"Ow! Kira! Get off my head!"

"I'm applying mascara. Hold still."

I grudgingly obliged, annoyed, even though I should have been unspeakably happy. Exams were over, school was out for the summer, and I was going to the drama banquet with one of my best friends, Kiralyssa Taber, and my boyfriend, Mark Griffiths. Mark was picking Kira and me up from my house in approximately fifteen minutes, and neither of us was completely ready. Kira had demanded to do my makeup, which probably meant that Mark would be waiting around for a while.

"So," I said while Kira attacked my eyelashes with great vigor, "who came up with the theme for the banquet, anyway?"

"Old Hollywood? Probably the volunteer planning committee."

"And that was…"

"Carrie, Ralph, and Colleen."

"Oh." Carrie Prickett, Ralph Meissner, and Colleen Newcomb were three of the freshmen in drama at Pierce Academy. "The entire committee was three people?"

"I think Shawn Bryce helped out some," she said, mentioning yet another drama freshman.

I nodded, which made Kira leave a huge black mascara glob beneath my eye. Of course, she shrieked and began to assault my cheek with her finger after sticking it in her mouth.

Gross, I had time to think before she was okay with the results.

"Now for some eye shadow," she told me, pulling the container out of her makeup bag.

"Kira! Mark's going to be here in, like, ten minutes. And you haven't even started on yourself yet. And neither of us is dressed!"

"Never dress without makeup, that's what I always say," she declared, swirling the applicator around in some green shadow.

"That makes no sense."

"So?" she shrugged. "Anyway, you're not going without eye shadow. Close your eyes, and hold still."

I reluctantly obeyed. After a few swipes, she proclaimed my eyes to absolutely perfect – and then came at me with a container of lipstick. I caught her arm before she could get me with it. "Kira," I said slowly, "I think I can do my own lipstick."

She scowled. "Fine, Grace, fine. But don't come crying to me when your face is all smeared and nasty."

"I won't," I assured her. "Now go get ready!"

She scampered off into my bathroom with her makeup and in search of a mirror.

I closed my bedroom door behind her and pulled my dress off the hanger. It had been my homecoming dress from that school year, and I loved it. It was black, off the shoulder, and cocktail-style, with green netting peeking out underneath. I put it on as fast as I could without getting makeup all over the inside, and not a moment too soon. Almost the moment I pulled it over my head, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" I called unnecessarily. The only people home were Kira and me. My sister Nicole was at a friend's house, and my parents had decided to eat out together.

I had almost reached the door when the knob twisted and in came my boyfriend, Mark. "Hey," he said with a smile when he spotted me.

"Breaking and entering?" I teased.

"One of my many talents," he answered with a mock bow. Then he straightened. "You look nice," he smiled.

I blushed. "Thanks. You too." He did, really. He had on a sharp-looking black jacket over a blue shirt with a red tie, and matching black pants.

"Just don't press my tie," he warned with a wink.

"Why?" I stepped up to him very close and took his tie in my hands.

"Because," he said playfully, "when you do, it plays 'I Wish You a Merry Christmas.'"

Don't ask me how we got from his tie to kissing. It just happened, as it often did with us. The corners of my mouth turned up against his when, pressed up against his chest, I accidentally turned on his musical tie. A delicious shiver raced up my spine in time with the tinkling music.

"And a happy new year," Kira sang along with the end of the song.

I looked up at her and laughed. Mark, meanwhile, was smiling. "What?" I asked him, thinking that maybe he had enjoyed it as much as I had.

"No, it's just that I don't think I've ever not gotten lipstick from you."

I touched my lips. "Oh! I forgot my lipstick!" And I raced back into my bedroom.

"Let me do it!" Kira exclaimed, darting after me.

So Kira got her wish, and after she had completely lipsticked me, Mark and the two of us headed out to his car, which was idling in my driveway.

As soon as I opened the door, I heard a voice inside say, "Um, I have to go. I'll talk to you later…Yeah, I'll be there Saturday. Bye." I peeked inside as Chad, Mark's younger brother, snapped his flip phone shut.

