Chapter Title: A Very Fringe Prom
Pairing: Peter/Liv, Liv/John Scott, Liv/Charlie Francis, Peter/Tessa
Characters: Astrid Farnsworth, Olivia Dunham, Peter Bishop, Walter Bishop, Charlie Francis, Nina Sharp, Phillip Broyles
POV: Olivia, Peter, Astrid, Walter
Genres: Family/Friends, Romantical
Summary: Two highschool seniors, a junior, and an overqualified chemistry teacher all try to survive prom night
Spoilers: It's AU, son.
Author's Note: I did it for the lulz!!! And also because I never had a prom D:
Challenges: Prom, Alternative Universe, teenage!Cast, High School.
Word count: 6340
Liv hadn't really wanted to go stag, but her boyfriend was putting her in an awkward position by telling her he couldn't make it to her senior prom. She loved him—a lot—but John was off building his career as a Marine and she was stuck here, a week before the dance with an extra ticket.
"This sucks hard," she complained as she leaned against the locker next to her friend Beth's.
Beth reorganised the books in her locker again and gave her a matter-of-fact look. "Yeah, well, if I were you, I'd tell Johnny he owes you. You never ask him for anything and you've already spent the sixty bucks on his ticket. Seriously."
"I know. I should," Olivia agreed, then leaned her back against the lockers, her notebooks clutched to her chest. "Man, this sucks! I really wanted him to come! He couldn't make it to prom last year because he was in boot camp, but this year he has no excuse. It's bullshit!"
"An ultimatum, Liv. You need to give him an ultimatum." Beth nodded, using the new buzzword she had learned yesterday in English Honours. "I'll see you at lunch, right?"
"Yeah, see ya."
Olivia began to walk to English class; she couldn't wait to tell Charlie Francis about these developments. She might have asked him to go with her, but he had already told her that he was taking his neighbor. The hallway was thinning of students, which was nice because it meant she could walk and think without running into anyone. That damn John. How dare he mess up her prom? She had already planned everything perfect and now he—
A voice to her left made her jump. "Miss Dunham, you have an extra ticket for prom?"
Seemingly out of nowhere Dr. Bishop her chemistry teacher had materialized. Still a little startled, she paused in her tracks. "Yes, sir."
He was carrying a stack of papers that he kept brushing his thumb against, seemingly oblivious that he was going to make her late for class. "My son needs that ticket and you could use an escort."
She felt her cheeks get red—how long had he been listening to her talk to Beth? "Oh, well—"
"The tickets have been sold out and his girlfriend Tessa, whom I think is an absolute whore, would not go with him, making him wait until the last minute to decide to go alone. Now he does not have even that option."
She wanted to laugh at someone calling Tessa Amaral an 'absolute whore', but decided against it, so she kept a straight face and said, "And if Peter doesn't want to go with me?"
"He will," he said in an incredibly serious voice. "I also believe that you need a letter of recommendation for your application to the FBI. I'm sure one from a holder of a PhD would be fairly impressive."
Olivia felt her breath catch in her throat. She'd been asking her other teachers for this favour and even though the deadline was approaching for application submission, none of her teachers had responded. "You'd write me that letter?"
"I shall tell Peter that you'd be happy to go with him to prom," he said with a nod.
And with that he left, leaving her alone in the hallway. Still a little stunned at this turn of events, she was brought back to reality by the sound of the bell ringing.
"Shit! Shit!" she cried as she ran down the hallway to her English honours class.
As expected, when she opened the door Ms Sharp was pacing angrily at the front of the class like a wild cat among a group of young gazelle. Her eyes locked onto Olivia's as she quickly took her seat in the back row next to Charlie Francis, captain of the baseball team and her friend since first grade.
"Ms Dunham, you're late," she announced, her voice hinting lightly at annoyance.
Olivia gave a quick nod. "I was talking with Dr. Bishop, Ms Sharp."
