Disclaimer:

Me – I sniff don't sniff own Twilight? SNIFF

Emmett – No, silly Vampiratelvr, that's not true. Of course you own Twilight! snickers

Me – YAY! I own Twilight! I own Twilight!

Esme - smacks Emmett Stop teasing the poor human, Emmett!

Rosalie – Don't worry, Esme, it doesn't really matter. She's so stupid that she doesn't understand that he's teasing her.

Me – Eh?

Enjoy the third chapter of All That Matters

Unintentional Fright

One thought ran through my head over and over as Carlisle slammed the driver's door behind him. The resounding noise made my head spin. Thoughts whirled throughout it, but only one stuck from the rapidly changing torrent. What am I doing? I would have contemplated the matter further, but Carlisle opened the passenger door for me with a flourish. I smiled at him, tentatively, nervously, and he gave me a reassuring smile back. "You'll be all right, Bella," he consoled me. "Just be yourself."

Ah. Yes. Myself. And who exactly is that? The shy, quiet girl at school? The poor girl who works extra jobs? The tough girl working night shifts at the corner store? The bookworm? The romance lover? The potential A student (if I came to class rather than stay at home worrying myself to death over my mother)? Who am I?

I took Carlisle's hand and slid off the smooth leather seat and out the door. The door slammed shut behind me. Oh, God. What am I doing? I shuffled up the path to the double doors, trying my best to keep up with the doctor. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God…He raised a hand to the door, tendons strained in a fist. Oh, God…He knocked. The door opened.

And then everything sped up. Immediately inside was a pretty woman with caramel-colored ringlets of hair framing a pale, heart-shaped face. By my assumption, this woman was Esme, Carlisle's wife. She was lovely – quite like him, in fact. Pale and absurdly beautiful. She smiled at me and opened her mouth as if to speak, but was interrupted as a black and white blur flashed to my side.

"Bella!" it shrieked. I blinked.

Beside me was a short girl, shorter even than me, with glossy, ink-black hair chopped so short that it didn't even reach her small, slightly pointed ears. My eyes widened. She was as beautiful as Dr. Cullen and his wife, but in a very different way. Her body was petite, graceful, otherworldly. Her pale skin visibly shown with brightness, and her melted butterscotch eyes shone with the same glowing excitement. She grinned up at me, and her teeth were a dazzling white.

"Do you like shopping?" she asked so quickly that for a moment I had to contemplate what exactly she had just said.

Out of all possible questions, this was one of the last I expected. How are you?, maybe? Or, Why are you wearing clothes like that? Or even, What are you doing in my house? But, really, I wasn't expecting a question at all. I don't know what I expected – for the family to immediately hate me, or ignore me, or…but I had no inclination that they would ask me a question. I felt exposed. I couldn't think of a diplomatic answer, so I responded with the truth. "I…don't know…"

The girl – Alice, I assumed – let her jaw literally drop in astonishment. "How do you not know?!" she cried. She seemed offended. I rushed to explain things, to explain that my family didn't have any money, as we had all wasted it on treatment for Charlie's emphysema that we knew couldn't be treated anyway, and the rest was put to Renee, and to explain that I'd never been shopping at a mall, not since I was six, anyway, but I'd been shopping in my dreams before. But the words were a jumble in my head.

"I…well, I…my family, we…I haven't….money, we don't, we haven't…"

I trailed off. The pixie girl wasn't listening. Her eyes were glazed over with a filmy substance, and she stared straight ahead, unblinking. "Uh…Alice?" I asked. I took a step closer. "Alice?"

The doctor and his wife re-entered the room, and it was only then that I realized they had left.

"Ah." Carlisle didn't sound shocked, or worried, or confused, even, though his daughter was in a trance. He caught my arm, pulling me away from her. "Don't worry about Alice, Bella. She does that sometimes." He looked at me for a moment, the seconds stretching into what seemed like minutes, or hours, or days. An eternity. He looked at me with a calm, steady gaze; its meaning was obvious. I am not keeping something from you. This is not strange. But I saw the silent plea in his eyes. Don't ask. Just don't ask. I promise, it's okay. Just don't ask.

Alice started. "Sorry about that…I just…"she trailed off, looking at Carlisle for help. Don't ask…

"It's all right, Alice, don't worry about it," I said, though my curiosity was struggling wildly with my brain, with the promise I had made, but not voiced. The promise still held. So did the curiosity. But I bit my tongue and kept silent, much to my distress and angst.

