Disclaimer: I don't own Charmed, or any of the characters.

Chapter 3

When Phoebe was eight years old, she loved school.

She was the only girl in the third grade who could get across the monkey bars while upside down; her teacher constantly told her that she was "adorable"; and she had been in a happy marriage to Danny Anderson for three weeks—ever since Simon Alster had performed the ceremony on the playground (His dad was a minister so he knew all the words).

But, one thing made Phoebe unhappy at school.

Piper never wanted to go in the morning and she was always sad at the end of the day.

This troubled Phoebe. Prue didn't go to school with them anymore. She was in junior high now. So, there was only Phoebe to look out for Piper. She took this very seriously. Piper was her sister too after all; and Phoebe was sure that Prue was counting on her—even if she had never actually told her that.

It was more an unspoken communication between sisters—Phoebe felt.

Piper was sweet. She didn't shout at mean people, nor did she glare at them until they were scared like Prue did. Her hair was very big; Phoebe knew that this was one of the things that made her sad. She had told Piper that she liked her even if her hair was ugly.

She learned that this was the wrong thing to say. Piper had started crying and Grams had made Phoebe go to her room. Then, Phoebe had cried too because she hadn't meant to hurt Piper's feelings. She just wanted her to know that she liked her.

Piper was the best at using their Easy-Bake Oven; she was the best at keeping anyone company when they were sick; and she was the best at getting Prue and Phoebe out of trouble with Grams. She always whispered her jokes, but she was really funny. She was also the co-owner of Socks, the cat that she and Phoebe secretly fed in their backyard. No one knew about Socks except for Piper and Phoebe.

To Phoebe, Piper was one of her three favorite people in the entire world. She thought that if she could tell Piper that she didn't care about her ugly hair, then maybe Piper wouldn't care about her hair either, and she would like school too. Maybe she would even play on the monkey bars with Phoebe when their classes had recess at the same time. When she was younger, she had taught Phoebe all her tricks.

But now, school made Piper sad; and Phoebe didn't like that. Today was one of the days when the fifth grade had recess at the same time as the third grade. Phoebe had already played hopscotch with Danny; but then he had gone to play with his friends.

Usually, this made Phoebe mad. For a married man, Danny spent far too many recesses with his friends. But today, she hadn't cared as much. She was watching Piper.

The older girl was all alone at the playground's one picnic table. She was scuffing the ground with her foot and staring at her fingernails.

Phoebe chewed her lip just a little too hard. She wasn't doing as good a job as she knew Prue would do. She crossed her arms in imitation of her oldest sister and looked for Diana. Diana had been Piper's best friend since kindergarten. Phoebe just had to find her and Piper would be happy.

Suddenly, Phoebe brightened. She could see Diana playing Four-Square with three other girls not too far from Piper.

Piper liked Four-Square. Phoebe knew that she would like to play.

Quickly, she got up from where she had been sitting in the grass and ran over to the fifth-graders.

One of the girls playing with Diana smiled at her as she approached.

"Look, how cute!" she exclaimed.

Phoebe grinned. On principle, she didn't like when her sisters' friends babied her. But she knew that she could get her way when they did; so she didn't mind using it now and then. She would use it for Piper.

The sister in question had also looked up when Phoebe approached and widened her eyes in apprehension.

Phoebe turned her mega-watt grin on her.

"It's ok," she tried to tell Piper with her eyes, "I'm going to make it better."

She decided that Piper didn't understand her eyes because the latter still looked upset. She turned back to the Four-Square girls.

"Hi, Diana!" she said cheerfully.

"Hi, Phoebe," the older girl said hesitatingly.

Phoebe's eyes narrowed. Diana didn't sound happy.

"You know her?" asked the girl who thought Phoebe was cute.

"Yeah," Diana still didn't sound enthusiastic, "She lives close to me."

Now Phoebe's eyes narrowed fully.

