Chapter 38

New York

"Th-this is stupid, Mikal. I won't do it."

"Oh, come on! Don't tell me the great Sydney Pennypocket is SCARED of a bit of skating?"

I made a face, staring at the edge of the ice.

The Rockefeller Rink sparkled beneath a thousand twinkling lights that hung around it. Giant Christmas trees towered its circumference, leftover after the holiday festivities, and were decorated with golden garlands and red ribbon and dazzling crystal ornaments, giving the air the distinct scent of spruce and pine. Beyond that the city hummed with afternoon shopping and tourism, bouncing excitedly in the background like a child off their ADHD meds. Couples, families and field-tripping students all chattered excitedly, racing and dancing across the ice in a never ending circle. They repeatedly passed the bronze gilded statue of Prometheus who (girlishly, in my opinion) stretched out from his mountaintop to bestow fire to mankind.

I could use some fire myself, right now. Maybe the ice would melt away and I could go home. I thought longingly. Behind me the warmth and tempting cocoa smell of the hot chocolate stand tickled my neck, beckoning me to return to the safety of the benches.

It was my own fault. I had bragged to Mikal I could do anything he could do (only better) and when he offered to take me skating I jumped to the challenge (bravely, I might add) without really thinking. I hadn't skated since I was a little kid and was now sorely regretting my decision. I was going to look like a complete idiot – in public. If my rising grades or volunteer work or friendship to goody-two-shoes-Mikal hadn't shot my reputation, falling on my ass like a clown in the heart of New York City certainly would.

My arms were spread out wide for balance and the blades of my skates sunk into the mesh mats at the edge of the ice. Despite my head being wrapped in a bright orange scarf and the white jacket I was wearing that made me look like the giant 'Stay Puft Marshmallow Man' from Ghostbusters, my bottom lip trembled from the cold. "Your r-reverse psychology won't work on my superior brain, s-so don't b-bother." I shook my head from side to side in a smooth movement, biting my cheek stubbornly.

Mikal skated back and forth horizontal to me, doing a spin for good measure (showing off, no doubt). The bottoms of his jeans were caked in freshly sprayed ice and his hockey skates flashed expertly across the rink. His grey jacket was open, showing off an extremely ugly pink scarf with kittens embroidered on it (last year his mother had made it for him for Kwanzaa and he felt obligated to wear it at least twice during the holidays to hide the fact he hated it). "You promised I could pick the date this time around. Especially after the disaster the last place you chose got us into."

My teeth chattered uncontrollably. My mouth felt so cold I began to wonder if it was possible for my spit to freeze. "F-first of all, it's NOT a date. S-secondly, how was I supposed to know it's illegal to g-go-kart race on the f-freeway? There weren't any s-signs saying I c-couldn't!" I tried to stomp my foot, but instead nearly lost my balance as the blade lodged itself into the mat. I wobbled, struggling to yank it out.

"Yes, if I remember correctly you told that excuse to your lawyer. They had to erect 'No Go Kart' signs because of you." Mikal stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned forward casually, closing the distance between us so that our noses nearly touched. "And are you sure it's not a date? It feels like a date to me." He narrowed his eyes happily and flashed me his winning smile.

I raised my eyebrow, expressing to him exactly how unimpressed I was while trying to inconspicuously free my skate.

He sighed and straightened, offering his hand to help. "Come on! I wanted to surprise you after what you did at the Christmas Parade. Because of that Death Note stunt I'm getting into the University of my choice! Who knew the Head of the Board of Education loves anime?"

I ignored his hand, mentally and vibrantly cursing my trapped leg. "Why don't you thank me by taking me somewhere that doesn't require bolting dangerously sharp knives to my shoes?"

"You're Canadian! Ice skating should come as naturally as breathing."

