Daily Drama (In American TV Shows)

Every day I see how the story grows on all the websites, which makes me feel very good. Every week, the story reaches hundreds of people across all the sites, allowing me to interact with dozens of people who leave their comments.

As I write this,

On WebNovel, there are 99 reviews, with 1,355 major fans, and 129 people have given a heart to my profile.

On Scribblehub, there are 101 readers, 2 reviews, 543 favorites, and 4 people follow my profile.

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And finally, on Wattpad, there are 7 followers and the story has 148 stars.

On average, this gives more than a hundred active readers.

I just want to say, truly, thank you all for reading this nonsense that I write.

Enjoy.

---

"What did you think?" Mom asked with a big smile on her face, still holding the disposable camera in her hands.

"It's..." I said, pausing, unable to find the words.

"Beautiful? Perfect? Amazing?" Mom asked excitedly, taking another picture.

"Unexpected," I replied carefully, placing the framed article back on the table.

"It was a surprise that David wanted to do. Your mom and I thought it was a good idea," Bob admitted with a proud smile on his face. "You don't like it?" he asked, his smile fading for a moment.

"Don't be silly, Bob. How could he not like it?" Mom asked, snorting. "You loved it, right?" She asked me, much more serious than she had been all night.

"Yeah," I replied after a few seconds, not really sure how I felt about it. "It's just that it caught me by surprise," I continued, smiling slightly.

"Oh PJ," Mom said excitedly, taking my head in a hug. "You completely deserve it. You have worked harder than anyone on your dream."

"It's the first of many articles that will be written about you, I'm sure," Bob added proudly, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"The final words from Dr. House were beautiful, don't you think?" Mom asked, carefully holding the framed article, looking at the newspaper with affection. "I didn't know the man held you in such high regard. I have to thank him."

"A bit superfluous in my opinion," Sheldon said jealously from his seat.

"Young man," Mrs. Cooper reprimanded her son, widening her eyes in annoyance, making him immediately fall silent.

"Yes, they were very kind words," I responded, ignoring the boy. It was impossible that House had said something like that unless Dr. Cuddy promised him something incredible.

Georgie, next to me, let out a weak laugh. "Everyone will be talking about you at school tomorrow, again," my 'friend' said amused.

"Yeah," I replied with a growing headache.

"I think it's awesome, now you're famous. Maybe you'll appear on television someday," Missy, sitting between Teddy and Gabe, said in amazement.

"That would be perfect. I can't wait," Mom said dreamily as if it were already a fact, carefully hugging the framed newspaper.

The 'party,' where only the Coopers were invited, didn't last much longer. For the rest of the night, after answering some questions about the article and giving a brief summary of its importance in the medical world, each group started their own conversation.

I could notice that while Teddy and Missy were talking excitedly about whatever they were discussing, Gabe, who was sitting with Sheldon reading comic books, constantly glanced at Missy, possibly involuntarily.

When the Coopers returned to their own house at the end of the night, now completely exhausted, I decided that the joke of giving gifts to my siblings had lasted long enough.

"Amazing!" Gabe exclaimed excitedly, quickly opening the small box and taking out his portable console and some games, ignoring everyone while playing on the living room couch.

"This is beautiful, thanks, PJ," Teddy said, looking at all the clothes I had bought her. For the first time since she arrived home, she gave me a big hug.

"No problem, Teddy Bear," I said, returning the hug to my sister, with the article now hanging on one of the walls in the house in my central point of view.

"You didn't have to get us gifts, son. It's your money," Bob said gratefully, holding his new wallet.

"Yeah, you didn't have to do that," Mom said, looking at the earrings in her ears with a big smile, obviously not really meaning it.

"Nonsense, the gifts weren't very expensive anyway," I said, half-lying to avoid making Bob, especially, feel bad about receiving the gifts.

While Teddy and Gabe continued inspecting their gifts in detail, Mom and Bob started cleaning up the remnants of the party.

"Do you need help with anything else, Mom?" I asked, bringing more dirty dishes into the kitchen.

"Oh no, you must be very tired. Go get ready for bed," Mom said with a loving smile, insistently shooing me out of the kitchen.

