"Have you simmered down some?" Warren asked me.

I cast him a sour look, my arms folded across my chest.

"Can I sit here?" Warren asked, gesturing towards the empty grass next to me.

"I don't own the courtyard Warren, do whatever the fuck you want to."

He sat down next to me, glancing down at my blank sketchbook placed down in front of me.

"It's blank," I deadpanned.

"I can see that."

"Well then stop staring at it."

"I'm just wondering what you've been doing out here for two hours if you haven't been sketching."

"I'm angry for reasons I can't really explain and I wanted to clear my head. Am I not allowed to do that anymore?"

It's a bipolar thing. I'm a laidback person for the most part, but the simplest things can set me off on a path of rage for reasons that I can't really explain. And my rage paths can put Parker to shame.

And since I know it's a bipolar thing, I feel as though I should be able to control it. I'm irrationally angry right now so stop it.

But it doesn't work like that. I'm angry, pissed even. And I want to make everyone around me not only understand it but feel exactly the same.

"Can I draw something?" Warren questioned, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

"Don't touch my sketchbook."

"I can draw a pretty mean stick man. And I can even draw you an entire comic strip about him."

"Not interested," I declined, in flat voice.

"Bet you wouldn't see the ending coming."

"Does the stick man adopt an elephant, ride it to school, and bang the head cheerleader because of the popularity points the elephant gets him?"

"Okay..." Warren trailed off, his eyebrows furrowed together in a concentrated thought. "Maybe you do know the ending. But I bet I can come up with something you can't guess."

"Doubt it."

"I have to go," I said, standing up

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"I have to go," I said, standing up.

"Bro, don't be like that," Warren said, with a sigh, as I packed my sketchbook up into my backpack.

"It's Parker. I have to go."

And I left without anymore of an explanation, I went up to the Jefferson Lake front office.

Ms. Betty tossed me a York peppermint patty as I crossed through the front office and went out the front, where Parker was leaning against a dark blue BMW in the parking lot, chatting with Wyatt with his hands shoved into his pockets.

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