A/N: Another one-shot. I must say, I'm pretty excited about this idea. It's an AU – Tate and Violet are alive and attend Westfield together. And Tate is the same batshit crazy psychopath we all know and love. He lives next door to Violet, but he does not see Ben for therapy. This story begins and ends in present time with flashbacks comprising the middle portion.
I dedicate this story to the incredibly awesome jandjsalmon, who always reads and reviews my writing and keeps my ego healthily afloat. And it was her birthday not too long ago, so here is a belated present from me!
Make Me Want To Scream
He had a bad feeling about today. He couldn't shake it and since he had been clean off coke for a while, it wasn't paranoia coming from drugs. The air tasted different – smoky, acrid, like someone was cooking something nearby, yet also electric and tense. The clouds weren't comforting as they usually were the harbingers of rain, but they were ominous and foreboding instead.
He knew he would get in major shit if he was caught, but he packed his favorite gun in his backpack, just in case.
He first met Violet on the track. She had plunked down right next to the long jump pit and was heartily sucking down a cancer stick, twirling the pack in her other hand. She caught him staring and gave him a feral smirk, teeth bared and eyebrows cocked as if to yell "I got you, you little perv," before getting up to sit on the bleachers to watch the team practice.
He couldn't help but be captivated by her beauty and spunk. She was different in her layers, which he could only imagine as brutal in the L.A. heat, and her funky hats and her blonde hair flowing in the wind. He could feel her sharp eyes on him, following him as he stretched on the grass.
"Langdon!"
He jumped up at the sound of his name and jogged over to a man with thinning gray hair and sunken blue eyes.
"Yes, Coach?"
"I want ten 100 meter sprints before you begin practicing baton passing. I want you as anchor in the 4-by-1 at our meet on Friday."
"Alright."
He went over to the starting line and had one of the underclassmen time his splits – he kept them all under eleven seconds, which was his goal. He had to force himself not to look up to sneak a glimpse of her, but the feel of her eyes on him assured him that she was still there.
"Langdon, you ready?"
He nodded and his coach called over three of his teammates while he jogged over to them.
"Now, we have a really good shot of breaking the 4-by-1 school record on Friday. I want all of you to stay loose – stretch and do not tire yourselves out. Now do some baton passes and hit the showers. I need you in tip-top shape."
"Alright, Coach."
They spread out around the track, Tate near the home stretch as he was anchor. The first runner was off and he took the time to search for her – there she was in the middle section, smoking yet another cigarette. She smiled at him and he stood transfixed, utterly forgetting that the third leg was rapidly approaching behind him.
"LANGDON! FUCKING RUN, YOU ASS!"
He jolted, speeding ahead and throwing his arm back on instinct and adrenaline, cradling the smooth, cool metal of the baton as he sprinted for the finish. His coach called the time – 10.78 seconds – as he bent over, trying to catch his breath.
"Jesus, man, you can't space out like that." The third leg jogged up behind him and Tate forced down the sudden urge to punch him because he interrupted his moment with the strange, captivating girl that he could see was laughing at him in the stands.
"Sorry," he gritted out through his teeth. "It won't happen again."
"Damn straight it won't, Langdon."
They decided against running a full relay again and just did short baton passes, all of which Tate did flawlessly to get his teammate off his back.
"Alright, guys, good job today. Head home, get some sleep, and we'll be ready to go."
"Bye, Coach."
He started to head towards the locker room, but decided to sit in the damp grass to do some leg stretches, decidedly not making eye contact with her. He didn't really give a shit about whether or not his hamstrings were loose, but he wanted an opportunity to talk to her and he knew she was smart enough to figure out he was waiting for her.
Would she take the bait?
"Alright, I'll bite."
He whipped around to see her standing behind him. She smiled and plopped down next to him, taking a long drag before offering it to him, to which he shook his head politely. He really wished he didn't smell like sweat and grass and he was sure he looked gross from the workout – he hated almost all the girls at Westfield because they were fake and too bleached blonde and not his type, so he never cared about his appearance. Why should he if they'd never look twice at him and he didn't really want to stick his dick in them, anyway? But right now, he wanted to impress her and an unflattering track uniform and hair matted with sweat wasn't doing him any favors.
"You're a good runner."
"Thanks."
"Do you like it?"
