Chapter Eighteen

Not Kill Her, Just Shoot Off Her Nipples

(Harlow)

"Come on, Lo. Get up, up, up!"

Ughhhhhh.

I blinked. Blinked again. Blinked once more. The sun was exploding through my windows, unrelenting in its horrific, blinding brightness. My eyes were on fire. My eyes, oh God, they burrrrrrned! Everywhere I turned, every place I looked - the room was bathed in that dazzling, completely unwelcome golden light. God damn you, sunshine!

"Wh .. what? Dahellz goin' awn?"

I slapped two hands over my face, peered through them to look down at the end of my bed. Looking back at me, in all her pouty and miserable glory, was Chick. She glared at me, a look of mingled anger, concern - and the now perpetual sheen of terror - plastered on her pale face. She threw her sheet of hay yellow hair behind her back, and gave my blanket a sharp tug.

"Out of bed, Harlow. It's almost one in the afternoon, you slob. Come on, get your lazy ass up!"

"One .. holy shit, one o'clock? Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure - I'm dead, not retarded. I can read a clock, Lo. Come on, greaseball, you look and smell like hell."

I groaned, throwing the warm blankets off of my legs. A cold rush of air gave me a killer case of goosebumps, and I slid up against the backboard, tucking my face into my knees. My eyes were still trying to adjust to the sudden flood of light, but I realized it wasn't just my cornea's that were in a terrific amount of pain ...

"Ugh .. oh God, I feel like I died or somethin'."

"How about some manners - dead girl, right over here. And you're not dead. You just look like it."

I ran a hand over my head, my face, my arms. What the hell had happened last night? My eyes were puffy - no, my entire face was. I was swollen. I was sore. My brain was pounding painfully against my skull. I felt lightheaded, woozy. There was a ball of knotted hair on the top of my head, a light sheen of sweat all over my body. I felt hungover, but like ... a million times worse. Like I'd drank an entire keg of whiskey the night before and had survived.

"What the hell happened last night?" I muttered, still attempting to shield my eyes from the incessantly sparkly sun. "Did I get hit by a truck or something?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Chick sighed. "All I know is Ghost Douche dragged you into the house, you were sniffling and crying, he put you to bed and you've been drooling and snoring ever since."

"Ghost douche?" I said blankly. "Ryan?"

"You know another one?" she mumbled, perching herself up on the edge of my dresser.

"Why was - oooh. Oh. Right."

My confusion and exhaustion had disappeared - they'd been replaced with an all-too familiar feeling of horrific, all consuming misery. Yesterday. Yesterday had happened. My stomach churned into knots, my hands turning to icicles. I'd forgotten. Almost.

"Ryan," I said softly, looking at Chick's fearful face. "Is he ... ?"

"Woke up about fifteen minutes ago," she said loftily. "Rolled off the couch. He's in the kitchen now."

"The couch?" I repeated. "He slept on the couch?"

"For a couple hours," she said. "Paced around the living room for the better part of the evening though. Weird guy."

"But he stayed?" I asked quietly. "He stayed the whole night?"

She frowned, giving me one of her perfected 'what-are-you,-stupid?' looks. "Yeah. The whole night. Don't feel too special, Lo. I mean, what else did he have to do? Try and record ghost farts?"

I shot her a scathing look, feeling self-consciously at the top of my head - it felt like a rat's nest. "He's still here, though?"

"Are you dumb?" she asked in exasperation, throwing her hands up. "He's in the kitchen, Harlow."

"Right, right," I said, trying to pull myself together. "The kitchen."

The memories of yesterday were flooding back into my brain, tugging fiercely at my heart. I wanted to forget. I pushed away the flashbacks, begged them to just disappear. But that's not how life works, is it? Why is that? When we wake up from an especially amazing, fantastic dream, we can never remember it. It's the nightmares we recall, the nightmares we can never urge ourselves to forget. It was unfair.

"So are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to have to guess?"

I looked up at Chick, tried to force a smile. "All in good time, Chicky."

She looked grouchily at her feet. "I wanna know now though."

"You've got the rest of eternity to find out," I sighed, kicking the covers back more.

I rolled over and onto my feet, which I realized immediately was a very terrible idea. The room was spinning, and my knees were threatening to give out on me. I feel almost nauseous - I hadn't eaten in almost twenty four hours. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd drank anything. I steadied myself against my night table, willing myself to keep upright. The last thing I needed was Ryan coming in here and finding me passed out in a greasy heap on my bedroom floor.

When the room had stopped spinning so violently, I walked a few staggering steps towards the door. Chick was eyeing me curiously. I waved a hand dismissively.

"Fine," I whispered. "I'm fine."

I padded out of the room, into the hallway - again, the sun was pouring in through every window. I grimaced slightly, still not completely accustomed to the brightness. The apartment was exactly as I remembered it. Everything in place. My world might be about ready to fall to pieces, but at least I still had my cozy little house. The smell of coffee and toast wafted through the apartment, and I felt my stomach pang hungrily.

