CFB: I usually get ideas for stories when I'm A) Dreaming, B) Running, or C) Getting hit in the head. Well, a couple weeks ago I fell off a swing-set and landed on a rock. And this is the result. I don't recommend falling off a swing-set (or anything) to try and get ideas, however...

It's ham-human. I KNOW, I KNOW, HOW AWFUL....it'll only be about three-four chapters, though. Five at the most. This is a new genre for me ~is scared~ so I hope you like it!

Summary: Aspiring photographer Sandy Mason has been crushing on her bookworm best friend Maxwell Marshall for as long as she can remember, but she's pretty sure he has no clue about her feelings for him. So she's going to find him the perfect book if it's the last thing she does!

This fic is dedicated to sandyandmaxwellfanatic for being a great reviewer, writer and friend on this site - and since this fic is SM, I thought it would be fitting. Check out her fics, they're awesome! You won't regret it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hamtaro. No OC's in this fic, so I don't have to give my usual spiel about them. I also don't own any of the books mentioned in this story...well, I own them, but not the rights.

The Perfect Book

Chapter 1: The Quest Begins!

I have always considered reading only a notch more enjoyable than a visit to the dentist.

Books, to me, are torture devices teachers use on you for brainwashing purposes - not for that 'expanding your mind' crap they claim to be doing by force-feeding you the works of good ol' dead guys like Shakespeare, Hawthorne, and Hemingway. No, no...they are slowly killing your spirit with big words, plots that I couldn't care less about, and characters that I would beat up if they really existed. Seriously...I was mondo glad when Romeo and Juliet died.

I toiled through 127 brutal pages of the Old Man and the Sea earlier this year, for instance, only to find out that Sacramento (Or Santiago, whatever the old dude's name is...) didn't catch the freaking fish. Four hours of my life I'll never get back. All for the symbolism, as my teacher put it when I kindly asked her why she made us spend our life reading such a waste of paper.

Gag me.

Anyway, as I was saying, reading has never been a walk in the park for me, and the only book I own is Captain Underpants, which is actually my twin brother Stan's. No, reading is more like a trek through the Sahara for me, with no canteen, wearing a parka. With a nosebleed. Yep, that sounds about right.

But my dear, sweet best friend Maxwell loves reading - so, for his sake, I listen when he carries on about the latest novel he found in the discount bin at Borders ("It's wonderfully written, I can't believe t was only three dollars!"), or the classic tale from 1847 he discovered when rifling through his attic and stuff like that ("Who knew what treasures that dusty old attic contained?"). After years of listening to Maxwell prattle on about books, I still can't tell you the difference between Hamlet and Othello, but I can tell how much Maxwell enjoys a book by the thrilled sparkle in his grey eyes or the way his voice gets just a tad louder and more excited as he mentions some particular plot twist.

I've got an eye for detail, so I notice little things like that. That's why I'm going to be the raddest photographer Hamutown ever saw. And that's the only reason I notice those things about my strictly platonic best friend Maxy. I swear.

Maxwell's been the nerdy bookworm he is since kindergarten - always with his nose in a book, magazine, nespaper, or (since he's the type of person who reads ingredients, too) food label. While I was bullying the other kids out of their milk money on the playground, Maxwell was reading the dictionary and memorizing Emily Dickinson poems. How did we wind up as friends? Got me. I blame gravity - he's got some kind of pull or something like that. And it's kept me in place for the last, oh...twelve years, since we'd met in kindergarten.

"I'm telling you, Sandy! I think you'll like The Great Gatsby...it's nothing like The Old Man and the Sea, I promise! Fitzgerald is a gifted writer. In fact, I think you'd find the conflict between Daisy, Tom, and Gatsby very compelling..."

"Hm...that's nice..."

A blue-bird, of the richest cobalt hue, landed elegantly on a tree branch just outside Maxwell's window. I reached hastily for the digital camera (Old Reliable, as I've come to call it) hanging around my neck and, careful not to scare the bird off, snapped a photo. At the sound of the click, the bird took off, but I had already gotten my prize. My photography teacher would be pleased with my next project...A+ here I come! They're rare for me, so I enjoy them when I can. I'm not a human robot, like Maxwell, who can sleep in class and still get A's...

