A/N: I'm really sorry to my readers, for some unapparent reason my story was taken down for "nonstory" elements. Oddly enough, it wasn't breaking any of the rules that would get it taken down, which ticks me off. So...oh well...I've chosen to repost it. Here it is...again...
ENJOY!
Chapter 1: First Impressions Are The Most Important
Summer all but skipped up the steps to the studio apartment, where the School of Rock band held their practices. "I have a date," she breathed giddily, "I have a date. I have a date." The more she said it, the more unbelievable it became. "I, Summer Hathaway, have a date." She paused outside the apartment, already hearing the banging of drums, the plucking of strings, the soft tenor and booming baritones of the band well underway of their rehearsal.
It came back like a flash, heating across Summer's dark almond eyes. He was in the same English class as her. Popular, athletic, handsome. All the girls wanted to date him. He was the second highest honor student in the school, under Summer of course, brilliantly intelligent and wildly charismatic to match. Kyle Emerson, from a prestigious family, on his way to Harvard Prep. Summer smiled despite herself. Her mother would be proud. He was the piece that would make her almost perfect daughter whole.
Summer recalled how Kyle had sauntered up to her, a wily smile already in place. They'd talked over the course of the past several weeks, and, admittedly, she was crushing on him in a huge way. But Summer, being the practical girl she was, would never pursue a boy. No, never. She would never indulge herself in the idea that Mister Perfect Kyle Emerson, or any other boy for that matter, could find her attractive. Right? And she had studies, she'd always excuse, when boys didn't ask her to the dance, or overlooked her in the hall. She had more important things to do. Boys were afraid of her steady ambition, straightforward determination. They were intimidated by her, that was it. So it's no surprise she wasn't expecting much from Kyle when he approached her after English, even as her heart hitched half-way to her throat. No sir, she wouldn't have - in a million years, even - suspected those words to spill from Kyle's beautiful, and ominously perfectly shaped mouth. Summer, will you honor me with an outing this Friday afternoon. She flustered at the properness and formality of his invite.
A 'yes' just barely choked its way from Summer's mouth. And the rest of the day she sat smiling like the Mona Lisa, a secret pursed between her lips. And much to the following teachers' surprises, she failed to raise her hand in the entirety of the rest of the day. She, Summer Hathaway, overtly organized, little-miss-know-it-all, Tinkerbell, straight-laced, goody-two-shoes, band manager, had a date.
Of course, being a sixteen year old girl, one would have expected Summer to have had a first date already. She was attractive, after all. Straight black hair, kept neatly trimmed shoulder-length, full red lips, thin yet well rounded form, a slight pink tinge dabbled against her cheeks in contrast to her soft white skin. She hadn't filled out like some of the other band members, the voluptuous Tomika, or the cat-walk-modelesque Katie. She rarely wore make-up, a little lip gloss when she was crushing on a boy, and her hair was usually splayed un-fancily across her shoulders. She was prim and proper, in her stockings, pleated skirt, soft blouse and matching blazer. And she wasn't exactly shy or soft spoken.
With a dramatic sigh, Summer brushed a loose strand of hair neatly behind her ear before pushing the apartment door open with a hefty shove and walking in with an air of importance. A few children glanced up, gathered around Ned as he taught them the F chord on an electric guitar, but no one else really paid heed to her entrance and she was used to it. She crossed the room to the kitchen counter, placing her bag atop it and rummaging through for her binder and personal organizer. She flipped the bag upside down, panicking, tearing out books and notebooks and loose papers before groaning exaggeratedly and dropping her now empty pack to the floor. She swept her hair up in one brush of her hand, flipping it over her shoulders and frowned, looking up. The music had stopped and everyone in the room was now well aware of her arrival.
Zack stood in awe, his fingers still compressing the G-minor chord. Katie had released her bass, letting it hang by its straps off her shoulders. Lawrence stood poised at the keyboard, a single C-note fading into silence. The backup singers; Marta, Tomika, and Alicia were paused mid-song, mouths dangling open. Dewey had an eyebrow arched, his lip curled up in a mockery of a smirk, and Freddy was gapping at Summer, drumsticks resting on one shoulder.
