A/N: Once again, would like to thank the people who take a few minutes of their time to leave a review. It really means a lot to writers and it really keeps us going! I shouldn't have to say this but, please, if you like a story, drop a good review—doesn't matter what you say as long as you write something. Even a simple, 'I love it' goes a long way.

This chapter is super long. For reasons. I like to be as accurate as possible when I research and it tends to be my downfall. There's also going to be a second part for this particular age.

"Are you absolutely sure, honey?" George asked, seated on his favorite side of the long couch. "It's not too late to change your mind."

It was weird having him here; the two of them lounging by the fire place on a Friday afternoon. He was reading a book; Laureline perched comfortably on the armrest next to him.

Even in Shermer George was still married to his job. Some habits would never die no matter where he went—whether George was with or without Debra. But his absences didn't bother Claire like it used to. He worked hard to provide. Being mad about that forever was childish.

"It's just another birthday, daddy."

"But you're seventeen now." He closed the French novel his parents sent him for Christmas. "I thought… I don't know—I thought, maybe, you would've wanted a party. You'd invite your friends and they'd friends invited their friends and the house ends up in shambles by the time I come home. I know most girls your age want that."

"I think I've been to enough of those to know it's not what I want."

"Oh."

Claire shrugged. "I'm okay with this—just you, me, and a few friends staying over."

"I just wanted to make sure you're all right." George said. "I know how difficult the last few years have been for you and I know I haven't been around as often as I thought I'd be. You know, honey, it's normal that you'd experience signs of—"

"Oh, God, dad, no! We have those discussions in school at least once a month. Give me some credit!" Claire gave a closed smile. "I think I've adjusted the best I can with what you gave me. It really hasn't been the worst."

George's gaze was too long. "Has your mother called?"

Claire's smile dropped, and she looked down at her grey shorts. "She did."

"Did she send you anything?"

"A bracelet with my birthstone."

"You didn't invite her."

She could feel the holes growing in her hair. "She asked but I told her I had plans all this weekend."

"Claire?" Though she didn't look up, George continued, "Honey… You have to forgive her someday. The both of you can't go on like this—all this passive aggressive back and forth stuff. Don't be your mother. Don't be us. Be better."

She sat straight and placed one leg on top of the other. "Maybe some other time."

George frowned. He was disappointed and that hurt. She hated feeling like a failure. It's why she'd chosen him, why she actively avoided her mother. Nothing would ever please her mother. And, God, if Debra ever found out she never bothered showing up for ballet tryouts and joined something as mundane as the Yearbook Committee… Claire didn't want to think about that road right now.

"Did Leonardo call?"

"He did! I called him but it went straight to voicemail. He says he's in France. Did you know that?"

George softened. "I did. It's for his research masters, although… I'm not entirely sure what it is he's doing."

"I'd love to visit there someday. Maybe see my grandparents. I haven't seen them since, what, ten? Eleven? They came for Christmas that one year..."

"Well—"

The doorbell rang. Claire sprinted to her feet before her father could register. "I'll get it."

Laureline hopped off the arm seat on his side, following Claire all the way to the door.

"Hey! You're—" The rest of her sentence was lost to the breeze.

Allison was wearing a dress—and not just any type of dress. It was pink and sleeveless with a tulle skirt. Delicate lacework decorated the bodice. A thin, brown belt brought out Allison's slim waist. Even without her hair and makeup done she still looked every bit of a porcelain doll her mother used to collect.

Laureline squeezed between Claire's ankles to get to Allison. But she didn't pet her.

Claire pointed, finally able to form the question. "Is that my dress?"

Allison swayed from side to side, the material of the skirt flowing. "Maybe…"

Claire looked down, where Laureline was rubbing against her and meowing. Allison actually wore heels. They were the same brown as her belt and open toed.

"And those are my shoes!"

"Yeah..." Allison paused, gnawing on her lip. "Are you mad?"

"No!" She scooped up Laureline who went limp in her arms. "But you could've asked. I've been looking for them everywhere!"

"Sorry." Allison bent down, unfastening the zipper on the back. "I'll give them back."

"No, don't take them off!" Claire dropped Laureline behind her. The cat grumbled, walking off with her tail high towards the living room. "Keep them. It's fine."

Allison stopped, looking up. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, positive." Claire tilted her head to the side as Allison stood straight. "Well… I guess that explains where my clothes went."

"They're soft." Allison complimented. "And pretty."

"And expensive! That dress is by Christian Lacroix. My father had it imported from France."

"I'll ask next time." Allison's head bowed slightly. "I didn't think it would bother you..."

Claire smiled, moving to the side. "It's okay, Allison! I was just messing with you. Really, you can keep my clothes if you take them. You're lucky we're almost the same size in everything."

Allison didn't make a move though it was a chilly evening. It was February—February 10th to be exact—and winter was hanging on by a thread. The weather reports said spring would be starting late March. Claire couldn't wait for the pansy flowers in their garden to bloom.

"So, uh, are we going somewhere?"

"No…" She trailed off, confused. "Why? Do you wanna go somewhere? It's your birthday."

"Not really." She indicated with a jerk of her thumb backwards. "I just put the chicken in the oven not too long ago, and Lila's bringing some of her Jamaican desserts I've been dying to try."

"Oh."

"My father's here, too. He took the day off."

"That's good."

"So… If you're not taking me anywhere, why're you dressed like that?"

Allison looked down, grabbing the tulle on both sides. "Am I… Not dressed okay?"

"Allison, you look beautiful!"

Allison squeaked, blushing. "Thank you. But I… I don't understand what the problem is…"

Claire grabbed Allison by the wrists, pulling her inside. "The problem is you should've told me! 'Cause now I have to upstairs and change!"

Allison was on her third gizzada by the time eleven rolled around. Eating was the only way she stayed somewhat still.

Lila took one look at Allison's nails before dinner and knew she needed to do something about them when they were finished. Claire let her use all the equipment she had and set them up on her small, folding table.

"This is so good." Allison complimented through a mouthful as Lila filed her nails. "You made all of this?"

"I did!" Lila smiled widely, not to minding Allison's lack of manners. "I spent all day on them. They're all my great-grandma's recipes."

"You didn't have to…"

"Stop. I didn't mind at all." Lila curved the file around Allison's pinky. She didn't have much to work with. "It gave me something to do. I needed a break from statistics…"

"It sounds exhausting. I might take Calculus next year."

