A/N: Ah, look what we have here: another Eggy one-shot. Inspired by Bruno Mars' Runaway Baby. Enjoy. ;)

Iggy

Love. I unfortunately have to tell you that I have never associated myself (or probably never) with that word in any way possible. Never fallen in love, never had a crush, never even had a puppy love!

I live a sad life, I know. Don't remind me. I already have a sick, twisted personality, or so that's what I heard from the lips of my friends. (Yes, Max, I'm looking at you.) But it's not a bad life, even if I haven't experienced love.

I'm a freaking teenager. Why do people suddenly think that teenagers my age ALL have experienced love? Uh, hello? I exist over here! Love... Love is for adults who are deprived of affection and companionship because they have spent too much time getting their master's degrees. Why do teenagers need love? We have friends, with or without quotes around that word. We have high school as our home for nine months, which is the perfect zone for blooming friendships that will last forever! (Okay, that last part I said with little confidence. I'm pretty sure that doesn't happen everyday.)

What was I saying again? Ah, yes. Love.

Well, screw you, person who imagined the idea in the first place. Do you know how much I've been discriminated by my friends because I've been loveless since the day I was conceived? (My parents love me; I know they do.) They already make fun of my skin color (white, pure white) and my red hair (more like strawberry-blond). (Yes, I'm looking at you, Fang.)

I don't need love. I've survived seventeen years and I'm pretty sure I can survive another seventeen years without it.

My eager young bunnies can satisfy me.

Run away, little girl, I think as I look at the green eyes of the girl sitting right across from me. Her above-average face twists into animated faces as she continues to tell her life story. I nod unconsciously and offer her a smile that says I somehow relate to her story.

I watch as the spray of small freckles on her cheeks become more prominent from the sudden appearance of a blush. Next, the Hair Fiddling, I think and just as I predicted, she fiddles with a small lock of freed hair from her side braid.

Let's end this. I gently run my index finger on her middle finger. "Come with me. I'll take you somewhere nice," I say in a small voice while just looking at her eyes.

Eye dilation, check. Arm goosebumps, check. Blush, check. Rapid breathing, check.

Checkmate, little girl.

Yes, I'm a player. Go on, hate me. But do you know how many girls actually and secretly love players? Ask your sister. I'm pretty sure her crush is the most popular guy at school and he's 100 percent a player.

I know, that's probably why love doesn't want to get involved with me. But it's so much fun! Not the stepping on the hearts of innocent girls part, of course. It's not my fault they fall and sacrifice their love easily. I'm not a bad guy. I actually warn them ahead of time that all the rumors they've heard of me are true.

They actually have the nerve to slap me in the face once they realized I only commit to short relationships. REALLY? It's my fault? Screw you. Listen and think before committing to do something you know you will only regret.

My school said it's going to show a play tonight (some romantic mystery, I think) and I decided to go. I mean, why not? It's a play. Who doesn't love school plays? I tried to persuade my friends to come with me but they were too busy with their social lives. (Yeah, like Max and Fang have social lives outside of their love bubble.)

I got to the school a good hour before the school starts. My school is notorious to being packed whenever it shows a play, even if it's on a school day. After I bought my ticket, I joined the growing group outside the auditorium and waited for it to open. Yeah, the ushers don't let people in the auditorium until it's a half-hour before the play starts.

I took out my phone and started playing with my puzzles app. Yes, I love puzzles. Just because I'm a player does not mean I don't like games that make me use my brain. Shut up and grow up. Stop stereotyping, will you?

I got stuck on one and after trying to solve it for twenty times, I paused the game and looked up, just in time as the ushers started opening the doors and letting people in. I was one of the first people who got in, thanks to my super slim yet muscular form and my super awesome ability to squeeze into tight crowds.

I found a seat in the middle row of seats and placed my claim on it (I farted on it). Suddenly, I realized I was hungry and thirsty so I asked the kind old lady beside me to hold onto my seat while I go to the concession stand. She smiled and said she will.

After I bought my food necessities and ate the two chocolate bars I bought, I decided to go to the bathroom so I don't have to go take a break during the play. Looking down at my watch, I saw that there was still ten minutes before the play started.

