A/N: Second-last chapter (or maybe third, if I put in an epilogue?). Sorry for the long ass wait, but this is my longest chap yet, to make up for it. Hope you like it :D

Dedicated to Jackaay, for a massive happy belated :-)

-Chapter Twenty-

Last Requests

“I’m telling you, Chel. Trust me on this one.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Eddie, you know she hates--”

“She has to get used to it, Rosie. Eye-cosmetics are our friends.”

Chelsea tried not to roll her eyes as she caught Rosie’s own exasperated ones, but both girls knew better than to try and steal Eddie’s thunder the night of the formal.

“But,” Chelsea couldn’t refrain from saying for the millionth time, trying not to fidget for fear of Eddie poking her in the eye, “isn’t this a little…excessive? I mean,” she said, squinting at her reflection on Eddie’s multi-lighted dressing table mirror, “Haven’t I got enough gunk on my face?”

“There’s always room for improvement, dear,” Eddie said in a slovenly tone, as if hardly believing her ignorance. “And, let's face it, you could use the extra oomph. Besides, this’ll only compliment the glitter I already did. I mean, what, I’m gonna apply everything to your eyes except the mandatory lining?” He snorted, dismissive of such an outrageous idea. “Trust me, Chel, I’m only trying to help you impress everyone with a real pop…”

“Well,” Chelsea interjected, “I’d really just like to impress in a totally pop-free manner, Eddie, so please…lemme get up.”

Eddie finally complied, but only after offering her a series of dark looks. For a second, Chelsea feared he could thoroughly detect her full intentions on wiping off half the makeup as soon as he stepped out of the room. But then, visibly pacified, he turned and moved on to Rosie, a devilishly knowing grin on his face.

“A-actually, Eddie,” Rosie said quickly, standing up from her seat and stepping back, “I’m quite finished myself. I’m sure you have to spare some time for yourself too so…”

Chelsea smiled half-heartedly at them as she adjusted the top part of the dress Eddie had tailored for her. She couldn’t understand it, but she thought it was feeling a little more snug than the first and only time she’d tried it on. The lovely, totally homemade, vintage-themed dress her best friend had sweated out for her. Eddie must have noticed her tugging, because he directed his attention back to her with his usual, delicate, sensitive manner.

“Are you gaining weight, Chelsea?” he asked airily, adjusting the sleeves of his scarlet red chemise.

Rosie gave him a disapproving glance but he hunched his shoulderd defensively. “What? I’m just speculating. I’m only saying…it looks like she’s a tad uncomfortable in her dress.” He looked back at Chelsea, who’d been only half-listening. “Or perhaps I have overestimated my skills?”

Chelsea snapped to attention at the undertones of his question. She hadn’t realized it until now, but her friend had appeared to be very tense all evening.

“Eddie,” she said gently, trying not to show her surprise, “I…I love the dress. Are you…you know that. It’s probably me, I think I have gained weight, actually-“

“Oh, don’t be stupid,” Eddie snapped, wrenching a brush from his dresser and thrusting it into his hair, “You probably lost twenty pounds on the ice last night. Plus those two thugs who attacked you-“

“What are you- “

“-They probably knocked out another five. So don’t even try that gaining poundage thing on me, Chel.”

“What? You’re the one—“

Chelsea stopped, knowing her mouth was still slightly ajar. This was getting weirder and weirder. She exchanged a stunned look with Rosie. Where the hell was this coming from? Eddie had been whizzing around in a frenzy as soon as she’d woken up, but she and Rosie had both attributed it to the evening’s event.

Apparently, there had been other things.

“Eddie?” Rosie inquired tentatively, “Is something wrong? You seem awfully tense.”

“I am,” Eddie said in a matter-of-fact tone, but his features had softened slightly. “This stupid formal…” he looked up at Chelsea, an almost wistful smile on his face, “Look, it's just that I think some of the material I used for your dress may not have have been shrink-proof. I only realized that once I tried ironing out the seams, so it'll probably feel tighter than normal." He gave another theatrical sigh and looked at them with doe-eyes. "Okay, I would start saying my apologies, but I think that would make us a little more than fashionably late to the formal.”

They laughed. But Chelsea gave him a quizzical look. “So is that it? You’re stressed over the formal? You don’t have to be, you know. You practically dressed half the girls who’re gonna be there!”

The pink tinge that graced his neck was a surprise. “Yeah, that’s the bite. Those commissions…”

Rosie stared at him, “Don’t tell me they cancelled out on you?!”

Eddie sighed, adjusting his collar yet again. He grabbed his house keys from the dresser and tucked them into the inside of his coat. “Not exactly,” he said finally. “I didn’t finish their dresses at all.”

“WHAT?” Chelsea couldn’t believe it. “But you said…you did…But we saw you, working your ass off!”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “No, actually, that was a diversion, my dear girl. I was working on something else.”

“Don’t tell me you were only working on our dresses, Eddie…” Rosie said, a half-woeful, half-admiring look on her face as she sat down carefully on the edge of the bed.

“Well, I was,” Eddie said slowly, looking uncomfortable, “But actually…I was working on getting together an official portfolio. For an internship.”

It took a second to sink in. Then:

“No way! That’s awesome, Eddie!” Chelsea gave him a huge grin, genuinely excited for him. Rosie seemed to feel the same way. In any case, she seemed to be forgetting what she was wearing as she bounced up and down excitedly.

“Rose,” Eddie said warningly, albeit looking slightly amused as he pointed at how the material of her dress was getting steadily crumpled. “Anyway yeah, that’s what I’ve been mostly doing all this time. Although devoting two hundred percent to your attire, of course…”

“Of course,” Chelsea said, rolling her eyes but knowing he was trying to make this okay with them. “Where are you going? When are you going?”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought he answered in an all-too casual tone for comfort.

“Oh, it’s, you know, with Bliss’ aunt,” he said airily, moving toward the window and peering out. “You know what, Tristan and Sam should really be here by now…”

“Hang on,” Rosie interjected, sitting up straight, “You’re working with Bliss Matthews’ family?”

Chelsea was surprised too. But then again, considering her friend’s obvious avid interest in Bliss for God knew how long…

She chose to let this be between Rosie and Eddie.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with them?” Eddie said instantly, almost defensively. “Look, I’ve heard the rumors too. Some family scandal and whatnot…” He turned around and leaned back against the window panes. The streetlight streaming in feebly almost gave him a devilish halo against the red of his outfit. “But I’m telling you, Bliss isn’t going to bank on her aunt’s design company for long. She shares the same dreams I have for making it in fashion, guys…”

“Does she?” Rosie asked, making it sound almost like a statement. The look of surprise had subsided on her pretty face, and all that was left was plain skepticism. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Eddie, but didn’t you only start becoming more acquainted with her some months ago?”

“Artists can’t be held up against constraints of time,” Eddie sniffed, checking out his perfectly manicured fingers. “You of all people should understand that, if you’re still trying to be a writer.”

“That’s beside the point” Rosie sighed loudly, finally getting up carefully from the bed.

“We have plans,” he said pointedly, as if making a prelude to an announcement. “Bliss and I, I mean. Not elaborate ones, but still. She’s pretty good with financial aspects, and I’m better at the overall management. After graduation we’re taking gap years to get more exposure, more experience…”

He trailed off, looking from Chelsea to Rosie then back to Chelsea. He looked suddenly vulnerable, and the outside light seemed less ominous. He gave her an imploring look, but didn’t add anything.

