A/N: Yay! It's here, it's here! And I have officially begun neglecting my Killing the Daisies fanfic. Don't worry, SteffieWitter96, I don't blame you. It's my obsessive nature and flighty personality. Anyhoo...

Thanks to the reviewers: SteffieWitter96, TheAngelofAnarchy, warriorgoddes, KCluvsMI, VUWildcat, CSIForensicnut009, peachy15, NeptuneLily, Otto'sbabegurl, iluvdanbyrd, VampireSephy, RoxySurferGurl623, jovhyz, Warina-kinomoto, WritingonPaper, and (deep breath) Amy. Damn, 16 reviews. That's the most I've ever gotten for one chapter of any story! I'm so happy! Sniffles...you like me...you really like me...or my writing. Meh, whichever. I'm glad you all like how it ended The Affair of the Kiss, but I think most of you are confused on the role Otto played, soI think I'm going to update a little piece featuring the conversation between Cleo and Otto, which should give some insight on his part in getting Reggie and Twister together, and maybe have a little Cleo/Otto hinting...hehe...

Dun, dun, DUN! Drumroll, please, for the dragon herself is about to speak! About this story: We are going to get a little deeper into the character that is Twister. I do not, for one, believe that Twister is stupid. IF you believe Twister is stupid, you're obviously not paying any attention to the series. I hope, in my story, to give a little reasoning behind Twister's slow-wittedness, as well, as my theory on his background. You know what's interesting, one of the things that's mentioned in the series is that Twister has a bed-wetting problem. Despite popular belief, and jeerings towards those with this little issue, it actually tends to be tied to psychological (or emotional) problems. Would you like to rebuke me? My cousin had a bedwetting problem (not gonna say which one, because I have several cousins, sixteen on my dad's side, and numerous unknown ones on my mother's), so I know what I'm talking about. It's just something to think on. Another thing that will be gotten into in this story is Reggie's character, and her own insecurities, that will be tied to the tape and what happens with Ricky.

Ah, I'm done.

For now.

ENJOY!


A Dim Light In The Dark

Chapter 1:

In the upstairs room of the Rocket household, everything seemed to be in an uproar. There was a great deal of commotion, as the small room of Reggie Rocket was quickly being upturned in a frenzy of different garments ranging from blue jeans, to khaki pants, to tank tops and tees, even a flannel button down wool shirt. Shoes were scattered along the floors, and the owner of all these different clothes was buried in the closet throwing even more onto the ever growing pile. Three girls watched from a safe distance, standing with owlish looks, blinking every now and then but openly staring. Cleo, Trish and Sherry, Reggie's good friends, were astonished.

"I have nothing to wear," Reggie finally declared, leaving the still half-full closet and looking at the mess on her bed. Her hair had been hastily pulled back into a ponytail and she was casually dressed in gray sweatpants and a beige t-shirt she'd "borrowed" from her younger brother, Otto, that was emblazoned with the words 'Grass Skirts Are In With The Waves', and detailed with a design of a surging swell and a hula girl on a surfboard. Despite the mess, Reggie plopped onto her bed, pouting and whimpering, "I can't go anywhere. I have nothing to wear."

"Reg, you need to chill, girl," Trish finally found the voice to speak up. For almost half an hour they'd watched Reggie tear up her closet in search of an outfit, and they'd all been left speechless.

"Yeah. How can you say you have nothing to wear? Look at all these great clothes," Sherry attempted to reassure her, stepping forward to sort out some of the garments. Her eyes lit up and she cried, "Oh, can I borrow this? I have the perfect mini…" she fell silent, receiving a stern glare from Trish, "Sorry."

"What's wrong with all these clothes?" Trish asked, coming to Reggie's side.

"He's already seen me in all of them," Reggie pouted. He, being Maurice 'Twister' Rodriguez; Reggie's boyfriend as of two weeks. Not to mention her lifelong friend and her brother's proclaimed 'best bro'.

"Then go naked," Cleo said in an even tone that suggested all seriousness.

"I don't doubt Twister would like that," Sherry put in, giggling giddily. Reggie rolled her eyes, slumping to her floor, knees drawn up to her chest, burying her face in her hands.

"I have nothing to wear!" she moaned.

-0-0-

Meanwhile, across the street at the Rodriguez house, Twister walked down the hallway, opened a door to a room, entered, walked around, left, entered another room, rummaged through some things, left, finally coming to stand at the top of the stairs, absently running his hand over his crew cut red hair.

"Mom!" he moaned, "Mom! Where's my hat?"

