Sorry, I haven't updated. I blame various school essays, friends who call me three times a day, and Clockwords, which is way too addicting a game. I swerz to tell da truf, da whole truf, and nuttin but the truf, as far as you can tell. (If you know where I found that you must be as cat-obsessed as me.

If Spencer's point of view is confusing, well, read it again. She's sort of like Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender. There's a part where he says, "Zuko, you must look within yourself to save yourself from your other self. Only then will your true self reveal itself."

Also the Dot of Death is supposed to be the opposite of the Circle of Life.

I'm making slow but sure progress with the next chapter which promises to be a long one. I might split it up so you get it sooner, but it'd also be shorter.

Sometimes friends lead you astray. Sometimes you need the people you hate the most.

Spencer's PoV

I couldn't decide whether or not to believe Ashley. On one hand she had already proven to be extremely unreliable, but she had proven that when people warn you off someone its a good idea to listen. Then again, it wasn't people this time, it was Ashley, who as I stated, cannot be trusted.

I spent the rest of my day and most of my night debating what Ashley said. Ashley, who was jealous, selfish, and aggravating in her sheer nerve.

Ashley, what am I going to do with you? Part of me still likes to think I know you. That part of me wants to think you were telling the truth. The rest of me doesn't trust that part of me when it comes to you.

In the end I decided to proceed with caution. I wouldn't let Ashley ruin my life, but I'd make certain not to get too attached until I knew about Carmen for sure. You were pretty sure about Ashley.

I didn't sleep well at all.

At some point I must have dropped my Ashley ponderings and fallen into an anxious sleep, however, because I woke up at 7:25.

"Damn it!"

I leapt out of bed and quickly ran a comb through my hair while giving my teeth a superficial cleaning. Zooming downstairs, I knocked headfirst into Glen. Our skulls cracked loudly. He sprang back and tumbled down the stairs in a broken heap. I recoiled, unable to back up due to the incline behind me and wildly grabbed the railing to balance myself.

"Ow!" We both shouted at the same time. "What the hell Spencer? Why aren't you even dressed yet? I have to drop you off in like five minutes!"

Drat, I wasn't even dressed yet! Leaving Glen cradling his cranium (how's that for alliteration Ms. Sinclair?), I hurtled back into my room and into my closet. When I got back down, backpack in hand, Glen seemed to have recovered though he was still a little irritated. Breakfast was not even considered. With some help from the miraculous powers up above I arrived at my first class half a second before the bell rang.

"Hectic morning?" asked my teacher with amusement.

"Yes." I panted out.

"Well, you made it. Now please, have a seat."

Surviving the rest of my morning, I arrived at lunch in a much better albeit half-asleep and ravenous state. Chelsea had left for a second to buy water, and it was just me and Carmen sitting at the table. Without preamble she sputtered out, "So, do you want to meet me at Chelsea's studio tomorrow night?"

" Um, okay. Why?"

"It's a surprise," she replied sounding relieved that I had accepted.

"What time?" I asked.

"Oh, um... maybe kind of around ...," she fumbled clearly not having a clue.

"She means around seven," Chelsea voice cut in, "because I'll be gone by then and everything will be set up and you guys can have the place to yourselves."

I think I got whiplash spinning around to see Chelsea standing behind me, noticeably, without a water.

"Did you make her do this?" I hissed.

"You two were never going to do anything on your own," Chelsea pointed out matter-of-factly. She had that smug I-know-best look on her face. Furious, I sprang to my feet and stormed off, abandoning my lunch and spilling my milk. I didn't want to date someone who had only asked me out because my friend put them up to it. How was I even supposed to know if Carmen had been remotely interested?

"Spencer!" Chelsea shouted, waddling (pregnant) after me and seeming a little frustrated. I easily outpaced my gravid friend and sped off to the library. There I yanked the first big book a could find off the shelves, plopped huffily into a chair, ignored the startled stares of other students and the librarian, and settled down behind the large book. I began to read the random page I had flipped to.

Apparently, coatimundis are usually found in the Sonoran and Chihuahuan (I don't know) deserts of southwestern Arizona, New Mexico and Texas.

"Hey."

It was Carmen looking down at me and my book. "I didn't know that you were into the desert wildlife of North America."

"It's so fascinating. I read books on this topic all the time." I acerbically informed her.

"Look, I know you think that Chelsea pushed me into this, but seriously, I went to her first. I wasn't sure how to respond that day by the lockers so I asked Chelsea and she said you just had a really bad break up, so I should just try again. And I was worried about getting shot down and what to do so she helped me out with that too. Basically, I asked you out because I wanted to ask you out not because Chelsea made me." Her run-on sentences completed, she paused to draw breath.

