Disclaimer: not mine.

I finished chapter 28 last night. It was...surreal. I almost cried at the end, just because I couldn't believe that it was actually over.

Anyway, I hope you guys like this chapter. I hope it does Cindy some justice, because I really screwed her around, haha.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Redemption
……………………………………………………………

I just got home from church to find Cindy sitting outside my house on the front step.

"Hey? What are you doing here?" I ask. I hope I don't sound upset or angry, because I'm not. I'm happy that she's apparently forgiven me for whatever it is she thinks I did.

"You went, didn't you?" A smug smile tugs at her lips. I could deny it, but what's the point? At least this way, she stops being pissed off.

"Yeah, I did. It didn't really help much, though," I admit. It's the truth, after all. She stands up, stretches her legs, and gestures toward the door. I grab my keys and unlock it. We walk inside and the cool air of my house greets us. I didn't realize how hot it was outside until just now. How in the world did she not suffer from sunstroke while sitting out there?

"Did you talk directly to Reverend Toby?" I nod. "What did he say?" Okay, here we go. She wants to know what he said. Well, Cindy, get ready to be let down.

"He basically just told me to have faith and know that God works in mysterious ways," I state. Let's see what she thinks of her beloved reverend now. I bet she'll be pretty disappointed. She probably expected him to have some amazing, life-affirming answer for me. It looks like she was wrong.

"So...Are you going to come to church with me now?" Okay, apparently she isn't as distraught as I imagined.

"No. Why would I?" She rolls her eyes and throws up her hands.

"Because of what Reverend Toby said, that's why!" Now it's my turn to roll my eyes.

"He didn't say anything, Cind. He just threw a bunch of words around and all but pulled me down on my knees to pray with him," I say. "'God words in mysterious ways, Izzy,'" I quote, doing my best impression of him.

"You don't get it, do you?" If she has to ask me that, then clearly I don't. "You still don't believe," she states. She sounds almost dumbfounded by my lack of faith.

"Well, how the hell do you do it? Tell me how you can believe in something that isn't there, and I'll join your team," I promise. "But until then, don't expect much out of me."

She chews her lip and looks around my empty house. Grabbing my hand, she leads me over to the couch and sits me down. She then takes a seat in the arm chair across from me.

"You want me to explain? Fine. I'll tell you why I believe in God. I'll let you in on my little secret," she says quietly, in almost a whisper. Crap. I wasn't expecting her to come up with an answer. I was expecting her to give in and leave me be.

"Uh, Cind, you're going to be late for church. Why don't we do this later?" That will definitely get her. She'd sooner die than miss her hour with the Lord.

"No, we're going to do this now. This is more important," she insists. Wow, more important than God. Don't I feel special?

"It happened when I was six. Before bed one night, I was watching TV and I saw this ad for a really cool toy. I don't even remember what the toy was, what it did, or anything. All I know is that I wanted it really badly. I ran into the kitchen and found my dad sitting at the table. He just got home from work and was reading the newspaper. I told him all about what I had just seen and asked him if we could go out and buy it for me," she recalls.

I know I should pay close attention to her story. This is the first time that I can remember Cindy ever talking about her father. I have a feeling she won't repeat this story at a later time, so I better take it all in now.

"It was my birthday the next week, and I told him it would be the best present ever. He told me no. Just flat out, 'no'. He wouldn't give me a reason why, or anything. He went back to his paper and pretended that I wasn't there. I started to cry, thinking that I would get my way, but he was firm on his decision. Finally, when I realized that he wasn't going to give in no matter how hard I tried, I told him I hated him and ran up to my room.

"He followed me, of course. I shut the door and ran over to my bed. He knocked and asked if he could come in but I told him no, that I didn't ever want to see or talk to him again. After a while, the knocking stopped, and I figured he went back downstairs to read his paper. That's what he always did when I had a temper tantrum. He'd just ride it out and come back a little later, with a bowl of ice cream." She smiles and her eyes sparkle with sadness. "Once I saw the ice cream, I'd forget all about being mad at him.

"But the ice cream never came. I waited and waited, but I didn't hear his footsteps approach my door. He didn't knock and come in, he didn't say 'here you go, princess,' like he always did. I wanted to believe that he just forgot, or maybe he was really mad at me and didn't think I deserved the ice cream, but I knew that wasn't it. Something big was happening. I knew something was wrong."

