Dharkie, my first reviewer! Hoo-freakin'-ray! I don't mind insulting Canada, sing the South Park song! I'm used to it--if I were that touchy about this crappy nation I live in (though we aren't in a war right now! Nyah nyah!) I wouldn't like Simpsons so much!

And a gun? A GUN? Haven't you seen Bride of Chuckey? You have to be like Martha Stewart when murdering people if ya wanna go down in history! You gotta improvise! I'll be hunting around my daddy's toolshed, then I'll finish the story, THEN I'll fly to England.

Chapter Two

By the second day of school, Clear remembered why she prefered summer.

Homework.

Her, Tod, George, and Alex were in Alex's room, moaning over the one subject they all had together, algebra. Clear and George were sitting across each other on Alex's identical beanbag chairs. Clear was casually copying George's answers, but they had all hit a rough spot.

Clear clicked her unpainted, uncut fingernail against her teeth, trying to do the sum in her head. George was writing down possible formulas, not seeming to be satisfied. Tod and Alex were groaning in frustration until Tod snapped his fingers.

"Got it!" he exclaimed, "X=23, A=9."

"Yes," Clear sighed, "Finally."

George rolled his eyes. "You're the smartest one here. If you could just get a calculator--"

"I HAVE a calculator," Clear insisted, "Who doesn't? I just... can't find it."

Alex, who was sitting at his desk, picked up Clear's blue school bag. "This thing's fuckin' heavy," he observed, "It's gotta be in here somewhere." With a great deal of effort, he tossed it to the brunette. Clear unzipped it and looked through.

The guys watched in amazement as she pulled out sets of keys, papers, jewelery, nail polish, and, perhaps the oddest item in there, a dog collar. Finally, she yelped in joy, dropping her sheet music from her mouth.

"You found your calculator?" George asked.

"No," Clear said with a proud grin, holding up a small black object that looked like a warped clothespin, "My capo. I haven't been able to find this since July."

George bit his lip and peered into her now empty school bag. "So, little miss organized, I'm guessing the calculator isn't in there?"

"Since when are you so forgetfull?" Tod asked, thinking of how organized she appeared to be in ninth grade.

"Oh," Clear said softly, "Things are just crazy right now. Like, I've got my guitar lessons, and piano lessons, and homework, and I'm thinking of taking a few art classes--"

"Don't think." George said immediately. "You've got enough to do."

Clear blushed. "I guess I need time for friends, too. And, you George."

Tod groaned. It was a standard reaction to when things got "fluffy" with his brother and Clear. There were two things that Tod couldn't handle: alcohol, and love. George hoped that Tod would get a girlfriend soon enough so that he could understand that people were entitled to be mushy once in a while.

Clear's watch suddenly beeped. "Shit. Six o'clock. I've gotta get home and start dinner."

Tod laughed a little. "Clear, that's was moms are for."

Clear didn't even bother giving him the talk on why that was sexist. She just said a quick good-bye and left. She took her usual route, one that had taken her two weeks to find. It was a complicated one, but it got her home in less than ten minutes. She went out the window, along the side of the roof, down the ladice, over the fence, through the park, across the small stream, and into the back yard of her house.

Not her home.

The place was just four walls filled with pain. Physical and emotional.

Not getting along with Colin was not the case. Okay, the two didn't like each other, but it went beyond arguments. Imagine having a daily fistfight with your stepdad. Imagine never wearing tank tops because you were too embarassed of the bruises on your shoulder. Imagine a hard game you could never win, but there was always someone who made you play it.

That was the life of Clear Rivers.

She opened the back door to find Colin in there, sitting in the big blue armchair that used to belong to her father. She loved the way that he would sit in there, all relaxed and happy, like he was the king of the world. Colin looked like he was king of the world as well--a high, holy ruler that was ready to command and punish. He scared the shit out of Clear, and she would never let him know that.

"You're late," he said impatiently, whiskey rolling off his breath.

'I never knew what whiskey smelled like 'till he came along,' Clear thought to herself, 'and I shoudln't.' She glared at her stepfather.

"Well, get started on the friggin' dinner!"

Clear looked fiercly at him one more time, then did what she was told. So much for not letting him know that he didn't scare her.

