South of Nowhere 1. Just wondering

Just wondering….

I've started a new story for South of Nowhere. The story itself will be split into two parts. Part one is definitely Spashley with tidbits of other character pairings, but part two is more Ashley/Aidan-esque with a few Spashley moments. If you like the description, let me know and I'll post the prologue.

For part 1, I've decided to take a few different days out of every school year from each major year in school, freshman, sophomore, junior and senior. You will see the days August 20th, September 16th, November 1st, January 20th, February 26th, March 28th, May 19th, and June 29th. Each day holds something significant for one of the South of Nowhere characters. The chapters will not be chronological, but rather, the opposite. For every day I do from freshman year, a day from senior year will follow, until the days get close together, letting the last two chapters go in chronological order. Okay, so….

Here's the "back of the book" for part 1:

The trials and tribulations of everyone at King High are on the brink of insanity. Spencer Carlin, the new kid, is trying desperately to figure out just what exactly she should make of Ashley Davies, the only person who makes her feel like L.A. isn't just a bunch of freaks. Ashley Davies, coping with her father's loss and her long lost sister, Kyla's unexpected visit to L.A., meets Spencer Carlin and doesn't know what to think of her… until she falls flat on her face in love with her. Chelsea, Ashley's confidante, is trying desperately to juggle finding prince charming and helping Ashley Cope. Glen Carlin, an up and coming basketball star, starts school off falling for Ashley Davies, who, unbeknownst to him is his sister's new girlfriend. With Clay making an appearance after running away from an abusive childhood home, Spencer's mom, Paula, is constantly busy trying to keep her family together. But the Carlins have a secret. And until Spencer disappears from thin air, Paula has no clue how dangerous this secret is… or if she even knows the whole story. Follow the characters to find out what happens when everything they've ever known turns out to be a mirage of lies hidden by the deepest fundamental truths.

For Part 2, I've completely omitted the date thing, but instead focused on a smaller amount of time, I think part two covers the span of about a month or maybe two. Part 2 happens three years after the last chapter of part 1.

Here's the "back of the book"for part 2:

Ashley Davies finally thinks she's settling down with the man of her dreams. But this man, Aidan Dennison, soon proves to have more baggage than she bargained for. Between searching for his three year old daughter, and dealing with past skeletons, Ashley soon finds herself wrapped up in more drama than she imagined was possible. When her and Kyla decide to plan a charity concert in honor of their father, the drama unfolds further. As Aidan's situation with his ex spiral out of control, past events from high school come back to haunt her. The truth of these events threaten to taint her new life and test her existing relationships. Will Ashley finally get the life she deserves? Or will everything she's worked for crash and burn in the heat of truth?

Okay, so those are the proposed ideas… Let me know what you think!

xoxo,

Kaitlyn


	2. Prologue: Dreams and Contemplations

So, after considering that one can't really judge a story until they get a taste of the author's style, I've decided to post the Prologue. Hope you enjoy

xoxo,

Kaitlyn

**Prologue: Ashley's POV**

**~Dreams and Contemplations~**

You were lounging cross-legged on the branch nearest my head throwing apples at me. Your back rested on the trunk, and leaves occasionally fluttered by your face if a breeze gained enough momentum. Your hair was curly (since when did you not straighten it?) and the honey highlights, the ones your mother loved so much, were halfway grown out. Your natural color was startling. How had I never seen it before?

My sleepy eyes followed your movements and were surprised to find not ordinary apples, but ones that reminded me of Willy Wonka's land of edible candy. Your limbs, which seemed too much like the tree branches, started to pluck another apple.

Not red, though. And not green. Not even orangy-yellow. They were blue.

But not dark blue, and not light blue. Somewhere in between. Just like us.

I remember your eyes were blue. They were shiny and dark and mysterious. Every time I looked at them, there was always a deep hurt that reflected back to me. I wanted you so badly to let me heal it. But at the same time, I somehow felt that everything I didn't know about you, everything you didn't _want_ me to know, that all of those things would just come between our blueness. Maybe even change our color. And what would we have done? What _could _we have done if we weren't blue? You probably contemplated that before you ever asked me out. You knew, you always knew. You were always smarter than me in making those decisions.

But you were still throwing apples at me. And you weren't dressed very pretty either. And that wasn't like you. No matter what article of clothing…

Do you remember in English class, when Mr. Pent got so frustrated that he threw a marker and Matt's head just because he didn't know what an article was? You laughed louder than anyone else when Matt refused to write all three articles fifty times in a row ("Mr. Pent, with all due respect, isn't it your fault for not ever teaching us what an article was in the first place?" Matt had asked). I remember how you used to gasp for air after one of your belly ache laughs. And then I'd laugh at your cackle (as I used to call it) and you'd glare across the classroom (we'd been moved the second day of school because we couldn't keep our hands to ourselves: do you remember that?) and I tried as hard as I could to make all of my teeth show through my smile…

I really wish you would stop throwing those apples. It hurts my eyes to see you so ruthless.

When we walked across the courtyard of our little school, hand in hand, your nail polish all chipped and worn (remember when I dragged you to get a manicure and you always told me to send the 25 bucks to the starving kids in Africa?), you always made me promise that I would never leave you because your heart would hurt too bad. And then you'd kid and say you'd only leave me if I spent more than 25 dollars to get my nails done. I never told you, but sometimes I got the tips, and they cost extra.

Is that why you want to hurt me with fruit? Do you want me to pick these apples up and send them to those poor kids? Because I will. I'll send every single one of them to those kids. I'll fly over there and hand them out myself.

I could almost hear your questions in my head, they way you used to interrogate me when you were angry with me.

'_Why would you even think about getting those disgusting fake nails? I can't believe you would spend your money on something to trivial!'_

I would give anything to take back all the selfish responses I fed to you. I understood, now, why you were so adamant about those starving kids. Why you hated my closet full of expensive clothes.

You could have told me on the beach that summer, when I drove you to my secret thinking place. You could have shared something secret with me. Did you not trust me the way I trusted you? I fell completely under when I finally admitted to myself that I loved you. I handed you my already fragmented heart, begged you to sew the pieces back together (I remember how you used to sew me skirts and shirts and sweaters and I'd brag to all my friends that you were secretly designing for Macy's). Did you not give me your heart too? Was that thing you so delicately placed in my hands just a small token? How could you not throw yourself into me like I had done to you? How could something be so secret that you would not share it with the person who loved you best? How dare you keep something so important from the person that wanted to-

Now look who's angry. I shouldn't be angry with you. I shouldn't expect that you'll tell me everything.

I should have never even glanced your way in ninth grade. Loving you was a mistake so big that I can't even begin to imagine how I ever thought it was a good idea in the first place.


	3. Chapter 1: August 20, 2001

Okay, so I know it's been awhile! I'm sorry it has taken me so long to get this chapter out, but I've been in Europe and various other states for auditions and tours and whatnot. But, here's chapter one. I hope you like it.

Kaitlyn

**Chapter 1: August 20, 2001**

**Ashley**

_Those_ were the type of people I couldn't stand. Their hair looked funny, all done up in white and green bows and their asses hung out of their skirt, _pleated_ skirt at that. Their tight shirt (if you could call it that) smashed their boobs against their chest, which was very unattractive. They paraded around like overgrown monkeys on crack. Their smiles scared me and their pep depressed me. I figured that if every 1 overgrown monkey died per 1000 pairs of eyes rolling over their ear-splitting cheers, they would be on the endangered species list inside a year. Extinct within five.

Their legs were all swinging at the same time, too. They walked with this pride, a sense of ownership. What, exactly, _did_ they own except for pom poms and hair ribbons?

"Ashley, please, for the love of God, at least pay attention for the last five minutes of class."

Everyone turned to look at me looking at the cheerleaders. I turned my attention to my empty desk. Everyone else, I noticed, had their textbook open to page fifteen. I hadn't even bothered getting mine out.

"Dyke" cut up the tension in the air, bringing me back to the reality that I was still in a high school classroom with boys who thought name calling got them places.

A snicker followed and one by one, all the little fucks joined in.

Every single person laughed except for Mrs. Davidson, who said nothing and returned to the chalk board where she continued writing themes for "Animal Farm."

Fuck them. What did they know about the world? They were ants. We were all just ants. I knew for certain that someone in this vast world had the capability to crush them and make them feel like absolutely nothing. I knew that someone had the capability to crush me, too. That made me different.

"Ashley, see me after class, please."

No.

I glanced back at the cheerleaders, who were huddled on the patch of grass in the courtyard. Something had happened (probably just a lost bow) that had caused them all to fan themselves frantically with their hands in order to hold back tears from their up-turned eyes. Their faces contorted. Gone were the looks of ownership, and in their place raised eyebrows and quivering lips.

Melodrama was always consuming their lives. They always allowed everything superficial to get to them. Losing a bow or not being able to find their pom poms would send them into a tizzy. But tell them their father died or that the school was being attacked by aliens, and they would breathe deeply and convince themselves that it was going to be okay. What sense did that make? It didn't. It showed only the deep selfish tendencies of people who thought they were better than me because they owned a school-issued bow. Well my father was famous. Beat that.

"Ashley," Mrs. Davidson said. She was sitting on top of my desk, one of her feet on the ground, her left hand pressed into the center of the fake wood. The tip of her pinky was covering the letter "a," which made it impossible for me to figure out what word was scrawled out on my desk. She seemed to be half leaning, half sitting. That bothered me. I wondered if it was my inability to be nice. Maybe I made her too uncomfortable to sit down next to me. Maybe she sensed that I got horny for girls and it scared her.

"I sense that you feel a bit nervous about high school. Maybe there's something I could do to help?"

I looked at her shirt and averted her intense gaze. Looking in her eyes would have made me tell the truth. And there was no way in hell I'd give her the satisfaction of knowing I was nervous about high school. I was Ashley Davies. I was the dyke-bitch everyone was scared of.

I leaned down to grab my back pack. One of the straps was nestled neatly around the heel of her payless pumps. I huffed. In the midst of all this nonsense about me being nervous, I realized that the bell had rung almost half a minute ago.

"Can I go now?"

Her sigh drew me to look in her eyes, but I kept my mouth shut. Instead, I steered my thoughts toward her features.

She wasn't bad looking, I supposed. Maybe a haircut and some make up would do her some good, but she was pretty. I could almost feel her hair slathered on my fingers like silk. I could feel it creeping into the crevices of my spread out fingers, molding to every curve like wet clay. Her shirt, which I figured out, was actually part of a dress, caught my attention. There were overlapping polka dots in subtle, organic shades of tan and brown, all set atop a crème color that accented her dark skin. And the sliver of cleavage she did show was almost sexy. How had I not seen this earlier?