"I'll verify that," she said, her shrewd eyes narrowing on her slightly before turning her attention back to the rest of the class. "Now I hope you all have finished those reports on King Lear I assigned…"
Charlie leaned over and whispered, "What were you talking to Dr. Bishop about?"
"Prom tickets," she whispered back.
He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you already bought yours."
"I did. Dr. Bishop wants to trade a letter of recommendation for one. For Peter Bishop," she said, making a face.
Charlie looked a little stunned then made an expression she couldn't quite place as he leaned back into his seat. "Oh."
Olivia passed her report up the row to be collected with the rest and gave a tired huff. Going to prom with Peter Bishop? Not exactly her idea of a good time. She glanced to the front of the class where in the far right corner Peter Bishop sat. At the moment he was opening his binder, flipping through a number of loose papers, chewing on the end of his ballpoint pen.
Peter Bishop was a sullen character, a loner. He was full of snide looks and catty remarks as well as a juvenile record that few students could rival. Frankly, Olivia suspected the only reason he was still allowed in school was because his father was a teacher and had pulled for a couple of favours. Like he had done to get him the prom ticket.
She'd heard a rumor that Peter had forged papers in his junior year to be a student at MIT, where he managed to do pretty well before he got caught and was promptly thrown out. He was brilliant and troubled, which seemed to be catnip to the girls here at Boston Private High School. He was often the topic of "ooh, isn't he cute?" discussions in girl's gym and she herself was somewhat guilty of checking him out. Though he wasn't really her type—too much of a rule breaker.
After school Olivia rode the public bus to the district's continuance high school where her sister Rachel went. Rachel, who was two years younger than her, had attended Boston Private in her freshman year until she found out she was pregnant by her boyfriend Gregg. Now she had a one-year-old daughter named Ella, who attended the continuance school's day care while Rach worked to get her diploma.
From there, the three of them rode home on the school's bus. Rach would tell her about her day while Olivia played with Ella. Rachel was her best friend, even though they were so different. The younger of the Dunham sisters was a social creature who wanted to become a housewife and part-time realtor while Olivia's desire to become an FBI agent and lonesome nature had made her an absolute opposite.
That evening they worked together on their homework in the living room while their stepdad worked on paperwork at the dining room table. He was one of the better stepdad's they'd had and while he was a career military hard-ass, he at least tried to be a father to them. After all, he didn't throw Rach out after she got knocked up.
It was a little surprising when the phone rang at 8:05pm; they didn't usually get calls this late. Rachel answered it, walking the cordless to the dining room as it was safe to assume it was for their stepdad. But it wasn't.
"Olivia! It's for you!" she called out then added in a sing song voice, "And it's a boy…"
Olivia glared at her sister as she accepted the phone. "Hello?"
"Miss Olivia Dunham?" a male voice asked.
She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah…?"
"This is Peter Bishop. I go to school with you."
She almost snickered at the formality. "I know who you are."
"Walter said you're going to give me a ticket to prom and I'll escort you there?"
"Yes," she replied, turning away from her sister, who was making faces at her.
"Well, I wasn't sure if I was going to go."
Olivia frowned at this. "But your dad said you really wanted to go."
"Walter doesn't know what I want and I'm sure you'd rather go with friends," he said snippily.
"My friends are going with dates and I'm not going to be the only girl going alone," she argued.
"An independent young woman like you is intimidated to break social norms?" he said sarcastically.
"I'm not going to consider it a date, just a favour!" she snapped and even though he couldn't see her, she emphasized her point by put her hand on her hip. "Look, I need to know if I can take the tags off my dress or not."
She had, in fact, already taken the tags off the dress, but she wanted something to hang over his head.
"All right," he finally grumbled. "I'll pick you up around seven."
Prom night arrived four days later. Olivia could hardly get home fast enough to get out of her clothes and into her prom dress, spending well over an hour fixing her hair and painting her nails.
