Author's note: okay, these require some explanation. see, thesepeopleareus and i started writing these more as a game than anything else. in essence, we took my story Oh, Lovely and wrote what is in essence an alternate year. some of the scenes, such as this one, could have happened in my real story, but many of them are too exaggerated or just don't fit right with the plot. so we're calling them deleted scenes. you don't have to have read what i have of my real story to understand these. at least, i don't think you have to. all you really need to know is this: it's a high school fic with all the akatsuki. erin is our OC. (she's actually thesepeopleareus, but it's fun to write her anyway.)
Disclaimer: consider yourselves disclaimed.
Warning: there will be some VERY OOC moments, i think, and erin is sort of the beginning of a mary-sue. i'm trying not to, but she's that kind of person. please don't take any of this seriously. it's the closest thing to crack fic i've ever written, and i love it to death.
now read on...
--kyra

I glare

Sasori looked up as Zetsu sat across from him and smiled slightly. "I saw your friend today." Itachi grimaced inwardly, knowing exactly which 'friend' Sasori was referring to.

Zetsu wasn't as quick on the uptake. "Who?"

"Erin. You know, the girl in chemistry yesterday."

Zetsu nodded, his face showing only the slightest trace of either embarrassment or excitement at the news. Itachi glanced away in disgust. Really, it was pathetic how quickly Zetsu had become attached to the wretched creature.

"She's in our Psyche class."

"'Our' class?" Kisame leaned forward as Pein, the last of the group, joined them. "Who else is there?"

Sasori nodded at Itachi, who did not deign to look in his direction. Kisame turned to look at his friend. "You're taking Psychology?!"

Itachi nodded slightly, trying to tell his friend to shut the hell up now. "Why do you seem so surprised?"

"It's just… you? You could write the whole textbook if you wanted to!" Everyone winced except Itachi and Kisame, Kisame because he did not yet understand the full impact of his social faux pas, and Itachi because he didn't do that kind of thing.

Instead, he grimaced, standing. "Thank you so much," he replied. It was hard having to say these things to Kisame. Kisame was supposed to be his friend, his ally, his loyal follower. Kisame wasn't supposed to taunt him like this. It wasn't right. "I love having my nose rubbed in my issues first thing each day. I shall come back tomorrow for another dose of your miracle medicine. Until then, goodbye." Glowering, he stalked away from the table, half hoping that Kisame would follow him spouting trembling apologies so that Itachi could kick him down again and thereby improve his own tumbling moral. Kisame was good for that. It was like having an overly affectionate puppy which took as many kicks as you could give it and still came back for more, hoping that this time it would get a 'good dog' instead.

He didn't come. Itachi's scowl deepened into an expression almost visible to those not part of the intimate circle he chose to think of as friends.

The librarian nodded at him as he entered, and he nodded back. It wasn't that she actually liked him much – nobody really liked Itachi, he'd found – but he respected the sanctity of the library and didn't try to play games when he should have been doing homework, so she left him alone. It worked well for both of them.

He headed towards his favorite table, the one right in the back, intending to dive into his physics homework as a stress reliever. Suddenly, he stumbled slightly, his shock momentarily overriding his sense of balance. He righted himself quickly, looking around covertly to make sure no one had seen. Once assured that his reputation remained intact, he turned his attention towards the event which had caused the stumble in the first place: his table was occupied by someone else. This had never happened to him before. School had only been in session for a few days, and already everyone had learned to respect his space and not get in his way. So who was this person who dared ignore that unwritten rule and sit herself at his table. Wait. Her. Oh crap.

He stared in horror as Erin lifted her head from the infernal notebook and eyed him oddly. "Are you waiting for a personal invitation to sit down?" she demanded, her whisper carrying easily across the few feet separating them.

"That's my table." Surely she would realize her mistake and leave, looking fearfully up at him as she scurried away, praying to whichever deity she chose to believe in that he would be merciful. It was the usual reaction. It wasn't hers.

"It doesn't have your name on it."

When had he gone back to elementary school? Who other than a six year old spouted out such things?

"That's my table." Perhaps she hadn't quite understood the implications of the statement.

She sighed and met his eyes face on. "No, it's not. It's public property belonging to the school district placed here for all students to use as they wish and according to their individual need."

He'd try one more time. "No, you don't understand. You're at my table."

She eyed him oddly. "You do realize that you're beginning to repeat yourself, don't you?"

"You haven't moved."

"And I won't either."

