I know I have another story I'm supposed to be working on. But I couldn't get this idea out of my head. So there you go.

And just for the record: I think I'm in love... with my new car. I love being old enough to drive. With a licensed parent or guardian, anyway. :)

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't own, don't own.

Thirteen-year-old Cam Fisher stood before his book shelf, skeptically eyeing its contents. He could have sworn he had tucked his copy of To Kill A Mockingbird, the book he hadn't even cracked open but had a report due on the very next day, in this book shelf. But the worn, dog-eared copy of the book, a hand-me-down from when Harris had been assigned to read it when he was in the eighth grade, was nowhere to be found. Cam glanced at his watch. 8:56 PM. With less than twelve hours to go until he had to be at school the next day, every minute counted. Cam had to find this book. NOW. He started pulling books out of the shelves at random, glancing at their covers, and shoving them back in place. Just as he was reaching for yet another book, Cam caught sight of a tattered newspaper clipping floating to the floor. The article in question was yellowed and obviously cut out of the local paper's society pages. Cam guessed it had been placed in between two books to keep it flat, and had come loose amidst his frantic book pulling. Forgetting all about his search, Cam bent down and picked up the old article.

"OCD BENEFIT RAISES ENOUGH MONEY FOR TWO SCHOLARSHIPS," the title proclaimed, but that's not what had attracted the brunette boy's attention. No, his one green eye and one blue eye had instead been drawn to the picture that accompanied the article. In it, an amber-eyed beauty, dressed to the nines in a purple chiffon halter dress, was dancing with a younger version of himself. Cam sighed, tracing his finger along the edges of the photograph. Had it really been only a year ago that this picture had been taken? The 7th Grade OCD Benefit seemed like ages ago to Cam. He smiled as the memories began to flood back to him. If he could recall correctly, the 7th Grade version of himself had been quite indignant about being forced to go to a stuffy, black-tie party…

"Why do we have to go to this thing again?" Cameron Fisher complained from the passenger seat of his brother's dirty black mustang.

"Because, little bro, it's tradition for the Briarwood boys to help out their sister school," Harris explained. "And it's not a thing, it's a party."

"Yeah, whatever. That doesn't explain why we have to wear ties," Cam grumbled, fiddling with the turquoise-and-green checked deathtrap his mom had picked out for him because- Gasp!- it complemented both of his eyes. As if silly things like matching your tie to your tie to your eye color—or in his case, colors—actually mattered. As they drove past wrought-iron fences encompassing sprawling mansions, Cam pulled a silver Motorola Rzr from the pockets of his black slacks and sent a quick text message to his best friend and teammate on the school soccer team, Derrick Harrington.

Cam: can u b lieve this?
Derrick: cheer up. gonna be lots of hot chicks there!

Cam sighed and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. Of course Derrick only cared about girls being there. He had been utterly girl crazy ever since Skye Hamilton kissed him after his game winning save in the quarter-finals game against the Prairie Dogs last season. Not that Cam had anything against "hot chicks," as Derrick had so delicately put it. It was just the awkward, embarrassing, asking-a-girl-you-barely-knew-to-dance part that Cam dreaded. If he could just get past that part, he'd be fine. But that was a big if.

The sound of tires crunching on gravel pulled Cam out of his thoughts, causing him to sit up and look out the window. They were pulling into the Block Estate's already-crowded-with-cars round about driveway. Cam felt slightly out of place in a beat-up old Mustang amid all the shiny and expensive Beemers, Jaguars, and Range Rovers, but he quickly brushed this thought aside when he spotted a group of his friends huddled together on the lawn.

There was Chris Plovert, who sported crooked glasses and a goofy grin, Kemp Hurley, who at that moment was wolf whistling at a passing brunette, and finally, Derrick Harrington, whose shaggy blonde hair and classic pretty boy features constituted the main reason why girls ever attended their soccer games. As soon as they had parked, Cam hopped out of the car and made his way over to the cluster of boys.

"Hey," Cam said, shoving his hands in his pockets. Each and every one of them felt awkward in their neatly pressed button-down shirts, dress slacks, and ties. Every one of them, that is, except Derrick. Derrick was clad in a white button-down and tie like the rest of them, but he had traded his dress pants in for khaki cargoes—shorts, nonetheless—and, unlike the rest of them, he looked as cocky and confident as he ever did. Cam wondered if this over-bearing sense of confidence was why, even as a lowly seventh grader, Derrick had been picked over everyone else to be team captain.