She smiled. "Thanks."

Silence.

"So, why don't you know if you like shopping?" she asked, and this time, her voice was gentle, understanding; not at all the accusatory tone she had used not minutes before.

"I…haven't gone to the mall since I was six. I shop for groceries twice a month, and more if we can spare some money. I buy clothes at the corner store once a year – I get a discount because I work there, or I wouldn't even have these," I finished, gesturing to the t-shirt I wore that I had snatched from my stash of clothes under my pillow back home. It was too small, and had holes in it; the corner store was a good home for moths. It was brown, though, and I loved the softness of that color. I relished in the safety of the color. It was quiet, soft…comforting. Not a stand-out color. One that didn't make people look at me. I looked hesitantly at Alice.

Her eyes found mine. They were filled with an unshielded sadness. "I'm sorry, Bella…but you'll be happy here, I promise! I really like you." And then her eyes brightened. "The mall won't close for six hours. Wanna come?"

In my shock at the invitation, I blurted, "You'd go with me? You'd be my friend?" Immediately, I blushed. God, I'm a dunce…that was stupid…incredibly stupid… she'll think you have mental disabilities… way to go, Bella, way to go.

But Alice just grinned. "I have no doubt," she assured me, wrapping her arms around my waist. And, like before with Carlisle, I felt safe. Loved.

And I relished the feeling.

After Alice released me, Esme said apologetically, "I'm sorry dear, but you should probably wait until tomorrow to take Bella out shopping." Alice pouted as Esme patted her adopted daughter's head consolingly. She turned to me, her golden eyes fixating on mine. "Are you tired, Bella, dear?"

"Tired? Oh…I…" Dear. She'd called me dear. She'd called Alice dear. And me…like I was already her daughter… "You called me dear…" I said, wonder filling my voice.

Shamefacedly, Esme apologized, "I'm sorry, dea- Bella. I didn't mean to-"

"No!" I cried, horrified. "No. I didn't mean… thank you. Thank you so much. I…" Esme pulled me into a loving, motherly hug.

"Of course, dear. You are already a part of our hearts. So, you are already part of our family." I buried my face into her soft, curly hair. Like my mother…so much like my mother.

She pulled back and kissed my forehead, her lips strangely cold against my skin. "There, there, dear. It's all right, Bella. Here – Alice will show you to your room. It used to be the guest room, but Alice had a bit of…fun today, once she heard you were coming."

"Come on, Bella!" Alice said impatiently, snatching my hand from its limp position at my side.

She pulled me out of the family room, where the plasma screen covered the entire wall, the carpet was soft and luxurious, the couches large and fashionable. Past the kitchen, where the heavenly scent of spaghetti wafted out into the halls. I smiled.

It already felt like home. Home. Not a house, for this was a house that I wasn't necessarily used to, what with the fancy furniture and décor and all… but a home. A place with family, with friends, with people who I loved and loved me back. I felt like I could live here forever if I wanted to, like I would be accepted. Past the laundry room, past the back sliding glass door that looked out upon a large grassy stretch of land that reached to the woods. Sparrows and finches and sapsuckers wandered about, flying and twittering and hopping amongst rows upon rows of beautifully delicate flowers.

Up the stairs – and Alice froze, her eyes glazed, staring, once again, blankly ahead of her.

Another figure greeted me at the top of the stairs, although, with not quite as warm a welcome. It cast a dark shadow on everything in my vision. It was a boy, about my age, with the perfect, flawless features that categorized them as Cullens. I wondered vaguely if, if they adopted me, I'd look like that. His hair was bronze – darker, as light was absent from the hallway.

His stature should have frightened me, but it didn't.

But I was afraid. Very afraid. I was frozen in my tracks. I felt like my very life was in danger. But it wasn't for the reason I should have been.

It was his eyes. They were black – coal black. Filled with hate, with anger, with unidentifiable emotions that hurt me, confused me.

I thought Dr. Cullen said his kids didn't mind me coming… Clearly, one of them did.

Then the boy moved. He walked slowly down the stairs, silently, stealthily. If I weren't looking directly at him, I wouldn't see him. He melted into the background. I glanced at Alice, who, much to my dismay, was still in her trance.

