A huge thank you to all those who reviewed: the-stuttering-kiwi, e-wilson22, and pinkspidey62! You all are gems in a world full of coal. Mwah!

I wanted to update before the holidays, because I know I'll be busy for the next two weeks! I hope you all have an awesome holiday season! Enjoy family, friends, and most importantly, Devon Bostick's beautiful face.

Onto the chapter!


Chapter Nine: Castle of Glass

"Ugh," Shea groaned, tossing her eye shadow brush onto the sink counter. She had been trying—unsuccessfully, she might add—for the last ten minutes to find a color that was Christmassy, Chamber Singer approved, and made her look alive. So far, she just looked like a sick person. With make-up. "Literally the last thing I want to do tonight is sing."

Sam, who was standing in the doorway, providing commentary on her never-ending process of getting ready, sympathized, "I don't blame you; you sound like total shit."

Shea wrinkled her nose and coughed loudly on her friend. The sensation burned her throat, already a little sore from her annoyingly persistent mucus. Even though Sam was teasing, even she could hear that her voice was crackled and raspy. She had been hoping that she would have felt better by tonight, the band, choir, and Chamber Singers concert, but if anything, she felt worse.

Sam shrieked, backing away from her spray. "Get away from me, devil woman!"

Shea turned back to the bathroom counter and stared down her eye shadow choices: gold, green, light red, tan... She sighed. "This is stupid."

"If anything, I think it's impressive. We all thought you'd be singing soprano, but you're actually a bass!"

Shea smacked Sam's arm, but he was laughing too hard at his dumb joke to care. His laughter was contagious, though, and Shea couldn't help but smirk.

"I am so fucked," she sung lowly, dragging out the last syllable. She decided to stick with the gold shadow on her lids, picked up her liquid eyeliner, and repeated, "So fucked."

"You should get dressed, fucked. We need to go soon." Shea coughed dramatically, spitting the mucus that filled her mouth into the sink. "Whew, I'm glad I'm not into girls, because you are so hot right now."

Shea muttered, "Have I ever told you how much I hate you?"

Sam didn't miss a beat. "Once or twice, yeah."

Sam finally shut up, allowing Shea to focus on applying her liner. Even though she didn't typically wear much make-up, she made an exception for concert nights. The bright lights on stage meant that the audience would undoubtedly notice how blotchy her face was or how dead her eyes looked. Shea knew that nobody looked good when they were sick, but she felt especially awful. At the very least, she was glad she still had foundation leftover from prom junior year.

"We're back!" Priya said in a sing-song voice. Shea heard the front door slam shut and the crinkling of plastic shopping bags approach. "Okay, Shea, we got two kinds of cold medicine, decongestants, throat lozenges, and um…"

"Mucinex," Rodrick finished for her. Her three friends crowded the hallway, staring at their findings. "Basically, the entire cold and flu aisle at CVS."

"The cashier thought we were going to make meth," Priya joked, pulling box after box out of the bags and handing them to Sam, who cradled them like a fragile child.

"Are you?" Shea asked, checking her liner. For once, it was straight on the first try. Apparently being sick gave her unusually steady hands.

"Only to sell, not to take," her friend replied seriously. She picked up the box on top of the pile in Sam's arms and tore open the packaging. "Okay, let's try this one first. Here, take two."

Shea obeyed and then drank a small glass of water. She did that again for the decongestant and for the Mucinex. She sucked on the cough drop while she got changed into her Chamber Singers dress—a rather sack-like black thing that came down to her knees—and fixed her hair in the bathroom, making sure that her shaved part was completely covered and her septum ring was hidden. In the living room, Shea heard Priya unwrapping and opening the rest of the cold medicine, while Sam and Rodrick made idle conversation about how ready they were for winter break.

"I can't wait to sleep in tomorrow," Rodrick said.

"I wish I could. I have to be up at bloody three in the morning so we can make our early morning flight," Priya grumbled, still aggressively unwrapping boxes.

Rodrick and Sam made the same noise of disgust. "India will still be there if you fly out at, say, noon," Sam said.

"Trust me, Chirag and I have told our father that many times," she sighed.

"I'll sleep longer in your honor," Rodrick said. Shea could almost hear Priya rolling her eyes.

"Hey man-Shea, are you ready to go?" Sam called. "Priya's walking pharmacy can't make a profit if we stay here."

"Also, you have to do that singing thing," Rodrick added. "How's your voice?"

