Chapter One: Ready to Fall

Westmore High parties were all the same: dozens of punk rock students, who laughed a little too loudly after they ingested one shot, were stuffed like sardines inside a suburban-wonderland type of house. The host of the party hadn't had the forethought to take down the embarrassing, JC Penney quality photos of his family that lined the walls, and decorations that his mother had clearly spent hours organizing were suddenly covered in chip crumbs and red solo cups.

Shea did not like the party scene. More specifically, she didn't like the people that came to parties like this. They drank too much beer, danced too wildly, and tried too hard to get her number after she explicitly said no. Normally, Shea would have passed on a party like this, and opted for a movie night with her best friend Priya. But Ben had invited them, and Ben had party intuition: he always knew when a good one was brewing. Plus, Shea couldn't say no to an old friend.

"I'm having a hard time finding the liquor," Sam told Shea, his eyes wide with horror. He had been searching the house for about ten minutes, which, in party years, was closer to two hours.

"No kidding," Shea said, and picked up a nearby framed photo of three boys, dressed in fresh pressed suits and fake smiles. "We're in suburban hell."

"It's probably non-alcoholic beer," Priya said, nodding to a group of boys holding full cups. "Their drunkenness is psychosomatic."

"Bless you," Sam joked, and the three of them laughed.

Priya was the smartest and prettiest, Shea thought, of all her friends. She had soft caramel skin and long dark hair that fell in waterfalls past her shoulders. She also had a great, non-judgmental, punk rock attitude where she didn't give a fuck that Shea got straight Cs and kissed too many boys. Even though they didn't go to the same high school, Priya and Shea spent all day texting each other—from morning until night. Shea loved Priya more than any person she knew.

Sam was a close second in her life. Shea and Sam met at Plainview High when they were placed in the same block schedule together. Sam spiked his dark, short hair and laughed louder than any person Shea knew. When class got boring, he taught Shea how to speak Filipino. He wasn't much of a project partner, but Sam was a great friend.

"Hey, you made it!" Ben exclaimed, parting a sea of white boys in black t-shirts. Shea spotted his small mohawk and eyebrow ring from across the room. He was hard to miss.

"Too soon, perhaps," Shea said loudly, raising her voice over the sudden clamor that occurred when the group had figured out how to successfully set up Rock Band. "There's no alcohol?"

"Ah, no, it's hidden," Ben clarified, and pointed over his shoulder. "Come on, let me show you."

"It's in fucking Narnia?" Sam asked, confused.

"There are kids running around," Ben explained. As they turned the corner into the hallway, the group ran into the two kids.

"We're not that young!" the gangly boy said. Shea thought if his hair was shaggier, he might look like Harry Potter.

"They're Chirag's friends," Priya whispered in Shea's ear. Chirag was Priya's younger brother. Even though they were entering the eighth grade, Chirag still looked like he was in elementary school. Shea was surprised to see how tall the other boys were in comparison to him.

"Yeah, yeah, what are you, nine?" Ben said dismissively, pushing past the skinny boy and his round friend.

"Thirteen!" the two boys choired. When Ben didn't respond, they disappeared into the living room.

Ben led Shea and the others down the hall, and then turned into the laundry room. On top of the dryer sat a bowl of pink liquid with a stack of red cups next to it.

"Bottoms up!" Ben said.

"Ooh, if I get sick from this…" Priya said warningly.

"It will be worth it," Sam concluded. He grabbed a cup and dunked it into the bowl.

"That's so unsanitary," Priya groaned.

"Alcohol kills germs," Ben said.

"I don't think that's how it works," Priya argued, her tongue sharpening w into a v sound. Even though she was first generation American, her accent mimicked her parents'. "No shots?"

"We couldn't get enough booze," Ben lamented. "This is it."

"Who's hosting this lame ass excuse for a party?" Sam asked, already halfway through his cup.

"Rodrick," Ben said. "That's my boy; don't talk shit."

Sam held his hands up in defense. "Hey man, just asking."