Her sudden movement, walking from my desk to her own knocked me out of my trance and allowed me view her backside.

"Ashley, quite frankly, I don't know what to do with you. I just want you to pass my class. Think you can accomplish that?"

Her hands were resting on her desk as she leaned over. She looked exhausted. Her shirt gaped in the front and I caught a glimpse of a lilac colored bra. I was overwhelmed at the level of satisfaction I felt from seeing something so forbidden and my next statement, which came out of nowhere, surprised me as much as it did her.

"Mrs. Davidson, English has just become my new favorite class."

In the breezeway enclosing the courtyard, after I was a safe distance from her classroom, I threw my back to the brick wall and slid down until my butt hit the concrete walkway. I had never been that forward with a teacher. It felt good to be in high school.

I scanned the crowd for Chelsea, but couldn't find her afro anywhere in the mass of people bumping into each other in a frantic attempt to get to last period on time. The first day back was always so hectic. Half of these people, after the initial day of classes, failed to make any effort to be on time. I never understood why they wanted to make a false first impression. If I were them, which I wasn't, I'd make it to class at precisely the time I was going to be arriving the rest of the school year.

I sighed, plopped my satchel on the ground next to me and rummaged through the crumpled papers for my phone. Every teacher so far thought it would be a good idea to start off the year with a take home test on summer reading. Including Mrs. Davidson.

My feet were stretched out, the right one crossing over the left one. I rolled my neck a few times and toyed with the idea of skipping the rest of the day. I scrolled through my few texts from Chelsea that I had never bothered to answer (what's the point of answering "What's up?" when all I'm going to say is "nothing?") and my right hand tucked a very annoying stray hair behind my ear.

She tripped right over me. She landed flat, her stomach covering my navy blue patent leather peep toe stilettos. Books spewed from her up-turned satchel and pens landed in a heap beside one of her textbooks. It looked like Biology.

"I-I'm s-sorry," she stuttered, while awkwardly picking herself up off of me. Her shirt was scrunched up at her waist, showing a good chunk of her stomach. "I swear I thought I was going to miss your feet, but your legs are so long and-"

I wanted to grab her by her hair and throw her into the bushes. I wanted to scream at her so loud her eardrums might have popped. But I noticed her trembling hands, which were trying desperately to hoist their owner's body off of the harsh concrete.

"Uh, it's okay. Are you, uh, lost, because I could probably, you know, help you find your class or something."

What had I just done? I had invited myself to spend time with a complete stranger who landed on my only good pair of navy blue shoes. I hoisted myself up while grabbing her trembling hand and pulled both of us to a standing position. She let go after she realized she was squeezing my fingers. When she was finally stable on her feet, she began tugging violently at every piece of clothing until her shirt, pants, socks, and shoes were straight again. She attempted, and failed (although it was cute) to give me a grateful smile.

Only then did I look at her face. Her cheeks were cherry red and- Oh my god she had gorgeous eyes. They were blue, but not just sky blue or light blue. They were deep blue. When I looked at them long enough, I could imagine myself at sea in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

"Well, I think I know where it is, but I wouldn't mind the company," she smiled weakly, but her eyes portrayed a look of horror not a second later, "But you probably have to get to class too. I'm such an idiot. I'm sorry. I'm so scatter brained lately and-"

"Let's start over. I'm Ashley."

My hand stretched out to her, inviting. I was glad I had decided to moisturize in English. If she didn't wash it any time soon, her palm would smell like lavender, just like mine.

Her own hand lingered tentatively by her side until I reached the few extra inches and took it. "This is the part where you tell me your name."

"Oh, right. Um, it's Spencer."

I let go with one more shake, my fingers lingering on her palm for just a second more, and turned to grab my bag.

"So, would you like me to walk with you to class?"

"Um, I guess so, I mean, if you don't have anything better to do."

"I don't. I forgot my PE clothes anyway."

She looked down with a grin and let a honey blond chunk of straightened hair fall in her face. I reached for it and tucked it behind her ear and hoped she didn't mind.

"God, I hate PE. I joined the cross country team so they wouldn't make me take it."

We started walking toward the science wing, diagonally across the courtyard. I guess I should have told her that people don't usually walk through the courtyard. People met her to study or socialize. It was like walking on top of someone's lunch table or their desk in the library. But I wasn't going to call her out. I didn't want to ruin our… whatever it was by embarrassing her. We only interrupted two study groups anyway. I kind of liked how oblivious she was to her surroundings. It made me feel needed. I could be the one to make her aware. I could be her protector.

"Do people at this school normally act rude?" Her question broke my string of thoughts, and I looked at her through my peripheral vision. Her profile made her look pouty. I liked it. "I mean, I was in the office asking for my schedule and some guy came up and shoved me out of the way. I mean, really. And do those people in the office always sound so monotone? It's like they don't even want to help me. So why did they get a job at a school full of children if they hate us? And better yet, why did they get a job dedicated to helping people if they didn't _want_ to help people? It makes absolutely no sense!" Her hands flew up into the air, giving her speech a dramatic flair of disgust. I caught a whiff of my lavender lotion. It was nice to smell it on someone other than me. And it was nice to share it with someone I actually liked.

"You are absolutely right. No sense at all."

She started first. It started at her belly, with a low rumble and traveled through her wind pipes until it exploded out of her wide mouth. The sound was startling and different. It was the most obnoxious cackle I had ever heard and from that day on I tried my best to imitate it. We both burst into laughter then. The kind that made your stomach sore. The kind that caught people's attention. The kind that allowed you to not care, for one second, what those people thought of you.

"Well, this is my biology class. Thanks for walking with me. I guess I'll see you."

"I'll find you after school. You can come study with me and Chelsea. You'll like her, don't worry."

After an awkward second of blank smiles and almost moments, she meandered into the classroom and turned around slightly to give a tentative wave. I blew her a kiss, unexpectedly, and was almost disappointed when her cheeks flushed and she turned around with abruptness and scampered to the first empty desk, burying her head in folded arms. I would apologize later for it. I would blame it on L.A. culture, laugh it off, and poke her mind with questions of her last school. And that would be that.

As soon as Spencer Carlin was out of my sight, I was put out. I hadn't realized how much I had enjoyed brushing my arm up against hers, sometimes on purpose. All thoughts of skipping school had ceased.

I decided that Chelsea _had_ to like her. If she didn't, I felt that our friendship would seriously suffer because Spencer clouded up all of my once simple thoughts and I had no clue how to _un_cloud them. Everything in my brain became a hazy shade of musk. I no longer thought about going to that party, I thought about going to that party with _Spencer_. And it was no longer whether or not I would get drunk, it was whether or not I would get drunk in front of _Spencer. _She made me self-conscious and I despised her power over me, especially having just met her. But there was no way around it. And the only thing I found that I despised more was not being with her.

I also found my temperament to be much more relaxed with her. I didn't want to throw up every time I saw a cheerleader for fear of offending something Spencer might like. What if she was a cheerleader? Well then, I'd put up with the glittered bows and high pitched cheers. And when I rolled my eyes at all the frantic students barely able to hold all of their books, I turned sympathetic, thinking of Spencer's ungraceful fall, which led to us meeting in the first place. Everywhere I turned, everything I saw, every person who waved to me could somehow be linked back to Spencer in the crazy whirlwind of my thoughts.

"Aaaaashleeeeeey! Wait up!"

My selective hearing tuned in to the outside world, and I recognized Chelsea's voice. My insides started churning with excitement. I whirled around and let my palms land on her shoulders. My bag landed on my hip with a _thunk_.

"Chels, I have some crazy news. And you might think I've gone nuts, but I met someone." I looked at her expectantly, dropped my hands, and rocked back and forth on my feet.

"… Wow."

"That's all you have to say? Wow?" I sliver of leaf caught my attention and I picked it out of Chelsea's hair.

"Well, I mean, it's awesome… I guess."

"You guess?"

"It's just that you've said this about a lot of people. I'm tired of getting attached to your girlfriends."

Chelsea started toward our usual table, set her giant teddy bear coffee mug down, and patted the seat next to her.

"Look, go out with her, prove to me that you're still interested in her after a month or so, and then I'll get to know her. But in the mean time, I have news of my own…" I looked at her expectantly, willing her to tell me with my bulging eyes, "I won the contest I entered! My painting is going to be published in Painter's Weekly and I'm receiving ten thousand dollars for college!"

For a split second, I was able to forget my Spencer dilemma and be happy. Moments like these made me think that at least for some of the time, I was a decent best friend.

"Chelsea, are you serious? This is crazy news! Okay, party at my house tonight. I'm going to invite every single person. And we're going to put your painting on display in the living room like a real art show. God, Chels, I'm so fucking happy for you. Seriously."

I reached over and pulled her tiny frame into a hug. My arms felt like they were squeezing her to death, but I just couldn't help it. I was friends with a famous artist!

"Thanks. But the party's not necessary. I was thinking of something a little more low key. How's dinner with the fam?"

"Perfect. Now about Spencer-"

"Ashley."

"Seriously, Chels, I told her she could study with us this afternoon."

I winced at her aggravated eye-rolling. "Ashley, listen to me. I swear to God, you better be thankful that I'm such a good best friend. Because any other asshole would have broken up with you. But no, not me. I put up with your shit. I survive every one of your break ups."

I gave her a grateful smile and grabbed my bag. It was almost time to meet Spencer outside of the biology lab.

"By the way, her name's Spencer. She's got the biggest, bluest eyes, and her hair is honey blond and pin straight. She's different Chelsea, I'm fucking serious."

"I hope so. My place or yours?"

"Hmmm… yours. I don't wanna freak her out. I think super bitch is in town this week."

Chelsea rolled her eyes, took a gulp of black tea from her mug, and threw her bag over her shoulders.

"Alright, I'll meet you at your car."

I took the shortcut to the bio lab, crossing the silent teacher parking lot, trying my hardest not to touch old models of Mercedes and BMWs for fear of catching the teaching disease. Under no circumstances did I ever want to be a teacher. There was no way in hell I could handle the overgrown monkeys _and_ the jocks. And me, let's not forget me.

I glanced into the window, to Spencer in the front row, taking notes. Her hair moved with her head every time she looked up to the board, then slid down her cheek again when she looked back down at her paper. Her forehead was scrunched up, as if she was worried she wouldn't be able to write the last words down before the bell rang. Maybe, just like me, she had an unnatural fear of being the last one in the room with the teacher. Maybe she wanted to blend in and push her way through the door when the bell rang like everyone else. I wondered.

