A/N: Okay, this chapter is sort of a turning point for some people. Anyway, I just got this random flash of inspirado, so here's what came out of it. Tell me what you think in a review!

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Catherine noticed Natasha wasn't in class the next day. They shared Math class, third period, and she began to worry. Gil had told her in poetry that Jim had confessed his love to her the previous night. Catherine decided, when she saw that Natasha was absent, to check on her later that afternoon. Greg was also aware of her absence, she was in Social Studies with him, and he and Catherine made plans to go together with Sara after school.

As he walked into his advanced chem class, the last period before break when he would talk with Catherine, Greg took a seat in the far corner, the desk next to it was soon filled by Jim. Greg glanced over, wondering just what had gone on the with Natasha, and if Jim was at the root of the problem.

"Natasha's sick today, or something," he said nonchalantly, gauging Jim's reaction.

Jim gave him an odd look. "I haven't the faintest idea why," he said, his voice a bit flightier than usual. His serious demeanor had been dropped, replaced by the whimsical one of a boy who's had his heart broken and is trying to carry on.

Greg watched through the rest of the class, wondering just what had happened to shake his comrade so badly. He didn't press the matter, however, knowing Catherine would hold an answer. Cat was the biggest gossip in the group.

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In the girls bathroom, Sara stood up. She wiped the vomit from her lips with the edge of her sleeve, flushing the toilet and unlocking the stall. As she washed her hands, she splashed some of the icy water on her face, rubbing it harshly with a paper towel. It was her ritual, done almost every day during morning break. Her hands shook as she turned off the tap and left the room, her face ghostly pale.

Walking to Ancient Cultures, she found Greg waiting for her at their usual desk. He was grinning, but his smile faded when he saw Sara. She was looking too pale, the freckles sprinkled across her nose stood out more than usual, and her brown eyes seemed bigger, more vulnerable in her thin face.

"Are you sick?" he asked anxiously, feeling her forhead and cheeks.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she answered. "I'm just a little tired, that's all."

"Okay," he said, still slightly worried. He wondered if her foster family was treating her all right.

Sara glanced over, seeing the skeptical look in his eyes, and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down. In the middle of class she raised her hand. "Mr. De la Cruz?" she asked. "May I go to the bathroom?"

Mr. De la Cruz raised his eyebrows, not used to having his long lectures interrupted. "Go ahead, Sidle," he checked his attendance sheet for her name and mispronounced it when he said it. "But hurry back, this is an important lesson."

Sara walked quickly out of the room, wondering at the same time how there could ever be an important Ancient Cultures lesson. She leaned against a wall, down the hall from her classroom, and looked at herself.

She pinched the skin on her stomach, ignoring the way her ribs were clearly visable. "God, I'm so fat," she thought. "Look at this. Why can't i be normal? Why can't I look like Cat and Mia and Tash?" She gazed down at the skin between her fingers, pulling at it. It was really getting to her, this skin. She felt fat, flabby, disgusting. She looked down farther at her legs, so skinny that her kneecaps stuck out sharply and her calves were almost completely straight on the bone. Grotesque in her skinniness, though fat in her own mind. Gil would have laughed at the irony, despite the circumstances.

When she reached the door to the classroom, Sara sucked in her stomach. "I don't want anyone to see how fat I am..." Her ribs poked out even more, and she pulled the hoody from around her waist over her head, hoping it would hide her body.

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Greg, Catherine and sara walked cheerfully to Natasha's house, each harboring his or her own worries. Catherine was the one that spoke when they reached the small house. "Here we are," she said, mentally preparing herself for the worst. She reached out and jabbed the doorbell roughly with one finger.

"Is Tasha there?" Sara asked politely when Mrs. Haan opened the door.

A few moments later, they were in Natasha's room watching her cough into a piece of tissue. "I hate it," she croaked. Her voice had become a hoarse whisper, and she had to stop her speach every few moments to cough violently, bile spilling in a thin string from her mouth, her eyes were red and swollen, her temperature burned at 100.2 according to the thermometer sticking out of the corner of her mouth.

"I broke a window slamming it and got a chest cold last night," she said weakly. "I'm really tired, but it was so nice of you guys to come. Where's Jim, though?"

Cat froze, knowing this question was dangerous to answer. "He had to go home, but he hopes you get better." She was originally going to say 'he sends his love', but she still didn't know what was going on in Tasha and Jim's relationship.

"What's happening with you and Jim, anyway?" Greg asked casually. "He wouldn't say a word about it today."

"Well, promise you won't tell him I said anything, but he came here last night and told me what he felt about me. That he loves me. But I wasn't ready, and I hurt him, and I slammed the window at him and cracked it, and that's how I got where I am now."

Her three friends slapped sympathetic looks on their faces, whispering assurances like "I know how you feel," or "I completely understand not being ready." Natasha cheered a little at her words.

"Thanks, guys. I think I'll go to sleep now, but I'll talk to you later."

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Mia twined her arms around Warrick's neck. They were in front of her house after an after-school movie, and she was feeling intoxicated by his smile and his friendly touch. He had grown a little taller than her over the months, so she leaned up the tiniest bit when she gave him a goodnight kiss. "I love you, Warrick."

He pulled her a little closer and kissed her. "I love you, too." As he walked down the sidewalk, Mia looked after him. When he turned the corner and left her sight, she started up the walk to her front door.

"Do I still mean it when I say I love him?" she asked herself. It had become so routine, so monotonous, that she barely noticed when the words escaped her lips. It was habit. "I know I used to love him, he filled my world," she puzzled. "But why, suddenly, does it feel like I'm a living, breathing lie? I don't know how I feel right now."

She allowed herself to fall down on the couch, kicking off her shoes and pulling a quilt over herself. A single tear slid down over her nose, dripping onto the couch. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, sniffling a little. She wrapped her arms around herself, a feeble shield against the onslaught of pain the world was bringing, and sang to herself in a whisper.

"Dancing in the rain, so no one sees how hard I cry. Dancing to the same old tune, can't kill the pain, but I can try. Singing along to a familiar song, with words that never seem to rhyme, dancing in the rain to see if I can forget you this time."