Chelsea smiled weakly at him. “Hey, I’m not the judge here,” she said, shrugging, “How can I be, after you’ve gotten me into this?” she said, giving the corset part of her dress a slight show wave. He grinned back, grateful, and the old Eddie was back. Chelsea grinned back, although a little worm of worry eloped with dread in the pit of her stomach. “So…” she started slowly, “I take it this means we won’t be throwing post-graduate bonfires together then?”

Rosie’s eyes immediately welled up, and Chelsea decided to examine her own fingernails; perfect and varnished in such a glossy manner she could hardly believe there was a coarse reality underneath.

“Maybe one,” Eddie said forcibly, making an effort to smile. “I mean, I’m still going to have my vengeance on Piller Hill’s revolting uniform standards…”

Rosie hiccoughed a laugh, and came forward to give Eddie a small, robotic hug, what with the state of their attire. “Love you, Eddie,” she said gently as they broke apart.

“Love you, girl,” Eddie kissed her on the cheek lightly, gently laying a hand on the top of her head. He turned to Chelsea with a look of mock reproach. “Excuse me, but where, might I ask, is the love you owe to your ab-fab bitch?”

Chelsea laughed, then stepped forward to embrace them both in a bulky hug.

“Okay,” Eddie said, “That was the most physically-awkward but nevertheless emotional group hug we ever had, and if the guys didn’t just arrive, I would call for a rematch…”

“They’re here?” Rosie inhaled sharply, a slightly shocked look on her face as she rushed to the mirror and fixed her makeup.

Chelsea didn’t even bother looking at herself again, she already felt as awkward in the dress as she probably looked. Instead, she followed Eddie out of the room and downstairs to greet his and Rosie’s men.

It was fairly awkward and yet somehow, completely fitting, that she was a mere witness when she watched Sam take Rosie’s arm with the most bashful grin on his face Chelsea had ever seen. It was even more bizarre watching them get on Sam’s motorbike, with Rosie waving at them as they sped off, the layers of her skirt tucked neatly around her.

“Chel, you coming or what?” Eddie’s voice made her snap back to attention, making her suddenly aware of how chilly it was getting. It was just like her to forget even bringing a shawl or something of the sort to keep from freezing to her death before even getting to the Gardens.

“I’m coming,” she muttered, but donned a huge smile as Eddie’s date, Tristan, came forward to hug her in greeting. “Hey, Tristan, how you doing?”

“Great,” the Taye-Diggs waiter from the Baobab restaurant flashed her a blinding grin as he replied warmly, then gestured to the beat-up but sturdy looking white minivan he’d parked outside the gates. “Shall we go pick up your date?”

“Yes, let’s,” Chelsea said after a deep breath. She was starting to feel slightly nauseous of the fact that Oliver had persisted in being her date for the night. No amount of bargaining or lying had made him bite. She’d even dropped a hint or two that Bliss was planning on going stag, since she hadn’t spoken about a viable date, but he didn’t experience a change of mind.

So here she was, gingerly sitting on the edge of the middle row of seats, right behind Tristan at the wheel, wondering how she got herself into these situations.

“Piller Hill Hospice, you said?” Tristan asked from the front once they’d left the house.

“Yeah,” Chelsea replied, craning her neck around his headrest to watch the road. It seemed she was going to have to do all in her power to keep from puking. “Thanks a lot for doing this, by the way, guys…”

But they pooh-poohed her gratitude. “It’s completely on the way anyway,” Eddie said, waving a hand at the passing houses.

“So how long have you guys…” Chelsea asked, realizing she’d only known the minutest details about Eddie’s new flame. Although, judging from his fairly easy-going attitude, Tristan seemed like a really nice guy.

“A little over a month,” they replied in unison. And they were off, taking turns spilling every bean in the can about how they met, (which she knew perfectly well), and how they had gotten into contact, etc. etc.

Chelsea was somewhat relieved she had something to gauge her mind away from the looming prospect of seeing Oliver again, but soon enough, the hospice’s white-washed exteriors were right in front of her, and she dragged herself out of the van to meet the rest of her night.

The boys got out of the van too, and together they trooped behind her while she rung the doorbell. Almost instantly it swung open to reveal a tired but otherwise pleased-looking Mrs. Trellis.

“Oh, good, dear, you’re here,” she said, as she hustled them all in, in her trademark bustling manner. “Oliver’s somewhere around, hold on, lemme—“

“Don’t worry, I’m here,” Oliver’s voice came floating from nowhere, and Chelsea pivoted around halfway to see him wheeling himself in from a side room near the elevators. But he wasn’t alone.

“Chelsea!” Sari came speeding at manic pace to throw herself around Chelsea’s waist. “Oh, I just wish I could go to a ball!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with excitement, “If only I were ten years older!”

Chelsea exchanged looks with Oliver, who simply grinned.

“A ball?” Chelsea echoed, stunned but thinking she knew it was just probably a term Oliver had used instead of ‘formal’. “Uh…well, yeah…don’t worry, you’ll go to plenty of them sooner or later…”

“Yes, I suppose so. But ten years…” Sari trailed off with a sigh, clearly feeling the pain of the sheer length of time she had yet to endure. But then she brightened up almost instantly, “Oh, but Rebecca wants to go too, and she has to wait thirteen years! She’ll be ancient by then!”

They all laughed, and Mrs. Trellis made the girl say goodnight to all of them before ushering her back upstairs. “Have a nice time, kids, and be sure to bring my boy back in one piece,” she called back with a pleasant smile, “although with the wheelchair, I wouldn’t mind two.”

At the mention of Oliver, Chelsea found herself really taking him in, and she was surprised that he’d cleaned up so well. Sure, he still had the pale pallor of a sick youth, but, as always, the glow in his eyes suggested the deepest thriving of life. He was fitted in a perfectly normal black tux, a deep maroon tie nestled from the base of his throat. And yet, Chelsea couldn’t help but notice the impression she got from this new picture of Oliver. It reminded her vaguely of the time she’d once—in a fit of madness, surely—dressed up the twins at home when they were barely toddlers. She’d dressed up JoJo as a bride, and Jamie as her groom.

It was Jamie’s image that came floating in her mind now. The picture of him flailing around and gurgling happily in the loose-fitting flaps of a suit meant for a three year old…

That was what she saw now. Sort of. Oliver might not be flailing around and gurgling in his suit, but Chelsea couldn’t help but feel her heart melt at the innocent grin on his face, his thin body encased more than comfortably in the material.

“Chel…,” Oliver was saying now, approaching her quietly in his wheelchair. “You look like a vision, my dear,” he said gallantly, taking her hand and kissing it, all the while wearing an amused grin on his face.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” she replied, smiling back, “You cleaned up pretty nicely yourself.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” she heard Eddie whisper to Tristan behind her back, but she ignored him.

It took a while, but Tristan and Eddie together managed to smoothly get Oliver seated comfortably in the minivan, Tristan then packing up his wheelchair neatly in the back. Chelsea took her seat next to Oliver, and they were all back on the road in no time.

