Dear ryanstiles4me -Ryan's all right but I heart Colin Mochrie forever.

"Winnie! Telephone!"

Tiffany Kilbourne batted her eyelashes as she handed me the phone. I smiled back at her. Sure, she was a little young, but it wasn't every day I had an attractive girl making eyes at me!

"Hello?"

"Winston? It's Alan. We met at Kristy's the other night?"

I smiled. Of course I remembered him. We'd spent hours talking at Kristy's party. We had so much in common, mainly that we were stereotypical class clowns with the sporadic 'class clown gets serious when he falls for a girl' turnabout. "Hey man, what's up?" I asked.

"Not much," he answered. "I was just wondering if you wanted to get together tonight?"

"Sure," I told him.

"Cool. I'll meet you at Pizza Express in ten minutes?"

"See you then."

When I reached the pizza joint, I found Alan waiting for me in a corner booth, making animal sculptures out of breadsticks. I sat across from him silently, unable to vocalise my respect. Making sculptures from food… why had I never thought of that? The kid was only thirteen, but he was a genius!

"Wow," I said, nodding at the sculpture. "And I thought the thing with the M and Ms was impressive!"

Alan wrinkled his nose with disgust. "That joke's old," he told me. "They have me do it at every party!"

"Who's they?" I asked. But before Alan could answer, a waitress appeared and asked for our order. After she left, Alan turned to me.

"I asked you here for a reason," he said. "I need your help with something."

"Yeah?" I said. "What?"

His eyes narrowed and he moved his hands together in a Mr Burns 'excellent' gesture. He didn't look like Alan Gray Class Clown at that moment. "I need you to help me get revenge on the Baby-Sitter's Club," he said.

"Revenge? Revenge for what?" I inquired.

"Book two, Claudia and the Phantom Phone Calls," he replied. "God, have you read that crap? They've got me lurking around like a fucking stalker! And all because I'm supposed to be sooo in love with Kristy. Kristy! How could they do that to me?"

"Alan. Who's they?" I repeated, overly patiently.

"Wake up Winston!" Alan cried. "They… they are the ones who created us! They're the one's who made Kristy a bossy, sports-loving tomboy who was abandoned by her father, and Stacey a sophisticated New Yorker with diabetes and divorced parents, and Claudia a junk food loving, artistic dumb ass… But what did they give me? Nothing but this stupid typecast class clown persona."

I paused, giving Alan a chance to settle down. Then I asked, very tentatively, "Are you a schizophrenic?"

Alan didn't seem offended. "Think about it," he said. "What are your parents names?"

"My mom's name is Sharon," I answered. "My dad's name is…" I trailed off. Now that I thought about it, I had no idea what my fathers name was.

"What about your past?" Alan continued. "Do you remember anything before this year?"

"I remember second grade," I told him, a little smugly. "And sixth grade." (A/N: Which is when the Sweet Valley Kids and Sweet Valley Twins series take place. Geddit, geddit?)

Alan looked at me sadly. "Face it buddy," he sighed. "We're minor characters. Unformed and one dimensional, with very little back story."

That was when it hit me. Every single memory I had pertained to Elizabeth or Jessica in some way. All my life, I'd just assumed it was normal for the Wakefield twins to be so freakishly present in every aspect of my life. But maybe… Maybe Alan was on to something.

"But we're going to do something about it," Alan continued. "We're going to get our revenge."

"Wait a minute," I said. "Aren't there already enough sub plots in this story?"

"Never!" Alan cried. "We're going to blow this operation sky high, baby. Our sub plot is going to be so amazingly bizarre that it will take the attention from all the other sub plots."

I was hooked. "Okay. What do you want me to do?"

Alan leaned forward and whispered in my ear.

Alan warned me I may not get another chapter. I had to act quickly.

After leaving Pizza Express I used a fake ID to get into a bar, got arrested, learned a valuable lesson, met a hot college girl, lied to her about my age, was caught out, learned a valuable lesson, threw a party when my parents were out of town, had the house trashed, learned a valuable lesson, lost my girlfriend to cancer, had a car crash and temporarily lost my vision, had a plane crash and was temporarily paralysed, found out that my real father was a Patman, attempted suicide because I didn't make it onto the cheerleading squad, used steroids, tried crack and toned down my gossiping ways after my parents divorced. And learned a valuable lesson.

I called Alan. "I'm almost done," I told him. "But… all these things are so dated and clichéd. If we're going to bumped up to A-plot status, shouldn't we use fresh and original storylines? Alan… Alan? Why are you laughing?"