Life in Moderation
AN: I feel so . . . old . . . right now. Looking at my favorite stories, favorite authors. All old. Stuff not updated since 2004. It's been like . . . four years. Sometimes I wish my life would go back to then, that I still knew what all my old fanfiction pals were doing. Am I gonna drop off the face of the planet one day, too? Blah. Whatever.
Chapter Two
The doorknob felt cold against her palm, just as the house would feel cold and bare when she stepped in, no matter how much she dreamed of a warm, inviting home. It was just . . . a new house, cluttered with brown boxes of stuff. It was different, and yet the same. And this somehow disappointed her, this sameness, this lack of excitement. But what had she expected? She convinced herself that she hadn't truly expected anything. She just liked the feeling of expectation . . . and hated that these expectations were never fulfilled.
The change of schools wasn't all that interesting either. At the basic level, minus all the little things, high school, she supposed, was high school, no matter where she moved. Teenagers were teenagers; there were the gothics, the antisocials, the geeks, the jocks, the druggies, the sluts, the pregnant girls, the hotties, the trend setters, the popular, cool people . . . there were only so many categories. She supposed she fell into the sort of geeky clique, but she wasn't ugly and she knew it, and that allowed her to gain points with the popular crowd. Perhaps that explained Van and Allen's behavior.
Even an antisocial nerd (not that she was one) could figure out that Van and Allen ruled Fanelia High's junior class, that they despised each other, that they were rivals to the very core. She could speculate the reasons; they were both good looking, apparently had a chivalrous air about them, and probably could skillfully play some sport. Something as silly as a girl probably drove them apart, if they'd ever been friends at all. Oh, teenagers certainly were asinine creatures.
Yes, that's right, asinine.
She wondered why she'd agreed to go to the movies that night. Probably because she wanted to make friends-- that's only natural, right? Sure. She wasn't immune to all human desires. Briefly, walking up to her room, she pondered what to wear, then stopped herself. She wouldn't think about that.
What would Van say?
oOo
"So you've got a date," said her brother nonchalantly, sitting on the couch in the cluttered living room watching television. "Good for you. Screw unpacking. Get a guy to do your slave labor for you."
She and he were very much not alike. Unlike her, her brother was a go getter, well-liked, well-rounded, a soccer star, and pretty nice eye candy to boot. In a way, he and Van were probably alike, even though she didn't know that much about Van. It only proved her hypothesis that everything was essentially the same. "It's not a date," she said, just as nonchalantly. "He probably has a girlfriend . . ."
"Brainack, he wouldn't ask you to go to the movies with him if he had a girlfriend. And you only said that to make yourself sound stupid and piss me off," he said.
"You're not pissed off, though. And it's still not a date. Just his group of friends trying to be nice, I guess. Trying to recruit me into the 'Van Lovers' club. There are only two clubs, I guess. Machiavelli says to pick a side, even if they lose, in The Prince."
"Hitomi, I don't think this is anything like The Prince, even if I haven't actually read it before," he scowled. "But seriously now, be careful. Gotta be wary of the popular ones," he said, refocusing the conversation.
"So . . . I should be wary of you, Mamoru?"
Mamoru looked at her, as she stood beside the couch, just waiting. She stared back at him, looked him straight in the eye, for she was full not of courage or curiosity or fear, but of impassiveness. He slouched slightly on the couch so that his black Daft Punk t-shirt crinkled, revealing his built stomach. He hated his sister's stare. It was unnerving. "Maybe you should. Maybe I do drugs and you don't know it. Maybe I'm a daddy."
"I'd feel so bad for your kid," she said, the slightest hint of concern in her eyes. The doorbell rang. "And if you do drugs, I'd love to hear your rationale later." She moved to open the door. Not quickly. Not slowly. Just went to open the door.
"I'm the same as everyone else. I wanna be cool." She turned back in his direction before opening the door, with a look that said you're kidding, right? Then, with a slight smile, she greeted Van Fanel.
"Hey," he said as soon as she opened the door.
"Hay is for horses," she replied, stepping out of the door and shutting it behind her. It was still a bit light outside, since it was only seven, although the days were definitely getting shorter as late fall set in. In the light, she could see him watching her, his eyes a mix of confusion and annoyance at her response. She pretended to take no notice, however, just as she'd pretended not to note his (actually rather) unique maroon eyes following her at school, and began to walk towards his car. It only took a moment for him to catch up.
She was wearing the same clothes she'd worn to school, only with a light jacket and a purse, and he somehow felt slighted, as though he weren't important enough to dress up for, that she wouldn't even give him that satisfaction. He, on the other hand, had changed into a nice, maroon t-shirt (to accentuate his sexy eyes), and khaki pants. And she wasn't letting on that she'd seen him at all, as they walked side by side.
"Funny," was all he said in response to her lack of true greeting. "Your parents okay with this? You don't need to unpack?"
