Fast Times at Mount Aberham High
No, it's not the Sean Penn stoner comedy - it's the last chapter of the Mount Aberham High series. Death! Explosions! Premonition! Bananas!
Authors note:
What a weird way to start a sequel: By not finishing the first one! Yes, this is the third and final chapter in my Mount Aberham High series. I decided NOT to finish WTGTS because then things will be like a surprise for you...... okay, just blame it on sheer laziness.
And, Sparky, my loveable little diamond, you have GOT to come to Cici-Inator's FD Board... we keep saying that we wish you were there. It's located at fdarchive.proboards20.com! Please come!
CHAPTER ONE
One Lucky Headache
Journal: Alex Browning
Oh wow, oh wow, oh holy merciful crap!
And so it's come to this...
Wow, it's kinda hard to say.
CLEAR RIVERS IS GOING TO PARIS. WHEN WE GO TO PARIS.
Wow, that was... easy.
It's weird. We talk on the phone sometimes, and we message each other just about every day, oh, and she's sent me tons of pictures. But... she's been gone over two years now. We were friends for two months, then she was gone for two years, so I still get the feeling that I don't know EVERYTHING about her.
Okay, Alex, you're gettin' girly on yourself. Let's just start over with the facts.
Clear's going to Paris on a summer exchange thing. Seems like something she'd do. Her mom is driving her up from Jersey and made a huge effort over getting her on the same flight as us - just so we could see each other. Now that's just... wow?
Okay, I am going to start giving myself shock treatments if I don't stop saying "wow."
---
Journal: Tod Waggner
Alex called me and told me Clear is comming up the day before the trip.
Hmm, that's tomorrow. How... oh whatever, screw sarcasm, I'm actually pretty excited. Man, Paris is going to be fucking sweet! Me and Shania, Alex, George, Billy... kinda like old times.
Er, not exactly.
For one thing, Terry used to be our friend. She used to be sweet, and to be honest I really truly thought she would stay with Billy. Now, I've not been one to get into the relationship crap, but he did everything to win her back. And she chose Carter. Billy never really told us what she said. He muttered something about "moving on" and "putting the past in the past."
Well then how come she hasn't spoken to us since?
And Carter? I thought he would get over himself at some point. Turns out he's still a dick. In fact, he's about twice the dick he used to be. Perhaps he's being a dick to conpensate for his lack of dick.
Er, too many dicks.
Anyway, I guess hanging out with too many girls would cramp our styles anyway. That goes for Carter as well, he's too much of a pretty boy.
---
Journal: Terry Chaney
Mmmmmmmm. Carter just took me out the the Fishbowl and, well, mmmmmmmmmmm.
Sorry, not referring to the food, referring to the HUUUUUUUGE makeout class we had in the car after the truly sucky meal.
Wow, I never thought I'd get the advantage of dating such a great kisser!! Well, I've only dated, like, two guys, EVER, but Carter's a better kisser.
He's also quite charming. Like over supper he was telling me that
Sorry, phone rang.
I was expecting Carter, but it was (drum roll) CLEAR RIVERS!
Former friend, Clear Rivers.
Our conversation went like this:
C: Hey, Ter, it's me!
T: Uh, hey.
(weird pause)
C: Me, as in, Clear?
T: Ohhhhh! Clear! How... are you?
C: Mediocre to good.
T: Uh... (nervous laugh)
C: Yeah, I guess that's kinda funny. I've got some news.
T: Really? Uh, I mean, what is it?
(It seems 'uh' is the word of the day for me.)
C: I'm going to Paris on student exchange.
T: (wondering why the fuck it's so interesting) Er, when?
C: Day after tomorrow.
T: (slightly more interested) Really? Are you fucking serious? We're--
C: Leaving the same day, I know. That's why I'm flying from JFK.
T: (knocking over desk chair) Uh, wow. So, I guess I'll be seeing you!
C: (confused) Is this a good-bye.
T: Uhhhh, sorta. Look, I gotta go!
C: Oh, really? Well bye--
T: (HANGS UP!)
What the fuck did I do? Clear and I used to be friends and I'm just sitting there like a retard going "Uhhhhhhh." Maybe it's because I've made the least effort to call her since she moved to Jersey, or maybe it's that from the light way she was talking to me, she had no idea that I haven't been talking to any of her old friends.
My old friends.
They were my friends, too.
---
Journal: Billy Hitchcock
I HATE French class.
