(Authors Note: Alright, I know that the Spiers/Schafers eventually made their barn into the house after it burned, but that took place in the books after the official BSC ended, so I'm pretending it doesn't exist : ) Also: Yes, there WILL BE fun times with the Pikes! But first there must be drama. Drama is the price of fun.)

Note 2: Wow, I didn't realize it's been over a year since I updated this! As of last week, I am a college graduate and have finished my student teaching, so it's time to get back to the stuff I really enjoy

Nicky's POV again(yes, I've somehow worked this story back into first person, and it's going to stay there):

We walked around my old neighborhood silently, hand in hand, for awhile. There was something very wrong, but I wanted Cherry to bring it up on her own, although I'd force it if I had to. I didn't believe her for a second about whatever it was she and Jordan had been discussing; it had been some real heavy-duty conversation, not a lighthearted poke at movie flubs. Something had been bothering her all day, and I no longer believed it had anything whatsoever to do with my family.

We circled a block or two before I got an idea. "Come on," I said, tugging her hand, and she silently followed me down to Burnt Hill Road. I stopped in front of the Spier's house, where I'd discovered an ancient hidden passage one summer when I was eight. The house connected to the passage had burned down some years ago, but had been rebuilt – more modern, but still beautiful. The other end of the passage was a large, airy barn that still stood, and it was here that I drew Cherry.

"This is private property," she said, hesitating.

"This place belongs to my old babysitters' parents. They're away visiting Mary Anne in Boston for the weekend and besides, I've had free access to this place for twelve years or so. They don't care."

We settled ourselves in the barn where it was shady and a good ten degrees cooler than outside. Cherry was wearing a tank top, and I saw her chafe her upper arms with her hands quickly. The stalls themselves were clean and full of soft straw – I sat in them a million times in high school, reading and studying, and that's where we wound up now. I sat facing her and immediately realized that I was getting a bit ticked off. For some reason, she was dicking me around and I didn't like it at all.

"Comfortable?" I asked. When she nodded I continued, "Good. Because you're going to tell me about whatever it is that's bothering you."

She immediately stood back up with a half-angry, half-disgusted sound. "God! What is it about everyone today? Why does everyone assume something's bothering me!"

"Because something is!" My voice rose to match hers and I stood also, grabbing hold of her forearm and forcing her to face me. "Now quit bullshitting me. I mean it. There's only so much distance and so many lies I can take in one day."

"I always wondered if you had a temper outside of assholes like James."

"Don't try to distract me, Cherry. It won't work."

She wrenched her arm free and walked a few feet away, looking out of one of the barn's big windows, taking in a view of the more rural Stoneybrook. I watched her silently. Her long dark hair rippled a bit in a small breeze and she rubbed at her arms again, chilled. I wanted to go and wrap her up and find a way to make her happy again – but I wanted answers more. Long minutes passed but neither one of us moved. I almost reached out to touch her, but realized at the last second that this kind of silence meant extreme contemplation on her end.

"Are you serious at all about me?" she asked finally, not moving an inch.

"No, I got my ribs bruised for fun." I'm afraid the sarcasm left me before I could check it, so I attempted to correct myself. "You know I am."

"That's not a safe place to be. Caring about me. I'm not a good person to care about. I'm one really fucked up individual, Nicky." Her voice dropped to a whisper before she finished the sentence.

"We're all screwed up, love. That's part of life." I did touch her now, gently, on her bare arm. She flinched, so I withdrew my hand.

"No, I mean really fucked up. It's why my engagement didn't last. It's what drove me to take up with James and . . ." she sighed. "What does it matter anyway?"

"Baby . . ." Standing behind her, I reached around and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She didn't flinch this time. At any other time she would have slugged me for calling her 'baby'. "It always matters to me what's gone on in your life."

Cherry barked out a short, humorless laugh and turned to look at me. Her face was strained, but her eyes and cheeks were bone dry. "I was date-raped when I was thirteen, Nick. My very first date. Do you know what cognitive psychology is?"

I couldn't breathe for a second. "Who . . . ?"

She shook her head impatiently. "Doesn't matter at this point. What matters is what happened afterwards. Cognitive therapy concentrates on the belief structure. What happens isn't so important, it's what we believe about what happens to us. Do you know what I believed after that?" She was talking fast now, furiously, as if she wanted to spit the words out as quickly as possible. "I believed that if I had no control over what others did with my body anyway, I might as well be free with it and get some fun out of the deal. My nickname in high school was Wild Cherry – because that's what I was. Every party the cops crashed, I was there. Every street drug invented, I tried it. I spent most of my school days stoned on something or another, or slipping into the janitor's closet with someone. My entire life revolved around who I was fucking, and what I could pump into my system. Didn't matter what, so long as I didn't have to actually live in my life. I did a lot of stuff I'm not proud of anymore, and even more than I simply can't remember clearly. I know I screwed total strangers stoned out of my mind. I know I crashed college frat parties at fourteen years old and got so wasted I don't even remember what happened.

