I finally got over a bad writer's block and was suddenly inspired to finish most of it during the last few days. xD I REALLY love how this one came out. I find it alot more serious than some of the others, for some reason, so I apologize in advance. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. (:

Note: Lately, I've been obsessed with incorporating song lyrics into my stories. Warning in advance. ;D

Disclaimer: I do not own TDI.

.“To be honest, I really doubt you would’ve fulfilled that. Nothing changes, huh?”

Tyler thought for a bit. “Well, yeah.”

Heather (Wednesday, 2:17pm; ‘this keeps getting weirder’)

The second I rang the bell, the door swung wide open.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” said the voice-out-of-nowhere, as I walked inside and scanned my surroundings, making sure I’d be able to walk out later.

I put down my purse and smirked. “Normally I don’t waste opportunities like this.”

“Oh, alright,” the voice seemed more familiar, less sure in a way. “Have a seat.”

With slight caution, I noted the two armchairs in the center of the room, with the hundred-year old coffee table in between. I took the seat closest to the window, just incase it had to come to that.

I felt a cool breeze pass by me. I guess it was less of a coincidence now. “Want anything to drink?”

“Tea would be nice. With two iced cubes, please.” I raised an eyebrow as the cool breeze drifted away, and a light flickered in what seemed to be the kitchen.

Later I found a chipped teacup on a saucer sitting on the table in front of me, and I felt a sudden presence at the second chair. It seemed sad.

Then it spoke. “It sucks you know, what happened to me.”

“I know.”

A long silence followed after. “I don’t think you do.”

“It’s happened to me before,” I announced, and at that moment, I wished I could’ve seen the look on his face. And so, I took my first sip. “Five years ago. Around summertime.”

“Huh. I’m not so sure I can believe you. And it’s totally freaking me out how we’re having a decent conversation that doesn’t involving getting me voted off.” It shivered, if that’s even possible.

I rolled my eyes. “That was on the show, Tyler. I’m a changed person now.”

“Is that so?”

I took a deep breath, a large impatience growing inside of me. “Whatever. Now, you can start with telling me why you locked us in the janitor’s closet..? Last Wednesday? Why’d you do that?”

This time, Tyler didn’t know what to say.

--

“You said you know how it feels, right? To feel so invisible? I mean, for real, like, really invisible?” He said finally, once he thought up of an answer. “Well, same goes for me. I heard the rumors going around school. I wanted to let you guys know I haven’t disappeared altogether, and I couldn’t find some other way to do it.”

I took three more sips of glory. Finally, I got to him.

“And those punks you brought with you? Lindsey said she saw actual people,” I asked, trying to write it all down in my head.

He laughed. “They’re afraid of me. Can you imagine that? They’re afraid I’ll sneak up behind them or something. So they agreed. To help me out, and in return, they got their butts saved.”

“To be honest, I really doubt you would’ve fulfilled that. Nothing changes, huh?”

Tyler thought for a bit. “Well, yeah.”

“Good, now I can get going.” I grabbed my purse and started towards the exit, when he stopped me.

“Tell her I’m coming back, okay?”

I turned around, and sighed. “Chances of it happening are three to a thousand. Chances it’ll go away are three to a million.”

“I’m beating the odds. I’m going to come back.”

Then for the first time ever, I felt slightly envious of Lindsey. “I will.”

And I walked out.

.But you won't take away my pride,
No not this time,
Not this time.

- Decode, Paramore.

Sadie (Wednesday, 4pm; staring at the phone, ‘can this paranoia can any worse?’)

I’m guessing not.

--

FROM THE DIARIES OF SADIE Q. HAMILTON - 09/15/08.

At any other situation, I would’ve been hysterical. But as I felt his pulse, or rather, that lack of it, I finally came to the conclusion: Oh, he’s dead.

I panicked. Okay, so now what?

My eyes hovered over to the telephone behind me. It seemed to stand out from everything else. I decided to think about my other options.

I could…

Just leave him there. In my backyard, you know, where someone would easily find him. No, I was better than that.

So maybe I was running blank on ideas. Didn’t mean I had to-

The phone rang. Panic. Again. What if it was someone he knew? Asking if I’d seen him anywhere, sort of out of the blue? I liked to think he was just asking for a cup of sugar, forgot which side was the front of the house, and brought a camera to take a picture of me, when I would’ve given him the cup of sugar, because I’m just that nice. Instead of…ew. Weird thought.

