AN: I still don't own the characters. This chapter is a little different in tone from the others; it had to be, because Miranda isn't totally aware of what's been going on in the minds of the other two. But the next (and last) chapter will be set a little bit later and address in greater detail what happened between Lizzie and Gordo at the party.


It hasn't always been this way, but lately my thinking is, the best way to test a relationship is to travel with the person. If, after twenty-five hours on the road, you're not so sick of looking at his or her face that you're tempted to leave him or her behind at a roadside rest stop, chances are this one's a keeper. I've traveled with a few boys and girls over the last few years. When I left for college I brought along my boyfriend-or, rather, he brought me along, to drop me off at my school and then drive on to his own destination. The last five words I ever said to him were: "Hey, thanks for driving me." Likewise, I've brought a few potential forevers home for holidays and weekends. I've never found one single person I wanted to keep in touch with after we got back to school.

So I don't know what made me think bringing her along was a good idea.

* * *

"What if your friends don't like me?" she asked for the forty-fifth time, flipping down the passenger mirror to make sure her hair looked all right. Again.

"They will," I assured her for the forty-fifth time, not a little irritated. Then I felt bad, I always felt bad about snapping at Rachael, she had such an open face, you might as well slap her as yell at her, even if she deserved it, the way she'd look at you after, like a puppy or something.

"All right," I said, finally turning off the ignition. "Let's go."

"But what if-"

I got out of the car.

I scanned the crowd for any sign of Gordo or Lizzie. It had been so long since I had seen them, I briefly entertained the idea of Lizzie having gone wild in college and dyeing her hair some creative shade of purple or Gordo being a total Goth with a Morrissey shirt and a green mohawk. But there she was, her hair stubbornly remaining blonde, her surprised grin startling to me since I thought she hated me or something, it had been so long since I'd really talked to her. I couldn't hide my own glee, though, and threw my arms around her. I felt Rachael's fingers grasping the fabric of my shirt, like she was desperate to stay connected, afraid of getting lost, afraid I'd lose her on purpose. I won't claim the idea hadn't occurred to me.

"Lizzie!" I squealed.

"Miranda!" she squealed.

I pulled back, unable to resist asking: "So have you seen him yet?"

She stepped away, her expression souring a little. "No. Have you?"

"We just got here."

"That's right, 'we.' Hi, I'm Lizzie," she said, surprising me again by extending her hand and a smile to Rachael.

"I've heard so much about you," Rachael replied gratefully, introducing herself.

I took the opportunity of distraction to examine Lizzie's face for any signs of judgment or condemnation. Nothing. "Well, I totally want to catch up and everything," I said. "I just need something to drink first. Where do I?"

She pointed me toward the kitchen and I headed in that direction. Rachael trailed behind me, grabbing for my hand. I had to resist the urge to shudder and pull back. Add another name to the list of people I never want to see again, I sighed internally.

"Miranda!" called Gordo over the thumping music.

"Gordo!" I shouted.

We hugged, and I introduced him to Rachael, and I told him I'd seen Lizzie. His expression darkened, too. "I don't want to see her," he claimed.

"You do too." I rolled my eyes. "And you know she wants to see you."

"It's not that easy."

* * *

"She just wants to know what happened," I told him later, sitting on the driveway with a red plastic cup in each hand. Rachael sat on his other side, picking at her fingernails.

"What did happen?" she asked.

"It's a long story-" I started to tell her.

"Basically, I got tired of waiting around for her to notice me," Gordo said, his tongue apparently loosened by drink or age or apathy.

"I've been there," sighed Rachael.

"I mean, yeah. Maybe I was in love with her for a while. I think it's probably impossible for anyone who comes into contact with Lizzie not to fall in love with her at some point. But when it comes down to it, what's the difference between friendship and love?"

"The desire to touch," she said, like she was an expert. "Sex."

He shrugged. "How did you know you wanted to cross that line with her?" he asked me. "How did you know it was love?"

"I, uh" I fumbled.

