Weeks passed. Russell and Sal still saw each other at lunch every day, but they were never able to hang out after school anymore. Russell's new job kept him busy. It wasn't a big deal, since Sal was rarely able to see him outside of school anyway. ("My parents hate you," Russell explained. "They don't like us hanging out.") But Sal wished he could spend more time with his dearly beloved Rusty Russell.

One night, Sal saw an internet ad for a very important day approaching, causing him to dial Russell's number.

"Valentine's Day is coming up," Sal said, after exchanging the usual hellos.

"I hate Valentine's Day," Russell said. "It's a dumb, commercialized, over-hyped holiday that's an excuse for couples to show off their relationships and for singles to feel bad about being single. Who cares."

"Oh."

"Let's celebrate it." Russell's voice was cheerful, as if Sal's sad-sounding 'oh' had changed his feelings on the subject.

Sal couldn't help but smile as he flopped onto his bed. "What should we do?"

"Whatever you want."

Sal picked at a thread on his comforter. "Everywhere is going to be crowded. I want to go somewhere where there aren't any people."

Russell agreed. "There's this park we could go to, that's in walking distance of my house. Maybe you could come over after school, and we can go there."

"And why would I ever want to go to your house again?" Sal asked. "Especially since your parents hate me."

"To kill a couple hours until it's time to go. I want to leave around sunset. It'll be more... romantic."

Valentine's Day, after school, Sal went straight to Russell's house. Russell's mother was in the family room, watching TV. Everyone exchanged hellos, though there was an awkwardness between Sal and Elizabeth.

"I just remembered," Elizabeth said right as they were about to leave the room. "You got something in the mail. From Harvard." She picked an envelope up from a pile of mail, and handed it to him.

Russell stared at the front of the thin envelope, and turned it around. Elizabeth had her hands clasped, appearing far more interested in the results than Russell himself. And Russell opened the envelope, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it slowly, and scanned through its contents with a neutral expression.

"Well?" Elizabeth asked. "Did you get in?"

For a split second, Sal caught a flash of what might have been fear in Russell's eyes. As though he were afraid to answer the question. But he couldn't have been too afraid, for he shook his head, and handed her the letter. "I didn't get in."

Sal thought Elizabeth looked more disappointed than Russell, though it was hard to tell what Russell was feeling.

"I'm sorry." Elizabeth stood up, and gave Russell a hug.

"Me too." Sal gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"They're missing out on a great student," Elizabeth said. "But there's other good schools. Maybe Princeton will accept you. Or Stanford. You could continue living with us if you go to Stanford. It would be a bit of a commute, but it'll save a lot of money. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"Yeah," Russell said, sounding relieved about something.

* * * * *

Once the two boys entered Russell's room, Russell closed the door. The sinking feeling in his stomach was still there. He had disappointed his parents by not getting into Harvard. And worse- part of him felt happy about it, and secretly hoped he didn't get into any of those other universities. The thought of law school put him in an anxious state.

At least his mother took the news well. He was afraid she wouldn't. And the last thing he wanted was to get belittled in front of Sal.

"I'm sorry you didn't get into your dream school," Sal said. "Although I personally think you shouldn't be a lawyer, and should follow your dreams. Not your parents'. Yours."

"Being a lawyer is my dream," Russell said.

"Really? Because your mom seemed more disappointed than you."

"I'm disappointed too."

"More for your parents than yourself, I'm sure."

"Can we drop it?" Russell took a seat on the floor, against his bed, facing the bookshelves.

"Fine." Sal sat next to him. "When does the fun start?"

"After I finish my homework."

Sal blinked. "What?"

"I can't have fun until I do my homework."

Sal stared.

"I'm sure you have homework too," Russell said. "I could help you with it."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"I don't need help with my homework. I get passing grades."

"You should be getting better grades." Except it wasn't about grades. Russell hadn't tutored anyone in years, and missed it. He opened his backpack, and pulled out his textbooks and binder. "Can you get my laptop for me?"

Sal got up to grab it from the desk, and handed it to Russell. He sat back down next to him, glancing around room. "And what am I supposed to do?"

"Your homework."

"I don't have any homework."

"What about the paper Mrs. Norandi assigned us today?" Russell asked.

"I finished it."

"When?"

"In Government class."

Russell wasn't impressed with Sal doing his homework in another class. In fact, it was something he frowned upon unless the teacher gave permission. "You wrote a 4 paged paper during another class? When you should be paying attention to the teacher?"

Sal flicked his hand dismissively. "The teacher barely even teaches. All he does in class is drink Starbucks while complaining about Capitalism. It's not hard to get a lot of work done in there." He reached for his backpack, and pulled out a couple sheets of wrinkled binder paper, torn out of a notebook. "See?"

Russell's mouth fell. "You're turning it in like that?"

"No. I'll type it up when I get home."

Russell handed Sal his laptop. "You can type it up now. I have study questions for Physics I have to do."

About a half hour later, Sal interrupted Russell to tell him he had finished typing his essay. Russell looked up at him from a worksheet he had been writing on. "You already proofread it and everything?"

Sal let out a laugh. "Proofread. That's a good one."

"You don't proofread your assignments?"

"Of course not. Only nerds do that."

Russell took his laptop from Sal, and skimmed through the word document. "Good God, this is awful."

