Send by Patty Blount

medal?
    You know, you were quiet during lunch. I like you a hell of a lot better like that.
    Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you too. You’re wasting your time with Brandon.
    I was being nice.
    Kenny rolled his eyes—my eyes—whatever. You’re not just being nice to him. You’re trying to save him. You’re only doing it for maximum points.
    I blinked. You don’t know what you’re talking about.
    Really, man? ’Cause it seems to me you’re hoping there’s a scorecard somewhere. You kill one, you save one, you’re off the hook. Hate to break this to you, but I don’t think that’s how it works.
    No. No, you’re wrong. I tried to argue, but Kenny was done. He slammed the door to his cave, jacked up his stereo.
    Drowning Pool’s “Bodies.”
    Awesome.

Big Scary Things
    The days piled up, one on top of the other, the way they do when you fall into a routine. September bled into October with warm days, but the air lost that heavy wetness that made you feel like you were trying to breathe underwater.
    I liked it. In fact, I loved the ordinariness of it. I got up, went to school, came home, worked out or did some yard work, studied a little, and then tumbled into bed. Repeat playlist.
    Dude, you talk to yourself. Not so ordinary.
    Okay, I acknowledged Kenny with a tight frown as I flipped out the sheets squished in a ball at the foot of my bed. So I talked to myself. That was a bit out of the ordinary for some people, though not for me. I’d made friends. Lisa, Paul, and Brandon. Definitely outside of the ordinary. I’d started driving Brandon to and from school on the days I didn’t have to stay later for the SAT prep course I attended. Brandon was funny once he actually opened his mouth and talked. Lisa and Paul, the other half of my speech project team, had invited me to practice sessions at their houses. I’d drop Brandon off, meet the team, and we’d practice the rebuttals, the rapid-fire questions, and our opening statements when we weren’t just hanging out.
    And then there was Julie.
    I’d apologized to her, but it wasn’t enough. She continued her ice-queen treatment of me. When we worked on the speech project, she sat beside Lisa and addressed me only when she had to. We had the same lunch period, but she always walked right past me and sat with two girls: Colleen and Beth. She didn’t like me—I got that—and I was fine with it, except for one thing.
    It was the way she looked at me.
    I’d already talked to my parents about her name, but they dismissed it as coincidence. My dad said he thought Liam was an only child. Julie couldn’t be the same Murphy. Still, there was something about the way she always seemed to be wherever I was, the way her cold blue eyes bored through me. It had me spinning horrible alternatives to explain it. If she wasn’t a sister, then maybe she was a cousin? Whatever it was, I couldn’t shake the sense that somehow Julie Murphy knew me.
    I was sure of it and fucking terrified.
    So I tolerated her treatment, even encouraged it. When Paul and Lisa couldn’t make our speech practice dates, I manufactured excuses to avoid being alone with Julie. When I did have to speak to her, I was deliberately rude. Kenny wasn’t exactly helping my cause.
    You’re a dick.
    â€œJesus, Kenny, shut up!” I yelled out loud. I was alone in my room and able to indulge Kenny. Uh, myself, I mean.
    Look at her, man! Why would you want to avoid that?
    â€œGive it a rest. We cannot be together under any circumstances. None. Zero. Get it through your head.”
    Why? he yelled back, and my eyes crossed. Give me one good reason.
    â€œIt’s too damned risky.”
    I want her.
    I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Kenny was thirteen. Life was easy when you were thirteen. “She’s not a puppy, Kenny.”
    I know. I still want her.
    â€œYeah, well, you can’t just