Oh! I just love this part! Peanut boy! Adorable! Please post more soon!

This is a great fic! I really liked this part. Has any more been written since Chapter 10? This is a very exciting story, and I'm interested in reading more of it. I didn't know if more has been written, but posted in a different thread. Keep up the great writing.

And because you've been so patient with me... here's part 12 as well! A nice long part with some pretty hilarious (I hope!) interactions!

And of course! fb please.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 12

A low moan is the only response I get as I rap lightly on the door twice.

“Go. Away.” A mournful voice sounds from within, muffled by the cover of a pillow.

Controlling an impish grin, I turn the doorknob to peer into the darkness that envelopes the room within.

“I said: Go. Away.”

The tone is a little stronger now, but no less irritated as the figure sprawled on the massive bed squirms in an attempt to avoid the light filtering in from the partially open door. The Venetian blinds have been pulled down to keep the evening sunlight, and the air is filled with a semi-stale smell of alcohol and dankness.

“Wakey wakey, Mikey G,” I say. Scrunching my nose a little at the smell, I rap a little harder on the door even as I open it a little more fully… and duck in time to miss a pillow thrown in the general direction of my head.

“Damn it Maxwell! Not so loud! You wanna come in, then close the damn door!”

Chuckling silently to myself, I finally let up on the ribbing, picking up the pillow as I enter and closing the door, sequestering myself on one of the comfy chairs opposite his bed. Getting comfortable, I prop my feet up on the corner end of his bed against the bedpost.

“Dude, if you can't do the time, don't do the crime,” I say as I switch on one of the smaller table lamps to give the room a little light.

“Shut. Up.”

“Glad to see you know how it's like when the tables are turned huh?”

Another moment of fidgeting comes from the form lying on the bed before he finally realizes that I don't intend on leaving him alone in peace anytime soon. Emitting a slight growl, he drags himself into a sitting position, haphazardly reaching for the pair of sunglasses by the side of his bed as he faces me.

“So remind me again… to what honor do I owe that I've got to suffer this form of abuse?” Michael practically hisses as he rubs wearily at his eyes before putting on the shades.

Settling myself in a more comfortable position, I try to push the thoughts of recent events to the back of my mind, and consider how to tell him what I need his help on… without giving too much away.

Groaning slightly at the prolonged silence, he admonishes me with a look, lowering his shades slightly to glower at me before flopping back onto the bedcovers. “And dude, no need to slam the door so hard next time, alright?”

Raising bemused eyes to regard Michael's condition, I conclude that he must be seriously hung over to still be in such a lousy mood even after missing an ENTIRE day of school to recover.

It just really means a lot to me… you know… one of the things on my ‘to-do' list: giving him a reason to be proud of me without…

The thought rises unbidden into my mind, the ghost of a conversation filtering into my consciousness... one that has led me to where I currently am.

Shifting slightly to drive away the unsanctioned thought, I turn to Michael who has since sat up on the bed, slouching over the bedrail as he continues to watch me over the rim of his sunglasses. Starting a little, I realize a little belatedly that I'd been staring into space for a moment… and I'd overestimated the extent of his hangover.

Removing his shades to regard me a little suspiciously, he addresses me.

“So Maxwell… tell me. What really happened?”

Swallowing over the lump that has suddenly developed in my throat, I wonder briefly how much of our conversation he recalled from last night. Looking into his somewhat dazed and bloodshot – but nonetheless alert – eyes, I try to delay the inevitable, “Well…”

“Don't leave out ANY details… I want to hear it. ALL of it,” he emphasizes pointedly.

Oh God. This is it.

“I really hadn't meant for anything to happen, and-”

“Of course not!” He replies a little indignantly. I shrink a little at his outburst, even as he carries on his rant, “How could you! It's not like you were the one who spiked the drinks. Tell me WHO did it,” he asks, his fingers now touching at the tips to form a steeple on which he is resting his chin.

What?!

A huge wave of relief washes over me as I realize that he is talking about the events leading to his current condition, and that they have nothing to do with… well, suffice to say that it has nothing to do with me directly.

“It was Sean,” I answer a little hesitantly, somewhat fearful of a similar reaction to the knowledge that his girlfriend's cousin was the jerk who had caused his present predicament.

“That jerk! I just knew it!” Michael practically shouts as he jumps to his feet in a petulant fit of rage, only to wobble unsteadily as the effects of the alcohol have clearly not worn off completely. Gripping the bedpost to steady himself, I watch as he settles down on the bed again, resigning himself to the fact that he's in no state to be confronting anyone right now.

“I don't know the full details, just that you were already washed out by the time I got there. I was going to get you to the gents when I caught Sean red-handed pouring more alcohol into the punch bowl,” I fib a little, in a bid to concede to his request for details.

Resting his chin on his hands atop the horizontal bar of the bedpost, he queries, “Did he see you?”

Crossing my fingers out of sight, I answer with a weak “No”.

“That's good. I wouldn't want you to aggravate that ‘niggling shoulder pang' any more now would we?” he grins a little at me, seemingly deciding to let the matter slide since he'd not encountered any problems with his old man because of it.

I return the grin… and a light bulb goes off in my head.

He's given me the perfect lead-in.

“Yeah, listen Michael. Speaking about that shoulder injury of mine… well, it's really not that bad now… and… and I was wondering about the suggestion you were making.”

“Which one specifically Max? I've had too many brilliant, ingenious visions turned down by you,” Michael asks in mock hurt, his voice rising a little in intrigue as I hear the humor in his words. “This must be a real brain-blower,” he adds with a slight laugh, “especially since I don't recall which one that is.”

Standing to move towards his dresser, I mumble half-heartedly, “About being the lead in the play,” as I fiddle around with the trinkets on the surface.

My back's facing Michael, so I can't see his expression, but judging from the silence that has suddenly enveloped the room, I can almost imagine that his jaw has hit the bed coverings.

“What made you change your mind Max?” Michael's voice is carefully devoid of expression; as if he is afraid he'll say the wrong thing and tick me off.

“I-It's nothing Michael. I've just been… thinking… about what you said, and you made sense, especially since with regards to Dennis and all,” I throw him a knowing grin of jest as I turn to rest my back against the dresser.

“Really?” Michael throws me a sarcastic grin. “And what, might I ask, has inspired your sudden… thinking?”

“Come on Michael. Do we really have to do this again? The last thing I want is for us to get into another argument, and for you to be cheesed off at me and on your ass again.” Seeing the offended look that registers on his face, I throw up my hands up in mock defense.

“What makes you think YOU won't be the one on YOUR butt this time?” Michael asks bitingly.

“Michael…” my voice takes on a slightly exasperated tone.

“Okay, okay. Backing off THAT topic,” he concedes.

“Look, I just figured… that it's time I step up to the plate. You know, no more ‘running like a bat out of hell'?”

“It's just so you, you know that. You take charge of the situations you can control; but those that you can't, you walk away. Who am I kidding? You fairly run away like a bat out of hell… like what you're doing now.”

The scene in the gym replays in both our minds and we sit silently for a moment, pondering the thoughts flashing through both our minds.

“Well,” Michael finally breaks the silence, “So you want my help to get back into the play?”