I walked through the living room noiselessly, peering through the bar window into the kitchen. My heart gave a spastic little flop - all I could see was the back of his head, but I felt a rush of not only gratitude - but of love.

Dark blue always looked so wonderful against his skin - that navy shirt against his olive tone. The dark brown of his hair. The lean body hovering over the stovetop. The sight of him made me do something I swear I never thought I'd be able to do again -

I smiled.

All my pain, all my agony, everything - for one moment, one small, fraction of a second - subsided. I felt a rush of hope. Of love. Of all consuming thankfulness. He had stayed. I'd asked him to stay and he had. He had. Here he was. In my kitchen. With me. I needed him, and he was still here. I could've cried.

I walked into the kitchen slowly, but he must've heard my footsteps. He peered over from the stove, bright chocolate brown eyes round with concern. He smiled.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," I said, my voice still slightly hoarse with sleep.

"Eggs?"

I felt my stomach give an angry grumble. I nodded. "If you don't mind."

"Not at all," he said, grabbing a few more from the carton. "How was your sleep?"

"I don't feel like I did," I said, trying to fight a yawn and sliding up onto one of the barstools. "I feel like I was hit by a truck."

He smiled sympathetically. "You sound better, less congested. You still look a little pooped, though."

I nodded. "It's mainly just my head. I'm a swollen, miserable greaseball."

"The most beautiful swollen, miserable greaseball I've surely ever met," he said, stirring at the sizzling eggs. "You had a rough night. How are you feeling?"

"Like it's the end of the world," I sighed. "But ... I'll be alright. It all will be, I guess."

He nodded. "It will, Lo. I know it will. Just give it time to all blow over, y'know?"

I rested my face in my hands, kneading at my forehead. "Yeah. I guess it wasn't all just a bad dream, then, was it?"

"No," he said softly. "I wish I could lie and say it was."

I laughed humorlessly. "That makes two of us."

The kitchen fell into silence, the dripping of the coffee machine and the sizzling and occasional pop from the eggs the only noise. Ryan cooked in silence, gave me space. I had nothing to say. I was too tired.

"Toast?" he asked, after another few minutes of silence.

I shook my head. "No, thank you. Just the eggs will do."

He set me a small plate, handing it over the counter. He perched against the sink, munching cheerfully on his toast. I felt a pang of embarrassment - how can he get four hours of sleep, crash on a couch, and still look like he just rolled off the cover of some male model magazine? I'm sure I looked like one of those psychotic cat ladies you see walking alone in parks in the middle of the afternoon. Y'know. The ones that talk to the wind and always end up peeing themselves? Yep - that's what my current look was based on.

I poked at my eggs, hungry but unable to eat. I was worried I wouldn't be able to keep it down - I had had a hard enough time fighting off the tears and the anger this morning. I didn't think eggs would fare much better. Emotions at least were only that - feelings. Eggs. These suckers could do some damage.

"Kimmy called this morning," Ryan said softly, jabbing at his eggs contently. "About eleven. She said if you feel like it, give her a call back."

I smiled, chopping my eggs into tiny little pieces. "I will. Later."

He nodded, scooping another mouthful of eggs into his mouth. I felt like shit. I'm sure I looked even worse. But Ryan brought an odd air of calm into the kitchen. His presence soothed me in a way. I felt comfortable, relaxed. My mind was racing a mile a minute, the conversation from yesterday rushing painfully through my mind. But I was okay. I was alive. I was here. He was here. We were together. And for some reason, that filled me with such a sense of relief, I couldn't even explain it if I'd tried.

"Hey," I said quietly, slipping off the barstool unsteadily. "I just .. I just wanted to say thanks. For yesterday. For last night. Just ... for staying."

He smiled, and I could feel him watching me carefully as I teetered my way over to the fridge.

"It's not a problem," he said earnestly, his fork clicking against his plate. "I wish I could've done more, truth be told."

I grabbed the carton of orange juice from the fridge, bumping the door shut behind me. "You did more than I could've asked for. I really can't thank you enough. Orange juice?"

"Please," he said. "No need to thank me. I'll do anything you need me to."

I smiled to myself, pouring two glasses full of juice. I handed him his glass, and leaned uncertainly against the countertop across from him.

"I was a mess," I continued, feeling an inexplicable need to explain myself. "I shouldn't have dumped that all on you. It was just .. a shock, I suppose. That's all. I wasn't expecting it."

He nodded. "How can you prepare for something like that, anyways? I would've fallen to pieces. Just .. I know it sounds ridiculous coming from me, clearly I can't even imagine how awful you must feel. But ... it will get better, Lo. That's how things like that work. It all blows up in your face, life is hectic and crazy and .. and scary, I guess is the word. But it calms down. Everything gets back to normal. People forget."