He looked at her and sighed.
"No. My mom makes me do it."
"And you do everything momma says?"
"Unless I want some shiners, I do."
She was taken aback by his answer and she looked sheepish, probably because neither of them missed the slight condescending tone of her previous question.
"I'm sorry. That was mean."
"It's alright. You didn't know."
They sit in silence for a while. He didn't know what to make of this girl with her porkpie hat and long hippie skirt who smokes like a chimney. He prided himself on being able to read people well – he needed to, he needed to know their motivations in order to move them on his chessboard – but she was completely closed to him and he was both scared and intrigued by her.
"Are you new? I don't recognize you and I know I would have if I'd met you before."
"Aren't you charming? Yeah, I'm new. I just moved here with my parents from Boston. Today was my first day. It predictably sucked ass, so I ditched and wanted to find a quiet space to smoke. But then you and your track buddies interrupted me."
"I'm sorry. We got a big meet coming up, so we've been practicing a lot."
She looked him straight in the eyes.
"I didn't say I was upset that you interrupted me."
She got up to walk away and he panicked. He didn't know her name, where she lived, what classes she took, nothing. What if he never saw her again?
"Wait!"
His voice sounded needy and too high pitched, and he swallowed as she turned around, a small smirk on her face.
"Yes?"
"Who are you?"
"Call me Violet."
"I'm Tate."
"Nice to meet you, Tate."
And she was gone.
He saw her at the meet on Friday. Her purple sweater was hard to miss in the mass of black and gold, Westfield's colors.
She didn't have a sign or stupid pom-poms like most of the spectators, but just her presence was the biggest motivation anyone could have ever given him.
He lined up near the home stretch, jumping up and down to keep his muscles loose and ready to go. The gun went off and cheers erupted from the crowd, drowning out the hiss of the light drizzle falling onto the track.
He looked up and locked eyes with her. She wasn't cheering or clapping madly – he knew she would think school spirit was fucking stupid – but she gave him a big smile before giving him the thumbs up signal. He smirked, bent his head down, and waited for the cool metal of the baton to strike his skin.
He broke the school record.
He could hear the roar of the crowd, but it sounded as if it was underwater, muted and fuzzy. He saw his coach rush over and felt him clap him heartily on the back, chattering on about how they defeated the other schools and that performance would definitely get college scouts looking at him. His teammates were surrounding him, congratulating him, but he didn't care and he almost shouted at all of them to shut the fuck up.
Because quite frankly, he didn't give a flying fuck about anything other than her smile.
"Good race."
He smirked as he heard her voice and turned around to face her. She smirked back at him and kicked a clod of grass so that it landed on his foot, eliciting a small chuckle from him.
"Thanks."
"You broke the record, you know. You're the man of the hour, everyone's hero. How does it feel?"
"I couldn't give a shit about any of that."
She looked at him and he knew she had expected that answer.
"I was just happy that you were here."
"Well, you know, the temptation to make you space out on the track was too much. But it looks like I couldn't cast a spell on you tonight."
He almost told her how wrong she was, that her spell over him was already growing exponentially stronger.
"But really, I'm glad you came."
"So am I."
They shared a small smile and he couldn't stop his heart from speeding up.
"So do you want to go get something to eat?"
"I would love to. You probably need to restock on your carbs, right?"
He laughed. "Too right. Wait for me by the main entrance, I'll just go change."
"You should probably shower, too. I'm sure you're sweaty."
"You like it."
"Don't you know it."
He practically skipped to the locker room.
As they bonded over their plates of spaghetti and meatballs that night, Tate knew that it was the start of something special. While everyone else was a piece in his game, she was so much more; he cared about her, genuinely cared about her happiness and well being. He was sure his former therapists would have heart attacks if they heard that confession from their favorite psychopath.
As the months passed, they hung out more and more and Tate couldn't have been happier. It became a ritual for them – she would watch him practice and meet up with him afterwards. Sometimes he'd take her to a small diner where they would work on their homework together or just talk about music and books. Sometimes they'd go to the beach and she would snuggle up against his side as they would take bets on which seagull would get the crust of bread they had thrown onto the sand. Sometimes he'd just walk her home, trying to work up the nerve to hold her hand and never succeeding.
