A/N: I'm sorry I haven't been able to reply to all your reviews! I post on the weekends, and then things get so busy during the week, I always forget! But I appreciate every single review, and it was great to hear from a few of you last chapter who hadn't reviewed before! Thank you!

Guess what I got to do this week? I toured a real crime lab and interviewed CSIs! Saw DNA being processed, played with fingerprint powder, watched the GCMS run samples. It was AWESOME! :)


Junior year brought three important things into Sara's life.

The first, acquired the day after her fifteenth birthday, was her driver's permit. Bill was true to his word and took her out that very day, pretending not to be nervous at all and teaching her to drive on San Francisco's steep hills. She wasn't allowed to drive without someone over the age of eighteen, but she still carried that permit around in her purse like it was a real license.

The second was a class called physics. She had a wonderful teacher, Mr. Lawson, who was young, with bright blue eyes and a bright smile to match. He took notice when Sara picked up the material faster than anyone else, despite her age difference, and started acing every test he gave. He offered to tutor her after school, just for fun, and urged her to enter a competition where she'd have to complete her own physics-related research project. When she won, she was excited, but she was even more excited when she realized she'd discovered something she truly loved. She loved physics.

The third was a boy named Michael. They were nothing alike. He was in art club and had four siblings and a loving mother and father who were defying the country's growing divorce rate. He had sandy blonde hair, and though he wasn't the most popular boy in school, a lot of girls liked him for his freckles and his dimpled smile. But fate made them lab partners, and raging teenage hormones made them boyfriend and girlfriend.

He took her miniature golfing and bowling and to the movies. He wasn't interested in the parties going on every weekend like most of the other kids were. He taught her how to draw, and for Valentine's Day, he wrote a poem about her.

In March, they were assigned the annual bridge project. Each of the teams of two in the physics lab were handed a stack of wood and told to make a bridge out of it. In April, they'd test the bridges, and see which one could hold the most weight.

Most of the kids either built a crappy bridge in one night to get it over with, or left until the day before it was due, but the day they got the assignment Michael went home and called an uncle in Phoenix who was an architect. He got all kinds of tips from him, then researched the aerodynamics of bridges and what kinds of supports held the most weight. When he came to school the next day, with pages and pages of notes and designs, Sara felt an inexplicable urge to kiss him.

He suggested that they take the wood to his house, his dad had a shop in the garage they could use to build their bridge.

"I have art club on Thursdays, and you have science team on Mondays and Wednesdays, so I thought we could work on it Tuesdays and Fridays," he rushed excitedly. "And on weekends, if you want."

"Um. Sure," Sara said. "That would be fine."

He tilted his head and examined her distracted gaze.

"What?"

"You look… worried," he said.

"I'm not worried," she shot back.

Michael held up his hands in surrender.

"Okay."

"Okay, maybe I am," she admitted.

"Why? Because of my parents?" he guessed. "They're totally non-scary, I promise."

Sara laughed nervously, and Michael wrapped her fingers in his, despite both of them having a severe hatred of PDA in school.

"They'll love you," he assured.

So that afternoon after the last bell rang, Sara met Michael in the back parking lot. He had his license and a car. Sara had stayed behind after ninth period to ask the principal's assistant a few questions, so most of the lot had cleared out.

"Hey," Michael smiled at her.

"Hey."

Michael lived in a house that looked like something out of a home magazine, and though his parents were overprotective, they mostly just wanted him to be happy.

They walked through the door and Sara was greeted with the smell of freshly baked cookies. Forget a home magazine, this was something straight out of Leave it to Beaver.

"Hi, Mom!" Michael called.

"Hi, honey," a voice called before Mrs. Brown rounded the corner. She was dressed in a pleated skirt and a neat sweater. "How was school?"

"Fine," Michael replied. "Are these for me?"

"For both of you," his mother smiled. "You must be Sara. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Brown."

The woman positively beamed at her.

"Make yourself at home," she assured. "Have some cookies!"

Michael filled a plate with cookies, poured two tall glasses of milk and led the way out to his father's workshop in the garage.

Sara was pretty sure that no other team in the lab would have as much fun as they did building a bridge. They laughed… a lot… and got glue in a lot of places it shouldn't have been, but Michael showed her how to make an even cut in the wood. He studied his designs carefully, making sure he knew exactly what he was doing before he did it. He consulted her before every step, and together, they worked through a few of the problem areas.

Sara was smiling the whole time.

They worked until the sun faded through the windows around them and nighttime fell. Sara had no idea how late it was until she looked up at the clock. She'd told Bill and Marjorie she'd be working on the project with Michael, but she said she'd be home in time for dinner.

"Oh," Sara said, disappointed. "I have to get home."

Michael's face fell.

"Oh," he said. "Well, it looks good so far!"

"Michael, it looks like a bunch of wood strips glued together," she laughed.

"Well, it looks good for a start," Michael grinned. "We'll work on it again Friday?"

Sara nodded.

"Friday."

Friday afternoon, Sara walked into physics bouncing with excitement. She'd talked of nothing but their bridge since Tuesday night, and Bill had taken her to the hardware shop the night before to buy an extra-strength bottle of glue to use on the supports and some paint. Painting the bridge wasn't part of their requirements, but Bill thought it would give their bridge some pizzazz.

When she told Michael, he was just as excited.

"That's awesome!" he exclaimed. "Let's swing by your house after school to get it!"

And at once, Sara was anxious again. She hadn't told Michael she was a foster kid. She didn't know if she planned to. It wasn't that she was ashamed of Bill and Marjorie, quite the opposite, but she saw the pity in people's eyes when they heard she was in the system. She didn't want sympathy. And moreover, she didn't want to constantly be worrying if Michael was only staying with her because he felt bad for her.