He put his plate down on the counter next to him, rested his elbows back against the sink. I walked towards him, putting my plate of nearly untouched food on top of his. He stopped me from walking back to my little corner, pulled me close. His cologne, the musky scent I'd grown to love so dearly, filling my nose. I nestled into his side, resting my cheek against that soft, well toned arm.

"It'll be alright, Harlow," he said softly, hand rubbing my back comfortingly. "If you need anything, ever. I'm always here."

"I know," I said quietly, wrapping an arm around his thin waist.

His skin was so soft, so warm against my cheek. I could've stood there all day, leaning against him. I felt so safe, so comfortable. The whole world might've been falling to pieces - and truth be told, my whole world was. But as long as I was here, right next to him;

I'd be alright.

(Katrina)

"Alright alright - how about this. We loosen the screws on her chair. She comes in to class, sits down - boom! Frog ass all over the floor!"

"That's it?" Serge asked, cocking a brow. "Seems a bit tame."

"I'm not done," Heather said, looking excitedly between the four of us. "Then, when she's on the floor, red and mortified and toady as always, we sneak up behind her annnnd - KABLAM. Shoot her in the tits with a sawed off shotgun!"

"Love it," I said, clapping my hands together. "Especially the sawed off shotgun part."

"Well it'd definitely take the heat off of Harlow for a while," Eilfie said, rolling her eyes. "But then there's the whole first degree murder thing."

"We wouldn't kill her," said Heather in exasperation. "Just shoot her nipples off. Scare her a little bit."

Josh shook his head. "You're fuckin' terrifying, Tad."

"Didn't hurt my feelings when my Mum said it, doesn't hurt my feelings when you do," she sniffed haughtily.

"Look, this isn't gonna do anyone any good," Elf sighed, leaning back in Ryan's chair.

Heather ignored her, making little gun noises and shooting at the air with her fingers.

"You're right," Josh said, nodding in agreement. "We could sit here for days and plot ways to ruin Denise's life. But it's not going to help anyone. What's done is done. We can't change the past."

"But we can change the future of her nipples forever," reasoned Taddy.

"If you make any sort of reference to Denise's nipples again, I'm going to throw up," I moaned, trying desperately to rid my brain of that terrible image.

"It's a shitty plan anyways," Tad sighed, curling up on top of the desk. "Frogs don't even have titties."

"Instead of plotting on how to get back at Denise," Eilfie said, shooting Heather a dirty look. "How about we try and think of a way to make Harlow feel better?"

"Pretty sure she'd be on board with any of the last ten master plans we've come up with," Sergey said, with a sly grin.

"Has Ryan been home at all since last night?" I asked Serge, looking thoughtfully around the empty classroom.

Serge shook his head. "No. He spent the night at Harlow's. Sent me a text at like two in the morning."

"I wonder how she's doing?" Josh said softly, looking sadly out the windows.

"Who knows," Elf said, tapping a foot rhythmically against the desk. "How do you cope with something like this?"

Heather sighed. "As best you can. She'll be okay though, won't she? No one ever has anything bad to say about Harlow ... they'll probably realize this is just a huge crock of shit and they'll get tired of it in a couple of days."

I nodded in agreement. "But until then .. if anyone asks us anything about her, or about the rumors or .. or anything along those lines - "

"Deny it," Elf said simply. "Don't refuse to comment. Just deny it. Frankly, we shouldn't know even half of much as we do already, all the information we have on her we found out by fluke."

"Good ol' Chip," Serge sighed.

"He didn't mean to," Heather said. "You know Chip ... he's such an excitable little googly-eyed munchkin."

We all laughed, the first genuine one we'd had in almost twenty four hours. The room was empty, the halls quiet. Outside, the sun was shining brilliantly, unaware of the darkness that was sweeping through our lives, through Harlow's life, as we spoke. But through it all, the sun's light was reassuring: at least there would always be that one constant, right?

No matter how dark the times, the sun will always rise.

(Ryan)

He shook his head, raising his hands up in defense. "Look at me. Look - I don't want to hurt you, okay? Let's make a deal. You give me that gun, and I promise you - I promise - I will walk you out of here and you will never have to come back. Sound pretty good?"

"Ooh, Criminal Minds?"

I peered over the back of the couch, and couldn't help the grin that spread over my face. Harlow, even amidst all of her unhappiness, bounced into the living room, hair shaggy and damp, loose ringlets falling over her shoulders. Her face was alive, glowing, makeup-less - natural perfection. No longer swollen, the water had washed the pain from her eyes. The smell of her shampoo - coconuts with that sweet hint of vanilla - had wafted over to me, intoxicating my senses.

"Maybe? Never seen the show before."

She nestled next to me on the sofa, pulling her knees up to her chin. She'd just taken a shower - I could still feel the heat of the water radiating off of her. She smiled, dimples deep set and eyes crinkling.

"It is," she said, leaning against the cushion and running her thin fingers through her hair. "It's a fantastic show - really smart. It's not just some regular, boring old crime show. It's got substance."