While turning down the hallway to the restrooms, I heard a sound coming from the women's bathroom. I raised my eyebrows and snorted. Really? Now? Here? I started to continue to my path when I heard it again. Now I stopped and turned around.

Curious, I laid my ear against the door of the bathroom. The shout came again. I was pretty sure the shout said "Help me!". I pulled away, confused.

"Is someone out there? Please help! I can't get out of my stall!" said the voice from the inside.

Acting upon instincts, I pushed open the door and checked the bottom of the stalls. I saw a pair of black stocking-ed legs in the farthest stall. I started to feel awkward because I didn't know what the etiquette was inside a women's restroom.

"Um," I stuttered while scratching the back of my head. "There's someone."

The stocking-ed legs made a little hop. "Oh, my gosh! Thank you! Now, help me!" She made a cute sigh of relief when she heard my voice.

Smiling, I told her, "Move away from the door."

"Huh? Why?"

"Just move away so you won't get hurt."

"What are you going-" Her question abruptly ended when I kicked the door open. We both stared at the flailing door, speechless.

I smirked when I saw what I've done. I destroyed school property! I made a little dance of victory in my head and almost forgot about the girl in the stall. I opened my mouth to say something when I saw her.

A girl my age was standing in the stall. A girl my age wearing a black lace corset outfit with a billowy sheer skirt with a short front and long back. A girl my age wearing black smoky make-up and bright red lipstick. A girl my age pinning her wavy black hair into a loose bun.

Her blood-red lips spread into a warm smile, despite her provocative costume. "Thank you so much!" She gathered the bags and clothes on the floor and passed by me to get out of the restroom.

I stood there, who knows for how long, replaying the scene that just happened. Re-imagining the girl in the black corset in my mind.

I went back to the auditorium just when the technical team started to dim the lights. I thanked the kind old lady who held my seat and sat down. Seconds later, the first act started.

It was boring, the first two acts. Then intermission came but I didn't go anywhere for I was rooted in my seat, still thinking about the girl. After the intermission, the third act rolled in with a musical number. And the girl in the black corset came out.

I almost exploded out of seat when I saw her. Swaying her hips to the violins' notes, she belted out a husky Spanish accent and twisted her neck to the high notes.

You better run, run, run
Stop thinking about me, boy
I'm not the one, not the love at first sight
I'm your poison;
Break you down, dig into you
Try escaping now

So engrossed was I that I forgot to breathe. Instead I focused all my attention on the girl of the black corset flinging and swishing her skirt around. Those graceful movements, her serious facial expression, her body swaying to the heavy orchestral music; I was hooked.

Ella

I hate plays, but I love singing and dancing. You might think, why not just do singing and dancing then? Well, I have a really complicated answer to that.

I don't hate the plot of a play, but instead my hatred is centered on the procedure that goes into executing a play. Why do directors have to go into every single detail obsessively when performing a play? Just let the actors act, for goodness' sake! Let the singers sing anyway they want! The directors think their point of view is the most important. It's the audience's point of view that is the most important! Directors don't appreciate the work that was put on writing a play. They're like English teachers. They think they are doing the classics' authors a favor by ripping the classics apart into pieces and over analyzing them. Can't you just let the work of art be itself, be what it's supposed to be?

There. My soliloquy on plays is done. Did you like it?

Why am I talking about plays all of sudden? Well, I had a very interesting experience regarding a play a few days ago. And by interesting, I meant interesting.

I was one of the supporting characters of a play that was shown a few days ago in my school. Since I arrived late (thirty minutes before the play started), I had to do my make-up, put on my costume, and warm up my voice in just twenty-five minutes. Because there were too many people using the dressing room, I went to the women's bathroom to do everything. It took me seven minutes tops for my make-up (it was more like slap things on the face and run out the door). The costume was left.

I felt a little weird just stripping naked out in the open because people could come in and do their bodily waste removal procedures, so I went into the stall where it had the most space. Somehow, I locked myself in the stall. I don't know how. I could have stood on the toilet and went over to another stall, except the toilet didn't have a cover. The door is floor-length with a foot wide space (how can a human crawl through there?) and it's just plain disgusting trying to crawl out, you know!

