A/N: This will be a chaptered fic, so you are permitted to request that I continue without me reading your review with an irate countenance. Hee. I must let you know, I enjoyed writing this Christmas-spirited fic. I hope you enjoy reading.

All It Takes

One Time

Casey woke up to the incessant screech of her blinking alarm clock, rubbing one eye tiredly before reaching out to turn off the cursed thing. Swinging her legs over the side of her bed, she sat up and stretched, realizing, as she did so, just how tense her shoulders were. Standing, she acknowledged that her restlessness the night before probably had not helped this issue. Then again, neither had anything that had occurred recently.

That weekend, she and Lizzie had gone to visit their father, which, on the one hand, was surprising and exciting and utterly wonderful but, on the other, also held the prospects of them meeting their potential stepmother, Natalie Williams. Casey had fretted about this from the start, but upon meeting her found her to be pretty, nice, funny, and not at all as uptight and, quite frankly, evil as the two girls had expected. She had even brought gifts for them--two silk blouses from a fashion company, where she worked. She wanted to please them right off, Casey supposed. They had left New York reluctantly, Lizzie wanting more time with her father and Casey wanting to keep a watchful eye, just to make sure Natalie was right for him.

Since they had hopped on the plane back home, Casey hadn't been able to stop thinking--mostly worrying--about Natalie. As she had been when Nora had started seriously dating George, she was concerned, both for herself, Lizzie, and the parent involved. What if Natalie broke her father's heart? What if she turned out to be an evil witch? What if she and Nora hated one another? The list went on and on.

As if that was not enough to drive a teenager insane with anxiety, Derek, since breaking up with Kendra a few months ago--she had set a record by holding his romantic attention for almost a year--had been acting especially odd, so odd as to be deemed "sketchy." Casey wasn't sure what it was, but something about the way he had been behaving made her highly suspicious. Perhaps it was that he hadn't played a prank on her in weeks or that he kept his insults to a shocking minimum or maybe that he never tried to steal the remote--or anything she happened to be holding and didn't want him to have--from her anymore, though he always looked tempted. Or perhaps it was just that he was basically ignoring her which threw her off, though all logic told her she should have been celebrating that miracle. Logic swept under the rug, she wasn't, obviously, and she would get to the bottom of Derek's indifference toward her if it drove her nuts.

Shaking her head, she grumbled a quick, "Teenagers shouldn't have to deal with this." before moving groggily to her closet. She rifled through and pulled out the shirt she had gotten from Natalie, giving it a critical once-over before nodding in approval; it was a shimmering, white, button-up blouse, with sleeves that flared slightly at the ends. With the black jeans Casey had bought at the mall, with Emily's enthusiastic endorsement, the outfit would be perfect.

Unfortunately, the black jeans took ages to find, considering Casey had given them to her mother to wash, knowing she wouldn't have time for laundry with her trip, and her mother had put them away in some obscure place in Casey's well-organized room. By the time she found them, she was certain Derek would have slunk into the bathroom and started his shower, and, not wishing to be tardy because of her idiot stepbrother, she slipped on her clothes, applied a thin layer of makeup, brushed her hair into obedient sleekness, and went downstairs for breakfast, hardly realizing in her rush that the bathroom was empty.

"That's a cute shirt," Nora commented when Casey entered the kitchen and grabbed Derek's cereal out of the cupboard, an act symbolizing something like payback.

"Thanks. It's the one Natalie gave me," Casey replied, carefully watching her mother's face for a reaction.

"Well, it's very nice," was all the latter replied, and her expression showed nothing of any dislike for Miss Williams. I guess I can cross Mom off my list of things to freak out about Casey decided.

"Yea, and you can have the pink one she gave me," Lizzie added grudgingly, and there was no need to explain; she still hadn't reached the point where she wanted to be a pink, fluffy, frilly girl, and the silk fabric probably wouldn't have lasted too long in the hands of someone who played outdoors every chance she got.

Casey nodded, mentally doubting that Lizzie's shirt would fit her and pouring her cereal into a bowl. The box was suddenly snatched out of her hands, and she looked up, outwardly angry at Derek's display of pigheadedness, and inwardly relieved that she no longer had to ponder his former mellowness. She was slightly disheartened to see Edwin standing there, looking at her disapprovingly. "Sorry, Case; Derek's cereal." He put the box back in the cupboard and pulled out his own teeth-rotting breakfast.

Casey rolled her eyes and poured herself a glass of orange juice instead. It was no wonder she was so thin; half the time she ate very little for her first meal of the day, and the other half, she didn't have time to eat anything at all.

"See you guys later," she muttered upon finishing her drink and exited the kitchen. She grabbed her book bag and put on her suede winter coat on the way out the front door, faintly puzzled as to why Derek still had not come downstairs but shrugging it off as unimportant.

As per usual, Casey was ahead of schedule. She walked to the school, shivering with cold; their town had sustained at least half a dozen inches of snow in just the past few days, and a White Christmas was almost a guarantee, especially considering this week was the last before Christmas Break.

