“Ok, when I said that this shouldn’t be a problem, I didn’t know you lived in a walk-up!” Joey whined.

“What is it with you guys and walking? You can shake your synchronized booties for two hours on stage and you can’t go three flights of stairs without bitching?” Regan questioned, turning around to see her five companions a half a flight behind.

“Synchronized Booties?” JC laughed as they started to climb the stairs again. “I think we just found the title to our next single.”

“I’ll be expecting a royalty check, ” Regan smirked. “Maybe, then, I won’t have to live in a walk-up.”

“Damn, baby, I’ll put you up in a condo as long as I never have to walk up these stairs again,” Joey breathed coming up to the fourth floor landing.

“Don’t tease me,” Regan winked.

They proceeded down to Regan’s door at the end of the hall and, after unlocking three very imposing locks, she invited them in. A faint, oddly pleasing fragrance was noted by everyone as they moved further into the quaint apartment. Cucumber Melon, Regan explained. The apartment was basically comprised of a living area, bedroom, and kitchenette that were all separate but open to each other, giving the space the feel of one large room.

Regan tossed her bag and jacket onto her bed, ignoring the fact that both were soaked. “Ok, guys, gimme 15 minutes, and we’re outta here. Make yourself at home,” she started as she strode towards the bathroom. “I know there aren’t many places to sit so my bed is up for grabs!” she called from inside before poking her head out. “I could sell the sheets on E-BAY!” she giggled before ducking back in and slamming the door, eliciting a collective groan from her guests.

“Thanks a lot kiddo, as if the French Toast incident* wasn’t bad enough,” JC called back as he walked around studying his surroundings. Joey did the same, scanning the photographs and artists’ prints on the walls. The other three settled in the few chairs scattered around and flipped on the TV, Chris taking control of the remote to the chagrin of Lance and Dave.

Several black and white, framed photographs were mounted on the off white walls. Joey chuckled under his breath at a picture of a young Regan with several other girls. They were in a mirrored dance studio, all gracefully standing en pointe and sticking their tongues out at the camera.

JC looked over to see what Joey was sniggering at when his eyes fell on another photo near by. It was of a young boy, no more than 4 or 5, sitting and grinning broadly with an infant in his arms. There were a pair or masculine arms wrapping around the two, supporting the baby. JC smiled at the sweetness of the picture. He figured it was Regan and Mike. They seemed to have been as close as they were, literally, since the day she was born. JC looked over to see the next photo Joey had moved onto. It had the distinction of being the only picture in color.

Regan was no more than three and she wore frilly tutu, posing and grinning brightly for the camera. Next to her, her big brother stood in a suit, looking very uncomfortable. Behind them stood their parents, JC assumed. He’d never met Bridget’s in-laws but their appearances gave their relation to the two children away. The woman was striking. Regan was defiantly her mother’s daughter; same languid facial features, same graceful aura. The man was tall and burly. He seemed strong but soft around the edges. Definitely Mike’s father. He had a smile and stance that expressed an overwhelming pride in his family, the same look Mike had in every photo he’d seen of he, Bridget, Maeve.

“Regan seems to be big on Kodak moments,” Joey smiled.

“Yeah,” JC agreed. “The some of these are incredible, especially the black and white ones. Did you see the one over by the window of her and Mike? At least I think its of her and Mike.” JC pointed at the photo he’d been examining before.

“Yeah, Mike was very happy when I was born,” Regan smiled, having emerged from the bathroom in jeans and an NYU t-shirt, her hair towel dried.

“That was fast,” Lance commented in disbelief.

“I said 15 minutes, did I not?” she shot back, jokingly.

“Yeah but I thought that was ‘girl’ for an hour and a half.”

“Funny.”

“So, Regan, this is you?” JC said pointing at the frame on the wall.

“Yes, sir,” she nodded moving over to where JC and Joey stood. She ran her fingers lightly over the image. “Mike was so happy that day.”

“To get a little sister? I don’t remember being that happy when I got mine,” JC kidded.

“Not to get a sister,” Regan sighed, “to get a donor.”

If she didn’t have the undivided attention of everyone in the room before that statement, she certainly had it after.

“What do you mean, ‘donor’?” Chris questioned, taken aback.

“My brother had Leukemia and needed a bone marrow transplant. There was no match and one of the many doctors my parents talked to suggested an alternative. Just call me the science experiment,” Regan shrugged and walked back towards her bedroom.

