Summary: They wronged her in life. Now they'll come together for it. "Hinata was like a monarch butterfly; like pinwheel spokes in a harsh breeze. Too fast- too fleeting- to keep." 5 people- Ino, Sakura, Naruto, Neji, Sasuke- remember her after her death.

I was very popular. "Loved."

But she could see beyond to who I actually was.

::SPOKES::

::1::

::Yamanaka Ino::

1::

October 15. I was getting a tooth cavity filled. I was going in late for school.

I was one of the last ones to find out.

When Sakura told me in third period math, I can remember how sallow her face looked; how her eyes seemed drawn and almost far away, like she was in deep thought.

"Ino. Hey," she'd whispered.

I was filling in the last problems on my math homework. "What?" I'd whispered back, annoyed at being interrupted -

"Hinata...she's dead."

The mechanical pencil I was using? I pressed it so hard into the page, the lead broke.

It's like this: you're sure that the other person is lying, and you're wishing so desperately to hear them laugh, to hear that it was a joke - but you instinctively know that it isn't.

When I heard her words, I shivered. And I didn't know why Sakura seemed so out of it, so depressed. Because I have more reason to be than anyone. Hinata was...used to be my close friend. Before I traded her in for the others. The cardboard cutout girls.

2::

I first met Hinata in eighth grade. I went over and sat next to her with my lunch tray because I was so, so jealous of her straight, long hair. I wished my hair, bleached bunny blonde from a box dye kit disaster, courtesy of drug store box dye, could look as naturally radiant and smooth as hers was.

At thirteen I was, and I quote: "that loud, kinda slutty wannabe" who couldn't find a place to fit in at my new public school.

I had to switch schools – thanks Mom, for getting a divorce – because I decided to live with my dad. And despite all the bad stuff going on in my personal life, I was solely focusing on trying to fit in. But even by the beginning of October I still didn't have any good friends. At my old private school I was always called to go to the mall or to do homework. At Konoha Junior High everything changed for me.

And maybe I had gotten so desparate, so in need of a seatmate at the cafe, I would just go over there and sit down next to the one girl I'd spied here who seemed approachable.

I seated myself beside Hinata, at the table of mismatched girls who ate lunch there because they had no one else to sit with but each other.

Hinata was surprised. She was so surprised. I'll never forget that look.

"Oh, h-hi Ino. I...how are you?" Hinata had said. She even blushed. She was so nervous. Like this kind of thing rarely happened to her...which was probably true. Painfully shy, couldn't pick a fight, wore these conservative kind of clothes that some older girls made fun of.

Still, I didn't care much about those things because I always gave everyone a chance. I never laughed at her, never laughed along with them about something as dumb as not speaking up. Because at that time, despite the bangle bracelets and bright hair and rolled skirts...I didn't know much about who I was.

And that hair – Hinata was so pretty, so how could Hinata not have friends?

(Good question.)

"Mind if I sit here?" I asked, smiling.

Hinata paused for a moment, then blushed and nodded rapidly. "S-sure! I mean, go ahead," she smiled back, and I felt almost relieved.

We sat for a few moments in silence as she picked at the school's hot lunch and I drew shapes with the water from my water bottle onto the table. But soon I couldn't help but naturally start running my mouth off.

"Hey. Y'know how we have Geography together? Second period?"

She nodded.

"Well - the teacher's so interesting," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes. "I guess that's why I failed my test."

She looked a little nervous; maybe Hinata wasn't used to talking badly about anybody. But soon we both were talking about how boring Asuma-sensei was, and then we talked about other things too.

I was glad she didn't have to sit alone anymore. How many times had I seen Hinata in the corner of this table by the windows alone, staring out at the parking lot like she was lost? I hated that. I figured, when I saw here there - maybe I knew that like me, Hinata could be searching for someone. So when I sat with her and she didn't tell me to get up, leave, go someplace else – I was happy.

I sat with her again and again, because I had one friend now – did I really need anyone else? We understood each other. We got along. Hinata was a fabulous listener. And could I ever go on and on and tell her just about everything: crushes, lame teachers, TV stars I was in love with. And at times, she could be pretty funny. No one even knew she could have a sense of humor.

"Hinata," I said in Geography one afternoon, amused. "You know that boy over there, named...um...oh, yeah, Zaku. He asked me out."

Hinata blinked, as if turning that over in her mind, before quickly turning around in her chair to catch a glimpse of him – then giggled. "How can he really ask you out if he can't even drive?" We both laughed at that, because it was true – I mean, how dumb is it to ask out a girl in junior high when you have to have your mom take you places?