Ben laughed good-naturedly, "S'alright. Good to see you, Shea." He squeezed her shoulder and left the laundry room.

"This explains a lot," Priya muttered, taking out her phone.

"What?" Shea asked.

"Rodrick Heffley," Priya said. She handed her phone to Shea, and a boy with shaggy black hair looked back.

"Whoa, mama," Shea said, flipping through the boy's profile photos.

"What?" Sam said, dipping his cup into the bowl.

Shea was well aware that profile pictures were almost always deceiving. Currently, she had a great black and white, close up photo of her smiling gently and looking down, the camera focused on her one round eye with perfect winged liner. It failed to show the crooked line on her other eye, or the acne that lingered her cheeks, or her never straight septum ring, or her awkward new partial buzz cut on the right side of her head. But Rodrick's photos were almost all the same: candid shots of him laughing or drumming, and his face never changed.

"He's cute," Shea gushed.

Priya snatched her phone back and scrunched up her face. "Don't even think about it."

"I bet you I'll kiss him by the end of the night."

"Shea!" Priya snapped with a smile, so Shea knew she was off the hook. "You can do way better, trust me."

"It's just a kiss," Shea said dismissively. Priya rolled her eyes. "You can tell me that when I agree to marry him. Does he have a girlfriend?"

"No," her friend explained, "but he was pining after Heather Hills all summer. She's this—"

"I know her," Shea cut off her. She couldn't believe a boy like him would like girls like Heather Hills. "We work at the country club together. Sort of. Sometimes she asks for the time on the walkie. I don't know why she asks the office, but she's an idiot."

"She's a nightmare," Priya agreed. "He made a total ass out of himself at her party. Hold on, let me find the video…"

Priya pulled up YouTube and typed in a few keywords. She scrolled the results quickly scanning videos until she found the one. "Aha! Watch."

She pressed play and turned the volume up loud enough so that Shea could hear. Shea saw a poor quality figure, dressed in a band shirt and jeans, throwing his voice to the tune of Justin Bieber's "Baby."

"Oh my god," Shea muttered. "Turn it off. I'm getting second-hand embarrassment."

Priya nodded grimly. "It was bad. He bounces back though. I'm not sure he knew it was embarrassing."

"Good. I like a man with confidence."

Priya rolled her eyes, and followed Shea out of the laundry room. Sam cried, "Wait for me!" and stumbled close behind, barely balancing three nearly full cups.

"I am not taking that," Priya insisted, stopping in the hallway so Sam could readjust.

Shea tentatively took a cup, and pressed the rim to her lips. Cautiously, she tasted the drink: pink lemonade, Sprite, and vodka.

"Ugh, I hate vodka," Shea moaned.

"I'll drink all three," Sam offered.

"No, no," Shea said, and took another sip. "We've all got to make sacrifices in the pursuit of drunkenness."

"Over here!" Ben yelled, catching the trio's attention.

The three friends wandered over to the kitchen counter, where Ben was talking with none other than Rodrick. Rodrick looked exactly as he did in his Facebook photos: same smartass smirk, same black Converse, same Dead Kennedys shirt.

There was something strange about meeting a person you had stalked online moments prior. Shea's mind was still buzzing with the "Baby" video, and with his almost identical profile photos; so much so, it was strange to see Rodrick standing in front of her as an actual person, not an Internet invention. But the real world did him good: he had color in his face, his green eyes, highlighted by smoky black liner, shined, and he was much taller than Shea imagined.

"You can blame this man for the lack of liquor," Ben said, slapping his friend on the back.

"Done," Sam said, finishing off his second cup. He stacked the empty cup beneath the full one, and stuck his hand out to Rodrick. "I'm Sam. This is…"

"Priya," she cut him off. To Sam, she said, "We've had classes together. He knows."

"After one drink, he might not," Ben joked, and Rodrick rolled his eyes. "Anyway, this is my friend I was telling you about: Shea. Shea, Rodrick."

