A/N: Hi! Sorry this took so long . . . insane writer's block. However, it's up! This one's kind of . . . I don't know. It's kind of just a lead-up into the next one. Argh! These are really beginning to frustrate me. Well, as long as you people like them, and I like writing them, it's a-ok!

This one's a little long, but oh well. It's filler, mostly. I can't decide if I love filler or hate it. What do you guys think?

Oh, I had this really weird writing style . . . thing with this one. I use a "one, two, three, four" listing . . . thing. It was totally accidental, and then I just decided that, for this chapter, I'd use it often. It's probably very annoying, but oh well. And I doubt any of that made sense to you, since it didn't make sense to me. I'm thinking it made it too choppy. Grr! I hate that I'm struggling so much with this. However, I will not give up, even if it kills me.

Which it probably will.


Sally sat down at her desk, pressing her forehead into the faux-wood and praying for a sudden snowstorm. It was April — how could it be possibly be so hot? Even with the lights off, everyone was sticky and uncomfortable. She lifted her head and put her feet on the chair next to hers.

"Hey, Sal." She looked up to see Ned standing over her, smiling cheerfully. "Would you mind putting your feet down?"

She set her feet on the floor and turned, letting her head fall back onto the desk with a thunk. Since Whonglish was the only class they had together, and since Ned was always late — it was remarkable, his inability to be on time — Sally had to save his seat.

"You all right?" he asked.

She grunted, and he laughed. "It's only going to get hotter, you know," he continued.

That time, she couldn't even summon up the energy to grunt. Ned handed her his water bottle, which was still slightly cold. After taking a drink, she pressed the bottle against her forehead. "Thanks," she said, handing it back to him.

"I would hate being a girl," he observed, setting the bottle on his desk. "All that hair. . . . It must suck."

"You're really too sweet, you know that?" she teased, feeling a lot better now that she wasn't bordering on dehydration.

He laughed, shaking his head. Suddenly his eyes met hers, and he looked away. Sally groaned inwardly — though their relationship had been much more comfortable since Christmas, there were still awkward moments where she wished . . . something. She wished things could go back to normal. She wished she was a boy. She wished a lot of things, none of which could come true.

"All right," their Whonglish teacher said, breaking the class out of its heat-induced stupor. "I know it's hot out, but you still have eighty minutes before you can go home and swim or eat ice cream or whatever you want. Until that happy moment, however, you are stuck with me. Now, if you'd be so obliging as to take out your books. . . ."

Sally picked up the book she'd chosen to read for their project. The cover was of a Who standing in a snowstorm with a puppy at his heels. He didn't look very happy, but she wished she was in his place — she would rather face hypothermia than heat stroke. She stole Ned's water bottle again.

"Now, I want you to get into partners and discuss your novels for about ten minutes," the teacher instructed. "Get a feel for the characters." Their teacher was very fond of their students getting "a feel" of things, especially things that were intangible and no one could ever "feel" despite their best efforts.

Ned turned to Sally, setting his book in her desk. Unsurprisingly, it was about twice as thick as everyone else's. She opened it, rolling her eyes — of course, the type was about half as large, too.

"Okay, this was about —"

Ned's voice trailed off as a pretty blue-furred girl came up to their desks. Sally's eyes narrowed; what was Jamie doing here? "Sally?" she said shyly, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Can I ask you something . . . ahm, over there?"

Sally was suspicious immediately — she hadn't forgotten sixth grade. But Ned smiled. "Of course, Jamie," he said. "Just don't take too long, because you know how exciting Whonglish is. We don't want to miss a second of it."

Jamie giggled, and put her hand on Ned's shoulder. "You're so funny, Ned."

"You're so subtle, Jamie," Sally muttered, fingering the ring on her right hand. Jamie flushed purple and led Sally over to the other side of the room, where she waited, playing with her hair and staring at her feet.

After several seconds -- during which Sally had been tempted to either flee or slap the girl -- she spoke. "Listen, Sal . . . I was just wondering . . . ifyouweredatingNed." She said the last part in one breath, the words tumbling over one another.

It took Sally a moment to figure out what Jamie had said. When she had, though, she was absolutely gobsmacked. "What? No!"