Simultaneously releasing a sigh that the request is finally out in the open, all I can utter is “Yeah.”

At Michael's look for more details, I stutter, “… Though I-I have no idea how Miss Garber's even going to consider that option after all that's happened,” I say with a slight slump to my shoulders.

Swinging himself off the bed, he seems to have gotten over his wooziness as he moves to sling an arm around my shoulders, pulling me towards the bed as he grins at me like a Cheshire cat.

Why do I get a bad feeling about this?

As we bounce onto the soft mattress, Michael continues to grin at me, saying, “THAT is something you needn't concern yourself with Maxwell. But trust me, buddy,” as I get rewarded for turning his sour mood with a poke to my ribs, “You're back in the game.”

‘I hope so too Michael. I really hope so.'

Staring up at the ceiling, the words flash through my mind as it continues to roll with thoughts about the play, but even more so, with a particular brunette that has managed to turn my life upside-down in the few days – hours really – that I've interacted with her.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Where have YOU been?”

I have barely made it past the threshold of the house, having come from Michael's place, and already Izzy is in my face. From the expression on her face, I figured someone must have messed up big-time on one of the charity events she's organizing. Whoever it is that is trying to be the death of her, I just know that it can't be me.

“Are you trying to be the death of me?!” She practically condemns me in a hushed tone.

Woah. Freaky.

“What? What did I do?” My voice is full of puzzlement.

“What did you do, Max? More like what didn't you do? Or maybe a mixture of both?” she points out, still in a hushed whisper.

“Wha-?” I am totally stumped by the accusation.

“Maxwell, honey. Is that you?” Mum's voice filters in from the living area. I hear her footsteps approaching rapidly and grab Izzy's arm, heading for my room upstairs in a bid to avoid her until I have an idea of what exactly is going on.

“Uh, I've got to rush some homework that I need Izzy's help on Mum. Call us for dinner when it's time okay?” I raise my voice slightly in her general direction even as I drag a struggling spitfire hellcat up the stairs.

“But Maxwell-” Mum's voice increases in volume with her impending arrival, and I tow Isabel along even more hurriedly.

“Max, wait!” Isabel tries to free her arm from my iron grip, “You've got to-”

“Izzy, whatever it is, just wait till we get upstairs. I don't want Mum getting mad at me for whatever it is that has YOU mad at me,” I say without breaking my stride.

“Okay, don't say that I didn't try to warn you,” she sighs, allowing herself to be hauled along.

Upon reaching my room, I slam the door shut and dump my book bag on my bed, following a similar path as I sprawl across the covers, muffling a yawn as I wonder when this day will finally end. It's already evening and you would have thought that my ‘day of excitement' would be drawing to a close.

This is apparently not to be as I hear Isabel tap her foot irritably as she waits for me to pay attention to whatever she has to announce.

Raising just my head off the bed to stare at her, I sigh and roll my eyes before resting it back on my pillow.

“Okay, hit me with it. What did I do?” At least I get the comfort of having my bed under me.

Chewing at the corner of her lip before she answers, Izzy then asks coyly, “Where's the Jag?”

As my entire body shoots off the bed, the permeating silence that follows her question feels as though air has suddenly been sucked out of my room with a vacuum.

Oh. My. God.

I cannot believe I totally forgot about the car… the car that I meant to drive Liz to the dinner in last night… the car that we left at her house when we decided to walk to dinner…

The car that I conveniently forgot about when I subsequently – in my state of dazed amazement and wonder – walked home… which means that the Jag is still parked outside the Parker home!

Oh. My. God.

Wait a minute. Why should that cause Iz to practically rip my head off?

“Okay. So I left it in front of the Parker home after last night's dinner. What's the big deal? I can just go pick it up later. Not like anyone's gonna miss it out of the MANY vehicles we have,” I force nonchalance into my voice even as I turn my back on Isabel to avoid her reading the look on my face. Trust me, when it comes to my sister, I am an open book. And this is definitely NOT the time I want to be her reading material.

Grimacing somewhat to myself, I cannot help but think that this is just great… not. The Jag is at Liz's… which means I've got to go over to pick it up. Which means I've got to speak to her… Hmm, maybe it's not as bad as it seems. Maybe I can take the chance to explain about this afternoon… as soon as I can figure the right words to say.

Iz interrupts my internal train of thoughts as she says, “Max, Liz came looking for me to let me know about the Jag… in an attempt to get me to pass you a message,” she states firmly, settling herself down on my bed. “A message that makes me wonder why she didn't tell you herself considering you both had drama class today.”

Choking back the knot in my throat, I shrug my shoulders in a show of feigned ignorance.

“Max.”

“Yeah?” I say, my back still facing her.

“Turn around.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because what?”

“Because I want to ask you something. And I want to look you in the eyes when I get your answer.”

Heaving a deep sigh, I try to maintain my best poker face as I turn to face a glowering older sister.

“What do you wanna ask?”

“She seemed really upset when we were talking. What did you… say or… do to her?” Even as she studies my face intently, there is no mistaking the concern I hear in Iz's voice, more so than the anger.

“I didn't say anything. I swear.” And that IS the truth. Scratching my ear a little as I too settle on the bed facing her, I ask tentatively while keeping my expression carefully impartial, “Why? Did she say that I said or did something?”

A look of puzzlement had crossed her features at my answer and she is staring off into space, my presence seemingly forgotten. Then heaving a little sigh herself, she explains.

“It's not so much what she said, but what she didn't. Look, I know you don't know Liz that well,” I just manage to bite my lips together from forming a retort to that as she continues, “… but I do. And it's what she doesn't say that has me concerned. She's got these really… intense eyes that express…” Isabel trails off as she seeks to find the words to express herself clearly.

“… really deep emotions,” the words slip out of my mouth effortlessly in a quiet whisper.

I try to recover, but raising my eyes to meet Izzy's, I know that she heard what I'd said.

A slight frown marring her normally smooth forehead, she nods in acquiescence even as she watches me with a strange expression. “Yeah.”

“I mean… that's what they always say right? About still waters running deep and all that?” I cough lightly, using my hand to partially cover my face in an attempt to hide what I am guessing is a blush that is quickly spreading all over my face.

Leaning her head a little to watch me sideways, it's now her turn to maintain a poker face as she silently gazes at me.

“You're sure she was okay in class? Nothing out of the ordinary?” Iz refuses to let up on the questions.

“Look, Iz. I'm not exactly interested in watching Liz Parker's every move in class… or out of it, okay? I've got better things to do than that,” I protest.

‘Just interested in day-dreaming about your date with her,' the two-horned angel whispers in my head.

‘Shut up… And it wasn't a date.'

‘Admit it and I will.'

‘No such luck.'

‘You're just chicken.'

‘Am not.'

‘Are too.'

Closing my eyes and leaning forward to rest my head in my hands, I try to silence the warring arguments rocketing about in my skull.

“Max?” This is Iz as she touches a hand lightly to my shoulder, “You okay? You don't look too good.”

That's Isabel Evans for you. One minute, the ever-domineering lioness, fierce to protect the underdogs; the next, the caring sister who knows just when to let up… well, not always, but she knows when she's about to reach the limit with me.

