:Thank you for the reviews, its flattering! Please keep them coming! And I'm glad one reviewer got the Manic Street Preachers reference! Each chapter title will have a lyric or song title from that amazing group! And the title relates to the subject of the chapter. By the way, I am flattered about something else too. I'm on the favourites list of 28 members on this website, and on 17 Author Alert lists!! How is this possible! thank you to those of you who read the updates and give me amazing reviews! I can't get my head around it.:

Life Starts Here

Chapter Three – From despair to where

Phoebe looked at her bedside clock. 4pm. Joey should be home from school by now. She sighed wearily, rolling over her bed to face the wall, away from anything significant in her room. At the foot of her bed lay her guitar, untouched since the day her mother died. As soon as the funeral had taken place and she had moved in with her Grandmother, Phoebe had put the guitar on the floor of her new room, leaving it to gather dust.

The soft, slow ballads she used to play weren't really missed. Ursula hated her talent back when they used to share a room, and her Grandmother's hearing wasn't the best. There just didn't seem to be any point using it anymore.

A knock came from the door, and Ursula poked her head in. "Hey, weirdo, some guy at the door to see you." She told her brusquely, "he said it was important."

"Is it Joey?" Phoebe asked hopefully, sitting up.

"No," Ursula smirked, "this guy seems to be a little old to be Joey. Are you branching out in the geriatrics department or something? My god, your taste in men is weirder than your clothing." Ursula poked her head back out and shut the door again.

Phoebe scowled and stood up from the bed, straightening her wrinkled blouse and gypsy skirt. She walked purposefully to the door, then stopped and glanced at herself in the mirror. Staring back at her was a pale looking teenager with her blonde hair flapping uselessly around her face, and hastily braided in ribbons at the sides. She had used to take notice of her appearance, but not anymore.

She walked out of her bedroom and down the stairs to the front door. She opened it, revealing an average height, fair looking man who looked to be in his early-thirties standing outside.

The man smiled kindly at Phoebe and extended his hand. When she didn't shake it, the man coughed nervously and lowered his arm. "Um…I'm Bob Rafferty," he told her, "Are you Phoebe Buffay?"

"I might be," Phoebe said tightly, making no move to let Bob into the house, "what do you want?"

"I'm a teacher from Lincoln High School, or maybe I should say the school councillor." Bob explained, showing his Identification, "can we have a talk? Is your Grandmother in?"

"My Grandmother is staying with friends this week," Phoebe explained, "and no, we can't talk." She started to push the door closed, but Bob put his hand to it, blocking her.

"Phoebe, I really do need to speak with you," Bob said firmly, "I know this has been a rough couple of years for you, but you can't let your mother's death ruin your life like this. I want to help you."

Phoebe looked at him sceptically. She had lost count of the amount of people who had told her that. Her Grandmother, countless middle aged women from the social services…the list was endless.

"Phoebe, if you don't let me in, then I'm afraid I've got to get the Education Authorities and Social Services involved," Bob explained, "I don't want to do that, but you've missed too much of your education for it to be left unnoticed. It's entirely up to you."

She nodded and opened the door wider, letting Bob walk inside. She led him into the small but neat living room.

"I'm afraid we don't have any tea or coffee in the house," she told Bob stiffly, "Ursula is the only family member who drinks it, so there isn't a lot to go around."

"That's ok," Bob assured her, sitting down, "I won't stay long. I just want to have a little talk with you."

Phoebe sighed and sat down in a chair in the corner of the room, far away from Bob's sitting position on the couch. "Fire away," she muttered.

"Ok, Phoebe, I'm here because Lincoln High's Principal has told me about your problems attending school." Bob glanced at her before pulling out some papers from his worn briefcase, "The records show you haven't done a full day's education since you were 14. Now you're 17 so you've missed three years of school! This cannot carry on."

Phoebe shrugged, refusing to make eye contact with Bob. "I don't like school." She muttered.

"Now I don't think that's true Phoebe," Bob said quietly, "before your mom died, you were one of Lincoln High's most scholarly students. You were all set to skip Freshman Grade to become a Sophomore a year early. You loved school."

"That was then, this is now, and I don't…like…school." Phoebe insisted, her jaw clenching angrily.

"I know what you've been through Phoebe, and you must be hurting but…"

"You have no idea what I'm going through!" Phoebe shouted, tears gathering in her eyes, "she…she was my mom, my whole life revolved around her."

"I do know what you're going through because I've been through it myself," Bob interrupted, eyeing her kindly but firmly, "I went through it at around the same point your mom died. Three years ago, my wife was involved in a car crash. She was in a coma for three months before we all realised that she was never going to wake up. I've had to live through the pain of not being with the woman I loved with all my heart…the woman my life revolved around."