As if on queue a five year old dressed in a flowery purple snowsuit happily glided between Mikal's legs, giggling and adjusting her matching helmet. I narrowed my eyes at her suspiciously (I don't know how, but she obviously did it on purpose to make me look bad, I bet Mikal paid her) as she expertly skated backwards and sped off in the direction of her family. "V-very funny, Mikal. I find you're racist stereotyping of my p-people p-personally offensive. Not all C-Canadian's skate."

"How do you know? You haven't been there in years. It could be a National requirement now." He adjusted the scarf on his neck, loosening it with the hook of his finger.

"Yes, and my b-blood is made of maple syrup and I own a pet beaver. Similar to how you have an unhealthy love of w-watermelon and f-fried chicken."

"I do love watermelon and fried chicken. Who doesn't love watermelon and fried chicken? And I wouldn't be surprised if there is maple syrup in your veins. After all," He tilted his head to the side coyly, "You're so sweet."

I mocked gagging momentarily, showing him exactly what I thought of that statement. With a final, solid thrust I managed to free my foot, but the momentum caused by doing so sent me stumbling forward onto the very rink I had been trying to avoid. I squeaked in surprise as my skate slipped on the ice and I started to fall backward. I windmilled my arms, futilely trying to stabilize myself. Mikal was behind me in an instant, grabbing me underneath my elbows. I remained extremely still, my chest moving rapidly up and down, my body nearly bent back horizontal. "Has that line w-worked on any other C-Canadian girls you've insisted on p-pretend dating w-with?"

"That depends," Mikal started lifting me back into a standing position. Now unable to escape, he gently pushed me forward and I 'baby-stepped' with my skates, my blades click-clacking cautiously on the ice. "Is it working on you?"

"V-very smooth, I hope you're p-proud of that one." I shot back, my body tense as I waited for my inevitable and painful fall, cringing expectantly.

"You're blushing." He clasped his hands around mine to steady me, keeping his strides in time with my skating.

"I'm c-cold!"

"You sure?" Mikal leaned his chin over my shoulder and looked down at my feet, keeping an eye out for any bumps or rivets that would cause me to fall. His cheek pressed against mine and my face reddened further. "You don't feel cold to me."

I shuffled forward quickly, out of Mikal's reach. I puffed up my cheeks and gave him an embarrassed look from over my shoulder as I wobbled dangerously from side to side with each small glide. "Find s-someone else to hit on!" I expressed haughtily, sticking my tongue out at him. "I p-plan on taking up the noble c-career of becoming a nun."

"Sydney—" Mikal avoided an oncoming couple, ducking underneath their entwined arms, trying to catch up.

"Apparently the ch-church pays for your meals, all you h-have to do is sing on Sundays and w-wear an ugly dress. Easy living."

Mikal sighed, rolling his eyes. "Sydney—"

"B-besides, boyfriends are way too stressful. They want to g-give you flowers and take you to the b-beach and you're obligated to watch the Titanic at least ONCE t-together—I think I'll get a d-dog instead than suffer through a s-single note of Celine Dion." I crossed my arms. (Just between you and me, I love that song. If it plays on the radio I will immediately begin singing along with a passionate, five-star performance, but Mikal doesn't need to know that.)

"Syyyydney . . . " Mikal slowed down and kept pace at my side. He placed his hands behind his back and looked up inconspicuously at the sky.

"Maybe a p-pug, or a wiener dog, at least they're—"

"SYDNEY!"

"WHAT?" I shouted, hitting my sides with my fists. "What is s-so important that you feel it necessary to interrupt my p-perfectly planned monologue?"

Mikal cracked a big smile. "You're skating."

"I'm wha—?" I looked down at my feet, watching as they (almost gracefully) moved left and right, gliding me gently around the rink. "Oh! Oh, I am! HA!" I nudged him with my knitted mitten. "In-your-FACE!"

"Why in my face?" Mikal exclaimed, abashed. "I'm the one who taught you how!"

I shrugged. "Well, obviously I have t-to shove my v-v-victory in someone's face. You're the c-closest, it's a proximity th-thing."