Or, better yet, I hate planes.
I hate everything about planes.
I hate flying. I hate airline food. I hate tiny cramped bathrooms and being stuck in a 747 with Carter and Terry seven seats away. (I counted on the seating plan. How lame am I?) I hate having Mr. Murneau trying to teach us French while we're thousands of feet in the air and I hate turbulence.
Right now I hate everything.
Except for ice cream.
I think I'm gonna go get some.
***
Alexander Chance Browning skimmed his hand along the shelves of the convenience mart only a few blocks from his house. He thought of which items he would need most. The top of his list was candy, which he had to remind himself was not a real priority, as he had already packed everything else for his trip.
The candy rack, however, reached out to him with a gooey, chocolaty hand, and he felt obliged to pick a few items.
His hand waved ofer the items, his eyes doing a similar motion, only faster. The colorfull labels reminded him of a child's ball pit, and suddenly, the overwhelming temptation gave him the mentality of a two-year-old. Aero bars and Mirrages and Junior Mints and Bubble Tape! They were all in front of him and he had to choose.
He chuckled at himself, crashing down, back to his seventeen-year-old body.
"Choose one, asswipe!" his best friend shouted from behind the mart counter.
Tod Waggner, tall and thin with an insane grin and an annoyingly nazily New York accent, leaned on the radiator behind the counter reading some dumb car magazine. Alex gazed at this, puzzled, as Tod could barely controll his pathetically old Vespa, let alone a car. Not only that, but the guy didn't seem to know ANYTHING about cars at all, or have any interest in the old models, unlike his twin brother, George, who dreamed of owning an antique Lamborguini when he was older. Or, when he turned eighteen.
Then he reasoned that Tod must have been dreaming of his girlfriend, Shania, and was using the magazine to mask his goofy bliss.
Inside, everyone wondered how Tod could get Shania; she was blonde, hot, and had legs to next month, while he was just Tod, the skinny Noo Yawker with an insane love for trucker hats. But when you saw them together, it was clear: They both loved a good beer (even though Tod couldn't handle himself with it) they both watched wrestling avidly, and they were both hardcore South Park fans. It was evident that Shania's fart-joke sense of humor was a match for the guy who had once eaten a puréed jalapeno burger.
Alex's hand jerked to the nearest box of candies. Gobstoppers.
"I wonder if they're still Clear's favourite," he muttered to himself with a smile.
"Dude!" Tod shouted again, "Are you talkin' to yourself, or are you gonna make a purchase?"
Alex, suddenly thinking of Clear again, took a few packs of Gobstoppers and put it in his basket.
"Excited?" Alex asked Waggner as he spread his purchases around the counter.
"Fuckin' right!" Tod boasted. Suddenly, and for the first time since they had met, Alex felt jealous of Tod. The guy was the one with the girlfriend, a girlfriend that had been his for two years. Alex had blown his one chance with Clear Rivers and with all that, his confusion came back.
"Alex? Did you hear me?"
"Huh?" he asked, emarassed, glacing at Tod, who was fumbling with the pricing gun.
"I said the pricing gun is fucking up," Tod continued to ramble about how pissed he was.
Alex looked at the screen. Tod continued to swipe the economy-sized mouthwash and come up with $1.80 on the screen, when the label on the product clearly said that it was four dollars. Tod sighed and plopped the bottle down and swept the candy bars.
"Fuck!" Tod hissed. The screen didn't change.
Tod a calculator out of the drawer and punched in the totals.
"I'll talk with Mr. Wier about the machine. Er, I'll cover tax for ya."
Alex chuckled, mostly because Tod barely knew how to subtract four apples from nine apples, as they tought in first grade, much less calculate sales tax on a scientific calculator.
Tod glared at his chuckling friend. Then broke into a smile.
"If you don't mind stayin' around half an hour and helping me clean up we can go catch a movie later."
Alex shrugged. "Ya know, I'll help you clean, but I'll pass on the flick. I'm kinda tired."
Tod looked at the clock. "Alex, the late show starts at nine."
In these summer months, the sky was barely grey, much less dark. If it hadn't been a school day by that day, Alex's friend Billy probably would be just getting out of bed by now.
"I'm just feeling a little under the weather."
Tod scoffed while he punched out. "'Under the weather?' What are you, forty? And you are NOT pussying out on this trip because of a little headache."