Entering Sir John Sparrow Thompson High pushed the wintry mood even further, for it appeared that Father Christmas had upchucked all over the school. Fake snow dusted the floors, caking into little lumps with the melted snow from outside. Red and green streamers hung from the ceilings, intertwined with tinsel and the rare, but blatant enough, sprigs of mistletoe. Some teachers had hung dollar store wreaths upon their doors, and over all, the feeling was that of having overdone it.

Kicking the snow off her shoes on the inefficient mats at the door, Casey headed toward her locker, surprised when her phone vibrated in her pocket. Pulling it out as she swerved around a huddled group of her classmates, she answered it with a hurried, "Hello?"

"Hey, Case." It was her mother. "I just remembered that George and I have something special planned for the family today, so we need you home by four. If you see Derek, could you tell him?"

"Isn't he still there?" Casey asked after glancing at the time depicted on a large clock hanging from the wall. Derek typically had Sam, who had received his license recently, drive him to school, so he didn't have to brave the cold; Casey, wanting to spend as little time with Derek--especially dormant Derek--as possible, even if it meant freezing to death, always declined the offer and made a point to leave before Sam showed up. They weren't due to have left the house yet.

"No." Nora's confusion traveled to Casey's ears. "He left before you got up; he said there was morning hockey practice before this week's game."

"Oh." Casey berated herself for missing a good, hot shower because of her false assumptions. "Well, I'll let him know, if I see him," she agreed.

"Thanks. Have a good day, and remember: by four."

"Okay. Bye." Casey hung up as she spotted Emily. She waved her over, and they walked to their lockers. Emily gave her friend a compliment on the pre-approved jeans, catching sight of the shirt and praising it, as well. They reached the junior locker hall, and immediately, the conversation shifted to Derek upon their arrival at their lockers.

"You'll never guess what Derek's doing." Emily's preamble was nonexistent and her eagerness to talk about Derek poorly masked.

"Something stupid?" Casey inquired dryly, shaking her combination lock in frustration as she realized she had put in the wrong numbers. Emily recoiled slightly at her biting tone. "Sorry, Em. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. Go ahead." If you must.

That, of course, was all the invitation Emily needed to go off on some harangue on how Derek and his hockey buddies were lining up girls in the senior hall to see how many . . . Casey stopped hearing the tirade around the first "Derek" and instead endeavored to remember her locker combination. For the life of her, she couldn't get it straight. 12-30-2 or 30-2-12? Maybe it's 12-20-3. Typically, she wasn't quite so spacey, but that morning, her brain just didn't seem to be functioning.

As if by clockwork, she managed to get the right code just as Emily ended with a breathless, "Isn't that messed up?"

"Yea, definitely," Casey agreed distractedly, opening the lock and lifting the door handle.

"Sad thing is, I was thinking of going over there," Emily admitted almost coyly.

Casey didn't get a chance to respond before she realized what was happening. The top shelf of her locker, small though it was, held a bucket of what appeared to be spaghetti sauce, which had been leaning against the door. When Casey opened it, the bucket tipped, and Casey was instantaneously drenched in red. She let out a gasp of shock and disgust as the icy mix hit her square in the chest, covering the fronts of her expensive jacket and new, equally expensive, shirt and coating the ends of her hair.

"Oh my God," Emily breathed as she covered her mouth with her hand, reluctant amusement plain on her face, though she looked horrified, as well.

Casey was speechless. She stared down at the soiled clothing for a moment or two, the snickers and whispering of the people who had observed the scene sinking in. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed. "Derek," she growled. "Senior hall?"

"Yea," Emily responded automatically, not realizing just how awful this was going to be for her crush until Casey slammed her locker shut and hurled her bag over her shoulder, nearly slipping in the sauce that had landed on the floor as she spun in the direction she was headed. "Casey, come on. It was just a joke!" Emily consoled frantically, hurrying after her irate best friend.

"These. Clothes. Are ruined!" Casey snapped in response.

"It's not his fault anyway! I gave him your locker combo!" Emily disclosed.

Casey halted, whirling to face her. "You what!?"

Emily balked. "He said he was going to give you a Christmas present!"

"You believed him!?"

"You said he was being tolerable!" Emily defended desperately.

"Tolerable, Em! Not a different person!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't think he would--"

"I'm not blaming you, okay? I'm blaming him, and he is not getting away with this." Casey resumed stalking to the senior hallway, a resigned Emily tagging along. "Can you imagine what they're going to call me now?" she asked aloud, indignant tone not covering the hurt she felt at having to bear the brunt of the other kids' torment.

They turned a corner, the crowd of people getting larger, the laughter and pointing louder and more obvious. Casey spotted Derek's unruly mop behind a group of hockey jocks and dodged the milling students in her way; most of them chuckled as she passed.