"You should be THANKING me!"

"Pff." I blew a strand of hair from my face. "If I r-recall you were busy trying to f-flirt with me while I did all the w-work."

Mikal rubbed his mouth with the palm of his hand, as if he wanted to say something but decided best to refrain.

I continued my lap of the rink, the movement slowly warming me up. My teeth chattering soon subsided. I pretended to focus on my skating, but glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.

I won't lie (not to you guys, at least), I liked Mikal. Probably more than I let on. Something about him just seemed to . . . fit. Like that lost jigsaw piece you find years later under the sofa that solves your impossible puzzle. He gave me weird (and cheesy) butterfly feelings in my stomach. The more time I spent with him, the less I spent stealing (I'm considering seeing a doctor). My grades had improved—probably an osmosis effect after spending so much time with him, his genius was bound to rub off on me eventually. He was easy to relax around and he was always genuine. But what I liked the most about Mikal was . . . he didn't judge me. He didn't see me the way everyone else did. He saw me for who I could be. A better me.

Ugh. (This is sounding more and more like a corny romance novel you buy at the drug store check-out). I don't feel I'm expressing this very well. What's the best way to describe this? He's the Jim to my Pam . . . or the Ross to my Rachel (Wait, wait. I forgot, you guys are anime fans. Uh, let me think — he's the Miroku to my Sango . . . the Ed to my Winry? Make sense?)

I suppose it wouldn't be the WORST thing to date Mikal — of all the guys to date, that is. I mean, yeah, I guess he was by default my best friend and all. He was smart, funny, made me laugh and all that other important stuff bla bla bla. But on TOP of all that, recently Mikal had been a lot more . . . how do I put this?

Hot?

SO, totally, mind-blowingly hot.

Mikal had gone through yet another growth spurt over the holidays, stretching even taller than before (I didn't think it was possible, his current height has him defying the laws of gravity). His shoulders were broader and his chin more defined, and he had let his hair grow, tying the neat cornrows into a short ponytail behind his head. Any resemblance to the nerdy over-achiever from math class he once had disappeared when his voice dropped to a deep, powerful baritone. He was even starting to shave! I wouldn't be surprised if he slept in a cocoon at night— he was living proof metamorphosis wasn't exclusive to insects (you know, if geeky caterpillars transformed into tall, muscly butterflies). Years of training in his father's gym had finally paid off. It was a shame he'd decided to defy his dad and become a programmer, he would have made a deadly boxer.

And just to prove I haven't completely lost my mind — I wasn't the ONLY one who noticed.

Now that Mikal was the alpha dog at school his self-confidence had sky rocketed. He was top of the class, had a rich family and his pick of post secondary schools. Half the senior AND junior girls were drooling at the mouth over him. They followed him at a safe distance in packs, giggling like hyenas (they might as well have been scavenging for meat on the Serengeti) and sneaking pictures of him with their phones. The same female population who dismissed him as a geek a few years ago now considered him prime real estate.

Of course, this led to them all hating ME. (Not that I care. I didn't usually get along with my gender anyways, I must have missed the mandatory gossip class required to translate their strange, foreign language at some point in my childhood). When Mikal wasn't looking they all gave me the 'evil eye', whispering about my weight or my grades or my nose (which I think is BEAUTIFUL by the way, and not the equivalent of a sun-dried tomato as their lies would like you to believe. And even if it WAS, sun-dried tomatoes are delicious, so they're insults would be entirely invalid). But hey, screw 'em. Mikal was too good for them.

Not that I was quite sure what Mikal saw in me. Yeah, I'm pretty damn cool (maybe my coolness rubbed off on him, it would explain a lot), but I was hardly dating material. There were plenty of prettier, less criminally-oriented girls who loved art and flowers. Girls who dreamed about careers as doctors or teachers and wanted a two story house on a hill with four kids and a cat.

Something told me I didn't exactly fit the bill.