And before he knew it, he had fallen so far and so hard for her and he couldn't imagine how he had lived without her smile and laughter for so long.
But he couldn't tell her. He just couldn't. He rehearsed all the different scenarios. He practiced every possible conversation in front of his mirror. He went over gifts to give her, poems to write, anything he could do to show her his feelings. But every time he steeled himself, every time he vowed that this would be the day, he would be crippled with the fear of rejection – and he knew he couldn't handle rejection from her, he would finally crack – and lose his nerve. No matter how agonizing not knowing if she felt the same way, he knew he would rather have Violet like this than not at all.
So he kept his mouth shut and his silence became his downfall.
"Hi, I'm Gabe. And you are?"
"Violet."
"Nice to meet you."
"The pleasure is all mine."
"Hey, Vi, wanna go to the beach with me today? It's really nice out and I bet the storm from a few days ago turned up some cool stuff."
She plopped down next to him, avoiding his gaze as he stretched his arms behind his back.
"I would love to, Tate, but I can't."
"Why not? Are you okay?" And he couldn't help the scared, concerned look on his face because she had told him how her parents would fight all the time after her scumbag of a father whored around with a girl only a few years older than Violet after her mom miscarried. She didn't let him see just how much it hurt because she hated feeling helpless – and worse, being perceived as weak – but he knew how much it got to her.
"I'm fine. It's just…I have a date."
His heart sank into his shoes as it simultaneously got ripped to shreds. She has a date. She has a date with someone who isn't him. He never really, truly knew pain until this moment.
"That's great."
No, it wasn't great. It was fucking horrible. It was disastrous. He'd kept quiet and now he lost her to some ass that managed to work up the courage to ask her out probably after knowing her for a day while Tate has been devotedly, devoutly worshiping her for months. He tamped down the murderous rage towards this unknown boy as best he could because he didn't want Violet feeling bad or get the idea that he thought she had deserted him, betrayed him when it was nothing but his own spineless ass's fault.
"Yeah, I guess."
She didn't look particularly giddy as most stereotypical girls would be, but she is anything but stereotypical so he can't say that she is not excited or nervous about it.
"So I'll see you tomorrow."
"Sure."
She stood up and walked away and he had never before felt that lonely and hopeless in his life.
She looked relatively happy the next day in school, so Tate knew that whichever guy took her out did a good job, which made his day interminably worse. He must have broken four pencils in math class and destroyed his rubber eraser, wishing he could magically erase the boy that was taking Violet – his Violet – away from him.
He tried to run away his anger on the track, but he couldn't get away from the prickling feeling in his eyes and heart every time he wondered if this guy had kissed her.
He ached all over and it had nothing to do with the lactic acid building up in his legs.
She was already smoking by his usual cool down spot.
"You ran hard today."
"Yeah, it's been rough lately, so I needed to blow off some steam."
"Your mom?"
"Yeah."
It wasn't completely a lie. Constance was being a right cocksucking bitch, always yelling at his sister Addie for no reason other than to make her cry, even more so now since her newest and shiniest boy toy found a younger, richer slut to stick his dick in.
"He asked me out again and I said yes."
His head snapped to hers so fast it was a wonder he didn't get whiplash.
"What?"
"Well, I had a good time last night. His name is Gabe, he is a skater, nice guy despite his awful taste in music. He wants to take me to a movie Friday night."
He couldn't help but snort in disapproval, which elicited a glare from her.
"What? You don't approve?"
"I just never pegged you as a girl who'd like stupid, cliché dates like that."
Because you deserve so much more than overpriced popcorn and sticky floors.
He knew it was the wrong thing to say when her eyes went hard, but he couldn't feel completely contrite that he lashed out at her. He needed her to realize how much she was hurting him by doing this. It should be him she was going out with, not some fucking skater whose idea of good music was Nickleback.
"Wow, Tate, way to be a fucking shithead."
He didn't say anything as she took a long, hard drag before she continued, her voice cold and biting.
"If you have something to say to me, just say it. I'm a tough little girl. I won't cry."
He steadfastly kept his jaw clenched, avoiding her eyes, and she sighed in disappointment.
"Of course you don't."
She got up and flicked her cigarette in his direction, the still-hot end singing his track shorts.
"Find me when you're going to grow some balls and be mature because until you do, you're not worth my time."