"What?" she questioned. Then, taking a deep breath, "I forgot my band stuff in my locker at school."
"You-" Katie began.
"-forgot-" Zack stammered.
"You forgot something?" Freddy interrupted, already breaking into laughter, "I thought you had every minute planned out for each day for the rest of your life." Summer pouted. That wasn't entirely true. Only for the week. Katie leaned back, slapping Freddy upside the head. He frowned, shooting her a dark scowl while rubbing the sore spot. The other band members broke into awkward chuckles. Summer smiled absently, lifting her pack up and shoving everything back in.
"It's alright. I'll go back to the school and pick them up," she said, slinking the still open pack over her shoulder and heading towards the door.
"Uh…Summer," Zack stepped forward, "The school's locked up and closed down by now."
"Oh," Summer murmured. She turned back, a bright smile still on her face, determined not to let this little ditzy moment overshadow her morning glory. "That's alright." she glanced at the clock, "Shouldn't you guys be practicing?" There was uncomfortable shuffling resounding from the room, grunts of "oh yeah's", and "only her's…"
"Okay gang, from the top, let's try a little Zeplin," Dewey grinned devilishly, "Count me out, Freddy! Back me up, Zack! Katie, do your thing girl…"
Summer crossed the room, plopping on the forlorn and overly worn couch beside Michelle and Eleni. They glanced at her momentarily, trying to decide if they should say anything, before resuming what they had been working on. The music started up again, but it didn't sound as joyful and welcoming as it had when Summer had first arrived. She'd forgotten all her managerial duties in one fell swoop of attention from an, albeit, fairly attractive young man. What if things got serious between Kyle and herself? She felt the blood flow to her cheeks and forehead in a mad rush, turning her face a bright red. She lowered her head, hair falling into her face. Embarrassed. Jumping ahead now, aren't we, she questioned herself silently. Her heart thudded erratically against her chest. What if things didn't get serious between Kyle and her? What if it was their first and last date? Subconsciously, she buried her face in her lap. She would be crushed.
A warm hand touched Summer's shoulder and she all but leapt three feet in the air, nearly colliding with Katie's head. She smiled sheepishly, shyly pushing her mussed hair behind her ears and looking downcast. She hadn't even noticed that the music had stopped again.
"What's up, Katie? This, hovering over me, is not rehearsing," Summer attempted, trying to sound as strict and focused as every other day. But this wasn't every other day, now was it?
"I was just wondering if you were alright," Katie scoffed, "But if I knew I should have been aware of verbal whiplash in reply to -what I thought - was a kind gesture…"
"Sorry," Summer immediately blurted out.
"You're just acting strange," Katie pointed out, what was already apparently obvious to Summer and everyone else in the room, "You forgetting all your papers for the band is one thing, but you look kind of feverish…are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine," Summer exclaimed, clasping her hands in her lap, and grinning despite herself and everyone in the rooms startle, "I'm better than fine, actually. I know I've been acting weird today, but then, it's not everyday Kyle Emerson asks me out on a date." She felt her voice hitch into a squeal at the last part.
"Kyle…Kyle, Kyle?" Katie gasped, falling to her knees, her bass making a horribly harmonic clamor as it slammed softly to the ground, "Kyle 'the hunk' Emerson asked you on a date!" At once, the girls flooded around Summer, all screaming and chattering as a whole. The boys stood back, amazed, shocked, silent, pale, and scared witless.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…" Marta was chanting.
"He is so hot," Alicia exclaimed.
"Details, girl, details," Tomika pressed in.
"You are so lucky, Summer," Michelle added.
"What's so great about Kyle?" Freddy questioned the empty air, where the boys all stood in a flock of fright and confusion.
"Got me," Zack shrugged.
"He plays basketball," Marco supplied, "I guess he's kind of cool."
"And he likes rock," Gordie put in, "He commented on how he liked my Queen desktop the other day."
"But why would he ask Summer, of all people, out on a date?" Freddy persisted, speaking a little too loudly. The girls all fell silent, reeling on the suddenly a shade paler blonde with darkened over glares. "What I say?" he whispered to the other guys, who, as a one, backed away from him.
