Title: Queen of Tarts
Chapter: 4/? Round Four
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Do I really need to say it? No, I don't own Life With Derek.
Summary: If he was a snake...
Derek didn't like the feeling that had started rolling around in his stomach. It had started half-a-week ago when he and his stepsister had went three rounds in the kitchen. He had waited for her all that afternoon to come and apologize, she was good at that and always did, but when she'd still made no appearance by the weekend, he knew she was never coming.
She seemed to have been avoiding him, leaving the house before he ate breakfast, not sitting near him at lunch or in class, studying and eating dinner every night at Emily's. While the Casey-free vacation was just what he wanted, he found that his mind would unexpectedly wander to her at the oddest times. Like that quirky little spot right before falling asleep or when he zoned out in the middle of class.
He didn't know exactly how she'd found out about his mom or what exactly it was that she actually knew, but he knew that he wasn't going to ask her. He had briefly considered asking his father about it, but quickly reconsidered. That was a can of snakes better left closed. He trusted his dad, he wouldn't have told Nora anything that wasn't important, but why would she tell Casey. His mom wasn't her business. She wasn't anyone's business.
He easily pushed his curiosity to the back of his mind. He didn't want to think about it too much. Even if it did bother him. Maybe he was just too bored.
It was Sunday afternoon before he was alone in a room with her again. He was lazily moving down the stairs with the hope of watching any sport on the television, when he saw her curled up on the couch reading some paperback. She didn't look up as he snatched the remote off the coffee table and threw himself into his recliner. He stole a glance of her from the corner of his eye as he slowly changed each channel, but she didn't move.
"When d'you get home?" he asked, using the remote to scratch the side of his head.
Her eyebrows arched, she licked her finger and turned the page of her book, but she didn't make any movement to answer him. Sighing, he turned back to the television. He flipped idly through the channels pausing briefly on each until he inevitably came back to the same station. Why was there never anything on when he really needed it?
"What's that?" he asked, adjusting the cuff of his shirt as he read the spine of her book. He snorted. Girls were such suckers for that sentimental crap.
She stretched her long legs, crossing them at the ankles as she turned another page. Her pony-tailed head tilted to the side on the big throw-pillow but she continued to read the new page.
"So, you're not talking to me now," he asked, turning and leaning against the armrest. Her eyes stilled on the page.
"That's fine with me, but y'know, it should be me," he said, pointing at himself before he turned his fingers on her, "giving you the silent treatment. Not the other way around."
He smirked as her head jerked up. Her big eyes moved over her book and found his own. She was so easy to bait. Sometimes too easy.
"What for?" she asked, indignantly.
"What for?" he echoed, raising his eyebrows and trying not to smile.
"Yes, what for? I haven't done anything to you," she said. Without marking her place she snapped her book shut as she sat up letting one leg drop off the couch.
He shrugged. "Well not lately, but-"
Her pale eyes darted behind him and he followed them to the entryway. Tightening his grip on the remote he restrained himself from throwing his favorite control device at the front door. The knob jingled a second time, before his brother walked in followed by the youngest MacDonald, the latter covered in half-dried mud and grass from her shorts to her cleats.
"Dude, Lizzie killed on the field today," Edwin said, shrugging off his jacket before hanging it on the coat rack.
"Really?" Casey asked, sitting up and making room for her sister. "That's great."
"It was no big deal," Lizzie said, but he could see the smile she wasn't trying to hide as she spun her soccer ball between her palms.
"Don't be modest, Sis," Edwin said, reclining into the corner of the couch beside his stepsister. "You both should've been there. She was all over that field."
"Sounds like some of the Venturi-mystique is finally starting to rub off," Derek said, winking at his fellow Captain. She smiled back.
"Well, seeing as how she didn't throw-up before the match, I guess it isn't," Casey answered, smiling at him.
He caught her eye and matched her satisfied grin with an unamused smile of his own. God, she was so annoying.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Casey. Lizzie here," he announced, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "Almost earned herself a Yellow Card before half-time," Edwin explained.
"Lizzie," Casey exclaimed, disbelief and disappointment edging her voice.
"Yo, chill out, Case," Derek said, holding up his hands including the one with the remote. "It was just a yellow card. It's not like she got ejected."
"Don't tell me to chill out, Derek and don't try and tell me how to talk to my sister," she said, sneering at him over her sister's head.
He opened his mouth to respond, but Lizzie jumped to her feet putting her ball underneath her arm. It was clear from her pink cheeks rapidly growing red that this wasn't the first time she'd lost her usual cool today.
"It wasn't my fault," she said, looking down at Casey.
He wrapped an arm around his middle as he burst out laughing at the look of shock on the older MacDonald's face. Poor positioning kept him from reading Lizzie, but he could hear from her voice that she was mad. She was really mad. His brother had a hand on the hem of her jersey and only after a few tugs did she begrudgingly sit back down.