Her dress was something entirely fairytale, the first one she spotted in the Macy's Formals window display. A fitted pink bodice with a fluffy tulle skirt that glittered…she spun in front of the bathroom door's full-length mirror, smiling at her image, feeling like a princess. This was the year the school board finally allowed girls to wear strapless dresses and Olivia believed the decision couldn't be better. While her stepdad always seemed overly conservative about things, this time he hadn't argued with her about the gown and she had been secretly wondering if her stars were aligning. But of course, John had fucked it up by saying, "Oh, I'm busy that night, Liv."
Bastard.
"LIV!"
Her sister's hollering shook her out of her thoughts.
She opened the bathroom door and looked at Rachel. "Yeah?"
"Am I going to do your make-up or not?"
Olivia was already regretting recruiting her sister for this task. "I still don't see why I can't just wear mascara."
Rach rolled her eyes as she pushed her aside to open one of the bathroom counter's drawers. "Because it's prom, Liv. Sheesh, I don't even know how you leave the house without foundation on."
"It doesn't feel good," she whined as she hopped up on to the bathroom counter.
"So I heard you're going with Peter Bishop." Rachel waggled her eyebrows as she pulled handfuls of plastic cosmetic containers to set next to her. "What's that about?"
"He bought John's ticket off me."
"And you're making him take you?" Her sister laughed.
"I'm not making him do anything."
"Yeah, whatever. I heard what you said when he called." Her sister held up a makeup sponge covered with foundation. "Now hold still."
"Not too much, Rach!" she squealed as her younger sister proceeded to cover her face with the cold, creamy mixture.
"Shut up, Liv. You're going to look hot," Rachel argued.
Olivia continued to squirm. "I don't want to look hot. What if the FBI gets a hold of a prom picture of me and decides that I'm not what they had in mind?"
Her sister rolled her eyes. "Olivia, are you serious? The FBI isn't going to look at your prom pictures."
"They could!"
"Close your eyes," she instructed and then began to apply the eyeshadow to her face. "You know, you were really lucky you were able to afford this dress. It's really pretty."
"Yeah, it cost me all my poker winnings," Olivia huffed, still feeling the ache of an empty wallet.
"You know, you're going to get in trouble if you're caught gambling." Rachel warned and Olivia knew they were both thinking of their stepdad. "He's already asked how you got the money to by a dress and tickets and I had to tell him that you had saved up from your summer job as a life guard."
They were quiet for a moment and then Olivia decided to ask her younger sister a question that had been bothering her for the past few days. "Rach, should I have given John an ultimatum? You know, 'Come with me to prom or else'?"
"Well, you could have. But is it really worth it to hold something over a guy's head? I mean, Gregg was a really great guy when we were dating…responsible, nice…but Ella's his baby too, and I had to hold her over his head to get child support." Olivia opened her eyes and saw her sister wiping away tears. "I'm sorry. This is your night and I'm getting all emotional."
"I'm always here for you, Rachel." Olivia wrapped her sister into a tight hug.
"I know." Rachel pulled away. "Well, it's almost time for you to go."
They left the bathroom and after Olivia found her clutch, she ran into her mother in the dining room.
"Olivia, we pulled together a little money so you could get your picture taken," her mom said, holding out a few twenties to her.
She was a little surprised at the generosity. "Oh, thank you."
Her mom looked expectantly at their stepdad, who was sitting at the dining room table. "Honey, don't you want to see Olivia's dress?"
He glanced up from his paper work to look her over and then said, "You're not going out with that much eye shadow."
"Awww," Rachel complained while Olivia mouthed a silent 'Thank you,' in his direction.
Olivia hurried back to the bathroom and washed the majority of the eyeshadow and sticky foundation off. She did opt to add another layer of mascara on.
From the livingroom she could hear her sister yell, "Hey Liv! Your date's here!"
"He's not my date, Rachel!" she hollered back.