But still . . . I liked having his attention. And I didn't want to lose him.

I found myself surveying Mikal up and down, my stomach churning warmly. My eyes glazed over with a stupid, content smile plastered across my face. He's such a nice guy. I probably don't deserve him either. I wonder if he's a good kisser too. I bet he is . . .

"Sydney . . . " Mikal waved his hand in front of my face, snapping his fingers. "You're staring."

"Huh?" I started dreamily. "What? Wait. No I wasn't!" My face reddened so quickly I might as well have been set on fire (it would have been less noticeable). Startled, I instinctively tried to take a step back. Bad move. My feet skidded back and forth across the wet ice like a cartoon character. "WA-OAH! Look out!" I started to spin, my arms spread out. Several pedestrians dove out of the way, skating to safety. The world blurred past me in dizzingly rapid circles.

Mikal tried to grab me, but instead my full force smacked into him. We tumbled over each other in a confusing entanglement of arms and skates. With an OOMF, we crashed to the ice. My one arm locked straight, my palm melting the ice beneath it. My other was placed across Mikal's chest. I hovered over him, blinking the loose hair from my lashes. "Uh . . . " My mouth drifted open slightly, lost for words. A soft batch of snow began to fall. Tiny, fluffy white snowflakes melted when they landed on my heated cheeks, mixing with my hair and scarf.

Mikal sat half-ways up, one leg bent, the other sprawled out. His hands were raised awkwardly above my back, as if he didn't know where to put them. Somehow, even though I was on top of him, he was still was taller than me. Suddenly his shocked demeanour melted away, replaced with cool confidence. He raised on eyebrow at me, the corner of his mouth twitching. "If you wanted me that bad you could have just said so."

It felt like my whole body turned a fire hydrant red. "You—!" I struggled to my feet, pushing Mikal down forcibly as leverage. He gulped for air, winded, and stared for a moment at the sky. I ignored him and half-skated, half-stomped back to the benches.

Mikal quickly regained his senses and drifted expertly after me. "Oh, don't be mad, Sydney! It was just a joke!"

"You're unbelievable. I don't even know who you are anymore." I hobbled off the rink and sat down in a huff. I started brutally attacking my laces. "I'm going home."

"Don't be so stubborn." He sat down next to me on the edge of the bench, resting his elbows on his knees. "Look at the sky! The snow will get worse, you know. It's not safe. My place is closer."

I yanked on my boots and abandoned him, marching up the stairs to the street. "Yeah," I snorted, "I bet you'd love that."

But Mikal wouldn't be thwarted so easily. He followed, running his fingers through his braids and sighing frustratedly through his teeth. "You know that's not what I meant."

I shielded my face as the wind picked up, squinting past the flurry of white that clouded my vision to look for a break in traffic. "I took care of myself before you came along and I can do it again. Number smarts is great and all, but I have street smarts, which are far more valuable than being able to divide half a pizza by two thirds of a pizza—"

Mikal grabbed my shoulder and forced me to turn around. I stared at him in surprise. I'd never seen Mikal look . . . angry . . . not ever. Mikal spoke quickly and with a straight tone, as if he'd been meaning to say this for a long time. "Before I came along you practically lived in detention. You ran around the city like a homeless person and were probably heading for life in prison!"

"Where I would have looked stunning in orange overalls and ruled the coop like the Queen I am. Now if you'll excuse me—" I tried to brush his hand off my shoulder, but instead he grabbed mine and squeezed it. His large hand encompassed mine completely, warming it as his grip tightened.

"How can you say that?" Mikal blurted. "Since meeting me your grades have gone up, you might actually get into a college and you're life-endangering activities have been cut to half!"

"Which I just realized has made me extremely boring. And if you'd let go I can leave and rectify that."

Mikal did let go of me, allowing his hands to drop, vexed. "Why are being so difficult now of all times? It's the same with the skating! You shouldn't be upset with me, you should be happy. If anything, I've fixedyou!"