Alex lowered his thin brows. "Who said I was pussying out?" he challenged, tossing a bag of crisps at Tod.
Tod didn't say a word, he just replaced the crisps. "There are security cameras, crotchface. Do you want me to get fired?"
Alex didn't feel the least bit guilty, but he didn't feel like speaking to Tod, as his friend got worked up easily. Tod rounded the counter to the front door to switch the sign, but didn't complete the task as he was slammed in the face with the door.
"Don't you fuckin' switch that sign around!" Billy Hitchcock exclaimed as he entered the store, with a complete disregard for Tod's bloodied nose.
"Fuck, Billy!" Alex scolded his clumsy friend as he fetched a paper towel for Tod to block the leakage in his nose with.
"Tod, you're not closing this dump until I get one double-scooped cookie-dough ice cream with a Smarty cone and a caramel log on top.
Tod's buggy eyes reeled with the order, as if such an item had never been commanded. It probably hadn't. Billy's scrawny figure made one wonder why on earth he ate what he did - even boys, who had no interest in "eating right," marvelled at the lanky boy.
"Didn't have supper?" he inquired as he scooped up the ice cream and tossed it onto the candy cone.
"Just spaghetti. But I'm still starving."
"You fucking pig," Alex taunted, pretending to flex his muscles, "You've gotta bulk up!"
"This is perfect for bulk!" Billy insisted. "I could use some extra insulation. Some girls think it's sexy."
Alex was about to tell him he was far from sexy when he felt as if he had been struck upside the head with something heavy. He held his head and tried to squeeze away the seering pain. Soon his head hurt so much he struggled to keep his eyes opened.
"Are you okay, Alex?" Tod asked him, coming closer to his friend.
"My head..." Alex was able to groan, but the pain nearly sent him to the floor.
"Is it a headache?" Billy asked cluesly.
"It feels like a car parked on top of my head!" Alex spat.
"Alex, take it easy," Tod cautioned. "Just get a pill and it'll be fine."
Alex was amazed that Tod actually showed concern for something other than Simpsons for once, and clearing some of the toxic clouds in his head, he stood up straighter and accepted a Tylonol from Tod's shakey hand and a swig from his best friend's water bottle. Slowly, he rubbed his temples until the pain was more bearable. He still wanted to crawl into bed in pain, but he "played through the pain."
Billy fell right for it when they walked out of the store together. Tod was more skeptical, not believing for a minute that his friend was alright.
"You okay to come to the movies with us?" Tod asked.
Alex bit his lip in thought, actually at a crossroad. Tod, for once, was not being a total jerk and forcing him into something, as he was taking Browning's freak-out into consideration. But for some reason that made Alex want to go.
"Sure," he said as Billy straddled his bike, "Why not?"
The three friends walked down the street. Maybe it was just that his buds weren't so bright or tactfull, but it was weird that no one mentioned Alex's little episode.
***
Half past twelve. Alex had called his parents letting them know when the movie was, but he hadn't told them that he and Alex and Billy had gone out for burgers and fries later. He had completely neglected that he still had school the next day - or rather, that current day. School began at seven thirty, which gave Alex roughly six hours of sleep if he wanted to be ready on time. One last day of school - which would most likely be a lazy one - and then he was off to his European Sex Odessy, as Tod referred to it.
Alex had to laugh. Sex odessy? Tod had a girlfriend already, and besides, he was destined to be a virgin until he was thirty, the way Shania was being quite particular about "waiting." The best time Billy could have would be to microwave a bagel and have sex with it. And Alex was pathetically girl-less, plus with Clear in the area, he didn't exactly feel comfortable scooping up the French sluts.
He checked out the kitchen. A plate with baked chicken covered by Saraan wrap and a note on top, as well as his dad's annoying snoring lingering in the air, indicated that his parents didn't mind that he had come home late - much.
'Alex -
Brilliant way to get out of fixing the furnace. It blew at ten after nine. I guess you were lucky. Don't worry, I called the repairman. He's coming tomorrow - but as punishment, the money is coming out of your pocket.
Dad'
Alex groaned. If it weren't for that stupid headache and decided he should be a 'pal' to Tod, he wouldn't be losing ten bucks an hour for some half-pantsed moron to fix a blown furnace.
'I can't lose that much money,' he thought desperately to himself, 'I need it for Paris. How long will fixing it take?'