What if it was the police?

Unintentionally, I slapped the phone off its dock, watching it bounce off the kitchen floor. “Hello?”

But it wasn’t the police’s voice. It was Katie’s.

I’d been waiting for her call all week, but I didn’t want to seem all excited, when I picked up the phone, slightly reassured, but not by much: “Oh, it’s you.”

“Haha, funny. You know why I called.”

Well, I thought I did. But judging by that pretty sarcastic tone of voice? Suddenly I wasn’t too sure. “No, tell me.”

Katie rolled her eyes. For some reason I could totally picture that, “You have my history book, remember? I let you borrow it when we were still…ugh, friends.”

I felt a lurch in my stomach.

She stomped her foot. “Look, it’s rightfully mine, okay? I have every right to demand it back, and, wait, hello?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not giving it back.”

From the other line, her jaw dropped. Since lately, she’d been used to being the bigger person. She wasn’t, and I wasn’t going to give in any longer. “Sadie-“ she insisted, sounding more than the Katie I knew.

But that wasn’t going to work on me. “I’m sorry, but right now I have a dead body in my backyard and usual teenage crisis to deal with. So bye.”

I hung up, feeling proud and relieved and ashamed all at the same time. --

--

That night I’d buried the body before my parents could see. I was quiet over dinner, afraid it’d be brought up suddenly, but we talked about other things instead. They did ask about the big dent on the glass door leading to the back. I shrugged, and switched the topic to the extra flavor Mom put in the pasta and then, the elections and dirty politics.

Today, after school, I played the tape. It was something that had been bugging me for awhile. Like, what was the man holding the camera for anyway?

So I popped popcorn, reserved the spot near the TV in my room for me (obviously), and watched:

The feud at the cafeteria, the second feud by the lockers, me and Katie-BFFFLs before all that happened, and then me, in the kitchen, right before the incident.

I couldn’t help but notice that they all had to do with me.

.Waiting for your,
Call I'm sick, call I'm angry;
Call I'm desperate for your voice

- Your Call, Secondhand Serenade

Geoff (Wednesday, 5:30pm; ‘Location: Unspecified, I think I’ve lost track. I don’t care much, anyway.’)

Well, we’re back home now. And as much as I thought that would’ve helped, you know, a little…let’s just get straight to the point: It’s dead freezing and it’s the middle of September, I don’t have much of a jacket, and I’m feeling just slightly crappier than before.

Not by much, though. It’s been going on for awhile.

I carried further. I was probably miles and miles gone by now. They’d be waiting-mom, dad, my brothers, wondering where I was, wondering why I hadn’t called. But that didn’t matter yet, for now I just needed to get away.

Later I felt a single raindrop drop on my shoulder. Nothing came after that. Just that one, out of a possible forty million.

It's playing on repeat, just like when we would meet, like when we would meet

--

“Mister, mister!” Twelve minutes later, came little footsteps, trying to keep up behind me. I stopped.

“You dropped your hat.” She seemed relieved, and with a sigh, handed it back. “It’s a really nice hat, sir. I wouldn’t try losing if I were you.”

The girl couldn’t have been older than seven. Blonde hair, brown eyes. I froze, while she looked up and smiled. “Momma used to say I shouldn’t give my name out to strangers, but, eh….I’m Bridgette. What’s your name, sir?”

My head spun. “I-it’s Geoff.”

“That’s a nice name, Geoff. Say, how would you like an ice cream cone?” Bridgette grinned, tugging my sleeve towards the deserted vendor about a block away.

“I don’t know,” I hesitated back, and she continued her direction. “It’s kind of weird, don’tcha think? Besides, you should better get back to your mom before she starts to worry about you-“

“My mom died three years ago,” she said quietly.

I froze. “I’m sorry.”

Bridgette nodded.

“Do you want to sit down for awhile?” I bent down and took both her shoulders, brushing a single blonde lock away from her face.

She shook her head and announced finally, very seriously, “No, I want to get ice cream.”

“Alright then,” and I dug a few quarters from my left pocket.

--

We got our cones-chocolate for me and she chose strawberry-and headed down to the beach, barefoot.

