A/N: Read and enjoy, kiddies. Good news. I have the whole sequel mapped out, and stuff. Although, I'm hoping it will premiere somewhere around late-March/early April 2009 because that's when I finish my first year, I'm also trying out another strategy in which I want to write and complete the entire story, and then post. That way, there won't be any writer's block. I'm hoping for this story to finished around December 2008. Somewhere around my nineteenth birthday. Old and all new characters will be coming back, and I have at TWO, yes two, new pairings planned. So, yeah. Bad news. I had a Chola oneshot in progress but it wasn't going in the direction I wanted, so it's gone. To compensate, I have another Chola oneshot out for you to read if you already didn't.
Disclaimer: I hate writing these things, but I don't want to get sued, so no. I'm not Dan Schneider and I don't own the rights to Zoey 101.
Guidance
Week Seven
Week Seven: Monday
It's the day after prom, and it was a lot of fun.
It's noon, and cloudy. Looks like it rained overnight, but I just woke up an hour ago, because we didn't get home until a little past midnight. I was a teenager not so long ago, and after parties were bound to be everywhere by the time we were leaving. After parties only mean two things – well, three – a bunch of teenagers that are just beginning to get their fill of heavy duty partying, a whole lot of underage drinking Dean Rivers to be blind to see or even consider because PCA is just that innocent of a school. Actually, the most innocent one in California.
Yeah, right.
If I had a dollar for every student who came streaming into my office, I'd be chillin' in my multimillion-dollar mansion on my own private island. Or the Hamptons.
I don't have any preference.
Thirdly, and definitely not the least, but last, the select couples that will take their relationship to the next level and try to recreate the famous Jack/Rose scene. A car may be optional, but will there be a hand that slides down a foggy, steamy car window while deep in the throes of passion?
I don't want to know. Sex is a choice, but once you take a whack you never go back.
With that said: USE PROTECTION, CHILDREN!
I'm still sort of sleepy, but I had to wake up because I was hungry. Well, Erin was in a way, I think. I don't know if that's the proper wording for that, but yeah… I couldn't get back to sleep. Sometimes, I feel possessed in a way. I really don't know control over my body. My head says, "Go back to sleep" but my hormones and stomach practically screamed, "Feed me!"
For my morning entertainment, I'm about to watch what I missed. Whoever got my telepathic messages about prom DVDs, thank you. You rock. And every other awesome adjective out there. You are the shit, in summary.
Today is the one of those lazy Sundays where Gary insisted on not going to the office today. Can you believe it? They're actually open on Sundays. It's an engineering company and they basically make sure the city's "power grid" – whatever the hell that means – doesn't go berserk and we're all plunged into darkness. I'm half-asleep but I'm getting hungrier when I smelled Gary's blueberry pancakes. Clearly, he didn't inherit the bad culinary gene.
He woke up before I did, and when he saw me, he got all concerned like something had actually happened. Before I could stop him, he was in the kitchen with his "special" apron (I'll explain why it's so special at a later time) on and he was halfway done mixing the batter. I want to lick the batter off the spoon, but yeah. My mood is very sluggish and lethargic (Ooh, big word of the day). The DVD menu came up, and a laugh came out of me. I don't randomly laugh. Maybe I randomly curse at the retard who drives like they're doing it with their feet.
I don't have road rage, okay?
Road rage is foreign to me. But using a string of dirty words that indicate said jackass needs to be off the road, so he or she doesn't kill anybody. Yes, I do that every day to get my point across, but apparently people are deaf when you're nice and polite. So, no. I don't exhibit sings of road rage.
And you know by spending these weeks with me that my thoughts are like a paradox. Random in ways that'll make you scratch your head and go, "WTF?!" but I do have a relevant tangent and get to it.
98 percent of the time. Not sure about the other 2 percent.
But this time, I was laughing because Gary was especially silly this morning. He held out a wooden tray by its handles like it was something grand to me. Well, the breakfast was pretty nice and I wanted to eat it.
"A couple of my famous blueberry pancakes and orange juice fit for a queen. Well, my queen anyway."
"Thank you," I told him when I set the juice down and went for the pancakes. And with whipped cream on top? Aw, you spoil me. I think Gary would love it if I stayed in this pregnant body forever. Well, too bad because once I give birth, I'm hitting the gym and getting all toned out again. On days I can't go to the gym, I'll buy my own Dance Dance Revolution and play for three hours. I heard that burns a lot of calories, and fat real quick. So, that's my workout plan.
Cutting through my first piece of pancake, I came to the conclusion that these were amazing. I'd eaten them better, and maybe it's because hormones affect taste buds, but these were pretty freaking amazing pancakes. I find that even sitting with my husband and holding deep conversations about the simplest things of things become deep and intimate.
Just last week, we were talking about clouds while we took a walk to the park and watched them.
I swallowed and looked at him quizzically, "You're not going to eat anything?"
"You'd be surprised how black coffee gives you the illusion of fullness."
Yeah, nice try.
I'm the funny one, remember? I make funny and serious work at the same time. But you're going to eat something edible instead of beans and hot water – that's all coffee is. I would know that because I'm a semi-recovering addict. Caffeine is bad when you're pregnant. I'm still going through withdrawal slowly, because I've been drinking it since I was seventeen. It got worse in college.
But he's so gonna to eat after we finished watching the "missing scenes" I just happened to…you know…miss.
"Gary, I don't want your stomach getting angry with you, and then revolting by giving you an ulcer because you won't fill it. They hurt, you know. As a queen of this "castle", I order you to feast to your heart's content after the prom movie is over."
"For you," he said, and kissed me. I finished the pancakes and got my glass of juice. Just how I like it. No seeds. No pulp. I took another sip of juice, and hit play on the remote.
Best five dollars I ever spent.
And Jeremiah Trottman's covering this. A little birdie told me that Martha was going with him, because her older brother, Nathan scared him into going. He didn't want his baby sister to go to prom alone. Well, Nathan's 200 pounds, and six feet-four inches.
Compare that to Jeremiah Trottman and you'll see my point.
Okay, there's Coco in a sort of cute dress. I like that she wore her hair up though.
Could my eyes be deceiving me? It's Coco without any pie, cookie dough or ravioli. They look happy now, but what about tomorrow?
"If she comes to me with another relationship problem, I'm boycotting."
My husband raised his eyebrows at me, "You're boycotting your job?"
No. Of course not.
"No, I'm boycotting the relationship. I don't think I can help them, anymore. The man is an ex-con crying out loud," I explained, and thought about it. Carl was on probation but it makes me get a migraine just trying to figure it out, so instead of causing myself pain that isn't worth it, I just leave the mess, that is Coco and Carl, alone.
Oh, never mind. It was too good to be true.
They're on the other side of the dance floor, dancing, and sharing cookie dough. But if they're happy, then let's pan over into something else.
…
…
…
BOOYAH!
The camera person is awesome at capturing money shots.
This is EXACTLY what I wanted to see.
A slow song is being sung by Backflesh while Logan and Stacey are dancing. Logan's silently saying, "Please kill me. Please, just kill right now." I know this because I think the exact same thing when I'm trapped in my grandmother house overnight. I swear, I saw a cauldron in her basement one day.
I know I did. And I wouldn't be surprised if the broom could fly either.
Stacy looked like she'd won a million cotton swabs and she's grinning from ear-to-ear. I can't help but laugh.
"I'm assuming the guy is Logan?"
"Yep, the one that comes to me every Friday. But the girl is definitely not his girlfriend."