I paused, shaking my head slowly, digesting his words. My head shaking sped up, as if to deny the truth in that statement, and I recoiled, stepping away. "FIXED? Is that what you think? I was some math problem for you to solve, huh, Mikal?" My chest tightened and I quickly diverted my gaze to my boots. It hurt to breathe, like someone was playing pinball between my lungs. How could he say that?

Mikal winced, immediately regretting his choice of words. "No, I—"

But I was on a roll, I thrummed my knuckles readily on my thigh. By now we had been given a wide berth of spectators who were heading home in effort to beat the oncoming storm. They gave us odd looks or whispered to their friends behind their hands as they passed. I didn't care, I didn't even see them, there was only Mikal. "You know what I think? I think your popularity complex has gone to your head! Why don't you go fix one of your fans instead? I'm sure they'll line up in a neat little row for you to pick and choose one with the perfect formula of qualities you deem acceptable."

"I'm not interested in those—"

"Well stop being interested in me! I'm not like them. You can't change me. I'm fine without you! I don't NEEDyou!"

"Cut it out with this independence spiel. Without me Karl would have STABBED you! All because you couldn't resist insulting him in front of his friends. You could have been KILLED because of your reckless behaviour – and that's only one example! The Christmas Parade, the zoo, that stunt you pulled with Principal Hodgkin's underpants and the flagpole—"

"Which was brilliant, by the way."

"It was reckless. You've been bashing the self-destruct button for years and if you don't stop soon one of these days it will actually work! Look," Mikal started, trying and failing to calm down, "I get the whole thing with your parents and your Uncle—"

I opened my mouth to interject but Mikal dismissed my rebuttal. "Don't bother trying to deny it. I'm not an idiot."

I clamped my mouth shut, fuming.

Mikal leaned forward and cupped the side of my face with his hand, his expression a cocktail of concern and anger. "You don't seem to mind whether you die or not and that's just – not okay!"

My voice raised, echoing the violent whistling of the wind. "Damn it, Mikal! I'm not suicidal!"

Mikal stood tall again, taking a step back. "You sure about that, Sydney? Because ever since meeting you, you've been determined to go out in a blaze of glory."

"Well not all of us can be perfect like you. With your perfect grades and your perfect family and your perfect future." I didn't mean to sound as bitter as I did, but I couldn't help it, I might as well have swallowed a lemon. "Why do you care so much if I die or not?" I shouted desperately. "It's my life!"

Mikal had to yell over the howl of the storm, his jacket and pink scarf whipping around him from the sudden whirlwind of ice and snow that swept through the street. "Because, I LOVE you!"

I blinked, taken aback. My frustrated features melted away, replaced by a blank expression. "You what?"

"Ever since the day you sat next to me in math class." Mikal continued, fevered, staring off the side, not making eye contact. "You were the most beautiful, outrageous girl who was terrible at fractions that I had ever met. I was so head over heels in love I even let you cheat off my tests."

"You . . . wait a second, you KNEW I was cheating off you?" I exclaimed, flabbergast.

Mikal continued, ignoring my comment. "And after you accidentally fell through my skylight, right-into-my-lap, I thought I was dreaming. I thought I couldn't have gotten any luckier. And lately—"

"How could you have known?" I stared, wide eyed, at my feet. "I was so CAREFUL!" (This changes everything.)

"You see! This is what I mean. I just confessed and you care more about me letting you copy my answers in arithmetic."

"Well, I . . ." I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly. "I . . ." I looked up at Mikal uncertainly.

He was waiting with the expectant pose of one who was preparing to be hit by a baseball bat. His eyes were shut tightly and his shoulders tense, half-turned away, ready to leave. He had been preparing for this rejection for a long time.

Mikal . . . loves me? He loves me? Like the slow, deliberate ticking of the hand on a clock, it took a moment for his words to fully sink in. They floated through my consciousness, finally drifting to rest in my stomach like a leaf falling gently onto the surface of a pond. Upon impact an explosion of emotion, unbidden, catapulted through my core. I placed a hand on my chest to steady myself. "Wow." I whispered.

