two of these kids grew up on the same street
and though some folks blow it, there's no smoke in their eyes

"Mama," said Teresa.

Her mother peered at her over the rims of her too-large, old-lady glasses. Even though Teresa was supposed to be embarrassed by them, she really wasn't. "What is it?" she asked quietly, probably expecting her daughter to ask more questions about the baby.

Instead Teresa said, "I don't think Ryan's happy here."

"Why not?" her mother asked, even though she already knew the answer and was just waiting for Teresa to admit it to herself.

Teresa didn't answer her question. "He wants to go back to Newport, doesn't he." It wasn't a question. "But he won't leave me. He said..." Wet eyes, a gulp of breath. "This morning, w-when he said he was going to Portland, he said he only left Newport to make things less complicated for everyone. Not for me, Mama. For everyone."

"He wanted to do right," her mother said. "There is nothing wrong with that."

"I thought I -- the baby and I, I thought we were important to him."

Her mother said wisely, "The two of you are. Ryan left his home for you, darling. What other man would do that? But you aren't the only important things in his life."

Teresa mouthed his home at the floor, but her lips barely moved as she did so. Her mother squeezed her knee. "Teresa, do what you think is right."

There was silence for a while, and her mother went back to flipping through her magazine. Teresa, at length, looked up from the floor and waited until her mother caught her eye again to speak. "What if..." her voice was irregular, and so she cleared her throat and began again. "What if - if I told him there was... s-something wrong?"

The last two words came out in a small, tiny, little girl's voice.

"I'm sorry, Mama," she burst out a moment later, burying her face in her mother's shoulder, "that's a horrible thing to say."

Teresa's mother grabbed her daughter by the chin and made their eyes meet again. "Teresa," she repeated, "do what you think is right."

they're tying their dreams with doubled up laces
falling, free falling, tangled up 'til they die

Donkey Konga was, undoubtedly, the greatest game known to mankind. And for the rythmic beat of "Louie Louie" to be interrupted by the doorbell was, in Luke's opinion, as close to a federal crime as you could get. But seeing as he was the only one in the house, he answered the door.

"Hey, buddy," said Seth Cohen. "I didn't know people still lived in log cabins."

Luke stared. "Seth," he said slowly.

"That is my name, yes."

"You live in Orange County," said Luke, feeling dumb.

Seth shrugged. "It's a long story. I, uh..." he suddenly looked rather awkward, standing by himself on Luke's front porch, fiddling around with the belt loop on his jeans. "I called your dad last night, and he said it was okay if I crashed her for a while, so do you think I could, uh..."

Luke quickly moved to the side. "Yeah. Sure, come on in."

Seth did so. Luke shut the door. They stood there for a minute or two. "So, uh, Donkey Konga, huh?" said Seth.

"It's a good game," said Luke.

"Yeah, it's cool."

"I just mastered Gorilla mode." A pause. "I've, you know, had a lot of free time and stuff."

"Playing Game Cube's probably more healthy and productive than doing drugs and vandalizing public property, so good for you."

Luke finally said, "Man, what the fuck are you doing here?"

cause everyone knows they'll get their hands dirty
ripping at seams and smoking hot knives

In school, they told you that alcohol gave you liver cancer and it killed brain cells and made you a generally unpleasant person to be around. They didn't mention the nice parts, like thinking that you hated everyone (which was actually quite fun) and waking up the next morning and feeling like shit and puking and loving every second of it.

Summer said she was crazy and that Marissa was inadvertantly trying to get attention because she was depressed and depressed people want all the attention they can get without outwardly begging for everyone to lookit me lookit me! Marissa decided that, even though she loved Summer like a sister, the therapy had fucked with her mind.

It didn't matter that it was already two in the afternoon and she was drunk, did it? Caitlin was off at her grandmother's or riding her new hairy pony or something, and her mother was wandering around the mansion, probably deciding how to best kill Caleb and take his money, and Caleb himself... well, Marissa didn't care what he was doing. Perhaps he had finally taken a heart attack, she thought happily. It would certainly save her mother the jail time.

At one point, laying upside down off the side of her bed, Marissa picked up her cell phone and began dialing Ryan's number in Chino. She wasn't sure why, because she was full of alcohol and there was too much blood in her head from lying in such a position for so long. After the first ring she realized what she was doing; she screamed, flipped rightside-up, and flung the cell phone at the wall. It snapped in half.

"Shit," she mumbled, "now Caleb's got to buy me a new one."

but sooner or later there's an end to this candle
we'll burn it at both ends and switch on the light

"What on earth are you doing?" said Kirsten, looking stricken.

Ryan paused. "I'm, uh, putting the sheets back on," he said uncertainly.

"No, no, I was going to do it!" exclaimed Kirsten, rushing over to him and grabbing the sheets from his hand. Ryan looked rather clueless until she waved her hand at him and told him to sit down and relax. He did so and watched as Kirsten, positively alight with happiness, cleared everything off the bed and began to unfold the sheets.

They sat in amazingly comfortable silence for a few minutes. Ryan realized he had never seen Kirsten so animated and energetic before, not even when she was planning a party. She was cheerful and humming (she was humming?) and she looked like a mother, something he had never really thought about before. To him, Mrs. Cohen was leggy and blonde and gorgeous and a careerwoman -- she wasn't a mother. Yes, she cooked him meals and made sure all of his socks were clean and babied Seth, but Ryan had never really thought of her as the motherly sort.

It was nice to think of her as such.

"Hey, Kirsten," he said suddenly.

She turned around, pillow clutched across her chest like a child would hold a teddy bear. "Yes?"

"Thanks," Ryan said awkwardly, but he grinned despite himself. "For, you know, letting me stay here again."

Kirsten's smile turned softer. "Don't thank me. This is what I have to do."

Ryan considered. "How?" he asked. "Why do you have to do it? You don't have to take me in. You could've told me to turn around and go back to Chino."

"I could have," she agreed. "But then I would have been a horrible mother."

The room suddenly felt rather dusty to Ryan. He stared at the ground, and a moment later Kirsten had taken the right side of his face in her hand, her eyes bright with happiness and tears, and she said, "Thank you for bringing Seth home."

we're coming along
the ballad of nice and easy
young and carefree

I, um, wasn't going for a Kirsten/Ryan vibe at the end there. But that's what it turned it. Damn you, Kelly Rowan. If you weren't hot we wouldn't have this problem. I also don't think I wrote Marissa's bit too coherently or well, but I was kind of in a weird mood last night after the premiere and so... yeah, that's what came out. I don't like Marissa, anyway. Or Teresa. But, like I said to my friends last night, "I am so glad that Teresa is an evil whore!" Because that brought Ryan home. Oh, I melt 3

DISCLAIMER: The lyrics of "Ballad of Nice and Easy" belong to Gomez. I don't own The O.C., which is good, because I probably would have had Marissa accidentally fall off a balcony while she was drinking. And doesn't Tate Donovan look like Chuck Norris with the beardy-beard and curly hair? I'm just saying he used to be cute.