So there I was, stuck inside a bathroom stall, wearing literally nothing (corset and stockings, THE HECK?!) and shouting at the top of my lungs for help. Do you know how embarrassing that is?

But, salvation came. HOORAY! Except it was a guy. Yes, a very good-looking guy. Well, I didn't see him since I only heard his voice (very manly, by the way). I didn't even hear his footsteps!

To cut the story short, he saved me and I practically ran away from him because he was so good-looking it blinded my eyes. And because my body felt weird standing in a cramp space with him in front of me. You know how I feel, right?

I don't know why but that moment in time keeps coming back to haunt me. Every time I hear about Jake Gyllenhaal, I think of that guy because he had the same hairstyle as him. YES, I'm talking about the to-the-side-spiky-front hair. Ladies, know it?

My sister also wears leather boots a lot so every time I see her with them, you got that right. It reminds me of him because he wore brown Doc Martens when he saved me.

WHAT IS THIS? I'm obsessing over a guy I met in a women's bathroom! How weird is that?

"You have a date today," my sister Max says while munching the popcorn she made as her snack.

I unscrew open a cold water bottle and chug it down. I wipe the water on my chin and answer her back. "What? No, I don't."

"Yeah, you do. Didn't Mom remind you?"

I throw up my hands. Why wasn't I aware of this? "She told me nothing! Nothing! You go do it."

She slaps my forehead with one of her butter-smeared hands. "She said it's your date. Why do I have to go?"

I shake my head in disapproval and wipe off the butter on my forehead. "What teenager has a blind date? Isn't that for adults who are looking for potential marriage partners?" I finish my water bottle and drop it in the recycling bin. Yes, we're one of those tree-hugging families.

She shrugs and moves herself to the couch in the living room. "It's at two, by the way."

I look at the clock at the top of the fridge then choke on my saliva. "That's an hour away! Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"I did! This morning at breakfast! Where were you?"

Probably thinking about my savior. I'm such a sad person.

Now as I say this, I'm sitting down on a wooden bench, waiting for my blind date. It's like 2:07 PM and he's still not here. What kind of guy makes a girl wait?

I start to stand up and leave when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I twist my head to look behind me and I see the boy who saved me. He must have recognized me too since I see his blue eyes widen.

"You're-" he starts to say but immediately stops. His hand on my shoulder is suddenly gone then he goes around the bench I'm sitting on and sits right beside me.

Feeling an early onset of a blush creeping up my neck, my hand goes up to the back of my neck and try to hide it from his gaze. I steal a glance at him through the corner of my eye and see him still staring at me.

I clear my throat and remove my hand on my neck. "Um," I say in a suddenly shy voice. "Thanks, by the way."

He flashes me a grin (GOD!) and says, "Oh, it's fine. It's not everyday I get to save a girl in a women's restroom."

My shoulders sag in relief since the awkward atmosphere between us is gone. I chuckle and nod in agreement. "Yes, I'm sure you're right. First impressions, though. How was mine?" I suddenly feel comfortable beside him so I turn my body to his direction.

He turns his body and drapes an arm on the back of the bench. His pale blue eyes move up and down as he studies me. "I definitely prefer you in loose buns."

I blush, remembering how I looked like that night. I touch my side braid and look up at him. "Are loose side braids okay?"

He thinks it over for a heart beat and gives me a thumbs up. I laugh and say thanks. "I'm Ella, by the way," I reach out my right hand.

He takes it and I marvel at how warm his hand is. "Call me Iggy."

There's the smile again. GOD!

"So how do you know my mom?" I ask while we stroll side by side down the this wooden bridge. "Side by side" as in three feet apart and hands crossed behind my back. Iggy's hands are exposed to the public and still by his sides.

He thinks my question over before answering. "My dog needed to see the vet and one of my friends recommended his girlfriend's mom. Shameless advertising, you know?"

I smile and nod.

"I had nothing to lose, well except for my dog. So I went to the vet with my little sis and I met your mother there. She's pretty cool actually. The way she can calm a dog down for a vaccine shot without administering penethal is beyond me. I can't even make my dog sit and she can!"

I laugh, pride swelling in my chest. I feel sort of embarrassed that someone I know (do I?) is praising my mother. It's not everyday that you listen to a teenager praise a doctor. Most of time we hate them.