In the bathroom door way her sister appeared, holding her daughter. "Look at your aunt, Ella! Isn't she prett—hey! Why'd you take off the foundation? At least put some finishing powder on. Sheesh."
"Fine," she grumbled, dusting the powder across her face.
Satisfied with how she looked, Olivia ran to the front door. Clutch in hand she could see her family wasn't going to give her a grand send off like they do on television. She pulled open the door and there stood Peter Bishop, dressed in a nice suit, arm half raised as though he was about to knock on the door. She was opened her mouth to say he looked good, but her beat her to the chase.
He looked her over and gave a sarcastic, "Like the dress, Barbie."
"Thanks," she replied, just as snide.
"Have fun, Liv," Rachel said, balancing Ella on her left hip.
"Thanks, Rach. See you later," Olivia replied as she hurried down the walkway after Peter.
He graciously held the passenger door an old Vista Cruiser open for her and to her surprise she saw her chemistry teacher sitting in the backseat.
"Good evening, Dr. Bishop," she greeted as Peter shut the door behind her and walked around the front of the station wagon.
"Peter bought you a corsage," the older man said excitedly and pointed to the dashboard where in fact a small plastic florist's box waited.
The younger of the Bishops climbed into the driver's seat and took the box off the dashboard, suddenly looking a little shy. "I wasn't sure if it was your type of flower."
A tiger lily on a vibrant orange ribbon was unveiled to her as he opened the box's lid.
"It's really pretty," she admitted.
"Chest or wrist?" he asked, lifting the delicate flower out.
"Wrist," she said, holding out her hand. He carefully tied it around her wrist and she was flattered that he had made the effort to "Thank you, Peter. I really like it."
Peter gave her the slightest hint of a smile before turning to look at his father. "Walter, buckle your seat belt. I'm not telling you again."
"You have a very nice dress," the older man complimented.
She suddenly felt very self-conscious in all this pink. "Thank you, Dr. Bishop."
The rest of the ride to the school was spent in absolute silence. Peter once again opened the door for her and she wondered if such courteous nature came naturally to him or if he was doing it because his father was there. Not that it really mattered. Peter Bishop was still a pretty big jerk and after tonight she'd never have to deal with him again.
At the door she produced the tickets and before they could escape to their own social circles, Dr. Bishop gave a warning, "Peter…" then steered them to the photo booth that had been set up in a corner of the gym.
"My son would like to have his picture taken for prom," Dr. Bishop said cheerfully to the photographer as he pulled out his wallet.
Peter looked incredibly embarrassed and took her hand to stand in front of the painted beach scene.
"C'mon. My mom is expecting you to be in it, too," he said apologetically.
"Try to look like we're having a good time?" she offered.
He nodded and draped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her close.
"Smile!" the photographer instructed right before a brilliant burst of light went off from the flash.
"And another one, Peter!" Dr. Bishop requested.
Remembering the money in her clutch, Olivia said, "I'll need one, too."
"Smile!" the photographer said yet again and she wondered for a moment if a bright flash could cause blindness especially in this dim gym.
She produced her own money and they stood for yet another picture before stumbling away from the set to write down their names and homeroom on a form the photographer had.
"Now will you leave us alone? You've got your pictures!" Peter snapped at his father and Dr. Bishop nodded happily before wandering over to the food table.
"Hey, I'm going to go dance," she said quickly before he could be rude to her and she hurried away to find Charlie.
"Hey, good lookin'," Charlie greeted when she finally found him hanging around the other baseball players near the bleachers.
She gave him a quick hug. "Hey, you. How are you?"
"Pretty good, pretty good. Some of the guys were talking about spiking the punch, so I suggest you drink the bottled water if you get thirsty," he advised.
"Thanks, I remember that," she said making a face. "Hey, where's your date?"
"Astrid? Oh, I'm not dating her. I just brought her here," he quickly assured her.
"I know you're not dating her, Charlie. Duh. I just wondered where she was."
"Um, I really don't know," he said with a shrug. "Wanna dance?"