"I'll be praying for you." Lila wiped Allison's fingers with a towel. "You know, I'm starting to regret not going to beauty school. It would've been so much easier and I would've been done by now. I could've transferred all my credits from the courses I took in high school."

"Or you could've gone to cooking school." Allison said. "These are really amazing."

"I do love the coconut." Claire nibbled on the piece she pulled from Allison's half eaten tart. "The black cake was delicious, too. And you saw how much my father loved the sweet potato pudding."

"You only had a baby piece of black cake, Claire." Lila glanced sideways. "I worked on that one the most. I know you don't eat a lot of sugar and prefer wine to rum—"

"Hey, my kudos are still valid! I'll eat more of it by the end of the week."

"Sure." Lila said with a roll of her eyes.

"That's also if Allison doesn't eat all of it."

Allison's eyes darted to the silver tray by Claire's side. "… Is it okay if—"

"Girl, eat the whole thing if you want—long as it gets eaten." She meant the jab at Claire. "I hate to see food go to waste."

Allison grinned and Claire gave her the remaining piece of tart before grabbing a new one. Laureline's ears perked but she didn't get up, too comfortable on her bed that was draped in John's blanket.

Allison moaned in pain. She tried to rip her hand away but Lila held onto her knuckles.

"I'm trying to be as gentle as possible." She said in a calming tone. Allison curled her toes as Lila continued pushing back the cuticles on her thumb. "Your nails are really small and you've never had them done before. I told you it's gonna sting."

Allison swallowed the piece. "Is it like the sting of your first time?"

"Well, yeah, but I've been doing my nails since I was ten. It doesn't hurt as much now—actually, at all."

"No... I mean your first time."

Lila's brows furrowed, confused, but Claire asked before she could, "The first time of…?"

"Sex."

"Uh..." Lila stammered, mouth opening and closing. "No. It's... Not exactly the same as that. I think."

Allison hissed. "It's bleeding! Ow!"

Lila quickly dabbed alcohol on it with a tiny piece of cotton. "Sorry! I'm really trying not to hurt you! Think of something else. Um. Focus on your breathing. Feel the muscles of your stomach. Feel the way your lungs contract—how the air feels going in and the way it comes out."

Allison inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth. She only flinched when Lila pushed the cuticles on her ring finger, cutting it away with a nail clipper.

"Have you ever done it?"

"Nope." She replied with a pronounced smack of her lips. "I could've, but I didn't. I wasn't ready. I'm saving myself."

Allison stayed quiet. "For someone you love?"

Her smile was weary, careful. "Is that weird of me to want, even with the way the world is going?"

Allison shook her head, speaking softly. "No… I think if you love someone, it's okay."

"But what about if you don't?" Claire blurted. "Is that wrong? To sleep with someone without being in love?"

She could hear her own heartbeat over the murmur of the Phil Collins cassette in her radio. Maybe if it were another situation, she'd find their reactions priceless. But she was so mortified she'd even let something like that slip out. It was enough that everyone thought she was a prude.

"Claire!" Lila whispered loudly, eyes wide. "I never… I mean… When?"

Claire sighed, switching to lay on her stomach with her arms dangling over the edge. The tips of her fingers barely touched the carpet.

"Just a few months ago."

Lila seemed to understand something she hadn't said. She gave a curt nod, her attention back to her task. Placing Allison's left hand to the side, she picked her right hand out of the bowl of acetone. She placed a small towel over, massaging.

Finally, Laureline left her bed, prancing over to Allison's unoccupied hand.

"Are you ashamed about it?"

"No, I just…" Claire bit her lip. In a perfect world, she would've already had this conversation with her mother. "I guess I wish I waited longer."

"Because you don't love him." Allison stated.

"I care about him, if that counts? I don't regret what I did, but I just… I don't feel anything for him. That doesn't mean it wasn't good—I just don't think I like sex without meaning, you know?" She was rambling and probably made no sense but she needed to get it out. "Is that… wrong? Does this make me some kind of slut?"

Lila groaned. "No, honey. It's a term perpetuated by guys—and some girls!—to make us feel like shit for enjoying sex the same way guys do. There's nothing wrong if you like it. There's also nothing wrong with not liking it."

"That makes me feel better."

Laureline rolled onto her back, belly up. Claire wished she could be like her. Cats didn't have any problems. All they wanted was to find someone who'd give them attention. And feed them. Things were so simple, without webs of feelings.

Allison complied, her palm rubbing her stomach. "You thought sex would make you love him?"

"Maybe?"

"It's a yes or no answer."

Claire pouted, Laureline's tail kept slipping out of her grip. "I tried to convince myself it would."

Lila hummed in thought. "If you don't love him why stay?"

"My father once told me relationships are work, a lot of them don't just happen naturally... So I keep thinking that maybe..." Claire paused. "Maybe there'll be a moment where I realize I love him. Or just… anything other than this wall blocking me and keeping him at a distance."

"But, hon..." Lila replied sadly. "You've been with him for almost a year. You should know by now. It's not about work anymore."

"Is there something wrong with him?" Allison managed to ask.

"There's nothing wrong with him." Allison stared. "Really. There isn't! He's a great guy. He comes from a nice family. He takes me wherever I wanna go, buys me nice gifts, and gives me all the time in the world… Honestly, I'm beginning to think there's something wrong with me."

"Don't say that." Allison said, almost heatedly. "There's nothing wrong with you. You shouldn't... You don't owe him anything for being nice to you—including feelings you don't have. And sex."

Claire smiled. "Thanks, guys. This is really making me feel a lot better."

"It's okay to not love him back." Allison continued. "You shouldn't pressure yourself for something you don't feel. You're hurting both of you by doing that."

"He sounds..." Lila took a deep breath, taking Allison's hand off Laureline and setting her up to apply the clear coat. "Claire? If I say this, will you get mad?"

She sighed against the comforter. She knew the relief would be short lived. "Depends on how you say it."

"That's completely fair, but you know how I am! You're cheating yourself."

Claire didn't understand. "How?"

"It's in the way you described him." Lila said easily. "The perfect boyfriend—almost tooperfect. Any girl would kill to have that. But not you."

"I don't know what I want." She murmured.

"Yes, you do." Lila focused on applying the second coat on Allison's thumb. "You don't want a life of convenience, you already have it. You want more. You want something that keeps you on your toes, a never-ending adventure. You want a guy that drives you completely crazy but you'd still do anything for him when it comes down to it."