"All right then," I said, leaving what I had in my hands. "Thank you very much for the party, Mom, really," I continued, truly grateful before leaving the kitchen.

The hot water in the shower reminded me of all the exhaustion in my body. After finishing my nighttime routine and dressing in pajamas, I was completely ready for bed.

"PJ?" Gabe asked weakly from his own bed, holding his new console.

"Yeah," I replied, forcing my eyes open in the dimly lit room.

"Do you think I'll ever be in the newspaper someday?" my brother asked, with a hint of nerves in his voice.

"Why?" I asked, worried that the whole party and all of Mom and Bob's words had affected Gabe and Teddy without me realizing it.

"Just because," Gabe replied after a few seconds of silence.

"Then answer me this: do you want to be in the newspaper?" I asked, lifting my head a bit to see the little boy on the other side of the room.

"Yes, I think so," Gabe replied, staring at the ceiling, with the small console resting on his body.

"Then I don't see why you can't appear in the newspaper someday," I said, returning to my comfortable pillow. "You have much more talent than I do in other things, Gabe. For example, the guitar," I argued. "As long as you keep working hard like you do now, I bet my car that someday you'll be much more famous than me," I assured him.

"Do you really think so?" my little brother asked in almost a whisper.

"Yes, but don't worry about it right now. You're only eight," I joked. "For now, you just need to focus on enjoying your childhood."

"You know I'm ten," Gabe muttered, annoyed but obviously amused.

"Really?" I asked exaggeratedly, "you're already an old man, you need to start looking for a girlfriend," I joked.

"Don't be gross," Gabe immediately responded, throwing one of his pillows at me.

"Gross?" I asked, amused, throwing the pillow back. "You didn't seem so grossed out with Missy earlier," I insinuated exaggeratedly.

"Missy is my friend," Gabe immediately denied my insinuation. "I'm going to sleep. Don't be gross," he quickly said, not intending to dwell on the topic, turning off his console and turning his body away from me in silence.

Amused, I allowed my body to relax once more, quickly falling asleep.

The next day, after my entire morning routine, when I grabbed the keys to 'Debbie,' I once again saw the framed article hanging on one of the house walls.

"Maybe not many people have seen it," I murmured to myself with some hope, despite knowing it was empty hope.

When I parked my car in the school lot, almost immediately, and before I could even get out of the car, I noticed once again how people's attention was drawn to me. I could feel a headache starting again.

Trying to ignore the dozens of teenagers shamelessly murmuring about me, I quickly walked to my locker.

"Why didn't you tell me about this, idiot?" While I was looking in my locker for my things for the day, I suddenly felt a hit on the back of my head with what seemed to be sheets of paper.

"Ah," I exclaimed, pretending to be hurt, as I discovered who it was. "Kat, I didn't know until I got back yesterday," I explained, pointing to the weapon the girl had used—a newspaper with my face on it.

"Not that, you won a Nobel Prize," Kat exclaimed, pointing to the newspaper she was holding, attracting even more attention from people around us.

"I didn't win a Nobel Prize. Dr. Thomas and Dr. Murray won it; I just helped a little," I clarified quickly, raising my voice a bit so others could hear too. The last thing I needed was for everyone to think I had won a Nobel.

"Besides, I knew you were going to study at the hospital with some doctor. Dad said so, but you're 'an essential part of Dr. House's diagnostic team'?" Kat incredulously asked, hitting the newspaper in her hand again while reading one of the lines from the article.

"It's not much. I just read a lot of medical books and give some ideas," I explained quickly, again trying to mitigate the rumors that would circulate in the school during these days.

"And saving the life of a newborn baby and his mother, that's also an exaggeration?" Kat asked, increasingly agitated for some strange reason.

"I learned the theory for helping in a delivery a while ago," I explained again.

"So it's true," Kat said, strangely defeated. "That's why Dad wanted you to come to dinner," she murmured slowly, crumpling the newspaper in her hands while nodding. "Congratulations on the article," she continued before turning and walking away slowly.

"Kat," I said, puzzled by my friend's behavior, trying to stop her.