He watched sadly as her hair billowed in the breeze as she walked away.
He didn't see her on the bleachers the next day at practice and his heart sank even further, which he didn't think was possible. He stared absentmindedly up at the metal rows, as if by him staring at her usual spot, he would summon her and she would magically appear.
"Langdon! Let's go! Weight room today!"
"Okay, I'm coming."
At least he didn't have to look at her empty spot all practice.
But as he tried to do his reps on the machines, he couldn't help thinking about her and how angry she was and that it was all his fault –
God, he couldn't stand this anymore. He had to find her. He swiftly sneaked out the weight room and headed to her locker, praying to whatever deity would listen to him that she had not left yet.
She was at her locker, but she wasn't alone. That fucker – he didn't deserve a name in Tate's mind – had his hand on her lower back and she was softly laughing at a joke he told her and it took all his strength not to punch him until he was just a bloody pulp on the floor, brain matter and guts oozing into the cracks of the tiles. She should be watching him practice as always, she was his, only his, and how dare this maggot invade her presence and take her away from him –
"Hi, Tate."
Her voice was neutral, smooth, but he could feel the coldness just underneath her words, like a wind that sneaks up on you and makes you shiver.
"Hi, Vi. Can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Sure. Gabe, I'll be right back."
He didn't miss the dirty look Gabe shot him.
They walked down the hallway until they were out of earshot and she turned towards him with a hand on her hip, her gaze demanding an answer.
"Well?"
"I'm sorry, Vi. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. It was completely rude and I feel terrible. Please forgive me."
She gave him a look and sighed, drawing him into a hug and he almost moaned at the contact of her skin on his. She stroked her fingers through his hair and he couldn't believe that this was happening to him.
"You were really nasty to me."
"I know, Violet, fuck, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it."
"Yes, you did."
Yeah, he did. He always knew that Violet saw through bullshit like a pro and he was stupid to think she couldn't sniff his out.
"It doesn't matter if I did or not. I'm sorry. I miss you. Please forgive me, Vi."
She sighed and gave him a small smile. He knew he was forgiven and a weight lifted off his shoulders and he couldn't help but smile back at her.
"I forgive you, Tate. Just don't do that again, okay?"
"I promise." He enveloped her in a hug and lost himself in the scent of her shampoo.
I won't let anyone or anything hurt you, especially myself.
He asked her to be his official girlfriend about a month ago and now Tate had to deal watching him with his arm slung around her waist when he would walk her to class or lingering around her locker with a bouquet of roses and love notes with stupid poems from Shakespeare and other authors he didn't understand. She looked happy most of the time – smiling at him, giving him quick pecks on the cheek or mouth, which really got his blood roiling – but sometimes he would catch her staring into space with a wistful look on her face and he wondered if this was really what she wanted.
But he wanted her to be happy and he promised her – even if she didn't know it – that he wouldn't let anyone hurt her, least of all him even if it meant he sacrificed his own happiness. So he bit his lip until it bled and punched his bedroom walls until his knuckles were bruised and kept his feelings to himself.
Until one night he couldn't anymore.
He was driving her home after one of their usual dinners after his practice. She had been unusually quiet during the meal and he had caught her looking out the window at nothing more than once.
He put on Nirvana, hoping their favorite band would shake her out of her mood, but she just leaned back in her chair and watched the scenery fly by.
He pulled into the driveway and since they were neighbors, both of them could see that her parents were either out or asleep by the lack of lights. He threw the car in park and turned towards her, daring to place his hand on top of hers resting on her leg.
"Violet, what's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Vi, give me some credit. You barely talked during dinner. I'm not fucking stupid."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Vi, you know you can tell me anything."
"I can't tell you this."
And suddenly he felt a big tear splash on his hand and he looked at her in shock to see more running down her cheeks.
"Vi, what is it?"
She drew in a deep, shuttering breath, trying to get her tears under control.
"Yesterday, I went over to Gabe's house."
He couldn't help the sharp intake of breath, but he knew this was going to go to a place that he didn't want to go.
"He and I started fooling around on the couch and when he tried to take my shirt off, I suddenly couldn't do it. The thought of him touching me like that made me sick."
"Violet, did he force –"
He was going to fucking kill him if he did. And make it hurt.
"No, no. He stopped when I told him no and I left shortly after."
