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controller.
    "Yeah, I know." Stu continued to stare at the television.
    "So, what's up, little buddy? Why are you really in my room at two o'clock in the morning? You don't even like this game." I studied my little brother as I waited for a response, wondering how we could be so different. At fifteen, Stu was very mature for his age. He was a sensitive soul that worked through his anxiety with music. Even though he sported a Goth look complete with died black hair and black nail polish, he was an excellent musician who played piano, flute, cello and guitar. I admired his ability to defy Sam and be different.
    "I wrote a song for the school band. We're gonna play it at the winter concert," he said after a few moments.
    "That's awesome, Stu. That's amazing." I paused the game and looked at my brother. "I didn't know you wrote music, too. I just thought you played instruments."
    Stu didn't respond to my adulation. He continued to stare in front of him. "I told Sam. She laughed at me."
    "I'm sorry, Stu. She just doesn't understand."
    "Or maybe she just doesn't love me as much as she loves you."
    Love? Was it really love that motivated Sam to drive me to the brink of exhaustion day in and day out? I had never really thought about it. Over the years, I had just come to accept our way of life. I knew it wasn't normal. But what is a normal relationship for a teenager and their parent? I didn't know the answer to that, but sometimes I did envy the close relationship Reyna had with her father. She told him everything and he always listened to her problems without being the least bit overbearing and deciding what she should do for her. He gave her options and let her find her own path in life while supporting her decisions.
    "Stu, that's not —"
    "Whatever. It’s not like I need her approval." He stood to leave. “I thought you might be drinking tonight so, I left a urine sample in your bathroom in case she asks for one in the morning. You should rest. Sam's got a long day planned."
      I tried to rest, but I couldn't. I just kept thinking of Reyna. Why would she think I was playing her? Had I really turned into that guy? The stereotypical, shallow jock that turned out to be the jerk in every teen movie ever made? If that was the case, Reyna would never date me. After fighting stereotypes every day of her life, she would never succumb to dating one.
      I rolled over and looked at the clock. 2:45. I wondered what she was doing. She was probably up studying. Reyna Luz Lewis, the only high schoolgirl I know who would do homework on a Friday night. I wanted to call her. I wanted to see her. And more than anything, I wanted to kiss her.
     
     

Chapter 7
     Nov. 1
     
     At five in the morning, Reyna gave up on trying to sleep. Instead she rose from her bed and started working on the "I Voted" buttons she had decided to make for every teacher and student at Charleston Prep that voted. That was another one of her missions, to make sure that everyone possible fulfilled their civic duty. She had posted flyers, held registration drives, and even personally called each student that was over eighteen to convince them to vote. During this process she never influenced people on who they should vote for. She was completely neutral at school, but on Sundays she volunteered for the Obama campaign.
      Thankfully, Charleston Prep was a relatively small private school with only 83 seniors eligible to vote and almost 200 faculty and staff. Given that she had been working on these buttons for two weeks, she was nearly done. After finishing the last one, she looked at the clock. Scottie was probably already up and getting ready to run the Ravenel Bridge. She wondered if he would swing by the center later. He did that sometimes.
      Reyna placed the buttons in a box, and then sat back down at her desk. She sighed, desperately wanting something to do so that she would stop thinking of Scott. She reached for one of her medical textbooks and flipped it open