"Who was that?" Kira asked him curiously as she climbed into the back seat beside him.

"No one," he answered quickly.

"Lizzie," Mark and I said in unison from the front seat."

Chad looked down, slightly pink, but didn't deny it. Lizzie McCormack was a best friend of Kira ad me, but she wasn't in drama and, as such, couldn't attend the drama banquet.

"So have you asked Lizzie out yet?" Kira wanted to know.

"Depends on what you mean by 'out,'" Mark told her as he backed us out of my driveway. "If you mean to be his girlfriend, no. Not yet, at least." He gave his younger brother a friendly wink in the rearview mirror. "But if you mean out on a date, they're going to see a movie on Saturday."

"A chick flick?" Kira asked Chad.

"A chick flick," Mark confirmed from the front seat.

"Just tell 'em my life story, why don't you?" Chad suggested irritably, his arms folded across his chest.

"Okay, let's see. He was born on April fourth, 1989—"

"That's enough, wouldn't you say?"

"Touchy, little bro," Mark tutted.

Kira had been silent for several seconds, which was probably some sort of record for her. "You two are lucky," she told Mark and me suddenly.

Mark and I exchanged glances, as if studying each other's faces would answer the inevitable question. It didn't, however, and Mark set his sights back on the road while I gave Kira a confused look. "Um…why?" I asked her.

"Because you're the only two people who get to have a date at the banquet, since non-drama people can't come."

"Well, I know who you'd bring," I told Kira.

"Yeah," she grinned. "Andrew." Andrew Sanderlin was her boyfriend.

Chad suddenly piped up eagerly, apparently not thinking about what he was saying. "I'd bring – oh, um, never mind."

"Lizzie," Kira, Mark, and I chorused.

We laughed and teased Chad most of the way to the movie theater where the banquet was behind held. Somehow, the planning committee had scored us reservations at the theater's movie suite so we could have our Oscar-like awards ceremony and then catch a special showing of one of my favorite movies, The Princess Bride.

Mark pulled into a parking space, and we all climbed out of the car and strolled down the sidewalk and into the theater. The ticket-checker stopped us almost as soon as we entered. "Tickets, please," he said in a bored tone.

"We're with the Pierce Academy Drama Society," Kira told him.

"In that case, do you have your invitations?"

We all pulled ours out, Kira and me from our handbags, Chad and Mark from their back-pocket wallets. Well, Chad did. Mark opened his wallet, rifled through it, and then looked down at me. "It's not here," he told me.

I blanched. "What?"

"It's not here," he repeated, going at his wallet to search again.

"Um, he's with us," I told the guy.

"Sorry," he shrugged. "No admittance without an invitation – or a ticket."

"Well, we'll buy a ticket, then," Kira said.

"Hey Mark," said Chad slyly, "looking for this?"

We all turned to look at him. He had a broad grin on his face – and another invitation in his hand. "Chad!" Mark said, puzzled. "What the—"

"Never leave your wallet on the kitchen table. I learned from the best," he joked. "At least, I thought I did."

Mark, looking furious, snatched the invitation out of Chad's hand and handed it over to the guy. Then he rage on his face transformed into a beam. A proud beam. "I've taught you well, little bro."

Laughing over Chad's slick pick-pocketing skills (I was slightly disturbed by it, myself), we all passed by the ticket-taker guy in search of the movie suite. After a couple of wrong turns (actually it was more like several), Mark finally spotted a doorway with a large banner resting above our heads: MOVIE SUITE 4 – PIERCE ACADEMY DRAMA BANQUET.

"This is the place," Mark announced, opening the door and holding it open so the rest of us could enter.

It seemed like everyone was already there. Ms. Malek, of course, was present, talking to a man I didn't recognize. Senior Shawn was following freshman Shawn, and both were carrying large cardboard boxes that made clunking noises with every step they took. Up in front, the three freshmen in charge of the planning committee were arguing over some aspect of the upcoming ceremony. In actuality, most of the drama society was made up of juniors, just most of them preferred to work backstage as techs. I had never seen so many drama juniors in one place before.