"So you're just friends?"

"Absolutely."

"Oh." She seemed to relax. "Good." A second later, her body tensed again. "So it'd be okay if . . . maybe I asked him out?"

Sally blinked; for a moment she couldn't do anything else. "You want to ask out Ned?" A hysterical giggle bubbled up in her throat; she swallowed it down.

Jamie nodded eagerly.

"You. Want to ask out . . . Ned."

"Yes."

"So you like Ned? Enough to ask him out?"

"Yes!" She was beginning to sound impatient.

Sally burst out laughing.

"Hey!" Jamie blushed again. "What's so funny about that?"

She was laughing too hard to say anything. "You . . . you want. . . ."

Jamie crossed her arms. "Stop it!"

Sally forced herself to calm down, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. It's fine if you want to. . . ." She closed her eyes to keep from cracking up again. "It's fine."

Jamie beamed. "All right!" She hesitated for a second. "So . . . do you think I have a shot?"

She opened her mouth and started laughing. She stumbled back to her desk, still giggling and leaving an affronted-looking Jamie behind.

Ned looked up. "What was that about?"

"You'll . . . you'll find out soon enough." Sally bit her lip to keep a smile off her face.

He raised his eyebrows. "But it's something funny?"

"Well . . . not to Jamie and probably not to you. But it is to me." She chuckled again, shaking her head.

He shrugged. "Okay." They sat in silence for a few seconds. Suddenly he said, "I'm sorry — I have to ask. Why is it funny to you, but wouldn't be to me?"

"It's —" But she wasn't sure how to finish. Why was it so funny? Was it just because Ned had never had a girlfriend? Patrick had never had a girlfriend, but if Jamie had wanted to ask him out, would she think it was that amusing?

No, she admitted. It'd actually be pretty cool.

But Ned . . . with a girlfriend?

It was just too . . . weird. She couldn't wrap her head around it. She couldn't even picture it.

Maybe it was because this was Jamie. She snickered. Yeah, that was it. Just the idea of them walking down the hallway, Jamie chattering incessantly like a monkey about various objects of gossip. Oh, and she cried all the time — imagine Ned trying to comfort a sobbing Jamie over the fact that someone called her clumsy.

That wasn't the kind of girl she should be with. He needed to be with someone who wanted to talk about interesting things, like books and movies and each other. He needed someone who could make him laugh — with one heck of a sarcastic streak — and could appreciate when things were just plain stupid or funny. Jamie had all the humor of a wet rock, and the constant crying would be too much for Ned to handle. Most importantly, he needed someone smart, whose idea of stimulating entertainment wasn't a Whoteen magazine.

Maybe she was being too mean, though. While Ned liked hanging out with her because she was smart and interesting (and modest, as Sarah often teased, but Sally didn't care — she was one for being proud of what she was good at. Maybe it made her a jerk, but she didn't mind). Anyway, just because that was who he liked to be friends with didn't mean that was who he liked to date. Who knew — maybe he wanted to go out with a blue, oversensitive gossip-monkey.

Anyway, it wasn't any of her business. She sat back in her chair before realizing she'd never answered Ned's question. She chuckled nervously. "Ah, nothing. I have a strange sense of humor — don't worry about it."

He raised his eyebrows. "Okay."

"All right," the teacher said, making them flinch and look up, "you should have finished discussing your novels —"

"Oops," Ned whispered with a guilty smile, gesturing at their unopened books.

"— and begun working on your projects, which are due in two weeks' time. You may work on them for the remainder of class."

Ned watched Sally pull out a sheet of paper, feeling confused. What was going on? Part of him kind of wanted to ask Jamie . . . but he didn't really like talking to Jamie. It might be worth it to understand, though.

Oh, well, he thought, looking down at his book and flipping it open. She said I'd find out soon enough, so I guess I will.


"I know! I can't believe it either!"

Patrick sighed and adjusted the volume on his music player, but he couldn't drown out the ever-so-piercing shrieks of Jamie Kinsley. Honestly, did she want her business to be everyone's business?

