Thank you for reviewing, Val and Sandy!

I really don't know if the middle part of this is incredibly dull or not, but it had to be written at some point and this was kind of a fitting point in the story for it. I apologize if it is unbearably dreary or this chapter is too long! I felt like it went on forever when I was writing it, even though I actually wrote it relatively quickly, but I didn't really want to cut it in half seeing as it's all part of the same day and general events.

We Used To Be Friends

The atmosphere in homeroom changes as soon as I walk in. Tom's dumped his stuff on my chair and there are bags on my desk too, giving off a clear message: I'm not welcome.

I just roll my eyes and skirt around them, neatly stepping over Tom's foot, stuck out to trip me up, and purposely swing my bag in his direction, but unfortunately it doesn't hit him in his smarmy little face.

"Wow, you move on fast, don't you?" Tom drawls as I dump my bag by the desk in front of Andy's.

I glare at him witheringly. "What is that suppose to mean, Tom?" I ask calmly.

Lora stands up from her seat. "I can't believe you would do this, Prue!" She says very loudly, making everyone fall silent.

"Do what?" I say with a sigh. I am so not in the mood.

"Try it on with my boyfriend!" Lora yells, sounding slightly hysterical. "As if he'd want to have sex with you!"

"Yeah, he's got you for that," I mutter under my breath, not caring if it's a low blow.

"What?" Lora demands, her face red with anger.

"Oh, so that's what he told you…that I tried it on with him. Funny that, I seem to remember it a little differently, and I wasn't the one who was drunk."

I shoot Tom a pointed look, but he's leaning back confidently in his chair, smiling as he enjoys the show.

"That makes it even worse if you weren't drunk!" Sara, Lora's friend, spits, putting her arm comfortingly around Lora, who looks as if she's about to start crying, and scowling at me. "You totally knew you were making a pass at her boyfriend! You've been flirting with him for months."

I'm not in the mood for this. "Believe what you want," I say, sitting down. "But it was Tom who made a pass at me."

Lora and Sara turn away in disgust, and Tom gives me a small smirk before looking away too, but several of the other cheerleaders, especially the ones who don't have boyfriends on the football team, give me small, nervous smiles. At least not everyone hates me.

At lunch everybody at my usual table makes it quite clear that I'm not welcome, not that I'd want to sit with any of them anyway. Lora's all over Tom, which I can't help but feel is for my benefit seeing as the second I walk into the cafeteria she drapes an arm around him and shoots me a furious look before kissing him, and it's sickening. I wouldn't have been able to stomach my lunch sitting with them anyway. Of course this leaves me with the dilemma of where to sit, one I solve by dumping my lunch tray down opposite Andy.

"Hi," I say as I sit down, like I always sit with him.

"Hi," he says, an amused smile on his lips. "How nice of you to join me for a change."

I ignore his sarcasm.

"Well this is nice, isn't it?" Andy says, a wry smile on his face.

"Oh yeah, it's great," I say, slumping down in my chair miserably. "Nothing like being a social pariah."

"Things will calm down. People will forget."

"Yeah," I agree, although I remain unconvinced that they will. I think he knows it too, but he doesn't want to make me feel any worse by pointing that out so he's chosen to lie about it instead.

"Anyway, you're not a total outcast. You've got me and your sisters."

I give him a look that clearly says I don't count three people, two of whom are related to me, as constituting enough friends to not be a total loser.

"Right," he mutters, shaking his head. "We don't count, do we?"

"You count," I protest. "Just…"

"Not as much as everybody else."

"No, that's not it. I just meant my sisters can hardly as friends, and having one friend that isn't related to you…well, it hardly constitutes an active social life."

"Thanks. I feel really valued."

I hate how no matter what I'm trying to say it always seems to come out completely different to how it sounded in my head. It doesn't matter what it is, I manage to find the most insulting way of phrasing it so that the true meaning is completely lost, especially if it was something important I was trying to say. It's as if I'm incapable of being nice.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I don't mean things to come out like that, they just…do."

"I'd noticed."

"So when's your mom getting back from your aunt's?" I ask, to change the subject to something brighter than my rapidly dying social life and my apparent ineptness in all social situations.

Frowning, he says, "I don't know. Why do you care?"

"Okay," I say slowly. "Sorry I asked."

Maybe the two of us just aren't capable of having a proper conversation. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. After all, nothing ever seems to go right and now I've said the wrong thing yet again.