"Why wouldn't he ask Summer out on a date?" Katie demanded, stepping forward to don the role of the girls' ringleader, hands firmly placed on her hips, balled into fists. "Yeah!" the girls roared, Summer pressed into the couch beet red, a head rush of feelings flood gating her mind. Why would Kyle ask her out on a date?
Shut up, Summer told herself, you're confident, stay confident. Don't let a wisecracking boy's slipup comment take that away. You deserve this date with Kyle. In fact, Summer realized, you should be surprised, even a little appalled, that Kyle waited so long to ask you. And you should be mad, Summer commanded herself, you should be sky high mad at anyone who would question your deserving of this date.
"I don't know," Freddy attempted to explain himself, softly tapping the drum in front of him with his stick, "Because Summer is…well…she's….Summer."
"Real clever, oh great voice of reason," Summer snapped, on her feet in a bolt of energy. She grinned winningly over at the boys, cowering behind Freddy, offering him up as sacrifice to the easily scariest member of the band, although the smallest, "What's the matter? Jealous you didn't think to ask me first? Or jealous that he, out of all of you, has the balls to ask me out?"
"Not that we'd want to," Freddy muttered, and Summer felt a few vile words bubble up from her belly, prickling along the tonsils in the back of her throat. Composure, she directed herself, breathe, exude confidence. They can't hurt you if you hurt them first.
"Please don't speak for us as a whole," Marco whispered hurriedly to Freddy, seeing the contortion of frustration and anger cross over the usually dignified expression of the band's manager.
"Take it back, take it back, take it back," Zack hissed insistently under his hand to Freddy. Of course, from the drummer's stubborn expression and Summer's fiery eyes, everyone in the room knew a take back was not going to happen and would have little to no effect anyways.
"Of course you wouldn't want to," Summer strummed casually, strutting forward leisurely, "Especially not you, right, Freddy Jones? Because you know, that I would turn you down so fast, you're head would still be spinning." Freddy scowled at her, as she tapped one of his cymbals. It clanged, unmelodious and hollow. "And simply because you think," Summer continued, paused, placed a finger over her mouth and smiled mischievously, "Of course, you really don't think often, do you?" The girls let out a satisfied "oh". "But you do feel," Summer went on, after a momentary pause for the others in the room to digest the insult, "That you have some form of wit and that, in some way, you're God's gift to the female population. I hate to bring you down from that thought but -"
"Oh wait," Freddy spoke up, suddenly finding his voice, mock pleasantness. He stood, crossing around the drums to stand in front of, or more precisely, tower over Summer as he spoke, "I remember who Kyle Emerson is. Tall, jock, brown hair, right? I think he's in my math class," Summer pursed her lips. Freddy's own curled up, a half-smirk, "He's a real bastard. You two will make a perfect couple."
"And how is that?" Summer snarled, regretting it as soon as it spilled from her lips. She was playing right into his hands.
"'Cause you're a real bitch," Freddy spat, turning back towards his drums. Everybody held their breath, waiting for an explosion that didn't have a chance to come, "Hey, Summer."
"What?" Summer seethed through gritted teeth.
"If all your papers are at school, all your managering stuff," Freddy went on, taking a seat back on his stool, and spinning slightly.
"Yes," Summer pressed, impatiently, arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping.
"Aren't you kind of useless to us, right now?" he turned, looking at her with bright, cheerful, clean eyes, a full-blown, impish-like smirk playing across his entire face. Summer jutted her chin out, before shooting forward and snatching the drumsticks from the surprised boys hands. She crossed over to the window before anyone could make a move to stop her, flinging it open and holding the sticks out threateningly.
"If I hurl these to oblivion, aren't you kind of useless to us?" she shot back, looking over her shoulder triumphantly. Freddy had jumped from his seat, a deer caught between a car's headlights. Wanting to edge forward and grab his precious drumsticks back, afraid to move for fear she'd throw them. The other band members were etched forward, leaning, awning. A passerby could hear the creak and ache of their stillness, like the hallow shelves of a deserted library. Some had hands outstretched forward, some had their mouths hanging in limp gasps, horrified, immobile, at a dead standstill.
