See Part One for Disclaimer/Notes

Best friends don't let friends go out on dates looking like fools.

I stand out in the dining room, pretending to sort through a basket of unfolded laundry. Pick up a shirt, roll it into a ball, put it down. Repeat. I might as well be folding..well, something other than clothes, for all the attention I'm paying to what I'm doing.

I want to pay attention to what I'm doing. I should be paying attention to what I'm doing. I've got a non date in the big city with Lana Lang tonight and I want to look good, or at least look matching. This could be my big chance to dazzle Lana with my wit, looks, charm and personality.

So why am I standing here in the dining room, paying no attention to picking out a suitably fashionable outfit for my big non date? I'd like to blame it on my lack of keen fashion sense, but in reality I can only blame it on hearing Chloe speak the following words into her cell phone:

"Sean. Hi!"

Sean. Hi. Two little words that wiped all thoughts of what colors match and what colors don't out of my mind. Two little words that make me forget Lana, big non dates, and my lack of keen fashion sense.

So here I stand, balling up clothes blindly as I strain to hear the conversation in the other room. I hear Chloe giggle shyly, more than once. One would think at this point, having personally witnessed Chloe falling under Sean's spell, I would be used to it. But when I hear it, it takes all my self control not to rip the shirt I'm holding into shreds. It takes all my self control not to run out and flatten Chloe's tires so she can't leave. It takes all my self control not to grab the phone sitting nearby, to call Lana and tell her I've mysteriously come down with the bubonic plague and can sadly no longer make the concert, so that I can spend the rest of the evening making sure Chloe doesn't come within three feet of Sean Kelvin.

Chloe comes waltzing into the kitchen, looking like the cat who just ate the mouse. "Guess, who just called me?" I grab a red flannel shirt, pretending to seriously consider it as my fashion statement and wait for her to tell me what I already know. "Sean," she says, sounding somewhat pleased.

It's been said words can cut deeper than any knife. That thought zips across my mind as I hear my tongue choose its knife of choice. "Did he apologize for blowing you off?" I hear myself ask. Leave it to my tongue to pick one of the sharpest knives in the arsenal.

"He said he wasn't feeling well," Chloe replies.

I hear the hint of desperation in her voice. Desperation to believe that Sean was speaking the truth. Desperation to have someone....me...confirm it, so that she can more easily sell the idea to herself.

Chloe is my best friend. She's closer to me than anyone on this planet outside of my parents. As much as I hate Sean, I want to see Chloe happy. I want to erase that tinge of desperation from her voice. Unfortunately, my tongue has other ideas as to how this situation should be handled.

"Chloe, I saw him go off with Jenna." Ouch, I think. Guess there was a sharper knife in the arsenal after all. I cringe internally as I hear myself twist the knife for good measure. "Guess she made him feel better."

"Well..well, he said it was completely over with her," Chloe says, and this time, the desperation in her voice could have been heard by a deaf man. She wants to believe it so badly, and I can't help her with that. At least not the way she wants me to. I force a smile onto my face and try a different tack.

"You like him, don't you?" I ask. Now my voice is the one with the hint of desperation. Desperate to hear Chloe tell me she doesn't. Hopefully, her tongue is more forgiving than mine.

"He may be a little intellectually challenged, but he's really *hot*," she says, and I let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding. Shallowness. Not a redeeming quality, but in this case, I'll take Chloe having it in spades over the alternative.

I really should have paid more attention that afternoon when Lex was explaining the finer points of fencing to me. Especially the part about how letting down your guard is akin to sending an engraved invitation to your opponent, asking him to skewer you. Looking back, had I remembered them, I would have been more prepared for the next words out of Chloe's mouth.

"Besides, he *begged* to get together tonight, just to talk, so I told him he could bring me a coffee at the Torch." Point awarded to Miss Sullivan, I think. I do remember that much from Lex's fencing lecture.

"Sounds like a date," I tell her, almost surprised that I don't taste blood as the razor blade disguised as the word date falls from my lips.

I breathe a silent sigh of relief as Chloe confirms, "It's not a date." The relief is quickly killed when she adds, "It's a fact finding mission to see if he deserves a date." She feels thrilled with her little plan. I, on the other hand, feel nauseous. The idea of Sean weaseling his way into deserving an actual date with Chloe leaves me feeling queasy. Chloe is looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something, anything, about this turn of events.

"I just don't want to see you get hurt," I answer honestly. And it's true. That familiar quick clench in my chest that I feel when I'm around Chloe confirms it for me.

I see a flash of happiness cross over Chloe's face as she realizes my stubbornness to accept this chain of events is stemmed out of a true concern for her well being. She smiles, and tells me not to worry. She tells me if I can take a chance with Lana, she can take one with Sean.

I say nothing in response, instead just staring down into the mass of clothes inside the laundry basket. I toss a shirt into the reject pile without even looking at it. She's right. It's selfish of me to try to deny her a chance to find happiness while asking her to stand aside and watch me chase my chance. She wouldn't ask that of me, and it's unfair of me to ask that of her.

Chloe reaches down into the laundry basket and pulls out a shirt I never even wear. "Blue's a good color on you," she said, holding it up against me.

For a moment, I simply stare at her. I can't decide if I'm surprised that blue is a good color on me, or if I'm surprised that Chloe's ever given a thought as to what colors I look good in, or that she's thought I look good at all. "Really?" I ask, my voice giving away my surprise.

I want to ask her why--why she agreed to do this, why she agreed to come over and help me when she and Pete have turned jesting my Lana fixation into an Olympic sport. But before I can ask, Chloe hands me the shirt and fixes me with a brilliant, happy smile. Because she *is* happy, I realize. She's happy for me, happy that I'm getting at least a chance to chase this dream that I've been harboring for years, even if I know the outcome won't be the way I've dreamed it to be. That's what makes her my friend, and I'm suddenly ashamed at my earlier thoughts which seemed bent on destroying her happiness.

I realize I already have the answer to my question. Chloe is my best friend, and best friends don't let friends go out on dates looking like fools.