Itachi frowned slightly, though he doubted she managed to detect any change from his usual apathy.

She didn't move. "I believe we've come to an impasse. May I suggest that we compromise like the young adults they believe us to be?"

He didn't respond, still trying to match this sudden maturity with her earlier childishness.

"I propose this: I carry a roll of duct tape with me. We can divide this table in half and write your name on your half. That way, you are alone at your part of the table, and I am free to continue my writing in peace. Is that an acceptable solution?"

Itachi latched onto the most immediately comprehensible part of the speech. "Why do you carry duct tape around with you?"

She shrugged. "You never know when it might come in handy. So, is it acceptable, or do you have something better?"

He suddenly realized that he in danger of losing some of his hard gained reputation. He couldn't afford to compromise. "You could move."

She sighed theatrically. "You just don't understand the meaning of 'compromise,' do you?"

"The word has been known to cross my lips," he said stiffly, "but I consider it one of those words which apply to others."

She shook her head. "Then you will fail at life."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Everyone has to compromise."

He stared at her, wondering what she was trying to say. Surely she wasn't suggesting that he compromise… was she?

She was. Her impish expression didn't change as she waited for his answer, but he could just sense the glee she felt at the prospect of forcing him to cooperate with her.

Something in him, habitually stretched to breaking point anyway, snapped. "No."

She looked up, astonishment lining her face as though she'd never even considered that reply.

"No?"

He shook his head briskly. "No. You are at my table, and so you will find that I am in charge of the situation." This was more like it! Now he knew where he stood.

Unfortunately, she hadn't figured this out yet. "I thought we'd been through this already? Must I say it all again?"

He didn't answer, adjusting his glare to 'High'.

She sighed. "If you insist…" She took a deep breath. "This table is public property belonging to the school…"

"I know what you said," he snapped, then stopped in something akin to horror. Had he just snapped at her? Him, Itachi Uchiha, snapping at someone?! Was the world coming to an end or something? Or was she just some foreign witch person in disguise, sent to torment him into submission? Well, it wouldn't happen. He refused to be tortured into submission. He was Itachi, and no one got the better of Itachi.

Oblivious to his internal turmoil, Erin bent back down to the notebook and began scribbling again. Itachi stared at her, this time careful to keep his shock hidden. She was… ignoring him! To his knowledge, that had never happened to him before!

Making a decision, he set his books down on the table with a decisive 'thump' and sat down opposite from her. She didn't look up, but her free hand made its way down into her backpack and came back with a thick roll of silver duct tape, which it handed to him.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Divide the table in half," she replied, not once lifting her eyes from the once blank page of the notebook.

He started to scowl, then caught himself and didn't. Instead, he put the duct tape in his own backpack and opened his AP Algebra book, laying it conspicuously on the table so that she would know just what kind of person she was dealing with. The spiral notebook came out next, perfectly organized and filled with notes in his flawless handwriting. He'd won the best handwriting competition in his class every year since kindergarten, and he wanted her to know it. He began doing his problems as showily as possible, willing her to look up and see the level he was at.

She didn't.

He continued, wondering how long he would be able to keep doing this. Finally, when she didn't appear to be about to notice, he asked, in that whisper which is designed to make the other person think that they aren't supposed to overhear, "This Ap Algebra is far too simple."

That elicited a reaction, thankfully. She glanced up, took in his material, and shrugged. "I agree. I'm in Honors Geometry this year. I could have taken Algebra, but I decided I wanted to be challenged at least once during the day." She looked back down as she finished, apparently not concerned about whether or not she got a response.

"Indeed. I fully understand your sentiment."

Once again, she raised her eyes, but this time they were filled with incredulity.

"Did you really just use the word 'sentiment'?!"

"What of it? It is a perfectly acceptable word, and one which can be found in any dictionary you care to pick up."

She shook her head. "That doesn't mean that people actually use it, you know."

"Oh? And why not, pray tell?"

She seemed torn between staring at him in appalled disbelief or bursting out into gales of furious laughter. Neither were the desired result. "Okay, I see what the problem is here. You are in dire need of a wonderful new form of medicine. You may have heard of it: it's called a Life."

"I know not this 'Life' of which you speak."

"I guessed as much, thanks. What do you do for fun, anyway? Or do you know not that concept either?"

"Fun?"

"Yes, fun. You know, that which is not work?"

He considered this for a moment. That which was not work… what was the point of that?! If you weren't going to work, then why were you bothering?

"I do not do 'fun.'"

