There I sat, doing yesterday's anatomy homework. Teachers never seemed to understand that the life of a junior in high school is bound to be busy, so they loaded on the homework.

"I assigned this project over a week ago."

Yeah, well, in the midst of my busy life, I'm gonna need to take a few breaks. And I'd rather not spend them doing the work you assigned me.

"Each day you wait to turn it in, it will go down a letter grade."

Like that's gonna make a difference. No matter how hard I study for any of these ridiculous classes, I cant get anything above a B-. So give me all the Fs you have. Lay 'em on me.

But, of course I couldn't say such things to my teachers, which is why I was in my living room and not detention. I sighed for the umpteenth time, scanning over the respiratory system, which I had a quiz over the next day. Just lovely.

"Hey, Pip!"

My head snapped over to see my step-brother walking in, dressed in the same sweatshirt and pajama pants as three days ago.

"Mom wants me to pick up some stuff from the store, wanna come?"

"Yes!" I jumped up, nearly throwing my book off my lap to get to the door.

Basically, my mom got pregnant as a teenager and raised me as a single mom until I was about 12. She never went to college, so she took the opportunity to get a degree when I was old enough to know how to handle some certain situations on my own. It was in those classes she met a guy who she absolutely clicked with. After a few dinner dates, she brought him home from time to time to have a home-cooked meal, and to meet me. I liked him from the start, and as time went on, I saw him more and more often. I met his son, Zayn, who was about 3 years older than me. It took a little bit to get used to him, seeing as he was the type who spent most of his time playing video games rather than socializing, like myself. But eventually the both of us became like brother and sister. We became official siblings just months later, and we all lived like a happy family should.

About two and a half years ago was when my step-father was murdered in a hit-and-run accident. It was hard on all of us, and nothing's been the same since. We've slowly been recovering, but just to make it easier on my mom, Zayn and I often run errands for her.

We hurried into the car and were off, singing along to the radio until it was parked again in the lot. It was only twenty minutes later when we had found everything we needed, paid for it, and were on our way home again. I dreaded the thought of doing homework when we got home, so I egged Zayn to take the long way home.

"Well, either way, traffic is getting rough so we'll be home later than usual."

I smiled and turned up the radio a bit to drown out chemistry formulas floating through my brain.

But it was only nice for a moment.

You see, Zayn had been especially careful as far as driving since dad's accident. He tended to drive slower, maybe 4 or 5 miles under at most. I personally thought it was smarter of him, but the guy driving behind us didn't seem to agree.

We were driving up a hill, reducing the speed even more, so Mr. Impatient decided to pass us. But just as he did, a car came from over the hill, resulting in a head-on collision.

It was all in slow motion. The crunch, the horns, the brakes, everything. Zayn quickly pulled over and hopped out.

"I'm gonna make sure everyone's alright."

I nodded and watched him approach the scene. The man who passed us was furious, yelling curses at anyone who asked. He glared at Zayn, growling at him, probably for being slow. The other driver was a teen girl, who looked scared and was about to cry. I couldn't make out any words, but it looked like Zayn was trying to calm everyone down. He came back to the car a couple minutes later, saying that he wanted to give a witness report to the police when they arrived.

The crash itself was etched into my mind. Replaying over and over. When we left, when we got home, as I ate dinner, before I went to bed. It reminded me of Dad.

I stared at the ceiling at approximately 1 in the morning, not catching a wink of sleep. I sighed, finally rolling out of bed and going downstairs to get something to drink. Maybe I just needed to walk it off.

I was surprised to see the kitchen lights on when I got to the end of the hallway. I peeked around the corner to see Zayn leaning against the counter, bags under his eyes.

"You can't sleep either?"

"No. I keep thinking of Dad."

"Me too."

He was never one to be good at comforting, and we both knew it, so we were just silent. We hadn't told Mom about what happened, fearing the same would happen to her.

"I miss dad," I began, trying to hide the lump in my throat.

"Me too," he replied, voice cracking.

That was the last I heard from him before he left a few seconds later, followed by a quiet slam of his bedroom door. I missed Dad, and I didn't know him until I was around 13. Zayn grew up with him. I could only imagine his pain.

I decided I'd better get some sleep too, and trudged back to my room. A tear slipped from it's hiding place, thinking back on the only real man I could call "dad".

Drowsiness overcame me, and I was asleep.