"I really don't understand the color scheme," Kate flips through a magazine, shows me pictures, raises her eyebrows. I am near silent. "I mean, tangerine, navy blue, and magenta? How does THAT work?"

"Kate, who were you with yesterday?" I question finally, hugging my knees to my body. I realize I'm holding my breath, anticipating her response.

"Ethan," She replies, not missing a beat. "He gave me a ride to the mall."

"Do you hang out with him a lot now?"

"I guess," She shrugs, licking her finger and turning the page.

"But, I thought you said you were drifting."

"Lizzie," She sighs, drained. "I'm really not in the mood for the third degree, okay? Just... sit there and look pretty. You're good at that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I can't believe it. This... from KATE SANDERS.

"What? Nothing," She tosses aside the magazine. "It's not supposed to mean anything." She leans back, looks at her ceiling, and sighs. "God, I'm bored."

"Why don't you do drugs then?" I say bitterly, quietly.

"Don't do this, Lizzie," She groans, falling backwards. "Just... be cool. It's no big deal."

"Kate, Jesus doesn't –"

"Don't," She says dangerously. "Do not pull that card." She sits up. "Christ, Lizzie, we're not all saints like you."

"I'm not," I laugh, "A saint. At all." Lanny, coveting. Hating. Lying to Larry. Not fully believing.

"Oh yeah? Why not?" She challenges me, giving me a Look. "You're just too good, Liz. I can't keep up anymore. It's not easy."

"It's not supposed to be easy," I soften, begging her to try. "That's the point. You have to work for Heaven."

"You don't know what it's like," She looks away from me. "Being best friends with you. Everyone fucking LOVES you. No one loves me, the two-faced whore."

"Jesus loves you," I touch her arm and she pulls away.

"Yeah," She says cynically, "Like that'll make me Homecoming Queen." She sends chills down my spine, and I don't know why.

"It's not easy to be your friend either, you know," It's my turn to turn away, cross my arms. "I always have to pick up the pieces. Like the other day..."

"Do you have to...?" She struggles, trying to wrap her head around the words. "I don't know... REMEMBER that? It's really not that big of a deal. I was trying it." She looks at me. "It would be weird to see you on acid. You'd spaz." She laughs and I laugh with her, though I don't think it's funny at all.

"Yeah, well, you'll never see that," I smirk at the thought.

"What about... ecstasy?" Her voice is full of thought.

"Kate!" I look at her as though she's insane. "No way."

"Come on, Lizzie," Her eyes grip excitement. "I have one pill."

"But I... threw it out the window..."

"I got it out the bushes." The thought of Kate digging through the bushes for her lost drugs makes me sick. "We can split it. It won't hurt or anything."

"Who are you?" I ask, bewildered, because the Kate I'm friends with would never do this. Or maybe she would, and I just don't know.

"Lizzie," She pleads with me, but I don't give in and she sighs. "Fine. I knew it. You're just too good." What does she mean, 'too good'? Can something be too good?

I picture what it would be like, having things be too good, but instead of images blooming everything dissolves. Aspects disappear, and nothing is left. My too good is a blank canvas.

I don't want to give in to peer pressure, but I hate this 'too good' business. I have so many questions, but I don't particularly want the answers.

"This is such a bad idea," I sigh, holding out my hand. Kate asks no questions either, just splits apart the butterfly.

Forty three minutes later, I know exactly what my too good is. Kate's hand is so soft as we sit in the garden she bought for me, $25 dollars from her cousin Amy.

"How long does this last?" I laugh at her as she makes faces, tracing the lines of my palm. The colors are so vivid now. Kate's walls are no longer pink, but pink! They jump out, demand my attention. They are beautiful. I can't hate them. They ARE me.

"Depends," She says in a strange voice that reminds me of trumpets. "A few hours." She stares at my ear intently. It feels like a seashell, washed up in Technicolor foam. How could this be bad? How could I have almost refused this?

"I like forever better," I giggle into her neck, because Kate is so funny. Her hair is like a bunny, but so much better, because she can talk. I always liked those talking animal movies. I wish Kate had a dog, so we could hear what he had to say.

And I realize now that Jesus totally wants us to take drugs. I see his face in the walls, and he talks to me, tells me stories about what he's seen.

"Lizzie," Jesus says, "You're not too good. You are just right." And he is so right. I laugh but when I turn to Kate, she laughs too, and I know she's been listening in. I stop talking to Jesus because she's so nosy. And I tell her so, pushing her nose like a button. She makes another face and I laugh so hard. Kate's so funny.

"Can I shave your head NOW?" She asks, playing with a lock.

"No! Silly girl," I roll off the bed. "That's stupid." I spin in a circle, but I get dizzy and have to stop. I make friends with the dresser by crashing into it.

