NOTES: ...and here we are! Oh wow. I can't believe this. This is the longest thing I've ever written, and I know for a fact that I definitely wouldn't have finished it except for - well, you guys! Thank you all so much for your feedback, for telling me what worked for you and what didn't, and for just being all-around awesome. I'm a bit nervous posting this - I really really hope it doesn't disappoint.

DISCLAIMER: LWD is completely not mine. This was written for fun, not profit.

It was the look in his eyes that got her. Every time. The look full of hurt and disappointment that said, "You are not the person I thought you were."

It wasn't that she was always thinking about it (and was that wrong, too?) – but at odd times it flashed across her mind – the last thing Mr Tremblay had said to her, the last time he'd met her eyes, and the memory always jolted her.

She remembered other things too, of course – weird small things like the huge bandage on Marla's finger on the day of the funeral, and big terrible things like the way Christian had said, so flatly, "She's not you," the day she had said goodbye...those memories tapped her on the shoulder at odd times and made her forget, just for a second, whatever she was doing.

But mostly, she remembered the look in Mr Tremblay's eyes.

It wasn't that she remembered it all the time – most of the time, everything was normal. She got up, she went to work, she talked to her family...and everything was fine. It wasn't even that it was completely unbearable when she did remember. It was just...there, and sore to the touch, like a bruise. She wondered if it would ever totally heal, and she was torn between hoping it would, and being...kind of afraid that it would at the same time.

Because it should hurt. It should matter. Mr Tremblay had mattered to her, and if the memory of his pain and anger and disappointment stopped hurting her, then it meant he didn't matter to her anymore.

And she just couldn't live with that.

In the middle of this, there was Derek. It wasn't that Derek didn't matter – it wasn't that at all. Derek mattered. And Mr Tremblay mattered. It was just...she couldn't find any way to reconcile both of those facts. They refused to fit– it was like trying to push the positive ends of two magnets together. And Casey thought maybe it would never make sense...and maybe it shouldn't, because things had ended so badly with Mr Tremblay because of how she felt about Derek, so technically, she didn't deserve to skip into the sunset with him...but sometimes, the idea that she might always be split, conflicted and guilty about her feelings made her feel...kind of terrified.

"Just so you know – you are now officially lamer than George," Marti informed her, as she watched Casey pack away her groceries. "Relationships aren't that hard!"

"I'm older than you – shouldn't I be the one giving you romantic advice?" Casey asked, arranging the bananas in the fruit bowl.

Marti fixed her with a deeply sceptical gaze. "Do you really think you're qualified?"

Casey considered this. "Proceed," she sighed.

"Just – be happy!" Marti said, pushing her hair behind her ears in exasperation. "Seriously, try it – you might like it."

It sounded easy, when Marti said it. But in reality, it was like...asking her to treat all the continents like jigsaw pieces, and slot them together. Sure, they had all been part of the same landmass once, but now...

Marti shook her head in defeat. "Okay," she said, "But could you at least try to work something out before I start filming my sociology documentary?" She paused. "Although – maybe it would be a more compelling story if you guys were still messed up...okay – disregard my last piece of advice." She got up and grabbed her coat from the back of the chair.

"Are you leaving?" Casey asked.

Marti nodded.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked, gesturing at the enormous rucksack Marti had brought with her.

"That's not mine – it's Derek's laundry. He says you owe him for crippling him emotionally and physically."

Bizarrely, the fact that Derek was using the way he felt to try and guilt her into doing chores for him...actually made her feel better. If Derek was scheming, then things weren't that bad.

"Tell him he can use my washing machine when he comes by to pick up his mail," she said.

Marti looked at her with a mixture of pity and disgust. "You guys are like – the best argument against evolution I have ever heard."

Casey didn't know why though. Derek dropped by later, and in between the bickering and emotional blackmail, they managed to get two loads of laundry done. And even if neither of them was fixed, it felt weirdly normal.

"So the title is, 'Competition and Cooperation - A Theory, by Marti Venturi'."

"That sounds interesting," Casey approved, while Derek dropped his head against the back of the recliner and snored, "Bo-ring."

Marti folded her arms. "The subtitle is: 'Winner Takes All – Survival of the Fittest.'"

Derek straightened up and looked interested, and Marti passed around –

"Release forms?" Nora asked.

"Standard precaution," Marti said quickly. "Now – if everyone has signed, I'm going to film the introductions." She picked up her camera from the coffee table.

