A/N: I still won't be updating much, the wrist is worse than I thought, but I'm allowed to take the cast of sometimes, I expect the next update to be on Monday. Thanks for all your reviews! Lovelovelove!

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Warrick stepped off the bus feeling very foolish. He had green cordorouy pants on, a green flannel shirt over a green t-shirt, and green shoes. To top it off, he'd even gotten green frames for his glasses with a little spare money. As he walked across the street towards the school, he attracted weird looks from all of his peers.

He was quick to sit down in homeroom, where everyone but Jim had arrived. Greg was showing Sara the edge of his green boxers, and Sara was in a charming plaid green skirt. Her legs were too bony, and she'd tried to hide this with green knee-socks and green tennis shoes. She was wearing a silk green blouse, a little green plaid vest over it. She'd dyed her hair green for the occasion, and had adorned her face with some green eyeshadow and copious amounts of green lipstick.

Catherine was in a similar outfit, wearing the t-shirt she'd borrowed from Sara, and a long, mossy green gypsy skirt. She was wearing green hoop earings, heels, and make-up. Her hair was also green, though a much lighter shade than Sara's dark green locks. Gil was looking at her, mystified, then back at himself in dark green slacks and a plain green shirt.

Jim walked into the classroom, took one look at the mass of green-clad people who had replaced his friends, and looked ready to bolt for the door. He was wearing black pants and shoes with a grey t-shirt. Not a speck of green could be found on his person, and that included everything you couldn't see at a glance.

"Get him!" Catherine yelled, pouncing on Jim and pinching him mercilessly. Everyone was on the floor momentarily, trying to get at Jim. Sara wished Natasha could be there, pinching him with them. She was sure that Tash would appriciate it a lot more than herself, Catherine, or Mia would.

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Catherine was reading from a large book of Walt Whitman poems. She had discovered a particularly funny free verse called "Ode to the Common Prostitute" and she was trying desparately to keep in her giggles. Gil looked over at her, wondering what she seemed so amused about. He watched the expression of mirth on her face fade as the teacher barked her name.

"Catherine Willows! I think you need to sit out in the hall of a little while!" Every word the old man said sounded like he was speaking to a bunch of new recruits at boot camp instead of a few poetry students in an ordinary Las Vegas high school. Catherine sighed, standing up and walking to the door, slamming it behind her, the gypsy skirt swirling around her ankles.

Gil watched her go, feeling a little abandoned. "Why didn't she fight back?" he thought, still staring at the door as if she'd come bursting back through it at any moment. "I don't need her, you know," he said pleadingly in his mind. "She's just my friend. Nothing more. I had a little crush on her at the dance, that's all."

He stared at the blank piece of notebook paper in front of him, the one that he was supposed to have written an ode on. He looked over at Catherine's paper. It wasn't exactly an ode, more of a lyrical poem. It told the story of a girl who had a terrible childhood, a misunderstood adolesence, and was seeking solace in a boy who didn't know she existed. Somehow, looking at her poem, Gil felt as if he'd spied on a very personal part of her life. Like he'd walked in while she was changing and caught her with no clothes on. He felt sort of dirty, and he looked away quickly.

Once he had gotten the poem out of his range of vision, he felt as if he knew everything there is to know it life. He realized he had no romantic feelings for Catherine, no matter how stunning she looked in that green outfit, or how he was filled with jealousy when he thought of her at the theater on Saturday nights. He realized he could think of her face without wanting to kiss her fears away, that they were just friends.

Outside the door, Catherine was thinking, as well. "God, why can't he be mine? I want him to hold me tight, to love me back..." Her thoughts trailed into nothingness, just an image of her beloved, the one who was sitting on the other side of the door, so close to her, but so far from her grasp.

She wondered why he'd come so close to kissing her at the dance, why he'd gotten her hopes up. "Maybe he loves me, too." She allowed herself to imagine the way he would say the three fabled words, drawing her into his arms and kissing her face, her neck, her lips. Catherine slipped into a daydream, closing her eyes and hearing Gil's voice in her ears, not knowing that he was, at the same time, drawing the conclusion that he would never fall in love with her.

Presently, the military teacher opened the door and motioned Catherine back inside, glancing down the front of her shirt as she walked by. She glared at him, then sat back down next to Gil, not noticing that her poem had moved from it's original position. It was facedown on the table, now.

She looked over at the boy she loved so much, his green clothes, his dry sense of humor, the perfect way in which he let his words spill onto the page, flowing from his pencil like water out of a glass. She wished she could read his poem, hoping against hope that it was about her, and that he truly loved her back.

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The gang was occupying the usual table in the cafeteria, their number had grown so much, however, that it was getting a little crowded. No one minded, however, because they were such good friends. Jim was walking over, he'd been held late in his last class, Ceremonial Art. When he was halfway between the doors and the table, one of the girls got up and began to move toward him.

Natasha finally reached Jim, pinching his arm lightly as she got closer. He turned to face her. Leaning up, she planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving the imprint of her lips in green lipstick. "Now you're wearing green," she said simply.

As she walked away, swinging her hips a little, Jim touched the place where she'd kissed him. Sara, who was closest to her, was the only person who heard her whisper "Sie sind mit einem frechen Körper heiß." Sara wasn't quite sure what it meant, but something about the look on Natasha's face suggested it was less than school appropriate.

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A/N: That's all! Sorry I can't update very much, my wrist hurts like a bitch! Anyway, thanks again for all your nice reviews, I can't wait til I can write every day again! Kisses!
Maddy