"She's best friends with my sister," she said, extrapolating for the girl.

Diana's face whitened like Grams' did when her admirer came to give her flowers each year.

"Who's your sister?" asked the girl.

"Piper Halliwell!" Phoebe said excitedly.

Ever since Prue started middle-school, she often said that she "wanted to sink into the floor". Phoebe thought that this was what both Diana and Piper looked like now. She wished they knew that she was going to fix things.

"Piper Halliwell?" the girl repeated.

"Yep," Phoebe said, "You forgot to invite her to play with you. See? She's right over there!"

She pointed for all the girls' benefit.

"PHOEBE!" Piper found her voice. She looked really mad.

The talkative girl started to laugh. Phoebe's back stiffened in response; it was a mean laugh.

"You're friends with that loser?" the girl asked Diana.

"Hey!" Phoebe was angry. This was not working out as planned. Piper still looked furious, but now her lips had disappeared like they always did when she was trying not to cry.

"Umm…" Diana seemed unsure how to respond.

"Yes, she is," Phoebe said, making sure the girl was looking at her again, "And I don't like you."

The girl just kept laughing. "Well, Diana," she said, "You must be a loser too."

"Hey!" Phoebe shouted, "Quit calling people that!"

The girl looked Phoebe up and down.

"I'm not friends with her anymore," Diana spoke up.

The girl's attention swung back to the other fifth-grader. So did Phoebe's.

"No?" the girl asked.

"No," Diana said more certainly.

"You're a liar, Diana Caswell," Phoebe stomped her foot, "and I don't like you either."

Four-Square girl ignored Phoebe and looked over at Piper.

"What's the matter, Nerd?" she asked, "Going to cry? When did you hire your bodyguard?"

"I'm not her bodyguard! I'm her sister!" Phoebe felt like she was going to cry too. Nothing was better now and Piper looked more miserable than ever.

The girl sized up Phoebe again. "Too bad you're not a zoo-keeper," she finally said, "Then, you could groom that hair."

Phoebe tackled her.

Four hours later, Piper was furious. No, she was beyond furious.

"Why couldn't you stay away?!" she shouted at Phoebe as the door to the Manor slammed behind them. These were her first words since recess. She hadn't spoken to her younger sister during the entire walk from school; Phoebe had to run to even keep pace with her.

"Piper? What's wrong?" Grams entered the hallway from the kitchen, worried by the shouting.

Her middle granddaughter's face was flushed and she appeared to be on the verge of tears. She turned to look at Penny.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said before running up the stairs.

The sound of another slamming door told Penny that she had reached her room. She sighed and turned to Phoebe.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"I don't want to talk about it either," Phoebe whispered.

Penny immediately kneeled so as to be on the same level as the girl. She took her chin in her hand and pulled her face towards her. It was only then that she realized that this granddaughter was close to tears as well.

"Phoebe, what happened?" she asked more gently.

She nearly fell as Phoebe threw herself into her grandmother. Hot arms circled her neck as the little girl cried into her shoulder.

Penny barely caught the words, "'Diana', 'horrible', and 'tried to help' ".

"Ok," she soothed, "it's ok."

Phoebe disentangled herself from Penny slowly. "I hate Diana and I hate that girl," she said tremblingly.

"Phoebe Halliwell!" Penny admonished.

Phoebe met her gaze defiantly.

"They were mean to Piper," she said.

"Oh, I see," Penny said. She grasped Phoebe's chin again. "But you still can't use the word, 'hate'," she said seriously.

Phoebe looked at her shoes petulantly.

Penny smiled grimly. "But, you can say that you dislike them very, very, very much," she told her.

Phoebe looked up again as Penny offered her hand. "Come on," she coaxed the girl, "we'll get a snack in the kitchen and you can tell me everything I need to know about these girls."

Now, Phoebe grinned.

That night, Prue got home late.

