Author's Note: Third chapter ahoy! I'm so happy that from here on I can do more dialogue.

I sometimes become discouraged. I know this isn't the most original idea, but I absolutely love this story anyway. I don't want to change it. Changing it would feel wrong and tawdry. Like taking a painting and smearing it. Please accept this story the way it is, the way I've written it and the way I've grown to love it.

Long wait, eh, loves? Sorry, I'm working on two other big stories at the moment, one Harry Potter and one 10th Kingdom, while trying to finish off my Pirates and Final Fantasy stuff. I'm also back in school now (twelfth grade, jeeze), so I'm busy studying for Psych and Law a lot. Hopefully the next update will come sooner than later, but thanks for stickin' around either way!

Chapter Three:
The Seventh Saturday

On Saturday morning, Jess got up at a reasonable time. He didn't have any dreams the night before, just a darkness laden slumber. That fact alone was going to help him get through the day; he couldn't bear to face the anniversary of Leslie's death with the burden of a nightmare weighing down on him.

He spent breakfast in silence, gluing his eyes to the window as he chewed his toast. His father took care of his chores that morning, and even May Belle helped him out. No one talked to Jess. No one asked him how he was doing, or if he'd had a good sleep. That question seemed to be popping up increasingly often. It seemed everyone knew about his dreams.

But this morning, at least, he didn't have to talk about them. He didn't have to talk about anything. He'd be too busy thinking.

Jess cleaned up after breakfast, and no one protested. His mother's fingers twitched as he took her plate and washed it, but she had better sense than to interrupt. His mom knew he didn't want to be babied, as much as she wanted to coddle him.

Besides, he reasoned, she would have enough to do cleaning up for their guests. Leslie's parents were coming over later for dinner, as they did every year. They'd arrived in town a week earlier, and had even driven out to Jess's house when he was at school. Jess spent most of the day trying to nap or distracting himself with chores, so no one had the chance to tell him. Apparently that's when PT had gotten loose. Judy and Bill were beside themselves with relief when Jess's mother called and told them about their little refugee.

PT scampered around Jess's heels, eager for a walk. He leaned to pat him on the head, grabbing a nearby shoe and tossing it to the other end of the hall. As PT ran to get it, Jess slipped out of the house and closed the door behind him. PT had a right to go to Terabithia, but Jess just couldn't take him. Any other year he would, but, for some reason unbeknownst, this year was different.

Dressed nicely (as nicely as he could, considering the cumbersome trail he had to walk), Jess entered the greenhouse. May Belle continued to grow flowers, in all sorts of colors and sizes. He picked a dozen violets – the purple ones had always been Leslie's favorites, and May Belle kept them growing all year just for her. With that, he exited the greenhouse and began the pilgrimage to Terabithia.

The journey there was far easier in daylight. It almost seemed like an entirely different path. Jess felt a little stupid for having such difficulty with it before. All the obstacles were easy enough to avoid, so much so that he could have worn nicer clothes.

Reaching the bridge, he made a mental effort not to look at the rope. He hadn't for the past six years and he didn't intend to now. In truth, there was no way of telling if the rope was even there anymore. But something in Jess knew that it still hung, a taunting reminder of Terabithia's tragedy. In some strange way it served as an epitaph to Leslie, but Jess tried not to think too hard on it. Any notion of that rope made his knuckles white with anger, and he didn't want to go choking the flowers before he could give them to Leslie.

Taking careful steps, he crossed the bridge. It seemed much smaller these days, but he supposed he had gotten bigger. And heavier. The boards creaked beneath his weight, and for a moment he feared the entire thing would simply crumble. It didn't have the best foundation, and God knew Jess was no architect. He was a ten-year-old with daddy's hammer when he made this. The fact that it was still standing after seven years of weather-wear was a miracle in itself.

But cross it he did, and the bridge was none worse for the wear. Behind him it lay across the creek, a lazy, immobile giant. He wondered what he would do when it finally did fall. Perhaps he would rebuild it, properly this time, with supports and all. Or maybe he would just let it rot in the creek bed, the damn rope pinned beneath it. Nature would decompose the rest of Terabithia, why should the bridge be any different?

Jess shrugged and moved on. The real Terabithia was at the same time similar and different than the Terabithia of his dreams. Here it was a blend of silence and sound, one that melded well with the morning sun. Here there was no discomfort, fear or shadows. No Dark Master and no wind chimes. There was simply a forest, earnest and natural. Jess mused that all it ever was was a forest; maybe Terabithia had never been there at all.

A familiar object loomed into his view. It was hunched and covered in brown rust, an eroding anachronism amongst the greenery. He approached the old truck, the hunk of dead machinery looking almost juxtaposed against the thriving forest. He peeked into the windows: everything from the seats to the steering wheel was covered in dust, dirt and leaves. The windshield was nearly opaque, and the dashboard mirror had fallen and was lying ironically on the dashboard. No wind chimes could jingle here anymore, even if he hadn't torn them off.

Turning away from the metallic monolith, Jess caught a shimmer among a pile of fallen branches. He approached it, and nearly felt like laughing when he saw what it was that caught his eye: the wind chimes. Their sheen was mostly dull from years of living in the underbrush, but one jeweled bauble still glinted in the sunlight. For a moment he thought he could hear the chimes echoing in the breeze, but brushed the errant thought away. Enough of these stupid dreams. After today, he wouldn't have to worry about them.