In sheer desperation, he ran to the laundry room where the furnace looked like a dark blackened face. Torn open in the middle with shards of it missing, and he still smelled smoke lurking in the room.
Glancing at the damage to the furnace, he was suddenly thankfull for the headache.
Headache.
His head began to pound again while he walked to his room. He held his hands over his throbbing head, swimming in pain until he fell onto his bed into a deep and painfull sleep.
***
Clear Rivers studied the tabs she had written in front of herself. 'It really would be easier with Drop D,' she mused. She took an eraser to it and edited the tabs, twisted her E string, and began to run through her self-composed work. No words were added, but the four lines of tabs were a song in themselves.
"What do you think, Prince?" she cooed to her already huge German Sheperd puppy, who was sitting on her bed. Prince showed no appreciation to the song, but he did show his thirst for attention. He rolled over presenting his stomach with his paws held over his little heart. This was dog language for 'pet me.'
Clear grinned at this sight and slid her chair over to her unmade bed where Prince lay, his paws in the air.
"I love you, boy!" she said with a grin. The full moon lit up her almost completely dark room, and she recalled a book she had read as a child. One of those ones about looking up at the moon and wondering if someone else was looking at the same moon. She wondered it at that moment, she and Alex were looking at the same moon... doing the same thing.
Wham! Like a ton of bricks smacking into her head, her brain jumped, and she dropped her guitar.
Woah. One huge headache wave. It was like there was a beating heart in her head, sending out more pain every second.
Prince reacted to the bang of the falled guitar and began to bark. "Prince, shut up!" she yelled tightly.
She heard her mom, who was preparing clothes for the trip in the laundry room, call out to her. "Clear?" she shouted, "Are you alright?"
Clear was not one for complaining. "I'm fine!" she replied.
"Get to sleep, Clearie," her mom told her more softly and motherly, "We have a big day tomorrow."
As any teenager would, Clear rolled her eyes, but reluctantly put her guitar away. Already in her pajamas, she reached onto her top shelf and grabbed ahold of her Tylonol. She popped it with a swig from her ever-present water bottle. Then, as part of her nightly routine, something as regular to her as washing her face, she popped two more - one for depression, and one sleeping pill.
She regretted taking the last one, though, as she drifted off before she could think about Alex.
Thinking about him was fun.
No, it's not the Sean Penn stoner comedy - it's the last chapter of the Mount Aberham High series. Death! Explosions! Premonition! Bananas!
Authors note:
What a weird way to start a sequel: By not finishing the first one! Yes, this is the third and final chapter in my Mount Aberham High series. I decided NOT to finish WTGTS because then things will be like a surprise for you...... okay, just blame it on sheer laziness.
And, Sparky, my loveable little diamond, you have GOT to come to Cici-Inator's FD Board... we keep saying that we wish you were there. It's located at fdarchive.proboards20.com! Please come!
CHAPTER ONE
One Lucky Headache
Journal: Alex Browning
Oh wow, oh wow, oh holy merciful crap!
And so it's come to this...
Wow, it's kinda hard to say.
CLEAR RIVERS IS GOING TO PARIS. WHEN WE GO TO PARIS.
Wow, that was... easy.
It's weird. We talk on the phone sometimes, and we message each other just about every day, oh, and she's sent me tons of pictures. But... she's been gone over two years now. We were friends for two months, then she was gone for two years, so I still get the feeling that I don't know EVERYTHING about her.
Okay, Alex, you're gettin' girly on yourself. Let's just start over with the facts.
Clear's going to Paris on a summer exchange thing. Seems like something she'd do. Her mom is driving her up from Jersey and made a huge effort over getting her on the same flight as us - just so we could see each other. Now that's just... wow?
Okay, I am going to start giving myself shock treatments if I don't stop saying "wow."
---
Journal: Tod Waggner
Alex called me and told me Clear is comming up the day before the trip.
Hmm, that's tomorrow. How... oh whatever, screw sarcasm, I'm actually pretty excited. Man, Paris is going to be fucking sweet! Me and Shania, Alex, George, Billy... kinda like old times.
Er, not exactly.
For one thing, Terry used to be our friend. She used to be sweet, and to be honest I really truly thought she would stay with Billy. Now, I've not been one to get into the relationship crap, but he did everything to win her back. And she chose Carter. Billy never really told us what she said. He muttered something about "moving on" and "putting the past in the past."
Well then how come she hasn't spoken to us since?
