Fashion/Style by Liza Van Horne

So poor, sad, flowerless Chloe sat around waiting for the judge, playing scissors-paper-rock with herself and telling Cane sad tales of how her favorite stuffed giraffe was discarded by her clueless mother during the unexpected makeover of her childhood bedroom - none of which ever happened, because she's really Kate Valentine, which means she was shipped off to boarding school the minute her afterbirth was cleared away and hasn't been heard from since. Still, it was a touching story, prompting Cane to begrudgingly offer the admission that he'd had a beloved stuffed kangaroo to keep him company all those desolate nights in the Outback when he was being benignly neglected by his well-meaning but incapable uncle. Will the bond of being comforted by shabby stuffed animals be enough to draw these stubborn kids together? No. It won't.

While Cane and Chloe were exchanging "I Do's" - which no doubt consisted of a LOT of muttered asides, as in "I Do - think it's great that you have a ton of money" and "I Do - wish you would drop dead, you wretched little harpy" - across town, it was party central at the Campus Rumpus Room occupied by Devon and Lily. At least, I THINK Lily still lives there. I'm not entirely sure. People move in and out of that joint so frequently that I swear to God you need a dry-erase board up front to clarify who's in on this month's rent and who isn't. "Lily - crashed here from the 12th through the 22nd and again from the 26th through the 29th - you owe $395 plus you drank my last three Diet Pepsi Jazz Black Cherry French Vanillas so PLEASE REPLACE THEM!!! (frowny face) --DEVON."

What was the party all about? Well, somebody finally sat Sister It down and explained to her that when a benevolent old rich lady offers to send your broke ass to music school, YOU SAY YES. She's leaving! She's really leaving! Hell, I'd throw a party myself if I actually thought this would last, but I doubt it. I can only hope when It returns, she's SORAS-ed to the age of 25 and also has had a terrible accident in which her vocal cords were tragically severed. She and Devon could sign together! Why, that was such fun the first time around, back when he was deaf for what felt like about twenty years. Yes, I fondly recall the days when various characters would type their dialog on their laptops while also shouting the words at the top of their lungs, and Devon would skulk around with a permanent scowl on his face, angrily hollering "WHAT? WHAT?!" That was some compelling drama, right there.

At this party, comprised entirely of adults except for the guest of honor (who is 11 or 12 years old depending upon which writer couldn't be bothered to look it up on any given day) Lily was wearing a sundress - made out of a red plaid picnic cloth - which had thin straps, two pig patch pockets in front, a voluminous skirt with a billowing flounced hem. For some reason, almost as an afterthought, she'd thrown a skinny brown leather belt around her waist. Hmm. If you want to emphasize your waist and show that it can be cinched-in really tiny, I guess it might make more sense to WEAR SOMETHING THAT ISN'T THE SIZE OF A CAR COVER. My God, these young women are drowning their lithe little figures in umpteen yards of fabric and I'm over here going "Hi! See that thing you call a 'waist'? It might turn out to be temporary! I wouldn't chance it if I were you! Wear the fitted clothes now, girls! I am speaking to you from your fuuuuutuuuurrre!" Man, nobody likes a cautionary tale, do they?!

Speaking of cautionary tales, I don't think shuffling along the Mexican coastline in sweat-drenched jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt with no hat to shield your eyes from the sun, let alone any sunblock - unless the bartender's daughter skipped into town to buy some for you - was really the best idea. Especially when the guy you're looking for told you, last time you spoke, that he'd love to see you stretched out on a slab in the morgue. Poor exhausted Nikki finally collapsed in a heap, shrieking for Victor all the while, and was rewarded for her diligence by the sudden appearance of a pair of black hiking boots, attached to the jeans-clad legs, black T-shirted torso and baseball capped-head of the one she so desperately sought. But wait! I really, really thought he was dead, didn't you? For reals, this time? I mean - they read the WILL and everything... aw, shit. We've been had. AGAIN.

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