Claire grimaced. "You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"It's not—not in theory." Lila paused, starting the first coat of the purple polish Allison had picked out. "But you need to be prepared. A wild thing can't be tamed. What you have with that person might crash and burn. Trading convenience for something unknown might not always be a good move."

"So, what should I do?"

"You know what you should do."

Claire sighed. "I should break up with Brad and live a life full of misery with my father's money."

"The opposite, actually." Lila replied bluntly. "You should break up with him—setting him free is the right thing to do—but you should give yourself space to focus on what you have on your own. You date too much. You don't need a guy to make you happy."

Claire sighed, again. "I know."

"And the Yearbook Committee is going good for you, yeah?"

"It is. I like it a lot."

"That's good, then! Have you applied to any universities?"

"Not yet. It's too early."

"Take it from me. It's never too early. You're already a junior. Now's the perfect time, especially for scholarships."

"My father would really love it if I go to the University of Chicago. It's close to home and it's a good law school." A bitter smile crossed her face and she laughed. "My mother would absolutely hate it if I went to a community college. And it's what I'm thinking about. I already told Allison, but she always wanted me to go to dance school."

"It's your choice. Community college is the cheaper option but it's a lot more crowded than going to a four year university." She rolled her shoulder, using the stick to clean the polish that got on Allison's skin. "Your mom has refined tastes, that's all."

"I still say you should've gone to Cal Tech. Your mom would've been fine without you for a few years."

Lila shrugged again but Claire knew she was still bummed. It was all in her eyes whenever she spoke about school. "My GPA wasn't high enough—and let's not get into the out of state tuition rates. I made a spreadsheet and even with the scholarship I still wouldn't be able to afford it. Living in California isn't cheap."

"Will you transfer after your two years?" Allison asked.

"Sure, but I don't know if it'll be to Cal Tech anymore." Lila waved them off. "I'll think about that when it gets closer. I'm not in a rush to finish school."

"There's a lot you could do." Allison continued.

"I know, we'll see." Lila paused. "Are you afraid of being alone, Claire?"

"Not really."

"I am." Allison said in a small voice. She'd been so quiet, listening so intently.

Lila nodded understandingly. "I think being alone is almost everyone's biggest fear."

"Hey." Claire tugged a strand of Allison's hair. "You have me and Lila now. You're not alone anymore."

"Some days are harder than others... It's a work in progress."

"I'd say you're doing pretty good."

"You think so?"

"You've come such a long way since I first met you, Allison." Claire smiled. "Even your shrink thinks so, doesn't he?"

"Yeah." Allison nodded with a smile. "Thanks."

"Hey, so, um… I've wanted to ask you something for a while, I just never knew how to bring it up... Well, really, I still don't know."

"Ask."

Claire blew her bangs out of her forehead. "This probably sounds like a stupid question but what's the first thing you notice about a girl versus a guy? Or is it the same thing?"

Allison took some time to respond. Lila knew from a previous encounter without being told.

"Depends."

"Okay, well, what is it that you typically notice?"

"Eyes."

"With both?" Lila asked and Allison nodded.

"That's an unexpected, and generic, response." Claire frowned. "I thought you'd say something like… feet. I know some people are into it."

Lila shuddered all over. "Foot fetishes are so weird. I can't even give pedi's without wanting to vomit."

Allison chuckled. "The shape is what I see."

"The shape?" Lila asked, setting Allison's hand down to dry. "That's interesting."

Claire smirked. "That's the more Allison-esque response I was looking for."

Allison actually rolled her eyes playfully. Laureline tapped Allison's elbow impatiently but Claire picked her up, tucking her under her arm on the opposite side of where the tray was.

"Well, I may not be into feet but I do look at a man's hands."

"Hands?" Claire repeated in disbelief. "That's pretty bizarre."

"It's not when you think about it! I'm a firm believer that you can tell a lot about a person—especially a man—by their hands. I cannot handle dirty hands—" Lila held up Allison's hand. "—Exhibit A."

"Girls tend to have softer hands than guys." Allison added. "I also, uh, don't like small hands on a guy."

"Me neither! And I like muscular men. I like them big."

Claire scoffed, shaking her head in disgust. "Okay. Can we please not call any guy under twenty-eight a man? Most of these high school and college guys still act like toddlers."

"I can't really argue that." Lila shrugged. "When I was a freshman, I went out with this guy for a few months. I had to call it off because I felt like his mom more than his girlfriend. The boy could barely dress himself. And, honey, don't get me started on his bad habits like wearing the same underwear for weeks on end."

Claire's nose scrunched. "Why're boys so disgusting?"

"Beats me! They think it's attractive, although I'm not sure towards what species."

"What about you, Claire?" Allison asked curiously. "What do you notice first?"

"I dunno…" She frowned. "I guess… I guess eyes, too."

"Generic." Lila commented with a smirk. "Not surprised at all there."

Claire shoved her shoulder and Lila giggled. "I think I'm more into the color. Have you ever seen a photograph of it up close? Some irises have pretty patterns, the ripples look like mountains or waves. And sometimes they're darker or lighter than the actual color it's supposed to be. It's so beautiful to look at."

"It sounds like it." Allison smiled crookedly.

"Hey, what eye shape are you into, Allison?" Claire asked. "Turns out, I subconsciously date a lot of guys with hooded eyes. It must be my thing."

Allison opened her mouth. Then she clamped it shut. Her entire body went rigid like she'd been caught doing something illegal. Claire thought she'd broken her.

"Allison?" Allison didn't respond. Lila shook her arm gently. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, slowly.

"Hey, if you're embarrassed don't be." Lila said gently and Claire nodded to further her statement. "We're not here to judge! We all have preferences... Okay, we might judge a little. Depends."

"Um..." She spoke with the shyness of a child. "I like eyes like Andrew's… They're kinda roundish, a little childish... They're a really pretty color, too..."

"Andrew? Who's Andrew?"

Claire giggled loudly. "He's a new guy at our school. He was at Michelle's party."

"Ugh." Lila's lip curled in disgust. "That."

Claire shook her head. "I still can't believe you got into a fight with Amanda."

"Claire, I told you, it wasn't my fault! I like to think of myself as a classy lady but even we have our limits."

"True. Can't say I've ever gotten into a fist fight, though..."

