AK: Me again. And it's another Blossom and Brick Fanfiction. Don't judge.

-Brick-

Blossom's low heeled boots clicked on the hallway floor as she passed me. Always invisible to the smart beauty...

One of my friends said something- really, I couldn't tell since I wasn't listening- and that prompted them all to laugh. I frowned when it became apparent the "joke" was Blossom.

"Not cool, Butch." I slung my backpack over my shoulder and started away.

"Wait, Brick!" Berserk called. "Brat's dad is having a gallery showcasing upcoming artists and photographers. It'll be really bland but there'll be alcohol in the back room- enough for a private party. Want in?"

I rolled my eyes, knowing she wanted into my jeans. She'd probably try and get me drunk, like last time, so I'd blur the differences between her and her almost identical cousin again. Too bad she couldn't sound like Blossom- then, I probably would've given in. But Berserk had messed her voice up in ways miracles couldn't fix. Her voice may be sexy to the other guys she let use her body, but to me it was just too... F**ked up.

"I'll pass." I spotted Boomer, my artsy friend, flipping through his camera as he walked down the hall.

Blossom was checking something- probably school related- on her smartphone and bumped into him. His camera went careening with her and Blossom landed on her plump ass on the floor. The camera landed safely in her lap. Boomer was dazed, still standing.

Then Bubbles, Blossom's BFF, dropped to her knees beside her. "Blossom! Are you okay?" she squeaked.

I made my way over to the scene. Her phone lay on the ground some ways off. I picked it up as a peace offering.

Boomer was apologizing repeatedly, face red and eyes averted. He was shy that way. He didn't really talk to girls, save teachers. And art was his main form of communication. Well, I mused, since he, Butch and I gave up being citywide pranksters.

"I'm fine, Boomer, really. And besides, it's kind of my fault too. I was checking my notes for the presentation in... Where's my phone?!" she searched the ground in a sweep.

I held it up. "Over here, Red."

Her head snapped my way, her severe ponytail of auburn hair bouncing behind her.

I smirked. "Don't you want it back?"

"Yes." She was really talented at talking without unclenching her teeth.

"Then ask politely, Red. I know you can." I taunted.

"Please, return my phone to me."

"'Please return my phone to me,' who?" I smiled.

"Please return my phone to me, Brick." Blossom bit out.

It was a routine sort of thing. I took something of hers and she had to talk to me nicely to get it back. My favorite game.

I handed it back slowly, hooking her wrist. "I love our daily little chats." I stared into her blush pink eyes as she struggled softly.

"Really, I'd prefer it if we made these 'chats' further apart. You know, give each other breathing room." Blossom pointedly hissed.

"I'm hurt that you don't value our friendship more." I snickered.

"I'm hurt that you don't value my personal space more."

"I do."

"You violate it every chance you get."

"That's not all I want to violate." I smirked when she flushed scarlet, finally pulling free.

"Bye, Boomer." She turned on her heel and started off.

"Wait, Blossom." Boomer called. He held out an invitation to her. "Y-you and Bubbles can come on Saturday- if you aren't busy this Saturday, maybe... It's a gallery exposition and I'll be featured, so I wanted to invite my friends..."

If Boomer could be more awkward, he'd take the role in the MTV show.

Blossom accepted and gave him a warm smile. "We'd love to; right Bubbles?"

The blonde girl nodded and smiled shyly at Boomer. "Yeah, what are friends for?"

With that, I watched Blossom saunter off in that naturally sexy walk she had. I threw my arm over Boomer's shoulders. "Nice one, Picasso. Now where's my invite?"

He grinned at me. "But you have to behave. Here, it's at Stellar Gallery."

I glanced at the card and shoved it into my back pocket. "I'll be there; just make sure Blossom stays."

"Sure, if you can help me with one thing..."

-Blossom-

I flipped my hair behind me in Drama class, tapping my pencil against the paper of my notebook. After the hallway fiasco, I had wrenched my hair tie from my hair to have something to stretch in aggravation; of course after two minutes of torture, the poor thing committed suicide by shooting out of my hands and into the crush of feet in the halls (I refuse to believe I killed it).

"Thinking about him?" Bubbles slyly deduced.

"Improbable." But true. I was thinking of Brick Emerson. His dark auburn hair that was a little longer than the norm, his deep red eyes that reminded me of blood beating in a heart, his easy smile...when he was around my cousin, Berserk.

That soured my mood.

Berserk and I never got along. Not even as babies. My parents have video evidence of us as babies, with Berserk trying to push me out of the baby stroller. And another video of Berserk shoving my fifth birthday cake in my face, telling me to shut up before I thanked the entire world for a Barbie doll Dream House. The list of video proof that Berserk and I were enemies since birth didn't end there though. HER parents have a video of me pushing her into the community pool while she was dressed for her cheerleading meet. Also, one of me spraying shaving cream on her hot fudge sundae in lieu of whip cream. Classic.

Needless to say, even as we grew up, the pranks on my part stunted. Berserk just got nastier.

But it was her bad girl ways that attracted Brick, the guy we both liked. And it was her constant put-down of me that made him think I could be toyed with like his own personal stress button to trigger.

I pouted, probably looking premature and petty, but I was staring at Berserk plaster herself to Brick- even though I knew she'd slept with Derrek Rogers last night. How? Well, we live next door and Berserk is very loud...

Brick, fortunately, peeled her off and kept playing Subway Surfer, his favorite game. I only know this because he plays it next to me in French and AP European History.

"And now, I'd like Brick and Blossom to come up and perform the scene."

I jolted, looking from Brick to Mr. Jamison, a little pale. "E-excuse me?" Bubbles whispered that we were running lines from the contemporary play If You Like Me, by E. D. Moor. I started to rise and flip to the page in question, the scene where Melissa and her love interest Avery were meeting at the crossroads, where the houses turn to a trailer park homes. The scenery was cliché but meant to provoke a sense of disparity between Melissa, a good girl from the wrong side who works hard to excel, and Avery, a shallow popular boy who likes the golden lifestyle but longs for Melissa's attention.

"Her?" Brick choked out. He wasn't getting up.

Of course he didn't want to, with me. I take it seriously-regardless of whatever bias grade Mr. Jamison imparts. He swears I'm mechanical and dogmatic in my adherence to the script and not the play's emotional current. It was my only B-.

"Mr. Jamison, maybe I should read with someone else-" Someone more attentive. "-like Brandon."

At the mention of his name, the overly-emo kid in the front turned to glare me down. "It's Desolate Sorrow."

I rolled my eyes. Method actors, next week, after he failed the casting call for Vampire sundown, he would be Brandon again. The actual emo teens in our class- Emma and Harrison- glared at him.

"Come now, Mr. Emerson." Mr. Jamison quipped, ignoring me, as usual. "Surely I'm not cutting into your canoodling time with my lesson plan?"

This was one of those days I wish I had read ahead. Instead of having a chunk of act three, scene one memorized, I had to read it. As if I weren't staggered enough already.

I shuffled to the front and waited for Brick to swagger over. Yeah, he doesn't walk, he swaggers. He smirked at me, stuffing both hands into his front pockets and scanning the audience. I keep my eyes in three places: on Brick, on the script and on Mr. Jamison.

"Whenever your ready," the teacher motioned.

I groan inaudibly and start breathing deeper.

"'The stars are so bright tonight'." I blurted.

Shit! That's scene three. Shit! I'm screwed. I am irrevocably screwed. And I cant even blame Brick. How poetic.