She pauses to wipe a few tears from her eyes, shifts her position and curls her feet underneath herself before continuing.

"I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I remember was the phone ringing. It was really dark by then, way past my bedtime. I would have just gone back to sleep but there was something different about that night. That weird feeling was still hanging in the air. It was so...unsettling. I sat there in the dark for a few minutes and nothing happened. I was usually so afraid of the dark but it didn't matter to me just then. My dad used to have to check every hiding spot in my room twice before I would actually close my eyes and go to sleep but that night, I forgot about the monsters under my bed or in my closet. All my focus was on that phone call.

"A few minutes later, Mom came into my room. I couldn't see her face but I could hear her breathing and sniffling and I knew that she was crying really hard."

She stops again, this time to steady herself before continuing. I want to tell her to stop, that she doesn't need to continue, but I know she won't listen. She's shaking now, I can tell. Her voice has started cracking and the tears are now streaming freely down her cheeks.

"We were out of ice cream that night. My dad searched our entire house, and there wasn't any. My mom told him not to worry, that I was a kid and would get over it, and I didn't need the sugar before bed anyway. But Daddy insisted. It was more than just a stupid bowl of ice cream to us, Mom didn't get that. It was like a bonding ritual with us, and it was really important to him. So he put on his coat, grabbed his keys and drove to the store.

"It was raining that night. Not a lot, there wasn't thunder or lightning or any other spectacular display, but it was enough." She pauses. "The roads were slippery and it was kind of hard to see. Daddy was always a careful driver, but not everyone on the road was like him. A car ran a red light. The driver tried to break but because the roads were slick, he skidded right into my dad's car." She pauses again and shuts her eyes tight, as if mentally preparing herself for what's coming. "Dad died from massive head trauma just a block from our house that night."

Holy shit. I knew her dad had died but I never asked how. And if I did, my mom never told me. I was only six; she probably didn't want to scare me. What about Cindy? She was six, too. And it was her dad. Wasn't she scared?

"It was five days before my seventh birthday...I was so heartbroken. Who wouldn't be? That's not even the worst part." I give her a sympathetic look and she takes a deep breath before continuing. "The last thing I ever said to my dad was that I never wanted to see or talk to him again. Not that I loved him, or that he was my hero. I told him I never wanted to see him again." She starts crying heavily now. She puts her face in her hands, and it's my signal to move. I sit on the arm of the armchair and hug her, trying to offer what little comfort I can.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper. What else can I say? I lost my parents, too, but not like that. I wasn't attached to them; I didn't realize what had happened. I don't remember them, I was way too young. But she remembers pretty well. What a terrible burden for a child.

"Mom was a mess, but she still pulled it together so I could salvage what was left of my birthday. I didn't have friends over that year, just family. I didn't even care; I was too distraught to really even notice what was going on around me. But I remember this much: When it came time for my presents, my mom handed me a big box covered in really nice wrapping paper. She said my dad picked it out a few days before the accident. He thought I would love it.

"I untied the bow and peeled off the paper really carefully; like it was the only thing I would ever have to connect me back to my dad. I still have the paper. I saved it, it's pressed between the pages of a book somewhere, where it can't bend or tear. I finally got everything off and when I looked at the present, it was what I had asked my dad for. He wouldn't buy it for me because he had already gotten it." Her voice dropped to a whisper, and my heart broke for her. "He saw it and thought of me and knew that it was the prefect gift for his little princess.

"When I saw it, I flipped out and made my mom return it. I didn't want to be near it. It was weird, but I felt like I did when I first found out that Dad was gone. Mom took it back the next morning, and I never saw one of those things again," she concludes.

"Why did you make her take it back?" I inquire.

"Because," she explains, "I didn't think that I deserved it. I hated myself because I was convinced that it was my fault that my dad died. Maybe if I hadn't been a spoiled brat and needed that damned toy; maybe if I wasn't so immature and hadn't made my dad feel like he had to buy my love through ice cream, of all things...maybehe would still be here."

What? How could she possibly think that?

"That's not true! It wasn't your fault; it was the other driver's!"

"I know that now," she nods. "That's what Reverend Toby finally helped me to see. He was helping with my dad's funeral when I first met him. He was so nice, he was my friend...but he was an adult, too. It was such a foreign concept to me and I loved the idea of a grown up who didn't order you around and tell you what you could and couldn't do. He let me talk and cry and, when I was ready, he showed me the path to God."