“Wow,” Joey mumbled. “So you saved his life?”

“You could say that. But Mike has been ‘repaying’ me since the day I was born so I’m pretty sure he’s paid in full. In fact, I probably owe him now,” Regan laughed combing her hair out in front of her mirror.

“Oh, man!”

“What?” Regan called, rushing back into the living room at Chris’s outburst, an expectant expression furrowing her features.

“The Goonies is coming on TBS! We are not going anywhere!”

Twenty minutes later the six were browsing around Cheap Jack’s Vintage Clothing. Chris was pouting and mumbling something about the “truffle shuffle”**.

“How ‘bout this?” JC called to Regan across the shop. He held up a pair of oddly patterned pants, his eyebrows raised hopefully. She just stared back, the expression on her face telling him all he needed to know. As he placed the pants back on the rack he looked towards the front of the shop to see Joey and Chris arguing with Lance and Dave bent over with laughter.

“What’s with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?” Regan inquired as she made her way over to where JC was browsing through a rack of hideous shirts.

“Who knows?” JC smirked. “Take it from me, sometimes its best not to ask. In fact, don’t even wonder.”

“Well since you know them best, I’ll take your advice,” she said grimacing at another mistake JC was about to pick out. “But only if you’ll take my advice.”

“What’s that?” JC asked, preparing to be insulted.

Regan reached over and gently placed her hands on either side of his head before tightening her hold and shaking vigorously. “SIMPLIFY!” she cried dramatically. “Just because one color is good doesn’t mean lots are better!”

“Ok, ok,” JC laughed. “You don’t have to take my advice.”

Justin lay stretched out on the plush cushions of the couch he hadn’t moved from since his friends had left with Regan, the copy of Swann’s Way lying on his chest, rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing. Mark had gone upstairs about a half hour before to recover from the early morning flight with a nap in a real bed. Justin realized that this was one of the first times in a while he was completely alone. It was a freaky feeling that he didn’t quite know what to do with. Being alone with the time to mull over the mornings events was the last thing he wanted to do.

He had time to think about what an ass he’d been acting like. This wasn’t him. It was ridiculous things that had been running around in his head about this girl. It wasn’t just that he’d been acting like an ass. The way he acted was close enough to the way he acted around most new people. The thing was that he was thinking like an ass as well. He thought about how many times the word ‘pitiful’ had crossed his mind that day and wanted to redirect them all at himself. Who was he to think about a person he didn’t even know like that. He didn’t even give her a chance before jumping to conclusions. The worst part was that he couldn’t put his finger on why he’d been so desperately trying to convince himself that this girl wasn’t worth the effort to get to know.

He shifted around, now lying on his side, the book sliding off its perch and onto the floor with a clap. He reached down to pick it up with a low groan and noticed a collection of scrapbooks sitting on the shelf below the coffee table. He placed Proust on the tabletop and grabbed the navy leather-bound volume marked “1”, placing it on floor next to him. He turned completely onto his stomach to get the best view and opened it to the first the page.

It was Bridget’s. The first page had ‘1994’ scrolled on it in bubble letters with a picture of Bridget and JC arm wrestling. It was a picture Justin knew well. He had been the one behind the camera a few weeks before MMC had ended. A soft laugh rumbled in his throat as he remembered the circumstances. JC had made some stupid comment about girls and sports. After Bridget managed to beat him down at everything from basketball to foosball, JC resorted to brute strength to get his point across. JC did in fact win, but all that served to do was conjure up an arm-wrestling match every time they got together after. The tradition, as far as Justin knew, was still going and would most likely continue until Bridget found a way bring JC’s self-esteem down completely.

Page after page were pictures of Bridget and JC, sometimes with other friends or family, but mostly just the two of them. However by the time he’d gotten through about three-fourths of the book, the scenery had begun to change. A few months after the picture on the front page had been taken, JC and Bridget had met Michael Costelloe. He had come on an exchange program from Ireland to the University of Central Florida where Bridget was enrolled as well. The three got very close, but JC’s resentment was clear even to a 14 year old. They did everything together and pretty soon, Bridget and Mike became more than just friends. It caused a major rift in Bridget and JC’s relationship for a while but even in is best friend’s case JC couldn’t deny true love and they eventually worked things out.

