It was a fierce assembly, no doubt about that. The row of city officials were lined up perfectly. Sitting tall and practically immobile in their chairs, they somehow reminded Kit tossing balls. More specifically, the lot of them resembled the clown targets from Down the Clown, Kit's favourite game at the traveling Midway that hit town at the end of summer. Although, these folks seemed more sinister and serious. The fun fair clowns seemed creepily willing to go along with getting battered in the face. Kit surmised that if she so much as threw a veiled insult in their direction that the city counselors would have her thrown out of the room faster than you could say "Deep shit!"

Kit nervously glanced over at the bailiff who was guarding the door. He was tall, broad shouldered, and painted a menacing picture. His piercing blue gaze was reminiscent of Roy Batty in Blade Runner, but his wrinkled skin more closely resembled that Khan. Not that Kit wanted to ever confess having seen Star Trek II: The Revenge of Khan more than once. Closeted Trekkie that she may be, Kit knew better than to imagine beaming away from this situation. Nope, Spock was not about to appear and save her using a Vulcan nerve pinch. Nor was the baliff going to open his mouth and exclaim "Ohhh-kay!" like Bull Shannon in Night Court to break the tension.

Taking a deep breath, Kit steadied her nerves. She never expected to have been placed such a serious situation. Futhermore, she didn't want to be stuck in the middle of the ugliness. And now having all eyes on her, she felt downright miserable. Sick with worry and self-doubt, and seriously frustrated. It was grody to the max!

Kit never imagined the ups and downs of this summer would culminate in something so heavy. Everything started out so innocently. One small prank here, one small prank there. Yet, things had gotten out of hand, and now someone's livelihood was at risk. All because of Zayn!

The thought of that slick-haired sleeze-o-rama and his preppy bimbettes made Kit's blood boil. She could practically feel the capillaries in her eyeballs wanting to pop! God, if I only possessed Charlie McGee's pyrokenesis, Kit thought, I would have incinerated those pest long before we got to this point! But instead, Kit was here, testifying to the city on behalf of her friend.

Kit glanced down at her cue cards. Tears pricked her eyelids, threatening to blur her vision. She felt as nervous as Ren McCormack facing the Reverend. And I'm asking for a whole lot more than a stupid, god-forsaken dance! she pondered ruefully. Kit shuffled the cards nervously. The kids at the pool had forced her to write her notes in berry-scented purple ink for good luck. But not even that, nor the rainbow coloured Lisa Frank unicorn stickers, could cheer her up. Kit's hands trembled. She hoped with every fiber of her being that her words would be enough to salvage the wreckage.

I'm a damn lifeguard, Kit thought. You would think I know how to handle getting in over my head. Where's Mrs. Garrett when you need her? I could use a cup of cocoa and a pep talk!

One of the counselors cleared his throat loudly, pulling Kit from her introspection. She licked her lips and looked around the room one last time. Everybody was there to encourage her. Her mother and father, Lou Teasdale, Gemma and Perrie. They were all grinning at her encouragingly; urging her to go on. She smiled wanly back at them. But Kit's surveillance of the crowd ended there. She couldn't bring herself to look over at the last two people sitting on the bench. Her boys.

It was their gazes that Kit could feel the most. One set of green eyes and one set blue, both intently watching her. Although Kit could not force herself to return the stares, she knew they had her back. It was this though that finally staunched the nerves she had been fighting.

Then Kit licked her lips, and started to speak.