The waves crashed beneath our feet and puddles of melted cream dribbled onto our T-shirts. The sun withdrew from the clouds, then lowered, painting plenty new shades of orange into the sky.

It felt different. Better.

I shot up, panting breathlessly. I sat upright, putting my fingers to my forehead, trying not to forget whatever happened. It was just a dream. Just a dream. Only a dream.

Yet it was the best one I’d ever had.

.She seemed shocked, and said it as if rehearsed (on the contrary, it was), “Will that be it? No foot massages, no special appointments, nothing?”

One nod. Two nods. A headnod.

Justin (Wednesday, 6:07; rooftop, with that amazing view. ‘Oh, how I’d kill to be me. Oh wait, I am.’)

They say I’m a man of a few words. Which is true I guess, since most people only need one look at me to remember, Oh, he’s gorgeous. He can totally get away with that.

I leaned back into my recliner and smiled. That alone kept me going. The world needed its daily dose of Just-In. Speaking of which, when I switched on the rooftop television,

“This just in,” said the woman on channel 24, “One of the smaller aircrafts from the Ridgeside airport, New Brunswick, crashed two minutes ago. Sources say that a red-headed teenager, supposedly drunk, took over the plane and attempted to steer it all the way to Prince Edward Island. No one was reported injured.”

“Hmm.” The news switched to weather.

Well, it seemed normal nowadays, with all the earthquakes and dolphins rescuing other dolphins. I guess.

“Lemonade, sir?” Mira, the servant girl, made her way over and held up the pitcher of fresh lemonade. With ice.

I nodded, and she poured me a glass.

She seemed shocked, and said it as if rehearsed (on the contrary, it was), “Will that be it? No foot massages, no special appointments, nothing?”

One nod. Two nods. A headnod.

“Thank you for your time, sir.” She bit her lip, and asked, “Would you…mind…if I…?”

Another nod. I held out my muscle so she could touch it. Mira squealed and left.

--

“More lemonade sir?” when she returned.

I grinned. “That’d be great.”

N-no way! HE CAN TALK? Mira the servant girl squealed again, before she hit the floor and went unconscious.

.Nothing beats frozen cheescake.

Gwen (Wednesday, 6:36; ‘the clock’s ticking…and I still have no idea what I’m doing. Haha.’)

You start to wonder what exactly you’ve done wrong to deserve this, when suddenly having to sit through dinner with your older brother and (probably) ex-boyfriend.

How could Izzy just leave me here? Got some errands to run? Hilarious.

And the thing is, it’s not one of those, “Oh, let’s forget everything that happened and just randomly start over, because really, why can’t we all just love eachother? I love you, I really do, even though I ignore you as much as possible and pretend you don’t exist. And Gwen? Mind passing the salt?”

Um, no.

Besides the last part, because he really did ask for it.

I stabbed my fork into my leftover slab of lasagna, and smirked. “Here,” and I held it up for him.

Trent gulped. “Uh, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” I flinched, and happily took another bite.

My brother just stared. And coughed. And then, “So, Trent, heard you have a concert tonight. When’s it start?”

I did not remember telling him about no concert. I didn’t remember hearing about any concert-

“Actually, Carson,” Trent tried to say, casually, “It’s more of a private thing. There’s really only going to be a few people sticking around for the show. Next time though for sure, I’ll make sure you get an invite.”

He shrugged. “Oh, that’s cool. But wait, what about-“

I stood up, and laughed. “So. I guess we’re pretty much done here, hehe. Heh. Anyone up for dessert?”

--

Without much of an answer, I gamely set out small plates for three, and took out the frozen cheesecake I’d bought just earlier, just in case. Rhubarb with specialty whipped cream. Half-eaten.

“Enjoy,” I said once I got back to my seat, with a crooked smile.

They glanced at me questioningly, do we really have to eat it? then slowly dug in, passing eachother, you don’t think it’s..? looks in between bites. But they ate it, and anyway, it’d be the thought that counts.

“Good,” I declared, feeling all bubbly inside. “Now I’m happy.”

Trent just stared.

Carson frowned. He didn’t quite get it.

--

Eventually, he had to leave. Trent grabbed his guitar and went off, heading down the street, taking a turn left. I hated myself for being even slightly tempted to chase after him.