"SuperStar, or should I say Hero," Brock exclaimed cheerfully, hugging my shoulder before I could approach Kat. "My dad was very surprised when the newspaper arrived and found out the local hero was the one who bought 'Debbie,' and my mom was very happy that you were my friend," my robust friend said, squeezing my shoulders while laughing.

"I'm glad the article was useful for you," I said, playfully pushing my friend to separate myself from his embrace.

"You have no idea. Whenever I go with you now, I can go anywhere I want," Brock said, doing a little dance.

"Me too. Mom didn't believe you were my friend," David said, arriving from the main hallway of the school. "She told me not to leave your side because you're a 'good influence,'" my friend said sarcastically.

"What do you mean by that? Of course, I'm a good influence on you hooligans," I said, pretending to be offended, hitting my friend's shoulder.

"My mom said the same thing. She adores you. She thinks if I stick close enough to you, some of your 'genius' might rub off on me," Georgie said, arriving at that moment and greeting everyone.

"I don't think that will work for you, buddy," Brock said, patting Georgie's shoulder sympathetically.

"You're not funny," Georgie said, annoyed, pushing Brock's hand off his shoulder while Brock laughed.

"How are you dealing with the attention?" Alan asked suddenly from my side, surprising me once again out of countless times.

"One of these days, I'm going to surprise you," I said, annoyed, trying to lightly push my friend on the shoulder, failing spectacularly as Alan moved his body, avoiding my arm.

"You can try," my calm friend insinuated, smiling slightly.

"Are you okay?" I asked, ignoring his joke. Looking closely at Alan, he had deep circles under his eyes and was a bit pale. He looked tired.

"Yeah, don't worry, 'medical prodigy,'" Alan said, avoiding my gaze, walking towards his locker.

The day continued along with my headache. The attention directed at me didn't cease, not even in the classroom. Fortunately, unlike last time, I hadn't heard wildly exaggerated stories about the article. At least with it being written and accessible to everyone, there wasn't much room to add or change things.

At the end of school, I couldn't leave the grounds faster without breaking some law.

My headache drastically reduced while driving, feeling the wind on my face and listening to the music I had chosen weeks ago. The drive passed quickly.

"Congratulations, Dr. Duncan," upon entering the door I always used at the hospital, Mom's fellow nurses were waiting to surprise me with the nickname they had already chosen for me.

Once again, a growing headache attacked me.

After thanking all the nurses I encountered, even some residents who apparently wanted to meet me, I managed to head towards House's office, not without greeting and thanking the congratulations of everyone I met.

"Dr. Wilson?" Upon entering House's office, the first doctor I encountered was surprisingly Dr. Wilson at the lounge table in the Diagnostic Department, with a lot of papers and various files. He looked obviously stressed.

"Ah PJ, congratulations on the article," the man said, smiling.

"Thank you very much," I replied to the kind man. "What are you doing here?" I asked, puzzled, pointing to all the papers on the table.

"His office mysteriously flooded with sewage," on the other side of the room, with the same newspaper open covering his face, Dr. House said dryly. "They have to replace the carpet, the walls, and possibly all the furniture."

"Yes, 'mysteriously,'" Dr. Wilson said, pressing his lips in annoyance.

"'I don't just see PJ Duncan as an image of my younger self or an apprentice. I see him as a son whom I respect and even admire. I'm proud of him,'" ignoring Dr. Wilson, House read with disgust, closing the newspaper with a snap.

"Beautiful words," Dr. Wilson said with a big smile while filling out documents on the table.

"Too cheesy for anyone with balls," House affirmed with disdain, leaving the article on the table.

"I liked it, thank you very much for your words, Dr. House. I didn't know you held me in such high esteem," I said immediately, seizing the strange opportunity to tease the man.

"You know me, kid, I'm a sentimental," dripping each word with sarcasm, House said as he stood up and walked slowly towards me.

"Well, I appreciate your words," I said nervously. He was obviously planning something; his attitude and the expression on his face were clear. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to the skills lab. I need to practice a new suture," I continued, placing my backpack in its usual place.

"Oh no, no," House slowly shook his head, holding my shoulder. "You and I have work to do," he continued, grinning sinisterly.

"Is there a new case?" I asked.