What if she hated Raife Davies? What if she wasn't a rock n' roll kind of person? What if she loved watching corny reality shows and listening to god awful Taylor Swift?

What if she loved Raife Davies? And rock n' roll? What if she hated reality shows, hated cheerleading, hated Taylor Swift? What if she loved coffee ice cream, reading books all the way through without stopping, watching old movies in pajamas with popcorn?

I imagined our first date. I would take her to my dad's penthouse and play an old Bob Marley record and I'd try my best to cook a romantic meal. And we'd sit together, at the table set for two with candles, in our pajamas. We'd watch the moon through the telescope, sip sweet red wine, and collapse into the plush couch and fall asleep to _Casablanca. _

I imagined her eyes close to mine, her lips close to mine.

I imagined her body molded to me, her head resting in the nook of my arm.

I imagined kissing her forehead, whispering silly things into her ear, and twirling her honey blond streaks around my fingers.

I imagined holding her hand.

I imagined kissing her lips.

I imagined falling in love with her.

"Ashley, what are you doing?"

I jumped, settled my vision back into focus, and looked at the person in front of me. Spencer. I smiled and all of the tension from being knocked out of my deep thoughts melted away.

"Oh, uh, just thinking. So, uh, anyway, you sure your mom will be okay with you studying with me and Chelsea?"

She looked down at her feet, and held onto her satchel strap with both hands. "Oh yeah. Definitely. She was pretty worried about me leaving my friends back in Ohio."

"Woah, You're a long way from home, Dorothy."

"Ohio, _not_ Kansas." She rolled her eyes and sped up to be a few paces ahead of me. Then she turned around and started walking backwards, "Let's play the trust game."

"Trust game?"

She stopped walking and gaped at me. "You don't know the trust game?" I shook my head 'no.' "Okay, so I'm going to walk backwards and you're going to steer me by giving me directions. If I trust you, and you lead me to our destination safely, I won't look back. But if I look back because I think you're lying…"

"You don't trust me. Cute. But I think I'm gonna pass."

I started to walk past her, casually grabbed her forearm and pulled her with me. "But you can't not play! Come on, just once? How can you say no to the new girl?"

She was right. How in the hell could I say no to those eyes?

"Alright, but if you look back, I'm ditching you, got it?"

She nodded confidently, and turned to face me. "Okay, now start steering!"

I dropped her hands. "Here goes nothing. Alright, now keep going back… keep going… wait! To the left! I-I mean to the right! Shit!" I grabbed her arms and propelled her body away from the tree that was a mere five inches away from her back.

She cackled, gripped my hands and pulled me to the ground with her. "There's one more rule. Saving someone from crashing into a tree constitutes instantaneous trust. You win. Now, do you trust me?"

I hopped to my feet, pulled her up with me, and surveyed the ground for things that had no doubt fallen out of our bags. "I think we should wait until tomorrow."

"Whatever you say, Ash-leeey,."

I rolled my eyes, grabbed the few pencils that had slipped out of my bookbag's front pocket, and started toward the student parking lot. "Come on, Spencer, you have to meet Chelsea."

"Race ya!"

And before I could say no, I was chasing the prettiest girl in California.

"Listen, I'm sorry about being so… bubbly this afternoon. I'm usually not like that, I don't know what's gotten into me."

I looked directly behind Spencer, into her pristine yard, and sighed. "It's alright. It's just a scraped knee."

"I know, but if we hadn't raced, you would've never tripped over that stupid water bottle!"

I grabbed her shoulders, and forced her to look me in the eyes, "Listen, worse things have happened. Don't feel bad, okay?"

She nodded, walked up to her porch, and opened the big wooden door, "You wanna come in for a minute? My mom would love to meet someone from school."

"… Spencer, honey, would you please make sure all of your boxes are unpacked? Your dad's gonna take them all to work for files. They're running out of cabinet space and- oh, Spencer, who's your new friend?"

My first impression of the Carlin home didn't surprise me. Something told me when Spencer invited me in that her family was going to be unusually normal for L.A.

Mrs. Carlin balanced a laundry basket on her left hip, and held out her hand. "I'm Paula, Spencer's mom."

"Uh, hi. I'm Ashley."

"Well, Ashley, it's nice to meet you. Spencer, why don't you take Ashley into the kitchen and offer her something to drink? I'll be right back! Just let me put this basket on Glen's bed."

She smiled politely enough, and darted up the stairs. "Woah."

I followed Spencer in a daze to the perfect, normal kitchen.

"Woah, what?"

"It's just… you're family… you guys are so…_ normal_ compared to the rest of L.A."

She laughed, hopped up onto the counter, and let her hair fall to the right side of her face. God, she was gorgeous.

And then there was her. And she wasn't normal at all. In fact, it was hard to believe that she was even from this family. I could almost believe, I mean, if I thought God was real, that she had fallen from heaven.


	4. Chapter 2: September 16, 2001

Alright, so I know it's been awhile, but I've been busy and I promise I'm writing as fast as I can. Hope everyone enjoys!

xoxo,

Kaitlyn

**Chapter 2: September 16, 2001**

**Spencer**

I felt suffocated.

Everywhere I turned, there was Ashley. She smiled at me through the classroom window, with brilliant white teeth that were almost too perfect. She waved when we passed each other in the hallway, each one of her fingers nodding in my direction, one right after the other. And she always took me home. I hadn't been in Glen's beat up VW bug since the second day of school. Every weekend we were together, doing something unbelievably fun and spontaneous. Sometimes I was almost convinced that my eyes would snap open and I'd be the same boring Ohio girl my mother thought had ceased to exist. But they never did, and every morning, when I squinted at the L.A. sun peeping through my curtains, a feeling of giddiness came over me because I was still here. I was still friends with the most amazing person I had met.

And yet I still felt suffocated. And yet I couldn't get away from it. And yet, I didn't even try. I didn't know how to get away from such an addictive person. I wanted to lock myself in my room and google it until I found the answer. And at the same time, I wanted to throw my computer down the stairs and hope I never had the opportunity to even try to figure out how to tear myself away from her.

What we had, whatever it was, had me questioning everything I had ever thought to be right or wrong. At Crestview High in Ohio, I would have looked at Ashley's short skirt and spilling cleavage and rolled my eyes. But here, in the blinding daylight and exhaustible heat, no one could blame her for wearing as little clothes as possible. And she walked not with pride and a sense of higher status, but as though she was sure of herself and didn't care what people thought of her. And somehow, that made her revealing style almost acceptable. It was like Ohio threw a certain light on morality that didn't seem to exist in L.A..

"Spencer," I turned to the doorway where my mom stood in her typical mom pajamas and a mug of typical morning coffee. L.A. seemed to not faze her in the slightest. She acted as though turning our lives upside down hadn't happened and that we were somehow still in the same routine that plagued us in Ohio.

"What happened in here? I've never seen you let your room get this gross."

I glanced at my unmade bed, the overflowing hamper, and magazines spewed on my desk that Ashley had left for me, and the spare change of clothes Ashley kept here for when her mother decided to lock her out of the house. My bookbag lay open and pencils were beside it, alongside my open algebra book. The bulletin was bare save the few concert stubs I had hung.

"Mom, school has just been tough. I've been busy. I'll clean it this weekend, promise." I gave her a cheerful smile.

"I know you've been busy. Staying out all night with that Ashley girl. I'm telling you Spencer, I have a funny feeling about this. It's just not right."

She was about to do her hand thing, where her fingers stretched out like a cat's claws waiting to sink into a mouse, and with the flick of her wrist, she would dismiss whatever it was we were talking about. In this case, it was Ashley. I rolled my eyes.

"We're not out all night, I spend the night at her place. She has a curfew, too, you know."

"She called this morning. She won't be able to take you to school. She's meeting with some old friend of hers for coffee. She said to tell you she was sorry." She paused and I was thankful her tolerating tone was gone. "Now get dressed so you won't make Glen late for school."

And with a sip of her coffee, over which she peered at me with raised eyebrows and condescending eyes, she was gone. Down the hallway in her typical white slippers to crawl back in bed and read a few pages of her self help book before going to work.

I rolled off the crumpled sheets, threw on a pair of Ashley's jeans and a semi-loose t-shirt, and trudged into the bathroom. The Spencer I once knew was wearing her favorite green polo with worn in, faded blue jeans that fit exactly right. But there I was, a blond haired, blue eyed, slightly chubbier version of Ashley Davies. Spencer would have gotten up an hour ago to straighten her hair. _I_ noticed my bedhead tangled mass and laughed at the idea of running a brush through it. A messy bun would have to do today. As I glanced at my sunken eyes from too many late night study sessions for biology, I noticed that not only were they droopy, but the shining look of innocence, as my dad so lovingly called it, was gone. I didn't blindly follow my parents. I didn't give in to my brother. I didn't even listen to my dad's once cherished advice all that much. I questioned everything and took nothing on faith.

It wasn't Ashley that scared them, it was… what did? What convinced them that I was… I was… different? That wasn't right. Maybe they were shocked to find out that Spencer Carlin was merely the cocoon protecting me until I was ready to break loose. And when I came out and shattered the shell they were so accustomed to greeting each tedious day, maybe they didn't want to admit that Spencer Carlin wasn't enough. Maybe they thought I was too much. Maybe the real problem was letting go.

xxxx

xxxx

It almost surprised me that some people took school to be serious. After so much time with Ashley, who was the opposite of a student, in fact, I think I'd call her an anti-student, it almost came as a shock when someone asked a semi-intelligent question in Biology. At least from Ashley and Chelsea, I had gotten the notion that L.A. was one of the most unconventional places in the United States. I figured if any community was against school, a typical conventional tradition, it would be southern California. Chelsea and Ashley had blown off _at least_ two classes this week for art showings and private concerts. And it's not that I wasn't invited, it's just that I couldn't give up the part of me that craved knowledge. Something about a piece of chalk dragging across the green board sparked a yearning for whatever that chalk was going to teach me.

So in Biology class, when Alex raised her hand to ask the difference between an x chromosome and a y chromosome because she didn't think the book explained it very well, it knocked my whole world off balance.

And it angered me to the point of physical frustration. It was like learning to walk for the first time. It was a discovery that wasn't even anticipated. I hadn't been looking for frustration, it had just manifested itself. And I didn't know how to deal with it, much less even understand the root of it. At the end of class, the very second the bell had begun to sound, I slammed my notebook shut, thrust my pen in my bookbag without even putting the cap on, and stormed out of the classroom.

"What's got you so grumpy?" Ashley walked right up beside me and pinched my cheek. I had been so caught up in trying to find her that I had forgotten that it was Friday, and she always, without fail, waited for me outside of the Biology lab.