“So I hear you’re our new lady of glory,” Oliver said, adjusting the lapels of his tux as he turned to face her with a proud grin. “You must be feeling pretty smug today…”

Chelsea’s heart almost drooped. She hadn’t wanted to talk about last night’s game. Or rather, the game itself was fine. They’d won, after all. But the whole Calvin episode in the aftermath of her fall was completely off-limits. Even to Oliver.

“Oh, it was fine,” she said vaguely, hoping her disaffected tone would dissuade him from pursuing the topic. But no dice.

“Oh lord, she was awesome, as expected,” Eddie whipped around from the passenger seat, “She was making all these crazy scores from all over the place, it was manic! Wasn’t it just way manic, Tristan?”

“Way,” Tristan agreed, catching Chelsea’s eye from the rearview mirror and grinning.

“Oh you were there?” Chelsea asked, surprised. She hadn’t seen him next to Eddie at the game, much less in the crowd.

“Yeah, came at half-time.”

“Best time,” Eddie said knowingly, before throwing Chelsea a look, “No offense, but the game was running kinda slow in the first half. I mean, even I could tell you were just skating eights for the heck of it.”

“Hey!” Chelsea cried indignantly, smacking Oliver on the arm once he’d started chortling. “Well, we won the game, so it doesn’t matter what time I started skating for real, first-time, last-time or no.”

“Cheers” Tristan said jovially from the front.

“So,” Oliver said, changing the subject, “Are you guys going to this Formal…together?”

“Oh us?” Eddie replied, throwing Tristan an askance look, “Surprisingly, yes. And if you’re worried about the whole Piller Hill High administration throwing the ethics book at us or whatever, it doesn’t matter. We just don’t care.”

“Yeah,” Chelsea added, grinning, “They can’t possibly do anything when a girl wearing combat boots with her gown, a gay teen couple, and a dude in a wheelchair come storming through the Blackaby doors.”

“Hear, hear,” Tristan said, laughing as he turned a bend.

“Give ‘em all something to talk about, I say,” Eddie cried dramatically.

A few minutes later, they were turning into the circular driveway of the massive Blackaby Gardens. Chelsea felt no small amount of pride when she saw the almost majestic nightfall blanketing the Victorian-style conference center, knowing that what lay behind it was even more fantastic. As the name suggested, the back of the center opened up to reveal a spacious maze-like garden, rooted with trees, plants and other vegetation not too common in the region.

It took a while to settle Oliver back into his wheelchair, him cracking jokes the whole time, but soon enough the four of them entered the open entrance into the one-floor building along with other couples arriving.

The inside was semi-packed with finely-dressed people milling all around, and every now and then Chelsea recognized her fellow Committee members walking around at a slightly faster pace than others. They were undoubtedly fulfilling some obligation or another she hadn’t been privy to.

No one so much as gave them a second glance of disapproval; much less throw a slew of ethics at them. Relief and calmly gradually flooded through her body, and they finally found their table amongst a cluster assigned specifically for the upper graders. Chelsea spotted Rosie sitting at a table nearby with Sam, their tabled shared with people from Rosie’s literature class and their dates. She and Sam waved at them, but Chelsea caught sight of someone else.

Calvin was milling with people on the other side of the huge hall, a petite brunette at his side. Chelsea recognized her from physics. He seemed to be deep in discussion with a couple of teachers, both of whom seemed to be pressing upon him a particular argument. But Chelsea could see Calvin was shaking his head with a weary smile, the evidence that this wasn’t the first time he’d been cornered like this. At that moment, he raised his eyes and scanned the room, meeting her eyes just when her brain decided to kick into gear. She froze when their eyes met, feeling almost as if she was being framed like a picture.

She averted her eyes quickly, turning back to Oliver.

“This is impressive,” he remarked, tapping the top of the round table. “The height of this table is the ideal length for optimum wheelchair convenience. You thought ahead, I like that.” He grinned at her, and she found herself grinning back, the knots in her stomach untying slowly.

“We aim to please,” she replied, shrugging airily, “What are we if we can’t please the customers, right?”

The evening finally began at that point, with the school heads making their mandatory speeches of collective hopes and dreams.

“Oh get on with it,” she heard Eddie hiss none-too-softly. Chelsea tried not snort as she saw even Rosie look slightly impatient. Thankfully the speeches were wrapped up after a twenty minute fest, and waiters flocked in and around the hall. Dinner seemed to be a fairly relaxed setting in an otherwise completely new setting.

Chelsea, for her part, was surprised to find herself actually enjoying the next thirty minutes. Oliver was getting along extremely well with Eddie and Tristan, and Chelsea even had a mildly stimulating conversation with the other couple at their table; a girl she only knew by sight from Calculus and her date.

Once dinner was cleared off, and people started feasting on dessert, everyone had to also divert half their attention back on to the podium, where Rita Woodword was giving her last speech as president of the Committee. She looked mildly surprised all her grand schemes were coming to an end, even melancholic.

“And lastly, I would like to thank all the other members of our fantastic committee,” she was warbling on in a rush, a sure sign she was getting emotional, “without whose shared guidance and wisdom this night would surely not have occurred.”

I exchanged an amused glance with Eddie, but when I turned around to do the same with Rosie, I spotted instead Calvin again, seated at a table not far from Rosie’s, the brunette next to him. He caught her looking, then discreetly looked up at Rita, then back again, a hint of a smirk on his face. Chelsea smiled back, recalling all the true incidents that only members of the committee—the ones Rita was now worshipping—could fathom and remember.

After Rita wrapped up her final speech, the just-in-time band that had been running through Classical abruptly stopped. The cellist, a middle-aged woman rose up to the microphone and invited everyone to shuffle over to the dance floor, at the back of the hall overlooking the gardens. The band then progressed to some jazz music, and Chelsea was surprised she found it rather listenable. They watched as young couples got up and moved off to the floor, even a few of the parents and teachers. Chelsea winked back at Rosie, who was being practically dragged by Sam toward the dance floor.

“You know,” she heard Oliver say, and she turned back to face him. He had a mischievous little grin as he looked from the dancers to her, “For some reason, I never did get around to doing much dancing myself.”

“Huh,” Chelsea said after a while, the corners of her mouth twitching at his sarcasm. “Actually, me neither.”

“Ha!” Eddie butted in whilst poking Tristan’s on the side to make him get up, “Oliver, that’s only because Chelsea here knows a thing but not two about rhythm.”

They laughed, watching as the two young men made ready to go join the growing dance floor. “And what’s that?” Oliver asked.

“That she has absolutely none, whatsoever,” Eddie sang breezily as he practically galloped away before Chelsea could make fist contact.

Laughing, and left alone to themselves, Chelsea and Eddie shook their heads at the pair. “He seems very…” Oliver said, after a while of mirthful reflection, “…content.”

Chelsea nearly snorted. “Yeah, looks can be a bitch, Oliver. You should know that more than anyone.”

“Meaning?”

“I mean, everyone has to have some acting talent,” she said, looking around the room slowly, “It’s the only way we would be able to keep from hacking each other in half sometimes.”

“Hmm,” Oliver replied cryptically, “Maybe. What an endearing term with which to think of our loved ones.”

Chelsea laughed but didn’t add anything.

“You should go join your friends,” Oliver said, gesturing toward Eddie and Rosie and their dates. “You won’t have another time like this you know.”