She had made the varsity cheerleading squad at the middle-school, and she didn't get home until 8 PM on practice days. She figured that Grams could deal with that since she had to be home exactly at 3:30 PM on Mondays and Wednesdays to babysit her sisters.

She shut the kitchen door carefully; the longer no one knew she was home, the longer she could have a little quiet.

It was an awful feeling—being stuck. She vaguely remembered that her dad would have called it "being placed between a rock and a hard place".

But he wasn't her dad—he hadn't been for a long time. And Prue was just going to say "stuck".

The door cooperated, squeaking only slightly as it shut. Prue slipped off her shoes and opened the fridge. She could give up babysitting her sisters; and Grams would hire another Joanne who meant well but would not notice when Piper needed comfort or when Phoebe was restless. Or, she could continue babysitting them; and give up two afternoons that every other seventh-grader used for friends and fun.

Prue scowled. Yes, Grams could deal with the 8 PM practice days.

The lights flashed on suddenly, flooding the kitchen and startling her away from the fridge.

"Prudence Halliwell! Where have you been?!" a high voice demanded.

For an absurd moment, Prue thought that Grams had shrunk.

Then she realized that it was her youngest sister, hands on her hips in the classic Halliwell pose, looking for all the world as though she could mete out a grounding.

"Where—have—you—been?" Phoebe repeated fiercely.

Prue ran a hand through her hair and opened the fridge again. "Geez, Phoebe," she complained, "I thought you were Grams. What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me?!" Phoebe was indignant, "Everything's wrong with me and you haven't been here!"

There it was.

Prue reached into the fridge. "I'm not always going to be here, Phoebe," she grumbled, "I have a life." She shoved the cream cheese viciously into a shelf corner.

Phoebe pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. "Yeah, and while you have a life, I'm being 'very zealous'."

Out of the corner of her eye, Prue could see that Phoebe had made air quotes.

She tried not to laugh—she wanted to keep wallowing in her "stuck" feeling—she had a right to that. She pulled out a bag of carrots, leaned against the counter and started to munch—silently.

"Over-zealous!" Phoebe repeated.

The kid was not going to be ignored.

"Alright, Phoebe," Prue said, rolling her eyes, "I'll ask. Why are you overly zealous?"

"I don't know!" The eight-year-old was distressed again, "Grams told me that I was and that it wasn't a bad thing but I should restrain myself and I don't even know what I'm supposed to be restraining—can I have a carrot?"

"No," Prue rejected shortly.

Phoebe gave an obligatory glare; then, she continued.

"How can I be overly zealous when all I'm trying to do is help?" she complained.

"Phoebe," Prue placed the Ziploc bag on the counter, "did you try and paint the Manor again?"

"Grams said the house needed to be repainted!" Phoebe couldn't believe that Prue was bringing this up.

"Phoebe!" Prue whisper-shouted, "I thought we went over this. Professional house-painters! Not you! Now we have a big yellow stain on the left side of the house—"

"It wasn't my fault that I wasn't big enough to do the whole job!" Phoebe protested.

"—and who knows what we have now," Prue continued as if uninterrupted, "Did you try a different color? Did you try the yellow again?"

"I DIDN'T—"

Before Phoebe could finish, Prue had sprung across the counter and clamped a hand over her mouth.

Phoebe mumbled vehemently against her palm.

"Shhhh," Prue hissed, "Do you want Grams to come down here?! You're already in trouble and I'm not in the mood and—OUCH!"

Prue sprang away, nursing her bitten hand.

Phoebe licked her lips gingerly.

"I didn't try to paint the house," she whispered, "I tried to stand up for Piper."

Prue looked up from her hand, the bite forgotten.

"Why did she need you to do that?" she asked.

Phoebe crossed her arms.

"Because you're not there and it's my job now; except that I ruined it all and I think I made things worse; and Piper won't talk to me," she said in a rush. She eyed her oldest sister warily, afraid that she would yell now that the explanation had finally been given.

