A/N: Man, you guys are too awesome for words. Every time I feel like I'm stuck, I get a comment or a watch and it's like BIZZOW! INSPIRATION!
You have no idea.
I…I think I might…love you.
"…en! Ben! Ben!!"
"Nn… Kevin…" the name tumbled from his lips.
"Benjamin Tennyson, get your lazy butt out of bed before you're late for school!"
"Gyah!" He jerked out of bed, startled by his mother's shrill voice. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be down in a second, chill out!" Ben shook his head clear, hopping in place as he tried to untangle his leg from the blankets. His face was on fire, but he ignored the damp sheets as he rushed to get ready for school.
"Twenty minutes, Benjamin! How long does it take you to put on clothes?" His mother was getting testy.
Slinging a backpack over his shoulder, he tore down the hallway. "Gimme a break! I couldn't find any clean clothes!" he covered lamely. Truthfully, he kept getting sidetracked by the strange—ahem—imagery that popped into his head every couple of minutes, but he wasn't about to tell her that.
"And whose fault do you think that is, mister?" she snagged his collar, thrusting a muffin at him before he could hit the door.
"Aw, c'mon, Mom, you know I don't have the kinda time to haul my laundry to the washer every day!" he whined, fumbling in his bag for his mp3 player with the hand not tainted by soy muffin.
"Oh, I've seen your grades, and there's no way that you're using all that time after school to study," She pushed him towards the door lightly. "Besides, all you have to do is carry your clothes to the laundry room. I'm the one stuck washing everything," she chuckled.
"Okay fine, so I get a smoothie every now and then, but other than that, I'm at the library, I swear!" he said around a mouthful of muffiny goodness. Well, actually he also took to stalking a certain boy from school from time to time, but she didn't need to know everything about his personal life.
"Just get to school before you're late and the school calls your parole officer."
"Oh come ON, I was late one time!" Ben laughed as he jogged out the door, trying to outwit the knots in his headphone cords.
"Better run!" she called after him as she closed the door.
Exasperated and rushing to make up the lost time, Ben unplugged his twisted headphones, gluten-free breakfast in his mouth, so that he could use both hands to search through the maze of wires.
Unfortunately, it never occurred to him that running without looking where he was going might be less than a good idea, and his sneaker caught on a wayward chunk of sidewalk. He stumbled, but caught himself before he dove into the pavement. "Today must be my lucky day!" He smiled to himself as he deftly unlooped the last of the tangles.
At that moment, satisfied with his accomplishments, he looked up…and completely missed seeing the curb. He misjudged the ground level and pitched forward, nose-diving into the harsh asphalt. To make things worse, as his arms wheeled desperately for balance, he let go of his headphones, which went sailing even further than he did; into the storm drain around the corner.
"No, no, no!!" he scrambled after them, the tender skin of his palms shredding on the harsh blacktop, but alas, he was too late. His precious headphones were now sleeping with the fishes. Literally, actually; the storm drain led out to the bay. Thank you, ironic spray-painting environmentalists. Come to think of it, his parent's might have sprayed the sign on this one...
After a moment of stunned silence, the disheveled boy picked himself up, cursing the cruel, heartless gods of Irony. He'd lost his muffin too. Dammit.
Most of his classes were thoroughly uneventful, so in lieu of paying attention to his teachers' pontificating, Ben chose to tune them out in favor of more important things; i.e.: how the hell a C-average student like himself was supposed to go about tutoring upperclassmen.
After several periods of careful deliberation, he'd finally come up with the perfect solution: ask Gwen. She was an all-around smarty pants, so she'd be the perfect person to go to! Unfortunately, this also meant that she and Ben didn't exactly have any classes in common, so Ben decided to seek her out at lunch.
Now came the hard part: coming up with a plausible cover story. After all, "I want to tutor this guy I've had a crush on/been stalking for the past year or so" probably wouldn't get him the kind of reaction he wanted.
Gwen Tennyson shielded her face as her doofus cousin came barreling over. She groaned, sliding over to make room for him despite the voice of reason screaming in her head to just ignore him.
"Gwen! Gweeeen! Gwen!!" His annoying voice grated against her eardrums.
She rolled her eyes as he scooted next to her. "I'm sitting right next to you; you can stop yelling now," she said flatly, stabbing a cup of jello.
"I thought I'd never catch up to you!" he panted, lunchbox making a quiet "ktmp" against the tabletop.
She frowned, not buying it. "Walking to school certainly isn't doing anything to keep you in shape, then," the redhead responded sarcastically. He barely acknowledged her existence during the daylight hours; this sudden approach could only mean one thing. "What do you want, Ben?"
"Can't a guy eat lunch with his cousin nowadays?" he laughed nervously.
Gwen just stared at him; unenthused.
Ben groaned, "Alright, alright. I just need help in, um, English," he looked down demurely, hoping she'd take pity on him.
There was no such pity to be found. "Ben, your eye is twitching."
"Is not! I really do need help writing a paper!" he tried, fussing with the hem of his sleeve.
His cousin folded her arms and sat back to look at him. "Oh yeah? Whose paper?" She always could read him like a book.
"Jeez, what kinna guy you take me for, Gwen?" he defended lamely.
Or like first graders' homework. "Let me guess. A bully?" she derided, " Or a girl?" adding a roll of the eyes.
"Hh—I—it is not a girl!" his flustered sputtering wasn't helping his argument. This wasn't exactly going as planned.
She sighed, bored with his tedious denial. "Alright, who is she? Nancy Ninetogawa? Tracey Welve?" her nails drummed against the tabletop, patience wearing thin.
The brunette groaned, giving in. "Just tell me how I can help, um, her, write a book report." He batted his eyelashes, "Pleeeease?"
Her pursed lips tugged to the side as if by the drawstring of annoyance. She paused for a moment, letting her cousin stew. "On what?"
The thick veneer of terror and dread leapt from Ben's face as his glee shoved it aside with a demanding fist. "To Kill a Mockingbird," he chirped, trying to hide his enthusiasm.
That caught Gwen off guard. "She's a year older than you?" the disbelief was plain in her voice. "No WONDER you're asking for help!"
"So you'll do it?" he pleaded, getting a little desperate.
"…Fine," she heaved a sigh. Ben started to shower her with his undying appreciation, but she cut him off. "On one condition."
"Name it." Ben was so desperately grateful that he would've sawed off his own legs for her.
Sensing this, she considered her options carefully. Then she smirked. "Introduce me."
"What." It wasn't a question.
"Introduce me!" she insisted slyly.
Ben gaped. His jaw snapped shut and he struggled to find words to convince her otherwise, "Wh—I, you… no! I can't! No way!"
Gwen's lips twisted into a manipulative grin, wondering if her cousin's head would explode from all the blood rushing to it. "That's my final offer, Benjamin."