I know I said I'd wait until I had five reviews to post the next chapter but I think I'm not gonna get any more, considering the two I DID get were received on the first day this was posted. Seeing as I have the entirety of this fic done I might as well update.

Fifteen was an uncomfortable age for me. I was just as unsure about myself as everyone else, and I had to worry about things like being flat-chested and whether or not I was 'scary' (my friends' words, not mine)–because apparently that was why I was smack in the middle of my teenage years and no boys had asked me out, even though privately I was glad. I couldn't—or wouldn't—let myself figure out why... that would come later. (Much later.)

Sixteen was when I cut my hair short the first time, and it would stay that way for nearly a decade. At fifteen, though, I still wore my hair long, though not always down. Despite the inherent vanity that accompanied my adolescence, I spent precious little time on my appearance.

On this particular day I was wearing it in my ponytail, which I thought was kind of fun because it bounced when I walked. So I was bouncing, walking down the halls of my high school, pretending like I was one of the girls who was pretty and popular and whatever else I was supposed to be. Contrary to popular belief, even teenagers themselves don't understand their own concepts such a popularity. We could tell you who was popular and who was not, but we were never certain about those on-the-fence-people like me and Roy.

Roy... ah, he was a special case. Roy wasn't very well-liked by the other boys, I could tell. Of course, the girls loved him—the girls had always loved him—but the other boys didn't like to associate with him. He had grown up pretty, and therefore arrogant and commanding. Good qualities to have if you were a military officer, as he would become later, but if you were a high school kid trying to fit in, it wasn't a great idea to go out of your way to stand out as he did. And of course, I didn't help that he was on the fact track out of here, graduating sophomore year and apprenticing himself with my father and getting ready to become the youngest state alchemist. He planned to join up when he was only eighteen.

Again, that didn't endear him to the other kids, whose idea of future planning extended all the way to the weekend after this one.

Since he was apprenticing himself to my father, and we had known each other for practically forever, I was almost obligated to talk to him. Of course, I never minded—but as I said, that would come later.

Now, where was I? Oh, right, I was bouncing and being beautiful, knowing it wouldn't last long, which it didn't—Roy appeared behind me as I was bouncing to class, tugging on my ponytail to announce his arrival (as was his way at that age).

When I turned, he just said, "Hi."

"Hi." (Our vocabularies hadn't improved all that much since we were children, apparently.)

"Umm..." He was searching for something to say. I didn't assist. "Can I come straight to your house after school?"

"My dad won't be there, he has a thing," I waved my hand vaguely to illustrate the fact that I had no idea what this engagement was, only that I knew he had one.

"Oh." He hesitated again. I gathered that he was uncomfortable, and I assumed it was my fault. In my self-absorbed teenage mind, it was always my fault. I justified this by telling myself that I thought that because it was always true. Looking back, it's amazing how many things I beat myself up over that weren't my fault.

"So, has anyone asked you out for homecoming?" he asked to make conversation.

"I'm not going," I responded. That meant, 'No one's asked me but I don't want you to think I'm a loser..'

"Oh, that's lame, how come?"

Not this old routine again. Why didn't they just come right out and ask me to lie to their faces? "Oh, I don't know, a lot of reasons. I don't feel like dress shopping, the tickets are too expensive since they raised the prices this year, and anyway I hear the theme is stupid this year. I just don't wanna go."

"It'll be fun. And I bet you'd look prettier in a dress." He made a thoughtful face.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, having learned his lesson about getting me angry long ago.

"It sounded like it meant something," I countered.

"I didn't mean any harm by it, Riza! Just that you never really act like a girl, or dress like one." True, I did live in jeans, but he didn't have to be so blunt about it! I crossed my arms against my chest (my nonexistent chest, my insecure side painfully reminded me) and scowled at him, demanding further explanation with my glare alone.

"No, no, no, no, no! That came out wrong," Roy stuttered. (I was the only one who made him stutter like that when we were kids. I wish I'd noticed the signs earlier, but I never allowed myself to believe them.) "You're just, you know, different than most girls!"

"How so?" I asked, not appreciating where this was going.

"Well, um, for one, you always wear your hair up." He tugged my ponytail again. "See? And for another, you never, ever, ever, ever, ever wear a skirt. I just was thinking that if you changed up your outfit a little, it wouldn't be such a bad thing."

"So basically, I should go to homecoming so you can see me in a dress," I summarized, unamused.

Roy gave me a sideways smirk. "If I'd known you were going to take it this way, I would have just came right out and said that."

"You aren't as cute as you think," I informed him. "And I hate to break it to you, but hell will freeze over before you will find me in a skirt."

"Is that a challenge?" he joked.

"Shall we make it one?" I jested back.

Roy offered his hand to shake on it. "It's a deal."

Voila! I have answered the age-old question of why Roy wants to put all the women of the army in miniskirts! This chapter was surprsingly hard, even though I'm actually the age they are in this one (a year older actually, sixteen, but they are sophomores, as am I), and I don't know if I got it quite right. Let me know how I did, please!