Whatever; he honestly didn't care. It wasn't that he was heartless — in fact, he hoped that he was quite the opposite — but Jamie had a problem every day, and a humungous, life-ruining one every week.

"Have you talked to either of them since Friday?" Jane asked as he walked past in the hallway.

"No! I mean, if Sally thought it was so funny, what's the point in asking Ned out?!"

Patrick froze -- causing one of the students behind him to snarl, "Hey, watch it!" -- and backed up several steps -- much to the annoyance of pretty much everyone walking behind him -- until he was level with the girls.

"Maybe it's not worth it," Jackie said. "I mean, if he doesn't like you, that would just be too humiliating."

"Ask him out!"

The four girls turned to face him, looking absolutely like Patrick felt, which was something along the lines of "Omigosh, did you just say that?"

"Were you listening to us?" Janet demanded.

"Ah. . . ." Of course, aside from that brilliant comment, his mind was completely blank. "Yes."

Jamie crossed her arms, looking him up and down haughtily. "This is a private conversation," she said coldly.

Oh, right — that's why you were having it at the top of your voices in the middle of a crowded hallway. But that probably wouldn't make them any more inclined to listen to him, so he bit his tongue and said, "Sorry. It's just that you should definitely ask Ned out. It'd be good for him."

"Good for him how?" Jane asked curiously. Jamie, however, completely ignored her friend's question.

"And how do you know?"

Patrick shrugged. "I'm his friend."

Suddenly Patrick was the most interesting person in Whoville. The girls bombarded him with questions about Ned: whether Jamie actually had a chance, whether he'd like to go to a movie or dinner or both, whether he wore boxers or briefs. (That last question was Jamie's, and Patrick was a little alarmed that she thought that he would know the answer).

"Just ask him!" he finally said, taking a few steps away. "I'm going to be late for class!"

That, of course, only led to more questions. "What class is it?" "Is Ned in it?" "What does he have next?"

Patrick had always been a little claustrophobic, and felt beads of sweat form along his forehead. "Art. Yes. Lunch," he said, answering their questions in order. "I have to go." He turned and practically sprinted away, breathing hard. Four things were running through his mind as he slipped into class a second before the bell rang.

One: He'd just given Jamie permission to ask Ned out, with practically a guarantee that he'd accept.

Two: Ned was still hung up on Sally, and would never date Jamie in a million years.

Three: He had eighty minutes to convince Ned to agree to go out with her.

Four: WHAT HAD HE BEEN THINKING?!

Ned waved Patrick into the seat next to him, a large mound of clay that looked vaguely like a teapot. "I'm almost done with it," he said, patting it fondly.

Patrick peered at it. "Is it supposed to look like it's been melted?"

"Of course — it's art!"

Patrick looked at Ned, confused. "What?"

"It's the ideal excuse. If you can just say something's art, no one can argue with you, because there is no specific definition for how art is supposed to look! It's genius!"

"You're weird."

Ned grinned. "That's because I'm an artist."

Patrick shook his head and set his own art project — a torn-apart armchair with a hand (clutching a remote) sticking up out of the seat — on the table and glanced up at his friend. Ned was cheerfully studying his teapot, making small adjustments to it.

"Hey, Ned," he began, as casually as he could.

"Hmm?" His friend didn't look away from his teapot, his brow furrowed in thought.

"What do you think about Jamie Kinsley?"

He set down the pottery knife he'd been using and looked thoughtful. "She's cute," he said with a shrug. "A little annoying, but she might be a good match for you."

"What? No, not for me! I don't want to go out with . . . ew, no! I mean . . . aw, crap." He crossed both his hands as though he was praying. "What would you think about dating her?"

Ned just stared at Patrick, his mouth hanging open slightly and his eyes wide. He recovered quickly, though. "What?"

"Well, Jamie apparently — not that I had anything to do with it, mind you — wants to ask you out, and somehow she got the idea that you'd say yes."

To Patrick's surprise, Ned didn't look angry or even worried. He nodded slowly, smiling. "So that's what she thought was so funny," he murmured, shaking his head.

Patrick had no idea what to make of this, so he decided to just continue with his plan, as it seemed that Ned wasn't going to reach across the table and stab him with his pottery knife. "So you'll say yes?"

