I need to be more careful. I need to be more careful. I need to be more careful. I need to be more careful. I've been repeating these words to myself over and over since Tooth dropped me off at home an hour ago. Hopefully they'll sink in eventually. My ceiling is very interesting to me right now, and I follow the swirling patterns with my eyes and lean back in my chair to get the full effect of the patterning. For some reason, the colorless designs are a comfort, a small sort of calming mechanism.

Tooth and I spent the rest of the afternoon talking about Jack and my new/old identity. She's having a hard time getting my name right. I may just have to start responding to the name "Clelsa" if she keeps this up. When I asked her why she thought Jack was onto me, she was very thoughtful for a moment.

"I don't know, really. I just got the feeling that he was asking me his questions about you for a very specific purpose, like he wanted to verify something, you know?"

I nod.

"Hey," she says, nudging me with her elbow. "Don't sweat it, okay? It'll all work out. I won't tell, you won't tell, it'll be fine."

I sigh. "The thing is, though, I'm not sure whether I want him to know or not. It kills me that my best friend doesn't know who I am. It really bothers me. And if I had confirmation that his mom really had forgiven me, then I would tell him in a heartbeat. At the same time, though, maybe if I told him he would be really upset with me for shutting him out and just leaving without telling him, and I would hate for him to hate me too. You see where I'm going with this? I can't tell him and I can't not tell him. Ugh. This is so complicated!"

Tooth is looking at me with a somewhat amused expression on her face. "What?"

She shrugs. "Then don't tell him anything. Don't even bring it up. Drop the subject, and don't make it awkward."

I'm thinking about her advice when my phone buzzes. I glance down at the screen and see that a new text message has arrived from the one and only Jack Overland-Frost. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear, I think to myself as I open the message.

J – Hey, Clara. Sorry it's been so long since we've talked. This past week has been crazy. You busy right now?

Why does he want to know if I'm busy? To be honest, I've been both dreading and looking forward to this moment. Our second session. Yikes.

C – Not a problem, Jack. Life's crazy, no worries. I'm actually not totally swamped at the moment, why?

It takes less than a minute for him to respond. Less than half a minute, actually.

J – You wanna use the Skype-thing again? I'm logging in right now.

C – You bet. Hang on a sec.

I drop my phone on the desk and pull out my laptop, which is still sitting in my backpack that I left by the door. I flip open the computer and place it gingerly on the desk, it's a very fragile, temperamental piece of technology. Angie and Kevin have offered to replace it for me, but they've already done so much for me without ever asking for anything in return, I just think it wouldn't be fair to give them another expense. I quickly log in to the website that the Exchange uses for communication and click on Jack's name. A window pops up on the screen, and the first thing I see is a close up of Jack's forehead – and his hair, which I still am not okay with – as he struggles to make his screen work.

"I can't….this stupid blasted thing…" I hear him muttering under his breath and cover my mouth with a hand to stop from laughing. Instead, I tap on the screen a few times. "Ummm…Jack?" I say loudly. "I think it's working. You can stop now."

"Oh." He leans back into his chair with a sheepish smile on his face. "Computers are really not my thing, but I was feeling ambitious this afternoon and thought we should give this thing a whirl."

I laugh. "I'm not a huge fan of computers myself, but we'll have to get used to it I suppose."

"Suppose so. Since writing letters is probably not very efficient and carrier pigeons are out of the question."

"It's hard to find a good carrier pigeon these days."

"Smoke signals, too. You barely get them started before the fire department shows up, thinking that you're an aspiring arsonist or something."

Oh sarcasm, how I've missed thee. My "aunt and uncle" are wonderful, beautiful people, but the fine art of the sarcastic comment is not something they are adept at.

"Looks like we're stuck using computers to do our dirty work."

He grins at me, running a hand through his dark hair. "Dirty work?"

"You know what I mean."

"I don't, actually, but anyway…have you given any more thought to our song, partner? Any ideas on what to write or sing or whatever?"

Now it's my turn to look a little sheepish. "Not really, no. I'm still stuck on the question of who's gonna be doing the singing."

"Not me."

"Not me, either."

We just stare at each other for a little while, green eyes staring down blue ones. I finally break the silence when our contest becomes a bit too intense, when Jack's eyes become a little too searching for my liking.

"Well it's gotta be one of us."

"Not me."

"We just went through this. We'll have to flip a coin or something."

"Or we can fight it out, it would be more interesting than flipping a coin."

"But you would win."

"True. So it's decided, you're singing?"

"No."

"How about…" he thinks hard for a moment. "We wait until that camp thing during the summer, when we can talk face-to-face, and then decide on this?"