"I was walking away until that bitch came for my hair." She pointed at her new vibrant red hair, ironed to smooth perfection. "Nobody touches my hair and gets away with it. She can bark up the tree all she wants but can't saw it. I pity her."

Claire sighed. "Still. You shouldn't have done that. It's been months and everyone's still talking about it."

"Then let them talk." She said defiantly. "Nobody can hurt you when you know your own truth."

Claire nodded. "Yeah, that's why I prefer not to lie. They always come back."

"I agree. Now," Lila announced, slapping her own knee. "If you'll excuse me, I need to use the bathroom. It's getting late and I need to my facial routine before bed."

Claire hadn't even noticed it was past midnight. Lila carefully moved the table and padded across the room to the dresser where she left her bag. She grabbed the bottles from her bag, cradling them on one arm. Allison started to lift her hands at the same time Lila stopped at the bathroom door.

"Allison?" She looked. Lila pointed with her acrylic, eyebrows set. "Don't you move those hands. Or even think about touching those nails while I'm gone. Or else."

Allison nodded rapidly, swallowing. When the door clicked, Claire flicked her head. Allison's face scrunched like a child's.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"About what?"

"About Andy!" Claire exclaimed.

Allison's lip twisted, almost into a frown. "I don't think he likes me."

"Why wouldn't he?"

"I think..." Allison said slowly, avoiding her eyes. "He likes you."

"Me?" Claire reiterated, shocked. She fumbled on what to say. "We barely talk to each other, Allison. You've been seeing him a lot more than I do ever since he got here. I... What makes you think that?"

Allison shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "It's just the way you two talk to each other. The way I catch him looking at you. You guys on the same frequency—"

"We've known each other since we were kids. What does—"

"You're pretty. And popular. And nice. And he's... He's so beautiful. He's not a perfect person but I still... " She smiled sadly, wistfully. "And I'm... I'm me."

Claire reached out, massaging Allison's shoulder. "You don't have to be anything like me. Remember Michelle's party? That was all you."

"We wouldn't have talked if you hadn't left."

"I still can't believe I did that." She rubbed her temples. "I really didn't mean to get wasted."

"It happens to the best of us." Allison said dismissively. "You don't have to keep apologizing for it."

"I guess it wasn't all that bad that I did, huh?"

Allison nodded, but it was still solemn.

She was quiet—too quiet even for her. Normally the silences didn't bother Claire. It used to before but that was back when she didn't know Allison. But this blank space was laced with something more than just Allison being Allison.

Claire poked her shoulder. "Allison? There's nothing wrong with you. You're an amazing person."

Allison drummed her fingers on the wood, careful not to curl them. "I'm scared."

Claire softened. "It's okay to be. Even I get scared. But don't let that stop you. You really like him so go for it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!" She repeated excitedly. Lila was finally done using the bathroom, starting the trip back to her spot. "You don't have to make the first move if you're not comfortable but do make yourself available, you know?"

Allison took a moment. "How do I do that?"

Claire couldn't believe she was failing math.

Progress reports had been handed out Monday. She hadn't shown her father yet, not that he'd been around to even ask. This big, fat D in Geometry unsettled her. She thought she was doing well on all the tests! Where did she go wrong?

Her fingers rubbed her temples for the umpteen time today. "Hey, Brian?"

Brian Johnson scribbled away furiously in his notebook, writing out his draft for French II. Claire recently learned he was a sophomore. He may not have the coolest car, or the hottest clothes, but his mind was above and beyond. He was so far ahead of most of the seniors—and she knew almost all of them.

"Brian?" She tried again, shaking his shoulder gently.

He shook his head, the crease in his forehead disappearing. "Huh? Sorry! What is it, Claire?"

She slid over the paper. "Just wanted to know if what I did was right."

"Yeah, me, too." He handed over his notebook. "Let's switch."

Brian's handwriting was neat and easily legible compared to the amount of boys with chicken scratches. She circled and wrote little notes in the corners of the page. He was writing about the events of May '68. It spurred over three pages and probably just under the word limit. Claire didn't know why she expected anything less. He was a perfectionist much like her.

"Brian?" His head perked up this time. "This is good. Really good. Almost perfect."

Brian looked squeamish. "Almost?"

Claire chuckled. "There are a few tense confusions. That's about it."

"It's, uh, a little difficult." He started, swallowing. "I'm in the Latin club and I've noticed the structure is similar but it's not exactly helping."

"But you can speak it, right? You can pronounce everything correctly?"

He blushed, avoiding her eyes. "Sort of."

"That's a start! I know this sounds weird but you should read it out loud. Not right now, I mean at home. Hearing yourself speak might help."

"I guess I'll try that." He gave a tight-lipped smile, sliding her paper back. "Here you go."

Claire wanted to hang her head in shame. Same as a teacher, Brian went over her work in red pen... and it was covered in red. There wasn't one correct answer.

"Why am I so bad at this?" She said out loud.

Brian smiled sympathetically. "To be honest? I think Geometry's one of the hardest ones out there."

"Really?"

Brian chuckled. "Yeah, 'cause it involves a lot of formula memorization. I'm good at theories and ideas, but, uh, memory isn't exactly my forte, you know? It can get a little too technical at times."

"Do you cheat on tests, then?"

"Sometimes..." He replied uncomfortably.

"Are you saying that to make me feel better?"

He chuckled. "Is it working?"

She shook her head, feeling a smile forming at his thoughtfulness. "Not really, but thank you."

The formation of library books directly front of them shifted and Claire watched interestedly as one of them was pulled back. The guy tossed it to the side, landing on the floor with a bang. No regard for reserved spaces whatsoever.

He put his chin on top of his interlocked fingers, fixing her with a look that would've made any girl weak.

"Hi."

She raised a brow, hoping her confusion didn't show. He was unconventionally attractive; a grey streak laced with long, dark hair and hazel eyes. By the denim jacket and fingerless gloves, she knew where he belonged... And it was nowhere near her.

"Do I know you?"

He rolled one shoulder. "Depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Whether you read between the lines."

Claire rolled her eyes in detest. What is it with guys and mind games?

"What're you doing here?" Brian asked, brows low. "And why weren't you in class?"

His narrowed just slightly, sliding over to Brian. He placed his palm between the books and shoved it to the side, closing the space between them.

"When did you downgrade to the role of my mom?"