Almost immediately, Derek was up, squinting over her shoulder as she set up. "You're framing your shot wrong," he said, reaching out to take the camera.

Marti twisted away, still holding the camera, "I'm framing it the way I want to frame it, so butt out!"

"Yeah, but if you just" –

"Derek, why don't you let Marti handle it," George intervened. "She looks like she knows what she's doing."

Marti shot a glance of triumph at Derek before turning back. "Thanks, dad," she said.

George's indrawn breath was audible, and Nora leaned over and placed a hand on his arm. "Play it cool," she whispered.

"I – that is – you're welcome," George said, smiling inanely, "I mean, no problem. Any time..."

Marti ignored this and focused on shoving Derek back onto the recliner. "Now, how about you sit down, shut up, and try to look pretty?"

"Okay – blue!" Marti called out. As the others lifted the multi-colored parachute high, making it billow, Edwin and Lizzie ran underneath, swapping places before the parachute descended. Rhona, Marti's camera-operator, focused furiously on recording the action.

"Yellow!" Nora and George's turn. They ended up in a heap on the front lawn.

Marti turned to the camera. "Observation number one," she said. "Even though the game is cooperative, and there should be no conflict, inevitably real-life tensions leak through."

"What tension?" Casey demanded. She eyed Derek over the expanse of material. "There's no tension!"

Derek rolled his eyes at her. "I think she meant" - and he flicked his section of the parachute, making it flutter upwards and revealing Nora and George, sitting up and arguing.

"I just don't see how it's any of your business," George said, clambering to his feet.

"I was just trying to help." Nora dusted herself off.

"By phoning my cousin behind my back?"

"Well, you wouldn't do it!" Nora argued. "I think they need to talk things through. Don't you want them to work things out?"

"Of course I do. I just don't think you can force two people to get married so that you get to wear an expensive dress!"

"Guys!" Marti called. Nora and George started guiltily, before scurrying back to their places.

"Green!"

This time, it was Derek and Casey's turn to swap places. There was plenty of room under the billowing parachute, so Casey wasn't entirely sure how they ended up tripping over one another. Derek glared at her as the coloured material softly descended, and she could hear Marti saying, "So, as I said, real life tension totally affects performance even in a non-competitive game."

Marti, using bizarre Marti logic, bestowed points in an arbitrary fashion – even for the cooperative games.

"That sort of undermines the whole 'cooperation' angle," Casey said.

"Point taken," Marti said. "Actually – two points. Your score is now one."

Her jaw dropped as Derek smirked. "But that's not fair!"

"Are you trying to undermine my authority?" Marti asked, "Because that automatically resets your score to zero."

Casey quickly shut her mouth.

The next task saw them divided into pairs and given three days to build a popsicle house. The creators of the most impressive house, Marti assured them, would be well on their way to winning the entire competition.

"Marti said Nora and Edwin are working on a balcony," Derek said. Then, with an exasperated noise, he let a handful of popsicle sticks fall onto Casey's kitchen table. "You know, if you could stop thinking about your jerk ex-boss for ten minutes we might have a shot at getting our score out of negative numbers."

"Hmm?" Casey asked, before his words penetrated. Then, indignantly, she said, "Mr Tremblay was not a jerk!"

She stared at Derek, amazed at his insensitivity. He didn't seem to notice, once again absorbed with the popsicle sticks. "Well, from the stories your ex told, I'm not really seeing any evidence for him NOT being a jerk."

"He wasn't a jerk!" she repeated, upset.

"Yeah – if you can't back up your statement, then" –

"Of course I can back it up," she said fiercely. "He was sweet and kind and thoughtful – behavior I'm not surprised you can't recognise" –

Derek just raised his eyebrows at her, and in response, she launched into a passionate defence of Mr Tremblay.

" – wrote a letter to my dad, telling him how proud he should be of me, and even though he had this huge collection of books and plays, he used to just give them away to people he liked. He used to go to the highschool and give talks about Shakespeare, even though no-one ever listened, and when he said 'How was your day?' he really wanted to know, and..." she stopped for a second, before continuing in a different tone, "and I don't mean that he was perfect...because he wasn't, or that he never did anything wrong. But – he always cared. Maybe he didn't always show it in the right way – but whatever Christian thought...he did care. He really wanted him to be happy."

