AN: Thanks so much for the reviews! I am sorry I am a touch late on this. Real Life has been incredibly hectic. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and it makes up for my tardiness...

Chapter 4

Penelope was ready for her "date" with Derek at six thirty. It was around that same time that her Goth-inspired roommate returned home. Penelope felt very pretty dressed in a bright blue dress, nearly electric in color. It was the brightest thing she had in her wardrobe, and she hoped that Derek liked it.

"Look at you," Emily Prentiss said, giving her an appraising look up and down. She emitted a low whistle. "Fancy."

One thing about Prentiss; she was gruff, but she was honest and trustworthy. Penelope had told her about the art class with Derek the night before when she'd returned to their shared room and that they were going out again the next day. Prentiss had seemed genuinely pleased for her.

However, the way she'd just said that last word...that made Penelope worry a bit.

"Is it too fancy?" she asked innocently.

Em stroked her chin, like she was deep in thought. "Well, that depends on how you look at it. If you want him to know you listened, you'd pick one article of clothing or a barrette or something to show your casual, hard-to-get interest."

Penelope bit her bottom lip. "Okay..."

"If you want to appear desperate to please him, you wear that," Em said, giving her a wrinkled-nose look.

Penelope's face fell. "Oh, no."

Em sat on her bed, the bottom bunk, and looked up at Penelope. "What is this date?"

"It's...um...not really a date," Penelope explained. "It's a friendship get-together at the pizza parlor."

Prentiss arched a brow. "But he's coming here to get you and he's driving and he's going to pay?"

"Well...I think so."

"It's a date," Em said, standing. "But that's too formal and too frilly. Take it off, put on jeans and a bright, pretty T-shirt, and I'll see if someone has a hair thing you can wear."

As quickly as possible, Penelope dropped the dress, rehung it, and shrugged into her jeans. She had a purple button-down shirt from the Gap® that her mother had bought her for Christmas that she'd sworn she'd never wear, and she donned that quickly. She wasn't a fan of button-down shirts; she had an ample chest, and the buttons pulled a bit in the center. Glancing in the mirror, she begrudgingly agreed with her mom; it looked nice.

She went to put away her pumps so she could grab her regular tennis shoes, when Emily came back with a bright headband.

"No. Keep those heels," she said.

Penelope hated heels. They were so high and uncomfortable. "But—"

"It elongates the leg and makes you look trimmer," Prentiss interrupted.

Sighing, Penelope slid the shoes back on, but one thing was bothering her. Emily Prentiss was wearing a Nirvana T-shirt, holey jeans, and had a hairdo that looked similar to Joan Jett's from The Blackhearts. From her appearance, you'd never guess she'd be interested in clothes and fashion. Penelope wondered why she knew so much. She decided to be honest—and brave—and just ask.

"Em, how on earth do you know all this?"

Emily have her a long look and then sighed heavily. "Seven cotillions in six countries over four years. That is how I know."

Penelope's eyes widened, as her mind had just been blown. "Whoa. Did you—"

"Hurry up! It's almost seven," Em said, hurrying her out the door toward the bathroom so that Penelope could perfect her makeup and don the headband.

She hurried getting ready, hoping she wouldn't be late...but she truly didn't have to rush.

Derek Morgan didn't show.

Shit! Derek thought as he sat in the cab of the tow truck. He'd known when he'd made the trip to Cali on his bike that it wasn't going to last much longer, but he'd seriously thought it might make it to the end of his school years. That appeared to have been wishful thinking.

Eight twenty.

He shook his head, knowing that Penelope was going to think he'd stood her up. He hadn't, and he had no way of contacting her. A few people he knew had mobile phones, but he wasn't that lucky yet. It was one of the big purchases he planned on having someday so that things like this didn't happen.

"Son, you okay?" the tow truck driver asked.

Derek grumbled an affirmative.

The man laughed. "Well, that was a lie if I ever heard one. You got a date or something?"

Derek smirked. That was a good way to put it. "A something, I guess."

"Well, can you make it up to her somehow?"

Derek thought about it for a second, and then he smiled. "Yeah. I think I can."

At ten to ten, Penelope was back upstairs, in her bed on the top bunk. Thankfully, Prentiss wasn't saying a thing, although she could seriously be dishing out a huge helping of "I told you so" about Derek Morgan.

What had she been thinking, Penelope wondered. A guy like that was never, ever, interested in a girl like her. He'd even said it wasn't a date. She'd dolled herself up like some foolish peacock, even wearing makeup, which she rarely wore, and for what?

