My Paper Heart Chapter 3: Welcome To My Life, a 90210 fanfic

III. Welcome To My Life

Do you ever feel like breaking down?
Do you ever feel out of place?
Like somehow you just don't belong
And no one understands you
Do you ever wanna runaway?
Do you lock yourself in your room?
With the radio on turned up so loud
That no one hears you screaming

No you don't know what it's like
When nothing feels all right
You don't know what it's like
To be like me

To be hurt
To feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you're down
To feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one's there to save you
No you don't know what it's like
Welcome to my life

Do you wanna be somebody else?
Are you sick of feeling so left out?
Are you desperate to find something more?
Before your life is over
Are you stuck inside a world you hate?
Are you sick of everyone around?
With their big fake smiles and stupid lies
While deep inside you're bleeding

No you don't know what it's like
When nothing feels all right
You don't know what it's like
To be like me

No one ever lied straight to your face
No one ever stabbed you in the back
You might think I'm happy but I'm not gonna be okay
Everybody always gave you what you wanted
Never had to work it was always there
You don't know what it's like, what it's like

Welcome To My Life is the property of Simple Plan.

Migra is the property of Santana.

Magdalenha is the property of Sergio Mendez.

You'd never know what was going on inside. Maybe that's how Jackie likes it. The hedges were trimmed, the windows with designer drapes parted. Silver swears someone will walk by one day, like the mailman or the newsboy or their neighbor, say Mr. Hutchins with the two miniature poodles, and really feel a sense of emptiness surrounding the place. She felt it, especially the past two years. Silver never told Kelly, but she drove past her former house a couple times since her stay with the Wilsons. She'd take one deep breath, drive straight down the road, and release it when she got far enough so that she could view the house in her back windshield.

Kelly just didn't understand. Once you protect someone, for so long, it's instinct. Maybe it wasn't enough to get her to stop drinking, but she tried. Leaving her might be tough love. That doesn't mean her mind has strayed from her role as a daughter. You should be the daughter, Kelly would tell her. She should be looking after you. Well, that's easier in theory than it is in practice.

Dixon's car slowly crawls around the sidewalk. They were a few feet away from the house. Birds were chirping overhead. They had no idea what was going on. Neither did Dixon.

"Your brother has a cool house," says Dixon.

That was the lie she decided on, the guilt churning in her stomach after saying it. The lie wasn't so far-fetched as Silver remembered that David was really into making videos himself when he was her age and spun that into the fib. If she told Dixon where they really were, he'd want to talk and she's not quite ready to get that deep with him again. She just wants to go get the battery and check on her mom. It would take five minutes exactly.

"I'd introduce you, but that's...more of a dating......," says Silver, starting to turn pink.

She can't say boyfriend. This is great. It only takes about six seconds for things to turn awkward with him lately.

"Oh...yeah," says Dixon with a slight grin. "I'll be here."

"Thanks," says Silver.

Unclipping her seatbelt, she exits the car and starts across the lawn. Silver fidgets with a couple bangles as her feet get closer to the doorstep. The walk seems to take forever. Okay, if things were as they usually were, her mother would be home, but asleep. Jackie routinely slept most afternoons, and spent the rest of the night and the next day making the most of her leisure time. The leisure time included several martinis or shots from a bottle of gin or whatever drink Jackie Taylor had tucked away. Single and not entirely loving it, Silver would be in her room writing or reading, only to hear a shattering crash beyond the door, then run outside to see what was wrong. It was usually only a dropped bottle. Jackie cut her hands twice, trying to clean up herself, but Silver took over as her mother crid to herself. She's almost afraid to know what's beyond the door today. Silver tugs at her hair, sighs, and rings the doorbell.

"Come in!" shouts her mother. "It's open...it's open!"

Jackie sounds chipper....too chipper. Silver frowns and opens the door.

The sunlight gives a flattering tint to the room, highlighting the tan of the couch, the beige seats of the chairs near the desk, and the wooden mantelpiece. Similarly, it shines on Jackie's blonde locks as she has her back to Silver. Seeing her now, with over a month having passed, a smile comes to her face that Silver can't quite stop. It was sort of like when a parent meets their daughter at the bus station when their first Christmas college break brings them home. She is, technically, home.