Actually, I handed it to Gary, and he put it beside the tray. I shifted my position a little, and it seemed natural for Gary to rest his hand on my belly. He smiled, feeling Erin kick against his hand because I felt her kick from the inside. He stroked my stomach and it felt really good.
"You smell so good. Like cinnamon sticks," Stacy said, lifting her head from Logan's shoulder…which leads me to one question: Was she sniffing him? And why?
Okay, that was two.
Logan's not going to be nice.
No, he won't.
"Uh, thanks?"
Stacy pulled away, and then I knew that Logan couldn't be nice, and level-headed anymore. He couldn't keep that calm façade anymore. Anger Management, much?
"Now, let's see if your lips taste like cinnamon sticks."
Before I could blink, Stacy tried to…KISS LOGAN? That would be like lip-rape. My jaw dropped. I'm sure Quinn would put a laser to her ass, and then look away innocently like nothing happened.
"Oh, crap. He's not going to be anymore," I sighed, and it felt like a slight horror movie. Almost like a train wreck. I kid you not. I had to peek through my fingers for about thirty seconds. And then I felt bad for Stacy. She came on way too strong, but in Logan's defence, he hates having his space invaded. Very territorial.
I've seen territorial animals, and usually to mark their territory, they pee on everything they claim so it makes me wonder if Logan – NO! I just caught up to my thought processes.
BACKSPACE! DELETE! Virtual eraser! Stupid thoughts running away again.
Okay, back to the movie.
Logan pushed her away, wiping his lips vigorously, "I don't want to kiss you!"
Gary looked genuinely shocked at what he was watching, "Wow, you have your work cut out for you."
"Told you. Soap opera."
And Stacy looked wondrously oblivious. At least, she got the memo that you're not supposed to kiss someone with dry lips. It's like sucking on sandpaper. It's gross and it probably hurts too. So Stacy, I give you props for that little bit of knowledge. Moist lips are ideal. End of story.
I almost had to slap myself because I couldn't even begin to process everything.
I seriously thought I had gone deaf, but it actually felt like it had gone up a few decibels.
"Because I love Quinn!"
Nope. That's what I thought he said.
Stacy looked like Logan had really wounded her, and the music abruptly stopped. I think if I were standing right there, the sound of me doing a palm to forehead motion would be echoed. I probably would have attempted to bail him out, but wouldn't be able to.
Admission of love to the entire grade and blowing the whole secret relationship thing?
Yep, the Bail Out Boat has sailed.
I know they love each other. It's not word of mouth. I actually see it, as cliché and corny as that sounds, it's true. I just hope to God they're not scrutinized for this. But Stacy looked like she could burst into tears any minute. I think she did have genuine feelings for Logan. But that's just it…he's Logan and he won't return them.
It's sad and I feel really bad for her.
Stacy deserves a FREAKING HAPPY ENDING!
I will now take a deep, calming breath because I know she got one with Mark last yesterday. Irony at its best.
"What?"
"You love Quinn?"
No shit, Brad. Brad Taylor. Basketball team member.
He just clearly declared his love for the girl across the room. Logan looked stunned at his own actions, and I think he realized he was in too deep to dig himself out. He didn't listen to my warning to lay off the impulsiveness, but it worked out in his favour. I know he did, because he dodges more bullets than a normal person should. For once, I'm glad he didn't listen and threw everything I said out the window. I think the camera person looked jarred but the way he panned over to Quinn in her quite stunning blue dress in zero to three seconds flat. She stood looking a cross between embarrassed and quite sheepish.
"That's Quinn, right?" Gary questioned.
I nodded, sniffling slightly. I told you I cry over everything, "Yeah, that's the girl he's in love with."
"I could tell," Gary replied, a smile tugging at his lips, and shrugged. "It's a guy thing when he finds the girl of his heart. I'm just glad I crashed into mine."
"Were you just born spouting modern-day Shakespeare?"
"If you like it, then yes. I was."
Ah, you big romantic, you.
Okay, back to the movie. PAN BACK, PLEASE!
Thank you, camera dude.
"Yeah…that's right. I LOVE QUINN PENSKY!"
"AND I LOVE LOGAN REESE!"
They had these big smiles of relief as if they were saying, "Yeah. We're dating. We did it."
Oh, hush, Dustin. You have Sienna.
Then like any classic fairytale ending, they ran to each other. For some odd reason, I always imagined they'd be running through a meadow of flowers in slow motion. Nevertheless, they met halfway with a kiss.
You don't even understand what I'm feeling right now.
Tears are streaming down my face, and I'm grinning like an idiot.
Gary laughed quietly, using his thumbs to wipe the tears away.
"Oh, Laura."
You don't even understand. I'm crying tears of joy right now. To actually give you a taste how I feel, it's watching caterpillars go through the transition of breaking free and being two butterflies. Logan would probably be the one butterfly who wouldn't want to fly all the way to Mexico when winter came around. He wouldn't want his wings to get all tired and droopy.
Quinn would find a way to make him.
Quinn (exasperated eye roll): Logan, stop being a caterpillar. I love you, regardless of how your wings may look like.
Logan: Say it. My wings are hot. Well…(smirks) next to yours.
Quinn (sigh): Your wings are quite attractive and I'm not letting you freeze to death.
Logan: You love me too much.
Quinn: Does Newton have three laws of motion? (Logan looks confused, before she clarifies for him with a soft smile) Yes. I love you.
END SCENE/FUNNY THOUGHT.
Okay, that was weird.
It wasn't The Notebook, but it was just as good.
It's a sunny Monday morning, and I'm trying to organize my jungle of an office, as previously mentioned. The PCA campus has changed a lot in the span of one weekend. There are so much paper splayed across my desk and I can't even begin to tell you what papers go where. The only organized thing I'd say is probably is the computer because well, it's a machine and it organizes itself.
I'm surprised I don't have a paper cut yet with the way I'm going through papers. It feels like I'm drowning in thinly, very thinly cut trees. If you were standing from the outside, you would have seen various papers flying around like confetti. It doesn't feel like I'm drowning anymore. Now, I'm actually drowning.
I want to do the following:
A) Scream.
B) Laugh at the picture of Julie drinking her lemonade (plus back wash, let's not forget) as it loops over and over in my head.
C) Sleep.
D) All of the above.
And then my seemingly bad day just got worse. Wanna know what made it bad in the first place?
I woke feeling like Erin somehow shifted and she decided to plant her feet on my back somewhere, so the throbbing was now reduced to a gentle buzz. I actually came in late to work because of it. It felt like I was in labour already, but Karen told me it was it was normal. And it would pass in about an hour. Luckily, the PhD is worth something because she was right.
Since when is dangling something like childbirth in our faces normal? It's not. Nature is a fucking bitch like that. I'm in sailor mode. Leave me alone!
But it's cruel though. False hope isn't funny. Ron spraining his finger when he slams it in the car door is funny. He's crying, but in a sick, twisted way, it amuses me. I was fourteen and the remains of my deranged self came and stuck with me up until right now.
Or it could be that I age down, instead of up. But I'm royally mad, and trying to breathe as evenly as possible. Pregnancy really limits me.
Traffic was complete and utter shit. I'm not sugar coating it. Damn rush hour.
And then I was peeved, and I figured green tea would calm me down. I mean, it tastes pretty great. It's healthy and there are antioxidants.
Yeah, none of that either!
So, I'm not happy! And my desk looked like a tornado blew through it…more than once!