Justin spent the next few hours looking through Bridget’s scrap books. She kept everything she could find on Nsync, every picture of her and JC taken over the years. Other books were just as dedicated to Maeve and Mike with pictures upon pictures of first steps, the first smile, Maeve on swings in Central Park, covered in flower while cooking with Mike, laying under the Christmas tree with Bridget, staring up at the lights. Newspaper clippings of reviews of Mike’s restaurant and feature articles done on him in culinary magazines as well as programs and pictures and ticket stubs of Regan’s performances also cluttered the pages of Bridget’s reminiscent masterpieces. The numerous moments captured in time were just enough to distract Justin from his thoughts of that morning.

“So what you’re telling me is that you actually believe that what you guys do is dancing?” Regan smiled evilly, as she picked at her salad. The rain had let up earlier making way for a beautiful spring day and they all sat on the second floor terrace of Trattoria di Poesie.

“Of course its dancing,” Chris said, almost spitting out his coke. “Just cus we don’t prance around in tights doesn’t mean what we do isn’t dancing.”

“Well you’re just going to have to prove me wrong, ain’tcha?”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Lance smirked.

“Well, you’ll just have to let me know the next time your in town performing so I can see you up close,” she smiled, sipping her water.

“Oh, I get it now,” JC chuckled. “Your just scrubbing for tickets, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you’ve uncovered my dastardly plot. Don’t be skimping either. I want some good seats!” Regan grinned.

“Hey, if you play your cards right, we might even getcha some autographs, maybe even a picture with boy wonder,” Joey laughed.

“I wouldn’t offer his services just yet,” Regan shook her head ruefully. “I don’t think he likes me too much.”

“Nah, Regan,” Lance shook his head. “Justin’s isn’t really that outgoing around new people. He’ll warm up to you.”

“Well I hope so if we’re going to get married,” Regan joked, giggling at their shocked expressions. “What? You didn’t know he was my favorite?”

“Um, I think we need the check,” JC coughed, shaking his head and signaling for the waitress.

”Ok, so back to what we were talking about before you started maligning our humble profession,” Chris said. “This company you dance for isn’t the actual American Ballet Theater company, which is, like, the big cheese when it comes to ballet. Am I correct?”

“Yeah, the company I dance for is the Studio Company. Its part of ABT, though. Its basically a place for younger, less experienced dancers to prepare for entering ABT. I hope to be doing that by the end of the year, as a matter of fact,” she smiled. It was easy to see the pride in her words. It was the pride of someone who had a dream that was about to be realized. It was the kind of pride the guys were all too familiar with.

“But you do performances and stuff like that, right?” Lance questioned.

“Yeah, its like a normal company that way. In fact we’re doing a West Coast tour starting the week after next.”

“That’s cool,” Joey commented. “We’re going to be out there then, too, I think. Right Scoop?”

“Yes, for the thousandth time,” Lance said annoyed that while everyone always ran to him for information, no one ever listened.

“No, need to get testy, Scoop,” Joey smiled evilly.

“Hold up,” Regan laughed. “Scoop? What the hell is that?”

“Its just our little pet name for Lance,” Chris smiled. “He likes it, really. It’s a hell of a lot better than PooFoo.”

“Is this one of those times when I shouldn’t even wonder?” Regan questioned JC.

“Better not,” he winked. “Best to put off being dragged into our little world until you at least know us for a few days. Although, it is just putting off the inevitable.”

Regan sat eyeing the guys at the table, Joey and Chris, in particularly, who both looked like they were dying to tell her something. “Ok, I have to know. What the hell is a PooFoo?”

Chris smiled broadly while Lance hung his head, not wanting to hear it again. “Well see, there was this dog…”

Bridget let out a frustrated breath as the last student from her fifth period left the classroom. None of her students were being very cooperative today and that was almost understandable considering it was Friday. What was really bothering her was the problem with Regan. She wasn’t mad at Regan so much as disappointed and concerned. She knew what she had to do and Regan was going to hate her for it. But, if she didn’t get that girl in to see a doctor soon there would be a bigger mess to clean up than just mending their friendship. It was one thing to go behind her back and set up an appointment but what she felt was necessary was much more that just that.

She heaved another sigh before turning and erasing the notes on Whitman and Transcendentalism from the board. Completing her task with getting only a trace amount of white power on her clothes, Bridget pulled out the chair of her desk and collapsed into it dramatically. She tried not to think about what she was about to do. If she thought about it, she wouldn’t go through with it. She began to chew on the cap of on of the many chewed up pens strewn about her desk. She searched for something to do during her free period. There were no papers to grade, no tests; her lesson plan was already made for the next week. Everything was in order.

