Ick, you might not understand this. It kinda wrote itself, so it's confusing. Anyway, to keep it short, Molly is Tyler/Val's daughter, and Colin is sort of Hank's son—I haven't exactly decided yet. They go to a boarding school and they're enemies. That might help you understand the story better… I have another story that gives a little more background—this is just a little ficlet that I wrote over my three-day weekend (par-TAY!!!) and it's… interesting. *cough* Anyway… read on…
Music, Holidays, and Their Effect on ArchenemiesColin DeVie had decided a long time ago that Thanksgiving break was the most boring, horrible, lonely break to stay at school for, but he really didn't have any choice this year. Back in eighth grade, he'd had to stay while his parents went to a conference in Paris, and he didn't want to repeat the boresome experience, but apparently his parental units had no qualms about it. Never mind that he didn't want to spend any more time at his boarding school than he had to, his parents didn't care—they were jetting off to Paris again and abandoning him at school.
But Thanksgiving is a time for family, he whined to himself, sounding like an eight-year-old instead of a young man of his almighty seventeen years. Checking his watch, he realized he had been at school for exactly fifteen minutes and forty-seven seconds longer than he needed to be.
I don't even think another senior is staying, he reflected. Or even a junior. Or a sophomore. I know that freshman Lewis is staying, but he's a freshman! He shouldn't count! I'm going to be so incredibly bored…
Colin was not exactly an introverted person. He liked to be around people, and as he was popular and one of the most sought-after males in the school, he was hardly ever lacking company. His friends, however, seemed to be able to leave him in the blink of an eye when it came to holidays—"I'm sorry, Col, but you know, my parents are really looking forward to me being there, and I've been looking forward to seeing them too, and you know, I'm sure you'll find something to do…" had been almost the exact words of his supposed best friend, Devon Ailan. Oh well, never mind, he was going to get through this holiday if it was the last thing he did! And he was going to have a hell of a good time in the process!
And with that thought, he once more snuggled into his chair and proceeded to pick the lint off his sweater.
*
Molly Connell rarely stayed at school over holidays, but her father had somehow gotten an huge, irreversible meeting scheduled over Thanksgiving holidays, and although Molly was more than welcome to go home, she had politely declined—she knew that if it was one of these big, quote "huge" affairs, it would be comprised of black-tie parties and Thanksgiving dinner with the Governor. Not the President, because her dad would have certainly asked her to come home if it was Thanksgiving with the President, but that was no matter.
Sometimes, Molly sighed, it really sucks, having a billionaire dad who is a role model for society.
Yes, she really did love her dad, and he was the nicest guy in the world, but he was a famous cell phone tycoon and everyone wanted to know Tyler and Valerie Connell, the couple whose five-year-breakup and then reunion had made Time magazine, the couple whose marriage had been attended by acclaimed writers and doctors and even a Nobel Prize laureate, the couple whose life was perfect…
Molly sighed. There wasn't even another senior staying for holidays, or at least none that she knew of. She didn't know of any staying juniors, or even sophomores, either. This holiday was really, really going to suck.
She got up from her bed and left the room, walking down the hall on her way to the common room. No, this really was not going to be fun.
She was halfway down the stairs from the girls' dormitories when she sighted someone in a chair, apparently picking mindlessly at their shirt. She immediately realized who it was, and groaned. This was even worse than no one else staying for holidays—if he was staying, it would be a living hell.
"Hi, Colin." His head flew up to the girl on the staircase, surprised. There was a fleeting look of relief that someone else was staying, but that disappeared and his green eyes were unusually empty.
"Oh, hey." He went back to picking lint off his dark green sweater, and she observed him with some amusement. He looked pretty good in that sweater, actually, she had always thought that guys in general looked nice in sweaters—
But never DEVIE! the voice inside Molly's head shrieked. Molly, you freak! You are so not thinking DeVie looks good in that sweater! You want to know why not? Because he's your archenemy! You know, the really stupid and conceited one?