After several moments of silence, he says, "No, I didn't mean to snap.

"My mom is at her sister's," he says. "Just…it's not exactly the fun trip I made it out to be."

"What do you mean?" I ask carefully, not wanting to point out that he was so abrupt on the subject of his mother that he didn't paint the trip to his aunt's to be anything. He looks down at his lunch tray and begins slowly twisting the can of cola around for something to do. I watch silently, waiting for him to elaborate.

"She and my dad…I guess you could say they're kind of on a break."

"Oh."

He looks up.

"Aren't you going to ask why?"

"Why?" I ask automatically, not because I want to know, but because he so clearly wants to tell me.

"My mom…she kind of has a problem with drinking. I mean, I wouldn't say she's an alcoholic or anything, but when things get bad she just wants to forget them. It's like she wants to take a break from life, or something."

A break from life would be pretty nice right about now.

"Only that just makes things worse, not dealing with them, and all these things build up which makes her want to get away even more. I guess it's a vicious circle. But when somebody's been drinking it's hard to reason with them, so when my dad would try to tell her all of this she'd just get angrier. Moving here was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance to change things, but it hasn't worked out that way. It wasn't the place that was wrong, it was her. Us. I don't know."

"I'm really sorry," I say. I don't know what else to say.

"She wasn't always like this," he says quickly, as if I've accused her of being a bad mother and he wants to speak in her defense. "It started after my grandmother died, but in recent years it's got a lot worse. It's like she doesn't know how to be happy anymore. They're not saying it right now, but I'm pretty sure they're going to get divorced."

"Do you still talk to her?" I ask.

"I just…I can't talk to her right now. I feel like I can't forgive her for this. It's too selfish of her. I want her to think about me. What I want. What I need. I want her to be able to stop for me, because I'm her son and that alone should be enough of a motivation. But she can't. Or won't."

"Parents are like that," I say. "They let you down."

He looks surprised at these words, as if he thought my parents' absence in my life meant I didn't feel let down by them ever.

"I had parents once," I point out, smiling.

"What happened to your parents?" He asks tentatively.

"My mom died when I was younger."

"Oh. I'm really sorry." He pauses, then asks, "Do you miss her?"

Usually when I tell people my mom died they look horrified, as if they've made some catastrophic social blunder, then hurriedly apologize and change the subject as swiftly as they can. I don't know if they don't want to talk about it or if they think I don't want to talk about it, maybe it's a bit of both, but either way nobody ever asks me about her.

"Yes," I whisper. "All the time."

"What was she like?"

I frown. That's a difficult question to answer, especially as I was so young when she died. I know what she was like as a mother but I don't really know what she was like as a person, other than second hand stories from Grams.

"She looked most like Phoebe," I say. "Or maybe Piper, I don't know…she was definitely most like Piper in terms of her personality."

"Not you?"

"No. Nothing like me."

Perhaps sensing that I don't want to answer that question, he asks, "What about your dad?"

It's unfortunate that he's hit on a topic even worse than how unlike my mother I am. I have to take a deep breath before I answer, to stop myself from snapping angrily.

"Gone," is all I manage to say.

"Gone where?"

"I don't know. I don't care. He left after Mom died. He knew we needed him and he left. As far as I'm concerned he's dead too."

If Andy's shocked by my harsh words then he does a good job of not showing it.

"Doesn't he ever call? Write?"

"No. Not really. He sent me a birthday card three years ago…but it was three months late, so I don't really count it. That's why you're lucky. At least you've got your dad, even if you haven't always got your mom, and he seems pretty reliable. He seems nice."

"Yeah, he is," Andy agrees.

"Actually, I'm pretty jealous of you and your dad," I admit.

"Thanks, I'll tell him you said that," Andy jokes, laughing.

"I think I've been embarrassed enough in front of him for now," I say, laughing too.

Over Andy's shoulder I can see Lora whispering something to Tom while looking right at me and smirking, but suddenly I find I don't care as much.