"What's it about?"

"The Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico - FBI, you know? They get called to different parts of the country to help solve murder cases by profiling."

"What's profiling?"

"Branch of psychology, actually," she said, looking contently at the television. "It's studying behaviorism. You have a criminal that no one can identify, or a serial killer that's on the loose - you study the known information you have about them. How they kill a person, their MO. Do they leave anything? Do they kill in a populated area? Who are their targets? You can create a profile of the unknown subject based on their behaviors at a crime scene."

"How can something like a weapon they used help determine who they are?" I asked, completely puzzled. "Isn't that what fingerprints are for?"

She smiled, patting my knee. "Sometimes there aren't fingerprints. The one rule of psychology, is that behavior is never random. Even physical evidence can lie, but the way a person acts or - even more importantly - doesn't act, that can tell you more than a footprint ever could."

"Is that what you're gonna be doing?" I asked, watching the buff black guy on TV steer a young boy out of the dilapidated old house. "Profiling and stuff?"

She shook her head, flecking me with little drops of coconutty water. "Not exactly. I'm in developmental psychology, more specifically child psychology. I'll be working closely with social workers and schools. I study behaviorism, every type of psychologist does. But I'll be using it to help me figure out what's the matter with children, not criminals."

I nodded, allowing her to snuggle up next to me on the sofa. The people on the show were chatting on the plane, but I could barely hear them. My heart was beating a mile a minute. We'd been hanging out for weeks, Harlow and I, and I couldn't help but wonder when I'd ever really get used to her presence. My arm was around her shoulders, and I noticed with a pang of concern, she was feeling much thinner than she had a couple weeks ago. She'd always been a tiny little thing, but she fit almost perfectly in the small crook between my arm and chest now - not exactly a large space.

I squeezed her shoulders a bit, and her arms automatically wrapped around my waist. I smiled - bonier, yes. But the delicate, sharply carved muscles in her arms were still prominent along her dark, tanned skin.

"What made you want to be a child psychologist?" I asked, as the credits rolled on the screen ahead.

She sat up a bit, resting her cheek against my arm, one arm still around my waist, the other clutching my hand that hung over her shoulder.

"I want to help kids," she said simply. "When I was little, all I ever wanted was someone to talk to, to understand what I was going through. I want to be the person I never had. I just wanna be there for them. Help them understand that different isn't necessarily a bad thing."

"You want to help all kids, or just foster kids?"

"Mostly foster," she said. "They're the ones that need the most help, I think. They need to know what's happening to them isn't their fault. I remember feeling guilty when I was little. I felt like all the bad things that happened to me were because I was a bad person. I don't want anyone else to have to feel like that or think that. I want them to have hope. I don't want them to forget how to dream."

I kissed the top of her head, inhaling her sweet scent. "That's wonderful, Lo."

She gave my hand a light squeeze. "I'm close, too! A year and a bit away from my degree. I've got to get experience this Summer."

"What do you mean, experience?"

"Well, after four years, they've done just about all the in class teaching they can do. After your four years, you're expected to get some real world experience. This girl in my class, Tiffany, she's got a job at a pediatric hospital. Lucky girl - her mum works there, so she gets to intern with the site Psych. Another guy, Daniel, he has connections at this Res camp."

She stretched her legs out in front of her, and curled them back up onto the couch.

"It's not a job, persay," she said thoughtfully. "I just need research experience."

"Where are you planning to go?" I asked, but the gears in my brain were cranking - I had an idea.

"Oh, well Sophie ha - uhm .. "

Her face went oddly pale, and she stared without a sound at the television. I felt an uncomfortable knot in my stomach - Sophie had what? Whatever it was, I had my doubts it was going to pan out. Not after the day they had yesterday.

"Nevermind it," I said softly, mussing her hair. "There's a million places out there that'd be lucky to have you, Lo."

She smiled half-heartedly, and gave a quick kind of nod. She'd surprised herself - she seemed to have almost forgotten the heated run in between her and Sophie last night. I felt my heart ache a little, seeing that quick wave of pain wash over her face. Her eyes blinked incessantly, attempting without much success to get rid of the tears threatening to pool over.

"Hey," I said, turning to look at her. "Don't be upset, now, Lo. I have an idea."

She looked at me and gave a tiny little sniff, pawing gently at her eyes with a closed fist. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," I said, attempting to hide the excitement in my voice. "This Summer - actually, starting in about a week - we've got about eleven cases we've got left to film for the next season of Paranormal State. Maybe more. Out of the eleven, we've got about four or five cases centered around children."

"What does that have to do with me?" she asked, politely puzzled.

"We bring a psychologist to every case," I explained. "Jamie, she was our resident child psych. But she went on maternity leave about two months ago and I don't think she's planning on coming back. Not for at least a year, year and half."

Harlow looked at me, interest evident on her face, but a definite look of uncertainty underneath the curiosity.

"What did she do, exactly?" Lo asked, tapping her fingers against my palm absentmindedly.