"Hi, Mom," speaks up Silver.

Jackie whirls around, her balance shaky. Her body is covered in a red, silk robe, hair slightly messy.

"Oh," says Jackie, looking her up and down. "I thought you were someone else."

Silver's eyes burn as she attempts to keep a straight face. What a heartfelt greeting that was, she thinks.

"Have some company coming over," informs Jackie.

"I came to pick up something from my room," says Silver.

"Get it then," waves off Jackie, sniffling and then hiccuping.

She passes the couch to get a better look at what her mother is doing. There's a half full glass of scotch and she's pouring more. Silver reaches for it.

"You stop it!" cries Jackie, batting her hand away and startling her.

"How much have you had?" asks Silver, trying her best to stay calm.

"What do you care?" chuckles Jackie. "You're in and out, just like your sister. Nobody cares what happens to Mom, right?"

Jackie walks by her, drinking from the glass. She smiles to herself and lounges on the couch. Her robe is slightly untied, showing a bit of her shaven leg. Silver's eyes grow wet. This is what she was sort of expecting, but all the same, it hurts to see it. Being separated from her isn't working any better than being with her.

"We do care," insists Silver, wiping her eyes.

"Billy's going to be here at any moment, so get what you came for, and skedaddle," says Jackie, taking another drink.

"Who's Billy?" cries Silver.

"A friend," answers Jackie, waving her hand dismissively.

Silver looks from side to side, staring at her mother incredulously.

"Don't look at me like that," says Jackie. "Your sister slowly became a prude too. Guess it's rubbing off on you."

"So this is how it is now?" says Silver. "Drunken trysts with a strange man, coming to see you in scantily clad clothes with a cocktail?"

"I'm all alone, Erin!" snaps Jackie.

"That makes it okay?" says Silver.

"At least he didn't abandon me!" shouts Jackie, shooting up and glaring at her harshly.

Silver puts her hands on her mouth to hide the fact that they're quivering. Things were getting worse. Should she have done something differently? What if she'd called David or her father or someone who could've decided what was best for their fractured family? For Kelly, the pain was too deep and the situation too familiar.

Jackie smirks and walks dizzily to the desk.

"I bet the Wilsons are the perfect influence," guesses Jackie. "I bet you've told them all sorts of embarrassing things about me."

"Mom, please," breathes Silver, shaking her head.

Setting her drink near a pencil sharpener, Jackie narrows her eyes as she peers through the window. Reluctantly, and anxious to toss the rest of her booze, Silver joins her. But Jackie isn't looking into space. Dixon is leaning against his car, hands shoved into his pocket, waiting for her. He must've gotten out to stretch his legs though Silver wishes he wouldn't have gotten out period.

"And look at who's getting on me for having some male companionship," laughs Jackie.

"It's not the same," insists Silver, her lips tightening.

"He's cute," says Jackie, nodding her approval. "Cute and black."

"Mom!" exclaims Silver as her eyes widen.

"I didn't say there was anything wrong with it," defends Jackie. "I'm stating the obvious. God. I'm not a total monster, Erin."

She wasn't. As much as she would love for her to be this hateful, unforgiveable wretch so she could leave with no reservations, she is her mother. Why can't they go back? When she was four, five, six, things were so different. Jackie acted like Silver was her world. She'd entertain her with stories about being a model abroad, since Silver had always had an interest in travel. Her mother took her to the playground and they'd go on the swings, with Jackie pretending to be seven years old and Silver pretending that she was able to go above the trees if she got enough momentum.

"Mom, let us get you some help," begs Silver.

Her blue eyes meet her mother's. When you got up close, they looked so much alike. Everybody said so. But today, her mother's eyes are so vacant. They're as vacant as the room she used to sleep in, only a few steps away.

"How about you help yourself to whatever you came to get, and leave me alone, which you're so good at doing?" returns Jackie.

Silver's shoulders slump, her heart feeling like it fell into her gut. Her mother's rejected her and what she's done so many times, she can't keep count. She's so sick of trying when there's no giving. There's no giving.

