* A/N *

Hey! It's Alpha again with my 'Kickin' It' FanFic. Like before there's a longer A/N at the bottom of the story so please R&R

OHMIGOSH! OHMIGOSH! OMIGOSH! OMIGOSH! You guys gave me OVER 100 reviews! Squeee! I'm so happy right now I could die! I love you all so much that this chapter (and the next one) is totally dedicated to ALL of you!

I'm going to look over all the comments for what type of phone you guys think Kim should have and I'll chose one for next chapter.

Anyway, DISCLAIMER, DISCLAIMER! I do not (read: do NOT) own Disney XD's Kickin' It


* KIMBERLY CRAWFORD *

My sleep deprivation became much more obvious during Pep Squad practice. My head pounded in beat to our cheers, my sight blurring slightly at each painful pang, and I could feel myself slipping in and out of sync with the other girls—two symptoms, Milton would say, of sleep deprivation: headaches and slow reaction time.

I was so much more tired than I had been yesterday, seriously. I was exhausted to the point where I was the kind of tired that no amount of sleep could fix. You want proof that I really was that tired? I had, disgustingly enough, actually considered going to the nurse's office to lie down. I almost immediately turned down that idea, however, since I knew I'd never be able to fall asleep. At least, not after the locker note I'd received this morning anyway...

Did you enjoy your late night run, Kimberly? Would you mind if we joined you for another one?

Just thinking about the note gave me the shivers. Did this mean that someone was going to follow me home tonight or what? And just like the first one I'd received, this one was also typed out so there was no way of knowing who'd slipped it into my locker...or who'd slipped Jack and Milton's notes into their lockers either. Jack and Milton had also received locker notes with theirs being fairly chilling. Milton's said, "Always give thanks before you eat, Milton, since you won't be thanking us for what we do later", and Jack's said, "Peek-a-boo, Jack. 'Tis irony is it not? That I can see you but you can't see me?"

Milton's note implied that something sinister (yes, something more sinister than what was currently going on) was going to happen sooner rather than later while Jack's was just straight up freaky, implying that the vandals were secretly watching him. The whole scenario was very "Edward Cullen-esque" considering that the note was basically saying that the vandals had been looking through his bedroom window or at least, that was the implication since Jack hadn't been able to find any surveillance cameras hidden in his room.

During our lunchtime discussion the rest of us Wasabi Warriors had learned that Jack hadn't been able to find any vid-cams in his room the previous night and that had upped the creepy factor about five times. Did that mean that the vandals hadn't actually hidden vid-cams in Jack's or even the rest of our bedrooms? Did that mean also mean that they'd just laced other areas of our homes or did this new discovery revoke that theory too?

If I'd thought the whole valid-or-invalid phone number was confusing, then clearly I was mistaken. How much of what we knew as fact was actually fiction? The whole "vandals" ordeal really was starting to become a total nightma—

I jumped as Coach (yes, it really was just "Coach") blew her whistle long and hard, the trill ring echoing throughout the gymnasium, immediately zapping me out of my thoughts, worsening my headache, and bringing the rest of the cheerleaders to a halt. We all stopped cheering, panting in mild exhaustion. For the last twenty minutes (we'd been practicing for almost forty-five), Coach had had us practicing a brand new yet totally complicated and draining routine. Seriously, what had happened to the remnants of my energy?

Coach stopped pacing around us and weaved her way back to the front of the gym, nodding in approval. "Good work, girls. You all did fairly well on the new routine. Of course there are a few rough patches here and there, but the overall effort was good. You can have a quick water break, girls. Just five minutes and then we'll get back to cheering. The Senior Squad is coming in on Wednesday and I want you girls to be ready to blow them away."

I let out a big sigh as I started for my gym bag. I'd been waiting for the break ever since my headache had started blurring my sight and giving me flashes of vertigo. Maybe I was just a little dehydrated and needed some water. Perhaps a little drink would alleviate my headache.