“Seeing how you've somehow managed to upset Liz without knowing how you've done so… I'm guessing that this isn't exactly a good time to tell you something,” the uncertainty in her statement clearly evident.

Smoothening a hand over my weary face, I raise tired eyes to Isabel's face.

“Come on. Spill. Let's get it over with.” Stifling a sarcastic little laugh, I continue, “After all, it can't get any more dramatic now can it?”

Sighing, I realize that I just have to figure out how to face Liz. Explain to her that what happened after class today… that wasn't the way it should have been. Not after… not after what happened last night. At least I'll have the night to sleep and ponder over this.

Iz takes a deep breath and utters a sentence that has me bolting from my bed for the second time this evening.

“She's WHAT?!” I start to wear a path into the floor as the ramifications of this new development dawns on me, all thoughts of keeping a poker face forgotten. “You have GOT to be kidding me right, Izzy?” Stopping in front of her still seated form on the bed, I reach out my hands in a staccato clench-unclench-clench motion in a desperate bid to regain some kind of control before I really lose it.

“Just so that I didn't mistake what you said… repeat what you… just said.”

She puffs out her cheeks with a soft sigh, and then “I said: Liz is here. Now. And she's staying for dinner.”

“Oh. My. God!” I release a muffled groan and slump onto the bed.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. This is me, in full freak-out mode. This is NOT good. Ha! Who am I kidding? This is about as bad as it can get.

I can't face her. Not yet. I'm not prepared. Not fair.

‘Like whining's gonna help you with your situation.' The voice in my brain resounds again.

‘Shut. Up.'

‘Like you told Michael; not so funny when the tables are turned.'

‘Can it.'

‘Fine. Be snooty.'

“I thought Liz spoke to you in school. What's she doing here?” This is me, speaking aloud.

“I didn't say that. I said that she came looking for me. And she found me… at home. You'd just assumed that she found me in school.”

“And enlighten me please. How did her coming to the house to pass a message turn into her staying for dinner?” I ask Isabel as my distress clearly shows.

Mistaking the cause of my dour mood, she rushes to defend Liz. “Look Max. It's not that bad. Really. She's not bad company to have around-”

“It's got nothing to do with th-” I shut my trap to prevent myself from revealing anymore than has already been said. “Ju-just tell me how this came to be.”

“Well, she came to the house looking for you, and when she couldn't find you, she asked for me. She'd wanted to leave immediately after telling me to pass you the message, but I sensed that she was upset.”

Frowning a little at the guilt-ridden look that flashes briefly on my face, she continues, “… so I invited her into the house. We were talking in the living room, and one thing led to another… and then Mum happened.”

“Oh no.” I groan as I can only picture what must have happened then. “Let me guess: she invited Liz for dinner,” I fill in helpfully.

“That's a convenient and concise way of putting it. But in a nutshell, yes.” I see Isabel trying to prevent a grin from forming on her face at the thought of Mum's renowned method of emotional blackmail at getting people to bend to her will.

“And I just abandoned them to each other when I dragged you up here.” Distressed as I am, I also can't help the wry grin that makes its way to my lips. However, the smile lingers but a moment as my focus comes back to the matter at hand.

The breeze blowing through my room window stirs the hanging wind chimes, creating a soft resonating tinkle, a sound that is in sharp contrast to the turmoil roiling in my gut. Staring blankly at the fine silver rods that continue their soulful peal, I seek to find a way… any way that I can handle the situation without making it any worse than it already is.

Running a harried hand through my hair giving it an even more tousled look, I turn towards my dresser and pound lightly on the surface as I weigh my options on what I can do next.

Iz remains seated and silent as she watches me.

“Max, is there something between you and Liz that I should know about?” she ventures tentatively. That's my sis for you whenever I run into issues I can't seem to deal with; she'll know that something's happening, but won't butt in unless I'm ready to take the initiative to open up to her.

Squeezing my eyes tightly shut to force my concentration, I rub wearily at my temples before I turn to face her, leaning against the dresser for support.

“Iz… I… don't really know what's going on right now between Liz and myself… or IF there is even anything there to talk about. J-Just gimme some time to figure it out. Okay?” I softly admit to her what I have just recently come to terms with myself.

Inhaling deeply, she releases a chuckle that has me raising my eyes to meet her gaily-lit ones.

“Look, I'm not laughing at you… or Liz. You know I wouldn't. But look at it from my point of view. One day you can't imagine the thought of being around Liz, and the next, you're acting all loopy at the mere mention of her name. You have to admit, it IS pretty funny.”

Conceding to her point, I release a soft chuckle myself. Bracing myself for the upcoming affair, I push myself away from the cupboard and extend a hand to Iz.

“Well, then. I guess it's time for David and Goliath to meet,” I say.

Raising an enquiring eyebrow, she asks, “And just who is the David here Max? You… Or Liz?”

Smiling half-heartedly, I wonder the same question to myself too. While I may feel like David trying to conquer the obstacles I find ahead of me, something tells me it's more likely that Liz is David, seeking to bring Goliath to his knees.

Quirking my lips further in a tight smile, I answer her with mixed emotions reflected in my eyes.

Opening the door to my room, Iz heads out first, leaving me to fight the last impulse to just bolt from the house altogether.

But I don't.

And I kind of wish I did as I make my way down the stairs.

Dad just got home – which is surprisingly early for once – and Mum and Liz have gathered at the doorway to welcome him.

Iz has happily made her way to join them, but I can only watch dumbfounded as after Mum and Iz give Dad a hug, he gives Liz a chaste peck on the cheek while expressing his delight that she'll be joining us for the evening meal.

As my jaw slackens at the sight that greets me, I CANNOT believe that my DAD is the first male Evans to score with Liz. Man, is that twisted or what.

I must have been staring at them for some time, because the next thing I know, I release a loud yelp when Iz makes her way beside me on the split landing on the stairs, poking me in the side to shake me from my reverie.

Flushing furiously as everyone's eyes have now riveted to fix on me, I make it the rest of the way down, nearly tripping on the last step when Liz looks directly into my eyes to bestow a timid smile in my direction.

“H- *cough* Hi Liz.” Was that my throat sounding all croaky?

“Hi Max,” she says, her shyness receding and her smile getting a little larger as she realizes that I'm in as befuddled a state of mind as I'd placed her earlier today. “Sorry I missed you after class today.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I had to go chec-… meet Michael to discuss something for one of our projects,” I offer lamely.

“No harm, no foul Max,” she says.

“okay then,” Mum announces chirpily, “Dinner-time now.”

As she and Dad lead Liz away into the dining room, Iz sidles up beside me, a mischievous wink in her eye.

“Sorry about that Max. You looked like you wanted to punch the living daylights out of Dad. Wouldn't want that now, would we?” she says, a teasing lilt in her voice.

“No… no we wouldn't,” I murmur as I watch her petite form disappear with my parents.

As I come to a firm conclusion.

I've finally figured out who's David.

And the Goliath that I am is awestruck at the thought of doing battle with her. Cos I'm not sure I can win this confrontation.

~*~*~*~*~*~
TBC
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Oh wow. Those were great parts Dark!
Loved the surprise appearence of Liz and the scenes with Michael not quite well yet.
More Please !

