Author's Note: Sorry about the lack of updates; school started and I got ridiculously busy! Thanks again for all of the reviews and comments – always appreciated!

As the alarm blared in her ear, Stacey sleepily wondered how long she'd been out. Even better, she wondered what time she had finally stumbled in the night before. She looked at the time and groaned – there was no way she was going to make it to school on time. Plus, she felt terrible. So instead of getting ready, she called her dad and asked him to call her in sick. It worked every time. Her dad felt so bad about never spending time with her that he would do anything that she asked for.

She rolled over and stretched, pulling her pink comforter over her head. Her chemistry notes were crumbled around her, and she glanced over them once more, trying to make sense.

I used to be a great student, she thought. I should understand this.

Although she knew that she could figure out how to work the problems out, she just couldn't bring herself to sit down and focus. Instead, she reached next to her and lazily tested her blood sugar. It was surprisingly low, 128, which was amazing compared with how much she had ended up drinking the night before. She tried not to vomit at the thought of it, and her stomach did a frightening roll that brought her back to the night before.

She really, really hadn't planned on her behaviors the previous night. Stacey McGill was not a party girl at heart. She was mature, sophisticated, and occasionally studious (though her recent scholarly efforts were nothing to brag about).

Something had entered her mind the night before though. As she was leaning over the toilet to throw up the apple and carrot sticks that she ate for dinner, she realized that the girl she was in Stoneybrook was someone who was never going to be around again. In Stoneybrook, Stacey had had the best of both worlds. Since she was from New York and not a small town, she had the right degree of worldliness that students respected (well, some might consider her snobby, put that was par for the course). At the same time, she was just a short train ride away from the city and a single dad, thus upping the probability that he would shower her with gifts and money every time she came to visit. So, Stacey was inevitably the best dressed girl on account of her parents' divorce. She participated in a gratifying cycle that allowed her to up her cool potential every time she went to the city and came back laden with Bloomingdale's bags.

But that was Stoneybrook. In New York, Stacey was on the fringes. She was constantly surrounded by girls who sized her up. Girls who wore the same outfits as her, yet sometimes in sizes like 00. Girls who got their hair done at Frederic Fekkai (or better yet, had Frederic come to their houses on special appointments). Maybe Stoneybrook used to be jealous of Stacey, but now Stacey was experiencing some of the same envy herself.

Is this what it really comes down to? she had asked herself. Alone in a loft apartment with one friend, who's disappeared somewhere to try and score with some guy she knows? She choked back a sob. Getting sick always made her cry.

I'm so pathetic, she thought to herself. Look at me. Look at this. As she looked around the room, she took in the trendy décor, all metallic edges and mirrors. She traced some residue off the countertop, hoping that it wasn't cocaine and was rather just a trace of some girl's pressed powder. Wiping her eyes and rinsing her mouth, she decided to throw herself back into the party. After all, how much more fun could she possibly end up having in the bathroom?

She pushed open the door, surprised that a line hadn't formed outside of it. But from the looks of the room, the party was beginning to clear out for the evening. She didn't even know what time it was.

"Stacey, come here!" Laine called from across the room. "Come sit with my friend!" Laine herself was already ensconced in the lap of Dawn's friend, whose name still escaped her.

Looking incredibly uncomfortable, the guy gave Stacey a tentative wave. "Come on over and join the party," he said awkwardly.

"You know, I know you from somewhere," Stacey said mischievously.

"You do?" he asked.

"Where, from your dreams?" Laine cackled. "He's such a stuuuuuuuuuuud." Though Laine could often be eloquent outside of parties, shots of tequila didn't make her the most pleasant company.

The guy continued to look uncomfortable and twirled a lock of his shaggy hair around his finger. "I thought you looked familiar too," he continued. "Where do I know you from?"

Laine leaned over, clutching the front of his button –down shirt. She was already spilling out of her own top, and Stacey debated if she should tell her that she was about to commit a serious wardrobe malfunction. Nah, she decided, let her humiliate herself.

As he politely removed Laine from his lap, he gestured over to Stacey. "Please, sit down."

"You're Dawn's friend. I'm sorry, but I can't remember your name."