"Nothing, it's stupid. I don't even know why I feel this way. It's silly to be mad at someone for asking a question in the middle of class. That's what teachers are there for, right? To help you understand?"

"Hmm. I see. Now, could this possibly be the green monster of envy coming out of your mouth? Are you jealous _you,_" she jabbed my ribcage, "didn't ask the question?"

"No! I mean, I did have the section marked in my book as something I didn't understand, but I just hadn't gotten there yet. I was still taking notes on the previous section, the one we were talking about when she so rudely raised her hand."

I sighed and tried to wipe the look of disgust off of my face. "Look. It's not important. What we really need to be talking about is our Friday plans."

But she didn't respond with the usual giggle and she bit her lip nervously. She only did that when- "Look, Spence, I promised Chelsea I'd do something with her tonight. I think she feels a little left out, and while she likes you and everything, I just think… well… I mean…"

She didn't want to say it. She hated to tell me. And I could grasp this much. I could understand that there was _something_ between us that made this statement so unreachable. So I grabbed her hand, squeezed as much understanding into her palm as possible, and gave her a genuine smile. "I understand. You guys need to do something. I've been hogging all of your time. We did leave her out of our Friday night movies. And you can't see her on Saturday or Sunday because she spends the weekend with her parents in Santa Monica. That's not very fair of me. So I am giving you up for a day."

"You really don't mind? Because I can totally tell her we have to include you."

"Ash, you guys were best friends before you and I ever met. We can still be friends, but you have to give her some of your undivided attention, too."

"You sure? Because I also totally ditched you for coffee with my dad's old manager this morning. I feel like such a bit-"

"Ashley, you didn't ditch me. You left a message."

She gave me a small smile, but in her big brown eyes I caught a smidgen of dissatisfaction. She carried herself as though leaving a message was something to be sorry about, that it wasn't enough, it wasn't an excuse, or at least a valid one. It wasn't like we were… It wasn't like she owed me every moment of her time or that she had to account for every second she spent away from me. "Let's go home. It's been too long of a day for us to sit around this dump."

Walking to the car, there was a part of me that hated Chelsea for taking Ashley away from me. Whatever it was that me and Ashley were doing felt different, yes, (it was something I had never experienced) but it didn't feel wrong. And I didn't want to share her. I had become used to experiencing. I was accustomed to it, addicted even. I wasn't satisfied just walking through the motions of life. And without Ashley's spontaneity, without Ashley period, I wasn't sure I would know how to experi- where was this feeling stemming from? I had never been this… dependant.

I took Ashley's hand brought it flush against my chest. For just a moment, I was completely at peace with everything. The world, Ashley, my parents, the creepy crawlers that I detested so much, everything. But my hands dropped not a second later.

"Ashley, I don't know where that came from. I just…"

"Need me? That's what friends do. They need each other."

"Maybe."

This time it was her who drew my hands to her bare chest. She smiled without any dissatisfaction.

"Ew, get a room dykes."

I hated her for ruining our moment. I was finally breaking down all the barriers this friendship presented and Madison had to come along and hide Ashley's feelings away. Her grip slackened, her fingers were suddenly clammy and shaking. Had my hands not made an effort to stay, they would have slid right off of her body.

"You know what, Madison? Who cares who or what she loves? Why does it matter?"

But it was too late. Ashley was already back in her shell of unpronounced feelings.

"Because it's wrong, that's why. It's wrong the way she looks at you… the way you look at her. It's all just disgusting."

"You don't know a thing about her."

"And you think you do?"

I did. But she would never understand that. Madisons didn't understand much of anything. 

I shook my head and strode toward Ashley's car without saying another word. It took a good ten seconds for Ashley to realize I had started on before I heard my name.

"Spencer! Don't let her get to you. She doesn't know what she's talking about!"

Didn't she see that it wasn't me Madison affected? She didn't even realize that she had a shell, much less a reason for it.

"How about I take you for a mani-pedi since our Friday night movie plans were shot to hell?" But the excitement wasn't there. The phrase lacked fulfillment. Ashley was just taking pity on a poor damsel in distress.

"It's okay. I've got big plans with Ben and Jerry."

She busted out the shriek that blended so well with my cackle, a mixture I could listen to forever. But it might as well have been a sigh of relief. She was just glad to be rid of Spencer Duty.

xxxx

xxxx

"You know, cookie dough really will make you fat."

I didn't want to tear my eyes away from _The Notebook_, but Glen stood in my way.

"You know, your ass really does make a better door than a window."

I caught myself doing the hand-wrist flick thing and stopped, cringing at the image of me twenty years from now, the image of me just like my mother.

"Okay, I'm just saying. Where's Ashley anyway? She's usually over here by now."

"Since when do you care?"

I supposed experiencing my brother's stupidity was a step above going through the motions of life. At least I could do so rolling my eyes, feeling something for _someone._

"Is she out without you?"

I didn't want to have this conversation at all, let alone with my brother.

"She is! She's out doing god knows what and you're stuck on this shitty couch getting fat!" He shook his head and started toward the empty kitchen. I didn't know what he thought he would find. Mom hadn't been to the grocery store in two weeks. I secretly hoped, though, that he'd discover moldy bread and out of sheer idiocy, eat it. "Sucks for you, sis."

He disgusted me, the way he skated through life only thinking on the surface. It was black and white to him, it was here and now that mattered. What happened yesterday and what might happen tomorrow didn't faze to him in the slightest.

And at least I got to have her at all. At least I got to laugh with her. I was the one who held her on the anniversary of her dad's death. I swept all of the loose hairs off of her sticky cheek. I erased all black evidence that she had cried at all. Had Glen been there, he wouldn't have even thought to offer his shoulder for her to cry on. All he got was an occasional glimpse of her boobs and a string of drool stretching from the corner of his crooked mouth to the indentation right underneath his Adam's apple. No, it sucked for you, bro.

"Spence, do you mind sharing the ice cream? I guess Mom hasn't made it to an actual store."

I couldn't understand this feeling that swarmed my heart, but I was more than fed up with my brother. Not only did he interfere with everything that was mine, he actually _wanted_ what was mine. He didn't interfere in a brotherly way, either. It seemed as though he didn't care about what happened to me at all.

I untangled the multitude of blankets from my bare limbs and shoved the carton into his chest. "Take it." I was no longer interested in _The Notebook's_ final scenes. We all knew Nicholas Sparks would make sure the two had a happy ending. They experienced together, they ran through the rain and swam through all of their dreams and aspirations like they were swimming through the clearest lake in the dead of the hottest summer on record. They were blissfully ignorant of everything but themselves, and ignorantly in bliss, leaving everything extra, everything that was too bulky or fragile far behind, in the earlier parts of the movie. They didn't know where they were going, and why, they just went. They didn't have a clue as to what they were doing, they just did. They fought and made up without analyzing every detail of their relationship.

Love.

That kept them from being without each other. It didn't keep them physically together, but they were always there. They were separated by things, silly little things that got in the way, but Love saved them. Love kept everything that actually mattered in tact.

I suddenly wanted to grab Ashley in the middle of a rain shower and kiss her until the rain bleeding through my shirt became too cold to bear. I wanted to see her mascara run, so I could brush my thumbs across her cheeks and wipe it away. I wanted Ashley like that.

Was this the mystery feeling? Was this the feeling of love? Was I- was I..? Mom would not have this. Mom would never let me see her again. Why did I have to tell her? What about Glen, would he understand? I'd have the only girl he's ever dreamed of dating in L.A.. And Dad? Would he still think of me as… as his… well would he?

My phone was buzzing. Buzzing extremely loudly. Buzzing its way right into my hand. I felt dizzy. It was Ashley. "Hello?"

The buzzing stopped, finally. But I was still nauseous. "Ashley?... okay… no, don't be sorry… listen, it'll be okay… alright, give me ten minutes… don't worry about my parents… okay… yes, Ashley… alright, bye."

I moved toward my dresser without stopping to think and grabbed my Ohio State sweatshirt from the second drawer. It was right next to Ashley's stashed pajamas she'd left there awhile ago. I paused for a millisecond to appreciate her slyness. Ashley would never wear these because she didn't wear anything to bed save for a skanky tank and some undies… if I was lucky. She had left them for me. I knew, because she didn't put clothes away, she threw them on the floor, on the corner of my desk, or on the back of my swivel chair. And I found these in a drawer, the second drawer at that. I sighed, jammed my hands through the sleeves, and turned off the lights. I'd have to analyze Ashley feelings later. Right now, she needed me in the physical sense, right here, right now. I stomped down the stairs, oblivious to the fact that dad was only half sleeping while waiting for mom to get home, and swung around the door frame into the living room.

"Hey Glen, I need a ride." My eyes, though, were not looking at him, but scanning the couch bottom for my flip flops.

"Going to find Ashley?"

He wriggled his eyebrows, but I ignored him and dropped to my hands and knees, "Have you seen my flip flops?"

"Kitchen, by the sink. So where is she?"

"It's not like that, Glen." I shoved my feet into my flip flops as fast as I could. "She got ditched and needs a ride."

He rolled his eyes at me, "If this is how your friendship is gonna be, you might want to rethink it."

"And you might want to rethink that haircut, but I don't tell you that, do I? Now are you going to give me a ride or not?"

"Alright, alright. Lemme find my keys."

"I'll be in the car."

It took him an entire five minutes searching for his keys (turned out Dad took it for a spin earlier), which meant that I had lied to Ashley, that it would be fifteen minutes before I rescued her. And on the phone, she had sounded desperate, like if I didn't come and get her, bad things would happen to her, very bad things.

I looked out of the windshield and tried to count stars. It reminded me of the night Ashley showed me almost every constellation in the sky. Even though she put on a badass front, it turned out Astronomy was something she liked and was good at. And it was romantic, the way she took my hand and held it up the sky so my fingertips would rest on the points of stars. And when she lowered it back down, she kissed my knuckles and held onto it until it was time to leave.

I heard the car door squeaking and the weight of the car shift as Glen hopped in. "So where are we going?"

"Madison's."

"Madison's? She was invited to Madison's annual parents-are-on-vacation bash?"

"Can we talk about this later? And can you please just concentrate on getting there, like, now?"

He held his hands up in surrender and cranked the car. The rumbling of the motor and the pull when Glen shifted gears lulled me into a peaceful daydream. I was holding Ashley, her bottom squishing my thighs, and she was wrapping her arms around me possessively. We both smiled for a camera, but the flash kept me from seeing the photographer. In the dream, though, I didn't care at all. In fact, I didn't care about anything except for the fact that Ashley still hadn't kissed me yet. And the thought of her lips even coming close to my own had my eyes snapping open, and a gasp escaping my mouth.

