A/N: Meh. Sorry this took so long, but I'm not overly happy with this one. It's more of a plot-moving-along thing. Not much fluff, lots of thinking. Parts of it bother me with their corny-clichedness, but I don't know how to fix it.

Well, hopefully you guys are easier to please than I am, or I'm just being nitpicky. Enjoy it anyway.

Oh, and I looked all over the Internet, and I can't tell if the green councilman guy was Ned's age or not, or what his name was. So, as of right now, his name is Tom Birch, and he's a senior, two years older than Ned and Sally.

Ned sat with Sarah at their lunch table, happily abusing their tenth-grade Whostory teacher for assigning them a huge project the week before Christmas vacation.

"I mean, how are we supposed to get it done by Friday?" Sarah demanded, biting fiercely into an apple. "I swear, that man is a sick, twisted old — Ned?"

Ned whipped his head back toward Sarah. "Yeah?"

Sarah leaned forward, trying to see what Ned had been watching. "What're you looking at?"

"Nothing." And it was true — he had been looking at nothing, since Sally and Patrick, who both had gym right before lunch, were nowhere to be seen.

"Oh." Sarah settled back into her seat, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. Ned smiled blithely at her, his leg bouncing nervously under the table, and forced himself not to look over his shoulder to see if Sally and Patrick were coming.

Where are they? he thought impatiently.

Maybe this is a good thing, the more intelligent part of his brain chimed in. At least now you can sit here and figure out what's going on here on your own. Don't look for Sally — just think.

Ned desperately needed to think. The only thing was, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Ever since that one kiss with Sally (if you could call it a kiss), Ned had been feeling very . . . strange. For one thing, he felt jumpy and super-sensitive; it felt like his skin had been covered in tiny little sensors, specifically tuned for whenever a girl came anywhere near him.

The really weird thing was, those little sensors went crazy when Sally was around. He always felt all tingly, and his stomach tied up in knots.

He'd wondered if he was sick. After about twelve trips to the doctor's, however, his doctor had insisted that Ned was perfectly fine, and told Ned to not come back for another several months.

Then he'd toyed with the idea he was insane. Though this wasn't a pleasant notion, it was the most plausible explanation he could come up with, and he kept it shelved in the back of his mind for contemplation.

He tapped his foot nervously. He wished Sally would just show up; it wasn't much fun wondering if he was crazy. He looked around subtly. Neither of his friends were there.

Of course, when he'd asked Patrick, his friend didn't think he was insane at all. In fact, he'd laughed and clapped Ned on the back, saying, "My boy is growing up!" According to Patrick, Ned had a crush on Sally.

It wasn't that he was utterly unfamiliar with crushes — Patrick seemed to have a new one every week. And he'd even had a crush . . . once. Just never on someone he'd known back when he'd used to wet the bed. Sally was his best friend. Liking her had to be against some kind of friend rule. It's good that I don't, then, he told himself emphatically, glancing over his shoulder — no Sally. He tapped his long fingers on the table.

Look, his brain said, surprising Ned.

I did, he replied. She's not there.

Look at what you're doing.

Ned blinked, coming down to Whoville for a moment. He realized that he hadn't been listening to a word Sarah had said; he was glancing around every few seconds and simultaneously tapping his right foot on the floor and both hands on the table at a pace that could only be described as alarmingly fast. With difficultly, he forced himself to be still, opening his water bottle with exaggerated nonchalance and avoiding Sarah's curious gaze. Doesn't mean anything, he told his brain — funny how it was starting to feel like a completely different person — coldly.

So you want Sally to show up because . . .

She's my friend. And friends like to hang out with their friends.

Uh-huh.

Ned was growing tired of his brain, or conscience, or whatever it was. He wished there was a button he could push to shut it off. However, there wasn't, so he listened to Sarah talk about some great art project she was working on.

"Hey guys!" Sarah suddenly exclaimed. Ned twisted around in his seat to see Sally and Patrick coming up to their table. "Where've you been?"

"Patrick had to talk to some teacher," Sally said, rolling her eyes and sitting down next to Sarah. "He's aiming to be as geeky as you, Ned," she teased.

Patrick shook his head. "Well, at least I didn't spend ten minutes walking down a hallway because I had to talk to every single person I know!" He sat down next to Ned. "Girls cannot shut up."

"What were you talking about?" Sarah asked keenly. For some reason Patrick winced, then glanced apologetically at Ned.

Sally slapped her forehead. "Can you believe I actually forgot?" she asked Patrick, laughing. She had a nice laugh — very light and happy without being too girlish.

Patrick merely shrugged, looking like he regretted saying anything.

Sally's eyebrows drew together, but she shook her head and turned back to Sarah. "Tom — yes, Tom Birch," she added in response to Sarah's unasked question, "smiled at me in the hall!"

Sarah's mouth fell open. "No way!" She swiveled around in her chair so that her entire body was facing Sally. "Tell me everything."

She shrugged. "Not much to tell. He just said hi, and that he'd see me in science. And, when he passed me, our arms brushed!" She laughed, again, but it wasn't as nice a laugh as before. It was too high-pitched. "My arm feels all tingly."

Ned set down the orange he'd picked up, feeling sick. Patrick shot another glance at him, his mouth quirking up into a rueful half-smile.

"He must like you," Sarah said eagerly. "He didn't have to say hi to you if he didn't want to." She turned to Ned and Patrick. "Right, guys?"

"No." The word was out of Ned's mouth before his brain had the opportunity to stop it. After a moment's hesitation, Patrick jumped in.

"Yeah — it might be a reflex or something."

"Uh-huh. You see someone, you say hi. That's the way it is." Both were speaking extremely quickly and nodding their heads like idiots.