Chelsea’s heart plummeted a little, knowing he was speaking the truth. But when she looked back at him, it occurred to her dimly that they must have lowered the lights a bit, because the glow of the pallor on Oliver’s face looked like it was diminishing somewhat.

”I can’t leave you behind.”

The words escaped her mouth, louder than a whisper but somehow softer. She suddenly felt as though the measures of time were playing with her, although she knew for a fact that it couldn’t be that late yet.

So why did she feel as though she had too much on her mind to unload, such that no matter of time would suffice in relieving her.

“Do you want to go see the Gardens?” she asked, knowing getting him there wouldn’t be a problem. “There aren’t any steps,” she promised, getting up before he could refuse. “Just a ramp. C’mon…”

And before he could so much as lay a hand on either wheel, she’d stepped behind him and started directing his wheelchair toward the side of the dance floor. In passing, she saw Rosie and Sam look slightly confused, but gesture for them to join. Shaking her head with a smile, Chelsea ignored the looks that they were starting to receive, instead aiming straight for the massive glass entrance, which had been fortunately propped open for the evening.

Once outside, a blast of cool air assaulted them, but Chelsea knew it wouldn’t be too much of a threat if she didn’t keep Oliver out too long. She hoped.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked aloud, mostly to herself, as she gently maneuvered him down the ramp.

“This was your idea,” Oliver replied cheerfully, sounding thoroughly amused by this impromptu expedition.

Chelsea smiled, pushing him gently across the cobblestone path toward the front gardens. She could hear the rustlings of bushes and leaves being crushed underfoot as other guests milled around the maze-themed garden. Although the air was cool, it was simultaneously almost sticky, but Chelsea attributed that to the combined smells of the vegetation surrounding them.

Just then she heard a scuffle coming from somewhere to her right. It wasn’t bright enough nor quiet enough from their position for her to recognize who it was.

“Hold up a sec, k?” she told Oliver, who seemed about to protest, but she moved quickly. She had no doubt that it wasn’t anything to be fearsome of, mainly because this was, after all, enclosed ground, and she was pretty sure security in front would have recognized any one-hooked rapists and/or murderers at their Formal.

Then she heard laughing, a girl’s laugh. Chelsea resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and was about to turn right back around and head back to Oliver, when a couple came stumbling out of the greenery, and she had to resist the urge to let her jaw plummet to the ground.

“Butch?!”

“Zzdearie…” Butch Fielder half-slurred as he squinted at Chelsea’s figure. He had one arm slung over none other than Barbara Keyes, the unfortunately unforgettable blonde ringleader of the bitch set at Piller Hill.

If Chelsea had been stunned to find Butch Fielder at an event hosted by the institution he’d long abandoned, she was flabbergasted to find him having apparently been invited by someone like Barbara.

But then, it took another second’s thought to realize they made a surprisingly fitting pair. It was so like Butch to get half stoned at their Formal not even an hour after dinner, then pick an impressive array of bushes to go throw up in.

“Chel…sea,” Barbara was croaking, a looney smile on her face. It was then that Chelsea saw the bottle of alcohol they were each clutching in a hand. Being thoroughly inexperienced herself, she had no idea what class the bottles even were, but she knew even the graduating seniors were served nothing more than table and sparkling wines. "Chel-sea...are...are...arr..."

“Yes, thank you Captain Sparrow," Chelsea said flatly, sighing as she turned sideways to signal to Oliver that it was nothing, “This is ridiculous. You’re not supposed to-“

“Isn’t that a weird name…” Barbara was chuckling like a hyena, tears practically bursting at the seams of her made-up eyes, “Chelsea…like…you can say it backwards…”

Butch apparently shared her mirth. “Backwards…it’s…it’s….”

“Sea…shells…,” they said together, roaring with laughter.

Chelsea froze.

Her name backwards…

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re trying to make me look stupid.”

“Don’t worry,” Calvin said, laughing, “Rest assured you are much more intelligent than you look.”

“Ha ha, very droll,” Chelsea said sarcastically, but smiled. “Anyway, it does have a crack, but yes, fine, it is still gorgeous.”

“Yes, that’s right” Calvin said, gesturing to the shell in her hands, “More so, I think, exactly because of the crack.” He looked at her, his eyes registering her confusion. “There are perfect things in the world, true, but I mean, how much more perfect is something that has been broken and yet can still evoke…I don’t know…feeling.”

Calvin’s fetish. His stupid love for seashells…

“You…,” she could barely get the words out fast enough, “You both have to leave. Get out of here before Rita or someone sees you.” And without another word, she spun around, determined to leave this behind. But it was proving difficult. All she could think about was Calvin’s seashells in the Science departments, how he had a story behind every one. Then, completely out of the blue, a memory.

She remembered, from years ago, another get-together with the eight-year old Calvin and herself, sitting and drawing in their sandbox, all the while dissecting words and reversing them. Words they heard everyday. Their toys. Their books.

Their names.

“Everything okay?” Oliver asked, his face breaking through her ridiculous jaunt down memory lane. He peered at the couple beyond where she was standing, looking surprised. “Are they okay?”

“They’re fine,” Chelsea managed, before pushing him into an equally enclosed area as the one Butch and Barbara had found. Only here there was a small bench for two people to sit on. Chelsea helped Oliver settle his wheelchair next to one edge of the stone bench, before taking a seat close to him.

They sat silent for a while, taking in the scents of the night, as their eyes adjusted to the nightshade their surroundings were under. Eventually Chelsea started noticing the various species of flowers and shrubs around them. She noticed in particular the tiny blue flowers which were in such abundance at their feet that it looked like a rich watery carpet.

“Oh, before I forget,” Chelsea said, clearing her voice because it sounded too raw, “I forgot I have to just supervise some things after this joint, so…I won’t be accompanying you back to the hospice with Eddie and Tristan…”

She waited for him to look indignant, remark on what a poor date she was, but he did neither. He just smiled his usual smile and said, “Sure thing. Wow, cleaning up. What a way to end your night hey?”

“You said it,” Chelsea muttered, smiling.

“So,” Eddie said, turning to face her, “I suppose this means I express my gratitude right now.”

Chelsea turned to face him, surprised. “What gratitude? What are you talking about? You did me a favor, you know that…”

Eddie laughed, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe her foolishness. “Oh Chelsea, if there’s one thing I can’t forget about tonight, it’s you still having no clue about some things.”

Chelsea smiled back. “Like what things?”

“Like, for one thing,” he said, his eyes sparkling with what looked like humor, “that you have given me one night I can look back on, pretending I was back in the world, with people, with…things.” He leant over to the opposite side and in one swoop of his arm, he’d scooped up one of the small blue flowers on the ground, although it seemed slightly larger than the others.

Chelsea felt a cold chill come over her that had nothing to do with the weather. Of all timings of all history, he chose THIS moment to get emotional?

“Oliver…” she tried to warn him off, surprised she was the one to do this.

“Chelsea,” Oliver interrupted, with surprising emphasis. He looked down at the flower he held in one hand, twirling it around aimlessly. “I know you can’t ignore it anymore…it’s harder to do it myself…”

“Oliver, please don’t-“

“I never expected anything, from anyone,” Oliver continued, sounding calm but more driven to make her hear, “You really can’t, with my condition. I suppose I’m a rarity…”

“Of course you are,” Chelsea said in a small voice, not caring if he hadn’t even heard. “And you can keep on…”

“That’s the thing,” Oliver said softly, “I don’t know how much longer I can keep going on. That’s all I’ve done. Keeping going.”