He willed his breathing to slow down, but his adrenaline was pumping and he tried not to jump to conclusions.
"Violet, what happened?"
"I just – "
And then she just fucking lost it.
"I couldn't do it because I saw his face and it wasn't yours."
He couldn't comprehend what was going on. What was happening? What was she saying? Is she really saying – No, this couldn't be true. It is too good to be true.
"Violet –"
"I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so bad. I wanted you to be the one touching me like I never wanted anything so much in my life. I tried fighting my feelings for as long as possible – I kept telling myself it wasn't fair to Gabe, who had been nothing but kind to me – but I can't do it anymore. I fucking love you and I don't know when or how it happened, but it fucking happened and I am so overwhelmed and scared and I can't fight it anymore. I can't, I just can't."
He grabbed her face and smashed his lips against hers, and it felt so fucking good, so fucking right, that he thought he was going to pass out. Her lips were soft, her taste addictive, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her forever. He pulled away and took in her eyes, filled with surprise and disbelief.
"I love you, Violet. Jesus, I loved you from the moment I met you. You consumed me. But I was a fucking coward and didn't tell you because I couldn't bear it if you rejected me. And then I had to watch you with that fucker and I wanted nothing more to rip his throat out because you were mine, you were already mine, you would always be mine and no one else's. I hated every minute that I had to see you with him. I lost you and it killed me every day. Every single fucking day."
He caressed her cheek, wiping away her tears.
"You are my world, Violet. You are my life. I love you so fucking much."
She leaned in, capturing his lips with hers once more before pulling away ever so slightly.
"Touch me."
"God, yes."
And when she was naked under him in the back seat with him in all of her secret, perfect places, he had never felt something so right.
She broke up with him a few days later and Tate couldn't help but smile when he heard Gabe beg Violet to take him back, that he'd do anything for her.
"I'm sorry, Gabe, but it's just not working."
"Tell me what I have to do, Violet. I'll do anything!"
"I'm sorry, Gabe, really I am. You're a great person, but I –"
"But what?!"
The venom in his voice made Tate startle. Before now he had thought Gabe was a sissy, to put it nicely. He wouldn't hurt a fly. But his voice made Tate pause, because it sounded eerily like his own when he was consumed with rage. It sounded like him when he was on the verge of murder.
"I'm – I'm in love with someone else."
"WHAT?!"
"It just sort of happened. I feel terrible, but I can't be with you anymore. It's not fair to you or me."
"You can't break up with me. You're mine!"
"Let go of me!"
Tate raced around the corner to find Gabe pinning Violet up against the lockers and he saw red. He grabbed Gabe's shirt and hauled him off Violet, punching him square in the mouth.
"Don't you fucking touch her!"
Gabe looked up hatefully at him and then grinned a ghastly smile, blood from Tate's punch seeping around his gums. He spat out a mouthful and wiped his lips on his sleeve, glaring at the two of him, Tate in front of Violet like a shield.
"So this is who you left me for, Violet? Are you fucking kidding me? What a fucking joke!"
Tate growled at him and Gabe scoffed disdainfully, spite dripping from his voice.
"I knew something was going on between you two. Did you fuck him, Violet? Were you fucking him while we were together? I bet you did, you little slut."
"Don't you dare call her that."
"I'll say whatever I want, Langdon."
Tate lunged forward, but Violet's small hand caught him and pulled him back. She whispered in his ear softly that he wasn't worth it.
Gabe started walking away, another scornful scoff falling from his lips.
"How fucking cute. You disgust me."
"Watch it."
"No, you watch it, Langdon. I will have my revenge."
He was concerned, but he would never admit it to Violet. He didn't want to worry her and spoil their new found romantic bliss; it would hang like an unwanted cloud over their relationship and he didn't want her to get some noble idea like breaking up with him to protect him or some shit. He could protect himself and he would undoubtedly protect her, but she was strong and stubborn and he knew she would hate it if he acted like her skittish knight in shining armor every time Gabe threw them dirty looks and whispered nasty rumors, which was all the time now.
But something about Gabe was definitely off in a way that was all too familiar to him.
He could feel his eyes on them as they walked through the hallways and it unnerved him. The burning hatred was palpable to the point that Violet felt it, but she was too good to suspect that it went any deeper than petty boy jealousy.