"Okay, kids," Dewey announced, clapping his hands together to remind the gapping teenagers that he was still present, "This was amusing and all, but I think things have gotten a little out of hand. Summer, if you could…"
"If I could what?" Summer snapped, turning to look at Dewey with a deathly glint in her eye. Dewey popped his mouth.
"Um…remember the music, Summer," Dewey tried, taking slow steps forward towards the obviously outraged manager. He hadn't realized how maniacal she had gotten in those past minutes, "It's about the music…now be a good girl, and give Freddy his drumsticks back."
"Did you not hear what he just said to me?"
Dewey straightened, scratching his five o'clock shadow chin.
"No, not really."
"Ugh," Summer groaned, tossing the sticks on the floor, "I wasn't going to throw them out the window," she daintily informed the stunned group. Freddy rushed forward, kneeling to pick up his sticks, bringing them to him protectively and shooting Summer a dangerous glower, "I mean, honestly, would I endanger those people down there? And, not to mention, all the laws I'd be breaking…" She shook her head, marching towards the door and grabbing her pack, "If I'm really so useless right now," she continued, shooting a meaningful glare Freddy's direction, "Then I'll be leaving." As she turned she heard the sound of a slap against soft flesh and bone.
"Ow, Katie, what the hell was that for?" Freddy moaned and Summer slammed the door as she left. She heard the music start up again, as the band resumed practice. Never had the sound hurt so much.
0-0-
Summer pounded on the apartment door one last time, before resigning herself into a muddled lump on the ground. She cradled her chin in the palm of her hand, sighing deeply. How could she storm out of the room and completely forget to grab her math book? What was with her those days? She didn't forget anything! Forget was not in her vocabulary.
Band practice had ended hours ago, while Summer had spent the afternoon fuming, taking her anger out on a particularly undeserving light pole, and smarting her foot in the process. When she decided to put her anger induced adrenaline rush to good use, namely homework, it was then that she discovered her missing text. She'd raced back to the apartment, only to discover Dewey's car missing - he was probably out on a drinking binge…or god forbid, a date - as well as Ned's. She had homework to do.
For not the first time that afternoon, Summer wondered what had come over her. She'd been mad before, enraged, livid even. But in that moment, you're kind of useless to us, the blood had shot through her veins like pure crack cocaine, and she snapped. She'd assured the others that she didn't have any plans, whatsoever, to toss Freddy's beloved drumsticks - they were a dime a dozen, she might of added - but in her heart, she knew she wasn't sure if that was true. For a fleeting moment, she'd almost had them flung out the window, a last desperate attempt to salvage her sanity had been the only thing keeping those slim rods in her delicate fingers, keeping her from hurling them with all her strength to the earth below, imagining it was the drummer himself falling to the gray desolate cement. She shuddered at the morbid thought. Or the morbid reminder of the even more morbid thought. Freddy was deserving of many things, Summer thought decisively, a cruel murderous death like that - even if it was in her fantasies alone - was not one of them.
Homework. Summer curled her legs up under her chin, paying no notice to the fact she was still wearing her school uniform, and more precisely, the pleated skirt, which didn't fall well around her body in her current sitting position. She couldn't fall behind in her studies. She needed that book, as much as -no, more than she needed air to breath and water to drink. If she missed a homework assignment, even one meaningless blip in her already 112 grade…she just couldn't.
Everything had gone to hell. Why did Kyle have to pay attention to Summer? Why? Why did he have to treat her like a girl, and what's more, an attractive and desired, lusted after girl? He was making her head all afloat. A head rush of insanity, a spiral of uncertainty. She had wandered around the halls, at lunch, not sure what she was supposed to do. Her daily organizer tucked neatly under her arm. In the very morning, when she'd first woken up, she had known what she was doing that day. She had known that at lunch she would be putting extra work into her History and Science projects after a quick bite of her healthy whole-grain bar. That morning she'd known that band practice was after school and she most definitely needed to grab her dark black binder, littered with stickers glittering with the names of various Rock n' Roll bands, and that slightly larger personal organizer than her daily one, leather bound and her clipboard. And that morning she'd known that she needed to hold tight to her texts, and homework assignments, and various projects, and everything to her body as though it were glued to her altogether.