When he looked at her, his eyes widened. He recovered from the momentary display of emotion by saying, a little too coolly, "Hey."

Shea couldn't help herself. "Are you wearing eyeliner?"

Clearly, this was not the introduction Rodrick had imagined. He faltered, and then sputtered, "It's punk rock."

"Sorry, I just, it's a surprise. I'd only seen photos of you like this." Shea turned, and picked up a nearby, large framed photo of a smiling Rodrick in a suit. "Not very punk rock."

He narrowed his eyes. "It's more punk rock than… than… your hair!"

Shea self-consciously touched her buzzed hair. The cut was still very new on her, and she wasn't sure if she loved it or not yet, but she defended it all the same.

"The queen of punk rock herself sports this look," she said, "Avril Lavigne."

Rodrick raised an eyebrow. Priya laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.

"It's a joke," Shea said, and Rodrick relaxed. "I'm a master at the art of self-deprecation."

"Self what?" he asked, scrunching his face in confusion.

"Oh my god," Shea said quietly, and turned to Priya. "I am not drunk enough for this."

"Told you," Priya said in a sing-song voice. She wrapped her arm around Sam, and said, "Come on, let's go see what song they're playing."

Priya was the best wing woman. Even though she didn't like Rodrick, she was trying to help Shea get her kiss. This, and other reasons, were why Shea loved Priya so much.

Shea asked, eager to keep the conversation going, "So what were you talking about?"

"Oh, you know, music… Our band," Ben said, looking to Rodrick for direction.

"Yeah. We just got back from a world tour," Rodrick said nonchalantly.

"Does anyone believe that?" Shea posed, which made Ben laugh.

"Well," Rodrick stammered, "You don't know it's not true."

Shea couldn't believe Rodrick would lie so eagerly and so badly. But she wasn't one of those girls who would believe him just to flirt—she would call him out on his crap, and he would deal with it. If not, he wasn't worth kissing.

"I do actually. I've been in touch with Ben all summer." She touched Ben's arm, and he beamed. "Did Heather Hills believe it? Is that why she wanted you to play her party?"

Shea forgot she knew more about Rodrick than she was supposed to know. And that some topics, especially ones that resulted in an embarrassing YouTube video with more than a thousand reviews, should be left unspoken.

Luckily, Rodrick wasn't as sensitive as Shea feared.

"Yeah, actually," he said, smiling. "That's exactly why."

"I have to say, though, that ruining that preppy nightmare's sweet sixteen party was extremely punk rock," Shea said.

Rodrick grinned. Ben exclaimed, "That's what I've been saying!"

"What's your band called again?" Shea asked, glad to see the tension fading.

"Loded Diper!" Rodrick said, a little too proud of the juvenile name.

Shea scrunched her nose. "Ah."

"You should know; you've seen us play," Ben said accusingly.

Shea honestly didn't remember. She felt a little bad. "Oh?"

"Yeah, at The Black Squirrel." Ben mimed guitar playing. "Dark room, 21 and over, you were way drunk before we went on."

"Oh yeah!" Shea laughed. The memory was foggy, but it was there. She remembered the dimmed lights and loud noises, and the way Priya kept nervously checking her shoulder for the bouncer who wasn't quite convinced her fake was real. "You were alright. To be fair though, I had a lot of tequila, so my judgment was definitely off."

"I think everyone did," Rodrick conceded. "Even us. It was a wild show. The bar owner said he loved us but we haven't gotten a call back."

"Did he know you were 16 when he hired you?"

"Seventeen, then," Rodrick said proudly.

"Still not 21."

Rodrick pulled his wallet out from his back pocket, and pulled out his license. He shoved it in Shea's face. Rodrick Smith: Aged 21.

"Wow, that looks so real," Shea said in awe. She took the ID from his hand and flipped it over. "Mine's a piece of shit. How'd you get that?"

"This guy named Bill used to sing for us. He was 35 and had a lot of… connections," Rodrick explained, casting a nervous look at Ben. "He hooked us up."