"Whatever you want," whispers Silver.

She bites her lip and heads across the floor, her feet noisy in the silence. A clear sob is heard. It sounds like her mother, and it almost sounds like she means it.

II.

"Mama who bored me, Mama who gave me...no way to handle things, who made me so sad," sings Annie.

She rocks the baby from side to side, then swings him by his left foot.

"I think you're boring your kid," mutters Ty, flipping through his script.

"Shut up," throws back Annie. "She's going to grow up and be the next Kristin Chenoweth."

"Then I really feel bad for your kid," speaks up Adrianna.

Most of her co-stars laugh, especially Ty. Annie gives them an offended stare and hugs the baby to her chest.

"Nobody understands theatrical triple threats," affirms Annie.

"And that's why she's an understudy," mutters Adrianna, then checking her cell.

Nope, no calls from Navid. She'd been texting him ever since rehearsal wrapped. Following the strange conversation in film lab, she tried to kiss him good-bye and was interrupted by the consistent buzzing of Navid's phone. He glanced at the number, rolled his eyes, and said he'd catch up with her later. Well, when was later going to be? She wanted to be off book by Sunday. That basically only left Saturday for them to spend any time together. They were still incredibly new so he couldn't have been tired of her already, right?

She shrugs and dons the earphones to her ipod. Navid introduced her to a few Persian musical groups and she has to say that she really likes them. The songs were very lively and cheered her up. They were much better than hearing what was being said about her through the rumor mill. Some speculated that she'd slept with every guy in rehab. Others said she pulled a Britney, shaved her head, and was now sporting a wig. They're just bored with their own lives, said Navid. He's the best at continual, mood-changing comfort. Is she leaning on him too much for comfort? She just doesn't want to botch this. She's been with talented guys, and met nice guys, but she's never dated a nice, talented guy.

Starting to exit the auditorium, Adrianna's purse snags onto the armrest of a seat. She moans and pulls at it, one of her earphones leaving her ear.

"Hey Adrianna!" greets George as he and Ethan make their way to the stage.

"Hey," says Adrianna hesitantly.

George isn't the most polite guy, and she and Ethan weren't talking as much since his break-up with Naomi. What did they want?

"Your nose is....looking very clean today," says George loudly, then guffawing.

A few choir members trade amused glances as Adrianna goes pale. Ethan hits George with a light slap at the back of the head. Brenda was talking to Principal Wilson in his office so there was no one there to reprimand him. Well, perhaps she's the right person for the job anyway.

"I wish I could say the same for your B.O.," sighs Adrianna. "You do take showers after practice, right, Ethan?"

The whole cast cracks up at Adrianna instead, George staring at them dumbly. Ethan laughs the most.

"Ooooh," says Annie, snapping her fingers geekily in George's direction.

"Dude!" cries George.

"What? It was funny," says Ethan, shrugging. "See ya, Adrianna."

"Bye," says Adrianna.

George frowns. Heh, loser.

"Use soap," whispers Adrianna, before going through the auditorium doors.

She takes off her earphones, hearing the creak of a door from a distance. Navid's lanky body is recognizable from there. Adrianna jogs to the door, barely going through before it closes.

"Navid!" she yells.

He throws a glance back at her, waves awkwardly. A wave? That's all she's going to get? She doesn't say anything else, watching a sleek, black Convertible pull up to Navid, his father in the driver's seat. Wearing a pricey, grey sweater, black slacks, and his full, dark moustache, Mr. Shirazi was an older, hotter version of Navid. Of course, she never told him this. After she yells his name again, Navid's sight goes from her to him, and she approaches them cautiously. Their conversation rises over the chatter of the last remaining students.

"You promised, Navid," sighs Mr. Shirazi.

"That was before I had a girlfriend, Dad," moans Navid.

Adrianna stops near the handicapped parking signs. They're discussing her? This wasn't the most opportune time to say hi, obviously.

"Do you know how lucky you are to....," begins Mr. Shirazi.

"Have such a large family," fills in Navid, rolling his eyes.

"So many people don't have what we have," says Mr. Shirazi, wagging his finger at him. "You know that's true. You know that's true."

