AN: Yeah, so I think it's pretty much established that I'm completely and utterly unreliable. It's just...well, basically, I'm just finding it more and more difficult to continue this story (for soo many reasons, I don't even know where to start) and I'm actually seeing it as sort of a burden now - I know, how horrible of me! Who knows, maybe tomorrow I'll start loving this story again, but as of now, I'm just kind of, frankly speaking, rushing to finish it so I don't have to worry about it anymore. But that doesn't mean I know how soon I'll be able to update, as you all should be fully aware by now, lol. I understand that this is really unfair to everyone and I'm deeply sorry about that, but hopefully whatever literary merit you've seen in this story won't falter and you'll be able to enjoy it like you have been.

P.S. Shout out to mzventi, who got that I based Jay on Kumar from "Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle." Yayyy! If you haven't seen it (gasp!), do so! It's high-larious. Geddit, geddit? Oh, just go see it.

Oh, and another thing: I just want you all to know that I actually enjoyed writing this particular chapter, since I got to write a lot of my own dialogue, and I hope you all enjoy it too. Thanks!


Luckily, it was about a ten minute drive to Foggy Bottom from Cleveland Park, since I don't think I would have been able to take another minute of that torturous awkward silence. Seriously, it was that bad. Throughout the entire car ride, I tried to convince myself that everything will be much better once we've both had some burgers in us while battling with the notion that I had just about ruined any chances I've had with Sam. But as I walked into Jake's, thinking that the night was a complete bust, a tiny glimmer of hope appeared in the form of a half-lit neon sign of beefy burger.

Walking into Jake's for presumably the first time, Sam looked around curiously, taking in the retro decor, low lamps and quiet patrons. She smiled with approval as we took our seats. "No paparazzi? No crazy fans? I think I can get used to this."

I laughed, partly in concurrence and partly with relief that she was finally talking. "Yeah, Jake's a really nice place if you want to just relax and forgot who you are for a bit."

At that point, the waitress came by to take our order. "Um," said Sam, looking over the menu. Then her eyes brightened. "I'll have The Plain. Regular, please. Oh, and a coke with little ice."

I chucked softly. Trust Sam to order the burger with the least fibrous content. Not bothering to open the menu, I ordered my usual (The Monster, which has, like, ten different meats in it. It's excellent), large fries for us to share and a Dr. Pepper.

As the waitress picked up our menus and walked off, I desperately searched my head for something to say, wanting greatly to avoid a repeat of the scene in the car. I grinned slowly, thinking of the perfect story that would break the ice.

"So guess what we found after a White House tour a couple of days ago?" I asked Sam.

"Um," she said, looking a little surprised by the arbitrary question. "I don't know. What?"

"A wig."

Sam snorted. "What?"

"Yeah," I said, grinning. "A blue wig. I like to imagine it belonged to a fussy elderly woman with a handcrafted mahogany cane and a really strong penchant for prune juice."

"Let me guess," said Sam, smirking. "You found it in the Blue Room?"

"No," I said with a laugh. "We found it in the Green Room."

Sam laughed louder at this. "So, did someone ever come back to claim it?"

The waitress came by with our drinks. "Nah, people normally don't," I said, taking a sip of my coke. "We keep a lost-and-found box but we discard things after a couple of months or give them away to charity - well, depending on what it is. Corduroy pants, yes. Crusty retainers, hell no."

"Oh my God!" Sam laughed, her mouth dropping. "People don't actually leave retainers and - and pants at the White House on a regular basis, do they?"

"They do," I said, giddily noting how smoothly the conversation was flowing. "People leave a ton of crazy stuff all the time. Mostly it's just jackets and wallets - wallets people tend to reclaim - but a lot of times it's just really random things like retainers and glasses. The weirdest thing was probably the wig, or maybe the pants, since I just get a real kick out of contemplating what the owner of the pants must have been doing to lose them."

Sam laughed like it was the funniest thing she's ever heard, and I could tell she wasn't faking it just to make me happy. I grinned. By the time the waitress came by with our burgers, all the discomfort from earlier had dissolved and it was awesome.

Sam eyed her burger with interest as it was set in front of her and took a tentative bite, as if she were to spit it out if it wasn't up to her precise standards. Apparently it was, as she took another, more enthusiastic bite right after.

I grinned at her. "Good?"

"Mhm," she responded thickly.

"Good," I said before starting on my own burger. We chewed in content silence for a while. I looked around the restaurant. It wasn't too crowded; most people just ordered to go. Sam and I were the only teenagers. There were a couple of yuppies scattered here and there, John and Ralph sat awkwardly a few seats away from us, and right behind Sam sat a couple and their son. My eyes settled on the kid, who looked to be about three or four. He drew ketchup faces on his burger and exclaiming, "Look, I make happy face!" to his parents, who played along, drawing faces on their patties as well. I was suddenly rushed back ten years ago, to the good ol' days when my parents actually gave a shit about my life.