Shea gave Rodrick his fake back, set her drink on the counter, and reached for her wallet. She kept her fake beneath her actual license, but on more than one occasion had gotten the two confused. She slid it out of its home and handed it to her new friend.

"Shea Linn," Rodrick read aloud. "What's Linn?"

"My middle name," Shea explained.

He flipped it over once, then twice, and shrugged. "It looks alright to me. You don't look 21, though."

"I so do!"

"It's the Avril Lavigne hair," Rodrick teased.

"Says you, eyeliner boy!"

"Whoa!" Ben held his hands up in protest. "This is getting serious. I'm gonna go see what the others are doing out there."

"Okay," Shea and Rodrick both said. Ben gave them a knowing look, and then disappeared into the living room.

It was a strange sensation: even though Ben had barely contributed to the group conversation, the room felt different once he had left. Ben was a safe zone, and now that he was gone it meant Shea had to make conversation with this new boy all on her own. The vodka was beginning to dull her senses, but only barely.

"So," Shea said, racking her brain for things she knew she had in common with Rodrick. Under pressure, nothing came to mind.

"So," he echoed, drumming his fingers on the counter. "Do you play?"

"What?"

"An instrument," he explained haughtily, like he was speaking to a toddler. "Ben said he knew you from a music class."

"Oh yeah, we used to take guitar lessons together," she explained, trying not to react to his tone. She had a hard time telling when he was being sarcastic and when he was being genuine.

"Acoustic or electric?"

"Acoustic," Shea said, rubbing her rough fingertips together. "I still can. But I'm better at singing, so I focus on that."

Rodrick nodded, impressed. "Nice. I can sing too. You know, when I'm trying."

"You mean your performance at the infamous Hills party was not an accurate portrayal of your skill set?"

He rolled his eyes, like the answer was so obvious. "That song wasn't written in my range."

"Sure," Shea teased. "People tell me I sound like Hayley Williams from Paramore. I wish I sounded like Lzzy Hale. She's my queen."

It was Rodrick's turn to poke fun, "I thought Avril was your queen. You stole her look."

Shea scoffed, "I'm sorry, not sure if you heard, but Gerard Way wants his eyeliner back."

He tried to look offended, but he couldn't hide his grin. "He wishes he looked as good as me."

"I bet you have MCR posters in your room."

Rodrick's face reddened. He insisted, "Trust me, I don't."

"You're lying," Shea yelled. "Look at your face."

"It's great, I know," he said, and Shea clapped her hands together and laughed.

Once they recovered, Rodrick asked her, "So, did the septum hurt?"

Shea instinctively touched her ring and straightened it. "No more than my tattoo."

His eyes widened with surprise. "You have a tattoo?"

She lowered the hem of her tank top to expose a colored, traditional swallow. "I got it last year. It hurts going over the bone but I love it. The artist is my brother's friend so I got it pretty cheap, too."

Rodrick paused, and then said, "I have one too."

"Where? Or do I not want to know?"

He pushed up his sleeve and revealed his band's name and logo. The ink was a little too bright, and the lines were a little too crooked to convince Shea, though.

"That is so fake," she accused.

Rodrick dropped his sleeve. "It's not!"

Without thinking, she licked her fingers and rubbed them against his forearm. As she predicted, the ink smeared.

Shea laughed. "Is that sharpie? How long did that take? Did you sanitize it first?"

Rodrick's face reddened. "Shut up."

Shea was surprised at how easy it was to talk to Rodrick. More importantly, she was surprised how much she enjoyed talking to him. Once she had exposed most of his lies, Rodrick relaxed and started to tell the truth. When he was genuine, Shea found that she liked him. He was certainly rough around the edges, but he wasn't unlikable. They wandered onto the subject of school ("Westmore sucks; I hate school. I just wanna make music," Rodrick moaned), and graduation plans ("I don't know if I wanna go to college," Shea agreed when Rodrick dissented, "I have no idea what I want to do with my life."), but somehow always deviated back to music. While Rodrick's grades were anything but stellar ("I'll graduate, but barely," he explained), he was an expert at music and music production. Even though the band name was juvenile, he was passionate about making it big in the punk or metal scene.