Oh and sccraner~ Welcome to FD! I saw that was your first post. Sorry it's taken so long to welcome you here. And to answer your question, Dark has only been posting her story on this thread. So this is all there is so far.
Welcome again!

Man...Max is in deep trouble! I can't wait to see how he gets out of this one!
Please post more, Dark Ilk!

sorry... reposting again in next post

That was wonderful, Dark. It's nice to see Max remembering and thinking so much about the friendship that he and Liz use to share.
And...Love the banner!

Hey... glad to see that you like the part... don't feel bad... I've also been sluggish in getting out the parts...

as a little advanced Christmas present...

here's Part 15.

As usual... hope u guys like the progression... and I might have a surprise in store soon...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 15

So I'm sitting here in drama class trying to focus my attention on something… anything to keep my eyes from straying over to the seat two chairs away to my left.

To the figure scrawling something on the paper on her tabletop. Her attention rapt in what she is doing. Her pencil working varying patterns; sometimes short, sharp strokes, then in long wavy lines. Her eyebrows knit in a picture of concentration.

Her hair is back in the traditional bun, glasses seated firmly on the bridge of her nose as she frowns slightly at an error she seems to have made. Poking at her spectacles as it slides down her face a little, she works fervently to correct her mistake. I watch as she licks and chews lightly on the corner of her lower right lip, head tilted at an angle to get a better perspective on what she's working on.

Watching her, I cannot help but recall my thoughts on the drive after walking her home. The same thoughts that have continued since to plague me with no obvious resolution in sight. I don't think I can deny my feelings where she is concerned. But that's not the main issue as she has so blatantly pointed out.

She may have forgiven me for the incident with Alex and Kyle… but that doesn't mean that I'm home free. There's still Alex, Kyle, Michael. I mean, how do I face them if Liz and I were to go together… I mean if that's even something she's willing to consider in light of our past history. An-and… there'll be all the rumors. Like… like those about the town dinner and play aren't enough, and I'm considering pushing the envelope with this-this-this…

Breathe, Max.

Inhaling deeply, then exhaling a long drawn-out breath, I close my eyes in an attempt to quiet the warring thoughts in my head. Rubbing wearily at my temples, I slowly pry open my eyes to frown a little crossly at no one in particular, casting my eyes downwards to my tabletop instead.

It suddenly occurs to me that I'm not the only restless one; in fact, the entire class is getting restless.

Where is Miss Garber?

This is highly unusual for Miss Garber who's a stickler for punctuality. But then again, you already knew that from my first altercation with her in class right?

As if reading my thoughts, she enters the class in a flurry, a nervous bundle of energy that seems ready to bounce off the walls. Settling her materials on the table and turning to the blackboard, she doesn't notice that the class' attention has been captured with her none too subtle arrival.

Clapping her hands together sharply twice, she turns to face the class. “Class, may I have your attention please?”

Realizing a little belatedly that everyone's already staring at her, she stifles a wince and takes two steps forward.

“I'm got some bad news about the play. It seems that Dennis is unable to carry in with the role of Tom Thornton. As you already know, no other male understudies are available, and I doubt that Minister Parker would appreciate an alternative interpretation of his script by putting a female in a male role… especially when it's the lead role. So unless we can come up with an alternative solution, I am afraid… that we may have to reconsider this year's Christmas production.”

I give a silent whoop of joy: Go Michael! I knew he was the man who could convince Dennis to let me step back into the role.

A wave of “oh no”'s and “What?”'s sweep across the room at her words and I notice that Liz visibly pales at her words, her head snapping up from her task when she hears Miss Garber speaking.

Seeing her mouth drop agape and her eyes fill with what I am sure I have mistaken for horror, I cannot help but wonder about her reaction.

But I have a more important task at hand.

While the class continues to titter with the monumental possibility that the play may not be produced for the first time since it was written, I raise my hand tentatively in a bid to get Miss Garber's attention.

“Yes, Max?” she asks while a sense of déjà vu overcomes me with the ironic thought that this was exactly the same words and tone she'd used just before I'd withdrawn from the play.

“I, uh, I think we may still be able to carry on. I mean, I hadn't wanted to say anything to put Dennis in a difficult position-”

“Max. Your point?” Miss Garber's voice is laced with annoyance and lethargy. The woman is evidently about to reach her boiling point at having to cope with the current crisis.

“Wellll… my arm has actually recovered to the point I don't think it would be too much of a problem for me to-”

“Take on the role of Tom?!” Miss Garber's condition suddenly takes a 360-degree turnaround as her mind makes the connection.

Suddenly, her face is filled with relief, and I see her eyes mist over with unshed tears as she watches me with a look I have never seen her show me before. A look of… pride. And it fills me with sudden satisfaction that for once, I'm doing right by others.

“Are you sure Max?” she asks, her voice still filled with concern that I may be exaggerating the health of my shoulder to accommodate Dennis' absence. At the underlying anxiety I hear in her voice, I cannot help but feel a twinge of guilt for causing this whole mess in the first place. It only further strengthens my resolve to do the right thing.

And this has nothing to do with the fact that out of the corner of my eye, I see that Liz's previously worried expression has been replaced by one of temporary reprieve. In fact, I don't even think I'm overstating it when I say that her face seems to be lit with quiet satisfaction that I am to replace Dennis in the lead role.

“It's not a problem, Miss Garber. Just glad that I can help… and make a difference somehow,” I add as an afterthought, my eyes searching out those of a certain brunette who has looked back down to her previous distraction.

From my standing perspective, I suddenly find my brows furrow slightly as I realise that she hasn't been writing on the paper so much as she had been… sketching?

Huh? Since when-

“Max, I think I can speak for the class when I say that this move on your part will indeed make a difference. Unexpected… but welcome nonetheless,” Miss Garber's words interrupt my train of thought as a collective sigh of relief washes over the class.

Turning my attention back to the matronly figure in the front of the class, I cannot help but change a light shade of crimson as the class flash beaming grins at me, gratitude that their efforts in preparation would not go to waste evident in their demeanors.

“But what happened to Dennis, Miss Garber?” an inquiring voice rings out from the back of the class where Shirley Bass is seated as she queries out of curiosity.

Evidently, this common thought seems to run secondary in the back of everyone's mind. Now that the immediate crisis has been resolved, there are questions aplenty on how the situation has come to be so.

Truth be told, I was curious too. When Michael had said not to ask questions, I hadn't really thought much about it. Now that my goal had been somewhat achieved, I had to admit that my curiosity was peaked too.

“That was partially the reason why I was late for class. You see, Dennis met with a slight accident,” Miss Garber provides helpfully.

That one split moment was all it took.

One second, I was the soaring eagle, climbing the ever rising flight of euphoria. The satisfied tabby cat that had eaten the plumpest canary in the shop. The quick and resourceful dog that had buried the juiciest bone it'd found in the one place no one knew to look.

And the next, I'd plummeted to the ground at lightning speed as a gradually tightening knot began to form in the pit of my stomach.

And yes. I do not miss the irony that I could become the literal pariah dog right now.

Oh no. This cannot be happening.

Silently hoping that no one is paying any attention to me, I quickly slink back down into my seat, my head bowed as my thoughts start whirling anew at what may have happened.

As the buzz in class is re-ignited with this piece of unfortunate news, I hear muttered queries and comments all around.

