A/N: Man, this took a long time. It's seven pages in all, and six-and-a-quarter of them were written between Friday afternoon and this moment. My keyboard is on fire.

The reason this one took so long is partly because it is so long (sorry about that - you don't have to read it in one sitting, though I commend you if you do), but mostly because I had no idea what to write. I've got a fair mind set for the rest of this, and I hope it doesn't disappoint. There are parts of this I really like and parts I really don't, so if you notice any inconsistencies or things that just don't feel right, please let me know; I want to see if they're the same things I feel.

But for the most part I'm pretty happy with this one, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that you do, too.

Sally's mom waited patiently by the foot of the stairs, a laundry basket balanced on one hip and a pile of bagged lunches on a nearby end-table. Glancing up at the clock between folding, she shouted up the time to her children, who were getting ready frantically.

"Seven-oh-nine!" she called, setting a pair of pants on the table.

"Oh, crap!" Paul, her youngest son, said, hurrying down the stairs.

"Hey, watch your language." Mrs. O'Malley waited until Paul apologized, scuffing his heel on the floor and looking embarrassed, before she handed him his lunch and kissed him on the cheek. He wiped it off absently, looking up the stairs.

"We're gonna be late, Ron!"

"I'm coming! Jeez, calm down! You can walk by yourself, can'tya?" His older brother came down, making an effort to be nonchalant. "See you, Mom," he said, taking his lunch and accepting her kiss with a grimace. "Come on," he added to Paul. "Don't wanna be late, do we?"

Veronica, the oldest daughter on the cusp of graduation, sailed down the stairs with a brush in one hand and a hair scrunchie in her mouth. "Ta, mother," she said around the elastic - ever since she'd turned eighteen, Veronica had some strange ideas of what adulthood meant, and tended to use strange phrases that sounded vaguely "posh" - taking the hair tie out of her mouth and blowing her a kiss. "I'll catch something to eat with Mara, shall I?"

"Of course, honey." Her mother hadn't bothered to make her a lunch, anyway; apparently bagged lunches were "kid stuff."

Tossing a pair of ratty underpants in the trash, she glanced up at the clock, and then over at the one lunch still on the table. Nicole and Natalie had the day off, she remembered, so they wouldn't be up for another hour. But Sally. . . .

"Sal?"

There was no reply from upstairs. "Sally?"

Nothing. She sighed, looked at the clock again - it was seven-thirteen - and climbed the stairs. Unfortunately, she'd have to wake Sally's sisters as well. She tapped on the door with the tips of her fingers. "Sal?"

When there was still no reply, she opened the door.

Nicole and Natalie's beds were still, with raised lumps where they slept, unbothered. Sally's, however, was a mess, with sheets strewn crookedly over each side. Two feet stuck out one end, and a pile of red hair at the other. Her mother sat down, taking care not to land on her daughter. She put one hand on the pile of red hair. "Sally, dear?"

"Mhmm?"

"It's time for school."

Sally lifted her head, brushing her tangled hair out of her face and blinking. She yawned and stretched, wincing as her back cracked. Rolling her shoulders to get the feeling back into them, she focused half-aware eyes on her mother. "What time is it?"

"Around seven-fifteen."

"Oh." She rubbed at her eyes and looked out the window. "Can't I stay home?"

"With final exams just a few weeks away?"

"Oh." She scowled. "Right."

Her mom's eyes narrowed, and she studied Sally carefully. Though she didn't look any different, gazing bleary-eyed at the opposite wall, she didn't seem quite . . . right. Normally Sally would have been eager to get to school, even though she didn't like it very much. She would have wanted to see her friends.

"Sal, are you all right?"

"Huh? Of course I am. I'm great." She smiled and climbed out of bed. "I just don't want to go to Whostory, that's all." She stumbled over to her dresser, limping because her leg had fallen asleep.

Her mother hesitated for a few moments more, then shook her head and stood. "I have to get ready for work, honey. Your lunch is downstairs. Now, Ron said he'd do laundry today, but you know how he procrastinates. Make sure he does it, will you?"

"Okay."

"What time are Ned and his . . . friend showing up?"

"Jamie? Oh, they'll be here any minute." Still, she didn't seem inclined to hurry. She knelt in front of the dresser with her hands on her thighs, staring idly into the bottom drawer. She looked distracted, her eyes unfocused.

Very . . . un-Sally. Her mother opened her mouth to again ask what was wrong - not that she thought she would get a satisfactory answer - but the doorbell rang.

