"So, what do you think of Iris?" I whirled on my heel and tossed a pack of tomatoes haphazardly over the vegetable display, sending it spiraling through the air and towards the shopping cart. Grocery store employees standing nearby cringed, watching as the red spheres sailed clumsily through the air.

Harry skillfully jerked forward and shot out a hand to catch the falling produce, cradling the bag of plump, red veggies in his cupped palms. "Iris?" he asked, amusement heavily tinting his voice. Gently, he sat the tomatoes down in the cart, letting them rest between the eggs and bread. "She's a ditz. That's all there is to her. Why?" When I didn't reply, the teal-haired boy grinned and scolded, "Aisha, what personal spat have you got going on with that girl now?"

I thought of our blonde classmate with her flirtatious smile and sickeningly sweet voice and twisted the scowl on my face into a wide grin. I was sure an eyebrow twitched. "She's messing with Vash."

"Oh. Not surprising." Harry navigated the cart slowly through the next aisle, dutifully checking items off the shopping list his mother had given us. Never had a more obedient teenage son existed. "She's a huge flirt. You remember how she chased after me for like..."

"Seven years," I supplied. "Between second and ninth grade. She's just now getting over you. And she's onto Gene."

"Ah..."

As we rounded the next corner, the two of us ambling slowly through the aisles and tossing random items into the cart, I tightened a fist in anger and seethed, "Vash and I have known each other for fifteen years, and even if we're not as good of friends as we used to be, I swear, if she takes him away from me...she's gonna get it!"

"At least he goes to a different school," he tried to console me, but to no real avail. "And hey, it's not like you like Vash - what's the harm in him going out with her?"

"Because he's got a girlfriend!" I exploded. "Her name is Meryl, and even if she's not around, she's still his girlfriend!" Dropping my tone to a murmur, I added, "And Iris changes people..."

"I thought you two were friends."

"We were - until she set her sights on Vash and let me see her true self. She's using me, Harry - using me to get to Vash. All she does is use people. Makes me sick."

I would've continued on my own personal rant, mumbling insults to myself and to the half interested teen walking along beside me, but we were at the checkout counter, where Harry's mother was waiting, her basket full of what would soon be our dinner. She was a lovely older woman who grinned appreciatively at us as we approached, exclaiming, "Aisha! Thank you SO much for helping us shop! I know we didn't warn you about it when you came - you've been a wonderful sport!"

"It's ok," I lied politely. "I don't mind."

She leaned her elbow on the checkout counter and tilted her head to the side, gushing, "You two look so cute walking up here with that shopping cart full of food. I bet people are looking at you and wondering, 'where's the baby?'!"

Oh, geesh, did she just imply Harry and I looked like we were a couple? Thank you, Harry's mother, for bringing up one of the greatest causes of anxiety in my life, and also for joking about the two of us actually having children. Do you not know what sort of ideas that puts into both of our heads? It's inevitable to think of having a baby with someone standing right beside you and not consider what you'd have to do to actually have the kid! I understand you a crazy woman but why must you make these comments!

I gave her my greatest forced grin in Aisha history (I seemed to be forcing myself to smile a lot lately) and found it in my heart to laugh nervously, as did Harry. We both were getting more and more perplexed by his mother's efforts to bring us together with each day that passed.

Dinner was fairly uneventful. I brooded over Vash and Iris some more and Harry listened and ate his hamburger - mine went untouched as it is too hard to eat and talk at the same time. A few times he was able to steer the conversation in a more cheery, normal direction.

Ever heard the wonder boy song, Aisha? Here, let me sing you the best part in my weird, creepy voice reserved only for you! Able to kill a yak a from two hundred yards away with MIND BULLETS! Eh...that'd be telekinesis, Kyle!

It's really hard to keep your mind on a Tenacious D song when you know you're losing your oldest friend. Sure, he wasn't my best friend - he had been at one time but had been demoted along the way for anger management problems - but we still had that bond you could only acquire through time.

I think my eyes started to get all dreamy when I remembered back to how I used to play in Vash's kiddie swimming pool when we lived by one another - that's how we'd known each other for so long, having been neighbors as infants and until midway elementary school - but anyhow, the kiddie pool was round, plastic, and collapsible with pink dolphins and blue waves painted on the outside. When we sat in the shallow water, Vash would cross his arms and look very wise and explain to me that he was adopted (he wasn't) and that he was actually royalty from Timbuktu.

Yes, I believed him.

Harry was waving his hands in front of my face when I came to, looking a bit miffed at being ignored. "If you're done with dinner," he said, "I have something to show you."

