The power of the written word. Other than her reading of Waif Magazine, Sandi Griffin had never given it much thought. Brains were "losers." Teachers were "losers." Quinn's sister Daria had been "a substitute loser," that one time she had been a substitute teacher. Popular people, like she was, had no time for such "losers."

Still, now, here she was.

Sandi's long, thin, fingers rippled across the keyboard, the groups of letters flowing onto the computer screen. A skill she had once scorned had been hard learned in community college. Part time jobs as either a secretary or receptionist had demanded it. College had been a struggle for her after her pitiful high school experience.

It had been lonely, too. Sandi's haughty, cold attitude put off other women from being her friend.

She had generally been left out of any company get togethers, not that a secretary was generally invited to them. Most of the men she had been around generally avoided her, too, except for the hard core lechers, and Sandi had long experience at spotting those types.

With an ease that would have shocked her back in high school, Sandi wove together just enough facts to make the story in her column believable. Mr. O'Neill, her former English teacher, would have been proud of her skill. He would also have disapproved in that whimpering way he had of what she was using it for. But, Sandi had never really cared all that much for ethics, anyway. Life was never fair, and you had to take what you wanted, no matter who got hurt in the process.

Like she had been hurt.

Sandi's job as gossip columnist for Val magazine had been a stroke of luck. Desperate to get out of Lawndale, she had spread her resume far and wide, and gotten few offers. Then Val herself had called her, inviting her to her own office for an interview.

"So, Miss Griffith, you're from Lawndale?"

"Yes, ma'am. I graduated from Lawndale High in 2001, and I've . . . "

"I'm very aware of your school record, Miss Griffin. But you see, it's the people you know I'm interested in."

"I don't understand."

"I'm aware that you were a close friend of Daria Morgendorffer's sister, Quinn."

The familiar stab of loneliness and jealousy jabbed Sandi right through the heart. Other than the frozen mask she wore trembling a bit, Sandi showed no sign of any distress. Keeping her cool, Sandi kept her eyes fixed on Val's face.

"Yes, but I don't see how that has anything to do with my employment."

"You don't? Val might be an edgy teen magazine, but we do follow scandals as well. A handsome Russian playing with the hearts of two American girls who just happen to be best friends, and might have been a little bit . . . more?"

"I don't really think Daria and Jane were that way."

"Are you sure? Were you with them every time they met?"

"No, of course not."

"You see? That's how you play this game. No big difference from high school. Smear, smear, smear. We all have our dirty little secrets, don't we?"

Val continued talking, but Sandi was looking at something quite different from the richly furnished office. The clear night sky was overhead, with the stars twinkling high above. The thick trees clustered around the parked cars. Flames roared high into the night, sparks flying out of the bonfire, but the drunken crowd of teen-aged boys didn't care. Their catcalls were eclipsed by the voice with the bullhorn.

No! Sandi's slammed to a frantic stop. Her nails cut deeply into the soft palms of her hands. She trembled on the edge of the hysteria she had buried for years, and grimly fought back to awareness.

"So you see, not only is the scandal good copy, a millionaire's fiancee with, shall we say, a loose background is juicy, too. Even if Val itself can't use it, we can trade the story to a magazine that can use it."

Val cocked her head and looked at Sandi with calculation in her eyes. She bore little resemblance to the bizarrely dressed woman Sandi remembered from Lawndale High. That woman had seemed pathetic, a middle-aged wanna-be that had pretended to be one of the girls her magazine was sold to. Val's hair was still blonde, but fashionable style. She was slightly taller than Sandi, very lean. She dressed conservatively, in a grey pantsuit.

"I do remember you, too, Sandi. You were the one who that told me something about mixing primary colors in your wardrobe!"

Sandi bit her lip. She had said that, hadn't she? It was right, and the color combination of blue and yellow was so, so gross! Her old pride struggled with her new place in the world, where she pounded the pavement, almost begging door to door for a decent job. Val looked at her coolly, measuring her reaction.

"I, I'm sorry about that, now, but, I was right."

"No problem, really, actually, you are right. Seeing me in a business suit confusing you?"

Sandi decided to take the initiative. She couldn't do much worse, now.

"Yes, yes! You look more mature, more in charge."

More like my mom, or Ms. Li, she thought to herself.

"Sandi, in public, I am Val, as in Val! I dress like I'm only fifteen, I say things like "edgy," all the time. I jump from subject to subject like I'm on a sugar rush. I babble about cheating boyfriends, and I drop the names of every teen star. But really, if that was real, do you think I could honestly operate a multimillion dollar publishing empire?"

Sandi felt like she was reading on firmer ground here, shreds of her old self confidence came slowly back to her.

