"It's one of those things that people say— you can't move on until you let go of the past. Letting go is the easy part, it's the moving on that's painful. So sometimes we fight it, try and keep things the same. Things can't stay the same though. At some point, you just have to let go. Move on. Because no matter how painful it is, it's the only way we grow." —Meredith Grey (Grey's Anatomy)


Chapter 11: This Far

And I guess we made it,
Or at least we made it this far.
And it all looks smooth from here
In a future day there may be waves
But I must say, the skies have never looked so clear.


Camille slams her locker shut, preparing to walk to the park to meet Carlos. She's already outside when she hears someone calling her name.

"Camille!"

She pauses before turning around, as if she doesn't believe what she's hearing. But Stephanie King is jogging toward her, soccer gear in tow. Camille frowns. She has practice soon; Stephanie should be in the locker room already.

"Hey," Stephanie pants, breathless, when she catches up to her.

"Hi," Camille says dubiously, unsure why Stephanie has decided to talk to her all of a sudden.

"Um… how are you?" She asks, searching for something to say.

"Fantastic," Camille replies drily.

"That's good. You seem… good," Stephanie says awkwardly.

"Don't you have practice?"

"Yeah, but I… Look, I wanted to talk to you. I miss you. And I'm sorry for what happened between us. I shouldn't have pushed you like that, okay?"

Camille stares at her for a second. "Um… thanks."

Your turn to apologize, she thinks to herself. You can get your friend back. But she can't do it. Too many things are holding her back. Stephanie doesn't understand her, will never understand what she's going through; things will end up just like they did the last time. They'll get into some sort of fight, and that'll be it. And how is she supposed to keep Stephanie separate from the others? The reason they all work as friends is because they know everything about each other. Steph doesn't fit in with them, know their secrets, their fears, their dreams. She has a normal, functional, two-parent household, solid grades, athletic talent, and tons of other friends. Friends who aren't accidental suicide-enablers.

"I, um. I have to go," Camille says, starting to continue on her way to the park.

"Wait," Stephanie reaches out and holds onto her elbow. "Can't we talk about this?"

"Look, Steph, I appreciate what you're trying to do. I do. But you were right. I can't make you sit around and watch me while I try to get better. It's not fair to you. I can't be a good friend right now."

"Camille, come on. We've been friends forever! I know you don't just want to throw it away over one stupid fight."

Camille bites her lip and starts walking again, with Stephanie following. "I don't know what to tell you, Steph… And you're gonna be late to practice."

"Fuck soccer practice," Stephanie rolls her eyes. "This is more important. And why are you in such a hurry?"

"I just… need to go meet someone."

Stephanie follows her all the way to the park, trying to get Camille to open up and admit that she wants to be friends again. Truth be told, she does want her friend back. But Stephanie doesn't know the half of what Camille's dealing with these days, between her bulimia and her feelings for Logan and residual feelings about her mom leaving and supporting Jo with her prosecution case, oh and the whole being responsible for the death of a girl who roomed down the hall from her. And there's also the fact that she's on her way to meet Carlos so he can pay her for the drugs she supplied him with via James earlier in the week. Somehow she doesn't think Stephanie would approve of this particular extracurricular activity. But Stephanie refuses to be shaken, so she has no choice but to let her tag along. If she wants to be friends, she might as well see what she's getting into.

"What are we doing here?" Stephanie asks, warily eyeing Carlos near the edge of the park, smoking with his friends Wayne and Andy. "Camille, are you buying drugs?" She sounds worried, knowing Carlos' and his friends' reputations around campus.

"Of course not."

The girls walk up to Carlos and his friends, who frown at Stephanie. "Who's the new girl?"

"Just a friend," Camille replies shortly. "You have something for me, Carlos?"

Carlos looks between Camille and her friend for a long moment, trying to decide if Stephanie's cool or not. He meets Camille's gaze and she gives him a subtle nod, and that's all he needs. He trusts Camille, and she trusts this girl, so he pulls out his wallet slowly, pursing his cigarette between his lips. He thumbs through the wad of cash, pulling out a stack of twenties and handing them over to Camille, who shoves them into her own wallet before stuffing it back in her purse.

"See you around," he tells her as she turns to start walking home.

When they're out of earshot, Stephanie asks, "What was that?"

"Carlos and I have an arrangement," Camille says evasively. "It's not a big deal."