Those are the factors that made my Monday completely sour, even though half of the kids on the campus are nursing a two day hangover. How do you continue to be hung-over for two days? Usually, there's the initial buzz of being wasted. Everything is easier to tolerate, and everything is funnier. No matter what the situation is, you will laugh. And it doesn't matter who it is, the most irritating is your best bud until you realize the creep you're dancing with tries to get in your pants.
But yeah, being drunk may feel this. Okay, what the hell… it does feel nice, until you're puking your guts out the next morning. And you feel like lead.
Just don't drink any cold water when you're hung-over.
It makes that drunken feeling come on again, and you're not buzzed so you'll feel like complete and utter shit. I'm not in the sugar coding mode this morning.
"Okay, what happened here?"
Looking up, I sighed in frustration. I'm just frustrated because I want to get organized. I always knew I had disorganized tendencies, but this is just ridiculous.
"Chase, I think I made my office angry."
He chuckled, and walked in, sipping coffee. I love him but I envy him.
His eyes surveyed the office and he grinned, "I can see that. It must be furious with you."
But I kind of don't, but he looked wrecked. Prom was on Saturday, so why was it that two days later, he looked like he was still tired and hung over. There were bags under his eyes, you can't see that up close but you know they're still there.
"Why do you look like the undead?"
"Well, you know, it was my first night back at PCA, and you know…" he trailed off, looking sheepish before he let out a quiet sigh and rubbed his green eyes.
"You did some alcohol taste testing, didn't you?"
"You can say that. Smirnoff and Bacardi is a deadly mix," Chase said, looking thoughtful, and threw took his final sip of coffee, throwing the now empty cup in my trashcan. At least that wasn't spewing everywhere. That would have been unpleasant gross – grosser than my high math teacher's mole, and trust me, when I say it's way up there on the gross scale.
The first time, Stan saw it, and he went a little green while stuttering, "2x + 8y."
I just ran away and puked because it was just that hideous. No lie.
Aside from Mrs. Alder's mole with the long hairs sticking out of it, my desk looks like it's in possession and sadly; I can't exorcise it because I made it messy in the first place.
Yep.
Shame on me.
Stupid desk: a number too high to count.
Laura: a number too disappointingly low.
"Yeah, I could, but you just got wasted at the after party, didn't you?"
"If you don't tell my parents, then I'll just tell you right now that yes, I got drunk. The real nice haze, the incoherent speech and the puking that seems contagious yesterday," he explained, getting a look of remembrance and slight disgust. "To kill the boredom, and face the fact that we couldn't move besides racing each other to see who could get to the bathroom first, we actually made it a game to see who could go the longest without hurling."
Only boys would make up a game like that. I mean, why can't you play fifty-two pick up or go fish?
Oh, wait. That would require them to, you know, move. But still.
"Okay, one," I made a face that showed disgust, but I laughed a little. "Ew. And two…" Damn, curiosity of mine. I swear, if I was, I'd be dead. But then it's the whole nine lives thing, so I'd be alive and scratching, and possibly purring if I really dug you. But mostly scratching. "Who cracked first?"
"Logan, and then Michael like mere seconds after."
Obviously.
Logan may be in shape, but his stomach is weak. And Michael…well…sometimes his brain doesn't live in harmony with his body, and it does goes in twenty different directions.
"I won," Chase told me, proudly, and we did our secret handshake. Out of boredom one summer, we were thumb wrestling and came up with it. It just stuck. "Okay, I almost forgot why I came here…" he trailed off going into his back pocket, and handed me a sheet of paper folded into fourths. You know, I'm so stupid. Why didn't I think of this before? I should just take a flame thrower to all of these papers. It's fun…and dangerous, but nonetheless fun, and my desk would be miraculously clean. Chase spoke again, putting my flamethrower dreams on hold.
Don't worry I'll get to them. I would love my own flame thrower. I'm not a pyromaniac.
Well, I wasn't now. But when I was younger, I played with firecrackers, lighters, and lit things (nothing big, just a couple of Barbies because I have deep-seeded resentment for the girls like her
I had to put up with in high school – not healthy but what the hell) on fire because the burning and the way the flames bended burned everything. It just tripped me out.
And was one of the few things that could hold my attention for a really long time.
There's a family rumour going around that I lit my grandmother's car (yep, psycho granny's the one. My dad's mother on the other hand was a saint) on fire because she woke up and one side of her…Evil Mobile was burnt. She swears she saw me do it, but I was asleep.
Told you she hates me.
Oh, well. She's senile. And dead in the cold, deep ground. Let's not forget that.
And she's senile.
Taking the paper from him, I opened it and scanned it quickly, before looking up at him, "Okay, so this is from the housing office saying that you've moved back into your old dorm because well…James transferred out."
Truthfully, Debra (you all know her as Mrs. Burvich) isn't that creepy when you get to know her, but the monotone frown look works for her.
She smiled one day and I flinched involuntarily. I kid you not. It reminded me vaguely of a facial tick, and I know I'm going to hell for thinking that, but I guess I get points for honesty, therefore it cancels out.
But on the subject of James…
I hope he comes back. I'm really praying he comes back.
"Yeah," Chase answered, looking suddenly awkward. He shrugged absentmindedly. "You probably won't tell me but just out of curiosity and slight pestering, do you know why he might've transferred out of PCA?"
"I'm not telling you that," I said, shortly, and opened my drawer searching for a pen before I found my purple one. And then I wanted to know why Chase wanted to know. I wasn't going to betray James' confidence because there's so trust I carry in this school, but I wanted to know what was going through that bushy head of his. My eyebrow rose in questioning, I just asked him, "Why wouldn't you want to know something like that?"
"Because I guess in some freaky, twisted, non-logical way, I owe him. I know he cared for Zoey."
I told him to turn around, so I could sign the housing office document because things like this go through guidance, and then back to the housing office. And I used his back as something to press on.
"I feel sort of guilty, because he probably wasn't a jerk, even if it's just by word of mouth."
And I'm confused, so you'd better explain before I end up getting a brain aneurysm.
"Care to explain?"
"I can't, really, but when I do attempt to put together whatever explanation seems plausible, then you'll be the first to know," he assured me, and I nodded. Oh, wow. Everyone was right. We do look alike. Chase could easily pass for my younger brother because I just figured out I was eleven when he was born.
Yep. September 23, 1991. And Robyn was born December 18, 1992, so it works out.
"So, what are your plans for the summer? A little birdie told me you were going to be with Zoey in Maui for the entire summer," I hinted, slightly singing it, and I nudged him.
A slight blush took over his face, and playfully rolled his eyes, "Does this birdie happen to be someone I know?"
CoughthewholegroupandZoeybecauseshelovesyoucough.
So yes.
"Psh, no…" I answered, and tapped the side of my head. "Guidance counselor is the closest thing to being omnipresent, duh."
"That's a creepy thought," he replied, with a laugh, and then softened. "But if you're seven months pregnant, can't you go into labour like…any time from now?"
"Yeah, specifically in July. Your mom is basically the Commander of this whole thing."
Somewhere between the July 3 and July 11.
I did the estimate on the internet because it's just resourceful like that – but yeah, I'm pretty sure it's somewhere around there.
"I'll be there," he promised, with a nod. "Zoey and I talked it over, and we're going to working together. I get to swim around and make sure people don't die in the pool. She'll fly out with me to be here when you go into labour. I've already missed four months, and I'm sure the boss will be lenient enough. I want to be there when Erin's born."
A smile played up on my lips, "And how would you know where to find me?"
"Easy," he shrugged, nonchalantly. "Follow the direction of the scared nurses and the sound of you screaming a bunch of stuff you'll probably kick yourself for later."
You know, I'll probably be doing that.