Opening the door for her, he was glad to see at least a bit of a smile on her face at his gentlemanly act (all in the hopes of something not-so-gentlemanly to occur later). "They're okay with it. They think it's nice, actually. Good for me. They're very trusting people."
Sliding into the driver's seat, he turned to her skeptically. "Are you implying that you don't trust me?"
"Who said that they don't trust you? And would I get into a car with you if I didn't trust you?" she asked in a matter-of-fact tone.
"No. I suppose not," he consented, turning the key, listening to the engine rev. Engines revving, such a delightfully manly sound. He was totally ready to impress her with his mad skills at being able to drive 35 miles per hour in a 25 mile per hour zone. These silly thoughts were keeping him occupied as he racked his brain for something more to say.
"Who else is coming with us?" she asked.
"Dilandau and Merle," he said, grateful for such an easy question. "Dilandau's the albino one and Merle's the one with the pink hair."
"I know," she said simply. He took his eyes off the road for a second to look at her, flabbergasted that she would remember the likes of his posse but not even bother to have the faintest recollection of him earlier at lunch. This girl . . . did she have a thing for guys with light hair? Blue eyes? Or was she just lesbian or something?
"And Amano and Yukari and Dryden and Millerna," he concluded. "Know who they are, too?"
"Aside from Amano," she said. Curtly. Annoyingly curtly.
"I'm picking up Dilandau and Merle, and Dryden's driving the rest."
"Okay."
She began to wonder why she'd agreed to go to the movies. She didn't even really like movies. And it was obvious to her that Van was completely into himself, ticked off by her lack of response to him. Maybe that's why she'd come. Because she enjoyed torturing him in this way. It made him give her his undivided attention while simultaneously dividing it. She smiled as she stared out the window with that thought, somehow exhilarated.
"So, where did you move from?" Van asked.
"Astoria."
"I see . . . why'd you move to Fanelia?" Van asked.
"Because I didn't want my family to leave me behind when they decided to move to Fanelia."
. . .
"Why'd your family move to Fanelia?" he asked. Correctly.
"Because my father received a very nice job offer from the software company Escaflowne."
"Yeah? That's cool," he said. Look, he was making an effort to be nice to her. Why couldn't she do the same for him? This was a lot of effort just to win one over on Schezar.
"Yes, I suppose it is . . ." she replied, noting that he was slowing the car down in front of an old stone house that had some character to it, unlike all those ugly developments that were all the rage today, but it still looked like many of the other houses in the neighborhood. He honked, and a few moments later Dilandau and Merle walked down the pathway, holding hands like any good couple should. They practically collapsed into the backseat of the car.
"Yo!" Dilandau exclaimed, poking his head between the seats. It was the first time Hitomi got a good look at him. His face was sinister, yet playful, very pale, with silvery hair and red eyes, redder than Van's. She wasn't quite sure what Merle saw in him, but then, she did have crazy pink hair. Light hair . . . she preferred Van's dark hair. Because Van, he acted very playful, sure, but there was definitely something dark and mysterious about him.
"Hey," Van said, starting to drive again.
"Hi," Hitomi said, with a smile. Dilandau smiled back, an impish grin.
"Hey, hey, Vanny boy, why no music?" Dilandau asked, turning the dial before Van could say anything. Four Minutes by Madonna featuring Justin Timberlake blasted through the speakers.
Come on boy, I've been waiting for somebody to pick up my stroll
"Yeah!" Dilandau said, bobbing his head up and down to the beat with Merle, singing along to Justin Timberlake's part.
Well, don't waste time, give me a sign, tell me how you wanna roll
I want somebody to speed it up for me, then take it down slow
There's enough room for both . . .
Well, I can handle that, you just gotta show me where it's at
Are you ready to go? (Are you ready to go?)
"Do you like this song?" Van asked Hitomi, turning to face her at a stop light. His chocolaty eyes, the way his eyebrows were lifted, they insinuated that he cared about her response, since he thought the song was so . . . four months ago. She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. She actually did like this song, had loved it the first time around. Sometimes she still had a hankering to listen to it; but when she actually did, it had lost some of its charm. Figures.
If you want it, ya already got it
If you thought it, it better be what you want
If you feel it, it must be real, just
Say the word and I'ma give you what you want
"Yes, I like this song. I have a fetish for dance songs, even though I don't dance much."
Dilandau and Merle started talking to her then while Van processed her answer. So she was one of those people who was always caught . . . watching, feeling the vibe, the heat, the fun oozing off everyone else, living off that euphoria, imagining doing wild and crazy things, but never actually participating in any it. That sounded like . . . the complete opposite of him. Oh God, what was he doing with this smart (ass), recluse of a girl, in his car, on the way to see a chick flick, wishing this were more of a date than some twisted scheme to make her like him more than she liked Allen?
