Disclaimer: I don't own Pete and Pete. If I did, I would have married Michael Maronna ::girlish sigh::

Dedicated to all the Pete and Pete fans, especially those of us facing college this year ;)

Everything We Once Had

There comes a point in every person's life that no matter how hard they try to cling onto it, they have to let go of their childhood. It's a time when the once epic battles against the international adult conspiracy and brokenhearted bus drivers begin to feel distant and pale in comparison to SAT scores and scholarship essays. Maybe it's the beginning of adulthood.

I think it's a lot like a hole in the bottom of your bookbag. At first, you don't notice the spare change that slips through the tear. It's only at that last second, when it's too late to do any good, that you realize you've been losing anything at all.

For me, it was today. As I sat on top of my bed sorting through what I wanted to keep, throw away, or take with me, I found an old picture. My hand moved instinctively towards the discard pile, but thankfully, I pulled it back just in time.

The picture was of me, my best friend Ellen, my little brother Pete (who had recently been trying to get us to call him "Big Wrig", but it wasn't catching on), and a man in a giant icecream head mask. Looking at the picture, I could remember how that day felt. I could remember the unexplainable mystery of Mr. Tasty, and the satisfaction of finally being his friend…but I couldn't feel it. I remembered it, but I couldn't understand it, and I couldn't be part of it like I had been back then.

I knew it was me in the photograph. It was my flaming red hair, goofy smile, and awkward stance. It was even the T-shirt I had put in the "give to charity" box moments ago. But it wasn't who I was now.

Still, I wanted it to be, I wanted it to be me more than anything in the world. I think to lose something, by definition, is to miss it an inordinate amount. I couldn't understand how I could have let my childhood, which seemed so precious to me now, simply fade away. It was life's fault, I decided, by throwing a million distractions at me, things that seemed more important at the time.

"Planning on getting out of my room anytime soon?" my brother, who had made it clear he was glad I'd be headed to college next week, said from the door.

"Remember this?" I asked, ignoring his attempt at aloofness. I pushed the picture toward him.

Little Pete laughed. "Of course. What a waste of time. I spent that whole summer on the diving board."

I looked at him and back down at the picture. He had changed too. Not only was his checkered red hat a thing of the past, but he was quieter now. He was less like himself and more like everyone else.

"Hey," I said, giving him a quick noggie. "Don't be so quick to grow up."

Pete pushed me off. "I thought we agreed we were going to avoid all this sentimental crap." He readjusted his Iggy Pop T-shirt.

"I'm not being sentimental; I'm being serious. You're going to miss it when it's gone." I took the picture from him and placed it in the "Taking With Me" pile.

Pete shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I hope I don't get like this when I leave for college."

I turned around and quickly submerged him in a hug.

"I'm going to miss you, Little Pete."

Little Pete struggled under my grip.

"Stop calling me that!" came his muffled cry.

I let go, and Pete punched me twice in the shoulder before flopping down on the bed.

"It's the end of an era," he sighed.

"There's still you and Nona," I reminded him. "You can keep the dream alive."

"That's the last thing on our mind, if you know what I mean," Little Pete snorted suggestively. He and Nona had been dating for almost two years now.

"Ugh," I said, tossing a pillow at him and not wanting to think about the "other" things my little brother and his girlfriend might be doing.

"Don't be jealous just because you never had the guts to ask Ellen out," Little Pete quickly retorted, and I felt a strange pull in my stomach.

"It wasn't about guts," I mumbled, Ellen's face fresh in my mind. "If it was meant to happen, it would have happened by now."

"News flash, fish face, you have to make things happen."

Somehow, four years younger than me, Pete seemed to be a thousand times wiser.

"It's too late to do anything now," I said, mostly because I wanted Pete to assure me that it wasn't.

But instead, he agreed. "Yep," Pete said. "Impossible."

Something inside me surged at that word, and I realized maybe I wasn't so grown up after all. It is, after all, that kid in you that when you're told you can't do something, becomes absolutely certain they have to do it.

But then, there was also reality and as much as I might want to do something, I knew that at a certain point there is really nothing left to do. You just do what you can with what remains of the day.

And I still had a few hours left of this one. Maybe it isn't the best idea to spend your time looking through your past, but I think there's something to be learned from it, mistakes to be understood and adequately regretted. I knew I was going to leave all this behind in a matter of days, and I wanted to savor it all while it was still a part of me. I grabbed my jacket and the picture, said a quick goodbye to Pete, and I headed out the door.