"What? Where did that come from?"

He shrugged. "Wishful thinking?"

"Well, too bad. I'm going to have to say no."

"Ned, I really think you should say yes." As he spoke, Patrick took Ned's pottery knife and covered it with his arms — just in case.

"And I really think I shouldn't."

"Come on. It'd be good for you." Patrick leaned forward, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. "It'll help you take your mind off of Sally, at least."

Ned shrugged, blushing. "I don't know . . ." he began.

"Nuh-uh. You're doing this." Patrick took out a paint brush and dipped it in blue. "Just one date — you can survive."

Ned sighed, taking his knife back and returning his attention to his project. "That's what you think."


Ned had hoped that he wouldn't have to deal with Jamie until much later (preferably after he'd had time to figure out how to reject her politely). However, she was waiting directly outside his art class when the bell rang, and caught his attention immediately.

"Ned?"

Patrick quickly brushed past him, muttering, "Be nice," and making his way across the hallway. He began rummaging through his bag, close enough to be in hearing distance, but far enough to look like he wasn't eavesdropping.

With a sigh of defeat, Ned turned to Jamie, who had a nervous smile on her face. "Yeah?" he asked, trying not to sound like he was dreading this.

"I was wondering if you might want to . . . you know, get something to eat . . . sometime. . . ."

The part of him that was still crazy about Sally wanted to shout "No!" and run. However, he knew he'd just feel sick and guilty, and probably end up apologizing later and agreeing to go out with her anyway.

Also, Patrick was still directly across the hall, staring at him with a look that clearly said, "If you say no, I will kill you. And then drag you back here to make you say yes." So, with a defeated sigh, he decided to put poor, flustered Jamie out of her misery.

"You're asking me out?"

She flushed. "Yes," she murmured, staring down at her hands.

"I . . ." Ned could still feel Patrick's eyes trained on his face, staring daggers at him. "All right. Sure. I'd love to."

She looked up at him, seemingly incredulous. "Really?" she asked eagerly.

"Yeah. Why not?"

"And it doesn't have to mean anything," she added, pulling a pen out from behind her ear. "It's just one date — no strings attached." She began scribbling on a sheet of paper.

Thank God. "Sounds good," Ned said, taking the paper; it had her name and phone number on it.

They both stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, not sure what to say. Ned's mind was racing, trying to figure out what to do next. Was he supposed to give her his number? Was he supposed to ask when they could go out? Would it be too rude to just say goodbye and leave?

Patrick was suddenly at his side, a convincingly surprised smile on his face. "Hey, Ned! I was wondering where you'd disappeared to. Oh, hi Jamie," he added, turning to her. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Not at all," Ned said. "We were just. . . ."

"Talking," Jamie finished, grinning slightly.

Patrick shrugged. "All right. Hey, do you have lunch now?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"Do you want to have lunch with us?" he continued, ignoring Ned's death glare. "I know Ned wanted to ask you himself, but he's just so shy. Ow!"

Ned had kicked him in the shin.

"That would be great!" Jamie said. "If it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble," Patrick said, because Ned was utterly lost for words. "Come on — let's go."


"Please tell me you're joking."

"I'm dead serious! She came up to me and asked me if it'd be okay to ask Ned out."

Sarah pulled a plastic fork out of her backpack and scooped out a forkful of noodles. "And would it be okay?"

Sally shrugged. "I don't know. It's none of my business, right? Besides, there's no way she's going to ask him out. And there's no way he'd ever say yes."

Sarah's expression was inscrutable. "Oh, really? Why not?"

Sally laughed. "Come on, Sarah. She's a bimbo. Ned would never have the patience to date a bimbo."

Her friend shrugged. "I don't know, Sal. He might surprise you. By the way, don't look now, but Ned and Patrick are coming."

"What? Why can't I look — Oh my gosh."

Accompanying them, flushed and nearly giddy, was Jamie. Wide-eyed, Sally turned back around. "How did that happen?" she hissed, torn between amusement, incredulity, and irritation; she hated being proven wrong. She was tempted to go over there and slap Ned silly. How could he date someone so . . . ditzy?