"Whenever there's children involved in a case, we like to bring along a psychologist," I said. "Just to make sure the kids aren't ... well, aren't 'making things up'. We've had a lot of cases, before the show started, way back at the beginning of PRS, where mom's would call us and sob and say their kid is having visions of this and that. They can't sleep because there's a ghost harassing them, things like that. Nine times out of ten it turned out the kid had some kind of mental disease or they were just making it up. Now, we know better. We bring along a psychologist, someone specially trained to communicate with these kids, figure out if their claims are legit or not."

She was still looking slightly uncertain, but the potential of it was definitely crossing her mind. I had considered asking her for help for quite some time now, but I was always unsure of how to bring it up. This had been the perfect opportunity.

"You don't have to do it," I assured her. "It's just an offer, if the thing with Sophie doesn't pan out."

I saw her pained expression, and I immediately felt guilty for mentioning the name. "Sorry, I didn't - "

"It's fine, it's alright," she said, raking a hand through her hair. "Would I ... would I have to be on camera?"

I shook my head. "Not if you didn't want to be. The psychology evaluations usually happen off of camera, before the television crew even gets there."

She nodded, lost in thought again. "It would really be a great opportunity ... we've been studying a lot lately on a child's inability to decipher between reality and fantasy in the early childhood developmental stages. It would help me out a lot with research."

I smiled, giving her shoulder another light squeeze. "Just think about it. If you decide it's a good idea, and if .. well if other things don't work out, you're more than welcome to join the off screen crew. It'd be a real pleasure having you with us. And it doesn't have to be a long term thing, either."

She looked thoughtfully back at the television, and I could tell she was seriously considering the offer. "I'll let you know," she said after a moment of silence. "It's .. it's very generous. You'd be helping me out more than you could ever imagine."

"Me helping you out? Oh please. You're the one who'd be doing me the favor. You can't even imagine how tough it is, trying to find a psychologist to agree to work with a bunch of ghost chasers."

She laughed, taking my face carefully in her hands. "Paranormal investigators."

"Call us what you like," I said softly, with a small smile. "To the rest of the world, I'm just a nerdy, ghostbuster."

"My nerdy ghostbuster," she whispered, resting her lips lightly against my own.

"Forever."

And only seconds later, we were wrapped around each other, hands in each other's hair, making out like it was the fuckin' end of the world. Oh hells yes.

Who knew talking about psychotic little kids and ghostbusting could get a girl so hot?

(Kimmy)

Outside, the birds were chirping. The sun was shining. All was calm.

Inside my condo, however? Everyone was going apeshit.

"She'll be here any minute!"

"Is there coffee? I know there's tea, but what if she wants coffee?"

"My hair! Oh shit, it's all poofy!"

"Where's the coffee? I can't find the coffee!"

"EVERYONE, STOP PANICKING. YOU'RE PANICKING."

"My hair! What the hell it looks like a cotton ball!"

"THE COFFEE, DO WE HAVE COFFEE?"

"I'M PANICKING!"

"Where's the cups? Do we not have cups? Cups? CUPS?"

"THE KETTLE IS BOILING, IT'S BOILING?"

"MY HAIR!"

"IS THERE NO COFFEE?"

"MUGS, WE NEED MUGS!"

"SOMEONE POUR THE KETTLE!"

"You know, I don't think Ryan's the only one trying to win Harlow over," Lindsey said calmly, sipping her tea and watching rather smugly as the remainder of the girls went batshit. "Who knew the team was fifty percent apeshit lesbians?"

"Jess, pour the kettle," I called. "Meagan, mugs are in the top cabinet. Jenn, the coffee machine is next to the fridge, just hit the 'Brew' button. And Em, your hair is fine, just relax."

The flailing ceased, but there were still looks panic on the girls faces. Today, on this fine, breezy Sunday, myself, Linds, Jenn, Jess, Meagan and Emma were gathered in my apartment, awaiting the arrival of our beautiful albeit perhaps a little nutty friend and captain, Harley Bear.

Since the heated confrontation between Lo and Sophie on Friday, the team had been ripped apart. What happened in the auditorium after practice was a secret - so naturally, by midnight the same evening, everyone on the team knew about their fight. Team Sophie, as we called them, were the girls who were backing Soph in this ridiculous little argument. You know the ones I'm talking about, right? The girls who thought Harlow should be thrown from a very tall building because she was a weird, ghost lovin' 'freak'. Kenzie, Ainslee, Ash and Natalie. The anti-Harlow's. But then, in my quaint but cozy little home, there was the other team. Team Harlow. Team anti-Sophie. The girls that believed Harlow was still the girl we all knew and loved. The ones who, whether or not it was true, accepted Harlow for who she was (or wasn't?). We were the ones who supported her. Who loved her. Who appreciated her regardless of the shit going around school.