"I just wanna know!" Brian whispered evenly. "I was... I was, uh... worried. You usually don't miss shop class—"

"Don't be."

Brian paused, swallowing. "I really needed your help with the blueprints for my lamp. Mr. Ryan's getting agitated about my lack of production. The project needs to be done before the end of March. February's gonna fly by."

"You worry too much, Big Bri. I had other businessto attend to."

Brian's eyes softened considerably. "Did Vernon—"

"—catch me in the act of something I didn't do? It's nothing new."

She'd heard things about the nameless figure that was in and out of Vernon's office more than he was in class. Like how one afternoon, Vernon came back to his brand new car covered spray paint. Claire thought it was funny but Amanda's sideways glare shut her up at the time.

Claire went back to the set of problems Brian gave back. God, if she knew she'd be failing math she would've wished for better grades and not a new camera.

"What was it this time?" Brian asked tentatively.

"No clue. All I know is I got another Saturday to waste away in this dump. I should consider bringing a pillow."

"We should do something about this, Bender." Brian suggested.

That name made her heart nearly stop. The numbers became nothing. The red ink no longer mattered. She picked her nose out of the paper, staring at the blocked space where his face had been just minutes ago.

"Like... What?" He asked dryly.

"I dunno. Something." He bit his lip. "He's an adult. He shouldn't be painting you as a villain."

"Not much you can do, Big Bri. You're not Legolas. You can't come to my defense. He doesn't listen to anyone much less you."

"I'm offended." Brian whispered loudly. "How can you compare me to Legolas when you know Faramir's my favorite?"

He scoffed. "Does it matter? They're both on the same level of uselessness."

"That's not true!" Brian hissed. "Not falling into the temptation of the ring is a huge feat in the series! With all his wisdom and intellect, we know Faramir could've been the real hero. He would've destroyed the ring at Mordor without the hassle Frodo went through—"

"But he didn't." He interrupted smoothly. "Because Faramir's a chicken."

"He made an oath—a thing you don't understand!" Brian quickly countered. "Faramir was the only character that stuck to it. Other characters—even Gandalf himself!—said the ring was no good but still had the urge to take it from Frodo. Faramir, on the other hand, didn't. He knewnothing good could ever come out of the ring and—"

"Careful, Big Bri. You're getting all bunged up again."

Brian pushed back against his chair with a scowl. He did take a peek at his khaki's before continuing, "I dunno why I bother getting into these discussions with you, Bender. You start these on purpose."

There was that name again. She thought she'd misheard it, but it was real. This was real.

"What ever gave you that idea, Brian?" He asked rhetorically.

Brian sneered. "I don't expect you to get it. You don't like intellectual characters."

"It took you now to notice? God, I know you're no fuckin' expert at practical appliance but this is a whole new level of idiocy for you."

"Shut up! You know what I meant!" He fired back with a confidence Claire didn't think he had until now. "You always like the same type of characters."

"Yeah? And?"

"When're you gonna appreciate characters that aren't your type?" Brian counted with his hands. "There's Aragorn, Han Solo, Laureline, Wolverine, Catwoman. I could go on."

"I know you can." He responded dryly.

"Oh, my God." Claire whispered.

Brian paused, the redness of his cheeks turning back to the pale complexion of his skin. He'd forgotten she was still here. Before he could say anything the books slid back over, and she was face to face with him again.

John.

God, how had she not seen the resemblance before? Those hazel eyes were exactly the same as she remembered except on a face that'd been shed of its boyish tone. A little. He wasn't a boy but not yet a man either. She felt so stupid, so slow.

"It's really you."

"I'm hurt." John said flatly.

Her eyes widened. "You're hurt?"

"What the hell took you so long?" He asked with a raised brow, lifting his head and placing it in his palm. "I dunno how much more I could've said without saying it. And what about my cat? How's she doing? Is she fat?"

"Your cat?"

"Yeah." He said with an unsubtle tone of sarcasm. "My cat that I found and gave to you."

"She's mine."

"She always liked me more."

She opened her mouth to retort but shut it. Whatever bit of happiness she had dissolved into anger. Her fingers grabbed the pencil tightly. Everything she'd kept inside for the last five years tumbled down like an avalanche. But she wouldn't let it come out—not in public.

"Guys," Brian tried. "You should—"

"My cat is doing just fine—" She snapped, pushing the chair back and not caring how loud it scraped against the carpet. "—no thanks to you and your concern."

Claire shoved her papers between the textbook pages before shoving it all in her purse. It wouldn't fit but she'd make it fit. Getting away from here, away from him, away from all these things coming back to the surface was something she needed to do right now.

"Where're ya going, Claire?"

"I'll meet you here tomorrow, Brian." She purposely ignored John's cheeky question. "I forgot my father needs me to be somewhere at four."

"Uh, okay." Brian blinked, checking his watch. "Are you, uh, sure it's a good idea to skip?"

"He called this morning and said I needed to be excused. They know."

Brian's lips twisted in thought. He was concerned but didn't push. "Same time tomorrow?"

"I'll be here." Claire smiled, placing the strap of her heavy purse on her shoulder. "Bye."

She practically sprinted out the library, hoping and praying John wouldn't follow. It was all too much; all jumbled, the inevitable flood of all the thing she'd kept locked up for years crashing against the gates. Her hands were shaking but she held onto the strap. The car isn't far, she thought as she inhaled deeply, I can make it.

His boots were annoyingly loud, stomping and squeaking against the marble floor. How had she missed that sound in the library?

"Stop following me." It was a whisper but the hallway was deserted.

His tone was humorous and, of course, he didn't care. There was only one more period before school let out.

"What makes you think you're that special?"

Claire scoffed, continuing her pace. John could've caught up to her—very easily—but he didn't. He wanted to play cat and mouse. But he was messing with the wrong girl. She wasn't anyone's prey and never had been.

"I must be 'cause you've been on my tail since I left the library."

"Well, sweets—" Claire almost stopped. "I dunno if you've taken the time to notice over the last three years, but there's two main exits in this facility. The one you're heading to just happens to be the closest."

"Oh, my God!" She said in utter disdain. "Of course that was you."

"Who else?"

"I don't know! But to think..." She trailed off, turning the corner. If she wasn't mad before, she was worse now. Allison knew him. She knew him and not only didn't tell, but lied right to her face.

"Think what?"