"That's nice." I stated eloquently.

Ashley's PoV

I thought the most I would ever cry was on the day my Dad died. For the longest time he was the only one who would even pretend to love me. When he didn't show up I got mad at him, but I also got mad myself. Not for believing he'd come (I was quickly disabused of that notion), but for wanting him to come, and for caring either way when, sometimes, it seemed like I didn't matter to him at all. He was never to be trusted, never always there for me, but he was what I had, and every once in a while he'd try. When he tried I would forgive him for anything.

Ironically, it was the same position Spencer and I had been in. Except I was my father and Spencer was me. Oh and Spencer probably wasn't crying when I didn't show up. She wouldn't forgive me if I saved her life.

All I could do after my trip to Spencer's was curl up on my bed and cry. Cry until my face was sticky with tears. Some people say crying is cleansing. Well, let me tell you, that's bullshit. The more I cried, the worse I felt. Every time I was about to settle down I would shudder with new tears.

I awoke that morning feeling utterly drained. Just beaten and trampled and not able at all to deal with the world. I was sick of trying, thinking and existing. So I just lay there with absolutely nothing on my mind for hours. There was nowhere to go and nothing to do.

Is the dot the opposite of the circle? What is the opposite of a circle? Assuming the dot is the dot is the opposite of a circle, I was in the Dot of Death. I don't feel like seeing, doing, or finding anything right now.

Bang!

That was my door slamming open. Count on my mother to ruin any semblance of peace I had. Isn't she just so reliable that way?

"Ashley Davies," she stated with cold, barely-worth-my-time contempt. She probably didn't even remember my middle name or she would have used it. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but you're not lazing about my house like some kind of wastrel." What's a wastrel? "Get a job, and do something useful for once in your life. You may have grown up privileged, but that in no way means you can just suck off my resources like a tick. You're an adult now, and I shouldn't have to support you anymore."

Support me? Since when has she done anything, but leave me in an empty house with a wad of cash?

The idea that she could have considered it such a burden to "support me" was ridiculous, and at some point I must have leapt off the bed. We were glaring at each other. As always she was a good few inches higher than me. I snapped. "Support myself like you, you mean? You know fuck some guy until you can get his money then leave? You'd love that wouldn't you, following in mommy's shoes? Is that what you want me to do? 'Cause it's sure as hell all you know how to do. Whatever you seem to think about the matter I am not selling myself to make some money like you."

My tirade had no affect on her. She was completely impervious to just about anything I had to say but could crush me with a glance.

And that was the saddest thing of all.

Long after she had proven that she wouldn't even try to care, I still cared whether or not she cared about me.

"The least you could have done was make yourself useful. You've always been an ungrateful little brat. It was your idea of fun to mess around with other people. You never even tried to live an acceptable lifestyle; just acted like the world was your toy and did whatever you liked. Boys and girls meant nothing to you, even the ones that were deluded enough to think you actually cared. You turned down every attempt I made to help you," she replied irritably.

"Well, I'm sure that a picture of a bunch of arrogant shrinks is right next to the word 'help' in the dictionary," I spat caustically. "Throwing therapists at me for being myself was such a virtuous thing to do. I can't possibly imagine the sacrifices it must have taken."

"If 'being yourself' is how you want to define your ... preferences, then you obviously needed some help. You think the stream of whores you brought into the house didn't nearly ruin me? At least most of them left after a night. That blond one latched on like a leech for months. The slu-"

"DON'T YOU DARE FINISH THAT SENTENCE!" I bellowed. No one, not my mother, not the devil, not God, was ever allowed to say anything bad about my Spencer. "Don't you ever lump Spencer with them." My voice carried an even stronger intensity at the lower volume.

"Please, Ashley, don't even pretend to be chivalrous. It's like watching a hobo in an Armani suit. You've never cared about anyone, but yourself," she replied dismissively.

"I LOVE HER!" My voice regained it's temper. "What do you know about caring anyways? You've never cared about me or anyone. You're just a gold-digging bitch."

"I'm sure you loved her, as much as I loved that bastard of a rock star. Whether you like it or not you owe me. I didn't have to keep you. I could have left you in the back of your father's tour bus until some policeman took you to a foster home. And let's get something clear about your father: he left me. He spent most of our marriage cheating on me and left me for that Baltimore girl's mother." For a moment I saw the slightest possibility of hurt on her face before she continued, "Get a job when I get back from Jamaica or I'm kicking you out."