It was dark by the time I arrived at the football field. It was a perfect kind of summer night, with that small bite of briskness that keeps you awake enough to appreciate every part of it--from the smell of cut grass to the sounds of crickets and the sporadic flashes of fireflies. It was youth, and it was beautiful. I wondered if I'd ever feel it again.

This was the field I had spent half my life on. The field where I first kissed Ellen, paced back and forth for hours practicing band formations, and killed the school mascot. The field was empty now but my memories played over it. I sat on the bleachers and looked at the enduring symbol of what had once been. I watched the ghosts of 6 years of accomplishments pass over the 50-yard lines.

"Is this really goodbye?" I sighed to myself, sitting back on the bleachers and closing my eyes.

"Maybe," a girl responded. I opened my eyes and saw Ellen standing next to me. She smiled and casually took a seat beside me, looking onto the field.

"What brings you here?" I asked with slight nervousness.

I was suddenly extremely aware of the fact that Ellen and I were alone together. It seemed like it had been months, maybe years, since it had really been just us. We were best friends, of course, but lately, the title remained not because of new or reaffirmed actions or affections, but because when you have almost 14 years of memories together, it seems you can sustain yourself with just those. We were friends, but not like we had been, and no longer really on purpose.

So sitting alone on the bleachers that night was not like any of the other experiences we shared. There was a pressure like there'd never been before. There was doubt and discomfort and the only certainty was the mutual feeling that for some reason, this night was important. It was the understanding that we couldn't rely on the past forever.

Ellen shrugged with a small, strange grin. "I guess I came to say goodbye."

I paused, guilt urging me desperately to speak. But it was so hard. What can you say to a person that has both the danger of the stranger and the value of a friend? I decided to speak honestly the one thought that kept repeating in my mind.

"We're really leaving," I breathed out.

From the way Ellen snorted in equally confused agreement, I knew I wasn't the only one having trouble coming to grips with not just starting a new chapter of life, but beginning an entirely different book.

"I wish it hadn't taken so long for me to notice," Ellen admitted. I looked over at her, trying to find just what she meant, and caught her eyes. She blushed slightly, smirked, and looked down at her hands.

"I knew, you know," she continued. "Of course I knew…but I never took the time to think about what it really means."

"Neither did I," I quickly concurred. Ellen was a perfectionist, and I wanted to make sure she knew she wasn't the only one confused.

"I found the picture of Mr. Tastee and us today, when I was packing," I added, producing the (slightly bent) picture from my pocket and handing it to my friend. She handled it with the utmost care, as though it was some fragile, priceless thing.

She pushed her thumb affectionately over the faces in the picture and let out a small sound, either a laugh or a cry. "I'm scared, Pete," she stated without looking up. "I'm really scared."

She seemed smaller than she'd ever been when I looked over at her, her tiny legs lost amongst the oversized pajama pants she'd clearly borrowed from her dad. I felt everything inside me reaching out for her, like some sort of magnet or circuit, or anything looking for something to connect with. I wanted to tell her whatever she needed to hear for as long as she needed to hear it, but words required so much thought, and I was overcome with too much feeling to think, so I simply put my arm around her.

Or, I wish it had been simply. Really, I had scooted awkwardly towards her, causing the deep metal sound of the bleachers to bounce around the previously quiet football field. I lay my arm platonically on her shoulder, a notable distance still between us."There's nothing to be scared of," I said gently and cringed slightly when I realized how insincere it sounded.

"There's a billion things," she bit back, obviously harsher than she had meant to. She softened her face in an apology. "Everything is going to change and I just…I don't think this is going to last. I don't want it to have been all for nothing."

I felt her relaxing slightly under my arm as she spoke. I let her continue, uninterrupted. Sometimes it's enough to just speak, to empty what could otherwise cause you to explode.

"We spent so much of our life together. Most of my favorite memories are of us. I don't want to loose those. If we grow apart, I won't be able to look back on them without crying. That's 18 years of my life that I'll have to forget, that'll have all been for nothing."

"We're not going to grow apart, Ellen." I was somewhat offended by the suggestion. "We've lasted this long, haven't we?"

"Barely," Ellen said with a slight snort. She turned and looked at me. Her face was close enough to mine that I felt that tingly feeling rush through me; the kind that starts in the crooks of your elbows and then floods through your whole body.

