I read the four books of The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants dozens of times, so imagine my happiness, when I came up with an idea for a fan fiction! It takes place years later, way after they graduate from college. It may seem confusing at first, but that's sort of the point. Anyway, it comes from several points of views, besides Bridget, Lena, Carmen, and Tibby's, but from the generation after them….

It had been years since anything was touched inside the faded, worn-out, and almost torn box that stood under the layers of dust in the corners of their deep basement. Early morning sunshine had poured through the closed window as she sat down near it, taking out old memorabilia from a time's past…..

In lovely, cursive spelled out "The Septembers," where a black and white photograph of four very diverse, different women standing together on a brick wall, but acting as if they were connected by blood. Any could tell that they shared a bond together, something more than just ordinary friends could share. She saw a past of laughter, of love, and one of sisterhood. She gazed at the photograph for a few long seconds, until gently folding it back into its original position and setting it beside her on the hard wood floor.

She soon transitioned to a shabby scrapbook of banded white, tatty pages. In it, stood more modernized pictures, where a group of four young girls stood next to a lemonade stand together. One young girl, who she recognized to be her mother, had magnificent green eyes and long dark hair, with a shy, reserved, and almost frightened expression on her face. She wore a pale sundress and her hair was set in a loose ponytail which was almost falling out. Next to her, stood another one of her age, except more petite and Latina-looking. Her dark, expressive eyes shined as she set an arm around her mother. She estimated that they were once good friends. Then stood a bold, outrageous friend, with long blond braids and a taller, more defined body, she obviously was the more confident one of the bunch, while moving to another girl with a grim smirk with a "Rolling Stones" T-shirt on as well as faded jeans, her hair wavy and tousled at the ends. All look eerily alike to the women in the first picture.

She then turned the page, seeing more pictures as time had progressed. From the age of 5 at lemonade stand to the age of 8 at their ballet recitals to 13 at their middle school dance with braces and really bad hair, to finally, what appeared to be her age: 17.

All had significantly grown up. They were taller and their faces and bodies were mature looking and developed.

There, stood 4 young women standing together on a beach in denim minis, and flip flops, one, however, with colored streaks in her hair.

The one's beauty, who stood out the most, was of course, her mother. Her mother had always been extraordinarily beautiful, in the sense that it was almost unreal; she was practically one of those Goddesses from the Greek myths, except her mother was never showy and never glamorous.

She wore a drab outfit, with long jean Capri's, ugly forest green flip flops, and a gray T-shirt with a black one piece behind it.

However, her gorgeous green eyes shone and she broke out into a wide smile at the camera lens with her friends' arms wrapped all around her.

The blond girl had long, grown out hair to the small of her back with an infectious grin and the most gorgeous body. She would have killed for her bod. What emphasized her more were her openness and her love for fun and boldness. She was not as pretty as her mother was, but her outgoing nature and exuberance shone even through a photograph from years ago.

The Latina woman had a curvy body with long, wavy, dark hair flying through the wind. She stood with a lot of emotion, crying as her friends had surrounded her, while the grim woman's face looked even sadder than before, her eyes wet at the sight of them all together.

At this discovery, she reluctantly closed back the scrapbook, taking out the picture, as well. She clutched both tightly into her hands, and put the box back into its original position.

She couldn't imagine a life her mother had existed in before her. For 17 years, she had almost been void of emotion or exuberance, never one to open up her heart and let people in. Instead, she retreated to silence and she was heavily overprotective of her.

Her father had disappeared long ago. She remembered him, she remembered him flying her into the turquoise ocean waves, basking in the sunlight. She remembered walking through the busy cobblestone streets with him, and witnessing him jumping near the stones of the ocean as he swam away with the current. It was 15 years ago, however. 15 long years of waiting for him to come back for her, to do it all again….

They never talked about him. Never talked about going back home with her grandparents and her aunt, in fact, lately, they never really talked much at all.

They were usually so close, she being the only one her mother had confided in, and vice versa. Her mother was still beautiful, just as much or more even through the pictures, men turning to stare at her, once they walked down the streets or walked through the lake of their neighborhood.

Cassandra was considered beautiful too, by any standards. She inherited her mother's lovely eyes and dark hair, but never knew where her distinct cheekbones had come from. But she, like her mother, never revealed their heart's desire and stood near the back of their classrooms, dreamily gazing out, for a world that could be much better than this.

Cassandra never knew of her mother's past life, she couldn't even imagine her mother having a life. She always imagined, dreamed, and dozed off through her painting and sketching. Her apron was filled with paintbrushes, and her palette of fresh, bright colors, always creating magnificent paintings of things she could not even conjure up. But she never expressed any of that through her conversations; her mother never said anything of what she used to be like.

Which was why this forced her to come to this…..

She was desperate for information, desperate because she needed to knows the truths about whom she was and where she came from. She was 17 and now a graduate of high school and preparing for college. She needed to know, or else, she didn't know how to explain to others or enter into the real world if she didn't know about her life. She was missing everything…..

She finally stood up, closing all of her thoughts, and ran downstairs, to the porch where her mother had been mixing lemonade. Fresh fruits lay all across the counter with scrambled eggs and bacon. Her mother wore the same outfit, an apron with her hair tied up into a messy bun, her face void of any make-up or lip gloss, and a plain expression on her face. She turned and flipped a pancake over, not saying anything, until she beamed slightly at the sight of her daughter.

"Cassandra. I didn't know you were awake so early."

She nodded and sat down on a stool, watching her mother continue to cook. "What are these?" She pointed to the photographs in her hands. "Do they mean something?"

Her mother's eyebrows raised up, and her eyes widened in shock. She clearly hadn't been expecting this.

"What were you doing up in the basement? That box was significantly private."

"Does it mean something important?"

"It was a long time ago, Cassandra. Eat your bacon."

"If it didn't mean anything, you would not still have them!"

"I hardly remembered I even had them. It's been too long since I have even glanced at that box. Don't raise your tone at me, either."

"You never tell me anything."

"Cassandra…."

"Mom."

"Cassandra!"

"MOM!"

Lena rolled her eyes and finally set down her boiling pan and sat across from her only daughter. She sighed.

"Their names were Bridget, Tibby, and Carmen. We lived in Bethesda, Maryland together and were friends for nearly 20 years. It was the past; however, Cassandra and you should not be focusing your energy onto that anymore."

"Shouldn't it matter though, because they were such a huge part of your life?"

"Cassandra, that's enough. You cannot tell me what I will or will not do."

She turned on her heel and left her only daughter glaring back at her figure.

"Do not look at that box again," she warned her sternly.

She angrily closed the door, leaving a confused and scattered Cassandra behind. It was then that she had decided that it was more than just a box to her, more than just a past, more than anything she could have ever imagined if she had kept it from her. More than a simple friendship between four teenage girls…

She glanced back at the picture of the four girls on the beach, of a time where everything was less confusing and terrifying with her mother, of a life where she wasn't scared about life and when she had actually welcomed it….

She turned the picture over, surprised to see a message scrawled….

The Sisterhood and the Septembers Forever….

Carmen