A/N: Almost the end of the story! Thanks to all of you guys who keep leaving me such kind, fantastic reviews! I love reading them, so I just wanted to convey my gratitude. Thanks!

Oh, and you all should check out my other Casson stories, if you haven't already. They are as follows: Kismet (Rose and Tom get their fortunes told), How I Do Special (Tom does special for Rose on Valentine's Day), Writing From A Prompt (Saffy and Sarah practice creative writing, with many interruptions), Long Way, or, South America, What's It To You (expansion and background on a blog post), and Just Say, or, Other Things To Think About (sequel to Long Way, and another blog expansion). I'd love it if you guys would have a look at those stories too.

Again, thanks to the loyal supporters of this story.

Much love,

~Star

XXXX

Rose

The loud music isn't working. My mind won't shut up. So I might as well keep writing, and I won't cry again. But just in case I do, I have a box of tissues now.

After that awful, awful day I came back home right away. There was nothing I wanted to see in New York anymore.

If anyone at home was surprised to see me back so soon, they didn't say anything about it. No one asked me what had happened, no one even mentioned my trip. I don't know if Tom told anyone what had happened, or if Tom's father had, but it seemed like everyone knew.

Of course they didn't tell me they knew. But since my nosy family wasn't asking any questions, I just assumed.

Those few first days were horrible. I kept reliving that moment, wishing I could have changed something, and then reminding myself that it didn't matter and it wasn't my fault and I didn't care.

I did, though. Care, I mean. I cared an awful lot.

Was it my fault? Did I make Tom do that? Was I too ugly? Did I smell bad? Was I a bad kisser? What did I do that made Tom find that other girl?

No, I tried telling myself. Tom seemed perfectly happy when he was here with you, and the whole birthday thing was his idea, after all. It's not your fault.

I didn't really listen to myself, though.

I got tired of questioning myself over and over again. I wanted to find out if it was my fault that Tom had kissed someone else, if he had done it because I wasn't good enough when he had kissed me. I could only think of one way to find out.

So I went off to the park (skipping the Family Time that Daddy insists on ever since Saffy and Sarah left) (no problem there, he always makes us go bowling where you have to put on those nasty shoes that other people wear) and looked around for a cute guy.

I found one. I brushed my hair back and crossed my fingers and squinched my eyes shut, and wished that it would all turn out perfectly, and then I walked up to him.

"Hi, I was wondering if you could help me with something."

He turned around and looked at me, then got that expression that boys had gotten every time they saw Caddy or Saffy for the first time. The kind of awed, shell-shocked look of Oh Man Look At That Girl. I was a bit surprised to see it directed at me.

"Uh, okay, sure," he replied. "What is it?"

I bit my lip, not quite sure of how to say it. "Well, the thing is, um, I'm having a problem."

"Yeah?"

I decided to just blurt it out, since it was unlikely that I would come up with a tactful way to say it. I am Not Very Tactful, Daddy says. "I need you to kiss me."

The boy got a very surprised expression. "Kiss you?"

"Yeah. And then tell me if I'm rubbish at kissing."

"Well, okay then." He smiled. "Come here."

I gulped. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. After all, I had only kissed one person before. I really didn't know how to do it, exactly. But I stepped forward, into his arms, and tried to relax as he lowered his face to mine.

I don't know exactly what I was expecting. Something more like the tingles and shivers I got when Tom kissed me, I think. Something more than the boring and slightly yucky sensation of this boy's moist lips on mine.

I endured it for as long as I could. But when the boy tried to press his tongue into my mouth, I jumped back, and, with some muttered apology or excuse, I ran off.

I saw a figure striding purposefully down the street, wearing a jacket exactly like Tom's and carrying a duffel bag. My heart leapt, hoping it was Tom, come to explain that it was all a big mistake and he really did love me and only me. And then I reminded myself that Tom hated apologizing, and that I didn't care anyway, that I was over him.

Ha. I don't think I'll ever be over Tom. Much as I might try, I'll never get him out of my heart. (But don't tell Kiran. I don't want another lecture on how Americans Are All The Same and I Should Have Known Better.)

Anyway, by the time I returned home, my family had come back from Family Time in their usual grumpy manner. Michael and Bill were arguing about letting Buttercup eat the greasy fries they sold at the bowling place, Caddy was crying because Michael and Bill were arguing again, Eve was going into a cleaning frenzy (because bowling always reminds her of the germs that are Everywhere, just waiting to get someone sick) and Buttercup was howling. Indigo sat calmly at the table, ignoring the chaos around him and eating a sandwich.

When he saw me come in, he got up to make me a sandwich, too.

"Hey, Rosy Pose. You missed another great Family Time. Where were you?"

I didn't answer.

Daddy heard my name and turned around. "Rose!" he roared. "Rose, why didn't you come with us? You know that everyone is supposed to be there!"

This was too much.

I just wanted to hide under my covers and forget that the world existed.

So I ran up the stairs and into my room, only to find that Eve had gathered up all my sheets and blankets and put them in the wash. I burst into tears and crawled under the bed, wishing that someone (Tom) would come in and comfort me, hold me, tell me it was all a bad dream.

Maybe I should crawl under the bed now, too. Maybe that would make me feel a bit better.

Anyway, after that, I avoided home as much as I could. I would spend the night with friends, stay out until everyone at home was asleep, or keep to my room. As soon as school was over, I went to London where Daddy got me this flat. I stay away from all of my family as much as I can, because I just can't think about it anymore.

I miss them, I really do. But I miss how we used to be. When Daddy would stay in London and not interfere, when Caddy and Michael would visit more. When Eve would paint in the shed and Saffy and Sarah would take care of all of us. When Indigo was happy and would play guitar and sing and talk to me. When Tom would visit and call and write, and every time he did happiness would fill me up. I miss that.

I don't miss how things are now. I don't miss Daddy fighting with Michael and Caddy and Mummy and I don't miss Buttercup and Mummy and Caddy crying and I don't miss Indigo sitting in the corner or hiding in his room and not talking to anyone for days on end and I don't miss Saffy and Sarah not being there.

So I painted the way things were on my walls here in my flat, and I want to just go back. Turn back the clock, and pause it, stop time on my sixteenth birthday.

But I can't.

My twenty-first birthday is in four days, and the one thing I would wish for will never happen.

(I wish for Tom to come back).

But I know he won't and its no use wishing for it. And I know that no one will celebrate my birthday, since Kiran is off studying in France this term and Molly is still at her American university.

Maybe I'll have a party all by myself. I'll do one just like my sixteenth birthday, and I'll go up on the high school's roof and no one will be there to tell me I shouldn't wish for impossible things. And I can remember all I want and no one will be there to watch me as I cry, all by myself.

All by myself.

Again.