~Chapter Twenty-Four~

Time to Talk

It's Been Awhile Since I Was Lost for Words;
Needles and Static and Stutters.
I Never Knew A Love that Doesn't Hurt,
Feeling the Heat and the Burn.

There is Something Good in Sticking to Your Guns –
No One to Blame But Yourself.
I Take A Step Back and I Breath For Once.

This is What I Want.

~Scared of Happy, by Fifth Harmony

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

Sammy's P.O.V.

Embarrassment burned through my veins like wildfire, completely untamed and impossible to stop – fire extinguisher or no. It made my pale skin flush with heat, and I could feel the steady heartbeat in my neck thrumming to life, faster and faster. I was under the microscope like a new insect, and I desperately wanted to slink away, my tail tucked and head bowed low in shame. My older brother did not share that desire, too interested in the conversation to let his prey escape…

Seth had wrapped his muscular (but not that muscular, the lovesick girl inside of me chirped, pointedly staring at Paul) arm over my own. My big brother yanked at my shoulder until I had little choice but to burrow into his side, cheek smooshed in between his ribcage and the swell of his bicep. I was so completely buried in there that I found myself inhaling – and, by extension, sniffing – his armpit. I gagged. Loudly. After a day of hard, manual labor in the local shop, Seth smelled like a mixture of hot wax, gasoline, and sweat. Mostly sweat.

Nose curled in distaste, I halfheartedly pushed against his side, hoping to be let go. My brother imitated the Stone Giants and stuck it out, refusing to budge. I contented myself with grumbling quietly about the decidedly rank smell of his armpits. Should totally bottle this shit up and call it 'Seth's Sexy Scent' and give it to all of his future girlfriends, I sarcastically mused. He shifted again while ranting – uh, talking – to Paul, and I was gifted with another whiff of Manly Men.

Cough, cough! Gasp!

Please excuse me while I die from lack of FRESH oxygen…

True, Seth might actually be a car mechanic, but did the overgrown, overprotective guard dog really have to smell like one, too…?

"You two are completely unbelievable!" Seth hissed through clenched teeth, which caused the tendons in his neck to stick out like spaghetti beneath his freckled skin. His cheeks, I thought, were redder than tomato sauce. "First, I have to leave work early because I get a call from the damn school that Sammy slipped off without signing herself out, and then Uley and his chick –"

"– wolf," I mumbled the correction without really thinking about it or any consequences. Unintentional, but…

My boyfriend still heard the quiet murmur and quickly gave me a dark look that barked, "Knock it off, Puppy," which I hastily did with an apologetic, "My bad." Paul oh-so-pleasantly mimed shutting me up, and went into great detail about how it would be accomplished. He was so explicit that I turned beet red, silenced by the sheer promise in his onyx eyes. I shivered, imagining that position.

Seth remained painfully oblivious to this connection between Paul and I. My brother was the firstborn in the family and much more prone to voicing his opinions than me. As such, Seth was more a public speaker than a people observer – the Military Poster Boy had easily clamored atop his designated Soap Box with all the grace of a politician and stuffed his head into his ass, missing the entire exchange. Sexual innuendos included.

In between listening to Paul share his perverted thoughts through our mental connection, and occasionally tuning in to listen to Seth ramble about his miserable day, I bit back a weary sigh. My head pounded, the ache dull and repetitive. What wouldn't I do for an Excedrin? Or maybe a Klondike Bar…

"– Uley and his chick call to pleasantly request that I stop by their house, which is in the middle of fucking nowhere, and with extra clothes for Sammy…at their house! Did I mention that little tidbit?!"

Although seemingly rhetorical, Paul and I both nodded obediently to his question, looking like a pair of bobbleheads. Or Funko Pop Figures. The Ginny to my Harry. The Starfire to my Robin. The April to my Donatello! (Why is Paul the girl in all of these situations? Hmm…) It quieted Seth; the wind left his sails and his lean body dropped into the chair behind him – but only for a minute. Within seconds, the tall, energetic blonde was up again and ranting with all the Colors of the Wind.