"Camille, he's a drug dealer! This is so a big deal! What was he paying you for?"

"He's my friend, Stephanie. And if you want to be friends again, you have to be able to trust me. I can't… tell you everything. Not yet, anyway. If you're not okay with that, you need to walk away now because I don't think I can handle another fight."

Stephanie stares at her and Camille feels sure that any second now she'll change her mind about being friends again and walk away and quite frankly, she isn't sure which will actually be harder—trying to be friends or just letting her go.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"You don't have to tell me everything. Just promise me you're not doing anything that's hurting your recovery."

"I'm not," Camille assures her. "I have a meal plan and a diet regimen and a support group, and I haven't purged since… well. You know. That night… I'm doing everything I'm supposed to."

"Really?"

"I'm not saying it's easy. It's hard not to think about calories. I don't like being full. I don't like my clothes being tight. I don't like when people tell me I look 'healthy' because all I hear is 'not skinny.' I have to concentrate after every meal to not lock myself in the nearest bathroom. It's hard and it sucks, but I'm getting through it."

"I'm really proud of you, Cam," Stephanie says softly. "And I really am sorry about what happened. I didn't mean to make you feel like you were inconveniencing me. I know it's no excuse for making you feel bad, but I was just worried about you. You're still my best friend. I need you to get better."

Tears prick at Camille's eyes for a second but she smiles as Stephanie pulls her into a tight hug. "I missed you."

"God, I missed you, too," Stephanie laughs. "You have no idea what it's like hanging out with jock girls all the time. All they want to do is talk about practice, or breaking in new cleats, or what color ribbons we're wearing in the next game. Or watch Bend It Like Beckham every single weekend. I love soccer, but I don't want it to be my entire life."

They turn onto Camille's street, Stephanie hesitating when Camille begins walking up the driveway. "Come on. We have a lot of catching up to do." Camille grins, turning her house key in the front-door lock and leads the way inside.


When Kendall gets home from school he can hear the phone ringing through the front door. He struggles with his keys, trying to fish them out of his backpack, but by the time he unearths them and gets the door unlocked, the ringing has stopped and a flashing light alerts him of a new voicemail. He plops his bag down on the couch and shrugs off his jacket before heading into the kitchen for a snack. He presses the button to play the messages and digs through the refrigerator, only half-listening to the first two voicemails from one of his mom's co-workers and Katie's carpool ride.

He's grumbling about having to eat celery for a snack—his mom is really into buying only super-healthy foods now—when the machine beeps with a final message. Kendall nearly drops the jar of peanut butter when he hears the voice coming through the speaker.

"Kendall—and Katie—it's your dad." There's a long pause, as if Mark Knight hadn't entirely thought through what he would say when he made the call. "I, um, just wanted you both to know that I was thinking about you. I'd love to talk to you both. Please call me back." Another brief pause, a click, and a beep as the message ends and the machine clicks off.

Kendall continues what he was doing, adding peanut butter to his stalks of celery, sitting in the kitchen and eating his snack in silence as he thinks. But he doesn't even know what to think. Should he call his dad back? Why does he want to speak now? Will Katie want to talk to him? Does his mom know he's been trying to reach Kendall?

He glances up the clock. Katie won't be home for about a half hour, and his mom is, of course, working late. Again. Kendall picks up the phone and holds it in his hand, clicking it on and listening to the dial tone for a moment. Biting his lip, he punches the numbers and holds the phone to his ear, waiting for an answer.

"Kendall?"

"Hey. You busy?"

"Not really. What's up?"

Kendall sighed into the phone. "I have a hypothetical question."

"Okay. What is it?"

"If someone who hadn't spoken to in a couple of years suddenly wanted to get in contact with you, would you call them back, or keep ignoring them?"

"Is this about your dad?" Logan asks after a short pause.

"It's hypothetical, Loges."

"…Right, sure," Logan says sarcastically. "Okay, then 'hypothetically,' I guess I would say that there's no harm in just seeing what he—or whoever—wants."

"Even if he walked out on us for no reason? Even though he made us feel like we were crap, and worthless, and never once bothered to explain to us what happened?" Kendall drops the act and speaks frankly, starting to get more upset the more he thinks about his dad. "Even though he's known this whole time I was in the hospital, and in therapy, and he never tried to visit me or see how I was doing? I was fifteen the last time he even tried to talk to me. He didn't even call when I went to the hospital, or checked into therapy. So why should I let him back into my life if all he's gonna do is walk out of it?"

