Oh dear. I am so evil; I haven't updated in a century. To reward you all for your patience, I have ch. 10 already uploaded, although I won't update right away for obvious reasons. Anyway, special thanks to KellyClarkstonGirl, because you just plain crack me up. Please, continue posting fun and curious reviews: nothing inspires me more than positive reviews. :)

In case you haven't noticed, KND does not belong to me. If it did... well, it just doesn't. Can't think of anything creative to say.

Kani raised one eyebrow at his oldest daughter as she made her way down the stairs quietly. "I thought you hated your school in Japan chiefly for its uniform, Kuki-Chan."

Kuki had reached the bottom step and looked around the room calmly, a slightly dull expression in her eyes. "I do not mind it now, father." was all she said. She straightened the dark blue plaited skirt, which was still warm. She had ironed it carefully. Her blouse was also crisp and flawless, and not one hair on her head was misplaced.

"Kuki-Chan..." Genkei looked up from the morning newspaper. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I am, mother. Thank you."

The whole family, even the usually oblivious Mushi, was silent as the eldest daughter sat. Her sister was frozen, a mixed expression of concern and horror on her face. Slowly, she brought her cinnamon-flovoured cereal to her lips, chewed, and swallowed.

"Are ya in the mood to practice cheerleading today, sis? 'Cos you don't look up to it."

Mushi got a good look of Kuki's eyes. They were blank; it looked as though a bland, colourless blue had invaded them. No longer bright and laughing, nor really any type of colour, she looked... asleep, somehow. "Of course I will practice." As her family continued staring, she explained briefly. "I have agreed to practice, and so I will. After all, practice makes perfect, and perfection is my goal."

Mushi narrowed her eyes, and broke the dead silence with, "Hey, mom, I gotta go get something." Then sprinted up the stairs.This action didn't go unnoticed to Kuki, who raised her eyebrows, but returned to her meager breakfast swiftly.

Wally, though badly hurt by his recent fist fight, took a swing at an old, ratty punching bag, hanging in the middle of his room, as Abby paced the length of it, deep in thought.

"Ya know, it would really help if ya'd stop punchin'" Abby looked up as the bag gave way, and the heavy stuffing plooped on the floor.

Wally, defeated, sank down on his bed. "Ah can't think, Abbs." he moaned. "There's somethin' wrong with her."

"Yeah, so what else is new?" Abby snapped in response. "We're supposed to figure out what, by the way. What did she talk to you about?"

"Nothing, Abby, absolutely nothing, except a lecture on mah spelling habits! She wouldn't even let me copy her work."

"Hmmm... well, maybe there's somethin' else you can remember."

"She looked bored, most of the time." Hoagie, standing in the corner, finally spoke up. "As if the course was too easy for her."

"Abby's noticed she didn't smile. Her handwriting was also different. Cursive." She remembered. "Where da heck is Nigel anyway?"

"Don't ask me." Hoagie shrugged. "He said he had to do something."

"Geesh. Could he be more vague?"

"You're moody. You know that, don't you?"

"How can I not be irritated? One of my best friends has been beat up, and another one's been actin' like a zombie. Somethang is seriously wrong."

"Is there? Oh, gee, I hadn't noticed." Abby shot daggers at Hoagie as he said this, then resumed her pacing.

"Ok, lemme get this straight. Hoagie, you said that she acted like some kind o' smarty pants?" She pulled a pen out from her small, blue bag, which had been sitting in the corner, and started writing on her hand – she didn't have any paper. "And Wally, you can confirm dat?" She pushed a strand of hair out of her face. She was on a roll. "She was serious through da whole day, she didn't ask about yo' bruise," Abby motioned towards Wally's eye. "She didn't let you copy her work, either. Did she say why?"

"She started this whole speech – a speech, for Pete's sake – about my working habits and said that if I couldn't do my work well enough to pass, try, try again. She suggested a tutor!"

Abby was scribbling like mad on the palm of her hand. "So, too neat – remember da cursive – and too smart, too show offy in class, talkin' in monotone, overly polite... what else?" Her speaking had sped up until she had run out of things to mention. Now, in some kind of lame anticlimax, she was left staring at her palm. "... what else?" She asked again.