"I was really drunk when I heard you guys play. I feel like I should give you a fair shot," Shea said coyly. The vodka had lightened her brain and made her feel like floating. To her surprise and delight, Rodrick didn't shy away from her advances.

"I have a CD up in my room if you want to listen to it," he said eagerly. She couldn't tell if he was excited about showing off his band, or about being alone with her.

"Yeah!" she exclaimed, grinning. "Lead the way, Gerard."

Rodrick led Shea into the thick of the party. Someone had turned off Rock Band and turned on Call of Duty. The radio was screaming what sounded like a homemade metal CD at the loudest possible volume. Shea spied Priya and Sam laughing animatedly with Ben. She briefly wondered what they were talking about, but remembered her goal: the kiss. As she turned to follow Rodrick up the stairs, Priya give her a thumbs up. So much for her needing to do better.

On their way up, they passed a maze of hallways and doors. Of course, Shea conceded, maybe the journey wasn't as confusing as the vodka made it seem. Rodrick opened a door at the end of the hallway, and led the way up a small flight of stairs into the attic.

Rodrick's room was decorated with hanging, colorful Christmas lights and band posters. To Shea's delight, My Chemical Romance was hanging above his bed.

Shea pointed and barked a laugh. "Oh my god! Are you even real?"

Rodrick blushed. "Shut up."

While she was laughing, he moved to the computer on the side of the wall, in front of the window. Shea sat on his bed, which was covered in dark blue sheets. Shea was surprised how tidy his room seemed to be. There were random pieces of clothing strewn about the floor, but his bookshelf was mostly neat and there wasn't any food laying around. Shea thought it odd that a guy like Rodrick was neat. But then she wondered how much of it was his mother keeping him under her thumb.

Suddenly, the alcohol made her dizzy, and she lay on her back, her legs dangling off the end. The sounds of the party downstairs were drowned out by a loud, thumping drum beat, followed by crashing of guitar riffs and a screaming male voice. Shea had a hard time distinguishing the words in the garage rock sound, but she was surprised by how much she didn't mind it.

Rodrick crossed the room and lay down next to her, mimicking her position. He asked, a little too eagerly, "Well?"

"Well," Shea said slowly, trying to think of something better than "I'm not disappointed". "It sounds sort of like early blink-182, if they screamed."

Rodrick smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"I could probably say your face looked like an asshole and you'd take it as a compliment," Shea joked.

He laughed. "Does it?"

Shea sat up, and he followed suit. Her mind was spinning and the music was loud; it was hard to focus. Shea looked down, and noticed his hand covering hers, and how warm her fingers felt, and how nice it all was, when she remembered he asked her a question.

"No!" she sputtered. She was afraid to move her hand in case he noticed he had accidentally placed it there. She couldn't think. "It doesn't."

Rodrick tightened his grip on her hand, and leaned forward, closing the space between them. His face was so close to her face, the thumping bass filling her ears. She could smell his body wash—an old spice of some kind—and his cheek was touching hers. This was it. This was it. She breathed, excited.

Just as their lips were about to touch, she could have sworn somewhere in her mind she heard his name echoing, "Rodrick! Rodrick!"

But the noise wasn't an echo. The shrill voice was accompanied by a pounding pair of footsteps. Rodrick's brother and his round friend were standing in the doorway, looking horrorstruck. Rodrick pulled away from Shea, his face pale and murderous.

"What?" he snarled.

"The cops are here!" Rodrick's brother squeaked, his eyes wide.

"What?" Shea and Rodrick echoed.

Just like that, Shea didn't feel quite as drunk. They stood and bounded down the stairs as fast as possible. Shea's heart was pounding in her chest and her skin felt cold and clammy. Cops. Of course someone called the cops. The volume in the living room was at one thousand percent and it was well after midnight.