"...And you're sure to hate Myrtle! I find her to be one of the most unlikable characters in literature, honestly..."

I snapped back to reality and stopped reviewing the photos on my camera as Maxwell's voice wafted back to my ears. Whoops - I supposed I had been ignoring Maxwell as he tried to convince me not to simply Sparknote our next book, as I had been planning on doing.

"Erm...what was that about a turtle?"

Maxwell sighed over-dramatically, flopping back on his bed. "Sandy!" He exclaimed, and I winced. "Haven't you heard a word I've been saying?"

Hilariously enough, my inability to care about books is distressing to dear ol' Maxwell, and he often tries to persuade me onto the dark-side - and by dark-side, I mean people who actually read for enjoyment. I'll listen to him talk about books (though that's mostly just so I can spend time with him) but I will never pick up a book simply for pleasure, unless there's some bathroom humor or pictures of cats with hilarious captions.

I got up from the chair I had been sitting on and began to wander around Maxwell's spacious bedroom. This was where we came after school at least three times a week...Maxwell would help me with my homework, and I would pretend to know what he was talking about when he mentioned logarithms, a routine we had gone through since the third grade, when I started to not care about school. I owe Maxwell credit for most of my vocabulary. You hang around with a bookworm like him long enough, you'll wind up talking like one.

"Sorry, Max..." I replied honestly, snapping a photo of him as he lay sprawled out on his bed, an exasperated expression on his face. He shot me a withering look - he hated when I took pictures of him. He refuses to acknowledge the fact that he's extremely photogenic. Not that I stare at him or anything...

Taking a look at the pic when it flashed on the screen, I grinned tauntingly at him, which made him frown sharply. He looked like he wanted to snatch the camera out of my hands, but he knew my reflexes were about a billion times better than his.

"That one's totally going on facebook, Maxy..." I teased.

"You'd better not!" He warned, sitting bolt upright, though a grin had lit up on his face. A mischievous look flashed in his calm grey eyes, and it was a struggle for me to keep my cheeks from heating up - a look like that from a square (a cute square, but a square all the same) like Maxwell is rare, and enough to make me want to squeal.

"Or I'll put up that picture of you in your ballet tutu from pre-school!" He threatened.

Oh. That was low. I thought I'd burned that picture, dangit!

Quickly, I pressed the delete button to get rid of the undesired photo - even if it was an extremely cute one. "There! Like, all evidence destroyed!" I waved my hands innocently, and turned to stare at Maxwell's bookshelf - mostly to hide the fact that my cheeks had turned pink. Maxwell, satisfied that the pic had been terminated, returned to arguing for Fitzgerald's classic tale of forbidden love, while I returned to not paying attention,

"Every time I read this, I get so frustrated with Daisy for not realizing how much Gatsby truly cares for her..."

As much as I like Maxwell (which is quite a bit, if you hadn't noticed by now) I tuned out of his book babbling to examine his dustless, seven-tier book shelf. I may not admire books, but Maxwell's wall-size book shelf truly is a wicked sight to behold. I mean, it's so tidy. Every single volume is in perfect alignment - organized alphabetically by author, then by title, and then by length and genre. I once switched his copy of Macbeth with Howl's Moving Castle, totally as a joke, and he refused to speak to me for a week - Maxwell is very serious about the organization of his books.

Mesmerized by the perfect order, I snapped another picture. Flawless arrangement - that was pretty hard to get in nature, so it was worth documenting. Maxwell stopped mid-rant to inquire innocently, "Why'd you take a picture of my bookshelf, Sandy?"

"Because it's so dang neat, Max!" I replied, running a finger along the fine surface of wood. Not a speck of dust, thanks to Maxwell's inhuman cleaning regimen. The boy frightens me sometimes - put a sponge in his hand, and he's off like a whirlwind. "It's not everyday you see a bookshelf as like, perfectly organized as this. You sure you're not a robot?"

"The library is neater than mine, I think..."

"When was the last time I like, went to the library Maxy?"