But there really wasn't any way around it. So Sara's knee bounced nervously throughout the rest of her classes, and by the end of the day, her nails had been bitten until they bled. Michael met her in the lot and they drove to Bill and Marjorie's house. It was a Friday afternoon, they would both be home.

"You know, maybe I'll just run in and get it," she said. "It's right on the kitchen counter, I'll just be two seconds."

She reached for the door handle.

"Sara… is there a reason why you don't want me to go in with you?" Michael asked hesitantly.

Sara sighed.

"No. Come on."

Bill was sitting at the kitchen table doing the crossword when they walked through the front door.

"Hi, sweetheart," he greeted.

"Hi," she smiled. "This is Michael."

"Michael!" he exclaimed getting up from his seat. "Bill West. How's the bridge coming?"

"Pretty well," Michael smiled.

"Marjorie's in the garden, let me get her," Bill said, moving to the open back door. "Marjorie, dear! Sara's boyfriend is here!"

Sara felt her face flush. Michael moved his fingers a few inches and brushed them against hers. Marjorie practically bounced through the door, pulling dirt-stained weeding gloves off her hands.

"Oh, Michael, dear, it's so nice to meet you," she beamed. "I'd give you a hug, but I'm a little unsightly!"

Michael laughed.

"We're, uh… here to grab the paint and glue," Sara rushed. "We might be working late tonight, if that's okay."

"Of course, sweetheart," Marjorie said. "Just call us if you need a ride."

"Oh, I can bring her home Mrs. West," Michael put in. "I'm a really good driver, I promise."

"I'm sure you are," Bill laughed. "Just be safe."

"Have fun!" Marjorie called after them.

They climbed into Michael's car, and Sara wondered why her stomach still felt like it was twisted in knots. She loved having Bill and Marjorie as her foster parents. It was the whole… thing behind it.

But thankfully, Michael didn't ask the question Sara would have bet ten bucks was on his mind. And for the second time, she felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him overcome her. Once in the shop, they laid the pieces out before them.

"Okay, let's start cutting and gluing the supports," Michael said. "I'll take this pile, you take that one?"

Sara nodded, Michael turned on the radio in his car, and they began their laughing, talking and woodcutting. Once Sara had all her support beams cut to exactly the right dimensions, she reached for the bottle of extra-strength glue. Michael reached for it at the same time, and his hand wrapped around hers. She felt the heat from his palm seep into the back of her hand, and her heart started pounding against her chest. She suddenly became hyper-aware of all her senses, the music thudding in her ears, the smell of sawdust in her nose, and mostly, the feel of Michael's fingers on hers.

He took a step towards her, both of their hands still on the glue bottle, and used his other hand to push back a piece of her hair that had fallen from her ponytail. His eyes looked greener when they were this close, and they looked nervous and excited all at once.

And then, he was putting his lips on hers, softly, cautiously. And just as quickly, he pulled away, as if making sure what he did was okay. She smiled at him, and this time, it was her head that closed the few inches between their faces. Their mouths met again. His lips were so soft.

And suddenly, every other sense melted away, and all Sara could feel was Michael kissing her.

"Michael!"

His mothers footsteps approached from behind the closed door. They broke away, breathless and red in the face.

"Michael, dinner's ready," she continued as she opened the door. "Sara's welcome to stay. Do you like tacos, Sara?"

"Yeah," Sara said as calmly as she could manage. "I love tacos. Thank you."

His mother left, and if she noticed anything, she kept it to herself. Sara turned back towards Michael. He was grinning.

After dinner, while the glue dried on the supports, they went for a walk to the beach. On Saturdays, they often came and collected seashells, just for fun, but they'd never gone at night before. They walked all the way to the end of the pier and sat on the edge, dangling their legs off the side. Michael took her hand.

It wasn't like she was an expert, but Sara was pretty sure that what they did next classified as making out. She didn't know how long she kissed Michael for, but she didn't really care, because all she wanted was for him to keep kissing her back.

Finally, when they did pull back for air, they looked at each other, smiling shyly and giggling. Michael took her hand again, and they lay back against the dock, backs pressed against the damp wood. The stars were out in full. Sara took a deep breath of the night air and sighed softly, contentedly.

"Your parents don't think I'm out getting you in trouble, do they?" Michael teased.

"No," Sara laughed. "They trust me. So they trust you, too."

"They're very nice."

Sara squirmed against the dock.

"Michael," she began slowly. "Bill and Marjorie… they're not my parents."

Michael rolled his head over to look at her.

"Grandparents?"

She shook her head.

"No. They're my foster parents."

"Oh," Michael said, his mouth forming a perfectly round O-shape. "I didn't know."

"I know," Sara replied, squeezing his fingers. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why are you sorry?" Michael clarified.

"Well… it's… kinda a big secret to keep," she stammered. "I didn't want it to make you think… differently… of me."

"It doesn't make any difference to me," he said honestly. "It doesn't matter if they're your parents, or grandparents, or foster parents… they love you. And… you love them too, right?"

"Yeah," Sara said softly after a pause. "Yeah, I do."

"Then you're a family," he said simply. "And that means you're just the same as me and my parents."

The third time Sara felt that overpowering urge, she didn't have to resist it. She positively launched herself on Michael. They rolled around on the dock as best they could, keeping clear of the edges that offered a straight drop to the black water, both wondering why in the world they hadn't tried this sooner.

"Thank you," Sara gasped between contact.

Michael kissed her once, twice.

"For what?"

"For not asking about my real parents," she said. "And not asking why I'm in foster care."

Michael gave her a painfully adorable half smile that only just showed off his dimples.

And then he kissed her some more.