He was either desperate or bored out of his mind.
Time is waiting
We only got four minutes to save the world
No hesitating
Grab a boy
Grab a girl
Time is waiting
We only got four minutes to save the world
No hesitating
We only got four minutes, four minutes
oOo
Not that she didn't have a charm about her, or maybe it was just the glow of the movie screen silhouetting her face, because her face was way more interesting than this movie. Every time he glanced at her face, he went for the popcorn sitting in her lap so she wouldn't notice, although everyone else had lost interest in the popcorn a quarter of the way through the movie. Popcorn was so thirty minutes ago, when it was warm and full of buttery appeal, not cold and making him feel full of buttery death. But he enjoyed watching her charming face, because . . . because . . . she wasn't like Yukari or Merle or Millerna or all the other girly girls he'd ever taken to the movies, who would swoon over hot guys and sigh at sweet lines or cry at heartbreaking moments. She wouldn't even laugh at the (supposed to be) really funny moments (although she would laugh at the not (supposed to be) so funny ones). No, she just sat there, staring at the screen duly, intaking all of it through her shining green eyes, keeping her comments locked behind her slightly-frowning mouth. A very very succulent mouth.
Look away from the smart ass recluse, I repeat, look away from the smart ass recluse.
Like she couldn't tell he wasn't looking at the oh-so-sexy popcorn, although watching him go for the popcorn out the corner of her eye was holding her attention way more than this movie. She almost felt grateful for somehow being suckered into holding the popcorn. Maybe this movie wouldn't have been so bad if she'd liked comedy, and if she couldn't predict just about every single plot "twist." And maybe if wouldn't be so bad if she thought any of the guys were that good looking. But she had Van to watch out of the corner of her eye-- a real, attractive, jackass of a guy who seemed to be giving her the millionth-over, like he might see something different in her after the next mouthful of popcorn that would make it worthwhile for him to hit on her.
What if he did the yawn, put his arm around the shoulder thing? What if he tried to hold her hand? No. Those were overly-cheesy things, overly-hyped things that were always, always a let down. No, no, she would prefer something much more simple, much more never-even-happened, like if he put his arm on the armrest, lightly grazing hers, so that she could feel his warmth, would want his touch-- but would never get it. And then, somewhat to her surprise, he did exactly that, probably finally deciding to go for the hand hold. But she took her arm off the rest.
They were both at least a bit disappointed.
oOo
And then somehow it was dark, and they were alone again, driving along in his car, slowly, slowly, yet quickly, quickly approaching her house, approaching the end of the night, approaching some sort of (anti-) climatic ending. Somehow their chit-chat rolled on-- about how the movie was just okay, about his friends, about Fanelia, about songs that came on the radio. And then, somehow, he was pulling up in front of her house, parking, getting out, and rounding the front of his car to open her door for her.
"You're so chivalrous," she commented.
"Yes, I can be rather chivalrous . . . when I want to be," he said, and she didn't fail to note his comment laced with double-meaning, with subtle sweetness and lust. Subtle, such a funny word. Don't you agree? What the hell is with the silent 'b'? There shouldn't be silent b's.
"Well, I had fun tonight," she said when the were halfway across the path. What an over-used, borderline-lie of a line. She was sure it was beneficial for him to hear, though.
"I'm glad," he replied, stopping a few steps in front of her door. What to do, what to say next? She was standing ahead of him, just looking at him, giving him a faint smile, an evil-looking smile as the front light cast her in shadows. He wouldn't, he couldn't do anything. And yet he wanted to. That wasn't what he'd expected.
"See you later, Van," she said cheekily, turning to leave.
"Wait--," he said, before he could think of what he wanted her to wait for. "Uh . . . there's this party tomorrow night . . . just wondering if you'd want to come?"
Her smile widened. "No thanks. I really should get unpacked."
"I figured. I was just wondering."
"Goodbye, Van," she said, turning to open the door.
"Wait--," he said again, feeling even more foolish than the first time. He felt foolish squared.
"What?" she asked with a slight laugh.
"You didn't give me your number," he said, pulling out his iPhone.
"Well, you didn't give me your number, either," she countered.
"Well then, you give me yours, I'll give you mine," he said slyly.
She laughed again. "Maybe I don't want to give you my number. Yet," she said, entering her new house with a backward glance and a victorious grin, leaving him standing there with his hands at his sides, somewhat stunned and angrily amazed.
Maybe that wasn't so anti-climatic after all.
AN: There could definitely be more . . . substance to it, I feel. But it didn't turn out as bad as I thought it was. I realized at the end like "oh crap, I forgot to have them exchange numbers . . . I'll do it now . . . this actually works out much better . . . not like . . . so boring." But eh, I still don't want this story to be that long-- maybe like ten chapters? So I'm gonna have to get more into the nitty-gritty next chapter. So, until then, review!
-Spirit0