"Kim!" I turned around as I took a sip of my water bottle, rolling my eyes when I'd realized who'd called my name. It was none other than Donna Tobin, my second-in-command alongside Alyssa Morris.

I never fully understood why I needed two SICs, but Coach had insisted and had assigned Donna and Alyssa to be them—which was a bad idea. If there was one person that Donna Tobin, the biggest sweetheart at Seaford High, couldn't stand, it was Alyssa Morris. Which was fair since Alyssa couldn't stand her either.

Leaving Donna and Alyssa alone together was like leaving—oh I don't know—Jerry alone in a room with your cheese-drizzled nachos. One minute one of them was there and then the next minute one of them was gone (I'd always had a feeling that Alyssa would be the survivor due to her aggressive nature, but Grace thought that Donna would be the survivor due to the fact that she would probably have an army of boys behind her. I was still waiting for the impending event so I could win ten dollars from Grace).

I motioned for Donna to come over and she instantly obliged. I watched as Donna rushed over, her auburn ponytail bouncing jovially at every step, and discreetly tried to sneak a peek at her legs.

Jack—I meant, all the guys in school—agreed that Donna had the hottest legs but I was rather dubious of that claim. Not that I was jealous or anything, but seriously? Just because her legs were long, tanned and thin didn't make them any better than any of the other girls' legs. The majority of the girls on the Pep Squad team had legs identical to that chic's so whatever.

Donna wrapped her perfectly manicured fingers around my bicep and pulled me to the side, away from the other girls. Her doe-like green eyes carefully searched mine as her dark red brows knit together in worry. I could see a nervous pout beginning to form on her heavily glossed lips. "We need to talk."

"No really?" I couldn't help but to sarcastically retort. I immediately bit my tongue out of guilt and willed myself to be silent. Just because I was tired and freaked out with the worst headache known to mankind did not mean that I had the right to be a total jerk to Donna (no matter how badly I wanted to break her "perfect" little legs). That just proved that I was suffering from sleep deprivation symptom number one: irritability.

"Kim," Donna said cautiously. Being as overly empathetic as she was, Donna could tell that she was treading on thin ice. "All practice you've been really out of it." I nodded and she continued on, "You've been a couple seconds behind everyone else in the routine, you've been struggling to learn the most basic of moves, you've been—"

"Mind getting to the point?" I asked, struggling to force back my irritation. Today, Donna's delicacy was even more aggravating than Grace's bluntness (when we met in third grade, the girl told me I looked like a rainbow barfed all over me and then proceeded to call me ugly). On a regular day, I could take criticism but today I just couldn't deal with it. Not when I was so tired and stressed out over the whole "vandals" ordeal.

Donna gave me a nervous glance and blurted out in a rush, "So I'm just asking, please Kim, why don't you take a break? Sit back and relax a little bit? You seem abnormally stressed out and you look absolutely exhausted. I can see you struggling to stifle that yawn and all that concealer isn't concealing anything."

I stepped back from Donna, trying to carefully rearrange my thoughts so that when I spoke I wouldn't come off as a total jerk. She was, after all, just worried about me and my mental health, very much like Jack and Milton were, annoyingly enough.

I gave her a fake smile (Yay! Barbie would be proud). "Um, Donna, thank you for your concern but I'm not going to sit out. Like Coach said, the Senior Pep Squad will be coming in and I really do need to practice. Besides, I can take care of myself you know." I forced a laugh, "You are starting to sound like Jack, trying to convince me to take a break."

Donna stared at me, her eyes rapidly filling with even more worry. "I know, I know. You're just like Kim Possible. Not on the whole "saving the world" aspect, but just like her you are capable of taking care of yourself. I'm just worried about you, that's all."

"Don't worry about me!" I said, giving Donna another fake smile which she returned uncertainly. Luckily, before Donna was able to make another comment, Coach blew her whistle again signalling the end of our very short break.