Sally leapt to her feet like the floor had bitten her. "Shi - I mean, shoot." She paused to grin sheepishly, then flew across the room to her closet. "It must have been later than I thought." She hesitated, one leg through her skirt and her nightgown pulled up around her neck. "Can you tell them I'm coming? Five minutes or less?"

She blinked, surprised at the sudden return to what she considered "normal Sally." "O-Of course." Mrs. O'Malley went downstairs and opened the door. "Sorry, kids. Sally's running a little late."

"That's fine," the blue-furred girl (who she could never remember the name of) said with a smile. "We don't mind waiting."

"Is she okay?" Ned asked, leaning forward anxiously. "I mean, she's not sick or anything, right?"

"No, she's not sick. She's just . . ." Mrs. O'Malley glanced over her shoulder to make sure her daughter wasn't coming downstairs, then dropped her voice. "Have either of you noticed anything . . . off about her?" They stared at her blankly, and she added, "Does she seem distracted at all? Or . . . depressed?" She stumbled over the last word.

"I haven't noticed anything," Jamie said with a shrug. "She seems pretty happy. Kind of quiet, but I thought she was always like that."

Ned shook his head. "School's been pretty rough, what with finals coming up and all. Maybe she's just stressed."

Mrs. O'Malley was about to add that Sally had had several years of finals and been just fine, and her preferred method of coping with stress was yelling at everyone and everything (inanimate objects especially), when she noticed Ned's expression. He was staring at a spot just above her left shoulder with narrowed eyes, biting at his bottom lip.

He knew what she was talking about.

"It must be my imagination, I guess. Mothers have to worry, or we'd have nothing else to do but work and sleep." She smiled at them both.

"I know exactly what you mean! Like, one time my mom got all upset because I'd been out until like ten o'clock and yelled at me for hours, and didn't even realize that my sister wasn't home because she was out with her boyfriend! Sometimes I think -"

Several thuds interrupted Jamie, and Sally leapt past her mother in a red blur, somehow managing to grab her lunch and her bag, kiss Mrs. O'Malley on the cheek, and cram half of a granola bar into her mouth in the space of two-and-a-half seconds. "Bye Mom love you c'mon guys we're late!" With that, she went sprinting down the street.

Jamie giggled. "She looks okay to me," she said.

"Yeah." Ned didn't sound convinced, though, and he took off after her, dropping Jamie's hand to do so. "Sal! Come back! We're not that late! Sal!"

Jamie sighed as they rounded the corner, settling into a slow walk without even thinking about trying to catch up. Ned would come back . . . most likely. Otherwise he'd be facing a very serious silent treatment that would probably last all the way until lunch.

Unless, of course, he apologized. And bought her a cookie. While she was waiting, she watched a pretty blonde Who jog past, her body the kind that a sixteen-year-old girl could never even dream of having. She sighed wistfully as the girl bounced away. Some people were so perfect . . .

Ned did return in a few seconds, leading Sally by the wrist. He had a fresh scrape on his cheek. "I tripped," he grumbled.

"Poor thing. Want me to kiss it better?" Jamie leaned forward, but he pulled back.

"No! Ow." He winced. "That would hurt."

Jamie was surprised, but she smiled. A month or so ago she would have been unspeakably wounded - not to mention offended - and that would have been enough to earn Ned a silent treatment of the most severe sort, but after about twelve of these silent treatments (all taking place within the first week of them steadily dating), she'd realized that there was no point. Ned would always say things without thinking, and he didn't mean it in a bad way.

She was becoming quite the grown-up, if she did say so herself. She kissed him on the nose instead. He smiled and slipped his hand into hers casually with only the lightest blush. He'd grown up a bit, too. He wasn't nearly as awkward around her as he'd used to be, and he seemed to handle being with Sally, too. Jamie sometimes wondered if he still liked her, but pushed that thought away before it became too upsetting.

At that moment, though, it wasn't very easy to push away, because Ned's other hand was still around Sally's wrist. In fact, it had slipped down her wrist and was almost holding hers.

Let go of her hand, she thought, jutting her jaw out ever so slightly. When her telepathic messages didn't seem to be doing anything, she cleared her throat and said, "Ned, let Sally go. You don't have to hold her prisoner - I'm pretty sure she's not bolting." She couldn't bring herself to call Sally "Sal," even though the three of them had been spending pretty much nonstop time together for about three weeks. She didn't really know why; she just couldn't.