By the time I'd formed a suitable answer in my head, one that couldn't be thrown back at me when I instigated the inevitable break-up as soon as we got back to school, it was too late. She glared at me accusingly, wounded, almost in tears. "Oh, hell."

* * *

"I'm sorry," he said, after she stormed away, into the party, determined to have a good time, determined to get back at me, I don't know. "I didn't mean to get you into trouble."

"It would have happened sooner or later," I shrugged. "So maybe instead of telling my ex-girlfriend what went wrong with you and Lizzie, you should tell Lizzie what went wrong."

He shook his head. "I just"

"She misses you, you know. Your friendship. She did love you. Just not the way you thought you wanted. But like you said, maybe that's not even what you wanted in the first place. Maybe you were just confused."

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Talk to her," I ordered, standing up suddenly. I grabbed his hand and led him into the house, finding Lizzie sitting alone on a couch, absorbed in her own red plastic cup. "Hi, Lizzie," he said, like a little boy forced by his mother to confront a bully.

"Hey, Gordo," she replied with forced cheer.

"Talk," I ordered again, and disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

I headed back to the kitchen to refill my plastic cups. I bumped into a blonde girl leaning against the doorway to the kitchen and glanced at her with irritation. "Miranda?" she asked incredulously.

"Kate?"

"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed. "It's been so long!"

"Yeah, you just, like, disappeared sophomore year. What happened?" Why did I ask? Why would I care? Maybe because she didn't quite look like herself anymore. Gone were the superficial trappings of middle-school popularity. Her hair was cropped, chin-length, her clothes were casual and loose, her makeup was minimal. If she hadn't said my name I would never have recognized her.

"My dad got transferred," she explained. "We ended up in Nevada, of all places. Things were a little different there," she giggled. "Wow, you look great."

"Thanks," I smiled. "So do you! So different."

"People change."

"Yeah, apparently."

"You want to go somewhere and catch up?" she asked innocently.

* * *

The sun was coming up as I stumbled into the living room of the house of some guy I didn't even know in high school, who was passed out facedown on the floor in the kitchen. I looked around the room, searching for anyone familiar. And there they were. Lizzie and Gordo, sitting together on the couch, exactly where I'd left them, awake, not nearly as hungover as I was, and chatting brightly. Catching up. I snickered.

"Hey, Miranda!" Lizzie greeted me. "Come, sit! Where did you go?"

"Rachael left last night, she left the phone number of the motel where she was going to be staying," Gordo said. "Um I guess the ride home is going to be a little awkward for you," he grinned, looking me up and down.

"What?" Lizzie asked, oblivious as ever.

"Um, yeah," I said. "So everyone here is friends again?"

"We had a really great talk," Lizzie said.

"Turns out all this time we both wanted the same thing."

"Are you, like, together?" I asked.

"Um, no," Lizzie said, looking down at her hands.

"We're just friends."

"'Just,'" I mimicked. "Trust me, I think being just friends is way better than being something else. A lot less trouble, that's for sure."

"So, who?" Gordo asked.

It was my turn to look away. "Um, Kate Sanders."

"What?" Lizzie nearly yelled, twisting around to look for her former nemesis. "She was here?"

"Yeah."

I flopped down on the couch between Lizzie and Gordo and decided to change the subject. "You know, I thought you totally hated me," I told Lizzie.

"What? Why?"

"Because you, like, stopped talking to me after I mentioned having a girlfriend."

"Oh. God, no, absolutely not. I was just really busy, I swear. I wondered why *you* stopped talking to me, and I just figured you were really busy too. You really thought I hated you?"

I nodded.

"Never," she assured me, and then to Gordo: "You either. Ever."

We sat there together like that for a long time, like things were still the same, the way they'd been before high school and college changed us, like things could be that way again. I don't know if the future really is as bright for us as it seemed that December morning, but at least for the first time since we scattered across the country, there was a legitimate hope that we could keep it together, and accept the state of our friendship and the people we had and would become.