Scanning his prized shelf, I recognized some of the titles he owned from class - scowling when I caught sight of that awful fish book - but others were too long or difficult for me to even pronounce. I was preoccupied trying to decipher the complicated names of some of his scientific books when I caught sight of an empty space on the shelf that I was pretty sure hadn't been there last time I visited. I furrowed my brow and looked closer. Stuck to the wood, just over the empty space was a label from one of those fancy label-makers on those late-night infomercials, and it read in perfectly aligned type:

The Perfect Book.

I felt my eyebrows furrow together. "Like, what's this all about, Max?"

Maxwell, curious, got up off of his bed and crossed the room to stand beside me. His shoulder brushed mine a tiny bit, and I couldn't help the warmth that spread over my cheeks. I looked over to his The Chronicles of Narnia anthology so he wouldn't see that I had turned pinker than Pashmina's scarf collection.

"Oh, this? I'm saving this spot for a very special book." He explained, placing a firm hand on his shelf and dusting a minuscule fleck of dust off of The Scarlet Letter.

I looked at him with an arched eyebrow. "Like, really? Which book?"

Maxwell shrugged his shoulders, and I watched a melancholic smile spread over his face. It was kinda like the look he got whenever we went to Borders and the novel he had been saving up for was sold out, or the only copy left had a dog-eared page. I tell you, he's a freak. An adorable kind of freak, though. He gestured to his vast collection of books with one hand and, with a sad glint in his storm-grey eyes, remarked, "That's just it, Sandy! Of all the books I've read over the years, none of them are worthy enough to be called the perfect book. Flawless, beautiful, and captivating from beginning to end..."

I watched as Maxwell's eyes flitted from title to title of his cherished books - and I resisted the urge to take another picture of him. "Like, but you have so many books, Maxwell!" I exclaimed, completely shell-shocked by this news. "And you've read thousands! You mean of all those books there isn't one that you consider better than like, the others?"

Maxwell smiled faintly and shrugged his thin shoulders. "Oh, I have my favorites. But all of them have something....I don't exactly know how to articulate it....something missing, let's say."

I stared at him blankly. "...You lost me, Maxy."

Maxwell ran his fingers through his dark chestnut hair and gave me his trademark smile - the corners of his mouth turned only slightly upward, so he still looked a bit stern, and his eyes twinkling. He chuckled a little, and waved his arms a bit for emphasis, as he'd always been one to talk with his hands, "I guess what I mean to say is I'm still looking for a book I can consider absolutely perfect in every way. Many scholars have named books that they consider to be perfect, but, well...I'm still looking."

Sheepishly, he looked down at the carpet. I listened carefully now, no longer distracted. "I've been looking for the perfect book for a long time, Sandy. With each book I read I feel like I'm getting so much closer, and yet, I still feel so far away from that goal..." He gave me a brief smile, and then turned back to his bookshelf. "I guess it sounds like a pretty dumb dream to you, Sandy, but...it's one of my life ambitions, you know? I created this space, thinking that maybe it would help me with my search, but...no luck."

The way Maxwell's voice sounded made my heart give a painful little twinge. Dang him, for being so outright earnest - one of the many reasons I've been sorta kinda crushing on him since third grade. Wanting to be of some comfort, I patted his shoulder and replied, trying to sound cheerful, "I don't like, think that's dumb, Maxwell! I think that's a radical dream! I've like, been wanting to take the perfect photo for years, so we have a dream like that in common, I guess!"

Maxwell turned to me and his smile brightened. "Really? You don't think I'm just being a nerd, like usual?" He teased.

"No, you are. But there's like, nothing wrong with that!" I jested back, grinning.

Maxwell sighed, and looked back to his bookshelf one more time, his grey eyes achieving a far away look. "I've read so many books, Sandy, I think that finding the perfect book will be like - pardon my cliche, if you will - finding a needle in a haystack. Sometimes, I just want to give up and stop searching..."

As he said that, his voice sounded so sad, I almost felt my own bottom lip trembling. Maxwell and I had been friends for what felt like forever - and whenever his spirits falter, mine feel the exact same way, and I want to do anything to make that sad gleam in his eyes disappear. I could tell that this dream - this quest for 'The Perfect Book' - was a cause very near and dear to Maxy's heart. It was, in my opinion, a pretty lame cause (ending world hunger - now there's a big one) but if it was important to him, it was important to me too - and dangit, I wasn't going to let him give up on it, after all his hard work!