And then Kyle came. And that afternoon, she knew nothing.
Summer was at a loss, feeling tears working their way at streaming helplessly down her cheeks. She could call Katie, she reasoned, and ask for the problems over the phone. Or Zack, good ol' reliable Zack. Or Lawrence, always armed with his armada of school work. Or even Freddy, who's current use of his math text was either a coaster or food tray. But none of those reasonable thoughts seemed logical. And none of them rang louder than the fact, and a grave fact it was, that Summer had failed herself. She'd failed to do everything as planned. Hell. Her plans had failed. She had forgotten, and no amount of logic could erase that.
Like a ray of hope, or more a trumpet of faith, a slight clinking came from within the apartment. Summer was on her feet at once, turning to the door, poised, a squirrel, tail erect. There it was again. Most distinguishably, the sound of someone clamoring on a cymbal, or was that the beat of a snare drum? She waited for everything to be silent once more, before lifting her fist and pounding like mad on the heavy wood door.
"Oh please, oh please, open up," she begged of whoever sat in that supposed-to-be unoccupied room. She continued banging, feeling a sob choke her throat. You can't get worked up, she told herself, don't let this bother you, they'll answer. Of course, she didn't realize when the door was suddenly gone, and her fist flailed forward uselessly through the empty air, only to be caught by a startled figure.
"Forget something?" the cheeky question was so ironic, Summer had to scowl. This was not making her day any better.
"I am not here to exchange friendly banter, Mister Jones, I merely for- left my book behind and was late coming to retrieve it," Summer explained, puffing out her chest in the most authoritative manner she could muster, sticking her chin out and shoving her way forward, "And don't expect me to apologize for the events earlier today, unless you have one to give to me."
Freddy stood, obviously, gapping at Summer in stun. He couldn't quite figure out how she did that. How she made one minute of lonely bliss turn into a heated debate alongside a jabbing, itchy, insult. She walked in and he could have sworn the temperature rose almost thirty degrees, and he was flustered. Five seconds, it was a new record, he was sure of it. It only took her five seconds to annoy him to no end.
Summer situated herself in the middle of the apartment, glancing around for the math book. She saw no sign of it. With a flurry of short breaths, and an unaccountable hiccup, she realized a dreadful fact. She hadn't been carrying the math book when she entered the apartment for the first time that afternoon. She hadn't gotten her text. It was at school. With everything else she'd known she'd needed at some point in time when the world wasn't hanging upside down above her head. She saw, no, more sensed Freddy shift, shutting the door and heading back to his drums. He took a seat on the stool, then decided he wanted to stand, then looked uncertain a moment, before choosing to make his way over to the couch and slump down on it.
"Did you get the book you forgot, yet?" he asked, and Summer narrowed her eyes at him.
"I told you, I didn't forget it," Summer spat, then softening her tone, she grumbled, "I didn't bring it with me." Freddy perked at this, looking at her with interest.
"So then, what are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" Summer shot back. He gulped, shrugging and fidgeting slightly. She smirked. She'd got him. She'd caught him off guard.
"Practicing the drums," he explained in a low key manner that suggested he was lying. Summer opened her mouth, to call him on it, but the solemn expression he wore caused her to clamp it shut. If he said he was practicing the drums, who was she to argue. They were silent a moment.
"I wasn't going to throw them out the window," she stated. It lay on her tongue, dry. Maybe she was trying to convince herself more than him.
"I know," he muttered. And that was that. Summer was convinced, "And I didn't mean what I said…about you, being a bitch."
"I know."
More silence.
A dozen things raced through Summer's mind, but one question blazed in bold black and white in the front of her brain. Do you really think I'm useless, she willed herself to ask. Nope. Nothing came out. Dead air. Freddy coughed slightly, awkwardly. His hand coming to cover his mouth. Summer straightened her skirt, tugged it down somewhat, pulled it back up a bit. She considered rolling it up, like other girls at the school did. But she was too prim to hitch up her skirt, and her 'chicken legs', as she called them, weren't something she wanted to show off. She thought about asking Freddy his opinion on the matter. No way, she told herself, not a snowflakes chance in hell are you asking Freddy his advice on your fashion. The subject still hung in the air for a conversation piece.