But something was making her look at him differently—maybe the fact that he wasn't acting self-centered or the fact he didn't have thousands of people huddling around him. He almost seemed… nice.
Rid yourself of these thoughts, Molly! You, under no circumstances, are going to become friends with Colin DeVie, okay?
Wow, someone had spiked her hot chocolate or something. She was thinking scary, scary thoughts.
"So why are you staying here?" she inquired, making conversation as she stepped off the stairs and went over to sit on a couch. He looked up at her blankly, confused.
"Are you talking to me civilly?"
"There's no one else here, DeVie. I need someone to talk to," she said dryly.
"Oh. I'm here because my parents are jetting off to Paris for a conference. Quote unquote, conference," he added dryly.
"Oh."
"You?"
"My dad's got a huge meeting." She shrugged. "I didn't really want to go to thousands of black-tie parties and socialize with cell phone obsessees."
"I can see why." He ran a hand smoothly through his dark brown, spiky hair that was having, like usual, some small problems staying tidy. Well… small problems was kind of an understatement…
"You hungry? I'm going to the kitchens," she said, rising. He shook his head.
"Nah, I'll eat later."
"Okay." Molly left the common room, shaking her head. Will miracles never cease? I think I just had an almost civil conversation with Colin DeVie. Ugh, I'm getting scared just thinking about that concept…
*
Yep, Thanksgiving holidays were certainly boring, mused Colin as he stepped into the common room, polishing off the orange a cook had handed him on request of a snack. This was only the second day of a four-day vacation if you were counting the weekend, and he was already bored out of his mind.
Pound.
Pound.
What the HELL was that? Sounded like an elephant was tromping around in the girls' dorm. Just Molly, he reassured himself with a smile. Ignoring the fact that she's hot and doesn't weigh a hundredth of what an elephant weighs.
He had some serious problems. Molly was not hot. Molly being hot was about as likely as… as… as… as his dad being a doctor. Oh, wait. His dad was a doctor. Crap.
Curiosity got the better of him and he started up the stairs to the girls' dorms. As he progressed, a definite rhythm became more and more apparent.
Weird, no one was up here, he contemplated, looking around at the doors. All he could hear was the beats and pounds, no talking, no giggling, no crazed girls running around.
Not that he had been to the girls' dorms often in the past…
He reached the end of the hall, and the pounding was loud, now. Colin decided, perhaps a bit belatedly, that someone was playing drums in their dorm room. But who had a drum set in their room?
He swung open the door, not pausing to glance at the small nameplate next to the door that read Katarina O'Neill, Chloe Erickson, Lauren Richardson and Molly Connell.
*
No way.
No possible way.
This was so not happening.
It really was amazing how sexy his archenemy could look, in a blue tank top that showed graceful arms and fit her perfectly, with her hair in a careless, messy ponytail that was having a great time saying "I really don't care about my appearance but I can make you want me anyway", with her blue eyes closed and long eyelashes falling onto her smooth skin.
She was pretty good at those drums, too, arms moving fluidly and a rough but soothing rhythm pouring out of her amp. Colin was watching in awe when she suddenly started singing, too.
This was a nightmare.
The girl had complete control over him.
"I don't know/ Your answers don't mean anything/ They're all a lie/ I know you lie to me/ Painting a picture with your fingers/ Red, white and blue/ You use yellow too/ I miss you, I miss you/ I hate you, I hate you/ But it's hard to see what I don't see in you…/ Don't know what I don't see in you…" Her low voice was cutting into him, winding him in its decisive power. She opened her eyes with a smile, continuing to play, checking to make sure she was hitting the right notes, evidently very pleased with herself and her song.
Then she made the mistake of looking up, and she promptly dropped her drumstick.
Colin DeVie was leaning against the door of her room, staring at her, in a dark red sweater.
What the hell is it with him and wearing sweaters that make him look hot? mourned Molly.
"What is it, DeVie?" she inquired sharply, wiping sweat from her forehead and looking at him wearily.