"Lizzie, that sounds a lot like an excuse," Casey said pacifically as she patted Lizzie on a dirty knee. Her big eyes were narrowed on him and he couldn't help but feel that her unjustified observation was directed at him. He sneered before staring back at the television.
"No, Liz's right. Her coach said it was a completely legal slide tackle," Edwin said, looking around their sister at Casey. "The ref just had it in for her."
"See, incorrect again," he said, leaning even further over the arm of his chair and pushing his brother back with one arm to clear the line between them. "Let me ask you a question, Casey. Do you ever get tired of being wrong?"
"What are you two fighting over this time?" his father's voice behind him brought Derek back to leaning against the seat of his chair.
"The soccer game," Edwin and Lizzie answered and Derek glared at them. He half-expected it out of his step-sister, but out of his own blood. Freaking traitors.
"Honestly, you two really need to stop this," Nora said half-heartedly, putting Marti on the floor and removing her coat. "You are going off to university next year and are still fighting like a couple of two year olds. I just think you'll both regret the time you wasted fighting with each other."
"Uh-yeah, like any university's going to accept Derek," Casey blurted.
"All right now," his dad exclaimed in that pathetically super-soft tone he reserved for his step-children.
"Casey," her mom said sternly, folding Marti's shiny purple coat over her arm. "I think that's enough."
Her cheeks turned pink and he watched her face fall as she looked at the ground. Her insult hadn't hurt, but he wasn't about to tell his father or her mother that. She squirmed in her seat and he had to look away to hide his smile.
"Why is it that Derek can say whatever he wants to me and he never gets so much as a shush and I open my mouth once and suddenly I'm the freaking-"
"Casey," her mother said through a fake smile, looking down at Marti. "Why don't we watch the language? We don't need to be dragged back into the office for a certain person's potty mouth. 'Kay."
She made an unpleasant sound deep in her throat as she pushed herself off of the couch and he half-smirked when she moved by him. She didn't say anything as she stomped passed her mother and skirted around his father as she rushed up the stairs. The predictable sound of her bedroom, or possibly the bathroom, door slamming shut broke the silence.
"Well, what's gotten into her?" his dad asked, still staring at the top of the stairs.
"Not much," he mumbled, dryly chuckling to himself as he started to change the channel.
"What was that, Derek?" Nora asked, her eyebrows knitted as she fiddled with Marti's coat.
His stomach dropped and slowly his self-satisfied smile fell as he looked up at his stepmother. "I didn't say anything," he answered, gesturing generally to the room with the remote.
"Oh," she replied, looking convinced. "Well, I should probably go and talk to her."
"But, I'm hungry," Marti whined, jumping up and down on the second step.
Despite the three years that had passed since she'd started school, his Smarti hadn't changed much. She still dressed like a mental patient, toted Daphne around everywhere she went, and threw a fit if she didn't get what she wanted the second she wanted it. No matter how many times his step-mother and her teachers had tried to dissuade this "unacceptable" behavior in his sister, Nora always gave in and most times sooner than later.
"You're right, my tangerine princess," Nora said, looking down at his sister. "Dinner first. Who wants pizza?"
He rolled his shoulders and leaned onto his elbow making himself more comfortable as he changed the channel once again. They were having pizza for dinner, no one was fighting him for the remote, and most importantly Casey was pissed off and even her own mother had taken his side. His birthday week was off to a great start.
She hadn't come down for dinner and as he read the clock in the kitchen he assumed that she wasn't ever coming down. Sliding onto the counter and shoving his fourth double-chocolate chip cookie into his mouth, his eyes were drawn up as the sliding door opened.
It wasn't even ten o'clock and she was already dressed for bed her face clean and her hair down. Over his shoulder, he watched her silently cross the kitchen and open the fridge door. Rummaging through it, she disappeared from his sight until she resurfaced with a bottle of water and the last piece of fruit.
"The princess finally comes down from her tower," he said, through a mouth full of cookie as he reached for his mug. She didn't respond as he took a gulp of his cold milk. "So, what is her highness still doing up?"
"What does it look like?" she answered, her voice polite. She sat on the barstool furthest from him and he had to crane his head to see her. "I'm eating dinner."
"You call that rabbit food dinner," he asked his focus on the cookie jar beside him.
"Well, it's better than eating the over processed partially hydrogenated crap you eat," she answered, smiling before she took a prissy bite of her unpeeled apple.
"Okay, I'm not sure what you just said," he started, swinging his foot onto the counter and propping his hand on his knee as he held up a cookie for her to examine. "But your mom's cookies are anything but crap."
Her pale eyes moved from the baked good to his face and back again. Her slight disgust was clear and she placed her apple on the counter. "Those are meant for the whole family y'know. How many have you had already?"
He smiled down at her. "I can have as many as I want. I am the birthday boy after all," he explained, pushing the entire cookie into his mouth.