I could hear my heart rate speed up, and a choking sensation filled me. And I had thought I would be so safe here, so loved…So safe, and now I was going to die. I didn't know how I knew it, but the feeling was unmistakable.

The boy was on the step above, staring down at me, locks of bronze falling in front of his angelic, glaring face. A pale, stone-like hand reached out to me imploringly. It curved around my neck, and I shivered. It felt so…good. Yet terrifying. Horribly and unbelievably terrifying. The hand was cold, icily so, and my eyes tried to close in the ecstasy of it; his touch was electrifying. But I forced my eyes open, because I knew, subconsciously, that if I closed them, I might never open them again. He brought his other hand up so that he faced me square on, and rested it on my opposite shoulder.
The adrenaline kicked in, but I still felt trapped. It didn't work perfectly like it did in the movies – the only thing that was the same was the slow motion. Everything was as if it was ten times slower than it should have been. And, somehow, it made the fact that I was still stuck all the more frightening. I twitched experimentally. Yup. Stuck. His grip, though light, was satisfactory for his obvious purpose. I wouldn't be able to budge, not that I could if I wanted to. I continued to stand stock still, petrified. I wanted to scream for help, to call for Alice, who I assumed was deep in her trance and had no idea of what her brother was currently doing. I wanted to slap him, to run away…but I couldn't. I just couldn't. I shut my eyes, waiting, waiting for whatever was to come. I resolved to be quiet when it happened. When he killed me. I didn't want to see the knife. I didn't want to see the blood; I only hoped I would die before I smelled it.

His grip tightened on my neck; his thumb pressed hard under my jaw, as if feeling my pulse. It was then that I knew terror, true terror. A low whimper escaped my lips with the last of my breath.

A moment passed. I waited. My eyes were squeezed shut, tears brimming beneath my lids. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God…

"Excuse me," he whispered huskily, voice tight, and then he shoved past me, and ran down the stairs the way I had come.

All I could do was stare in shock. My hand flew to my throat, checking my heart rate. It was wild. Oh, God… I sank down to sit on the steps. I don't know why I thought I would die; he only hated me, it's not like he would be driven to kill me. But his eyes…God, they were glaring daggers. And they pierced through my skin. In my mind's eye I could picture it, picture the blood flowing from my arms and legs and stomach, my chest ripped open, my heart still bleeding, my hair matted with my own blood. Oh, God…

"Bella?" Alice's voice awakened me from the morbid horror of my thoughts. "Bella…oh, dear." She knelt down to my level. "Bella. Bella, look at me. Bella, please." I shook my head stubbornly. I couldn't get the image out of my head, couldn't let the immense relief brimming in my heart overtake me. I wanted to wallow. But not in my own blood, not out of hatred from another, but of self-hate, self-degradation, something I had to live with my whole life.

"Come here," she said, and lifted me up in her tiny arms with shocking strength. But I couldn't question her now. Not when…not when…

My head spun, my eyes closed mechanically. My ears shut out the outside world. My nose made contact with the plush carpet.

Hm. I knew Alice had been taking me on a tour of the Cullen's home, but I wasn't expecting to become so familiar with the decorative rug until much later.

When I awoke, I was astonished by my unexpected surroundings.

"Bella, I know you're awake, so don't even try to pretend," came an all-too familiar voice.

I sighed, relenting. Opening my eyes reluctantly, I was greeted by Alice, her irresistible grin looming over me. "What are you, the Cheshire Cat?" I shot at her, and her face fell like she had had the world's biggest disappointment.

I was shocked at myself, appalled. "Alice! I'm sorry! I didn't mean that." The words rushed out of my mouth, and I stumbled up a bit. She had offered me her unyielding friendship, and I return it with the effects of my morning grumpiness. "I'm so sorry, I…I swear, Alice, I-"

She placed a cold hand upon my bare shoulder; the plain brown t-shirt I had slept in had finally given in at its seams, the fabric barely clinging to my shoulders. "Bella. Don't worry, Bella. I know. I understand." She rubbed the fabric clinging to my back; the hairs of my neck and arms stood up at her touch.

"But, to make it up to me…" she hinted. I cocked an eyebrow, having no clue as to what she was talking about.

She tried again. "You promised, Bella…" Still no answer. Wait…oh, no… not…no, she wouldn't. I looked in her eyes. The answer was very plain.

Yes. Yes, she would.

"Shopping!" she squealed happily. I groaned inwardly.