That caused Ned to really blush, and he dropped Sally's hand quickly, almost shoving her away. "Sorry," he mumbled to no one in particular.

"That's okay," Sally and Jamie said in unison. They looked at each other for a moment before Sally dropped her eyes, her cheeks flushing as well.

"Oops. I thought he was talking to me," she said, and Jamie realized that Sally's mom was right; she had been acting strangely. Meeker, and a little shamefaced. Jamie didn't like it.

"Oh, don't worry about it. He probably was." He usually is.

Silence fell over them again, as it usually seemed to whenever the three of them were alone together. It didn't feel companionable then - if it ever did. Jamie watched them carefully, feeling the little furs on her arms stand on end.

Sally and Ned looked up from the sidewalk at the same time, meeting each other's gaze. They smiled briefly and looked away again, making soft noises in the backs of their throats in perfect chorus. It was like they'd rehearsed it.

Jamie drew closer to Ned, squeezing his hand and never letting her eyes stray from Sally. She was watching them curiously, almost - was it just her imagination? - enviously.

Don't even think about it, you bitch, she thought, not even registering the profanity that slipped through her mental filter for the first time in years. He's mine. You gave him up, you hear? You didn't want him.

And she was certainly not going to be changing her mind now.

Sarah sighed, taking a chunk of hair in her hand and holding it in front of her face. "Why is my fur so frizzy all the time?" she asked, letting the hair drop from her fingers and gazing at her arms. "It's all over the place. It's disgusting."

Patrick looked up from the book he was reading. "I don't think you look disgusting," he said, looking puzzled. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm just realizing that I shouldn't be allowed outside without a paper bag over my head. Ugh!"

Patrick, deciding that this was obviously something girly he couldn't begin to understand (and that to try would be to risk extreme torment), returned to his book.

She leaned forward into her reflection in a window and prodded her nose with one long finger. "And look at this nose! Aren't Whos supposed to have cute button noses? Where's mine? Apparently it got misplaced and someone gave me a basketball instead!"

"Nonsense," Patrick said without looking up. "Basketballs are orange, and your nose is most definitely purple. Now, if you wanted to dye it orange, then you could make the basketball comparison accurately. Until then, please let me read in peace."

Sarah shoved him. "Some support here?"

He chuckled and set his book aside. "I'm not good with support. Sal's the best in the support department. I offer witty one-liners and sarcastic remarks. It's why most people at school hate me."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay. I will just go live under a rock, where no one will have to see my hideous self ever again."

Patrick sighed. "Are we really going to do this? Fine, then, but if I sustain any injuries, there will be hell to pay. You are pretty. Always have been . . . well, since high school started, anyway. And you should embrace yourself - metaphorically - and realize that you love yourself."

"Hmm. That's not a bad idea." She glared at her reflection for a moment, then closed her eyes and threw her arms into the air. "I am embracing myself," she said in a monotone. "I embrace my fur, which looks like it got electrocuted and then fried. I embrace my nose, which is large enough to generate its own gravity and will someday crush Whoville."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Sarah. . . ."

She opened one eye, keeping her arms in the air. "Do you mind? I'm embracing, here."

"Sarah!" He pulled her arms down to her sides. "There has to be one thing you like about yourself!"

"Well. . . ." She turned to the front lawn, where Jamie, Ned, and Sally were making their way towards them. Jamie was glaring at Sally, who was doing her best to look at Ned without looking like she was looking at him. Ned himself was trying to avoid everyone's gaze. Sarah flicked her wrist in their direction. "At least I don't have as many problems as they do."

Ned glanced down at his watch; it was eleven-thirty, the second bell had rung, and there was no sign of Sally. What was wrong with her today? She was usually never late.

"Is everyone here?" Mrs. Hampoongle, their Whonglish teacher, asked. She narrowed her eyes. "Who's missing?"

Ned raised his hand, excuses flying through his mind at the speed of light. "Sally. She's . . ." Sick or in the bathroom? Which excuse would get her less in trouble? "Ah, in the bathroom. I think." I hope.

The classroom door flew open and Sally staggered in, her bag hanging off of one shoulder and her fur disheveled. "Sorry. Bathroom." She flashed the teacher a quick, charming smile and sank into her seat.

Mrs. Hampoongle shook her head. "Well, now that everyone's here, please get into your groups for a few minutes and talk about last night's assignment."

