“Sal? You there?”

Sally blinked and looked up at Sarah. “What?”

She smiled sympathetically. “I asked if you were all right.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. Great.” She smiled back, then rested her head in her hand again and resumed her all-consuming task of . . . gazing out the window and moping.

“You sure? Because we’re supposed to be starting our science project, and unless you’re actually not fine, I’m going to make you do some of this work. If, however, you’d like to continue moping, I’ll pick up the slack. But you have to really be not all right.” She picked up a packet that looked to be at least thirty pages -- it was thick enough to defy staples, and had to be bound with one of those obnoxiously large paper clips -- and waved it in front of her face. “So, are you okay?”

“I guess I’m a little out of it,” Sally said, looking at the packet like it was going to bite her. “Eh . . . what did we choose again?”

Sarah turned the papers around so that she could read the title. “‘The Study of Earthbound Organisms and their Anatomical' -- I don’t know. I just picked up the first packet I saw lying on the table.” She saw the expression of horror on Sally’s face and sighed. “I’m sure I can figure it out. Go back to moping. And come up with an idea while you’re at it.”

“Thanks.” Sally turned back to the window and stared at the courtyard below, hoping that something out there might give her some sort of inspiration. Not likely, considering the previous twenty minutes of staring at the courtyard had gotten her zilch, but she wasn’t one for giving up hope, especially when she had nothing better to do.

She had to tell him. As ghastly as the idea was to her, she knew there was no other option. But how to say it?

“Sarah, you don’t like anyone, do you?”

Sarah’s head shot up. “What? Me? No. Why?”

Sally opened her mouth, almost about to ask or tease (whichever option presented itself most readily) about the rapid-fire way she’d responded, but decided that selfishly helping herself was more important than selfishly amusing herself. Still, she couldn’t totally eradicate her smirk as she said, “I was just wondering what you would tell him about how you felt.”

Her friend leaned forward, biting her lip. “Well . . . knowing me, I’d probably say nothing and die an old maid.” Her eyes widened. “But you shouldn’t do that!”

“I wasn’t going to,” she replied. “I was just hoping for some general insight.”

“I’d say you should ask Patrick, because he just seems to be the guy to go to for some reason, but he’s never really asked anyone out, either. In fact, Ned’s the only one of us who’s ever actually done that.” She shrugged. “Weird, huh?”

“Yeah. Weird.” This wasn’t making her feel any better. That’s what she got for being selfish. “But what should I say?”

“I don’t know, Sal. . . . Have you ever considered just blurting it out? That might be best.”

“Maybe.” Sally suddenly didn’t want to talk anymore. She looked over at the clock. There were only twenty-five minutes left until the day was over. Approximately thirty minutes until the moment of truth.

Not to be melodramatic or anything.

If it had just been a case of her having a crush on her best friend, she would have been able to deal with that. It wouldn’t have been fun, but she would have been okay. But Jamie made everything so much more difficult.

It wasn’t fair. Ned was looked down on by pretty much everyone in the school; why couldn’t Jamie jump on that bandwagon? And why did Patrick want them to get together, anyway? Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?

Because he’s Ned’s friend, you silly twit. Friends don’t cause each other overwhelming suffering when they can help it. Now stop whining and start being productive, because this “Why me?”-Sally is just plain nauseating.

There was undeniable truth in that voice, and Sally resolved not to mope about it anymore. When the time was right, she would say something. Before the day ended, for sure. She just had to go for it. Keep her chin up. Stop whining.

In the meantime . . . she would continue to stare out the window and mope. She rested her chin in her hand and watched the trees swaying in the wind.

After all, she needed plenty of time to get up the energy to stay optimistic, didn’t she?

XXXXXXXXXX

Approximately twenty-seven minutes later, Sally knelt in front of her locker. She had absolutely no idea what she needed. She sat there for who-knew-how-long, her hands braced against her thighs, her expression dazed.

“Sal?” A hand brushed her shoulder, making her jump. She tilted her head back and looked up into Ned’s smiling face. “Ready to go?” he asked, hiking up the straps of his backpack.

“Yeah.” She grabbed a handful of books and crammed them into her bag helter-skelter. It didn’t really matter, anyway; school was close enough to being over that they weren’t given any official homework.

They walked most of the way home in silence, which both of them were used to. Ned said something about how he was relieved summer was almost here, and Sally had agreed. Other than that, though, the only noise between the two was the soft thud of their footsteps on grass.

“Sal? You all right?”

Her head snapped up. “Huh? Oh, I’m fine.”

He smiled. “Good.” Presently he said, “Thinking about something important?”

“Sort of,” she admitted, shrugging. “I have something I have to tell you.”

He stopped, and Sally realized that her tone had been a bit more doom-and-gloom than she’d wanted. “What is it?”