"Lo puse lejos. Usted no lo está usando su fecha. Usted es el vestir agradable. (I put it away. You are not wearing it on your date. You are dressing nice.)" Sandy cried in reply, coming to stand at the foot of the stairs looking up wearily to her son; her hand, clutching a dishtowel, rested on her hip.

"¡Well, no voy dondequiera sin mi hat! (Well, I'm not going anywhere without my hat!)" Twister retorted stubbornly, "¿Ahora donde es?"

"Todo lo que pido es que una noche usted parece agradable…"

"Mom…"

"Es una tarde especial, usted es primera fecha, usted es primera novia…"

"Mom."

"Y Reggie es una muchacha tan dulce, ella merece salir con un muchacho agradable vestido…"

"Mom!"

"Bien. Está en el cuarto del lavadero," Sandy finally relented in a haggard sigh.

Twister grinned, nearly leaping down the stairs, pausing to give his mother a quick peck on the cheek.

"Gracias, mom," he told her cheekily as he left for the laundry room and quickly found his red and yellow striped hat, slipping it on his head and racing back up the stairs. Sandy had headed back towards the kitchen, shaking her head in annoyance.

Twister's room was occupied by Otto and Sam at the moment who were trying not to be bothered by the disasterous mess, and he nodded to them as he reentered, adjusting his hat. Sam was on Twister's computer, which was mostly installed with video editing programs; Premier, Final Cut Pro, Director, Flash; and had a VCR connected to it through the USB port. Sam was playing solitaire, one of the only games on the computer. Otto was messing with Twister's stereo, a nice sound system with a CD changer that could hold up to eight discs. His musical collection was massive, to put it mildly, spanning the genre-verse; from mostly punk rock, to techno, to alternative, to ska, to emo, to heavy metal, to rock, to jazz, to blues, to bluegrass, to country, to Folk, to Latin, to hip hop, to rap, to classical; he had it all. Well, save for a Backstreet Boys CD he'd found at school and used as a coaster, he was lacking in the 'boy band' area.

"So, how do I look?" Twister asked and both boys gave him a once over.

"Same as you did before you left the room," Otto told him, before returning to the CDs.

"Dude, I have my hat on now," Twister pointed out.

"You're really going to wear that?" Sam asked, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"It's my hat, I always wear my hat," Twister cried defensively, his hands coming to clamp down tightly on his headwear.

"I don't mean the hat," Sam said brazenly, "I mean the outfit." Twister frowned, looking down. He was wearing faded blue jeans, about three sizes too big for his thin frame, slightly slipping down his hips, and a white t-shirt that had obviously been through the wash several times, he had brown sneakers on his feet, DC's. There were several black, blue, and yellow plastic bracelets around his wrists, as well as a watch, Sam doubted Twister could tell time on, with a thick black studed band, and his usual shark tooth necklace was dangling down his chest.

"I was gonna wear a hoodie, too," he informed Sam; who simply raised a bemused eyebrow.

"He looks fine, Squid," Otto spoke up, popping a CD in the player and turning it on to a particular track. Familiar drum rhythms and chord riffs blared from the speakers.

"Everything has fallen to pieces…earth is dying, help me Jesus…we need guidance, we've been misled…young and hostile, but not stupid…"

"I don't like this band," Sam commented, feeling slightly snubbed.

"We're not listening to techno again," Otto snapped.

"Hey," Sam argued, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up on his nose haughtily, "It's a scientifically proven fact that listening to techno stimulates the mind; particularly in the mathematical..."

"Yeah? Well it happens to be an Otto-tifically proven fact that listening to Blink makes me happy, particularly in the non-whomping department," Otto interrupted, gaining a disgruntled glower from the burlesque blonde.

"Otto, I will have you know..."

"Blah, blah, blah...if we're fucked up, you're to blame!"

"Dudes," Twister cried in exasperation, "What's wrong with my outfit?"

"It's fine," Otto sighed, "Sam's just nitpicking."

"Why would he pick nits, and what the hell are nits, and what do they have to do with my outfit?" Twister demanded.

"I'm sorry I said anything," Sam moaned, "Jeez, what's the big deal anyways?"

"What's the big deal? What's the big deal?" Twister repeated, screaming, "I'm going on a date with Reggie, what the hell do you think the big fucking deal is?"

"Maurice?" Sandy screeched from the hallway angrily, "¡Esas palabras sucias no deben venir de su boca! Elimínela, o entraré allí y la hago para usted. (Those dirty words should not be coming from your mouth! Wash it out, or I will come in there and do it for you.)" Twister winced.