She hated this, hated how pretentious he was. And his tone. It was all the same. Aside from his physical appearance, and the fact that it'd been less than a few minutes, John hadn't seemed to change over the years. It cut deeper the more they spoke. She might as well have even stabbed and bleeding out in the hallway.

"To think I wanted to thank you for what you did." She admitted reluctantly, bitterly.

"You're welcome."

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't say it."

"You will."

She shoved open the double doors. It was still cold but not the same as earlier this morning where she needed her coat. The sun was out, white clouds ripped into intricate shapes. She swore one big mass looked like a dog but she couldn't stare for too long.

The silver BMW stuck out like a sore thumb in a crowd of station wagons and Chevy Impala's. Just a quick trip down the stairs and she'd be home free.

"Ah." John commented, still somewhere behind her. "All the places I could be instead of here..."

She wanted to look back, to take another good look at him. But she wouldn't dare. If she looked back, she was doomed.

"Go away, John."

"Aw, Cherry. Did all the glitz and the glamor of popularity finally get to your head?"

"Why does everyone keep assuming that? I'm not popular anymore."

"I beg to differ but, clearly, you've become too pristine to be hanging with the likes of me again."

She shook her head. "You know that's not true."

"Well, you've been doing a fabulous job at proving otherwise considering how you've been running away from me the last five minutes."

Claire bit her lip. He said it so lightly, so menacing, like he knew. She was running away—the same, infamous tactic her parents used on each other when things got rough. And now she understood why. It was so much easier to run.

But her father's words rang in her mind. Don't be us. Be better. Being a better person sucked.

Curling her lip, Claire stuck her hand in her purse. "Don't you have someone else to bother?"

"Besides Vernon? I figure Brian could use a break."

"How considerate of you."

"I try."

Her heart sank to her stomach. She couldn't find the keys. She always kept them in a certain pocket but they weren't there! All she kept grabbing were loose pens and some crumpled up notes she passed around in class.

Claire finally reached the driver's side. She maneuvered her bag in front of her, using the door as leverage. Moving all the books, and her makeup bag, and her pencil case aside, she still couldn't find it. No, no, no! This can't be happening!

John brushed her side—purposely—before leaning against the door. Even if she did find the keys, his body blocked the handle. He was so coolabout it, too. He leaned on the door with hands in the pockets of his light blue jeans. She didn't have to look up to know he was smirking.

"Nice lie you had going earlier but I'm pretty sure Brian didn't even believe it."

"It wasn't a total lie." Claire muttered.

"You still don't get out much, do you, Cherry? Because going out this entrance shouldn't have occurred to you. It's the easiest way to get caught by Vernon, then you'd end up in Saturday detention with the likes of me…" His pause was mocking. "Unless, that was your plan all along?"

God, Claire hated how appealing his voice had become. She could listen to him all day. Listen to all his stupid jokes and sarcasm. Ugh. This constant tug of war going on inside her needed to end.

"No, 'cause unlike you I have a hall pass. I can get off the premises whenever I want." Claire indicated with her other hand. "Now, can you please get your foot off the car and leave me alone?"

"I'm crushed, hurt beyond words." He said in the sarcastic tone that hadn't let up. "You really want me to go?"

She didn't look up, Claire refused. She stared at his combat boots that were just as dirty as his jeans. Her fingers still kept vying for the metal. Claire noticed his ankle was wrapped in a red bandana. She assumed the worst but didn't want to bring it up.

"If I said yes, would you actually listen this time?"

"Did I listen before?"

She finally felt the metals, towards the very bottom of her purse. She didn't feel victorious anymore. It didn't matter now, not much did. He was here, right in front of her after all these years of being a ghost.

"I guess I don't really want you to leave until I get an answer."

"An answer? For what?"

Claire scoffed. "I see you still get off on being stupid."

"I do, but I'm really drawing a blank here, Cherry."

With all the courage she could muster, Claire finally met his eyes. His smug expression fell into something of a poker face. She hoped her voice didn't sound as wobbly as she felt.

"Why haven't I heard from you?"

His thick brows furrowed. "What're you talking about?"

"Why haven't I heard from you all these years?"

His eyes slowly widened in surprise. John looked away, licking the inside corner of his mouth. "Claire, it's not like we were together. I don't owe you jack shit."

"We weren't but we were still close… Or so I thought." She let out bitterly. "Maybe I just thought too highly of you, won't make that mistake again. Regardless, you do owe me something."

Something crossed his face but it left just as quickly as it came. It was the slightest twitch of his eye, like Claire aimed to hit him. She was angry but the thought of hitting him never crossed her mind. She wouldn't understand how his father could be so cruel.

"What if it's not what you wanna hear?"

Claire wanted to roll her eyes. "Like what?"

"Oh, I dunno." He shrugged elaborately, his foot coming off the car and he crossed his arms. "Maybe I grew up and realized I didn't wanna keep playing a game of pretend."

She swallowed back the brittle like swallowing sandpaper. "I don't believe you."

His eyes were narrowed dangerously but Claire wasn't scared. "You don't believe me?"

"No."

"No?" He repeated, louder.

"No, I don't." She paused; glancing at his ear to make sure it was what she thought it was. "You don't believe that, either. You wouldn't be wearing the earring I gave you if you really thought so."

His hand twitched but it didn't move. "I tried pawning it but they wouldn't take it, said it was a dud."

She shook her head, stepping back. What a filthy, no good liar. He'd always been terrible but this was a new level. She crinkled her nose, trying not to sniff.

"You're such an asshole."

"I see you've upgraded your vocabulary."

"I wish I could say the same about your personality."

"What's to upgrade? I'm still the same, lovable asshole I've always been."

She looked away with a heavy heart to the football field. The bleachers reflected the sunlight. The students in gym were playing a game of soccer. The sky was still pretty and she wished she could take pictures. Why did things have to be so complicated? Why couldn't he ever be honest?

"Can you please just... Go. Please?" She breathed, willing the sting in her eyes to wait a little longer. "I'll talk to you some other time."

His scoffed rivaled hers on her best day. "Fine."

And Claire watched as he walked away. She wasn't expecting that. She expected him to stay and keep fighting. What's worse—after everything—she had the strongest urge to reach out and stop him. Her fingers itched to grip his jacket. Or his hand.

She didn't do it. She wouldn't. Claire had nothing to be sorry for. Instead, she stuck the key in the slot and plopped down on the driver's seat. Her hands trembled as she tried sticking the same key in the ignition slot. She couldn't see through her growing, blurry vision and it was getting hard to breathe.

