And as it turned out, Rose was not the one who had anything to worry about. It was me.

It also is awkward because I feel the rest of the class’ eyes on me thinking, “Your family is so clearly awesome. Is there a reason you aren’t awesome?”

“You’re a good son,” she declared, turning towards the refrigerator. “Not the most reliable one, but a good one.” I felt my ears turning red with embarrassment. I glanced once more at the painting on the fridge. It was clear. Ramona Weathers believed me to be her son, Lionel.

The circle parted as Professor Ramsay arrived on the scene, looking confused and angry. There was no need for him to ask what was going on. A student from his house was lying on the ground with a bloody face, and I was standing over him with blood on my hands.

I knew I shouldn't do it; I knew I should do nothing but continue the work that had been assigned to me. In spite of myself, I found that there was a tiny part of me that was desperately curious to find out what problems were ailing my Professor.

“I love her,” I repeated slowly and honestly.

I was such an idiot. I was giving Glen a run for his money.

I couldn't help but wonder if the little scrap of paper with Glen's name on it would ever be completed and torn in half.

“Boys never come in here for good reasons,” she continued, frustration and pain coursing through her rather whiny voice. “They only come in here to tease me, or throw things at me, or play pranks on me, or to...”

Glen thought hard. “I think you have to tell them to break an arm or something.”

“Break an arm?” I demanded, exasperated. “I can't say that! Its awful.”

“Exactly,” Glen asserted happily. “You tell them something bad, so that something good will happen instead.”

Dad closed the door behind us, and it suddenly felt like we were the only two people in the school. We were shut away. Something was about to happen.