"Sorry, mom," he called fretfully, and the boys were silent for a moment.

"Dude, it's just a date," Sam broke the quiet, "You hang out with Reg all the time."

"It's not just a date," Twister spat childishly, "It's our first real date." Sam and Otto's mouths both formed silent 'Oh's',

-0-0-

Reggie stood in front of her full-length mirror. She was dressed in dark blue jeans now, carpenter style, slit on the sides partially to expand the bottom cuffs, covering her bare feet up to the toes. Sherry had chosen a particular white long-sleeved button down blouse for Reggie, with a light pink design around the edges. The sleeves first button was left undone, and they came down well past the palm of her hands. She had on several silver rings, glistening on her fingers, a beaded choker around her neck, along with a long silver chain with a small circular silver pendant on the end. She was wearing small dangling earrings in her bottom lobe holes, and several silver studs in her other multiple ear holes, a little silver hoop was slid around her top right ear hole.

Sherry stood, inspecting her handy work while Cleo sat on the bed and Trish busied herself by reorganizing the once neat room. Reggie tugged at the end of her shirt, smiling slightly.

"Maybe I should wear a dress," she commented, studying her image, "Or a skirt." The girls all froze, staring blankly at their good friend.

"Are you feeling well?" Trish inquired.

"What?" Reggie breathed, brushing at a loose strand of hair.

"You don't wear dresses, remember?" Sherry said.

"I know…I just, want to look nice is all," Reggie told them, thoughtfully chewing her lower lip, "I don't think I even own a dress, though…or a skirt for that matter."

"But I do," Cleo exclaimed, eyes alight, clapping her hands together and springing to her feet, "Just wait, I'll run across the street and…"

"Cleo," Sherry snapped, "Stay." Cleo frowned, her face falling.

"But, I…" she stammered.

"No," Sherry told her, "Sit." Cleo snorted lightly, falling back to the bed and crossing her arms over her chest. Sherry came to stand beside Reggie, pushing a few loose purple strands behind the fidgeting girl's ears, "What's gotten into you, Reg? You've never worn a dress or a skirt for any guy, no matter how much he wanted to see you in one. Twister probably doesn't even care and…"

"I know," Reggie interrupted in a low whine, "It's just…it's our first official date…what if he realizes he's dating…well…me?"

"I know he's a little slow, Reg," Trish commented, hooking the last shirt on a hanger, "But I think he knows who he's going on a date with."

"That's not what I mean," Reggie spat, "I mean…well…guys like when their girlfriends wear little skirts, and slinky dresses. I know from experience. That's why my boyfriends don't usually last…they dump me because I'm not girly enough…they say it's because they feel like they're dating 'one of the guys'. I don't usually care, but Twister is different. Oh god, Twister is different…I actually care about the guy I'm dating! I actually care about what he thinks…which, isn't a lot, but still…"

"Chill out, girl," Sherry clucked, "It's cool."

"Reggie, my cousin knows what he's getting into. I doubt he expects you to come to the door transformed into a prime example of femininity," Cleo spoke up, "You ever think that maybe…just maybe…he likes you because you're not like that?"

"Yeah, Twist isn't like those other guys you've dated," Trish put in, "Unlike them, he knows what to expect, he knows what you're really like. And unlike them, it's the reason he asked you out, not because you're pretty and easy to hang out with and hoping you'll wear some dress and go to second base with him."

"Yup. So quit fretting, and loosen up," Sherry agreed, stepping forward and undoing the bottom two buttons of Reggie's blouse to reveal a bit of her midriff, and the top few buttons to show off the deep set tan of her collar bone and lower neck in contrast to the white of her shirt. Reggie's face contorted slightly and Sherry raised an eyebrow, asking, "What's wrong?"

"I'm going on a date with Twister. I'm dating Twister. He's my boyfriend, and I'm going on a date with him. I think I'm gonna be sick," Reggie mumbled, bringing her hand to her mouth.

"Well, hold it in," Sherry told her, "You'll mess up your make-up."

"It's unlady like to vomit," Cleo informed Reggie.

-0-0-

Otto kicked a few things on the floor to the side, plopping down on Twister's bed and leaning back to look at his best friend. Twister was busy fixing his hair, applying a little more gel. He frowned, his stomach churning and he placed his hat back on his head.

"Where you going to take her?" Otto finally asked. It had been bugging him since he first heard about the date from a very excited Reggie. Twister froze.