Mikal nodded, pursing his lips. "Right, I'll be going then." He turned away.

"Wait, no!" I jumped to attention, grabbing his forearm with both my hands. "I . . . didn't mean it like that. I meant . . . I . . ." I straightened, hugging myself with one arm and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with the other. "I . . ." I shut my eyes, as if I was about to experience something extremely painful, "I love you too!" I said quickly, before I burst apart. (That was much harder to say than I thought it would be.)

I opened one eye, peeking. Mikal seemed to have frozen. (Almost literally. The snow now coated his shoulders and jeans, dying his hair and lashes white).

I wasn't prepared at all for what happened next.

Mikal strode forward and wrapped his arms around the small of my back. My feet were lifted off the ground as he leaned back and spun me in the air. His lips found mine and he kissed me deeply. Without thinking, happiness made my toes curl warmly inside their boots and my cheeks redden.

Realizing what he had done Mikal's eyes shot open. He quickly put me down and cleared his throat into his fist. "Sorry. That was inappropriate of me. I should have asked permission first. I was just so . . . I mean I've been waiting to hear . . . I'll shut up now." He finished weakly.

I giggled, hiding my mouth with my mitten. "You really don't have to apologize." (Well, one mystery was solved. Turns out he is a good kisser.)

He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. "Do you . . . want to get out of here?"

"Absolutely. Your place is closer."

Mikal's look affronted. "Really? So soon? I mean, I'm not complaining but–"

I slapped him on the arm. "No, you idiot! To get out of the storm."

"What storm?" Mikal asked stupidly. A flurry of snowflakes landed directly on his face and he slapped his forehead. "Oh, right. The storm!"

I smiled. "Your mom is cooking pasta tonight, right? Besides, I have to give you another opportunity to get your ass kicked at Street Fighter."

Mikal seemed to regain his senses and we turned to walk down the street, only this time Mikal (after obviously assuring himself of this several times in advance) grabbed my hand and held it. He squeezed it, making sure it was okay, and I squeezed back. "Not a chance. Statistically it is highly improbable that you beat me again."

"Your statistics must go on vacation when we play video games, then."

"Very funny." He paused for a second, thoughtful. After making up his mind he spoke softly, so I had to strain to hear. "One thing, Sydney."

I arched an eyebrow.

"If we're going to . . . try this out. Date, I mean. You have to promise me – no more reckless behaviour." He didn't look at me, but kept his eyes on the destination in front of us, gaze stony and stubborn.

"Is that a deal breaker? Because I made plans next week to hijack the school cafeteria. I want to break the world record for cooking the largest sponge cake."

"It is."

I sighed. "At this rate you'll turn me into a respectable member of society."

"Are you okay with that?"

I leaned into his side and wrapped my arm around his elbow. I knew Mikal wasn't trying to change me, he obviously liked me, he just didn't want me to end up in a penitentiary, or six feet under. And to be honest, I didn't see much of a problem with that. It seemed like a fair exchange. Like I said . . . I didn't want to lose him. "Oh, whatever. College can't be so bad."

Mikal smiled.

Sydney's Dream

The only sound in the throne room was Sydney's soft sobs, echoing off the walls miserably. She had fallen to her knees, bracing herself with one arm, her other hand held over her mouth to muffle her crying. Her tears dripped onto Mikal's polished shoes, curving down the toe and forming miniature puddles on the marble floor. They mirrored the crystal chandelier's on the ceiling, shimmering delicately.

Mikal didn't move, stunned. "You're wrong." He said quietly. "I can't be dead, I'm right here."

Sydney shuddered and clutched the chainmail draped across her chest, as if to grab her heart with her hand and stop its panicked beating. "No," She gasped, no longer able to breathe through her nose. "I saw you die. I saw the body." Her mouth quivered and her face contorted again, her eyes blurry with a past memory only she could see. "It all happened so fast . . . I didn't even get to say goodbye."

