"I don't know what's wrong with her, she just doesn't seem to notice me or Bernard anymore. Before we'd say her name and she'd smile and laugh, maybe clap her hands together, but now, nothing," an agitated woman told Dr. Brown. The doctor was looking at a small, fuzzy headed, ten-month-old baby sitting on his examination table. The baby was dressed in a pink jumper complete with a pink bow sitting on her soft head. The mother, in no way a young woman, looked as if she hadn't slept in a week, never letting go of the handkerchief in her hand. Dr. Brown did a few simple tests with the baby. Eyes, nose, mouth, reflexes. The little girl did fine with all of them, and with a slightly amused smile on her face too.

"When's the last time she was sick?" he asked the mother. She had to think for a moment.

"About two months ago! You know, that's when she started acting funny!" the woman replied as if all of her worries had been laid to rest.

"What was wrong with her?"

"She had this terribly high fever. My husband's fault, he kept her outside for too long," the mother told him. Dr. Brown scratched the beard on his chin that still itched every now and then, but now he was scratching it from contemplation. He checked the baby's ears again, now having something to look for.

"Ah ha, there we are," he said straightening up and looking to the mother, "I think the reason she doesn't respond when you call her is that the fever has made her deaf."

"What? That's impossible!" the mother cried with horror on her face and clenching the handkerchief in her hand against her face.

"I'm afraid it's not. Fevers have been known to deafen small children. Listen, I'll give you the name of a specialist in this field. If it ends up she is deaf he'll be able to help you and tell you what you need to do," Dr. Brown said writing a name and address down on a piece of paper and handing it to the distressed parent. She took it but still appeared as though she was to break out in tears.

"My baby! Deaf?" she demanded not so much from him as from anything.

"Deafness does not have to be a handicap, Mrs. Melendez. Helen Keller was deaf and blind and she's one of the more well known women authors. There's no reason little Pamela should be any different," Dr. Brown reassured her with a smile. The mother forced a weak smile, and picked her daughter up into her arms. She thanked him and left the room. Dr. Brown sighed and sat down on his chair.

"Okay, who here knows the story of Hansel and Gretel?" the teacher asked the class and was answered by a roomful of raised hands. All hands, were in fact, raised, with the exception of one. Delia Brown sat in the back corner of the classroom wearing a baseball cap and the general morose expression she seemed to always have on at school. She knew the story; she just wasn't that enthusiastic about it. In actuality, there were aspects of the story that gave her nightmares. It was mostly oven scenes that got to her.

"Okay then, I have something very special to tell you! This year our class will be putting on a play of Hansel and Gretel!" the teacher told them. The class erupted in a mix of cheers and whispered comments to each other about strengths and worries. Delia sighed and slumped her head into her folded arms on her desk.

Jig walked down the hallway rubbing her gloved hands together. It was too cold. There was actually snow on her front lawn today. She had never seen snow before in her life. She's rarely felt a cold breeze, let alone snow. Everwood was pretty much her representation of Hell, only colder. In LA she'd wear a tank top or something to school, now she was wearing three turtle neck sweaters, one of which was really itchy.

"Hey you're Juliet Green, right?" a girl said walked up to her. The girl had a tan complexion and reddish, really curly hair. Her lips matched her hair and her practically perfect teeth shone when she smiled. It would have been a nice smile but it was the kind of smile where you knew she wanted something, like a politician.

"Jig, I go by Jig."

"Oh. Hi Jig, then, I'm Desdemona Quincampoix. Or Desi," she said extending her hand. Jig quickly shook it and returned to rubbing her own hands together for warmth.

"Interesting name," Jig said and Desi laughed and nodded her head.

"Well, my dad's a Black Frenchman and my mom's a White Everwoodian," she said with a smile. Jig nodded.

"Shakespearean name, know how that feels," Jig said. Desi laughed.

"Yea so of course we try to escape it by choosing nicknames. I'm a Latin band singer."

"I'm a dance tempo," Jig said with a smile, then something dawned on her, "what do you want?"

"You're friends with Ephram Brown, right?" Desi asked her, suddenly, and freakishly, serious. Jig was a bit taken back.