Phoebe gazed at Bob in shock, suddenly feeling guilty for shouting at him. "I'm…I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It doesn't matter, don't worry about it," Bob assured sadly, "I'm getting over it…moving on…getting on with my life. It means you have to too…eventually. It will hurt, but it's what you've gotta do."

"I…I don't know how…"

"Well for starters, you can come back to school," Bob smiled, "you've missed a lot of work, but you're smart enough to get around it. Ursula attends regularly, maybe she could help you?"

Phoebe laughed bitterly and looked away. "Ursula wouldn't help me even if she was offered a life time's supply of caffeine and cigarettes." She replied.

Bob looked at her, troubled. "Are things that bad with your twin?"

"Yeah, and it's getting worse. I thought sharing a room was bad enough, but now we just ignore each other completely. When we stand together we look like our reflections, but on the inside it's different. Her heart is made of stone, but mine isn't…at least I hope not."

Bob laughed. "Your heart isn't made of stone Phoebe and I'm sure, deep down, Ursula's isn't either. You just need to adjust to each other."

"We've tried that since birth Sir," Phoebe stood up, hinting to Bob it was time for him to leave, "and it hasn't worked. She lives her life, I live mine. Maybe I live in more despair, but I'm coping ok with it. I don't need your help; I don't need anybody's help."

"Does your Grandmother know you don't go to school?" Bob pressed, standing up.

"No, I throw away every letter Lincoln High sends her," Phoebe admitted, "she isn't going to get into trouble…is she?"

"Noo…" Bob said thoughtfully; "not if you return immediately. I still need to talk with her though."

"No Sir, you can't!" Phoebe panicked, grabbing his arm. She looked down at it and withdrew hastily. "she…she thinks I attend everyday! She's…she's so proud of me. Please don't tell her." She gazed at Bob pleadingly and he sighed.

"Do you realise what you're asking of me?" he asked her, "I could get fired." He paused, staring at Phoebe's stricken face. "ok, look, I'll make a deal with you. If you start school again next Monday, I won't speak with your Grandmother about you tearing up those letters explaining the truancy. I'll just tell the Principal you've agreed to give school another chance after having a talk with me – which is actually the truth, in part."

"Oh, thank you Sir, thank you!" Phoebe shrieked, throwing her arms around him, "I won't let you down, I promise."

Bob grinned and pushed Phoebe back slightly. "no need to get carried away," he told her, "I'll still be keeping an eye on you. You'll have to work hard to keep up with the rest of your grade."

"Oh yeah…" Phoebe wrinkled her nose, "Am I going to be with the Freshmen kids?"

"No, the Principal has agreed to put you with the Juniors," Bob explained, "you're too behind to be a Senior – which is where you should be – but you're too smart to be any lower than a Junior." He looked at her sternly for a second, "You really have got to work hard young lady. This isn't going to be an easy ride."

"As I said, I won't let you down." Phoebe promised.

****

One day later

Monica pulled on her sneakers, picked up her hockey stick and walked out of the changing rooms. She walked across the fields, reaching her group. Since losing all the weight over the summer, Monica's status in Gym had changed. Before, she was just 'big fat goalie', now she was a proper part of the group, allowed to shoot for goal and pass the ball around. It still didn't make her detest the sport any less though. She was terrible at the game; she couldn't hold the ball with the stick for more than a second before the opposing team swooped in and tackled her; her accuracy at shooting at the goal left a lot to be desired.

The hockey teacher, a tough looking, university graduate jock called David Gerhard blew his whistle and ordered the group to split into two teams. As usual, Monica was picked last. She sneaked a look across the field towards the tennis courts, watching the guy she had met the previous day in the library warm-up. Chandler Bing had surprisingly good athletic prowess. He seemed to be thriving in the lively atmosphere of the tennis court, hammering down fast serves at his poor opponent. Monica felt a shoot of admiration as she continued to watch him – if she hadn't been so far away, Monica could have sworn Chandler was trying to impress her. He was definitely going the right way about it.

"Monica, when you think you've finished watching the seniors, maybe you could join in with this group?" David asked sarcastically, attracting her attention at once.

Monica blushed. "Sorry," she muttered, hearing the snickers and murmurs from the class. "I'm paying attention now."

****

Chandler tossed his tennis racquet into his locker and, after quickly glancing around to check that no-one was looking, grabbed the pack of cigarettes secretly wedged right at the back, under a pile of books.

He stuffed it quickly into his jeans pocket, slammed the locker shut and sauntered off down the hallway, whistling softly. When he reached the back door, he pushed through it and walked down a little sidewalk that led to the back of the Gym. He leaned against the concrete wall, took out a cigarette, put it to his lips and lit it. He sighed happily as the poisonous, but pleasurable vapours inhaled into his lungs and then came out again.

"That's a filthy habit," a disapproving voice said right next to his ear.