But in my own defense, I can't be blamed for that. For crying out, I'm the one blowing up. I'm the one who going to be pushing a baby – another person, mind you – out of me.
I think I'll be allowed to get a little psychotic.
You know what? I take that back.
I am allowed to be psychotic when I deliver. So, ha!
"That's probably true. Now, I'm hungry, and still mad that I can't have any green tea…"
Everything looks messy, yet I can find everything usually. Now, I lose out because not only is the surface and insides of my desk looking hideous – like I do when I only get two hours of sleep. I feel gross on the inside and on the outside, and I feel like snapping people's necks. But I can't do that. I'll get to jail sentenced with manslaughter or something like that – I don't really follow law – and orange isn't my colour.
I did, however, put it out there that Eleanor's 'motivation' policy was a load of shit, and she should hop on her brontosaurus or go play some bingo because nobody cares.
Sure, I got kudos, but Dean Rivers sent me home early. I was just that irritable.
Well, hello! I'm gross. I'm newly pregnant and blowing chunks every morning. Afternoon, and sometimes in the evening too.
WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?!
They would probably want me to run through a wide meadow of flowers that are the product of my overactive imagination.
"Wow, and I thought I was bad," my nephew muttered. "Well, you have a paper shredder, don't you?"
Wait. Wait. Wait a minute! I can shred the stuff I don't want and use it for makeshift confetti because I'm cheap like that. Who the hell actually goes and buys confetti? I'll tell you.
People with extra money to burn and low productivity.
I'm going to have fun with this. I fired up the paper shredder and the paper went through. I had to do it, sitting because my ankles seriously felt swollen. Erin kicked again, and I smiled, knowing that she was around and literally kicking.
"And that is why you're my favourite bushy-haired nephew."
"I'm your only bushy-haired nephew," he clarified joking. That's how we are. Chase and I have a relationship that almost never serious. We laughed a lot, but when things got serious, then I would flip into Aunt Laura mode like that. I'd snap my fingers for emphasis. "I'm gonna go ask for my job back, and then go compensate for a sushi date gone bad. No computers, annoying roommate, inevitable internal murder case, and no annoying tech support guy," he rattled off by counting on his fingers.
I'm shredding.
And shredding.
I must have the shortest span, but I looked up long enough to realize that Chase was talking to me. But God, this is fun. I mean, it's not as fun as the flamethrower, but you know me. I'm a go with the flow girl.
"I'll leave you to shred away, since you have this excitement in your eyes," he said, with another laugh escaping him.
I swear, I'm not crazy. This is actually fun and completely cancels out the crappy morning.
Oh, don't look at me like that. You know if you were in my position, you wouldn't think I wasn't so weird and out there. What am I saying?
Show of hands? Who thinks I'm quite zany and eccentric, with random tendencies?
…
…
Okay, then. Case closed.
"Okay, awesome," I acknowledged. This shredding will take a while. "We'll talk okay?"
"I don't have a choice, but I'm happy to," he answered, looking at his watch, and pulled the knob of my office door, so the door opened. He sighed, dramatically. "Time to go grovel."
Then grovel away.
He left, and I went back to shredding.
I should sing while I shred.
--
Week Seven: Tuesday
It's our last ensemble performance as a crew before we go off to college.
Leah, Stan and I move to California. Leah and I are roomies, but Stan goes off to Stanford, while we're at UCLA.
Thomas and Anna are moving to New York together, because they both have similar dreams. He's always spouting off stuff about becoming an artist, and she wants to own a gallery one day. But we're waiting backstage waiting for our cue, and maybe, just maybe, we can win instead of just being in second place. It's hard to leave anything you love behind, but when you've been dancing together for six years, it just sucks. Dancing is what we do; we eat it, we live it, and we practically breathe it. Thinking about that, I feel like crying, but I have to be strong and lead. I don't think of myself as a leader, but everyone else does.
Bella's moving to Florida, because she got into college there.
"Okay, so we gotta go out there, and just rip it."
"Even though we'll probably come in second again?" Bella's soft voice questioned, her dark brown eyes flickering in my direction. She was a shy girl, who was sort of a loner when she joined, but dancing brings people together, and she's the most athletic girl we've got. It's like she completely switches on a different persona when she's on stage with us.
I'm flexible. And I think of myself a bit of a contortionist.
And Leah's the theatrical dancer, but she pop and locks too.
"It sucks, okay?" Leah spoke up, taking charge. I could see the tears shining in her eyes but she's not the type of person to show feelings. Yeah, one of things is crying. "But this is our last performance, so let's make it work. Then we're going for pizza because I wanna eat afterwards."
"Isn't that a surprise?" Stan quipped, rolling his eyes. "You always wanna eat! That'll never change."
"And you still sleep with your Mr. Moo-Moo, so shut up!"
"Laura!" Stan cried, looking like I had betrayed him. "You told her about Mr. Moo-Moo?!"
It's our last performance together before we all go off to college and get jobs…careers, whatever. And I can't have them fighting over whether or not I told Leah about his beloved stuffed cow.
The fact he's eighteen doesn't matter.
Okay, it does. But now isn't the time.
Luckily, Anna jumped in before I could say anything as Thomas' arm was around her. Oh, yeah. They're a couple.
"Hey!" she cut in, loudly. Anna was a girl that was happy-go-lucky girl, and moved from Hawaii to Boston. She always has some kind of flowered clip in her dark hair. Might been a Hawaiian thing, but I dig Hawaiians so it's a win-win. Thomas was a pale, tall and guy. He looked about six-two and like he would crush me with a stomp of his foot, but he's a sweetie.
Leah, Bella, and I love him. Not the Anna does, but yeah, we love him.
"Can you get along?" Stan and Leah shot her a glance. It's been six years. It's typical for them to argue. I've dealt with that for seven years. Anna caught their looks, and sighed dramatically. "Okay, fake it and then kill each other later."
"Just wipe the blood splatter," I added.
"I was just going to suggest that, but not in morbid terms," Thomas spoke, his dark eyebrows drawing together in slight amusement and confusion, and he laughed, his arm lazily around Anna's petite frame.
"Next we have Boston's own Fatality, dancing to a master mix of Queen's classic, We Are The Champions! Make some noise for your hometown heroes!"
"Yes, saved by the cue," Bella added, while Leah and Stan glared at each other before we left the backstage area to dance one final time.
And let me tell you, it was better than any high out there.
The music telling us what to do, and how to move.
The heavy hip-hop back beats blended with Freddie Mercury's voice, and remembering the choreography was a distant memory. The six of us just moved in sync and danced for the love of dance.
I was going to miss that.
We won that competition.
It was a cloudy Tuesday morning, and the school year was winding down.
At thirty weeks (can you believe it? I'm due in exactly two months…mindboggling stuff), I showed no signs of slowing down, but still Dean Rivers came in to talk about what was going to happen for next year, and things were going to be run.
I'll agree to anything, but I don't want to be gone for more than four months, because I want to get the dance class started as soon as possible for next year.
"Okay, so what do you plan on doing from now onward?" Dean Rivers questioned me.
"Well, I'm due in July, I know that," I answered. I am so stupid. I haven't planned anything with Gary yet. If he was going to stay off work longer than me, or if it was going to be the way around. He's half responsible for this baby and I didn't even plan anything with him! Dean Rivers nodded. "But honestly, I don't know what's going to happen from then on. I do want to discuss this with my husband, so he can work something out regarding his job too."
"Laura – "
I cut him off, remembering something, "I would request that I don't be gone for more than three months. I do want to start the dance class as soon as possible, while being the guidance counselor at the same time. Will I still get paid while on maternity leave?"