"So that's the reason? This is all because some guy brainwashed you into believing, back when you were young and vulnerable?" I ask. She shakes her head and pulls away from me.

"He didn't brainwash me into believing anything! I chose to follow God. I was captivated by His very idea; I still am," she insists. "Every night before bed, when I got down on my knees and prayed, it felt like I was talking to God. And not only God, but my dad, too. It was like a direct hotline. Whenever I was upset or angry or I missed my dad a whole bunch, I could pray, and I knew that he would be on the other end, listening."

It sounds like a pretty good reason for her to pray, but why should I? So I can talk to my own parents? My parents are alive and well. They might not be my real parents, but they raised me and provided for me and loved me like they were. My biological ones may be gone, but I don't even remember them. And while it's a nice thought, I'm not sure I fully believe that I can get in touch with them anytime I want.

"Where do you go when you die?" Cindy asks after seeing that I still look unconvinced. I give her a confused look. "Where do you go? What happens to your soul once your body stops functioning?"

"I don't know," I confess.

"Exactly. Nobody does, because nobody has died and experienced everything and come back to tell us. You just have to believe," she says. "I believe, because for me, there's no other choice. My dad is up there, with God, watching over me. He's there, whether people like you accept that or not. His body might be in the ground, but his soul—his essence—is in the Kingdom of Heaven. And he's waiting for me. When it's my time, I'll go and I'll be with him and Mom again because I haven't denied God."

Is she right? Is that what happens when you die? Or is she just crazy, delusional and merely wishing it were true, so she could be with her dad again one day?

"That's why I believe. I have to. I'd go crazy if I didn't have that hope, that one small thing to hold on to."

"Isn't it hard, sometimes?" I whisper. I can feel my barriers start to fall, my skepticism slip away.

"Yeah, sometimes it is. But I still have faith. I'd rather live my whole life believing that there is a God, only to find out that there isn't, than to live my life believing that there isn't and finding out, when I die, that there is."

That's why she believes.

It's a pretty convincing story.

It would have to be, for her to place all her trust in someone she can't see or talk to.

And she's right: I really should stay on God's good side, just incase everything she says is true, and God is real.

Yeah, if she can do it, maybe I can, too.

That way, when my day comes, I can be with my parents—both adoptive and biological. It would be nice to finally meet my real ones. And I'm sure that my mom, if she's up there, wants to see me again, too. Yeah, I can do it.

For Mom's sake.

……………………………………………………………

"We need a doctor!"

What's going on?

I spin around to see people gathering around in a tight circle.

"Does anyone here have a cell phone?"

My walk turns into a light jog as I approach the circle. I see someone I recognize. One of my neighbours, Mrs...something or another. Okay, I'm not too good with names. Even though I can't remember hers, she seems to remember mine.

"Joe! This boy's father is a doctor! He knows a thing or two!" She grabs my hand and pushes me through the crowd. Shit! What do I do now? Deny it?

Now that I'm on the inside of the circle, I can see what the cause of all this commotion is. A little boy, probably around eight, is lying unconscious on the floor. His mother is standing overtop of him, looking at me with frantic worry on her face.

"Are you a doctor?" she asks.

"Well, I'm still a student but I'm studying to—"

"—Can you please help him?" she begs, cutting me off. I look in her eyes and know that there's absolutely no way I can bring myself to tell her that I can't.

I feel something in the pit of my stomach, but it isn't worry or nausea. I feel...capable, anxious. Like when you're playing poker and you have the winning hand. You have to wait it out but you're sure that you have this one in the bag.

"Yeah, I think." I kneel down on the ground beside him. First things first, I need to check his pulse. It's weak, really weak. I get the sense that I might lose it if I don't act soon. I reach into my backpack and pull out my cell phone. I hand it to one of the people near me. "Here, call an ambulance," I instruct. The man nods and runs outside to get better reception. "The rest of you, please back up. I need room."

When did my voice get so confident? How am I not vomiting from nerves right now?

Everyone backs up and listens to me, like I'm the person in command here. Maybe I am. After all, I'm the only one here who has even the slightest clue what to do. Even the mother looks scared shitless. She's afraid to touch her own kid!

