I don't know where this came from. I just sat down, started writing, and it sort of came out. I've always defended the Yuki Fan Club since, when you think about it, they're not all that bad. There's a few wackos, but what about the average member? What about her? Well, here's my answer!

Furuba ain't mine. Duh.

.i.i.
.i.i.

Dear Reader,

You ask me why. I say why not.

I am not stupid, thank you very much. I can be flighty, easily distracted, and slow on the draw, but I understand the "way the world works", so you do not have to explain it to me.

What, did you think I didn't know- didn't see it plain as day in front of me? You underestimate me, Reader, but I forgive you. After all, you are not the first. A girl gets used to it (although this girl thinks she shouldn't have to).

I'm not saying I didn't try. We all tried. He was everything we were told to want, and everything we thought we needed. Beautiful, smart, charming, mysterious- maybe a few points can be docked off for lack of muscle, but we weren't counting- in short, he was perfect. You would have tried too if you'd been one of us.

Ah, one of us- the thought makes you cringe, doesn't it? The very idea: that you could have (would have?) been a simpering meat blob who fainted every time he said "hello". Perhaps you feel insulted, or maybe just embarrassed by the insinuation. Fess up, Reader. You know the truth.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, perfection. So we fawned and flirted, drooled and dreamed- no harm in that. As we socialized amongst one another, it grew bigger. One thing remained constant, however, despite the trivial details. Despite our numbers. Despite our ages. Despite our maturity and, at times, the lack thereof.

He was our Prince. It didn't matter that he may not have wanted the title. He owed it to us. We all loved him so much, in our own ways, but we were gnats to him. We knew it, but we pressed on. The least he could do was leave our hopes alone. And for the most part, he did.

I've always been thankful for that.

That's something for you to think about, isn't it? Before you put all the blame on our shoulders, think about him. We, all of us, hung on his every word and gesture. Whatever he gave us we gnawed at till the marrow of the thing was sucked out and the dry husk pressed to our hearts in adoration. He could have told us to leave him alone, and BAM! Solitude would have been his.

He never did.

Not once. Not ever.

Sure, he valued his privacy. Hours of research and investigative sneakiness meant we picked up on that part pretty quickly. He drew a line, and everyday during school hours (and once in a while beyond that) we stood with our toes on the edge of it, dangling over trying to get his attention. Oppressive? Sure. But we had rules, damn it. Don't you ever forget that. We. Had. Rules.

Then she came along and trounced all over them.

Try to imagine it from our point of view (oh, shut up and stop gagging): we were girls with a crush. One huge, collective crush. Our thoughts, when we weren't babysitting or telling off our parents, were consumed by the boy. Selfish? Absolutely. Ridiculous? Of course. What can I say- we were teenagers.

For months (years for some), we'd been pleading to every star above that he would notice us, each of us or all of us. It didn't matter. Tears came to our eyes when we recounted the dream (you know the one) where he'd sweep us off our feet in a cloud of sparkles and kisses. It gave you something to look forward to, you know?

But in walks this girl. Plain, boring, clumsy Honda Tohru suddenly appeared (for no reason that we could find) and claimed the Prince as her own. Well, perhaps "claimed" is too a strong word. It was more like she had a magnet buried in her ribcage that just… tugged at him. We were understandably upset. Scratch that. We were pissed.

Whatever she lacked we had. We had richer girls, prettier girls, smarter girls, graceful girls, exciting girls, girls with his name tattooed on their skin. We had it all, and she had- what? What did she have that we lacked that appealed to him so much?

The more we thought about it, and the less answers we got, the more desperate we became. She was stealing our Prince and our potential fairy-tale ending.

What right did she have to do that to us?

None.

Put like that, we must seem like sniveling rat queens. I'll be the first to admit that I wasn't the best person during that time period, but please don't judge a book by its cover. If you want names, I can tell you about girls who quit the club because they were disgusted by the rest of us. I can tell you about girls who even tried to make life easier for her, former members who turned a new leaf.

I was not one of them. I'm not proud of it, but I will not lie to make myself look better.

Here's how it worked: she broke the rules, so we broke them right back. We plotted, snooped, insulted, insinuated, antagonized and were downright cruel. In our minds, we were fighting a war. We wanted a taste of perfection and we'd be damned if we wouldn't fight for it.

It was a good fight. Not a clean fight, but a good fight.

We lost.

And when I say "lost", I do not mean we waved a white flag or that they married and have six kids in a condo in Tokyo. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, she's currently dating some orange-haired kid. A relative of his, I think.

No, it wasn't that simple. What is these days?

When I say we lost, I mean that she took it away. She took away perfection, or at least the illusion thereof. Our Prince had been a true gentleman, a boy of culture and refinement- or so we thought. But when we got to actually thinking about it, how could a boy who was every girl's dream trip at the heels of a girl like Honda Tohru? We started to doubt, and with doubt came the end of the fairy-tale.

There was another element at work as well: time.

For many of us, college was fast approaching. Responsibilities were mounting. Beauty, mystery, charm- these things just weren't enough anymore. Now qualities like honesty, integrity, commitment, and personality came into play. All of the sudden our Prince was not so prince-like. In short, we moved on.

Some of us keep in touch. We get together and reminisce about the "good old days", back when our biggest concern was a grey-haired, purple eyed boy and how to catch him. I can't say I'm upset over how it all turned out. I'm pretty successful now, and my boyfriend is good to me.

Still, there are times when I like to pretend I'm a princess.

And if you've got a problem with that, you can kiss my royal ass.

Love,
A (Reformed) Fan-girl

PS: I hear there's a new generation trailing his blonde cousin. Ha. It never ends.