TG/N: I realize that it has been four months since my last rapid update, but I had some trouble with this piece. Then, just the other night, inspiration struck in the form of the first sentence to the second section, and it was like everything suddenly clicked. I love that feeling. So, here it is. And just to keep things clear, the first section occurs two years before Suze arrives on the scene, while the others all occur P.S.
Part Four: Dee Dee Wackerman (Cee Cee/David "Doc")
i.
He first meets her in the breezeway of the Mission on his first day of sixth grade year. She's speaking to an inferior male specimen of approximately the same age about the deeper philosophical roots of Kurt Vonnegut's novel Slaughterhouse-Five, a novel he read last year for leisure. Besides The Giver, it's one of his favorites.
"But it goes so much further, Adam, than just aliens and time traveling," she explains sounding a little exasperated as if she's been over this more than a few times before. "The protagonist's fragile mindset demonstrates the destructive nature of war, the time traveling and the Tralfamdorians show that freewill is bogus, the tiny phrase 'So it goes' illuminates the inevitability of death in a messed up world, making the novel a prime candidate for the absurdist movement or even the existentialist movement if you stretch it. But the real beauty is how like Huxley and Orwell, Vonnegut uses science fiction to emphasize these real world truths, therefore proving to the public that sci-fi is a legitimate art form."
The boy, Adam, walking next to her, ignores the argument and says, "Well, I would agree with you if I finished the reading, but I didn't which is exactly why I am so glad I signed up for Academic English. The most in depth thing we'll read all year is most likely going to be See Spot Run which is great because if I have to read one more John Steinbeck book, I think I'm going to cry. Or vomit. Either seems—"
"Adam!" she begins to protest, but is interrupted when David accidentally walks into the pair of them, dropping all of his things everywhere.
He begins apologizing rapid fire. "Sorry. Sorry! I'm so sorry!" He can feel his ears redden, which causes him to feel more embarrassed than he already does, if that is even possible.
"Whoa," Adam laughs, helping the girl pick up his things, "it's like the male version of Cee Cee."
The girl, Cee Cee, rolls her eyes. "Stop it, Adam," she reproves acerbically.
"Relax, Webb," Adam advises, turning his gaze to him now. "You got a name, kid?"
"David," he says quietly, so quietly in fact he doubts anyone can hear him, so he repeats the name. "David Ackerman."
Adam's expression changes from humored to frightened, but it's Cee Cee who puts the pieces together. "Ackerman . . ." she repeats aloud. "You're Brad Ackerman's younger brother, aren't you?"
He nods silently before rambling off another ridiculous apology. ". . . and then I couldn't help but overhear your argument about Slaughterhouse-Five, an argument I have made countless times to my peers, and the next thing I know, I walked into the two of you. I'm really sorry," he tacks onto the end of it as if the small phrase somehow makes his rambling more sensible.
Adam grins, ignoring his prior pretenses and remarks, "There's a five time apology limit 'round these here parts. One more, and we might have to gag you."
The girl rolls her eyes and slaps Adam's arm playfully. "Stop it; you're scaring him," she chastises, handing him his books first, then his glasses. Their fingers accidentally brush when he goes to take his glasses, but he's too nervous to even notice. "I'm Cee Cee, by the way," she introduces once they have both stood up again, "and this is Adam. He doesn't appreciate decent literature, so it's nice to meet someone who does. Although, I have to ask: how old are you?"
"Eleven," he admits, hoping his voice doesn't squeak.
Cee Cee doesn't seem too shocked by the reveal, though, and moves on, saying, "Well, it was nice meeting you, David."
He means to reciprocate, say "you too" or even "likewise" but he finds that his voice barely works. And that if he moves, he might just wet himself.
ii.
She comes over for dinner on a school night.
It's okay, he guesses, well, not really. For one thing, his dad rarely ever takes to inviting outsiders to diner mainly because of the 'dinner time equals sanctimonious family time' ideal he seems to stubbornly cling to. Although rules seem to be extra malleable where Suze is concerned. He doesn't mind it much, but he can't help thinking about that time a couple years ago when he invited his friend, Shane, over for dinner and ended up having to sit through part four in an infinite part series created by his father, entitled "The History of Family and the End of Day Dining Ritual." He's seen PBS programming more scintillating than that overused speech.
And another thing. He has a paper for ecology about the effects of deforestation on a global and local level due tomorrow. He would have had more written except he's been playing the new Metal Gear Solid 4—an excellent blend of superior graphic design and in depth storytelling as well as thorough character development and analysis—all weekend. This is why, he thinks to himself glumly as he struggles to keep a frown from permeating his features, he continues to tell Brad that procrastination will get you nowhere in life. With her at the table, it's not as if he can find an opportune moment to escape from the table. That would be rude, first off, and secondly, he imagines his father might actually kill him.
