A/N: -1.26.08- I apologize for the crack-fic-like nature of the fic. I kind of wanted this out before I do the next chapter of Missing the Middle. Just let me know what I should fix and I'll edit it later. Sorry again!

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I groaned. Not good. Not good at all. My mind went into overdrive, and…nothing. Aw, sh-

“I can explain!” Oh, joy. Captain Ken to the rescue. I felt my fight-or-flight kicking in, and let me tell you: there’s no way I’m fighting, especially not when Ken’s staring as Robin to my Batman/girl/woman-ish side. “So do you want the good or the bad news first?” You have got to be kidding me. Ken always had the brain of a first grader, but this is just too much.

“I’ll take the bad,” Teresa sighed. Like I said earlier, weak. Really, really, really, too-much-for-it-to-be-healthy weak.

“It’s kind of impossible for me to take you back.” Ken winced, expecting something five-fingered, in the shape of a fist to come flying at him, or perhaps its verbal form. But all Teresa had done was bite down on her bottom lip, trying so hard not to cry that it had to snap Ken’s heart in half. The guilt was strangling me and I didn’t even do anything. Except kiss (or make-out with, depending on how you look at it) her ex-ex-ex-ex-ex-ex-ex-ex-ex-ex boyfriend, that is. But, hey-no big deal. “Wait-you haven’t heard the good news yet!” I groaned. Could he be anymore of an idiot?

“I don’t think that good news is possible anymore,” Teresa whispered, her voice trembling with every word.

“Just hear me out.” Ken took deep breaths, trying (italicized, bolded, and underlined: TRYING) to prepare himself for something that was never going to happen at this rate.

“If you’re going to take this long, I’m off to watch grass grow,” I muttered.

“No, no, no. I’ll just come out and say it.” 30 seconds pass, and I really and truly turn around and start to walk off.

“No really-this time. Honestly!” …This is pointless. “Um…I’m…no, wait, can I tell you later?” Oh. My. God. Is there a more idiotic man out there? Oh, wait. Scratch out the man part. I mean boy.

I jerked Barb by the arm and pulled her along to our math class. Shoving her into her seat, I dropped my books onto my desk and leaned toward her.

“What do you see in that moron? He cheats on you, can’t form a single comprehendible thought, never spends time with you, and doesn’t even know when your birthday is!”

“There’s just something about him, Terry. I love him.”

“He doesn’t love you back. Five minutes ago, Ken said that he wouldn’t, couldn’t go out with you ever again.”

“I’m okay with that.”

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“I’ve decided that, since you don’t have the courage to tell us, you can show us,” I pressed, glancing around the playground. Everyone’s best memories were at the park, right? So all good things have to come from here. Maybe…okay, fine. It was the only place that wasn’t packed with nasty, sweaty guys. I failed to bring this up before, but the Valentine’s dance was coming a little early this year, and there’s nothing boys do better than procrastinate. What I’m trying to say is: three-fourths of the male population needs to find a tux in less than a week. Including Ken. If he got a date in time, that is.

“Um, sure,” Ken muttered uneasily. Kids ran around everywhere, seeing as it was Saturday. As a little boy passed by, Ken grabbed him and hugged him.

“You’re starting a daycare center?”

“You’re getting a little brother?”

“You hug random little kids?”

“You hug random little boys you see running around?”

“You’re related to Michael Jackson?”

“You molest little boys?”

“You’re Chester the Molester?” Ken sighed and shook his head, “No.” As an old guy walked by, Ken pulled him closer and pecked him on the cheek.

“You’re starting a retirement home?”

“Your grandpa’s sick?”

“Your grandpa’s dead?”

“You kiss random old people passing away?”

“THAT GUY’S PASSING AWAY?! Someone CALL NINE-ONE-ONE!”

“Barbie, shut up.” Too late.

An ambulance siren echoed through the cries of little kids and soon enough, the old guy was dropped onto a stretcher and we were yanked into the ambulance. The questions came in a torrent and I suddenly realized how annoyed Ken must have gotten earlier.

“How’d you know he was dying? Why’d you think he was dying? Was he breathing? Was he speaking?” The hospital was pretty close by, so we didn’t hear that many questions, but we were ushered inside anyway.

We were already sitting in funky plastic chairs, reading old and germy magazines when a nurse came by and let us know that we were going to have to stay here until they diagnosed the old guy.

“You know what? I’m sick of this,” Ken stated, before stepping in front of the nurse and giving him some tongue action.

“Oh,” Barb and I whispered. But that was before the doctor calmly informed us that we’d induced a heart attack in the old guy from our frantic question-asking.

“Oh.”

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Heart,
Tasha Lee

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