"Ha! Nice try. I know your birthday isn't 'til Friday," she countered, smiling up at him as if she'd just outwitted him. She tried twisting the cap off her water bottle, but it didn't open.
Sighing, he turned completely around on the counter top so his legs dangled off her side of the island. "More Casey MacDonald logic. I would think that after three years you'd have gotten used to the Venturi ways. Or should I say my way of living, but clearly common sense just can't sink in with you," he said, scratching the back of his head.
She looked away, her fingers wrapped tightly around the bottle top as she continued to try and uncap it. "Please, enlighten me," she pressed, through clenched teeth.
Shaking his head, he snatched the bottle from her hand. "Screw this whole chore-free day crap, I'm getting whatever I want all week," he explained, loosening the cap before he dropped it on the counter in front of her.
"And how is that any different from the other three-hundred and fifty-eight days out of the year?" she asked, her voice flat as she stared at the water bottle. "Wait a minute, did you just-"
"Good point, Sis" he said, cutting her off. Shocked at his own actions he tried to avoid both her eyes and the water bottle. He shrugged as he pulled another cookie from the jar. His stomach was starting to hurt and he didn't really want it, but watching her face morph as he bit the cookie in half made it worth it.
She huffed. "You're such a spoiled-pig," she mumbled, taking a tentative sip of her water.
"I'm spoiled, look who's talking." He finished chewing the other half of his cookie as he dropped off the counter onto his feet. "Who spent the last week at their best friends' house? Not me. And who's skipped all their chores? Again, not me."
"As if you do chores anyway."
"That's beside the point," he said, leaning back against the counter and taking the last swallow from his mug.
"Well, at least they would've noticed that you were gone," she argued. "I was home barely five minutes today and already my mom was . . ." She looked up at him, her dark eyebrows knitted. "You don't want to hear about this."
"I really don't," he answered. "So is that it. Is everyone's least favorite little pampered princess not getting enough attention?"
"No, that's completely untrue," she answered.
"Sure it isn't."
She glared at him and he smiled back. Satisfied, he slid around the counter and walked all the way to the partially opened doors. He should have kept walking, he'd already gotten the last word. But something made him stop. Pausing, a little thought wormed its way from the back of his mind and he finished sliding the door closed.
Her pale eyes widened as he marched back over to the island, sliding his elbows onto the counter top as he dropped to her eye level. "Is that why you were doing it, Case?" he asked, his eyebrows arched as he tried to read her. "'Cause Nora wasn't giving you enough attention."
"Seriously, this again?" she asked, laughing nervously as she pulled away from the counter and dodged his eyes. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."
"No. No. No," he explained, waving his finger at her. "Y'know exactly what I'm talking about."
She straightened her shoulders as if the proper posture magically made her taller and those large eyes darted around the room like a rat in a maze, but he just smirked. He knew that face.
"You're really going to sit here and try to pull one over on me," he accused, lacing his fingers as he continued to stare at her. "I'm disappointed, Case."
"I can't lie about something I never did," she answered, looking at his nose. He winced when her stool scraped the floor and pushed himself off the counter reflexively checking the doors behind him. Confident that they were eavesdroppers free, he turned to face her.
"Am I'm supposed to believe that everything that you did was just a figment of my imagination?" he stage-whispered, stabbing the counter with his finger.
She laughed looking away as she shook her head. "George should really stop bringing you to the dentist so much and try bringing you to a psychiatrist every once and a while," she answered, her voice just as quiet as his own. She climbed to her feet and casually leaned against the sink, but her eyes shot to the doors behind him.
"I'm not the one that needs the shrink," he said, stroking his chin. "But y'know, now that you've mentioned it, I'm sure Paul would just love to hear what I have to say. I wonder what he'd think about that or what the heck, how 'bout the whole school."
"You really think he'd believe you," she stated factually. Her eyes were flat and he could see an element in them that wasn't there before. Was that confidence? He swallowed.
"What?" he asked.
"If you can manage it without hurting yourself try and think about it Derek," she started, taking a step forward and laying her hands against the island as if she were teaching a class. "You're Derek Venturi, the self-proclaimed Lord of the Lies, King of Scams, Grandmaster Prankster. Do you really think your word holds any weight with anyone?" she paused and he could feel his eyes beginning to narrow. "Besides, does that really sound like something I would do," she asked, her head tilting as her pale eyes grazed his face.
He looked away. Crap, she was right. Even he had thought that before, but then after the second time . . . Heat flooded his face and he ran a hand through his messy hair, letting his fingers linger on the back of his neck. He let out a deep breath. What in the hell was he supposed to do now? He had to think.
Turning his back on her, he closed his eyes as he lightly tapped his forehead with his free fingers. Something would come to him. It always did. Idea after idea chased each through his head and he could already feel the headache starting. His lids shooting open he spun around.
"Whoa, what do you mean what you did?"