"Who's that man Ms. Malek is talking to?" Kira asked, peering at our soon-to-be-former drama teacher.

"Her husband," Mark told her. "I met him when we were doing The Diary of Anne Frank in the fall."

I racked my brain to remember. Oh, that was right. That was back when I barely noticed that Mark Griffiths existed. I had tried out and everything, even made callbacks for the part of Anne, but then I had been shut out by one of the freshmen, Carrie Prickett, the very one who was up in front arguing with Ralph Meissner over a gold-plated trophy. There had been hard feelings at the time, but none remained.

"She's married?" Kira said in amazement. It took me a moment to realize that we were still talking about Ms. Malek.

"She told us that she and her husband were moving to Wyoming, remember?" Chad said, clearly wondering why Kira was astonished.

"She did? Oh. I just kind of blanked when it registered that she was leaving."

I rolled my eyes with a smile.

Mark took my hand in his and gave it a soft squeeze. "Want to go see if the committee needs help?" he asked all three of us, looking at me.

"Sure," I answered. Kira nodded and Chad shrugged.

Almost before we had reached the podium, Carrie spotted us. For a shy-looking freshman with her eyes hidden behind square black glasses and blonde threads spilling over her glasses from her forehead, she had a boatload of energy. "Good! You're here to help," she said decisively. I got the distinct impression she would have presumed this whether we wanted to help or not. "Tell Ralph that he's the only one who can hand the envelopes to the presenters, since he wasn't nominated for anything."

Ralph looked put out. The only thing I had garnered from talking to him maybe once in my lifetime was that he could take twenty minutes to ask a question or give a simple yes or no.

"Oh, come on now, Carrie," he said now. "I thoroughly resent that remark. We could politely ask Ms. Malek to hand the envelopes to the presenters while they are up at the podium presenting."

"No," Carrie said, "because the last presenter is presenting the award to Ms. Malek. The Best Director award, remember?"

"But she was our only director," Chad said, confused.

"It's because she's leaving," Mark told him.

"For the sake of cooperation, Ralph," Kira pleaded, "will you please just…cooperate?"

It took a minute for him to think out his response. "I suppose," he sighed, "since I am clearly outnumbered and bound to be subdued eventually, and since there is really no other way to do it, I suppose I'll accept the responsibility of—"

"If you're going to say yes, just say it!" Carrie said exasperatedly.

Ralph frowned. "If you would have let me finish, I would have eventually gotten to it."

Carrie ignored him and turned back to us. "Griffithses, help Ralph organize envelopes. You two," she said, pointing at Kira and me, "can help Colleen sort the trophies."

Kira and I shrugged at each other and turned to Colleen Newcomb, who was determinedly trying to organize two medium-sized cardboard boxes of trophies into some semblance of an order. She smiled brightly up at us. "Come to help?"

"More like ordered to," Kira muttered so Colleen couldn't hear her.

Colleen had a list of the order of presentation, and so we lined up the trophies in two lines on long tables stretching out on either side of the podium, one side for drama and the other for comedy. (The fall production had been drama, the spring comedy.) None of the trophies had names, as Kira was disappointed to find out.

"It wasn't in the budget," Colleen told her when she asked about it.

"Where are the Shawns?" Carrie demanded, coming up to us.

"I think they're setting up the PowerPoint video display," Colleen answered, straightening the trophy for Best Actor in a Comedy.

"Oh." Carrie looked disappointed that she hadn't gotten to tell them off for lazing around.

"PowerPoint video display?" Kira inquired curiously, half to me and half to Colleen. I shrugged.

"We got videos of everyone's performances, and we're playing clips when they're nominated, just like at the real Oscars!" Colleen said, grinning widely. "It's going to be fabulous."

"It will be if they do it right," Carrie glowered from behind us.