Laine tugged suggestively on his hair and began whispering quietly in his ear. "It's Ducky," he reminded her. "And you are… Stacey?"

"Good memory!" she congratulated him. Laine continued her manipulation of Ducky; her new maneuvers included rubbing his thigh and suggestively layering on lip gloss.

"You're going to have to stop that now, sorry," Ducky said to Laine. A shocked look came across her face, and before she could respond, Ducky was grabbing Stacey's hand and leading her across the room.

"That was kind of rude, what you did to my friend," Stacey said as he pulled her away.

"Well, what she did was kind of rude to me."

"Apparently you don't enjoy being groped by the likes of Laine Cummings?"

"Not so much. She's not really my type."

Laine would be surprised to hear that; it wasn't often that she got turned down, Stacey thought. "So what brings you all the way to New York?"

Ducky paused. "It was time for a change, you know? It's like in California, things were so static. Nothing ever changed. But out here, it's different. I mean, I can walk down the street and be completely invisible if I want; on other days, I can get as much attention as I need. It's a different aesthetic."

Stacey was intrigued. She could see Laine pouting and motioning to her to sit with her again, but she wanted to continue this conversation. "So you chose New York because…?"

"Well, mainly because in Palo Alto, I felt like there was a giant sign that said 'fag' across my back."

Momentarily taken aback, Stacey reeled at the tidbit of information that Ducky had given to her. "Well, that makes a lot more sense now," thinking back to Laine.

"Can you do me a favor? Can you not tell Dawn that you ran into me tonight? She and I have been having some difficulties, so I would really appreciate it if you could leave out seeing me. Oh, and don't mention that I'm in a band either."

Again, Stacey was puzzled. But she was also tipsy, so she easily agreed not to mention anything. I probably won't even remember most of tonight, she thought, slightly giddy. She turned to head back to Laine, who had already moved on to the next available (and potentially straight) band member.

"And Stacey? I wouldn't have hooked up with your friend anyway," Ducky said, winking at her. "Trust me, if I had any interest in the female persuasion, you would be much more my type." With that, he left the room without attracting much attention.

The night ended shortly after, with Laine taking off with the bass player and Stacey left to find her own cab. She returned home without waking her dad and lounged in bed, which brought her up to the current moment.

Well. If she was going to take the day off, she might as well do something productive. Again, she picked up her chemistry notes.

I can do this. I can do this.

But she couldn't. No matter how many times she tried to figure out the equations, she couldn't. It was probably a combination of not paying attention in class and missing so much to begin with, but Stacey was far behind. She felt like crying and realized she might as well. There was no one there to stop her, to judge her, to ask her what was wrong. As she sobbed, one thought kept crossing her mind:

This is not the life I chose for myself.

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On Friday morning, Kristy felt better than she could remember feeling in the past few months. She woke up half an hour before her alarm was even set to go off. She felt surprisingly lighter and full of energy, which would be great to use at Krushers practice that afternoon. She slipped her bag over her shoulders and headed out the door to the bus, but Sam grabbed her arm. "Need a ride to school" he asked, slipping her a Pop Tart.

"I think I'm going to run there today, actually." While this was generally not a great idea because of the distance, Kristy was excited to use this newfound energy. Maybe she could even consider trying out for the track team if she got into good enough shape.

She burst out the door, starting with a slow pace. Her muscle ached, and she could swear that she head them creaking as she moved. A light sweat began to form on her brow, and she brushed her bangs out of her face, not wanting to show up at school looking like a total wreck.

As she crossed through town, she marveled at her change in mood. She hadn't had the urge to cut herself at all the day before, and she even completed all of her homework. Maybe I need to keep busy. Maybe constant motion is what helps to get me through the days.

She thought back to the night before and the whirlwind of the trip to the Pike's house. She should really call Mallory to ask if Adam was okay.

But then she remembered Mal, and Jessi, and the IM, and the creepy, manipulative way that Mallory spoke of Jessi. All Mallory Pike wants to do is to get ahead, Kristy thought, and she doesn't care who's in her path.

"Hey Kristy!" a voice called.