So we trekked up the stairs and to his bedroom, which is pretty much the typical boy's room. Painted in dark colors with a dusky green bedspread always in disarray and snowboarding equipment arranged lovingly in the corner. Posters of his favorite bands on the walls, desk cluttered with pictures and papers, a dresser with a TV, DVD player, and gaming systems. His lighting was pretty dim and I tripped over a pair of cargo pants, almost fell onto his bed, but managed to keep my footing.

Harry sifted through some drawings on his desk and then pulled a certain one from the pile, turning to face me almost tensely. His mouth was set in an expressionless line. "Here," he said, holding out the paper like an offering. "I made this for you."

It was a large and floppy piece of drawing paper, and I held it carefully in my hands, stretching it to it's full length carefully. I studied the penciled sketch, it's shading and flowing lines. It was a girl - she was pretty. Her face was tilted to the side a little and she was staring with wide, beautiful eyes at me, slanted over because of the angle he had drawn her from, as if she was turned to the side a little. Her long, thick hair poured over her shoulders, which was as far down as the drawing went - a half smile curled her full lips. She looked kind of familiar.

"Gee, thanks," I said to Harry, admiring the artwork with a bit of fascination. "You're a great artist."

Harry looked a little confused but accepted the response with a smile, nodding his head.

I glanced at the girl in the picture again. Harry was amazingly talented - she looked really lifelike, and well, she looked like - ha, get this - she looked like me. And she was me. Because he had drawn a picture of me, from memory, no doubt, and I'd been too stupid to realize it was me because the girl was so pretty and I was not pretty but maybe that's how he saw me.

Wouldn't I be lucky if that were the truth?

"Trent, you have to stop leaving your orders at the counter!" I slammed the scribbled-on piece of paper on the stainless steel table - the only table in the kitchen of the tiny diner I worked at - and growled. "That guy out there has been waiting for his fries for half an hour!"

The boy I was lecturing looked vaguely surprised and a little offended. "Oh...kay," he said slowly, shrugging one shoulder.

I raked a hand through my thick, colorless hair and growled in frustration. The little restaurant I had attained a summer job at was absolutely worthless - nothing ever got done. And since I was the newest worker, this was all naturally my fault.

Sure enough, the manager/cook came waddling around the corner just in time to assess the problem, tear into me in a flurry of profanities, and throw some fries in week-old oil. It was disgusting, being back in that kitchen and seeing the crap people actually consumed unknowingly, and besides, if you got a look at the cook alone, it was enough to make you lose your appetite. She was an overweight, wrinkled woman in her late sixties with short, curly brown hair, fogged up glasses, and a cigarette always in her mouth. While preparing food she never washed her hands or wore a hair net or did anything I thought the sanitation department demanded.

Business was almost always dead - not surprising when you looked at the service - so Trent and I stood and watched the bubbling oil slowly sinking into the frozen potato slices. Sickening. Still, it was better than working with Michael - the trekkie nerd of the century whose hormones were raging.

"Do I get Saturday off?" Trent asked, leaning over the table and plucking a slice of tomato from one of the condiments container. There's another thing - we were allowed to eat whatever we wanted, even if it meant digging our sometimes grimy fingers into the food bins.

"No," Jean answered shortly, giving the fries a shake. That was the manager's name. Jean.

I leaned across the counter and plucked a pickle from the case, dropping it into my mouth.

"You like pickles, Aisha?" Jean asked curiously, glancing my way.

"Oh yeah, I love them. Eat them with peanut butter on a sandwich - sometimes I have them with ice cream."

It was like the room shrunk then. Jean and Trent edged in a little closer, she peering curiously into my eyes. "Aisha...," she said in a hushed voice, "are you...pregnant?"

I lurched forward, trying not to choke on my own saliva. "What!"

"Oh, your face is all red..." Jean seemed concerned, which was a first.

The bell above the door in the diner jingled and I leapt for joy, screaming, "CUSTOMER!" and leaping out of the kitchen in a single, amazing bound, which near resulted in a sprained ankle.

The girl standing behind the counter gave me a skeptical stare, one that said she clearly thought me not to be competent. "Hello," she said coolly, her dark, piercing eyes taking me in distantly. She was bone thin and had long, straight, jet black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. A look of distaste crossed her pale face as I grinned at her and she demanded quietly, "Can I order now?"

"Sure!" I grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, beaming uncontrollably at Suzuka. She was my sarcastic, strong-willed, aloof best friend, and it was just like her to pretend to not know me when ordering food. It was her first time visiting me at my job - she'd warned me of her coming.

"How is Harry?" she murmured after I'd taken her order, eyes darting suspiciously at Trent. "I haven't heard from him all summer."

"He's good."

"And how's your job going?"

"I'm pregnant."

A long pause. "Excuse me?"

