U-WRITE-IT RESULTS

"Let me ask you a question, Kaley," Kyle said, "Who's the one that wrote on my face in permanent marker, when I passed out last Thursday night?"

"What?"

"You answer first and if you don't lie to me, I'll tell you what's in the granola bars."

Kaley's eyes grew trgid with fear, "You didn't."

"Time's running out for you, roomie. Explosive diarrhea is nothing to joke about," Kyle said with a toothy grin. "And when camping, you have to plan things out. Know what I mean?"

Kaley grabbed the toilet paper, shovel and made a mad dash for the trees. 50 yards from the lake shore, making it to the trees was a longshot. The cramping became more intense with the rumbling inside her gut. She made it halfway to the sanctuary of the trees, before her body let go.

She would not write on Kyle's face again.

I had to laugh. Kaley was usually brimming with etiquette, never the sort to make mention of bodily functions, much less those associated with the digestive tract.

"It could have been a secret aphrodisiac," I said coyly. I glanced toward her sideways, trying to imagine myself as Cary Grant or Sean Connery, impossibly handsome and always possessing at my fingertips an endless supply of witticisms.

"Oh yeah?" Kaley asked, a side smile emerging. I knew that smile. I lived for that smile. Ever since we became laboratory partners as third years, I woke up with an enthusiasm that was often misconstrued as dedication and passion for my work. Work, in fact, was simple and overrated. Kaley Monroe was a difficult, complicated, sometimes-evil genius. She was far more intelligent than she gave herself credit for, playing down her IQ with pith and irony.

I knew the bar was past expiration.

"Really?" I smoothed the crumpled wrapper, scrutinizing it for magical ingredients.

"Right," she laughed, "just like this wine is gonna improve cleavage."

Ticked at being duped, I crumpled the wrapper into a ball, then winged it at her head. Kaley could eat circles around me but never gain an ounce. Just sniffing empty candy bar wrappers causes me to pile on the pounds.

"Hey, you're the one who wanted us to get into modeling. Quitcher whining." Reaching for the goblet, her miscalculation sent it shattering across the marble tabletop. A split second too late, Kaley grabbed not her glass, but a jagged shard.

A long red gash between her thumb and index finger gushed scarlet.

Shocked, Kaley s face drained of all color.

"I couldn't resist. Yep. And you're the one who wanted to be the hand model."

I said the first thing that popped into my head: "Violet Beauregard!"

"You read too many books," she spat. "Roald Dahl rots your brain."

I said the second thing that popped into my head: "New jeans?"

"Do these looks like jeans to you?" Pulling out the elastic waistband of her running shorts, she let it snap smartly back across blue skin.

Kaley didn't get my point.

"No. Not now. WERE you wearing new jeans?"

"Yes. But I got so sweaty walking around town I took them off when we got back. Don't you notice ANYTHING I do?" She sighed dramatically.

I left the room.

Returning, I handed over the sweaty jeans from the laundry basket. Leaching into the Made in China tag at the back of the waistband was more blue dye.

"No that is your diet screaming at you," Brenda said with disgust. "I am so tired of your dieting and complaining. What about me? I want food! I want chocolate ice cream with bananas, cool whip and chocolate syrup. There I said it! I know I am wickedly selfish."

"Have I told you how much I hate you?" Kaley was equally tired of her skinny sister's I'm-a-food-martyr act. Guilt didn't help the situation.

"Listen," Kaley added, "you get me a Diet Coke and I will get you some ice cream."

"I can't do that to you."

"Yes you can, so shut up and go get me a Diet Coke."

"When do I get the ice cream?" Brenda handed Kaley the Coke.

"When a snowball freezes in hell should be just about right!"

Brenda slammed the door on her way out.

"Your stomach is punching you in the kidneys," Rick said. "How can your stomach punch you anywhere? It has no hands!"

"Oh, you're so smart, aren't you? Well, smart guy, I'll go get x-rays and prove my stomach is punching me in the kidneys."

She was gone about two hours.

"Well?" Rick asked as Kaley came in and threw her purse on the couch.

"Okay, wise guy, you were right. My stomach wasn't punching me in the kidney."

Rick grinned. "Bow before my knowledge, brain slave."

"The doctor's said it was my liver that was beating up on my kidneys."