"Maybe he wants to apologize. Maybe he misses you," Logan says gently. "You won't know if you don't at least hear him out."

"I just… I don't know if I want to hear what he has to say. What excuse could he possibly give me that he thinks I'd forgive?"

"I don't know, man. But if you talk to him, you can at least tell him how you feel."

"I don't—I don't think I want to. I don't think I can."

"Alright, well, do what you want," Logan says shortly, sounding annoyed. "You're just being stubborn. I gotta go, I'll see you at school."

Before Kendall can say anything else, he hears the click telling him Logan has hung up, and he stares at the receiver in his hand, bewildered at his friend's sudden change in attitude. He's a little annoyed himself now—Logan doesn't understand what he's—

Wait.

Kendall claps a hand to his forehead, chiding himself for his stupidity. Of course Logan would tell him to try to have a relationship with his dad. Because it's what Logan would want if he had a choice. But he doesn't, because Mr. Mitchell is so busy with work that he doesn't have time for his own son. And even when he's not busy, he doesn't know how to talk to Logan or spend time with him. That must be why Logan sounded upset. He think's Kendall's wasting an opportunity that not everyone gets.

And maybe he is. Maybe he is just being stubborn. Okay, scratch that. He knows he's being stubborn, but doesn't he deserve to hold this one grudge? After everything Mr. Knight put them through, doesn't Kendall reserve the right to keep him out of the life that he so easily walked away from?

It might upset Logan, but Kendall isn't ready to talk to his dad. Not now, and maybe not ever.


Meanwhile, Logan hangs up his phone in a huff and tosses the phone onto his bed before going downstairs to the kitchen. He needs a distraction from thinking about Kendall's father issues, because they remind him of his own father issues. His mother sits at the kitchen counter, reading over the newspaper and drinking a mug of hot tea.

"Hey, Mom. When did you get here?"

"Just now," replies Mrs. Mitchell. "Would you do me a favor, honey? I forgot to check the mail on my way inside, go and see if we have anything."

"Sure."

He steps out the front door as his father's car makes its way up the driveway. All three of them home for dinner? When was the last time that happened, Logan wonders. Shaking his head as he dwells on his conversation with Kendall, Logan flips through the envelopes and catalogs left in the mailbox today. He pauses when he sees his own name on the front of a large packet.

It's a college letter, from Stanford University. He'd applied to so many, he was losing track of how replies he'd received, especially with everything else going on. He tosses the rest of the mail onto the counter, joining his parents in the kitchen. His father is reading through some paperwork he's brought home, and doesn't look up when Logan takes a seat across from him at the table. He does a quick mental check in his head… this is the last letter he'll receive, and the most important, because it's his number one choice for where he wants to attend next year.

Fingers now oddly stiff, Logan slowly rips open the back of the envelope and pulls out the sheets of paper. His heart pounds in his chest while he stalls on reading what it says. He looks up at his dad first, then his mom, neither of whom seem to notice that he's freaking out a little.

Dear Mr. Mitchell,

The Stanford University Board of Undergraduate Admissions takes great pleasure in offering you placement in the Class of 2016….

Logan lets out a strangled cry of joy and quickly skims the rest of the letter as his parents look up in alarm. Phrases like "look forward to having you join the community" and "your distinguished academic and extracurricular achievements" swim in front of him and he jumps out of his chair, reading it over again just to be sure his eyes aren't playing tricks on him.

They aren't. He really did get in.

"Logan?" His mother asks.

He rushes to her and thrusts the packet into her hands. "I got in! Mom, Dad, I got into Stanford!"

"That's wonderful, sweetie. We're so proud of you! Aren't we, Phillip?"

She hands the packet over to Mr. Mitchell, who reads over it with an impassive look. Logan is practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, too excited for words. He'd gotten his acceptances to Princeton, Brown, and Cornell, and even though those were all awesome schools—Ivy League, even—he knew from the second he started submitting applications that Stanford was the school for him. However, his enthusiasm starts to ebb as the seconds drag on and Mr. Mitchell declines to congratulate his son.

"I know it's a lot of money—" Logan starts. "But we can look at financial aid, and I've already applied for scholarships…"

"Logan," Mr. Mitchell says slowly.

"And I mean, if it really comes down to it, I can always apply for a student loan, or get a work-study job—"

"Logan," his father repeats, silencing him. "I think we need to discuss this."

