Warnings: Inappropriate stuff. I won't say what it is because it wouldn't be fun anymore. If you're looking for a sappy teen romance where the hot guy meets the outcast girl, this is probably NOT something you want to read.

Mark was trying to light his cigarette. Again. Sometimes, I wasn't sure whether I should admire or pity him. Those who have no direction in life—it's like they draw a bold line down whatever path they take and scribble over it with another path. It takes guts to be like them.

"Not in the house," I told him. "My dad was complaining about the smell last week."

He shrugged and stuck the thing back into his pocket. He'd been smoking since seventh grade, whenever he could, but it wasn't like he was addicted or anything. When a teacher caught him smoking in the halls, he would simply put out the cigarette on the nearest locker with his I'm-cool-with-it expression. I'd never seen him go nuts over that stuff, so I guessed it was okay.

But he never used to be that way. We went to elementary school together and he was always the shy kid who sat in the corner. He got good grades and he liked to draw. Anime, he called it. They were these cartoons with big shiny eyes that could sort of freak you out if you looked too long. That phase was over. The moment we stepped into junior high he told me he didn't give a shit about grades anymore and that if I was to continue being his best friend, I would have to accept his new character. I couldn't remember what I said after that.

I was finished with my econ homework and moving onto calculus now. Occasionally, Mark would peer over my shoulder to see what I was writing.

"I'm bored to shit," he said. "I'm gonna go look in your fridge. Or maybe your brother's room."

"Don't bother trying. It's always locked, even when he's in it."

"You think he might be doing certain things? Writing love letters? Getting high? Masturbating?" He said the last word in a way that made me want to scream and throw something at him, even if it meant destroying my homework. The last thing I wanted to think about was my younger brother touching himself in his room.

"Just get your damned food," I said.

He laughed wildly, like an old witch on crack, and stumbled out of the room. I knew he wasn't in the kitchen. He liked to go through my room whenever he could because he thought I kept some kind of secret journal hidden in my drawer or under the floor tiles or something crazy like that. I didn't even keep a journal.

The phone rang.

I was positive it would be Dad. He probably wanted to check up on Ivan and ask pointless questions like "Is he home yet?" or "Did he do his homework?" My hand lingered over the phone for a moment, but I finally picked it up. If I didn't, Dad would probably assume Ivan wasn't home and Ivan would end up in some deep shit again.

"Who is this?" I might have sounded a little harsh, but I felt like I needed to take out my annoyance on someone.

At first, no one answered, and I nearly hung up. Then, this tiny little voice came on, like some traumatized mouse squeaking over his stolen cheese.

"Mr.—Mr. Walter?"

Oh, God. Was Dad seeing someone again?

"No, but I can leave a message."

"Ivan? Is that you?"

That was when I knew it wasn't Dad's new girlfriend. Dad never mentioned his kids to any woman he might possibly have had a chance of dating. Poor guy. He could never find anyone to fit his tastes anyway.

"No, it's Sean. I'm Ivan's brother. Can I help you?"

Suddenly, the woman got all calm and business-like, like Ivan was in critical condition or something. "I'm Linda Blue," she said, "Ivan's English teacher, and I'd like to know when would be the best time to call back if I wanted to talk to your father. Ivan did not sign him up for parent-teacher conferences and I need to personally schedule an appointment to meet with him about your brother's grades."

She said all of this really fast and it took a little more than a second to register. The moment it did, I started freaking out. If Dad knew Ivan was doing poorly in school, he'd probably go through everything in Ivan's room. That would kill Ivan.

"Is there something wrong with his grades?" I asked, putting on the deepest voice I could manage without sounding overly pubertized. "You can talk to me about it if there's a problem."

"Well, he's failing my class," she said. I waited for her to go on, but she just stopped talking. It was like she took pleasure in knowing something I didn't.

Feeling slightly pissed, I said, "Ivan doesn't fail English. He can't. He's a genius."

"It doesn't matter if he's a genius or not." She sounded like she was gritting her teeth so hard, they were falling out. "Any child who fails to complete homework assignments or speak out in class automatically fails the class."

Mark came back into the room, rapping some song I've never heard that apparently consisted mostly of swear words. I covered the receiver and tried to get him to shut up, but he wouldn't.

"Yeah, I'll talk to my dad about it," I told the woman. When she didn't answer, I tried again. Mark's horrid rapping could probably be heard in the next apartment. "If you leave a number, he can call you back later, okay?"

She left her cellphone number and hung up.

Mark was still singing the crappy song.

"What on earth was that about?" I yelled, throwing my eraser at him. I immediately felt better after it left my hand. "Can't you shut the hell up for just a minute?"

"It's about a guy who can't get a girl," he said, sitting back down on the couch without bothering to pick up the eraser, "so he screws his dog instead to keep himself happy."

"That's just about the sickest thing in the world."

He shook his head, grinning like he just realized he was wiser than the Buddha and everyone wanted to learn his new philosophy. "I know something sicker," he said, pointing to his head. "This."

"Your face?"

He just kept grinning stupidly. It made me wonder how I stayed his friend for so long. I wouldn't have been surprised if he told me he screwed his dog.

"So are you coming?" he asked.

I knew he was talking about the party again, the one he'd been bugging me about for days. "To what?"

"Jessica's party. You don't remember shit." He rolled his eyes like he was so cool and all. "I made her move it to Friday, just so you could come. You can't say no."

"Fine," I said defeatedly. "I'll go."

He got up, threw his empty backpack on, and did a little dance that landed himself in front of the apartment door, probably by chance. "You said so yourself," he said. "Don't back out!"

"You're leaving?" I asked, hoping he would.

"Well, I don't want your brother to launch himself at me again when he gets home," he said. "He nearly ripped my arm off last time. I don't even know why he hates me."

"I do," I wanted to say, but I kept it to myself. Instead, I watched him do this moronic-looking twirl out the door.