Mandy sat on the windowsill of Billy's bedroom window, looking out over his front yard. Billy was asleep, curled up in a sleeping bag on the floor by his bed. Mandy's sleeping bag lay empty on the floor near her. Billy had wanted a good, old fashioned camp out, but his Mother hadn't allowed it. Apparently, sleeping in sleeping bags in Billy's own bedroom was basically the same thing.

Sometimes Billy's Mother really got to Mandy. She was extremely glad that Billy hardly took after his Mother, apart from his red hair and sometimes temperamental disposition.

As a rule, though, Billy took after his Father.

Billy's Dad was an idiot, having mistaken Mandy for his daughter on more than one occasion. She might as well have been, though. She had had longer conversations with Harold than with her own Father. Her parents worked constantly.

They said it was for the brilliant pay, and because they loved their jobs. They lied.

They did get paid well, and they did enjoy their jobs to a certain extent, but they'd much rather be home spending time with a nice little family, smiling and laughing together. Mandy was not inclined to do either of those things. Her parents, to put it simply, were afraid of her. So they lied.

Mandy knew they lied. They knew Mandy knew they lied.

No one ever acknowledged it. The world spun on.

Mandy felt his presence behind her before he spoke. Grim had that sort of aura about him. He was a kindred spirit in a strange, twisted way, and Mandy could almost feel the darkness and power projecting from him. Sometimes she was sure he felt the same way about her.

"Mandy," he said, and Mandy wasn't quite sure whether he was simply acknowledging her presence or if he wanted to talk to her. She moved along the windowsill, though, her legs dangling dangerously over the edge. Her pink dress, as she hadn't bothered to get changed as of yet, seemed to have gotten shorter in the last few months. She hadn't taken it up, of course, Grim had; on her orders.

"Grim," said Mandy, her tone as unwavering as always.

"You aren't asleep," Grim said in his thick, Jamaican accent, sitting beside her on the sill. He swung his legs over the edge as well, looking more afraid of the height than Mandy was.

"No, I'm not," Mandy agreed, watching Milkshakes, Billy's cat, go through the neighbour's garbage can.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"I suppose so," said Mandy, hoping it'd be a simple one. She could feel her eyelids dragging down as she sat there. She wasn't in the mood to explain the meaning of life to Grim.

"Why are you friends with Billy?"

Mandy shut her eyes for a short moment, dreadfully calm as always, but slightly afraid in a typical human way. The sudden vulnerability made Mandy grit her teeth and glare at nothing in particular. She hated feeling vulnerable, almost to the point where she would attempt to beat the fear out of herself. It was true when people said she wasn't scared of anything; she really wasn't... most of the time.

Why did she suddenly feel fear about a simple question, one that had been brought up many times before, in several different manners?

She would do what she always did; side-step it.

"To be perfectly honest, Grim, there's a million different answers to that question."

"Well, gimme a few," said Grim, clutching his scythe with one bony hand and staring out into the darkness.

"He's stupid. You know I like taking advantage of the less fortunate."

"I knew dat. Tell me something else."

"He takes an insult. Billy probably doesn't remember that I called him an idiot on eight different occasions in the last five minutes before he fell asleep. He doesn't remember all the times I punched him up and kicked him and brought him down... It's convenient."

"Well," said Grim slowly, "I suppose dat's true..."

"He balances me out," continued Mandy, as though Grim hadn't said anything. To her, Grim was hardly there anymore. Mandy was talking for more her own benefit than Grim's. "He's almost my opposite; incredibly stupid to my intelligence, blissfully ignorant to my shocking perception. Kind where I am nasty. Good where I am evil."

Grim didn't say anything now. He was probably measuring this up in his mind, his jaw jutted forward in the way it did when he was thinking.

"He's company," said Mandy, although her voice seemed to be a little less steady, as though some sort of deep emotion was splashing through her cool façade, "I can't be lonely when Billy's around... As stupid as he is, I'd miss him. I do care about him, Grim, as much as I say or act otherwise. I tolerate him, too, because of that. Isolation is not healthy. Why search for someone else when I have my perfect... other half... right in front of me?"

"You're talking like 'E's ya soul mate," said Grim.

"Who knows? I don't think Billy would ever find someone who finds him in anyway attractive... I know I don't. He's ugly as hell, and his insides are probably a badly drawn children's picture compared to normal people."

Grim chuckled slightly, nodding.

"Yes, yes," he said, looking closely at Mandy now, "but why d'you really care about him? You said you do, but none of dose reasons add up. I seen people and deir opposites hatin' each odder."

"Billy loves me," said Mandy in a shockingly small voice, "In some strange way, Billy loves me. As stupid as he is, I look into his eyes and I see acceptance and honesty. There's nothing false about Billy."

There was a gap of silence as Mandy struggled to put her feelings into words. An owl hooted mournfully in the night and Milkshakes hissed as the trash can she was digging in fell over.

"My parents have never told me they loved me and meant it," said Mandy in a thick voice, "Sure, maybe when I was very young, but I can't remember that. Every night it's the same charade. How was your day, dear? They'll ask. I'd mention in brief the things we got up too. They'd nod, letting it slide in one ear and out the other and they'd look terrified. Then we'd hardly talk until I say goodnight. I'd see the blatant lie in their eyes as they told me they loved me. Every night, I watch them lie to me. They don't love me, Grim. Face it, I'm unlovable. Yet, Billy loves me, probably because he's too stupid to know otherwise."

In the light of the street-lamps, Grim saw a shining tear roll down Mandy's cheek. It was then Grim was reminded that Mandy was only, in fact, a thirteen year old girl, not a dark, hideous demon in disguise, like he often thought. In the four years that Grim had known her, he'd never seen her quite this open about herself.

"I don't know, Mandy," said Grim, "sometimes I tink dat Billy knows more dan 'e let's on."

Mandy bent her lips into something that might have been a dull smile.

"Yeah," said Mandy. "Maybe."

"You do know dat tere's more to life dan getting your parents approval."

"Of course; world domination has always been my main ambition." Mandy picked at a loose thread on her dress.

"You are definitely strange, child," said Grim, but he smiled to himself, because he'd finally found the answer to the question that had plagued from for so long.

It wasn't until later, when Mandy was fast asleep in her sleeping bag and Grim was lying in Billy's bed, glad the boy was in a sleeping bag, that a thought hit him.

Billy and Mandy were complete opposites. It was quite astounding that they ever happened to meet, yet alone live a few streets from one another. What were the odds that two children would meet their other halves before they'd even made it to school? But, Grim supposed, miracles did happen. It was those small things that mortals often overlooked.

Settling down for a peaceful night's sleep (for once), Grim thought that if he had to be stuck for eternity with two souls, he couldn't have chosen anyone better than Billy and Mandy.