NEW CHAPTER! yay! please don't forget to review and let me know what you think :)

thanks for being so patient with me! love you all!

~futureauthor612~

I've done a few things in my life I regret.

When I was seven, I knocked a $500 vase off the table in the front hallway and, upon confrontation by my mother, immediately and without hesitation pointed a finger at four-year-old Lizzie. At age ten, I forgot the crucial "i before e EXCEPT after c" rule during a spelling bee, and had tearfully taken second place to my one sworn enemy, Jeremy Hunhorn. On my thirteenth birthday I spilled yellow paint all over Suzy Lynch during an art project, ruining her brand new Ugg boots and pretty much solidifying a lack of invitation to her next party.

Still, aside from these momentary lapses in judgement which were, believe me, few and far between, I was pretty much a perfect child. I was the kind of girl about whom you said, "She's not that kind of girl" to just about everything which connoted bad behavior. I was the mathlete, the overachiever, the girl who stormed into her teacher's office after receiving a 99 on a test, demanding to know why she hadn't gotten 100.

Yes, I was the girl who probably pissed you off just by looking at her. But it wasn't my fault! It was in my blood, this constant need to rise above, to compete; not with other people, no, with myself, my fiercest opponent. I needed to constantly be striving for bigger and better things...

So, one can probably imagine how I felt when I found myself in love with Derek Venturi.

But that was over now. I was past him. I had to be.

Because nothing could compare to the feelings of remorse in the pit of my stomach when I woke up one morning, rolled over, and realized I'd had sex with Max.

It didn't occur to me at first, naturally. First thing I thought about when I woke up that morning was what the day was. Then I confirmed: Saturday. Next, I contemplated cereal choices for that morning. I glanced at the clock: 9:30. If I wanted my favorite, I'd need to hurry downstairs before 10, which was the time which Derek chose on Saturdays to make an appearance, eat breakfast, and then lumber back to his room and sleep for three more hours. Now Derek was on my brain, and thinking about Derek led me to the picture and that led me to the fight and that led me to- oh, shit. Max.

Slowly, memories of the previous night began to bubble up in my brain. It started out innocently enough; a desperate phone call to an old friend, nevermind ex-lover; an impromptu meeting at a deserted playground in the wee hours of the night; a throw-all-to-hell romp session which included, but was not limited to: yes, sex on the slide.

Was it the right thing to do? Not at all. Was I happy I did it? Not at all.

Did I regret it?

My immediate reaction was yes, 100%.

But, being the strong, independent feminist I refused to accept I no longer was, I began to talk myself out of it. Why should I feel guilty, huh? I had broken things off with Derek, so it wasn't like I'd cheated on him or something, if that was even possible in the situation we'd been in. And calling Max was just— something I needed. A one-night rebound. It had been nothing; that was understood by both parties. Now I could finally move on with my life, far away from Derek and far away from this one gigantic lapse in judgement.

Phew.

Now that that was over and I'd successfully rationalized even the most severe of my actions, I had more important fish to fry. For instance, recovering my reputation. That was going to be a fantastically challenging task, given recent events. But it was crucial that I try, and even more crucial that I succeed.

So I went downstairs to eat breakfast, careful to return to my room before 10 so as to avoid Derek completely. I took a shower, careful not to take my time between my door and the door to the bathroom, like I usually did, in the hopes that Derek would come out and see me. Instead, I made a beeline for the privacy of the bathroom.

By 11, I was ready to start my day. Number one rule of getting over it: keep self busy. Therefore my schedule was packed. First things first, however; apologize to Emily.

As I was closing the front door behind me, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Looking at it, I saw I had one new text. It was from Max. "thinking of u," it read, and at that moment I knew— the shit I was in this time was far too deep to talk myself out of.