"You know. Wh-whatever it is that you were accusing me of," she answered, grabbing her apple with one hand and trying to balance it between her fingers as she tried to cap her bottle of water.
"But," he said, taking another step forward as he motioned toward her. "How would you know if it sounded like you, if you don't know what it is? Let's be logical that just doesn't make any sense."
Her eyes rested on the counter top as she bit dangerously into her bottom lip. Just a little more pressure and she was going to crack. He could see it. She had no other out.
"C'mon Case," he whispered, leaning his hip against the island as he tilted his head. "Look around, it's just me and you in here. So c'mon 'fess up."
"What part are you having trouble understanding, Derek? The part where I say, I have nothing to 'fess up about or the part where I say I have nothing to 'fess up about."
"Well, now you're just being unreasonable," he said, trying to sound indifferent and mature but failing miserably as he barely held back a laugh. He didn't know why Casey said the things she did, but he was confident that they had to sound less lame in her head.
Her blue eyes met his and he almost flinched. Silently, she pushed off the sink basin and moved toward the trash can her fingers wrapped around her half-eaten apple as if she wanted to hurl it at his head. Tossing it away, she kept her back toward him, busying herself with finishing the contents of her water bottle.
"So, uh?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
"So I'm going to bed," she answered, quickly sliding past him and he didn't have the energy to reach for her.
This was perfect, just freaking perfect. She wasn't going to come clean and nothing he said could make her. How was that possible?
Unwilling to accept defeat, he pushed the sliding doors open harder than necessary and didn't care that the glass audibly shook inside the frame. He should have stopped to check that he hadn't broken any panes, but he didn't. He couldn't stop, not until he was safe behind his bedroom door.
Outside of the rink he didn't have a temper to be feared and he had never been a 'seeing red' kind of guy. He just didn't get angry a lot. Not really angry. But he knew when he was, he could always feel it creeping up, his self-control fraying like a loose thread. Casey MacDonald was one of the few people that could inspire that kind of emotion in him.
He should've stuck with his original plan. The good plan. The sensible plan. But he hadn't. He'd let something else drive him. Some completely ridiculous part of his brain. Damn it. What was wrong with him? Hell, what was wrong with her? She was the one who started this whole thing. It was all her fault. Why couldn't she just admit to it? Why wouldn't she just tell him what she wanted? Everybody wanted something. It was human fucking nature.
Running his hands through his hair he sat in his computer chair letting the momentum spin him around.
She couldn't win. He couldn't let her win. He couldn't concede, not like this. She wasn't perfect. She wasn't untouchable. He could play her game and he could beat her at it. He never lost. He was a King after all. He would win. He always did.
His lids felt heavy and his eyes burned. He read the small clock in the corner of his monitor. Shit. It was a quarter 'til three. She wasn't coming. Maybe she wasn't so predictable. He suddenly felt stupid.
A combination of tension and five straight hours on the internet had left a sharp pain between his shoulder-blades that neither rolling his shoulders nor popping his neck eased. The adrenaline that had been sustaining him had leaked from him slowly and now all he wanted to do was to crawl under his covers. He shouldn't have let her disrupt his life this way.
Turning off his monitor he caught the faint sound of a door closing. Standing he padded to the door and strained his eardrums as if he were listening for an intruder. If it was Casey, she wasn't going to knock. He knew that and as he waited behind the bedroom door his left thigh began to twitch. It was the same reaction he had seconds before the puck was dropped during a face-off.
He could see now how she'd gotten into his room without waking him once. She slipped in like she was a freaking double-agent. She made no indication that she was aware he stood behind her and he seized his opportunity.
She squeaked when he grabbed her waist and bumped her into the door snapping it shut, his free hand dealing with the lock. Not waiting for the invitation, he pushed her sheet of hair over her shoulder, latching his mouth to that soft spot of skin just beneath her ear that made her shiver. She didn't disappoint.
She made a noise similar to a deep exhale and it was warm against his neck. Her fingers were gripping his hair, trying to pull him closer, trying to manipulate him and his mouth, but he refused to let her. No matter how impatient she became, he wasn't moving until he was ready. She was going to learn the hard way. He wanted to smile, but he wasn't finished.
Her skin was salty and smelled like she always did causing his body to react on instinct. He could feel her trembling. Satisfied, he let go. He pulled back and even in the little light that spilled from the street lamp into his room, he could see that her eyes looked darker than normal. For a second, something cut through the fog that had invaded his brain and he wanted to push her away but he didn't. She came off the door and her palms were clammy against his skin as she grabbed his face capturing his mouth before he could protest. He knew their kiss was sloppy, cold and a little rough, but he didn't care. She had to learn.
