A/N: ignore what I said before about updating every Saturday. I just finished writing this fic, so I'm gonna be updating a lot just so that I can get it done. I also started a new one, but I'm not posting that till this one is all up. And don't worry, what's up now is less than half of the story. You have a lot to read yet… MWAHAHA!!!! =)

KORI

Day 2, 10:30 pm

I sat on the couch sipping on coffee while listening to a depressing poem. The author was a great writer, but I hated listening to it just the same. I didn't feel like being depressed or sad. I wanted to be happy.

But I couldn't, because with each word that was said, another vision of her ran through my head.

I don't know how I got into poetry. I don't know why it reminds me of her. And most importantly, I don't know why I'm so into it when it causes me so much pain.

Poetry makes me cry, not because it's sentimental, but because of her.

She didn't like poetry, though. Or, at least, she was neutral to it. So how come each time I write something I see her? Her face… looking at me, smiling.

But not always smiling. No, sometimes I see her panicked face seconds before she hit…

My eyes stung with tears.

I go up and darted for the bathroom. I ran smack into someone.

"I'm sorry!" I said quickly.

"Kori? Are you all right?"

I looked at his face to find, to my horror, Andy.

"I'm fine," I lied, trying to somehow suck in my tears.

"Are you hurt?"

Typical guy, I thought. To them, there's no such think as emotional pain. When you cry, your body is damaged. That was all they knew about pain.

"I told you, I'm fine."

"There's no use in lying," he said. He lifted up his hand and wiped away one of my tears. "I know you're crying."

"I haven't cried in a long time," I answered, in my head searching for each and every excuse I could use. "Sometimes I just… let it all go."

Andy blinked. "So you cry for no reason other than you never cry? That doesn't make any sense. Kori, I thought we were friends. You can tell me."

I was getting frustrated. "Look, you want me to be honest with you?" I asked, my voice raising. "Fine. I have a really rotten past, OK? Not a day goes by when I don't cry for her. But I don't want to talk about it. Maybe someday I'll tell you… maybe someday you'll understand. But not now. Not anytime soon." With that, I walked past him into the bathroom. And cried.

½ an hour later I figured he was gone, so I came back out. I went up to the counter, sat on a stool, and ordered a drink. Then Andy sat down beside me.

"Dean talked to me about Step Up," he said almost cheerfully, in effort to change the mood. I appreciated that, because I liked talking to him, just not about her.

"What'd he say?" I asked.

He smiled. "That you said a variety of things to Pastrana last year when he lost. In Chinese."

I laughed. "I use Chinese when I'm angry."

"He also said you can get 34 feet. Impressive."

"Thanks. I've gotten 36 once, but never again. I'm not counting on that to bring me the gold."

"I didn't know Briggs did Step Up. He's probably not very good at it, though, otherwise he'd be bragging about it."

"It's not him I'm worried about. It's Tommy Clowers."

"Don't worry about him. If you can take home any medal at all, you're really good."

I nodded. "Yeah, I guess. I'm really trying hard to get silver in racing."

"When's Step Up?"

"Tomorrow at noon."

"I'll be rooting for you." He smiled at me, then walked out of the door.