With both Kira and I assisting Colleen in setting up the trophy display, we were done in record time. This was a good thing, since the flow of people into the movie suite had stopped, meaning that everyone was probably there and eager to get the show on the road. I sure was ready. What could be better than food, awards, some of my closest friends, and The Princess Bride?

Mark and Chad, however, were having difficulties sorting out the envelopes – or more accurately, difficulties sorting out Ralph. Every time Ralph would read out the next award on the list, he'd set the list down to help (or hinder) Mark find the corresponding envelope. Then, when Mark had pried Ralph's fingers off the envelopes, the latter would realize that he couldn't locate the list and spend a maddening five minutes trying to find where he put it down.

"Honestly," said Kira, snatching the list out of Ralph's fingers once he had found it for the sixth time. "Let me do it, or else we won't get started until one in the morning."

With Kira at the helm, the process went much quicker. Pretty soon Chad held in his hands a completely in-order stack of envelopes, which Carrie snatched from him and placed on the edge of the table near Ralph's seat.

"Perfect," she said through a forced smile. "Everything is absolutely perfect."

"We're done!" came a whoop from behind me. There, slapping a high-five almost too high for the younger one to reach, were the Shawns. "We set up the video display," freshman Shawn Bryce announced to Carrie, who looked a bit skeptical.

"According to every single on of your overly detailed wishes," senior Shawn Lundquist added. Carrie scowled at him as Colleen offered Shawn Bryce a thumbs-up.

Just then Ms. Malek popped up behind us. "Are we ready to begin?"

"I know I am," Chad muttered.

"All ready, Ms. Malek," Carrie nodded.

"Good. Announce that everyone should take their seats."

"Ralph, you do it," Carrie said wearily without even looking at him.

Ralph grudgingly shuffled over to the podium, where he slowly picked up the microphone. It made a loud, whistly feedback noise that had my hands clapped over my ears in record speed. "Attention!" he said while the mike sputtered at him. "I and the rest of the volunteer planning committee for the Old-Hollywood-themed Pierce Academy Drama Banquet would greatly appreciate it if all of you stopped talking with all of your friends and kindly find yourself a seat so we can go ahead and get started with this awards ceremony that we have worked so hard to plan."

"Wait – what?" one of the juniors called out.

"SIT DOWN!"

Everyone scrambled to follow her orders. "Come on, let's get a seat up close," Mark said to me, taking my hand and pulling me behind him. Kira and Chad came soon after us.

"Welcome, everyone, to the Pierce Academy Drama Banquet!" Carrie announced, a phony graciousness plastered all over her face. A smattering of applause broke out. "Let's not delay any more. Our first presenter of the night will be Ralph Meissner." As she passed him on her way to sit down, I saw her mouth, "Don't take too long," to him.

Colleen had been right – the video display was fabulous. As Ralph announced the nominees for Best Breakout Performance in a Drama, there were ten-second clips each of Carrie and another freshman, Lisa Schenck. Carrie, of course, took the award.

After Best Actor and Best Actress in a drama (Shawn Lundquist and Carrie, respectively) had been awarded, it was time to move on to the comedy awards. I sat a little bit forward in my seat.

"Eager to see if you won?" Mark laughed, putting one hand on my shoulder.

"A bit," I admitted, grinning. "But you should be too. After all, you're up for the best of the best – Best Actor. You can't get higher than that."

Little Shawn won Best Breakout (the clip of him wearing spectacles and hopelessly turning purple while attempting to blow a horn drove us all to tears); Chad took Best Supporting Actor as the perpetually drunk cohort Dr. Einstein. The latter grinned out at all of us as he announced the next award.

"The nominees for Best Supporting Actress are—"

Mark squeezed my arm. I squeezed back, shaking slightly.

"Carrie Prickett."

The screen in front showed a very shaken-looking Carrie beating down a scarred big Shawn with a plastic policeman's baton, her old-fashioned police helmet resting on our brow. Big Shawn snorted with laughter on Mark's other side.

"Colleen Newcomb."