She smiled. "I mean – I knew everything about Christian before I even met him. He never stopped talking about him. And when he did show up, Mr Tremblay spent two weeks trying to set us up."

"And you're sure he wanted Christian to be happy?" Derek asked slowly.

"Shut up," she said, without heat. She smiled again, and kept talking – not just about his good qualities, but about quirks and habits that couldn't be described as 'good' or 'bad', that were just...part of who he was. Like the fact that he always insisted that chamomile and apple flavoured herbal tea was his favorite beverage, even though he never drank it, or the way he couldn't resist three for two offers (even if he never used the products in question), or the way he clicked his fingers when he was thinking about something.

When she finally ran out of words, she was exhausted. But it was worth it, because finally, Derek looked at her and said, "Okay, he wasn't a jerk."

Of course, he followed that with – "He was just incredibly weird."

The following night, Marti and her camera got in on the action, as they frantically worked on their popsicle verandah.

"You know," Marti said helpfully, "Nora and Edwin's house has an eyebrow dormer. And columns."

"Yeah, well, if you hadn't paired me up with Klutzy McBreaksalot maybe we would have columns!"

"Maybe we would," Casey agreed, "Of course, since your side of the house leans, all the columns would have to be different heights."

Marti said, "So, in theory, team-building exercises are supposed to maximise performance." She zoomed in on their rickety popsicle house.

"In theory," she stressed.

Something had changed. Just by talking about Mr Tremblay – it changed something. She didn't realise it until Janine finished the story about the understudy who was so nervous he fell off the stage, and Casey said –

"My boss...I mean, my old boss – once, he was in a play, and he was supposed to slam his fist down on the table – and he ended up breaking one of his fingers."

"Ouch," Janine said. "What did he do?"

"It was the middle of a scene. He had to keep going. Or this other time," Casey continued, "he had stomach flu the opening night of the play. He just made sure there was a bucket in the wings and hoped for the best."

"He sounds like a trooper," Janine said, absently, only half listening. He was just a name to her, Casey realized, and she was being polite, waiting for Casey to finish.

"Yeah. He was," Casey said, almost to herself.

It was nice, to remember Mr Tremblay smiling as he told her those stories. It wasn't entirely easy – the memory of the last time they had spoken made its customary appearance and the discord between the two was jarring.

...But Mr Tremblay was gone. He couldn't speak for himself, or tell stories about his past, and he could never be more than a name to Janine. Now, all that remained of him was the sum of Casey's memories. And maybe...maybe it was just as important to remember the good things. All of him deserved to be remembered, not just one small piece.

She tried to hold onto that thought even as part of her wondered if it wasn't just a way of letting herself off the hook.

The third night, a drastic redesign made their house look, if anything, less impressive.

In the middle of gluing a popsicle stick, Casey said, "I can't look at you right now."

"So that's an overdramatic 'no' on the balcony?" Derek asked.

"No," she said. "I mean – that was the last thing he said to me."

She took a popsicle stick between her fingers and bent it, testing its strength. She hadn't meant to say that – she didn't know why she had. She especially didn't know why she had chosen to tell Derek, of all people.

"Can you pass me the..." he gestured to a bundle of popsicle sticks on her side of the table. With a feeling of mingled disappointment and relief, she did. It was probably better not to talk about it. After all, what could Derek say, really?

"I hope you know how lucky you are to have Casey," he said, frowning down at the roof of their house.

"What?"

"That was the first thing he said to me." He shrugged. "Obviously he was delusional, but..."

"I don't think he felt like that at the end," she said, with a funny twist of her lips. "It was like...he hated me."

"Yeah, well, when he talked to me about you – which, by the way, he did constantly – I almost went into shock from the sugar-overload."

"So, what does that say about me," she said, trying to keep her voice light, "That he could go from feeling like that about me to feeling like..." she shook her head, and stared at the table.

When she looked up and met his eyes, he said, "It means you mattered to him." He sounded matter of fact, slightly annoyed even, like it was the simplest, most obvious thing in the world.

His right hand reached across the table, and without thinking, she caught it in hers. "Thanks," she said.

"Um – I was going for the sticks," Derek said, looking down at their joined hands.

"Oh," she said in embarrassment, "I'm" –

He reached across with his other hand and grabbed the bundle of popsicle sticks next to her elbow.

"Hey, if it keeps you from ruining the Popsicle Dream House," he said, and left his right hand in hers.