We traded phone numbers. I wrote down my cell phone number on a piece of notebook paper. When I gave it to Hinata at her locker one day, she turned bright red.

"Oh! Here. I-I'll give you mine," Hinata said. I remember it was December and paper snowflakes were hanging all around the hallways.

"Here," she smiled shyly and gave me hers. I smiled back. I knew we were friends, then. I wished I could have remembered that later.

3::

Everyone has a secret, right?

I asked Hinata this once. It was near the end of the eighth grade. We'd remained close friends throughout the entire year. Before Sakura and I met.

We were sitting in Hinata's room and she was finishing her English assignment. We mostly went to her house to see each other outside of school.

I didn't like to be around my father. In other words: I had chosen to stay with the lesser of two evils – the lesser of two evil parents, that is. And Hinata's house was unlike the three bedroom loft I shared with my dad – it felt warm. There was an actual cookie jar on her kitchen table filled with chocolate chip-raisin.

Hinata paused. "Yeah. I mean...I suppose everyone does."

She was probably thinking I was going to ask what her darkest secret was, but I didn't. I was prone to babble, but I rarely pried.

I shrugged. "Yeah. I guess."

Hinata looked up and closed her binder. Her brows furrowed. Her eyes looked concerned. "Why? I – well, I mean - is there something...you need to tell me?"

I paused, staring at her desk – there was a purple mug filled with pencils, a tray of printer paper, a computer, a shelf with books underneath. "Charlotte's Web" was among the other grown-up titles like "A Separate Peace".

Trailing a finger across the surface of the desk, I finally said, "No. I was just curious, y'know."

So why couldn't I tell her?

I trusted Hinata. She was my Real Friend. Beyond all the dumb stuff, like the mall and hanging out and smoking and all that – a friend-friend.

I knew how messed up what I was doing was. Something too messed up for the Sort Of Friends in other classes to get, too extreme for them; bad enough for my dad to go ballistic and start screaming. My mom was never considered. I'd come close to coming clean, maybe getting healthy. I had no reason to hide it from her. But I'd chickened out.

(Why?)

I went home that night. At 11 PM when my dad was asleep, in the light of the fridge (ignoring the half full Absolut inside), I ate cold potato salad, a slice of peach pie; leftover tacos, and half a carton of orange juice.

I went into the bathroom and stood there, unable to cry, confused as to who I was, why I was so sad.

And I think you know what happens next.

But at least I had a friend, I told myself, when I went back to bed and tried to calm my racing heart. At least I could feel normal sometimes – when we were talking in class, helping each other with homework, talking in the cafe. And sometimes Hinata talked to me when she was upset too – she'd cried to me over the phone more than once about stressing over finals and getting into fights with her dad, who was weirdly strict. And thinking about it now...I wanted to keep that close to my heart. I didn't want Hinata to look at me with skeptical/scary/sad eyes.

Over the summer, I had to go stay with my mom. We said good-bye as my dad helped throw my suitcase into the trunk of his Lexus.

"I promise I'll e-mail," I said as we hugged for the fifth or sixth time.

Hinata nodded on my shoulder.

4::

You know how sometimes people go through these phenomenal, unexpected changes? How they're gone for a little while and come back a completely different person?

When I went back to live with my dad – after a tumultuous summer spending time with my mother and sneaking out with boys – and entered my first year of high school, I was...different.

No one knew who I was. But I was definitely no longer the bleached-blonde girl with dreams too large to contain, old wishes (like my parents magically making up) smothered.

At last, in this maze and battle ground of public school – I was the one to be envied. Newly tamed hair, glossy honey blonde hair, commercial on TV hair, hair no longer hanging down my back in an unruly and embarrassing way, cut above my elbows now. New pretty clothes, 'sexy' clothes, crop tops and capris, showing a tan from going to Cabo with my mother and her new boyfriend. "New".

Hinata's expression, when she first saw me – she was confused. She seemed lost and searching.

Like we'd never even met.

"H-eeey!" I called to her when I saw her across our new halls, the freshman grounds. I ran up to Hinata and hugged her like I hadn't seen her in years, not months. And I pretended everything was the same, because I didn't know what else to do.

She hugged me back. I'd e-mailed her off and on during the summer. Sent a postcard once. But that was all.

"Hi," she said, looking at me and smiling like she always did - then the bell rang and we didn't have the same schedules anymore. Because High school is so different. But I embraced it while she didn't.

"Listen, listen, I really have to go but Hinata, seriously – we HAVE to catch up, ASAP!" I grinned.