Sarah leaned forward conspiratorially. "I have three theories," she said, her voice just above a whisper. "One: Blackmail. Two: Some sort of hypnotism. Three: The end of the world is upon us, and he wanted to go on at least one date before his untimely death."

"I like the third one. It's very creative."

"Thank you. What do you think?"

"Maybe he's finally lost it."

Sarah shrugged. "If he ever had it. Maybe he was the victim of a lobotomy."

"Maybe that's not really him, but an imposter."

"Maybe he's an alien!"

"Now that's plausible," Sally agreed, giggling. "But I'm thinking it's some sort of schoolwide conspiracy."

"Ooh, that's good," she said. "Who's involved in it?"

"Who's involved in what?"

Sally and Sarah both jumped, paling. They turned to see Ned, Jamie and Patrick standing over them. "Who's involved in what?" Ned repeated, when neither girl replied.

Sally found her voice first, relieved that he hadn't heard what they'd been discussing. "A conspiracy," she explained. Please don't ask why. Please don't ask why.

"Why?"

"Ah. . . ." She turned to Sarah desperately.

Sarah jumped in immediately. "Today's just been a weird day, hasn't it?"

Ned's smile was a bit strained as he took a seat next to Sally. After a few seconds of uncertain hovering, Jamie sank into the chair on his other side. "Yeah," he said with a sigh. "I can agree with that."

A slightly awkward silence fell over the table. Finally Sally couldn't take it anymore. She leaned behind Ned so that she could talk to Jamie. "Hi," she said with a friendliness she didn't feel. "What's up?"

She gave Sally a quick once-over, bristling. Clearly she hadn't gotten over Sally's little laughing fit. "Not much — I'm just having lunch with Ned, since we're going on a date. You know how it is." She'd evidently tried to sound casual, but there was tension in her voice and face that gave her away. Besides, she'd been about as subtle as a sledgehammer.

Sally glanced up at Sarah but didn't say anything. Both were fighting to keep straight faces when they really wanted to laugh, as two things had been made obvious.

One: Ned and Jamie were, apparently, going out. The impossible had happened.

Two: In Jamie's eyes, she, Sally O'Malley, was a threat. In this battle for Ned's affections, she was considered the main enemy.

Of course, that was beyond ridiculous. It wasn't her fault Ned liked her. . . . If he still did, anyway. If he was agreeing to go on dates with other girls, he couldn't like her that much. Which was a relief.

She suddenly realized that she'd completely tuned out the conversation. Luckily, no one had said anything to her. She tried to pay closer attention; Sarah and Patrick were arguing about something or other — when were they not? — and Ned and Jamie were sitting there, mostly silent. Every now and then Ned would say something in response to the bickering and Jamie would laugh.

Sally had never really noticed that Jamie's laugh was slightly painful to listen to — it was an impressively high pitch.

"Patrick, you're such a jerk!" Sarah exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips.

Patrick looked confused. "How am I a jerk? What did I do?"

"You were a jerk, apparently," Ned said mildly. Jamie laughed, making Sally cringe. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ned wince too, almost imperceptibly.

With a smile, Sally turned her gaze back to Sarah and Patrick.

Lunch had, it seemed, gone almost back to normal.


"Hey, we only have a few minutes before the bell," Patrick said, glancing down at his watch. He began picking up everyone's trash. "Come on — don't want to be late to class."

"Yeah, don't want to miss a second of the learning," Sarah deadpanned, rolling her eyes. Jamie laughed again, and Sally felt like her eardrums were being stabbed with tiny needles. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration.

Sally leaned over towards Sarah. "If she laughs one more time, I'm going to stab myself to death with this fork," she whispered, holding the plastic fork up.

Sarah looked at her, smirking. "I'll be sure to come to your funeral."

"I'm serious! It's painful!"

"Listen, are you sure you're not just jealous?"

"I'm definitely not jealous."

The bell rang. Sarah shrugged, climbing to her feet. "You just seem to be throwing a lot of jabs at the girl."

"You mean she doesn't bother you?" Sally asked incredulously.

"Of course she does. But she's going out with Ned now —"

"One date does not mean they're going out."