And Carter? I thought he would get over himself at some point. Turns out he's still a dick. In fact, he's about twice the dick he used to be. Perhaps he's being a dick to conpensate for his lack of dick.
Er, too many dicks.
Anyway, I guess hanging out with too many girls would cramp our styles anyway. That goes for Carter as well, he's too much of a pretty boy.
---
Journal: Terry Chaney
Mmmmmmmm. Carter just took me out the the Fishbowl and, well, mmmmmmmmmmm.
Sorry, not referring to the food, referring to the HUUUUUUUGE makeout class we had in the car after the truly sucky meal.
Wow, I never thought I'd get the advantage of dating such a great kisser!! Well, I've only dated, like, two guys, EVER, but Carter's a better kisser.
He's also quite charming. Like over supper he was telling me that
Sorry, phone rang.
I was expecting Carter, but it was (drum roll) CLEAR RIVERS!
Former friend, Clear Rivers.
Our conversation went like this:
C: Hey, Ter, it's me!
T: Uh, hey.
(weird pause)
C: Me, as in, Clear?
T: Ohhhhh! Clear! How... are you?
C: Mediocre to good.
T: Uh... (nervous laugh)
C: Yeah, I guess that's kinda funny. I've got some news.
T: Really? Uh, I mean, what is it?
(It seems 'uh' is the word of the day for me.)
C: I'm going to Paris on student exchange.
T: (wondering why the fuck it's so interesting) Er, when?
C: Day after tomorrow.
T: (slightly more interested) Really? Are you fucking serious? We're--
C: Leaving the same day, I know. That's why I'm flying from JFK.
T: (knocking over desk chair) Uh, wow. So, I guess I'll be seeing you!
C: (confused) Is this a good-bye.
T: Uhhhh, sorta. Look, I gotta go!
C: Oh, really? Well bye--
T: (HANGS UP!)
What the fuck did I do? Clear and I used to be friends and I'm just sitting there like a retard going "Uhhhhhhh." Maybe it's because I've made the least effort to call her since she moved to Jersey, or maybe it's that from the light way she was talking to me, she had no idea that I haven't been talking to any of her old friends.
My old friends.
They were my friends, too.
---
Journal: Billy Hitchcock
I HATE French class.
Or, better yet, I hate planes.
I hate everything about planes.
I hate flying. I hate airline food. I hate tiny cramped bathrooms and being stuck in a 747 with Carter and Terry seven seats away. (I counted on the seating plan. How lame am I?) I hate having Mr. Murneau trying to teach us French while we're thousands of feet in the air and I hate turbulence.
Right now I hate everything.
Except for ice cream.
I think I'm gonna go get some.
***
Alexander Chance Browning skimmed his hand along the shelves of the convenience mart only a few blocks from his house. He thought of which items he would need most. The top of his list was candy, which he had to remind himself was not a real priority, as he had already packed everything else for his trip.
The candy rack, however, reached out to him with a gooey, chocolaty hand, and he felt obliged to pick a few items.
His hand waved ofer the items, his eyes doing a similar motion, only faster. The colorfull labels reminded him of a child's ball pit, and suddenly, the overwhelming temptation gave him the mentality of a two-year-old. Aero bars and Mirrages and Junior Mints and Bubble Tape! They were all in front of him and he had to choose.
He chuckled at himself, crashing down, back to his seventeen-year-old body.
"Choose one, asswipe!" his best friend shouted from behind the mart counter.
Tod Waggner, tall and thin with an insane grin and an annoyingly nazily New York accent, leaned on the radiator behind the counter reading some dumb car magazine. Alex gazed at this, puzzled, as Tod could barely controll his pathetically old Vespa, let alone a car. Not only that, but the guy didn't seem to know ANYTHING about cars at all, or have any interest in the old models, unlike his twin brother, George, who dreamed of owning an antique Lamborguini when he was older. Or, when he turned eighteen.
Then he reasoned that Tod must have been dreaming of his girlfriend, Shania, and was using the magazine to mask his goofy bliss.
Inside, everyone wondered how Tod could get Shania; she was blonde, hot, and had legs to next month, while he was just Tod, the skinny Noo Yawker with an insane love for trucker hats. But when you saw them together, it was clear: They both loved a good beer (even though Tod couldn't handle himself with it) they both watched wrestling avidly, and they were both hardcore South Park fans. It was evident that Shania's fart-joke sense of humor was a match for the guy who had once eaten a puréed jalapeno burger.