Logan finally sees the stern expression on Mr. Mitchell's face, and fear begins to creep up. "Dad, come on," he says, trying not to panic. "It's my first choice school and I got in! Do you know how many people get rejected from Stanford every year? They only admit something like seven percent of applicants!"

"I know you're excited, Logan," Phillip says. "But I don't believe this is really in your best interests."

"Dad! What are you talking about? It's one of the best schools in the country!"

"I don't think, given your current… circumstance, that going so far away is a good idea." He glances down almost imperceptibly at Logan's arms, which are crossed over his chest, pale scars visible because he'd chosen not to wear long sleeves again. "I'm sorry, son, but I can't allow it. Someone has to keep an eye on you."

Logan's jaw drops. "You—you can't be serious."

Phillip lays the packet down and rubs his eyes tiredly. "I know it's disappointing—"

"Dad—"

"You're not ready for this, Logan. That's all there is to it. We're not going to send you away in your condition."

"My condition?" Logan grits his teeth. "What 'condition' would that be?" He glares at his dad, daring him to talk about it. Mr. Mitchell has thus far done a brilliant job of pretending like Logan never tried to kill himself, refusing to talk about it openly or even refer to it all. It's almost as if he thinks acknowledging it will make Logan run off and try to do it again.

"Don't be petulant, Logan. You know what I'm talking about. I would never forgive myself if anything happened while you were away."

"I'm not gonna try to kill myself again!" Logan shouts, startling both his parents with his frankness. "I've been doing everything I'm supposed to! I take my stupid medication, I go to all my therapy sessions, I write in the stupid journal they gave us, and I talk things out with my group! And my grades are still good, and I made new friends! What more do you want from me?"

"End of discussion, Logan."

Logan's throat and chest feel tight, and he snatches up his envelope from the table and storms out of the kitchen, stomping up the stairs and slamming the door to his room with a loud crash. He breathes in deeply, trying to calm himself down, but hot tears form behind his eyes and he wipes them away furiously, aiming a kick at his bedside table and knocking over a lamp in his anger.

He reads the letter again before crumpling it up and tossing it to the ground, along with the financial aid information and pamphlet on student housing. A moment later a soft knock comes at his door that he doesn't bother to answer.

Mrs. Mitchell walks in and shuts the door gently behind her before moving towards Logan and sitting on the edge of his bed with him.

"I know you're upset, sweetie," she says, putting an arm around his shoulder.

Logan shrugs it off and pretends not to notice the hurt look on her face. "You don't know how I feel."

"Your father and I only want what's best for you."

"Then you should want me to go to the best school I got into! Mom, I've literally been waiting months for this, and after all that, Dad just tells me I can't go? Do you guys even know what I've been through these last couple years?"

"Honey—"

"No, Mom! Just listen to me for once!" Logan stands up angrily and paces the length of his room. "I've spent every waking moment reading, studying, or joining extra-curricular clubs for my résumé, taking SAT prep classes, and researching colleges and universities! I've sacrificed my friends to focus on my grades so I could get into all these schools, thinking maybe one day something I did would be good enough for you guys to notice me!"

"Logan…"

"And now that I finally have, the very first thing out of his mouth is 'no.' How did you think I was going to react?"

"Your father is scared, Logan!" Mrs. Mitchell says, forcing him to pay attention to her. "He wants to protect you."

"He doesn't give a damn about me!" Yells Logan. "Everything I've ever done was to try to make him proud of me and he's never acknowledged any of it! The straight-A's, the science fairs, wanting to be a doctor, just like him… All of it was for him and he's never cared about any of it! You see these?" Logan holds out his arm and his mother closes her eyes to avoid looking at the scars. "Even that was to get you guys to notice me and all you did was dump me into therapy as soon as I got out of the hospital!"

Mrs. Mitchell puts her hand over heart, as if it physically pains her to hear her son speak this way. "Logan, your dad and I are proud of everything you've accomplished, how could you think we aren't?"

"Because you've never said it," he mumbles, feeling childish that he has to ask for verbal validation.

"Oh, sweetie." Mrs. Mitchell holds her arms out to him and he rejoins her on the bed, letting her embrace him this time. "We love you so, so much, you have no idea. Your father was out of his mind with worry after what happened. That first night in the hospital, they practically had to get security to drag him out of your room."

"Really?"