She shook her head in disgust. "That's really sad. You know that, right?"

He didn't deign to dignify this folly with a response.

She took a deep breath. "Okay, let's do this the hard way. What do you do when you get home from school?"

"Homework."

"And when you're done with your homework?"

"Extra credit work."

"Why? If anyone doesn't need extra credit, it's you."

"It is assigned. I do all assigned work."

"No, it's suggested. There's a difference. Anyway, moving on. When you're done with your extra credit work, what do you do?"

"I study."

"And when there's nothing to study for?"

"There is always something to study for."

She sighed. "I suppose you could see it that way. But when you have completed all conceivable schoolwork, what do you do?"

This took some thought. He did torment Sasuke, but that hardly counted. Besides, he got the feeling she wouldn't want to hear something like that. Not that he cared what she thought, of course! He didn't. But he didn't mention Sasuke.

She was still waiting for him to speak, and he knew that, if he didn't, he would lose. And he refused to lose. "I glare."

This time she did burst out laughing, but it was the hushed, half strangled laugh of someone who is in a library and knows they shouldn't be erupting into gales of hilarity.

"You… you glare?" she managed through spasms of laughter.

"I practice in the mirror," he retorted, telling himself that he didn't feel hurt at all.

She sensed this, and calmed herself with some difficulty. "To each their own, I suppose. At least it's not schoolwork."

He nodded stiffly, wondering if she would deign to leave him alone yet.

She didn't.

"Anything else? Do you read books that aren't assigned, or play sports, or watch TV? Anything?"

Finally, a question he could answer! "I watch TV," he affirmed.

"Really?"

"Indeed."

"What do you watch?"

"The discovery channel," he answered triumphantly.

She wasn't as good at stifling her laughter that time, and the head librarian came over to reprimand them.

"Sorry," Erin said, faking shame quite convincingly. "Itachi was telling me all about how he went demon hunting during his summer vacation and tried to capture his brother's best friend to exorcise the demon from him."

The head librarian looked at her disapprovingly, then turned to Itachi. "I trust you will not let this happen again."

She swooped away before Itachi could protest against the general unfairness of the entire situation. He turned to Erin instead. She'd stopped laughing now, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't take much to set her off once more. He decided not to say anything.

She finally got a hold of herself and seemed about to calm down completely. He risked a question. "How did you know I have a brother?"

She shrugged. "I didn't, actually. It was a lucky guess."

"Oh."

There was once more silence in the library… at least, there was silence in their particular corner of the library, broken only by the renewed scratching sounds made by Erin's mechanical pencil.

Finally, just as Itachi was once more settling into his Algebra, she remarked, "Does the name 'Paris Hilton' mean anything to you?"

He looked up in irritation, for once not afraid to let it show. She, damn her, was still buried in her notebook and didn't even notice. "Should it?"

She shrugged again. "Yes. But I didn't really think you'd know. And since I don't feel like giving you her biography, you can either live without knowing or go look it up yourself. I believe she has quite a lengthy Wikipedia page."

Itachi's pencil shuddered to a halt as he considered the horror that was Wikipedia. "If you think for even one moment that I would even consider consulting Wikipedia, then…"

"Jeez, calm down! I momentarily forgot that you weren't like the rest of us mortals. I won't make that mistake again, nor will I mention the word 'Wikipedia.' Satisfied?"

He was, but he had a sinking suspicion that she wasn't being entirely serious, though nothing in either her tone or her demeanor was anything other than truly serious and contrite. "I am."

"Good." She turned back to her notebook again, and he looked down at his Algebra problems, realizing too late that he was finished. Apparently his pencil had kept moving across the page while he and Erin were engaging in philosophical discussions. Now what did he do? He pulled out his assignment notebook, searching for stray pieces of extra credit he hadn't done yet. There didn't appear to be any.

"No homework?"

He scowled again, and again she didn't look up to acknowledge it. "Not for the time being, no."

She didn't flash him a triumphant grin, but he could see it on her face anyway, and he knew as well as she did that she wished she had. In many ways, it was more effective than if she'd actually just gone ahead and grinned.

He closed his Algebra book, picturing, for a single, blissful moment, the idea of slamming it down on her unsuspecting skull. Then reason reasserted itself and he realized that it was unfeasible: if anything, he shouldn't draw any more attention to himself in this library today. Later then.