Shea emerged from the bathroom, cleared her throat, and tried to sing a few notes. She had to admit her voice was sounding a little clearer, but it was still a little raspy.

"Getting there," Priya smiled. "You look beautiful, though, love."

"Thank you, boo." Her cheeks reddened (and she knew it had nothing to do with her cold). She thought of her all friends looked great tonight—even though they all had their coats on, ready to go, she could see Priya's long, dark green dress and black tights clear as day, as well as Rodrick's tie and button down peeking out from beneath his coat. Even Sam was rocking his one size too big, Chamber Singers approved tuxedo.

"We're gonna be late if we don't leave soon," Sam clapped his hands together. "Sabihin pumunta!"


Most people, including her friends, seemed to enjoy December. But not Shea. She thought the month was cold and stressful. Yeah, Christmas was okay—and Christmas shopping with Priya was always fun because they got mall food and saw a movie afterwards—but she always, no fail, got sick in December. Some people got sick and still managed to function, but Shea felt like lying in bed all day. What made everything worse was that her dad insisted she go to school even though Shea was sure she would infect half of her classmates. Scott finally let her stay home on the night of the concert, but at that point her situation seemed hopeless. And, worst of all, because she had been sick all week, she hadn't been able to hang out with Rodrick at all for fear of passing along her illness. Sure, texting and talking on the phone was fun, but she missed him holding her, kissing her, and… well, you know.

Priya and Sam had carpooled with Rodrick to Shea's apartment. Since he had better heat in the van, they piled in, buckled up, and headed out. Sam and Priya sung along to Rodrick's mix CD (which, to Shea's delight, seemed to sample an inordinate amount of My Chemical Romance themed), while Rodrick held Shea's hand. They didn't speak, but the way her rubbed her hand with his thumb said much more than any word. Shea brought his hand to his mouth and kissed it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile.

About halfway into the drive, Shea's nose cleared up.

"Oh my god," she sighed with relief, sinking low into her seat.

"What?" Priya asked frantically.

The edge in her voice must have made Rodrick nervous, because he suddenly hit the brakes, causing them to lurch forward.

"No, nothing," Shea insisted. Her friends breathed deeply. "My nose isn't clogged anymore. I think the medicine's finally kicking in."

"Good," Sam said brightly.

Rodrick hit the gas, but the van sputtered in response. Perplexed, he pressed his foot down to the floor, but the van shook violently and then turned off.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Sam said.

In the rearview mirror, Shea could see a line of cars starting to pile up behind them, the drivers all honking and gesturing rudely.

"What do we do now?" Priya asked nervously.

Rodrick didn't have to think twice. He shifted into neutral and sighed. "Let's at least get it out of the way."

The group wordlessly obeyed. They waited for Rodrick's signal (a loud "push!") and together, the four pressed their weight against the open doors of the van. Shea was surprised how easily the van slid onto the shoulder. Once their car was effectively out of the way, the traffic behind them dramatically sped up and flew by.

"That's so rude," Shea grumbled. Rodrick wrapped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed it. His touch warmed her core, but not her mood. "No one's stopping to help."

"Did you really expect more from Plainview?" Priya asked.

"I'm going to get sick again."

"I'll make it fast," Rodrick promised.

He crawled over to the driver's side of his car, popped the hood, and then crawled back out the passenger's door. He lifted the hood of the van and peered inside like he was looking for something.

"I didn't know you knew how to work on cars," Shea said, impressed.

"I know when something doesn't look right," Rodrick corrected her. His face contorted into different shapes as he stared into the van's engine. "I think it's just cold. I need a jump start."

"We do not have time for this." Sam held up his phone. "We've got ten minutes before the band starts playing."

"And before Miss Weitzman murders us," Shea added.

"Sorry," Rodrick shrugged. "If I knew this was gonna happen, I would've suggested Shea's car."

Sam sighed, "I know."

"I'll flag someone down. You guys get back in the car," Rodrick suggested. He began walking backwards, away from the van, waving his hand.

"Want some help?" Priya asked. "An attractive girl, perhaps?"

"Nah. I'm cute enough," he smirked, not taking his eyes off of the road.

Priya, Sam, and Shea stepped back into the van and closed the doors. Even though the heat had been on full blast when they were driving, almost all of it had escaped when they were pushing the van to safety and talking outside. Shea clutched the edges of her jacket and wrapped them around her tighter. Now more than ever, she wished she had gloves, and maybe a scarf and hat.

