Nothing much to report today, except that...well, I'll get to that part later. It's the second to last day before spring break, and I received a plane ticket in the mail from my parents to go home for the holiday. Everyone at Lakewood is excited to go places, and, since they're all rich kids (excluding scholarship students like me), they're all off to exotic places, not the boring Midwestern town I grew up in, where people as wealthy as Edmund and Adam were but legends.

Speaking--or, I guess, in this case, writing--of Adam Carter, his club, the Four Lords, was not as exciting as yesterday, but less strange. We played video games, like Guitar Hero and Dead or Alive. There were no lightsaber fights.

At dinner, Neil told us all that he would run away if his family was going to make him climb any more mountains. Edmund gave us the details of what he was going to do back in England, such as attending dinner parties and local charity events, like any good baron should do. It was an enjoyable evening, until, that is, we retired to our rooms and I realized just how much homework I had.

All the teachers seem to coordinate tests, so all the big ones are on the same day. Consequently, the night before is spent in lucubration, and, in the morning, the mass of sleep deprived zombies--I mean students--stumble into the classrooms, forget everything they tried so hard to remember, and fail all the tests that day. Tomorrow would have probably been like that for me, if not for Neil.

Chemistry was my worst subject, and stoichiometry was definitely not my forte. After a heavy sigh on my part, my roommate came around behind me, took my pencil from my hand, and rewrote my equation. It took just a little under an hour to learn exactly what I needed for the test.

"Thank you." I said to Neil gratefully.

He brushed it off with that casual "Don't mention it," and left for the showers.

Since Neil had one of those nasty, boyish habits of not washing anything until one couldn't stand the smell of it, I took it upon myself to do the laundry for both of us. I hauled our unwashed clothing to the laundry room, and ran a cycle of his and my clothes. When I returned to the room with stacks of neatly folded uniforms, I opened the door to see a shirtless Neil.

Now, if I had a weakness that was neither chocolate nor ice cream, then it would have to be my penchant for abs, and if anyone had abs, this guy did. His six pack rippled as he turned to look at me, and I felt my face flush. The thoughts that I had been thinking were definitely not in accordance with the laws of roommating, especially when they don't know your real gender.

"Hey." He said.

Oh God. I remember thinking. He is so hot.

But the moment passed when Neil put on a t-shirt and told me, his voice dripping in sarcasm, that I better stop gaping or he'd announce tomorrow on the intercom that I was a fag.

"I was not gaping." I retorted, locking the door and avoiding his saphire eyes.

"You so were." Neil streatched his arms up, like he was sleepy. "Should I take my shirt off again to prove it?"

"That won't be necessary." I sat down on my bed, grabbed my laptop, and played several games of solitare until I got the image of half-naked Neil out of my mind.

Though I must admit that Neil is way above the average when it comes to good looking boys, I promise that I won't fall for him. I swore last semester that I will never fall in love again. Broken hearts never fully heal, do they? And mine still aches where the stitches couldn't reach.

But, enough with the melodramatic symbolism. I have a test tomorrow.