Note: This story takes place at basically the same time as Evolution--after the guys moved into the Pad, but before they actually became a group, if you know what I mean!

It was a beautiful California March day. On the strip of beach outside the Pad, the guys had taken some time out to enjoy a game of two-on-two vollyball--Mike and Davy against Peter and Micky. Despite the differences in size--Peter and Micky were close in height, while Mike and Davy looked like Mutt and Jeff--the teams were well matched, Mike's long reach and Davy's natural athletic ability making up for Davy's lack of height.

Davy was holding the vollyball, preparing to serve, when he spotted movement down the beach.

"Ey, who is she?" he asked, pointing toward the female figure walking in their direction.

"You must be slipping, Davy--I thought you knew every girl aroung here!" Micky jibed.

"You're a regular comedian, Dolenz," Davy replied. "For you're information, I've never seen her before. Have any of you?"

"Nope, can't say that I have," Mike answered. Peter and Micky also denied having ever seen her.

They watched their mystery girl walk slowly down the beach, drawing ever nearer. Upon closer inspection, they saw that her short, dark brown hair topped a pixieish face. Of average height and slender build, she was certainly no raving beauty, a situation which her serious expression did nothing to improve. Concentrating on the newspaper she held in her hands, she walked past the four unabashadly staring boys with nary a look in their direction. Reaching her destination, she climbed the rickety stairs up to the small, ramshackle beach-house three doors down. Pulling a key out of the pocket of her jeans, she unlocked the door and disappeared inside.

"I wonder why we've not seen her before this," Davy commented, still clutching the vollyball, game forgotten.

"I don't know--maybe she heard about you and she's avoiding us!" Mike replied, grabbing the ball out of Davy's hands. "C'mon, are we playin' vollyball or what?"

~*~

"What are you doin', Pete?" Mike asked in bemusement.

Peter stood in the Pad's kitchen, packing an old picnic basket full of goodies --a cake, cookies and brownies --all thankfully store bought since they had discovered that none of them had any particular talent for cooking, and baking was completely beyond their capabilities.

"Taking our new neighbor a housewarming gift," Peter replied, neatly folding down the basket's lid. Picking up the basket, he strode to the beach-side door.

"Uh, Peter, that's not exactly..." the door slammed "the way it goes." Mike finished, for the benefit of the empty room.

~*~

"Blast it!" Sarah growled as the knock sounded at the door. She was just sitting down, hot cup of tea in one hand, newspaper in the other, preparing to enjoy the first free afternoon she'd had in a dog's age, curtesy of a surprise class cancellation at her college. Setting her mug down on the kitchen table, she crossed the miniscule front room, intending to give whoever it was a piece of mind.

She opened the door to reveal a young man of about twenty. Sandy haired, about 5'10", he seemed vaguely familiar. Searching her brain, she recalled having seen him on the beach a couple of times, usually in the company of three other guys.

He's also got a killer smile, Sarah aded to herself as he stood on her doorstep, fairly radiating good cheer.

"May I help you?" Sarah asked, stone-faced. Cute smile or not, he was horning in on her precious free time, and she did not intend to encourage the intrusion.

"Hi, I'm Peter Tork!" he stated, as if that explained everything.

"What do you want, Peter Tork?" Sarah asked impatiently, dubiously eyeing the basket he clutched in one hand.

"My buddies and I just moved into that big house down there," Peter pointed in the direction of the Pad. "So I thought I'd bring you a housewarming gift!" Peter proudly presented the basket, beaming his approval as Sarah automatically reached to accept it.

Stunned, Sarah struggled for words. Nobody had done anything this nice for her in a long time. A reluctant smile played on her lips at the silly sweetness of the gesture.

"Well, thank you, Peter. This was very sweet of you. Of course you realize, technically, I'm supposed to bring you guys a gift, since I was here first."

"But I thought of it first!" Peter countered. At that, Sarah burst out laughing, her silvery-gray eyes filled with humor.

"You ought to do that more often," Peter observed as he studied her face.

"Do what?"

"Laugh. It makes your whole face light up," he replied.

Red tinged her cheeks as the compliment washed over her. "Smooth talker!" she scoffed, turning to hide her face.

"I've been taking lessons from Davy," Peter grinned in return. "Would you like to come over and meet my roommates? You could watch us practice."

"Practice? Practice for what?"

"We're a band," Peter explained. "At least, we're trying to be. We just met a few weeks ago. We all play and sing, so we decided to try it together. What do you say? We could use a guinea pig."