"Anyway, we just have to deal with it." Their eyes met for a second, and Sally looked down. "But you really seem to be a lot more annoyed with her than usual. Are you sure —"

"Yes, I'm sure. I don't like Ned, okay?"

"Hey, are you two coming?" Patrick called. He, Ned and Jamie were several feet ahead of them.

"We'll just be a minute!" Sarah yelled back. "Don't wait up!" When the three had disappeared down the hall, she turned, giving Sally a searching look. "You know he likes —"

"Liked," she corrected.

"Likes," Sarah said firmly. "Trust me, he still likes you. Anyway, you know he does. And you two would fit so well together. Haven't you ever wondered —"

"No."

"Why not? I know I'd wonder, at least a little."

"I can't wonder," she said firmly. She sighed, making sure no one was listening to them. "Ned and I have been friends for, like, ten years. And what if we were to date or whatever and it didn't work out? What if our friendship was ruined? So I can't wonder, because it could mess everything up."

"You're right." Sarah nodded, looking down the crowded hallway. "It could ruin everything." A few feet away, a girl and a guy were joking around. She shoved him, laughing, and he pulled her into a kiss. "Or it could be absolutely perfect."


There is nothing like a relaxing walk home from school. Nothing like beautiful weather, your very best friend, and a life-changing question about your very best friend to make you want to have a heart attack. Sally looked down at the ground, kicking a pebble; it skittered across the sidewalk and into the grass.

"Everything all right?" Ned asked. "You've been kind of quiet."

Sally looked up. "Huh? Oh, I'm fine. Just . . . thinking."

He smiled. "Thinking's good. What are you thinking about?"

"Uh . . . stuff. School stuff. Homework and whatnot."

He nodded — he probably knew she was lying. "I'll leave you be, then?"

"Actually, that'd be great." She suddenly realized how that sounded. "I mean, not that I don't want to talk to you, it's just that my brain's sort of full at the moment, and —"

He held up a hand, chuckling. "Relax. I understand." He shoved his hands into his pockets and continued walking, looking up at the sky. The silence was friendly and comfortable, and Sally was relieved for it. She could think.

She really wished Sarah hadn't said anything. Sally had been handling the news that Ned liked her very well; she'd avoided talking or thinking about it, and she refused to consider what it would be like if she actually liked him back. It wasn't always easy not to think about those kinds of things, but it worked for her. It was safe.

And now Sarah had opened a door, and she couldn't help but wonder. What it would have been like if, when Ned had said he liked her, she'd responded, "I like you, too." What it would have been like if he hadn't agreed to go out with Jamie.

It was stupid. Things had already happened the way they had, and Sally couldn't change it. She didn't even think she wanted to change it. It really wasn't worth the risk. Why would she endanger what she had just for a "what if?"

She glanced over at Ned, who grinned at her. Her eyes quickly flicked back down to her feet. Noticing that he had a cute smile would do nothing for her sanity or their friendship.

However, three things popped, unbidden, into her mind.

One: Sarah could be totally wrong.

Two: Sarah could be totally right.

Three: She had no idea which of these she wanted.


A/N: Okay, I need your feedback here, people. Is Sally too out-of-character here? I'm worried I'm rushing this . . . but I'm not sure how to slow down. Any advice on this front would be GREATLY appreciated. And was the ending screwed up? I wrote it rather quickly, and stared at it for about three years, and I still can't tell.

I now (as you may have been able to see in this chapter) desperately love Patrick and Sarah. This may be conceited to love my own characters, but I do. I blame Zeakari for giving me this swelled head. She drew the most beautiful picture of a bunch of OC Whos, and two of them were mine! That made my year, Zeakari, and I cannot thank you enough. For those of you who have NO idea what I'm talking about, here's the webiste:

h t t p : / / z e a k a r i . d e v i a n t a r t . c o m / a r t / O C - W h o s - 9 0 8 5 3 4 4 4

Yep. I'm a little brat, aren't I? Oh, well. Props to Jackie, by the way, for giving me the idea of the melted teapot, and the "I'm an artist!" phrase. Thanks!

Oh, and I love the way Jamie nad her friends talk. They exaggerate almost every word all the time!