A/N: Things start getting good here. And this chapter is from Spinelli's point of view. I'll alternate the points of view every other chapter. Hope ya like this chapter. Please leave a review to tell me what you think!

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

This was not supposed to happen. She'd been careful; she was as quick and quiet as possible. She looked around to make sure no one was watching. She'd looked directly at his bedroom window, and the blinds were closed, the lights had been off.

But there he was; T.J. Detweiler, alone with her in a tree house at God-knows-what hour in the morning.

Spinelli knew it was stupid to be surprised he was there. After all, it was his tree house in his yard. This situation was pretty likely, and she was an idiot for thinking she could have avoided it.

Without thinking twice, she moved to grab her things. She couldn't do this; she couldn't face him after all these years.

"Where are you doing?" T.J. asked, lifting himself into the little house.

Spinelli avoided looking at him by stuffing her Pringles can and Mountain Dew bottle in her bag. "What does it look like I'm doing?" she snapped, yanking up the zipper. "I'm getting the hell out of here."

She was about the crawl toward the door when she heard him say, "What's this?"

Her head automatically jerked toward T.J., who was staring at the small pink book she had been reading.

"Oh my God!" There was laughter in his voice when he picked up his sister's old diary. "Is this what I think it is?"

Spinelli didn't answer. She watched her former best friend as he flipped through the pages. It was dark, but the full moon revealed his familiar hazel eyes scanning through the pages, and every once in a while he would chuckle at something written. He still had that same smile he'd always had; mischievous, yet heart-warming. The kind of smile that you'd want to see all the time.

Actually, a lot of things about T.J appeared to be the same; it had been a while since Spinelli had seen him up close. His thick brown hair was just as messy as it had been when he was little, and his nose and cheeks were still dusted with light freckles. He had, however, gotten taller and lost most of his baby fat. Spinelli would never ever admit it out loud, but she could see why some girls thought T.J. was cute. He wasn't hot in an athletic way like Vince LaSalle (another opinion of hers that would never leave the vault) or in a mysterious way like Butch, but he was good-looking in a friendly, boy-next-door sort of way.

"I don't get it. How did you get this?"

T.J.'s voice snapped her out of her embarrassing thoughts.

"Huh?" was her intelligent response.

"How'd you get this?" T.J. held up Becky's diary as if it were the Holy Grail. "I gave this back to my sister after we saved the school."

"Vince and I snuck back into her room and swiped it a few days later," Spinelli admitted. "We hid it up here in case we ever needed it for black mail."

T.J.'s grin only widened. "I wish you would've told me. Becky still accuses me of stealing this back to this day."

Spinelli shrugged. "Yeah, well…"

She trailed off. Why the hell was she still here?

"I gotta go," she muttered, making her way toward the door.

"Wait." T.J. moved in front of her. Once again, he was blocking her way.

Her eyes narrowed in a way she knew was intimidating, even to guys. "Move."

"Spinelli," T.J. said, his voice softer than it had been a few seconds before, "what are you doing in my tree house?"

"Trying to get out of it," she shot back.

T.J. frowned. "Look, Spinelli," he said in his mighty-leader tone that instantly reminded Spinelli of all those elementary recesses. "This is my tree house, and I think I deserve to know why someone is in it."

Spinelli exhaled sharply through her nose. She knew that he wouldn't back down. Backing down was not something T.J. Detweiler believed in. However, he did believe in something else…

"You promised me you'd leave me alone, remember?" Spinelli reminded him.

He nodded. "Right. But I think that sort of goes out the window when you show up in my backyard at two in the morning." He paused and raised his eyebrows. "Besides, don't you think we're mature enough to have a conversation now? I'm not saying we have to be best friends again. But we can at least talk, Spinelli. Right?"

Spinelli snorted and stared at the dark ceiling in disbelief. After the shitty night she'd had, the last thing she wanted to do was talk to anybody. She just wanted to go to sleep.

"What are you doing here?"

Spinelli didn't know how it happened, but the way T.J. had asked those five words suddenly made her want to tell someone the shit she had been through that night. Not to him necessarily, but she wanted to tell somebody. This was pretty bizarre, considering three seconds earlier she would've rather jumped out the tree house window and suffered a broken bone than tell T.J. anything about her personal life.

