"Hey Nat." Someone calls. I smile back. I don't even know them, but hey, being polite never hurt anyone. I open my locker just as Jess comes up next to me.

"He's over there." She whispers and points in his general direction. I push down her finger as a sign to "stop pointing" and look in that direction. I gape.

"I knew you would think he was cute!" She giggled. Sure he's cute, but he also looks like my mother. Wait, I don't mean it like that. I mean he has her hair. No wait, her hair color, even the texture is the same. I shake my head. His eyes meet mine, they look like a cross between my mothers, and mine. His ears are kind of like mine, but different still. He doesn't completely remind me of my mother, his nose is slightly different and his smile. Definitely not my mothers smile, but still familiar. I smile back hesitantly. It's not really his looks that disturb me, more like the feeling I get when I see him. He's so familiar, yet such a stranger. He walks over to me.

"Hey." He says.

"Hey" I hear Jessica reply, I am reminded of how she is staring at me with her "What the hell are you doing?" look. I quickly apologize with my eyes.

"JESS!" Someone yells, Jess whines and excuses herself.

"Sorry about her quick departure, her boyfriend is calling." I make a face, he laughs. "She's about this close to smacking him." I make a gesture with my hands. "I would smack him, but then I'd get in trouble." For some reason I have no trouble at all talking to him. I wonder about this but push the fact away.

"I'm Jeremy Evans."

"Natalie Parker." I reply and smile, very polite, I think.

We talk more and soon the bell rings. "Ack, do you know where Mr. Whitman's class is?" He says looking embarrassed.

"You have him? Oh! He's my uncle. Well actually he's not but he's a family friend and we've been calling him that so long it's hard not to." I smile, "I have him first too."

"Well," he says taking my arm gently, "Lead the way." I smile surprised. He had taken my arm as if he was my best friend, and I smile realizing he could very well become one. How could the linking of arms affect me so? I wonder.

"Shall we?" He asks smiling.

"Lets."

We reach our first class and he lets go of my arm gently. I open the door and step through first. "Hi Nat." Mr. Whitman says smiling.

"Howdy Alex-" I smile, "Mr. Whitman."

He only laughs, we are the first ones there. "Have a seat, who's this?" He asks of Jeremy.

"This is a new student, Jeremy."

"Oh yes, I remember now. Jeremy." He shakes his head, "Sorry can't remember your last name."

Jeremy smiles, "Evans. Jeremy Evans." A surprised look comes over his face, but quickly he dismisses it. "Evans, okay, you can sit next to Nat for the time being." He smiles kindly and turns his back to us to write on the board.

"Nat?" He asks quietly smiling, "I've heard three million people say that nickname."

"Yeah" I say laughing softly, "Alex-" I frown annoyed at having to call my uncle by his last name, "Mr. Whitman, nicknamed me that when I was younger. I guess it just stuck." Jeremy just laughs.

The rest of the day went quickly. Jeremy seemed like a really great guy. I knew I didn't have a crush on him like Jess did and told her so after lunch. She breathed in relief, saying, "I thought we were going to have to fight over him!" I laugh and say he's more like a friend than anything else.

"Hey Nat?" Someone yelled. I looked up from my homework.

"Aunt Maria?" I called out.

"Yeah it's me! Could you help me?"

"Sure." I say and open the door. She's standing there with about five suitcases and a weary look on her face. "Cheez Maria, think you brought enough?"

"No, I left most of my stuff back at Danny's." She says ignoring my sarcastic tone.

"Are you alright?" I asked worried, normally she's always joking around, but tonight.

She sniffs back a tear and looks at my face. "No dearie I'm not. But I will be." She kisses my forehead and smiles softly, "help me with this stuff?"

"Sure." I say again still worried. Together we manage to lug the five heavy suitcases into my room.

"You're staying with your mom?" She asks.

"Yeah, I like to though. Sometimes she'll actually open up." I say not looking at her.

She nods and smiles a little, "It wasn't easy for your mom then, and I don't think it will ever be now. She deals with a lot of pain everyday, and the only thing that keeps her going is you." She flicks the tip my nose playfully, just like always. She treats me like a little kid, but for some reason I never seem to mind.

"When's your mom getting home?" She asks changing the subject.

"Seven." I reply, "Look, I know it's painful for her but don't you think I have a right to know about my father?" I ask desperately.

She looks like a cornered animal, "Honey I know you want to know. Really, I do. But it's not my place to tell you what your mother should have already told you. I totally agree with you, but I don't have the right to tell your mom what to do. Please understand though, she put her past behind her a long time ago, I don't think she wants to bring it up again."

"But it haunts her everyday." I say feeling the tears begin to well behind my eyes. Maria comes over and hugs me.

"I know, I see it too." She whispers into my ear. "I just she would share her pain with someone, it might help. But she's stubborn, she hasn't spoken to a soul about it in. well 14 years."

I turn to look at her, "Did my father know about me?" I ask.

She looks into my eyes, "He was there the whole nine months you guys-" She stops.

"What?" I ask noting the plural. Before I can ask again she interrupts.

"Sorry, my brain isn't functioning." She lies. I can see her lie, it's so easy to tell when she is. "He was there until you were born."

I decide to ignore her lie, for now. "And." I ask.

"No." She says filmily, "No." I pout but she doesn't even blink.

"Come on Aunt Maria." I whine.

"N-O." She says and turns away. I look away at the floor, angry. Not at her, not at my mother, but at my father. How could he cause everyone so much pain. I suddenly feel like I want to slap myself. How could I say that? How did I know if he did it intentionally? How did I know if he didn't love my mother and is going through the same pain now. How did I even know if he was alive?

"Aunt Maria?" I ask quickly.

"No." She says.

"I just need to know one thing." I say hoping she will respond. She hesitates before turning to face me.

I continue, "Did he-no, Does he love my mother?"

With an expressionless face she answers, "I've never seen purer love than that of your mother, and father."

I nod and leave her in peace.