"I don't think so, Peter," Sarah began, nearly undone by the crestfallen look on his face. He seems so nice, she thought, how do I discourage him without coming off like a total shrew?

Keeping her expression carefully neutral, she continued. "This is my first free afternoon in months. I was kind of looking forward to just relaxing and reading the paper. I DO appreciate the gift, though, and the invitation. You make me ashamed of myself. I should have been the one welcoming you, not the other way around!"

"You can make it up to us by coming over to the Pad," Peter flashed a hopeful smile.

Why did I have to be born with a weakness for dimples? Sarah asked herself. "Okay --but just this once," she relented, silently kissing her down-time good-bye.

"Great!" Peter enthused. Grabbing Sarah's hand, he gently pulled her out the door and down the steps before she had a chance to change her mind.

"Wait!" Sarah cied, pulling up short. "You didn't even ask my name"

The look on Peter's face was comical as her words sunk in. Finally he burst out laughing, shaking his head at his own enthusiasm.

"I'm sorry!" he said, still chuckling. "I was so excited I forgot to ask! So, what's your name, stranger?"

"Sarah Jennings," she supplied, sticking out her hand.

Ignoring the proferred hand, Peter wrapped her in a bear hug, nearly lifting her off her feet. "Welcome to the neighborhood, Sarah Jennings."

Not bothering to correct him again, Sarah let Peter lead the way to the Pad.

"Hey, guys, we've got company!"

The guys converged on the new arrival. Since she was female, Davy, of course, was front and center.

"Guys, this is Sarah Jennings," Peter said.

"Ello luv! I'm Davy. What's a nice girl like you 'angin around with a guy like Peter?" a comment which earned him an icy stare from his prospective conquest.

Respectfully doffing his wool cap, Mike shouldered his way in front of the Englishman. "Don't mind him, Sarah, he's harmless. Annoying, but harmless. I'm Mike."

"Hi, Mike," Sarah replied, shaking the offered hand.

"Move over!" Pushing Mike out of the way, Micky greeted their new neighbor. "Hi! I'm Micky. Nice to meetcha!"

"Nice to meet you, too, Micky."

"Sarah's gonna be our guinea pig," Peter informed them. "She's gonna listen to our set and give us her honest opinion."

"Cool!" Micky replied. "Just find a place to sit and make yourself at home."

Clearing a pile of papers off the end of the black leather chaise, Sarah settled into her favorite position--legs crossed indian-style, elbows on knees, chin propped on one hand. The guy took up their spots on the small riser that served as a bandstand.

"Ready, Sarah?" Mike asked.

"I'm all ears."

"Okay, let's start with 'Mary,Mary," Mike ordered.

The guys ran through the set they were working on in hopes of getting their first group gig, a mixture of cover tunes and Mike's original material.

Time stopped as Sarah listened to the music, observing her new acquaintences. They certainly seem to be in their element, she thought. Davy alternated between tamborine and maracas, grooving to the beat on every song. Micky, with the lion's share of lead vocals, put his heart and soul into every word, face scrunched with emotion as he pounded his drums. Peter swayed, eyes closed, in another world as he kept the beat with his bass, and Mike, looking calm and confident, handled lead guitar, taking vocals on his own compositions.

As they closed out the set, Peter looked expectantly at Sarah. "What do you think, Sarah? Will we make it as a group?"

"I'm impressed," she answered. "Are you sure you guys only got together a few weeks ago? It sounds like you've played together for years."

"Honest!" Peter swore. "We just clicked, right from the start. I think we must have good Karma."

"What it is, is good old-fasioned hard work!" Mike retorted. "I just hope it all pays off."

"Well, for what it's worth, I think you guys have what it takes. I'm no expert, but I know what I like, and I really enjoyed your music."

"Smashing!" Davy said. "You'll have to come to our first gig."

"I don't know, Davy. I don't get out much --I work most evenings," Sarah hedged, not wanting to hurt their feelings. "And speaking of work, I'd better go and get changed or I'm going to be late."

"I'll walk you home," Peter offered.

Sarah bid the others farewell, and she and Peter made their way back down the beach toward her tiny house.

"Thanks for listening to us play, Sarah," Peter said quietly. "It really means a lot to know that someone else like our music."

"I meant what I said, Peter. I think you all are really talented. I wish you all the luck in the future."

Peter stopped her with a hand on her arm. "That sounds like a good-bye."

"It is. It's really for the best, Peter," Sarah continued, as he began to protest.

"But I want to see you again, Sarah. I like you."