"Yes, Dad," says Navid.

"There's plenty of food for you and the girls until we get back," shares Mr. Shirazi. "Give Iman a kiss for me before you put her to bed?"

"I...will," promises Navid after a long pause.

Mr. Shirazi beckons Navid to him and attempts to give him a kiss. Navid shirks back, throwing an embarrassed stare at Adrianna, twisting the strap of her bag.

"Dad!" whispers Navid, urgently.

"Hi Adrianna!" greets Mr. Shirazi.

"Hi Mr. Shirazi!" returns Adrianna.

"We're going to my sister's wedding in San Francisco," shares Mr. Shirazi. "You remember her from the other week?"

No, thinks Adrianna. There were so many. Ugh, if she says the wrong name, he's going to think she's disrespectful or stupid. Adrianna provides him with a wide smile instead.

"Course you do," affirms Mr. Shirazi. "Actresses have good memory, eh, Navid?"

"Isn't...like, Mom waiting for you?" brings up Navid, hopefully.

"True, true," says Mr. Shirazi. "I'll see you Sunday afternoon. Nice seeing you, Adrianna."

"You too," says Adrianna.

Mr. Shirazi pulls off, his tires screeching slightly. Wow, her mom didn't drive like that. Navid runs his fingers through his hair and balls his fists together as he lowers his hands to his thighs. He looks defeated and annoyed at the same time. Should she speak? Better to try than not try.

"Baby-sitting duties again?" questions Adrianna.

"The second time this month," groans Navid. "I promised I'd do it next time, because I traded with my cousin that one weekend."

Standing in front of Adrianna, he lightly moves her hair behind her shoulders.

"I was really banking on spending Saturday with you, Ade, til this happened," says Navid. "My dad reminded me today."

"Hence the clamming up when I was grilling you," realizes Adrianna. "Navid...."

"This shouldn't be a regular reason for me not to be with you," insists Navid.

'I can deal," assures Adrianna.

'But...."

"I like your family, like for real," says Adrianna. "They're the sweetest people I've met in a long time, way better than the group in rehab."

"Okay," sighs Navid.

"Just be upfront with me," encourages Adrianna.

"Promise," says Navid.

"Are you only watching Iman?" asks Adrianna.

"My two little sisters," replies Navid.

"So you're basically outnumbered," says Adrianna, smiling. "Unless..."

She points to herself and grins sheepishly.

"Wait," laughs Navid. "You're offering to...."

"Yeah," says Adrianna. "It'd be two against two. You could use some time to work on your film."

Navid seems to consider it, opening his fists and clasping them near his mouth. She inwardly begs him to say yes. In the quiet moments, if there were any, she can study her script in their huge, inviting home rather than her lonely bedroom. Who knows? Maybe she could run lines with him, too. A boring weekend alone is nowhere near appealing.

"Alright," says Navid finally.

Adrianna chuckles and hugs him.

"I am so convincing," brags Adrianna.

Navid laughs and walks her to her car.

III.

Migra Migra pinche Migra dejame en pas

Malicia veo en tus ojos desprecio en tu corazon

Migra Migra pinche Migra dejame en pas

Naomi squints her eyes at the radio, keeps them there until the first thirty seconds of the song go past. Booming drums and thundering trumpets spill from the speakers of Ozzie's car. It's joyous music and catchy. She refuses to tap her toes, though. Instead, she focuses on Ozzie singing along and stopping at a red light. He meets her gaze and she turns away.

"Well, this is certainly upbeat," comments Naomi, nodding to the radio.

"Why? You don't like it?" says Ozzie.

"I didn't say that," says Naomi. "It's just...not what I was expecting."

"What were you expecting?" asks Ozzie, smirking.

"Stuff you'd find on a normal teenage boy playlist," answers Naomi. "Rock n' roll. Alternative. Songs they put out in the last five years. Ethan, for example, loves hip hop."

"Ohhhh," says Ozzie. "So he has no taste."

"Ummm, he made me a mixtape, and some of them were more than decent," defends Naomi, frowning.

"Sorry," says Ozzie earnestly. "It's just...I like what I like."

"I get that," offers Naomi.