There was Linds and I, who'd had Harley's back from the very beginning - she was our girl. Jess, who idolized Harlow like some sort of God. Jenn and Meagan, who'd never gotten along with Sophie and would back Lo even if she announced she was a neo-Nazi. And Emma, who for all her fuzzy haired faults, saw the good in people no matter what everyone else was saying. The six of us - forever Harlow's.

I'd called Lo the day after the volleyball fiasco, and to my surprise, Ryan had answered. She'd been in bed all day, but he said he'd get her to call me as soon as she was up and alright. And he'd stayed true to his promise - only a couple hours later, Harlow'd rang. So I guess this wasn't just a Team Harlow kinda gathering. We were all very Team Buelly as well.

I'd spoken to her, very briefly mind you, on the phone a second time later that evening. She sounded alright - a little stuffy, a little tired. But she seemed okay. I told her a bunch of us were getting together for tea and coffee and cookies and probably a 40 of rum, and that she was more then welcome to join. She'd agreed, although the relief in her voice I think was masking a lot more uncertainty.

So as the girls arrived and found out Harley Poo was going to be here, they all, one by one, slowly but surely, began to go completely batshit. They meant well by it, don't get me wrong - they wanted everything to be perfect. They wanted Harlow to feel comfortable. They wanted her to know we had her back.

But did they have to be so God damn squirrely about everything? Jeeze.

"Just sit, you guys," I sighed, rolling my eyes. "We've hung out with Harlow a million times before. Today isn't going to be any different."

"Yes it is," Emma said, raking frantically at her silvery blonde hair. "She's on the outs with half the team, including her best friend. She's probably depressed and upset, we have to make her feel welcome and happy."

"But not be too obvious about it," Jenn cut in, poking hopelessly at the coffee machine - she'd already single-handedly finished off a fourth of the bottle of rum. Friggin' alcoholic. "We just need to let her know that we support her, no matter what."

"I think she already knows we do," Jess said placidly, popping on the top of the teapot. "She wouldn't have agreed to come if she thought we all hated her."

"I did tell her who was coming," I pointed out, taking a sip from my own mug. "I'm not going to say she sounded relieved, but she definitely didn't ask why Sophie and them wouldn't be here."

"Who cares if they're anywhere," Meagan said derisively. "Bunch of close-minded skanks. Who need 'em?"

"I'll drink to that," Jenn said cheerfully, taking a swig of the Sailor Jerry's on the counter.

Someone should probably have let her know it wasn't even noon yet - at this rate, that bottle would be gone in another hour. As the girls all took seats around the coffee table, chatting animatedly to one another, there was a faint little knock on the door. Five heads swiveled to peer creepily through the front window, craning their necks to peer out.

"Oh would you stop that," I muttered, shooting them all dirty looks. "She's not a circus freak, get ahold of yourselves."

I walked quickly to the front door and let it swing open - there, in all her shy little adorableness, was Harlow. She grinned, holding up a white box.

"Cinnamon buns," she said cheerfully. "From Stella's. Nothing goes better with tea and coffee and alcohol then a Stella's Cinna-bun."

"You brilliant, beautiful girl," I sighed, taking the box and hugging it against my chest. "Come in, come in - we've been excited for you to get here! Except now I think the guest of honor is gonna be this box of delicious sticky chewy goodness. Ughhh, oh God I'm drooling all over the box."

She laughed, slipping off her shoes and following me back into the living room.

"Harley Bear!" Lindsey said happily. "How are you, beautifu - ARE THOSE CINNAMON BUNS?"

"WHAT?" Emma cried, jumping to her feet, eyes wide. "Hi Harlow, nice to see you, blah blah blah - SHE BROUGHT CINNAMON BUNS, GIMME!"

In a mad rush, the white box had been ripped from my arms and torn open on the coffee table. Harlow laughed, plopping down on the sofa next to me. I looked over at her casually, and was relieved to see that the horrific misery that had ravaged her beautiful face on Friday was nowhere to be seen. Granted, she didn't look her normal, bubbly self quite yet, but there was a calm about her again. A comfortable ease, one that I was scared I'd never see again.

"Tea or coffee, Lo?" Jess asked, stirring her own mug from the kitchen - she was the only girl that hadn't punched their way to the box of pastries.

"Tea would be lovely," she said contently. "Spoonful of sugar, bit of milk. Thanks, Jess."

After our apeshit little friends had stuffed their mouths, hands and pockets full of cinnamon buns, we all nestled into our little chairs and couches, and sat in a comfortable silence. Jess handed Harlow her tea and took a seat in a chair opposite, big doe eyes visible over her own mug.

"We're so glad you came, Harley," Emma said, ripping little pieces off what might have been her twelfth cinnamon bun. "We were worried about you, y'know."

Harlow smiled, tapping her fingers absentmindedly against her cup. "I know. You shouldn't have been. I was just having a shitty day, that's all."

"Made no better, I'm sure, by that nutjob Sophie," Jenn said with a scowl, bottle of rum still grasped in her fist.