"Peter, please try to understand. My life is so complicated right now. I work two jobs and go to college full time. I barely have time to eat and sleep. The only reason I was even at home this afternoon is because classes were cancelled. I just don't have any room for anything or anyone else in my life."

"Not even for a friend?"

"Oh, Peter." Sarah rubbed her eyes, head throbbing with the beginnings of a tension headache. " A friend deserves so much more than what I have to give right now."

"I wouldn't take up much of your time," Peter commented softly.

"It's not time, Peter. It's me," Sarah said, laying a hand over her heart. "There's nothing left in here. I've put everthing I have, everything I am, into my education and my career. I don't have any more to give."

Peter stared to her, confusion and hurt apparent on his face. "But I thought you had a good time this afternoon."

"This afternoon was wonderful, Peter. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun."

"Then why are you saying good-bye?"

"I don't have a choice. Someday, I'll have the time to do as I please, to make friends, go to parties, have a real life. But not now. I can't handle anything else in my life."

"All right, Sarah," Peter said resignedly. "I won't push you. It has to be your decision. I just have one hope though."

"What's that?"

Peter gently lifted her chin with two fingers, forcing her to look at him. Amber eyes bored into silver gray.

"I hope, for your sake, that someday doesn't come too late."

Turning, he walked back to the Pad. Sarah watched him go, trying to convince herself that she'd done the right thing.

She failed miserably.

~*~

Sarah scowled as she studies her reflection in the mirror.

"Ugh," she groaned aloud. "I'm getting wrinkles!" Twenty-year-olds weren't supposed to get wrinkles, but, sure enough, there they were; tiny lines, nearly unnoticable, underneath her eyes, accompanied by two vertical frown lines between her eyebrows. "I should really try to get more sleep!"

Even as she said the words, Sarah began laughing at such a fanciful notion as getting enough sleep. Hah! She'd been sleep-deprived for two years now--it was such a normal state for her that she didn't even notice the fatigue anymore.

Pushing horrid thoughts of premature aging out of her mind, Sarah quickly donned her working clothes, suppressing the usual shudder of distaste as she looked down at the outfit that was much too revealing for her tastes. Short skirt, high heels and a midriff-baring blouse, while not exactly vulgar, were not really her style. Unfortunately, it was the uniform of choice for all the waitresses at Randall's Round-Up, the hole-in-the-wall bar she worked at six evenings a week. the place has aspirations of being an old-time western watering hole. In reality it was a gathereing place for L.A.'s smalll but loyal posse of drugstore cowboys.

Looking back in the mirror, Sarah began to apply her make-up. Again, it was nothing that she would wear of her own choice, but Herbie, the owner, insisted that his "fillies" looked pretty, and for him that started with a lot of what he termed "warpaint." Sarah actually didn't mind the make-up nearly as much. It was like a mask, hiding her true features from the customers, letting them see only what she wished. She might have to serve those yokels, but they would never have the privilege of seeing the real Sarah.

As she finished her make-up, Sarah concentrated on the final item she always wore to work at Randall's--the mental armor she had developed after nearly a year of working there.

She'd gone in on her first day, green as grass. Luckily Betty, one of the older waitresses, had taken Sarah under her wing, and Sarah had learned that under the rough exterior, this chain-smoking woman who could swear like a sailor had a heart of gold. She'd pointed out the good tippers, taught Sarah how to avoid the wandering hands, and schooled her in the gentle put-down of the too-amorous drunk.

It was the armor that made the job bearable. Without it, Sarah wouldn't have lasted a week, no matter how good the tips were--and they WERE good. She might despise the job, but it paid very well.. The men liked her because she never forgot a drink order; their dates liked her because her profesional friendliness never crossed the line into flirtation. Herbie liked her because she was a hard worker who never missed a shift, and she didn't try to cheat the till.

With one last look in the mirror to make sure everything was in place, Sarah went in search of her purse. As she hunted, a snatch of music began playing in her head. Soon, she was humming along with the tune.

Stopping suddenly, she yelled "Get out of my head, Peter Tork!" This was getting out of hand. It was over a week since she'd spent the afternoon with Peter and his friends, and every day it got more difficult for her to concentrate on work and classes.

Peter had given her one wonderful afternoon, and now the memory of that day refused to fade. It kept coming back, popping up at inopportune moments to tease her, taunting her with images of what her life could be like, how other women her age lived--how SHE could live, if she chose to.

"Stop thinking like that, Sarah!" she lectured herself. She really didn't need this. Her goals were set, had been since she was thirteen years old. A school field trip to the county courthouse had made a tremendous impression on the young Sarah. The grandeur of the ornate building, the judges in their robes, attorneys arguing passionately for their clients, all of them had facinated her. She'd come home that very evening and announced her plans to her family. She was going to be a lawyer. She hadn't wavered from that goal yet.

