A/N. This takes place during episode 2.01, Only Connect. Special thanks to LushBaby, who beta'd this for me, and convinced me it wasn't completely lame. It's still not great, but it will do. This was a difficult chapter for me. Not sure why.

OK, guys, I'm putting this to a vote. After watching episode 2.04, "The Cat," I of course couldn't wait to write that chapter. But, then I started thinking, their last scene was so perfect, can I really expound on it? So, I'm thinking I shouldn't do that episode...after all, how do you improve perfection? I'd love to do it, but I'd hate to adulterate it. Should I? Shouldn't I? Does anyone care?

To Grace, because she's sunk, and I love making her squirm, sadist that I am.

Unwanted Admission

Things weren't going very well.

The five-minute rule wasn't working, school was a nightmare, and Physics was a disaster waiting to happen. I should have known better than do this. He wasn't cooperating, and I wouldn't let him screw up my life.

Going five minutes without losing all control was hard enough without him looking at me with his big eyes and pleading for more. More wasn't an option; I already had to find ways to distract myself. Usually that meant watching the people around us, though that was a little difficult when he was blocking my view, doing things that I was so determined to not dwell on. So, I'd do dumb things, like recite the multiplication table, or nursery rhymes, or something else I would never admit to knowing out loud. Not that I got very far on any of them, with something else so persistently requesting my attention. It didn't take much for every thought except him to slip away from me.

I could tell the first day of school that he was going to be difficult. We walked together from the café to a couple of blocks away from school, and then I made him go ahead while I waited. Ten minutes later, I approached our Physics classroom, and he was hanging around outside the door, looking right at me! I stopped dead, angry. He widened his eyes, like he'd been caught, looked past me, and called, "Hey, Friedman." I watched as Friedman passed me (without a disparaging remark, for once), and they went into the classroom together. I wasn't fooled, nor was I amused. Then not five minutes into the class, he looked right at me again. The dude sits directly in front of me. How is turning around to look at me even remotely attempting to adhere to the contract?

I thought the next day was going better, until he got in Friedman's face for getting in mine. After I left, I found him in the courtyard sitting on a bench. I walked right by him, keeping my head ducked, and muttered, "Behind the gym in five minutes," and kept walking.

Five minutes later he ambled over to me with an amused expression on his face and said, "I was hoping you'd grant leeway on the five-minute rule."

His easy stride and oh-so-confident attitude did nothing to improve my mood.

"What did you think you were doing back there?" I demanded.

Startled by my sharp voice he said, "He was being a jerk, Grace! I wasn't going to stand there and let him say—"

"That's exactly what you should have done, Girardi! Friedman says junk to me all the time. You'll blow it if you're not careful!"

He held my gaze for a few minutes before looking away and letting out a sigh. "OK, it won't happen again." He was still clearly irritated, but he agreed

"It'd better not," I threatened.

I leaned against the wall, and he mimicked my position. A smile grew on his lips and his eyes clouded over.

"Huh uh," I said, holding up a hand, "We've met our quota for the day."

He moaned. "Grace, come on." He looked around. There hadn't been anyone near us the whole time. "We're alone, it's perfect."

"That's not the point. The point is one, we're going to be late for class, and two, designated areas will never be on school property. It's too risky."

He raised an eyebrow. "Grace Polk cares about getting to class on time."

"You do," I accused.

He stepped a bit closer. "Just one for the road." He smiled.

I wanted to deck him. "Do not push your luck."

We stared at each other for several minutes, our wills silently battling each other. Actually, it was the battle of three wills: His will to kiss me, my will to not let him kiss me, and my desire to close my eyes and savor him for a few precious moments. My desire had almost conquered my determination to stand firm when he sighed and turned away.

"See ya later," he muttered.

After he left, I let out by breath and sank to the ground, exhausted from the inner conflict.

---

I was restless that evening, and so in an attempt the clear my head, I walked out my front door, down the pathway to the sidewalk, and kept going. Walking always centered me.

Tonight, I wanted to remember. Remember what it was like to not have my heart quicken at an image in my mind, or my breath catch at the sound of a voice. It was only two days ago that I went to him with the contract, and already I could hardly recognize myself. Even when he was nowhere around I couldn't go five minutes without thinking about him, and I'd even caught myself with a goofy grin a couple times. Luckily, it was when I was alone, but still, this was the nauseating part I wanted to avoid.