Chandler jumped out of his skin, took the cigarette out of his mouth and hid it behind his back. He turned around guiltily, expecting to see a teacher, but instead met the eyes of Monica Geller. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Geezus, you scared me then," he muttered, putting the cigarette to his lips again, "don't do that."

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't stand watching you kill yourself for much longer." Monica told him, smiling wryly.

Chandler shrugged. "I'm only having a smoke. It's not a crime."

He watched as Monica leaned against the wall with him. "I can't understand why you would choose to corrupt your body like that," she said to him, "any reason?"

"I don't know and I don't care," Chandler replied simply, grinning slightly.

"Typical." Monica shot at him.

"Look, Monica Morals, if you knew the crap I've gone through in my life so far, you'd be smoking too." Chandler threw down the finished cigarette and squashed it with his foot.

"What can be so terrible about you life?"

He sighed and faced her, looking at her squarely in the eyes. "I've been smoking since the day my parents announced they were getting divorced. I was nine years old, it was Thanksgiving Day and our waiter serving the Turkey turned out to be one of the causes of my parents' spilt. His voice asking if I want 'more Turkaaaii Mistair Chandlaiiir' will forever be etched in my mind."

"Oh…I'm so sorry. Was your mom having an affair with him?"

"No, it was my father." Chandler shuddered and lit another cigarette.

"Ohhh…I-I see."

"Between the ages of 10-to-14 I lived with my father in Vegas, singing in his shows, plucking the eyebrows of his 'business partners' and generally making a nuisance of myself. In the end I was packed off to boarding school, where I got expelled a month ago, and here I am being lectured by a Junior on why I shouldn't be smoking."

"Wow…you make my home life sound like domestic bliss." Monica said, wide-eyed, "how have you survived?"

Chandler smiled down at Monica, almost amused by her captivated facial expression. "I get through the uncomfortable situations by making constant quips, causing pranks, smoking and playing tennis."

"I noticed the tennis earlier, you're very good." Monica smiled shyly at him.

Chandler flushed a little. "Thanks, I didn't even know anyone was watching." He looked at his watch, his eyes widening. "Ah." He muttered.

"What?"

"We should've been in class half an hour ago."

"Oh no! I should be taking a math test right now!" Monica shrieked, grabbing her bag.

Chandler grabbed her arm, stopping her from rushing off. "What's the point in going inside now?" he asked, "I've missed half of Physics…so what? It's just one lecture."

"But I had a test…"

Chandler shook his head and laughed. "Mon, it's the beginning of your first semester in Junior Grade. There are going to be a lot more important 'tests' than the one you've just missed. It's most likely one of those crappy 'lets see how much you know' tests. They're all garbage because no-one knows a thing when they start a new grade. Trust me, it isn't worth it. You can retake the test next time."

"But…"

"Mon," Chandler gave out an exasperated sigh, "if you barge into that deadly silent room now the teacher is going to freak out and you'll just get stressed. You won't be able to even do the test because you'll still be steaming from the detention that you'll have received. Do you really want that? Well, do you?"

"I guess not." Monica said doubtfully.

"Of course you don't." Chandler smiled kindly and wrapped an arm around her. "In situations such as these, I do something I really enjoy."

"What's that?"

"I hear there's a bitching diner down the road. Do you want something to eat? I'm starving; I could eat a cow."

Monica giggled. "That's Jerry's Diner. When he's in a good mood, he sometimes serves the Lincoln High student's free milkshakes."

"And when he's in a bad mood?"

"Stay away from him and don't comment on the sometimes questionable meat."

"Sounds like my kind of diner!" Chandler announced, walking down the sidewalk. He stopped and turned around, waiting for Monica to follow him. "Come on! What are you waiting for? If we go now, we'll be back in time for the afternoon classes! Free milkshakes a-go-go!"

To his delight, Monica laughed and ran up alongside him. His second day at Lincoln High had taken a better turn. He smiled to himself as he listened to Monica chatter about the waiters at Jerry's, hearing her laugh as he made a quip about the poor service he used to endure at a diner in Washington D.C. He couldn't have wished for better company.

****

Joey walked confidently down the hallways at lunch, flashing grins at the females on either side. Normally he would stop to talk to the ladies, maybe get their numbers, but today he had eyes for one girl only…and her cheerleading skirt continued to bounce up and down.

"Hey Rachel," he said soothingly, leaning against the lockers to face her as she opened her own. "How u doin'?"

Rachel slammed her locker shut and glared at him. "That kind of 'charm' won't get you anywhere Tribbiani!" she snapped, "why can't you just leave me alone?" she stormed up the hallway.

Joey watched her and grinned. "I won't leave you alone until you agree to give me a second chance Rachel!" he yelled, causing students to stare as they walked past.

"This is going to be more difficult than I thought it would be," he murmured thoughtfully.

End of Chapter Three