Still, I excused myself from dinner a few minutes after-dishes, too, finding myself upstairs to get some time to myself. To think and all that crap. But not, as much as I would’ve liked, before Carson asked me,

“Tell me what’s up, Gwennie,” he took the chair behind him and gestured for me to take the one across.

I bit my lip. “I can’t.”

He rolled his eyes. “Seriously, after all these years, you think I wouldn’t know anyway? Don’t be stupid.”

I threw my head back and sighed. “I-it’s nothing.”

Obviously, Carson wasn’t too impressed. “Why won’t you tell me-?”

“Shut up.”

A beat. “Gwennie.”

“Can I go now?” I nearly begged, watching like a hopeful idiot for the ‘okay’ I was expecting. “Please?”

He nodded, and left to do his business.

I celebrated momentarily, then quickly ran up, just incase he decided to come back.

--

When I checked, I had seven unread email messages.

Four were junk, one was from my parents, somewhere near the Carribean, while I was stuck here, in the same city I had been for the last fifteen years straight (besides the event that occurred two summers ago, no brainer). And I wasn’t expecting the other two.

The first, out of the two, was from Harold.

All it said was to keep guard-I knew what that meant-and to remove the zit from the side of my left arm. How’d he know? Didn’t even notice it there. Weird.

Next, was from myself. I found that even weirder. With just a twinge of slight panic, I clicked on it.

Dear Gwen.

I nearly freaked. Was I drunk recently? I mean, did I actually just email myself?

First off, I’m sorry if making you think that you’ve emailed yourself bothered you a bit. And you may have noticed? But I type real good and proper, don’tcha think? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Oh, so it’s Izzy.

I’m sorry for leaving you on such short notice. Or actually, no notice at all. Well. The thing is, I’m not coming back. At least anytime soon. But you were expecting that weren’t you? I mean, really.

I took a deep breathe, then scrolled down.

Let’s just say I’ve got things to do. Places to go. People to see. Does that sound Shakespeare or what? Sort of, “Where art thou Izzy?” Hmm. Being the art freak that you are, you’ll know that one, won’tcha? Wait. Did Shakespeare even paint? Guess not. Man, I was SO sure…

Well, you’ll be home soon from the bakery, so I better wrap this up quick. Sorry again, this time, for leaving you by yourself with all that Trent-dramaaaaaa. But Gwen? I know, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep in my heart, it’s really something you’ve got to do alone.

Oh, shoot, I hear you coming through the kitchen now. Time to jump out your window. Bye.

-Izzy

I froze. But then again, just like she’d said, did I really expect Izzy to stay still at one place for so long? It was right then I noticed the extra bit of scrollbar left…

PS: Hey, Gwen, did you get Harold’s email?

You're not the guy I thought I knew

- Cry, The Veronicas

Bridgette (Wednesday…’I haven’t really looked at the time since I got here. Sorry to disappoint.’)

“You know you’re really not supposed to be in here.”

The rain pounded onto the streets, dripping from the tops of the windowsills. I looked up, and froze midway. I knew, it wasn’t that I didn’t. I knew he’d show up, eventually. “Maclean left the door open. It made perfect sense to me, at least.”

He laughed. “Alright then. I won’t tell, Bridge, I swear.”

“I’m sorry, but last time I checked, you weren’t entitled to call me that anymore,” I whispered, passing a weak smile.

The lights flickered. He was closer, when they came back on, leaning over to see what I was doing. “So…?”

“Just looking through some files.”

He smirked.

My eyes narrowed slightly. “More specifically, yours.”

His face changed, as he dropped his elbow to the desk behind him. “Huh, well that changes things.”

I skimmed threw his file, staring down at my nails between words I pretended didn’t matter, “So, Nate Robinson, huh?”

A bright red crept onto his features, and I watched as he tensed and stepped back. “This isn’t like you, you know. Normally you won’t sneak around much, and you let people just be-“

“You don’t know me at all.” I slammed the drawer shut, causing the whole room to shake.

He gaped at me, then laughed. “Oh, really-“

“I thought I knew you too, Matt.”

You could here the thunder from outside-loud and clear. For some reason, it felt so good. I stuffed his paper in his hands, stopping suddenly on my way out, “But sometimes even people like me make mistakes.”

Oh, snap. Hope you guys enjoyed. (: And in other news, I made cross country. YESSSSSS.

R&R. CLICK ON THAT PURPLE BUTTON !?