So he sits there, trying to feign interest at the work anecdote his step-mother tells with animated hand gestures and trying to keep an amused smile plastered on his face, all the while his mind clings to the single thought of that darn ecology paper, which refuses to leave him well alone. Mentally, he curses Solid Snake for distracting him this weekend.
Haphazardly, he reaches for a dinner roll, not because he's particularly hungry, but because he needs something to preoccupy his mind, even if it's only for a second. He stops cold in his movement, remains frozen like a stone sculpture, when, as he glances over at his intended destination, he discovers Cee Cee Webb had the same idea, and her hand seems to be accidentally touching his. He remains speechless, but it doesn't escape his notice that she seems to be the one person in Carmel he is not paler than.
After what seems like an eternity, they both pull their hands away. He does so first, but her movement is graceful. His . . . not so much.
"Sorry," he mutters juvenilely folding his hands in his lap, then thinking better of it, and sitting on them instead. The white noise, like AM radio static, clears from his head as he blushes like a lunatic.
"Oh, sorry, David," she apologizes genially before launching herself right back into the group's discussion. "I completely agree with you, Mr. Ackerman, about a company's need to specialize labor in order to increase productivity. It's just basic economic sense. For instance, back when I worked at the Carmel Pine Cone . . ."
He barely listens for the next couple minutes before he nudges his step-mother and asks to be excused, explaining about the paper. She is much more sympathetic than his father, and soon enough, he bounds up the steps, two at a time, to get to his room and finish writing. But when he finally does get down to work, he realizes his mind is still preoccupied. Asking Brad to cover the dishes for him tonight was probably the worst idea in the world.
On the plus side, he won't have the PlayStation 3 to distract him next weekend.
Or, if Brad has any say, ever.
iii.
"She digs you, you know."
"E-Excuse me?"
"The pale chick," his oldest brother, Jake, further explains. "The one Suze brought over the other night? Her name's somethin' like Evelyn or Yvonne—"
"—Cee Cee—" he suggests.
"Yeah, yeah!" Jake grins triumphantly and somehow lazily. "That's the one." His head disappears under the hood of the Camaro. "Cee Cee likes you, D."
He props himself up on the red tool cabinet nearby and watches his older brother for a moment. "That's impossible," he says unflinchingly. It's not self deprecation, it's what logic dictates. Just like adult lions do not mate with cubs, sixteen year olds do not hold interest in thirteen year olds. If there was a name for it, he decides, it would be called the Common Sense Addition Postulate.
Jake's head pops up again from behind the hood. There are grease stains on his nose, left cheek, and forehead. "You're kidding me, right?"
He makes a motion to answer, but realizes it is a rhetorical question, so he remains silent.
There's no mistaking his brother's eye roll before he, once again, disappears behind the car's hood. "You need a reality check, D," Jake advises as if the process wasn't just an idiom. "Look at the facts, man. She actually paid attention to you when you described the purpose of your project for physics. Meanwhile, I struggled just to keep my eyes open, so I could pretend to be interested. And nobody laughed as hard as she did when you told that joke about isotopes or whatever. She totally has a thing for you."
"That's . . ." he struggles to find the appropriate word, ". . . improbable."
But Jake refuses to listen to reason as he throws a grease stained rag over his shoulder. He slams the car hood shut, walks over to the passenger side, and leans against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. "Look," he explains, sounding more awake than David has ever heard him sound before, "you may be a boy genius like that cartoon kid with the big head, and you may know more about trigalculus than I ev—"
"Trigonometry and calculus," he corrects, trying not to cringe.
"What?"
"You said 'trigalculus,'" he repeats, but it's trigonometry and calc—"
"—Yeah, okay, whatever," Jake interrupts, enjoying his sudden role as mentor. "The point is when it comes to girls, I'm the genius here." He points to his head. "I know the inner workings of their minds. So trust me when I say that Dee Dee—"
"—Cee Cee—"
"—right, Cee Cee," he corrects, "was giving off some serious vibes the other night. And unlike Suze, she doesn't seem to be in any kind of street gang."
For whatever reason, David's hands become suddenly clammy and he can feel the tips of his ears start to redden, and he knows it has nothing to do with the cheap halogen lights hanging over the workbench. He responds with the first thing he can think of. "Suze isn't in a gang."
Jake just shakes his head and laughs before turning his attention back to the Camaro. "That's what she wants us to think. Remember"—He points to his head again.—"inner workings. I can read 'em like a book."
Somehow, David admits to himself as he leaves his brother in search of food, he finds that statement lacking any foundation of credibility whatsoever.
iv.