I smile. "Sounds like a good idea, then we can argue in person rather than online."

"Nothing beats a good argument."

"I disagree."

"Oh really? What –" he interrupts himself as a look of comprehension crosses his face. "Ohhhh. I see what you did there."

I make a small wave of my hand, like I was taking a bow. "I'll be here all week. All year, actually."

"That makes two of us. I haven't really thought about the song a whole lot, either, but I figured that we could start by kinda figuring out what genres of music we both like and go from there? Maybe?"

Jack's a planner. Huh. I begin to agree with his proposal, to ask him what kind of music he likes, but a different question distracts me, and I just go with it. "Jack, do you do well in school?"

I can tell he's a little surprised, but he too rolls with the conversation. "I get by. My teachers – and my mom – have been telling me for years that I could be a straight A student if I just applied myself," he says, using exaggerated air quotations around his last words, "but I figure there are better things to spend my time doing than studying. So to answer your question, I do okay. Just average. Why?"

I raise my shoulders slightly and let them fall again. "I was just curious." I need to be more subtle when I try to go prying into his life. I need to be more careful. I need to be more careful. I need to be more careful.

"Since I answered your question, can I ask one now?"

I cringe inwardly. What if he asks something I can't – or don't want to – answer? I can't really say no, though, without drawing suspicion, can I? Damn it.

"Sure," I try to say as casually as possible.

"When did you move to Arendelle?"

Where is he going with this? "A little over two years ago."

"Where did you live before that?"

"Berk. It's a smallish town that's about 45 minutes west of here." I've never even actually been to Berk. That's where Hiccup was from originally, and when he was new to Burgess he used to talk about it all the time. It was also the only city I could think of.

Jack seems a little disappointed, and I use this to my advantage. A distraction. "But that was technically two questions, so now I get another one."

"Fire away."

Let's just get away from the personal now, shall we? I think to myself. I'm mentally kicking myself for asking that stupid question in the first place. I need to be more careful. I need to be more careful. "Back to the music stuff, what is your favorite genre?"

He grins. "Now see, that's a difficult question to answer, because there are so many things that I like. I'll go with…rock, I suppose. But not heavy metal, nothing super intense or with a whole lot of screaming or anything, just good ol' rock."

Before I can say anything, he quickly jumps back in. "Let's not write a rock song though, okay? I really prefer acoustic guitar to electric."

"That's fine with me," I respond. "And I'm really just down with any kind of music, except rap. I don't really want to rap in front of hundreds of people. I would be kicked off the stage before I even opened my mouth."

Jack laughs, and his blue eyes crinkle up just like I remember them doing. My stomach clenches, but not with nerves, it's more like butterflies with a little dash of nostalgic pain thrown in for good measure. Oh, how I've missed this kid.

We continue on in this vein of conversation for another ten minutes or so, going back and forth between things we shouldn't do, which really accomplishes nothing but lets us feel as if we're being productive. Our discussion is cut off when there's a knock on Jack's door.

"Come in," he calls, and Mrs. Overland – Mrs. Frost, dang it! I'll get it right eventually – appears in the far left of my screen.

"Jack," she begins somewhat impatiently, "have you not heard me? I've been calling you down for supper for the past five minutes."

"My bad, mom, I've just been talking to my partner for the music exchange thing."

"Oh," she says. "Well I suppose that's all right, but wrap it up, okay?"

"Sure thing."

I've been holding my breath this whole time, hoping that I wouldn't be noticed, but Mrs. Frost doesn't leave right away. She actually walks over to where Jack is sitting and leans down to take a good look at me. I lean away from the screen instinctively, but her brown eyes hold me in place just as I'm thinking of faking a lost connection.

"Hello," she says, and smiles at me. "You must be Clara?" I nod, and she continues. "I'm Jack's mother. It's wonderful to meet you, dear. I wish you the best of luck in keeping this child of mine in line." It's meant as a joke, but I can't seem to laugh. So I just put on my best smile and somehow squeak out a thank you before she leaves the room.

Jack looks at me closely and then sighs. "Well, I should probably head down. Next week, same time?"

"Sure." The single word comes out shaky, like I just faced down a mountain lion or something. Blast it, Elsa! Control your voice!

"Great, see you then!" He says, and I don't get the chance to respond as the screen goes dark.

"Bye," I say to my reflection, and then lean back in my chair again and run my fingers through my now shoulder-length brown hair. I can't tell if Jack knows who I am or not, but I need to somehow get him to talk about Elsa and feel out how he'd respond if he knew who I was. In the meantime, though, I need to be more careful. I need to be more careful. I need to be more careful.