Giving Donna a wave, I rushed forward to join formation, stopping a couple steps in after hearing someone else call my name. "Crawford!"

I turned around and saw Coach waving me over somewhat frantically. What was her deal? I jogged over to Coach, wincing at every step since my sips of water hadn't alleviated my headache at all. In fact, I think my headache had gotten worse with each pound blurring my sight just a little more than the last. Coach motioned for me to take a seat on the bleachers before her and I did exactly that, my body sighing in temporary relief.

"Crawford," Coach said loudly, but when she saw my wince of pain her voice softened. "Crawford, what's up with you today? Your performance has been subpar; not something I want to see from my head cheerleader. What's wrong? Are you sick?"

I looked up into Coach's warm grey eyes only to find them clouded with worry just as Donna's had been. I was compelled to tell her the truth. To tell her what had happened to the dojo and the seriously scary stuff that had followed, but I knew all too well that I couldn't. I mean, for crying out loud I couldn't tell Grace—my best friend, my own mother or even Rudy so what made me think that I could tell some random teacher at school what was bugging me?

Instead, I flashed Coach a one-hundred-percent fake smile (seemed like I was full of them today). "I'm alright, Coach. I'm just having an off-day."

Coach raised her eyebrows at me and I had a feeling I knew what was coming next. "An off-day, Crawford? I've seen you on an off-day and this is not one of them. Kim," It felt a little weird hearing Coach say my first name since she hadn't used it in so long, "Honey, I think you should sit out for the rest of practice. Rest your body a bit. I'd say go home, but I know you wouldn't be down with that, right Crawford?"

And there it was. Coach's ever subtle offer to go home; the offer I'd been dreading. I didn't want to go home, trust me. I wanted to stay here and participate, but I knew that if I chose to stay Coach wouldn't let me participate. She'd make me sit on the bleachers and watch everyone else practice, the other girls glaring at me semi-jealously wondering why I got "special" treatment when in reality I just wanted to be out there with them.

I stood up, prepared to argue back with Coach to let me participate, but the minute I was up on my feet, a painful pang sounded through my head almost sending me sprawling to the floor. I sank back onto the bleachers and in that instant I knew that I needed an Advil ASAP and in order to get one I needed to leave ASAP.

I looked up at Coach, squinting against the gym lights which had suddenly become too bright for my eyes (where were my aviators when I needed them?). "Okay Coach, I know you want me to go home to get some rest so I will."

Coach grinned at me, visibly relaxing and the worry in her eyes fading a bit. I was assuming that she'd been prepared to force me to go home against my will, but I'd given in to the offer, much to her surprise. She had no idea I'd given in due to the constant pounding behind my eyes rather than being completely rational about taking a break.

Coach gave me a pat on the back, giving my shoulder a little squeeze. "Good choice, Crawford. I know you're quite the little trooper but everybody, even you, needs a little down time. You've seemed pretty dead these past few days."

Oh Coach, you had no idea.

I reluctantly trudged to my gym bag, ready to collapse at any second due to my ever so painful migraine. My only motivation to continue moving—let alone living—was the little chant I kept on repeating to myself. It was the Little Blue Engine's motto, "I think I can. I think I can." Actually, the main reason why I was still up on my feet was because I was imagining the Wasabi boys taunting me and teasing me for being such a wimp over a "little" headache. These boys were my motivation for pretty much everything. My main goal in life was to do everything better than the boys could.

I slipped on Jack's hoodie (yeah, I'd decided to keep it for a wee bit longer and he'd allowed me to), pausing for a moment to take in Jack's signature scent before picking up my gym bag and water bottle. I reached into the hoodie's pocket for my phone and powered it up as I left the gym. Coach hated it when our phones rang, beeped or even vibrated during practice so we had to have them off to prevent her from unleashing her wrath upon us.