Harlow shrugged, but said nothing. She sipped at her cup of tea, averting eye contact.

"We won't talk about it," Lindsey assured her, shooting Jenn one of her 'Jesus-Christ,-stop-drinking-it's-not-even-noon-yet' looks. "We just want you to know that we support you and we love you, and we're always always here for you."

Harlow smiled appreciatively, and nodded her head. "You're the greatest gals I've ever known. I wouldn't have been able to get through the weekend without you."

"Or without Ryan," I said, grinning a little cheekily at her. "He's a sweetheart, such a cutie pie. And the best phone manners. Usually guys I talk to on the phone are too busy scratching their balls and watching TV to have any decent conversation with."

She laughed, but Meagan looked at me quizzically.

"When did you talk to him on the phone?" she asked.

"I called Harlow's place yesterday," I explained. "Ryan was there, Lo was still sleeping but I talked to him for a minute or two. Said he'd get her to call me as soon as she was up and showered and everythin'."

"Oooh, what was Ryan doing at your place?" Jenn asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

Harlow giggled but shook her head. "He picked me up Friday night. Spent the night at my place - on the couch, honest - " she said, laughing at Jenn's gleeful little squeal. " - I was really upset. He drove me home, got me all settled, and just crashed on the couch. Trust me, I was in no condition to pull any kinda moves that night."

"So he stayed the whole night?" Linds asked.

She nodded. "Most of the day, actually. He made breakfast, helped me clean up a bit. We mainly just crashed on the couch and watched television, actually."

"That sounds lovely," Jess sighed whimsically. "He always seemed very sweet."

Harlow nodded. "He is."

"So are you two, like ... official?" Emma asked, stealing a swig of rum from Jenn.

Lo shrugged, and looked thoughtfully out the window. "We haven't really discussed it in great length. I'm not sure."

"Oooh, you should invite him the Penn State Sports Gala!" Jenn said excitedly, stealing the booze back from Em. "That's like, official official. If he says yes to that, you know he's yours!"

She laughed, but shook her head. "Actually, I don't think I'm going ... "

We all exchanged horrified looks. Miss the Sports Gala? But Harlow was a University Captain! She couldn't miss it ... and who was going to look after us once we'd had so much to drink we couldn't even stand properly? Harlow wasn't much of a drinker, she was always the one who helped our drunken asses out to the taxi's. What were we gonna do without her?

"You're not?" Jenn asked, looking almost on the verge of tears. "But Harlow! Why?"

"If it's because of those bitch-tits," Meagan said, looking angrily out the window. "Trust us, Harley - we'll deal with them."

Harlow shook her head, but couldn't help looking a bit flattered at our sudden wave of indignance.

"No no," she said, putting her mug down on the coffee table. "It's not that .. that doesn't bother me. I just won't be in town."

"Where are you going?" I asked skeptically.

Where could she be going? None of the team knew much about Harlow's past or family or anything like that ... but we knew she grew up in Foster Care, had no living relatives except a mentally ill brother out in Jersey, and the only times she ever went out of town were with Sophie. Harlow wasn't the type of girl to just up and leave for a vacation, either. I doubt she could've afforded it, and to be frank, she hated being anywhere besides home.

"Well," she said, looking uncomfortable. "I'm .. I'm actually going to Minneapolis. With Ryan."

"Are you meeting his family?" Meagan gasped, nearly slopping the rum all of my carpet - betch!

She laughed uneasily, but shook her head. "No .. see, he's got a case for his show down there, actually. Him and the production team and camera crews and everything are going to film an episode or something."

None of us said anything, but the room's atmosphere changed immediately. Jess didn't move, but her eyes got even bigger. Em and Meagan exchanged slightly startled expressions. Jenn stopped mid-chug, looking curiously at Lo. Lindsey looked unphased, but I saw her eyes narrow a little in thought. Harlow cleared her throat, but looked around the room.

"It's ... it's not like that," she said softly. "The case has a child involved. They need a psychologist to go and interview the clients, make sure they're mentally stable and fit enough to partake in a television show, you know? I've got to start doing my co-op and research papers this Summer, and it's a perfect opportunity."

"I thought you were supposed to be working at a social working law firm?" Emma asked.

Harlow smiled sadly, shrugging her shoulders. "Supposed to. Sophie was going to set that up for me, but ... I don't know if that's all going to pan out or not."

We all saw, with great guilt, a look of pain pass over Harlow's face at the mention of Sophie. Ostensibly, it was still rough hearing her old best friend's name. We could understand that.

"Yeah, I'd look into other things too," I said, patting her back lightly. "That's .. that's pretty cool though! You get to do all your research work, and be on television."

"Oh no, no," she said, shaking her head. "No, I'm not going to be on the show. I don't .. I don't want to be. I'm going down with Ryan and his team a day or two before production starts. I'll do my interviews before then."

"You're not gonna be on TV?" Jess asked, looking slightly puzzled. "But why?"