I tried to talk myself into getting out of it, into telling him that I wasn't that interested after all, and that it was a mistake in the first place. The problem is, even in my imagination I never got through the words. I tried to picture him getting angry and storming off, but instead I pictured him leaning in to kiss me. In my mind, he never turned away from me like he did at school. Instead, his amused eyes and knowing smile peered through me until I gave into him. And I always gave in.

I realized I hadn't been paying attention to where I was going, and looked around me to see where I was. I squeezed my eyes shut to the house in front of me, and shook my head. I did not wind up here tonight.

More than anything, I wanted to get away from there as fast as I could, and I would have left right then, except that I couldn't move. I didn't feel like facing him, not now, not tonight, but being there felt right. I turned my thoughts to Joan, who would be the natural reason to be there. Does she voluntarily go through this with Rove? They say falling in love is the greatest thing in the world, but this didn't feel anything like great. It was messy, and confusing, and why would anybody want to do it?

I walked around the house and stood below Joan's windows. Yelling up to her was out, because his bedroom window was just above and over from hers, so he'd be likely to hear us, and stick his head out of his window. That ruled out rocks or pinecones, too, since that would just get Joan's head out the window, which could lead to the same undesirable results. The only way I was going to be able to talk to Joan was if I climbed up. Muttering to myself about the inane things I've done since last May, I climbed up a nearby tree, and made my way to the ledge below her window. My perch was precarious, but I was able to hold on and knock on her window.

Joan opened the window, holding a crazy-looking lamp, looking like she was ready to beat me with it. She recognized me, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

I've never had patience for obvious questions. "I'm clinging to a pipe," I said as I reached for her windowsill and pulled myself to it.

"Grace... there's the phone, Internet, doorbell."

"I do things my way," I declared as I climbed through her window. The phone and doorbell were far too risky, and I was already there which ruled out using the Internet. I looked around at the lampshades and cords and do-dads strewn around her room. "What's happening here?"

"I'm working on my lamps," she replied.

Lamps? As in productivity? "I liked you better before."

"Join the club," Joan muttered as I picked up the lampshade from her chair and fell into it.

"So...quick question. Are you in love with Rove?" Joan's love life was always enough of a deterrent from me getting into the same fiasco that she found herself in. If anything could get me to decide once and for all to end my own catastrophe, it would be watching Joan freak out about Adam.

Joan looked at me questioningly, before looking away, "Well, yeah, I guess."

"Well, how do you know for sure, though?" How does anyone know what love actually is?

"I just said I guess," she said, noncommittally.

"Well, how do you know it's not just part of the whole... psychic flameout? Because it feels kinda like a breakdown."

She didn't say anything for a while, and then she slowly smiled and looked at me. "Wait. Are you in love?" she asked, wagging her finger at me.

Why in the world would she think that? It was an innocuous question, and her assumption was absurd. "No. We're talking about you."

I hoped she had missed the small smile that I couldn't keep off my face, but it didn't matter, she didn't let up. "No, no. No, it really feels like we're talking about you right now."

I felt that same nauseating, goofy smile that I had caught myself with before come to my lips, and I did the only thing I could think of. I put the lampshade that was in my lap over my head.

"We're not," I insisted, a lame attempt, considering that I, Grace Polk, was hiding under a lampshade. Because of a guy. I don't think I had ever sunk so low.

"Grace, if there's a guy...." Joan paused, and I felt my cheeks grow warm. She was going to figure it out. I knew her next words were going to be whether it was her brother, and I was dead. "Or...not a guy," she continued. I sighed and leaned back. Joan was one of my best friends, and she still believed those rumors. It occurred to me that her thinking that was better than her realizing who the guy was. "You know, anybody, uh... I think I should know."

Joan's assumptions about my sexuality, though preferable to her discovering the truth, annoyed me, and annoyance was a welcomed emotion. One I could handle. I took off the lampshade and shot her a dirty look.

"I asked a simple question. Forget it." I got out of her chair, pushed her out of the way of her window, and climbed out. As I put up the hood to my on my sweatshirt, I turned to her and said, "I was never here."

As I climbed my way down, I fervently hoped she'd get the message, and not mention this to The Geek. If he knew I was sneaking into his house to talk to his sister about love, I'd never have a chance. I snuck to the front of the house, and saw him in their living room, turning on the television and sitting on the couch. I squeezed my eyes shut for a minute before hurrying off their property, and making my way home.

My chances were already diminishing by the day.