But Tate could feel the hatred growing and he could only hope that Gabe wouldn't do anything he would do.
But he always had shit luck.
He was sitting in history class when he heard a loud pop and he knew immediately what it was.
No.
Violet.
SHIT.
"GUNFIRE!"
His classroom erupted into chaos, students and teachers diving under desks and frantically trying to escape through windows. He, on the other hand, calmly reached into his backpack, pulled out the already loaded gun, unclipped the safety, and ran into the hallway, which was now filled with swarming, panicked students.
"Get out of the way, he has a gun!"
Suddenly all of the students either ducked or ran away from him, throwing open the emergency doors and setting off the alarm, which was a sharp, high pitched chirping noise that echoed relentlessly in the halls.
He thanked the higher power for getting the other students out of his way and he ran down the now deserted hallway, blood pounding, thrumming in his ears, towards the classroom where Violet has biology at this time.
And in the hallway, there she was, Gabe's arm shackled around her neck with his gun pointed at her temple and a look of both anger and terror on her face.
"VIOLET!"
"TATE! DON'T – "
"Ah, ah, ah, Tate, I would stop right where you are. You don't want to get little Violet hurt now, do you?"
"YOU SON OF A BITCH –"
"TATE!"
She struggled against Gabe's grip, biting his arm until he hissed and stepped down on her Achilles' tendon, making her shriek in pain.
"VIOLET!"
He grabbed his gun and raised it slowly so that it was level with Gabe's head, gripping it tightly with two hands. In all his fantasies of murder, never did he imagine a shoot-out and especially not one where the life of the girl he loves, of the girl he lived and breathed and would die for, hanging in the balance.
"Let. Her. Go."
"Now, Langdon, I can't really do that. See, this stupid whore betrayed me. And she deserves everything she gets for making me look like a fool."
"Leave her alone. She didn't do anything. Take your anger out on me."
As he was trying to talk Gabe down, he looked for an opening, anything, that he could do to distract him and get Violet out of there.
Violet started struggling again, screaming bloody murder, until Gabe clamped a tight hand over her mouth, her screams now reduced to angry murmurs.
"Shut up, you dumb bitch."
"I'm not going to say this again. Let. Her. Go."
"And what if I don't?"
"I will make sure you die a very painful death."
Gabe chuckled.
"Oh, is that so?"
"Oh, yes. And I will enjoy every bloody second of it."
At that exact second, Violet whipped her head back, smashing into Gabe's face and the crunch of bone alerted Tate that she broke his nose. In shock, Gabe's hand around her neck loosened and in that split second, Tate saw his chance.
"VIOLET, DUCK!"
She threw Gabe's arm off her and hit the floor.
And Tate fired a single shot right between Gabe's eyes.
Gabe slumped to the floor, the blood and brain matter already beginning to ooze down the hall. Tate dropped the gun with a loud clatter on the floor and ran to Violet, who was lying motionless near Gabe's body.
"VIOLET! VIOLET! Jesus, Violet, are you alright?"
He would never forgive himself if she was hurt.
He heard her cough slightly and he closed his eyes, tears of relief spilling out behind his eyelids.
"Oh, thank God."
He pulled her onto his lap, nuzzling his face in her hair, whispering that she's okay.
"You're okay. I got you. I'm here. I'm here."
She whimpered into his chest and he could feel his shirt getting wet with her tears as he clung desperately to him. He started rocking her gently, hoping it would calm her, as he looked at Gabe's body flung haphazardly on the floor.
"I got you. I'm here. I'll always be here. I'll protect you."
"Tate…"
"Vi…"
"OH, TATE!" Her sobbing started anew. "I thought he was going to kill me! And then I saw you standing there with a gun and I thought he was going to kill you too! If he killed you –"
"But he didn't. It's okay."
"I was so afraid. For me and for you."
"I know, Violet, I know."
She curled into his chest and he smoothed her hair down over and over, holding her close to him as he planted kisses on her head.
"I love you, Tate."
"I love you, Violet. Forever."
Even when the outside of the school was ablaze with sirens and flashing lights and the police and paramedics burst into the hallway, they still hadn't moved.
A/N: And let's give it up for jandjsalmon. I hoped you liked it, sweetie. Happy Birthday! Reviews make me happy!