Glen didn't even notice, but instead tapped the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song on the radio.

"Spence, will you please tell me why Ashley was at Madison's party? I mean, don't the two hate each other?"

I was annoyed with his voice, but the truth was, he had a good point. What _was_ she doing there? She couldn't need the alcohol (she was pretty stocked herself) and there wasn't anyone except Chelsea that she'd want to see- Chelsea. _She_ wanted to go to the party. _She _had dragged Ashley here. And then she had left her. Well, that was fantastic. Great move, _best friend._

I didn't answer, though, because the last thing I needed was Glen knowing I was just as clueless as him. So I pretended to be asleep, and forced my thoughts back to Ashley, briefly entertaining myself with the idea that Ashley was just an infatuation. I thought that maybe I just wanted to be closer to her, that I wasn't actually in love with her. But I knew myself better than that. No matter how many times I touched her, it still wouldn't amount to the emotional attachment I felt I had with her. We could be walking a foot apart and still feel closer than two mating baboons.

"Alright Spence, which house is Madison's?"

I surveyed the street we were on. There were blocks after blocks of quiet, dark houses, save for streetlamps and the occasional porch light. Up ahead, though, on the corner of this street and another, was a house that almost looked like it was the subwoofer in a stereo set. It seemed to bounce with the beat. It had several toilet paper rolls splayed out across the vast front lawn, and lights shown through every available window.

"Hmmm, I wonder… is it the one with toilet paper on the front lawn, or the house with all the lights off?"

"So I'm guessing the corner house is hers?"

"Guessing?"

He pulled up close to the curb. "Alright, so it _is_ her house."

I rolled my eyes and rushed out of the car, slamming the door as hard as I could. I tried not to take my time getting to the front door, but I had to take a minute to scan the house. The spooky still chaos of inanimate objects splayed all over her front lawn had caught my eye. And it seemed that the outside had been abandoned for activities inside since there were half-empty solo cups lining the porch railing and a beer stench that made me want to vomit.

When I got to the front door, though, I realized that if I walked in, no one would even notice; there seemed to be a riot going on in the back room. Even the giant door's moan when I closed it back didn't spark the attention of anyone. I wandered through the front, hoping to find Ashley alone, mazing through the dining room, living room, study, and kitchen, but found only a disgruntled drunk couple mad at me for interrupting them, Madison's terrier sleeping in his kennel in the kitchen, and a naked guy passed out on the floor of the dining room, his underwear and shirt hanging from the chandelier. I made my way toward the back room, hoping that Ashley was huddled in a corner somewhere.

But when I got there, I realized that Ashley was nowhere in the tight circle of people and no one was lurking in the corners. I pushed my way through sweaty bodies, and guys with hard-ons, all of them feeling me up, trying desperately to get a handful of my boobs. I slapped hands away for what seemed like forever and was relieved to find myself in the center of the circle, away from all the groping hands and clumsy girls. When I turned around, though, I felt my heart slide right through my chest. There was Ashley, the girl I loved, the girl I needed so much, the girl who I'd do anything for. And she wasn't holding her head high like she normally did. Her spirit and fearlessness were looming over her, just out of her reach. The sparkle in her eyes was gone, and her mouth was slack, drool threatening to drip out. She was bound to a barstool, hands and feet tied to the arm rests and foot rests like she was a prisoner. Her shirt was unbuttoned and her bra pulled down to reveal almost all of her cleavage. Across her chest someone had written "dyke" in bright red lipstick.

At first I couldn't move any limb on my body. When our eyes locked, I was frozen with a million different feelings, all of them too strong to comprehend. Was I mad? I think so, but I was just so hurt, like someone had literally just killed my new puppy right in front of me and forced me to watch. I sensed Ashley didn't recognize me, and I had a feeling it was because she was drugged.

When I saw the bits of finger food being thrown at her face, Doritos bouncing off of her forehead and falling into her lap, she didn't even flinch. It felt like there were a million electrical shocks going through my heart, blowing me up from the inside out.

And then it hit me.

Ashley was in trouble. Ashley was defenseless. Ashley needed to get the hell out of here.

My mind was telling my hands to untie her. And as soon as they made that connection, my fingers flew to the rope like magnets. When she was completely free, I took a moment to pick the popcorn and chex mix out of her hair and lifted her up. She leaned heavily on my side, but the adrenaline rushing through me kept us from toppling over. I didn't notice until we were walking out that the crowd had dispersed, no doubt disappointed that someone had decided to rescue their object of fun.

It was a long trip back to the car, as her high heels turned out to be a challenge for someone as drunk as she was. And as she drooped into me, her body weight forcing itself on me more and more, I kept wondering how she went from talking to me on the phone to not knowing who I was in the short span of twenty minutes.

When we got to the car, the first flash of recognition was evident when she smiled at me. I felt a flutter in my chest and glanced down at hers, remembering that it had a smeared lipstick message. I sighed, set her down on the passenger side seat, and went to work with my sweatshirt sleeve, gently wiping it away, letter by letter.

Her eyes swooped down lazily to my hands, and then met my own with a shimmer of worry. "I am one, you know."

Her voice, broken, monotone, slurred, it made me want to cry. As soon as I wiped the last letter away, I glanced at Glen for help, and pulled her into a tight hug. I never wanted to let go.

When we got her positioned in the backseat, curled up with my sweatshirt (she insisted), I collapsed in the front seat next to Glen, giving him a look that dared him to say anything.

"Let's go to Ashley's"

The car rumbled and shook. I glanced back at Ashley, whose eyes were drooping shut. "Spence, you hate me, too…."

But before I could protest, before I could wipe that thought completely out of her mind, she was fast asleep, her head and arms tangled in my sweatshirt and I was left feeling like crap.

"What happened to her?"

We were passing by all the quiet houses, and I kept thinking that we didn't belong here, that Ashley didn't belong here. The two of us deserved to be somewhere exotic where loving each other wasn't something to be ashamed of.

"I don't know, Glen. She never gets drunk though, so I'm pretty sure she was drugged."

He was raising his eyebrows as if I had just fed him an entire bucket of bullshit. "Okay, sis, I love you, but Ashley gets drunk every weekend. It's all anyone ever talks about."

I wouldn't have been surprised if Glen had noticed steam coming out of my ears. I _hated_ that everyone automatically assumed Ashley was a party girl. But then again, maybe I was the only one who knew her secret, that she only drank two liquor drinks at one party. The rest of the time, she mixed virgin drinks or sipped water.

"Well Glen, this is definitely worse than usual."

"Usual? Spence, you've known her for a month."

"A month and a half, actually."

I glanced back at Ashley to see that she was shivering. Her hair was falling in her face, and I saw her scrunching her nose, trying to stop the tickling sensation. I fought the urge to push back her hair in front of Glen and sighed.

"Is this her house?"

"Yep."

"I think you should wait in the car."

He sighed, put the car in park, and looked distantly out of the windshield. I poked my head in the backseat and started jostling Ashley awake. "Ash, you gotta come inside now."

She nodded slowly and crawled into my arms. "Don't leave me, Spence. I'm cold." She pushed further into my embrace and stayed put. She made no signs of moving unless I did first.

"Alright. Glen, tell mom I stayed at Ashley's."

When he caught my glance, I knew he was pissed. He hated it when I ditched him.

"Come on, she's in no condition to be left completely alone."

He clutched the steering wheel. "Her mom's not home?"

In truth I didn't really know, but I also didn't care. "Nope."

I heard the revving of the engine and pulled Ashley and I out of the car before closing the door. I made an attempt at waving, but Glen was no longer paying me any attention.

We were alone, I realized.

And I had absolutely no clue how to deal with Ashley under the influence.

xxxx

xxxx

I was grateful that warm baths seemed to sober Ashley up. When stepped into her room, walking in a straight line _and_ able to keep the towel around her body, I knew she was at least partially back to her old self. And I did a silent prayer that I wouldn't have to dress her. After _un_dressing her and having to lower her into the warm bubble bath, I was almost up to my eyeballs in desire and feared I would break down and devour her if I had to touch her bare skin like that again.

"Spence, you're an angel."

I smirked. "And you, my dear, are a princess. A very spoiled princess."

But she didn't share my enthusiasm. Instead, she did a very un-Ashley thing and sat down right next to me on the bed, not bothering to pull the slipping towel up. She was being serious.

"Spencer, you have to know something. It's not fair of me to keep dragging you on like this. I mean, I've pulled some pretty stupid shit, but I don't want you to be just another stunt."

"Ashley, I have something to tell you, too. But you go first."

My eyes kept glancing at her exposed chest, her almost exposed boobs. I wanted to lean in and plant little baby kisses all over her vanilla scented collar bone. I wanted to tangle my hands in the mass of her wet hair.

"It's true, what they wrote on my chest."

"You remember all of that?"

But that was the wrong thing to say, because she looked down, and pulled her towel up tightly under her arms. She scooted back on the bed, pressing her back into the headboard.

"Spence, I remember everything. I remember how you rescued me, I remember calling you, I remember feeling like nothing mattered. I remember wanting to give up. And then you came to me with the sweetest, saddest smile on your face, and I knew…."

I inched closer to her, letting my hand rest on her towel clad thigh. "You knew what?"

"From the moment I saw you, from the second I picked you up off of my feet, I had this overwhelming desire to kiss you. I wanted to hold your hand ad serenade you. I wanted to buy you roses and take you to exotic places."

I brought my hand up to her stomach, pressing my leg to hers. I placed my head on her chest. I kissed her collar bone.

"Spence? What are you doing?"

"Don't you see, Ash? I feel the same way. I can't believe I'm actually getting to kiss you. I can't believe you _want_ me to."

I saw her lips form an upwards arch. I saw the few tears glistening on her cheek. Or was that water from her bath?

"You don't have to like me back. I can deal with it."

"Well I couldn't. So, Ash, if you really, truly like me, if you want this as much as me, then don't hold back. Because I'm certainly not going to."

My hands were pulling the towel off of her wet body, I wanted to see her. I wanted to feel her entire body under my curious lips. I wanted to memorize every taste of every body part.

"Spence, you don't have to."

"That's the beauty of it, Ash, I _do_ have to. Because if I didn't, I'd be making the biggest mistake of my life."


