Hey guys,
So, I'm writing heaps. This is good. Now, for all of you who are not familiar with me and my insanity, I am 101EmilyRox, or, y'know, Emily. I'm 13 and I live in Australia with a winter home on Mars. I'm told my story The Power of DVD is pretty good, so go check that out (shameless self-advertising). Welcome, newbies! And for all of you who have me on alert and are previous readers, welcome!
A change to the timeline, as well: Rory joined the New Direction in The Purple Piano Project, okay?
Rated T for language (possible F bomb, but you can handle that :P)
Disclaimer: nope.
"We've got to go back, Marty!"
"Back where?"
"Back to the future!"
BACK TO THE FUTURE
by Emily
Chapter One: Party Pooper
Step 1: Acquire brother's allegiance,
"What do you want from me, Liz?"
"Look, Tor, I want to have a social life, unlike you. Leave the back door open and make sure the parental units are well asleep by one o'clock, okay?"
"It'll cost you. All of my chores for a month."
"A month! You bast― okay. It's a deal."
"Deal."
Step 2: Stay sober,
"Hey―" (hiccup) "―Lizzie! Lizzie, Lizzie, LizzieLizzieLizzylizzalizzz! You loo-ook! Ha, lol you look like ya' needa' dri-ink! From meuh! On da' 'ouse!"
"No, thanks, Maya. Why don't you have it?"
"Okaaiyy! You're th-the beest Lizza, ha, the best! HEY EVRYONE! LIZZZAH IS DA BEST EVA! WHO-HOO!"
Step 3: Complete ninja training― I mean, make it from the back door to my room without waking the dads.
The door creaked open, a cacophony in the silence of the Hummel-Anderson apartment. Elizabeth peered around the door, deemed it safe, and entered the kitchen. The tiles were cold ― Elizabeth having discarded her shoes outside for the sake of being quiet ― but she made her way quietly in her socks, being careful of the large black thing in the centre of the room that was the island counter. It'd sharp edges that were commonly known to attack innocent bystanders (Elizabeth spoke from experience here, if you ignored the fact that the counter was an inanimate object) and she really didn't need pain to add to the blistering headache that was already making an unwelcome appearance ― whatever the hell Emmett Puckerman had put in her drink, it was strong (tasted good too, but that wasn't the point).
She allowed a sigh of relief as she exited the kitchen and into the entranceway, the glow from the moon seeping through the front windows. Elizabeth smiled wide as she got to the carpeted stairs and started to climb th―
"And where do you think you're going, young lady?"
Well, shit.
Elizabeth turned slowly, as if threatened at gun point, which she might as well have been, the way her fathers glared at her. Kurt stood with his arms crossed over his chest, blue-and-green robe over his silk pyjamas, Blaine in a singlet and sweatpants but looking equally as intimidating. Toronto poked his head out from behind a door, smirking as Elizabeth glared at him with every ounce of hate her sixteen year-old soul possessed, her gaze promising grievous bodily harm to her younger brother.
"You traitorous little―"
"Elizabeth!" Kurt chastised, moving his hands to his hips. "Your brother did the right thing."
Toronto smirked and stuck his tongue out at his older sister, before scampering up the stairs to his room, jumping over Elizabeth's outstretched foot. Stupid twelve year-old brothers being stupid.
"Lizzie," Blaine began, taking a softer route before Kurt woke up the entire east coast. "We were worried. You're only sixteen and going out partying? New York's dangerous, kiddo."
Elizabeth huffed, "Pa, I've lived here my entire life. I think I know how to be sa―"
"When we were your age, we never did anything of the sort," Kurt cut her off. "We didn't drink or go to parties."
"Probably 'cause you were never invited," she snapped. "Or maybe because of the huge stick up your ass!"
Well, she'd done it now.
"Elizabeth Carole Hummel-Anderson, you are grounded for the next two months. I will not be spoken to like that, nor will I have you speaking like that."
"Da―"
"Kurt―"
"I'm not finished," Kurt hissed, the air chokingly hostile. Even Blaine looked slightly scared. "You will help the Lopez-Pierce's clean up their apartment ― Toronto said that was where it was this time. No Tylenol for that hangover I see coming on. You will get no more money from us for the summer; you have to use your savings and you're not allowed to go to LA to see the Evans'."
"Bu―!"
"Bed."
Elizabeth gaped as her father pushed past her up the stairs. Tears prickled at her eyes as she looked to Blaine. "Pa . . ."
He sighed, "I'm sorry, Liz. But it's New York at night and you're sixteen. Your father's right, we never did that. Get a Tylenol now before he locks them all away and I'll drive you over to your aunts in the morning."
"Thanks, Pa." As Blaine started up the stairs Elizabeth said: "I can't be held responsible for any harm that suddenly becomes of Toronto."
Blaine sighed, "Goodnight, Elizabeth."
. . . GLEE . . .
"Tough luck, Liz, my moms were happy that I had a good party!"
Elizabeth glared at Maya Lopez-Pierce over her shoulder, garbage bag in hand already half filled with plastic cups of different colours and various degrees of damage. The hangover was killing Elizabeth (she hadn't even drunk that much), Kurt staying true to his word and hiding all of the possible pain-relief and instructing Santana and Brittany to do the same before they went out with Minnie, leaving Maya and Elizabeth to clean up. Blaine had walked Elizabeth the few blocks to her aunts' apartment, New York traffic being what it was.
"Bullshit, Maya, I know for a fact that your ma chewed you out before."
Maya shrugged in defeat, flipping her long, black hair behind her shoulder with practiced ease, "Whatever. How were Neil Patrick Harris and Gene Kelly?"