"And your essays are perfect."

"Compared to this, yes." Russell rubbed at his face. "Your spelling and grammar are terrible. You consistently go off topic. Your points are redundant. And it's supposed to be four pages, not two."

Sal smacked his forehead. "I almost forgot." He took the laptop back from Russell, and, highlighting the entire text, changed the font from Times New Roman to Courier New. The document expanded from two pages to three, so he went to the format settings, and adjusted the kerning to spread out the spacing between each letter. It barely hit four. He moved the margins slightly inwards, and-

"That's cheating!"

"No. Cheating is giving us a minimum page requirement so we have to add in a bunch of unnecessary crap to meet it." Sal clicked the bottom of the document to get rid of the highlight. "This is sticking it to the man."

"It's obvious what you did, given all that extra white space. And it's supposed to be in Times New Roman."

"You and your precious Times New Roman. I've never failed an assignment for not using that font. I've gotten docked a few points, but..."

Russell groaned, and took back his laptop.

"You're just jealous you never thought of this," Sal said.

"If I was a teacher, I'd never let that slide." The thought of teaching gave Russell an idea. "I know something fun we can do."

Sal's face brightened. "Does this mean we're done with homework?"

After printing out Sal's essay, Russell returned to his room, closing the door behind him. "This is going to be so exciting."

"What is?" Sal asked, watching him pull a red pen from his pencil cup.

Russell sat back down, printed essay in hand. "I'm going to grade your paper. Like I'm an English teacher." He couldn't control the squeal in his voice, though it made Sal scoot a few inches away.

"You want to grade my paper? Wait..." Sal squeezed his eyes shut, as though thinking a disturbing thought. "Are you trying to do the whole teacher-student roleplay where you want me to perform sexual acts on you for a better grade?"

Now there was a fantasy he hadn't thought of. Russell rubbed his chin, giving him a flirty smile. "Only if you're down for that."

"I'll pass, thanks." Sal slid his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. "But who thinks pretending to grade papers is fun?"

"I've always wanted to-" Russell clamped his mouth shut. Sal didn't need to know that. Nobody needed to know that. He laid Sal's essay over his Physics textbook, putting it in his lap.

"You've always wanted to grade papers?"

But Russell focused on grading Sal's paper instead. How he wished this opportunity would come up more often. Something about reading through someone else's work and making corrections relaxed him.

At the corner of his eye, he saw Sal reading a notebook. A notebook that Russell had kept hidden at the bottom of his bookshelf for good reason. Russell snatched it out of his hands. "That's private!"

"Your old school notes are private?"

Russell closed the notebook, tossing it back on the shelf. Good. He only thought them school notes. If Sal knew what they really were... He handed him his essay. "I give it a C, but only because I'm biased towards you."

Sal tossed the essay aside without looking at it. "Those weren't really school notes, were they?"

"What other homework do you have?" Russell asked. "Anything else I could grade? Or help you with in general? How are you doing in Spanish?"

"Muy bien, pendejo." Sal pointed his finger at Russell. "And don't change the subject."

"Back to English then?" Russell grinned while Sal playfully swatted his shoulder.

"You know what I mean. What's up with your so-called school notes, and why would they be private?"

Because every book he'd read, he'd take notes on. And come up with school assignments for them later, along with discussion questions and essay topics. But Sal didn't need to know that. No one needed to know that.

Sal glanced at the red marks scribbled all over his essay, and back at the notebooks on the bookshelf. Like he was putting two and two together. "You spend your free time making up school assignments and pretending to grade papers."

Russell returned to his worksheet. "I have to finish these questions for Physics."

"It's okay if you do," Sal said. "I still love you even if your dream job is teaching."

"No, my dream job is lawyer-ing." Russell chewed at his thumbnail, focusing on his worksheet.

"You're lying."

Russell ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm not."

"I think you should be a teacher instead," Sal said. "Teachers are far more important in society than lawyers."

Now that was something Russell never expected to hear from Sal. He expected him to hate teachers. Or make fun of anyone who ever wanted to teach, anyway. "Really? How?"

"How do lawyers become lawyers? Teachers teach them." Sal linked his arm through Russell's. "And I think you're make a great teacher."

"You don't think it's stupid?"

"I think you being a lawyer is stupid."

If Sal thought he should teach instead of being a lawyer, maybe it was something worth considering. But what would his parents think? They always wanted him to make a lot of money. And teachers weren't known to have high salaries. "Lawyers make a lot of money though."

"Would you rather be rich with a job that makes you miserable, or poor with a job that makes you happy? Personally, I think happiness is more important than money."

"But money makes people happy. And being poor sucks."

Sal turned his head to glance around the pristine room, and eyed Russell's stain-free, unfaded clothes. "What would you know about being poor?"

Russell recalled Sal's upbringing, and wished he could take his words back. Or at least phrase them differently. "Not me, my mom. She grew up poor, and doesn't want her future grandkids growing up like she did."

"Don't have kids. Problem solved. Be a teacher."

Russell imagined telling his parents he wouldn't have children. Anxiety filled his chest, and rose higher at the thought of being a lawyer. "I'll think about it."

"You'll make a great teacher." Sal pulled out his Spanish textbook. "Want to help me with my homework? My Spanish is muy malo."