His mouth fighting hers as he blindly turned them and she nearly tripped twice before he finally fell with her half-beside half-beneath him onto the edge of his bed. His bed squeaked as his free hand gripped her waist and he felt her stomach jerk beneath her pajamas top. Thrown he paused and it moved quickly against his palm before her giggling reached his ears. Looking into her face he watched her eyes dance as she covered her own mouth to stop laughing. He smirked. He'd give her something to giggle about.
His fingers spread wide; he gently slid a hand along the inside of her bent leg stopping just shy of a place he was sure no other boy had touched. She swallowed. He drummed his fingers against her hip and suddenly she stopped making noise all together. Her eyes never leaving his ceiling, she took a deep breath and her fingers fell away from her mouth and crawled up his chest wrapping around the collar of his T-shirt. She roughly pulled him against her and he let himself go.
Like everything else about her, her mouth and hands were greedy. He couldn't keep track of all the trails her free hand had taken, but he liked them all. The way her fingers gripped the hair along his collar or traced circles against his lower back or moved just low enough to make his whole body jump. Her previously bent leg was now rubbing his hip and he gave his now painfully shaking arm a break as he let himself sink against her or as far as four layers of clothing would allow.
His body was well aware of the very feminine form beneath it and he gritted his teeth as she moved against him. He shouldn't have been responding to her like that. It was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. But all those rational thoughts couldn't stop him from paying just a little more attention to her bare collarbone.
He briefly wondered if his hands were cold, because she arched as if he'd just dropped an ice cube down her shirt when he swept his fingers down the slick centre of her back. He smiled against her mouth, kissing the side of it as she shifted and trapped him again.
Having no preference to position one hand moved into her hair as her face lingered above his own. She was biting her lip and his free hand gripped her hip settling her against his waist. She smiled nervously down at him and it felt like a punch to his gut. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe.
He'd planned to make words but a very unpleasant noise came out. It sounded thick and hoarse.
Her pale eyes grew wide and she nearly tumbled off his bed in her rush. He sat up on his elbows watching as she fastened the top buttons of her shirt. Buttons, he didn't remember undoing. Rising and falling with every quick breath she took her hand rested against her collar as if that would amazingly undo the last few minutes. She looked like she wanted to cry or possibly break something. He knew he should've said something, but he couldn't. He just stared at her as she spun around and left his room.
He ran his hands through his hair, gripping it hard until it hurt. He'd done what he had to do. He'd planted the evidence. He was going to win.
So why did he feel so weird? His body hurt and so did his head. He wanted to turn over and bury his head into his comforter, but that wouldn't fix either of his problems. He had to stop doing this.
Going to and from the bathroom Monday morning, he could hear frustrated groans and the sound of a dresser being abused from behind her door. She was searching for something, something he'd been almost positive she wasn't going to find. But glancing at her from his barstool as she walked into the kitchen he felt a twinge of disappointment.
"Nice turtleneck, Case," he commented, pointing at her with a fork full of Nora's scrambled eggs. She glared at him as she walked to the refrigerator and grabbed her carton of soy milk. But he refused to hide his haughtiness as he bit into his breakfast and watched her take the only available island space beside him.
"Thanks," she answered, her voice indifferent as she placed her bowl on the counter and poured her cereal. She kept her eyes on her breakfast, refusing to look at him.
"Well I'm just saying it's a little suspicious, y'know with most girls that would be like a red flag," he said leaning onto his elbow and scratching the side of his neck. "But not with you, not Saint Casey."
"Eww," came the collective response from the other occupants of the kitchen.
"Don't be a pig, Derek. Unlike the harlots you chase, a lady can wear a turtleneck just because she feels like it not because she has something to hide."
"Jealous," he asked, turning on the stool and hopping up to drop his empty plate into the sink.
"Not in the least bit," she answered, moving around him as she grabbed the coffee pot and poured herself a cup.
He thought that was her answer, but her next words were meant only for his ears as she held her mug of steaming coffee under her nose and kept her pale eyes focused on Edwin and Lizzie eating their breakfast.
"Just drop it. I know what you did," she whispered, harshly.
Grabbing his glass of orange juice from the island, he lifted it to his mouth, "Then why don't you just run and tell Nora," he asked jeeringly, before he took a gulp.
"You think I can't get you back without running to my mother, Derek," she answered, blowing on her black coffee as she studied her sister.
"It would be a first," he said, nodding his head and crossing his arms despite his glass of juice.
Suddenly her eyes darted away and she brought her coffee cup away from her mouth. "I don't care how long your practice runs the next time you copy my homework, I'm going to report you," she nearly shouted, her eyes staring at his forehead.
She pushed past him settling back into her seat and baffled he glanced at the two subjects that she had been studying with such interest moments ago. Two pairs of eyes met his and putting his glass of juice on the counter he nearly asked them what they were staring at, but a hunch kept his mouth closed as he moved next to his nearest stepsister.
"You're such a sweetheart," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he ruffled her hair destroying her perfectly groomed ponytail. "It'd be best for all of us if you tried to hold onto that rep."