"Really. I know that he has a hard time telling you what you mean to him, but you mustn't doubt how important you are to him, and to me."

Logan falls silent for a moment. Then—"What about Stanford?"

"Logan…"

"Mom, please."

"I understand what this means to you, honey, but I really do think your father has a point. If we sent you away to school and… I just don't think it's the right time. University can put you under some enormous stress, and if you're not equipped to deal with it—"

"But—"

"We won't risk it, son. I'm sorry."

Logan opens his mouth to argue some more, but words fail him. How can he possibly explain that this is literally what he's been working towards his whole life? He's based his whole identity on being the smart guy, the school genius, the science nerd who didn't have time for friends because he was so determined to get into a good university. And now… now he's gotten what he worked so hard for, and in less than an hour, all his dreams are crushed.

Interpreting his silence as acquiescence, Mrs. Mitchell hugs Logan again and kisses his head, exiting the room and leaving him alone.


By the time he's ready to leave for school in the morning, both Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell have gone to work. He pours himself a glass of orange juice and makes some toast before he leaves, gingerly placing the envelope from Stanford in his backpack, the papers smoothed back out after he'd retrieved them from the floor of his room.

He'd lain awake in bed for hours thinking about what he could do, feeling more and more hopeless by the hour. He supposes he'll have to settle for just being happy knowing that he was accepted to the school, even if he had to go to a local college that was not as prestigious or as perfect for him as Stanford. But, at the very least, he can show the letter to his friends and let them be happy for him for a minute before telling them his dad wouldn't let him go.

Everyone else is at the lunch table already when he gets there. Everyone but Camille, that is. He looks around the cafeteria but doesn't see her, so he sits with the rest of the group, slightly disappointed that she won't be there to witness his news. He slides into his seat next to Lucy, who's arguing with Kendall about whether the mystery meat being served that day tastes more like pot roast or ham.

"So I've got good news and bad news," Logan announces as he pulls the letter out from his backpack. "Want to hear?"

"That sounds intriguing. What's up?" Jo asks.

He puts the letter out in the middle of the table and Carlos and James both grab for it. "I got my last college acceptance letter yesterday," he says with a small smile. "Stanford."

"What? Seriously? Congrats, man," Kendall looks impressed as he peers over Carlos' shoulder to read the letter himself. "Then what's the bad news? That you're going to have to leave the rest of us rejects to fend for ourselves?"

"Speak for yourself, Knight," James scoffs. "I got an acceptance this week, too."

"Fine, fine. I'll be the only reject left in this shitty town. Once you all go off into the sunset to face your futures." He sighs dramatically, prompting Lucy to throw her crumpled napkin at him and roll her eyes.

"Chill, Kendall. It's not like you'll be the only one here."

"I know. But it won't be the same without all of us."

"Come on, Loges. What's the bad news?" Jo prompts, bringing everyone's attention back to Logan.

"My dad says I can't go."

"What? Why not?"

"He doesn't think I'm stable enough. He think's I'll try to kill myself again. Like, hello, if I wanted to try again, I would have done it by now."

"Did you try talking to him?" Kendall asks, frowning. As much as he would hate to lose his best friend, he knows this would make Logan really happy.

"I did," Logan sighs heavily. "He just refused to let me say anything, and my mom took his side."

"That sucks. Sorry, man," Carlos says. "So now what?"

Logan shrugs. "I don't know. Take classes here in town and hope that my parents trust me by the time I apply to med school?"

"Maybe there's something you can do," James says optimistically. "You're a genius. You'll think of something."

"Like what?"

No one has an answer for him.


After school, when Jo invites Kendall over for dinner for the first time, he grins and accepts right away. He's nervous to officially meet her dad, but he's glad that he and Jo are moving in a steady direction. They're already talking about taking classes together at the community college, and maybe transferring somewhere else later.

He walks her home as always and she pecks him on the lips before going inside. He waits until the door is closed before heading off for his own house. Another message from his dad is on the machine, which he deletes right away, feeling somewhat guilty as he thinks about what Logan would say if he knew that Kendall was ignoring all attempts by his dad to reconcile.

He changes out of his school clothes and does a little bit of homework with Katie at the kitchen table, waiting for her babysitter to arrive so he can go back to Jo's house. She makes him check her math homework, though he doesn't need to because she's great at math. He's finishing up his own lab report for Physics when the doorbell rings. Katie goes to answer it, letting in her babysitter, who looks flustered and worn out.