"Jesus wants you to, Lizzie," Kate laughs with her big cow eyes, climbing towards me on her hands and knees. She's breathless. I forget that we have to breathe, here in my too good. "You need to LISTEN, as you ALWAYS do." She grabs my leg.

"Nuh-uh," I shake her off. "Not true. Not always." She starts to look like a watercolor portrait. I feel like I'm on a rollercoaster, trying to focus on one tree or person or kiosk on the ground, but it's no use because everything is rushing by.

"I love you, Lizzie McGuire," She hugs my knees, kissing them. "Will you have my baby?" I shake her off again, fall into the wall. I didn't realize that Kate was the only reason I wasn't falling.

"No," I breathe, walking with the wall, "Kate Sanders. Kuh-ate."

"Why not?" She whines on the floor, like a four year old. I remember how she used to do the same with her mother. I collapse on the floor next to her and lean close.

"Do you know," I say to her forehead, "That I love Lanny, Matt's friend?"

"No..." She covers her mouth as she giggles, eyes wide. I giggle with her, because she so right, it is funny. "I thought he was like... gay with Matt!" And we giggle some more.

"No, but that would be funny," And I laugh more, because oh my gosh, it is. Everything's so very funny. I make a drum beat on her thighs. "Sing me a song, Kate."

"Oh, Lizzie," She half-sings, half-laughs. "You are so pretty.... It's rhymes! Lizzie, pretty..." She falls into my lap. "Oops. No it doesn't."

"Yes, it does," I say, but really I just want to argue, resting my head on hers.

"Can I shave your head now?" She asks, muffled.

"Fine," I push her head away from me and then pull it back, using her shoulders to stand up. She pulls my hand to stand up and I almost fall. "Kuh-ate."

We stumble into her bathroom and giggle, life is so funny, don't you think? I am in awe of her teal tile, like the ocean. Like the ocean if it were a chess set. She fumbles around, looking for things, and I sit on the toilet, looking at the beautiful ocean chess set. Why is it so beautiful? I try to remember what it looked like before, but there is no before anymore.

"I've always wanted to do this," She tells me, putting shaving cream in her hand. It comes out like ice cream, or a wave, or a cloud, and I want to eat it. I try to, but Kate pushes me away, laughing. "No, silly, it's for your head." She pushes all my hair on top of my skull and massages, and it is so much better than tasting. She feels like a spider on top of my head, trying to swallow me whole. She has a thousand fingers, she must.

"Sculpt me, Kuh-ate," I say deeply, putting my fingers together like I'm meditating.

"You should totally ask Lanny to the dance," She says, doing little swirls in my hair. "Liz-E. E-Liz. Like a rapper." I open my mouth to say something, but the spider distracts me. It's so lovely, grand, though I've never used those words before seriously.

She picks up her pretty pink razor and it reminds me of so many pretty things, like butterflies and pocket knives and Tylenol. She slowly pulls her hand back and suddenly everything is twice as beautiful; I feel air in my skull and it's like she's scratching an itch I've had for eternity. Shaving cream covered locks fall in my palms.

"It's snowing!" I exclaim, stroking the locks. They are so soft, with their lifeless foam. I feel like I've been locked in a box for years, and Kate has found the key. And I love, love, love her for it.

I close my eyes and let her jabber on, snipping and shaving, and I laugh, thinking about what a good joke this is. What will everyone say? They'll be amazed at how beautiful I am, laugh about how I fooled them all. Maybe some will be mad. Oh, well, they don't matter.

"This is nice," I tell her, touching her arm. "You're nice." The tile is too beautiful to resist. I fall onto it, trying to taste the saltiness. Blood races down my ear, to my cheek. What a stellar red. I touch it with my fingertip, rubbing it so it blooms on my palm.

"Lizzie," Kate whines, laughs, "Get up." She pulls me up by my arm, up above the sea. She doesn't understand. I'm a mermaid, washed up on shore. I don't belong here.

Because of you
I forgot the
Smart ways to rhyme
Because of you
I'm running out of
Reasons to cry

As my hair disintegrates like time through an hour glass, the rollercoaster starts again, the mirror and sink blurring together. Kate looks like five Kates, surrounding me like a gate. I don't know why, but I think about Monopoly as she puts down the razor. She uses a towel and rubs my head, and I laugh, because it feels so good. Like a jellyfish, engulfing my head into its stingers.

"Beautiful," Kate kisses my head and leads me to the mirror. I stumble slightly, and wonder, is the mirror foggy? I don't recognize myself, a puddle of eyes. The earth keeps spinning so laugh with her. Good joke, good joke. "Oh my God, Lizzie, you're so going to be Homecoming Queen now." We laugh again.

"No, you are, Katie Kate," I put my arms around her neck, "Because YOU are FABULOUS." I nestle my head onto her shoulder. "What a funny, funny word."