"I'm not sure we're really even friends anymore, Pete." Her voice was barely audible, and I could tell she was struggling to hold in tears. It was strange with Ellen. She was one of the most sensitive people I'd ever meant, but she tried with all she had to be appear tough and apathetic. It was endearing, if not successful. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Of course," came my automatic response.

She took a moment, maybe to gather her courage, and then proceeded. "I think I held on to this friendship for selfish reasons."

I looked over at her, and she sighed, realizing that she was going to have to continue now that she'd started.

"I wanted a story book ending. I wanted to be able to look back and say that I'd fallen in love with my best friend." She grinned slightly. "But I guess real life isn't perfect. And because I wanted that…it was all our friendship meant to me. I didn't value it for what it was, I just used it as a method of getting something else."

My reaction was, of course, stunned and silent staring. It wasn't the sort of thing you respond to. It seemed like the sort of well thought out speech that had taken hours of idle daydreaming to create. It would be infinitely rude to interrupt before she was done, to throw unpredictably into an established dream.

She seemed to build up courage with every word she heard herself really, truly letting out. There was no turning back; it was now or never. "Things got harder because that was all I thought about…and what is friendship, really, but easiness, the ability to be relaxed and enjoy? I can't remember the last time I haven't been cautious with what I say to you. I've been trying to trick you, Pete, to manipulate you, to say all the right things and be the sort of person you could really care for. I guess that isn't really fair to either of us." She sank like a deflated balloon that had just let out its last breath of air. Her courage was gone, and she looked intently at her hands, an unmistakable blush growing on her face.

There was no question that it was my turn to talk. I wondered for a second what I had said when she had thought it all through. As silly as it seems, I was still scared. Ellen had spilled out everything, and I was still scared to speak back. I was still scared she could just take it all back.

I had always swore up and down to myself (or whatever mysterious force it is we talk to when we're planning and wishing in the confines of our thoughts) that if I just had the chance, I would tell Ellen how I felt. Yet, here it was, the moment I was waiting for, and suddenly, I was unsure.

I looked at Ellen, and I tried to imagine what kind of change it would make if I told her the truth, if I told her I wanted to be with her. She was moving to California in a matter of weeks, and I'd be in Boston. It was going to be hard enough to leave all this behind, and it would be damn near impossible if we were any closer to each other. Wouldn't it be selfish of me to tell the truth, then? To give myself a few weeks of fun that would end up breaking both of our hearts.

Ellen made another indistinguishable laugh/cry/snort and pushed me playfully. "God Pete, the worse thing you could have done was to sit there like that and not say anything!"

I looked over at her emotion-filled face and I didn't see it as it was then. I saw in it 16 years of friendship and uncountable memories. She attempted a smile, but the side of her mouth quivered with the effort.

That was all it took. Instantly, I leaned over and kissed her with 16 years worth of pent up fervor. When I felt her kiss back, a shiver mixed with excitement and security signaled up my spin.

We kept kissing. Touch was distracting, and it's much easier to bask in getting what you want than to realize the repercussions. I'm not sure if we would have stopped, unless we had heard that low rumble of thunder.

"Think it's trying to tell us something?" Ellen asked. I wasn't sure how sincere she was being. Ellen was such a mix of play and seriousness that even as long as I had known her, I couldn't always tell.

Though kissing her, literally, a few seconds ago, had felt only natural, I was scared to take her hand and lead her out of the oncoming rain. I was suddenly aware of how close we were. I silently urged the skin on my knee to pull back just enough so that we were no longer touching (which sent a tingling blush straight to my cheeks), but not enough that Ellen would notice my moving away.

With another clap of thunder, the rain began. Ellen tilted her head back and closed her eyes, smiling wide. "Rain!" she exclaimed.

I looked up too, at the mercy of the universal experience that is a summer rainstorm. Rain covered every other sound, making the field seem even emptier than before. Ellen got up, clearly intent on playing in the mud puddles rapidly forming on the 50-yard line. Before she could move forward, I grabbed her wrist.

"Your dad will kill me if you catch pneumonia," I explained, pulling her in the direction of shelter.

By the time we reached the small area of pavement covered by the steel blue awning, we were both soaking wet. Ellen's hair hung around her face in messy tangles, and I was glad there was no mirror for me to view my sopping red mop. I always ended up looking like some sort of sick clown when I stood in the rain.

