I crouched beside her.

"Dixie? You okay?"

"Do I look okay?" she asked, putting a b.l.o.o.d.y hand up. "I think you broke my dose!"

"Dose? Oh! Nose. I'm sure it's not broken. Injuries in the area of the head tend to bleed more," I parroted Patrick's earlier head-wound factoid.

"I feel so much better."

"Oh, my G.o.d! Dixie! Darling! Are you all right? What happened?" Frankie stood over his down-for-the-count beloved.

"She happened," Dixie pointed the b.l.o.o.d.y finger of blame in my direction. "That...that...psycho spiker caught me with her elbow."

I looked up at Frankie.

"It was an accident! It could happen to anybody! Frankie. Frankie?"

Faster than a fainting goat, and in less time than it took for Dixie to drop, Frankie keeled over.

"Frankie?" I crawled over to my cousin. Eyes closed, deathly pale and eerily still, Frankie looked like he was ready to have final rites said over him and be sucked out the air lock into deep, dark s.p.a.ce.

"Don't worry about him. He always dakes a swan dive when dere's blood involved," Dixie said.

I shook my head. An aspiring crime scene a.n.a.lyst who pa.s.sed out at the sight of blood? Dexter would be appalled.

"I thought Frankie only did that when it was his blood."

"It depends on the day," Dixie said.

I put a hand on Frankie's cheek. His eyes fluttered open.

"You gonna be okay, cous?" I asked.

He looked up at me.

"What happened?"

"You fainted, dude. Pa.s.sed out. Hit the deck. Down for the count. Had a case of the vapors. Swooned."

"He gets it!" Dixie snapped.

I helped Frankie to a sitting position.

"Feeling better?" I asked.

He nodded.

"A lot of people can't stand the sight of blood," I said, and patted his hand. "It's no biggie."

"Blood? What are you talking about? I didn't faint because of the blood. No. No. It was the heat. That's it. The heat. I didn't hydrate like I should. Plus, I haven't eaten since noon. You know how I get when I skip meals."

I raised an eyebrow. Methinks thou dost protesteth too mucheth.

I turned back to Dixie. Taylor had an arm around Dixie's shoulder's and a wad of tissues against her nose.

"Keelie and Kompany are gonna be out for your blood next. You dook out dere Red Queen." Dixie sounded like the wad of tissues was stuck up her nostrils.

I glanced over at the opposing team. Reality Roadshow team members formed a circle around their downed leader.

"I spiked the ball. That's all."

"Oh, doat even. I saw your face. You wanted to make her eat dat ball. 'dmit it."

"I beg to differ. I received a picture-perfect set shot from my sis here, and I executed a textbook spike. That's it. Taylor deserves the lion's share of the credit."

"Don't try to foist the blame for this on me, sis. Dixie's right. You wanted to make her eat that ball."

I stood.

"Hey. Wait a minute, missy," I said. "You're the one who wanted me to-what was that you said again? Oh, yes. 'Beat that b.i.a.t.c.h like a dirty saddle blanket.' And, if memory serves, it was you who insisted we accept this stupid volleyball challenge in the first place. Sounds like you're the one who has a problem with the Red Queen, not me."

Taylor got to her feet. "Well, forgive me for standing up for our home state," Taylor said.

"Home state? Get real, Taylor. This is all about you having the hots for Trooper P.D. Dawkins and wanting Keelie Keller to keep her Tinsel Town talons sheathed."

Taylor's face went from angry red to OMG white. Her gaze slid across the net. Mine followed.

Reality Red's real time cameras had shifted their focus from the wounded warrior queen to the squabbling, finger-pointing siblings across the way.

"Upload it!" That's how long it would take before the cyber world inhabitants discovered Taylor Turner had a thing for State Patrol Officer P. D. Dawkins.

"Oops!" I said.

"Oops? Oops! That's all you've got to say?" Taylor stared at me, her expression a curious blend of horror, embarra.s.sment, anger, and, I discovered with a sudden tightness in my throat, hurt. "How could you, Tressa? How could you?"

How could I? How could I not? I wasn't equipped for keeping secrets. It wasn't part of my DNA makeup. Was it my fault my particular gene pool was overpopulated with the blabbermouth gene?

"I'm sorry, Taylor. It just...popped out."

"Just popped out? Really, Tressa? Seriously?"

I shook my head.

"How long have you known me? And how long have I suffered from regular bouts of diarrhea of the mouth?" I asked. "Don't act like this occasion is so special, that you're so special. I don't discriminate. I'm an equal-opportunity-blurter."

"When are you going to stop blaming biology and start accepting responsibility for your actions, Tressa?" Taylor asked.

