He said we needed to weigh all the options, look at everything from all sides. I told him that I wouldn't let our only potential connection to our past slip away.

He said that next time, next time he wouldn't be there to fix my mistakes. Next time, I'd get in serious trouble and I'd be on my own.

Sometimes, Max Evans is right.

Only this time I didn't go looking for trouble - it found me. In the form of a spastic, motormouth little blonde who doesn't know when to leave well enough alone. She's absolutely infuriating, always popping up when I don't want her around. Demanding that I talk to her - telling me that I don't know how to do things. She even had the nerve to insinuate that I couldn't do a 'breaking and entering' properly. I would have found Topolsky's number on my own, thank you very much.

Not that she doesn't have her merits - those lips alone put a big check mark in the 'Reasons to keep Maria DeLuca around' column. God, if I only knew earlier what it was like to kiss her, to feel her lips find their way down my neck - hell, I would have kicked Isabel out of the diner a whole lot sooner.

But no, no... being a good kisser doesn't make her any less annoying. Because she is... annoying. She's annoying when she asks me what I'm doing, she's annoying when she reminds me about assignments and she's annoying when she stares at me all sad and teary-eyed which makes me want to go and... Nevermind, she's just annoying.

And she *never* shuts up - did I mention that? It's like she's this wind-up doll that just bops around, yapping the whole time. If it's not about my 'abducting her' or 'stealing her car,' then it's that my thrift store sensibilities have some how offended her. Please - has she looked in the mirror lately? That girl needs to pick a decade and soon. I'd sure as hell have whiplash by now, flipping between the sixties, seventies, and whatever they're calling this decade. And I never say anything about *her* clothing choices... although if she shows up in elastic 80's neon, I'm going to have to sit her down. For her own good.

Not that I like making her feel bad - I honestly don't. Sure, she's fun to argue with, and she can hold up her end of a bicker-session better than anyone I've met. Half the time I say stuff just to get her going... It's such a rush to see her get so frustrated and aggravated, her cheeks turn a slight blush and her eyes get really big. She looks so ador- it's just fun, that's all. A game of sorts. But I never wanted to really upset her. Dammit, I told Max I was going to hurt her by being myself. And as much as I can't stand that idea, there's no one else I know how to be.

But lately she just makes me feel like I'm doing everything all wrong. Granted, all my life I've been told that I'm doing everything wrong - but it's never felt like this. Normally, I'd just ignore them - stupid humans. But Maria - I don't know. I just... I just want to do things right around her. By her. With her. Whatever.

You know what? I don't care. I don't. What does it matter if she helped me and took part in that healing-ritual thing? Everyone did - it's not like she was the only one. And I *know* she loves to bring up the fact that she 'saved my ass' en route to Marathon – but it's not like I wouldn't have been able to get out of it on my own. And now it's about this stupid napkin holder. Why she wouldn't let me fix it and be done with it - I have no clue. It would have been an even trade - her grade for my... life. Ok, maybe not so even, but maybe if she'd talk to me for two minutes, then maybe I'd know what to do.

This sucks.

Argh - what really gets to me is when she closes herself off. I don't like it - I can't read her, I don't know what she's thinking... And I need to know - so I know what her motives are. If I can trust her - if we can trust her. A long time ago I figured out how to read people. Max and I would go to the mall and just watch everyone - trying to hone our sensitivities and basically eavesdrop on their emotions. It's really quite amazing how little 'powers' are needed once you recognize facial and body expressions. Up until now, Maria's always been an easy read - feisty, arrogant and pushy. It was when she wasn't around anyone else, just me, that I noticed the way she slouches and looks around nervously. That confident exterior fades away into one of a scared little girl, constantly playing her own mental game of 'anywhere but here.' I guess it's kind of twisted, but that's one of the things I miss the most.

It's ok, though. No attachments, right? That's what I told Max, and that's what I'm telling myself. It *is* good that I ended up with the pathetic life I've got - when the time comes I won't have a hard time dropping it all and never looking back. No family, no real friends, not even her. And I'm just making this stupid napkin holder for her so that it's not hanging over my head that I owe her. That I owe her an apology, that I owe her something nice, that I owe her... time. Because I don't. I'm only accountable to myself, and I can't help it if she can't accept that.

Then why have I been in this damn wood shop for the past four hours? I'm trying not to think about it... not about the thirty-two splinters or the small gash in my thumb. Normally I’m a lot more careful, but for that one split second I saw her on the other side of the room, and the next thing I knew the blade was finding its way into my flesh. And now I’m sitting here, sanding micro-inches off pieces and swiping a few extra springs from the teacher’s supply cabinet. Plus, I’ve already got a few funny looks from people wondering what I’m doing, working on a basic shop project. Thank God no one will be in the art room after 4 – I can finish this in there in peace.

All I know is, she better get an A.