"Wha… nothing," he covered quickly, snapping from the trancelike state. "You… you play well."
"Thanks," she said warily. "Did you want something?"
"I heard the playing. I wanted to know what it was." He looked at her intensely.
God, he had nice eyes…
"Oh. Sorry if I was too loud. I can turn down the amp."
"It's fine. I'm the only one in earshot, really, and I don't mind."
"All right." She was still wary, and it was obviously a conversation-ending phrase, but apparently he didn't catch that, as he kept leaning against the doorway, eyes boring into hers.
"I'll be right back," he said, leaving. She watched him go. What the hell had just happened?
*
He came back with the amp and she was sitting there, mindlessly tapping her drumsticks on the cymbal drum, staring off into space.
I don't get what's going on here, Colin thought, confused. Two days ago I hated her guts, and here I am just… amazed.
Crap. Mushy thoughts. Bad. Mushy thoughts were bad.
He set down the amp and exited the room again, only to return a few minutes later.
*
"God, that's beautiful," murmured Molly upon Colin's return, staring at the electric guitar he held in his hands. It was dark, cherry red, gleaming from polishing, looking brand-new.
"You like it?" he inquired with a smile.
"Yeah. It's gorgeous." She exited her amazement and looked at him. "Oh, no way. We are so not playing together."
"Why not?" asked Colin, plugging his guitar into the amp behind her, and proceeding to plug the amp in.
"Because… come on, you don't know any of my songs, or anything… the only songs we both know are probably nursery rhymes set to music or something."
"Then why…" he began, leaning into her, breathing his words into her neck, "don't we make them up?" His breath was warm, and Molly was enjoying it much more than she would ever admit.
"Fine, whatever," she grumbled. "One song."
"Deal."
He gripped his guitar and searched for the strings with his fingers.
"One, two, three…"
They were playing their own tunes, but the tunes wound magically together, creating an incredible sound. Checking quickly to see if it was okay with Colin, Molly started in on the vocals.
"The devil strikes back with his haunted words/ Cupid's friend has gone astray/ Shot the arrows from the dark we held/ As light pushed us from the day/ We never forgot/ We never surrendered/ Me, myself and I/ Struck you down and we don't surrender/ Faithful as the sky…"
"So pretty, pretty when you don't lie/ Me, me, myself and I/ So pretty, pretty when you won't cry/ Me, me, myself and I…" He was having the time of his life, actually, because this was just amazing… she was good at singing, drumming, looked nice… was there anything not perfect about Molly Connell?
"I don't ask your forgiveness/ Didn't do anything I shouldn't have done/ We're screaming pain from heat/ But we're 33,000 million miles from the sun/ So pretty, pretty when we don't die/ You love, love to make us cry/ We unite, I swear we really do try/ So pretty, pretty when we don't die…"
"Me, me, myself and I…"
She looked up from her drumming and singing and flashed a smile at him as he finished the note, which was enough to make him fall over.
Smooth, Colin, he scolded himself. But the nice thing was that Molly had seen him fall and had dropped her drumsticks and tumbled out of her chair to see if he was okay.
"Are you all right?" she inquired, worried as she knelt over him.
"Yeah… well… kind of."
"Kind of." She repeated his words with puzzlement. He slid his guitar strap over his head and discarded the guitar next him.
"Almost," he corrected.
"What the hell do you mean?"
I think that smile damaged your brain, Col, because you're not about to do what I think you're about to do… are you?
"Almost," he informed her gently, pulling her down on top of him.
"Colin, are you okay?"
"First name basis, now, are we?"
"I meant DeVie."
"Whatever."
Molly was no doubt about to reply, but it was difficult to talk around his mouth on hers. Not that it didn't feel good…
"Umph lumph carrimph," she mumbled.
"Shut up, Molly," he told her, pulling away for a short amount of time.
"But we—"
"Shut up, Molly," he repeated, pulling her back into the kiss.
Sad part was, she was enjoying this. And Colin could obviously tell that she was. Oh well, she sighed. It's his fault anyway. He was the one who kissed me in the first place… With that thought, she melted into the kiss, slipping her arms around his neck slowly.