Who knew that he was actually doing all that reading for a reason! Go figure, huh?

"Don't give up, Maxy!" I was surprised by the vehemence in my voice, and Maxy looked a bit surprised too, as he took a couple steps backwards. "Like, even when things look impossible you can't just like, give up!" I professed, realizing that I sounded exactly like a corny sports movie, but not really caring, because I meant every word regardless.

Recovering from his initial shock, Maxwell raised his brows and crossed his arms over his chest. "I never thought I'd see the day where you, of all people, would encourage me to keep reading. Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, nonetheless, but Sandy..." He sighed deeply. "I think it's a fruitless search. The elusive Perfect Book will forever be out of reach..."

"Don't say that, Maxy..." I protested weakly, hating to see him in such a way. "I'm like, sure the book is out there! I'll help you look for it!" Even if it meant having to endure another cross-city search for the latest Harry Potter book, like a couple years ago...I shudder, just remembering the horde of fangirls that nearly trampled us...

He waved a dismissive hand at me, and with that, I clamped my mouth shut. I knew the discussion was over - he had on his 'I don't want to talk about it anymore' face, and I didn't want to press it further if he didn't want to discuss it. "It's okay, Sandy!" Maxwell assured me, though I could tell from the slightly-distressed look in his eyes that he was lying to me. "Some dreams are better left behind in childhood, you know?"

"But..." My voice died off without a fight, but I felt my cheeks grow hot. How could he give up so easily....?

"Just forget it, Sandy. It isn't that important. Now, how about we get into that Trig homework? Those polar coordinates aren't going to plot themselves, you know!"

Some dreams are better left behind in childhood, you know?

Maxwell's words bothered me the rest of the afternoon - he had tried to teach me trigonometry for a solid hour before giving up, and then moving onto chemistry, which I was also zoning out for. By the time dinner rolled around and I had to leave for my own house, Maxwell had completed all of his homework assignments, and mine as well ("Next time I won't do it for you, Sandy!"). I just couldn't seem to take my mind off of this Perfect Book business long enough to give a hoot about school. Not that I give much of a hoot normally, but whatever.

Just forget it, Sandy. It isn't that important.

Walking home under the pooling golden light of the streetlamps of Hambowe Boulevard, I curled my hands into fists. How could he say it wasn't important, when his face blared exactly the opposite? He really did care about finding the Perfect Book....I know he did, no matter how much he doth protest. See? Even I can use Shakespeare, sometimes!

"Dangit, Maxy....you can't just give up!"

I had known - and been sorta pining for - Maxwell long enough to be able to read his emotions like, as pitifully cliche as it is, a book. Every picture I had taken of him, from every year since we met twelve years ago, his emotions were splayed out, as clear as day, with only the deepest ones hidden inside, behind the swirls of his grey, grey eyes...he was a very readable, yet mysterious person, all at the same time. And he never ceased to amaze and confuse me with that baffling combination...

"Stupid bookworms...stupidly giving up on their stupid dreams! It's so...stupid!" I seethed, and couldn't help but stomp my foot indignantly on the cold pavement, my breath coming in ragged clouds of condensation as it struck the winter air.

Well...maybe his vocabulary hasn't rubbed off on me all that much, yet.

I turned the corner, taking the shortcut to my apartment building on Hamdown Street, and wound up standing right by A Million Pages - the small book store Maxwell's family owns, and where Maxwell works on weekends. The 'Closed' sign was securely fastened over the door, meaning Mr. and Mrs. Marshall, Maxwell's parents, had gone home for the night. Staring into the dark windows at the countless lonely shelves beyond the glass, I let out a frustrated sigh. I was making a bigger deal out of this than Maxwell was, but I just couldn't help it...

I guess that's what you do when you care about someone so darn much. You cling to the dreams they give up on, not wanting to see them fail.