Of course, building a popsicle house using only his left hand and her right, was doomed to end in failure...well actually, it ended with Casey asleep on the couch, the horrible blanket Derek kept forgetting to take away, thrown over her, and a vaguely house shaped object drying on the coffee table.

Someone was knocking, and she knew it was important. Her hands shook as she unlocked the door, and pulled it open.

And there he was.

"Oh," she said, "Oh, I knew it was all a mistake," even though she hadn't, not until the very second she saw him.

They smiled at each other, and at exactly the same moment, their hands began to reach out.

Oh, please, Casey thought, let me keep dreaming –

And then she was holding both of his hands in hers, and the realness of it – the feel of his fingers, thick and strong and gripping too tight – took her breath away.

"Oh," she said, wonderingly.

And then she woke up.

She lay on the couch for a few minutes until the ache in her back and neck made it impossible for her to stay still for one more second. Then she threw off the blanket, and made her way to the kitchen. Wide-awake, she filled a basin with cleaning supplies, then headed towards the bathroom, thinking very hard about every single step, so that she didn't have to think about anything else until she was ready.

Inside the bathroom, she got to work. Almost mechanically, she began to scrub the sink and taps. She wiped the mirror, and sprayed the tiles that extended half-way up the walls. And all the time, memories were scrolling through her head like a film strip. And in a small way – it was like watching a movie, because the memories were sad, but the sting of them – the catch, the thorns – was gone. It was just sadness for someone lost, uncomplicated by guilt or shame or anything else. She was hardly aware that she was crying – the tears slipped out without effort, easily. She was much more conscious of the smell of the tile cleaner, rising in a citrusy cloud around her, and she knew that she would never be able to buy that brand again.

The sound of the bathroom door opening made her freeze, then whirl around, finger already pulling the spray trigger of the tile cleaner.

Derek looked down at the wet patch on his t-shirt.

"What are you doing here?!" she demanded, heart still pounding.

"It's the bathroom, Casey," he said his best talking-to-idiots-voice.

"I meant, where did you come from? I thought you went home!" she took a deep breath.

"Yeah – we finished at two in the morning," Derek said, "And by 'finished', I mean I glued the last popsicle stick while you serenaded me with your snoring. I didn't want to wake you, so I did the gentlemanly thing and took the bed."

He raised his eyebrows at her then looked at the tile cleaner.

"Um – I had a" –

"Mildew emergency?" he asked, brushing past her to sit on a corner of the bath.

"A dream," she said, and turned back to the wall. She blindly sprayed tile cleaner, then wiped the tiles with the cloth in her other hand.

She heard Derek take a breath behind her, but before he could say anything, she said, quickly, "It wasn't a bad dream."

She sat down, cross-legged, and sprayed the very bottom row of tiles, the ones that met the floor. There was a silence for a few seconds, before –

"You're probably the first person in the history of the world who needs to be told this," Derek said, sounding exasperated, "But it's okay to be okay."

His knee touched her shoulder, and almost without thinking, she leaned back into it.

Ultimately, it didn't matter that Lizzie and George won the popsicle house challenge - for demonstrating teamwork and collaborative skills, Marti said (and also because Nora and Edwin were disqualified for consulting an outside contractor to help with the eyebrow dormer).

It didn't matter because, "Points gained in all previous challenges are null and void. The Relay of Death will decide the ultimate winner." With a professional smile, Marti turned back to Rhona and the camera.

"How can there be one winner in a relay race?" Casey wondered.

"Relay of Death," Derek mused. He sounded interested.

"I have a better question," Edwin said. "Why are we doing this? Why haven't we mutinied?"

"Yeah," Lizzie agreed. "It's not fair. Marti keeps changing the rules!"

"I think she's investigating our deep-seated psychological desire to conform to authority – no matter how bogus the authority is," George said.

"Or she enjoys tormenting us," Edwin said flatly.

"There's that too," George conceded.

"Again – why are we not mutinying?"

"She just started calling me 'dad' again!"

"And, well..." Nora began sheepishly, "...she IS in charge."

"If you hadn't stopped in the middle of the race to answer your cell phone" – Derek glared at Edwin as Nora rounded the corner, playing card in hand. There was no sign of George.

"I have to be available 24/7," Edwin defended himself. "That's how you build a loyal customer base!"