Instead, Prue gave a deep sigh and pulled out the chair across from Phoebe. "The girls in Piper's class suck," she commiserated.

Phoebe looked at her sister with a little more confidence. "Grams says that I'm not supposed to hate them," she said, "but I kind of do anyways."

Prue traced a pattern on the table with her finger. "Who was it?" she asked.

"Diana," Phoebe spit the name as though it were poisonous.

Prue's face tensed.

"Piper's Diana?" she asked sharply.

Phoebe nodded. "But I think it was because she was afraid of this other girl," she admitted, "The other girl really sucked."

"Phoebe!" Prue scolded.

"You said it first!"

Prue rolled her eyes.

"I'm in seventh grade," she explained imperiously.

Now, Phoebe rolled her eyes.

"So, Diana's not her friend anymore," Prue summarized.

Phoebe sighed.

"No."

"Phoebe," Prue ran a hand through her hair again, "Kids get mean when they're older. We can't fix everything for Piper."

Phoebe's eyes began to well. "You would have," she whispered.

Prue started. "I've never fixed anything," she protested.

Phoebe's eyes widened. "Of course you have! You're Prue!"

Prue looked at her hands. "What does that even mean?" she asked.

"If you had seen Piper sitting all alone on the playground and the other girls playing, you would have known what to say to make them let her play. You always know what to say and Piper still talks to you afterwards; but I'm not good at being you."

"Phoebe," Prue said gently, "You shouldn't want to be me. I never know what to say. I just improvise.

Phoebe suddenly glared at her. "You never taught me to improvise," she accused.

"Phoebe, that would defeat the point of improvising."

"I don't understand."

Prue sighed. "Phoebe, you and Piper always need me to listen to you. But I'm not a good listener. I'm a good fixer—except that I'm not because I only fix the top layer. Do you know what I mean?"

Phoebe shook her head.

"Sometimes, I open my mouth and I have absolutely no idea what I'm saying. I'm just jumping in to defend Piper or give you advice and there's no one to tell me if I'm doing it right. I think some people—like Piper or you—have some type of intuition that tells you what to say—but I never know because I don't have that. So, the exact thing that you think makes 'Prue' so great, just means that I suck at everything real."

Prue felt the tightening in her throat and hated herself for it. She didn't know why Phoebe could bring out this side in her. With Piper, she could share secrets about boys and her frustration with Grams—she could hit a comfortable middle note. But, with Phoebe, it was always all or nothing. Either they stuck to banter or she wound up admitting things that she didn't even know she felt.

A small hand placed over hers made her look up.

"Prue, you don't suck," Phoebe said seriously.

Prue choked on a chuckle. "I thought we agreed you wouldn't use that word," she said.

"We didn't agree," Phoebe said matter-of-factly, "You just went back to talking about Piper."

"You're something; you know that, Phoebe?"

"Yeah. Remember? I'm over-zealous."

Now Prue did laugh.

"I can't be Mom," she said, "And I want to be because that's what you and Piper need; and she would know how to make the girls be nice to Piper for more than a day. But, every time I try, I remember that she's not here and that hurts. So, I also don't want to be like her; and—"

Phoebe interrupted. "We don't want you to be Mom," she whispered, "I don't even know what that would be like."

Prue cursed herself for her carelessness. "I'm sorry, Phoebe," she apologized.

Phoebe continued doggedly. "We just want you to be Prue. And maybe you don't know what that means, but I do."

"What does it mean?"

"Prue's my big sister."

Prue started at the simplicity of the answer.

Phoebe shrugged. "I told you that I try to be like you," she said.

Prue sighed. "And I'm telling you that's silly. You'll be better at standing up for Piper if you're you."

Phoebe grinned a shaky grin. "Will you teach me how to improvise?" she asked.

When Phoebe was eight-years-old, Prue taught her to improviseeven thought it did defeat the point.