A/N : Happy Halloween everyone! Eat tons of candy (I know I will) and then write fanfiction while on a sugar high (I KNOW I WILL).
I'm dressing up as a zombie British dude from the 1800s and spending my evening scaring little children who want to steal my candy. Can't wait! What costumes are you guys wearing?
Anyway, here is what (I hope) you've all been waiting for (YOU BETTER LIKE IT, BECAUSE I'M MISSING OTAKUTHON TO WRITE THIS).
Enjoy!
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The Tour
by Queen of Pascalities
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I.
Of course. It couldn't be this easy.
I couldn't be just leaving everything behind – my parents, my studies, my (shitty, crappy, stinky) job – and not have consequences after.
It's not that I didn't expect being called by my parents, worried sick, demanding to know of my whereabouts. It's not that I didn't expect them my mum to cry, repeating "Come home, honey, please come home" over and over again. It's not that I didn't expect my dad to order me to appear on our – well, my former – doorstep before noon or there would be "serious punishment" – probably meaning I'd be grounded for the whole summer again. It's not that I didn't expect that.
I just didn't want to think about it. Problems always seem to be solved when you ignore them.
But, of course, I can't ignore this one problem anymore. My only chance of getting out of this predicament unharmed is to confront it carefully, to use the right words and to sound very calm – and not nervous and scared and excited like I am right now.
"I'm with the boys," I said, my voice as poised as I could muster.
Five words into confronting my problem carefully and I've already made the worst mistake I could possibly make.
I said "boys".
The next three minutes of this phone call consist mainly of my father screaming that more than one boy has had his way with me, while my mother's crying even harder because her little girl is off God knows where with individuals who happen to have things dangling between their legs, and is probably being abused and forced into doing things she doesn't want to do – like telling her poor, unaware parents that she's fine.
They tend to overreact, sometimes. My parents are very intense people.
I wait until they're done destroying my tympanums and then calmly – well, as much as I can – proceed on to explaining what I meant by "I'm with the boys".
"Oh, my God, no!" Yeah. Calm. "You've got it all wrong! Don't you remember, the band that invited me to sing in their gig last summer?"
Of course, they don't remember, be it either because they don't pay much attention to what I tell them or because they don't want me to be right about something like this – because I'm being raped senseless right now, aren't I?
"Anyway, I'm with them." Way to be reassuring, Sakura. "I'm perfectly safe, don't worry."
"No, Sakura," my mom bawls. "You're not safe."
And, of course, I have to get angry because damn, I am seventeen. I'm hormonal, I'm impulsive, very jumpy – for some reason – and responsible enough to know when I'm safe or not. Besides, defying them was easy enough last night, I shouldn't have any trouble doing it again.
"You don't know that, mum," I say dryly. "How can you just assume that I'm not safe? Is it because I'm not home, clinging to your skirts and following your every move?"
"I-…"
"I'm not two anymore, mum." I'm downright rude, now. "I can take care of myself. I don't need you anymore." God, why am I saying that? I'm just hurting her more.
"Sakura, don't speak to your mother like that," my dad says, joining in on the fun.
"I will when you stop ordering me around." Stop, moronic idiot, you're making things worse. "I'm not going home."
"Yes, you are! You'll be here before noon or I'm going to get you myself," he repeats.
"You and I both know I won't be there at noon."
It does make sense, because not only is the next flight home in three hours, it's also six hours long. Which would get me home right around two in the afternoon.
"That's it. I'm going to get you." He's angry too, I can tell. It doesn't phase me one bit.
"Well, come on, then, dad. I'll be miles away when you arrive."
Which is also true because, well, I'm standing on American soil – I resist an urge to squeal – and the boys and I are leaving for Canada in a few minutes. Plus, he doesn't know where I am.
There's a silence on the other end of the line. I know he's speechless. Why wouldn't he be? I've never been rebellious and my teenage crisis was just as short-lived as it is long gone. My parents clearly didn't see this coming – to be quite honest, neither did I – and now they don't know how to react.
Finally, my dad speaks.
"We'll block your passeport."
His words are fateful, solemn, like an announcement from a king. He sounds calm, but I know he's anything but. I'm perfectly aware that anger is making his blood boil and that the slightest rude comment on my part will make him explode. Suddenly, all my boldness deflates.
This is absurd. I shouldn't be fighting with my parents. I won't see them – hopefully – for the next twelve months. I don't want my last memory of them before the tour to be a bad one.
"Mum, dad…" I sigh. "I'm sorry. Don't… Don't be angry, please. I didn't mean what I said. It's just…"
I can't seem to find the right words. Speeches never really were my forte, and it sure as hell is showing now.