Casey and Lizzie cheered as Nora jogged to a halt and handed the playing card to Casey, who turned to Edwin and Derek (but especially Derek) and said – "I'm sorry guys," sounding anything but, "...I guess you can't win them all."

As George finally turned the corner of the house, Casey said, "Don't worry, D, I'll take it slow – and lessen the humiliation of your inevitable defeat" –

Derek's eyes narrowed. Almost before she had finished speaking, his hand snaked out and snatched the playing card from her fingers, and he took off.

"Hey!" Casey shouted, "That's not fair!"

She turned to Nora and Lizzie. "Did you see that?! He's cheating!"

"He's also getting away!" Lizzie pointed out. "Are you just going to let him win?"

Casey began to run just as George reached them, the hand holding the playing card extended in front of him. "Where's Derek?" he panted, looking around.

As Casey reached the back of the house, she caught a flash of Derek disappearing around the corner. But by running flat out, she managed to lessen the distance between them by the time they rounded the final corner.

As Lizzie, Nora, Edwin and George came into view again, she set her jaw and put on a final burst of speed. She reached out and managed to grab hold of the back of Derek's sweatshirt – and pulled...causing him to fall onto the grass with a heavy thump, and causing Casey to trip over him. This didn't appear to phase either participant, as battle immediately commenced over the playing card – a battle that only halted when they both pulled the card in opposite directions, ripping it in two.

They looked up to find Marti and Rhona, camera in hand, hovering over them.

"Who won?" they both demanded.

Marti stared at them in disbelief. "Okay – you're scrabbling in the dirt over the FIVE OF SPADES. Who do you think won?"

"It was me, right?" Derek said, brandishing his half of the playing card. "I got the bigger piece."

Marti shook her head. "Ultimately, I think genetics is the real loser here." She looked between Casey and Derek. "Never have kids," she advised.

Though it wasn't as exciting as the competition had been, the post-filming wind-down wasn't entirely devoid of drama.

"You spoke to him? Oh, Georgie!" Nora made a high pitched sound, and threw her arms around him.

Strangely, George seemed slightly nervous. "He said that seeing how much we cared about them, made them realize how much they still loved each other, and" –

"And the wedding's back on?" Nora asked, clasping her hands together hopefully.

"And the wedding's back on," George confirmed. He cleared his throat, "But..."

"But?"

"They're so grateful for our help that – they want us to take a bigger role in the wedding..."

"How big a role?" she asked warily.

"...Best man and matron of honor," George tensed and closed his eyes, and everyone looked at Nora cautiously.

"Matron of honor gets to choose her own dress, right?" she asked, in a small voice.

"I'm kind of tired," Casey said suddenly. "I think I might...go."

"Me too," Derek said. As they hustled out the door, the last thing they heard was –

"Pale pink taffeta?!"

She was tired, and sore from tumbling over Derek, and there were grass stains all over her clothes.

"I had fun," she said, as they stood outside her door. "I mean, it was fun...all of us, spending time together as a family. I really" –

Without warning, Derek leaned forward and kissed her.

It only lasted a moment, soft and sweet, and when he pulled back, he said, "You can pretend that was a family kiss if you want."

She didn't know what to say, "I" –

It was almost a relief when he kissed her again, because she really had no idea what to say. It lasted longer this time, his hands going out to curl around her upper arms. She just stood still and let him kiss her and felt...and felt.

She looked at him when he pulled back again, and said, "And what about that kiss? Was that a family kiss too?"

He raised his eyebrows, and sounding surprised, he said, "What other kiss?" He took two steps backwards. "You and your one track mind," he said, shaking his head at her in mock-disapproval before turning around and walking away.

She watched until he turned the corner, and she couldn't see him anymore. Then, carefully, slowly, she unlocked her door and went inside, feeling all the while as if something new, and small, and easily crushed was growing inside her.

It was a week later when Janine came up behind her and said –

"The kid and your boyfriend are at the front desk, asking for you."

"He's not my boyfriend," Casey clarified, "I mean it's...there's obviously something but...not yet – we haven't res" –

"Okay – the kid and your 'not-yet' are waiting for you," Janine said, pushing her forward. "Go!"

Marti, flushed and grinning, brandished a DVD in her direction. "'Competition and Cooperation: A Theory'? A plus."

"Congratulations!" Casey leaned over the desk and hugged her.

