Here's another one-shot. I really don't like it, but read and review anyway.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Wait — I own North Dakota. No, not the state. The character. Yes! I can finally say I own something.
I have no idea how I came to find myself in this position but I did. It all started when a certain brunette decided that I, Chad Dylan Cooper, talk to her to much, and it drives her nut. That's what she said. Ohmigod, that's what she said. LOL. Yes, the whole abbreviation thing is still going on. That also drives little Miss Sunbeam up the wall. Anyway, back to where I am. Oh, yes. Now I know. She said I come and bother her all the time, so we made a bet. The bet is that if I talk to her first I lose and the same goes for her. Yeah, so, life goes on. I'm still racking my brain for something to do. I have no idea what I did before I met Sonny. It's like there is nothing to do here. It's so boring and dull. I don't have to film today, either. You see, Mackenzie fell off his horse and is in a coma. (But don't worry, I'll be fine . . . I think.) So that means I don't have to film. I'm in the episode for, like, five minutes. But I can't go home. (My director wants me to "support the rest of the Mackenzie Falls cast.") Arg, so now I'm alone in the cafeteria. Part of me wants to go and talk to her, but that means I lose. As everyone knows that Chad Dylan Cooper doesn't lose bets. He wins them.
I slam my head on the table repeatedly. "I am so bored," I say. This is very out of character of me to be this bored, but I am.
"Chad!" a voice exclaims. I look up to see twelve-year-old Dakota Condor rushing in the room. Great. "Oh, Chad! Are you alright, my darling?" she asks.
"Never been better," I lie.
You are probably thinking, Isn't Dakota nine (or ten)? Yes, the Dakota you're thinking about is nine (or ten), but not this Dakota. I came to find out that two Dakota Condors running through this studios. (You can only tell the difference between the two if you look closely.) And they both have major crushes on moi. (But who doesn't?) Supposedly, Mr. Condor named one of his br—I mean, wonderful daughters North Dakota (age twelve) and the other South Dakota (age nine or ten—I can't remember the brat's age). Who does that? Ugh. If I had kids their names would be Chad or Dylan for a boy and maybe Mackenzie for a girl. The lucky mother of my children is TBA. I have an idea who I want it to be, but I'll have to wait on that.
"Oh, Chad, you look ill! Are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm totally fine," I say. "You know what, I have filming to do."
"Oh, no you don't," Dakota protests. "I checked your schedule. You're free all day long."
That sent shivers up and down my spine. And not the good kind, either.
"So what would you like to do?" she asks, stroking my arm.
"Nothing," I squeak. Wow, do I sound like a wimp or what?
"Oh, come on. There has to be something you would like to do." Now she's running her fingers through my hair. Ew, ew, ew! Just gross, please, somebody help me. The girl is twelve. She shouldn't be flirting with a seventeen-year-old.
"You know what. I would love to take a nap. I haven't slept in days. So if you would excuse me . . ." I trail off, trying to make it to my dressing room. She holds my arm back. Crap.
"Are you really that tired? I can get you an energy drink."
"Oh, I'm sure I don't need one of those things. Just let me—"
"No, Chad. You are going to spend time with me!" demands Dakota. (Okay, I'm a little scared right now—a little scared.) "My sister gets to spend as much time as she wants with you, but I don't. It's not fare!"
"Life is not fare," I say.
Dakota glares. I shift around in my seat. How the hell am I supposed to get away from this girl? I mean, I could try bolting out of here and into my dressing room, but Dakota's fast. I found out that there was two Dakotas when I saw them racing for a doughnut. A doughnut. Pathetic, if you ask me. Oh, yeah. Sonny and I once raced for the last piece of pie . . . but that's different. 'Cause that was between two young adults fighting for pie, not young children fighting for a doughnut. There's a big difference.
"Chad!" another voice squeals. I snap my head up to see Sonny walking, no, running towards me. "Baby, how are you doing?" she asks, and sits on my lap. Dakota starts to back slowly away. Thank God. (Now I get to admire Sonny and have those in-the-gutter thoughts . . . which I shouldn't be having, but they come anyway.)
"Uh . . .," I mumble. I'm completely and totally shocked by her outfit. It was a reveling red top with black jeans, and she looks hotter then hell. Oh, yeah, I went there.
"Shush, the time for talking is over." Sonny puts a finger over. "I have to go, but before I do, I wanted to do this." And then she starts to kiss me. A very sensual kiss, I might add. (You know, tongue, moaning, sighing, and running her fingers through my hair—that I usually don't let people touch.) I never knew the Good Girl had it in her to kiss the Hollywood's Bad Boy. And no way is she getting more out of this kiss then I am. So I start to kiss her back. As I grab her hips (or somewhere a little lower) to bring her closer to me. She places her other leg over my leg, so now she's straddling me. Damn. She can be sexy when she wants to be.
But all too soon she pulls back and looks into my eyes.
"Is she gone?" I ask, looking around.
"Yeah," she replies. "I think so." Sonny jumps off me and says, "That had to be the grossest thing I've ever done."