"It was a joke, Suzuka - my boss thinks I'm pregnant because I like pickles. Don't give me that look! I was just being stupid!"

"As usual, I see. Now, never say those words to me again. They make you sound like Iris."

"HEY! What did I do to deserve such a terrible insult!"

Suzuka gave me a wry little smile and said quietly, "I would like the twenty-one piece shrimp basket."

Iris smiled slyly at me, one of her newer expressions I had become accustomed to. My stomach churned nervously. What did she want now?

"Aisha," Iris said sweetly, sliding across the couch to sit closer to me. Vash was across the room in an overstuffed chair, watching us out of the corner of his eye while pretending to focus on the TV show. On the floor beside his chair sat dour Legato, who was trying to shut us all out.

Legato had once been Knives' friend, but had quickly transformed into Vash's, seeing as how Knives was never around anymore. Where he went and what he did, not even I knew. It had been weeks since I'd even heard of him. Whenever I asked Vash on his brother's whereabouts, he would answer, "Probably killing someone."

"Aisha," Iris said again in a lower tone after seeing me turn away disinterestedly, "do you think you and Legato should...go outside?"

"Why?"

"Because..." She obviously hadn't thought of this part yet. "Because Legato looks so bored. You know he hates TV, and you're just so fun, Aisha - you could entertain him for sure. Didn't you used to live in this neighborhood?"

"I lived in that house right over there," I replied, nodding out the window at the white house that sat beside Vash's. "But there's nothing to do outside."

"Of course there is, silly!"

"Alright, alright!" I grumpily stood up from the couch and stalked over to where Legato sat, grabbing him by the arm. He shrunk away from my touch, looking up at me with a scowl, but I persisted, yanking the boy up to his feet. "Come on, Legato - we're going outside."

"Why?" he demanded dully.

"Because Iris told us to!" I glanced at Vash, hoping to see some disgust, some confusion, something in his expression that told me he was on to Iris' game, but he only returned my stare with a smug smile. Somehow I suppressed a snarl and dragged Legato out into the backyard.

It was a sunny day in July. Really warm but with a nice breeze. Legato, not much of a conversationalist, slowly let his golden-eyed gaze travel around the grassy expanse of land, raising a tanned hand to sweep some blue hair out of his face.

"So, how's Wolfwood?" I asked in an attempt to salvage the afternoon. Legato and Wolfwood were in the same class at school, along with Vash, so perhaps if I got the boy on a topic he was comfortable with, he would open up and we could have fun together.

Legato shrugged.

I, myself, sighed unhappily and looked to the garden Vash kept, and then to dog pen beyond that, where his father's hunting dogs were yapping and yelping for attention. "What do you think he sees in Iris?" I asked my companion.

Legato let his lips lift in a grim smile. "Master likes to wrestle with Iris."

"Not funny, Legato!" I whacked him over the head and then turned heatedly away, holding my chin in my hand and sending my brain into overtime. Only one solution came, and it was a little immature, but hey, I take what I can get. Resolutely, I marched over the living room window and peeked in. Sure enough, Vash was sprawled out on the couch on his back with Iris straddling his waist, leaning over him and letting her hands rest daintily on his shoulders. One of his long-fingered hands was stroking through her hair.

That is NOT something you do when you have company over!

Legato rose up beside me, blinking in a bored manner at the sight. "Master is ignoring us," he said, sounding a bit annoyed.

"Stop calling him master! It's what gave him this horrible ego that has now enveloped and destroyed him! Ill put an end to this! I'll stop it now! VAAAAASH!" Crazily, I pounded my fist against the glass, trying frantically to somehow stop the evil at hand, but my muffled cries concerned the pair very little. Iris glanced back at me, smiled sweetly, and went back to whispering in Vash's ear.

"GAH!" I fell to my knees and grasped at Legato's hand and begged him to stop my nervous breakdown. "She's evil!" I cried. "PURE EVIL!"

"Aisha..." Legato looked shocked and slightly appalled. "Get a hold of yourself."

"Where is Knives?" I exclaimed. "Where are Vash's parents? They would stop this! They would put an end to it!"

Legato withdrew his hand and shook it a little, as if to rid himself of my germs, and then gave a long-suffering sigh. "I must admit, she has changed Vash," he said quietly. "And he is being rather rude. When they are together, no one else exists."

"Come on, Legato," I beckoned for him to follow. I would've grabbed his shoulder or arm or pushed him or something, for Legato doesn't really walk - he more or less ambles slowly along, taking his time - but he absolutely hated for any girl to touch him. Females were his common enemy - I was one of the select few he would acknowledge as a human being.

"What are we doing?" he wanted to know, lazily dragging his feet and moving at a snail's pace towards the sliding glass door, where I already stood.