"Does he have any heart conditions?" I ask, trying to get some medical history. You should always know what you're getting into before you take on a patient and start diagnosing and treating. She shakes her head, too shocked and scared to speak. "What about any illnesses? Diseases? History of blackouts or fainting?" She shakes her head again and again. Then what's wrong with this kid?

I feel for his pulse again and it's even weaker. I know I can't treat him, especially not without the necessary supplies, but I need to do something. If I don't act now, he might not make it. He might not even be breathing when the ambulance comes.

Oh, shit. He isn't breathing!

I stare at his chest, but it doesn't rise and fall. I put my ear to his face and wait for ten seconds. I don't hear any breathing and no air hits my cheeks.

I check for his pulse again.

Shit! It isn't there!

"I'm going to do CPR, to keep his heart going until the ambulance arrives and we can get him to the hospital, okay?" The mother nods. I don't tell her that his pulse is completely gone. If I do that, she'll just scream and cry, like a hysterical woman, and that won't help anything.

I tilt his head back, lift his chin, plug his nose, open his mouth and give him two breaths, just two, because he falls under the category of a child. I watch his chest, and it doesn't rise. I position my hands over his sternum and do five compressions. I plug his nose and give him another breath. I repeat the process the recommended number of times, then check to see if he's breathing yet.

Still nothing.

"Where are the damned paramedics?" the mother screams. Mine thoughts exactly, lady.

"I called them," a man says from somewhere behind me. "They're on their way now." I can hear people talking and whispering all around me, but I don't pay much attention. All I'm thinking about is getting this little boy to start breathing again.

I continue the compressions and breaths, still not getting a reacting from the body underneath me. Please, God, just make him breathe. Make him be okay.

I check to see if he's breathing again. I have to count to ten before continuing my compressions.

One, two, three...I'm waiting to feel air hit my cheek.

Four, five, six...I keep my eyes glued to his chest, willing it to rise.

Seven...still nothing.

Eight...come on, kid. Please, breathe.

Nine...I feel it. I see it. He's breathing. I sit back on my heels and sigh.

"He's breathing again," I tell his mother. I put a hand to his neck and feel his pulse. It's strong and steady, just like it should be. Thank you, God. "He's still unconscious, but he should be fine. Now, we just have to wait for the paramedics to get here."

As if on cue, I hear sirens approaching. A bunch of people run outside to flag it down. The mother and I sit there beside the kid, waiting for the paramedics to come in and cart him off to the hospital.

"Thank you," she whispers. "If you hadn't been here...My son would have..." she pauses to collect herself. "You saved his life. You're a hero!" Now there's something you don't hear everyday.

I offer her a soft smile, which she returns by pulling me into a bone-crushing hug and sobbing like there's no tomorrow.

For her little boy, there almost wasn't a tomorrow.

Does she realize that?

……………………………………………………………

After making sure the kid was safely on his way to the hospital for treatment, I tried to get to my car so I could go home. Unfortunately, the remaining crowd at Sesu's didn't exactly let that happen.

It starts with one person (the guy I sent to call 911) chasing me into the parking lot. He hands me my cell phone, which I hastily shove into my bag and mutter a thank you. Then, the rest of the people decide to swarm around me, throwing around terms like 'hero' and 'great doctor' and 'lovely young man'. I smile and nod appreciatively, desperate to just make it to the safety of my car. Finally, I manage to pry myself from their grasps and practically sprint away from them.

When I get home, I go inside and hurry to my room. Even though it's still early, only about nine, I just want to fall asleep and forget all about this day. Apparently, the fate gods have other plans for me.

"Hey, little brother," Jim says. I spin around and look at him. "Or should I call you 'hero' like everyone else?" Oh, great. He knows. I throw a glance over my shoulder at my room, which is a mere foot away. So close, yet so far

"How the hell did you hear about that? It's barely been an hour," I mumble.

"Dad just called to see if you were home. I answered and he told me all about your little adventure at the store," he grins. Dad knows? That's just wonderful. No pressure, no raised expectations for me. I should have known this would happen. I try to be a good person and where does it get me? Now, I'm screwed.

How does he even know? Does word really travel that fast? Even around a hospital? I had no idea that doctors were such gossips. What am I going to do now?