Olivia smiled. "I'd love to."
About an hour and forty-five minutes later she found herself tired and needing to sit down; dancing in high heels for long periods of time was obviously not one of her talents. She made her way to the tables that had been arranged off the dance floor and to her surprise found Peter Bishop sitting by himself.
"What are you up to, weirdo?" she said as she pulled out one of the folding chairs and sat down next to him.
"Watching," he said blandly.
"Why?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You're busy dancing."
She wondered how long he'd been waiting and she felt her cheeks get red. "Oh, did you want to dance with me?"
He shrugged. "Maybe once or twice. Something slow, because I don't find bumping and grinding attractive."
The song currently playing was slow so she stood up and held out her hand. "C'mon, let's dance."
She led him to the dance floor and wrapped her hands around his neck while he placed his on her hips. "Watch my toes, Peter," she instructed.
"Watching your toes, Boss," he said in a pretty good Paul Newman impression.
"Cool Hand Luke fan? Maybe you're not as bad as I thought," she admitted with a grin.
He winked and she felt her stomach fill with butterflies. "I'm not bad at all, Miss Dunham."
"So why didn't your girlfriend want to go to prom?" she asked.
"She thought it was too juvenile."
"And why did you want to go?"
"Because it's not juvenile. Besides it would have meant another night at home with Walter."
She smiled. "Aw, he can't be that bad."
"You only see him for a few hours a week. I live with him," he grumbled.
"He's really fond of you," she said kindly.
"I know."
Olivia wondered if she could tickle the back of his neck with one of her corsage's petals. "What about your mom? Can't she act as a buffer between the two of you?"
"My parents are divorced and my mom lives a few hours away."
"Oh. Sorry. I didn't know."
He shrugged. "It's okay. My mom is a very emotionally distant person."
"And your dad is the opposite."
"Exactly. I'd rather know if someone is angry with me then have to deal with passive aggressive shit." He rolled his eyes. "And she likes me to do "cultured things" like study Farsi."
Her eyes widened. "You speak Farsi?"
"Yeah. I mean, where the hell am I going to use that? Does she expect me to run off to Bagdad?"
"Is it true you've been arrested seven times?" she blurted out.
"Yes," he said standing a little taller and she could see a very faint smile on his lips.
"I want to work for the FBI," she said as though to say, 'I don't approve of that.'
His hold on her tightened slightly. "I know."
"You do?"
"My dad told me."
"Oh."
"Maybe you could have him write you a letter of recommendation," he suggested.
"Maybe," she said unable to meet his eyes, suddenly feeling bad that she was hanging out with him for that very purpose. "Okay, he already offered to. In return for the ticket."
"I know," he said with a nod.
"You do?"
"Yeah."
She glared at him. "Then why did you suggest it?"
"My dad told me on accident. He said he didn't want you to know that I knew because he said he wanted to guilt you into being nice to me."
"What?!"
Peter began to laugh. "I know! He's terrible, isn't he?"
He pulled a flask out of his breast pocket and took a quick sip, then offered, "Want some?"
"Sure," she said, but not before checking to make sure no one was looking. "Whiskey."
He took the flask back from her. "Not so loud, Dunham. I don't want to have this confiscated or worse: have to share it with someone."
Olivia suddenly wanted to hang out with Peter Bishop. "Let's get outta here. I'm kinda hungry."
He offered her his arm. "Let's go to IHOP."
Astrid Farnsworth, the most accomplished student Boston Private had ever seen, was incredibly lonely this evening. Sitting by herself at one of the tables, she watched the other older students dancing. She sighed. It really wasn't any fun to go to school social events when she was barely fourteen and everyone else here had already reached their seventeenth and eighteenth birthdays. And since only juniors and seniors were allowed at prom, she didn't have any of her freshmen friends to hang out with. Even Charlie Francis, her neighbor who offered to take her to prom tonight, had seemed to drift off to socialise with the other baseball players.