Alex's hand jerked to the nearest box of candies. Gobstoppers.
"I wonder if they're still Clear's favourite," he muttered to himself with a smile.
"Dude!" Tod shouted again, "Are you talkin' to yourself, or are you gonna make a purchase?"
Alex, suddenly thinking of Clear again, took a few packs of Gobstoppers and put it in his basket.
"Excited?" Alex asked Waggner as he spread his purchases around the counter.
"Fuckin' right!" Tod boasted. Suddenly, and for the first time since they had met, Alex felt jealous of Tod. The guy was the one with the girlfriend, a girlfriend that had been his for two years. Alex had blown his one chance with Clear Rivers and with all that, his confusion came back.
"Alex? Did you hear me?"
"Huh?" he asked, emarassed, glacing at Tod, who was fumbling with the pricing gun.
"I said the pricing gun is fucking up," Tod continued to ramble about how pissed he was.
Alex looked at the screen. Tod continued to swipe the economy-sized mouthwash and come up with $1.80 on the screen, when the label on the product clearly said that it was four dollars. Tod sighed and plopped the bottle down and swept the candy bars.
"Fuck!" Tod hissed. The screen didn't change.
Tod a calculator out of the drawer and punched in the totals.
"I'll talk with Mr. Wier about the machine. Er, I'll cover tax for ya."
Alex chuckled, mostly because Tod barely knew how to subtract four apples from nine apples, as they tought in first grade, much less calculate sales tax on a scientific calculator.
Tod glared at his chuckling friend. Then broke into a smile.
"If you don't mind stayin' around half an hour and helping me clean up we can go catch a movie later."
Alex shrugged. "Ya know, I'll help you clean, but I'll pass on the flick. I'm kinda tired."
Tod looked at the clock. "Alex, the late show starts at nine."
In these summer months, the sky was barely grey, much less dark. If it hadn't been a school day by that day, Alex's friend Billy probably would be just getting out of bed by now.
"I'm just feeling a little under the weather."
Tod scoffed while he punched out. "'Under the weather?' What are you, forty? And you are NOT pussying out on this trip because of a little headache."
Alex lowered his thin brows. "Who said I was pussying out?" he challenged, tossing a bag of crisps at Tod.
Tod didn't say a word, he just replaced the crisps. "There are security cameras, crotchface. Do you want me to get fired?"
Alex didn't feel the least bit guilty, but he didn't feel like speaking to Tod, as his friend got worked up easily. Tod rounded the counter to the front door to switch the sign, but didn't complete the task as he was slammed in the face with the door.
"Don't you fuckin' switch that sign around!" Billy Hitchcock exclaimed as he entered the store, with a complete disregard for Tod's bloodied nose.
"Fuck, Billy!" Alex scolded his clumsy friend as he fetched a paper towel for Tod to block the leakage in his nose with.
"Tod, you're not closing this dump until I get one double-scooped cookie-dough ice cream with a Smarty cone and a caramel log on top.
Tod's buggy eyes reeled with the order, as if such an item had never been commanded. It probably hadn't. Billy's scrawny figure made one wonder why on earth he ate what he did - even boys, who had no interest in "eating right," marvelled at the lanky boy.
"Didn't have supper?" he inquired as he scooped up the ice cream and tossed it onto the candy cone.
"Just spaghetti. But I'm still starving."
"You fucking pig," Alex taunted, pretending to flex his muscles, "You've gotta bulk up!"
"This is perfect for bulk!" Billy insisted. "I could use some extra insulation. Some girls think it's sexy."
Alex was about to tell him he was far from sexy when he felt as if he had been struck upside the head with something heavy. He held his head and tried to squeeze away the seering pain. Soon his head hurt so much he struggled to keep his eyes opened.
"Are you okay, Alex?" Tod asked him, coming closer to his friend.
"My head..." Alex was able to groan, but the pain nearly sent him to the floor.
"Is it a headache?" Billy asked cluesly.
"It feels like a car parked on top of my head!" Alex spat.
"Alex, take it easy," Tod cautioned. "Just get a pill and it'll be fine."
Alex was amazed that Tod actually showed concern for something other than Simpsons for once, and clearing some of the toxic clouds in his head, he stood up straighter and accepted a Tylonol from Tod's shakey hand and a swig from his best friend's water bottle. Slowly, he rubbed his temples until the pain was more bearable. He still wanted to crawl into bed in pain, but he "played through the pain."