After a long period of silence, Hoagie spoke up. "She was wearing a school uniform." He said. Suddenly, scenes that had slipped to the back of his mind resurfaced, and he was ticking things off with his fingers. "She – in the library, you know – stacked her books and made sure they were perfectly in order. She was uninterested in what we had talked about yesterday at lunch, and she avoided them. She didn't talk that much, when yesterday she never shut up. She organized her locker. She struck up a conversation about chess – she thought I hadn't heard, but I had – with someone from the chess club. Yesterday she said she couldn't play that game to save her life." He breathed in. The fresh air wafting in from Wally's open window helped him think. He remembered something – even if it was only a glimpse, a small scene from when he was leaving the school. "She... she does cheerleading, right?" The other two nodded. "I saw her. She jumped perfectly, but it looked weird, somehow." He fidgeted with a swiss army knife in his pocket, avoiding Abby's curious look. Wally's head was buried in his hands. What help could he be, anyway? All he'd managed to do so far is destroy his punchy-bag.

"A-a-a-a-and?" Asked Abby after a while. "Weird in what way?"

"Well, you said she was cut out for it perfectly, right?" He leaned against the wall. Wally should be discussing this. "I don't know, but I think you said it was because she had- -"

"- -Natural grace." Abby finished. For some reason, her stomach lurched at his describing someone as graceful. Someone other than herself. She knew – she hoped – he hadn't meant anything, but in this matter she had no control over her insides. Praying silently for them to be still, she said, "She has a way of moving, it creates... flowin' lines, or somethang."

"Well," Hoagie started up again. "She didn't look like it at all. She looked stiff, and bored, and the coach kept shaking her head." He refrained from grinning. "As if she was a hopeless case." Wally glared at him after he mentioned that. " Relax, dude, nothing personal. She really moved like a robot, though." Hoagie checked his watch. "Anyway, I gotta go. You know, moms." He nodded at both of them and left the room.

"Yeah – Hey, Hoagie," Abby lunged at her chance. "Mind if we go together?" It might not be too nice for Wally, she thought, but what would we talk about? "I need to go soon, too."

"Bye, see you tomorrow." Wally bade them. They responded. He listened to them go down the stairs, talking in hushed tones, and thank Mrs. Beetles for having them. Wally sighed deeply.

"... Moight as well do mah homework." He looked up to his desk, where a tall pile of homework lay, and made his way towards it, not paying any attention to the heap of punch bag insides in the middle of the room. Sure enough, he tripped, all two metres of him. "Cruddy- -" He cut himself off and covered his black eye with his hand. He lay like that, sprawled out on the floor for a while, protecting his painful eye. It was throbbing for some reason, and as he rolled over, he realized why.

A smell. A heavy, rubbery, synthetic smell was drifting into his nostrils. He could only imagine that it came from the remnants of his excercising tool, so he crouched nearer to it, gasping in pain as the toxic air was strengthened, as were the bruises. He had them everywhere, he now realized – his knees, arms, back. He could only feel them now because of that smell. His pulse quickened. He knew, because each and every one of his bruises seemed to be on fire, the pain searing through them freshly at every heartbeat. He finally came near enough to touch the stuffing, and pushed his finger in it. He knew it was heavy – it had taken him and his dad nearly all day on his last birthday to fasten it securely on the ceiling, and even then it had fallen down a couple of times – and he fully registered the way his finger sank into it: only with great effort.

Like a synthetic fist, he thought, his mind harking back at two nights ago when something had waited for him on his way home from school. He remembered the scent of the night, but the new smell that invaded his mind when that Something had punched his eye. Something... something... the word echoed through his brain... Something that looked and operated amazingly much like a person, thought Wally, amazed beyond his pain, but was actually- -

"Hmm... pistacio, pistacio..." Nigel scanned the racks of the supermarket. "Ah... pistacio chocolate, pistacio salted, pistacio ice cream... when did she say she liked pistacio in the first place?" He shook his head, and reached for the pistacio-and-chocolate chip ice cream, for Divine's birthday, when he saw something that nearly made him topple into the assortment of flavoured yogurts.

A yellow logo.

No comment. I'm tired. Review, as always! Feel free to post comments, theories (I love reading thoeries), and suggestions. Byeeeeeeeeee! G'night!