"I'm a popsicle," Sam whined.

"We'll be fine," Shea said, although she wasn't sure she believed herself. She watched as car after car drove by Rodrick, who was waving and pointing to his poor broken down van. Thankfully, the cold medicines were continuing to work their magic, and Shea felt stronger and more normal than she had all week. She took a deep breath, savoring the ability to even do so, and added, "I hope."

Another ten minutes went by before a sedan took pity on her boyfriend, whose nose was now bright red. Rodrick's face turned immediately from desperation to relief.

"Finally," Sam said, "I'm gonna call Nicole and let her know we'll be there late."

Shea watched as Rodrick approached the stranger, thanking him or her profusely for stopping. When the person stepped out of the car, though, the smile on Rodrick's face vanished.

"Who is that?" Priya asked curiously, twisting around in her seat.

A tall, older guy with long, grungy blonde hair stormed towards Rodrick, his face tight with anger. He looked like he hadn't showered in weeks, and was wearing what looked to be days old clothes: a stained leather jacket and jeans with holes in them.

Shea could only think of one older person who would be that cross that her boyfriend. "I think that's—"

"Bill!" Rodrick said, faking a smile. "Hey man, nice to see you!"

But Bill didn't return the kind gesture. He shoved Rodrick against the side of the van, rocking it so hard Sam dropped his phone onto the ground.

"Hey man," Bill echoed. "I thought that was you. What the fuck, man?"

"Whoa," Rodrick held up both of his hands. "Take it easy, bud."

"Jesus," Sam swore, his voice low. "We definitely do not have time for this."

"Do you know how badly you fucked me over?" Bill shouted. He lost his balance, stepping awkwardly over his feet. "I quit my job for your band, and you—"

"You quit your job?" Rodrick deadpanned.

"Shut up!" Bill hollered, pushing him again.

"I'm going to call the cops," Priya said seriously.

"He looks drunk," Sam agreed.

While Bill was yelling, Shea slipped out of the passenger side and walked around the front of the van. Maybe all Bill needed was a good scare from someone he didn't know. Shea cleared her throat, stuffed her hands into her pockets, and barked.

"Hey, can you put a pin in your mental breakdown?" she said acidly. Rodrick and Bill snapped their heads towards her so quickly she thought they might spin. "We've gotta go. Now. So if you're not gonna help, you need to get the fuck out."

Rodrick's eyes widened in a look that said "are you serious?"

Bill's voice softened, but he still growled. "Who the hell are you? This doesn't concern you, okay, little girl?"

"Get back in the car, Shea," Rodrick said softly.

"Rodrick," Shea sputtered, narrowing her eyes. She couldn't believe that he would agree with this He-Man. She wasn't fragile!

Bill sneered. "Yeah, listen to your man!"

"Don't talk to her like that," Rodrick barked. His tone was so sharp it made Shea cower in fear.

Surprisingly, Bill backed down, like he had forgotten why he was so angry with Rodrick. Inside the car, Shea thought she heard Priya's low voice speaking to the cops.

"Listen, man, listen. If you just let me back in the band—one show—I promise you won't regret it," he slurred, pointing at his car. "Hold on, lemme get something. Just one thing. Don't move."

Bill stumbled back towards his car. As soon as he was out of earshot, Rodrick turned on Shea.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Trying to help," Shea insisted. She remembered the way he dismissed her, and boiled, "I'm not some delicate little girl, y'know. I don't need to be in the car."

"What? No, I was just…" he stammered, taken aback.

"What?" Shea challenged. She wasn't sure why she was feeling so angry. Intellectually, she knew that Rodrick's words probably didn't have sexist underpinnings, but her thoughts felt like they were moving so quickly that she needed to say something, anything, or else they would consume her.

"I didn't know if he was gonna start swinging," Rodrick said defensively, "I just didn't want you to get hurt. Plus you're sick. That's all."

Shea's insides unwound. She wanted to say sorry, but her brain chose that moment to feel fuzzy. They shared an intense, apologetic stare before Bill started waving a wrinkled piece of paper in his hand.

"Here!" Bill yelled from his car. He stumbled back to Rodrick and handed him a crumpled up sheet of paper. "There's a battle of the bands soon in the city. We could—we could get the band back together, and play, and fucking win and…"

Rodrick's eyes widened as he scanned the paper. He cleared his throat, trying to appear as nonplussed as possible. He folded the paper into half, quarters, and then eighths so slowly that Bill didn't notice that he was moving his hands at all.

