a/n: same disclaimer! thanks for reviewing! that makes me happy. seriously, it was like AH A REVIEW:D


KRISTY--

"Oh my freakin' God!" I exclaimed, shoving Stacey McGill playfully. "You were making out with my brother! In our living room! Stacey, there are small children in this house!"

Stacey laughed, tossing her wavy hair over a shoulder. She had dyed it a golden-brown color the week before school started, and it made her clear azure eyes pop out at you. "You are so immature, Ms. Thomas."

"Ms.?" I asked, pretending to be appalled. "Stacey, I'm very obviously married!"

"Oh, please, Kristin, tell me who the new flavor is," Stacey replied, giggling as she reapplied her smeared lipgloss.

"There's a new kid in my pottery class," I said, turning a little pink. I was still getting used to the whole 'talking about boys' thing. "He's from California--"

"Is he a Dawn Schafer?" Stacey interrupted, sneering slightly. Dawn Schafer had been in the Baby-sitter's Club with us, and she was . . . well, we always called her an "individual." Honestly, she was a little weird. She was obsessed with ghosts, tofu, and saving the planet, and she always wore baggy clothes that made her look like a homeless person.

"No!" I exclaimed, shoving Stacey again. "He's from San Francisco. Very chic," I added, knowing how much Stacey loved that word.

"Oooh," she murmured, examining herself in a compact mirror, "chic? Muy bueno, Kristin." She sat down on the front steps of my porch and patted the spot next to her, so I sat down beside her.

"I know, right?" I asked, grinning. I ran a hand through my shoulder-length hair, holding out the ends to check for split ends. "His name's . . . Erik. Or Evan. Or something with an 'e'."

"Edgar?" Stacey asked, stifling a giggle. "That's a hot name. That'd make him a stud."

I stared at Stacey for a moment, raising my eyebrows in my New and Improved Look of Death. (Okay, so I still had some childish tendencies. Sue me.) We both locked eyes for a few minutes, each of us too stubborn to look away. Finally, we both burst into laughter.

After regaining our composure, I said, "Really, though, Stace. Making out on the couch? Isn't that a little skanky?"

Stacey looked thoughtful, tilting her head slightly to the side. "I prefer the term . . . daring," she replied, making me giggle. We were silent for a moment, just relishing in the warmth of the evening. "I can't believe we're already two weeks into high school," Stacey whispered softly, as if speaking it too loud would make time suddenly fly even faster.

"I can't believe it either," I agreed. I sighed dramatically, leaning against the porch step. "It hasn't really sunk in yet, has it?"

"Not for me," Stacey replied. "It's weird to think how much has changed."

I waited a moment before replying, wanting to pick the right words. "I know what you mean," I started slowly. "Mary Anne's in three of my classes. Claud's in two of them. I see Abby a lot . . . but Abby's just . . ."

"Abby," Stacey replied with a smile. Abby Stevensen had been a BSC member for a while. She was the most energetic person I had ever met, which is incredible considering how energetic I am. "I heard she was picked to be on varsity for soccer. First freshman on varsity for eight years."

"I still kinda wished I would have tried out," I said, sounding a little sad. I had lost touch with my athletic side lately, what with all the paying attention to hair, make-up, clothes, boys . . . and the rest of the complicated things in Girl World. "You're going for cheerleading, right?"

"Most def," Stacey replied, grinning. She had gotten really into gymnastics over the summer, though I definitely didn't get why. It was way too hard to bend yourself in all of those positions, no matter how cool it made you. "Kris, why don't you try out for volleyball?"

I hadn't considered volleyball. Well, I guess that's because I had never played it before in my life. But it seemed fun, now that I thought about it. I faded into a daydream, where I was the star . . . center person (whatever the position is called) . . . on the SHS volleyball team, and I had just won the winning game.

There was a lot of cheering in my daydream.

I do love people cheering me on.

Snapping back into reality, I looked at Stace. "That's almost a good idea," I told her, shrugging a bit. I didn't want to seem too interested, especially because I wasn't sure if I'd even make the team.

"Kristy!" came a voice from inside. "Kristy, I need help!"

Sighing, I hopped to my feet. Stacey gave me a look that clearly said she was thankful that her parents weren't baby-loving freaks like mine. My family's complicated. My "real" dad is out of the picture, because he's an ass and no one likes him. The man I consider my real dad is Watson Brewer, who married my mom when I was in seventh grade. He has two kids; a nine-year-old daughter (Karen) and a six-year-old son (Andrew.) I have three full-blooded siblings; Charlie, who has left for college, Sam (my seventeen-year-old brother who enjoys making out on our living room couch with my best friend), and David Michael, who goes by Dave and is ten-years-old. We also have one adopted sibling. The lovely and beautiful Emily Michelle, who is four-years-old. To top it off, we're in the process of adopting a twelve-year-old girl who we have been fostering for a year and a half, whose name is Natalie. Watson's way rich -- well, I guess that means I am too, but that's a weird thought -- so we live in a gigantic mansion in the snobbier area of Stoneybrook.

When I was younger, I really loved having such a full house. Honestly, I guess I still do -- but sometimes I wonder what it's like to be an only child, like Stacey. Stacey just lived with her mom, and their house was always calm and peaceful.

"Kristy!" shrieked the voice, sounding irritated. "I need you now!"

Stacey's house was never a war zone like mine could be.

"Coming!" I called, reaching my hands out to Stacey to pull her up. "Let's go make peace!" I exclaimed to her, grabbing her hand and skipping up the stairs.

"You are such a freak," she said, but she looked like she was about to laugh. "Was that Karen yelling?"

"Most likely," I replied, rolling my eyes. I had ceased my skipping upon entering the house, and now was making my way toward the kitchen. "It usually is. The girl screams like a banshee."

"At least she doesn't use a whistle," Stacey giggled, causing me to blush. The whistle. The BSC. The Look. They were all things that made me feel kind of silly. I had been sort of a dictator during my middle school career. Stacey enjoyed bringing it up for a good laugh on her part.

When we got to the kitchen, I found Karen and one of her friends by the stove. "We're making cookies," she informed me, though it was pretty obvious. She had flour smeared across one cheek and cookie dough stuck on the tip of her nose. "Elizabeth said we had to have you in here before using the stove."

"Good thing," I replied, sitting down at the table. "You'd burn the whole house down."

"Then my mom would have to sue you," Stacey said sadly, "for burning her only child alive."

"Then our whole family would be in debt," I continued, shaking my head in shame.

"But it wouldn't matter," Karen replied, rolling her eyes. "Our whole family would be dead."

She had always been the one to pay attention to pointless details.

Stacey and I gossiped about school while Karen and her friend baked their cookies. Not much had happened so far, but we felt confident that we were going to make a statement this year. After all, Sam was a really popular senior. I was related to him, and Stacey was dating him -- or at least, Stacey was making out with him. Stacey was going to be a cheerleader, and I was running for student government, plus maybe volleyball. We had distanced ourselves from Claudia the Art Freak and Mary Anne, Professional Boyfriend Stealer (see, the immaturity just shines through sometimes, I really can't help it.) Our group of friends mainly consisted of Pete Black, Julie Stern, Emily Bernstein, and Rick Chow. They had all been semi-popular in middle school, which definitely supported my Get Popular or Die Trying plan. In the back of my mind, though, I felt like something was missing. It was that feeling you get when you leave the house in a rush and forget to brush your teeth or turn off your straightener. I had a feeling that this feeling was a little more profound than that, though.

Even as I was sitting there in my million dollar house gossiping with my best friend, I felt like I was missing a huge part of Kristin Amanda Thomas.