"I remember when I was a kid," I said, smiling at the memory. For some reason, I was unable to look up from my burger, but I could feel Sam lift her gaze from hers. "My parents would make me set the table, right? And each time they'd ask me to, as a joke I'd always set one place with the oversized fork and spoon that, you know, are meant to serve the salad - "

"Aw," Sam gushed. "That's so cute."

"Yeahhh," I said, trying to modestly draw the word out. Even though it was pretty damn cute. "And they'd always laugh and go along with it, even though I did it practically every night. I kind of miss those days, ya know, when you were their entire world."

"Can't say that I know what you mean," Sam said sourly. I looked up and raised an eyebrow. With a sigh, she continued about how being the middle child, she was used to being shunted aside and how she had to really work for attention from her parents. Then she told me the cutest story of when she was eight and she tried to flush her dad's credit cards down the toilet in protest for making the family move to Morocco.

"Wow, Sam," I said, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes. "Even then, you were sticking it to the man. You're such a rebel."

"What?" she said, grinning shyly. "It was totally unfair. I had to leave all my friends behind to leave to this country where I had no idea what anyone was saying and people thought I was rude because I didn't know how to talk to them. Oh, and I embarrassed myself on a daily basis, for not knowing the words for things like 'bathroom.'" She cringed at the memory. "It was probably the loneliest and most depressed I have ever felt in my life. All I wanted was to go back home."

Hearing this, I straightened up, for it was exactly how I felt moving from Houston to D.C. So, I told Sam everything. How much I resented the transition to Horizon, where every day is just a battle to see who got the highest grade on the last chemistry test or who wrote the most compact Java program. Where you're always hassled to do better and you never feel like you're good enough. Where kids who aren't into the sciences, like me and Jay, are looked down upon with sickening pity.

Her eyes bore into mine as she said, "I know exactly what you mean," and explained how everything is all about athletics at Adam's Prep and everyone looks at her weirdly when she suggests more emphasis on the arts. "But I guess I've always known what it's like to be the outsider, since I had a lisp when I was younger and I had to go to speech and hearing classes and everyone thought I was Sped and made fun of me for it."

"What the hell?" I exclaimed. The notion that anyone could be so cruel, particularly to Sam, really pissed me off.

"Yeah, it was pretty messed up," Sam said bitterly. "And you wanna know the best part? They haven't changed one bit."

We talked a little bit longer about the woes of high school and she started to tell me about the real reason why she's taking lessons with Susan Boone. At one point in the conversation, my knee accidentally brushed up against hers, and, as if I were shocked, I jerked it away, apologizing. Sam appeared not to have really noticed, as she carried on with her story without break, but I, on the other hand, could not stop fixating on that brief moment of contact. Here we were, pouring our souls and telling each other things we've barely told other people and really connecting for the first time, and now, all I could think about was touching her again. Stupid libido.

I tried to force myself to listen to her story about drawing celebrity portraits and slipping in German class, but my attention was on her face and how the dim lighting emphasized the beautiful contour of her cheekbones. I would have given anything to stroke them. I chanced a glance at her hands, which were resting on her now empty plate, and realized that grabbing them would be too awkward and too forward. At the same time, I was dimly aware of the fact that her leg remained a mere centimeter from mine and all I had to do was extend my leg just a little bit and we'd be knocking knees once more. What was there to lose? I went for it.

"...And then my parents found out I had been selling...um, them, and so the next day they signed me up for classes...and, uh, yeah." Suddenly, Sam dropped her gaze from mine and looked like she had no idea what to say. I felt her move her leg so it wasn't touching mine, and I mentally slapped myself for my presumptuousness. I firmly kept my body parts to myself as I commented on her story and tried to forget about what just happened. And things sort of went back to normal for a little bit. But then Sam started to get an anxious, feverish look on her face and I got worried that something else was wrong.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Sure," she squeaked. "Why?"

"I don't know," I said as I searched her face. "You look kind of...flushed."

Instead of answering, she glanced down at her watch and said, "Oh, my God, would you look at the time? We better go if we want to get to that party."

I groaned inwardly. I really just wanted to skip the party entirely, but Sam looked like she really wanted to go. As we got up, though, I couldn't help the feeling that she wanted to go to the party because she'd be able to get away from me. God, what the hell was wrong with me? We had a good thing going and I just had to fuck it up. Again. Strike two for David.


AN: As always, your kind reviews are really what keeps me going. This is for you guys!