Elizabeth groaned, "No Tylenol, no summer money, two months grounding . . . and no going out to LA."
"Ouch," Maya winced, placing a hand on her best friend's shoulder. "I know how much you were looking forward to seeing Ellie-Rose again."
"Mmm."
"As for the Tylenol, I snagged some for me-self before my moms hid everything. You can borrow some."
"Now, before my head splits in half."
"That bad?"
"I feel like there is an angered boxing champion with spiked gloves punching my skull after having planted more cactuses than all of Texas in my brain and a set of construction workers with jackhammers working on a new pin factory, aiming their flood lights through my eyeballs and using cement made of jalapeños."
"I'll get that Tylenol, now then."
Maya couldn't have run out of the living room fast enough. Sighing and attempting to ignore the throbbing in her head, Elizabeth continued to pick up the various solo cups and pieces of clothing. The party had been wilder than she had thought.
As she tossed a red bra she was sure belonged to Maria Hudson into the bag a cracked photo frame came into view under piles of paper and bottles. Curiously, Elizabeth slid the frame from its place. The entire frame practically self-combusted in her hands, metal and glass falling apart. She dropped the remains of it into the bag and looked at the picture.
It was only a few years old, the picture. It was at the 20 year reunion of McKinley High School, the ex-New Directions (Elizabeth still snickered at the name) standing in the choir room with their children around them. Sam and Mercedes Evans stood with their daughter ― and one of Elizabeth's best friends ― Ellie-Rose, Finn Hudson and Rachel Berry (Rachel refused to change her surname) with Maria and Christopher.
"Well," Rachel had said. "I named Maria after Maria van Trapp, and I was going to name Chris 'Georg', but Finn said that might sound strange, so I named him Christopher after Christopher Plummer, the man who played Captain van Trapp. Did you―"
Santana and Brittany stood with a very innocent-looking pair of twins ― Maya and Minerva "Minnie" smiling like angels, hiding their horns ― Quinn on Puck's arm, a hand over her swollen stomach and the two boys, Emmett and Leo Puckerman, next to Mike and Tina with their daughter Michaela, Artie with his son Edmund, the wife not being able to get time off work to come with her husband and son. Will and Emma were hugging, their daughter Jessica lying on top of the piano with Elizabeth, the latter holding Toronto on her lap, while Kurt and Blaine stood next to the pair who shocked everyone: Rory and Sugar (Elizabeth couldn't wait for their wedding next month. It was set to be entertaining, at least.)
Pocketing the picture, Elizabeth continued on, cleaning as her brain started to throw itself against her skull.
"LIZZIE!"
"Argh!" Elizabeth groaned, holding her head in her hands.
Maya came rushing into the living room, frantic, "Liz, come on! I found something."
"Drugs or I'm not coming . . ."
"Oh!" Maya tossed Elizabeth a sheet of pills. "Hurry up."
Elizabeth ― practiced in the art of swallowing pills without water (read: Santana Lopez-Pierce was her surrogate mother and babysitter) ― downed two pills and sluggishly followed Maya's path of destruction. Her quest led her to the basement (when usually this would be a very small walk, it had quickly turned it into the journey to Mordor) where Aunt Britt had set up her little 'lab'. You see, Brittany S. Lopez-Pierce wasn't dumb; she just had an odd way of thinking. And when she had invented the wireless earphones that were all the rage now, Apple had begun asking her to tamper with their new products. But Maya seemed not to be interested with the trove of Apple merchandise that surrounded her, but a beautiful watch that sat on Brittany's main desk, wires and various tools neither girl could name, laying around it.
"It's certainly pretty," Elizabeth noted, her headache slowly fading away, much to her relief.
"Yeah!" Maya seemed way to enthusiastic. She took it off of its little stool and put it on her wrist. Maya pouted, "It doesn't suit my skin tone," she sighed at her Latino colouring, before pulling Elizabeth's wrist up and fastening the watch to hers, "but it goes perfect with pale."
"Gee, thanks," Elizabeth scowled. She'd been trying to get a tan; she hated her sickly pale skin. Rolling her eyes, Liz looked down at the watch. It had a rather thin band made of black leather, a sleek, modern looking face with silver lining. It had a second digital screen under the centre point and Elizabeth scowled, "It's stuck on 1:38pm. But the date's right: 5th June 2029."
Maya took out her phone ― an old iPhone 14 since she broke her ePhone 3 ― and checked the time. "It's 1:37 right now."
Elizabeth peered closer, "I got it to move!" she tapped at it again, smiling, but then she scowled. "September 2011? Seriously, that's like, a million years off! What do you think Aunt Britt's done to it?"
"I dunno," Maya shrugged. "But we better finish cleaning up before my mom and ma get home."
"Yeah, we should," Elizabeth followed Maya back up the stairs.
"So, I was thinking that, since you got your ass grounded, we could have one of those phone parties, y'know― oh, wait you got your phone confiscated didn't you, Liz. Uh, Lizzie?" Maya looked behind her, Elizabeth not following. "Lizza? Elizabeth, this isn't funny. I won't jump when you come out to scare me, I swear I won't!"
The clock over the fireplace read 1:38pm.
. . . GLEE . . .
Like it? Hate it? Review it!
*This is just a taster (if you will). If people like it, I'll continue it.
SHIPS: Klaine (duh); Finchel (argh, I had to); Brittana; Tike; Sory; Shooter; Wemma; Samcedes; Quick; Artie x OC (probably should have put that at the top).
Please review with any comments, concerns, queries or death threats you may have.
~Emily