I waved over my shoulder and she waved back to me. I was going to call, "see you at lunch." Except after comparing our schedules, we no longer shared that either.

When I got my first invite to a school dance by one of the most popular junior boys - I knew I was Popular. People liked me - my fashion, the expensive clothes my mother bought to make ammends, how flirtatious (slutty) I was. Suddenly my old crazy, outspoken, flirty ways made me It.

I was friends with lots of people. But I felt myself slowly growing miles apart from everyone else I used to know.

Talking to boys on the phone, dates with older guys; flunking out of a few subjects and going late to class. Shopping for new clothes. Still throwing up. But my parents and my old life – that didn't even matter anymore. I was happy now, as the school QB's girlfriend. I didn't have a choice not to be. I met a girl named Sakura, who was in the same grade, who dared to dye her hair pink, and we helped each other climb the slippery social ladder. We became best friends, sort of.

It happened that Hinata didn't fit in with this newfound happiness. How did this happen? I could almost feel us slowly drifting apart. I guess I could have stopped this. I could have if I tried.

November: we still talked, and sometimes hung out in study hall; I still tried to see her outside of school, but I was always so busy and had to cancel for whatever reason a few times. We helped each other with homework, but it wasn't the same, these kinds of things you can just tell, they aren't the same, y'know?

That day: me, in school, on my latest boyfriend's arm. Maroon lipstick, hair blown out, I'd lost ten pounds, fifteen years old but looked about twenty.

The scene: as I laughed at something one of his friend's told me, I happened to look over – and was it really Hinata standing by the lockers, just standing and watching us, backpack over her shoulder, hair tied back? When I looked again - and we met gazes, something was different.

Hinata didn't look at me the same way.

I noticed: Hinata was still as pretty as she was last year, still stuck in grade 8 but maybe getting prettier. She was smart, and she was shy, but she didn't need a bodyguard, and she didn't need me, and what about me needing her? Because did her eyes really speak to me: we're growing apart? Oh no, no, not possibly, we could still be friends, pretty close, because we were close so quick so fast -

Twist in plot: Boyfriend wrapped his arm around my shoulder tighter, tugged me along like I was his property, I couldn't say No. (I guess Hinata left to catch the bus home. I don't know. I never looked back.)

5::

I broke down unexpectedly.

My tears didn't stop. I've cried numerous times over the same boy, over that quarterback-meathead I told you about, over guys who promised they'd love me forever, and though I hate to admit it, over my father getting drunk and his messed up life. But I was able to stop crying, eventually, over all that...

Sakura's words replayed in my head, over and over. Dead. Hinata. Dead.

What does Dead mean really?

I could sneak off with a boy in his car and have him drive me 80 miles per hour around the sharpest curve as we laughed and sang along to the radio, the volume blared high, without crashing. And even if we did crash, I'd somehow get up again. Because Dead can't possibly existl it's not real -

But it was there, real, OCTOBER 15TH, when I sat and cried in the bathroom stall. Death was there, with me, crowding the air. Some girl came in to wash her hands. I watched a pair of tennis shoes shuffle in and out. Then I was alone again. And I cried and missed a class period, and almost got suspended for it, and didn't care, because I hadn't been able to stop crying.

6::

As I sit in this room I wonder: can I go back in time to that day in the hallway, ninth grade, after class; call her down to join us – no, just me, only me and her - instead of going the opposite way? We were just as we used to be, and I could have called her to be with me, go off smiling and laughing in that racing red car without my boyfriend and not-caring.

(Except we weren't the same.)

Naturally, during the group counseling session, they ask me how I knew her, why I'm here. In the past I didn't tell anyone that we had been friends. Not out of spite. Hinata wasn't popular and she never wanted to be. It was all I'd ever wished aloud for when we were friends, while she'd never wished for that once. It was the difference between us.

When Sakura asks me how I knew her, and the counselor stares because she's listening too, and they're all sort of listening - I tell her nothing, because I am so horrible I can't lie, can't mumble or mutter, can't speak, just so awful I can't even say anything for her. Only shake my head and bite my cheek and squeeze my eyes shut to stop the hot wetness behind my eyelids from slipping out. But maybe it's better I don't. Maybe...

It's clear to me:

Hinata was pretty, almost ethereal ... like a monarch butterfly, or like pinwheel spokes in a harsh breeze. She was too fast - too fleeting - to keep.

I almost wish she'd never met me.

I hope you liked chapter 1! Ino was very easy to write. Reviews = love 愛.