(A/N: This is a really, really weird idea. I have absolutely no idea where it came from. Oh well, enjoy anyway!)
Chapter One: Which She Ain't Never Studied!
"Coll-i-i-ins …" Maureen whined as she flopped down on his bed.
"Maur-ee-ee-n …" he imitated her, laughing.
She shot him a death glare. "I'm bored," she grumbled as she pulled her legs underneath her. "Why don't you ever have any hot, available, straight guys here for me to play with?"
"Because the hot, available, guys would be useless to me if they were straight," Collins pointed out, collapsing into his computer chair.
"Oh. Right."
"Yeah …"
It was just another normal Saturday at the Collins household. Maureen had clambered in from the tree that separated their houses right after she had woken up (at 1 PM, to be precise.) After eating three helpings of his mother's pancakes, she was now taking over Collins' room, munching on his secret stash of potato chips and throwing herself about dramatically.
Collins smiled. As much as she pissed him off, he loved Maureen. Sure, she was self-centered and bitchy and slutty, but she had a soft spot hidden beneath her shapely exterior. Whenever she did something particularly selfish, he always looked back and remembered all the times she had held him through the night, drying the tears over his sexual preference and cracking feeble jokes to make him laugh. They had been best friends ever since first grade, when Collins had asked for a Cheez-Doodle and Maureen had shouted "No!" before throwing the whole bag in his face.
"So …" Maureen diverted his attention back to herself, a tactic she was very good at. "What do you want to do?"
"Well …" Collins got up to look out the window. "This is Hicksville, the land of opportunity. We could try out for the cheerleading squad, or get an internship at the General Store, or interview Mrs. McConnelley about the latest town gossip," he said with a smirk.
Maureen made a face. "To be honest, none of that sounds really appea –" She broke off, staring at his screen-saver. Collins glanced at her, alarmed. It was unusual for Maureen to be quiet for such a long period of time.
"Mo? You okay?" he asked nervously.
"OHMIGOD!" she squealed, running over to his desk. "I know that guy! Its that guy, the guy with the funny voice …. what's his name … Steve Something?"
"Stephen Hawkings?" Collins offered.
"Yeah!" Maureen smiled triumphantly. She poked his picture on Collins' screen. "Y'know … I always thought it would be sorta cool to have one of those voice things …"
"Oh yeah … vocordors are all the rage nowadays … didn't you know?"
She spared him another withering look. "Shut up. They just make your voice sound cool and stuff … a fabulous tool for an actress."
"You don't like your own voice?" Collins asked, incredulous. He could see the headline now: Contrary to popular belief, Maureen Johnson does not like the sound of her own voice! Could her constant talking be instead a symptom of an undiagnosed mental disease? More updates to follow.
However, Maureen laughed. "No, silly! I wouldn't use it all the time … just when I wanted to say something cool!"
"Like what?" He was along for the ride now, the only audience member in The Show That is Maureen.
"Like …" she struggled for a few moments. Then, her face brightened. "Well, we were learning these Native American tribal chants in Social Studies the other day! That would sound cool!"
"You were paying attention in class? You? Maureen Johnson?" He leaped up, grinning manically, and threw open his window, shouting for the entire world to hear. "Hey! Stop the presses! Maureen Johnson was paying attention in class! You can bump your story on the Tomatoes Contest to page three! I tell you, this is – OW!" He rubbed his arm where the eraser had hit him. "Jeez, Mo, relax!"
"If you must know, Johnny Fischer was passing me a note, and it landed on the spot in the textbook about the chants. It looked cool, so I read it," she snapped. Collins held up his hands in defense.
"Okay … if you say so," he muttered, returning to his chair. Maureen pressed on.
"But seriously! Wouldn't that sound cool?" She lowered her voice to a low buzz. "We are grateful, O Mother Earth, for the mountains and streams where the deer, by command of your breath of life, shall wander. Wishing for you the fullness of life, we shall go forth prayerfully upon the trails of our Earth Mother." She paused for a second. "That would sound even cooler backwards! Mother Earth our of trails the upon prayerfully forth –" She broke off, giggling.
Collins laughed. It did sound pretty cool, he had to admit. "Bravo!" he applauded.
Maureen gave an over-dramatic bow. "Thank you, thank you, good people! I'll be here 'till next Tuesday!"
"But Mo," Collins said innocently, "won't you have to incorporate your cello into that?"
Maureen whirled around, glaring. The cello was a touchy subject with her. Her parents were forcing her to take it as "credentials for collage" (little did they know that Collins and Maureen planned on splitting for New York City as soon as school was over). She had fought them every step of the way, snapping her bow hairs, burning her music, pulling outrageous antics that made tutor after tutor quit.
"I told you, the agreed-upon statement was that I never studied it, and never will study it!" she growled through gritted teeth.
Collins chuckled. "Okay then … I guess the billing would have to be 'Maureen Johnson, performing Native American tribal chants backwards, through her vocordor, while accompanying herself on the cello. Which," he added hastily as Maureen started toward him, murder in her eye, "she ain't never studied."
Maureen paused, cocked her head, and finally laughed. "That sounds awesome!" she snorted.
"You should make it electric cello," Collins offered. "It sounds more 'indie'."
"Okay. So." Maureen centered herself in the room. "Maureen Johnson, performing Native American tribal chants backwards through her vocordor while accompanying herself on the electric cello – which she ain't ever studied," she rattled off, winking as she added Collins' accent. Then, with grim seriousness, Maureen bent her legs and began chanting backwards in the deep monotone, occasionally adding squeaks though the side of her mouth that were to represent her cello expertise.
Collins cracked up. It was hysterical.
Maureen beamed at him. She loved making people laugh – it made her feel important. Collins applauded as she curtsied and collapsed onto his bed. Sighing, he flopped down on the bed next to her. Out of habit, she snuggles into his wide chest. He ran his fingers through he dark hair. For a while, they were both content just to stay like that, just knowing they had each other.
---------------------------------------------------
Collins clambered onto the table at the Life Café. "In honor of the death of Bohemia, an impromptu salon will commence immediately following dinner... Maureen Johnson, just back from her spectacular one-night engagement at the eleventh street lot, will perform Native American tribal chants backwards through her vocodor, while accompanying herself on the electric cello." He paused, meeting her eyes. "Which," he added, a grin spreading across his face, "she ain't never studied."
Maureen beamed back at him. Through all the years, no matter what curveballs life threw at them, what would happen in the near future, they still had each other … and that was all that mattered.
(A/N: Aww! I love writing Mo and Collins friendship .. they're just the best together. Next up: The Lawn Chair Handcuff Dance!)