Follow The Rules

You are my problem

"Mr. Tyler," Mr. Hughes called out after science at the end of the day. "Can I see you for a moment please?" As the rest of the class hurried out of the room, Oliver grabbed his books and made his way up to Mr. Hughes's desk. He really didn't want to go into school at all today. He had cried until he physically couldn't manage it anymore and jumped into bed early, however his sleep wasn't peaceful. His usual nightmares had morphed to contain Daisy and last night's kiss. Normal he would have loved that, but not when the dream also contained George who physically ripped him away from the girl and the dream went back to his usual memories of that weekend.

He had secretly hoped that everyone would just forget yesterday even happened. Mr. Hughes hadn't said a single word to him all class and Oliver was getting his hopes up that maybe, everyone had.

No such luck.

"Yes, sir?" He asked, but Mr. Hughes waited until ever student had left before he replied.

"What's going on with you, Ollie?" He asked sternly, his usually happy voice, gone without a trace.

"Nothing, sir." He said, shrugging but avoiding eye contact with the teacher. Mr. Hughes stared at him for a while, eyes narrowed, making Oliver feel very uncomfortable.

"Let's try that answer again, shall we?"

"What?"

"Obviously there's something going on with you." Mr. Hughes said, trying to maintain eye contact him but Oliver avoided doing such a thing at all costs. He stared at the books in his hand or the science ornaments that littered the teacher's desk. He remembered having several conversation with his teacher about them before.

"No, sir." Oliver shook his head and Mr. Hughes sighed, and pulled out a piece of paper.

"You haven't handed me a single sheet of homework for the last week and a half and I'm ignoring the assignment that I had already given you an extension on that still hasn't been handed in." He began and Oliver prepared himself for the lecture he knew was coming. "You seem to be thinking about something completely unrelated to class when you're here, and that is, when you're not sleeping. You've gone from an A+ student down to a C in two weeks. Two weeks Oliver, and I've done some digging and found that it's not just my class this is happening in, it's every class. So, can you tell me what's the cause of this sudden change in you, Ollie?" Silence over came the room as Mr. Hughes waited for Oliver to give some sort of answer while Oliver tried to think of one that would satisfy his teacher.

"Sorry." Oliver muttered and mentally kicked himself for not thinking of anything better to say.

"That's not an answer." His teacher said simply.

"I'm working on the assignment, I promise."

"That's not the point, Ollie." Mr. Hughes's voice rose with frustration and Oliver chanced a look at his teacher who seemed to be thinking of a tactic. Eventually, he stood up from his desk and walked around to meet Oliver who instinctively took a step backwards that didn't go unnoticed by his teacher.

"Ollie you can talk to me." He said gently, obviously trying to be comforting, but it did nothing but fuel the fire of anger inside him. He could talk to him? He didn't know the first thing about him. The one thing he couldn't do was talk to someone about it. Why did he think he was an exception? Why did he think he was special? Oliver shook his head and found himself almost laughing out of frustration.

"You don't know the first thing about me." He muttered softly, attempting to keep his anger in check.

"Then tell me." His teacher said simply like it was all a matter of telling someone about his problem and it would all go away.

"Why?"

"Because I want to help you, Oliver-,"

"Why? Why do you want to help me?" Oliver threw his hands up, cutting off Mr. Hughes. "It's none of your business what's going on with me."

"I believe it is my business." Mr. Hughes said calmly. "You've gone from an A+ student down to a C in every class, almost overnight. I deserve to know why."

"I'm still passing so it shouldn't matter."

"You're pushing everyone away, Oliver." Mr. Hughes said sternly and raising his voice somewhat, letting Oliver know that he was frustrating him to no end, but Oliver didn't care. "You're friends, teachers, everyone. You're jumpy, nervous, angry. I'm guessing you haven't been sleeping very well lately because you're always tired. I'm not stupid and I know you're not either. If it's a problem at home, I can talk to your parents and sort it out if not, then perhaps you can give me an insight as to what else it might be and how I can help you."

"I don't need help."

"I disagree. A tell-tale sign that a person needs help is having a panic attack in the middle of class, Ollie." He said with a sad smirk, knowing that he caught him with the fact. Oliver knew as well, and thought, like usual, the only way to fix the situation is to run away.

"Just leave me alone. Please." He sighed dejectedly, already moving towards the door where the hallways were loud with students laughing, talking and moving around for lunch.

"I'm not going to give up on you, Ollie." His teacher called after him as he moved to sit back at his desk. Oliver ignored him. "Even if you already have."