'Maybe the air is just stuffy,' she thought to herself. 'If I go outside maybe I'll feel a little better.'
So she stood up from her table and found the door hidden behind the large paper maiche palmtrees, which wasn't being guarded by any of the teachers. She slipped out, shutting the door quietly behind her.
The back of the gym butted against the baseball field so she pulled off her high heels to stand in the grass without twisting her ankles. Someone sighed loudly and she spun around to look at her right. Sitting against the gym wall about twenty feet away was Dr. Bishop, the advanced chemistry teacher.
She'd heard that Dr. Bishop was a little off, slightly disconnected from reality. He had the prom's clear plastic, crystal-cut punch bowl on the ground beside him. She made to turn around and leave, but he seemed to have heard her and he turned to look at her.
"Hello," he said quite amicably. "Someone spiked the punch."
"Ah," she replied, feeling awkward, unsure what else to say.
He held up a plastic bag holding plastic cups. "Care for some?"
She shook her head and began to take a step backwards to the door. "I really shouldn't—"
"It tastes like a fruit cocktail, if you're into that kind of thing. I'm not. I'm not a fruit cocktail kind of guy," he said, ladling some of the punch into one of the cups.
Astrid figured she couldn't get in trouble if he was offering it—after all, she could take him down with her if worse came to worse.
"Just a sip," she said, accepting the punch and she sat down on the grass next to him.
"Tasty. In a fruit cocktail kind of way." He glanced upwards. "How lucky we are to see the stars tonight."
"Yep." She took a hesitant sip of the punch. The alcohol had been incredibly watered down, as had the punch for that matter. "Aren't you supposed to be chaperoning?"
He shrugged. "Probably. Mostly I didn't want to be at home alone tonight. My son Peter is the only company I have."
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," she said politely.
"No, don't be. I adore my son. He is the greatest gift in my life." He looked down from the stars to her. "He doesn't feel the same way though."
She had seen Peter Bishop around school before and usually he was walking side by side with his father. "Really?"
"He thinks I'm crazy, which I'm not. Well, at least not clinically. Eccentric, maybe."
She nodded. "I can believe that."
"Peter could really become something if only he'd apply himself. Did you know he managed to forge the paperwork to get himself accepted into MIT?" Dr. Bishop suddenly looked quite proud. "He was there a full month and a half before one of the professor's recognised him! Can you believe that?"
"That's pretty impressive," she admitted.
"It's extraordinary! I'd like to see some other seventeen year old try to pull that off!"
"What was his major?"
"Undeclared, though I read some of his chemistry papers. I bet he would have followed in his old man's footsteps." The older man suddenly looked a little crestfallen. "And now he's back here, his poor mind being underexploited."
She took another sip from the punch. She really hated seeing people upset. "So he's over sixteen?"
"He turned eighteen in August, my dear," he said before slurping noisily on the punch.
"Then he could quit high school."
He nodded. "Yes, that's true."
"And yet he hasn't. Maybe he doesn't want to disappoint you. You know, maybe he wants you to see him graduate," she said very sagely.
"Oh. Oh! I hadn't thought about it like that!" He grinned at her. "You're very clever."
She felt much better now that he had complimented her and that he was feeling better. "Thank you."
"You're the colour of sunflowers and root beer."
Astrid glanced down at the cheerful yellow of her dress. "Oh. I never thought of it that way."
"I like the combination." He pointed to her hair. "Is it expensive to get yourself ready for prom?"
"Yeah. I had to get my hair done and my nails…"
He tugged at his suit's sleeves. "I used to wear this suit every Sunday to church, my finest one. Now it's just for fancy occasions."
She was a practical person, too. "I'll probably keep this dress for homecoming next year."
He offered up the ladle full of pink punch. "More?"
"Just a little." She allowed him to top of the cup once more then asked. "What church do you belong to?"
"The church of science and facts," he said with a smirk and toast to the stars. "Oh, you mean before. Catholic."