Sally turned her desk toward Ned's, feeling a strange sense of triumph; they'd made their groups back in the beginning of the school year, so Jamie - who always sat on Ned's other side and butted into their conversations during class - was paired with one of her friends, leaving them to talk alone for once.

"Where were you?" he asked, reaching into his bag and pulling out a binder.

She shrugged. "Lost track of time, that's all."

"It's just not like you." He took out his essay - "Why Nothing Ever Goes Wrong in Whoville," predictably - and looked at her, cocking his head to the side. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"Oh, nothing! You just seem a little -"

"Everyone keeps asking me if I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"It's just. . . ." He picked up his essay and stared at it intently. "My thesis was that the solid yet flexible structure of the Whoville government resulted in few political issues, and the only thing that might make it better would be to . . ."

Mrs. Hampoongle walked by, glancing at them out of the corner of her eye, and Sally leaned forward, pointing at something on the paper.

"But my question is . . ." Sally began; Mrs. Hampoongle passed them, heading over to Jamie's group, and she dropped her voice, "what does everyone think is wrong with me?"

"I don't know!" He put the essay down. "I was worried because we don't really hang out anymore. I guess I was wondering . . . well, if you missed me."

"Oh, totally. I have withdrawal symptoms. I cry myself to sleep every night, screaming 'Oh, Ned! Where hast thou gone?'"

"Come on, Sal. Seriously. I miss you."

She smiled, putting her hand over his. "Of course I miss you. But I'm not going to commit suicide or anything. Please don't worry about me. It's embarrassing."

"I'll try. . . ." His face brightened, and he sat up straighter. "Do you want to come over after school today?"

"But I thought -" Mrs. Hampoongle was coming back, so she hastily said, "that there was a huge flood in 1962. Wouldn't that count as 'something wrong'?"

"Not exactly, because the citizens of Whoville pulled together and helped one another recover. So it strengthened Whoville."

"I see." Once the teacher was gone again, Sally said, "I think it'd be a lot of fun. But what about Jamie?"

"I'm sure she'd like a break to see her friends alone, too. She'll understand - she's been very cool recently."

"Great." She grinned. "I'll meet you at your locker after school."

"It's a date." They both glanced down at their hands, which were still entwined, and blushed. Ned pulled his away quickly and picked up his essay again. "What'd you write about, Sal?"

"I mean, 'It's a date'? What kind of thing is that to say when you have a girlfriend?"

Sarah shrugged, twiddling with her locker combination absently. "I doubt he meant anything by it."

"But it seems so weird," Sally said, shaking her head. "Because it's not a date." She leaned against the row of lockers, glancing down at Sarah. "Is it?"

Sarah looked up at her. "You're kidding, right? When he has a girlfriend, it's definitely not a date."

"Oh, good. What a relief. I was worried he still . . . you know, liked me. Which he doesn't. Right?"

Sarah stood, balancing her books on her hip. "I have no idea anymore. I thought he did . . . but now he's dating Jamie and seems pretty happy, so I got nothing." She narrowed her eyes at Sally, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "Why are you making such a big deal out of this?"

"I'm not. It's not a big deal at all. I was just wondering what you thought." She bit her lip and looked down at her feet, feeling like a bug under a microscope. Why was everyone cross-examining her recently?

Sarah eyes lit up, and her mouth dropped open. "You like Ned!"

"What? No I don't!"

She started laughing. "Yes, you do! Oh, this is so great! I knew it would happen! Patrick owes me ten bucks!"

Sally froze. "Patrick what?"

"That's not important," Sarah said, shaking her head. She beamed, clasping her hands under her chin. "This is so cool. It's like a fairy tale!"

"No, it's not, because I don't like him." Sally sighed, because Sarah was giving her an "Oh, who do you think you're fooling?" look. "I really don't."

The look didn't go away; if anything, it became more pronounced. "Betchya five bucks you do."

"Fine. Gimme five bucks."

Sarah wagged her finger at Sally. "Nuh-uh. Give it till the end of the week. You'll see that I'm right." She grinned wickedly. "Because you like him!"

Exasperated, Sally whirled around and stomped down the hall.

Who did Sarah think she was, deciding how she felt? In fact, that was what everyone was doing to her! Deciding who she liked and whether she was okay or not. . . . They didn't know a darn thing.

And she'd prove it.

After Whonglish, once Sally had gone off to meet Sarah at her locker, Ned waited outside the classroom for Jamie, who was notoriously slow and thus always the last one out. When she finally appeared, she smiled at him and slipped her hand in his.