Summer cleared her throat, and the words spilled out, "Is it really so strange, so far-fetched, a boy asking me out on a date?"
Freddy straightened, brow furrowed, lips scrunched at the odd inquiry. He shifted, slouched, smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt. Found nothing to say. No snide or rude or clever comeback. No straightforward answer. Nothing. He opened his mouth, closed it. Felt stupid under Summer's scrutinizing stare, so returned it with one of his own.
"No and yes," he finally answered.
"It can't be both," Summer retorted, now lacing her arms within one another, and following the great line that was the peak of her profiled nose to look down at him.
"It can," Freddy said, smugly, "Because I said it is. When's your date, fairy queen?"
"None of your business, spazhoid."
"I try to be nice…"
"Save it for the academy awards, Frederick. I'm not buying," Summer spat, edging towards the door, but held firmly in place by some odd unexplainable conviction.
In truth, Summer was scared. She was scared of the idea of her dating. It was weird. She knew it. If not for anyone else, then simply herself. She didn't know what was supposed to happen on a date. She didn't know what she was supposed to do, say, look like, act like. When was the appropriate time to smile, to laugh, to be serious or romantic? What happened on dates?
And here was Freddy. It was no secret he dated. Often and varyingly. He never dated the same girl twice. And surprisingly, not a single girl hated him for this. They still greeted him in the hallways, pined for him at a distance. He could break their hearts a thousand times, and they'd still smile sweetly and flirt with him every chance they had. They would wait by their phones, long hours at night, and when he didn't call they made excuses for him. He was probably busy. He probably lost my number, he'll ask for it tomorrow. I wasn't cute enough, sweet enough, forward enough, chaste enough. If I'm perfect next time, he'll call.
Summer blushed to think at how far Freddy had possibly gone with a girl. He was the type of boy, after all, who did things simply to prove he could. If to no one else, then for himself. She hated how relaxed he could be. How cool and sophisticated he seemed. And Summer, for all her trying and hard-work, could never pull off the same aura he waltzed around the school halls with.
"You must be looking forward to it," Freddy drawled sarcastically, "I mean, Kyle Emerson is a real…um…experienced guy." Summer flushed.
"W-w-what?"
"Yeah," Freddy continued, examining his drumstick with disinterest, "You may hold hands, or…" he mock gasped, "Even hug." Seeing the disdain for the unwarranted joke cross Summer's face, he broke into laughter, "Ease up. With a little luck, and - uh…heh, some pixie dust, you might get a good-night kiss from the los-uh-er…from Kyle."
"A…what?" Summer cried, flabbergasted. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks little rosy swirls, her mouth hanging open, unhinged.
"A kiss," Freddy repeated, then smiling like a child that had found the last of the Halloween candy tucked securely under his bed, "You have been kissed before, right?"
"Of course," Summer stammered, turning her back to him slightly so he couldn't see the contortion of fear, embarrassment, and mortification crossing her soft features. She breathed a soft, "Not. Well, there was that kiss, in first grade, but does that really count? It was a dare and…"
The couch groaned, as Freddy eased back into it. A Cheshire grin fixated across his face. He could have bet ten, no a hundred dollars on that one. Of course, little Miss Summer Hathaway, uptight and prudish had never received a real kiss. It was all more than obvious, just from looking at her cleanly polished patent Mary Jane shoes, crisp pure white stockings, and straight locks of neatly placed hair. No one had ever really kissed her, they'd of left a mark, some dirty smudge, that was obviously not there.
"What'll I do?" Summer whispered, desperation in her voice. Freddy quirked an eyebrow.
"Do?"
"He'll know," she strained, turning to face the blonde with searching eyes, "He'll know I've never been kissed, and he'll…oh, he'll…I can't have him thinking it's…that it's…what if he thinks it's horrible?"
"Well, what are you gonna do," Freddy replied nonchalantly, shrugged simply, searching the nooks of the couch for the remote control and eyeing the television. He could see Summer's reflection in the black void of the screen, looking at him haplessly.
