a matter of maturity.

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((chapter 3))

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disclaimer: the quecli rieser longsbe to sili isonharr. this sionver of flectionre is pyrightedco to the lanmu tracksound and tinachris uileraag

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maturity: recognizing that the world is full of good and evil and that everyone and everything are capable of both, and then coping appropriately with this knowledge

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massie

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The ringing of a doorbell jolted Massie awake. She'd been dreaming. If you met Massie, you would never guess that she liked to dream.

Look at me, you may think you see who I really am, but you'll never know me

Blurred realities and nonexistent time constraints offered a sick sort of comfort in the form of hope. In the semiconscious dreamlike state, the tolling of bells represented cheer. In reality, every sort of ring or chime drew Massie's mind to knolls—death bells.

Back home, in Westchester, Massie got fourteen uninterrupted hours of sleep on a good day—when her body felt better and she needed less sleep. On a bad day, she was out for twenty. Unfortunately for the two boys waiting on the front porch, today was not a good day. If they anticipated her to look like a million bucks before she jerked open the Lyons' shoddy door, their minds were about to become as steadfast as the Titanic.

Well, one of theirs was, anyway.

Massie's seemingly naturally glossy lips were chapped and raw. The bags under her eyes were prominent. No, today was so not a good day. On days when she felt worse, she acted worse. Her temper shortened, her comebacks harshened, and the bubble she created around herself transformed into Adamantium. Massie knew it wasn't exactly fair to treat people like they were less valuable than clipped toenails, but…well, but nothing. No one had the guts to question her insensitive behavior, but sometimes Massie almost wished they would.

Now I see if I wear a mask, I can fool the world, but I cannot fool my heart

She grabbed a worn Yankees cap off the banister as she stumbled down the steps. With one hand adjusting the bill of the hat, the other heaved open the rickety front door. Massie stood, perfectly poised, in the doorjamb. Her fierce face—trained to mask certain personas of pain, both emotional and physical—alone was enough to put grown men in their places, but, ever prepared, her lips and wit were at bay, ready for some calisthenics.

Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?

But, instead of scampering back down the stairs, over the river, and through the woods like good little boys, the masterminds behind her wakeup call stayed put. Her glare resulted in one lopsided, apologetic smile and the opening of one big mouth.

"Sup! I'm Derrick Harrigton! I live three houses down," the blonde proclaimed proudly, gesturing towards the left. He smiled, revealing a set of subtly whitened teeth and pair of unreal dimples, attributes which left Massie unfazed.

"I don't care if you've just developed a cure for pancreatic cancer. Get off the porch."

When will my reflection show who I am inside?

Massie slipped back inside the house but before she could shut the door, Derrick Harrington had found his way into the purgatory between the inner dwellings of the house and the fresh Maine air. Massie's eyes locked with his. She knew better than to try and close it. She didn't have the strength. A revelation which was sure to be met with dozens of questions Massie would rather be caught wearing Target underwear and Keds than answer, as every explanation would lead its asker to the startling fatal condition. The fact that you may not live past your next birthday is not exactly the sort of thing you write on a name tag and slap across your forehead.

I am now in a world where I have to hide my heart, and what I believe in

"Wait! Wait! We just wanted to say hi!" Derrick boomed.

At this his dark haired companion made a nervous gagging sound.

"Derrick, come on. Let's just go. We can always come back—"

"Can it, Cam. She isn't the only reason we're here."

Her gaze flashed to Cam as he retreated to the back edge near the steps. Massie noticed the obvious bugging of his heterochromiatic eyes at the word she. He surveyed the perimeter of the house anxiously. Oh, so she was indirectly to blame for all of this. They were here for Claire.

"Please just listen," Derrick pleaded. "I'll behave, I promise."

He batted his eyelashes, in complete jest, and Massie faltered.

But somehow I will show the world what's inside my heart, and be loved for who I am

"You have one minute, Blondie. Make it count," Massie shifted her weight from one foot to another and tapped impatiently at her wrist.

Of course, this only inflated Derrick's Jurassic-sized ego.