"And I'm not going to!" she announced to the empty room. Snatching up her purse, she headed out to war.

~*~

On Saturday morning, Peter walked to the Malibu Public Library. This morning's breakfast, courtesy of Mike, had been disasterous. he still couldn't figure out how you made fried eggs bounce like that! they'd had a consistency half-way between a tennis ball and a hocky-puck, but without the flavor. Yesterday Micky had ruined the waffle iron trying to make grilled cheese sandwiches, and Peter himself had scorched a pan so badly attempting pancakes that he'd had to throw it away. There had to be something in the library to teach them how to cook--at least well enough so that food poisoning would no longer be an issue.

Opening the large mahagony door of the library, Peter wandered into the building, stopping inside to take an appreciative breath. He'd always liked libraries--something about the smell of floor wax, mingled with the scent of old leather bindings, always made him feel good inside.

Peter roamed the stacks, stopping occasionally to pull a book from it's place for a closer look. the library was deserted,and he had the run of the place.

As he neared a circulation desk, Peter noticed a familiar figure, nose buried in a thick textbook, seated behind the counter.

"Sarah?" he asked hesitantly.

The brown head popped up.

"Peter!" she exclaimed, name muffled by the pencil she held clenched between her teeth. Reaching up to remove it, she continued more clearly. "What are you doing here?"

Peter cast he an amused look, cocking one eyebrow as he gestured toward the rows of books.

"All right," Sarah laughed. "I guess that WAS a stupid question. What kind of book are you looking for?"

"One that can teach me how to cook a decent meal!" he replied in a heartfelt tone. "Do you work here?"

Sarah looked back at him, raising an eyebrow and gesturing at her position behind the desk in a blatant imitation of his earlier action.

"I guess it's my turn to ask the stupid questions!" Peter chuckled. "So, do you like working here?"

"I do," Sarah replied fervently. "This is the perfect job for a college student. Weekends are always slow, so I get some time to catch up on my classwork. That's what I was doing when you came in."

"Sounds like a good arrangement," Peter commented. "I hate to drag you away from your studies, but DO you have anything to help me with cooking?"

"I'm sure we do. Follow me." Sarah led the way to the very back shelf. Looking over the books, she selected two.

"These are the easiest to follow," she said, handing the volumes to Peter. "They have clear instructions and some simple recipes."

Peter immediately opened the top book and began reading. Sarah watched, amused at his eagerness.

"Is it really worth all this effort,Peter? Most guys wouldn't go to these lengths just to get a decent meal."

"You don't know what it's like, Sarah!" Peter shuddered as he recalled the morning's meal. "Micky can cook a little, but everything he makes ends up tasting like chile. I can only make really bad soup, Davy won't even attempt to cook, and what Mike can do to an egg is practically criminal! I'm desperate--thank God Micky put the toaster back together or we'd all starve!"

Sarah threw bach her head and roared with laughter. Peter stared at her face in fascination. There it was again--that look of joy that transformed her from plain to lovely. She smiled with her entire face; eyes crinkled, white teeth flashing, delicate nose adorably scrunched.

"Stop it!" Sarah ordered, pressing her palms to flushed cheeks.

"Why?" Peter countered. "Don't you like compliments?"

"That's the problem--I like them too much. You're very distracting, Peter Tork."

Peter looked at Sarah, flashing her THE smile--the one with both dimples turned on full blast.

"Good!"

~*~

Peter managed to spend some time with Sarah over the next couple of weeks. He made a point of going to the library on the weekends, just to see her for a little while. He hoped to build on the start he'd made that first Saturday. He'd stayed much longer than necessary that day, searching for some way to express his interest in Sarah without frightening her off. In the end, he'd simply kept talking, not letting her pull away, and coaxing answers out of her in return. He'd told her about meeting the guys,finding the Pad, and about how different California was from the Village. She told him about her large family back in Michigan, about getting a scholarship to college, and her dreams of practicing law.

After his success at the library, Peter worked harder than ever at "distracting" Sarah. He lured her out to the beach for a group picnic, and even managed to get her nose out of her books long enough to listen to them practice a few times.

Sarah blossomed under Peter's attention. Once she opened up, she revealed a surprisingly dry wit, often making the guys crack up with a casually tosed-off one-liner. Sarah herself often headed off to class or work with her cheeks literally aching from grinning so much.