I took a sip from my water bottle as I waited for any texts that I'd received during Pep Squad practice show up, silently wishing that I'd received a text from Grace saying that she'd just gotten home from the orthodontist. Grace lived a couple minutes from Seaford High—or at least, much closer than I did—so maybe I could pop over to her place to get an Advil or something.

Unfortunately for me, I hadn't received any texts from Grace meaning that she was probably still at the orthodontist (well, maybe that was unfortunate for her), but I did receive a text from someone—a picture message—from a...unknown number?

Allowing my inner-Nancy Drew to take over, I decided to open the picture message, crossing my fingers that I wasn't about to get a visual of some body parts that should never ever be seen outside of Health Class diagrams unless they were your own or you were consenting. So you know that saying "curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back"? Yeah well, sometimes you didn't receive that little bit of satisfaction. Sometimes you just learned a lot more than what you bargained for and ended up with that sinking feeling deep in your chest.

My initial curiosity quickly faded and was replaced with a brand new emotion—fear. I suddenly felt numb, my heart pounding loudly in my ears. I scrolled through the photos that I'd received, the glow of my cell phone illuminating my eyes, reflecting my growing fear.

I was receiving a whole ton of pictures of the boys, like, pictures of what they were doing right at that exact moment. Milton and Eddie were at the dojo training with Rudy, Jerry was at the park being chased off by a gaggle of geese with some bread in his hands, and Jack was napping off his fever. The pictures seemed to be frame-by-frame photos, the slightest movement being captured on camera.

My head spun and not (only) because my migraine was somehow still worsening. Did that mean that three or four different people were monitoring our every move and photographing it? Or were some of these photos taken a couple to several minutes earlier meaning that there really was only two people watching us?

I received another picture message from the same unknown number and hesitantly opened the file, my stomach dropping suddenly causing slight nausea at the sight of the latest photos. They were pictures of me. Like, pictures of me right now wandering through the streets uncertainly, my paranoia fuelled by fear. I leaned in to examine the photos better, squinting against the brightness of my screen.

Yikes! I did look terrible with my eyes all puffy and Donna wasn't kidding when she'd said my concealer wasn't working but, um, that wasn't important. Someone was a couple feet away from me, taking pictures of me as I walked home alone.

That was important.

I glanced around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the odd one out with the camera but I couldn't see anyone through the thick throng of people eagerly heading home. I was slightly confused since it was only four o' clock, not even rush hour. Why were there so many people on the street? Was I forgetting something? Sure it was Friday, but the streets weren't usually so crowded until around five o' clock.

I silently groaned in frustration, my annoyance and fear peaking. Someone was wandering among the crowd, following me home or at least photographing me and I had no idea who it was nor could I identify a suspicious figure. Then, to top it all off, someone else was watching the—

Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!

Was that Justin over there?

I abruptly stopped, ignoring the people swearing at me for stopping, and peered between the sea of bodies, searching for the semi-familiar face I'd thought I'd seen. Although the person was too far way for me to see clearly and squinting only made my head pound even harder, I was fairly certain that the person I was looking at was "Cheater Justin".

In that moment I made a quick, rash, and semi-rational decision (something I rarely did. We usually left that kind of thing to Jerry)—I decided to follow the person.

I wove through the crowd, muttering excuses at the very colourful swear words which were being slung at me. I moved as quickly as I could with a category five migraine and a homework-filled backpack, slowly closing the gap between me and "Justin". There were only a couple feet between us when I made the ultimate mistake: yelling at him.

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I had made a mistake. "Justin" turned around, proving he really was the cheating brat, and I watched as his face morphed from confusion to shock to horror. I swallowed hard, almost hoping that he hadn't noticed me but unfortunately, he had. In a panic, Justin turned back around and started running…well…more like sprinting.

My head pounded in beat to my footsteps causing an increasing amount of vertigo as I ran. My surroundings continually went in and out of focus making my chase just that much more frustrating. I was struggling to keep up with Justin, not only because of my migraine, but also because of the number of people rushing to get home. Having to navigate through the crowd was frustrating as every move I made resulted in a new obstacle. I couldn't even channel my inner freerunner since I was barely thinking straight. All I could think of was capturing Justin and interrogating him while I took an Advil. Embarrassingly enough, I was being about as single-minded as Jerry.