No. She needed to get the facts straight. She wasn't a peacock. She was a peahen—always had been and always would be. They were drab and dull.

Ironically, she was still wearing her outfit, but not because she had hope that Derek would suddenly appear. It was more that she was feeling depressed and lacked energy to bother taking anything off. She'd probably sleep in that outfit and get a ton of pimples because she didn't wash her face, and—

"Garcia," one of the girls said, shouting through her closed door. "Someone's here for you."

Penelope frowned. "It's past curfew in this house for a weeknight."

"Should I send him away?"

At first, Penelope was ready to just forget it, but she was an infernally curious critter. She hoped down from her bunk, past a headphone-wearing, Walkman-listening Emily, and made her way to the stairs.

Standing at the bottom, just outside the screen door, was Derek, holding a bouquet of early spring wildflowers from around the campus and a pizza box. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans—she said a silent thanks to Em—but they were stained with grease, like he'd been fixing something.

As she arrived at the door, he said, "I'm so sorry I'm late. My bike broke down on the way home from work, and I got stuck on the 905."

She winced. That was a bad highway.

"Peace offering?" he asked hopefully, holding out the flowers toward her. His lovely, long-fingered hands had grease imbedded in his knuckles.

She smiled. "Thanks. They're pretty."

"I got us a pizza, too...if you're still hungry?"

She shook her head. "I ate something."

"Oh," he said, looking dejected. "That's understandable."

"I'm sorry," she said automatically. He looked so contrite and miserable.

"No, Baby Girl. I'm the one who needs to apologize," he said softly. "I'll do it forever, as long as you forgive me and give me another chance."

How could she ever stay mad at that?

Sighing softly, she said, "Already forgiven, Derek."

He smiled too, then. "Hey, I know you had dinner, but would you mind keeping a lonely chicken delivery boy company?"

Penelope bit back a chuckle. "Chicken delivery?"

He grinned widely. "Lonnie's Broasted Chicken. Best fried chicken in town."

She did laugh then, which earned her a mock scowl.

"Woman, it pays the bills," he said sternly, but his dark eyes were dancing. "Our motto? More cluck for the buck."

That only made her giggle more, so much so that the head mistress of the dorm came out.

"Penelope, please bid your guest good evening," she snapped. "It's past curfew."

Derek frowned. "Damn. Ten, huh?"

Penelope nodded and said regretfully, "I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "It's my fault for being late. I'm never going to forgive my bike." He raked a hand over the dark curls on his head and sighed in frustration. "I wish to God we could've had our time together tonight."

"Me, too."

"I wish..." he murmured, and then he paused, as if he were thinking about something. A second later, he said, "Well, I'll just head to the picnic tables and eat."

"Okay," she said sadly. "Good night."

"Good night...but Penelope? I have to say one thing."

"Yes?"

"You look great tonight."

She smiled. "Thanks, Derek."

"So I'm going," he said slowly, and then repeated, "I'll be at the picnic tables, eating alone."

"Okay..." she said, thinking he sounded really strange.

"Night, sweet P."

Penelope hurried up the stairs back to her room, feeling both excited and happy that he hadn't forgotten and mournfully sad that he was out there alone. Poor Derek. Out there. At the picnic tables. Alone.

Outside...at the picnic tables...just under her window.

Quietly, she opened her window. Sure enough, Derek was sitting down there, looking up at the dorm, a piece of pizza in his hand.

She seriously needed to go back to bed. If the house matron, found her, she'd be in such trouble. She'd never done anything risky in her life. That wasn't in her nature.

Two seconds later, her leg was going out of her window, followed by the rest of her body, and she was headed down the fire escape. A thrill, along with a guilty feeling, rose, but she did it anyway.

Derek didn't look surprised. He smiled at her. "I wondered which room was yours."

"You knew I was coming," she said. It wasn't a question.

He shook his head. "I didn't know for sure, but I'd hoped."

"How'd you know about this?"

"These buildings are the exact same," he explained. "A boy and girl version. This is how we sneak girls out...or sneak girls in."

She shook her head. Of course. He was such a player, but he was lovable.

Her nerves started to rise again. "I could get in big trouble."

"Blame it on me," he said. "We'll be partners in crime, Baby Girl."

"I don't know..." she said worriedly, glancing back at the dorm.

He arched a brow. "You could always go back in."

She hesitated for only a second before she said, "You could at least offer me a piece of pizza."

He grinned so brightly that she wondered if they even needed the dim light of the moon.

"Yes, ma'am," he drawled and then handed her a slice of the cheesy pie.