Dear Miss Jennings:
We thank you for your interest in our Summer Internship Program, and for taking the time to personally interview with Judge Charron.
While your credentials are impressive, we must inform you that the position has been filled. We do encourage you to re-submit your application next year.
Thank you again for your interest, and we wish you the best of luck in your chosen career.
Sincerely,
Patricia Williams
Intern Program Coordinator

Sarah stared at the letter in shock. It took a full fifteen minutes for the full import of the words to sink in. She couldn't believe it--when he'd interviewed with the Judge, she'd felt so good about her chances, and she desperately wanted that job. Interning in a judge's chambers was a perfect training ground for law school. What had gone wrong?

Shock gradually faded into anger. That job should have been hers! None of the other candidates could match her grades or her academic achievements. Valedictorian of her high school class, top of the Honor's program at college--what more did they want? Perfection?

Resolve slowly building inside, Sarah made her decision. Starting now, she would redouble her efforts. She may have lost this opportunity, but she'd be damned if it would happen again. If perfection was what they wanted, then by God, perfection it would be. She was no stranger to hard work--it had served her well in the past, and it would do so again. She'd invested too much of her life in this to quit halfway.

There was just one detail she had to take care of first, and it would mean breaking two hearts--hers, and that of the man she was just starting to admit that she loved.

~*~

Steeling herself, Sarah knocked on the door of the Pad.

The door opened to reveal Mike, a sheet of paper clutched in his hand.

"Hi, Sarah! C'mon in," he invited.

"Hello, Mike. Is Peter here?"

"Yeah, he's in his room lookin' for a spare banjo string," Mike answered, looking at Sarah intently. "Are you okay? You look upset."

"I'm fine," Sarah replied. I just don't know how I'm going to get through this

Just then Peter walked out of the bedroom, cigar box in hand as he rummaged through the neatly wrapped strings it contained. Spotting Sarah, a wide grin split his face.

"Hi, Sarah! I thought I heard your voice out here."

"Peter," she began without preamble. "We need to talk."

Smile gone, Peter strode over to Sarah, taking her arm and gently leading her over to the chaise, seating himself beside her on the soft leather. Mike quietly left, giving them their privacy.

"What's wrong, Sarah?' Peter askes softly.

Don't be nice to me. This is hard enough as it is.

"I don't think we should see each other any more," she blurted out, afraid to give herself time to think.

Stunned, Peter sat silently for a long moment. finally he spoke, pain and confusion evident in his shaky voice.

"Why? Did I do something wrong, Sarah?"

Only in trying to be friends with someone like me.

"No!" she said forcefully. Breathing deeply, she continued more calmly. "No, Peter. It's like I told you before. I just don't have time for socializing.

"I don't understand," Peter began, wounded look in his normally bright eyes. "I thought you liked being with us. I thought you liked being with ME."

You'll never know how much...

"I told you. It was fun, but now it's over."

"I don't want it to be over!" Peter said, voice trembling with emotion.

Oh, God, nice wasn't going to do the job.

Reaching deep down inside, Sarah found the last of her resolve, hoping it would be enough. Standing up, she hardened her expression, voice taking on a condescending tone.

"It's not your decision, Peter. I don't have time for you in my life, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't push me on that. My mind's made up."

Shoulders slumped, Peter stared at the floor. "If that's what you want, Sarah. I'll try not to bother you anymore."

Knowing that one more lie was beyond her, Sarah silently walked to the door. Peter steadfastly refused to look at her, eyes still downcast. She took one last look at him, cementing his image firmly in her brain, so she could draw upon the warmth of her memories in a future devoid of light and life.

"Good-bye, Peter," she whispered, much too softly for him to hear. "Please forgive me."

She pretended not to notice the tears falling noiselessly to the hardwood floor at his feet. This is for the best, she told herself firmly. the cleaner the break, the quicker it heals, or so they said. At least she hoped that would hold true for Peter.

As for herself, Sarah harbored no illusions that she would ever be whole again.

~*~

"Guys, I'm worried about Peter," Mike stated. It had been two weeks since Sarah had walked out of Peter's life. Peter had gone to the laundromat, and Mike had taken this opportunity to speak privately with Micky and Davy. "Sarah's leavin' really tore him up inside."

"I don't know, Mike," Davy commented. "I thought he took it rather well."

"Yeah," Micky chimed in. "He hasn't even cried!" It was a running joke at the Pad that Peter would cry at most anything, even card tricks.

Indeed, Peter had seemed to cope pretty well, at least outwardly. He'd explained to the others that Sarah needed to spend more time on her studies, and that they had agreed that it would be best if they stopped seing each other. He'd never brought up the subject again.