I'd better.
"Yes. You'll still get paid. But we allowed Elizabeth to stay on maternity leave for roughly a year."
That's Mrs. Donovan, history teacher.
"Are you sure?"
I'm perfectly healthy with functional limbs, a cardio system, my respiratory system knows what to do, and my reproductive system is busy. It has been for the past seven or so months. But let me get one thing straight okay, Dean Rivers?
I'm pregnant. Not dead. Even after death, I don't know if life is final then. It could go on.
Maybe.
"I insist," I told him, with a smile of assurance. I'd be way too bored being at home for a year. Sure, I'll love spending time and just bonding with my daughter, but I'll seriously miss PCA to the point to where it'll probably drive me crazy. I think I'm addicted. I'm not sure. I was adamant. "I'll be back in three months."
So, from July to late-October, I'm off work.
Dean Rivers sighed, and put out his hand for me to shake, and I took it. Wow, he needs a touch of lotion, and I wouldn't recommend he rub those hands together because it might start a fire. Just to be polite, I'll take the ashy hand, smile brightly and shake back.
I don't want to be fired for criticizing a man, who can't use lotion, but if that were to happen –
(God forbid)
Even though, I was to lose my job, I'd kind of like the whole "If Laura goes, we all go," rebellion. I know, I know, I'm getting a big head.
"You have a deal."
"Okay."
Can I have my soft, lotioned hand back? Thank you.
I craned my neck far enough to see Quinn, standing there waiting for me to be finished with Dean Rivers. And thankfully, I was, because Quinn looked really sad. You'd think that there would be relief because usually when a secret is held in, and it drives someone mad, then that's bad. And for someone in their situation, I thought it would be like total cruising but it was, judging by the slight frown on her features.
"Laura, we'll talk," Dean Rivers said, as he walked out of my office. He met Quinn on his way out. "Quinn."
"Dean Rivers," she replied, curtly with a small smile before he left completely, and she let her smile fade and sat in the chair, facing my desk.
"Quinn, what's wrong?"
"I'm fine," she told me, and let out a sigh. "It's the boyfriend of mine that has suddenly gone all mute, like he's in a state of shock. I feel really sad right now. I even initiated the whole make out deal, and he didn't take it!" Quinn corrected herself, when she saw my confusion and clarified it for me. "I mean, I like kissing Logan and just being with him, so it's not forced or anything. Even simplistic conversations between us are significant."
Yeah, Logan would jump at a chance to do that.
"Well, you came to the conclusion that he was sad because you just know him that well?" I prodded, and then I mentally kicked myself.
Quinn has many ways to find out what she wants. And some of them are probably prohibited by law for discussion.
You're asking how I know something like this, right?
Because she told me herself. That's why. She's crossed federal law for crying out loud.
"That, and – " Oh, dear. Why do I pry at these things? Oh yeah, it's my job. She started explaining it to me. " – my latest Quinnvention, mood pops. They're like mood rings, but in lollipop form. Though actual lollipops are sweetened and they basically erode the enamel and make the teeth sensitive, these don't. There's no sugar, and no guilt. The lollipop changes colour too."
And before I could basically yell at myself, for questioning it, I did.
Quinn, I love you, really, but not only are some of the inventions dangerous…but they also trip me out.
I don't want to question it, and what do I do?
I question it. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
"How?"
She waved a hand, dismissively, "Oh, that's easy. The fructose compound reacts with the temperature of your taste buds, and secreted hormones like serotonin and the endorphins."
If anyone happens to write a Quinn Pensky-dictionary one day, I will worship the ground that person walks on. There was silence for about thirty seconds, and then I smiled, nodding like I understood what she had just said.
"Ohh, right. I get it."
Quinn's smart. Smart enough to see that she had just said was like a third world language. Like a futuristic version of Webster.
She stared at me deadpanned, and a small smile started to grow on her face, "You didn't get it."
No use in winging it now. It's like dancing. You know the choreography or you don't.
"Nope, but I'm curious to know what colour Logan's mood lollipop changed to."
"Blue," she answered, going all sad again. "It means his endorphins are at a low point, and he's not happy at all. You know what the troubling thing is, Laura? I think he was crying. I'm frustrated because I want to help. I want to help him, but it's like he's pushing me away. It's not intentional but I've done everything I could."
Logan's not a crying guy. He's just not, but I know he's human and prone to feelings like that.
Logan Reese Fact of the Day: He may not look like it, but he does really takes family to heart.
"I've never skipped school before but I think I will. He needs it, and I really don't want Logan to be alone," she resolved, letting a deep sigh. "I care about him deeply."
Trust me. He cares about you a lot as well.
"Quinn, you and I know Logan's a…" I wanted to say stubborn and resilient personality, but I had to choose my words carefully. I don't know exactly why, though. "…dominant personality, but you have to give him time to process what happened, because obviously did. He loves you, and when he's ready, he'll confide in you. I can guarantee you that."
Quinn smiled, and her eyes lit up. There was a tinge of pink in her cheeks, "I know that. I know that now. Prom was amazing."
Yes. Yes, it was. Michael pretty much danced to anything, and hung out on the floor the entire night.
And then there was the unfortunate…quite nasty incident with the tray of ravioli when Coco ate it, and then…threw it all up, just before prom was over. She wasn't even hung over or wasted to begin with.
Or as Quinn would say, " – produced a really gross upchuck of week old ravioli and pie."
It was still gross, and totally something Coco-esque.
Quinn stood up, putting her backpack over her shoulder, "Yeah, it was. Well, I'm going to check on my helium oxide mixture and make it sure it's okay, before I swing over to Logan's dorm again. See you later, Laura."
"Goodbye, Quinn," I replied, and she left, closing my door behind her. I let out a sigh, running a hand through my hair.
I was genuinely concerned about Logan, but I was sure I'd find out about it on Friday. I learned two things today: it was going to be a long Tuesday, and…I was craving serious nachos.
Yep, I'm feeling like nachos.
--
Week Seven: Wednesday
I actually made up my mind I was going to tell Gary about how I basically contaminated Julie's lemonade with my own spit at dinner.
Oh, come on. It was a riot. And clearly, the five-year-old inner child in me was happy. No time out chair when you're twenty-eight. Take that, Mrs. Rosenthal!
God bless your heart, and no hard feelings about making me share my animal crackers with Adam the nose picker, but still, I schooled you even though it's been over twenty years.
"Hey, remember dinner on Saturday?" I brought up, casually, making my husband look up from his paper work. He smiled, slightly amused, and answered with a snort.
"In which you and my sister might have thrown it down, if you weren't pregnant?" he replied. He shuffled more papers, spinning the pen casually between his fingers. "Oh, yeah. I definitely won't forget that, so what's up? Are you okay?"
"Yes."
He stared at me fully looking up from what he was doing, "Is Erin okay?"
We already talk about her like she's real. He kisses her goodnight and every cute. Gary's lips on my belly makes me laugh, because I'm so ticklish it's just ridiculous.
"Yes, she's fine, and being oddly mellow today. But she's thumping me every so often."
"So, why the sudden bring up of dinner?"
Okay, I'm just going to come right out, and say it. I'm probably going to get a cross of that gaping fish look, and the look where it feels like your heart somersaulted in your chest. He asked the question with amusement when he went back to shuffling more paper work. Most likely something to do with bills and work. A lovely cross of both.
See, I'm smart. I shredded what I didn't want and kept what I did.
Then I felt kind of bad, because of all of the trees I might have murdered. I guess, environmentally, PETA and WWF (not the wrestling kind!) must think I'm a terrible and awful person.
