Disclaimer: Third Watch (and all that it entails) is the property of its creators with the proper paperwork.

What Could Have Been

Chapter 1

I skip up the front steps of my high school, painfully aware of the fact that I am late again. Lame excuses begin zooming around in my head. The alarm clock broke? My bookcase fell in front of my bedroom door and I was trapped inside? The shower drain clogged and—nope, I don't see myself getting anywhere with that one. I resign myself to the fact that I am going to have to endure another lecture on "The Importance of Being Punctual" by my teacher, Ms. Atawell. I swear the woman must've been born with an atomic clock burned into her brain. What she doesn't seem to understand is that when you have first period study hall, you don't always feel motivated to arrive on the dot every morning.

I stash my must-have morning latte in the first trash can I see as I walk through the deserted hall. The sounds of typical mid-morning torture sessions are audible as I walk by closed classroom doors. I make my way to my own class, and take a deep breath as I open the door, bracing myself.

I receive a quick smile of encouragement from my best friend Sarah before—

"Ms. Nieto? A word?"

Grudgingly, I make my way to Ms. Atawell's desk. "I'm really sorry," I say as I approach, "But the shower drain clogged and my bookcase fell on the alarm clock and—" I trail off as I can tell she is not amused.

"Third time this month, Kylie," she reminds me. Like I need it. Her face softens. "You're doing really well in all of your classes, but this tardiness is unacceptable. I'm afraid I'm going to need to call your parents—I'm sorry," she says as my face drops. I nod as I turn to walk back to my desk.

"Hey," I say to Sarah as I sit down.

"Hey," she replies. "So, what was it this time?"

"The usual morning scramble. Line at Starbucks."

"You can't keep doing this Ky."

"Ha, you sound like our favorite teacher."

She changes the subject, "So what's the latest with you and Justin?"

The mention of my boyfriend lightens my mood instantly. "Not much. He came over for dinner last night and we studied for the calc test. Then he had to leave for a late night jam session with the guys."

"When's their next gig?"

"Next Friday. They're playing this little café."

We swap vital information back and forth quietly for the rest of the period. As I get up to leave, Ms. Atawell stops me. "Kylie, hang on."

I tell Sarah I'll catch up to her before turning back to the teacher's desk.

"I'll be calling at lunch, just giving you the heads-up," she says with a small smile, which I return, mumbling incoherently all the while.

I walk through the halls during passing period. I decided when I first met her that Ms. Atawell isn't that bad, save for the fact that she had a complete by-the-book attitude. She's a pretty cool teacher otherwise. I have her later in the afternoon for English, as well as for study hall. I've always had bonds with my English teachers—must be all that Shakespeare.

I continue walking with my head in the clouds, dawdling once more, this time to P.E., with my mind racing.

At this point, high school seems like a formality. I already know what I want to do with my life. I've known it since I was six, when I could recite normal vital signs for a typical adult. I want to be a paramedic, like my father and my stepmom. Cute, right? I know, it sounds cliché. It's true though; I've grown up around emergency workers. The firehouse is like my second home. Do you ever feel like something's in your blood? The desire to start IVs is in mine.

My name's Kylie Nieto. My dad's Carlos Nieto. The fact that we're father and daughter is practically a chapter in my life unto itself. Short version? My aunt sprung me on my dad when I was a baby, after my birth mom died. He was going to give me up for adoption, but decided against it. We had a hectic couple of years (because of course, I as a toddler remember it all), and then my dad met Holly, another paramedic. They were partners for a while, a little drama ensued, then poof! They were married. Okay. Fast-forward about twelve years. I'm 16, an only child, and on first-name terms with all the guys at the firehouse. I was sliding down the fire pole at 6, and they taught me how to throw a perfect spiral at 9. Somewhere in there, throw in meeting a really great core group of friends, including Sarah. Basically, I've had a typical-ish childhood, growing up in New York City. And I've just walked into a tree.

I rub my arm, grazed by the rough bark, and cursing my ability to completely shut out the world around me when I'm deep in thought. Although useful sometimes, it leaves me open to clumsy moments such as the one that just took place. Slightly amused with myself, I breathe in the crisp autumn air, and hurry to class.

Author's Note: Obviously this doesn't take into account the series finale; my own little AU, if you will.