Now the screen showed a very energetic Colleen in an identical police uniform arguing with Mark. "Oh, no, Mr. Brewster, I'm not going home now."

"Why not?" Mark asked her, clearly at a loss. (I personally thought he looked fabulous in the clip and tightened my hold on his arm.)

"You and me are gonna write my play!"

I stole a glance over at Colleen. Her grin was even wider than ever, and her inch-long fingernails were digging into both her armrests.

"Grace Pipkin."

I couldn't contain a squeal of excitement.

An image of me, with my hair curled perfectly and my face heavily made up, appeared on the screen. Big Shawn's arm was on mine, his face glowering two inches from my own.

My red dress with garish white polka dots swished with me as I tried and failed to take a step back. "Take your hands off me—"

"Doctor—" Shawn said to Chad.

Then little Shawn appeared on the balcony. "It's going to be a private funeral."

"Teddy!" I cried. "Teddy, tell these men who I am!"

After a slight pause, Shawn answered, "That's my daughter, Alice," and disappeared up the stairs.

"No! No! Teddy!" I cried. And then I let out a bloodcurdling scream.

I grinned widely (the present me, that is) and looked over at Mark, who took my hand as the display shut off. Chad slid his finger under the flap of the envelope.

"And the winner is—"

I held my breath. One either side of me, Mark and Kira did the same.

"Grace Pipkin!"

I burst into a grin as I rose to my feet. Kira was cheering and clapping. Mark had stuck two fingers into his mouth and was wolf-whistling. Amid much applause I made my way to the front of the room, stopping only to smile widely when a junior with a camera took my picture.

I'll tell you, for about forty seconds tops, I felt like I really was getting an award at the Oscars. I even went a bit overboard and planted a kiss on the head of the trophy that Chad handed to me. Then Ralph handed me an envelope, and I made a spectacular crash-landing back in real life.

"Nominees," I said in my best Oscar-presenting voice, "for Best Actress in a Comedy are…"

To make a thoroughly uninteresting story short, Naomi Mathison, one of the many drama juniors, took that award. And then I returned to my seat so I could wring Mark's hand in anticipation – his anticipation, to be more precise.

Naomi smiled around at her audience. "Nominees for Best Actor in a Comedy are Shawn Lundquist—"

A clip of big Shawn, bullying the two aunts into a corner, played on the screen. Holly Moorehead, who with Naomi had played the aunts, started laughing hysterically two rows behind us.

"Mark Griffiths—"

I nearly fell out of my seat. There, all over the big screen, was Mark, trying to explain to me the finer details of the theatre. I must have gone beet-red, because Mark (the real-life one) grinned and gave the corner of my mouth a quick kiss. "Hey, onscreen chemistry has to be good for my chances, right?" he quipped.

"—And Shawn Bryce."

Images of little Shawn talking to the aunts in his loud, bullish voice and peering at them through his wire-rimmed spectacles before thundering up the stairs yelling, "CHARGE!" flashed across the screen. Uh-oh, I thought. What if he wins? He was really good…as good as Mark?

"And the winner is…"

My fingers found Mark's.

"Mark Griffiths!"

I let out a whoop and allowed our fingers to be disentangled so he could pick up my forty seconds of fame where I had left off. His signature move was a wave of the trophy high above his head. (I swear it winked at me.) My applause was completely drowned out by the efforts of everyone else – from the amount of support he was receiving, it seemed like he had won by a landslide. Even the Shawns were cheering their heads off.

Carrie retook the podium after him and cleared her throat. Mark made his way through all the high-fives and congratulations back to me. He held up his trophy in front of us so I could admire it. Though exactly identical to mine except for the engraved award title, it demanded a lot more prestige. "Best Supporting Actress" just doesn't roll off the tongue like "Best Actor."

"Before we give away our final trophy of the evening," Carrie said, "we have a series of smaller award made up by our voters – you. There weren't any nominees, since you all simply wrote awards and names at the bottom of your ballots, so this will go pretty fast. And so, on with the Felix Awards!"