"No, it's been a while since we've gone to the clinic, you and I, 'son.' I think it's a great opportunity to continue your medical education," patting my shoulder a couple of times, he continued before leaving the office.

"Be strong, PJ," Dr. Wilson said, smiling sadly while clenching his fist.

Outside the office, following House towards the hospital clinic, "Impressive article, right?" House asked with an arrogant smile on his face. "So impressive that obviously quite a few people read it," he continued.

"Where are you going with this?" I asked, intrigued.

"What do you think happens when a bunch of people read that there's a 'medical prodigy' who can be found every week in a free clinic saving the lives of anyone who needs it?" House asked, smiling wickedly.

House somehow timed his words perfectly, because just as he finished his question, we arrived at the clinic doors, which were open and filled with people. Nurse Fryday, who usually worked with another nurse at the clinic reception, was there with five other nurses, frantically admitting people.

"Let's see, the average consultation takes about eight minutes if you do it quickly, so if my calculations are correct, you should be done by the end of the week," the man said, amused. "Look everyone, it's PJ Duncan, the prodigy," House shouted sinisterly before I could stop him, drawing the attention of everyone in the clinic.

House, much faster than a man with a cane should be able to move, quickly dodged the small crowd of people approaching me.

Everyone who came up to me started talking simultaneously, asking questions, introducing themselves excitedly, some describing symptoms, and even a few accusing me of being a fraud. Almost cornering me against a desk, people were talking over each other, raising their voices to the point of shouting.

"Silence!" Inside the clinic, with an incredibly powerful shout, the usually sweet older woman, Nurse Fryday, silenced everyone. "Dr. House and PJ will see you in order. If you do this again, I will call the police," she threatened, moving the small crowd. The woman reached me and, grabbing my arm, dragged me inside the clinic to the office that House always used.

"By the way, congratulations, PJ. I read the article; it was beautiful," the nurse said before closing the door.

"That was terrifying," somehow already inside the office, sitting with his feet up on another chair, House said falsely, holding an open magazine.

"That was unnecessary," I said angrily, walking to the bed inside the office.

"On the contrary, I found it very necessary," House countered sarcastically, amused.

"I don't understand why you're punishing me," I said, rubbing my eyes in frustration.

"Oh, this is not a punishment, kid," closing his magazine with fake surprise, House said. "It's just a way to prevent 'fame' from going to your head. That's how lousy doctors are made, and remember, I am your mentor," theatrically continuing with a hand on his chest.

Before I could say anything else, the office door was knocked on and then opened a second later by Nurse Fryday again, with a man behind her.

"PJ Duncan, I read about you in the newspaper," the man, about forty years old and overweight, obviously excited, quickly entered, shaking my hand enthusiastically.

"Here you go," handing me a chart, Nurse Fryday said with a forced smile, glancing sideways at the excited man.

"Thanks," I said uncomfortably, trying to pull my hand away from the other man as the nurse left the room.

Finally getting my hand back, I gestured for the man to sit on the bed in the center of the office and moved slightly towards House.

House, ignoring the patient in the room, was completely focused on his magazine. "Here," I said, stretching out my hand with the chart, trying to get House's attention.

"Oh no," after looking at the papers for a second, the man responded. "You can handle this, and obviously, he came just for you," House continued, pointing to the inexplicably excited patient.

It was true; since he entered the room, the patient hadn't taken his eyes off me, smiling broadly.

Seeing the man's odd smile, I sighed, resigning myself to the situation. "What brings you here today, Mr. Robert?" I asked, reading the name and other details on the chart.

"Oh, yes, cough cough," apparently remembering where he was, the man said in surprise while obviously faking a cough. "I have this strange cough that started a few days ago," completely changing his expression, he added. "Is everything in the newspaper true?" he asked, seemingly forgetting about his 'illness.'

This was going to be a very long day.

Like that patient, many others came just to talk to me or see me up close. Many others only came to ask questions, incredulous of the words in the newspaper, and very few came for an actual medical consultation, all type one patients.

After seeing dozens of patients, our shift finally ended. House, who had done nothing but read magazines and play with his video game console the entire time we were in the office, was the first to notice the time.

