A/N: Okay so this chapter is really short but I think it has some good stuff in it. Thanks to the reviewers, I made up with Nikki and all is well. Sorry about Nick being so mean to Greg, I didn't think Greggo was the type to hit people that much so I made Nick the more aggressive one. I wasn't going to include it but it seemed necessary, sorry if it caused any grief. Anyway, there's going to be one more Spring Break chap after this, then back to school. No post tomorrow, though. Reviews are appriciated!
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Greg sat up in bed after hearing a knock on his door. His mother walked in. "You have a letter, Hon," she said. After seeing the state her youngest son had come home in, she was anxious about the kind of company he was keeping.
Greg opened the envelope and took out a yellow piece of paper with green lines. He recognized Nick's neat handwriting at once.
Greg,
In light of our recent situation, I have a proposition. You know that if we, Sara's two best friends, fight, she's going to stop hanging out with us all together. That's something neither of us wants. The only way we can stay near her is to get along. Then we'll let her decide, give her a chance to fall in love. It could be you, me, or someone else entirely. So that's what I had in mind. We have to be friends again, even if that isn't easy. We have to do it for Sara's sake.
-Nick
After reading the letter twice, Greg stuck it back in the envelope. He reached for the phone and dialed Nick's number.
"Hello?" Nick answered the phone.
"Nick, it's Greg. I got your letter and I have to say, you're right." Greg's voice almost held a hint of regret when he said this.
"Did I hurt you the other day?" Nick asked, genuinely concerned but trying to hide it.
"I guess. My mom thinks the mafia's after me." Greg snorted. "What about you?"
"I have a black eye shaping up, but other than that I'm okay."
After a few moments of meaningless conversation, they said goodbyes and hung up. In a way, Greg was relieved. Nick was one of his best friends, and there was an empty space that Sara, the girl he loved, couldn't fill. He needed a best friend that he wasn't attracted to, just to tough out the bad times.
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Sara walked sedately into the living room of her house. She had come to the conclusion, in the shower that morning, that she wanted her foster family to be more like a real family, and she decided to do something to make it happen.
"Mrs. Peterson?" she asked.
"What is it, Sara?" her foster mother replied, looking up from the pair of jeans she was in the process of mending.
"I'm worried about my best friends. They seem to not like each other."
"Sit down, tell me about it," Mrs. Peterson said, putting down the sewing and looking intently at her foster daughter.
"Well, my two best friends are Nick and Greg. The three of us used to get along great, and they still act fine when they're with me, but when we all hang out there's this tension between them that I just, like, can't even begin to comprehend. It's like you can feel it on your shoulders."
"Sara, you have to remember one thing. These are testosterone-fueled boys you're hanging out with. They get in fights. I bet by the end of Spring Break they'll be all resolved, they just need time without each other to get over it." Mrs. Peterson was reassuring, everything a surrogate mother should be.
"Thanks…" Sara paused. "Thanks, Mom."
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"What am I doing with my life?" This was the question Gil asked himself as he reclined in the large chair in one corner of his room, a book in his hands. He wasn't really reading, but it felt pointless to sit in the chair without a book to read. Like he would just tumble into the nothingness the chair provided.
He wanted to answer himself, but couldn't. "I know I don't like Catherine anymore. I had a crush on her. Crushes don't last, and I know she never liked me. She's way too pretty, kind, too compassionate, too…everything." Gil sighed. He wondered why there wasn't a course he could take, like shop or band, where he would just learn what went through girls' minds; how to read the signals.
He stared around his room, the bookshelves that covered one wall, the poster he'd gotten from an entomology convention, the plain white walls. He'd considered painting them, once, green or blue, but abandoned the idea quickly. He stood up, dropping the book on the chair behind him, and walked out the door.
"Can I help you?" A dark-haired boy with square glasses was standing in front of the coroner's office, staring up at the coroner with startling blue eyes.
"I've come to apply for an internship."
The coroner, Mr. Murphy, blinked. Never, in his fifteen years working there, had someone so young come to apply for an internship. Normally, the youth were turned off the dead bodies. But this young man seemed more enthusiastic, eager, almost, to work with the cadavers.
"All right, kid, let me get you an application." Mr. Murphy sauntered over to his desk, sifting through the piles of paper and finally coming up with one.
"Here you are," he said, handing Gil the page of print.
"Thank you, sir. It was nice to meet you." Gil hurried out of the office and back to the safety of his home, wondering what had brought him there in the first place.