It seemed like fate wanted Justin to have an advantage over me.

"Justin!" I yelled, but the kid ignored me, not even bothering to turn around. I groaned and rolled my eyes, muttering an apology to the older man I'd almost tripped. He started swearing at me for making him spill his coffee all over his over expensive suit, but I continued on. I had more important things to worry about than the price of dry cleaning. I tried calling Justin's name again, but once again I was ignored. If this kid was innocent he sure wasn't acting like he was. All I wanted to do was talk to him and he was running away like I was out to steal his soul.

"Justin! Stop running, please!" I tried again and in response he—hey! Did he actually just flip me off? No, just no. You did not flip Kimberly Crawford off. You just didn't. I was about to give Justin a piece of my mind when he made a sharp left...wait...what?

I slowed, or at least, tried to slow down so I could make the left, but as I turned another painful pang sounded through my head and this time, I did go sprawling to the ground. A wave of vertigo hit me and the world tilted, the ground rushing up towards my face. Despite my delayed reflexes I still managed to put my hands out in front of me before I faceplanted. However, in the process, I scraped my hands, peeling off some skin and reopening some of the cuts I'd received last night from holding on to the stone wall. Also, my quick thinking did not prevent my knees from smashing into the pavement, nor did it prevent my right knee from skidding across the ground, creating a new painful wound.

Could I get an "ouch"? That was so going to leave a scar in the morning.

"Ugh! Flippity! Flip! Flip! Flipping! Flip! Flippity! Fidge!" I muttered under my breath as I examined my knee, my accent suddenly becoming much more prominent in my pain and frustration. I let out a slight gasp as I applied pressure to the gash, a flash of fiery pain ripping through my knee and hand in the process. Tears leapt into my eyes, but I furiously swiped them away with my non-bloody hand. To my chagrin the bleeding didn't stop. I removed my hand, allowing myself to bleed freely, and wiped my hand on Jack's hoodie (sorry, Jack!).

Great, so now not only did I lose sight of Justin, but I was gushing out blood like I was in a horror movie. This was just amounting to the worst day ever—only losing to a day which held memory of an incident I wasn't telling anyone dead or alive about.

I contemplated all my current options for what I should and could do next as I stood up, swaying slightly, and limped towards a bus stop bench. The pain in my leg was really starting to rival the pain in my head and as I mulled over my options, I realized that I really only had one or two completely plausible (in my totally sleep deprived mind) options.

I had no bus money so I couldn't bus home. Both my parents were at work today and neither of them really liked being called away from work. Not to mention that I wasn't in the mood to lie to them about how I'd received my injury especially since I'd been hiding a lot of stuff from them lately. Henry was at the Seaford Civic Center for an afterschool program so there was no baby-sitter to come pick me up. And Grace still hadn't texted me back (and neither had the vandals, thank God!) leading me to believe that her appointment still had yet to finish. So when it really came down to it, I only had two options and I decided to pick the latter since walking home wasn't exactly in my best interests.

I sighed and dialled the only phone number which could answer my cry for help and grate my whole damsel-in-distress pet peeve just a little bit more. "Hello? Jack? Yeah, it's me. Sorry for waking you, but I'm in some serious pain right now and I need a ride...calm down, Jack! You are so developing a Hero Complex..."


"Kim, you are an idiot."

"Oh gee, thanks." I let out a low hiss as Jack applied pressure to my knee, the disinfectant burning like acid. It took all my restraint not to smack Jack's sturdy hands away from me. "That I know."

And that I really did know since Jack had been dead set on embedding this little statement into my mind from the moment I'd arrived at his place.