"I love the Felix Awards," Kira whispered to me.

"Oh, me too," I agreed eagerly.

The first Felix went to Carrie Prickett herself for Best Blooper (the clip of her falling off the stage was hilarity defined in Webster). The awards ran the gamut from Best Costume (Chad, for his ridiculous drunken doctor get-up) to Most Accident-Prone (Ralph Meissner, who tripped all over a couple of beds and a staircase during the fall production). Finally, Carrie was holding one more certificate (no trophies for Felix). "This last award," she said, "is for Best Onstage Kiss."

Kira nudged me, but I thought surely there was a mistake or that it was for Carrie and Chad, who had had to smooch it out during Diary of Anne Frank.

"Best Onstage Kiss goes to Mark Griffiths and Grace Pipkin!"

I really think my eyes bugged out of their sockets as I nearly fell out of my chair again. Our kiss – our very first one – was captured in all its living glory on the big screen. Mark helped me up in my shock and together we made our way up front, where Carrie handed us the certificate and carried on the applause.

"You keep it," I told him.

"No, you keep it," he replied.

"Keep it! It'll be a memento of your last play at Pierce."

"I have this," he said, waggling his trophy that he had brought up with him. "You keep it as a memento of your first kiss."

Darn. He had me.

"We wanna see it!" someone yelled from the audience. Predictably, it was Chad.

"See what?" I called back, puzzled.

"The kiss!" Kira shouted.

Mark gestured up at the big screen, where someone had looped the tape so that every time we stopped kissing, we started again. "You're seeing it, aren't you?"

"In real life!" Colleen giggled.

And so we graced the audience with a reenactment. Not that I'm saying we minded any. I know I didn't. I don't think Mark minded too much either.

Finally Carrie made it her duty to shoo us to our seats, where Kira was waiting for me with a very suspicious-looking grin. "What?" I asked her.

"I'll give you a hint," Chad said from her other side. "Wondering who nominated you two for this very prestigious award?"

"Kira, you didn't."

She beamed. "Hey, it was true. Carrie and Chad's little smooch lacked a certain…passion."

"Hey!"

"I suppose we could ask Miss McCormack," Mark quipped.

Chad just shot him a look, which was complemented nicely by his one wacko eyebrow. I covered my mouth to keep the giggles from escaping. This didn't work too well. Now Chad turned the look on me. This didn't help my situation any. Only when Carrie looked at me sharply did my laughter subside.

"And now for our final award of the evening," Carrie announced. "This is a very special award, which all of us feel the recipient deserves very much. The winner for Best Director is our own Ms. Malek!"

Ms. Malek turned red and got up from her seat to accept her trophy and give Carrie a hug. To Mark's right, Shawn Lundquist began to cheer loudly, "Speech! Speech! Speech!" Mark joined in, then Chad, then me and Kira, and pretty soon the entire Pierce Academy Drama Society was rocking the movie theater with our chant. Ms. Malek, who had been trying to edge away from the podium, finally relented (if only to shut us all up).

"Thank you guys," she began. A short outburst of cheers followed this statement. She waited until we had silenced ourselves before continuing. "This is a real surprise, and a great honor. Not because of the trophy – which, by the way, is much nicer than I'd originally envisioned. But you guys set up this award to surprise me. That's just really nice. Oh, I can't do public speaking," she smiled, and I could see that she had tears sparkling in her eyes. "If I could I'd be getting Best Actress instead of Best Director." And she gave a half-laugh, half-sob. "I'm going to miss you all so much."

"We're going to miss you too," Naomi called out.

And somehow after that, we all formed a hug-Ms.-Malek line. Tears to rival hers had formed in my eyes too. Ms. Malek had directed my first high school play when I was a little anxious freshman (The Grass Harp, which incidentally had been kind of a flop) to my most favorite role thus far in Arsenic and Old Lace, when I was a slightly less little anxious sophomore. And now I would have to survive my two years of being an upperclassman without her.