"That's exactly my point, Mick. I realize we've only known Peter a little while, but does that seem like him? Look how upset he was when you and I got into it over that stupid toaster."

Micky nodded, recalling the incident a few weeks back when Micky's penchant for tinkering with their appliances had brought Mike's blood to boil. The ensuing argument had so upset Peter that he'd stormed out of the Pad. It had taken all of Davy's persuasive charm to coax him back into the house after Mike and Micky had calmed down.

"Maybe he wasn't as hung up on her as we thought," Davy reasoned. " He doesn't even talk about her."

"Aw, man, are you blind? He was a walkin' case of puppy love!" Mike shook his head. "Nope, he was hung up, all right."

"Well, what can we do about it, Mike?" Micky asked. "He won't talk about her, and we can't very well walk up to him and demand he bare his soul.."

"I don't know," Mike replied, "but I want you two to keep an eye on him. Try to get him interested in something or somebody else. Peter would give any of us the shirt off his back. the least we can do is be there for him when he needs us."

~*~

Sarah plucked the note from her campus mailbox in the student union, puzzled frown on her face as she perused the unfamiliar handwriting. Since she had few acquaintances at school, it was rare for her to receive a personal note.

Sarah,
Please drop by my office this afternoon. I have something I need to discuss with you.
Art Ross

Now what in the world could her faculty advisor want with her? It certainly can't be my grades, Sarah thought cynically. Since she'd cut Peter out of her life in favor of an insanely rigid study program, she was ruining the grading curve in every one of her classes.

"Ah, hell," Sarah muttered. "Might as well get it over with."

It took only a few minutes to walk from the union to Mahan Hall, where the faculty offices were located.. As she was ushered into his office by the department secretary, Professor Ross stood, extending his hand.

"Hello, Sarah. Please have a seat." Heaving a pile of folders off of the leather covered chair, Sarah had to chuckle to herself. Professor Ross was notorious for having the messiest office on campus, yet the man never seemed to lose anything.

"What did you want to see me about?" Sarah asked, determined to cut to the chase.

The professor, however, refused to be rushed. Leaning comfortably back in his chair, he folded his hands over his spare belly. With his skinny build, outdated clothes, and wild shock of brown hair, his looked like the stereotypical "absent-minded professor." Only the gleam in his eyes hinted at the sharp intellect that made him one of the most respected figures on campus.

"How have you been, Sarah?"

"You called me here to ask me that?" Sarah said, dumbfounded.

"As your faculty advisor, I'm naturally concerned about your progress," he answered.

"School is fine. My grades are very high this semester," she said without expression.

"There's more to life than school, Miss Jennings,"

"With all due respect, Profesor, anything outside of school is MY business." The mulish look on Sarah's face brooked no opposition.

On edge. That's an understatement, Sarah thought bitterly. She was living on her nerves, not eating or sleeping. With Peter gone, the only constant in her life was the monotonous daily grind--school, work, home, insomnia. Repeat daily.

Apart from that, she was haunted by the question that kept circling in her brain--why? That job should have been hers, but obviously she had been lacking some key ingredient, one that she couldn't put her finger on. Was it her grades, her personality, what? If only she could pin down the shortcoming, she might be able to fix it. Not knowing meant there was nothing she could do about it, and that was driving her slowly insane.

To complete the misery, she just plain missed Peter. She couldn't believe how much she could miss a person she'd known for so short a time, but Peter had worked his way into her heart, and the empty space he'd left there cried out to be filled. Sarah had made no effort to see him, knowing that it would only make the separation harder. Still, living so close, it was inevitable that she would eventually see him. Just yesterday, she looked out the window to see him walking down the beach, head bowed as his feet scuffled slowly through the soft sand. It had taken all her strength not to throw herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness.

Shaking her head to clear it of the image, Sarah finally spoke. "I'm fine," she said, voice lifeless.

Sensing that he was up against a brick wall, Professor Ross relented. "All right, Sarah. I won't keep you any longer. Just remember what they said about Jack."

"He went up the hill with Jill, right?" Sarah deadpanned, deliberately misunderstanding her reference. All work and no play might make Jack a dull boy, but it was going to make Sarah a success. It was the only way she knew to be.

That's not true, Sarah, her conscience reminded her. You KNOW how to relax and have fun. Peter taught you.

Steadfastly ignoring the little voice, Sarah gathered up her books.

"Thank you for your concern, Professor," she said politely. "But it's misplaced. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get to class." Standing, Sarah took her leave, switching her thoughts back to her upcoming class.