"Okay, okay. Jeez, take a Ritalin, will ya?" he said, taking a casual step back. "Like I told ya, I'm D, he's C, and you are?"

Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?

Massie raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows at him, "Massie Block."

Why is my reflection someone I don't know?

"Block comma Massie," he repeated.

"Cam Fisher," Derrick's less sociable comrade walked forward and offered Massie a wary but genuine hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Derrick faked an extraneous cough in order to regain the attention he assumed he and his center ring circus act deserved.

"Yeah, so, B, as I was saying, the fam and I ran into the Lyons' at breakfast and the double JL's thought it'd be a rockin' idea if C and I stopped by. You know, to get acquainted with the new girl-next-door," he wriggled his dishwater-blonde eyebrows and butt in a manner one might label as "suggestive."

"Listen D, I don't know what kind of grade-A garbage you allow to be stuffed down your oversized ears of corn but, we won't be 'getting acquainted' any time in the foreseeable future. And I am not the girl-next-door. I'm the bitch three doors down."

Must I pretend that I'm someone else for all time?

With that Massie slammed the door leaving Derrick, whose pretty boy face was in a state of such immense shock that not even a dozen electric eels could have recreated, and Cam, who looked like he could experience a seizure from excessive laughter at any moment, in her wake.

She clambered up the stairs stepping and mis-stepping like a runaway slinky. She could not deal with someone like him right now.

When will my reflection show who I am inside?

No, right now all that Massie could do was wish she could disappear.

What was happening to her wasn't fair. And of all the things Massie Block did possess the power to change, this there was absolutely nothing she could do about. Death was unavoidable, even when you're the daughter of one of the most influential people in the world. Pessimism worms its way into your soul when you wake up every morning wondering if today will be the day you die. As hard as Massie fought it with her mind, the deteriorating of her body was inevitable.

There's a heart that must be free to fly, that burns with a need to know the reason why

Even if she couldn't feel it. This self-induced alienation was the only "safe" way to handle things. She made herself into the girl who can reduce someone to tears without even opening her mouth. She unleashed her sharp tongue and didn't plan on ever tying it back down. When she started getting anything she wanted because her parents were scared of her, and not because they felt bad for her, it was more than just icing on the cake.

Why must we all conceal, what we think, how we feel? Now I see if I wear a mask I can fool the world

Massie pulled off ungrateful brat remarkably well. It came with the territory of having parents richer than countries. In fact, she started to believe it herself. But sometimes, she couldn't help but wonder how things would be if she was just her real self. Her self before every glance was saturated with pity, or fear.

Must there be a secret me, that I am forced to hide?

But Massie knew better than to think it'd be that easy. Returning life to a state of normalcy was a borderline impossible task and at that one that would not fit into the pre-determined queue Massie deemed acceptable for a dying girl. Because after all, no matter how typical things seem, nothing is ever really normal.

I won't pretend that I'm someone else for all time

When barely familiar voices echoed into the guestroom, Massie jumped. Was that boy really still here? Massie had stopped paying attention to anything teenaged and male. But she couldn't stop thinking about Derrick Harrington. Her brain was still soaring from that Ritalin crack. He made her nervous, like her heart was blinking and her feet were fluttering and she absolutely hated it. And worse of all, he made her feel hope. Hope was an alien feeling, chased off long ago by doctors and professionals alike. Yet, here she was, doomed to death and hopeful. Massie thought she must really be losing it.

Silly, Massie. After all, it is always darkest before dawn…

When will my reflection show who I am inside?

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i'm still not happy with this chapter. i know this took awhile; my sincerest apologies. the operating system on my laptop corrupt and it kept blue-screening. if you don't speak computer nerd, it comes down to being the opposite of stellar.

yes, derrick's occ. don't bite me. he's trying to be suave. he'll get over it, soon.

i regretfully admit to butchering the lyrical sequence in the beginning and end. :[

okay, dumb question time. forgive me, please. how do i respond to anonymous reviews?

p.s. the disclaimer is in verlans