But I'm awesome for doing what I did.
But it was wrong, my conscience says. I really thought I locked it away a looong time ago.
She totally deserved it. She called me fat.
But it was wrong.
Yeah, it was totally karma or kismet…or whatever that philosophy is because I'm pretty sure it's the same thing.
IT'S WRONG!
Shut up, CONSCIENCE!
For future reference, I told you so, my conscience huffs and somewhat fades away.
Go to hell. It's nice and warm down there. Stupid voice in my head.
It makes me jealous of Pinocchio sometimes. At least his conscience is a cricket. If Jiminy Cricket gets too annoying, the puppet can just crush it with his long nose. The little liar…
Yes, I'm clearly losing what sanity is if I'm arguing with myself. I sighed, "Okay, I'm just going to come right out and tell you that while everyone left the table, I backwashed Julie's lemonade and watched drink all of it when you guys came back."
I don't even know how long Gary gaped at me, but he finally found the ability to talk again.
"Why?"
I shrugged, and kissed his cheek, "Because it was the right thing to do."
It was either that or go to jail. I'm claustrophobic and I think I'd end up getting into a cell fight because I hate having my space invaded, so solitary confinement? Yeah. Don't think so.
Stripes are just terrible, and the orange jumpsuits don't make things better.
He rubbed a hand over his eyes, which looked at me with question. He cringed because I think he was imagining it. But a long held breath left him, "Okay, we're not telling her that…as long as you're sorry and – " Gary stopped, catching my deadpanned stare. Are you serious? Julie and sorry don't coincide with each other.
Hell, I would have even put gum in her hair, or red biting ants in her pants.
I saw two problems with those plans, though.
One: I wasn't chewing any, and I was jealous of her hair. It would be a crime to mess that hair even though it was on an undeserving head.
Two: Yeah, uhm, I don't know where I'm going to get ants that bite besides Quinn. And I'm sure she'll give me a poison tarantula instead. I don't like her, but I definitely don't want Julie dead. That's cold – even for my standards. And she wasn't wearing pants anyway.
My husband snapped his fingers with recognition, "Oh. Right. The rivalry. But you are sorry, right?"
"Honey, you don't know me at all, do you?"
"Okay, I'll take that as a no, but we're not telling her you did that."
"Oh, trust me," I agreed, wholeheartedly. "I'm way ahead of you there."
I had nothing better to do on one of those lazy, quiet Wednesdays than to check my e-mail.
Honestly, the school seemed to be at a recession, where everything was just mellow, teachers included. It was a blah day. And the sky was just a dull blue, no clouds that I could actually stare at and make into stuff I liked.
But it wasn't so bad. I'm sitting here, eating noodles and honey garlic chicken with a pair of chopsticks. Oh, yeah. Leah was right. Food just makes everything better, and I was a happy Laura. With the power of multitasking –
Oh, yeah. I've mastered that.
Awesomeness to the trillionth power, baby!
I was checking my e-mail, and I realized that there were new e-mails that seemed to have piled up overnight.
First one. My sister-in-law, Karen.
Chase's mom, just in case you were lost.
Hey Laura,
I've got to go really quick. Apparently, parents don't understand the whole importance of NOT buying toys with small parts. So, I've got to deal with a kid who swallowed one of the parts.
And then I have a 2:00pm colonoscopy to administer. Lovely.
I've seen commercials involving old people. It's a stereotypical thing, but I've seen it.
And actually I feel worse for the skinny camera that has to endure staying and looking at the warm recesses of someone's ass.
I shudder, seriously.
But there's a reason I e-mailed you.
I got the pictures of the sonogram you requested. I'll bring them over tonight for your baby book. I know how excited you are. I was until my children morphed into dreaded teenagers and didn't need Mommy anymore.
Um, are you trying to depress me here? Because it's not working. See, I'm a cool person, therefore, I'll be a cool, easy going, but firm mom. It's all gonna work out.
All in the long term. I think I have a good fifteen years before I worry. I just remembered what my dad used to say to my dates when I was in high school.
"Look, kid," his gruff voice sounded, holding a threatening ring to it. "Have my daughter home by ten. I have three boys who will gladly beat you senseless if anything happens to her."
Potential date would look like he crapped his pants, and I'd sigh and roll my eyes.
"Yes, Mr. Matthews, sir. I'll have Laura home by ten."
"On the dot. Not 10:01, not 10:02, understand? I have a forty-five and a shovel if she's not home. I don't think anyone would miss you."
And the date laughs like my dad's kidding, but he's not.
There really is a hunting rifle in the shed.
I shook myself out of it, and continued to scroll down and read.
Yeah, so I'll bring those over for you.
We'll talk.
-Karen
PS. Chase is at PCA. Give him hell for me, will you? And Robyn is SO busted with the belly button piercing. Don't vouch for her.
Yikes. And that means she knew I knew about the whole thing in the first place.
Well, Robyn told me in confidence, so I can't be executed for doing my job even though it's a personal thing.
NEXT!
Email numero dos. From Leah. Surprise, surprise.
Currently, I'm eating a carton of ice-cream. I'm sad. Therefore I eat.
Um, you eat regardless of what you're feeling. When we were eleven, she high jacked my spaghetti and told me the 'Spaghetti Fairy' ate it, yet she's wearing meat sauce on her face, and her breath reeks of oregano and basil.
Yeah…and I live next door to Prince William and Kate Middleton is my BFF.
Ah, Leah's my BFF. My crazy, poorly mannered, abrasive BFF.
Laura, men are stupid, okay?
So, Robert basically asked me to marry him. I know! I'm on my way to that tan line!
YEEAHHH! And you're SO maid of honour. I can't ask anyone else. That's like a crime.
Damn, straight. Because she was my maid of honour at my wedding. I still don't understand why she thinks men are stupid. Well, I don't understand half the things Leah thinks.
We're both random and weird, but it's of a different pedigree. That's why I don't get it.
But I love her.
So, remember Sunday afternoon when we actually told Stan about Veronica cheating on him, and the asshole (yes, he IS an asshole! Don't defend him this time!) went berserk on us?
I sighed, rolling my eyes. I was still mad about that. I was mad, Leah was furious. I mean, why the hell was he getting at us? We were trying to help him, and he has the balls (or whatever Veronica left) to get mad at us because he knows we never liked Veronica.
And now, he's mad because Leah and I "conspiring" to stop him from marrying "the woman he loves".
Oh, yeah. Being with the girl that's had her tongue every other guy's throat before yours just screams, "I love you." Bullshit.
Stan's just asking for a case of cold sores, before he realizes that we were right this entire time.
There's more to Leah's e-mail and I'm reading. It's unusually long, and it's not making me laugh at all like it usually does.
Yeah, so yesterday we were arguing over this again. I gave up, because it didn't surprise me that he was such a loser. But I swear, Laura. I was SO angry. I was so mad, I just wanted to shake him senseless, and basically scream, "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?"
So I did. And it was so tense in there; I wish you had been there.
Now, I have to wear the ring, and feel guilty when I see Robert. I suck. I'm just a horrible person. I wait all this time to get engaged, and then stupid Stan comes along and it's all over. I hate him. I hate the whole situation.
It was like that Christmas party, but almost this time, I didn't gargle with mouthwash.
I kissed Stan back.
And I liked it. I cheated on my man, and I liked it.
I almost choked on my honey garlic chicken, and noodle, and instantly guzzled down half of my water bottle. Leah…and Stan together? Kissing? It just didn't register with me, and there was one curveball I knew I couldn't dodge.