"In a way…"

"Great! So what's he like?" Desi asked her and Jig laughed in surprise.

"Why?"

"I'm on the school newspaper, I'm doing an article on him."

"I think you're supposed to say that before you ask questions."

"My apologies. So about him… What's that weird creature on his shirt all the time?"

"It's a pig, or, a guy, depending on… I don't think Ephram would want to be talked about without his knowing," Jig told her.

"Oh come on! Ephram Brown the school mystery man! He's rich! He's quiet! He's bound to be a genius like his dad! His famous dad! Plus he's like really hot! He's a perfect article! So come on, tell me about him, stuff nobody knows!" Desi pleaded with her. Jig sighed in aggravation.

"Okay, something no one knows?" Jig asked just to make sure. Desi nodded her head excitedly.

"Yea, come on."

"Okay, something no one knows about Ephram Brown. Well, Ephram absolutely, positively, and utterly… hates reporters," Jig said in a near whisper. Desi frowned and Jig walked away.

"You look like Hell," Ephram said sitting down across the table from where Jig was huddled in a slump. She looked up and scowled at him. The expression surprised him a bit.

"Things have happened since last you and I met…" she informed him. A sentence like that never brought good news, especially when expressed in a tone like that.

"What 'things?'" he asked her a bit cautiously.

"Do you know who Desi Quincampoix is?" she asked him. He nodded. It was damn near impossible to forget a name like that.

"Head of the school newspaper, isn't she?"

"I don't know if she's the head of it, but she certainly is on it."

"What about her?"

"She was asking me things in the hall today."

"What 'things?'" he found himself repeating.

"You kind of things."

"Me? Why would she ask you about me?" Ephram asked her in almost laughter at the thought.

"She's doing an article on you," she said and he froze in surprise. After he recollected himself he questioned her genuineness.

"Really, she is," Jig answered in no way phased by the light accusation of lying.

"Why?" Ephram asked in complete disbelief. He'd rather not be known to anyone then people he liked. He hated it when people who shouldn't know a lot about him did. That's why Wendell got on his nerves. At least Jig was in the position to know things about him, considering she was living with his dad's nurse.

"She called you 'Ephram Brown the school mystery man.' She said you were hot too."

"A 'mystery man?' That's ridiculous. This is high school, everyone's a mystery!"

"Well you've been voted 'most mysterious' Ephram, congratulations."

"This sucks. What did you tell her?" Ephram demanded more than asked, in a voice that made it obvious she should have said nothing.

"I told her you hate reporters," Jig said. Ephram nodded in approval.

"Good, good. If she asks you about me again do, well, I don't know, something," Ephram instructed her still in quite the state of confusion. Why someone would want to write, let alone read, anything about him was a complete enigma.

"Something, gotcha. Oh, hey, speaking of people talking about you," Jig started, immediately again grabbing Ephram's attention, "who the Hell is Wendell?"

"Wendell? Why do you ask about him?" Ephram asked, again in complete surprise, but this time a bit more relieved.

"He's been calling my house every night since I started talking to you," Jig said obviously annoyed by it. Ephram raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"What has he been saying?" he asked her.

"'I can help your cause.' That's it! That's all he says!" Jig said raising her arms into the air briefly.

"Cause? What cause?"

"You and Amy I suppose. That's the only cause I have going for me now. Except saving up for that Ayashi no Ceres DVD," Jig told him. Ephram sighed and started banging his head on the table. He stopped after a while and looked up at Jig. She was watching him, knowing perfectly well he had all reason to do what he was doing.

"I've got to get out of this place, it's driving me nuts," he told her.

"You? I had to help brush snow of the sidewalk this morning!" she complained. He narrowed his eyes at her a bit. He then remembered she was from LA and probably had never seen snow before today. And it hadn't even snowed that much.

"You still haven't told we why you're here," he told her. Jig frowned slightly.

"I'd rather not have to, Ephram," she confessed. He narrowed his eyes in a little worry.

"Is it that bad of a reason?" he asked her. She nodded.

"Worse than yours," she told him. He nodded in understanding and let it go, much to her pleasure.