“It can wait,” she said, and kept walking. After a few steps she noticed that Ned was still standing where she’d left him, studying her with narrowed eyes. “Really. It’s nothing to worry about.” She reached back and took his hand, pulling him forward to match her steps. “Let’s just hang out for a while, okay?”

“Okay. . . .” But he didn’t drop her hand, and Sally was practically glowing. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“I was thinking we’d stop at your house for food, and then go somewhere outside.” She craned her neck to look up at the sun and would have fallen over if Ned hadn’t held on to her hand. “I’m in an outdoorsy mood, aren’t you?”

He shrugged, obviously still confused. “I don’t know.” Sally could almost see his decision to drop it, because his eyes brightened and he smiled. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Great! Race ya!” She let go of him a split second after she started running, and he almost fell onto his face. He stumbled into a clumsy run and caught up to her with little trouble.

“That wasn’t nice,” he said once he had recovered his balance.

“Do I look like I care?” He shoved her into the bushes on the side of the road and kept going. She clambered to her feet and hurried after him, brushing leaves out of her fur. “That wasn’t nice!” she shouted. He was already at his front stoop, laughing and panting. When she caught up, he punched her shoulder and said, “Man, if I’d thought you weren’t going to catch up, I would have slowed down. Jeez. Are you getting lazy on me?”

“You’re lucky I like you, McDodd.” She blushed, realizing how close that was to what she’d wanted to say.

“Don’t I know it.” He opened the door and let her in first. “What do you want to eat?”

She couldn’t eat. What had made her suggest food? “Uh . . . something unhealthy.”

He pulled out a bag of chips and some sodas. “Look good?” he asked, holding them up. She nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

They wandered out into the center of Who Park, where there were only a few little kids hanging out several yards away. It seemed as private as it was going to get -- much better than Ned’s house, which was full to bursting. Sally sat down, snatching a soda from Ned and opening it. She held it in her lap; there was no way she could put anything into her mouth right then without some very unpleasant results.

Ned seemed to sense that something big was coming, because he was sitting up very straight and looking at her like a deer might look at a wolf. “What’s going on, Sal?” he asked after a few minutes. “You’re kinda scaring me.”

Sally looked down at her soda. Little bubbles were popping, making a fizzy sound against the can. She licked her lips and pressed them together, taking a deep breath through her nose. “Ned?”

He waited for her to say more, then added, with an air of impatience that was uncharacteristic of him, “Yeah?”

“You remember what happened this year, right? The week before Christmas break?”

“I think so.” He reached into the bag of chips and pulled out a handful. “Right, that was the week when you found out I . . .” He froze, the chips inches from his gaping-open mouth.

She looked down again, her hands curling into fists around her drink. “Yeah. It’s like that.” He didn’t move a muscle. He just sat there, staring at her with wide eyes. “Less public, though,” she added. "And, you know, in reverse." She managed a weak smile. "It's the vice to your versa."

Normally that kind of comment was just the kind of nerdy humor only he would get, and it would have sent him rolling on the ground laughing. Now, though, he just shook his head like a man in a dream. “No,” he said.

Her forehead wrinkled, and she leaned in closer. “What?”

“You don’t like me. You don’t."

She smirked. “You think I haven’t tried that one? It didn’t work.”

“Stop it! Stop acting like you --”

“But I do!”

“No you don’t!” he shouted. He crushed the potato chips in his fist into an oily smear of crumbs. He staggered to his feet, backing away from her like she was contagious. “You don’t,” he repeated, his voice almost a whisper. The kids had stopped their game and were watching them avidly.

Whatever. She stood, too, staring him down. Confusion was starting to turn into anger, and part of her liked it. It hurt less, and made more sense. “Why don’t I?”

“Because the world wouldn’t be that cruel!” That stunned Sally into silence. Ned clutched at his hair and said, “I . . . I have to go. Now. Right now.”

He turned to walk away, which startled Sally into action. She leapt forward and grabbed his arm. “Wait! Can’t we just --”

“No.” He shook her off. “I have to be alone and think. Because if I stay here with you, I know that I’m going to start to think . . . and I can’t, because I like Jamie, which I can’t believe I just said out loud, but there you go. She’s really nice. But . . . you’re my best friend, and I . . . I have to get out of here now.” He turned again and practically sprinted away, as though he thought she was going to chase him down and tackle him. Which seemed like a pretty good idea, now that she thought about it.

Sally slumped onto the ground, putting her head in her hands and thinking about the week before Christmas break. “I reacted better than that, at least,” she said.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ned didn’t realize how late it was until he stopped and looked up at the sky. He’d been walking for hours; he couldn’t even remember most of it.

He had been thinking. He didn’t like thinking -- well, not about this -- but he’d been unable to do anything else. And hours upon hours of walking and thinking had led him to what conclusion?

He had no idea. He hadn’t reached any type of decision yet.

This called for more walking.

“Ned?”