Alice frowned. "What? You don't even know if you like shopping – so why did you groan?" She stared at me, her topaz eyes genuinely concerned.

"I, well, uh…I…" How awkward. What was I supposed to say? I did promise her, after all. "I'll go. I don't have any money, but that's okay. I'll just window shop. It'll be fun!" I tried hard to sound convincing, to sound light and airy, as if I had not a care in the world. But I failed, and failed miserably. My voice, though cheery, had dullness to it, and the result was a pathetic flatness. I winced. I must sound so greedy, so selfish. So self-pitying.

But, as always, Alice did the unexpected.

She laughed. I glared at her, affronted.

"Oh, silly Bella! You really thought you'd have to pay?" Her musical laughter was enchanting as it was loud; so much so that I felt the urge to laugh along with her. I shook the feeling; it was unnerving. Like I had almost no choice, like my feelings were no longer my own. Her laugh was truly contagious.

"Of course I would have to pay, Alice. Who else would? My fairy godmother?" I added, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

"Me!" And with that, she skipped over to a large oak chest of drawers against the far wall, opened it viciously, and began rifling around inside.

I stared at her incredulously. "Alice, you're what, seventeen? You can't have a lot of money…" Mentally, I fretted. What if she was planning on taking money from Carlisle? What would I do? To whom did my loyalties lie? To Alice? To Carlisle?

She snickered at my expression. "Silly Bella," she said again, much to my annoyance, "We get allowance!" Of course. Allowance was enough to go on a giant shopping spree. Uh-huh. And especially for designer clothes like the ones Alice wore.

"Alice, no one gets enough allowance to go on a shopping spree the size of…of Texas."

She giggled, flashing me a grin, and whipped out a fuzzy pink wallet from the polka-dotted purse in her hands. She opened it, showing me a wide array of cards. Credit cards. I felt my mouth drop open and stay there on the floor.

She saw the disbelief and astonishment in my face, and likely noted my jaw halfway to China by way of digging through the center of the Earth. "Carlisle's a doctor, a good doctor, and we've got tons of shares of stock. And believe me; we're safe with the stock." She tapped her head.

I laughed. "Oh, so now you're not just my fairy godmother – you're a psychic, too!"

She smiled wider, if possible. "Yep!"

She skipped from the room after tossing a wad of colorful clothing in my general direction, yelling as she shut the door behind her, "Put those on!"

I giggled. Alice was such a good sister to have. Sister. I thought of her as my sister. I fought the urge to cry. She was so smart, kind, weird, and funny. I reflected on her response to my psychic jab. "'You're a psychic, too?' 'Yep!'" I giggled again, and then stopped abruptly. Because a small part of me wondered if she was serious.

My arms were aching. Bags upon bags of clothing and accessories from ever store imaginable hung from them, banging against my hips as I walked. Alice, on the other hand, had a bag in each hand, and they swung along merrily with her energetic step.

At one point I asked her, "What did you buy? I didn't see you try anything on." She simply smiled mysteriously, then turned her back on me and skipped away.

I rolled my eyes, but for once, my smile wasn't fake, plastered. It was me. All me. The me that lived behind a solid brick wall had finally broken free. The genuine me.

My smile grew.

We pulled up the driveway, and I was grateful when I recognized the house. I wasn't quite sure where Alice was taking me – she had mentioned something, jokingly, I thought, that we were going to go down to Portland to yet another mall. After ten minutes of staring worriedly at her still-grinning face, I wasn't so sure.

The Porsche glided to a halt, and we hopped out of the car. I jogged around to the trunk and tried the handle, but it was locked. "Alice!" I called.

"Yeah, just a sec," she muttered back distractedly. She seemed to be concentrating on something intensely, like a really messed up algebraic equation that makes no sense and has no right to exist. "Well, Bella, I gotta run – Jasper's waiting for me, and he's getting impatient! Have fun bringing your bags in!"

"But…Alice, the trunk-" She ran in the door and slammed it shut behind her. "Is…locked." I sighed heavily and leaned against the back of the car tiredly. By all means, Jasper, I thought angrily, take Alice away and leave me to fend for myself. The rest of the Cullen siblings had stayed in the respective rooms, and I let them be. Besides, I hadn't had much time before going shopping with Alice this morning, but I hoped to meet them soon. On our way to the mall, Alice had described each of her siblings in detail – excepting one, of course. Edward. With the name came the memories, so I didn't think of it. But sometimes, it was just too hard to forget.