When they got to the front door, they met a young cop who looked irritated at the display of behavior from the party guests, who were currently playing a loud round of Cards Against Humanity.

Shea latched onto Rodrick's arm, and said, her voice dripping with confidence, "Hi, officer, thanks so much for stopping by. We're so sorry this got out of control. We'll take care of this right away."

The officer's eyes turned from frustrated to surprise. "Shea? Shea Baker?"

Shea's heart stopped. At that moment, she suddenly remembered every awful and illegal thing she had ever done. Well, this is it, she thought, I'm going to prison.

"Uh, yeah?" she said instead.

"It's Mikey!" the cop said excitedly, removing his hat. "I was real good friends with your brother! It's been a while, Shea."

Shea had no idea who Mikey the Cop was, but pretended to remember in hopes of him not arresting her. "Oh, of course! Mikey! How could I forget? Bryan talks about you all the time."

Mikey's face lit up. "Yeah, me and Bryan, man. We go way back. I remember you when you were a little thing." He held his hand up to his waist. "This big. How's he like the army?"

"Oh, you know, he likes it," she said vaguely. "He's up at Fort Drum in New York now. Better than the desert in Cali."

"Yeah, he complained about that all the time," Mikey laughed. Shea chuckled weakly. She peeked a glance at Rodrick, who looked petrified. "Anyway, Shea, here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna get in my car and drive around the block. That's ten minutes, alright? I need you to get everyone outta here. If I come back and this party's still going, you know I gotta shut it down and start checking licenses."

"Right, of course," Shea said, her voice cracking from nerves. "We've got it. Don't worry."

Mikey replaced his hat and winked. "See you around, Shea."

"Bye!" she called after him. Once he was at his car, Rodrick slammed the door shut.

"You knew him?" he asked, incredulous.

"No," she laughed nervously. "My brother and him are apparently bros. Worked out for us, though, huh?"

Priya appeared at Shea's side. "What happened? What'd he say?" she asked frantically.

"We've gotta get everyone out. Now," she said urgently.

Shea looked behind her and saw the dining room set. She ran and quickly grabbed a chair, and then darted back to the living room. Slowly, she climbed on top of the chair, steadied herself, and then whistled.

To her surprise and delight, she had most of the room's attention, sans Sam, who was passed out on the couch.

"That was the cops at the door. And if y'all don't leave right now, they're coming back for you," she said seriously. The guests began to look at each other nervously and murmur. "So… it was fun, but get out."

The party didn't need telling twice. They assembled into a large mass and pushed into the foyer, nearly knocking Shea off of the chair. Rodrick held onto her waist to keep her steady; Shea tried to ignore how hot her face became at his touch.

"Damn," Ben said, wandering from the kitchen. "This place cleared out. Was that really the cops?"

"Yeah," Shea said, her voice shaky. She looked down at Rodrick, who was still holding her waist. "You can let go now."

"Oh!" he pulled his hands away like he'd been shocked. His cheeks were red, and his normally confident face softened. "Sorry."

Shea climbed off of the chair, and asked Priya, "Well, should we go?"

Priya grimaced. "I would normally say yes, but…" she gestured to Sam, who was passed out on the couch in the living. "He had six cups of the mystery liquor, and passed out. I wouldn't feel right about taking him home and leaving him alone."

Sam was known for binge drinking at parties, and had done his fair share of passing out. Luckily, his liver knew its limits, and warned him to stop by making him sleep.

"He needs water," Shea said, and Priya murmured in agreement.

The girls headed into the kitchen, which was littered with red cups, crumbs, and trash, and found an empty glass and filled it with water. Shea handed it to Priya, who was best at stirring Sam.

Sam moaned, "What? Leave me alone."

"Drink," Priya insisted.

Sam grudgingly sat up, and took the cup. "I feel like crap."

"Drink," Priya repeated, firmer. "Six cups. All of it. Then we'll go."