“Did it happen in school?”
“Oh no. Not again.”
“The klutz is really something. He really needs to be protected from himself I tell you.”
“Was it suicide?”
“Did someone cause his accident, or was he just his usual clumsy self again?”
“Do his parents know about it?”
“Who else was around when it happened? Was anyone else even around?”

And my mind is swimming with the guilt-ridden knowledge that somehow, some way, I have caused his accident.

“Unfortunately, Dennis seemed to have sprained his back and banged his head slightly in the boys' room when… he slipped on the wet floor. *Apparently*, he says that he hadn't been… paying attention and… one thing led to another,” Miss Garber states, the tone of her voice indicating that she'd sensed something amiss with Dennis' explanation, but was unable to offer any other rationale to counter otherwise.

I stifle an internal moan at the evidence piling up in front of me. Evidence that points to the increasingly probable likelihood that Michael and heavens knows who else must have been involved. There is little doubt in my mind.

Thank God at least that they hadn't left him for dead altogether.

“And how did he manage to get help?” This is from Suzie Lorne seated directly in front of me, causing me to flinch a little nervously at the proximity of the question raised. One that I, too, was curious to have answered.

“Well, a female student thought she'd heard some unusually loud ruckus coming from the boys' room and went to the office to get help. When they got there with the discipline master, they found Dennis alone, passed out on the floor,” Miss Garber continues. I wince imperceptibly as the girls give a gasp of mortification at the notion that someone could have done something like that to Dennis.

Even the catty remarks from earlier were taken back by the guilty parties. I mean, for all the klutz that Dennis was, he really was a harmless guy who just happened to be really… awkward. No one ever wished such injury upon him.

Until now, that is.

Miss Garber spends the rest of the period filling in everyone about Dennis' condition since clearly, no one was in the mood for classes when one of their own had been so carelessly treated.

And so I listened listlessly to how he had been revived with some water splashed to his face. To how he howled in pain when they tried to help him off the floor. To how he'd nearly passed out again from dizziness after they'd revived him. To how they'd arranged for him to be sent to the hospital. To how his mum had been near hysterics when she'd learnt of her son's incident.

And voices of other recent memories rise to haunt my sanity as well. Recurring thoughts; words of truth that I'm not sure I can face up to. Because they've led me to this very moment.

Despite the best of my intentions, everything has gone so wrong.

“Every man chooses his own path… And it takes A LOT of courage. To make a difference. Especially when it's against the odds.”

Liz's words taunt me even as I realize that the 'path' I have chosen has led to Dennis' detriment. What type of person does that make me? That I hadn't even considered to ask Michael what his plan was? Had I really been so naïve to think that he would just ‘talk' to him?

“You're acting Max… Around everyone… The rebellious son, the popular cool kid, the tough-guy… they're anything but the real you. Why are you so afraid to let people know the real you? Why the need for the façade?”

And this brings up my next dilemma, doesn't it? Do I act and pretend that I had no prior knowledge of how this situation came about? Or own up and face the consequences of my actions… and in the process probably ruin the entire production? There's no way I can be excused for my part in this.

The throb behind my temples becomes almost unbearable as I seek to tune out the voices – internal as well as external – when I come to the abrupt realization that the class has been dismissed already, leaving just a few stragglers remaining.

My head snapping up to find that Miss Garber was no longer around, I realise that my path has more or less been set. It would be outright strange and futile for me to retract my earlier offer now.

Moving to stand, I lift my eyes to see Liz standing in front of me.

Great. Now what?

"Are you really sure you're okay Max?" she asks tentatively, seeing the pensive look on my face.

Giving her a weak smile, I nod a little morosely as she follows after me out of class. "Is there anything I can do for you?" my voice comes out a little more curt than I'd expected.

"I was just wondering if you were really okay… you know, with your shoulder just 'recovered' and all," she offers by way of explanation, her steps keeping in time with mine. Her tone is confident, a drastic change from her serene demeanor of earlier on.

"Well, I wouldn't have thought that it would have caused you much discomfort if I wasn't now, would it? Afterall, what goes around, comes around," I try to interject some humor to compensate for my prior boorish tone.

I catch a frown cross her features as she looks at me with an air of gravity.

"It's not about 'an eye for an eye' Max. Sometimes in life, you have to learn to turn the other cheek. It's… it's too short to-"

"Hey, I'm just kidding." I interrupt her with a little smile, not liking the look of genuine distress that has sprouted in her eyes. "I'm just making small talk here Liz. Not like I really think that you would wish me ill."

A little roll of her eyes. "I didn't- Oh." And she smiles down at her shoes as she realizes that I'm trying to keep the moment light.

I smile a tight grin. "Yeah."

We look at each other with a little uncertainty as we stand face to face in the middle of the hallway. I realise that I need to do something… say something that will keep me in her close proximity.

"So I have my next class in History-" I say.

"Yeah, I have Home Ec," she breathes and starts to take a step away from me.

Wrong start dude.

"Wait Liz," I move forward to put a hand on her retreating arm even as she turns quickly at the sound of my voice… A movement that brings us practically into full body contact with each other.

The source of the sudden gasp of surprise could have been one or both of us, but it doesn't matter as we both simultaneously move like two North poles, practically catapulting back from each other as I see her face color hotly.

I am certain I am a mirror to her countenance.

Biting my lip to keep from emitting any other sounds, I murmur, "Sorry about that."

Clearing her throat, she utters in a somewhat shaky voice, "You wanted to ask me something?", pointedly skirting around our 'close encounter'.

"Uh…" as my mind riffles through for any plausible excuse. "I, uh, I wanted to ask for your help… for the play."

As her eyes brighten at the mention of the play, she takes a step towards me, her previous embarrassment forgotten.

"What about it Max?"

At my momentary loss of speech, she adds, "A-And just so you'll know… even though I'm sorry that Dennis is injured, I… I'm glad that- I think that you'll make a great Tom."

"Yeah, I know," I say, nodding my head.

Seeing her eyebrow arch at my comment, my mind quickly retraces what I just replied to.

"You're pretty confident about your acting abilities," she tries to keep from smiling.

"I-I didn't mean that. I mean, I did. Wait," I say, holding up a hand as I try to make myself more coherent.

"I meant that 'I know'… about feeling sorry that Dennis is injured. Not that-"

"Hey, I'm just kidding." She mimics my earlier comments, even down to my facial expression. And I can't help but stare at her dumbfoundedly for a second.

"Really though Max," she interrupts my silent reverie, "I do have to get to class, so-"

"Yeah. Um, I was just wondering do you think we could run lines together?" Seeing a questioning look form on her face, I push on in a single breath. "Considering that I wasn't even supposed to be acting at all, I'm a little uncertain and all. I mean, I'd understand if you said 'no', but I figured it wouldn't be any harm if I'd just ask anyw-"

"Yes, Max." She interrupts before I continue to ramble.

A deep breath. "Yes?" I repeat.

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay."

"But…"

"But?" I ask a little uncertainly, wondering what conditions she is about to impose.

"You have to promise me something," she states gravely, her face a mask of seriousness.

"What is it?" I ask curiously, seeing the earnestness in her expression.