Maybe, said a nagging voice in Cam's head, if you thought less and acted more, you could be more like Derrick. But Cam shook these thoughts away and turned to face his best friend, who had just started talking.

"Dude. Do you even know who's house this is?" Derrick asked, making complicated gesturing movements with his hands at the miniature mansion that stood behind them. It was a large and magnificent estate complete with a pool, a guest house, tennis courts, and an old barn.

"Um. Somebody with the last name Block?" Cam guessed.

"Cam, Cam, Cam. Massie Block lives in this house," Derrick said slowly, widening his chocolate brown eyes at the mention of the name "Massie Block."

"Who?"

Kemp and Plovert snickered into their palms, exchanging how-dumb-is-he-that-he-doesn't-even-know-who-Massie-Block-is looks. Cam ignored them, instead focusing his attentions on Derrick.

"Massie Block is the most infamously pretty and popular girl in the seventh grade," Derrick explained. "No guy's ever dated her before. She's untouchable."

"Oh yeah? Which one is she?" Cam asked, scanning the crowd of people. Derrick wordlessly pointed at a group of girls standing by the buffet table. There was a dark-haired and voluptuous Spanish beauty, a fiery red-head who was munching on something from said buffet table, a toned blonde Cam thought he recognized from the girls' soccer team, and finally, the girl Cam assumed had to be Massie Block. Her glossy brown locks fell in perfect waves around her heart-shaped face, and her amber eyes gleamed. There was an air about her, a certain attitude not commonly found in most girls, that Cam could detect even at a distance. He watched as the redhead glanced in their direction and quickly looked away again, followed by all the girls erupting in peals of laughter. They were probably talking about Derrick, Cam thought glumly. Having girls talk about him was the kind of thing that always happened to Derrick and never happened to Cam.

Maybe it was him wishing he was more like Derrick Harrington, or maybe it was the flicker in Massie's eyes. Cam never knew for certain why it was, but the next six words that popped out of his mouth were:

"I'm gonna ask her to dance."

"You? Ask Massie Block to dance?" Derrick scoffed. "You gotta be kidding me."

"Watch me," Cam said, and with that he was off, walking across the manicured lawn. His friends fell into step beside him, each calling dibs on a different girl.

"I call the one with the rack!" Kemp shouted. How predictable.

"I'm asking the soccer player. I'm a sucker for blondes," Plovert snickered.

"Guess that leaves me with the redhead," Derrick grumbled. Cam thought he could detect a hint of jealousy in his friend's voice, but he ignored it, because they had finally made it over to the buffet table and the girls were staring up at them expectantly.

"Um. Wanna dance?" Cam asked lamely, offering Massie his arm. Her friends giggled as she took it and allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor, not once looking at his face. Cam recognized the old Oasis song the band was playing and swayed slowly to the beat of it.

I don't believe that anybody
Feels the way I do about you now
And all the roads we have to walk are winding
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding
There are many things that I would like to say to you
But I don't know how
Because maybe
You're gonna be the one that saves me
And after all
You're my wonderwall

It was at this point that Cam realized the brunette in his arms was peering at him curiously. Crap. Had he just been singing out loud? Just as he clamped his mouth shut, Massie spoke up.

"Don't stop. I liked it," she said simply, her amber eyes locking on his green-and-blue ones.

"Okay," Cam managed.

And for the rest of the evening Cam sang along to every song, Massie Block's head resting on his shoulder as she breathed in the scent of his Drakkar Noir cologne. They danced until the band finished its last song and left the stage, the signal for Massie and Cam to part ways and rejoin their friends. Nothing more came of that night, except maybe a few flirty text messages and e-mails. Every once in a while, Cam wondered if Massie might have returned his crush at one point or another. But then he'd see her off laughing and having a good time with Derrick, and he'd decide otherwise. As much as it pained him to think it, Cam Fisher and Massie Block would only ever be friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

Present-day Cam shook his head, pulling himself out of his reverie. Remembering his frantic search for his copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, and the essay that was due the next day, Cam glanced down at his watch. Crap. 9:32 PM. He had just wasted over half an hour sitting there thinking, and the book was still nowhere to be found.

Screw it. He was just going to go look it up on SparkNotes.

I personally really liked how this turned out. But review and give me your opinion. :)