Kristy couldn't have felt less surprised when she saw Mallory standing in front of her. Her arms were piled high with manila envelopes. Again, Kristy took note of Mal's appearance: frumpy sweater, a cascade of tangled curls, and what Claudia would refer to as "mom jeans." Kristy knew that she was no judge of fashion, but Mal generally looked atrocious, and today was no exception.

"You look busy, Mal," Kristy responded. "What's that? Your story about Jessi?"

"Something like that," Mal replied snidely.

"So, how's Adam?"

"Adam? He's fine. He's already begging to play outside with his brothers. You should see the poem that Vanessa wrote him. And Claire is just obsessed with all of his casts and medicines."

This was the kind of conversation that Kristy was used to having with Mal. When they talked about their babysitting charges, they could go on for hours. It was just when they started speaking about personal situations that the tensions began to flare.

"Well, I should get going. Oh, Kristy, before I forget – you left this at my house last night!" Mal handed her the black and white speckled composition book that Kristy knew so well.

Her journal? How could she have left her journal at Mal's house? She never took it outside of her bedroom! But as she looked back, she remembered grabbing a pile of books off the desk in haste as she rushed to get ready. She could feel her mood sinking at the thought of Mal reading her most private thoughts and sentiments. As she mentally categorized what she had written in her journal, all she could think of was that she wouldn't want anyone to read those thoughts, especially not Mallory Pike.

"Don't worry. I didn't read it or anything. Once I realized what it was, I put it down and didn't touch it again. After all, as a writer, I know how personal others' thoughts can be."

Something about Mal's rambling explanation didn't sit well with Kristy, but she figured that she would just have to accept it. "Well, thanks for returning this. I didn't even realize this was missing."

"Anytime!" Mal said with a wave. "Well, I better be off. I have to get to the mailbox and send these documents out as soon as possible. I want to get them straight to New York as soon as possible.

"Well, good luck on that. Hope you win the contest," Kristy said half-heartedly, still thinking about what Mallory Pike could have possibly read in her journal.

When Mal was about a block away, she called back to Kristy, "Hey, how's your brother, Sam?"

"Oh he's fine, why?"

"Oh nothing. I just heard that he wasn't doing well and was on a little vacation," she said, with a special emphasis on the last word. And with that, Mal entered the post office, leaving Kristy clutching her trusty notebook in stunned silence.

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Mary Anne knew she looked hot. She could tell by the way her parents wouldn't say anything to her at the kitchen table. She could tell by the way that Dawn checked her out, trying to figure out what had happened. She could also tell by the way the bus driver had leered at her out the school window, or by how Pete Black had slapped her ass on the way to class.

Unlike her last makeover, Mary Anne didn't care how others reacted to her. This is something I needed to do for me, she kept reminding herself. This time, she felt confident. With Claudia's help, she had started to become the girl (no, woman, she corrected herself) that she had always wanted to be.

Let Dawn do whatever she wants to from now on, she told herself. Sharon is no longer my problem.

As Mary Anne approached the school, she could see Claudia coming in from the opposite direction. "Hey Claud," she waved, trying to appear calm and collected, not like the little-girl Mary Anne that would have shyly begged for attention.

"Hey," Claud said, looking momentarily troubled. "You look hot today, Mary Anne," she said, brightening slightly.

"So what are you doing tonight?"

"Well…I might do something with Trevor Sandbourne. How come?"

"Maybe do you want to double with Logan and me?" The words were out before Mary Anne even considered what she was asking. After all, wasn't this what had almost ruined their friendship before?

"Sure, I'd love that," Claudia replied, grateful for the invitation. It would be so much easier for her to get her mind off of Alan if there were three other people around her all night.

"Awesome!" Mary Anne replied, using a word that she usually detested. "I'll talk to you more at lunch." As she sauntered off, she managed to perfect a sort of strut that she hoped looked attractive.

Logan was waiting at her locker. As she approached, his jaw dropped appreciatively. "Damn, Mary Anne," he drawled. "You look good enough to eat."

"Are you suggesting…"

Normally, Mary Anne would have put a stop to this banter between the two of them. But this was new Mary Anne. She stepped outside of herself and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Things are going to change around here," she whispered to him.

Indeed, they were. She had no idea what was coming next, but she knew that it was going to be good.