House stood up, stretching his arms, closing his eyes with a big smile as he let out a long, contented sigh. "Sitting all day is bad for your back; I'm exhausted," the man explained sarcastically, smiling.

"I'm glad you can finally get some rest," I responded to him as sarcastically as possible before leaving the office.

"Oh come on, kid, you have to admit it was fun," House said, following me out of the office.

"Oh yes, I love being treated like an exotic animal in the zoo," I responded sarcastically to the usually bitter man while handing over the chart of the last patient, an elderly woman who was clearly only interested in meeting me.

"Don't be ridiculous," House exclaimed as we walked towards the diagnostic lounge. "At the zoo, people don't make sexual advances on the animals," he declared with an arrogant smile. "At least not so openly," he added with irony.

Ignoring the doctor's jokes, I continued walking, feeling chills down my spine. I hoped the joke was just another of House's strange inventions. Unfortunately, for some reason, many older women came to the office with obvious intentions, no younger than Dottie or Meemaw.

In the diagnostic lounge, the other three doctors who should be there were now sharing a table with the still-stressed Dr. Wilson.

"Look who's here," Chase exclaimed, standing up with a big smile. "The prodigy of the moment," he added mockingly as he approached me. "Congratulations on your appearance in the newspaper."

"Thanks," I said forcedly, feeling another pang in what had been a headache all day, ignoring Chase's wide smile.

"Don't bother him, I'm sure he's had a tough day," Cameron said as she passed by her colleague. "I passed by the clinic a few hours ago," she explained sympathetically. "Congratulations on the article, by the way. It's the least a prodigy like you deserves," she added with an immediate smile.

Yes, I couldn't wait for the newspaper article to be old news.

After saying goodbye to everyone, including those I met in the hospital corridors, I headed towards Case; I needed to hit something.

Changing into my training clothes in Case's lot, I walked, stretching my arms.

Tim, who usually arrived a few minutes before me, was already warming up in front of Case, who was oddly sitting in a small garden chair, watching my muscular friend.

"PJ," Tim greeted me cheerfully, stopping his warm-up.

"Ah," Case said, looking at me for a few seconds with a raised eyebrow, smiling sinisterly. "The prodigy is here," he added, pulling out the cause of my headache from one of the chair's armrests, pointing to my face printed in black and white.

"I knew you were smart, but not that much," Tim said amusedly from the concrete floor. "I've had a pain in this shoulder for a few days, do you think you can fix it?" he added, moving one of his arms slowly with obvious interest.

Great, they obviously read the article. I felt foolish for hoping they hadn't read it. I could only close my eyes for a few seconds and sigh, "I can take a look if you really need it," I said, approaching my muscular friend.

"Really?" Tim asked, surprised.

"Yes, despite what the article says, I'm not a doctor yet, but I've studied a lot," I explained, checking the range of motion in Tim's shoulder. "It's probably just a grade one strain. Try not to lift much with this arm, put some ice on it, and if the pain persists by the end of the week, you can go to the hospital for a check-up at the clinic," I said after examining his shoulder.

"Thanks, man," Tim said, kindly patting my shoulder.

"No problem. You should also wrap your shoulder to compress it," I said, stretching my arms, preparing to warm up and train.

"How well do you know anatomy?" Case, who had been silent during Tim's shoulder examination, suddenly asked, seemingly interested.

"I'd say pretty well," I replied. After hundreds of hours studying dozens of different anatomy books, I had the subject pretty well mastered. I could probably pass an exam at any moment, though I'd need to study a bit more to ensure a perfect score.

"Really?" Case asked, raising one of his eyebrows as he stood up. "Go ahead," he said, opening his palms and tilting his head, discreetly asking for proof.

I just wanted to hit one of the bags, maybe practice some submissions with Tim, even a small sparring session would be fine. "Okay," I said, taking off my shirt, feeling defeated. "Scapula, clavicle, humerus, glenohumeral joint, acromioclavicular, sternoclavicular, deltoids, rotator cuff subscapularis, supraspinatus, infraspinatus, teres minor, biceps brachii, triceps brachii, coracobrachialis, musculocutaneous nerve, radial nerve, obviously the brachial artery," I began describing, pointing to where each structure should be on my own body.