Finally, the key slid into the slot. She wiped the tears on her cheeks with her free hand. Claire turned it. The car didn't start. She did it again. It jittered several times, almost like it wanted to start up, then went back to being stale. She did it again. The same thing happened.

Her fingers gripping the handle of the steering wheel tightly as she placed her head on the center. She wanted to bang it. But if she did, the car would honk. She didn't need to garner anymore attention.

Why wasn't luck on her side this week? Why her? First it was breaking up with Brad, then the decline in math, all this confusion about John, and now her father was probably going to ground her for something that wasn't her fault.

The tap on her window made her jump. It brought her back to reality and out of self pity. It was John. He didn't say a word; just a simple jerk of his thumb towards the front of the car. Her eyes followed his every movement as he walked backwards and stopped at the front of the car. In case she didn't get it, he pointed down at the hood.

Claire collected herself. Wiping her cheeks—which she was pretty sure was smeared in eyeliner—she pulled the lever for the hood. If she knew they'd meet up again today she would've worn waterproof makeup. Another thing added to the list of this weeks vexations.

She stepped out of the car, leaving the door open. "What're you doing?"

John set up the handle to hold the hood in place. "Looking for a solution."

Claire sniffed, nose crinkling at the heavy fuel from the engine. But John didn't seem to mind. He was right in a zone and she found that she liked watching him.

When he unscrewed something, she meekly said, "This has happened before."

"Yeah? What'd you do to fix it the other time?"

Claire hesitated, clasping her hands in front of her. "I, uh, called a cab for me and had a tow truck come pick it up…"

John's face fell. Shaking his head, he waved her off. "Go start the car again. I need to hear that sound up close."

She nodded. Walking back to the steering wheel, she turned the key. Still nothing.

"Can you turn on your lights?" She turned the nozzle and John leaned over, checking the headlights. "Are they on?"

"They're supposed to be. The light signal didn't turn on when I turned the key. And the light in the car is pretty dim..."

"Turn 'em off."

Claire did. John maneuvered to the passenger side. After taking off his gloves and stuffing them in his pocket, he plucked his bandana from his ankle. Claire got out as he started wiping on one of the thick cables connected to a box.

He glanced at her. "I think it might be the battery."

"It can't be…"

She trailed off, watching the way he moved with precision. Part of her wished he wasn't wearing a jacket. He was probably lean underneath his loose clothing.

Oh, my God, what was wrong with her? She'd been so furious with him before minutes before and now… She snapped out of that quickly. There'd be none of that. She'd promise to swear off guys for a while.

"My father just got the battery replaced a few weeks ago." She continued.

"Why'd it sound like this isn't your car?"

Claire shook her head. "'Cause it's not. It's my father's."

John stopped, looking at her quizzically. "You mean to tell me your daddy hasn't bought you your own car?"

"I do have one!" Claire bit her lip nervously. "It's just…"

He stared at her with raised brows.

"… You're gonna laugh when I tell you."

John almost smiled. "Now I really wanna know."

She let her shoulders slump. "He bought me a Corvette a week after I passed my driver's test. It was a gift."

"… Okay?" Humor crossed his face once again at her silence. "Wait. Let me get this straight. Your old man bought you a car you can't even drive?"

"Of course I can drive, you jerk! I just told you that I have my license!" She receded, crossing her arms stubbornly. "... I just can't drive a manual."

John laughed, loud and rich. If he'd been sitting, he would've thrown his head back. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment. She was pretty sure even her ears were red as her hair. But his laugh was nice to hear especially after all these years.

She looked away, pouting. "I told you you'd laugh."

"God. I can't even say anything to that because I like the guy. He meant no harm." He tried to calm down but he was still smiling. "But if it bothers ya that much… I'll teach you how to drive the stick."

Claire's brow rose. "You'd willingly put yourself through teaching me? Knowing how much of a perfectionist I am?"

"You can't be as bad as Big Bri. You got your license on the first try, right?"

Claire nodded. "After I cried about twenty times 'cause I kept hitting the cones in practice. I'm pretty sure Coach Britton's told stories about me. I can't parallel park for shit."

"Poor baby. Your reputation ruined." Claire shot him a glare. It only made his smirk grow into a smile. "It's practice, Claire. You're not a dumb broad for not being able to get it on the first time."

"I dunno." She folded her arms, her hands gripping her elbows. "Driving a manual looks so difficult. There's so much technique to it."

"It's not. It's real simple, but it'll take some time getting used to. You could always give the car to me. I'll know what to do with it."

"No."

His grin turned into a scowl. His red bandana was almost completely black. He unplugged both cables, lifting the box with one hand.

"The battery's a defective." He put it on the roof of the car. Claire didn't see anything wrong with it. "You know how much he paid for it?"

"I wasn't there with him." He reached down, far down. "He did say he had it done for a lot cheaper than where he used to go."

"'Cheap' doesn't mean 'quality'." John pulled himself up, along with pulling out a thin cable. He wiggled it in emphasis. "They ripped him off. Whatever fuck-face did this left a buncha loose cables. Some of 'em aren't tightened correctly."

"Great." Claire muttered. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear."

"I'll hook 'em back up." He said while doing just that. "We should stop by my shop and see if there's anything else wrong. I can't see everything from the top."

"Your shop?"

"I work at a mechanic shop." He unscrewed something, taking a quick peek inside before putting the cap back on. Then, he carefully put the battery back in place. "I'm not supposed to be doing this but I know the same amount of shit as these other guys I work with."

"Do you like doing this?"

"Keeps me occupied, makes me money." John put the plugs back in place. He didn't seem to mind that his jacket was covered in dirt, along with his hands. "Try now. It'll start."

Claire nodded, heading back to the driver seat and turning the key. The engine came to life, without a lag. John's smirk was self-satisfied as he shut the hood and rubbed his hands. He blinked those pretty eyes of his expectantly.

She flipped him off, shutting her door. His jaw dropped.

"That hurts me, Claire!" She heard through the muffle and it made her giggle. "After all I do for you! The least you could do is—"

She leaned over all the way, rolling down the passenger window with a smile. "Shut up and get in the car."

When he plopped into the passenger seat, his expression changed. He avoided looking at her. Claire was tempted to say something, but she wasn't sure where to start. Maybe he was thinking the same thing.