"Take her…" he repeated in a dazed mumbled, "Um…"

"Don't tell me you don't know where you're taking her," Sam cried, "Twister!"

"I do to!" Twister snapped, "I just…I wasn't sure. I wanted to talk to her about it, alright?"

"Oh, jeez, Twist," Otto groaned, "You're going to get there and ask her where she wants to go? Lame. She expects you to know where you're going to take her! Haven't you ever been on a date before?" Silence. "You've never been on a date?"

"Not really…no," Twister replied sheepishly, "Okay, never. There's just never been a girl I've wanted to go out with before. Well, okay, I've always wanted to go out with Reggie, but…"

"What?" Otto perked at that, "You've always wanted to date Reg? And you never told me?"

"Well…I…"

"I always tell you when I'm crushing on a girl," Otto cried, "You're supposed to tell me! How long have you liked my sister? Answer now!"

"Dude," Twister protested.

"No…never mind, it's too late."

"Otto! I never told you because…well, she's your sister!"

"I know she's my sister, which is all the more reason you should have told me. And best bros tell one another these kinds of things…"

"I'm sorry, Otto. I didn't think…"

"Didn't think how I'd feel, huh? I'm really hurt, you know?"

"I should have gone with the girls," Sam groaned, 'You two are such babies."

"Shut up, Squid!"

Twister frowned, placing his hat back atop his head. His stomach knotting. He was going on a date with Reggie. He was going out with Reggie. She was his girlfriend.

"Dude, Twist, what's wrong?" Sam demanded, eyeing the redhead with concern.

"What if this doesn't work out?" Twister asked, "What if she decides it's too weird, or she doesn't really like me that way, or…"

"Calm down, Twist," Otto snapped, "She's known you practically your whole life. She's going out with you because she likes you that way, and she's not about ready to change her mind. Jesus, Twister, with all the mushiness you two have been exuding in the halls at school, I think this is the surest thing in your whole damn life."

"I think I'm gonna hurl," he moaned, before sprinting down the hall to the bathroom, Otto and Sam following him with wide eyes, as he slammed the door shut.

"Get it out of your system now, dude, so you don't blow chunks on the date," Otto called after him. Sam rolled his eyes, before clutching his own stomach.

"If he throws up," Sam whimpered, "I'll throw up."

-0-0-

Reggie sat on her bed, staring anxiously at the clock on her side table. Sherry, Trish, and Cleo had all left, and there she sat, alone. She heard the door downstairs open, and stood slightly, straining to hear. Footsteps plodded up the steps, and her door swung open. Otto stood there, arms crossed over his chest. He looked Reggie over.

"Well?" she questioned indicative of her look and taking a deep breath.

"Why are your lips all shiny?" he asked.

"It's lip gloss," Reggie explained, offended, then with a sly grin, "It's strawberry flavored, you think Twist will like that?" Otto rolled his eyes.

"That's disgusting, Reg," he moaned, leaning in her door frame, "At least you look semi-normal. Twister says he'll be here around seven."

"Thanks, Otto," Reggie mumbled, leaning back on her bed. They both startled when Ray, they're father, slinked up to them.

"Hey, kids," he greeted.

"Raymundo," Otto grinned, 'When'd you get in?"

"Just now. What are you all dressed up for, Rocket girl?"

"I told you before, dad," Reggie pressed anxiously, "I have a date."

"Oh," Ray drawled, nodding, "I remember. So, that means you're missing out on Rocket Family Film Fest tonight?"

"Yeah," Reggie breathed softly.

"Then it's just you and me, Rocket boy," Ray told Otto, clamping a heavy hand down on his son's shoulder.

"Yup, let me get my slacker clothes on," Otto exclaimed, racing down the hall. Ray looked to his daughter.

"How late will you be out?" Ray asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't know," Reggie shrugged, "I'll probably be back before one."

"Just so you don't stay out all night," Ray said, smiling, "You look nice, princess." He turned, making his way down the stairs. Reggie smiled, running her finger along her bottom lip to smear the gloss slightly.

-0-0-

Twister began down the stairs to his front door, when his mother stopped him. He grinned sheepishly at her, his hands shoved in the kangaroo-style pockets of his hooded sweatshirt.

"¿Dónde usted la está tomando?" she asked.

"I don't know, yet. Probably the amusement park, and somewhere to eat."

"¿Cómo usted está consiguiendo allí?"

"I was thinking we'd walk…"

"Oh, no, no, no. ¡Usted no está haciendo que caminata de la muchacha en una fecha!"