"You know what I asked next?" Seth snapped, obviously feeling vindicated by the fact that both Paul and I continued to play the 'captive audience.' (NOT.) We both shrugged, and Seth struck a pose. "Who the fuck is this guy, anyway? Do I know him? Do I?! NO! But my shy little sister – the self-proclaimed Lone Wolf –"

Hearing the pun in that sentence, Paul snorted with mirth, and I quickly slapped both hands over my mouth to keep from doing it, too. Our "lack of respect for authority," as muttered by Seth, further fueled his rage. My brother was positively spitting fire at that point, and I half-expected his belly to have turned crimson as a wave of fire traveled to his mouth. My mind drifted to the villainous Smaug from The Hobbit.

…Anybody 'round here have a company of Dwarves that I could borrow for backup?

"– My little sister," Seth roared, the protective bellow successfully quieting Paul and recapturing my wandering attention, "was at his house! She was there WITHOUT TELLING ME where she was or why she felt the need to SPEND THE FUCKING NIGHT with STRANGERS!"

At this point, I was rather intimidated by this meltdown; it beat all his others, hands-down, and with his temper, that was really saying something. But I still felt obligated to explain myself and start answering his questions. This might be my only chance! So, I hastily pulled back, managed to extract myself from his armpit, and wiped both hands against my shirt – the shirt that would probably be the topic of conversation in a minute. My sweat acted like warm superglue, and I cringed, yanking small fingers from my clothes and curling them together in front of me. I nervously picked at my pinky nail. Paul gently batted it away.

"Look, Seth, I was, I was…" I swallowed the down the words harassed, assaulted, and molested, which nearly shot out of my mouth like bullets from an AK-47. The hot tears were another story entirely. Seth paid them no mind; I had always been an angry crier. It came with the territory of being the youngest in the Steel Family.

"I was in an…accident," I choked out the word, "at the school, and I was really, really upset. I should have called, but I wasn't thinking straight, and before I had thought it through, I was at Sam and Emily's place, and –"

While not the complete and absolute truth, Seth could hear some of it in my words and began to relent. He gave me more space and shoved his hand into his hair, leaving it to get stuck in the blonde curls, which he tugged in frustration. "I… look, Sammy, I'm not mad, but I am really freaked out here, okay?" My brother dropped into a chair like our musty carpet had just been yanked out from beneath him. "How else should I feel after seeing that you weren't wearing those clothes when I got there? You were…and he was…!"

Paul yelped in surprise as my small body tackled his unexpectedly, and the two of us were sent flying backwards. I landed atop his chest and immediately grabbed for his arms. We wrestled with each other and, in our struggle, flopped to the floor in a colorful heap of russet and white limbs, black and golden hair mixing like the tiny grains of sand in an hourglass. I shifted, two fingers lifted to give him a Wet Willy, and in my moment of distraction, Paul managed to cop a quick feel. I squeaked like a mouse.

"Actually," I hastened to correct the older blonde before the mental images of Paul and I being so physical with each other broke his brain and scarred him permanently, "I was wearing those sleep shorts, the pair with the pawprints –"

"Sure, but the shirt was…was…HIS!" My brother stuttered furiously, and his voice so incredibly high-pitched that it almost became a wail of despair. He attempted to point his finger at Paul in an accusatory fashion but found his fingers stuck in his hair ("damn curls") and had to resort to waving his free hand around in a crazy manner. "I-I could tell!"

"No!" I paused in the midst of correcting him yet again in the effort to calm him down and sheepishly admitted, "Yeah, I guess it does belong to Paul, but I only had to wear it because…because I can't wear the one you sent."

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

How was I going to tell Seth that the other one was so much like that completely disgusting shirt that had been touched by…by Z…by Lightfoot that I couldn't stand to look at it? Sky blue eyes closed without being asked, and I fought back a wave of tears because thinking his name was akin to handing out labels. Labels that read MOLESTOR and VICTIM and SEXUAL HARASSMENT.

I hated labels…

Unfortunately, Seth shared several character flaws with Murphy, who loved stealing socks. The German Shepherd would lock his jaws around his bounty and refuse all commands to let it go or drop it, you moron! My brother, in the same way, would refuse to let this type of situation go until all of his questions had been satisfactorily answered. Stubborn as a mule, that man!

As expected, Seth opened his mouth to demand his explanation with a simple – "Why not?"

"…It's too tight! Would it have been better if I let him see everything?" I spat out the first thing that came to mind. Like most brothers, my older brother would likely back off if given even the smallest hint of Girly Germs. The Top Three included: boys, my period, and weight. If I insinuate that I've gained weight, then…

"Lahote already saw you!" Seth furiously pointed out, refusing to take the bait.

