AN: More to come. Still don't own anyone, or the song.

if I should buy jellybeans
have to eat them all in just one sitting
everything it seems I like
is a little bit sweeter, a little bit fatter
a little bit harmful for me

It's hard to explain the way everyone looks exactly the same, but different. Fiona's hair is still long, and she's still short, but somehow she's subtly just become older, and I bet even a stranger could tell she isn't the kid she used to be.

Mom and Irene and Ned haven't changed a bit. He actually hugged me when I walked through the door. I wonder if my ribs are broken or just sore. In a way that's actually part of why I told Clu that it could never be more than a one-time thing between us, even if I really wished I didn't feel like I had to say that. But Ned's been my teacher, my mentor, and my father, basically. While I don't think he would have any problem with his son pursuing alternative sexual options, to me it just seems kind of incestuous, the whole thing. Clu is, in effect, my brother, and that's exactly the mantra I repeated to myself every time I took one of those charming college girls out for the evening. I tried to cleanse my mind, wash him right out of my hair, if you will. It never worked.

So here I am, feeling stupid because I actually thought I could see him again and everything could be all right.

After the evening festivities (dinner) I wandered out to the back porch, where I found Carey screwing around with his guitar. "Hey," I said, settling into a lawn chair across from him.

"Hey." Of all of them, he had changed the most. The last time I saw him, he'd practically been an overgrown kid. Even though it had only been four years, and I had decided that four years wasn't long enough to change anything or anyone, he looked old now, like a genuine adult, as if some kind of kid/grown-up barrier had been irrevocably crossed. It was almost intimidating.

"How's it going? I haven't heard from you since"

"Yeah, when I came back to town." He looked up, grinned at me, and I could see the old Carey in his expression. Two years ago, I came back, Fi and I went to his college graduation with Ned and Irene. I got a letter a couple of months later saying he'd decided to move back to Hope Springs. That was the last time I ever heard from him. Maybe it was my fault; I could have made more of an effort to keep in touch. But frankly, talking to Carey usually reminded me entirely too much of talking to his brother.

"Yeah."

"It's good, you know. I'm good. I got a job in town, working for that accountant on Ranger Street, you know? I've got my own place. And on the weekends I bartend and play with the band, so, everything's pretty cool right now. How are you?"

"I'm-"

"Wait, man. He told me, you know." He lowered his voice. "About what happened."

"He did?"

"Yeah, right after."

"Oh."

I can't account for the look on my face, not yet having perfected the ability to step out of myself and see it firsthand, but Carey laughed and said, "Dude, chill out. I didn't tell anybody, if that's what you're worried about, and I don't care, personally. I think it's nice."

"Oh."

"It's just a shame you couldn't work it out."

I swallowed, took a deep breath. "How is he?"

"Oh, he's cool, you know."

"Yeah?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What are you asking me?"

"Is he, you know, with somebody?"

"Whoa, that's none of my business. I don't ask, he doesn't tell, or if he does tell, I put my hands over my ears like so"--he demonstrated this-"and say, 'La la la la la' until he stops."

"Okay," I laughed. "I don't really care, anyway. It was just one of those things that happens, too much built-up energy, frustration, that whole thing. You know? I've had a lot of girlfriends since I went away. It didn't mean anything." Did I protest too much? I noticed that I couldn't force myself to sound any more enthusiastic about what I said than I truly was. I sat back, settled into the chair, and we sat quietly for a minute or two. "So, what about you?"

"What about me, what?"

"Are you seeing anybody, now that you're a responsible adult who's definitely above bagging groupies for kicks?"

He groaned. "I really don't want to talk about that."

O-kay. Interesting. He strummed a familiar little melody on his guitar for a second, then stopped and asked, "So, have you heard from Annie lately? I haven't heard word one from her since the day she left."

"Really? I talk to her all the time."

"You do?"

"Sure, online, and she writes me letters and stuff. I think we get along a lot better now that I don't have to think of her like a replacement sister, you know?"

"Yeah," he said contemplatively.

"Okay. Well, I'm going to sleep. Later."

"Ciao." He began to play that same melody again as I slid the screen door shut.

I headed for the kitchen, where the adults seemed to have congregated, to express the same sentiment to Mom. I slowed down in the hallway as I heard Irene say, "Is she okay?" Who? Fi? She had gone to bed right after dinner, and she'd seemed abnormally quiet when she was around. I had just assumed that was the New Fiona. Maybe not.

Mom said, "Well, you know, I think she thought it was serious, and then it turned out to be, um, less true than she'd imagined. But she's doing all right."

"Poor girl," sighed Ned. A closet romantic? Who knew?

"I hope this week isn't too rough on her," said Irene.

Hm. Interesting.