She batted his hand away and glared up at him. "Just because George let's you get away with murder, doesn't mean you can order me around, Derek."
"I didn't have the slightest intention to," he said, crossing his arms.
He'd planned to leave, but instead slid onto the counter next to her plate. This action seemed to only enrage her further and he couldn't help but grin down at her.
"I can do whatever I want, Derek. You're not my father," she answered, her large eyes meeting his.
He snorted. "Thank God, for that."
As soon as the words left his mouth he wished he could shove them all back in. The kitchen was quiet, too quiet. His face was beginning to burn and he could feel Lizzie's big innocent but all knowing eyes on him.
"How could you say . . . Screw you, Derek," Casey said, shoving herself away from him and her untouched breakfast. Lizzie's back was already facing him and Casey quickly wrapped a protective arm around her little sister. Oddly enough Lizzie didn't shake it off and let herself be guided into the living room. But even with his step-sisters out of the room he couldn't stop that gnawing feeling that had started in his gut. He ran a hand through his hair. Damn it.
"Really nice move, Big D," remarked Edwin. "I can see you're going for an all time record this morning. While you're at it why don't you just find Marti and tell her that Santa Clause isn't real."
"What'd I say?" he asked with mock innocence, shrugging a single shoulder.
Edwin just looked at him, before shaking his head with disappointment and spooning cereal into his mouth.
"C'mon you're trying to tell me that hurt her feelings. I've said way worse," he said, settling onto his elbows as he watched his brother's reaction.
"See here Bro," he explained, dropping his spoon into a bowl of colored milk. "If you haven't noticed, me and Lizzie, we aren't kids anymore. We're figuring stuff out and some of that stuff isn't always cool."
"Yeah, like what?" he asked, unconvinced and curious.
"Like stuff," Edwin answered vaguely. He quickly stood, picking up his milk-filled bowl and putting it in the sink.
He glared at his younger brother before staring at the double doors. He knew Ed's words were supposed to sound casual and observant, but he could hear the veiled anger in his voice. Edwin was just trying to be protective, the way that a good brother should be. Derek wasn't ignorant to the fact that his brother and step-sister were tight. They had their own freaking secret handshake. No matter which way he looked at it they were close. Close in a way that he suspected he and Casey never would be, but on the other hand he and Casey were also close in a way that Edwin and Lizzie never should be. It wasn't an ideal situation.
He nearly asked his brother if he thought he should apologize, but changed his mind. Even though Casey had struck first and what he'd said wasn't that bad even taken out of context, it was her word against his and this time there were witnesses. She wasn't stupid and she would undoubtedly use it to her advantage. If his dad or Nora were to find out that he'd dragged their dad into it, his birthday week would definitely take a turn and not a good one.
Glancing at his watch, he blew out a breath of air with relief. He had time for damage control.
"Lizzie," he called, sliding off the counter.
The dining room and living room were empty and seeing their coats still hanging he took the stairs two at a time. He groaned when he reached the top of the staircase and saw who stood outside of Lizzie's bedroom. Damn, couldn't he catch a freaking break? Slowly, he dragged himself all the way to her door.
"Haven't you done enough damage, already," she accused, her arms crossed squarely over her chest. Her lips were pursed and she was trying to look intimidating.
He sneered at her trying the knob, but it didn't turn.
"Lizzie, open the door," he ordered, leaning against her door frame. He'd done this enough with the girl standing beside him to know that it was going to be a long wait.
Surprisingly, the door opened. He didn't know what he'd been expecting; tears or swollen eyes, but what Lizzie presented surprised him. Between her and Casey she was clearly the rational one.
"What's up?" she asked, her round eyes darting between them as she pulled the second strap of her book sack onto her shoulder.
"I need to talk to you," he said, bumping Casey out of the way and easily sliding past his step-sister into her small room.
"Can this wait?" she asked, her voice as neutral as ever. "Edwin and I are kinda running late for car pool."
"This will only take a second," he promised, pushing his hands together.
"Okay," she answered, slowly turning and glancing at her sister in the hall before turning back to him.
"Shut the door."
She gave one last speculative look at her sister and then to his surprise actually did what he asked.
"All right?" she asked, her small hands wrapped around her straps.
He was tentative this was treading on new ground for him. She was staring up at him, her pale-blue eyes filled with confusion and he had to turn his back on her. Doing things like this always took a lot out of him. He never understood why, but he didn't really care. He came all the way up here for only one reason and it wasn't to annoy Casey. He took a deep breath.
"Imzorry," he mumbled.
He adjusted the brown cuff and watch on his wrist. The words had come easier than he had thought they would. The few times that his dad had actually forced him to say it with sincerity, it had been like pulling his own teeth to get the words to come off his tongue. But it didn't hurt so badly to say it to Lizzie, especially when he was actually in the wrong. Instantly, the annoying bite in his stomach was gone.