Funnily enough, she did. When she and Silver were friends, she had to get used to being around someone with very different tastes. She ended up enjoying most of the things she did with her former best friends. They were at that weird stage where experimenting with clothes and hair and make-up was fun, when people were judging them but they didn't care. Then, they drifted. Silver maintained being who she wanted to be, and Naomi started being what other people wanted her to be. She learned the ropes of L.A. from her new friends and her mom-- where to shop, who to be seen with, how to talk to boys. She left Silver behind and, once in a while, she regretted it. But you can't go back sometimes.

Ozzie lowers the radio.

"So we can talk," explains Ozzie.

"Who is that, anyway?" asks Naomi.

"Don't tell me you haven't heard of the legendary Santana?" bristles Ozzie.

"Uh, duh," says Naomi sarcastically. "He did that track with Rob Thomas."

He stares at her with a small smirk, and they both laugh.

"He's done a lot more than that," says Ozzie.

"I'm sure he's done a lot of things," nods Naomi as the car swerves into a side street.

"He's never been here," says Ozzie. "Presenting...Desedada."

From the exterior, it's stunning. Palm streets sway in front of the black and gold decor, each window warmly lit by black lamps above the restaurant name. The place is packed, nicely dressed men and women chatting as they wait in line. An employee in a total black ensemble checks for reservations. It looks like a cross between an L.A. hotspot and an intimate cafe in South America.

"Ready?" says Ozzie.

Naomi unbuckles her seatbelt as Ozzie unlocks his door, only his door. What, is he planning on leaving her in the lot? Naomi rolls her eyes and starts to open the door, which Ozzie is quicker in doing. Naomi clicks her tongue.

"I'm not some damsel in distress," she says, getting out.

"I didn't say you were," says Ozzie, closing the door.

They walk to the entrance, some people in line complaining. Naomi stares guiltily at them for a second while Ozzie high-fives the host.

"You're lucky it's not you hosting tonight," says the boy, around their age.

"We'd be luckier if you let us in," encourages Ozzie.

"Fine, fine," sighs the boy. "Don't tell your Dad I don't do you any favors."

"Thanks, man," says Ozzie.

They enter, a few screeches of disgust behind them. Ozzie leads the way. The interior matches the beauty of the outside appearance. There are yellow lights everywhere, shimmering near the walls, on the muted lamps of tables, in the candles strewn around the room. Green and gold laterns frame the wooden booths. A firepit is near the back, delicious smells streaming to her nose. To her left is a dance floor, five couples moving across the polished surface as boisterous music flows as their feet shuffle. The floor isn't large, but they were having fun.

"How do you like it?" asks Ozzie.

"Worth the four star rating and the mention in the Zagat," says Naomi in nonchalant praise.

"Someone's been doing her homework," notes Ozzie with a grin.

"When your dad is who he is, and your mom is who she is, you have to know these things," waves off Naomi.

"Speaking of parents, my dad hung the Zagat review in the kitchen," informs Ozzie.

He says it almost modestly, which is nice. It's good to meet someone in L.A. with parents who don't disappoint them.

"I'm sure it was well-deserved," says Naomi.

Ozzie pauses at a booth, Naomi sliding in on the other side of him. This is different. In the car, she could look away from him if she wanted. Now, she's almost forced to stare at him. His dark locks have traces of light flickering on them, near the top. It is kind of giving him a smoldering vibe. Naomi lowers her eyes and plays with her napkin.

"You didn't have plans tonight, did you?" smirks Ozzie.

"Are you always this cocky?" asks Naomi, raising her eyes a hair.

"Yeah," replies Ozzie.

Looking from left to right, Naomi shakes her head and smiles.

"So when did this restaurant get started?" asks Naomi.

"When I was in junior high," answers Ozzie. "My dad worked in kitchens, but always wanted his own place. He's taught me stuff, convinced I'm going to take it over someday."

"Wait," says Naomi. "Hold the phone. You cook?"

"You don't?" asks Ozzie.

"I can cook...a bowl of cereal," supplies Naomi. "At least it's healthy, right?"

They exchange smiles as a waiter approaches them, seemingly anxious to get there. Being the owner's son is apparently giving them more pull than she thought.