Mark was technically in front of me in the hug line, but before we reached her he stood by me, my hand in his. He looked at me and saw the tears. "Aw, Grace, don't cry," he said softly.

"I'm not – well, okay, so I guess you could say I'm crying," I admitted, wiping away teardrops with my pinkie finger to minimize makeup runnage. "I'll be fine in a second."

He understood that this was something I'd just have to deal with on my own terms, but he still gave my fingers a comforting squeeze as we neared the front. Once Kira had given a few tearstained goodbyes and Ms. Malek had assured Chad he'd go far in the acting business, it was Mark's turn. It was a quick business-like hug that preluded their choppy goodbyes.

"I remember when you were this tall," she told him, gesturing to a height at his chest.

"Yeah, I was a troublemaker back then, wasn't I?"

"Back then?"

"Some things never change."

"Good luck in college."

"Good luck in Wyoming."

And they hugged again.

Then it was my turn. I still hadn't figured out what to say. Speaking and silence would both be awkward. We squeezed each other so hard that nervous laughter shot out of both of our systems.

"Well," she said.

"Well," I repeated.

"Thanks for the memories."

"Thanks for casting me as Elaine."

She laughed through the tears. "One of my better casting decisions, although for a while it was kind of rocky."

"Turned out for the best."

"Call me and tell me when your productions are next year. I promise I'll fly out. Holly Moorehead has my number, and rumor has it you might run for Drama Society secretary?"

I smiled. "I've been thinking about it."

"Don't even hesitate to call me. Nothing very interesting is bound to happen in Wyoming. Not like here at Pierce, anyway."

And that was pretty much the inadequate extent of our goodbyes.

I moved aside so Kae Halbert could have her turn, and Mark caught my hand up in his. "Are you all right?"

I wiped my eyes, not really caring anymore how much of Kira's effort on my mascara and eyeliner got smeared across my face. "Yeah, I'm fine," I told him. "Look, buffet line is opening up. Let's go before all the smoked salmon is gone."


Sometime later, as we sat before cleaned dessert plates and the very end of The Princess Bride, I lapsed into thought about my junior year. Ms. Malek would be gone, Mark wouldn't be at school, and even some of my drama friends were moving away. Trevor Robbins would be coming to Pierce, and there would be a new drama teacher.

Things were going to be a lot different.

Not bad, just…different.

I sighed, my hand in Mark's. I loved the end of The Princess Bride. It had a sense of closure, but some hope for more happy endings to come.


Production Notes: Sorry, just a little blurb that I had to get out of my head, also based on reality. Doesn't really have a point, I suppose. I did not make up the Felix Awards, I swear! Me and the guy who played Mortimer seriously did get Best Onstage Kiss! And I let him keep the certificate. (Note to Desi: I was going to put in the wills, I was, but it didn't have a place.) And we really did watch The Princess Bride.

Oh, I got around to making "dolls" on Great site, you should all check it out, if you like that sort of thing. The code to see the Grace doll is as follows:

img(dot)photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)v107(slash)LilyWeasley(slash)UKWTS(slash)grace(dot)bmp

I did all the dots and slashes just for safety precautions, though I don't know what they are. To see any of the characters, just follow that exact code, but insert the name of the character where you see in that code it says "grace" and you'll be set. I even have a list of the names you can put in.

Kirabanquet, Gracebanquet, Colleen, Ralph, Carrie, Holly, Vanessa, Naomi, Andrew, Oliver, Chad, Grace, Victoria, Kira, Vincent, Kae, Brigitte, Max, Mark, Lizzie, Janet, Travis, Trevor, Littleshawn, Bigshawn, Rose, Emma, Nicole

The "kirabanquet" and "gracebanquet" ones are just of Grace and Kira in dresses... Oh, and be warned. The guys are bad. The girls are good. And for the record, I know Chad doesn't have shoes on...

Like I said before, sequel coming sometime in the distant future. I'm toying with the idea of doing it for NaNoWriMo (for more information about that check out nanowrimo(dot)org). Thanks for reading, and please leave me a review!