"I'm sorry I'm not perfect, like you, Taylor. The perfect baby. The perfect toddler. The perfect student. Perfect health. Perfect skin. Even your hair is perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Do you know how annoying your 'practically perfect in every way' gene pool is to the rest of us faulty and flawed specimens? Getting up early on a Sunday morning annoying. That's how annoying."

Taylor took a step back as if I'd hauled off and slapped her one. Creases marred her perfectly smooth forehead.

"You think I'm suffering under any illusions that I'm perfect?"

"See? That's what I'm talking about. Most people would say, 'You think I think I'm perfect?' But oh, no. Taylor Turner can't abide having two 'thinks' in the same sentence so she comes out with, 'You think I'm suffering any illusions that I'm perfect?' Who talks like that? Little Miss Perfect, that's who. Or is that whom?"

Toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye, phasers locked on target and set to stun, the Turner siblings "you blink first" stare-down commenced.

"Uh, if you could save the squabbling sister act for another time, I could use some ice on my dose," Dixie said.

Several more seconds pa.s.sed before our gazes slid to Dixie. Her Rudolph nose was beginning to swell.

"Is it just me or is she starting to resemble Barbara Streisand?" I asked Taylor.

She squinted at Dixie.

"I was thinking Sarah Jessica Parker," Taylor said.

"She needs ice. Stat." I held a hand out. "Truce while we set up a triage?" I said.

Taylor hesitated and then took my hand.

"Temporary truce," she qualified.

We helped Dixie to her feet. Frankie next.

I brushed sand off Frankie and hazarded a look at the opposition. Keelie was on her feet. Other than a bad case of 'sand head,' she looked no worse for the wear. She approached the net. I did the same.

"About that spike-" I started to apologize.

"We win. You lose," Keelie announced.

I frowned. "Hold on. We won control of the serve. So, technically you haven't won yet," I pointed out.

"You're conceding then," she said.

"Team Trekkie hasn't conceded anything."

"Team? What team?"

"Huh?" I turned. Only Kenny Grey seemed to have hung around. He sat in the middle of the court playing in the sand.

"Would you believe they transported back to The Enterprise?" I said. "Something about troubles with Tribbles."

The hint of a smile lifted one corner of her mouth. I figured now was as good a time as any to minimize the fallout from my blurt fest earlier.

"Uh, Keelie, about that video-"

"You mean the video where you betray your sister's confidence and reveal her super secret crush on the super s.e.xy Trooper Dawkins to the entire world?"

I grimaced. "That's the one."

"Sorry. All rights reserved."

"You have a sister, right?" I began.

"I'm an only child, Einstein. Jeesh. Don't reporters research anymore?"

Okay. Rewind and try again.

"If you had a sister, wouldn't you want to have a good relationship with her? Wouldn't you want to correct past...mistakes that might have led to bad feelings between you? Wouldn't you do just about anything to repair the damage you caused?"

Okay. I was a little "out there." Truth was, I did feel bad about divulging something my sister told me in confidence.

"How touching," Keelie said. "You know. I'm not totally without sympathy here. Maybe we can come to some arrangement that benefits both of us."

"Like what?"

"Like how about you quit TribRide. Right here. Right now. Walk away. Pack up and go home, and I'll consider hitting the delete b.u.t.ton on your sister's true confession."

"You want me to quit?" I asked, feeling suddenly queasy. "And what do you get?"

"Bragging rights, of course," Keelie said. "And the chance to kick back and enjoy the ride."

"From the luxury of your custom motor coach, I presume," I said.

"Of course, you silly goose."

In other words, she'd be the Belle of the Bike Ball, and I'd be relegated to the pages of Loser's Lore. And my raise? It would be sucked out an air lock like so much s.p.a.ce debris.

If I even had a job waiting if I bailed.

"Come on, Tressa. Think about your sister. Think about Taylor. Think how grateful she'll be for your sacrifice."

I did think about it. I thought long and hard. Quitting-giving up-didn't come easy for me. I'd never been a quitter, wasn't comfortable being the kind of person to wave the white flag or throw in the towel. To admit defeat.

But I loved my sister. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted us to have a close and lasting relationship based on mutual trust and respect.

And yes. I wanted world peace, too. But I'd settle for making peace with my little sister first.

I felt a crack in my resolve appear-like the teeny-tiny one snaking its way across my car windshield back home. Exhaustion ate away at my willpower. The only grit I had left was in the sand between my toes.

"Come on, Tressa," Keelie cajoled. "Quit TribRide now and the video is yours."

Going. Going- "Not interested."

I turned. Taylor stood behind my right shoulder.

"Excuse me?" Keelie said.