He snapped his fingers and looked at her. "You're the girl who skipped a few grades," he declared.
"That's me," she said smiling.
He gave her a funny look. "Why haven't I had you in my class yet?"
She shrugged. "It's hard to get into your class."
"I have a summer school extra curricular course. I will enroll you in that. And then in your senior year you will be my class assistant."
While Astrid wanted to major in music and language, she really did love science. "Really?"
He nodded and managed to spill a bit of the punch down the front of dress shirt. "You and I will have a lot of fun. Most of the kids are scared of me!" he said as he dabbed at the soft pink stain with his tie.
"Well, there are a lot of weird stories about you," she admitted.
He looked rather smug. "And most of them are true."
They both chuckled and then Dr. Bishop asked, "Where do you suppose my son is?"
She thought for a moment. "I don't know. I didn't see him in there."
He stood up and offered his hand to help her up as well. "Let's find him. This is pretty good punch."
Dunham sat across the table from him, grinning impishly as she asked, "Okay?"
Peter looked down at the card in his hand and then back at her. "Yeah."
"Four of clubs," she announced.
"No way!" he laughed through a mouthful of hashbrowns. "Do it again!"
They were midway through their early, early morning breakfast; Dunham had picked biscuits and gravy with a salad while he had a big plate of pancakes with a big plate of eggs. They'd found a deck of old playing cards under the driver's seat and after he'd preformed a round of magic tricks by passing half the deck into his root beer bottle, she was showing him what she could do.
She'd let down her hair and began to reshuffle the deck as he continued to stuff his face. Once she'd finished mixing the cards, he selected another one, making sure she didn't catch a peek. He stole a quick glance at the card's face and she asked again, "Okay?"
"Do it!" he cheered her on.
She touched her fingers to her temples momentarily as though she were channeling some supernatural force and declared, "Queen of diamonds."
"No way! No fuckin' way, dude!" he laughed, slamming his hands on the table. "You can count cards."
"It's cool, huh? That's all I would do when I was a kid. I'm sure that if I was a child today, I would be diagnosed with something. I just have this thing for numbers. I see them once and remember them the rest of my life," she said, her hand casually tossing her hair back over her shoulder, giving him a playful smile. It looked like she was about to say something more when she glanced down at the small clutch she had on the table. "Hold on, that's my cellphone."
She was still smiling at him when she answered. "Hello?" Her eyes became big. "John!"
Peter lowered his gaze and picked at his eggs with his fork as she continued talking.
"No, I'm not at the prom—wait, are you?" Peter glanced up to see her smile had disappeared and an irritated frown taking its place. "Why are you there?"
She paused and picked a crouton out of her salad. "To surprise me? The only thing that surprises me is that you bailed out on me and now you're there. I went with someone else." She waved the crouton around, looking disgusted. "Well, I couldn't return the tickets, John." She crunched on the crouton and Peter mixed a piece of pancake in the yellow egg yolk on his plate. "We're at dinner—I mean, breakfast." Her eyes met his. "No, I'm not telling you where. I'm eating."
Olivia promptly snapped her phone shut and tossed it onto the booth's table.
"Boys," she said with a dramatic sigh and rolled her eyes.
"You're not in trouble are you?"
"Yeah, right," she snorted. "If he can't be bothered to come to prom with me, he certainly doesn't get to have breakfast with me. Besides, he doesn't know magic tricks."
Peter smirked, feeling a little better. Their waitress returned with the receipt and both he and Dunham made a grab for it.
"No, let me pay. You bought the tickets," he insisted.
"No, I'll feel bad," she countered.
"Dude, my dad will kill me if I do not pay the ticket. He gave me strict orders to be a gentleman to you—"
She gave a cocky smile. "Is that so?"
"He's expecting a report back," he grumbled.
"Then tell him you paid for it," she said with a shrug.
He snatched up the ticket before they could argue further. "He's expecting the report from you."