As I blankly scanned the list of new releases posted on the door, I felt the little lightbulb in my head switch on suddenly. I hadn't had such a brilliant idea in such a long time, it felt totally odd - and to be honest, my brain kinda hurt a little. But it was worth it, and I couldn't help but cry out, "Eureka!" toward the heavens - like Dexter does after a chemical reaction in chemistry class.

"If Maxwell's going to give up on his dream of finding the Perfect Book, I'm just going to have to find it for him!"

I was so proud of my idea, I skipped all the way home - ignoring the weirded out stares I got from passerby. I was so giddy, my feet felt lighter as I bolted into the warmth of my apartment building and then flew up the stairs before the doorman Sabu could give me his usual hello. I sprinted to the eighth floor and into apartment 8-6 as fast as I could, now panting for breath -still grinning from ear to ear, so eager to help my distressed friend on the quest he so willingly abandoned...

Stan, my annoying twin, was sitting on the couch in the living room, watching some trashy reality show chock-full of people practically made of plastic when I entered, but I strode right past him toward the door to my room. Our parents were away on business for the rest of the month, so we were on our own as far as taking care of ourselves, and, luckily, Stan hadn't trashed the apartment - yet. It had only been five days, so far...

Stan looked up at me with narrowed hazel eyes as I passed him, pulling my arms out of my furry winter jacket - it's so warm, sometimes I wish I had actual fur.

"Dude, Sands, you're twenty minutes late! I like, had to make dinner myself!" Stan complained, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at me. "Do you know how hard it is to open a pack of ramen noodles?"

Well, my plot to ignore him was ruined.

"Wow, Stan, you actually had to like, work?" I asked sarcastically, throwing my gloves, scarf (a red one, compliments of my bestie Pashmina) and jacket onto a vacant chair, leaving my bookbag on the floor beside my door. "I'm impressed you didn't burn the kitchen down."

"Very funny, Sandy! You were probably too busy making out with your boyfriend to come home on time!" Stan teased, sticking his tongue out at me - an action he has been doing, every single day, since he was three. And, as sad as it is, I did the same thing right back. When you're twins, it just kind of happens.

If there's one thing I hate, it's Stan teasing me about my crush on Maxwell - it's the only thing that gets me royally steamed at him, other than when he leaves his wet towels on the bathroom floor, which is just plain disgusting. And if I had hid my diary in a better place when I was younger (How stupid I was to think under ,my bed was secure...), he wouldn't have had a clue about my suppressed feelings for Maxy - but, then again, I wouldn't have broken his nose then either, and that was a heap of fun, let me tell you. I have pictures of the ridiculous nose-cast he had to wear. Hahaha....good times.

"Shut up, Stan! He is like, not my boyfriend!" I hollered, turning cherry-red, crossing the room in one leap and jumping on my twin with all my strength behind the motion. My side-ponytail whipped him in the face as I landed on his stomach, and he gasped in pain, taken aback by my surprise attack and blinded from my hair-whip. I love that I get A's in gym!

"Sandy! You are being so uncool! Get off me!"

"Not until you take it back, Stanley!"

"What? You do wish he was your boyfriend, don't you?"

Even after I put him in a headlock, he still managed to keep teasing me with that stupid, arrogant smile on his face. The jerk. Sometimes, I can't believe we have the same appearance...because then I can't pretend I'm not related to him when he embarrasses me. Which is a lot, and often in public.

"Take...it...back..." I lowered my voice so it was as threatening as I could make it, and pressed my lips right up against his ear, tightening the grip of my arm on his neck so he let out a noise that sounded like a beached whale. "Or I'll tell Pashmina and Bijou that you tried to sneak into the girls locker room while they were changing for swim class last year."

Stan's response was automatic, and I grinned smugly. Stan's pervy ways works against him sometimes, thankfully...

"Okay! I give! I take it back!" He gasped, and I released my hold on him. His terrified face was so priceless, I had to snap a picture of it to hold for ransom (and show all of our friends), and when he flailed his arms out to try and knock the camera out of my hands, I danced nimbly away. He collapsed, panting, against the soft pillows of the leather couch, utterly defeated, as I, triumphant, stuck my nose in the air like a true victor and headed toward my room, shutting the door behind me and ignoring Stan's muttered remark of, "He'll never date you if you're so violent..." as I disappeared inside.