At dinner, he asked her to eat the meat. So she did. After, he asked her to do the dishes. So she did. He asked her to run out to the store and get him more pretzels. She did. He asked her to fetch him a beer. She did.

She was sick of doing what she was told.

***

Terry closed her book proudly, finished her first little bit of homework for the year. She had to remind herself, of course, that this was a tenth of what she would be receiving in the future. But for now, she wanted to dance in joy, jump on her bed, pop a balloon full of confetti and CEEEEELEBRATE GOOD TIMES COMMON!

But she didn't have any confetti, so she called Billy instead.

"Hey, Terry," he said immediately. He must have had caller ID. "What's up?"

"Does history homework blow or what?" she asked right away.

Billy laughed. "I haven't even started it. Wanna--"

"Come over and 'tutor' you? No problem."

Going out for two months and aleardy they were reading each others minds. Amazing.

Terry hung up, put on her sweater and her running shoes and ran out the door. The walk to Billy's was a quick one, ten minutes, and today was the perfect day for it. One of the last days of summer. Sunshine, warm-ish weather, people outside... perfect.

The walk to her boyfriend's house was almost a nightly ritual. She couldn't remember NOT being this active. There was a time when she tried to excercise, but could never do it right. That was why camp had really changed her. The new "pretty" Terry was a lot more confident. But it came with a price.

She tried once again to let go of the bad memories and kept walking until she saw...

Erica Hannamn.

Her former best friend.

Erica was just as heavy as Terry used to be. She was also extremely jealous when Terry lost the weight. They hadn't spoken to each other since a heated argument at the lake. Terry didn't even tell Erica when she left from their ill fated camping trip.

Terry tried not to freeze, but she did. Why was she intimidated by this girl? This girl was immature and mean-spirited. Terry wasn't. Slowly, she moved one foot, then the other, until she was walking again.

"Hi, Erica," she said nonchalantly.

"Hey, sellout," Erica grumbled.

Terry stopped and spun around. "What did you call me?" she demanded.

"Sell-out," Erica said slowly, as if she were talking to a five-year-old, "Which is exactly what you've become."

Terry couldn't think of anything to say besides, "No, it's not."

"Come on," Erica insisted, "Prancing around with all your new friends, and your boyfriend, pretending that you never were an outcast like me. You're just too good for all that shit, aren't you. Your friends should be worried--you're just going to ditch THEM once you're top of the pyramid or whatever. But then again, you might not BE a cheerleader--just 'cause you're a sack of bones doesn't mean you're talent. Your little friends don't deserve you."

Terry's eyes were dry, and she knew if she blinked the tears would come. So she stuck her chin and peered at Erica, then spat out, "Fatarse."

THEN she left.

***

Billy sat at his kitchen table, drumming his pencil over his history textbook. The whole thing made him want to puke. He knew Terry would be able to help him. She was really smart. If only he were like her!

The back door opened and Terry called out a wavering 'hi.' Billy immediately knew something was wrong. Usually, she would burst in, cry a cheerful 'hello!' then pet his mom's pug dog, Henry. He inched his chair out and watched as Terry slumped angrily through the kitchen and opened the freezer.

"Study food?" he asked as she pulled out a tub of heavenly hash ice cream.

"Sure," she said boredly.

Trying to be a gentleman, he stood up, got two bowls, and scooped out the ice cream, preparing them the way they usually took it--hardening fudge sauce for him, banana pieces and Cool Whip for Terry. Then he carried them to the table.

Terry gazed at him, wondering how she would ever leave him. She would never be too good for him. If anything, she didn't deserve him.

She bust into tears.

'Oh no,' Billy thought desperately, 'She's... crying.' He looked at her, wondering what the hell he would do. Okay... should he ask what as wrong? No. She wouldn't answer anyways. Should he get her some tissues? No, that seemed kind of insulting. 'Just hug her, dumbass,' he told himself.

So he hugged her.

Finally, Terry choked down her last sob, and Billy was able to ask what was wrong.

"Erica," Terry groaned, voice cracking, "She called me a sell-out, and said that I didn't deserve you and stuff..."

"Well she's wrong," Billy insisted. That was all he could think of.

That was all Terry needed.