"I need to practice," Summer announced, and Freddy's jaw dropped.
"Excuse me? What did you just say?"
"I have to practice kissing," Summer repeated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "I mean, you practice the drums so that people don't think you're horrible on stage. I need to practice kissing so that Kyle doesn't think I'm horrible."
"And how do you propose to do that?" Freddy questioned, immediately regretting the words as her eyes, alight with this newfound plan, fell on him, "No. No, no, no, no. Use your hand, Tinkerbell, and have fun. Leave me out of it!"
"You owe me," Summer cried, stamping her foot stubbornly, "And I can't use my hand, it can't tell me if I'm doing good or not! I need someone with experience!"
"I do not owe you, and who says I have experience?"
"You and every girl at school who's met with your experience. And you do so owe me."
"Okay, so, I have experience…but what do I owe you for?"
Summer pursed her lips, before swinging her pack to her side and negotiating the removal of her organizer. She flipped it open, "Math test, April 12th two years ago, the fire alarm emergency May 3rd last year, the Christmas dance fiasco three years ago, physics, English, World History…do you remember those? Remember, 'Summer, I need your help. I can't fail these classes. I'll owe you forever', ring any bells, Frederick."
Freddy groaned, rubbing his forehead painstakingly. Only she would keep track of all of that in a personal organizer. Summer tapped her foot impatiently.
"Need I go on?"
"No, no," Freddy muttered, "Okay." He stood, pacing around Summer who tucked away her organizer and stared expectantly up at him. He rounded her with an observant eye, bringing up a thumb to rub his chin. He frowned, nodded.
"What?" Summer demanded.
"It's as I figured."
"What?" Summer pressed, a bit more impatiently.
"You're un-kissable, so this a waste of my time," Freddy grinned, pacing back towards the couch. Summer pouted at his back, and he paused, rolling his eyes upward. He was going to regret this. "Okay," he sighed, turning back to her, "I'll help you this once."
"Good," Summer sighed, scooping her hair up with her hand and brushing it to fall down her back, "What happens first?"
"Now?" Freddy cried, incredulous, "You want to do this now?"
"Yes, now. When did you think?" Summer clasped her hands behind her back, "My date is Friday. There's not a lot of time in between. We're alone, neither of us has anywhere to go…"
"Okay, okay, fine!"
They were silent, sizing one another up. Staring shyly at the other. Freddy licked his lips, Summer pushed her hair behind her ears. He stepped forward, she stepped back.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I don't know. What do I do?"
"Okay…um…" Freddy searched for something constructive, "What are you gonna do with your hands?"
"My hands?"
"It's crucial, Summer," Freddy cried, "Now, some girls like to put them around the guy's waist, some girls opt for the shoulders. Where are you going to put your hands?" Summer looked thoughtful a moment.
"Should I be taking notes?"
"Summer!"
"I guess…where would you suggest?"
Freddy rolled his eyes. She was hopeless. He had to do everything. He took her hands in his own, stepping forward. She took a small step back. He was narrowly aware that the heat had risen to his cheeks, but he was intent on focusing. He brought her hands towards him, surprised how willingly Summer allowed him to maneuver her, and tried them on his waist, but it didn't feel right. He lifted them upwards, her fingers curling around his, almost subconsciously. He tried the shoulders and let them settle, dropping his own arms at his sides. He took another step forward. She took a step back.
"Stop that. We're not dancing," Freddy hissed. She nodded.
"What happens now?"
"I thought you were supposed to be smart," Freddy cried. She said nothing. "This would be the part where we…I mean…you and Kyle would kiss."
"Oh," Summer mumbled. She pressed her lips together, puckering them out, closing her eyes and leaning forward, stepping on her tiptoes to reach Freddy's height. Freddy leaned back from her, staring at her cross eyed and raising an amused eyebrow.
"What are you doing?"
Summer let out an exasperated sigh, falling back on the heels of her feet, her hands falling back to her sides. She closed her eyes, feeling particularly stupid and inept at the moment.
"Preparing to be kissed," Summer explained. Freddy rolled his eyes once more.
"You're not supposed to prepare to be kissed," he groaned, "You're supposed to wait for the guy to make the move."