"Oh, well, that sounds great, but," Rodrick stammered. He tucked the paper into his palm and reached behind him, sliding the paper into his back pocket. "We, uh, we broke up."

"No!" Bill looked devastated. "No, no, man. Listen, call Ben and Chris and we can win this thing!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll let you know if something happens," Rodrick said dismissively.

Cars continued to pass behind them. Shea wasn't sure if it was the temperature or the situation, but the fuzz in her brain started to feel like it was floating. It was sort of like she was buzzed or high. She blew warm breath into her hands, rubbing them together for heat, but the sensation wouldn't budge.

"You'd better, man," Bill continued, swaying with the breeze. "We could be something awesome. Think of the record deals and the chicks!"

A cop car silently slid behind Bill's car and parked. Bill's eyes widened when he recognized the car shape. "Shit man, what do the pigs want?"

"My car's broken down," Rodrick told him pointedly, and Bill accepted the explanation without protest.

Shea shouldn't have been surprised when Mikey stepped out of the car, but the lurch in her chest proved otherwise. Even though she hadn't been moving, she stumbled over her feet in excitement.

She teased. "Does Plainview have any other cops on the squad?"

Mikey smirked when he recognized her. "Hey, you. You're gonna sick standing outside like this."

She said darkly, "You have no idea, dude."

Bill watched Mikey warily. Rodrick closed the gap between the group and the cop. Rodrick shook Mikey's hand and said something in a low voice that didn't carry with the wind. Mikey nodded in understanding.

Rodrick pat Mikey's shoulder, and then said out loud, "We need a jump, man."

"Right," he said, "Lemme call back up."

Mikey spoke into the walkie clipped to his chest, and then approached Bill. "Hey man. I hear you're havin' some trouble driving…"

Bill took big steps backwards and fell over. Rodrick squeezed Shea's shoulder, causing her to jump.

"Someone will be here soon," he told her. "Come on; let's get back in the car."

Shea wasn't sure what his urgency was, but she obeyed all the same. Priya and Sam were turned around in their seats, watching as Bill aggressively spoke with Mikey the Cop, complete with flailing arms. The van's lingering warm air tickled Shea's throat; she coughed loud and hard.

Time seemed to slow down in the van. Shea closed her eyes and tried to relax, Priya and Sam's commentary on Bill's failing sobriety test occasionally stirring her, but she felt like she was floating in her seat. What felt like an hour—but was really closer to ten minutes—passed before a second cop car pulled in front of the van. Rodrick got out to help hook up his car battery.

"Why is this taking ten hours?" Shea groaned, her eyes still closed. "We're going to be late."

"Miss Weitzman knows," Sam said. He and Priya ooh'ed and then laughed. "Aw, shit, Bill's going to jail, huh?"

Shea's mind felt so hazy. It was an uncomfortable sensation; she kept lolling her neck around as if to stay centered and on the ground.

Shea's daze was startled by Rodrick slamming his door shut and turning the key in the ignition. The van sputtered and groaned. He turned it again, and the engine roared to life. Rodrick sighed with relief, and Priya and Sam cheered.

"We should make it just in time," Sam said encouragingly. "God, what a day. I need a beer."

The haze in Shea's brain moved to her limbs and into her stomach. It felt like her tongue and brain had disconnected. She could still think complex, interesting things, but nothing was reaching her tongue. Next to her, Rodrick jumped out of the car to unhook his engine, and then jumped back in.

"What?" Shea said incoherently, "Where did you go?"

"To say thanks," Rodrick replied. When he saw her flushed face, he asked, "Are you okay?"

She threw her head back. "The car feels like clouds."

Rodrick sputtered a laugh. "What?"

She insisted, "Did you tie my purse down? I don't wanna lose it."

"Shea, are you alright?" Priya asked. Her friend pressed a warm against her forehead, which made Shea laugh. "She feels a little warm. It's just strange, because she sounds like she's…"

Shea closed her eyes and focused on not floating out of the car. Her friends spoke loudly, cutting through her peaceful cloud.

"Like she's high," Sam spoke for Priya. "Yeah, that's definitely high Shea."

"But how?" Priya wondered. "All I did was give her some medicine."

"How much medicine?" Rodrick asked.

Priya dug through her purse and pulled out a few boxes. "One of each of these. Except the cold medicine—I gave her two of that."

Rodrick told the cold medicine bottle and read the label. "Priya."

"What?"