"Hey. Fun class, huh?" he asked.

"It could have been worse," she said. "At least I got to see Jackie. I've missed her, and I didn't even realize it."

This was going perfectly. "Actually, I was kinda thinking the same thing."

Jamie tilted her head. "That you miss Jackie?"

"No, that we don't really have a lot of chances to see our friends anymore. And I was thinking that I would hang out with Sally today after school, so that you could see your friends." He grinned at her. "What do you think?"

"I . . ." I don't like it.

I really don't like it.

There was no way she could say that. She'd only been dating Ned for a few weeks, and he'd been best friends with Sally for years. And there was always that stinging memory of their first date (and dumping) to make her feel like their relationship was hanging by a tether. Better not to push it.

But she was starting to notice something different in Sally. Something she didn't like or trust. And didn't she have the right to say something?

"Jamie?"

"I think it would be a good idea. A great idea." She tried to smile, but could feel her lip threaten to tremble.

Is this the beginning of the end?

They came to a stop at his locker, and he dropped her hand to say goodbye, since they didn't have any more classes together or close enough to see one another. "Thanks, Jame. See you tomorrow." He gave her a peck on the lips, but when he tried to pull back, she grabbed the back of his head, kissing him harder.

It was their first real kiss, with tongue and everything, and in public no less! She was a little disappointed that it wasn't the way she'd expected. Romance books had prepared her for heart-stopping excitement, and what she really felt was . . . that it was nice. She only hoped that Ned was feeling something different, that he wasn't thinking about how pretty Sally was, or how she would kiss.

When she let him go, his eyes were huge and his face was bright red. She kissed his cheek. "See you tomorrow." She turned and walked away, feeling a thrill of triumph and satisfaction despite the slight disappointment. With any luck, he wouldn't forget that for a while. Just because their relationship didn't have the same passion she'd read about in her romance novels certainly didn't mean that she wanted to lose it to Sally, especially when she had already decided that she didn't want him.

I'm not giving him up without a fight.

Sally froze a few feet away from Ned's locker, paralyzed by pure shock. I didn't know they kissed like that, she thought, a lump of lead forming in her gut. I didn't know he could kiss like that.

He was still standing in the same spot, staring after Jamie and looking like he'd been socked in the stomach. A silly smile spread across his face, and he turned to his locker looking extremely cheerful. The lump of lead seemed to have abandoned her stomach and traveled up her throat, where it nested no matter how hard she tried to swallow it down.

Questions filled her mind, bringing with them images and a growing sense of horror. Did they do that a lot? What else had they been - hiding was the first word that came to mind, but she knew that wasn't really fair - not telling them about? Could he still like her if he did . . . that with Jamie?

Whoa. Where had that come from? And why did she care?

The answer: She didn't.

Almost immediately Sarah's voice popped into her head. "Oh, who do you think you're fooling, Sal? And how long do you think you can keep it up? You can't lie to yourself forever, and you know it."

That's not true! I'm not lying to myself!

Sally sighed, turning around and heading to her Bio class, which she and Sarah had next. Luckily it was nearby; the first bell had rung a while ago, and possibly the second as well.

She wasn't fooling anyone except herself, and she couldn't even do that anymore. The world's best self-defense there was for someone in denial, and hers had crumbled, leaving behind . . . what?

An ugly, naked truth. One she wanted to throw a blanket over so that she didn't have to stare at it for another second. But she couldn't do that.

She slid into the room as the second bell rang, crossing the room to where Sarah had saved a seat for her. Without a word, she reached into her skirt pocket and fished out five Whodollars, slamming them onto the table. "What do I tell him?" she asked hoarsely.

Sarah stared down at the money, her confused expression slowly turning to one of simultaneous horror and excitement. She lifted her head, meeting Sally's eyes, and blinked, her mouth hanging open. "I don't know."

A/N: Oh, the drama! That may be the main thing that bothers me about it. That, and how fast it moves. Does that bother anyone else? I sure hope not.

It's a lot . . . older, I think. They're acting more their age than they have in a while, since I've tried to keep the little-kid mentality of HHaW!. But for this one, I thought a little growing-up was in order. That's kind of the theme of this chapter, isn't it? I love it when themes pop out like that with no planning. . . . I mean, of course I planned it! That's how brilliant I am! *wink, wink*

Anyway, see you next chapter (which will hopefully be sooner now that I know where I'm going for the most part)!