Title: Life Everlasting

Author: Jade Hunter

A.N: Okay, I read the book in like fourth grade and hated the sad ending. I went to see the movie in hopes for a glorified Hollywood happy ending, but was let down because FOR ONCE the writers stuck to the true ending. So, nagged incessantly with a feeling of disappointment and a need to write an alternate ending, I finally decided to put all my other projects on hold and write this.

Disclaimer: None of the characters of Tuck Everlasting belong to me, and neither do the spring and its magical powers.

"talking"

thinking

emphasis

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Louisiana had been exciting, especially New Orleans. The entire time she'd been there, Winnie couldn't help but think that Jesse would have loved it. Or wonder if he'd been there before.

Always now, her thoughts wandered back to Jesse. It was as if a dam had crumbled that day, almost two months ago. Before then, she could hardly stop to remember the Tucks. Now, her memories of the family wouldn't leave her. Every day, she wondered where they were, if the family had spread out again, Jesse and Miles going off alone, to meet again in ten years. Then she would doubt that Angus Tuck would let Miles go alone, no telling what he might do.

Her parents had noticed the change in her, Winnie knew, but they weren't treating her any differently. For that, Winnie was grateful. She didn't think she could cope if her family began to treat her like a china doll; Winnie had never been one to like being coddled – protected, yes, but not overly so.

Jesse knew, she would think, involuntarily. And he had. He had protected her without sheltering her from the world, and he had been wonderful, a dream. Sometimes, Winnie wondered if she had truly met the Tucks, if they weren't a figment of her imagination. These were the days when she despaired of ever seeing them again, and contemplated going back home to drink from the spring.

Winnie was beginning to realize – Life is hard and full of decisions I can't seem to make.

They were in the capitol now, in Washington DC. It was quite impressive. The first few days, she had gone with her parents to all the memorials and saw the sights, awed at being so close to legendary monuments. When they began to lead her towards museums, Winnie had dug in her heels and resisted. She wasn't that much of a lady yet.

So here she was, sitting on the steps of the museum, looking and feeling very much like a child once more. She hoped her mother wouldn't see her sitting on concrete like this. Winnie double checked to make sure her mother was, indeed, not there, and spread out her skirt in an effort to busy her hands. A copy of the brochure for the museum had been long set aside.

"Winifred?" a male voice asked.

Her heart in her throat, she turned, half-hoping…only to see a strange man. Her heart returned to its proper place.

Silly. It couldn't have been him. He would never call me 'Winifred'. Still, she was disappointed.

She recalled that he'd called her by her name, and was wary. "How do you know my name?"

He grinned, and she realized with a start that he was not a man, but a boy. Older than her, certainly, although he didn't look so young when he was serious. He had an open and charming smile, she couldn't help but notice, which complimented his already handsome looks. However, she decided firmly, wheat blond hair and deep emerald eyes are not better than golden-brown hair and dark blue eyes.

"So, you are Winifred," he nodded.

"Winnie," she corrected automatically. "How do you know my name?"

The boy sat down on the steps next to her, although he was careful to keep the distance between them quite proper. "Well, Winnie," here he paused to smile again, "I met your parents inside the museum. They asked me to come out and keep you company. I, being the gentleman I am, agreed."

Winnie simply narrowed her eyes, letting her suspicious expression speak for her.

He grinned again when he saw she wasn't that naïve, and said simply, "I came with my parents, too. I'm Michael Edward Jackson, Jr."

She recognized the name instantly. Michael Edward Jackson, Sr. was one of her father's business friends, one of the selective group he mingled with. The Jackson family had great worth to their name, more than even the Foster family. If this boy's, Michael's, parents were truly in the museum, her father and mother would have no trouble recognizing them. And, seeing their son, her mother had probably been relieved to be able to give her lone daughter some company and safety from danger in a foreign place.

Winnie relaxed a bit. Seeing this, he held out his hand for her to shake, "It's nice to meet you, Winnie."

"A pleasure, Michael," she replied almost automatically, her manners taking over.

They shook hands, and he also corrected her, "Michael's my father. Call me Mike."

She nodded, and they fell into a still silence, though it wasn't as awkward as it could have been.

"So," he said. "What's it like being a Foster?"

"I don't know," she replied, tartly. "What's it like being a Jackson?"

He simply smiled, saying, "Touché."

"I don't fence," she retorted, and had the satisfaction of getting the last word.

From then on, their silences – when there were silences – were companionable, comfortable, although there was an age difference of three years, he being the older one. It was because, on some level, they understood each other without saying so, for they were both children of well-to-do families that had standards to uphold and looked to them to uphold those standards. A gilded cage only another trapped in a similar cage could truly understand. Others could give them sympathy, maybe pity, but no one else but another of them could empathize.

From that moment on, Winifred Foster and Michael Jackson, Jr. were fast friends.

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~Jade Hunter~