But it was something about the way T.J. had asked… she knew he just wanted to help. And like he said, it didn't mean they had to be friends or anything. He would just be there to hear her vent.

"I don't have anywhere else to go," Spinelli said after a long silence, her voice firm and louder than necessary. "There. You happy?"

T.J. blinked a few times as Spinelli tossed her bag on the floor and sat down. She obviously wasn't leaving anytime soon.

"You don't have anywhere to go?" T.J. repeated.

"You got crayons in your ears?" Spinelli snarled. "That's what I just said."

A few beats of silence passed. She knew he probably had a million questions and was probably trying to figure out which one to ask. T.J. was nosy like that. He always had been.

"My folks kicked me out," she blurted.

Well technically, she had pretty much kicked herself out. She and her parents weren't getting along, so she decided not to stay there anymore. But it wasn't like her mom and dad begged her to come back. They tried to "reason" with her a few times, but quickly gave up. Occasionally Spinelli would go back to the house to get clothes or something, and she would ignore her parents if she saw them. She figured by stopping in every few weeks she would at least assure them that she was alive. They'd probably call the cops if she didn't.

T.J.'s eyes were wide as he sat down next to her. "When did they kick you out?" he asked.

"A few months ago," was her casual response, even though the exact date was January 3, 2005, which was four months and eleven days ago from today. Not that Spinelli cared enough to keep track or anything…

"So where have you been staying?"

"Friends," Spinelli muttered. She was getting into uncomfortable territory now. "Usually Skeens or Sue Bob."

"So where are your friends now?" his voice was dripping with I told you so, which pissed Spinelli off, but surprisingly not enough to stop talking.

"They're assholes," she said. She hoped he would leave it at that. This was as far as she was willing to go.

More silence. Spinelli wondered what was going on in that crazy, way-too-optimistic brain of his. He was probably judging her, probably coming up with some inspiring speech about how she shouldn't have let go of her "true" friends all those years ago, blah, blah, blah.

She tensed as soon as he spoke, prepared to defend herself. But instead of a lecture, T.J. just asked, "So why would you come here of all places?"

Spinelli stared at her scuffed boots when she answered.

"Remember when your dad first built this tree house the summer before first grade?"

T.J. leaned back and gave a wistful smile. "Like it was yesterday."

"As soon as he was done, you, me, Gretchen, Vince, and Mikey spent the whole day playing in here. And at the end of the day, you said something like, 'You guys can come here whenever you want. You don't even have to ask.' So I guess I just figured that invitation was still open."

She pondered this for a second and laughed at how ridiculous she sounded, how ridiculous this whole situation was. This was how desperate she was; she was sitting in an old tree house with her old best friend who she vowed she would never speak to again. Yet there they were, him listening to her blab on about how she remembered a conversation from first grade.

"Pretty lame, huh?" Spinelli said aloud.

She realized at that moment that T.J. wasn't laughing. He was just sitting there, looking at her.

"Not at all," he said.

The way he was looking at her was a red flag. He had that same hopeful, yet sad expression on his face that he'd had right before she told him to stay out of her life. She realized that she had fucked up royally by giving into this heart-to-heart conversation. He probably thought they could be friends again. She was not about to deal with this. Not now, not ever.

She shook her head and picked up her bag again. "This was obviously a mistake coming here," she said.

"I thought you said you didn't have anywhere to go," he pointed out.

She pushed passed him. "I'll figure something out."

"Where do you plan on sleeping, Spinelli?" he asked. "The bench at the park?"

Spinelli didn't answer because that was exactly where she was planning on sleeping.

"You know," T.J said, "Becky's old room isn't being used. The sheets are clean. My parents wouldn't mind—"

"You're parents wouldn't know," Spinelli said, whipping around to face T.J., who flinched at Spinelli's sudden movement. "No one would know because you wouldn't tell anyone."

A grin slowly crossed T.J.'s face. "So does that mean—"

"Just for tonight," Spinelli said before she could stop herself. "Just for a few hours of sleep and then I'll be gone."

T.J. looked satisfied, which was exactly opposite of how Spinelli felt. But she would get a bed out of this deal, which beat sleeping on the wooden floor of a tree house that was over a decade old, or a cold park bench where creepy old men could be lurking around.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to turn it down," T.J. said in that cocky voice of his.