…no dice.

I sighed, bangs flying up in the air with the exasperated exhale. Distracting him was clearly out of the question at the moment. My brother was on overload and would probably resort to a six-hour long marathon of I Love Lucy and drinking himself into a coma. He loved that old show. His beer, too…

"He was staring down your – his – THE shirt!"

"Well, Paul is a man! You know that Caleb does the same shit and –"

"WHAT?! Caleb's twenty-seven! Fucking lecher needs to keep his hands – and his eyes – to himself! Jailbait! You are jailbait, I swear," Seth muttered in disgust, and I glowered at him, ignorant to the furious Paul, who was clearly thinking, Who the fuck is Caleb?!

"Your face is jailbait," I retorted, and although it sounded lamer than it had in my mind, I could tell it would hit its mark because his baby face was a sore spot. Sure, Seth had traces of stubble, and his chin was angular, but his cheeks were rounded and his ears were a smidge bigger than mine. It made him look more adorable than, uh, hot.

"You little shit –!"

"Does that make you the big shit?"

"Shut your mouth! Or I'll make you!"

"Paul is ten times better at that than you are!"

"OF COURSE HE IS! HE WANTS TO GET INTO YOUR PANTS!"

"Um, Seth, I don't think Paul is going to fit in my pants anytime soon…"

My brother let out a wordless sound of fury and twisted his lips into a snarl. I smiled sweetly at him and snickered at my own wonderful and witty sense of humor, beyond satisfied that I had finally distracted him from the topic of my shirt. Seth: 0. Sammy: 1. Booyakasha!

"Taha Aki," Paul muttered from the couch, unintentionally interrupting the very quiet, peaceful, and mature discussion between Seth and I. A long finger and square thumb reached higher to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You two fight like cats and dogs."

Revised Score? Seth: 0. Sammy: 1. Paul: 2.

I pouted.

In the spirt of keeping with the Your Face jokes, Seth took the next step and sealed his fate with his own stupidity. Let's break it down: Seth stomped closer to Paul (Stupid Move #1), stuck his finger in his face (Stupid Move #2), and then snapped, "YOUR MOM IS A DOG!" (Stupid Move #3).

Any self-respecting sister would readily jump in front of her brother and defend him, but I was a self-respecting girlfriend, too! Seth was a moron. And Paul was super close with his Mom. This could only end badly. So as a self-respecting coward, I scurried closer to the kitchen entrance and ducked behind the closest barstool.

…uh-oh…

"YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH!" Paul snarled back and, like those stupid, cheap elastic hair bands, snapped in two and lunged for his neck, hands out and ready for the kill.

"HEY!" I protested from the safety of the kitchen, "Mutti is a very nice lady! Keep her out of this shit, Paul! If you want to be rude to somebody," I suggested, finally picking his side and throwing my lot in with the Wolves, "be rude to Seth!"

"OI!"

"Sorry, Baby," Paul froze in his tracks and instantly apologized, having momentarily forgotten that Seth and I were, unfortunately, related. There were days that I tried to overlook that connection, too. I could forgive him this one time.

"It's fine," I soothed, smiling faintly and making shooing motions with my palm, "but I wish you two would stop it with the damn insults –"

"WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE, WHEELS!"

"OH, MY GOD! IT'S FUCKING ENGLISH!"

"HA! RIGHT! LIKE YOU'RE FUCKING PAUL!"

Mortified, I spluttered to a stop and loudly protested, "NO, I'm NOT! I…I'm not…doing…that with anyone! And if I were doing…that with him, what business is it of yours?"

A masculine voice laughingly piped: Still can't say sex, can you?

Ugh! I tried to ignore him and thought: Bite me, Paul!

Already did, Baby.

…I dislike you.

Love you, too!

"I'm in charge around here, and I deserve to know if I'm going to be an uncle anytime soon." Seth paused and then slowly, like a snail sliding through syrup, glanced down at my stomach. Suspicion boiled in his green eyes. He slowly reached forward…and poked it. "Hello, hello. Anybody home in there…?"

I slapped his hand away in outrage. Feeling harassed, I covered the pudgy belly in question and glared daggers at the offending hand. "You idiot!" I hissed at my older brother, imitating Harry speaking Parseltongue in the Chamber of Secrets. Actually, scratch that – I was more a Dark Lord Voldemort at the moment than a pacifistic Boy-Who-Lived. "I'm not pregnant!"