Mikal shook his head. "I refuse to believe that!" He knelt down and clutched Sydney's shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eye. "Do I look fake to you?"

Sydney cupped her mouth with her hands, her eyes drowning in fresh tears. They shook, flickering for a moment with a tiny glimmer of hope. She silently shook her head.

"See! You have to trust me, Sydney. I'm the real thing. There must be a mistake."

"There wasn't a mistake," Her throat felt swollen and dry, "You were there one day and then you weren't." Sydney mumbled, more to herself than to Mikal. She tried to reason, to force any weakness away that wormed inside her mind. She wanted to cast it to the floor and crush it with her heel, to end its tormented teasing once and for all, to find peace. But the pull was strong, it fought back, gripping her soul like a black, writhing serpent. It sunk its teeth into her mind, injecting her with poisonous doubt, clouding her common sense.

"No! Listen to your heart, Sydney." Mikal looked at her desperately. "Do you really believe that? How can this be just an illusion? I held you! We-we kissed! I know it was real! How can you deny that?"

Sydney stared at the floor, trying to clear her mind, but the glimmer of hope at the back of her thoughts jumped to the forefront, whispering seductively in her ear. BB could travel through time and space at will. What if he rescued Mikal somehow? This idea raced around her mind, spinning sickeningly like the teacup ride at an amusement park. It was true - A part of her still ached, like a piece of her heart had stopped working. Now it was a dead grey hole without him there to fill it. With each new beat the wound gave her physical pain, sharp and stabbing at the centre of her chest. And she wanted nothing more in the world then to patch it back together.

Mikal grabbed her hands and held them tightly, pressing her palms against his chest. "Sydney, I love you. Please trust me. I'm not dead."

Sydney opened her mouth but a sudden BANG behind them interrupted her response.

She and Mikal, like clockwork, turned to look at the grand doors. They had been thrown open, the lock broken. A pair of skeleton knights veered to opposite sides, as if they were intoxicated, then collapsed in two separate heaps of tangled bones and broken armour. A man stepped forward between them. He wore a familiar pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, white shirt. His large, owl-like eyes stared out from behind a curtain of black hair.

Mikal's expression soured instantly. His shoulders squared to the intruder. "You can't be serious."

Sydney blinked the water from her eyes and wiped her nose hastily with her wrist. "L?"

L walked up the velvet carpet with barely a glance in her direction, keeping his eyes glued on Mikal. He kept his arm straight and raised a similarly thin sword, pointing it at Mikal's nose. "Walk away, Sydney. He's lying."

End of Chapter 38

Quickly typed this up on a whim. I have an ominous feeling this story arc is going to end tragically. But L is so AWESOME (pause for fan-squee). I know flashbacking to more Mikal and Sydney is only pouring salt on an old wound at this point, but it would be a crime NOT to include it! (At least to me).

Next chapter we (should, if it goes as planned, which sometimes it doesn't because my fingers like to type without consulting my brain) find out the circumstances behind how he died (and see L fight with a sword, allow time for another fan-squee). There may also be a piece regarding what the task force is up to (probably cute shenanigans while they wait on L and Sydney to recover) which I know some of you have been asking for. (I imagine Light and Misa meeting up at this point, but I'm hesitant to write it. I don't like just re-writing an episode you've already seen, because I find it VERY, VERY, VEEEEEERY boring, so if I do include that it will likely be short and from the point of view of a different character).

To my readers: Special thanks to the originals/the binge-readers/the skimmers/the waiters/the faithfuls/the-500-of-you-who-read-it-but-don't-review-which-is-ok-because-I-love-you-anyways . . . basically everyone. You're all great. (GROUP JUMP AND AIR PUNCH! YEAH!).

You make my day with each review, so don't be a stranger!

~Satchelle