I knew their arguing lead to physical violence and other unpretty things, but…wow.
"What?" I questioned, out loud because I was just that confused. "What…oh, God."
Okay, someone has to start talking. My eyes remained wide and almost bugged out of my head. They have got some talking to do.
Laura, do your psychobabble thing when I come over tonight. I really won't mind it, okay?
I'm going to lie down because of the splitting headache, and it's not the brain freeze.
-Leah
I mean, the next e-mail was from James saying he was coming back to PCA for sure, but he just needed to know what he was going to do from there.
OH MY GOD! LEAH AND STAN KISSING?!
It's the apocalypse, and I'm in the middle of it. More fun than a barrel of monkeys, yes?
Okay, I'm skimming, and skimming.
And James has a baby sister. Congrats, kid.
I minimized the e-mail screen, and a more radiant Stacy Dillsen walked in with curly hair, and a bouquet of cotton swabs for me. I noticed her long straight hair was curly and bouncy. About time, she was more confident and losing the lisp made her that way. I noticed people were a lot nicer to me, and on top of that, Mark and Stacey were spending a lot of time together. Were they dating? Or just really close? I don't know.
I was ready to talk to her as she sat in my chair. At least I was ready for Stacy Dillsen as she told me about things I'd never know she was involved with.
And she's from Massachusetts too, so I take that as a personal thing when it comes to Stacy.
Swampscott isn't that far from Boston, just fifteen miles northeast.
So Stacy's an East Coaster like me.
I was ready for that, so I listened as she talked (sans lisp…mind you). So, I really didn't mind it as I finished the last of my lunch but wow…
But I really wasn't ready to get the bomb of Leah and Stan even though it was through an e-mail.
It left me confused and saying, "what the hell?" for the rest of the day.
The world is something like a cocktail: crazy, mixed and all shook up.
--
Week Seven: Thursday
It was nearing the end of the week.
And I couldn't sleep at all, to be truthfully honest, with you. My back throbbed, and Erin seemed to move around a lot more in the middle of the night more. At least, the four hours of sleep I got between two and six in the morning helped. It was raining when I came in, and I wasn't really in the best of moods right now. I took off my jacket hanging it up on the hook. My head pounded, and my mood soured when I found not the usual students that came up for my help, but a sheepish looking Stan.
I didn't say anything, because there was nothing of me to say. He was happy. He was going to marry her, grow old together and raise llamas in Peru when they hit retirement age. Have a nice life with the llamas. I think my mood soured, even though I didn't want to be mad at someone I'd known my entire life. But I couldn't help it. I crossed my arms, just getting into my office, and fix him with a questioning stare. What was he doing here?
"Look, I know you're pissed off and stuff, and it's not a good time, but I have a lot of stuff to get off my chest about what happened on Sunday, but can…we talk?"
Oh, yeah. Let's talk.
Let's talk about how you went from cool (Leah may dispute that) to Major Ass in three second flat.
Let's talk about how Leah was right and you happened to lose your balls along with your mind.
Let's talk about how freaking angry I am, but I love you enough to make you the godfather of my child. Oh, yeah. There's just so much to talk about that I hardly contain myself, Stan!
Leah's right.
Men are stupid. And by men, I mean Stan.
I moved aside and he stepped in, shutting the door behind him. It's times like this I thank God there's no staff meeting, and the students are half-asleep by this time, so no one here yet. It's like the whole school is just waking up.
Resting my cheek in my hand, I absentmindedly drummed an acrylic nail on the wooden desk that would be moved into my dance classroom or studio…whatever…for next year. I get to come to school in sweats, so it's all good, I guess.
"So?" I started, my voice tight, even though I wanted to be nicer about it. Snaps to him for coming to talk while I was at work. "I'm sitting right here. Talk."
Silence passed for what seemed to be an eternity and then, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things to you guys. I was way out of line, but I was just shocked that you two would spring something like this on me."
Not our fault you were blind as a bat. It's not my fault you can't think for yourself.
"Sorry for caring," I finally replied, snapping slightly. He recoiled back, slightly. "I didn't even know. It was Leah who saw you! And I never liked her anyway. We've been friends forever, and we promised to have each other's back. When we finally do that, you decide to bite our heads off. Well, good for you Stan. I'm proud of you, okay? Your future wife is someone who can't keep her legs shut!"
"I know."
" – so if you land a spot on the Maury Show to find out the paternity of your kid because 'the woman you love' decides to be the town bicycle, then it's your fault – "
"I called off the whole wedding."
I'm not done. Shut up and let me rant, you big goof!
…
Wait, what?
"Huh?" I found myself asking, my rant being abruptly cut off. I softened my tone, and his hazel eyes looked sad, and I found myself being the tiniest bit sympathetic. "You…called off the wedding?"
"Yeah," Stan replied, nodding. And he laughed bitterly. "I'm way too damn naïve for my own good. I saw it: the mysterious excuses, the way she'd come home really late, the way Veronica got all defensive when I questioned where she'd be all night. I saw it but didn't want to believe it. So when Leah came at me when the notion of Veronica cheating, I guess I just snapped. More confirmation of how stupid I was – well, am."
Stupid? Eh, sometimes. But he has to believe in his own intelligence, and he just doesn't.
"You don't need a psychologist to tell you that it's just denial," I reached over and hit his bicep as hard as I could. Because he deserved it for being a goof, and somewhat of a loser, but he's our Stan. Wouldn't be the same. Sitting down and getting comfortable, so my back didn't throb anymore, I started explaining. "I'm sorry about the wedding and everything, even if it was Veronica."
"And then I kissed Leah…oh God," he admitted, sighing. "Leah. The same girl that put mayonnaise in my shoes when we were fourteen, Laura! Why do bad things happen to me?"
Oh, trust me. Leah isn't jumping around either.
"But you liked it."
Stan narrowed his eyes at me, like I had said something wrong, "That is – "
"True?" I offered, casually. I was floored yesterday, but I think I can accept that idea. Well, almost. It'll be weird, but I think I can almost grasp the idea of my two best friends being a couple even though they themselves can't. I told you before; they're like cats and dogs, okay? You put them in a really tight box and shake it up. It's world war three up in here. "Leah's engaged. She's confused out of her mind."
"Well, I'm about to lose mine. This wasn't part of the plan," Stan sighed.
"So, what are you going to do now?" I questioned.
"Uhm, that's why I'm here," he answered, eyebrow raised. "You're the shrink."
I deadpanned, "I'm a school psychologist. Not psychic, and I'm totally not God."
I rolled my eyes, and pretty much told Stan what I told Quinn and Logan, because it's pretty much the same situation. It's like a Quogan throwback to the future, so I'm guessing that this advice will work. And they're my friends. I consider Leah the sister I never had, and Stan is like the fourth brother I had. My mom told me that I was going to end up getting a fourth brother when I was about three. They named him Bartholomew (ring a bell, anyone?) but he died hours after birth.
So, when Chase was born, Steven decided to give Bartholomew to him as his middle name.
Yep, just needed to share that with you.
"Look, I don't know what's going through your head right now, but I do know that you, and only you, have the power to control the outcome of your…uh, problem. It'll be weird for me, but I'm learning to accept it like I hope you can," I explained, with a smile. "You have control, dude. So take it." I playfully winked. "And you'd make an awesome godfather."
Stan looked me grinning now, and we both stood to hug. He went from best friend to boyfriend back to best friend, Stan's not dumb. I know that better than anyone.
And Leah. Let's not forget Leah.