When I'd finally managed to calm Jack down from the little panic attack he'd worked himself into after I'd told him that I was in pain by explaining what had actually happened, I'd asked Jack to ask his mother if she could pick me up and bring me to their place since we needed to talk. I mean, I'd just made a great advancement in the "vandals" case since the whole "Ricky-and-Rue" issue was still pretty murky. Thankfully, he'd obliged and his mother had raced over in a matter of seconds.

Now, Jack's mom was almost nothing like my own mom.

The woman drove over in a Guns N' Roses tee shirt and short shorts, looking less like she was about thirty and had a teenage son and more like a never-had-a-kid-before supermodel. I was not exaggerating. Ms. Brewer was absolutely stunning. If my mom ever dressed like that, I would probably have a heart attack since it would be so uncharacteristic of her. She was more of a pantsuit kind of gal, if you knew what I meant. To match her classy powersuit, my mom was also an awful lot more strict than Ms. Brewer, who was generally really flexible and easygoing.

But despite how laidback she was, Ms. Brewer had a certified "Mommy Fit" the minute she saw my knee and the blood gushing from it. In fact, I believe her reaction to my injury was much more severe than what my own mom's would have been. It took me more than a while to calm her down and convince her that I didn't need to go to the emergency room for stitches (yet, anyway), but I eventually did. However, by the end of it, I was beginning to see the resemblance between her and Jack. Not only were they both really laidback, but they both spazzed out a lot when they were freaked out.

Jack sighed as his ironpress on my knee weakened. He looked up at me and I could see traces of his previous panic attack lingering in his eyes. "Show me your hands. I need to see if the cuts are deep. And I'm not kidding, Kim. What you did was a incredibly stupid. I mean, come on. You didn't actually call his name did you? That defies all laws of spydom. You should really watch some James Bond."

I showed Jack my hands, palms up. "And you should watch your mouth, but whatever. I did what I had to do. Someone was taking pictures of me and coincidentally I saw one of our suspects. Besides, I told you that I wasn't thinking straight. Do you even listen to me when I speak?"

"Yes, actually, I do. I'll get you something for your head in a minute. But did Justin even have a camera on him?" Jack asked.

I thought back to my minor and very short lived chase with Justin. I couldn't recall him actually having a camera on him. I'd just seen him and decided to go after him, hoping to get some answers for his suspicious encounter with Jerry. "Well..." I started.

"See?" Jack used a cotton ball to smear disinfectant over my hands, rubbing way too hard on them. It was as if he was getting revenge on me for chasing Justin or for his bloodied hoodie. I winced in pain and Jack gave me an apologetic look saying, "Sorry. I'm probably taking my stress out on your hands, right? I'll cool it. But really, Kim? You chase the guy and he doesn't even have a camera on him? Your police work is pretty shoddy."

"Stop being so critical!" I said indignantly. So maybe I did say that just a little bit more defensively than I probably should have, but I was beyond sick of Jack's judgmental remarks. "All you've been doing is criticizing me and it's really getting on my nerves! Everyone makes flipping mistakes so chill! So what if Justin didn't have a camera? His movements were quite similar to the movements of my stalker and the kid flipping ran when I just called his name. I mean, suspicious much?"

"Yeah, but did it ever occur to you that you could have been set up?" Jack shot back, his temper flaring just like mine was. "Last night someone was stalking you and they failed to catch you! Maybe Justin was sent back to lure you away or something! Maybe he was trying to lead you into some sort of trap!"

"A trap?" I repeated dubiously.

Jack nodded. "Yes, a trap. Did that ever occur to you?"

A trap? No, I hadn't even thought of that. I suddenly felt a little sick and it wasn't because the scent of the disinfectant was finally getting to me. What if Justin actually had been leading me into a trap? What would have happened? Would I have been captured or would I have been able to fight off my attackers? What if I'd been kidnapped or even worse—left for dead in some backalley?