Chelsea took a deep breath, determined she wasn’t going to crack. She was going to turn this back into a sane, laughable matter. But when she opened her mouth, the words that came out were ones completely foreign to her train of thought.

“Are you scared?”

God. She said it so quietly she wondered if she’d heard herself. But by the way she saw the flower in his hand stop suddenly, she knew he’d heard her too.

“I’m not sure,” Oliver said finally, sounding surprised. “How scared should you be of something that people have told you will happen at so many intervals in your life?” He laughed shakily, glancing at her, “It’s almost a letdown…I mean, you raise your defenses at every relapse, trying to prepare yourself for what pain you may or may not endure…”

Chelsea turned away, choosing to look instead at a hedge. “Oliver…I can’t relate. I’m sorry, but if you think I can help--

“But I don’t, don’t you see,” he replied quickly, sounding earnest. “You do.”

She snapped her head back up to face him, incredulous. “What? I don’t…what do you mean? You think I think I can be of help to you?” She shook her head in disbelief, “There’s no way, Oliver. I mean, yeah, I would like to, but that doesn’t mean I have ever-“

“Done anything to suggest otherwise?” Oliver quipped, a small smile on his face, “I’m not saying you haven’t, Chel. Since you came to the hospice, you…you really helped those kids come out of their shells a bit, you know? Most people know it’s a lost cause, their conditions, but that doesn’t mean they should give up without a fight. And you came back, even after your detention ended.”

Chelsea was shaking her head still, looking at the ground with her mouth slightly ajar. She had no idea where he was going with this.

Actually she had a pretty good idea, but she didn’t want to admit that it was no coincidence he was choosing her formal night to mention it. She hated talks like these.

“Oliver, can we just leave this topic?” she said in a pressing tone, “I’m really not comfortable with this. Why are you even talking this way? Why now?”

“Because if I don’t say it now,” he replied gently, “I might never be able to say it at all.”

Chelsea shut her eyes tightly, willing his words away because they were too hard to bear willfully. And for a ridiculous second or so, she had the vicious thought that if Oliver had come here with Bliss Mathews, it wouldn’t be she, Chelsea, who’d have to endure these moments with a dying man.

“I know…” he continued, his voice wrapping around her thoughts like an echo, “…that you hoped. For something to happen-“

“Well of course I did!” she finally snapped, somewhat surprised she could say it in such a forceful tone. “I hoped for you to get well! What else would I have-“

“But I never asked you to,” Oliver interjected, “I have leukemia, Chelsea. It’s not exactly the ailment you can cure with a shot of penicillin. Not to mention we’ve already discussed what complications a relapse can bring.”

“But…cancer,” Chelsea stammered, reaching out for his one hand as she faced him, “I mean…people have survived…there are loads of…”

“Yes, people have survived,” Oliver interrupted for the millionth time, squeezing her hand gently, “But they’re people who choose to go on fighting, perhaps with things too important to let go…”

Chelsea stared at him, feeling that every word he was saying was a blow to her chest, “So what are you saying?” She didn’t want to sound so menacing but it was so hard. “You have…nothing? Nothing you can’t let go?”

Oliver’s eyes pierced into hers, with so much clarity of mind Chelsea felt the rush of anger she felt was more than justified. “You can’t put it like that, Chelsea. That’s not fair…”

“But leaving me is?” Chelsea ripped off her hand from his, realizing it was too late to stop her eyes welling up. “I thought…I thought we were friends. Friends, Oliver, do you have any idea…”

“No,” Oliver replied instantly, his tone firm but not unkind, “I lost my family years ago. I live in a place where almost everyone around me is reserved for death, Chelsea. You don't try and make contacts you might only end up leaving in the long run. You learn how to block out notions of true friendship when you know you can’t be guaranteed them.”

Chelsea felt her cheeks burn as tears tore down them, not bothering to stem the flow. She closed her eyes, willing the night air to caress her face although there was little that could do the same for her emotions.

“You…” Chelsea spoke slowly, controlling her voice as she kept her eyes on the blue-topped ground. “You’re really…hurting me, Oliver. And that’s actually the one thing I thought you could never do.”

Oliver gave a soft laugh, a sad laugh, and because he didn’t reply or even deny what she’d said, she turned to face him again.

“Are you sure?” she asked quietly, determined she wasn’t going to make this any worse than it already was, “Are you sure there’s…nothing? Nothing that can maybe buy us…you…more time or…”

She trailed off as she saw the look on his face as she went on. He reached out for her hand again, clasping it gently before he spoke. “Chelsea. I know you have problems with your family, maybe you’ve even had problems with other people, and that you have this genuine desire to help…” She felt his hand grip hers tightly for a second, before he added, “…But I am not yours to save.”

Her throat tightened up significantly at his words, and with a slow burn she realized that the more she was speaking like she had been for the past fifteen minutes, so contrary to what he was saying…the more it was hurting him too.

They sat silent for awhile, and Chelsea realized sluggishly she was still able to hear the din of music coming from the building. People were still having a blast inside, and here she was, outside, sitting with someone who would never have his own formal or prom to go to, who would never have a ten-year reunion at which he’d get to see what became of all his classmates.

“So,” she finally broke the silence, knowing she couldn’t really go on a second longer with too much weight in the air, “What do you do before then?”

He smiled, as if surprised at the question. “What do I do before I die?” he paused, looking back at the building then looking back. “I just…live.”

She nodded slowly, trying hard to smile back.

“You know what’s funny about these flowers?” he raised his other hand, the one holding the small five-petal flower, “They’re called forget-me-nots. But they’re so small and so low-lying it’s hard to believe anyone would notice them at all.”

Chelsea watched as he held up the flower to her, so that she got the impression that the petals were almost white from the moonlight.

“Actually,” she said quietly, raising up a hand to touch one of the petals. “They might be small and low-lying, but they’re in such huge numbers all the time how could you not notice them?” She inhaled slowly, not knowing what the hell she was saying. “Besides, they easily…attach to you. You know? It’s…difficult…to get them off, even when you realize they’re there.”

“Well the name speaks for itself,” Oliver added, looking at her with a sad smile on his face. He offered the small flower to her, thrusting it gently onto the palm of her hand, “What do you say, Chelsea?” His eyes bore into hers with hope, a goofy grin on his face spreading as she realized just how close their faces were.

“Forget me not?”

Chelsea felt her throat close up, her mind close up, and, knowing there was no way she could get any kind of adequate word out of her mouth in this lifetime, she leant forward and gently closed the gap between them.

Chelsea felt her heart beat crazily at what she was doing—what was she doing?--but at the same time realized how soft his lips were, but how cold. And for a second she allowed herself to imagine that it had everything to do with the night air and nothing—absolutely nothing—to do with the sickness.

She hated to admit it, but what she really wanted to do was breathe life into him, loan him some of hers, donate it, even. It took her one second to realize he wasn’t backing away, and another to realize he wasn’t kissing her back.

She tore herself away from him, making herself look him straight in the eye. But for the first time, Oliver looked away.

“I’m-“ Chelsea started to apologize, until something else distracted her. Someone had come out from the open glass doors of the hall, standing several feet away from them and watching, shocked and silent.