"You're a funny, funny word," She says, and we're off again. Life really is so, so funny.

"Hi, Mattie," I greet my brother at my door. He stares at me blankly, like he cannot believe my beauty. "I know, it's wonderful. Let me in."

"What the hell happened to you?" He asks me, but I see Lanny over his shoulder and push past, grabbing his shirt. I have never seen him in such vivid color, such wonder. The blue plaid yells at me its message, criss-crossing, changing lanes. It's says, 'Lizzie, this is Lanny, so introspective and deep, he wants to marry you' and I believe them because it IS his shirt.

"Lanny," I taste his name like cuisine (another funny word.) "Your shirt is so..." I laugh, tilt my head. "Cosmic." He doesn't say anything, of course, he's Lanny, he needs no words. I open my mouth to ask him to the dance but Matt grabs my wrist and pulls me away.

"Are you drunk?" I laugh in his face. Such a good, good joke, why isn't he laughing? "What did you do to your hair? I thought Jesus wanted you to have an eighty dollar haircut, after all."

"Matt," I squeeze him close to me. "Matt, Matt, Matt. Naïve Matt. Don't you understand? I'm beautiful. I'm fricking BEAUTIFUL."

"God, Mom'll kill you if she sees you," And with that, he starts to pull me upstairs. I resist, because, after all, my date is downstairs. Why would I go to my room, where there is no one but me? "Come ON, Lizzie, I'm saving your ass here."

"You're such a spoilsport, Matt McGuire," I yell, but I let him pull me upstairs, because I know he doesn't realize how wonderful everything is. When we get to my room, he sits me on my bed.

"What did you do?" He questions, exasperated, looking for something.

"Ecstacy," I swing my legs like a little girl sitting on a bench, waiting for the bus. He stops and looks at me, as though he doesn't believe me.

"You... took X?" He shakes his head, starts searching again. "How holy of you. Hope you don't go to hell for that one." He finds what he's looking for, the key to my bedroom, and turns to me. "Now, you have to stay here – "

"Who's Lanny taking to the dance?" I ask, still swinging my legs.

"We're going together," He replies.

"As USUAL," I sigh, falling backwards. "Why don't you take like... Melina?"

"She turned into a bitch, remember?" He sounds annoyed, but I don't care, because I'm so frustrated with this. "All she does is hang out with that junior, Andie, and pierces other girls' navels because, oh my god, it's like, so cool."

"But she still calls here," I don't want to talk about this anymore. The ceiling fan has become far too fascinating, with it's meaning of life theory.

"Yeah, and I hang up on her," He doesn't want to talk about it either. "Just... stay here, okay?"

"Do you like, have an aversion for blondes or something?" I find this very funny, and crack up. "You can't stand me, or Melina, or Kate..."

"Maybe I just have an aversion to people who pretend to be something they aren't," He replies, so cold I need a sweater, which I crack up at as well. "Besides, you're not a blonde anymore."

"Everybody pretends SOMETIMES," I fold my lip down and pretend to be a beaver, which I am good at. "Don't YOU?"

"Yeah," He says quietly, harshly, shrugging. "But not anymore."

"Should I ask Lanny to the dance?" I ask him, and I don't know why, because it's Matt, he doesn't care, he doesn't see me.

"Something tells me he'd say no," She leans in my doorway. "Stay here." He closes the door and I hear it lock, but I don't care, because it's so, so frustrating. I kick my table and a lamp falls over; it isn't enough but I stop because I am filled with genius. I pick up my phone and dial Gordo's number, anticipating. Phones are so funny because they're like boxes that talk and when I'm thinking about this, I can't hear Gordo say, 'Hello?'

"Hello?" He asks again. His voice has gotten so deep, I think, though I can't really tell if it's him or me.

"Hi, Gordo," I greet him. "Want to go to the dance with me?"

"L-Lizzie?" He's confused, he's going to call the Police. "What?"

"Do you want to go to the dance with me?" He makes me impatient. Why is he so stupid? Why does he not get it?"

"Um... no," He replies. "Why would I ever go to the dance with you, my ex-best friend, who up until... this exact moment, has ignored me since tenth grade?"

"Um. Because you don't have a date or.... Something..." This isn't going the way I planned. "Silly. Duh."

"I have a date, actually," He says coolly, and I want to laugh at him.

"Who? MIRANDA?" I snort, because it's ridiculous. Miranda hangs out with Parker and Cody and sometimes even Angel Lieberman, when she has to, when Gordo hangs out with... no one.

"No, Kate," He says, and I laugh, because Gordo's sarcasm has never really been amusing to me until now.

"Seriously," I say, watching the posters on my walls stare at me.

"I am serious," He says, and the world comes crashing down.