He contemplated standing and leaving, but that seemed too much like surrender. Instead, he fished out the book they were reading for English class – the one he'd already read all the way through twice and written two essays on, though neither one was due for weeks yet – and flipped to a random spot in the middle, amusing himself for .32 seconds trying to figure out where he was.

"Okay, so how many times have you read that?" Her voice shook him out of his concentration yet again, and he looked up, ready to murder her right then and there with the unsuspecting paperback. A hardback would have been better, but he had to work with what he had.

"Twice," he ground out.

She sighed. "That's just depressing. You do realize that no one reads school books more than they have to, don't you?"

"Do you realize that I could care less about what no one does?" he spat back, too furious to even attempt to control his emotions.

She shrugged. "I suppose. But still, you could at least pretend."

This was too ludicrous for even a scowl. Instead, he gave it the response it deserved: a proper sneer. She acknowledged it with the faintest sketch of a shrug.

"I'm being serious. You can't go through life like this. You'll give yourself a heart attack before you turn 40. Didn't you learn about Type A people in Psychology yet?"

They hadn't covered that lesson yet, but that didn't matter. He'd already read the textbook. Unfortunately, judging from her apathetically smug expression, she had too. "Of course. I fail to see what that has to do with me."

Her eyes widened. "You didn't notice? You're the ideal example of a Type A person." She began ticking off signs on her fingers. "Workaholic, competitive, strongly achievement-orientated, impatient with others, not a people person, wants to be in charge… What don't you have?"

He didn't answer.

She sighed. "Look, let me tell you something: to get through in the world, you need to at least pretend to care. Is that too much to ask?"

He grimaced. "I fail to see how my doing things which do not come naturally to me will aid me in this world. Furthermore, I also fail to see how continuing this pointless and irritating conversation will aid either of us in the long run. So, as I see it, this conversation is finished, and you will oblige me by remaining silent."

She scowled. "I will do no such thing," she snapped. "You can 'remain silent' if you want, but you can't keep me from talking!"

He didn't answer, hoping she'd get the message. She didn't.

"And, since you won't answer me, I'll give you some free advice. You need a life. It doesn't matter what kind of life you get, just that you get one. You can't go through life like this. You'll never make it. You'll be one of those people whose entire lives are invested in their career and who don't have time for a family or friends, and who drink themselves to death if they ever get too old to work, and who take stimulants when they get old to keep working as much as they did when they were just out of college. Does that sound like an appealing life choice?"

He still didn't answer.

"So, as I say, you need a life. It doesn't have to be a social butterfly life, if you don't want to work that hard. You could pick the kind I did." She gestured to the notebook. "Though, quite frankly, I can't see you going to starving and slave-driven writer way. I could be wrong, of course. You might have a hidden genius for writing Shakespeare-style plays that no one knows about. But I must say, I really do doubt that."

His mouth remained an obstinately closed line, but his hands were itching to take up the Algebra book once more. It was heavy. He should be able to knock her out without making too much noise.

"'Cause the way you are now, you're just a robot in human form. An android." She paused, considering this idea. "You know, I like that. Android. Andi! So, Andi, what do you think of my proposition? Will you be willing to step out of your comfort bubble and acquire a life?"

He'd finally heard enough. He stood, shoving the chair back so violently that he was amazed it didn't fall backwards. He gathered his books and shoved them neatly into his backpack, his face fighting between its habitual expressionless mask and the raging fury he felt growing steadily inside me.

"Leaving already Andi? But you haven't answered my question yet, Andi!"

He whirled to face her, backpack raised and ready. "My. Name. Is. Not. Andi!" he hissed. "You will not call me that, understood."

"Sure Andi."

Did she want to die? She didn't seem the suicidal type, but who knew? She could be and he'd never realize. The backpack began inching down, gaining speed as it went.

And then the head librarian appeared once more, her vulture-like face glowering at him. "Out!" she screeched. Itachi had never realized that it was possible to screech in a whisper, but it was. The head vulture was apparently an adept. "I have had enough! It's clear you two aren't doing any work here, and you're only distracting other students. Leave, now!"

Itachi stared at her, his face frozen into a mask of shock. He was getting kicked out. He was getting kicked out. He was getting kicked out! The emotional dial in his brain went from 'murderous' to 'mortified,' and he turned all his rage on Erin. This was her fault! If she hadn't been there, none of this would have happened, and his reputation would still be intact.

The last shreds of self preservation leapt into the forefront of his mind, showing him the consequences of killing her in the presence of the head vulture. No, he had to wait. He hated it, but it was necessary. He lowered the backpack down towards the table and then slung it over his shoulders, heading towards the door. Erin followed, looking only slightly horrified than he felt. Maybe there was something she didn't like. He would remember that.