"No, no, you couldn't. But then, why would you want somebody like me?"

Val leaned forward, her elbows on her desk.

"Daria, the Anti-Teen, doesn't get involved, don't do anything. That Landon girl got on me about involvement, while standing next to her was the ultimate drop out?"

"Daria? I never really liked her, I always thought she was sort of mean, and I was always a bit afraid of her."

"She was violent?"

"No, not really, but she was really good at cutting people down. She did it to both students and the faculty."

The smile that grew on Val's face grew wider, like a shark relishing its next meal.

"Miss Griffin, I think I have a place for you at Val."

Val had been true to her word. Sandi had to work very hard, digging into her diaries, contacting old acquaintances, but it had all paid off. She pulled togther everything she had ever heard about either Daria or Quinn. It had been Sandi's idea to release the book to the public on Quinn's wedding day. Her former "friends" hadn't talked to her in a while, anyway. Quinn's coldly informing an excited Stacy that she would be the maid of honor, while Sandi and Tiffany were only bridesmaids, had been the last straw.

The book Daria! From Drop Out to Embezzler! hit the stands with a thunder clap. Ms. Li had even written the foreword, as a reward for her assistance. To no ones surprise, Quinn's sexual history proved to be the most read part, her experience at age fourteen slanted enough to make her the aggressor. Enough jilted boys from Lawndale gleefully added their own stories of what they said Quinn had done on dates to make up a sequel. Joey White, Jeffy Grissom, and Jamie Chaffee spoke out bitterly on Quinn's attraction to only guys that could give her the most, while she promised nothing.

Helen Morgendorffer's attempts to sue for libel had come to nothing. There were too many witnesses to testify for Quinn's alleged loose character. Helen had retreated from the limelight when men she had dated during high school and college jumped on the bandwagon. The stunt car driver she had lost her virginity to appearing on Howard Stern, and giving a quite detailed account of the act, as well as showing off the panties he had kept as a memento, had been the final blow. Helen had been lucky to keep her job after that revelation. Only the strong lobbying of Eric Schrecter, a partner at the law firm, had kept her from being dismissed in humiliation. Though it hadn't stopped the whispering as to exactly why he had done it.

Rita Barksdale had become quite the celebrity, with her comments, before her mother Tess had almost literally put her under house arrest. Amy had become the favorite target of paparazzi then, resulting in several scuffles, as well as one assault and battery charge when she had run over a photographer's foot. Fortunately, most of her ex-boyfriends kept their mouths shut. The one that didn't mysteriously developed a black eye, after he made a comment on the creative use Amy had made with chocolate pudding during their relationship. Amy took some time off her job after the incident.

Val raked in millions. Sandi received a great office, and a fantastic commission. Sure, she was scorned by serious writers, but so what? They were all losers, writing books that nobody really wanted to read. Val admired her zeal at digging out secrets, her way of dealing with people with information. Her column, "Sandi's Secrets" became the most popular part of Val Magazine.

Stacy had fiercely fought off any attempts to interview her. Even the most persistent reporter soon gave up on Tiffany. Trying to make any sense of her glacially slow speech taxed the most patient of reporters. Oddly, Sandi hardly ever mentioned them in print, not even in passing. Val hadn't minded. She merely noted to herself that her new "reporter" had a few scruples left. Daria was her real target and gravy train. Quinn and Jane Lane were just appetizers.

Val had felt vaguely sorry for the Morgendorffer adults, but, business was business. If they played their cards right, they could make a fortune on the talk show circuit. But other than Helen's fiery rejection of an offer from Howard Stern, and an offer from some of the more notorious skin mags eager to cash in on the headlines, they had basically refused to do that. Intimate photos of Rita Barksdale surfaced, courtesy of several of her ex-husbands. These were soon followed by several extremely revealing shots and sketches of Amy when she had posed for a life drawing class. She had signed a standard models release form when she had done them, giddy with had seemed the freedom of college. The more they tried to hide, the harder they were sought out.

What Val had originally thought of as a temporary position to pick Sandi's brains became a permanent position. Sandi's determination and skill at ferreting out facts about people was almost supernatural. The tall, lean, deep-voiced young woman made few friends. She dated regularly, but never very seriously. She always dressed fashionably and attended all the right parties. She drank sparingly, didn't smoke, and never took "recreational" drugs, but never informed on anybody that she knew was taking them. This one fact was never revealed in her books or columns, though anything else was fair game.

To Val's surprise, Sandi turned out to have hidden depths. She lobbied for and got approval for child care facilities at the magazine. Coming from the self-absorbed gossip columnist, it was a shock, but a welcome one. Many of Val's magazine staff were single mothers. The thank you party they gave for Sandi was the one time anybody ever saw her lose her composure and cry.