"She said it was well researched and fascinating. And also disturbing." Marti paused. "She thinks we could benefit from therapy."

"Congratulations?" Casey tried again.

"The pizza party and private screening are scheduled for this evening, and for some weird reason, Marti actually seems to want you there, so" –

She ignored Derek and turned to Marti. "Of course I'll be there! I should be finished here in another," she consulted her watch, "half an hour. I'll change and be right over!"

"Great," Marti said, and turned to Derek, who sighed and extracted his wallet. "And...could we have two tickets to the Saturday matinee."

Casey blinked.

"I'm expanding my mind," Marti said. Under Casey's gaze, she caved. "Or our English teacher wants us to write a review."

She turned her eyes to Derek. "Nap here, nap at home..." he held out both hands and balanced them, as if it didn't make any difference. "So - two tickets," he said again, snapping his fingers.

"Three," she decided, taking the money he set down on the desk.

His head jerked up and she swallowed, slightly nervous.

"I mean," she said, stumbling slightly over the words, "If you're snoring in the next seat, Marti's going to need someone to set a good example for her, so..." she shrugged.

They looked at each other for a long moment before he reached out for the tickets. Something is going to happen, she thought. Someday, something is really going to happen.

The thing was – it wasn't like a movie or a story, where one cathartic moment meant everything was suddenly okay. All those parts of her – the part that felt guilty about Mr Tremblay, and the part that missed him, and the part that really wanted Derek to be happy, and the part that wanted her to be okay too...they still didn't quite – mesh. But maybe – that wasn't how it was meant to happen, she thought. Because life was messy, and sometimes things were left unfinished, with things unsaid, not done. And maybe you just had to learn to live with that, make peace with it as best you could, and...

And as her hand and Derek's brushed, it was like...it was like the future, flashing through her mind for just an instant – not a vision, but a feeling. All these pieces will fit together one day, she realized. Just slide together as if they were puzzle pieces, made to fit without contradictions. How, she didn't know, but she knew that they would.

"You know, it's not that I'm a monster," Janine said, coming to stand beside her as she watched Derek and Marti disappear through the exit, "But when I see people looking happy, I always think they should be working harder."

She thought about Janine's words as she walked to her apartment, and collected her mail and unlocked her door.

Because - happy? She wasn't quite there yet. She was...content, inching her way towards happiness. She knew that there would always be a part of her that regretted how things had ended with Mr Tremblay – how could there not be? But even though that regret would always be there, a part of her - like her name, she was making room for other feelings, and finding that they were just as real, and just as much a part of her as the regret.

And it was slow, but she was moving forward – and she was going to get there, someday.

And she found herself hoping that when she got there, Derek would still be waiting. Because it was slow, and she wasn't going to promise anything and make Derek wait, because – because if she was serious about him, about a real relationship, then she needed to be...whole. Okay. Not conflicted about her feelings. Ready.

And maybe, by the time she was all those things, Derek would have moved on. And if he had – well, she would understand. Because she knew now, that there were no 'happily ever afters'. There were endings, and beginnings, and continuations, but through it all, life just kept happening, and somehow people made it through all these things – a little scratched, maybe, but mostly okay.

She slipped off her shoes, and flicked through her mail, tossing the junk onto the coffee table. At the bottom of the pile, there was a small brown package, addressed to her in familiar looking writing. She stared at it for a long second, before opening it with suddenly clumsy fingers. Inside, there was a book, with a letter paperclipped to it. It was covered in the same scrawled writing, and she carefully pulled off the paperclip, and unfolded it.

Dear Casey,

I could have phoned, I know, but I thought I'd 'rediscover the lost art of letter writing' instead. Actually, I'm discovering I suck at the lost art of letter writing. This is my fourth attempt, and I'm kind of hoping it's going to be my last, because my hand is starting to cramp up. It's weird though –I know exactly what I want to write, so this should be easy. I should be done by now.

I'm sorry. That's really what I want to say. Because everything was so crazy, and you weren't there...and then dad wasn't there, and I know I should have said something – but I guess what it comes down to is, I was still angry with you.

Remember the day you left? You asked if dad ever said anything about you? I didn't lie, I just didn't...tell you the whole truth. We didn't talk about you, afterwards – but I know dad thought about you. And not...I mean, it wasn't all bad. The play I've sent you was on top of his bedside locker. Take a look – I hope it's a better answer to the question you asked, than the one I gave you in dad's office. It's a more honest one, at least.