“You have to promise me that you won't fall in love with me,” as her expression remains the same, betraying no signs of whether she's joking or not.

Two rapid blinks are all I can manage at her words.

Is she serious?! Like I'd actually… Okay, so she caught me off guard. Come on, I mean, I know I can like the girl. But to fall in love with her?

Okay. You know what? Don't answer that.

"Uh, O. K.?" I answer her a little tentatively, eyebrows raised slightly with uncertainty about the response that I'd elicit from her.

"Right," as a blinding smile breaks across her face, "Then I don't see any problems with our working together to make it the best production yet," she says.

Starting to move away again, she throws a last comment in my direction. "See you around soon then… Peanut Boy."

Rolling my eyes in mock hurt, I cannot help the smile from making itself known on my face too as she releases a small laugh and makes her way down the hallway.

Watching her happily walk away, I feel the smile slip from my face and my gut beginning to roll with conflicting emotions over this latest proceeding. The fresh luscious lightness of moments ago has now been tempered with the sour acidic drip of the consequences of my poorly thought out actions. Even worse, I never expected the truckload of guilt I find myself swimming in knowing that my carelessness has resulted in what is increasingly becoming a farce.

I don't regret that I've decided to take responsibility, to step up to Liz's challenge. She seems truly glad that I'm going to take on a more active role in the play. Still…

I've taken a right step with Liz, but can I live with finding out that it was done so at Dennis' expense?

As Liz turns the corner of the hallway and continues out of my sight, I feel a sudden premonition, a flash of illogical worry as if signaling some as yet unforeseen future.

Dear God.

What will she think if she ever finds out?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~
TBC
~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Yea., a new part. This was great. Looking forward to more. When do you think another part will be ready? I got the movie for Christams, but haven't had time to watch it yet. Keep up your great writing.

Scott

Okay, I know I'm a horrible person for the delay in putting up the next part... Since the year started, I've officially become a teacher and I've not had much semblence of a social life. Between planning for English and Math lessons, I've totally been torn asunder by the amount of admin I've got to do...

Anyway, I still intend to continue with this fic, just that the breaks in between will be pretty long. So my sincere apologies for that in advance.

That said, the next part without further ado.

Thanks to anyone who is still interested in this love-child of mine that I can't quite get out of my system.

fb pls and thanks again.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 16

Two weeks later - Parker residence

The shuffle of feet echo around the house even as pieces of furniture are used for obstacles between the two feuding figures chasing each other.

"Give it back," her voice is low, filled with the merest hint of threat as we find ourselves back in the living room.

"No." My voice is filled with self-assured calm, my smile threatening to split my face as I hide my hands behind my back, out of her reach.

"Come on, don't be a brat." She takes a few steps forward even as I retreat just out of the room, towards the staircase leading to the second story of the house.

"Hey, as if 'Peanut Boy' isn't bad enough. Now I'm a brat?" I ask in mock disbelief, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

She takes a step forward. "Hey, if the shoe fits…" she intones in a nonchalant manner.

I move to stand on the first step of the staircase, facing her with my right hand on the balustrade. Haughtily, the words barely conceal the mirth beneath, "That tone isn't gonna make me give it up Liz."

Her voice suddenly takes on the nuance of a long-forgotten little girl about to whine, "Come on, Max."

Seeing that I'm not budging from my stand, she decides to modify her tactic. Still maintaining the little pout that has plastered itself on her face, she tries for the guilt trip. "Come on, I'm trying to help you here. And this is the thanks I get?" as she huffily crosses her arms, glaring semi-balefully up at me.

"Now, now, Liz. And all along, I thought you were helping me out your kind, altruistic nature. To think you can say that I'm being ungrateful?" I say as I hold my free hand to my chest, pretending to stagger from a knife wound she's inflicted. Shaking my head even as a ghost of a smile flitters across my lips, "Such cutting words you utter…"

Both of us hold our ground as her mysterious chocolate pools meet my playful amber scrutiny. Her eyes narrow. My grin grows wider by a mile.

An impasse, ladies and gentlemen. She glares. I stare. She comes one step closer. I take two up the stairs.

The silence that permeates the house is interrupted only by the tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the living room, and time seems temporarily frozen, neither of us making a movement

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

And then like arrows forthwith released from twin bows, we spring into action simultaneously. Me, racing up the stairs two at a time; she, a slow second as she tries to cut me off from my destination.

And where might that be you ask?

Alright, so that may not be your first question.

More likely: What. Is. Going. On?

Okay. I need to backtrack a little.

See, Liz agreed to help me with my lines two weeks ago. So here we are, practising our lines. Only… rather not, in this case.

Thank God old Hegbert isn't here today. You should have seen the look the first time I came over to run lines with Liz. He looked like a prison warden, ready to sit in on our rehearsal sessions as well until she subtly dragged him to his study, convincing him otherwise. Of course, this continued for the next few days until he seemed a little more convinced that his ‘baby' was safe alone with me… Of course, he also made sure that he could see us. He left the study room door open to hear any sounds coming from the living room where we were conducting our sessions.

You'd think that if the guy felt it safe enough to let me escort his daughter to dinner, that he'd feel even safer with me in the house… especially since he was there personally to oversee our - okay, my - behavior.

Anyway, he was busy at the church the whole day today, and had left with much reluctance and only after Liz's cajoling words that she would “keep a watchful eye on things at home".

Words I'm not so sure she can currently attest to right now.

Okay, I still feel bad about Dennis and all that. But ever since I started coming over to rehearse with Liz, I can't bring myself to feel bad about the fact that I get to spend more time with her… cos there's a lot that I've been seeing to her this past week or so.

Things that I guess… I should have known haven't changed from when we were eleven, but yet strangely surprising to see that they are indeed so.

She's less awkward when she's in her own home. Less… quiet. Less… serious, and downright playful even. And as days passed, she's increasingly opened up. The first session had been most frustrating as we'd treaded on eggshells around each other. The fact that her father was constantly in the background hadn't helped matters.

Thankfully, the ice was finally broken when I'd flubbed some of my lines with pretty hilarious results. Her attempts to correct me had led to our usual verbal sparring… and let's say… some *witty repartee* jibbed in for good measure. And it didn't take long before our 'moment of madness' had us rolling around in laughter when the ludicrous nature of the situation dawned upon us.

The scene that greeted Minister Parker even had him taken aback when he came to find out the cause of the slight ruckus we were causing. Thankfully, between our chuckles and chortles, we managed to reassure him that no, the Devil hadn't paid a visit.

From then forth, our daily practice sessions became something I looked forward to after school, though errant pockets of silence and pondering still shadowed her mostly upbeat moods. I sometimes wonder if I should ask her what's wrong. To let her know that she can talk to me if she wants to. Maybe-

“Like we used to, Max? … It's just… been a really long time since… Well, I thought you'd forgotten our friendship… when you started hanging with the jocks.”

And her stinging words ring bitingly to smother any such thoughts. So I just leave it be. Sometimes, we'd take a break from running lines, just to chat idly in the backyard. Mostly, we'd stay within the Parker compound.

Liz claimed she wanted to keep her father company while he prepared his sermons, but I get the feeling that she knows I'm not yet prepared to be seen in public with her. Not that I'm ashamed of her, just…

I guess we're both giving each other time to adjust to each other: her, to confide in me; and me, to build up the confidence to be more open to the idea of being in her company.