Calvin.

She felt her nerves shatter, but her body sat still, her eyes looking over Oliver’s shoulder at Calvin, who had seemed to recover faster than she had, because he only raised a hand—somewhat jerkily—in greeting, before he turned away slowly and walked back into the hall.

“Chelsea…” Oliver’s voice broke her gaze, and she saw herself looking at him again. He looked pained, but she knew for the moment he was fine, physically. “Chelsea…I…”

“I’m sorry,” Chelsea said quickly, meaning it. “I just…didn’t know what to do…I mean, say…”

“Hey,” Oliver said gently, the smile sweetly back on his face. “Don’t worry about it. I understand.”

“I don’t think you do,” she said, distracting herself by looking at her watch. She realized with a jolt Eddie and Tristan would be looking for Oliver to drop him off. But when she looked back at Oliver, she felt speechless again.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Oliver replied, putting a hand over hers again, giving it a small squeeze. “But thank you, all the same.”

Chelsea didn’t know what to say. She felt like this was the most anticlimactic kiss she’d ever shared with anyone, and she felt somewhat empty at the thought that it had to be with Oliver. Even more awkward was that the one witness to the whole scene was Calvin Rose.

“Oliver…maybe we should go find Eddie and Tristan…”

He took the hint, knowing this had nothing to do with being brushed off, but more because there was nothing that could be said at the moment. And so ten minutes later, with most of the guests leaving, Eddie and Tristan whisked Oliver away, warning him that they were going to stick around at the hospice to make sure his ventriloquism talents were genuine.

Chelsea found herself running around for the next half hour taking over errands and check lists that were designated to other members of the committee. The band still hadn’t wrapped up as there were still quite a few guests straggling behind, but neither Rita nor the band seemed to mind in the least.

It was while she had stopped to listen to the band, a few feet in front of them, that she overheard Rita and Calvin arguing.

“But it shouldn’t have happened, Rita…” Calvin was emphasizing strongly.

“I’m not saying it should have, Cal, but it wasn’t that much of a problem. He was the only one anyway!”

“No, he was Barbara Keyes’ date,” Calvin sounded almost incredulous that Rita Woodword was taking this in such a leisurely way. “Can you at least tell me who escorted them out?”

“I did,” Rita answered defensively, “Look Cal, what’s wrong with unwinding just a little? You were the one who suggested tonight shouldn’t be too-“

“Cal?” Chelsea stepped forward, not able to let them end the night for her like this. “Can I speak to you a minute?”

He looked surprised to see her still there, if his wandering eyes were any indication. He seemed to be looking for someone near her.

“Yeah, do that, Cal,” Rita said quickly, obviously relieved at her reprieve, before dashing off toward a couple of waiters on the other side.

“Hey,” Chelsea said, once they were left alone and in front of a band that was doing their best to ignore thought of the revelation she'd made with what Butch and Barbara had come up with her name, but she didn't really think this was the time to play Twenty Questions with Calvin.

It was enough that she understood now.

“Hey,” Calvin said quietly, tucking his hands into his pockets. His dark hair was slicked back that made him look even taller than usual. “So what do you wager?” He asked, gesturing around the hall. “Think we did alright?”

“I think we did fine,” she said, meaning it. She gestured toward the glass doors that overlooked the gardens, looking back suggestively at the band to let him know they were listening. “Except for security. I think we’ll have to tip off next year’s batch about that.”

“Butch…” Calvin muttered, shaking his head as he walked by her side, “Of all the guys Barbara could have come with…”

“She came with my ex,” Chelsea finished for him, the corners of her mouth actually twitching. It was funny, in a way. “I was the one who saw them actually, in the gardens. But I kind of forgot to mention it back to Rita or someone…”

“Oh, someone else must have found them and did that,” Calvin said, also smiling as he stopped and turned to face her. They were standing right at the doors, still propped open where the night had grown even chillier. “But I got the job to go get them.”

“Did you?”

The smile faded, but his eyes were neutral. “Actually…no. I…found something else.”

And by the intensity of his gaze she knew exactly what he’d found. She didn’t know why, but she felt particularly embarrassed about what had happened and that Calvin had had to witness it.

“Let’s dance,” Calvin said suddenly, stepping forward close to her and offering her his hand. He grinned down at her, looking almost boyish despite the hair.

And without a word she placed one hand in his and the other on the smooth shoulder of his tux. The faint strains of the music still playing were enough to mesh with the night air, and Chelsea resisted the urge to just nestle her head against him out of pure comfort.

“So I’m taking a gap year,” Calvin said as they shuffled their feet to the soft rhythm. She looked up at him in surprise.

“What? But I thought the profs told you you’d be flooded with scholarships this time round…”

He shrugged. “They didn’t tell me it would just mean ploughing right back into work for the next six to seven years.” He looked down at her and added, “I decided on pre-med.”

She made an ‘O’ of her mouth in understanding, knowing it suited him well. But still…

“Why the break?”

“Because I need it,” he replied simply, sliding his hand gently from her back onto her waist. He smiled, his face looking slightly wistful. “I want to go out into the world a bit, do that whole discovering-myself thing.” He gave a low laugh. “Pre-med won’t go anywhere. And I’m pretty sure people will still be dying by the time I come back.”

Chelsea let out an involuntary wince. He noticed.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, his eyes apologetic, “I forgot…”

“It’s fine,” she said, sighing as she stepped closer, “He’s giving up anyway. Doesn’t want to wait around for any medical breakthroughs or whatever.” She looked up at him, “Although you should still totally try to find some.”

He laughed softly, before sobering up a little. “Leukemia, right?”

She nodded, realizing not for the first time how deceptively simple the word appeared to the ears.

“I’m really sorry, Chel,” he said seriously, “He seems like a really great guy. He was your date tonight right?”

She nodded again, not sure she could admit it out loud. She thought she knew what was coming but she tried to stave it off by being unresponsive.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” he said slowly, looking as though he was waiting for her to mind, “but are you...and he…?”

“No,” she said after a pause, studying the intricate design of his tie. “We’re just friends. Good friends.”

Calvin looked skeptical, and she found this was even harder to bear than him having seen what a fool she’d made of herself.

“I kissed him,” she said slowly, her mind whirring around for ways to make it sound believable, “’cuz he was holding up this tiny flower and going on and on about it…” She paused, almost laughing out of the pure idiocy of what she was going to say, “…so I just…pretended it was...mistletoe. You know? And I kissed him. Just to shut him up...and all...”

She looked up at Calvin, who was looking like he had no idea what to make of it. Finally he smiled, a small smile, that looked as uncertain as it did accepting.

“Well,” he said, his voice gentle, “You must’ve really hated what he was saying then.”

And out of nowhere, the tears.

She was alarmed they could come so stealthily fast, complete betrayers to her emotions. “I-“ she stopped when she heard her own voice crack.

She was mortified this was happening in front of him, horrified he caught her in such an awkward moment again. But she didn’t hear him respond, instead felt him raise an arm up and away from her, and before she knew it, he was holding in front of her a small cluster of berries and leaves.

“What-“ she stammered, startled at the gesture, “What-why are you giving me mistletoe?”