"Oh." Her phone began to ring again and she checked the caller ID. "Speak of the devil."
Peter raised his eyebrows as she answered it. "Hello, Dr. Bishop. Yes, Peter is with me." Suddenly her face became deep red. "No, we're at the IHOP."
She handed over the phone. "He wants to speak to you."
"Hey, Walter," he greeted.
His father's cheerful voice came over, slightly static sounding. "Hello, Peter! Are you enjoying pancakes? I thought perhaps that you might be in the back seat somewhere with Miss Dunham!"
Peter felt his own face get red. "No, Walter."
"I'll meet you at IHOP then!" his father declared.
"Wait—" he protested, but Walter had already hung up.
Peter handed the phone back to Dunham, feeling a little sick. "My father said he's going to meet us here.
Walter was walking with the young woman in the yellow dress to the IHOP that was a few blocks away. He kicked a paper cup in the gutter and realised he had no idea who the young lady was.
"What's your name?" he asked.
She gave him a friendly smile and offered out her hand. "Astrid. Astrid Farnsworth."
He gave her hand a firm shake and promised, "I shall try to remember that."
"I can write it down for you if you like," she offered.
"That would be good. Come to my class on Monday and I'll have you sign the papers so you can be my assistant next year!"
The crossed the street and she asked, "Why don't you drive? I've always seen Peter driving. Are you just giving him practice?"
"My license was taken away," Walter admitted sadly.
She was obviously a sympathetic person. "That sucks."
"It does. But it gives me an excuse to drive places with my son, so I suppose it could be worse."
"Is Peter going to go to MIT in the fall?"
"Those hacks banned him, so no, he will not," he said, resisting the urge to shake his fist in the general direction of MIT. "Wait, who did you come with? Are you abandoning a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?" he added slyly.
She looked a little baffled. "My neighbor Charlie took me. Remember? I told him I was going home early?"
He could somewhat recall her talking to a dark haired boy before they left the gymnasium. "Oh yes. I'm sorry my dear. My brain can be a little faulty at times." Across the street in the IHOP's mostly empty parking lot he spotted his son and his date. "Look! There they are!"
"Hey, Walter," Peter greeted sourly as his father came bounding across the parking lot to them.
"Good early morning, Peter," he said cheerfully.
"Hi," Olivia greeted
Walter pushed the girl who was with him towards Peter. "This is Miss Farnsworth. She kept me company for the evening."
The younger girl gave a nervous wave to both of them. "Hi."
Peter's eyes narrowed on the pink sploch on his father's dress shirt, now able to smell the faintest hint of alcohol on the older man's breath. "Walter, have you been drinking?"
"Someone spiked the punch!" Walter said as though it were an excuse
He jabbed his finger in the direction of Farnsworth. "Were you letting her drink?"
"I only had a sip!" the girl protested.
Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose while Olivia giggled. "Walter…"
"We need to give her a ride home. She's going to be my lab assistant next year!" his father said, completely ignoring his frustration.
"Fine. Everyone in," he said, pointing to the station wagon; all of a sudden being at home in bed seemed very inviting.
The ride back to Olivia's house was relatively quietly, just the sound of NPR playing quietly. While he hadn't expected to give a ride home to the younger girl in the backseat, at least she seemed to distract his father enough that he could say good night to Dunham. He pulled up in front of her house and hurried out of the Vista Cruiser to open her door.
Together they walked up to her front door and even though he wished they could have spent more time hanging out, he knew she was still probably only doing this for the letter from his dad. He held out his hand to her.
"Uh, so, thank you for the nice evening," he said, a little tongue-tied.
She looked a bit surprised as well, but smiled and slipped her hand into his. "Thank you for the wonderful breakfast."
"If you learn some more card tricks, maybe we could do it again," he offered, trying not to sound too hopeful.
"I'd like that," she said softly.
He pulled his hand away and took a step back. "I'll see you around then."
She winked. "Definitely."