"Hey, Colin?" Molly asked, detaching her arms from his neck and pulling her mouth away.
"First name basis?"
"Yeah… for now…" Her eyes sparkled when she said that.
"Okay. What?"
"Have you been mixing medications recently?"
"Aren't they all the same? All in a little brown glass bottle…" He smiled. "Maybe I have."
"DeVie!"
"I thought we were on a first-name basis," he whined, making his green eyes plead. He trapped her as she tried to get up and brought her back down on him.
"We're not done yet, sweetie…"
"Don't call me sweetie. You're starting to scare me."
"Just starting to?"
"Okay, fine, you always have."
"That's better." Colin gave her an impish grin.
"What the hell was that kiss about?" Molly asked softly. Colin sobered and slid his hands behind her head, angling her face towards him.
"That kiss was about how you need to stop being so sexy, okay? I don't particularly want to be attracted to you, you know," he added in a low voice.
"I don't want to be attracted to you, either. That said, what the hell was that kiss really about?"
"Maybe we should start playing again."
"I want to know what the kiss was about."
"We should start playing."
"What was the kiss about?"
"I really want to start playing."
"Will you tell me why you kissed me?"
"What's the next lyric in the song?"
Molly gave up and rolled off him, evidently hurt. Colin inwardly groaned. Good going, Colin, he thought miserably, standing up. Molly had reinstated herself in her chair and picked up her drumsticks.
To hell with pride, Colin decided quickly, taking off his sweater—he saw why Molly was in a tank top. This could really up your body temperature… of course, it might not be the playing that was upping his body temp.
Sliding his guitar strap over his head and adjusting it, he took a deep breath, twisting his white T-shirt hard in an attempt to release his nervousness. God, he hated his last-minute plans that ended in sheer embarrassment.
"Ready," he said. Molly poised her hands and he shook his head, stepping forward and once more whispering against her neck—"No… let me do it this time, okay?" Molly nodded slowly, confused, and turned around in her chair to see him better.
Yeah, to hell with pride…
"I, um, dedicate this to you, okay?" he said hoarsely. Her eyes betrayed her confusion.
"But what…?"
"Just, I dedicate it to you," he whispered. This was painful. He hadn't known he was writing it for her when he wrote it, but it hadn't been for anyone else, and she more than deserved it…
"Morning rain is here again/ Never mind that it's afternoon/ Our dismal gray has silenced you/ We never really meant to/ And when everything is said and done/ I know you're the only one/ Sweet life, the only one/ Kick back, I'm the lonely one/ Sweet dreams, the only one… for me…/ Every kiss/ Etched our lives/ Rouge and khaki lip gloss/ Lost you once/ Lost you one hundred million thousand times/ Lost you again/ I never had you/ Sweet dreams, the only one… for me… Um, yeah, that's about it," he said, ending it and trying desperately to ignore the piercing stare he was getting from Molly. He winced as he took off his guitar. "I'm sorry. That was bad. I don't… I don't…"
"I don't care what you don't, Colin."
"First-name basis again?" he asked hopefully.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"Did you steal my khaki lip gloss?"
"No!"
"All right, then it's a first-name basis."
"Oh, good. I like Molly better than Connell," he said with relief.
"And I like kissing better than talking," she replied, getting up and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. "Your turn to shut up, Colin."
And five minutes later, as they tripped over the amp cord and fell down, Colin was deciding that Thanksgiving break really wasn't that bad at all.
DIS/CLAIMER: I own everything except Tyler and Val. Even the songs, which—even though they still suck—are way better than my old ones, right? Anyway, I own Molly and Colin, etc., etc. *smirks* I must be really special, to own such great *cough*, stellar *hack*, amazing *seizure* characters, eh? (*cough* *hack* *seizure* is a joke between me and my friend… don't ask. You don't want to know)
Too much homework.
My brother broke my NEW Bush CD's case. *sigh