"This cold medicine has decongestant in it. You were only supposed to give her one."

"What," she said flatly.

"So you gave her three times the dose of decongestant?" Sam asked.

"Oh my god," Priya said, her voice panicky. "I didn't mean—I didn't notice that… Will she be okay?"

"I have a so-lo tonight," Shea drawled, "Sooooo… loooooooo…"

Sam laughed so hard he fell against the back of Shea's seat, knocking it forward.

"Whoa, surf's up!" she giggled.

"This is a nightmare," Priya muttered.

"This is hilarious," Sam disagreed. "She'll be fine. Shea, where are we going right now?"

"To sing!" She cleared her throat and sang, "We'll carry on! We'll carry o-o-o-on!"

"Not MCR, sweetie," Sam said.

"We should sing MCR all the time. Gerard Way wants us to live The Black Parade. Rodrick would know."

Rodrick tried not to, but his face still broke out in a smirk. "Yeah, man." He shifted into drive. "Me and Gerard are tight."

Shea poked him. "Knew it!"

Rodrick swatted at her fingers. The sudden movement of driving and him fighting back made her dizzy, so she closed her eyes.

"Wake me up when September ends," she said sleepily.

"Oh my god," Priya moaned.


Shea didn't remember much of the evening. Time felt staggered and inconsequential—sort of like she was watching a movie, and not living her life. She remembered parking at Plainview and rushing into the bowels of the music department with Sam; Rodrick wishing her luck and Priya shooting her sad, but encouraging, smiles. She remembered hearing Sam excitedly retell their crazy evening to their friends and choir instructor, while her friends asked her random questions like, "So it's still 2004 for you, huh Shea?" Lastly, she kind of remembered the bright, hot lights on stage. Mostly, she was lucky that her body and voice knew where to stand and when to sing. The entire evening felt like an out of body experience, like she was floating above herself.

After the show, she ran into her dad and Jennifer, who happily told her what an awesome job she did (although she did sound a little sick, Jennifer said, concerned). The Heffley family plus Priya followed close behind with compliments. Soon after, Scott and Susan whipped out their cameras, and they took turn taking posed photos. Shea's cheeks hurt so badly from smiling and laughing.

To her surprise, Ms. Potts materialized from thin air in front of her, wearing a tweed jacket and a kind smile. "Shea! You sung so well tonight. I hope wherever you go to college has a choir department."

"Thank you," she slurred, even though she really tried not to. She touched her lips as if to stop herself, and continued unsuccessfully, "Me too. I like singing."

Ms. Potts had years of listening to Shea's bullshit, and could spot the sound of her drunk or high talk from miles away. "Shea, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

Priya and Rodrick heard the urgency in Ms. Potts' voice and moved behind Shea. She didn't know why they were so worried—for once, she hadn't done anything wrong.

"Totally," she drawled. Her brain kept telling her tongue to shut up, but it just wouldn't listen. "I'm fine."

Ms. Potts got a wild look in her eye. "Are you… are you," she lowered her voice, but not low enough, "high?"

Everyone surrounding her seemed to turn and stare at Shea, including her dad. The scene felt a little like a movie, when the protagonist gets called out for their bad behavior. Shea giggled at the thought, which only seemed to confirm her family's suspicions.

"Shea, is that true?" Scott narrowed his eyes. When she didn't answer (oh, now her tongue wouldn't talk), he said wildly, "I knew you sounded a little off tonight! Shea, how could you?"

"No!" Priya exploded. "It's my fault."

"Our fault," Rodrick interjected. Priya shot him a grateful smile.

"We accidentally gave her too much cold medicine," Priya explained, her face reddening with each word. "So she's been acting this way all evening."

Scott's twisted face unwound. "Really?" he asked, sounding a little skeptical.

"Really," Rodrick said desperately, "We were just trying to get her better before the concert."

"She sounded awful beforehand," Priya added.

"And we knew she had a solo."

"So we were trying to find a quick fix."

Her guidance counselor and her dad exchanged words without speaking. Finally, Ms. Potts said, "Only you."

They laughed nervously. Especially Shea, who was worried her dad was going to bury her underground with his stare.

"You're gonna give me a heart attack one day, kid," Scott sighed. "Come on; let's go home."

Home sounded good to Shea. Bed sounded even better. And as she rested her head against the cool glass of her dad's car window, she couldn't help but think that all of this could have been avoided if her dad had just let her stay in bed when she wanted to during the week.