They parted at the door to the library, both glaring at each other. His glare was better. She was just an amateur. He practiced in the mirror.

She held a hand out. "I want my duct tape back." Her voice was cold, very different from the cheery tones she'd graced him with earlier.

He'd almost forgotten that. He fished it out and gave it to her, then regretted it and wished he'd help it hostage. Too late now. He'd know better next time.

"Oh, and next time you seek me out? Don't do it in the library. I don't like making them mad, and I want to go back. Got it?"

Before he could protest that he'd never sought her out, and he didn't want to, and, anyway, he didn't want to make them mad either, she was gone, vanishing around a corner before he could formulate even the first word of his sentence.

"Where did you go?" Kisame demanded, catching up with him on his way back to the cafeteria.

"Library."

"Oh?"

"And I got nothing done!"

"Why not?"

"I was… distracted." It was hard to admit to that, but it was true. The Algebra didn't count. He didn't need to concentrate for that. But, if she hadn't been there, he could have put in a good half hour of studying. Now, he was behind, and he would have to do double tomorrow. And tonight. He growled at the thought.

"By what?" Kisame was clearly curious. Itachi didn't blame him… really. He couldn't help his curiosity; it was one of those annoying habits that Itachi hadn't managed to train him out of yet.

"Girl."

Wrong thing to say. Kisame glanced at Sasori, – whose presence Itachi hadn't noted before – both of their expressions filled with silent horror.

"Irritation." They should have known better than to think like that. They were worse than Hidan!

Kisame let out his breath. "Oh. That's a relief."

Itachi glared. It was not a relief. It was an annoyance and annoyances were not to be tolerated.

"Who was it?" Kisame asked, his stance and tone indicating that whoever it was had very little time left to live. He was already fingering his inside pocket, which contained the wickedly sharp pocket knife which he kept on him at all times. Itachi felt some of his irritation towards the tall boy dissolve. Yes, Kisame would be on his side. He could count on Kisame.

"The girl in psychology." Sasori's eyes widened and, damn him, started to fill with cautious amusement.

"Erin? What did she do?"

Itachi didn't reply. Kisame glanced at Sasori. "Who?"

Sasori shrugged. "She's in our psychology class. She also has Chem with me and Zetsu."

"Oh, the one he's talking to?"

Sasori nodded. Itachi glanced at him. "Zetsu likes her?" The entire concept of anyone liking Erin was foreign and probably toxic. Zetsu clearly needed medical attention. Maybe he should have been in Psychology, not Sasori.

Sasori nodded again. "I think he likes her. Or the voice does. I'm not sure which. They argued about it all period yesterday."

Kisame snorted. "This'll be fun. Has he ever actually talked to a girl?"

"He has now. They had almost a whole conversation yesterday. Besides, there's Konan."

"How much do Zetsu and Konan talk?"

Sasori considered it. "I don't believe they do," he said finally.

"See?"

Itachi growled. They were completely missing the point. Erin could not be allowed to continue. Something had to be done.

Kisame turned back to him. "What do you expect me to say? You met a girl, you argued with her, and you lost. Nothing'll change that, and the only way you'll get over it is to go terrorize your brother and his friends."

"A temporary solution. No, this girl must be neutralized, and at once."

Sasori raised his eyebrows. "'Neutralized?' A little harsh, don't you think? What are you going to do, beat her to death with a textbook?" He glanced at Itachi's textbooks. "Come to think of it, that might actually work. Though Zetsu wouldn't be pleased."

Kisame glowered at Sasori, while Itachi wondered for a split second whether Sasori had suddenly became a mind reader. Before he could decide, Sasori shrugged. "He shrugged. "I don't know about you, but I'm off. See you guys tomorrow." He left the cafeteria, heading for his locker.

Itachi and Kisame were left alone. They said nothing for a few moments. Finally, Kisame asked, "Erin, is she sort of medium height with blond hair? Wears weird jewelry and carries a notebook around with her all the time?"

Itachi nodded stiffly.

Kisame's grin turned feral. "You know, I do believe I have life sports with her…"

Author's note 2: i don't usually do these, but i just remembered something: these are not really in chronological order. they start out that way since lots are already written, but after i post everything i have, i'll post them as we write them. i will include a timeline, don't worry. but i just thought i'd warn you.
Coming soon to a story near you: I scoff.