Disclaimer: Characters and ideas/story are not mine. Keith belongs to No Hands Productions and Ron Carlson.

Keith

How close is too close?

Prologue

Crunch.

I can feel the movement.

Counting. Anticipating.

Wait until the last second.

Slowly.

Beneath me, the car moves steadily toward the edge of the cliff.


Chapter 1 (Natalie)

Beep!Beep!Beep!

My eyes flash open. It`s like my body knows that it`s time to wake up. Just like I`ve woken up at 5am every day for the past 10 years.

I get up and look around my room. It`s not perfect, but it`s not messy either. My room hasn`t changed in 10 years, too. Across the hall is the same bathroom that I`ve brushed my teeth in every day of my life. I look at myself in the mirror. My face is reflected in it, the blonde hair that I`ve grown long, the green eyes that change colour in different lights. The face that`s been mine for 17 years.

I pull on my running shoes, the new ones that my father bought me after I won that last match on Wednesday, even though I probably have 10 pairs scattered in my closet, and lace them up. Packing my school bag with my planner and my chemistry homework, and then picking up my racket and putting it in its bag, I head out to my car.

I drive out, alone, to the empty tennis courts and start to warm up. I start practicing my serves, one ball over the net after another, until it's 7:30 AM and I have to get to school. At school, I cross off "tennis practice" on my planner. I have a French test next, and I breeze through it, finishing in about 45 minutes. I look around at my classmates, I'm the only one done, and no one's even close to finishing yet. It's not unusual for that to happen, in fact, it's expected of me. I'm Natalie Anderson. I'm going to University next year, and I'm going to become a doctor. I've known this since the second grade.

I hand in my test and I leave class. I sit underneath my favourite tree in the middle of campus, writing an essay I have due for English next week. I look up, towards the field, where the sound of boy's laughter is coming from. Some boys are kicking around a soccer ball. It's easy to see who's the best at it, the boy with the long, dark hair, who takes the ball and dodges the other player. He's really cute.

Chapter 2 (Keith)

Crack. The pool ball falls into the pocket. I'm getting better at this, all this bonding time with Al has really improved my game.

"Been thinkin' 'bout what you said about that concrete goal," I tell him as I walk around the table for my next shot. Crack.

"And?" he prompts.

"I think I've nailed it!" I say, aiming. "I feel really good about this one,"

"Lay it on me," he says.

"It's a girl," I reply, smiling. He's going to love this one.

"Cool. What's she like?" he says enthusiastically. I walk around him to take my next shot, I'm having a really good game.

"You know, smart, beautiful, popular, a classic TGFY. Too Good For You, Al," I add, when he looks confused. He's used to it.

"But not for you?" he asks, ignoring the jab.

I consider him. "I'm sorta outside the whole high school food chain at this point, wouldn't you say?" Miss.

He sighs. "Are you gonna ask her out?"

"Ask her out?" I repeat. "No. Bad idea, no." I lean over the table and aim for the red ball. "I mean, where's the therapeutic value in that?" I continue.

"So what's the plan?" he asks me, sounding a bit impatient.

"Simple," I tell him. "I'm going to have fun with her," Crack.

"Fun," he says sharply. "What does that mean?"

"Fun? Fun means fun, right?" I say, smirking at him. Crack. I sink the last ball. "Don't over think it, Al," I advise him, clapping him on the back. I walk over to my bag by the wall. "It's been nice knowing ya," I throw over my back.

"Next week?"

"You know what, Al?" I turn around, grinning. "You've made so much progress here, I think you're ready to face the world on your own, now," I tell him, using a patronising tone.

"Keith?" he begins, sounding concerned.

"Don't worry, Al," I say, backing up, "You can cope," I grab my bag from the wall and walk out the door.