<div class="floatright">(http://i425.photobucket.com/albums/pp340/daggeroflath/dyllansmall_zps351171d4.jpg)<br/><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="bbc_u"><strong>Dyllan</strong></span><br/><strong>The Room</strong></div></div>Dyllan had hoped that he had escaped Brad's attention, but he'd forgotten how single-minded the jock could be. It turned out that his momentary silence had just been time for him to think, and just because he wasn't very practiced at it, didn't mean that he wasn't able to think. In moments he had switched his strategy from outright physicality to dominating the room with the sheer force of his presence.<br/><br/>Dyllan wondered how he could have been so stupid. He knew Brad, probably better than anyone else there. He knew each tone of voice and exactly what danger signs they represented and he knew just how varied Brad could be. Just because it was the last day of school and because someone had finally taken his side didn't mean that Brad couldn't find a hundred ways to make his life miserable.<br/><br/>His tears hadn't just been at the fear of Brad's planned beating, they had been at how his hopes had been crushed that he had somehow endured long enough to finally escape Brad and this lousy high school. For a few wonderful minutes he had thought he would never see Brad again.<br/><br/>He looked up, sniffed once to clear his nose and tried to pretend that he hadn't been crying. He got his voice back into his normal, fairly squeaky, register and responded to Brad's question.<br/><br/>"Uh, what? I don't get it, what notes are you all talking about?"