Sam whined, but obliged to Priya's wishes. She glanced around the living room, which was in a similar state to the kitchen, and said plainly, "This place is a dump."

"Don't worry about it. We'll get it in the morning," Ben said dismissively. He grinned, and shook Rodrick's shoulder. "A small price to pay for a killer party."

Shea could see Priya's tolerance for the mess quickly dwindling. "We could help clean up now," Shea suggested, "while we wait for Sam to drink."

"Please," Priya nearly begged, "It will give up something to do."

Rodrick sighed. "I'll grab the trash bags."

Rodrick's brother and friend, who had been watching the incident from the stairwell, grinned sheepishly.

"Well, it looks like you guys have the situation under control," his brother said. "I think we'll go upstairs and…"

"Don't even think about it, Greggy," Rodrick cut him off. "You partied, you clean."

Greg and his friend both groaned, pouting, and begrudgingly waited in the living room for garbage bags. Shea was impressed at how well Greg listened to Rodrick; but then again, Rodrick seemed like the kind of person to take control.

The group split up: Rodrick and Ben had the kitchen, Greg and his friend, whom Shea heard was named Rowley, took the hallways, and the girls took the living room. Cleaning was a slow, meticulous task. But Priya was right—it helped to pass the time, and keep an eye on Sam, who alternated between whining about drinking water and falling asleep. Whenever Shea went into the kitchen to refill his cup, she would spy Rodrick watching her. She would smile, and he would quickly look away, caught in the act.

When the party had left, someone had turned off the radio. Shea couldn't stand working in silence, so she hooked up her iPod to the stereo and turned on a playlist of emotional metal songs she called "Moody Metal." She sang along while she cleaned, occasionally garnering a reaction from Ben on the song change. (Either "I love this song!" or "Why do you have this?" Shea didn't mind the music snobbery.) Despite everything that happened all night, she wondered what Rodrick thought of her taste in music. She knew it was stupid to care so much about what a boy, let alone an unfamiliar boy, thought about her choices, but she couldn't help herself.

By the time Sam had finished his fourth cup (which was more than either Shea or Priya thought he would get through), the house was clean: the floors vacuumed, the dishes washed, the photos straightened, and the curtains fixed. Greg and Rowley had disappeared upstairs about a half hour beforehand, leaving their full trash bags in the hallway. It was just past three in the morning, and Moody Metal was just beginning again.

Ben slapped Sam on the back. "How do you feel, bud?"

"Like I need to sleep, but thanks to these two I'll be pissing all night," he pointed a square finger at Shea and Priya.

"Sorry, we should have let your liver melt," Priya snapped, and Sam cringed.

"Whatever, let's just go," he muttered, and headed out the door.

Priya said a quick goodbye to Ben and Rodrick, who waved in response. Shea smiled at the boys, suddenly at a loss for words. While she was cleaning, she imagined a very grand and dramatic goodbye, where Rodrick would coyly sweep her off her feet, and Ben would thank her for saving his friend. When she thought about the vision, she vowed not to drink so much mystery liquor at the next party.

Ben wrapped Shea in a tight hug, pressing her face against his chest. His shirt was drenched in sweat, and the putrid smell stung her nostrils.

"Thanks for coming, dude," he said, finally releasing her.

"Yeah, sure," she said, walking towards the door. The adrenaline from the night had vanished from her body, leaving her feeling tired and uncreative. "Take a shower, alright?"

Ben saluted. Shea's eyes lingered on Rodrick, who seemed stuck in his spot. She knew she needed to say something, but all she could think was, "Just kiss me, Gerard."

"Shea, come on!" Sam hollered, his voice shattering the silent street.

"Okay," Shea said, her confidence wavering, "See you guys."

She stepped out the front door and walked towards Priya's car. The cool air of the night was welcome against Shea's warm skin. It was then that she realized how hot she'd been; she pressed her hand against the back of her neck and found she was sweating. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and tried to push the stress from the night out.