"Shut up," Spinelli grunted as she pushed past him to climb down the ladder.

They walked through the yard toward the house when Spinelli's grumbling stomach broke the silence.

T.J. smirked at her. "I take it those Pringles didn't fill you up."

Spinelli kept walking. She wasn't going to let him get to her.

"I think we have some leftover spaghetti in the fridge," T.J. told her. He opened the screen door and they walked inside.

Spinelli's mouth watered at the idea of Mrs. Detweiler's delicious spaghetti. It was her favorite dish, and Mrs. D.'s recipe was right up there with her mother's.

"I guess I could go for some spaghetti," she said nonchalantly, even though there was nothing she wanted more. She placed her duffel bag on the floor and sat at the kitchen table.

When T.J. was heating up the food, Spinelli looked around the house. It was almost just the same as she remembered; dark blue walls, tile floor, even the clean cotton-scented cleaning products and the small television set on the counter. Spinelli had actually kind of missed it.

She jumped in her seat when T.J. slammed the microwave door.

"Jesus Christ!" She pressed a hand to her pounding heart. "What the hell was that? Are you trying to wake your parents up?"

"Relax." The plate made a loud clink against the table as T.J. set it in front of her. "My parents could sleep through a plane crash."

Spinelli snorted. "Of course you of all people would have heavy sleepers for parents."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

Spinelli didn't answer; she couldn't if she wanted to. Her mouth was full of pasta and delicious tomato sauce. She had no shame in shoveling as much of it in her mouth as she could. She'd lived on Pop Tarts, candy bars, and potato chips the last four months and eleven days, so eating spaghetti was a real treat.

She ate (well, inhaled would be more fitting) her meal without saying a word, and T.J. just stood there in the kitchen without bothering her. For a while, she'd actually forgotten he was there. It was just her and that beautiful plate of food. Warm food.

After cleaning her plate by licking up the extra sauce, she dropped her fork and let out a loud burp. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so full.

"Wow," she heard T.J. say. "Someone was hungry."

"Damn straight," Spinelli confirmed, not caring that she had admitted her hunger to him. She put her dirty dishes in the sink and picked up her bag. She and T.J. headed up to Becky's room.

T.J. opened the bedroom door at the top of the stairs. Like the Detweiler's kitchen, Becky's room hadn't changed. There were still posters of stupid boy bands covering the ugly pink, white, and green striped wallpaper. But at least there was a bed. And Spinelli would have her own room for a few hours.

"Do you need a toothbrush or pajamas or anything?" T.J. asked.

"No, I'm good." Spinelli patted her bag. She didn't mention that she wouldn't be brushing her teeth before bed; she wanted to hold on to that spaghetti sauce taste as long as she could. She knew that was totally gross, but she was a homeless person, and homeless people didn't care about being gross.

"Okay then," T.J. said. "Well, let me know if you need anything."

He turned to leave, and Spinelli was about to just let him go. A quick, non-verbal parting was exactly what she wanted. Unfortunately, tonight Spinelli was suffering from some sort of bizarre illness that made her talk too much.

"Hey," she heard herself say.

T.J. turned around. "Yeah?"

Spinelli stuffed her hands in the pockets of her skirt and stared at the pink carpet. "Uh… thanks. For, you know… everything."

She looked up and T.J. gave her one of his friendly, sweet smiles. "No problem, Spinelli."

Then there was that look again… that look he'd given her when he thought she'd be his friend again. He probably thought they were going to end up being best buddies again, and if he believed that was possible, he would make life a living hell for both of them.

"You know this doesn't change anything," Spinelli told him. This time she looked him in the eye. He needed to understand this; he needed to know she was serious. "We're not, like, friends or anything."

T.J. nodded. He was still smiling, but it was a sad smile, as if he was reluctantly accepting her words.

"I know," he said quietly. "Good night, Spinelli."

He gently closed the door and he was gone.

Spinelli kicked off her shoes and climbed into Becky's bed without changing into her large t-shirt and shorts she used as pajamas. She was too exhausted.

After setting the alarm on her cell phone, Spinelli sighed and stared at the ceiling. The words she'd just exchanged with T.J. ran through her head.

This doesn't change anything, she'd said.

But she was pretty sure that it had, in fact, changed everything.