Oliver sighed once he made it to the hallway, relieved to be out of there, and once again, surrounded by students he could easily hide behind. However lunchtime proved to be another issue. Since he had been ignoring his friends, lunch usually consisted of sitting with Daisy, drawing in silence, or just sitting and listening to her nonstop rambling in the library or another secluded part of the school. But after last night, spending alone time with Daisy, didn't seem to be the most logical idea. That meant that he needed to find a place to spend lunch without Daisy which just seemed all too difficult.

Once he made it to his locker he huffed out a breath as he leant his head against the door and closed his eyes. He couldn't help but feel guilty. After all, he had said that he'd see Daisy at school last night, but it all felt way too much like hard work. Why was it all so difficult? Was his life easier before it all happened? He remembered complaining about things. Homework, the length of a practice at football, his parents riding him. It all seemed so petty now. Who cared about homework? Who cared about football? And now, after wanting nothing more than for his parents to get off his back and let him do whatever he wanted, he wished that they would again, instead of ignoring him, ignoring his problems.

After a few minutes, Oliver believed he had forced calmness back into his body, and stood up straight to open his locker, deciding to go to Daisy anyway. If she asked him about his attitude or the kiss, then he'd just shut her down immediately. That's all he could do.

He was about to head off to the library when something stopped him.

"You quit the team." The shout echoed off the emptying walls as everyone moved to the cafeteria or outside for lunch, and even though there were a few people left in the halls, Oliver knew it was directed at him.

He turned around to see John stalking up the hall towards him, anger seething out of every pore. f**k. He quickly turned around and began walking in the opposite direction, not wanting to face him right now. John just added to his list of problems that he was trying to avoid.

"No." John called and Oliver heard John pick up the pace as he ran to stop him. "You can't just keep running away from this Tyler." John grabbed his arm and swung him around to face him begrudgingly.

"What do you want?" Oliver snapped, not even considering hiding his frustration.

"You quit the team." John repeated, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No, I didn't."Oliver clarified. "Coach kicked me off the team." Technically.

"Bullshit." John snapped. "Yeah, you should have been kicked off the team days ago for the amount of practices you've missed, but I just spoke to coach and he told me he gave you a second chance. That all you had to do was turn up to practice last night and you'd still be on the team. He gave you a second f*****g chance, Ollie. And you blew it."

"Sorry." Oliver shrugged, attitude think in his voice. He wasn't sorry, and he didn't care if John believed him or not.

"What the f**k is going on with you? What could I have possibly done in a week to make you hate me?" Why did everyone want him to talk to them all of a sudden?

"Nothing."

"Well obviously something, Ollie, or you wouldn't be acting like the biggest dickhead in the world right now."

Oliver could feel the anger brewing inside of him. The same anger he felt when coach had threatened him, except this was so much worse. This was supposed to be his best friend. Why couldn't he see that all he wanted was to be left alone?

"Well maybe if you stopped being whiny little b***h, I wouldn't have to avoid you. There's only so much one person can take when it comes to the bullcrap that comes out of your mouth. You're so f*****g self absorbed that maybe I had to remove myself from the situation before my fist went through your goddamn head."

Mistake.

It was a mistake and he knew it was the second the words left his lips. He didn't mean any of it and he never has. Sure it was kind of true that John was big headed, but he had never had a problem with it, in fact he was always kind of jealous that John could be so confident with himself to not give a damn what others thought. That was why he was so popular because people admired the confidence he just radiated. But Oliver had never had anything against it. He would punch himself before he wished for Johns confidence to dial down.

Johns arms reached out and shoved Oliver's shoulders, not hard enough to push him over, but hard enough to make him stumble and realise the anger he had caused.

"What the f**k is your problem?" John yelled, face turning red and his breathing became short and sharp. Oliver hadn't realised the same thing happened to him until he pushed John back.

"Right now, it's you. You are my problem."

"Why?" What have I done? Tell me." John retaliated, giving Oliver another forceful shove. Oliver scoffed and shook his head, both trying to control the anger he was feeling and trying to avoid answering the question. Because the truth is he hadn't done anything except be completely clueless about what he was going through, and Oliver knew that wasn't even his fault. It was his own fault that nobody understood. It was his fault it happened. It was all his fault. He wished it was him he was yelling at and shoving instead of his friend, innocent on all accounts.

"Why won't you tell me?" John yelled, getting up close to Oliver's face, and surprising himself, Oliver didn't step back, the anger overpowering all the fear and panic that would have made him cower away from the confrontation. "It's that girl, isn't it? You know ever since you started hanging out with her, you've completely blown off your friends. Your team. Me."