His shoulders hunched up around his ears at the familiar sound of the voice -- who, to his weary brain, could only be either Sally or Jamie, neither of whom he could deal with right then (or ever) -- and he turned around very slowly with his hands curled into inward-facing claws under his chin, looking for all of Whoville like a little gremlin or ghoul.

Sarah’s eyebrows shot up and she stepped back. “You okay?” she asked.

He shook his head, letting his body relax. “I’m fine. Great. Yeah.” He was aware of his eye twitching but was unable to stop it. “So, what’s up?”

“Going to Sally’s. I promised I’d hang out with her. She’s home, right?”

“I’m . . . not sure.”

“You didn’t see her this afternoon?”

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “I kind of left in a hurry.”

“Why?”

He blinked, surprised. “You mean you don’t know?”

“What don’t I know?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Oh boy, where to begin . . .” he said, mostly to himself. He took a deep breath and looked up at her. “Well, apparently Sally has this sort of . . . she's kind of . . . she likes me.”

“And that’s a bad thing.” She flattened the end of the sentence, not allowing it to curl up into a question.

“I . . . yeah! I mean, why now? I’m finally with someone who actually likes me, and I actually like, and now this?! It’s not fair.” He sat down on the curb, resting his chin in his hands.

Sarah sat down next to him and put her hand on his shoulder. After a few awkward seconds, she let it drop; both of them sighed with relief. “It probably isn’t very fair for Sally, either.”

She heard him pick up a stick and start drawing in the dirt with it. “I guess not,” he said, looking down at the dirt and twirling the stick between his fingers. After a moment he snapped the stick with a noise that sent whobirds fluttering into the sky with indignant squawks. “But why?!” he demanded, turning to Sarah with eyes that blazed with fierce desperation, like a man who wanted -- no, needed -- to do something violent but had no idea how to go about it. “She had years -- years! -- to like me -- I know I’ve been in love with her since we were kids, maybe even the first time we met -- and she picks now?! When I’m happy, more or less, when everything’s simple and not painful for once? Did she wait for this exact moment to mess everything up again?! Because she’s got damn great timing!” He snapped both halves of the stick again, making four little sticks and embedding splinters in his palms.

“You know that’s not true,” Sarah said, fixing him with her best stern glare, which he and Patrick never failed to quail under (oddly enough, only Sally was immune to it).

With a sigh, he flung away the pieces of stick, avoiding her gaze. “I know it’s not. But . . .” He slumped, letting his head fall into his hands. “What do I do?” he whispered.

She put her head on his shoulder, which was somehow less awkward that putting her hand on it. “Pick one of them.”

He barked out a humorless laugh. “Which one?”

“Whichever one you can’t not be with.” He lifted his head, shrugging to make her lift hers and meet his eyes. They were blue-gray saucers of shock, and Sarah couldn’t help but smile at that. “This is kind of your last chance,” she said, leaning against him again. “If you dump Jamie, she won’t take you back again. She might be a doormat, but there’s only so much crap from you she’ll take.” Ned opened his mouth, but she held up her hand. “I know you don’t think you've done anything, but after everything’s said and done, take a minute and think about what’s happened between you two. You’ll understand." She waited a moment to let that sink in before continuing. "Anyway, Sally’s a totally different story. She’ll always be your friend -- you’re too close for anything to pull you away now, and you’ve been through too much -- but you guys can’t keep doing this back-and-forth thing forever, and she knows it.” She stood, stretching her back until it cracked, then looked down at him. He still had that same someone-just-hit-me-in-the-face-with-a-baseball-bat-and-I-don’t-know-why look, but she thought he’d be okay. “It’s up to you, but this isn’t a temporary deal, you know.” She grinned at him. “Well, I believe my time for Whoda-ing is over, and this speech is too great to ruin with anything else, so I’ll see you around. Call me if you need to talk or anything. I know I’m no Sally, but I care about you, too. So does Patrick.” She slapped her forehead and said, “Man, I said I wasn’t going to talk anymore! Am I unstoppable or what? Ugh, bye.” With that, she turned back the way she’d come.

Ned watched her until she disappeared, then shook his head, smirking. “When did she get so smart?” he muttered to himself. All of a sudden everything seemed to make sense. But then again, he supposed, maybe he had always known what he had to do but didn’t want to admit it. He’d just needed a boot in the butt to help him officially make the decision. And Sarah was always good for boots in the butt.

At that moment he’d never been so grateful for his friend in his entire life.

He climbed to his feet and started down the road in the opposite direction Sarah had gone. This time he actually paid attention to where he was going; there was a pay phone nearby, he thought. Good thing he knew the number by heart.

It rang five times -- he was starting to think that she wasn’t home when she picked up. He took a deep breath and said, “Hey. It’s me. Can you meet me somewhere? I really have to talk to you.” There was a brief pause as he listened to the reply, then a smile that was both relieved and grim flashed across his face. It was gone almost as quickly. “Thanks, Sal. I’ll see you there.”

He let the phone fall into the cradle and walked away.