	5. Chapter 3: November 1, 2001

Hey everyone! I know this isn't the Spashley chapter you were hoping for, but it's necessary. I thought maybe if people saw Glen's side before later chapters, they would understand his later actions better. And I wanted to give Spencer some imperfections (such as kind of being a bad sister at times). Also, I think its nice to see how other people perceive Spencer and Ashley together. Oh, and it gives you a little bit of insight as to what exactly the Carlins are keeping a secret... Anyways, I know I haven't updated in awhile. Truth is, I have been doing an enormous amount of writing for this fic... unfortunately, it involved later chapters. But no worries! The next chapter should be out in no time since I'm almost done with it! Hope you enjoy, as always :)

xoxo,

Kaitlyn

**Chapter 3: Glen's POV**

**~November 1, 2001~**

Mom and I used to be close, believe it or not. And I mean close as in spandex on a fat lady close. I was totally stuck up her ass a lot more than I ever cared to admit. But I loved her and I loved that she was devoted to me unconditionally. I loved that she came home and only had me to play with. I loved that she liked being with me. And I loved that me, her and Dad somehow made Christmas pictures classy. We were the perfect family.

And then "the disaster" happened. Of course, I only deem it the disaster now because I see the bigger picture. Back then, I couldn't have been happier when mom told me I was going to have a new sister.

It was a Monday night (I remembered because a new episode of Hey Arnold was on), and I was content to play with dad until mom got home, even though he sucked at Go Fish. After all, it was worth missing my usual Mom Monday (yes, we actually called it that) if it meant I got a new sister out of the deal.

Dad smiled a lot that night, and I remembered thinking it was because he was so proud of my mad Go Fish skills. I now realized that he was just excited to have a new kid in the house. I also recently figured out that they probably would have traded me in for Spencer if it didn't go against mom's precious religious beliefs.

But nonetheless, this was six year old Glen. And in this story, he was excited to be getting something (or rather someone) new to play with. I cleaned up all of my toys in the living room. My action figures all went back into their respective boxes. As much as I was excited, I wasn't willing to grant her access to my precious figurines just yet. I also took extra care to leave out a few of my favorite books and board games so me and Spencer could get busy as soon as she got here. I glanced at the clock and was miffed to find that I only had an hour before my bath time and if mom really wanted me to meet my new sister, she would have to hurry up and get back home.

"You ready to meet your new sister, Glen?" I glanced over at dad, my lone front tooth sticking out from my grin.

"Is she really all mine? I don't have to share her with the people at school?"

He laughed again, and the smile he had on his face got even bigger. "Well, she's not a toy, but yes, I guess you do get her all to yourself... although I'm sure you'll have to share with mom."

I was okay with that. I already had our nights planned out. Me and mom taking care of my new baby sister. Me and mom taking turns passing her back and forth. We would take her grocery shopping with us and I'd let her pick out the cereal. And when we got home, I'd risk getting into trouble to sneak popcorn into the den so we could watch a movie. And when she was older, I'd protect her from all of the mean people mom was always telling me about. It all sounded so incredibly awesome. And for a brief second, I almost thought it was too good to be true.

Finally, at eight nineteen (exactly eleven minutes to bath time), the door creaked, and I was beside myself. I looked like I was doing the potty dance. And when mom walked in the doorway carrying what I thought to be an angel (I knew it was creepy to have a crush on my sister, which was why I blushed a lot), I knew my parents must have loved me a lot to give me such a perfect little sister.

Mom came over to me, the new addition still in her arms, and plopped a kiss on my forehead before setting the angel down beside me.

"Hi, I'm Glen." I poked my hand in her face and went the extra step to grab her own. I liked that she was shy. And I expected her to blush. But when her face welled up and turned the color of a tomato, I quickly got angry. "Mom, what's wrong with my baby sister? Can't you fix it?"

And instead of calming me down like she always did, for the first time in my life, she looked at me as if she were ashamed to be my mother. "Glen! Don't talk about your sister like that! She can't help it! She's been through a lot. Really, Arthur, do something with your son."

And just like that, the conundrum of my present life began.

Mom scooped up the angel, who quickly turned back to a normal color after being coddled in the arms that were supposed to be meant for me. I whimpered, my bottom lip quivering, but mom didn't even look at me. She just sighed and walked toward the kitchen. I felt like she didn't want to be around me and that had never happened before.

My dad picked me up without any comforting words and carried me off to take a bath, which was also weird. Mom always ran my water, put the bubbles in, and squirted me with the ducky before leaving me to my business. And tonight, I knew she was far away from me, probably comforting the angel that was supposed to be all mine.

"Glen, you're going to have to learn to be patient. I know that's very difficult, but Spencer has been through so much. Your mom is being really brave for helping your sister out. Can you promise me you'll be nice to her no matter how badly she cries?"

I nodded, but felt a trickle of tears flow down my cheek. My dad didn't notice, though. I guess he thought it was just water from my bubble bath. Didn't he realize that all I wanted was to be nice? But I was always taught that people should be nice back. And she wasn't nice back. In fact, I wasn't even sure why an angel was being so mean.

"But dad," I whispered, clutching my ducky, "How am I supposed to remember she's an angel when her face is so ugly when she cries?"

And with that, my dad chuckled, drew swirls on my back with a sponge and sighed. "Son, you'll learn. Just be patient and don't yell at her whatever you do. That'll be a good way to get mommy all riled up."

"What does riled up mean?"

He dropped the sponge in exchange for the towel that lay in a heap on the toilet's lid. "It means Mommy will be grumpy and not very nice."

"Oh."

And then I was in my bed. I wasn't allowed back downstairs until the morning, per mom's request. And the only reason I got to see her at all before getting all tucked in was because I pitched a fit until she came in and gave me a quick kiss on the forehead.

She whispered "I love you like Grandma loves her curtains" like she always did before flicking off the lights, but for the first time I questioned her smile. What if she only loved me like dad loved peanut butter cookies? Or like Walter at school liked raisins?

I sniffled to myself, feeling alone and not so safe for the first time in my own room, and hugged my blanket tighter. A yawn and droopy eyelids lulled me into a sleep.

I thought, before I melted away into dreamland, that tonight had a lot of firsts for me, and I wasn't sure if I liked any one of them.

xxxx

xxxx

"Carlin! Get your ass moving! The game starts in an hour."

I glanced up at Coach Durham and almost rolled my eyes. Life sometimes handed us extra sour lemons that wouldn't make drinkable lemonade if you threw two pounds of sugar in it.

"Yes, sir."

The locker room was empty except for me and the team manager. But he wasn't paying me any attention. I was used to that, though. Spencer sucked up all of mom and dad's time. And, believe it or not, she was best friends with the one girl I could actually see myself dating and wouldn't even introduce me to her. I didn't understand. What had I ever done to her? I mean, I tried loving her and being nice to her for twelve years... why didn't she love me back? Why did she always take things I wanted before I had the chance to ask for them? Why did Ashley love my sister so much and not even glance my way when she came over to our house for dinner?

"Hey, you better get out there. Coach was talking to me about benching you if your mind didn't stay on the game."

I glanced up at the manager who thought he knew what he was talking about. I rolled my eyes.

"Yes, your majesty. Whatever you fucking say."

He wrote something down on his stupid clipboard (I mean, who carries a clipboard with any sort of seriousness?) and brushed past me, right to Coach Durham's office, who was probably writing out his few words of wisdom he gave us before every game.

I decided that I better get out on the court before Mr. Nosey-as-fuck Manager tattled on me. I hit the court with the other guys, guys who weren't my friends because I was the new kid who stole their team, and joined the circle for lay up drills. I dunked the first three, and when it was my turn again, Coach walked out and blew the whistle, distracting me enough to miss catching the ball and letting it land on my face. I sighed and ignored the sniggers, intent on proving to the coach that I was ready for this. I was ready to carry the team.

I sat down, next to the only guy who at least didn't spit on my stuff in the locker room, and stared into the stands that were starting to fill up. Coach started about the time I saw Spencer walk in with Ashley.

"Now listen up, you boys need to make defense a high priority tonight. Those Lions are out for dunks and three pointers."

I swallowed, tore my eyes off of Ashley, and nodded in coach's direction. He caught my glance, and figured I was listening because he smiled a little bit.

"Another thing, if anyone is in doubt, get the ball to Glen. He'll know what to do with it."

He winked at me, and I smiled nervously. The last thing I needed was for everyone to think I was the new MVP. After he finished up with a few more pointers on concentration and teamwork, I let my eyes roll back to Ashley, who was giggling at something Spencer had just said. God, she was beautiful. I was startled, though, when I saw Ashley reach for Spencer's hand and kiss it. I pushed the thought away. Ashley was in no way a dyke. All of those rumors were false. She was just misunderstood. Or in desperate need of a guy who knew exactly what he was doing with a woman.

Spencer broke my trance with a wave and a smile. Rare moments like this one made me feel like I was a decent big brother, that she was a decent sister, that our parents didn't treat her any differently. Of course, if I were to close the distance between us, I'd see all the imperfections and cracks in our family. I'd see how Spencer was openly mean to me, how she took full advantage of knowing she had my biggest dream wrapped around her little finger. And then mom and dad would walk in and openly favor her, ignoring my usually stupid and sarcastic comments, mom giving me 'the look' for being rude, especially in public, and dad looking at Spencer as if she were the best daughter in the world.

But right now, when me and my family were separated by the basketball court, I could believe we were normal and happy, and all the cracks had been sealed. And I needed to believe this to get through the game. I needed to think that they were here for me because they loved me as much as I loved them. Because the game, this basketball and that net, were the only things I could turn to that would always be there no matter what.

xxxx

xxxx

"... I can't believe you actually thought I'd let you! I mean, seriously Spence I think we had enough firsts for one night. And besides, I don't think you know how to-"

"Glen!"

Ashley spun around, obviously pissed that I had interrupted their chit chat, or whatever girls did when guys weren't around. But even with her lips frowning and her nose scrunched up like she was reeling from something awful, I couldn't find one thing wrong with her. She was still beautiful.

Spencer, who looked horrified that I had walked up to them had calmed down a little bit, apparently thankful Ashley decided to shut her mouth when she did. It made me curious.

"So what are you lovely ladies talking about that requires such hush hush treatment?"

I slid a confident arm around Ashley's shoulders and pulled her into me, but she ducked out of my embrace and leaned into Spencer, who mirrored my actions from just moments ago.

"Don't, Glen. You're not and never will be my boyfriend."

Ashley acted as though saying boyfriend was the equivalent of saying bile. Why was I so repulsive?

"Well, alright then. You girls want to go to the after party?"

Spencer tightened her grip on Ashley. It confused me, but I chalked it up to coincidence and not so great timing. "Glen, will you just leave us alone? We came to your game, didn't we? I mean, isn't that enough?"

No, Spencer, it wasn't. I sighed, defeated and wasn't willing to put up a fight tonight. I decided to shrug it off. Maybe Ashley was being so mean because it was that time of the month. Maybe Spencer we just rubbing off on her a little too much. Whatever it was, I knew I could convince Ashley otherwise if Spencer weren't around.