Billy fell right for it when they walked out of the store together. Tod was more skeptical, not believing for a minute that his friend was alright.
"You okay to come to the movies with us?" Tod asked.
Alex bit his lip in thought, actually at a crossroad. Tod, for once, was not being a total jerk and forcing him into something, as he was taking Browning's freak-out into consideration. But for some reason that made Alex want to go.
"Sure," he said as Billy straddled his bike, "Why not?"
The three friends walked down the street. Maybe it was just that his buds weren't so bright or tactfull, but it was weird that no one mentioned Alex's little episode.
***
Half past twelve. Alex had called his parents letting them know when the movie was, but he hadn't told them that he and Alex and Billy had gone out for burgers and fries later. He had completely neglected that he still had school the next day - or rather, that current day. School began at seven thirty, which gave Alex roughly six hours of sleep if he wanted to be ready on time. One last day of school - which would most likely be a lazy one - and then he was off to his European Sex Odessy, as Tod referred to it.
Alex had to laugh. Sex odessy? Tod had a girlfriend already, and besides, he was destined to be a virgin until he was thirty, the way Shania was being quite particular about "waiting." The best time Billy could have would be to microwave a bagel and have sex with it. And Alex was pathetically girl-less, plus with Clear in the area, he didn't exactly feel comfortable scooping up the French sluts.
He checked out the kitchen. A plate with baked chicken covered by Saraan wrap and a note on top, as well as his dad's annoying snoring lingering in the air, indicated that his parents didn't mind that he had come home late - much.
'Alex -
Brilliant way to get out of fixing the furnace. It blew at ten after nine. I guess you were lucky. Don't worry, I called the repairman. He's coming tomorrow - but as punishment, the money is coming out of your pocket.
Dad'
Alex groaned. If it weren't for that stupid headache and decided he should be a 'pal' to Tod, he wouldn't be losing ten bucks an hour for some half-pantsed moron to fix a blown furnace.
'I can't lose that much money,' he thought desperately to himself, 'I need it for Paris. How long will fixing it take?'
In sheer desperation, he ran to the laundry room where the furnace looked like a dark blackened face. Torn open in the middle with shards of it missing, and he still smelled smoke lurking in the room.
Glancing at the damage to the furnace, he was suddenly thankfull for the headache.
Headache.
His head began to pound again while he walked to his room. He held his hands over his throbbing head, swimming in pain until he fell onto his bed into a deep and painfull sleep.
***
Clear Rivers studied the tabs she had written in front of herself. 'It really would be easier with Drop D,' she mused. She took an eraser to it and edited the tabs, twisted her E string, and began to run through her self-composed work. No words were added, but the four lines of tabs were a song in themselves.
"What do you think, Prince?" she cooed to her already huge German Sheperd puppy, who was sitting on her bed. Prince showed no appreciation to the song, but he did show his thirst for attention. He rolled over presenting his stomach with his paws held over his little heart. This was dog language for 'pet me.'
Clear grinned at this sight and slid her chair over to her unmade bed where Prince lay, his paws in the air.
"I love you, boy!" she said with a grin. The full moon lit up her almost completely dark room, and she recalled a book she had read as a child. One of those ones about looking up at the moon and wondering if someone else was looking at the same moon. She wondered it at that moment, she and Alex were looking at the same moon... doing the same thing.
Wham! Like a ton of bricks smacking into her head, her brain jumped, and she dropped her guitar.
Woah. One huge headache wave. It was like there was a beating heart in her head, sending out more pain every second.
Prince reacted to the bang of the falled guitar and began to bark. "Prince, shut up!" she yelled tightly.
She heard her mom, who was preparing clothes for the trip in the laundry room, call out to her. "Clear?" she shouted, "Are you alright?"
Clear was not one for complaining. "I'm fine!" she replied.
"Get to sleep, Clearie," her mom told her more softly and motherly, "We have a big day tomorrow."
As any teenager would, Clear rolled her eyes, but reluctantly put her guitar away. Already in her pajamas, she reached onto her top shelf and grabbed ahold of her Tylonol. She popped it with a swig from her ever-present water bottle. Then, as part of her nightly routine, something as regular to her as washing her face, she popped two more - one for depression, and one sleeping pill.
She regretted taking the last one, though, as she drifted off before she could think about Alex.
Thinking about him was fun.