Dad is going to make a big deal about this. I didn't even do anything, not really. I mean, if anyone else there knew what to do, they would have done it and I would have just been a spectator. I'm not a hero; I'm just the first person to react in the situation. So what if I did start his heart again? So what if I saved his life?

I saved his life.

He'd be dead if it weren't for me.

Oh my God. I did it. I was under pressure, I was forced to react and save a life...and I did it.

I really did it!

And sure, maybe this time it was easy. It was only CPR, after all. That's basic training. But it's huge! If I can do that...maybe I can do this doctor thing after all. It felt really good afterwards, knowing that I helped someone.

Yeah, I think I might be able to do it.

I think I might even like it.

The phone rings, and I realize I've just been staring at my brother for a good while with a blank expression on my face.

"It's probably Dad again. I told him to call back in a few, and that you should be home," Jim warns me. I nod and run down the stairs to the kitchen, where I pick up the extension.

"Hello?"

"Joe! What's this I hear about you saving a boy's life?" I can tell, by his tone of voice that my dad is grinning.

"It was awesome, Dad! He just collapses in the middle of the store, right? And so I go over, to see what's going on, and suddenly I'm pushed to the front and everyone wants me to help him. Then I feel for his pulse and it isn't there, so I do CPR until the paramedics come," I tell him as I mentally relive the experience.

"That's great. I knew you would be able to do it. Well, son, I should go. The surgery was pushed back even longer...it's starting in about ten minutes. I just wanted to call and say congratulations. You saved a life," he exclaims.

"Thanks," I say. I don't sounds as enthused as I actually am. Maybe it hasn't really hit me yet...Not fully, at least.

"You know," he begins, "I was kind of concerned. I wasn't sure what you wanted to do with your life. I thought maybe you were just doing all this to please me, but I can tell that isn't true. You have a gift, son. You have a gift that every great doctor has to have, in order to achieve greatness. You can do it, if you want to."

You know what?

He's right.

And more importantly than that, I think I just might want to.

"I want to, Dad."

"Great. I'll let you go, I know you're just dying to study for those exams," he teases. Oh right, my exams. I forgot all about them!

"Will I see you before I have to write them?" I ask. I take them the day after tomorrow, so surely he'll be home by then, right? He sighs.

"Hmm...Probably not. It's going to be a crazy couple days. I'll most likely be here all tomorrow," he answers. "If I do come home, it'll be in the middle of the night to grab a shower. Good luck, though. Make me proud."

"I will, Dad."

And I know now, that I will.

No matter what I do.

……………………………………………………………

Today is a new day. It is also day two of my detentions. I wish I weren't here, but I've gotten lucky, I suppose. Principal Nagasi did take a whole week off, and she even let me out early yesterday. She isn't that bad, once you get right down to it. But she sure is a hard ass, and I have three years of going to school here to back that up. I won't be surprised if she makes me stay twice as long today, just to make up for her temporary lapse of good judgment yesterday.

It could be a lot worse though, and I don't just mean that I could still be looking at twofull weeks of being confined in this room.

Those kids might not have been joking. They might have had real guns, which they might have used to shoot me with. I could have died. Yeah, I'd say that's worse than a few measly detentions.

It isn't all bad, either. I get two hours to study for my remaining exam in completely uninterrupted silence. If I were at home right now, I would definitely not be studying. I'd either be watching TV or playing basketball or calling Kari. At least this way, I won't feel guilty for not putting more effort into my studies.

Two of my exams were in-class, and I wrote one of them yesterday. I only have one more, history, which I write tomorrow. I feel kind of anxious about the whole thing...All the university students have to write their exams tomorrow, too. Isn't that kind of tempting fate? Do we really want to do this all over again?

I close my books, knowing that I won't get any studying done now that that particular seed has been planted. I rip a piece of paper out of my binder (a note on the atomic bomb in Hiroshima and Nagasaki) and fold it into a paper airplane. I throw it and it sails across the room with a beautiful ark, landing right on the principal's desk.

She sighs and looks up from the novel she is reading. I shrug and smile weakly at her. She glances up at the clock and my eyes follow. There's just a little less that three minutes to go.

"I see you're putting this time to good use," she smirks, looking down at my paper airplane.

"Yeah, well, I'm all studied out. I think if I cram any more information in, my head will burst at the seams and everything will just spill out," I explain with dramatic exaggeration. "And we don't want that."