"Hey Ozzie!" greets the waiter. "And Ozzie's...date."

Naomi feels her cheek flush as Ozzie clears his throat.

"Ernesto, you do know how to take an order without interfering?" says Ozzie.

She throws him a thankful smile and accepts a menu from an embarrassed Ernesto. The menu is in English and Spanish. She doesn't want anything that will get stuck in her teeth. But it's not like a date, or she's anticipating any kissing, or....yeah, just order, Naomi.

"I'll have the Mexican chicken salad, avocado on the side," says Naomi.

"Apple chicken quesadilla," says Ozzie.

Ernesto writes their orders down hurriedly, just as anxious to leave as he was to arrive.

"What's an apple chicken quesadilla?" asks Naomi.

"It's good, " insists Ozzie. "You can have some of mine."

"I told you I don't eat carbs in public!" whispers Naomi urgently.

"Okay, but don't beg me for some of mine when you see it," says Ozzie teasingly.

Naomi shrugs and starts to unzip her purse. The chicken salad wasn't the most expensive thing on the menu, but she did want to pony up her half, make sure she had the cash. With her mom so depressed during this divorce, she was going a little easier on her credit cards.

"Zip it up, Clark," instructs Ozzie.

"I'm not owing you one," says Naomi.

"The best way you could pay me is...if you dance with me," says Ozzie, standing.

"Dance?" cries Naomi.

If they dance, then people would get the wrong impression, not that she knows anybody here. She doesn't think she does. Naomi does a quick scan of the restaurant's patrons, unable to identify anybody, save for Ernesto chatting up a pretty redhead near the firepit. If she doesn't dance, it might sour the night. He is insisting on paying. Sheesh. What harm can one moment of body bumping and swaying do? Sighing loudly, Naomi rises and trails Ozzie to the dance floor.

At least any slow songs have ended so they won't be too close. No, a fast rhythm begins to play, and she swears she can hear whistling in the background. Everyone else on the floor recognizes the song, beginning to shake their bodies, toss their hair, and find the beat. Naomi twists her lips in confusion, then yells over the noise. Couples dance bouyantly to the bouncy music.

"I don't know what I'm doing!" exclaims Naomi.

"Follow me," shouts Ozzie.

He lets his shoulders shimmy to the Latin groove, Naomi holding in a laugh. Most of the other men are doing the same thing.

Vem Magalenha rojão, traz a lenha pro fogão, vem fazer armação.
Hoje é um dia de sol, alegria de coió, é curtir o verão.

The women next to her ruffle their skirts and move their hips simulatenously. Ozzie's feet go two steps forward, and back again effortlessly. Naomi does her best to mirror it, Ozzie resting his hands on her waist. Naomi goes forward, back, forward, back as the music speeds up. She giggles when Ozzie's chest meets hers.

Vem Magalenha rojão, traz a lenha pro fogão, vem fazer armação.
Hoje é um dia de sol, alegria de coió, é curtir o verão.

te te te te te te te
te te te te te te te

"This is fun!" shouts Naomi.

"It's Brazil, baby!" shouts Ozzie. "It's Brazil!"

"Woo!" shouts a man in the rear as he revolves his butt in a circle.

"Of course, some people are just weird," jokes Ozzie, swirling her around.

Naomi grins and returns to their original position. As the beat grows intoxicatingly manic, her eyes stay on Ozzie's dark ones. They were so revealing when they were close and so mysterious when they were surrounded by silence. She doesn't know what to make of him most of the time. He was a really great dancer, though. Really great.

"Tired yet?" asks Ozzie.

"No," decides Naomi, putting her arms behind his back. "I can keep up with you."

IV.

Silver touches the plastic cover of her scrapbook, the black cover shiny. The first hints of twilight are outside her window. She has to get out of here. She can't stand the thought of running into a random guy who she's never seen around her house before. Is it even her house? What if she doesn't come back? That's the way things were heading. Silver releases a soft cry and tenderly opens the book to the first page.