"Why can't we walk? I guess we could take the bus…"

"Usted pedirá Lars si usted puede pedir prestado su coche."

"What? No way! I don't want to ask Lars for anything, ever, but especially not for his car…major no way!"

Sandy scowled, grabbing Twister's arm and dragging him back up the stairs. He struggled slightly, but knew better then to protest.

"¿Usted está preguntando a su hermano, y no deseo oír otra palabra sobre ella? ¡No estoy teniendo mi toma del hijo una muchacha una fecha y no la fuerzo caminar!"

"Okay, mom, okay," Twister moaned, as they came to a halt at Lars's bedroom door. Sandy knocked before swinging it open. Lars lay on his bed flipping through magazines, he looked up at them peevishly.

"¿Que?" he demanded, trying to keep the anger at the sudden disturbance from his voice as his mother was standing right there. She gave her younger son a nudge.

"Lars, can I borrow your car for the night," Twister asked as though the words were painful thorns pricking his mouth, sighing heavily.

"Nope," Lars answered quickly.

"See, I asked. Can I go now?" Twister pleaded with his mother.

"Lars, deje a su hermano pedir prestado su coche," Sandy pressed, holding Twister's shoulder tightly to keep him from leaving.

"No way, ma, he only just recently got his driver's license. No way is he taking out my wheels. And I don't have to either, because I paid for it, so it's mine," Lars argued. Sandy crossed her arms over her chest, glowering at him from down her nose.

"Is that so? Entonces quizás usted puede comenzar a pagar el seguro en sus el propios también," Sandy said sternly, crossing her arms over her chest. Lars groaned, rolled off his bed to grab his car keys, and tossing them to Twister, who caught them with ease.

"You wreck my car, I wreck your camera," he snapped, and Twister nodded, then as an afterthought, "And stay out of the backseat."

"Ah…conseguido lo, bro," Twister said, pocketing the keys and turning to his mother, "Can I leave now? I'm going to be late."

"Bien. Sea caja fuerte cuidadosa, de la impulsión, y tenga un buen rato. ¿No permanezca fuera de más adelante que... la opinión... medianoche? (Alright. Be careful, drive safe, and have a good time. Do not stay out later than…say…midnight?)"

"Mom," Twister groaned.

"Bien, las uno."

"We might stop for ice cream," Twister grinned.

"No más adelante entonces las treinta uno."

"Gracias. Te amo, mom," Twister said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, and waving to his brother, who simply sneered, "Later much, Lars.." He sprinted down the stairs, taking the steps three at a time, and all but slamming the door shut behind him. He paused at the sidewalk, giving Lars's car a sidelong glance. He pursed his lips, considering for a moment, then shaking his head and racing across the street to the Rockets.

Twister rarely knocked on the Rockets' door. In fact, he never knocked. He'd known them his whole life, he knew exactly where the spare key was, his parents each had keys to the Rocket house, and even then Ray had shown Otto and him how to jimmy the back door open, and was well aware of the fact he could climb the half-pipe up to Reggie's window, a fact he'd dwelled on more often those days. He'd always just burst into the house, and was never given a second look from the occupants. He was family.

But standing on that porch, nervously hoping the cologne he'd accidentally spilled on himself in the bathroom and couldn't wash off completely didn't reek as bad anymore and that after throwing up the three rinses of mouthwash had gotten the taste of vomit out of his mouth, Twister found himself unable to open that door. He felt if he did, he'd be an intruder. That it would break some moral code. He took a deep breath, reaching forward to the doorbell, and pulling his hand back as though it burned.

"Calm down," Twister commanded himself, "It's cool. You know Reg, it's cool. Just calm down, remember to breathe, and knock." He raised his hand to the door, closed his eyes, chewing the inside of his cheek to bleeding, and banged three times, before his arm fell to his side and he stuffed his hands back into his sweater pockets. The porch light came on and with a whoosh, the door swung open.

"Twister?" Ray asked, squinting at the awkward young man standing on his doorstep, "Why are you knocking? The door's open."

"Hey, Raymundo…I…um…" Twister stammered, "Well, I just…"

"Otto didn't tell me you were coming over, to watch movies huh? I'll get him," Ray turned to call for his son.

"No," Twister cried, louder and sounding more like a bark than he'd intended. Ray looked back, startled, and Twister chuckled nervously, "I mean…I'm not here for movies…I'm here to see Reg."

"Oh," Ray said, frowning slightly, "I'm sorry, Twister, whatever you came to see Reggie about is going to have to wait until tomorrow. You see, she's got a date tonight."