Emmett was a 'huge hulk of a guy', but with a 'heart of gold', according to Alice. (And with a brain of fuzz. That came as an afterthought.) He was sports-minded, and loved video games and Rosalie, who was a gorgeous blonde with a high-and-mighty attitude, but only to those who she didn't know. She loved her family dearly, and Alice 'knew', somehow, that she would 'learn to accept' me.

Jasper was Alice's boyfriend, and the one that she spent the most time talking about. He had blonde hair, was really muscular, and…and that's all the PG detail that Alice went into. He was very empathetic, and could almost always understand what you were feeling. He was a little shy, so Alice warned me that he might stay away from me. And, if he did come near me, to find some excuse to move away – he would only come near me at first due to peer pressure. Alice hurried to assure me that this would not be because of me, but because of his shyness around strangers.

I woke immediately from my daydream when I saw a figure emerge from the house. My eyes widened, and my hands clutched at my throat instinctively.

It was him. Him. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. For the second time in two days, I found myself helpless, completely and utterly so. He came closer faster than I had estimated; within seconds, he was standing right in front of me.

My mind was wild with terror. It was rational; I had been completely traumatized by this boy just the day before, and he now stood in front of me again.

But, my body wouldn't respond to the fear.

I wasn't afraid. My eyes widened with that realization, and then he spoke.

"Hello."

I stared at him, blank shock evident on my face. I opened my mouth to reply, to ask him what happened, to ask him why his eyes were-

Gold. They were gold. Light, like butterscotch. Like the eyes of the rest of his family. "My name is Edward Cullen, although I gather you already knew that." His voice was silken, smooth – not at all the hoarse, husky voice of yesterday. When I didn't speak, he closed his eyes as if in pain. "I suppose there's no way to…to reconcile my actions." His words were sure, but his tone questioning.

I surprised myself when I countered, "Actually, there is." His eyes, previously downcast, flashed up to meet mine. He looked hopeful. I felt myself drowning, drowning in his eyes…in the golden whirlpool…so…warm…

"There is?" he affirmed, snapping me out of my daze.

"If you're wondering how to redeem yourself from touching me yesterday, or whatever you were doing…" I kept my voice steady, and I was proud of myself. I wasn't afraid…I wasn't afraid. Yeah, keep telling yourself that… "Then I don't think you can." My tone was harsh, and, surprisingly, confident.

He flinched. "I…deserve it. No, I deserve worse. I-"

I continued, ignoring him. "I don't know what happened, but I want to. So the only way I'll forgive you is if you explain. Explain what happened, and you're off the hook."

"I…I'm so sorry…" he whispered. "I must have frightened you…I didn't mean to, didn't want to." He paused there, and the way his jaw was clamped shut told me he wasn't planning on saying anything more on the matter.

"Hmm," I said, and began pacing in front of him, as if contemplating his fate. "That, Mr. Cullen," I said primly, "is not an explanation." I raised an eyebrow at him dramatically. "Care to expand further on this weak and unbelievable excuse?" Halfway through, my voice changed to a shockingly pathetic British accent. His face remained stoic, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Bella," he replied in a silken voice. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to meet me. After…what happened, I knew that if I were you, I'd want to be alone." It was hard not to believe him. His voice was compelling, honest – but it sounded rehearsed. He smiled invitingly, and I was instantly on my guard – suck up! He was trying to dazzle me. I had to admit it to myself – it was working.

He, however, was caught quite unawares at my sudden, menacing glare. I smirked, satisfied that I had escaped the prison of his devilishly entrancing eyes.

"I didn't want to be alone," I said quietly, and at first I didn't think he'd heard me. I sat with a slight thump on the trunk of the Turbo. Staring out at the gloomy wall of trees, I continued, "I could never want to be alone, not again, not really alone. I need to know that someone's there, and I…was so afraid when I saw you – I thought you… wanted to hurt me…or…you looked so angry…"

His eyes shut, just as mine had been yesterday, as if in pain. An intense pain, a surreal pain. A pain which is incomprehensible to all those who have not felt it. The pain of loss, of guilt, of blame. Of self-hatred, regret.