~*~

Peter walked along the beach, trying to think. Or, more accurately, trying not to think. He'd spent an awful lot of time walking out here lately, listening to the waves crash on the hard-packed sand. He'd discovered that the sound was somehow soothing, the never-changing rhythms reminding him that life did indeed go on, no matter how difficult it was.

"Hey, Peter! Wait up!" Peter turned around, and saw Davy running to catch up with him. Suppressing a groan of irritation, he obediently stopped to wait. Probably trying to set me up on another date, Peter thought. Ever since Sarah left, the guys had been overly solicitous of him. Micky kept asking if he wanted to talk, Davy engineered double dates, and Mike seemed to have made it his personal mission to keep him too busy to think about his problems. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate their efforts--it warmed him to see the lengths that they would go to to help him--but being treated with kid gloves was starting to grate on his nerves.

Peter knew they thought he was acting strangely. HE thought he was acting strangely, too. He'd always been very emotional, crying and laughing with equal ease, but this was different. He'd cried when Sarah had told hijm good-bye, sitting on the chaise where she left him. But, gradually, the tears had dried, and an eerie calmness had stolen over him, leaving nothing inside but the emptiness that was now his constant companion. He didn't feel sad. He didn't feel anything.

"What is it, David?" Peter asked, as Davy loped up to him, panting.

"Are you busy tonight?' Davy asked casually.

"You know I'm not. Why do you ask?" Peter responded warily.

"Well, you see, Lorelei's got this cousin..."

Bingo! "Davy," Peter interupted," I've told you before, I'm not interested in double dating with you and Lorelei."

"It doesn't have to be a double date," Davy pressed. "You two could go out on your own, anyplace you choose."

"I don't think so," Peter hedged.

"Peter, man, you've got to get on with your life."

"I am!" Peter protested half-heartedly, knowing even as he spoke the words that they were untrue.

"Sure," Davy said, disbelief apparent in his voice. "Have it your way, Peter." Turning to leave, Davy paused to look back. "The invitation is still open if you change your mind. Just say the word."

"I will." Peter smiled, a pale imitation of his normal sunny grin, but with more emotion than Davy had seen from him in days. "And Davy--thanks, man. I know you guys are just trying to help." Davy acknowledged the thanks with a cheeky wave, and jogged back toward the Pad.

~*~

Sarah walked briskly, cursing the registration gods for scheduling her two most important classes back-to-back, at opposite ends of the campus. Glancing at her watch, she picked up her pace. Professor Roberts was a devotee of the Socratic teaching method, and he was well known to call upon an unfortunate latecomer for a little impromptu debating. Although Sarah usually found the class stimulating, she was in no mood to be the Professor's verbal sparring partner for the next hour.

Intent on her destination, Sarah was oblivious to her surroundings as she stepped off the curb onto Madison Street.

The squeal of brakes and the yells of horrified onlookers jerked Sarah from her reverie. Bearing down on her was a large tan car, tires smoking and back end fishtailing as the driver tried desperately to stop.

Time slowed to a crawl for Sarah as she stared at the oncoming car. Unbidden images sprand to mind; her parents waving as they put her on thetrain to California, her brothers and sisters meeting her when she'd visited last Christmas. She saw herself--at class, at work, studying long into the night. Mostly, though, she saw Peter--his shy smile when they first met, and the stunning dimpled grin that had never failed to greet her since. She saw him wandering the beach after she'd sent him away, head bowed, shoulders slumped, as if they carried the weight of the world.

I never got to tell them how much they all mean to me, Sarah thought, regret washing over her. Now I'll never get the chance.

She stood frozen for what seemed like hours. She could see every detail of the car, see the horrified expression of the driver as he fought the wheel, but still she couldn't force her legs to move. They felt as if they were cemented in place, determined to subject Sarah to her inevitable fate.

The front end of the car veered off as the driver sharply twisted the wheel, the rear swinging around, bumper catching Sarah just below her hip. Her books flew into the air as she was knocked to the pavement, falling heavily onto her right side.

I'm not dead! Sarah thought incredulously. Slowly lifting her head, she checked to see how badlt she was hurt. She was immediately aware of the burn of scraped skin all along her side, but nothing seemed to be broken. Her head throbbed where it had struck the pavement, but her vision was clear and there was no dizziness. Satisfied that she had sustained no permanent damage, Sarah made to sit up.

"Stay still, little lady," said a large, burly man, one of the crowd of bystanders that had gathered around her. "What were you thinking? You could ahve been killed!"