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Summer 2000, right after the events of Is It Fall Yet.

David Sorenson carefully edged his way between the thick trees and brush. The college junior was enjoying his last free time before he went back to college. Birdwatching was a favorite hobby of his. The English major felt good. He had tutored several teenagers that summer. One, a high school junior named Quinn, had turned out to be a diamond in the rough. The beautiful strawberry blonde girl had struggled hard at the beginning, but had overcome her distaste at having anything to do with "brains," and had really taken off. Her girlfriends, just to keep up with, had also hired him, but that hadn't worked out well at all. Sandi Griffin had commanded him like he was a servant, Stacy Rowe had an anxiety attack, and Tiffany Blum-Deckler hadn't even noticed when he had gotten mad and left. Those three girls were in for a rude awakening if they ever made it to any kind of college.

He stopped, smelling wood smoke and frowned. The forest was bone dry, and the US Forest Service had a total ban on fires in it. Still, the clearing ahead was a popular place for parties, for teens from Oakwood. This late on a Sunday, likely the only thing there was a pile of trash, beer cans, liquor bottles, food wrappers, and other things. David reached the edge of the clearing and sighed. Luckily, the huge bonfire that had been here hadn't spread to any of the thickly surrounding trees and brush.

The dried grass was heavily rutted with tire tracks. The air felt stagnant, heavy, with the mingled smells of smoke, beer, and urine. The huge sun in the clear sky blazed, baking the earth beneath it. The only sound he could hear was the swish and crackle of the browned grass as he forced his way through it. He stopped suddenly, and listened carefully. There, he heard it again. A faint whimper sounded from a thick clump of trees ahead.

Had the drunken party goers hurt an animal? David pulled off his cap and sighed, wiping off his forehead with a handkerchief he carried. Then he settled the cap back on his forehead and carefully walked over to the trees. He knew better than to disturb a hurt or sick animal, but he wanted to get some idea of what was wrong before he contacted the local ranger station.

After the brightness of the sun outside, the shade under the trees was close to total. Bright patches of sunlight alternated with the darkness, making it hard to see what was there. To his disgust, the ground here was littered with trash, too. The thick dry leaves crackled under his feet as he walked carefully forward.

An old mattress, which looked as if it had been hauled out of a trash dump, lay on the ground in front of him. It was also covered with trash. Rips in its surface showed the old springs poking out at irregular intervals. A huddled shape was on the ground next to it, partially covered by a few rags, and surprisingly, duct tape. David's heart began to sink, and he moved carefully closer, until he knew for sure that he was staring at white flesh, and tousled brown hair. He desperately hoped he was staring at a department store mannikin, set there as a sick joke. He knew it wasn't.

The mindless whimper came from deep inside her, from the drooling mouth just under the mass of tape covering her eyes. David fumbled for his cell phone, thankful when he saw that he had a signal.

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Sandi laid quietly staring at the ceiling in Oakwood Memorial Hospital. She hadn't said a word since the ambulance had brought her in. She had ignored the indignities of the nurses as they had used the rape kit on her, using swabs to take samples, measuring bite marks, taking pictures of her injuries. She hadn't answered the questions of the detective as she had questioned her. Even her parent's entrance, with Linda screaming threats at everybody in sight, hadn't roused her at all. Sandi had just lain there, hearing the flames from the fire as it roared high into the night. And that voice.

"Gentlemen! I know we're all sad that Oakwood lost the game with Lawndale!" The loud booing and profanity echoed around the clearing.

"But, we have a prize for you tonight! Not Brittany, or any of the cheerleaders, but still, one of Lawndale's hottest! From the parking lot of the Millennium Mall, I give you . . . "

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Sandi crawled out of her bed that morning, careful not to disturb Fluffy. The White Persian cat was very old, now, but Sandi still lavished all of her love and attention on him. Val magazine had an early meeting that morning, and Sandi was never late, not with all that she considered she owed Val. She scrubbed herself vigorously in the shower, feeling the pain as the rough pads she used tore at her skin, but she didn't mind physical pain anymore. Now she that knew there were worse pain.

Sandi hesitated just before she left her apartment, feeling the need again, cursing herself for her weakness. Then she gave in. Laying her briefcase down, she ran back into her bedroom. Fluffy stared at her as she opened her closet, and carefully opened the secret door built into the back of it. Sandi stared at her secret, the only real secret in her life that was hers. The sharp stilettos glistened in the dim light, their sheaths hanging just below them. She carefully picked one up, feeling the sharpness of it as it pricked her finger tip, the bright droplet of blood gleamed as it ran down her finger, and she carefully licked it off. This weekend, she was going to go hunting.

Again.