Dubiously, Seth eyed the little pouch that I typically got the week before my period. He cocked his head to the side, squinted, and framed it between two L's made by his fingers and thumbs. "Then you must be putting on some serious weight, Wheels…"

My mouth dropped flat open as those words struck like bullets. We were your atypical siblings, but Seth and I still bickered and yelled and ranted at each other. Still, Seth had not once, ever, resorted to using weight against me. He might make fun of my spattering of freckles, or my frizzy hair, but never my weight. "You ass–!"

Unlike the Cowardly Queen (yours truly), Paul proved loyal and cut me off. The Shifter leapt from the couch and stalked towards the mechanic with vengeance in his voice. "DID YOU JUST CALL YOUR LITTLE SISTER FAT?"

As the two dissolved into another argument, I sighed in frustration and dropped into one of the kitchen chairs, exhausted again. I leaned back, head falling over the edge, free hair dangling into oblivion. This was completely ridiculous! Paul, Seth, and I had been "discussing" (please read: arguing) for forty-five minutes, give or take. Nothing had been resolved. All that had been accomplished thus far was us pissing each other off.

Hell, I had upset Paul by accidentally insinuating that he was a sex addict! Then Seth called him Christian Grey. And I had casually asked him when he had read Fifty Shades of Grey. And Seth demanded to know when I had read it, and if Paul really was into that sort of thing. Paul, while not an avid reader, obviously recalled what the famous book was about, and appeared suitably distracted for some reason. So Seth called him a pervert. Again. Back to beginning. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Only one word described that afternoon.

Awkward.

"At least I didn't try to force her into anything, like that bastard!" Paul snarled in his defense and then, in the sudden silence, realized what had been blurted into the open. His face paled several shades, and the shapeshifting teenager turned to stare at me, eyes wide with regret. "Uh…"

More silence, and then…

"…what did you say?" Seth quietly asked him, his voice deceptively calm. I silently quaked in my sneakers. Because, really, this was going to be bad. Very bad. Almost like the eye of the storm, Seth would be very quiet right before exploding into action and destroying everything within his reach. Glasses, plates, artwork…

Seth stared straight at Paul, who coughed and shifted from foot to foot with an out-of-character lack of confidence. My boyfriend joined him in staring at me and, seeing the bruises covering my neck, huffed in renewed anger. I hugged both arms over my chest, hunched down, and avoided their searching gazes.

"Dude," Paul snorted and, not knowing Seth very well, continued to bulldoze ahead with all the grace of a drunk monkey in a glass house. "Do you not SEE the bruises on your sister? Sammy is covered in 'em."

Anything else in the world probably would have set him off, but those words made Seth pause. My big brother turned to me, and I lifted blue eyes to meet his. We each acknowledged the sad state of the situation. Neither of us wanted to admit to this…Outsider…that it was normal for us to be bruised and beaten and banged up. One of us was always black and blue for some reason. Honestly, Seth and I paid it little mind…

"Sorry," Seth robotically muttered the apology, ill at ease with somebody else getting this close to home – literally and figuratively. Shifted from foot to foot. Glanced at the door in that telltale way. With Just get the fuck out of here before you see something I would rather nobody noticed plastered to his clammy face. "I, uh, kinda missed it with all the commotion…"

"You're fucking kidding, right? It's the first thing I would've noticed if Sammy were my sister," Paul growled his fury – and his disbelief – at the older male, "but I'm apparently the only one who –"

"Don't," Seth hoarsely said, and although subdued, his rage still simmered in his words, hidden just below the depression and the apathy. "Don't you dare. I care about her. I really do. She's my…Sammy is the baby in the family. She's my responsibility. My sister. I care about her…"

"Yeah? You sure as fuck have this rather funny way of showing it! You're never around, Steel – always at work, or asleep, and the most you two do together is talk about fixing her car. You –"

"Stop it," I whispered, subconsciously jumping up and running to Paul. I reached the other teenager and pushed both hands flat against his chest, before letting them curl into his shirt. Embarrassed, I burrowed into his shirt and, throat tight, whispered, "Just stop it, Paul!"

"No, Sammy!" My boyfriend refused the command and tossed his head like a spooked stallion. He clenched his jaw and worked his tension through it, biting down on stern lips – and words – hard enough to draw blood. "I'm tired of him hurting you and not knowing it! This is fucking insane! You deserve to be with somebody who loves you! Who will take care of you!"