I was completely focused on the description of each anatomical structure, continuing the anatomical journey down to my hand. "And its blood vessels, the superficial and deep palmar arches, mainly formed by the radial, ulnar arteries, and their branches," I finished, moving my hand.

Case and Tim shared a look of complete surprise. "Are you some kind of government experiment?" Case asked, snorting.

"I just read a lot of books," I immediately explained.

"I read a lot too, and I can't do that," Tim declared, smiling incredulously.

"Start warming up, shrimps, bridging, and granby rolls, then drills of sweeps and escapes, passing guard, and guard retention," Case ordered, fortunately for me, cutting off the topic.

After several minutes of warm-up, Case instructed Tim to do ground and pound drills with one of the bags that Case had obviously made himself.

"We're going to take a step further in your training," Case said ominously, with his usual frown in front of me. "How advanced are you with the notebook?" the man asked.

The notebook was one of the many notebooks Case had made by hand, detailing various submission techniques.

"I've studied many, but I haven't had the chance to practice them properly," I responded to Case, wiping the sweat that was dripping into my eyes.

"Good, we'll focus your training on that for now," Case said, taking a position on the ground. "Let's start with an armbar," he ordered, gesturing with his hands.

"Alright, you showed us you know anatomy," Case said with a small smile as we began the drill. "Right now, you have an error in your grip," he continued as we reached what should be the armbar. "I'm pretty sure you know the range of motion a arm should have," he said, surprisingly calm despite supposedly being in an uncomfortable position due to my grip. "From where we are now, how can you cause the most damage?" he asked.

Holding Case's arm, I hesitated for a second. During most training sessions, I could imagine the type of traumatic damage we could cause to anyone by applying the techniques, but it had never occurred to me to think about maximizing the damage.

"Don't hesitate, you're not looking to hurt me right now, it's just training for if you ever need to use it," Case said calmly, seemingly noticing my hesitation. "I'll be fine," he assured.

"Alright," I said, pressing my grip and repositioning my hips, always thinking about pressing on the shoulder nerves. I knew exactly where to apply the pressure and how to do it.

As soon as I began to apply a bit of pressure, Case tapped my leg. "Okay, stop," he exclaimed, making me release his arm immediately.

Pressing lightly on his shoulder, Case nodded slightly with a strange, excited smile. "Let's continue."

And like that, the days passed. At school, each day was filled with more Christmas decorations. I made an active effort to ignore the attention from my classmates.

At the hospital, which was also filling its halls with small Christmas decorations, as House had predicted, the clinic was still busy. Fortunately, fewer people were coming in each day just to try and meet me, and the cases that did come in were mainly straightforward.

With Case, as he had said, my training had focused on submission techniques. Each day, it became easier to apply my anatomical knowledge almost naturally to the techniques Case had already shown me.

Friday marked the start of winter break. With much more free time during the week, my friends made sure to impose plans to fill my calendar.

The weekend, which I would normally spend doing something with my brothers, I spent with my friends in plans that, given the number of teenagers, seemed normal, at least in Medford: mini-golf, movies, and going to the mall to, according to David, Brock, and Georgie, meet girls. Aside from greetings mainly directed at me, none of us had any interactions with any girls.

On Tuesday, two days before Christmas, after going to the mall once more with my friends and coming back from a fairly uneventful day at the hospital, a truck I'd never seen was being unloaded of luggage by a guy who seemed a few years older than me, quite robust, outside Meemaw's house.

"Good evening," I greeted the guy across the street as I got out of my car, surprising him as he was lowering one of the apparently very heavy suitcases.

"Oh," he said, letting out a high-pitched squeal and dropping the suitcase he was holding. "Oh, howdy," he greeted respectfully, immediately lowering his arms and changing his attitude and tone of voice upon seeing me.

"Hi, sorry for scaring you," I said, approaching him and offering my hand for a handshake. "PJ Duncan," I introduced myself as I shook the robust guy's hand.

"Cameron Tucker," he said, returning the handshake firmly. "But you can call me Cam," Cam continued with a friendly smile.