"Hey," My head turns at his call. "Wanna do something to commemorate this day?" My eyebrow arches at his weird suggestion.

"We just met. You already want to make this special?"

Iggy scratches the back of his neck. "Why not?" That question always leaves me speechless. You just can't think of another comeback when someone asks that. It's like another universal law.

"Good point. Let's do it."

You know when you see couples doing cheesy couple-y stuff and you can't help but gag at them being lovey dovey? Then suddenly all those cheesy couple-y stuff that they do seem normal when you are in relationship?

Well, that's happening to me right now. In my opinion photo booths are so old. No one uses them anymore, except for middle school students. I'm in a photo booth with Iggy right now and it does not feel cheesy or corny at all.

"Okay!" Iggy's excitement is greedily rubbing off on me. Ew. I can't help but feel excited also. "That's the camera right there-"

I raise a hand. "I know how this thing works, Iggy. You don't have to tell me."

He nods and starts to pose but stops as if he forgot something. "Do you know how to smile?"

I give him an unamused look. "Really? You really think I'm a brainless baboon?"

FLASH!

He laughs and says sorry. "What? No! I meant to ask, how do you smile?"

"You spread your lips?"

Iggy turns my head to the camera while shaking his head. "Do it."

I do. FLASH!

I look at him, confused. "How do you smile then?"

"You say 'sex'." He says it in a voice as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Yeah, no.

"Isn't it supposed to be 'cheese'?"

Iggy makes a tch-ing noise and presses a finger on my lips. "Shh, little one," FLASH! "When you say 'cheese', you're smiling like the dog in that dental dog treat commercial. In other words, like a drunken idiot."

Speechless, I just say, "So, 'sex'?"

Iggy does a double fist pump in the air. "YES!" FLASH! "You actually look normal when you say that."

I turn my head to the side and mumble, "And perverted when you say it..."

"Did you say something?" He asks so innocently. Is this who he really is? I shake my head. "Okay! Let's do this! One, two, three..."

"SEX!"

FLASH!

After the photo shoot, we leave the booth and grab the printed photos in the bin. Iggy finds a bench for us to sit on.

"See," he says as he point on the picture where I just smiled. "You look forced and fake here."

I nod in agreement.

Pointing to the picture where we both say "sex', "Then here, we both look so natural and not so fake."

Mind blown. I really do look natural in that picture. I scan over the remaining pictures and start to giggle.

"What?" He looks down at the pictures. "Oh."

I nod, a huge grin on my face. "Yeah. 'Oh'."

Iggy hands me the other copy. "Keep this."

Oh, I will. Maybe for a long time?

Iggy

Ella is suprisingly a very cute girl. And very smart. I did not see her intelligence coming. That might have sounded offensive, but I really had no expectations when I first saw her. I found her pretty, that's it.

Because when you start expecting something, everything becomes predictable. There's no surprise.

The fact that she's trilingual, an honor roll student, and crappy at jokes makes her more irresistible. And maybe loveable?

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out and read the text from Fang:

Dude. Are you really going to leave all the work to me?

I type in a quick reply:

yeah, dude.

Five seconds later, Fang replies back. (That bastard is a fast typer.)

Where the F are you?

date.

You bail work to be with a girl?

hey! she's not like the others!

Really? What is she now?

she's... something

Wow. That's so deep, Iggy.

your enthusiasm is so overwhelming that it's choking me

Good. Serves you right for skipping work.

screw you.

"Hey, is there something wrong?" Ella asks.

I shake my head and flash her a smile. "What makes you think that?"

"You suddenly look like you want to smash that phone to pieces."

Whoa. I'm keeping her now since I found her first. I turn off my phone and smile at her. "How did you know that?"

Ella grins. "My sister Max is the same."

"Max? MAX? As in MAX?"

She nods and starts laughing. "Yeah, Max. Her."

Shit.

Somewhere back in the park...

A young man with brown hair is talking on the phone, "Hello, Dr. Martinez? It's me. Yeah, she's not here though? Are you sure she's coming? Really? Oh, thank you!"

The phone call ends and the young man scratches his head. "What kind of a girl takes almost an hour to prepare for her blind date?"

A/N: Hopefully this is not so confusing. :) RnR?