And in that instant, I lost all former hatred, former fear of the man – the boy – standing before me. He looked so lost, so vulnerable, as he covered his face in his hands. His bronze hair fell limply betwixt his fingers. His hands clenched tightly around several strands. As he turned his tortured face up to the dark clouds, I felt nothing for him but sympathy…and interest. An unyielding curiosity that tugged at my mind and my heart. I longed to reach out to him, to console him, to tell him that it was okay, that he shouldn't wallow in his guilt. That his guilt was wholly unnecessary, that he should forget what happened. But I held myself back.

"Truly, Bella. I am sorry." And, for a short, sad, sweet moment, I thought that I saw a tear drop linger on his eyelash, tremble, and trickle down the side of his upturned face.

Then I felt the rain on my face, too, and I jumped up from the back of the car. Edward's eyes snapped open, as if he was waking up from a dream – or a nightmare - and he jogged the few feet towards me. Popping up the trunk, he grabbed the bags in one of his hands, tendons pulling tight, and then grabbed my hand with his free one. "Come on!" he yelled over a sudden and distressing clap of thunder. "You're going to get soaked out here!" Another clap of thunder, and, "You'll...cold…wet …pneumonia…die!"

His cold hand wrapped around mine felt strange, but oddly protective. Like he wanted to take care of me – like he cared what happened to me. We ran.

A spasm of pain shot throughout me as my foot caught on the edge of the cobblestone path. I fought the urge to roll my eyes – of course I would trip while running for cover with a stunningly handsome man – as my knees buckled, my back instinctively arched, and my hands came in front of my face to protect it from the rough path that was flying towards my face at a frightening speed. A second later, contact. I was acutely aware that I should have felt pain by now – I had hit the coldness moments ago. I should have smelt the blood – the bitter, salty tang should have overwhelmed me.

I opened my eyes. My face was smashed into a soft material, and I leaned back to assess my situation.

My eyes widened, and I gasped sharply. I looked into the face of Edward, a face which conveyed many emotions – sadness, guilt, horror, relief, and anger. His arms were wrapped around me, pulling me closely to his chest. The shopping bags were still in his hand, and I admired his swiftness in catching me while holding the five (or more) bags that Alice had shopped for. I couldn't help but notice how muscular his chest looked, felt, as I half-stood, pressed against him. He moved as if to help stand, but then took in my sodden appearance, glancing towards the front door that was still many yards away.

With the rain and the path to the door in mind, I'm sure, he hesitated, then scooped me up into his arms and carried me – slightly splayed out over his torso and limbs – quickly up the steps and inside the house.

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly as he helped me shrug out of my sopping wet jacket. I simply nodded, though shuddering at the cold. Because right here, right now, with him, I was so much more than just okay.

He led the way up the stairs, pointing out different rooms as Carlisle's study or Alice's room or Emmett's room. I wasn't really paying attention. I was thinking, with his warm tan jacket draped over my shoulders. Once I had taken my own jacket off, he had hurried down the hall and come back in mere seconds, bringing with him a clean, dry jacket of his own to warm me. I tried to refuse it, but he fixed me with a firm stare, and I conceded. I couldn't help but think how kind he was…so very old-fashioned, and at the same time, completely and utterly sincere in his actions.

Then we reached the end of the hallway. He turned, and I followed his example. We faced a plain oaken door. Like the gentleman he was, when he wasn't busy glaring at me, he opened it and gestured inside, smiling politely. I blushed at this show of respect in his own home, and his smile stretched into a grin. But as soon as I passed by him, he visibly stiffened, and his face creased into a tight smile – genuine, but not wholehearted. My eyes left his face.

My breath hitched in my throat.

I was going to kill Alice.

A/N – Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I would like to say that your reviews are much appreciated. I've been having a bad time recently – there's been some backstabbing going around at my school, and it's about me. My friends defended me, and even though the hurt was not justified in its giving, I'm feeling a little bit down. I personally know that reviews help. And yes, that is a hint. Just to say, "Hey, I like this story. I like the way the llama dances the jig, but perhaps the llama's hair should be a midnight blue rather than a dark, almost fuchsia hue. Just a suggestion; good story!"

And now you're worried – either for missing the part about the llama or for my sanity. Don't worry, there was nothing about a llama in this particular story. Although I did write one for my friend's birthday that was quite amusing. I'll email it to anyone who wants to read it.

So. Reviews. They're very nice, and I appreciate them a lot. Um. This is a long author's note. I'm sorry. Don't spit like a llama! Love, Jojo