"Are you related to

Mrs. Tucker?" I asked, remembering how Meemaw had said not long ago that she had invited her family with the betting money.

"Yes, she's my aunt Connie," Cam responded, seeming oddly uncomfortable, apparently not knowing how to stand still.

"Cameron, are you almost done with the luggage? Aunt Connie says it's almost time for dinner with cousin Mary," a woman, equally robust and surprisingly identical to Cam, came out of the house, speaking in an annoyed tone. "Oh, and who might this be?" she asked, stopping for a moment surprised upon seeing me, with a smile that immediately made me feel in danger.

"Pam, this is PJ Duncan. PJ, this is my sister Pam, who is twenty years old," Cam said, emphasizing the last part as he introduced us, staring intently at his sister.

"Nice to meet you, PJ," Pam said, approaching and taking my hand in an oddly sweaty handshake, with the same unsettling smile.

I don't like this.

"Likewise," I replied, discreetly wiping my hand as I took a small step back.

While the two siblings exchanged strangely competitive looks, I felt increasingly insecure. In a moment of the brief seconds this occurred, Pam somehow lost, walking back to Meemaw's house, annoyed.

Cam, who had stayed behind, watched his sister walk all the way inside Meemaw's house before turning back to me with a smile as if nothing had happened.

"What were we talking about?" he asked, clasping his hands together below his abdomen.

"You were unpacking," I quickly said. "I have to get back home," I continued, pointing to my house. "It was a pleasure meeting you," I finished, feeling an increasing need to quickly return home.

"I hope we meet again sometime," Cam said, somewhat defeated, clapping his hands together loudly now in front of his chest.

Crossing the street back to my house, I couldn't shake a strange sensation. Glancing discreetly, I found Cam staring intently as I walked back. Why does he do that?

"Alan?" I called, paying attention again to my house. Next to my car, apparently out of nowhere as usual, my usually calm friend was standing with a clear bruise on his face.

"Hey, do you think I could stay at your place for a few days?" Alan asked almost in a whisper, avoiding my gaze.

"What happened?" I asked, concerned, approaching my friend.

"My mom left," Alan admitted, seemingly embarrassed. "So, do you think your parents would be okay with me staying for a few days?" he asked again, lifting his face and seriously looking me in the eyes.

"Of course, come on," I replied confidently after a few seconds, absorbing the information. I wasn't going to let him go back home.

"Thanks," Alan said, relaxing his shoulders with relief in his voice.

"Hey," I said, putting my hand on my usually calm friend's shoulder. "I got your back, remember?" I asked, smiling slightly.

"Oh my," Cam exclaimed from across the street in the same high-pitched voice he had used when he first saw me, making both Alan and I turn in surprise.

Once again holding a suitcase in his hands, completely focused on Alan and me, Cam seemed embarrassed upon noticing our stares, quickly turning and running back into the house with incredible speed.

"New neighbor?" Alan asked, puzzled.

"He's Georgie's family," I explained.

"And he's really gay," Alan affirmed, smiling slightly.

Oh.

---

**Author Thoughts:**

As always, I'm not American, not a doctor, and not a fighter.

I've decided not to write the article for the moment, possibly in some future special chapter like the previous one, as a continuation or something similar.

There's really very little, almost nothing, of information about the past of some *Modern Family* characters, and Cameron is one of them. I remember not having watched the series completely (I stopped around when Alex enters university), and I only recall some comments made about Cameron's family, some by his sister and others by his father.

I don't really know much about his adolescence, and I'm not so familiar with his young adulthood either. I know he's supposed to have studied arts at some point, but I'm not sure if by this point in his life (18 years old) he's already in university or just leaving high school. I'll probably think about it for the next chapter, and have a plan for what I'd like to build of his character in the pre-*Modern Family* stage.

Also, for those who watched the movie *The Accountant*, at some point before Christmas, Alan's mom (Christian and Braxton's mom) abandons them. I decided it would be just a few days before Christmas, so this is basically the beginning of Alan and his brothers' life with only their father.

With that said,

I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.

Thank you for reading! :D

PS: PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW.

PS2: It is possible that this chapter has more errors than usual, I did not have time to completely review the chapter, in fact I am writing this the day before publishing.