He continued on through the forest, marking the telltale signs that pointed to Terabithia. After the truck, it was easy to navigate the old place, not that it had been hard before. Finding Terabithia was like riding a bicycle: you simply never forgot. Especially if your best friend died on a bicycle.

Finally, Leslie and Jess's castle stood before him. Considering it had never been very glamorous in the first place, it didn't look much better or worse. Building it had been a testament to their friendship, and its steadfast will to survive was still one today.

He didn't climb it immediately, and instead stood back to admire it. It was a little lopsided, but they had built it that way. Some of the boards were clearly rotting, others having been eaten by termites. Paint was chipping off the western side, where the rain must have hit it hardest. The rope that had hung from it was gone, nothing but a tiny woven tail hanging from the top. He smiled. Leslie had always preferred to climb the branches instead. She said rope was for babies.

Banners hung from some of the windows, and one especially large one was draped above the door. Most read "PMB" or "Princess May Belle." This, too, caused Jess's lips to tug into a slight grin. May Belle adopted Terabithia after he couldn't go there anymore. She had loved it, every last square inch of it. But, like all kids and certainly not unlike himself, she had left Terabithia behind. May Belle grew older and she visited less often. Now her banners drooped, covered in tatters and faded pink lettering. At least it had lasted longer than Extreme Barbies.

Approaching the castle, he began climbing. Holding the bundle of flowers in one hand, he ascended carefully with the other. If anything, nature had helped the progress. Storms and insects had worn the knots and holes in the wood down, making them easier to grip. Now that Jess was taller (he had quite a growth spurt between the last year and this one) he climbed quicker than ever before, and soon reached the top.

He Jess had to duck inside the castle, because it obviously hadn't been built for seventeen-year-olds. Maybe if Leslie hadn't died, they would have made renovations to it. But even if Leslie were alive, maybe she wouldn't believe in Terabithia anymore. Jess wasn't sure he did.

He placed May Belle's flowers on a wooden stool and looked around. Paintings hung on the walls, maps of Terabithia that he had sketched and colored long ago. He ran his fingers over the weathered paper, feeling it crinkle under his touch. There were trees all over his and Leslie's painted kingdom, with regions drawn and labeled. The one where the old truck was rusting was mostly illegible, and he didn't remember the name anymore. He did remember what he'd wanted to call it – "Toyota." Leslie had her own word for that – "Unoriginal."

Jess's fingers glided over the rivers and oceans he'd painted. In their minds, Terabithia was huge and limitless. In reality, it was a few acres of someone else's land. Rivers were really brooks and oceans were ponds or lakes, but everything seemed so much bigger back then. Especially the tree house, whose height had Jess bent at an uncomfortable angle.

He continued looking throughout their quaint palace. Random things lay everywhere. Papers with old drawings were stuffed in nooks, or blown together in a pile by the corner. Some of Leslie's old books rested tattered and frayed on the ground, pages yellow and brittle. Even a few of May Belle's toys were around, mostly crowns woven from sticks and Barbie torsos. He was happy none of her dolls' heads were in here, because their pointless plastic eyes had never ceased to unnerve him.

He even found an old tube of paint, the hideous puke green color from the set Leslie had given him for his birthday. He had only used it once, and that was to squirt the ugly hue at his best friend. In the end, she wound up smearing split-pea soup paint all over his face. Smiling, he grabbed the old tube and slipped it into his pocket. Even if he didn't find a use for it, the memory was enough.

Back aching, Jess finally grabbed the flowers and headed out to sit on the small sunbathed deck. They had sat here so many days after school, talking about all sorts of things. Funny things, like when PT got his hind quarters stuck in a log, and serious things, like Janice and her father. They would laugh and joke and eat candy, or chuck "grenades" at passing invaders. But, ultimately, this was always the place where they could talk. Here, overlooking Terabithia.

Jess's senses perked when he heard a jingle. For a second he feared he was dreaming, but his gaze followed the sound to the bells hanging above him. Of course. How could he forget that? His dad's keys had once been part of that treetop orchestra, and he'd nearly broken his neck getting them down. Just another adventure in Terabithia, that began with anger and strangely ended with a smile.

The jingling of the bells was soothing, unlike in his dreams. It didn't have the tinny resonance the wind chimes did, or the prison connotation. Rather than stalk him, the sound just drifted on the breeze to his ears and circled him. He felt himself relax in the embrace of the bells, looking over Terabithia. For a melodious moment he could see it again, all sprawling mountain ranges and enchanting creatures. But then the wind died and the jingling stopped, and Terabithia was gone again.

He sighed. Beside him sat the vase that held last year's flowers. Trying not to think of Terabithia, he took out the withered blooms and replaced them with fresh violets. He swept the debris away from the vase's resting place and put it back, anchoring it with rocks so the wind wouldn't knock it over.

Bill's words echoed in his head, and it seemed like Leslie's funeral was yesterday. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the flowers and then back at the expanse of forest. "Yeah, I love you too," he whispered, feeling his heart clench.

"Well, that's convenient," came a voice behind him. Jess turned, seeing a blonde girl, his age, sitting and looking at him playfully. Grinning, she clicked her high tops together. "Because here I thought you were avoiding me."

Jess, mouth agape and eyes wide as saucers, felt like every cell in his body was exploding as he barely breathed out one word: "Leslie..."