"My parents sent me into therapy at fifteen, and I've been in since. And you know what? It did diddly squat for me for the first few years. Nothing. I just had someone legitimate to brag to.

"You once commented, Nicky, that I go to bars but don't drink. That's for two reasons. One, I'm an addict. I don't drink because I don't stop drinking if I start. Two, that habit has earned me one really vengeful liver at this point. Do you want to know how I got myself cleaned up? It wasn't Outward Bound – although they sent me – and it wasn't the countless doctors and guidance counselors that tried to help me. It was my own death. I died for a few minutes. I was at a party celebrating the end of junior year and someone had either doctored whatever drugs I took, or the combination of the drugs did it, but my heart stopped. I woke up in the hospital nearly four days later and got immediately shipped to a 90-day rehab. That's how I spent the summer before senior year."

She sighed and shook her head, nearly spent now. "I've always preferred analysis to emotion. So I was given analysis. I was shown my MRI scans, shown the small dead areas of my brain where oxygen deprivation had destroyed cells. I was given complete details about the state of my liver, and how weak my heart really is now. You wonder why I keep myself in such good shape now? Because they told me I never could. For years, I rebelled against everyone and everything with my lifestyle and it nearly killed me. Then I rebelled against the doctors by proving to them I could be just as healthy as anyone with a little work. And yes, I am perfectly healthy somehow – no nasty residual STDs or HIV or secret abortions or anything. And believe me, that's all something I started worrying about senior year. All I've got still is a half-wrecked liver and a heart that can't take most drugs, even prescription ones, anymore. Not even nicotine. I had to give up cigarettes that summer too. At this point, I'm not even sure my heart could withstand childbirth – not like I'm looking to have kids anyway. But senior year -- that's when I turned it all around, with Brent's help. He's such a straight arrow, and he was assigned by the school to tutor me through my failed subjects while I was in rehab. He had such utter contempt for the things I'd done…. I was used to being looked up to for being the wild one, the free one…."

She flopped down into the straw and I sat down beside her, nearly as exhausted as she was. I'd been silent this whole time because I had no idea at all what to say to her. I had gotten the impression she'd been a bit of a wild child, despite the plain seltzer water she always drank, but I'd had no idea it was that deep. I didn't need to ask why she didn't tell me – I'd done my share of relatively illegal things, but I was mostly a straight arrow at this point in my life.

I wrapped my arms around her, but not too tightly. I didn't say anything yet – what would I say? "I'm sorry"? Of course I was sorry, but she would know that. I couldn't say it didn't matter to me, because it did – just not in that way.

"So now I know," I said quietly after awhile. "And . . . if I can accept this as part of who you are, why shouldn't I feel free to care about you? To love you?" There. I'd said it.

Cherry didn't respond for awhile. Her face was in profile, but it was obvious she was running replies through her head. "Because," she said finally, "I won't make you choose."

"Between what?" I asked, emotionally drained and exasperated.

"Me and your family."

"Why should I have to choose? They like you, you like them . . . . where's the choice?"

She pulled out of my arms and walked a few feet away. When she turned, her face was set, determined. "Fine, then. Nicky – I'm moving to California at the end of the summer. Do you want to come with me?"

"Before I answer that -- why are you going?"

"I got accepted. At Atland – full scholarship, even an apartment so I can devote most of my time to studying."

I started smiling. I couldn't help it. "You got in? Full scholarship – to become a psychologist?"

"Yes."

"In beautiful, sunny California?"

"Yes."

"And you want me to come with you? Live in that paid-for apartment?"

"For God's sake, Nicky, yes."

I leapt to my feet, catching my girlfriend in a hug and swinging her in a circle. "That's incredible!" I kissed her before she could say anything, pulling her up and close. Kissed her until her tense muscles started to relax and I felt her hands press to my back.

She pulled her head back for a second, looking at me with eyes that were bewildered and a little dazed from the kiss. "You'll really come with me to Cali? Why?"

"'Cause I love you."

"What about your family?"

"I love them, too."

"Nicky . . ." she scolded and slapped lightly at my hands as they dipped under her light shirt. "You know what I mean. Why leave your family three thousand miles behind?"

I sighed but refused to move my hands. "Because I'm not leaving them behind. Most of my family is scattered around the country at this point. I don't need to be right here to know that they're there for me." I bent to kiss her again, speaking between kisses. "I've been to California, and I loved it there. And I want to be with you. And I want you to go for your dream without regrets. And with not having to pay for an apartment, maybe I can go to school myself . . . maybe . . ."

By this point, both of our shirts were gone, dropped into the hay, and we tumbled together into a large, soft pile of hay ourselves. Everything about her was soft and curved – her skin, her hair, her face . . . being so tall, built like an Amazon warrior, she was everything I'd ever wanted in a woman. Beautiful. And mine. Especially now – in all senses, mine. There was her, and this love, and California, and I wondered how I'd ever been sad a day in my life . . .

. . . And, unfortunately, there would still be the trip back to tell my parents about everything.

Well, maybe not everything.