"I know, Raymundo…that's kind of why I'm here," Twister said sheepishly, grinning at the older man, cheeks flushed. Ray's face dropped, and his eyes seemed to glaze over. He stood perfectly still, silent. "Um…Raymundo…Mr. Rocket…hello?" Twister called, waving a hand in front of the man's face. Ray didn't answer, so Twister stood studying the peeling paint on the wall, swinging his arms nervously. There was movement in the living room as a form slunk up behind Ray, Reggie's face peered out from behind her father.

"You're here," she managed, through a careful smile, blushing, "Hi."

"Hey," Twister mumbled, "You look…well…different," he began, then adding quickly, "In a good way! Different in a good way! Um…you look pretty…well, you always look pretty…I mean…your hair is…and your clothes…and you look nice…or better than nice…what's a word that means better than nice? Um...muy excelente." He became quiet, rubbing his neck and staring at his feet.

"Done?" Reggie questioned. He nodded. "Okay. Let's go. I'll see you, dad," she said, giving Ray a kiss on the cheek and slipping out around him.

"Alright, I'll see you two later," Ray mumbled hazily, shutting the door. He turned, as though entranced, heading up the stairs and passing Otto on his own way down.

"Where you going, Raymundo? I'm ready to watch movies," Otto said.

"I'm sorry, son, I think I may be more tired than I first thought. I just…you'll get a kick out of this one, I thought I just saw your sister head out on her date with Twister," Ray said, breaking into laughter, "Great one, huh?"

"Uh, dad," Otto began, his brow furrowed in worry, "Reggie's date is with Twister. They're kind of an item now. Dude, where you been?" Ray frowned, his face blanched.

"I just let my little girl walk out the door on a date with Twister Rodriguez," he stated, before turning to race down the stairs, "Don't worry, princess, daddy's coming!"

"Chill out, Raymundo," Otto cried, maneuvering to block the older Rocket's path, "It's cool. It's just Twister. They been sweet on each other for awhile, and I'm totally down with it. He respects her and everything. You've known him his whole life, why you sweating it?"

"That's just it, Rocket boy, it's Twister!"

"Chill, dad, it's all cool. Reg can handle herself. Now let's watch some movies."


END A/N: Okie, dokie. That's was fun, right? I'm probably going to have the next chapter up tomorrow. So fast, huh? But then I swear I'm going to go try and work on Killing the Daisies. It only has about four more chapter left! Or was it three? I lost my outline...

About the Spanish I didn't translate. It's not incredibly important that you know what they're saying...but if you really want to know, I'm sure jovhyz and Warina-Kinomoto will be more than happy to help you out. Speaking of Warina, I need your e-mail if I'm ever to contact you. I tried e-mailing you once, didn't work out very well...

A note on Sammy. HE DOESN'T LIKE BLINK?!? (--that song is blink182, The Anthem, just in case you're all wondering--) Truthfully, he strikes me as the techno nerd/j-pop type as opposed to the punk rock type. Oh, and those programs I mentioned on Twister's computer: Premier I believe is Adobe? Or is it Corel...or neither? Maybe Adobe bought Premier...no wait, Adobe bought Bryce. I believe both Director and Flash are Macromedia, and hell if I know where Final Cut Pro is from...oi...Premier and Final Cut Pro are more of the video editing programs, Director and Flash are better for making, well, animation and websites. Though,I would say that Dreamweaver is the best for website building, and I prefer Director over Flash, but only because I know the program better. I know, I know, people tell you; once you know Flash you'll never even second-glance Director again, but I don't know, I like director and all it's tedious-ness...I'm sorry, I'm off on a tangent again, aren't I?

Sam mentioned a program in the first story, A Simple Kiss, called InDesign, I don't know if I discussed it. InDesign, or more appropriately, Adobe InDesign is kind of like QuarkExpress or PageMaker, only better. What are all these programs, you ask? They're just layout programs, you'd mostly find used for making newspapers or magazines. You can put in textboxes, images, captions, the works. But none of you care, huh? You've all stopped reading. "She's talking about graphics programs, flee!" I think those Twister and Sam are easy to write, because I'm a lot like both of them. I'm a computer nerd, with an art background. Or more, an artsy gal with a computer hobby...er...that sounds dirty...

Um...thanks for reading. Please excuse any grammatical or typing errors. REVIEW! Shoot for one hundred!

I can't stop my bogeys, they get out of control! I know that you don't care, I just want you to know...whoaoa! - Hashpipe by Weezer.