"What?"
He swung around at the sound of her level voice, his fingers still pushing his brown sleeves up his forearms.
"You heard me," he accused, playfully. "Don't make me repeat it."
"Actually, I didn't," she admitted, shrugging. "Sorry, I couldn't understand you."
"Oh," he said, feeling his face warm and crossing his arms. "I said I was sorry."
Her nose scrunched. "For what?"
"For what I said downstairs. Y'know about your dad."
"Oh, that," she said, nodding her head as she looked away. "It's okay. I know you didn't really mean anything by it."
"Really?" he asked. "I thought you'd be pretty mad. You'd looked pretty upset in the kitchen."
"Oh, I was but not that mad," she admitted.
"Then why'd you run up here," he said, displaying the room around him.
"Oh, that," she answered, pulling on the hem of her sweater. "I spilled orange juice on my shirt."
"So, you're not mad at me?" he asked, crossing his arms and looking for reassurance.
"You're a big jerk most of the time, but like Edwin says, you can't stay mad at family."
He half-chuckled, half-snorted. "Try telling that to your sister."
"I've tried," she answered. "As much as she likes being listened to, she's not quiet so happy about being told what to do."
"But, I thought she just loved rules," he said, raising his eyebrows.
"Boundaries are okay," she explained. "They help keep things structured, but she doesn't like direct orders, at least not direct orders from someone she considers a subordinate."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, tilting his head as he watched her.
"What I just said or subordinate?"
"Ha-ha. I know what subordinate means," he said, unamused.
"Really?" she asked, her eyebrows raised.
"Thanks," he said, dryly. "No, seriously what did you mean?"
"Why?"
"Curious," he answered, nodding.
"Yeah, I'm not discussing Casey with you, Derek."
"What? Why not?"
"'Cause whatever I said, you'd just use against her in the future," she answered, her eyes moving toward the door.
"Do you really think that low of me?" he asked, trying to look innocent and insulted.
She looked back at him, her lips twisted and her eyes doubtful. Damn she was smart. Smarter than even he gave her credit for, that knowledge did nothing for his confidence. He was going to have to be more careful around her.
"Yeah, that's fair," he admitted, glancing away from her and at the shelf of trophies and medals that she now kept hung over her desk. Lizzie was such a fem-jock. The few times he'd seen her play he couldn't help but wonder how she and Casey were even related. But anytime Ed would bring home a blue-ribbon in some random subject he asked himself the same thing. It was as if their siblings had been switched at birth.
A sudden and familiar knock on the door grabbed his attention.
"I'm not trying to rush you guys, but me and Lizzie are going to miss our ride if we don't jet," announced his brother's muffled voice.
He shook his head, looking back at his young step-sib. "So, we're cool?"
She smiled at him, that pacifying smile. "Yeah, we're cool."
Lizzie hadn't forced him out of her room when she'd left and he was in no rush to leave. Glancing at his watch every few seconds he waited a full two minutes before he opened the door, and as he stepped into the hall he instantly regretted not making it three minutes. Shouldn't she have left for school already? Why was she still standing outside the door?
"Well, I guess you're not a total monster," she commented, her eyes moving from his hair to his feet.
"Let's try to keep that just between us shall we," he answered giving her an unamused smile as he quickly walked past her and rounded the banister. He could hear her feet stomping behind him and he grabbed the handrail letting it slide beneath his hands.
"Everything's all about your reputation isn't it," she said, following him down the stairs.
"Always," he answered, stopping short on the last step and tightening his grip as he felt her body collide with his. She yelped and when he turned around, she was sprawled on the steps behind him, her thighs made bare where her denim skirt had ridden up. He looked away chuckling.
"What was that for?" she whined, one hand massaging her side as she used the handrail to pull herself back up to her feet.
"C'mon there's no way that hurt," he answered, glancing at her arm before looking back up at her. She was still holding her side and she didn't look angry, but she was far from happy. He smiled. Good.
"How would you know?"
"'Cause you ran into me, remember," he answered, poking himself before he turned around. "Now stop following me."
"I'm not following you," she responded, her voice even and frank.
"Right, stalking would be a more accurate term," he said, grabbing his leather jacket of the coat rack and slipping his arms into the cold sleeves. He bent down to snatch his bag off the floor, when he caught sight of her brown boots from the corner of his eye. He stood up, slipping the strap of his bag over his head as he faced her.
"You're so narcissistic, Derek," she said, grabbing her oversized coat from beside him. She turned to face him as she slipped it on popping her hood out as she settled inside it.
Sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans he let his eyes move lazily over her clothes until he reached her neck. He wanted to make her uncomfortable as uncomfortable as she made him, but remembering what she tasted like did nothing for his new resolve. He bit the side of his lip. Immediately her hand went to cover the spot as if despite her thick pink sweater she needed to add another layer of protection from his probing eyes. What did she think he had X-ray vision? He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Like I said before Casey, try and keep up the good girl image. It's the only thing you're any good at."