"Do you have your cell phone?"

"Yes."

"And you know Meryl's number, right?"

He scratched the back of his head, finally stepping into the house and allowing me to close the door behind him. "Yeah."

I chose then to ignore his wish to not be touched and pushed him roughly back into the living room with Vash and Iris, who didn't bother moving at our appearance. Sweeping his cell phone up into my hand, I turned it on, threw it to him, and commanded, "Call her."

Vash continued to ignore us, raising his head to murmur something in Iris' ear, causing her to giggle.

Legato dialed slowly, looking at me doubtfully, and then raised the phone to his ear, sighing.

Although Meryl was all the way across the country from Vash and they had never met in person, they frequently talked over the phone. After all, she was 'his light' and 'the love of his life'. Iris was just a 'really good friend' that 'he could trust and occasionally wrestle with'.

I crossed my fingers and prayed that Meryl was home and almost jumped for joy when Legato said, loud enough for all to hear, "Oh, hi Meryl. Yeah, I'm at Vash's."

"WHAT!" Vash bolted upright, narrowly avoided knocking his skull against Iris', and shoved the girl to the floor. She landed with a thud and a pained cry, looking as if she had been terribly wounded and horribly betrayed and gazing up at Vash with a look of shock and dismay. He bolted off the couch, grabbed for the phone, and, panting, greeted, "Hey, love. Uh...yeah. It's just me and Legato and Aisha."

"And Iris!" I yelled, knowing full well that Meryl, even though thousands of miles away, could sense the dangers Iris brought and was often edgy at hearing of her and Vash being together.

He glared at me and muttered, "Yeah, she's here too."

I sensed general unhappiness flowing throughout the room and quickly took my leave while the getting was good. I wandered back into Vash's bedroom and flopped down on his water bed and closed my eyes and remembered times when we were much closer, when he wasn't so deceitful, and when I trusted him. My eyes flicked over to the collage of pictures on the shelf just a foot or so above the mattress - Meryl's shrine, I called it - at least a dozen photos of the petite, dark-haired girl.

Vash suddenly appeared in the doorway, looking very sinister, if I do say so myself. His eyes were narrowed in such intense anger I wondered how he could possibly see me - which perhaps could lead to danger, I thought, glancing at the sword that hung on his wall across the room. His fists were clenched tightly, so tight I thought he might draw blood from his palms with his fingernails, and his mouth was a straight, expressionless line.

"Yo," I said softly, waving my hand in a quick, sharp motion from right to left from where I lay on the bed.

"Why did you do that?" His voice trembled, barely above a whisper. He was so angry... "Why are you acting like this!"

"Acting like what?" I growled, looking away. I couldn't bare to face him anymore.

"So insanely jealous! Why are you jealous of Iris? You are jealous because I give her more attention, aren't you? You're jealous because I am closer to her than I am to you!"

Ouch. That hurt, Vash. I blinked my eyes quickly to wipe away the obvious pain in them and felt like a stupid little girl all over again - it would be so embarrassing to let Vash know how much he had gotten to me. Him and Iris closer than we had been? Ridiculous! Iris was just a stupid girl who he had known for less than two months! They didn't talk about anything - I'd heard them. A typical conversation for them had once been him trying to explain what a dictator was while she giggled and asked stupid questions, but lately it had developed to them simply arguing over who was in control of their relationship.

Yeah, it didn't make much sense to me, since they were supposed to be just really good friends.

"How can you say I'm jealous of her?" I demanded. "Do you think I want to be the one whose mind you play with? Do you think I want to be the one who you use as a replacement for your Internet girlfriend? Why would I be jealous of that!"

"Oh please," he shot back, "why don't you just accept it that I care about her more than you?"

"Oh please," I snarled in return, "why don't you stop cheating on Meryl!"

He sucked in a sharp breath as though I'd punched him in the stomach, and stumbled back. "Do you..." he murmured, aghast, "really think that I'm...cheating on her?"

I nodded solemnly. I felt like asking, "Do you really care about her more than me?" but refrained from the question, lest this newer and stranger Vash answer it carelessly. The blonde boy was standing before me, looking horribly upset, and I glared at him, angry that he had changed so suddenly and without warning. It had happened so fast.

"How could you NOT know you were cheating on Meryl?" I demanded, but backed off when I saw the look of pain increase in his eyes. Meekly, I added, "Vash, what's happened to you? You're being such a drama queen."

At first I had resented Meryl, but at least she had molded Vash into a kinder, gentler person. Iris was turning him into a lying cheat. Now it seemed that this Internet girlfriend of his was my only chance at getting one of my best friends back.

And perhaps that was the thing I resented most at that time.

That I hadn't a prayer of a chance at altering the situation one bit.