A/N: Okay, then! Minus the author's note, this chapter is 1099 words! Go me! I'm gonna answer some reviews in a minute, but first, the news. I'm reading this book called The Alienist by Caleb Carr, it's very good and has a lot of forensic stuff for all those hard-core people who want to be CSIs. Only, it takes place in the late 1800s, so it's got late 1800s kind of forensics. Also, this chapter is dedicated to JoonSanders who hasn't reviewed in a while. I can't remember if I dedicated the last chapter to her, too, but oh well! Also special thanks to Linwe Melwasul. Although there's no pink donkey in this, it gave me a little idea. The poem that Catherine reads is called "Anyone Lived in a Pretty How Town" by E. E. Cummings. I love that poem. It's so sad and beautiful.

Daisyangel: I feel all crappy for splitting up Mia and Warrick, too. It's such a shame, he really liked her. I'm trying to resolve a little of that in this chapter. I'm thinking of some major Natasha/Jim stuff in a chapter that takes place in August, which might be when I break someone else up...But first I have to get some people together...Oops! Giving stuff away!

wildcherry32: Of course I've written a lot of chapters! I update every day except Thursday, my day off! And I took a very long vacation for my wrist...That was so nice and un-stressful. I am SO glad you like my story, I was all geared up for my first fanfiction to be like this one story that everyone hates, so having people like it is so great! Yay!

Silver Hair Fox: Yeah, I love the blob. I really want to see the cheesy old horror movie. I think they get rid of it by like dumping it in Alaska or something! And I have to build up some tension between you and Jim, then I can slowly let you be friends again which will lead up to the August chapter. Hurrah! Oops, gotta go make cookies and check my mail!

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Standing at the open door of her small, walk-in closet, Catherine wore a puzzled expression. Held in her hands was a dark blue t-shirt, the only thing she could find to wear that day. She pulled a pair of grey-black jeans out of the closet, holding them next to the shirt and admiring the effect. "Perfect," she thought, pulling them on and grabbing her backpack. She was out the door in 50 seconds flat.

Feet pounding the sidewalk, she looked down at the shirt. It was tight, but not obscenely so. She grinned. "Something for Gil to look at while I do my poetry presentation today," she said softly to herself, her smile growing.

In poetry class, Cathy stood at the front of the room, a paper in her hands. She was reading a poem by E. E. Cummings, her favorite of his many works.

"Anyone lived in a pretty how town, with up so floating many bells down," she said, her smile never leaving her face. "Spring, summer, autumn, winter. He sang his didn't, he danced his did."

From the audience, Gil listened to the melodious sound of her voice, dancing over the words like fingers on the keys of a piano. She could manipulate such a classic poem, beautiful in it's simplicity, and find a new way to say it, a new meaning could spring forth from her voice shaping someone else's words.

"Children guessed, but only a few, and down they forgot as up they grew, autumn, winter, spring, summer. No one loved him more by more." Pausing only for a second to catch her breath, Catherine pressed on, occasionally checking the paper, though she knew the poem by heart. "When by now and tree by leaf, she laughed his joy, she cried his grief." Catherine felt a connection to this line. She laughed Gil's joy. "Bird by snow and stir by still, anyone's any was all to her."

He knew it was a long poem, but to Gil, the words seemed to be slipping away, like sand through his fingers. He gave up trying to catch them, leaning back in the hard, plastic chair and watching Catherine's rosebud lips move.

"One day anyone died, I guess, and no one stopped to kiss his face. Busy folk buried them side by side, little by little and was by was. All by all and deep by deep, more by more they dream their sleep. No one and anyone, earth by April, wish by spirit and if by yes." There was one stanza left, Catherine realized, continuing. It was becoming increasingly clear just how bizarre and sad the one, simple poem had become. "Women and men, both dong and ding, summer, autumn, winter, spring, reaped their sowing and went their came, sun, moon, stars, rain."

She finished beautifully, her eyes moving across the audience. Sweeping a deep bow, Catherine took her seat next to Gil to raucous applause. Everyone had doubted her, the bully that she was. No one thought anyone so cruel, so violent, would be such a poet, such a great reader. Smiling secretly to herself, Catherine ignored the shouts of "Encore!" and turned to start a conversation with an awestruck Gil Grissom.

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"Crap!" Mia said despairingly, as her papers tumbled out of her hands. Stooping down to pick them up, she noticed a typed piece of paper that she didn't recognize. After she'd gathered up her homework, she took out the mystery paper and smoothed out the creases where it had been folded.

"I don't know what to do," the paper said. "You can't be what I want you to. I've fallen for you so much, but I'm afraid to treat you as such. My friend, I can't see why, with broken wings you cannot fly. I'll lift your sorrows up; I'll pour my heart into a paper cup for you."

Mia blushed. The note wasn't signed. She inspected the font, any irregularities, determining that it couldn't have been written on a typewriter. "Big discover, Mia," she thought sarcastically. "Who uses a typewriter anymore? There's got to be, like, fifty computers in the school anyone could have typed this on."

Nevertheless, she smiled and pocketed the note, folding it carefully along the original creases and sliding it gingerly into the right pocket of her jeans.

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Sitting, cross-legged, on the wooden floor of Sara's attic, Mia took out the letter. She was there with Sara, Catherine, Natasha and Heather, all of whom had taken a great interest in Mia's secret admirer. It was late May, about two weeks after she had broken up with Warrick. The two of them spoke politely to each other, but never made much of a decent conversation.

"Who do you think sent it?" Mia asked after her four companions had had a turn to study the letter.

"I could venture a guess," Sara said, sharing a look with Heather. "I mean, it's sort of obvious."

Natasha nodded, taking a candy bar out of her purse and shoving it at Sara. "Detective work should make you hungry. Eat," she said. Sara begrudgingly obeyed, peeling off the wrapper and taking a bite of chocolate. Natasha had taken a particular interest in Sara's health and now had the habit of forcing food on her at regular intervals.

"If it's obvious," Mia said, racking her memory. "Wait a minute! You don't think Warrick sent this?"

Heather laughed. "What, are you blind? Or do you just have a really low self esteem? It's completely obvious that he likes you."

Mia looked confused. "Who are you talking about?" she asked. The fact that they knew something she didn't was beginning to get to her. "How do you know?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Hon, we're not going to just tell you. I think he should get a chance to write you some love letters before we spoil his fun. You should figure it out for yourself. It's not too hard."

Putting on her best, most pitiful face, Mia began to beg. "Please tell me? I'll act like I don't know, I swear."

Sara smirked. "I don't know," she said, biting a piece off her candy bar and speaking with her mouth full. "I think you should work it out yourself."

The others agreed, and eventually everyone left, leaving Sara to puzzle over her friend's situation. "I wonder how she'll take it when she finds out?" she mused, turning out the attic light and carrying a few empty bags of Cheetos down the ladder to throw away in the kitchen. "I think they're perfect for each other."