She looked up at him to catch the joke, but he was looking back with a look of melancholy in his eyes, a sheepish grin playing on his mouth. With his free hand he reached out for her hand, and gently placed the mistletoe in her hand. “Take it,” he said, a sad smile on his face as she took it. “So that next time you see him, you won’t have to pretend.”

And with that, he turned and stepped away, clearly giving her leeway to what she needed to do.

But what did she need?

“Wait,” she said aloud, knowing that before he even turned she was going to be right in front of him.

She was there in a second, searching for something in his dark eyes. She saw it finally, the look of forfeit that could only mean he’d held on to something before.

“I’m going to kiss you,” she said quickly, completely deadpan, searching his eyes again for any sign he wanted to bolt. “Like...now.”

She closed the distance between them, like she’d done with Oliver, only this time she reached out for the lapels of his tux, more terrified than anything that he’d turn away from her again.

She tilted her head up and pressed her lips to his mouth, her body to his, hardly aware that it took just about a second before she realized he was kissing her back. It was a slight shock, although she had kind of announced she was going to go for it. It was almost awkward, how it felt to have him rest one hand on her waist, the other tentatively touching her cheek, as if he was as scared as she was that this was going to be a completely one-sided affair.

But the kiss itself was enough to numb her mind. She felt his mouth wrap gently around hers, as soft and gentle as it was real. She tugged at the lapels of his jacket toward her, before she felt him wrap his arms around her waist, bringing her closer to him in turn. She felt for the taste of him, as if she could detect a trace of doubt or regret in the caverns of his mouth, but she didn’t. She felt her thoughts short-circuiting but couldn’t give a rat’s ass about it. All she knew was that Calvin right now was reminding her of all the normalcy and comfort that their childhood had brought, but kissing him was also telling her that time had elapsed between them, time during which they had changed and grown into more layered characters.

She was stunned to admit it, but Chelsea realized this Calvin was almost as much of a new person as Oliver had been the first time they’d met.

Oliver, who she’d promised never to forget.

Who she’d tried to save.

Who she was going to lose.

Chelsea wrenched her eyes open, her blood running cold as she tore away from Calvin’s embrace. In a matter of seconds the look on Calvin’s face had gone from incredulous to confusion, and by the growing look of realization on his face, it seemed like Chelsea’s horror wasn’t just on the inside.

“Wha-“ Calvin started, reaching out a hand to her. “Chelsea…what's wrong? I…”

“I’m sorry,” Chelsea said for the third or millionth time that night, her voice shaking with regret, “I’m sorry, Calvin…but we can’t…”

“What do you mean we can’t?” Calvin asked, looking more and more like he couldn’t believe this conversation. “We just did.”

“Just forget it ever happened, then,” Chelsea said roughly as she hurried to pass by him. She needed to get her belongings together, and she needed to get home. She was angry at herself for messing up yet again, but angrier that this was turning out to be a lame reenactment of every break-up scene available in fictional cliches.

“Chelsea, wait,” she heard him rush after her, but she wouldn’t stop.

“What on earth is wrong with you?” he demanded, stopping at a table where she gathered together her purse and shawl. “You were the one-“

“Look,” she snapped, looking at him straight in the eye, “I made a mistake. Okay? What else is new? Besides,” she said, her chest heaving as she fought for breath. “We can't take a step from here, Calvin. I mean, what? 'Fate brought them back together, and passion overtook them?' And..and...you just can’t…you already chose before," she finished off lamely.

Calvin looked like he’d been clubbed. “What?”

“Bliss,” she hissed, trying to keep her voice under control as she saw the band members still watching their every move. “You chose Bliss Matthews over me in eighth grade, or whatever!”

When he didn’t reply right away, she dared to look at him. She was not a little surprised to see him looking…

Kind of pissed.

“Bliss Matthews,” he stated, as if her name was the last thing she could have possible thrown at him. “You think I chose Bliss over you, and that’s why kissing you was a mistake.”

She didn’t reply. He wasn't asking a question.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Chel,” Calvin said slowly, but his tone was forced, “But if it means anything, I didn’t choose Bliss over you. You chose Butch.”

She whipped up to face him, stunned.

“WHAT?”

“Even then, you knew you were the only-“ Calvin collected himself, looking as though he wanted to storm away. But he kept his eyes on her, and she felt it impossible to look away now. “Look, just forget it. I'm sick of this, this...high school politics," he ended angrily."

"No," she said, staring at him, "Say what you were about to say...Even then what?"

He took a deep breath, before looking at her in the eye. "Even then, you knew that you were the only one I wanted, that I would never-“

“That’s not true,” Chelsea interrupted weakly, regretting she’d ever brought this up.

“You can’t hide from the past forever, Chel,” he said in a resigned tone, “One of these days, you’re going to realize that relationships can work, that not every one has to have someone like Butch...bringing them down and degrading-“

“Stop it.”

“-that you think every relationship has to end up like your parents’ did-“

“Calvin, stop it-“

“-you have to grow up someday, Chelsea, and I’ve always given you your space ‘cuz no one else was…”

“Calvin, SHUT UP!”

He did. But he still looked at her with anger and hurt in his eyes, and the back of his hair was sticking out a little from where she’d disheveled it.

“You should have told me, then,” Chelsea said simply, glad her voice sounded bitter.

“Well it was hard,” he admitted, his eyes suddenly distant, “when you started ignoring me for the next few years.”

She didn’t say anything, knowing denying it would be all too much of an invitation to argue further.

“And what about your friend Oliver?”

“What about him?”

“Are you in love with him?”

She didn’t reply right away, knowing any answer was a trap. “Maybe,” she said finally.

“That is a complete load of-“

“Well, it’s hard to gauge his feelings, Cal!”

“Why, are you ignoring him at random intervals too?”

“NO, I just-“

“Do yourself a favor, Chel, that’s my only request…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do yourself a favor and admit it, Chel.”

“Admit WHAT?”

“That you’re waiting…”

“For what?”

“Waiting for him to die.”

And before she could stop herself, she’d already raised her hand and slapped Calvin right across the face, her mind feeling like it was tearing at the seams because she couldn’t take it anymore.

She didn’t realize she was crying until she saw him walk away, his retreating back a wall of silent responses she wouldn't get from his face. But as soon as he was out the doors, she saw, in flashes of retrospect, how his jaw had set in acceptance, how his eyes had gone from anguish at her action to quiet acceptance, how he’d looked into her eyes for nothing before finally turning away.

She didn’t know at what point she’d collapsed onto a chair, resting her hand slowly on the white tablecloth. She saw nothing but white, her eyes swimming until she thought she saw all colors of the rainbow on that table top except white itself.

And she certainly didn’t know at what point the commotion started at the entrance of the hall. A few people were running into the room and declaring something, to which Rita Woodword bustled around for information with a cell phone at her ear, several teachers whizzing around like bees in a disgruntled hive.

She didn't know at which point Chelsea overheard the words ‘emergency’ and ‘accident’, ‘blood’ and ‘roundabout’. She finally roused herself from her dark reverie into realizing something was going on, only because Eddie and Tristan were back, running toward her in a fit of panic--

“--Chelsea!”

“—The roundabout, there’s been an accident—“

“Butch’s bike, Chel! Butch and that girl—“

“—the other car—“

And Eddie’s cries, sobbing over the words he had for her…

“—Oh my God, Chelsea..Oh God...Calvin Rose is in the other car—“

And most of all, Chelsea had no idea at which point it seemed like her heart had stopped completely at what Eddie had just said.