Not even Stan's snarky comments could ruin my mood tonight, now that I was dedicated to helping Maxwell accomplish his goal. With a dreamy sigh, I flopped down on my green bedspread and stared up at the pure white ceiling, trying to find shapes in the contours of the paint. Oh look, there's a fish! And a mouse....and a pig in a bandana....

Wait a minute! Focus, Sandy! You've got a mission to complete!

My brow furrowed as I continued to stare up at the ceiling, contemplating my new task of finding Maxwell the Perfect Book. And that's when it hit me - full-force, like a speeding truck. Groaning, and slapping my hands over my weary eyes, I wailed mournfully, miserable realization washing over every inch of my body, which now ached from my exuberant skipping home and premature celebration,

"HOW THE HECK AM I GOING TO FIND THE PERFECT BOOK ANYWAY?!"

.....This was going to be a lot harder than I thought.

"What do you mean, the Perfect Book?"

Whenever I have a dilemma, there are two girls I can go to for a crying shoulder and kind words. My girl best friends, Bijou Descoteaux - the French foreign-exchange student we'd met freshman year - and Pashmina Hurston - my dirty blonde, scarf-wearing bestie since preschool. They knew all about my crush on Maxwell - and even though they were both far girlier than I ever cared to be, I valued their opinions on such matters, because they understood things about guys that were still complete mysteries to me.

I had tried to call my favorite French-import Bijou after I ate dinner and showered, only to find the line busy - she was likely gabbing to Hamtaro, her new boyfriend and my friend of eight years. She's been crushing on him since she moved here three years ago, and he had (finally) asked her out last week at her job at the frozen yogurt stand at the mall. Actually he had accidentally blurted out, "I love you!" instead of "Can I have the strawberry swirl, please?" and then proceeded to turn redder than a fire engine. It was quite hilarious. I was there, laughing hysterically.

Anywho, long story short, now they couldn't be happier, blah, blah, blah. To be honest, I was still a little jealous of her newfound happiness with gullible old Hamtaro Hake - though I am happy for her, in all honesty, because watching her try and flirt with him for so long was becoming tragic. The guy's dense as lead, and she got him after three long years of trying - I'd been harping over Maxwell since third grade, and I'm still stuck in best friend zone. So, after being turned away by Bijou's busy signal, I called up Pashmina for some girl advice on this very sensitive issue.

"I mean exactly that. Maxwell's like, looking for the Perfect Book!" I replied into my cell phone, lounging against my pillows. "He says he's been looking for a long time, but now, he like, wants to give up! It's so totally sad, Pashy!"

I heard her sigh into the receiver. Pashmina's got a heart the size of Hamtropolis City out west, so I knew the story would strike a chord with her. "That's so sad! I've never thought Maxwell to be the type to give up so easily...especially when reading is involved!"

"Tell me about it! So that's why I like, want to find the Perfect Book for him, if he's not going to do it himself!"

Just like I'd always been good at reading Maxwell, Pashmina's always been good at reading me - even through the phone. Best friend instincts kicking in, she asked me lightly, not wanting to provoke my temper, "Sandy...you're not just doing this as a way to show Maxwell your feelings for him, are you?"

I blushed, and was glad she couldn't see me. I hoped I sounded convincing as I replied, "No...why would you think that?"

"Sandy..."

"Okay, fine!" I squeezed my eyes shut and slapped a hand to my forehead. "So what if I am? It will be like killing two birds with one stone then, right? I like, find Maxwell the Perfect Book so he can accomplish his goal, and then maybe he'll have some clue that I think of him as....like..."

"More than a friend?"

My cheeks only got hotter, and my heart fluttered like a storm of monarchs. Accursed emotions. Why must they be so great, and so awful, all at once?

"Yeah...but I like, really do want to help him," I continued, biting my lip and staring up at the shapes in my ceiling again. "Because I could like, tell it was super important to him. You weren't there, Pashy! You didn't see how sad he got talking about it!" I sighed deeply, trying to calm my racing blood as I remembered how wistful Maxwell had been a few hours ago as he stared at the empty spot on his bookshelf. "I just, like...I don't know how to go about finding the Perfect Book."

