow and looked behind him. There was no one else. But he couldn’t be. Joshua was looking straight at…

“Elle?”

Elle opened her mouth, as if to say something. Then she closed it and smiled at Joshua. “Hey, baby.”

Joshua looked from her to ED.

“Vance, good to see you again,” Joshua smiled cockily. “Aren’t you a year older than us, dude?”

Joshua didn’t even give ED a chance to tell him that he had failed two classes in Germany and that’s why he had to repeat junior year. But Joshua wasn’t interested. He just gave ED a sad demeaning smile, put his arm around Elle and walked away.

ED shoved his hands in his back pockets and smiled wryly. Elle tucked her blonde hair behind her ears and laughed gaily with the other girls. She blended in so well. ED felt a pang of pain somewhere in his chest area. He felt like he’d been punched.

He turned away from them and moved to the back of the class, not knowing that at the moment he stopped looking at her and wishing she would look back was the moment she found the courage to look at him, wishing he was looking at her too.

Vaughan shot up. He looked around. Everything was dark. He put a hand against his throbbing head. Where the hell am I? Vaughan’s dark chocolate eyes darted from side to side, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings.

Then, as he began to calm down, it dawned on him – the hospital. He looked towards the serene bed. Blanche was here – right.

Vaughan’s heart began to settle down to a normal pace. He got up and began to fold his blanket. He went over to Blanche’s bed and looked at her pale face. He stroked her hair back and wondered what time it was. Then he remembered: SCHOOL!

He looked up at the wall clock that hung above the bed he had slept on. 8:05. Damnation! An hour and five minutes late! He ran over to the window and drew the blinds. Sunlight flooded the room, revealing an austere private hospital suite. The patient’s bed stood against a wall, a cream-colored bedside table displayed a rosary and a half-opened black purse. Across the patient’s bed was the watcher’s bed. On one end of the watcher’s bed stood a television; at the other end, a fridge. Beside the fridge a cheap wooden closet held Blanche’s and Vaughan’s clothes.

In the light, you could see Vaughan’s fragile appearance. Vaughan had a mess of dark hair; his skin was tanned, from frequent excursions into the sun, running errands; his eyes were a rich chocolate; his nose and mouth aristocratic; he was tall, maybe 5’8”. He walked over to his sister’s bedside and tried to wake her up. Her eyelid’s fluttered.

“Yeah?” her voice was hoarse.

“Blanche. This is Vaughan. Do you think you’ll be all right until Heather arrives? I’ve got to get to school and she’s late.”

Blanche was wide-awake now. “Yeah, I’ll be fine, Vaughan. Just roll my food tray over here.”

Vaughan obediently wheeled the tray and positioned it so Blanche was comfortable enough. He took a quick shower in the tiny bathroom that came with the suite. He emerged in a ratty pair of jeans and a red shirt. He tossed the clothes he had slept in into an overnight bag and shoved the bag in the hospital room’s closet.

He grabbed his school bag and ran off. He looked at his watch. 8:28! He sped towards Brightdell High, four blocks away from the hospital. No time for breakfast or any sort of nourishment now.

Nearing Brightdell High, Vaughan’s shoe caught on a loose stone and he tripped. He fell forward and rolled a couple of inches in the dust and grime. He got up, brushed himself off and dashed inside the campus.

He darted inside, his feet making a commotion down the empty halls. He turned a corner, nearly bumping into a series of lockers and burst into his classroom.

“I’m sorry I’m late. It will happen again, ma’am,” Vaughan gasped as he entered his classroom. There was a massive stitch in his side and it felt like it was about to tear itself apart.

The face that looked at him from the chalkboard wasn’t his normal homeroom teacher, Miss Darcy.

“Sir…” Vaughan amended, a little too late.

“I’m Mister O’Toole. Miss Darcy had a little accident during a limbo contest and dislocated her hip. I’ll be substituting for her over the next few weeks.”

Vaughan nodded, quickly assessing the substitute. He seemed pretty indulgent. However, if there was anything Vaughan had learned from his family is never to trust first appearances. He remained rooted to where he was.

“Aren’t you supposed to say ‘it WON’T happen again’?” Mr. O’Toole smiled.

“No, sir; I am almost certain I will be late again,” Vaughan answered truthfully.

“Very well, Mr. Grant; I shall be keeping an eye on you. Take a seat?”

“How…?” Vaughan began.

“Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Grant. I have been informed of Darcy’s Come-Late-Go-Early student,” Mr. O’Toole chuckled. “Now, get to your seat, Mr. Grant. I already consumed my first period Mathematics subject and I still have a couple of announcements to make yet.”

Vaughan obliged and sat in the second chair from the left in the penultimate row. He let out a sigh of relief. When Mr. O’Toole had called him by name back there, he had jumped to the conclusion that O’Toole had seen the resemblance and had taken a wild guess.

Vaughan put his backpack down; he had had no time to stash it in his locker and took out a pen and a notebook full of times, notes and reminders.

He noticed that the guy beside him wasn’t his usual seatmate, Bryce Chang. The new kid had blond hair and was looking out the window with an empty look on his face.

“Mr. Callaghan, would you mind coming to the front please?” Mr. O’Toole called addressed the blond kid.

“Oh, bullocks,” the new kid had a British accent. He watched “Mr. Callaghan” walk to the front languidly. Vaughan shrugged and went back to his notebook. He flipped it to a fresh page and scribbled: CALL DAD. MONEY.