“You can do this, Bridget,” she muttered under her breath. “Its for her own good.” She grabbed her bag and began rummaging around in it for her address book. Once she secured it, she rose from her desk, purposefully, but immediately sat back down.

Its for her own good, sure, but she won’t see it that way. Is it even my place to butt in like this? Sure, we’re family. We’re best friends. Who am I kidding? If someone did what I’m about to do to me, I’d be livid. Its possible I could do more harm than good. But then again what good is it going to do her to be in a wheel chair. She may not forgive me, though, and that could cause a serious rift between her and Mike. She wouldn’t make him choose, would she? God dammit, what the hell is right here? Maybe I shouldn’t think of this in terms of right and wrong but in terms of what’s best for Regan.

She stood again, clutching her address book and finally made her was to the front office. “Sue, can I borrow your phone, again?” she asked, the worry plain on her face.

“Sure,” Susan smiled hesitantly. “You ok, hon?”

“Yes,” Bridget stated, more for her own benefit than for Susan’s. She opened the little blue booklet in her hand and looked up whom she hoped would be a powerful and effective ally. The person she hoped she could trust to get Regan the help she needed. Bridget dialed the number quickly before she lost her nerve.

“Yes, can you connect me to Camilla Loree, please?”

“I don’t think you bought enough food, here, Regan,” Chris remarked, struggling with his bundles as they walked from the cab to the steps of the town house.

“You’re not going to be complaining when your eating, are you now?” she smirked as she made her way up the stone steps.

“Yeah, but the circulation to the tips of my fingers had been cut off,” Chris continued to whine.

“Poverino!” Regan exclaimed sarcastically as she dug out her keys.

“What did she just call me?” Chris nudged Lance.

“How am I supposed to know?” Lance nudged back.

“She said, ‘poor thing’,” Joey shrugged before poking Regan in the back. “I didn’t know you knew Italian.”

“Just a little,” Regan sighed, pushing the front door open. “My mom’s Italian. She’s the one who taught me how to prepare the fabulous meal you are going to have the pleasure of dining on this evening.”

They made their way into the front hallway as Dave shut the door behind them. Regan started for the kitchen when she caught sight of Justin out of the corner of her eye. He was lying on his stomach on the narrow strip of floor between the coffee table and the couch, looking through one of Bridget’s scrapbooks.

She smiled softly at the innocent and pensive expression on his face as he studied the pages before him. He hadn’t even noticed their entrance. She shook her head and continued into the kitchen to lay down her bags.

“Hey Justy, whatcha got there?” she heard Chris’s voice all but taught the poor kid.

Regan rolled her eyes and made her way back towards the living room. All the bags the boys had been carrying were abandoned on the floor and they all sat around the general area Justin had seemed so comfortable in moments before. Each had a volume in his lap as well as a mesmerized expression on his face.

“This is so cool,” Joey said awe-struck.

Regan giggled softly before moving towards the forgotten bags. “No, no guys. I’ll get them,” she quipped.

A collection of distracted “Uh huh”s and “Ok”s were offered with little or no recognition of her presence.

“Boys,” Regan scoffed as she hauled the heavy sacks into the kitchen. “I swear.”

A few hours later, the front door flew open letting a whirlwind of red curls and giggles loose on the house.

“Oh, god help us,” Regan sighed looking up from her preparations at the familiar sound. The little-girl noises that lit up the house ceased as fast as they’d began and Regan made her way to the living room wonder who or what had managed to silence the little girl. She almost burst out laughing as she saw Maeve staring, awe-struck at the five men sitting in her living room. The guys seemed just as unsure of what to do while Mike stood behind his daughter, clearly finding the scene as amusing as Regan.

“Hey, piglet, see something you like?” Regan laughed.

The little girl immediately ran over to her Aunt and buried her face in her legs. Regan bent down and picked her up, whispering in her ear, “I want you to meet some people, ok?” She walked over to the guys and smiled sympathetically. She tried to get Maeve to pick her head up off her shoulder and succeeded only partially. “Maeve, this is Joey,” Regan said beginning the introductions. Joey held his hand out, smiling sweetly as Mae tentatively offered her own.