"Sorry, I think I'm a little late," she says breathlessly. "Track practice ran long today."

"No problem," Kendall replies easily. "I should be back in a couple of hours. Way before my mom, anyway. And don't let Katie trick you into thinking she's done with all her homework; she still has a history worksheet and some vocab words to look at."

"Thanks, Mom," Katie says sullenly.

"Just looking out for you, baby sister," Kendall grins. "Have fun."

"Have fun with your girlfriend," she retorts, sticking her tongue out at him.

"I will, thanks," he says, ignoring her attitude. "Bye, guys."

Kendall smiles to himself as he leaves the house. He and Jo haven't really discussed it, but then again, they didn't really need to. Actions speak louder than words, right? She held his hand under the table at lunch, and he texted her good morning and good night every day, and she allowed him to kiss her when they were alone, growing more and more comfortable in his presence every day. They hadn't put a label on it, sure, but they both knew what was going on between them. Kendall had made his intentions very clear with her, and he waited patiently while she dealt with the whole Jett business. As time went on, Jett and the rest of the school were getting bored with picking on her, and it seemed like things might finally just blow over.

He arrives at Jo's house, grateful to step inside the warm living room. The chilly air leftover from winter had numbed his fingers, and he laughs when Jo squeals and tries to get away when he presses his icy hands to the back of her neck.

"You are so going to pay for that," she says with a glare.

Mr. Taylor walks in, not looking amused. "You must be Kendall."

Kendall's smile falters momentarily and he clears his throat. "Uh, yes sir. Nice to meet you." He holds out his hand and Mr. Taylor shakes it firmly. Kendall tries not to flinch.

Dinner is only slightly awkward as Kendall tries to give acceptable answers to any questions Jo's dad throws out. He doesn't, thankfully, ask why Kendall's in therapy, so they're able to avoid talking about his recovering alcoholism and recent relapse.

After dinner, Mr. Taylor retires to his study, shutting the door behind him, leaving Kendall and Jo in the living room.

"He hates me," Kendall declares.

"He doesn't hate you," Jo soothes him. "He's just on edge. He's going to have a hard time trusting any guy around me after what happened."

"You know I would—I would never do anything to hurt you, right?" Kendall laces his fingers with hers and kisses their joined hands.

"I know that," she cups his cheek. "He knows it, too. You just have to give it some time. He'll come around."

"If you say so."

"I do."

Jo lets go of Kendall's hand, idly flipping through the stack of mail on the coffee table. She pulls out a magazine and a postcard from her dentist, reminding her that it's time for a cleaning. She freezes when she comes to another letter with her name on it. The logo for the law firm that's working on her case is stamped on the upper left corner.

"What is it?" Kendall asks, noting the look of apprehension that's come over her.

Hands shaking, she rips open the envelope and begins to read, determinedly keeping a straight face.

"It's from my lawyers. A court date's been set for Jett's trial."

"Oh. Wow. That's, um… Wow. Are you okay?"

"I don't know," Jo says quietly. "They're going to want me to testify against him. Kendall… I don't know if I can do this."

"Don't say that. Everything's going to be fine. You're going to be fine. All you have to do is tell the truth. He can't hurt you. And then this will all be over."

"I know, but… Everything is just starting to feel normal again. With you, and our friends, and school. I'm finally starting to feel like my old self and I don't want to have to relive all of it again. I've already had to do it in therapy and in front of my dad and my lawyers. I don't want to it again in front of a whole courtroom of people. And he'll be there, too! I'll have to sit there and see his smug little face when he tells everyone that I'm a liar who's just trying to get back at him."

Kendall puts his arm around her shoulders and she leans into him, relaxing her body against his. "You're stronger than you think you are," he whispers into her hair. "You've made it this far. All you have to do is push through this, too. I know you can."

"I'm just scared."

"It's okay to be scared. But you know what the right thing is. You have to do this, Jo."

Jo nods silently, laying the letter back on the coffee table.

"Yeah. I guess I do."


So things are looking up for some of our characters, and not so much for others. Breaking my Tuesday rule because it's been too long since I've updated; hopefully you guys forgive me. Thanks a lot for reading! Please review, pretties! The last chapter logged over 150 hits and 4 reviews... just saying. And! Thanks to everyone who checked out the one-shots I posted. Love you guys. Let me know whatcha think!