"I SAID STOP IT!" I screamed into his chest, hands beating a song of frustration against his biceps. I stopped this quickly, feeling bad for hitting him even while remembering that the shapeshifting teenager was practically Superman: The Man of Steel. It still wasn't right.

Both Seth and Paul gaped at me.

Tears in my eyes, throat clogged, I snapped, "I can speak my own mind, Paul. I can tell Seth how I feel. I can defend myself!"

"Uh-huh. Just like you could defend yourself from Lightfoot, huh?" Paul darkly muttered, and the tone of his voice was so incredibly bitter that it stopped both of us cold. We stared at each other, in shock, and suddenly realized that there was way more to work out than this spat with Seth, or the fight with Sam and Emily.

My blood went colder than ice, and I blurted, "I tried! Okay, Paul? And I said I'm sorry that I couldn't fight him off! I tried, though! I swear to God! I tried, I tried! He was just…bigger than me…" I whimpered, staggering back and burying my wet face in both hands. God, I'm pathetic!

Before I had finished, Paul had materialized beside me, arms over mine, and face buried in my quivering shoulder. "I'm sorry. My fault, Baby Girl. I know you tried. I know. I know you. You're a good girl." Good girl. Good girl?! I bit back hysterical laughter at the somewhat condescending words, though I knew that Paul hadn't meant them like that. "I'm sorry. Just…I'm just having trouble dealing with not being there for you…"

We stayed like that, Paul and I, just wrapped together in each other's arms. We swayed back and forth. Back and forth. Eventually, I calmed enough to only hiccup every now and then, and Paul had stopped vibrating with the silent growls emanating from his infuriated Wolf.

"Lightfoot. Zachary Lightfoot?" Seth quietly asked, the wheels in his brain turning while his eyes soaked in the emotional depth of this relationship between Paul and me. It appeared that, while the whole thing wasn't ideal, it had somewhat shown him that we were more than "Friends with Benefits."

My brother stared at the ground, and then his face morphed, setting into stone as a cold whisper escaped from between his lips. "What the fuck did that bastard do to my sister?" He asked of Paul, and not of me.

My boyfriend nodded at him, taking his question seriously and taking my silence for permission to respond. "Lightfoot cornered her and shoved her in a closet," Paul muttered, "where nobody could find them. Touched her." Stopped. Clenched his jaw. Unclenched it. "He's nineteen, like me. Big fucker, with arms the size of her head. Sammy didn't stand much of a chance."

"How did Sammy get away?" Seth asked him in that quiet, calculating voice of his, which warned that his calm was actually deceptive and deadly. Green eyes on me.

"A buddy of mine, Jared Cameron, overheard her struggling against the bastard and broke into the storage closet. He saw the fucker hitting her and trying…" Paul scowled, too pissed to tell the details. Seth probably thought it was worse than it had been, but I couldn't bring myself to share exactly what had happened in that closet with anybody, least of all two men. My brother. My boyfriend…

Nope.

Not happening!

"So Jared knocked him out, led her out of the school, and brought her to me. I skipped school that day because I was over at another friend's house for work," Paul explained, voice pained and expression apologetic. "I should've been there. I…I always drive her to and from the school now…"

I absently smoothed the lines around his mouth, waiting for the little smile Paul would normally give me at the action. This time, however, Paul only sighed and nuzzled further into me, gently mouthing at my neck. My brother noticed the little signs of affection but said nothing. He cleared his throat raggedly.

"And given that I got a call from the office saying Sammy didn't sign out, then…"

"Nobody told the office staff," Paul replied, catching his drift. "Sammy was close to passing out, and Jared nearly lost his temper, which would have been bad for all three of them. I might lose mine more often, but Jared has tunnel vision with his. Nothing short of his girlfriend could've snapped him out of it had he really lost his shit."

Neither of us mentioned the fact that Channel 2 News would have been there as well, searching for the truth behind the latest sighting of a massive, five-hundred-pound wolf. I could just picture the headlines: Werewolves in Washington. Fact or Fiction?

Seth remained silent, and in that moment, I could tell just how much the other had matured in his years away at college. In my youngest and blurriest of memories, I could recall Seth blurting his responses, much like I did. Am I going to grow out of that, too? Is it just a phase? I bit back panic. How much will I – will all of us – change in the upcoming years?