His insinuation hit her hard and he watched her face of worry transform into one of anger. "Well like I said, I'm not hiding anything."
"If that's what gets you through the day, whack-job," he said, smiling, before he ripped the front door open and slammed it shut behind him. What in the hell was wrong with girls? No, he corrected himself. No, not all girls. Just that one.
A small pounding had started in his head after he'd left his house that morning, but after his cute red headed partner had slid into the seat beside him it had slowly begun to fade away. She'd explained that she had to come over to his house to work on their project and had even made him a copy of her notes when he'd partially hid behind her and slept through the remainder of class. During Math he'd been called to the office and told to inform the rest of his teammates that practice had been cancelled, which wasn't exactly good news to him, but it wasn't bad news either. He was tired. By lunch despite the tightness in his neck he could barely remember ever having a headache.
"So dude, what do you think you're getting for your birthday?" Sam asked, sliding his lunch tray onto the dining hall table. Somehow, they'd managed to get the only free seats left in the whole cafeteria.
"I want a car," he answered, picking up his fork. "But I'll probably end up getting something really stupid like a gift card or socks."
"Y'never-"
Sam's words were suddenly cut off by someone sliding into the seat beside him. Derek glanced out the corner of his eye. Dark hair, lame clothes, weird smell. Damn. It could be only one person... Schlepper.
"S'up Triple-D, Sammy? Triple-D, you look sick? You should probably see the nurse, dude?"
Derek met Sam's eyes and knew his expression mirrored that of his best friends at the use of their nicknames and overall comfort that Sheldon Schlepper had in speaking to them.
"Is there a reason you're talking to me, Schlepper?" he asked, stirring his food with his fork.
"Yeah. I want in," Schlepper explained.
Confused he looked at Sam who just shrugged in response and took a sip from his milk. "In on what?"
"On your Chem. project."
"Why?" The question slipped out before he could stop it, but he quickly waved his free hand putting an end to Schlepper's answer. "Never mind. I don't care. The answer's no."
"Why not?"
"Because I said so," he answered, shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth. "Besides, don't you have some other victim to be annoying the hell out of?"
"Look Derek," he begged, crossing his arms on the table and leaning forward. "I'll do anything to get in your group."
Something shifted in his peripheral and Derek caught Sam's tray sliding away as his friend slowly crept up from his chair. "Where are you going?"
"I gotta go to the . . . Ugh, restroom," his friend explained.
"So you're taking your tray with you? Gonna be kinda hard trying to balance eh," he asked, looking at the evidence in the tall blond's hands.
Sam's eyes went wide and Derek shook his head. "Just go." Gritting his teeth, he dropped his fork and sat back in his chair.
"So, what do you want Schelpper?" he asked.
"Stacy McBride," he answered, his black eyes glittering.
"Who?"
"The new red head, your Chem. partner," he answered, looking at Derek as if he was very slow-witted.
"Oh," he answered, putting her face to her name. "What about her?"
"She won't give me the time of day-"
He snorted, crossing his arms. "And that surprises you."
"I just thought that . . . "
"You just thought that if you were in my group that what? She'd get to know you and then what? She'd magically change her mind. Dude, seriously. I've seen that girl; it's not going to happen."
"Come on, just let me and my partner join your group."
"Look I feel you," he explained, sitting up. "Okay, I don't really but you've already got a partner. You can't get another one."
"Well, we're allowed up to four in a group."
His eyes wandered away and doing a double-take he caught sight of her ponytail. Emily was at her side and their backs were turned toward him as they sat at a table with a couple of guys. He assumed that they were just sharing a table, until he saw a male hand brush something off her shoulder. She giggled and nodded her head. His face was hot and something flipped in his stomach and suddenly he wanted to the bell to ring.
"So what do you say, Derek?" Schlepper looked at him with hopeful eyes and Derek got more pleasure out of this than he should have.
"No."
"C'mon I'll do anything," the boy practically begged, his fingers lacing.
He laughed. The Schlepper had it really bad for this girl. Damn, he'd seen her she was cute but she wasn't that cute and yet she had Schlepper on a string. What in the hell was so special about her? His eyes darted across the lunch room and something especially cruel slithered across his mind.
"Anything?" he asked, taking his drink from its home and placing it on the lunch table between them.
"Yeah, sure," Schlepper answered, his eyes moving from the drink to Derek. "As long as I'm in your group."
Derek smiled as his eyes rested on his step-sister.
TBC...
A/N: A big thanks to everyone who reviewed. Hopefully the next chapter will be out soon, but I can't make any promises. Also, there was a reason Casey took such offense to Derek's little jab, that I can promise. Last but certainly not least a huge THANK YOU to the talented Miss Carie Valentine for the wonderful editing.
Return to Top