"Of course we wouldn't." She returns to her book. I shift in my seat, yawn, and look back at the clock. A minute and a half left. I lean forward and put my head down. I might as well rest my brain, so I don't strain it before tomorrow morning.

Principal Nagasi clears her throat and I look up. She gestures toward the clock. Six seconds past seven o'clock. I'm free to go. I stand up and grab my books, offering her a smile.

"See you tomorrow, I guess?" She is about to nod when she stops herself. She chews her bottom lip, as if she's debating something.

"Nah, I was thinking maybe this could be it for us," she states. Is she saying what I think she's saying? "Get out of here. Go home, study for that exam, and I'll see you next year." I grin appreciatively and hurry out the door. "And T.K.?" I turn around to face her. She winks. "This shall remain our little secret."

……………………………………………………………

Sora,

Emergency at the store, orders got messed up. I won't be home until late, so you'll just have to make yourself something. See you tomorrow.

Love,

Mom.

There was an emergency at the store? Since when isn't there an emergency at that place? I swear, Mom leaves and everything falls apart. I don't know what kind of imbeciles she hired to keep the store running, but all they're doing is running it into the ground.

So, I'm on my own for dinner, am I?

I'm not even hungry. Maybe I'll just skip dinner.

I notice now, after determining that I won't make dinner, that I'm kind of hungry. I open the cupboards and the refrigerator, looking for something to nibble on. Junk food might do the trick...

Bingo.

A few Starburst packages are in one of the cupboards. No complaints here...I guess I know what I'll be eating tonight.

I sit down at the island in my kitchen and rip open the package excitedly, impatiently awaiting the taste of a cherry Starburst in my mouth.

Starburst is my favourite candy, easily. I just love how you can suck on them until they melt away or chew on them like gum. Maybe it's just something left over from childhood, since I used to eat them all the time when Mimi and I would have a sleep over and stay up really late eating candy.

I grab the candies and start piling them, one on top of the other, like I used to do when I was little. Who knows why I did it? I make a pattern: red, orange, pink, yellow, red, orange, pink, yellow. The tower gets pretty high, and doesn't tip over once. Finally, I'm left with one piece to put at the top, to complete my tower of Starburst. With a slightly shaky hand (why it's shaking, I'll never know) I reach out and place the final yellow piece on the top.

I pull my hand away quickly, suddenly aware of how fragile it is. It looks like it will fall over at any minute, but somehow, it stays up.

I stare at it for ten slow, agonizing seconds. I don't blink; I'm afraid that if I do, it will topple. I am careful not to hit, bump, or shake the counter in any way.

Why am I so concerned about a damned Starburst tower, anyway?

To the outsider, it looks like a bunch of different flavoured Starburst, stacked on top of each other in a silly pattern of colour. But, to me, it's weak and flimsy, like it's about to collapse at any second.

So how can you keep it from collapsing? Should you keep piling on the Starburst?

No, you should take some of them off. You should unburden it. If it stays under all this pressure much longer, it'll collapse for sure. I would say no more than a few seconds before it falls, unless I take off a few pieces.

And why is that? The inner voice, which I have come to know very well, is back once more. Why will it fall, if you don't help it?

Um, does it have something to do with gravity? I don't know...probably because I put on too many, built it up higher than I should have. My tower is frail and dainty, and I tried to make it a skyscraper. I made it be something it wasn't supposed to be.

It seems like lately, a lot of things aren't the way they're supposed to be. Wouldn't you say?

What? I'm sorry, but you don't make any sense. I don't understand any of this.

No, you don't. But you will.

Just then, my stack of candy tips over, and smashes into the countertop.

All at once, I understand.

I can't describe it. There are no words possible to explain what happened to me. It's like God is shining a light down onto me, and I finally see things clearly, and for what they are. I have an epiphany, I guess.

That stupid stack of candy is me. Correction: that stupid stack of candy that just collapsed and fell apart is me.

I'm falling apart. I'm headed for a breakdown, if I don't act fast, and unburden myself.

I know what I have to do

……………………………………………………………

Okay, this chapter is one of my favourites. It's all very happy and uplifting (at least I think it is), so I hope you enjoyed it.

The whole Sora thing was confusing. I hope you guys understand it.

Twenty-six down, two to go!

Don't forget to review.