"Why's that? Why can't I make the move? You know very well that…"
"Don't pull out any feminist crap on me right now, Summer. I'm still trying to figure out why I'm actually helping you with this."
"Well then, what happens now?"
"I kiss you…well, Kyle would kiss you."
Summer looked expectantly at him. Freddy groaned.
"You want me to kiss you?"
"Well, how else am I going to practice kissing if I don't actually do any kissing?" Summer demanded shrilly.
Freddy took a deep breath, stepping forward once more. Summer took a step back. He let out a frustrated growl, before slipping his arm around her waist and dragging her forward. She flitted against his body, eyes wide with the shock of their suddenly close proximity. A small circle of heat pressed against Freddy's forehead, bursting like a chaotic firework display and coursing through his veins. This is weird, he noted. He took a calming breath, before leaning forward, and pressing his lips against Summer's.
For a moment, they stood there, lips placidly laid against one another's, eyes squeezed shut. Summer was still and Freddy himself couldn't find the willpower to move. He knew what he should be doing, how a kiss was engaged, initiated and strategically maneuvered. He'd kissed thousands -well, that's an exaggeration, more like dozens of girls. He was proud of the often regaled fact that he was a good kisser, after carefully honing the craft. He knew exactly how to move his mouth, where to push and prod with his tongue, when to move in, when to ease off. But somehow, standing there with his lips plastered to Summer's, it all fled from his brain. He had to go on natural instinct, as though it were his first kiss all over again, finally taking a small step forward, and drawing Summer even more closer to himself, deepening the kiss. He parted his lips slightly, surprised that her own followed, and he could taste her breath.
Summer's hands came up once more, trailing lightly across Freddy's shoulders to curl around his neck. She was on tiptoes, leaning into his chest, her heart fluttering slightly, a butterfly trapped in its cocoon, ready to burst free. Always pondering, always contemplative, she couldn't manage to focus on anything. She didn't know what to do. But her mouth, her hands, her body, all seemed to know exactly what was to be done. She moved her lips slightly, pressed them deeper against his, taking the initiative to return the motion he had introduced to the simple action they had undertaken.
Within moments, what seemed at first to be nothing more than a shy, and almost experimental kiss, had blossomed into a tentatively passionate one, with soft motions and desperate touches. Freddy curled his fingers tighter around Summer's waist, nails digging into the fabric of her shirt. Her own fingers carefully caressed the back of his neck, bristling his small blonde hairs. She trembled, and his heart gave a loud skip of realization. A bleat of remembrance, that he wasn't just kissing any girl. That he was kissing Summer Hathaway. As if his body didn't already know that, with how carefully it moved, how sheepish, compared to his usual confidence with other girls. A warning bell was going off in his head, 'you're not supposed to be enjoying this, bail, bail, bail.'
Freddy pushed away, and Summer gulped in air, breathless, flushed, and looking less like the annoying pint-sized Summer he'd always known and more like the beautiful, sophisticated, and well-developed Summer she'd grown into. He turned away, shaken.
"It's good," he stammered, trying to hide the fact he sounded as though he'd just had the wind knocked out of him, "Just fine…" He stumbled towards the door, "Fine," he repeated distractedly, waving over his shoulder and turning the knob, "See you later."
"Freddy."
He paused, grimacing, not wanting to turn and let her see the blush that had fallen over his perfect complexion.
"Um…thanks."
It sounded odd. Inappropriate at best.
"No problem," he chirped, also inappropriate, leaving the room.
There was a car honking downstairs and Summer quickly surmised it to be her mother. She wiped at her lips, they felt cool all of a sudden, from the lack of penetrating warmth provided by Freddy's lips moments before and she'd thought for a moment they might be damp. They weren't. She flustered, grabbing her pack and making her way down the stairs. There was one good thing, she told herself, Freddy didn't tell you that it was horrible.
END A/N: Man...that really ticks me off...I'm wondering if my story getting taken down has anything to do with my "A/N's"...augh! It's stupid...
Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. A review would be much loved and appreciated (seeing as how this story was taken down and I lost all those reviews...grr...that's what ticks me off...)!
Thanks for Reading.