"I don't want to be," Lo said simply. "There are more important things I want to do than be a television star ... I'm only doing this to help Ryan out. Their regular psychologist is on maternity leave, and they don't know how long she'll be gone. And this fits right into my Psych area, you know? Kids, developmental studies. It's a great opportunity."

"Oh no kidding," Meagan said with a nod. "That's amazing luck, Lo."

She nodded. "It's going to be really great, I think .. I'll have all my studies and research reports done in no time. I'll be able to spend all the rest of the Summer partying and going to the beach, I won't be cooped up in a tiny little office for three months."

"That'll be great," Jenn said, perching the bottle of rum precariously on the edge of the coffee table. "I thought you meant you were goin' down there to do, y'know .. the other kinda thing."

Harlow smiled a little awkwardly, but shook her head. "Psychic stuff. No, I'm just doing psychology interviews. That's all."

"But if he asked you to do psychic stuff," Jenn slurred, with a drunken little wink. "You would saaaaay ... ?"

"Ignore her," I sighed, grabbing the bottle of Sailor Jerry's from the table. "Christ Jenn, it's not even noon."

"And you're so subtle, too," Lindsey smirked, trying to contain her laughter.

Harlow, on the other hand, looked very contemplatively at Jenn. She looked odd, like her brain was fighting against itself, trying to decide whether or not she should say something. I wasn't the only one who seemed to notice, either - the rest of the girls were looking slyly at Harlow, clearly noting the same things I was.

"We don't care either way, Harlow," Jess said softly, catching us all by surprise - whenever Jessie talked, it always scared the shit out of us, because she so rarely did. "If you are or if you're not .. we're your friends. We love you no matter what."

Harlow looked serenely at Jess, but her eyes were glossy, like they were fighting back a well of tears.

"Thanks," she said quietly, hands fidgeting in her lap.

"You don't have to tell us anything," I said softly, wrapping my arms around her. "That's not why we brought you here."

"I know," she said, nuzzling my head with her nose.

"It was just a question," Jenn said, looking slightly apologetic. "Sorry Lo, I didn't mean to make ya feel awkward. I'm drunk. Again."

Harlow laughed, but shook her head. "No no .. it's okay. I .. I don't know. I think some parts of the rumor ... well, they're kinda true. For the most part."

She looked awkwardly at her feet, but the rest of the room seemed a lot more at ease.

"We won't ask you to elaborate," Meagan said gently. "Frankly Harlow, you can talk to ghosts and have Sock-Hops with Demons on Friday nights, and I'd still like you just the same."

"Agreed," Emma said brightly, snatching the rum back to their side of the table. "We love you no matter what. You're not a freak, Harlow. You're like a super sexy real-life Michael Jackson Thriller."

"Thriller was zombies, dumbass," Jenn burped.

"Well excuse me for trying to make Harlow feel a bit more comfortable," Emma sniffed.

But Harlow didn't seem to care - she was looking at the girls opposite her, a whole new expression on her face. It wasn't embarrassment or anxiety, like it had been just two days ago. It was a look of relief. Of gratitude. Of happiness. She looked at me, eyes brimming with tears once again, but this time, she smiled.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"We're friends," I said simply. "Would you have expected anything else?"

"DAAWWWWWWE," cried Jenn, unsteadily climbing to her feet. "You know what this calls for?"

"Group Hug?" Em asked.

"I was going to say more rum, but yeah, alright - GROUP HUG!"

And with barely enough time to put down our mugs, Harlow and I were screaming in pain and happiness, underneath a pile of wailing, squealing girls.

Psychic? Drunk? Cottonball Poof Hair? Didn't matter.

Our love was, and always would be, unconditional.

Author's Note: HELLO LOVELY READERS/REVIEWERS!

This author's note is gonna be ridiculously short - my friend's picking me up for a skiing trip! Long story, will explain more when the next chapter is posted. But I'll be gone for a couple days, so I decided an update would tide you all over!

The biggest, most sincere and delicious and fabulous thank-you's go out to the following reviewers:

PSUPRS (you're beautiful and i hope you're feeling 100%), xoxoMyRealityIsFiciton (there are no words in the world to describe my deep, undying love for you, you're so fabulous!), kcollins720 (you're the most faithful reviewer known to man, i adore you), akahitoha (you are my sunshine on the cloudiest of days, i lovelovelovelove you!), WinchesterAngel3389 (your entire review made me squeal and flail everywhere, can we please be best friends from now until the end of time? you're amazing!), chicajenny (my savior, how i adore you - you will never know! let's hold hands and be together forever!) and nouseforaname89 (i'm so glad you left a review! i am flattered you've been reading for so long, and i hope you continue to enjoy it! much much love!)

I will leave you all the longest most intense author's note in the world next update, but I'm typing with one hand and packing with the other as we speak! I must go, but I love you all and there are no words to explain to you guys how much I appreciate all your feedback!

love; ellah!