I know a lot of you might be…distraught (?!) by the events here, but there’s still one chapter left, and I’m still unsure if I should put an epilogue or not. Hmm. I am totally expecting a lot of haters out there for the first time in writing a chapter, but I am prepared (I hope). But please, NO FLAMING!!!

Well, thanks TONS TO MY REVIEWERS, seriously. It’s so fantastic to know people are actually feeling for my sorry protagonist, and I feel even sorrier knowing this is coming to an end. Sorry for my ridiculous plot twisters and/or cliffhangers for those who hate them, but the events in this chapter have specifically been in the workings since the story’s conception. Hope the whole title of the story is now verified, some symbolism going on but overall, Calvin and Oliver’s roles are becoming more defined I hope. Chelsea is still as sane as a madhatter, what with her genius communicative skills with people she cares about, but ack. Where’s the fun with the girl-next-door??

Thanks everyone, drop in a review if you feel like it or any questions before the finale!

MY THANKS (to a whole colony of kind people who took the time to review):

Endowment’s Seraph: Thanks for your review! And I hope I finally succeeded in adding a little more romance as per your request! Ha ha.

Desert Illusion: Hey! I’m so glad you thought the last chapter was good and yeah, when I reread it, I was thinking Quidditch too. And about Bliss—I WAS thinking of getting her accidentally on purpose caught on fire or something of the sort, but then it would have been odd fitting that into the formal. Haha. Cheers.

Preethy: Thanks! Hope you enjoyed this one.

Alenor: Yes, everyone seems to be hating on Bliss he he. And yes, Calvin has always had a thing for Chelsea. Only Chelsea’s an ass, and she’s confused as ever. Haha. But she DID go to the formal with Oliver! grins.

Naru: You’re completely welcome! Thanks for reading!

WandlessThanks so much. Hope you enjoyed this one :D

Pixy-dizzyThank you so much, I loved writing the hockey scene too. I’m really glad you liked it :D

FutureWriterYes, I decided to step up on the loving this time. Haha. Hmm, maybe too much! He he. Thanks for reading!!

Preethy: Thanks! Hope you enjoyed this one.

DINZUALI: Merci, merci, my dear. Hope you liked this one, (ahem kissing Calvin). Haha.

Skeeter the Groundhog: Thanks so much for your review, and your questions. Yes, the thing about Calvin’s sibling is that he no longer has one, due to having lost a little sister to illness years and years ago. Chelsea suspects romance between Ollie and Bliss, but nothing is clear yet. Is Chelsea torn between the two guys? After this chapter, I should hope so! Haha. Chelsea tried to break off the formal with Oliver, thinking he would rather be with Bliss, but he refused to let her. And what Chelsea meant when she thought Calvin was implying Oliver was “wrong” was just that she’s used to Oliver coming up with very true, philosophical debates, and Calvin dared to go another route which she found incredibly hard to accept. Whew! Hope that clears things up a bit! Haha. I enjoyed your questions. Thanks for reading!

Ioana: Thanks girl. As always :D Hope you enjoyed this. I’ll mail you later to tell you some specific details.

Olivine Three months absence this time! Not four! Haha. Anyway, thanks for reviewing, as always. It really means a lot!

Triana: Dudette! I just reread your massive review and laughed again. Yes, I’m so glad you called it ‘anphetaministic’! I thoroughly enjoyed all your comments, you came with impressions I hadn’t even realized cuz I found out I got the same feeling when I reread some other books with similar protagonists. Spot on. :D

Captain-PalidoOceano: Thank you so much! I love my characters, (even the bitchy and loser ones) and thoroughly enjoy writing about them. Hope you enjoyed this one too!

Chipped Tooth: Thanks SO much for your review, and the kind words you had for my characters. Yeah, Calvin is a hard nut to crack sometimes, and I hope I made it clearer in this chapter about what happened in the intervening years between him and Chelsea. And I was impressed about your comment on Bliss, completely different from most other reviews about her. And it was most certainly NOT “a pointless review”. Grins. Cheers.

Jackaay: Hey! I know I said I’d send a preview to you, but I didn’t really mean to! I wanted you to read the headstaff of this chapter so you knew it was pour vous, since I couldn’t give you anything proper for your Bday! Hope you liked it.

TS (TRI): You read my story when you should have been studying for Finals. And since I know you hate reading in general, I don’t know whether I should be pissed you used my story as a distraction or pleased that you read it at all and sacrificed a possible 2 or 3 more IB points. He he. N e way, hope you read (and liked) this one too.

Wanderingnachos: Thanks for your review! Yes, Chelsea is totally annoying sometimes, and I feel like bitchslapping her myself at times. He he. Hope I answered your question about her and Calvin’s past a little more here!

Suzie17-Whoa, someone recommended my story to you? That is seriously cool. Ha. Thanks for reviewing!

Elf Ear: Glad to have you aboard! And Bliss, do I like her? Haha, I guess so, in a way. She reminds me of the time when we can’t quite brush off the last vestiges of a past memory that still clings to us. He he. Thanks and I hope you liked this!

Gulistanlik: Thanks so much for your multiple reviews, totally helped ME refresh my memory over the past chapters haha. Yes, you’re totally right, it was time for the divorce to happen. And I hope it becomes more clear about the whole past triangle between Chelsea, Cal and Bliss. Bliss was something of a last resort for Calvin, but only because Chelsea had unwittingly turned away from him. Thanks for your questions, I really liked them!

Turtle: THANKS! Yes, I was pained at the massive haircut too, but alas, it had to be done. The things writers do for some symbolism and angst. Haha. And you’re totally right, she’s not an ‘emo’ character. Hope you enjoyed this chapter too. :D

Rockchick07: Thank so much! Hope you keep reading until the end! Cheers.

Fatso17: Thank God for your review. I was worried that those who haven’t played hockey would be like “ehh?!” but your review totally calmed me down. Haha. I actually enjoyed writing the action scene.

RainySunshine: Well, Bliss didn’t appear in this chapter! Maybe my subconscious deliberately made me forget to include her. Haha.

Kayla-Chan: Yes, the tattoo thing was just a tad rushed when I wrote it. Personally, it’s true, I’ve never stepped foot in a tattoo parlor, but I have several friends who have, and there’s only one of them who would be as reckless and regardless of pain as Chelsea was portrayed to be during that particular chapter. Lol. But yeah, I did intend for there to be some kind of time frame when she was doing it, but I was thinking ahead as I wrote, (a total fault of mine), and I kinda botched it up. He he. Thanks for reviewing, hope you liked this one!

Ghostless87: Hey! Yes, you’re totally right about the hospice, and I know it’s where people who’re there are like permanent invalids. I used to work in an AIDS hospice, and it’s not pleasant. I never wanted to give the impression that the kids at the Piller Hill hospice could just walk out freely, and I’m very sorry if I wrote incorrectly and gave that impression. The only exception is Oliver himself, who of course has a terminal disease, but remember he’s only there because of his aunt’s care. All other errors are my own, so sorry about that. Thanks for your review!

Dawn’s unforgiving darkness: Sri Lanka? Cool. I lived there for a while, and still have a friend from there. I don’t know what you thought of the story since you didn’t mention it, but I hope you like it. Cheers!