Ellen looked at me with the beginnings of a smile. I prepared myself for good-natured mocking, but instead, she staggered nervously into another kiss.

I was caught too off guard to reciprocate much, and Ellen pulled back. "This is only going to make it harder," she said. With renewed confidence, she scooted over to me and sat at my side, laying her head on my shoulder. It should have felt comfortable, it had all those days she was just my friend, but now it was exhilarating and hopeful and encouraging.

Her forwardness gave me the tenacity to lace my arm around her shoulder, a realization by both of us that the time for foolishness and shyness had passed long ago.

"Why did we waste all that time?" Ellen asked. I tried hard to pay attention to what she was saying, but the rain had made the sweet smell of her shampoo so strong... "I thought we were smarter than that."

"No use in regretting," I mumbled, knowing I should be interested in what she had to say, but finding myself most interested in kissing her again.

"This won't last," she sighed, bitter about losing something she'd barely had.

I couldn't pretend it wasn't slightly strange holding her. Though all the logic I had assured me she wouldn't just change her mind and walk away, I was still terrified, counting my blessing instead of looking for anything more. But I thought about what she said, and about all the time we'd wasted. But then again, she was Ellen, and at least speech came easy.

"It's the age old question," I said. "Do you do what will make you happy now, or do you do what's best for the future?"

Ellen smiled, "I guess we've always had different approaches to that." She was, of course, referring to the fact that this year I had decided I'd rather goof off over the weekends rather than fill out scholarships with her, which was why she could afford to go to a far away school, and I'd be going to the cheapest school in Massachusetts.

"Well, why worry about a future you can't be sure you'll ever see?" It was a way of justifying my own laziness.

She sighed and closed her eyes, apparently allowing herself to just enjoy the moment.

"We could always get married."

I clamped my mouth tightly shut as soon as the words came out. What was I thinking? Had I really just said that? I waited, terrified, for Ellen's response.

She stayed silent and still for what felt like forever. And I let it go, hoping maybe she hadn't heard me. It was when she moved out from under my arm that I became slightly terrified. She kneeled by my side, locking her brown eyes intensely to my blue ones.

"Why don't we?"

I felt my eyes open wider. Ellen was supposed to be the logical one.

"Get married?" I gulped.

She nodded enthusiastically.

"I love you Pete, I've always loved you," Ellen said. "That's not going to change. Why not? Why not hold on to something we want?"

I'm not sure what can temporarily stall sanity in two normally intelligent individuals, but something that day did. I guess it could have been giddiness or excitement, but somewhere deep inside, I had a feeling it was just well disguised fear.

"Okay," I said and kissed her.

Something about the stupidity of such a decision was completely thrilling and before we knew it we were both giggling and kissing as if there was nothing sane left in either of us. We got carried away in it until the only thing we heard was the rain, staggered breaths, and raspy admissions of "I love you."

Afterwards, we lay there on the concrete until the darkest part of night faded into the darkest part of morning. It seemed like the brighter it got, the more whatever fog that had been clouding our reason dissipated. The night was like a drug wearing off, you were left with to live with the side effects. It was that same panicking shortness of breath when you lose the euphoria and have to adjust to reality.

"We need to get home," Ellen admitted. In the dim light I could see her eyes. They were worried again.

Slowly, we got up and forced ourselves to face the day. Ellen brushed off her pajama pants, and we walked towards the light and the real world. Her hand in mind, we strolled over the field, the sun rose over the nearby, reminding me of the day we first kissed. I think she remembered too, because she nudged her head into my shoulder as we walked, and I threw my arm around her shoulder, grasping her close.

Neither of us knew what would happen next, if we'd hold true to our crazy promises and get hitched in some Elvis-themed chapel in Atlantic City or if we'd lose our nerve and end up miles away from each other with nothing to show for last night. But somehow, it didn't matter. We had last night, and it was real, and we both knew it. We weren't children anymore, and we weren't going into this new world alone. We had each other for now and so, we had our childhood. For now, that was enough.

Fin.

Author's Notes: I tried to make it seem as much like Pete (at least narrative-wise) as I could. I'm assuming many may find the marriage idea completely unrealistic and it's supposed to be, you say silly things when you're scared of something, and it doesn't mean you'll actually follow through on them. Hope you liked it. There's not nearly enough Pete and Pete fanfiction out there :P

Please review:D Reviews make my day. Constructive criticism is fine, but no flaming, I beg you :O

Best wishes,

Soragirl