Naturally, her anger caused her to be oblivious as to what was going on around her. All she saw was Derek, who had his back to her. Of course, she didn't pause to wonder just why he was standing in the middle of the hallway, his jock friends encircling him and cheering every so often. No. She didn't see the precariously hung mistletoe just above him. She didn't hear Emily's perceptive gasp or feel her friend's hand on her shoulder before she shrugged it off. "Casey! Wait!" Perhaps if Casey had been paying attention to anything but the boy she loved to hate, she would have called him over instead of storming right up to him, but this was not the case.

She grabbed Derek's arm as she reached him, the calls of, "Get in line!" from some of the other students going unheard.

"Hey, what's your prob--" Derek's question faded into a laugh as he recognized her and slapped on his trademark smirk. "Well, that's a nice look on you," he complimented deviously, gratified by his friends' guffaws.

"Shut up, Derek," Casey spat, shaking with anger, her nails digging into his arm. "Because of you, the shirt I got from my dad's new girlfriend is ruined!"

Derek let out another chuckle. "Is that all? Come on; lighten up." He tried to shake her hand off, but she held fast. His expression changed from that of amusement to irritation.

"My sixty dollar jacket is trashed!" she snarled.

Annoyed about being scolded and Casey's somewhat painful grasp on his arm, Derek narrowed his eyes. "God forbid."

His sarcasm only made her angrier. "You will pay me back. In. Full!"

"Sorry, Case. No can do. I'm not paying just because you can't make pasta." Derek's eyes glinted warningly.

"Derek." Casey's stone-cold glare wasn't in the least bit relenting. Their gazes locked and scalded one another.

"Hey, Derek. We can't stand here all day, ya know," a female voice warned from behind Derek suddenly, breaking the spell.

"Yea. You need to kiss her and move to the next girl," someone else pitched in.

"What!?" Casey barked, instantly aware of her surroundings. She peered around Derek at the line of girls behind him, all looking equally impatient to get whatever they had been waiting for. "Kiss?"

Even Derek appeared shaken as he said in a low voice, "Look up, Princess."

Casey looked at him confusedly, and he nodded upward. She raised her eyes to the ceiling, and her stomach lurched. Mistletoe. She glanced back at Derek, dropping his arm and shaking her head fervently. "No. There is no way I'm kissing Derek," she insisted.

"Fine. Then leave so we can have our turns!" the girl who had interrupted earlier ordered.

"No. It's the rules," one of the jocks pointed out. "She has to kiss him."

"I didn't even know the mistletoe was there!" Casey cried, the tomato stain on her clothing now the least of her worries as she backed away from her stepbrother.

Someone on the outskirts of the crowd pushed her back toward him, and she barely caught her balance by leaning against him, which she hastily refrained from doing as soon as she was on her own two feet.

"Guys, come on," Derek tried, giving his buddies a helpless look. "Do I really have to kiss this loser?"

Casey shot him a glare, secretly hurt by his words. "We're stepsiblings!" she added, and a few people nodded in understanding. Damn him for being the coolest guy in school. Is everyone watching? Indeed, it appeared so, for a thick crowd had gathered around them; this fact made everything a bit more awkward.

"It's the rules," the same rule-conscientious jock repeated.

Derek touched her arm to get her attention. "Let's just get it over with," he offered, though he looked as disturbed by the notion as Casey felt.

He stepped toward her, and she was heedful of the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she realized that she was rooted to the spot. He leaned in, eyes wide open, and she saw the emotion in them; it was something like surrender. She frowned at this, but all comprehension was lost when his lips brushed hers, coaxing warmth to every nerve in her body before he jerked away a second later. Somewhere in that second, she realized, she had closed her eyes, and she snapped them open, hearing laughter in the crowd and the occasional, "Gross.", which probably pertained to their stepsibling relationship.

Derek was watching her with a blank expression, and their eyes met; there was an unfamiliar gleam in his that puzzled her to the core.

Dragging his gaze away, he smirked. "That's number thirty-six, boys," he called cockily, pivoting to face the enthusiastic girls in line. "Next!"

Casey felt her cheeks burning and stepped backwards, oddly stunned when a wall of students blocked her progress. Blinking, she turned to scan the horde, spotting Emily, who had a furious countenance. Great. She probably thinks I wanted to do that.

Randomly, she remembered her mother's request, and she spouted it at Derek, who had just finished kissing another girl. He didn't turn to look at her but instead nodded his head, his coldness telling her it was time to go; why she had thought the message from home would make everything better was beyond her, for it certainly made her feel worse by reminding her just who Derek was.

Shoving her way through the mob, Casey made a point to avoid Emily and get out alive. She didn't care that her clothes were stained or that people were staring at her, pointing, whispering, laughing; she didn't even note that she was on fire. The most disconcerting thing about what had just happened was that she almost wished it would happen again. Of course, that was completely ridiculous.

A/N: Again, this is not a oneshot, dearies. I wasn't sure about the spelling of "Thompson" either; it could be "Thomson," I guess. Anyway, review if you like.

Post Script: Happy Christmas! Or Merry Christmas! Or Happy Hanukah! Or Happy Kwanzaa! Or Happy Holidays! I like the last best, for modern idiocy demands that we always be politically correct.