I knew I should have been listening to Maxwell all those times I tuned him out. Stupid short attention span...

"Relax, Sandy!" Pashmina's soothing voice prompted me. "I can tell you really want to do this, so I'll help you. And I'm sure Bijou will lend a hand too, once you tell her about it."

"Tch, if she isn't too busy sucking face with Hamtaro..." I scoffed, only half-joking. Since she and Hamtaro had become an item, she had canceled only one 'Girls Day', last Saturday, to hang out with Hamtaro instead, but I feared it would become a pattern. I was just really hoping she wouldn't completely forget about us, now that she had a boyfriend - that had happened with our friend Sparkle Fontaine freshman year, and now she was our sworn enemy and the cruelest girl in school. I couldn't imagine our trip of best girl friends becoming a duo...

Pashmina, an easygoing girl and always the one to keep a level-head in stressful or worrisome situations, was less worried about that. "Since when has Bijou turned down anything that involved romance, Sandy?" I could hear the smile in her voice.

I grinned. "Never. So you two will you know....help me?"

"Of course! Bijou loves this kind of thing, and so do I, and we'll always help you whenever you need us! There's nothing I want to see more than you and Maxwell together! After all, you've liked him for so long...I think that this Perfect Book thing may be the key to bringing you too together at last! You two are so cute together, too!"

Gotta love Pashmina, and her flair for the dramatic. You could count on her for anything.

"Thanks a ton, Pash. I just hope it all, like works out."

"Oh, it will!" She sounded confident. Pashmina also had a small penchant for reading, and, after a small sigh, remarked, in a voice that told me the gears in her head were already grinding, "Of course, it's not going to be easy. More like Jason and the Argonauts' perilous quest to find the golden fleece..."

"The golden what, now?" My brow furrowed in confusion.

I heard Pashmina's whimsical sigh again. "This is going to be harder than I thought..."

After Pashmina hung up so her little sister Penelope could call her best friend Cappy, I shut off my beside lamp and settled down under the covers for the night, the moonlight streaming in from my window and spilling across my comforter, a pool of silver light. I stared out at the inky black sky, dotted with buildings and scattered stars. I was touched that she and Bijou were going to help me out with my mission, but I still couldn't help feeling like I had bitten off a bit more than I could chew. This Perfect Book business meant a lot to Maxwell, and I didn't want to let him down - even if he had no idea I was trying to help him.

"I never thought I'd see the day where you, of all people, would encourage me to keep reading. Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, nonetheless, but Sandy...I think it's a fruitless search. The elusive Perfect Book will forever be out of reach..."

Maxwell's melancholic words drifted back into my mind, and I felt my hands form fists under the sheets, my mouth pressing into a firm line. Determination began to burn like fire in my hazel eyes, boring a hole into the darkness of night as a newfound resolve found it's way into my heart.

I would show him!

It wasn't a fruitless search! (I didn't know what fruit had to do with it, but it didn't matter either way!)

I was going to find Maxwell the Perfect Book if it was the last thing I did!

"Sandy! For goodness sake, shut the heck up! I can like, hear you from over here! Could you be any louder!" I heard Stan's sleepy voice through the wall by my headboard, as his room was directly next to mine.

Whoops. Guess I had pulled a Hamtaro and been thinking out loud...again.

Ignoring my annoying twin, I rolled over and shut my eyes to try and drift away into a peaceful sleep, though I was finding it difficult to quell my excitement and the pounding of my heart. As I began to doze off, I felt a small smile spread across my lips. Making sure to keep quiet this time, I murmured into the cool fabric of my Hello Hamster pillow,

"Watch out, Perfect Book...I'm coming to find you! For Maxwell!"

CFB: AND IT BEGINS!

Next time: ~subject to change, as this is a work in progress~ Sandy's dedicated herself to finding the Perfect Book for Maxwell, but will she, Pashmina, and Bijou be able to think of a way to do that, without Maxwell knowing? And when he gets suspicious...who will be there to cover for them? The other ham-hams come into the mix! And will this be as picture-perfect as Sandy thinks? Probably not.

Read and review! Should I continue, or not? This is my first shot at this type of story, so some feedback would be lovely!