I shook my head. Now I was being silly. For crying out loud, the people who were bugging us probably weren't any older than we were. They were probably about fourteen or fifteen like us. Sixteen at most, unless one of them happened to be Frank, then nineteen. There was no way that they'd be capable of kidnapping or murdering us...right?

I glared at Jack defiantly, trying to shake all thoughts of the vandals physically attacking us out of my mind. "The vandals aren't trying to kill us, Jack. They are trying to scare us and get revenge for whatever they think we did to them."

"Okay, so what do you think the vandal would have done if he or she had actually caught up to you last night?" Jack raised an eyebrow at me and folded his arms across his chest, waiting for my answer.

"I-I-I don't know." I admitted slowly and Jack gave me a triumphant look. How wonderfully arrogant of him. Ugh, that kid just steamed my clams sometimes.

"But I highly doubt they would have actually harmed me or anything..." I feigned certainty with my next statement, "They probably would have whispered some sort of creepy warning into my ear. Something similar in creepiness to the notes they left in our lockers."

Jack rolled his eyes and I let out another low hiss as he reapplied pressure to my knee. He gave me a sceptical look and said, "So, you're saying that if the vandal had caught up to you he or she would've whispered something bizarre in your ear and then would have left you alone?"

"Well, they weren't going to kill me!" I retorted, ignoring the fact that I'd thought that the vandal actually was going to kill me last night.

"And what proves that?" Jack questioned, "They weren't afraid to invade our privacy, were they? They weren't afraid to break into the dojo and our bedrooms, were they? These people don't care about what they do unless they scare us so what makes you think they won't try to hurt us next?"

"Because they are flipping kids, Jack!" I exploded, "They are our age so no they are not trying to kill us! I wouldn't have died or have gotten hurt last night no matter how much you believe I would have! You are totally developing a Hero Complex! No denying it now!"

"I do not have a Hero Complex." Jack whined in exasperation, "Like I said this morning, you are one of my best friends and I don't want anything to happen to you—I mean, my friends. Do you hear the "friend" part in "best friend"? Yeah, I think I reserve the right to worry about my friends and since we are friends I think I'm also allowed to worry about you."

There it was again, Jack's hinting "best friend" statement. It was the second time he'd used it today and this time around it was almost confirmed that there was something more behind it. Earlier I'd been silent, but now I wanted answers. A direct answer to what he was hinting at, why he always seemed upset when I mentioned Ricky, and why he thought Donna's legs looked better than mine...wait, what? I was going to blame that random thought on the fact that I barely got any sleep last night...

But before I could call him out on his statement, Jack began speaking again.

"And," He added, looking down at the blood stain on his hoodie, "as a best friend, Kim, I think you owe me a new hoodie."

I wanted to say something really snarky or sarcastic or rude to Jack, but I was cut off by the buzz of my phone. Irritated that my "sarcastic remark" opportunity was ruined, I just motioned for Jack to give me my phone. Jack handily picked up my phone, ignoring the bloody fingerprints I'd left on it, and checked to see who was texting me (checking to see if it was Ricky, Jack?). I watched as Jack's brow furrowed slightly and then he looked up at me, an ominous look crossing his face. Before I could even ask who'd texted me, Jack said, "You have a picture message from an unknown number."

I froze when I heard those words. The unknown number again? What the heck did they want now? They hadn't messaged me since I'd chased Justin down the street. Jack shot me an uneasy look. "Should I open it or...?"

I bobbed my head up and down, sounding a little frantic as I said, "Open it. Open it right now."

Jack could hear the urgency in my voice and did as he was told like an obedient little puppy. Jack quickly got up from the ground and sat next to me on his bed, allowing me to look over his shoulder as he scrolled through the pictures with all our previous tension immediately dissolving. We were so close to one another that I was practically breathing down his neck and I could feel his fever-heat radiating from his body.