All I want to do when the final bell rings is go home and collapse onto my bed, or the sofa at the very least. I've never felt so exhausted from a day at school, despite all the pretending, all the faked smiles, all the high school drama and politics, all the cheerleading practices that made up my life until today. I don't just feel physically exhausted, I feel emotionally exhausted too, like I just can't go on pretending to be aloof and indifferent to all the whispers and snide remarks when inside I feel like I just want to burst into tears. Which is why I really, really wish I didn't have practice after school. Not only do I not have the energy to toss other girls in the air and be tossed in the air while pretending to be full of pep and school spirit, which I'm really not feeling right now by the way, but the people I have to throw up into the air and be thrown by are the very people I really don't want to see or trust to catch me.

Everyone falls silent as I walk up. This is great. I mean how am I suppose to captain a team that isn't even a team anymore?

"Shall we just get started?" I say, deciding there's no point in beating around the bush.

"Prue," Lora says sweetly, stepping forward with a false smile on her face. "We've been talking-" She indicates the cheerleaders behind her, some of who look away from me. "-and we're not sure that you're the best captain for the squad anymore."

She has got to be kidding.

"Really," I say without any expression.

Lora continues to smile at me sweetly. "So we thought we'd do the democratic thing and have a vote to see what everyone thinks and who should be captain."

"Let me guess," I say dryly. "You're the one hoping to be the new captain."

"I second that," says Kimberley from behind Lora.

"I don't hope, Prue," Lora says. "I get what I want."

I'm not going to argue with that. She lives in a massive house, and her parents spoil her rotten. The worst part of all this is that I was the one to elevate Lora to her position of power by telling Tom to ask her to Homecoming instead if me.

She turns to face the rest of the squad. "All in favor of me becoming the new captain, raise their hand."

The half standing opposite Lora raise their hands immediately. A few of the others look a little reluctant and can't meet my eyes, but they too slowly raise their hands until it looks as if every hand is raised.

"And all in favor of Prue?" She asks, although that isn't necessary at all, she can see she's won. Not one hand goes up.

"Well then, it looks like that's settled," Lora says smugly.

I have two choices at this point. I can stay and let Lora treat me like a bitch, or I can leave. To be honest, I don't know what the point in staying is. Let them do their fucking routine without me.

"Okay," I say slowly. "I quit then." Lora and her supporters look like Christmas has come early.

"You know, that really is very immature, Prue," she calls after me in a sing song voice, and I raise my middle finger at her over my shoulder.

"You're home early," Piper says, coming out of the living room at the sound of me slamming the front door shut.

"Yeah," I say, hurling my stuff down. "I quit."

"You did what?" Piper says in disbelief. I walk past her into the living room.

"I quit cheerleading," I say witheringly. Quit isn't entirely accurate a description, it was more like I jumped before I was pushed, but who cares about little details like that?

"Wow, Prue!" Phoebe exclaims from the chair she's sprawled across. She sits up.

"But you love cheerleading," Piper says as I slump into the couch.

I scowl at the coffee table. "Not anymore."

Piper sits next to me. "What happened?" She asks.

"Lora made them all vote against me!" I wail, sounding like a small child who just got her favorite toy taken away.

"That bitch!" Phoebe shouts loudly. I take it Grams isn't home.

"Because of…" Piper trails off and turns red, and I shoot her a look.

"What have you heard?" I demand.

"Well only what everyone's saying," Piper says hurriedly, looking guilty.

"Which is?" I ask.

"About you and Tom and how-"

"Great," I cut in. "Even my own sister believes it. No wonder nobody voted for me to stay captain!"

"Nobody voted?" Phoebe says with interest, looking up from a book I didn't notice she had before. Maybe Phoebe tries harder at school than she makes out.

"Gee Pheebs, you're really making me feel better here," I say sarcastically.

"Sorry," she says.

"I can't believe nobody voted for you," Piper murmurs from next to me.

"Piper!" I snap and she jumps, looking apologetic.

"Well I've told all my friends not to believe a word those skanks say!" Phoebe announces. In the past I'd have been pissed with Phoebe for calling them skanks. In the past I was one of those skanks, at least by association.

"Thanks Pheebs," I say, giving her a smile, or at least as much of one as I can manage.

"If I had anyone to tell then I'd have told them not to believe them either," Piper says next to me, putting an arm around me. I hug her back.

"Thanks you guys," I say, feeling my eyes fill with tears despite myself. Phoebe jumps up and comes to join in. "I'm so lucky to have sisters like you two!" I declare, laughing through my tears.

"Damn right you are," Phoebe mutters.

Yey for sisterly bonding! I want that in my life. As always, reviews are appreciated.