I'm sorry it took me so long. And I'm sorry...about how things worked out with us. I hope you're well and doing okay – actually, I hope you're doing better than okay.

Best wishes,

Christian.

P.S. Marla says hi.

Casey lowered the letter, and picked up the book. It wasn't anything special – an ordinary paperback Shakespeare. Much Ado About Nothing. Mr Tremblay had hundreds of the same kind of book, crammed into the shelves in his office, stacked in piles in his bedroom.

But when she opened it, on the flyleaf at the front, she saw in his spidery writing – her name. Casey.

Almost in disbelief, she reached out, and traced it with her finger. After everything that had happened, he had written her name inside this play, as if he was going to present it to her, the way he gave out books and plays to his friends. Like one day, they would meet again, and everything would be...all right. Like that day in his office wasn't meant to be an ending, just a 'to be continued'.

Gently, she replaced the book on the coffee table, and wiped her eyes. It took her a minute to identify the feeling inside her, brilliant and huge. Joy, she realized. That's what it was.

Of course, she told herself, as she slid her feet into her sneakers, she should still go slow. Her fingers quickly tied her laces. Because she had learned a lot of valuable lessons during the last few months – and just because this wonderful moment had happened, there was no reason to discount those lessons.

It was important to go slow, she reminded herself as she picked up her keys. She should probably take a few hours and think about what should happen next. After all, hadn't she just decided that one shining moment didn't make everything all right again? She felt her heart thump hard as she realized again that Mr Tremblay hadn't died hating her, that Christian had forgiven her – it was like colliding with happiness, crashing into it, sudden and powerful, and she realized that she was on the other side of the door, and her fingers were turning the key in the lock.

Well, she had promised Marti, she reminded herself, as she started to walk. And really, this didn't have to affect her and Derek. They could still take things slowly – it was the safest, best course of action. What had Christian written? 'P.S. Marla says hi'. It wasn't a guarantee, or anything – she knew there wasn't always a happy ending.

But for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to think there might be.

Her feet pounded along the sidewalk faster and faster, and she skidded around corners, breath coming hard and fast, heart thumping hard in her chest.

And then she was running up the driveway and bursting through the front door.

The pizza party was obviously just beginning. Edwin and Lizzie had slices in their hands, while George, Derek and Marti were nosing around the pizza box on the coffee table, and Nora was distributing glasses of soda, when she exploded through the door and came to an abrupt halt.

"Casey," her mom took a step forward, sounding worried, "Is something wrong?"

But she kept her eyes fixed on Derek as she took in deep lungfuls of air and tried to calm her breathing.

"So," she said, trying to sound casual, normal, even though her heart was still thumping far too fast, "Um. We're going to need a new song, because if you think that I'm okay with 'our' song being a second-hand cast off from your last girlfriend, then you are so" –

She had to take a breath when the expression on Derek's face shifted from incomprehension to understanding, and her feet were moving of their own volition until she was standing in front of him.

"- are so," she said, absently continuing, "you are so – so..." She looked right into his eyes. "Screw it," she finished, and then her hands were on his face and she was kissing him, fierce and joyful. She could almost feel the 'click' as finally, finally, all the pieces slotted together.

"Oh," Nora said. "I'm glad. A little weirded out," she continued, as Derek's arms slid around Casey's waist, "But glad."

"Took you long enough," Derek mumbled into her hair, "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're kind of a slow learner."

"Don't take this the wrong way," she said, breathlessly, "But shut up." She pulled his face to hers again.

With a dramatic flourish, Edwin dropped his pizza onto the coffee table. "Great," he said, then turned to Lizzie. "How many other food groups do they have left to ruin?"

"Okay – now that you guys have FINALLY reached a creepy yet satisfying agreement – how about we watch my documentary? " Marti asked hopefully.

"You know, I think Casey might have reached stage five," George said to Lizzie.

"Yeah," Lizzie said, a grossed out look on her face, "and it looks like any second now, Derek's going to reach second base."

Her and Derek, well, it probably wasn't going to be a conventional 'happily ever after', she realized, as they kissed to sounds of polite, panicky caution (George and Nora ) and noises of revulsion (Lizzie, Marti and Edwin) – and maybe 'happily' wasn't exactly the first word that sprang to mind when she thought of herself and Derek, but still...

She tightened her arms around him.

And they lived...