Shea had to admit she was disappointed that Rodrick didn't want to say goodbye, especially after their almost kiss in his attic room. Maybe he was nervous. But she didn't glean that from his personality: the way he boldly lied to impress her, or the way he made fun of her at the same rate she poked fun at him. So Priya didn't think he was boyfriend material—Shea thought they could have meshed together well. But she knew better than to think that he was interested in pursuing anything more than what this night had been. Sure, they could friend each other on Facebook and flirt through private messages, but somehow, she didn't see it going further than that.

She was just about to chalk the night up to a loss when she heard her name, "Shea!"

She turned, and saw Rodrick standing in the doorway. Even though she thought she had control, she felt her heart skip a beat.

"Wait," he called, lowering his voice, "can you come here?"

Sam groaned from the backseat, "Holy shit, make it quick."

"Shush," Shea said, trying not to smile. Sam rolled his eyes and flopped across the backseat.

Shea walked quickly back towards the front door. Rodrick was leaning in the door frame, trying to look calm and collected, but she recognized the fear in his eyes and smile.

"Hey," she breathed.

"Hey," he said, shifting nervously from foot to foot. "Um, I was wondering…"

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering if maybe I could call you, and we could hang out maybe next week," he said quickly, the words jumbling together.

Shea grinned; her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Rodrick's eyes lit up. He looked surprised that she had said yes. "Cool."

"Cool," Shea repeated. She paused, and waited for him to say something else. When the silence between them was starting to get awkward, she made her excuses, "Well, I had fun. But, um, I should probably get going…"

Rodrick suddenly loosened up. "Yeah, yeah, totally. Get Sam's drunk ass home."

She chuckled. When Rodrick didn't move forward to hug her, Shea decided to be hold. She stepped into the doorway, placed her hand on Rodrick's shoulder, and pressed her lips against his cheek.

"Thanks," she purred.

Rodrick looked like he'd been electrocuted. He opened his mouth to form words, but couldn't. Shea smirked and waved. He limply held his hand up in a pathetic wave goodbye.

Shea threw herself into the backseat of Priya's car. Sam jumped when she landed, and said, "Who's there?"

The girl laughed; Sam rested his head in Shea's lap and nodded back off to sleep while Priya drove into the night.

"So, how was it?" Priya asked in a sing-song voice. "Did you get your kiss?"

"No, actually," Shea said. "We almost did up in his room. And then his brother and friend ran in and told us about the cops."

"Bummer," Priya said, not sounding bummed at all.

Shea hesitated about telling Priya how she felt about Rodrick. She knew that Priya would judge her. But she couldn't stand keeping secrets from Priya more.

"I actually really like him, Priya," Shea gushed, "he's so funny. And we like the same music. And. I don't know, man."

"Well," she said, choosing her words carefully. "As long as you like him. What did he say when you went to the door?"

"He asked if he could call me." Shea paused, and then a horrible thought occurred to her. "But he doesn't have my number."

"Ben will give it to him."

Priya was probably right. Shea wondered what Rodrick would tell Ben, and what advice Ben would give in return.

"You're right," Shea said.

"I always am."

Shea watched the dark houses pass outside of her window. It was almost 3:30, so most houses were fast asleep: lights off, shades drawn. Both Sam and Shea lived in Plainview, which was a twenty minute drive, so they had some time before they got to Sam's house to drop him off. Shea didn't mind the silence in the drive, though; it helped her clear her mind and try to relax.

Just as Priya pulled up to Sam's house, Shea's phone buzzed. She had a new text from an unknown number.

It read, "hey avril it's gerard."

She couldn't help but smile.

A/N: Hello! This is my first time posting for Diary of a Wimpy Kid. I'm aware I've posted in the book section when this is more accurately a movie depiction of the Heffleys, but the book section has more traffic so...

I think this can stand alone as a one-shot, but I do have a few more chapters written, if you guys were interested in seeing more! Review and let me know what ya like! :)