But what I don't have to learn to adjust to, however, is teasing her.

It's all too easy for me to get a rise out of her. And for the moment, Liz is in no way ‘keeping a watchful eye over the household'.

Not when I'm holding the trump card in my hands.

Literally.

Still keeping a tight hold on my valued possession, I've already raced up to the landing on the second floor while I see that Liz is keeping a slower - but nonetheless steady - pace to try to catch up with me.

‘Try' being the operative word here.

Holding back a grin and waiting gamely for her to reach the same level, she regards me suspiciously with narrowed eyelids… and somewhat nervously as she sees that I've moved to the door to the left of the landing… the door leading to her room.

And how do I know this? Well, I did mention that I used to come over with Iz to have sleepovers when we were all little tykes right?

Granted that seems like forever and so long ago, but things like that, you don't forget.

And from the apprehensive look in Liz's eyes, it seems she realizes I haven't forgotten either.

"Max…" The warning tone is all too apparent. But one I choose to ignore for the moment.

"Yes Liz?"

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Why, where do you think I'm going?" I ask, my eyes widening a little teasingly in mock innocence.

"Don't you dare-"

"Don't I dare do what?" I say even as I back away from her slowly, advancing closer to the door.

"Max…" she drawls on my name even as she shoots me a threatening glare, attempting to steer me from my intended target.

The angelic peal of that single word from her lips… And my mind starts to drift.

But only for a moment.

It takes a split second, but I'm back in control.

And I grin broadly at her… and bolt.

A yelp and a flurry of activity ensues as she tries to cut me off again, only to be rewarded with the door slamming shut on her as I make a mad dash into the room. I hear her hammer on the wooden door as I chuckle, leaning my back against it.

“Play nice now, Liz,” I shout through the wooden barrier.

“Max! Come on! This isn't funny any more! Give it back! And open the door! I don't want you in my room!” She practically wails as I refuse to budge from my position behind the now locked door.

“Come on Liz. Don't be a spoilsport! Not like I've never been in here before,” I state matter-of-factly, trying to stifle my laughs at the images I have in my mind of Liz standing outside, fuming at the current position she finds herself in.

“Just… come on out, so that we can continue with practice. And I need my script to-”

“For what?” I ask amusedly through the door. “You know all your lines by heart. Then again, you know practically EVERYONE's lines anyway.”

I swear to you, the girl DOES know all the lines of the play.

“Max, just… don't be… mean,” she says exasperatedly, her voice sounding muffled through the barricade between us.

“Not until you take back what you said when we were practising just now.”

“What? What did I say?” The trace of innocence in her voice is almost believable if I didn't know better.

“You know, about me being a hopeless case with words and prose. And about how if I concentrated on the play as well as I concentrated on the school's female population-”

“Come on Max. You know I can't do that.”

“And pray tell why that's so.”

“You know I can't lie.”

Narrowing my eyes and my jaw dropping at her muffled laughter filtering through, I throw her a dampener, “And you know I can't be a good boy and open up after that remark.”

I hear her release a frustrated growl before the pounding recommences a second later.

“Call ‘Uncle', Liz. You know that's all you have to do,” I say, the grin firmly re-planted on my face.

I almost believe I heard her snort at that.

Now that's a first.

“Yeah, I'm sure THAT's all,” the sarcasm drips acidly from her voice.

The door continues to rattle as her hammering continues and I take a step away from it.

Still shaking slightly from the laughter that rumbles through me, I move down the short passageway separating the door from the main bedroom, surveying the room that I've not laid eyes upon for the longest of times. Not since I was around ten when we had one of our last sleepovers.

I'd been the one who constantly had to put up with getting bullied, what with being the only guy with two gals; one always managed to terrorize me until she got her way, and the other always had a blinding smile that was a sure fire way of getting me to bend to her every wish.

Who's who?

Hmmm. Nope. No way I'm telling you the answer to that one. You go figure that out yourself.

Including the passageway, her room's shaped like an ‘L', with the foot of her bed facing towards the door, and at which I am currently standing. To my right on the far most corner of the room where the two walls meet, the windows on either side meet at an adjacent angle under a cushioned window perch similarly L-shaped like her room. As the windows stretch to almost half the length of the room, they brighten up the space with the glow of the evening sun, passing through the day curtains to cast a golden sheen in the interior of her blue and lilac patterned walls.

Between her bed and the window on the same side is a short stretch of wall where her dressing table is with an oval-cut mirror above it. Seeing how she's so different from Izzy and most girls I know, it's actually shocking yet oddly normal to see that compared to other girls, the tabletop is adorned with… typical female stuff. Maybe less than the norm but there's the odd powder, accessories and knick knacks – significantly fewer and less flashy, I do have to admit – and numerous pictures that I believe must be the rites of passage for every teenage girl.

Still standing at the foot of her bed, I turn my attention from her neatly cluttered dressing table… and cannot help the curl of my mouth in an upward direction as I see the teddy bears conquering the slope of her pillows.

Just like all those years ago… just like back then…

Drawing my eyes away from the amusing sight of her stuffed toys that clamor for space on the bedspread, I cannot help but breath in deeply, allowing my eyes to flicker shut as a familiar feel washes over me.

I can feel it. It's how it felt then… and still does now. And there's only one word I can think to describe it.

Serene.

Peaceful.

Comforting.

Okay, so that's more than one word, but you get the idea.

Leaving the ‘looted' script on the soft comforter on top of her bed, I step closer to her dresser. And in case you were wondering: yes; that is the culprit of Liz and my latest fracas.

Hey. It's not my fault she kept dozing off for moments while we were running lines. I'd suggested we stop practice for the day, but she'd insisted she was fine to continue.

You should have seen her expression when she saw me holding onto her script. From the stricken look on her face, you'd think I'd stolen her diary or something.

Anyway, she'd haughtily demanded that I return her the pages, and couldn't you just guess that I'd rise to the occasion to rile her further…

So here we are. I know she's trying to smoke me out like a predator seeking its prey. But guess what? I know about the chinks in her defence too. Like the-

Hello. What's this?

Reaching to pick out one of the many photos adorning the edges of the mirror, it occurs to me a little belatedly that although there are many photos in view, they are mostly of Liz and Old Hegbert, or of Liz with people who I guess to be the ones she's worked with in her charity work. But not all… and certainly not the one I'm holding on to.

But there is a common trait in all these photos. Something ethereal that is not readily noticeable by those of us who see her around school everyday. I mean, Liz is always courteous and civil to those around her. She's never rude, and always polite and respectful to her peers and elders.

But the thing is that… she's always so in control and calm.

And in each and every photo here, she shows another side that I have only recently come to see.

A more carefree, more relaxed and cheerful Liz that has happiness mirrored in the numerous snapshots captured in the moments of her life that is rarely seen by her fellow peers. Many of them in her charity work, and with her father.

But only this one matters to me right now.

The one in my hands.

The one with her and Izzy.

And me.

And I can't help the awe that overcomes me at the sight of three then-little, innocent cherubs staring up at me… a sight that transports me instantly to the memory of so long ago.