Wrapping his arms around me, we hugged, "Thank you, Laura. You're awesome."
"I know."
We just hugged, and he rubbed my belly so Erin could get acquainted with her "favourite Uncle Stan".
Things were going to be okay. Everything was going to be one step at a time, but everything was going to be okay.
I knew that much.
--
Week Seven: Friday
"Laura, after death, is that it?" Logan questioned, pulling up little blades of grass. We were outside because it was too nice to be outside in that office. It was the regular after school session I had with Logan, and I think it was just implanted in his subconscious that he had to come see me, even though his second anger management was about to be over.
Some believe in re-incarnation. If I were to die and come back, I'd love to be a cat so I could chill and scratch things when I was irritated. I'd probably do something like that. Anyone who knows me will say that. The Catholic believe in purgatory, while others just don't believe in anything that has to do with the afterlife.
That after death, it's pretty much over. And I guess, one would just…disappear.
I looked over to my left, plucking a yellow dandelion from the ground. To think I used to think these were flowers, and now I grow up and they're weeds.
Pretty weeds. But yeah, still gross and a bee's dream. I hate bees. I think I'm known in the hives for bee homicide or something. I don't know, but I like to imagine it for some odd reasons.
I shrugged, stretching my legs out in front of me, and I crossed my legs at the ankle as Logan sat cross-legged in front of me. I could have guessed with the black he was wearing, but he told me himself.
He genuinely looked tired, and just out of energy, like there was nothing more he could say.
"My grandfather passed away in his sleep, Monday night. My grandmother came to wake him and he wouldn't wake up. Ethan called, and told me before he and my mother had to fly out from New York to California for the funeral…tomorrow," he started, explaining like it was the hardest thing for him to talk about. That's because it was. As I said before, Logan may have this confident stride, but he is human and prone to emotions – even ones he doesn't want to show.
"I'm sorry, Logan," I replied, sympathetic. I had to talk before I got quiet and started to cry because it had only been a year ago, but everything was just so damn fresh. So if I talk, I can't cry. Understand how this works?
"Yeah. Thanks."
"Logan, can I tell you something?"
He looked at me, lifting his eyes from the grass he seemed so occupied with, and shrugged lightly, "Sure. I guess."
"You know how I'm related to Chase, right?"
I sound like a broken record with this, but I have a point. Let me get to it. I'm freakishly talented like that.
I'm not plugging myself, shamelessly.
It's true. I think I was just given that ability. I guess, I appreciate it on some days than others. But seriously, let me get to my objective because you and I both I'll get there.
Okay? Okay. Glad we understand each other like that.
Logan nodded, and I continued, "Well, Chase's grandmother was my mother. And trust me, right now. You want to just disappear, and there are a lot of questions running through your head because everything was so expected. I never thought I'd lose my mother the way it occurred. You know I'm going to be honest with you, and tell you that there will be hard days ahead. Were you and your grandfather close?"
"Yeah, we were close. I don't listen to a lot of people, but I could listen to him, though. My brother and I looked up to him a lot, and now it's all over…" he sighed, his face getting pigments of pink as he swallowed hard and continued. He stared at me with a look in his eyes I'd never seen before. "Laura, can I tell you something?"
"Sure. You're welcome to tell me anything you want to get off your chest when you're ready."
"I've been putting on this happy, normal front for the past three days because I know Quinn was worried about me and she came to you. I'm okay with that. I don't want her to feel that way. She shouldn't worry about me; just so she could feed me those mood lollipops even they are good. I can't do that to her," he said, and then laughed bitterly. Yup, it was one of those laugh or cry situations. He ran a hand through his hair. "I feel like complete shit, Laura. I'm not strong enough. Ethan maybe. Not me. I know, it's a shock coming from me, but…yeah, I feel like total crap."
No.
No. I wasn't going to believe that. I wasn't going to believe that Logan had no inner strength because he was going through the five stages of grief.
Denial: I'm fine. They're happy and alive. This didn't happen.
Anger: How could this happen at all? Life totally gave the shortest end of the fucking stick!
Bargaining: (exasperated sigh): Okay, okay. Here's a deal. Just compromise and have life tip my way for once. Please?
Depression: Ah, fuck it. I don't care anymore.
(Side thought: I think Logan is really at the depressed part right now. I don't know if he got past bargaining, but I do know he would have gone through anger and denial in one mix, instead of them being separate.)
Acceptance: Okay. They're gone. At least, I'm prepared for that, and I can move on.
(Another side thought: This is where he needs to work towards. Acceptance. It's healthy)
"Now," my face got a challenging look, just to get his attention. Complete with raised eyebrow, baby! " – since when does Logan Reese thrown in the towel?"
"Uh, never," he answered, with a slight scoff, and rolled his eyes. "I'm grieving. Not wimpy."
Ah, the Logan Reese ego was back. All he needed was a push.
I laughed lightly, with a smile, "See? You just defended yourself when I questioned your character, meaning you are strong, Logan. Maybe not in the way that people would expect to be – the prom thing was bold, man and I saw it through the magic of DVDs – but you're strong enough to handle something like grief. "Whatever emotions you feel, show them any way you want as long as it's constructive."
I used this speech for myself while telling him, because I needed that. Everyone kept telling me the same thing, and I laughed at them for being dense.
Yep. It's true.
Something always seems stupid, until you hear it from someone else.
"It's like surfing. The waves will be rough, but try your hardest to stand on that board so you don't wipe-out. Get me?"
Logan looked at me, a cross between a smirk and a smile forming on his face. Yeah, he got me.
"Laura, Quinn's already coming with me to the funeral, but can you come too? This is as close to begging as I'll go…"
"What? I – "
And then I didn't know what to say to that. It was sweet of me to invite me, and I was freaking flattered. Let's get that straight right now. But the words just fell out of my mouth.
"Come on. I basically told my parents how cool you were, and they really want to meet you anyway. Ethan might be coming with me to PCA for next year anyway, so it's cool, right?"
I didn't plan on meeting parents at a funeral where a poor, well-loved person will be lowered into the ground, six feet under forever, but…okay.
Okay. So you basically have jealous tendencies, anger issues, and a not-so-spotless history BUT…
And a very big but, here.
You're actually learning how to keep anger in check. You're not dishing out sucker punches to every guy who looks at Quinn in a romantic sense, even though I know you will.
And you've found a solid relationship with a person that is crazy about you. Is it mutual?
Uh. Yes. A person would have to be on some heavy drugs NOT to see that.
I've come to respect Logan very much even though I've only known him a short while.
"Okay, I'll be there, Logan," I confirmed, with an affirmative (oohh, big word of the day, people!) nod of my head. "I'd love to meet your parents as well."
"Awesome," came his reply, as his eyes lit up.
Everything was going to be okay, was what I thought when he stood leaving with one of the most genuine smiles ever.
I SO love this job, I thought once again with a contented sigh.
I really do.
A/N: Twenty-six pages, okay? Nearly two weeks of work in between school, and my life outside of the site. So, technically the story's over, but now it's just the epilogue which will be a series of flashbacks and then the narration by Laura one last time before the sequel comes out which won't be for a while if you read the author's note on the top. I will elaborate on what happened at the funeral and such. I will seriously love you guys if this story hits 200 by the time it's over. Even though, it's sort of a stretch, I believe in you guys. You can review like crazy. Those would be nice to see. It's 2AM so I will work on something relatively shorter The Little Things In Between (review that too if you haven't), and post it tomorrow morning. I'm sorry for any mistakes you may find. I'm tired and human – I hope you understand that. So once again, I'm sorry.
Review.
-Erika