"This has nothing to do with her." Oliver pushed John back out of his space, matching John's volume and ferocity.

"We're supposed to be friends, Ollie. You're supposed to be my best friend." John yelled, his voice breaking slightly on the last word, and Oliver's heart broke at the realisation that he had almost reduced his best friend to tears. "You used to tell me everything, and I did the same, but now you can stand there and openly lie to me and not show a single glimpse of guilt from it. Why can't you tell me the truth, Ollie? Hm? Why can't you trust me anymore? Why-,"

"I can't trust anyone anymore." Oliver yelled and he could feel his own eyes fighting back the tears. He wasn't going to cry in front of John. He never has, and never will. But John's tactic was working, and he had already revealed more information to his friend than he had to anyone.

"Why not?" But Oliver turned and begun walking away. Not wanting to risk the fear of opening up to his friend anymore than he already had.

"For f***s sake, I am sick of you blowing me off." John ran after his friend, but when Ollie felt a hand on his shoulder and began to turn him around, his had shot out and pain radiated through his knuckle to his hand and wrist.

John was sitting on the ground, his face in his hands, obviously completely unprepared for his best friend to turn around and punch him in the face. John groaned when he removed his hands from his face and Oliver saw the blood dripping down his chin and smeared across his cheek from the split lip Oliver couldn't believe he had caused. He had just punched his best friend in the face.

"Fine." John spat out a mouthful of blood next to him as he moved to push himself up, a frown furrowed on his forehead, confused and angry about what had just happened. "f**k you too."

Oliver wasn't angry anymore. He wasn't even upset. He was just so shocked that he had hit his friend, over something that he was supposed to be forgetting. Oliver couldn't avoid the fact that he did feel a little better now though, it was a small release of everything he had built up inside. It released the small part of jealousy he had for his friends, completely ignorant to everything that was going on with him. It was payback. Payback for the easy life they had in comparison to the one weekend that ruined everything. Everything.

He turned away from his friend, still struggling to get up when he saw the amount of attention their argument had raised from both students and teachers, shaking his hand while trying to hide the smile it brought to his lips.

He punched his best friend, and f**k it hurt, but god did it feel good.

John apparently didn't tell anyone about the fight because all day, Oliver expected to be approached by a teacher and suspended or something but no one came. Instead, he made it through the rest of the day relatively ignored, just the way he wanted it.

However, when he got home, that was a completely different story.

"Oliver." The tone his mother used as he sat down at the dinner table told him immediately that this conversation wouldn't be good. But he supposed that was what his life had resorted to. Only being paid attention when he had done something wrong and was in trouble. His Dad, like normal, was nowhere to be seen.

"I got an email from your teacher today." Oliver kept his sight on the roast that sat in front of him. Even if he was hungry before his mother said that, he certainly wasn't now. It was about the fight. That's why no one had approached him during the day. Teachers went straight to the source and told his parents so that they could deal with him. Oliver flexed and stretched his fingers under the table, remembering the release that he had felt hitting John. No matter what his punishment would be for fighting, it was worth it.

"A Mr. Grant Hughes wants to meet with us tomorrow after you finish school." His mother continued and he looked up to meet her eyes. "Any idea what that's about?"

Fuck. If it was Mr. Hughes, then it wouldn't be a simple matter of a punch he had thrown at his best friend, it would be about everything. About his grades, about his attitude, about his lack of participation in classes, about his little panic attack and most likely the fight as well. f**k that. And f**k him.

"No." Oliver said shortly, looking back down at his food, pushing a carrot around the plate.

His mother sighed, obviously perplexed at the email. It was a very strange occurrence, considering he had never had an email sent home before unless it to tell his parents about an award or achievement, but they always came from the principal, not his psychology teacher. "There's nothing you want to tell me, Oliver?"

"No." He said probably a little too quickly, but he was too tired, too scared to care. What was Mr. Hughes going to tell them? How would his parents react? Probably kick him straight out of the house without a second thought. What would they say to Mr. Hughes? What would they expect him to say as an answer? They all know he's not supposed to say anything about the k********g, but Mr. Hughes will expect an explanation, and if his parents dismiss the issue, then Mr. Hughes will know that something serious is up. Oh god. What is he supposed to say? "I'm not hungry." He excused himself from the table, food once again, untouched and went straight to his room, dreading what tomorrow would bring.

Never, in a million years, did he think it would be as bad as it was.