There's a picture with her and Naomi. She made this when they were eleven. Her hair was full and curly, Silver's straight and long. They were wearing white shirts covered in lime-green paint after redoing Silver's room. Her mother said it was an eyesore. It's not like she asked why it was lime-green. She was too busy throwing back drinks. Naomi comforted her afterwards. Things like that hurt when you're in your last year in elementary school. Now, who would be there for her? She's too ashamed to ask for it.

"Just...just leave," she tells herself as she closes the book.

Forget the stupid battery, and forget this day ever happened. Her mind would comfort herself, later. She rushes down the hall, out of the door, and onto the stoop. Dixon has returned to the driver's seat. She rubs her eyes extra hard. Any traces of crying have to be wiped away. She'd hide her eyes. Silver walks to the car, with a wide smile.

"Sorry that took awhile," says Silver.

"Nah," waves off Dixon. "I was looking at the cars."

"Tired of driving your mother's?" asks Silver brightly as she gets inside.

"It really would be better for me and Annie to have our own," replies Dixon.

Then, he doesn't talk. He stares at her. Uh-oh. Silver slumps in her chair, facing the window.

"What's wrong?" speaks up Dixon.

"Nothing...nothing is wrong," says Silver with a fake-sounding laugh.

"Well...where's the battery?" asks Dixon.

"She...she didn't have one," answers Silver quickly, then realizing her mistake.

Dixon scratches his head, puzzled.

"My brother's wife....Donna...she didn't..."

Silver stops stammering and presses her back to the soft seat. If only everything else was that smooth. She leans forward, crying, tears hitting her jeans. Dixon undoes his seatbelt and scoots closer to her.

"I can't lie for her anymore," breathes Silver.

Dixon leads her head to his shoulder.

"Kelly told me not to come, but...there's this need for me to...be with her," chokes out Silver. "Dixon, I'm sorry I lied."

"This is your house," says Dixon, more of a statement than a question.

Silver nods slowly.

"You want to be with your mom," shrugs Dixon. "I understand."

She stares at the glove compartment, weakly recalling when Dixon found her huddled in her car. That night, she had nowhere to go. She kept her eyes on the swinging branches of a tree near the Wilsons until sleep won over her alertness. Dixon knocked on the window and she answered. He told her that he knew what it felt like, to feel the sting of parents who didn't quite act like parents. Even though she's never met his mom, or his foster families, she believed him. She took a chance. It more than paid off.

"I'm getting your shoulder wet," says Silver as she lifts her head. "Being all emotional."

"I have a mom and a sister," says Dixon. "I'm used to emotional."

Silver grins.

"Let's head home," offers Dixon.

"Let's," encourages Silver.

The drive is leisurely and quiet, which is perfect for her. To be away from the drama of the Taylor homestead, and refocus her priorities is perfect. Dixon and Silver go to the Wilsons' kitchen, spying Debbie and Annie making sandwiches.

"First you take the bread, and you spread it, you spread it," sings Debbie, reaching for the loaf on the counter.

"For your peanut, peanut butter," joins in Annie. "And jelly!"

It, the baby, sits right next to the toaster and is now wearing a floral dress.

"Mom!" complains Dixon.

"Sorry, guys," says Debbie, glancing at Silver. "We used to sing that during Girl Scout trips in Kansas."

"You were a Girl Scout, Annie?" inquires Silver.

"For a week," answers Annie.

Dixon laughs. "Annie ate half of the cookies she should've sold."

"I gave some to my friends," mutters Annie under her breath.

"Speaking of giving," says Dixon, not very naturally. "Would you happen to have a battery for a mini camcorder?"

"It's okay if you don't," says Silver, quick to add it.

"She's come up empty-handed so far," admits Dixon.

"I'm only surprised I wasn't your first stop!" cries Debbie, good-naturedly. "I'm a photographer after all, in addition to filming all the Wilsons' home videos."

Debbie wipes her hand with a paper towel.

"Thanks....Ms. Wilson," says Silver. "I was just too nervous to ask."

"Don't ever feel that way," says Debbie, hugging Silver from the side. "Annie, finish the food?"

"Mmmkay," says Annie.

She moves It from beside the toaster to the edge of the oven.

"I worry for that kid," whispers Debbie to Silver as they leave the room and laugh.