"Wheels," Seth started, and then his throat moved…strangely. If I didn't know better, I would have said that my emotionally constipated big brother might start crying. He slowly crouched down in front of me, eyes serious. "Sweetie, I know you don't want to talk about it, but…"

I refused to look him in the eye. My big brother used the former nickname all the time, but the latter was only used in the hardest or scariest of times. He always had something bad to share with that nickname. It was always, always the warning sign of Shit-Has-Hit-the-Fan. Just like…with Mom and her cancer…

"Sweetie, I know you want to visit Mutti, but the doctors said that it…it isn't time yet. They have a lot of tubes in her right now. And…Mutti is tired. She needs rest. But I'm here now. You and I can just hang out together, right? Can you do that for me, Sweetie?"

"You need to tell somebody," Seth whispered and, just like all those years ago, put his hand atop mine and asked, "Can you do that for me, Sweetie?"

At the searching tone of his voice, and those awful, hated words, I cringed in fear. I slipped out of his grasp and nearly knocked into him in my desire to get to Paul. Hand under his shirt, face in his neck, and chest plastered to his, I practically crawled under Paul's skin. My boyfriend responded by gently cupping his hand against my neck in comfort. "Seth. No, I can't…I…"

"You have to, Sammy," Seth insisted, and although Paul tightened his grip, I could tell that the shapeshifter agreed with him in the way the other teenager began to stroke his hands down my spine. "It's not right for him to go around touching girls. Underage girls."

My brain, which had been firmly programmed with the concepts of right and wrong, clicked and whirred to life, thinking it over. Seth and Paul had made a very good point. If Zachary wasn't reported, then the idiot would think he had gotten away with it and would undoubtedly do something like that to somebody else. A quiet voice whispered of me: Or worse…

"I…I'll do it," I reluctantly agreed with them, knowing how important it would be to do it as soon as possible, "but I want Paul to be there with me!"

My older brother seemed to have expected this stipulation and, rather than get upset, appeared comforted by the fact that I trusted Paul enough to share those kinds of details in front of him. "That's fine, Wheels." Seth creakily climbed to his feet, seemingly having aged 10 years, to grab his favorite jacket, and shrugged it on. Made his way to the front door, keys in hand.

"Wait! W-We're going now?" I demanded, protested – Hell, I didn't know what to feel at that moment. Should I feel sad, mad, supported, thrown under the bus? I rubbed at my chest. My heart hurts so much…

"Sooner the better," Paul darkly explained, filling the robes of the Judge and the Jury, "because then, the fucker will fry."

"He didn't actually…rape me," I choked out the words in an effort to remind Paul of that fact, and to reassure my older brother that while it had been bad, it had not been that bad. It could have been worse, so why bother feeling and acting traumatized?

Right…?

"No, but you and I both know that Lightfoot would have done it had the opportunity shown itself," Seth solemnly said, and the seriousness in his voice made me really stop and think. I stared at his chest, feeling indecisive. I never wanted to hear that name again. I never wanted to think about him again. But in being that selfish, and essentially running from the situation, I would be endangering other girls, too.

Breathing in deeply and letting it out, I met their eyes and firmly said, "I'll do it, but on one condition." My boyfriend appeared confused, but my older brother knowingly lifted his eyebrows in silent question.

"You are not allowed to quote from reruns of I Love Lucy. Never. Ever. Again."

"Fine, but you're not allowed to sing Rihanna's songs in the shower. Deal?"

My boyfriend lifted his head to the sky and mouthed: What the fuck?

"Deal."

***Author's Note***

EDIT: Fixed a couple of mistakes!

Summer is here! I finally made it, though barely and just by the skin of my teeth...

Luckily, I have time to update my stories! *Throws Confetti* Please expect to see more from Shadowsammy in the next couple of weeks! :)

Pretty serious chapter, though with a dash of humor and a pinch of references. I promise the next one will be - just as serious! Don't hurt me! :P It has to deal with, as you might have guessed, these three traipsing off to the school to talk to the principal and take down Lightfoot. *Cue Dramatic Background Music* The chapter after that will be much lighter and filled with fluff, so...please hang in there with the angst! XD But I feel like Sammy wouldn't just get over something like that in 1 chapter. But that might just be me!

I will update as soon as possible!

Anyway - Please Review!