"Well, Spencer, if you don't want to go, then don't. Ashley? What about you?"

She stopped walking and turned to face me, letting Spencer's arm slip out of reach. Ha! Maybe, just maybe she was going to realize that hanging out with Spencer wasn't nearly as fun as dating me. Maybe she was finally going to realize that I was more than just an arrogant jock.

"Glen?"

I sucked in a breath. "Yeah?"

"Fuck. Off."

I stood frozen as Spencer settled back into Ashley's embrace, giggling. I wasn't supposed to see, and I guess they figured I wouldn't, but when they reached the end of the parking lot, where Ashley's Porsche was parked, the two exchanged high fives and a peck on the lips. I knew girls were close, but they weren't supposed to be that close. Were they?


	6. Chapter 4: January 20, 2002

Alright guys, you'll be so proud of me! I can't believe I'm posting yet another chapter so soon :) And I know, I know, the end of this chapter really, really sucks (it was super hard for me to write), but we all know that once your a Spashley lover, you'll always be a Spashley lover, so bear with me and be patient. After all, what's a romance without a little heartbreak? Enjoy ;)

xoxo,

Kaitlyn

**Chapter 4: Ashley's POV**

**~January 20, 2002~**

It had been four months. Well, four months and six days. And I _still_ felt like Spencer was the only person I could be with for the next century or so. And even though I wasn't one to think that two souls could be compatible forever, I somehow thought that maybe Spencer's soul would change my mind. And so far, it was working.

I had done so many things differently with her. For one, I was taking things slow. Our first night, the night I was publicly humiliated and Spencer came to the rescue, I knew I had a good thing. And although I thought she was the most angelic looking creature I had ever seen and even though it broke my heart all over again every time she so much as glanced my way, I had put her in the Just Friends Zone for fear of breaking her heart, and maybe to protect my own in the event she didn't feel the same way. But that night (or should I say morning), when she started touching me, when I couldn't take it any more, I broke down every barrier I had put up. But after our kiss, I knew I had to stop her from going too far. I wanted her to keep going, I did, but I just couldn't. I cared about her too much.

And that feeling all by itself was weird. I didn't care about people like that. Period.

Another thing: she had me completely questioning everything. I mean, if you had asked me four months and seven days ago if there was a difference between a jock and a banshee, I'd say no. But today, I couldn't say that. Because Spencer was a jock. A very, very talented jock. And I knew for a fact that her tongue would win the gold medal at the Olympics if there were such a category.

It dawned on me that I missed Spencer. Normally, on a Sunday morning, I'd be sulking around the house waiting patiently (well, not really, but still) for Spencer to call after she got home from church. But today, I was peering out into a quiet street in Nottingham. I was hours away from Spencer time.

I wished I wouldn't have planned this trip. My intentions when I bought the tickets (before school even started) were to reconnect with Melissa, who once lived in L.A. with me. And when I said "with me" I meant she literally lived in the room next to mine for six months. She was my mom's attempt to try and get me to do the foreign exchange thing. I didn't think I'd like her. But I did. And I thought I loved her, which was why I flew out to see her this weekend. After she flew home and I decided not to stay in London for six months, she had wanted to call it quits. So I complied, but asked if I could come out on one of my long weekends to see her. She said yes, and at the time I had taken it as my hint to rekindle our little romance.

But then I met Spencer and every idea of love I held so close had floated away along with my will to not think about others and my strong tendencies toward selfishness. Oh, and my idea that all jocks were banshees thinly disguised as humans, or the Failed Experiment as my dad called us.

But I was here, and the view was nice and I had been pleasant with Melissa, who I did still care for at least a little. I just didn't care for her kisses or playful back massages anymore.

"Ash?" I sighed and looked back to a bare Melissa. She leaned into the glass, only letting her head poke out onto the balcony. Even in her birthday suit, she didn't do it for me. I hadn't even seen Spencer naked yet, and I already knew Melissa had nothing on her.

I knew this was going to be 'the talk' she wanted to have. And I bit my lip. I had to tell her about Spencer. I had to watch her cry. I hated watching girls cry. Well, except for Spencer, of course. Her tears were allowed on my shirts any time. Even my dad's precious vest.

"What's up?" I wondered if my smile was convincing enough.

"Well, I was just seeing if you wanted to watch a movie or something. I mean, my bed's pretty comfortable. I remember when you used to stay in it long enough for me to-"

I held a hand up to her face. There were tears coming down my cheeks. I wasn't supposed to be the one to cry. I _never_ cried. "Melissa, stop, just stop."

I brushed past her, not even taking the time to glance down at her once perfect chest.

"Ash, don't cry!" Her feet were padding behind me. I took the first right into the first door I saw and realized I had ended up in the bathroom. I slammed the door shut, locked it, and collapsed on top of the toilet. "Ash, please, let me in."

"Melissa, I can't do this anymore. I know I was supposed to stay until tomorrow, but I just can't."

There were a good ninety seconds of pure silence. It gave me a chance to clean out my lungs. Out with the old and in with the new. Yeah. _That_ was easier said than done.

"Do you not want to be with me?"

Her voice was quiet as a mouse's squeak and all I wanted to do was swing the door open and crawl into her embrace, give her the biggest hug in the history of hugs, and make sure she was okay. I guessed all the barriers Spencer had managed to break down didn't only apply to her. Once I started to care about her, I'd started to care about everyone I knew. And Melissa was no different, even if she didn't mean what Spencer meant to me.

I walked over to the door, unlocked it, and turned the knob enough for the door to open slightly. I returned to the toilet and sighed. This was not exactly the setting I had hoped for when me and Melissa had this conversation. Spencer's name deserved better than an outdated London flat bathroom. Melissa deserved better than a bathmat for a seat.

"Ashley, please, just for once let me in your thoughts."

I squeezed the last tears out and was relieved my mini breakdown was over. I took her fingers gently, picking her up off of the floor and leading her to the living room. Her couch was the most comfortable place for this conversation. When we sat down, I draped an oversized blanket around her shoulders. She pulled it closer to her, but let her hand stick out. Against my better judgment, I took it.

"Melissa?"

"Thank god. I seriously thought you were going to be silent for the entire rest of the day."

Her half smile was quickly gone though, when she saw how somber my eyes looked.

"Melissa, I have a girlfriend." I whispered so her parents wouldn't hear. Their bedroom was right off of the living room, and the last thing I needed was for them to think their daughter was a lesbian. Even if she was.

"What's her name?"

"Spencer. And I have to tell you the truth. I love her. And I don't like you like that anymore. Which is why I think I need to cut this trip short."

Her hand slipped from mine, and I was okay with that. I was certain she would be okay.

"Ashley, you don't have to go. My parents love having you around. And I still haven't shown you Uncle Ben yet." She smiled again, still hopeful.

"Come on, we both know why I planned this trip in the first place. I'm just sorry I led you on as long as I did. And why aren't you mad at me?"

The playful look she gave me caused my insides to swirl around like an ICEE machine.

"Ashley, I'm not mad. I knew you'd find someone in L.A. to take care of you while I was away, but you don't have to do that anymore."

Why was she doing this to me? Why was she making me feel like a complete jackass? _Spencer doesn't make me feel like a jackass._

"What are you talking about?"

Her fingers were fidgety. She stood up, suddenly, and skipped to the kitchen table, clutching the ends of the blanket at the top of her chest. It took her five minutes of rummaging to find what she wanted to show me.

"Here."

It was a pamphlet. A really shiny one. There was a picture covering two of the three sides when I opened it. I saw a lot of fancy buildings and really fake looking people smiling with dorky backpacks hiked up on their overly modest shirts. There was greenery everywhere. This had to be photo-shopped. People couldn't really look like that on their own, could they?

"What the fuck is this?"

She sat back down, her feet positioned under her, one of her arms draped over the back of the couch, facing me. Her blanket had slipped and one breast was peeping out. "It's my new school. And here's the best part. It's in L.A."

My head shot up and I stared her down. My own eyes laser beamed into hers. "Melissa, what part of 'I'm in love with another girl' don't you understand? I wouldn't love you even if you still lived in the next room! I love _Spencer_."

I stopped trying to be respectful of her parents. Maybe they needed to know she was into girls. Maybe they could her help her understand how to know when wasn't into her anymore.

She was really quiet now. And I was thankful. The only thing I wanted to do was board a plane that could take me straight to Spencer's room. I wanted to wrap her up with my arms and legs, pull her so tight that we might melt into each other.

"You can't even try? To love me?"

"No. Sorry."

"You used to."

"Yeah, used to. Those being the words you should remember. I don't anymore. You and me are in the past tense."

"We don't have to be."

Was this chick some crazy psycho or something? I wasn't ever going to love her.

"It's time for me to leave."

I pulled out my cell phone, praying there was a flight leaving today. My finger shook as I tried to press the correct numbers. Stupid fucking nerves. They ruined quick escapes from crazy psycho bitches who thought they were more worth my time than Spencer. Didn't they see how much I loved her? It was so exhausting trying to make everyone see. Did they need glasses or something?

But I couldn't finish dialing because Melissa pressed her hand down on mine, making the numbers go all wrong. God, couldn't she take a hint?

"I don't think that's a very good idea. I mean, you wouldn't want to disappoint my parents, would you?"

"I don't give a shit about upsetting your parents! Now leave me alone!"

Fine. If she didn't want me to call, I'd pack all my things, stand on the street and hail a taxi. I'd escape á la nineteen sixties. It was sort of romantic if I thought about it. I was willing to do anything, even go back in time to get to my love. Who was probably still in a dreamy slumber. Lucky gal, my girlfriend was.

"Is everything alright out here?"

I rolled my eyes. That was just great. All I needed was Melissa's mom to get in the middle of this.

"Uh, well, I just need to go home now. Like right now."

She looked puzzled, then shifted her eyes to Melissa, who looked like she'd gone crazy. Her eyes were wide and her face was frozen with shock, it seemed. Mrs. Douglas looked at me with a wave of understanding and smiled at me, though just barely.

"I'll have Mr. Douglas drive you to the airport. You'll have to excuse Melissa's behavior, it appears as though she hasn't taken her medicine today. I mean, I'm so embarrassed that she's naked on our couch with company!" She covered her face in her hands, and sighed. "Ashley, you have to know L.A changed her for the worse. The only good that came out of that city was you. And I guess she thought she wouldn't need her medicine when you came. And it's showing. I'm so sorry."