“Hi, there sweetie,” he grinned.

“This is Lance,” Regan moved on, knowing all to well that Lance was her niece’s favorite. Maeve’s shy smile broadened considerably as Lance made his introductions. Regan took her through the rest of the boys, the little girl relaxing considerably. She reached Justin last and found herself to be almost as unsure as Mae had been moments before. She hoped her face didn’t reveal anything of the sort as she introduced Justin to the excited child in her arms.

But it did show and Justin picked up on it immediately. He chastised himself for having been the cause of her uncertainty. But now he didn’t know how to act around her. He didn’t want to do a complete 180 and make her think that maybe he was after something that he wasn’t. But he also didn’t want to remain so aloof and make her uncomfortable all week. He didn’t have time to ponder the problem too much because as soon as Maeve was relaxed with their presence, a din of conversation rose in the room as Mike and JC greeted one another and his own introductions were made.

Soon everyone was settled in the kitchen while Regan cooked and Mike pestered her. “Did I ask for backseat chef?” she asked, shrugging Mike off her shoulders where he’d been peering over and making suggestions.

“I’m just trying to help you out, there Julia Childe,” he defended himself, backing off a bit. “Don’t get all snippy.”

“Yeah well, just cus you do this professionally doesn’t mean I’m incompetent. I learned from the best, remember?”

“If you’re of the opinion that Mia was the best, then I guess that’s a valid point,” Mike rolled his eyes as he leaned back against the counter.

“Mia’s your mother?” Joey inquired, popping a sliced carrot in his mouth.

“Sure, biologically,” Mike confirmed.

“Bitter, bitter, bitter,” Regan shook her head. “You know you keep carrying around this deep rooted anger and you’ll die a young man, Michael.”

“You’d be bitter too if you had any sense, little girl,” Mike shot back. “That woman left you when you where four years old, pops in and out of your life when its convenient for her and you act like its normal.”

The room became heavy with tension as the five non-Costelloe’s shifted uncomfortably, feeling very out of place. There was definitely a story there but one they all knew was none of their business.

“I think we should drop this, Mike, you have guests,” Regan said, her voice low and serious.

“You’re right,” Mike said pushing himself off the counter. He made his way to the table where the rest of the guys were sitting. “Sorry, Regan has a tendency to drag me into these little spats.”

“Oh please,” Regan ground out. “Are you seriously trying to pin that indignant little diatribe on me?”

Mike was about to shoot back when everyone heard the front door open. “Hello?” a voice called out from the front hall.

“In here, hon!” Mike called back.

“Josh!!” Bridget exclaimed as her best friend came into view. JC immediately jumped up from his seat and gathered Bridget up into arms, lifting her up off the ground.

“You look incredible, Chicks,” JC said after putting her down and looking her over.

“The mind reels at how good the New York City school system is for a girl’s complexion,” Bridget kidded.

“Well, hello to you, too, love,” Mike teased his wife.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she cooed sitting down on his lap and giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Hey, I didn’t get a hello, either,” Joey spoke up. “Do I get that kinda treatment?”

“Joseph, my darling boy,” Bridget beamed. “How the hell are ya?”

“Can’t complain, you know,” he smiled.

After greeting everyone else, Bridget left the chatting boys and made her way over to where Regan was still working on her culinary masterpiece. Regan looked up and smiled the guilty smile that Bridget knew all to well.

“Bridg, about the phone number,” Regan started, “I’m really sorry but I think I know my body better than any doctor could and it’s going to snap out of this. I’m know it.”

“Regan, I’m not mad,” Bridget said gravely. “But I need to talk to you later on tonight, before you go home.”

“Uh oh, what about?” Regan replied, not liking the tone in Bridget’s voice. It wasn’t one she heard very often and she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it meant.

“We just have to talk, don’t worry about it right now,” Bridget tried her best to lighten her tone and demeanor. “Need any help?”

*For those of you who don't know, a radio station in New York, Z100 had the guys on and put a peice Justin's half-eaten French Taost on Ebay and some girl bought it for some ungodly amount of money. The guys denied it was Justin's and they gave the girl tix or something but Z100 has a pic on their website of JuJu eating french toast so who knows?

**For those of you who don't know what the 'Truffle Shuffle' is, GO TO BLOCKBUSTER, YOU POOR DEPRIVED CHILD!!! its from Goonies.

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