She calls the house one time when Suze is out. When he informs her of this, she seems only mildly disappointed, and then after a minute of silence, asks him if he watched Nova this week. He tells her, no, he regretfully missed it this week, but he did happen to catch Lost, and then they launch into a discussion about which was better: Lost or The X-Files.
When he finally hands the phone up, he can't describe exactly how he feels. On the one hand, something resembling happiness seems to be residing in the pit of his stomach. He feels like this is the girl he wishes to mate with or at least share his Dark Horse Buffy the Vampire Slayer comic books with.
Mostly, though, he feels hungry, so he heads toward the kitchen.
v.
"We can't" is her response to his "I am interested in pursuing you socially in a courtship setting."
It's not exactly the "no" he was expecting, but it hurts a lot less than when she admits she's attracted to someone else. He suspects it's Adam or else Paul Slater, in which case he has no chance. Silently, he curses Jake for even putting the idea of the two of them in his head in the first place. He never would have been in this situation if it wasn't for Jake.
"I'm quite mature for my age," he can hear himself desperately argue, pulling at the last few strings hoping for even the smallest semblance of reciprocation. "And-And with my knowledge of physics and CAD, I could design us a shelter should we ever get lost or—"
As he hears himself speak, he realizes he sounds like a complete moron. Mentally, he searches for the 'eject' or the 'rewind' button, preferably the 'terminate permanently' button.
"David."
She says his name in the tone he has heard so many other girls use with him before. It's pity laced with embarrassment sprinkled with a thin layer of disgust. He knows that at this point, his ears probably resemble a maraschino cherry, but he can't bring himself to care. Right now, his tiny heart is breaking, and yes, it's a lot worse than when the Sci-Fi network announced it was airing it's final season of Battlestar Galactica this year.
"Don't you want a girl who's more your age?" she asks carefully. He also knows this act well. It's a diversionary tactic that involves asking him if perhaps he has made some mistake in his judgment. This way the girl can let herself off easy instead of becoming the assailant.
He nods anyway, to entertain her, perhaps. "Yes," he replies, "I have, in fact, given this some thought, but I am certain in my decision. I . . ." He can't bring himself to say the words, even though he knows in his heart that his feelings are genuine. "I . . . like you, Cee Cee. I am attracted to your personality as well as your physical attributes, and I also find you to be sexually alluring."
Cee Cee claps a hand over her own mouth and stares wide eyed. "You can't say 'sex!'" she hisses in a hushed undertone. She looks around her, as if searching for someone to save her from the situation. "You're only thirteen!'
The age mention feels like a low blow, but he chooses to ignore it and continue with his proposition even though it feels like "no" has become the staple word in her vocabulary within the past fifteen minutes. "Cee Cee," he tries again, but she stops him.
"Look, David," she says as she stands from her seated position on the living room couch, "I'm flattered. I really am. But I just don't think a relationship between you and I would be the most realistic thing right now. Not only because you are thirteen and have your whole life ahead of you to find someone much hotter, but because I'm sort of into somebody else. I'm sorry."
Her hand grasps the door knob, and she's just about to leave when he blurts out, "I'll wait for you!"
She turns around, stunned beyond belief. "Pardon?"
He repeats himself. "I won't date anyone else, and I'll wait for you to change your mind, just . . . please." He can literally hear himself begging now. "Give me a chance."
The silence between them is tangible, nearly suffocating. Something in Cee Cee's countenance changes, and the next thing he realizes, she's walking over to him, and she plants a kiss on the top of his head. Now his ears are really red. "I'll tell you what," she says, finally speaking, "what do you say to being friends? And then after that, we can see where it takes us?"
He's tempted to say no. Every other girl only wants to offer him friendship, and he's convinced that it's all part of an incredibly unfair conspiracy. But something about the way Cee Cee gives out her offer makes him think that she genuinely means it. That she really wants to be his friends, and isn't just saying it to get him off her back. He stares at her outstretched hand as if it's an alien object. Tentatively, he grasps it, shakes it firmly. She smiles and he can't help but reciprocate the gesture.
TG/N: Up next . . . I really don't know! Possibly Jaul de Silvter (Paul/Jesse)? Or even Gaul (Gina/Paul)? I know everyone has already given requests, but this time, put one down that you're really interested in, and I'll think about it.
Did you notice this one didn't end on a kiss? I just couldn't bring myself to have Cee Cee commit cradle robbery. Seriously, the kid's thirteen! "But you had no problem supporting incest!" you all cry, upon which I ignore you because I am eerily fascinated by Brad/Suze, so shut up.
So, please, review! Comment! Suggest! (My fingers are crossed for Paul/Father Dom)! Just press that tiny ol' button down in the corner!