"This… This is really important to me. I've been waiting for an opportunity like this for as long as I can remember. This tour-…"
"A tour!?" My mum cuts in, startled. "You're going on a tour? Is that what it is, with this… This band you were with last night?" Disdain is still clear in her voice.
"Yes. That band," I answer calmly. "I'm with them."
"Alone?"
"No! Erm, no, mum. They have adults accompanying them, you know, tour manager, technicians, bus driver-…"
"There's a bus driver?"
"I'd really wish you'd stop cutting me, mum." I don't know how long I can keep the calm façade up.
"Oh, right. Sorry, darling."
"Anyway, yes, there's a bus driver. We'll need to sleep sometime, mum."
"Where?"
"On the bus? In bunk beds? Mum, you didn't really think they were touring around in a Winnebago, did you?"
"Erm, well-…"
"The point is, you really have nothing to worry about. I'm perfectly safe. I promise I'll call you as many times as I can."
"Well, it's not like we hadn't expected this," my dad says, after being silent for a few minutes. I'm confused.
"What do you mean?"
"We knew we'd have to let you go sometimes. Only, you never showed any signs of wanting to leave. We just didn't think it would happen so quickly and at such extremes."
There was a pause.
". . . Where are you, anyway?"
Should I tell them? I know they'll go hysterical on me again if I do. Then again, it'll probably be worse if they find out I lied.
"I'm, er… I'm in Los Angeles."
. . .
For a few seconds, I can't hear anything. Maybe they're just preparing their synchronised spaz attack. I should probably lean the phone away from my ear, just in case they start screaming again-
"We apologize for the inconvenience, but the plan you are currently using for your phone device has reached its fund limit. If you wish to purchase more minutes, go to your local-…"
I don't let her finish. A high, screeching sound come out of my throat as I shut the cellphone closed and furiously throw back in my bad, which has been lying at my feet for the past ten minutes or so. Talk about crap luck. I had enough minutes to pick up a fight with my parents, but not enough to make up with them. I turn around, ready to ask one of the boys to lend me their phone…
And then I freeze.
I choke back a laugh. The sight is rather comical, despite the fact that I'm thoroughly pissed off.
They're all sitting in a line on the leather seats of the waiting area, their backs to the door to the plane we're supposed to catch in a few minutes, and they're almost all staring at me as if I'd just admitted to having a foot fetish. Which I don't. Just so you know. 'Cause, well, I don't have a, er, foot fetish.
Yeah, anyway.
I say they're almost all staring at me because only three of them actually are. The fourth one – and most important, if you ask me – is still fast asleep, as he was for most of the plane trip. I'm not sure he's even aware yet that I'm here. He's slouching on the back of his seat, his arms crossed, his face relaxed and – it appears to be constant with him – slightly bored. As if his dreams are as boring as the rest of his life seems to be to him.
I just hope he's not dreaming of me.
. . .
Wait…
No, that's really what I meant to say. I hope he's not having boring dreams about me.
Ding ding diiiing.
All passengers for flight 177 to Vancouver, please report to boarding gate number four. Thank you.
My heart leaps in my chest and my blood freezes. My second flight in existence and I'm already eager to take the plane again. I could only manage to sleep one hour out of the eight it took us to get to Los Angeles, and I enjoyed myself almost as much as I did a year ago when I was on stage with the boys.
Said boys, by the way, are still staring at me. Kind of awkward, really.
"Erm… Maybe we should go," I suggested tentatively. Naruto snaps out of his trance first and gets up with a start.
"Right!" He says. "Come on, dudes. Move it."
He kicks Sasuke's shin – nooo, not his perfectly-shaped-shin-that-I've-never-seen-in-my-entire-life-but-that-I-know-I'll-love-anyway-because-Sasuke-is-just-perfect-like-that! – to wake him up and picks up his bags. Sasuke merely cracks an eye open, grunts and drags his things to the gate.
I still wonder if he's aware of my being here. Maybe not. Ooh, then I can't wait to see the look on his face. I must be somewhat of a sadist, deep down inside. Or not. Still, annoying him to no end might actually turn out fun. That is, until he falls in love with me.
With a smile and only one more thought to my parents, I pick up my bags and follow the rest of the band through the gate.
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A/N: So, what did you think? Tell me! I need feedback on this. I didn't get much on the Prom sequel, and I'm kind of wondering if it means I should stop with this idea. I don't want to, but if you guys don't like it anymore, I'll stop.
Happy Halloween again!
Scaring children is what I live for. Hehe.
~Queen of Pascalities