The first couple pictures were of Milton and Eddie. The two were talking and laughing at Falafel Phil's, blissfully unaware that someone was photographing their every move. The next couple pictures were of Jerry. He was being smacked with a purse by some old lady in the first pictures and then he was chased by an old man with a cane in the later ones, ending with him falling into the duck pond at the park. Had it not been creepy that some stranger was secretly photographing him, I would have laughed at Jerry's pictures. They were just so...him.

"Someone is photographing them." Jack said quietly.

I looked up at him in disbelief. Captain Obvious, much? I was just about to vocalize my opinion of the obviousness of his statement when my phone buzzed again, a little message appearing. I'd received another picture message.

Jack and I exchanged a worried glance as he opened the new message, both of us waiting in wary apprehension for the images we knew we were going to see. And as expected, the new pictures were of no one other than us. There were much more pictures of Jack and I than there were of Milton, Eddie and Jerry. Thankfully, there were no pictures of my embarrassing fall, however, there were photos of pretty much every moment of our minor (to say the least) disagreement and that wasn't even the creepy part. The creepy part was that there were pictures of us, right at this second as we were looking at the photos. It was like they were just live-streaming our photos to my phone, but I wasn't even sure how they were doing it. Jack had said he'd been unable to find any vid-cams in his room, after all...hold on a second.

"Wait a minute..." Jack looked at me, his eyes slowly widening, "If there's no surveillance cameras in here then that means..."

Realization hit me and I suddenly wished it hadn't. "That someone is just outside your window..." I breathed.


* A/N *

Hello my dearest readers. I can't even describe with all the adjectives in the world how sorry I am for not updating this story for almost two weeks. I was having a really tough time writing this chapter in fact, it was supposed to be even longer but I cut it in half so next chapter should be a literal continuation of this one. This chapter was probably the most frustrating to write and it was also the one which strayed away from my notes the most. Half the stuff I put into my notes didn't even make it into this chapter but I promise you it should be in the next one. You guys don't even know how many times I rewrote and revised this chapter. I believe I did it 4 flipping times just to get it like this and I'm still uncertain of how it turned out. Maybe I should post all the different versions of this just so you guys can see how hard I worked on this one. Haha

And onto lighter news, I have three more FanFic ideas and I have their titles but I won't post them today so I can keep this A/N a little bit shorter.

So onto what went on this chapter, so not only did Kim receive a locker note but Jack and Milton did as well. Funny since Eddie and Jerry didn't receive any locker notes. Does that mean that no one was watching them or something else? No surveillance cameras in Jack's room...apparently. Justin seems a little bit suspicious doesn't he now? I wonder why he ran away from Kim... Jack and Kim will also run into someone when they go outside next chapter and only you can guess who.

And teehee, things really are heating up between Jack and Kim aren't they? I think I rewrote their scene 2 or 3 times before I got this one. I kind of liked the idea of the both of them arguing because they were so stressed out and not because they were actually mad at each other. Also, if you've watched the show, ticked!Jack is kinda hot. Anywho, as you noticed, Donna Tobin is anything but a total biznatch in my FanFic. In the original Donna-Kim conversation Donna was a total witch with a capital B but I changed it since there are lots of FanFics which portray Donna (and Heather as well) as some homewrecker and I didn't want to do that because, mostly, I never imagined Donna (or Heather) as biznatches (unlike that Margaret chic...). So instead I let Kim's grumpiness and negativity shine to contrast Donna's kindness.

Haha, did anyone notice that Kim used the word 'flidge.' And Milton said it wouldn't catch on...haha. Oh yeah, and fun fact: Kim's french braid from last chapter was a bit of a throwback to Donna Tobin's in the TV show. I'm hoping we get to see Meet the Cheat soon.

I guess that's all for now!

Love you all dearly, ALPHA!

PS: So who do you think is going to be outside?

PPS: You can still guess the plot twister!

PPPS: Go read The GAME if you haven't already! It's a murder mystery so be prepared for something a little (or a lot, depending on how you roll) creepier than this FanFic! It's rated T for a reason.