"Don't I know it!" Sarah muttered under her breath. Shrugging off his restraining hand, she sat up. The tan car was now facing in the opposite direction, apparently unharmed. Thank God her stupidity hadn't caused a serious accident!

Struggling to her feet, Sarah limped over to the car. The driver, a middle aged man, still had a death grip on the steering wheel, eyes staring blankly ahead. Reaching in through the open driver's-side window, Sarah lay a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "This was all my fault."

Swallowing hard, the man looked around, eyes widening as he saw Sarah, a little battered, but in one piece. "You...you're all right!" he stuttered, color slowly returning to his ashen face.

Sarah gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Mister, I'm more 'all right' than you'll ever know!"

~*~

Peter was in the middle of making lunch when the imperative knock came at the beach-side door. He strode across the Pad, untying his apron as he went. "I'm coming!" he shouted as the frantic pounding continued.

Reaching for the door, he flung it open. With a cry of joy, Sarah practically leapt into the Pad. Throwing herself against Peter's chest, she wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing with all her might.

"Oh, Peter, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean those thing I said. I DO want you in my life. I never wanted to hurt you! Can you ever forgive me? Sarah babbled, too happy at seeing Peter to realize that she wasn't making much sense.

"Sarah!" Peter exclaimed, dumbfounded. Prying her arms from around his neck, he clasped both her hands in his. "What happened to you?" he demanded, shocked at her appearance. Her sweater and skirt were dirty, her stocking laddered, and her face showed the beginnings of a beauty of a shiner.

Quivering with excitement and trepidation, Sarah fought to calm herself. Second chances don't come around too often in life, Sarah. she reminded herself. Don't blow this one!

"Let's just say that today, I got hit with reality, in the form of a tan Buick!" she answered, trying to make light of her near miss.

"Huh?" said Peter, thoroughly confused.

"I stepped out into the street, right in front of a car," Sarah stated bluntly. "I never even saw it."

"What!" Peter shrieked, for once bereft of his normally placid demeanor. "Are you saying you got hit by a CAR!"

"Calm down, Peter," Sarah soothed. "I may look a little worse for the wear, but I'm okay, really. And I'll be even better if you tell me that you haven't given up on me."

"Given up on you? What are you talking about, Sarah? And just how hard did that car hit you?" Peter tightened his grip on her hands, still trying to convince himself that this wasn't some sort of dream.

"Hard enough to knock some sense into this stubborn head of mine!" she replied with feeling. Now that the initial shock was wearing off, Sarah was beginning to feel a little shaky. "Let's sit down, Peter. I've got a lot to tell you.

Unwilling to release her hands, Peter allowed Sarah to tug him gently toward the bandstand, and they sat together on the edge of the riser.

"You know that old saying about how when you think you're going to die, your life flashes in front of your eyes?" At Peter's nod of assent, Sarah continued. "I always thought that was just some corny old line from a book, but it's true, Peter! When I saw that car coming at me, I was sure I was done for, and all I could think about was how stupid I've been. I've always put ambition ahead of everything else, but what good is success if you don't have anyone to share it with?"

Turning to fully face Peter, Sarah stared deeply into his tawny eyes. "I know I don't deserve it, but I'm asking you for a second chance. We had something special, Peter. I don't know where our relationship was headed, or how far it could go, but I want to give it the chance. I want to give US a chance. Can you ever forgive me?"

"It's not a matter of forgiving, Sarah," Peter said seriously. "I would forgive you anything. But are you sure? You had a bad scare today--how do you know this isn't just the fright talking? And, even if it's not, there are still only so many hours in the day. How are you going to find time for me now, when you couldn't before?"

Ducking her head in shame at the pain she'd caused this sweet, sweet man, Abby swallowed hard. Looking back up at Peter's dear face, she chose her words carefully. He deserved no less than her complete honesty.

"First of all, Peter, it wasn't just a fright. It was a revelation. Yes, I was scared, but everything was so clear! I could have died today, and who outside my family would even remember me? There's an entire world out there, and like an idiot, I've shut it all out. I am not going to do that again. As for the time, I'm no sure, but somehow, I'll make the time. Maybe I'll cut back to part time, quit one of my jobs--I don't know yet , but I'll figure it out. I just need to know that you still want to try to make this work." Sarah looked at him, love shining in her silvery eyes.

Peter felt the ice inside him starting to melt. Drawing Sarah close, he buried his face in her soft hair, closing his eyes. "Of course I do," he said, contentment washing away the emptiness in his soul. It felt so good to hold her! "It's everything I've ever wanted."