Sally looked disappointed, but Sarah merely sighed. "Ignore them," she said. "Boys don't know anything." They proceeded to break down every instant of their interaction, from expressions to body language to tone. Ned and Patrick just sat there, watching the girls perform this complicated ritual. Patrick was clearly feeling too guilty to say anything, and Ned was busy thinking.

He didn't get it. Sally and Sarah were both smart — Sally in particular was probably the most intelligent girl he knew. But they were both acting so ridiculously stupid over some ten-second exchange in the hallway. He pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil.

"Why are they acting like such idiots over this?" he scrawled, passing the paper over to Patrick. He looked down at it, his eyes narrowed. A few minutes later, he reached over, taking Ned's pen and scribbling a hasty response. While Sally and Sarah weren't looking, he slid the paper back over to Ned.

He read the response anxiously. "I dunno. Girls are just weird like that, I guess. Even the sane ones go nuts. I think it's hormones. That or their brains fall out."

He shook his head, looking up at Patrick and chuckling slightly. Patrick shrugged. "Don't ask me, then," he mouthed in response to Ned's incredulous expression.

Ned leaned closer to Patrick. "What am I supposed to do?" he hissed.

Patrick looked confused. "Is 'nothing' the wrong answer?"

"Yes."

"Oh. . . . Wait. I thought you said you didn't like her."

"I don't. I just . . . I don't trust Tom. He's too . . . green."

"What are you two whispering about?" Sarah asked, suddenly noticing their conversation. "You're not a couple or anything, right?"

Sally laughed — she had gone back to sounding like she usually did. "Come on, Sarah. Don't interfere in young love." They'd seemed to have exhausted their discussion of Tom Birch and were acting like normal Whos again. Maybe Patrick was right; maybe girls were crazy.

Just as Ned was breathing a sigh of relief, Tom walked by, flashing Sally a cool, confident smile. "Hey Sal," he said.

"Hi," she replied, a silly grin spreading across her face. She waved, watching him walk away.

Sarah grabbed Sally's wrist. "Could he love you more?"

"Maybe I should ask him out," she agreed, craning her neck to see his table.

"No," Ned said, surprising himself again. His three friends turned to him, eyebrows raised.

"Why not?" Sarah and Sally asked in unison.

"Ah. . . ." Ned glanced at Patrick, who nodded eagerly for him to continue. "Isn't he seeing that girl?"

The effect was, under different circumstances, extremely amusing. Both girls' mouths fell open simultaneously, their eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. They looked like identical mutant aliens. "What girl?" Sarah demanded.

"That one with the, uh . . ." he pulled at his short brown hair, "hair, and the . . . you know, face."

They both just stared at him. "The hair and the face?" Sally repeated skeptically.

"Yeah." Ned shrugged, as though he'd been perfectly clear. "You don't know her?"

"How do you know he's seeing anyone?" Sarah asked.

"Well. . . ." He looked at Patrick, slightly panicked. Patrick chimed in quickly.

"Didn't that guy tell you about it?"

"What guy?" Sarah's expression made it clear that if Ned didn't supply a good answer, she'd hit him.

Ned rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "He's . . . tall, and has . . ."

"Let me guess," Sally said, amusement and impatience etched onto her face, "the hair and the face?"

"Oh, so you know him?"

Sally crossed her arms, studying him with pursed lips. Sarah's eyes suddenly lit up with understanding. Not liking that look, Ned clambered to his feet. "I'm . . . going to get something to eat. Come on, Patrick."

As they made their way over to the lunch line, Patrick turned to Ned. "That was smooth," he commented.

"I know." He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Maybe we can beat Tom up or something. Scare him away from Sally."

"Yeah," Patrick said with a laugh. "He's only captain of the wrestling team. We can take him, seeing as we're so buff." He held up his pudgy arm and made a muscle -- at least, Ned assumed he'd made a muscle. He couldn't actually see one.

Ned realized that Patrick was right; Ned was too spindly and skinny to be anything more than a punching bag, and Patrick was several pounds overweight. Their friendship had actually began in sixth grade in gym, because they were both hiding against the wall, terrified of the dodgeballs the other team was throwing.

Patrick sighed, his expression softening."Relax. You're taking this like it's the end of the world. So you like Sally — it's not a big deal, you kno — why are you looking at me like that?"

Ned was staring at Patrick with a look of mingled shock and horror. Patrick turned around to see Sherry standing a few feet behind them in line, staring at them with amazement.

"Oh. Oops." Patrick turned back to Ned nervously. "Maybe she didn't hear. The cafeteria's loud."

But, judging from her triumphant grin, she had.

Sherry knew that she didn't really have a reason to hate Ned. Just because he was going to be Mayor, and he was goofy and strange, and was friends with Sally — who could easily have made them both the most popular girls in school — didn't mean that she should. . . .

Never mind. She would always hate his stupid, dorky Mayor guts. And she didn't even care anymore. She turned and brushed past her friends, heading over to a table across the room.

She could never tell Sally what she'd heard — Sal would never believe her. However, there were other ways to make sure the news got around to her.

She finally reached her destination, sliding into the seat next to a dark-haired Who that was chatting on her cell phone, writing a note, and talking to the boy on her left at the same time. She was Greta Haloo, the biggest mouth in the school.

Sherry waited until Greta had gotten off the phone before leaning forward, looking around to see if Ned had followed her. He hadn't, but she could still see him standing in the same spot, watching her. Their eyes locked — his pleading, hers expressionless. Then, without breaking eye contact, she put her lips to Greta's ear and whispered the fateful words:

"Guess who Mayor McLoser likes?"

A/N: All right, it's not the WORST thing I've ever written. But I don't love it. It's a bridge between the last one shot and the next one (which I promise will be better).

I love Patrick -- he screws things up totally on accident. But he's funny.