"Come on, you have to admit that you liked kissing moi," I say cockily.
"No. I. Did. Not. It had to be the worst experience ever." Sonny wipes her lips as if to get something off them. (I should be the one wiping off the ruby-red lipstick from my mouth. . .)
"Right."
She shakes her head. "Bye, Chad!" says Sonny, walking away.
"Bye," I call after her and then add, "I won the bet."
Sonny stops abruptly. "Excuse me?" she asks, walking back up to me.
"I won."
"I'm sorry, but are you saying you're not thankful for me saving your pathetic life?"
"Chad Dylan Cooper doesn't need to be saved by a girl."
"Fine. So the next time you need help, I'm not going to help you."
"Good."
"Good."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Good."
"Goodbye!"
We turn in different directions.
"Oops," says Sonny, "I'm supposed to go this way to get to So Random." She turns around and comes towards me.
"Yeah. And I have to go"—I point to where she was heading before—"there to get to Mackenzie Falls." I come towards her. "Bye . . ." I pause to think. "And thanks for helping me," I say, and jog back to the Falls.
Sonny's Point Of View
"You're welcome," I call after Chad. "And I hate you," I say, only loud enough that a person standing right next to me could here. "And I want to have your babies," I say very quietly, so no one can hear me and my little confession, well, big confession.
I walk back to So Random, my shoulders sagging. Damn Chad. Damn him and all is rightness. He knows everything. He knew I would fall for him. He knew I really enjoyed that kiss. (I mean, I really, really enjoyed that kiss.) He knew me better then I know myself sometimes. Sometimes I think I'm changing for the worse. I'm trying not to let all this fame go to my head, but I feel so happy when I'm told I'm good. So in other words, I'm trying to be the opposite of Chad.
And it isn't working out that great.
Chad's Point Of View
I'm in the commissary by myself . . . again. And that's when it starts . . . again. Right next to me is the nine-year-old (or ten-year-old?) Dakota Condor. She's doing the same thing her sister was doing the previous day. You know, stoking my arm, acting like she's trying to seduce me, which, let me tell you, is not working at all. I'm totally grossed out. If people could see what she is doing, I would get in so much trouble. I tell her repeatedly to stop. But what does she do? Not Listen.
"You know, Dakota, I have a really bad headache," I say. That was not a lie. It's the truth, damn it.
"Laura," calls Dakota. A young girl wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard comes running in.
"Yes, Miss Condor?" she, Laura, asks.
"Get this beautiful young man something for his headache," demands Dakota.
"What would you like, sir?" asks Laura.
"Five Tylenol and five Advil," I say, holding my head in my hands. "And maybe some other type of drug." That should kill me and take me out of my misery. "Wait—double that. I want ten of each." Okay, that will kill me.
"But you can get really sick or die!" says Laura.
"I am Chad Dylan Cooper, possibly the greatest actor of my generation!" I yell. "Get me that medicine now!"
"Yes, right away." Laura hurries off.
Dakota keeps asking me why I'm doing this. I'm trying to come up with some lame excuse. I'm choosing between the following choices: A broken heart (because I haven't had a girlfriend in two months), death of parent, grandparent, sibling, etc., sick of life, or all of the above. I'm thinking the last one.
But, thank the Lord; Laura is back within 5 minutes.
"Here you go, sir," says Laura, handing me the bottles.
"Thanks," I say. I get up and shove Dakota out of the way. "Nice knowing you, kid," I say, and run off to Sonny.
I finally reach her door. I open it without knock or anything. (But hey, I'm Chad Dylan Cooper; I can do anything I want.)
"I. Hate. You!" I say to Sonny. She looks shocked.
"Chad? What are you doing here? And why are you mad at me this time?"
"Because I needed to be saved from Dakota number two, and you were not there!"
"I'm sorry," she snickers. Ha, ha, that's so funny. Not. "Do you want me to make it all better with a kiss?"
"Yes," I answer automatically.
"Okay." She kisses me, but it wasn't like the last time, this time it is short and sweet. After she pulls away she looks at me.
"What the heck was that? I mean, look at yesterday's kiss. Yesterday's kiss was sexy and hot. This kiss is like a one for four-year-olds," I complain.
"Do you know why they're different?" she asks.
"No."
"Because that was a real kiss, yesterday's was fake." She smiles and walks out the door.
"Where does that leave our relationship?" I call after her.
"I don't know. But I'm free tonight. Hint, hint." She winks in a very sexy way.
"Okay. Pick you up at six."
"Good."
"Good."
"Are we doing this?"
"Oh yes, we are." She smiles slyly and winks. That's my bad girl Sonny. Oh, how the times have changed. Once a sweet, little, somewhat stupid girl from Wisconsin turned into heartbreaking, jerk-throb-dating, bad girl. I created a monster and I like it.
How was it? Leave me a lovely review and let me know!
(These choices go out to you, Duckyumbrella! I hope you like them! :D)
Sponge: I love it.
Fried Chicken: It was okay.
Bandages: I hate it. (Please tell me why!)