Okay, I got a few angry people, a few understand people, and a few...happy people. Weird. Anyway, you may know by now that we have not seen the last of Tara.

...Sorry, Tara-haters.

By the way, I am feeling a little better in the mind; it brightens my day to find out you care. -love-

I'm not particularly fond with this chapter, but my writing has been awful lately. Eh. I am straying away from the Shakespeare story a bit in this chapter, but don't worry, everything that I write I write for a reason. It all comes into play.

Omg, I'm having fun with this drama now. No fluff; not till the next chapter or the chapter after.

Enter Slade, stage right.

"Yoo-hoo, Rachel!"

I don't bother turning my head, whispering out a, "Hey Jen." Thanks, thanks a lot. Well that killed the moment.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rachel blink in confusion a few times before hiding behind a solemn mask. "Jennifer," she says coolly.

Jen's shoulders stiffen at the comment. She takes a nervous breath before throwing a cell phone in Rachel's direction. "You left your phone by the tables; I heard it ringing. I think it was your father."

She nods, taking the phone and standing up. "I should be going."

…Bye?

That's it? No nervous blush or lame excuse? Didn't I used to have some sort of power of her? I thought kissing her made her brain fogged.

I look to Jen, but she had already gone.

Sighing, I walk towards the car in the middle of the empty parking lot. Didn't anyone want a ride home? Or…did I do something that somehow offended everyone without me knowing?

"I'm…home…" My voice trails off as my mother runs past me, a suitcase in her hand. My dad runs down the stairs, also clutching a bag. "Are we going somewhere?"

"Yeah, son, we are."

"Great…so no one decided to tell me?" I say, crossing my arms.

"Sorry; last minute kind of thing," Dad laughs before his face turning serious. "Your grandma got another attack."

"How long will you be gone?"

"We will be gone about two weeks," he replies, emphasizing on the word 'we'.

"What?" My jaw drops. "I'm old enough to stay on my own!"

At that moment, my mother happens to be passing and pauses, looking me dead in the eye. "Remember what happened last time we left?"

"Those test results proved I wasn't the father! I never even had se—"

"It doesn't matter, Gar! You're coming; we don't have a choice."

"What about school? I have a play, you know!"

My father laughs again. "I never thought I'd hear that. And you hate acting anyway, I'm sure your teachers will understand."

My mother however, didn't laugh along. Instead, she raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "You have a girlfriend, don't you?"

"No!" I reply nervously, and too quickly. "Not since Tara."

"Such a nice girl," Dad muses. Mom and I exchange glances.

"Still," I roll my eyes, "I have a big part in that play. I can't just leave."

"Garfield Mark Logan," I wince; my full name means trouble—especially from my mother, "you are coming, and that's final. We wish we could trust you enough alone."

"I swear, I never smoked any of the—"

"…Garfield…"

"…I'll go pack."

---

I sigh as I slide the books into my locker, not noticing Victor standing next to me. To not notice someone as big as him is a sure sign my mind is elsewhere.

"Hey Rachel," he greets.

"Hello Vic," I reply, much less cheery.

"Have you seen Gar? I called him last night and no one picked up; cell phone and home."

Gar was the last thing I wanted to talk about right now. "No."

"Oh… Well, if you see him, will you let him know I'm looking for the dude?"

"Okay."

He leans against the locker next to mine, eyes studying me. "…Are you okay?"

Do I look okay? I got no sleep last night. Of course I'm not okay. "Yes."

"Then what's up with the minimal syllable responses?"

"I'm on my period; I get agitated easily." There, that usually scares them off.

"Liar," he smiles, "You showed signs of menstruation two weeks, and I'm sure you're regular by now."

"How do you know that?"

"I've been considering being a doctor. Either that or a mechanic. What do you think?" Victor says, jogging to keep up with my pace.

"Mechanic," I dart around a corner, leaving him waving a hand at me in defeat as he walked off in the other direction.

---

"Garfield! Garfield, where's my water?"

"Coming, Grandma…" I sigh, filling up the glass from the tap.

She takes the drink, spitting out the next minute. "This is tap, Garfield! I drink the water from the refrigerator only! Do you want me to die early?"

I'm not going to answer that. I pass my dad, sitting at my grandmother's kitchen table reading the paper. He chuckles at me.