**

Flashback

The daylight begins to fade between the canopy of the thick forest, to be replaced by the faint light of stars just beginning to dot the lavender and blue hued sky. A doe lazily nudging the leaves of a young sapling nearby lends to the peaceful atmosphere of the evening landscape, even as a squirrel scurries along the bark of the tree beside it, looking for a hiding place to conceal the precious bounty in its possession.

The sudden perk of the doe's ears as its attention is distracted from its chore is accompanied by the abrupt disappearance of the squirrel… just before the almost thunderous pounding of twin feet crashing through the underwoods shatters the serenity of the woods.

“Rwun! Quick! She's wight behind us!”

“I'm twying! But I'm tired! I wanna stop!” I can almost hear the tears in her hushed voice.

Tears that are threatening to break forth from continuously running and hiding for the last half hour.

Tears that she still tries to fight back as she keeps a tight grip on my hand with both of hers.

Tears she brushes at sporadically as she trudges along just behind me. All while she keeps up with my pace to put as much distance between our pursuer and us.

Quickly turning my head to catch her eye as I continue forward, I try to comfort her. “Just a lee-ttle more okay? I won't let the big bad meanie get you. I pwomise.”

It's just then that her foot catches on the underbrush in the woods and she stumbles slightly. I barely catch her arm in time and prevent her from falling completely as she loses her balance. Momentarily letting up on my pace but still not stopping to give her the much-needed rest I know she greatly desires, I help her regain her balance, and after a quick once-over that nothing's broken, I throw her a little smile and attempt to raise her spirits.

The sight that greets my eyes makes me want to laugh, but I know that she'll get angry. A face sweaty and dirt-smudged from running through the woods has replaced her eight-year-old fresh-faced appearance from the morning. Bits and sprigs of fern are caught in her hair, one of them sticking out at a decidedly awkward angle, making her look like a wood-sprite out for a day of fun. But her look is anything but, judging by the drying tear tracks running down her face, cutting zigzag lines through the dirt.

I gently rub a smidgen of dirt off her left cheek before giving her a little smile to give her the confidence I know she needs to carry on. “Come'n Lizzie,” I say, giving her hand a little tug to get on our way.

I am met with resistance. “Max, I don't wanna go further. It's vewy dark. What if Daddy can't find us?” The worry is clearly reflected in her eyes. We'd followed Minister Parker on a short photo-taking expedition. But we had gotten bored tagging along and wandered off to explore the wooded grounds.

“You twust me?” I ask her.

“Yes.” Her response is immediate and unwavering.

“You know I nevwer let anythin' hurt you, wright?” I ask, confident of her response.

A beat of silence, then I am rewarded with the brilliance of her smile as her hesitance vanishes in a flash and her grip on my hand tightens.

And so it was that two determined little tots were so intent on finding their way back to the campsite before night fell completely that they never saw what was coming until it was too late.

“Max, no!” Her wailing cry comes too late.

I feel my breath knocked out of me as a figure barrels into me from my left. I would have made contact with the soft ground of the forest, but for the obtruding tree roots on the forest floor.

The impact of the larger body sends me into a tumble, only coming to a complete rest with me winded, and a slight gash along my right jean-clad leg.

“Found ya!” comes the gleeful declaration as my older, nine-year old sister bounds up and down happily in front of me. As Liz hurries over to my side, a woozy sensation overtakes me and I vaguely make out someone moaning. Liz cradles my head in her lap, practically screaming for Izzy to run back to the camp to get my parents. As the moans grow in volume, it only haunts me a little to realize that I am the one emitting the awful noises.

Izzy has quietened considerably, her initial happiness at having found us quickly dissipating when she sees the hurt I am in. In my disorientation, her ashened face appears before me briefly and I seem to recall some snatched words of apology and consolation before she scampers off back to camp to find my parents.

Ah… how nice it feels to be rocked to sleep.

It occurs to me for a split second that maybe this had all been a bad idea.

Maybe I should never have convinced Liz to help me shake Iz off our tail after we'd left the Minister.

Maybe I should never have convinced my parents that it was a good idea for Liz and her dad to join us in the woods on our annual family camping trip in the first place.

Maybe I'd been meant to die young.

Maybe-

“Max,” I make out the voice of an angel calling my name, her fingers feathering through my hair, brushing my bangs out of my eyes. Opening my eyes, I see a shadowy figure hovering over me, her hair framing her face in a saintly appearance, the late evening sky lending an even more surreal quality to her. If this was the way I was supposed to go-

I feel my eyes flutter shut.

“Max!” Her voice takes on a louder timbre, causing my eyes to jolt apart at the fear I hear in her voice.

“Maxie. You awake!” Liz hugs me to her tightly as she begins to laugh, the tinkle of her joyfulness, tinged with tears, seeps into my awareness. Slowly, I feel the wooziness begin to recede and am able to painfully pull myself into a seating position beside her.

As Liz tries to rearrange my limbs in a more comfortable position, I hear the voices of Mum and Dad just coming through the break in the bushes up ahead.

The sight of Mum bearing a tear-stricken Isabel in her arms is enough to send a fresh wave of tears bursting forth.

“Izzy… she… Mummy, Izzy pushed me!” I wail aloud as Dad settles in front of Liz and me to check my wounded leg. Liz remains steadily by my side, a beacon of calm among the fracas as I continue to fuss and Izzy protesting haltingly through her tears that she hadn't meant to hurt me.

“Maxwell, now settle down and let me see to your wound,” Dad commands, using a tone I dare not defy.

Sniffling slightly, I cling tightly to Liz's hand as she soothingly kisses my cheek in an attempt to calm a haltingly crying eight-year-old boy. Approaching nervously to occupy the space beside her, Iz meekly tries to apologize for causing me to fall, but she is cut off by the abrupt separation of the shrubs beside her.

I only remember a flash of brilliance going off as I hear her sudden shriek turn into hiccupping laughter.

My vision clearing by this time, I look up to see a crimson blush quickly replacing the bemusedly confused expression on Minister Parker's face. Too late, he realizes how his sudden appearance through the bushes had shocked my sister badly.

“Erm… everybody alright?” he asks, embarrassment coloring his words.

End flashback

**

I cannot believe I'd forgot about the existence of the photo. Old Hegbert had managed to depict one of the most important moments in our young lives back then, and here it is: a moment frozen in time forever.

Brushing my thumb lightly over the surface of the yellowed picture, I smile wistfully at the face of the raven-haired little boy with tears pooled in his eyes. By his side, a chocolate haired little girl gives him a gentle peck on his cheek even as a golden-haired nine-year-old girl laughs tearily into the camera.

With a twinge of sadness, I cannot help but feel that the little raven-haired boy is someone I still resemble, but no longer understand. Staring at the photo a few moments longer, I wonder why Liz has the photo on her dresser mirror. Even stranger: why hadn't she mentioned this to Isabel or me? We hadn't been estranged then and she had no reason to hide any of this from us.

My mind drifting back to the memories revisited at the sight of that long forgotten photo, I smile contemplatively as I return the weathered picture to its original location and turn to take a closer look around her room.

I wonder…… Woah!

My breath hitches. My throat constricts. And my jaw drops as a most amazing sight meets my eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~
TBC
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