No, Mrs. Douglas, L.A didn't change her, I did. And I wasn't anywhere near close to being good for her. But I couldn't tell her that. It wasn't my place. Instead, I hung my head down and walked to Melissa's bedroom, slinging all of my tanks, shoes, belts, and vests into my bag. I took a moment to peer down at my journal and smiled, opening to the very first page, which bore Spencer's beautiful face in the dead center. She was smiling at some camera in Ohio and I loved the picture because it showed her innocence. I loved how I could be the strong, knowing one in the relationship. I liked that I was her first and her last. And I loved how even through a picture, her eyes could set all the wacky messed up crazy things back into some sort of tolerable balance.

On the way to the airport, Mr. Douglas explained everything from Melissa's obsession with returning to L.A for the rest of high school, to her breakdowns when they told her no every time she asked. It all made better sense, but I was still reeling from sensory overload. She had never acted that way in L.A with me. Nevertheless, I shook my head and thanked Mr. Douglas for the ride and walked into the airport. I was so ready to see Spencer and so over visiting old flames. I shouldn't have come, and I regretted that Spencer and I didn't spend the long weekend together. I'd be sure to make it up to her when I got back. She'd be so smothered in Ashley she would forget I was ever gone.

xxxx

xxxx

My palms were so sweaty with anticipation I had trouble gripping the handle that would let me out of the cab. I squealed when I saw my Porsche sitting in the garage and grabbed my things from the trunk. I paid the driver, shooed him out of my driveway, and stumbled into my house, letting my bags slide into the middle of foyer. I went to looking for my keys, and tried my best not to let my mom know I was home. I found them on the counter, waiting with a note.

_**Ashley,**_

_**Went to NAPA Valley with Charles. Be back early Tuesday morning. I put your keys on the counter (you left them in the ignition). Hope Melissa is doing well. **_

_**Mom**_

_**p.s. I love you!**_

Any mom that had to write 'I love you' in the p.s part of a letter was seriously lacking the whole love your child no matter what instinct. I rolled my eyes, grabbed the keys, and was instantly in a better mood upon learning the super bitch wasn't in town. Maybe Spencer would convince her mom to let her stay the night here. With me. And a lot of popcorn and Audrey Hepburn.

I smiled at the thought of sharing my extensive movie library with my crazy film geek of a girlfriend. Out of all the things we'd done together, watching old movies hadn't been one of them. And I decided that I needed to show her that I cared about her dreams and interests as much as I did my own.

I started pressing the familiar keys on my phone, already comforted by the screen displaying her number. God, even her digits could turn me on. I had it bad.

She didn't answer and my heart plummeted to the ground. I was so looking forward to hearing her voice, whispering in her ear that I loved her, letting her 'I love you, too' sink into my skin, dry up all the clammy nervousness I had from the long day. But she didn't answer.

I grabbed my satchel. Maybe she was just really busy studying. Or trying to fend off Paula. Those were her two favorite excuses for when she didn't answer the phone, which wasn't often. And if either of those were the case, I knew she'd be home in her bedroom. And as long as I threw small pebbles and didn't break any of Paula's precious windows, I'd be able to get her attention. And as soon as I saw those eyes, I knew everything would be okay. I just had to get to them somehow.

xxxx

xxxx

I was a firm believer that pain had certain levels. The lowest level was physical pain. Stubbing your toe, getting shot, getting kicked in the balls, that sort of thing. Next came giving up people you cared about. Like what happened with me and Melissa. Then came unrequited love (no need to explain that one). The next to the worst pain was giving up someone you loved, like knowingly letting it go, whatever the reason. And the worst thing that could possibly happen, was seeing it leave you. Losing someone you loved without having the choice. That was what was happening right now.

"Ashley, you just don't understand." Spencer looked up at me, with eyes that used to make everything better. But they weren't mine anymore. And so now they just made things worse. They made me re-see everything that used to be mine, every time she looked at me.

"Spencer, you were holding his hand! He kissed you and you didn't even stop it! How much more fucking obvious can you be?"

She didn't have an answer for that. And for once, she didn't look into my eyes. At least there was that. At least I was being shown some sort of mercy.

"You know what? I'm tired, really fucking tired. So I'm going home. You can give me all my shit back at school tomorrow. And I mean all of it."

And there they were again. It was like watching a biography of Ashley and Spencer. Her eyes played back our first kiss, our first real date, our first movie holding hands, her first time at a sushi bar, my first time eating a meal with a family that didn't appear to be dysfunctional, our little moments behind the lockers at school, us watching Glen fail miserably at his chemistry homework. Everything. God, I couldn't take it anymore. Why couldn't she just stop looking at me?

"Don't! Ash, please wait! I had to make my mom think I wasn't-"

"Wasn't what? Gay? That's who you are, Spencer, that's what we _are._"

Her shoulders drooped, she looked out of energy, she looked like she didn't want to fight for me.

"You know she can't find out, at least not now."

I nodded and let the tears drop onto the concrete. "There's a fine line between keeping us a secret and cheating on your girlfriend. I'm just sorry you can't tell the difference."

"It's more complicated than that, Ash."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

Was she being serious?

"Don't call me 'Ash.' You lost that privilege the second he rammed his tongue down your throat."

My tone was seething, and I could tell I cut deep, because her tears were flowing more than mine.

"Is everything alright out here?" I sighed. Paula always had perfect timing. "Spencer, where's Patrick?"

"He went home, mom. Can you just give us a minute?"

There must really be a God because as soon as Paula heard Spencer's clipped question, she tiptoed back inside with a surrendering pose.

Spencer's hands moved toward me, reaching for me, but I stepped away. She'd just have to get used to me being untouchable. That's what happened to cheaters. Love would always be just out of their reach.

"You know, Spencer, I don't know what's worse. The fact that you didn't say 'I'm sorry' or the fact that I would have at least thought about forgiving you if you had."

But before she could look at me with those eyes again, I turned around, tuned out her pleas, and did my best not to look back, although I did once and seeing her collapsed on the sidewalk broke my heart into more tiny pieces. But I couldn't just let her use me like that. I couldn't risk being heartbroken again, especially not with someone who didn't even realize that what she did called for an apology.

I wished I was back in Nottingham, working things out with Melissa. I wished Melissa's parents made me stay, talk with Melissa once she was back on her meds. I wished I had better common sense. If all of those things had come true, I'd still be in Nottingham awaiting Spencer's daily phone call, which only lasted five minutes due to grossly over-priced overseas calling rates. I'd still be dumbly in love with her, and I'd see her tomorrow, when she came to my house like we had planned for a homecoming dinner. And most importantly, I wouldn't have to know about her and Patrick. And I'd rather not know and be happy with Spencer than know and be miserable without her.

I supposed that made me a dumbass. But I used to not care, as long as I was _Spencer's_ dumbass. But I was alone now. And that made being a dumbass pathetic. And infuriating.

I wanted to call Chelsea. I wanted my best friend to tell me everything was going to be okay. And I wanted _some_one to care about me.

Because obviously Spencer didn't.

I breathed a sigh of relief when she answered the phone. "Thank God. I need you to come over to my house... yes right now... yes it's important... yes I'm crying... dammit, just get there already... okay, and Chels?... thank you."

xxxx

xxxx

Only angels in heaven could have words for how I felt when I saw that afro waiting in my driveway. I pulled into the garage, closed the car door with my butt, and looked over to my best friend, who was already making her way toward me. When I finally made physical contact with her, when her arms were around me and her poofy hair was tickling my neck, I let everything out. I must have held on to her for ten minutes before we finally made it inside.

Her little body was flitting all over the kitchen gathering the necessary ingredients for midnight pizza. God, I loved that I had a best friend, that she didn't hate me for spending every waking moment with Spencer, that she still knew exactly what I needed when something went horribly wrong.

"Ash? Where's the Nutella? We can't have midnight pizza without the Nutella."

I made my way to the pantry and pulled from the very top shelf the unopened jar. She sighed, gave me a smile and went to work kneading out the dough.

"So are we gonna talk about whatever has you so upset? Or are we watching sketchy Japanese horror films?"

I gave her a smirk and opened up a fresh bottle of Kahlua. "Neither. We're going to sit in the hottub with our midnight pizza and some liquor. It's been a rough night."

Her eyes lit up when I said liquor, but then softened a bit as she concentrated on making a perfect circle with the dough. "Well, whatever makes you feel better. Although I'm surprised you didn't call Spencer. I mean, I know I'll always be your best friend, but you two have grown so close over the past couple of months and- oh god. Ash, tell me that what I think happened didn't happen. Tell me you didn't break up with her. Tell me she didn't break up with you. Because, I swear if that bi-"

"Chelsea, just shut it, okay? I found her with a guy and now we're over. End of story. Now finish making that pizza. I'm going to change and head out for the hottub. I need a few minutes alone anyways."

She slid the dough in the oven and started emptying various assortments of chocolate candy into little bowls. "Are you sure?"

I gave her what I hoped to be at least something resembling a smile and started for the staircase. "Yep. I'll leave you a suit on my bed."

My few minutes alone turned out to be a bad idea, though. Within the last five minutes I had somehow reached the conclusion that I hated Spencer Carlin. I hated her for ruining my carefree life. I hated her for breaking my heart. I hated her for tripping over my shoes. I hated _her. _

And I didn't know how I could go from loving her more than my precious car to hating her more than the roach that I was certain still resided in my bathroom. Maybe I was still in shock.

"Here ya go."Chelsea popped a plate in my face and I took it eagerly. "Hold mine while I get in."

I complied, giggled as I watched her tiny frame find a comfortable spot and handed her plate back to her. "Alright, now I know you hate it when I put all the good stuff on there at one time because of all the calories, but you just seem like you need it tonight."

She smiled at me and I looked down to my pizza. Nutella sauce with crushed Butterfingers, Heath Bars, and Snickers topped with blue mini M&Ms. "Aww, you even gave me my favorite color! Thanks, Chels."

What had I done right to get the most caring best friend on the entire planet?

"No problem. And I know you gave me the whole 'end of story' thing, but what happened?"

I stuffed my mouth with a bite of my pizza and eyed the shot glasses sitting next to the Kahlua.

"Come on. You'll feel better if you just say what happened, rant about her, and then cry some more."

I looked at her and swallowed, tempted to take another bite.

"Promise."

I sighed. "Alright. But Chels? I'm telling you right now, I'll never be able to justify what she did, so don't even try to convince me otherwise."

She poured out two shots and handed one to me. "I'll drink to that."

And for the first time all night I laughed like I meant it. And I felt like I lived for someone other than Spencer Carlin.

Another A/N: So, just a teensy question... am I going to start getting hate mail if I told you there would be some Glen/Ashley moments in later chapters?


End file.

South of Nowhere, Angst, Romance