The radio started up. Smooth, jazz music poured through the speakers on a soft volume. She never really cared for whatever station her father left on. She only used this car to and from school. Anytime she went out, it was in a friend's car.

Finally, John said, "I lost it."

Claire thought she'd imagined it. "What?"

John's lip curled. "You heard me, Claire."

"You... You lost the paper I gave you? You, who never loses anything?"

He crossed his arms. "Took it out my pocket, left it on my nightstand, went outside to do I can't remember what. Probably smoke or something. Came back the next morning and it was gone. My fuckin' mom actually cleaned out my room for the first time in like five years."

"That's it?"

John's glare was uncomfortable as opposed to threatening. "It wasn't one of my best moments, okay?"

"It wasn't your fault." Claire offered, pointing with her index finger. "There's hand sanitizer in there, if you want any."

John popped open the glove compartment, grabbing the mini bottle George always kept. He squeezed some into his hands, wiping them dry with a handful of napkins. They were drenched in black immediately.

"Yeah, well, that's not gonna stop me from thinking it."

Claire took the car out of park and put it in reverse. "At least you didn't lose the earring."

John scoffed. "It's only the nicest thing anyone's ever given me."

Claire smiled sadly. "Right."

"Ya know, this is the cleanest car I've ever been in." He said with a miniscule smile, tossing the napkins outside and rolling up the window. "It'd be a shame if—"

"Don't even think about putting your feet on the dashboard!" Claire shouted, shoving his shoulder. "My father just had this car cleaned the other day, too!"

John's mouth fell open in feign surprise. "Claire, how could you think so lowly of me? I'd never. I got too much respect for your old man to do anything to his precious vehicle. Vernon, on the other hand..."

"Oh, my God! I should've known that was you. You're the one that spray painted Vernon's car." Claire peeked to the side the same time John licked his lips, hiding his mischievous grin. "John, that is not correct!"

"I have the right to remain silent."

"John!"

"What, Claire?" He talked using his hands. "It needed a touch up, that's all."

"Spray painting 'Brownie Hound Mobile' isn't a touch up!"

"Okay. So it needed a little decoration." He reasoned easily. "It looked so miserable and plain. What was I supposed to do?"

"You're supposed to leave it alone! It's not your property!" She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. "You haven't changed at all! You could've gotten suspended for that if he found out, John! Even expelled!"

John's smirk made her blood churn though she wasn't sure if it was displeasure or desire. "It's a good thing the school's got no camera's."

She frowned, turning on the curb to exit the school. "That's so not the point."

"You haven't changed at all, either, Claire. Still the same goody-two shoes as ever." He paused. "God, you and Brian are so crazy alike. I just had the weirdest case of deja vu."

"How?"

"Well, Brian decided to go off on me, too—except his was a ten minute rant and the guy even went out of his way to bring out the fuckin' policy sheet from those shitty agenda's they give us at the beginning of every year. He made a bullet point list of all the things that could've happened if I'd gotten caught."

"And did you listen?"

"No." He said in that egotistical way of his, getting comfortable on the seat. "I checked out of that conversation the second he started talking... which made it worse."

"Sounds just like you."

"He's just a little ball of anger, sometimes. Kind of like a kitten. Can't say I blame him. His mom's a royal bitch like yours."

Claire smiled despite it all, biting her lip. Maybe it was good John hadn't changed. But the thought of her mom made her face fall.

"So..." He must've noticed her change but didn't push it. "Not that this old, jazz music isn't entertaining and all but do you got anything from this generation?"

"Check the console, jerk."

John popped open the middle console, digging into the contents. He held up one of the tapes like it was incriminating piece of evidence to a case he was about to make.

"ABBA?" John read out loud. "Really, Claire?"

"Yeah, what about them? They're good!" John purses his lips in a cynical way, tossing it by his feet. "Hey, be careful with those!"

"Hm… I figured Madonna." He continued emptying it out. Claire tried to ignore him but it was hard. "Michael Jackson… Phil Collins… Prince… Lionel Ritchie? … Barry Manilow? What's with the love ballads?"

"Is it hard to believe that I enjoy songs about love?" She countered.

"Considering your Rapunzel situation? Nah, I guess not. It's a girly thing, too. I just didn't expect you to be so… cheesy." John regurgitated the word like a disease. "They don't even make 'em like they used to."

Claire raised a brow when she finished turning the curb. "Since when've you become the musical expert?"

John glanced sideways. "Well, Claire, I am the one with better taste in just about everything."

"Except fashion." Claire smiled, giving his clothes another one up. "You're still terrible."

"'Terrible' happens to be one of my many middle names." He popped in Michael Jackson's Thriller cassette and hit rewind. "But, don't worry, I'll make ya a mixtape when I get the free time. You'll love it."

"Puh-lease." She channeled her inner Allison. "You're gonna put in a lot of what I hate. Like... What's that new band that just came out? Starts with an S..."

"You mean Slayer?"

"Them."

"Ah, you just haven't found the right song, Cherry. The right song changes everything." John reasoned as he hit the play button.

He laid back against the seat, propping his foot on his knee. Wanna Be Startin' Something started playing on low volume. She wasn't sure if she could fight this feeling ignited after years of being out... And she didn't know if she wanted to.

Claire rolled her eyes with a smile. "If you say so."

A/N: Yes, I watched all three LotR movies a few weeks ago and immediately fell in love. It's the same with A Song of Fire and Ice (also known as Game of Thrones—except I stopped watching the show and picked up the books). We is a Sansa Stark and Daenerys Targaryen enthusiast. GRRM is on some other shit that I'd like to be on. And Tolkien was ahead of his time. LotR is a phenomenal piece of work, if you can get past his writing style. We love Aragorn in this house, along with Frodo/Sam's relationship. I fucking WISH more relationships were written like theirs.

In other, more relevant, news I've been stuck on how exactly I'm gonna get these two together since the very start of this story but it finally hit me. Better late than never, I guess... A warning, but I'm gonna be dealing with a lot of heavy topics from here on out. Stay tuned!

Oh, final thing. That scene of John moving the books and saying hi to Claire that I wrote out? It's a deleted scene in the movie, and yeah, Brian was sitting next to her too. Although the scene in the movie is vastly different, I knew I had to use it somehow when I saw it. The deleted scenes were everything I deserved as more. Validation that I'm writing John/Claire the right way is SWEET.