I stick my tongue out. Yes, I'm that mature sometimes.

"Marie! Marie, where's that lousy husband of yours with my paper?"

As I smirk, I hear the vibrating of my cell phone.

---

I used to love school; it meant I didn't have to be at home. Today was hell for me, though, as I was ridden with guilt. And so when the bell rang that signaled the end of the school day, I was the first one out of the door of the drama room. Most of the class followed in suit; no one wanted to face Ms. Kaywood today, she had been especially grumpy after checking her voicemail.

Whatever she had heard, she wasn't happy about it. I eye a dark skinned boy carrying around a trumpet case, his blue hood drawn over his face. "Hey," I call.

He looks up, watching me curiously as I approach. Funny, before I had met Gar, I would've never started talking to someone like this. "Why did Ms. Kaywood call you over?"

He sighs, holding up a script to our play. "I was Gar's understudy. I'm Mertucio now."

"…But Gar was only absent for today. Why would you step up because of that?"

"Apparently, he's left."

Were I anyone else, I would've shrugged it off. But no, not in my case; I panicked, "L-Left? Do they know where he is?" I choked.

The kid looked at me strangely. "Well yeah. He's in Palm Desert, I think. Something about a sick relative, was it?"

I catch my breath, nodding him off as he gives me a final strange look.

I spot the black Mercedes in the back of the parking lot; I had declined a ride earlier this morning. Before I make it half way across the parking lot, a blond head of hair catches my eye.

Hair that blonde, baby-blues that icy, a frame that skinny… How is that possible? "Tara, Tara wait!"

She turns, but the smile falters on her face as she realizes it's me calling her. "R-Rachel… Oh, h-hi..."

"What are you doing…here?"

She looks around, clutching her books nervously. "I was just going home. I'm waiting for my friend—"

"No, what are you doing," my voice lowers, "alive?"

Her jaw clenches and her neck straightens. "I um… What?"

"Tara, what do you know?"

"Know what? I-I don't know what you're talking about, Rachel."

"I don't believe that," My eyes narrow.

She doesn't say anything for a few minutes, for tears are welling in her eyes. "Whatever you find out," she says with her head bowed, "know I'm sorry—so sorry."

She looks up, a miniature river of tears running down her left cheek. "Will you tell that to him?"

Before I can say anything, a black sports car pulls up. One of the tinted windows rolls down to reveal a man with hair too fair for his age, a lone eye patch on one eye. "Tara, get in."

Something is familiar about this man…something too familiar. Where had I seen him before?

Tara gives me one last look before getting into the car, leaving me with a curiosity that will probably get me in trouble.

---

"Talk to me," I say into the phone cheerily.

The reply was not half as welcoming, "Man, where the hell are you?"

"Good to talk to you too, Vic."

"Do you have any idea what the rumors are going on about you?"

"Huh?"

Vic sighs into the phone; I can practically see him rolling his eyes. "There are rumors going around that you were expelled! Ms. Kaywood reassigned your part!"

"Relax dude," I laugh, "I wasn't expelled. My grandma had another heart attack."

A sound crackles through the phone line, signaling he understood. No more explanation was needed. "How long this time?"

"About two weeks; I'll be back in time for the play. Who got my role?"

"Uh… Mal Duncan, I think."

"He doesn't even look like a Mertucio!" Okay, so I was jealous. Sue me.

Vic snorted on the other line. "You wouldn't know; he always hides underneath that sweatshirt hood."

"Hey, remember when Rachel did that? When we were in middle school?"

He pauses. "Why does everything turn into a conversation about Rachel with you?"

"It does not!"

"Uh huh, s-ure lover boy," he laughs.

"Yeah, shut up."

"Why don't you make me, you little grass—"

Check mate.

---

"Rachel dear, would you come down here for a minute?"

"One minute, mother," I sigh, strolling casually down the long, rather lonely, hallways. Wait…what was that?

I take a few steps back, staring at a picture of my father and a man with white hair—the man from the car!

And then it hit me: my father knew about Gar.

Not much Rachel in the final POV switch, but it's short for a reason. And does he? What is happening? Review, and I'll post the next chapter sooner.

And the grandmother is based after my own Palm-Desert-golf-playing-still-thinks-she's-fifty grandmother. Oy, how I dislike her. Anyway, review!