A/N: Not that anyone actually cares, but I felt like being accurate about what show Candie could be watching in this chapter for some reason, so I tried to think of shows I knew that were around in the sixties that Candie would like. Obviously, the first thing I thought of was the Ed Sullivan show. So, I looked to see when every episode aired, so I could look for one that would take place around this time. Not sure if anyone has been following along, but this episode takes place on a Sunday at the end of September. So, I was looking at what episodes aired in 1964. The first episode of season 18 aired September 27th. Right around the time of the month I'm looking for. So, I checked what that episode was. Like I said, not sure if y'all have been paying attention but Candie loves The Beach Boys. Whadya know, they were on this episode. So, I checked what day the 27th was. Sunday. Y'all probably don't care, I just thought this was hella cool and I needed to share it with someone.

Also I'd like to take time to complain about how you Americans don't have a word for a mickey. No, not the date rape drug. A 375ml bottle of vodka. Like, using some slang word would sound a lot better than a "thirteen-ounce bottle of vodka". You guys really ought to get on that.

And another thing (sorry, I've been adding these as I write the story), I apologize in advance for when I'm talking about hair and makeup. I have short hair, so when she's doing her hair I was looking at a picture tutorial collage thing, and I didn't really know how to write what the person was doing. I was tempted to just include a link of the picture I was looking at. And for the makeup; I know how to use makeup to make my face look more masculine, and I know how to put on eyeliner and make it look like I was up all night partying and didn't have time to wash it off. That's the extent of my knowledge of makeup. I don't know how to talk about applying makeup or anything like that, so my makeup talk is annoyingly vague. I just. My sincere apologies.

ALSO I'd like to apologize for how late this update is. I know I said something about getting a job, and between work and school I've literally had no time to work on this. But I'm gonna update, even if it means failing my exams. This update will be done.

I slept in the next day, which only made sense. But I didn't think about that when I woke up. The first thing that was on my mind was the pain in my face. I know that sounds vague, but it seemed that my whole face in general was hurting. I got up out of my bed and walked over to my vanity to look at my face. I ran a hand through my hair and made a face at how greasy it felt. That wasn't the only thing I made a face at, though. I looked even worse than I did yesterday. My nose was now swollen, and I had dried blood all over my face. My lip must have bled more in my sleep, because there was a trail of dried blood from my lip down my chin. There was a bit of blood around my nose too, but not much. The cut on the side of my face was a complete mess, to say the least. There was so much dried blood around it that you couldn't tell where the actual cut was. I walked into the bathroom the was some of the blood off of my face, but when I was done the cut on the side of my face just had more blood running down my face.

I shook my head at my reflection. I looked like complete shit, but I'd just worry about that later. I needed to wake up a bit more first. So I turned off the bathroom light then headed to the kitchen. On my way to the kitchen I saw Dad sitting on the couch with a brown bag on the floor beside him and a bottle of vodka on the table in front of him. He looked up at me and smirked. "Finally, you're up."

That was around the time I realized I had probably slept in.

"You missed church."

I rolled my eyes, and Dad laughed at his own joke. Probably as a result of the alcohol he'd consumed, but I shook my head at him nonetheless. Dad and I weren't at all religious. I wasn't sure about Dallas; he'd never indicated whether he was or not. I knew he had a wooden crucifix necklace Mom had given him, but he never wore it.

I eyed the clock we kept over the stove to see how late I had slept in, and shrugged a bit. It was only one.

"Ain't it a bit early to be drinking?" I looked at Dad to see him pick up the bottle that was in front of him.

"What time do you start drinking at?" he asked, rather pointedly. I tilted my head a bit then nodded. Fair point, I guess. Only I didn't drink as much as he did. "I'd rather a bottle in front of me than I frontal lobotomy."

"Sounds like something Buck would say." I muttered. I didn't know Buck well, but I'd met him on a few occasions and something about what Dad had said made me think of him.

I stood there for a second, forgetting what I came out here to do. I rubbed my face without thinking about it, and regretted it right after. I wiped the blood on my hand off onto my pajama shirt. Dad made a face as if he just noticed the cut. "Do you need stitches?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm fine. I'm going to a party tonight, anyways. I don't want to show up with hideous stitches in my face."

Dad didn't look to sure, though. "C'mere, let me take a look." When I didn't move, he added "The Beach Boys are on Ed Sullivan."

That was all it took for me to sit down beside him on the couch. I was paying so much attention to the TV that I hardly noticed Dad poking around the cut and making disapproving noises. "I'm not letting you leave without stitches if it's still bleeding."

I nodded, but I didn't really hear him. I mean, I heard the words he said, but I wasn't paying enough attention to him to be able to put the words together and understand what he said as a sentence. I was too busy watching The Beach Boys play their newest single, I Get Around. I really did like their newest album, but I preferred their album Little Deuce Coupe.

When the song was over, I paid a bit more attention to what was going on around me and I saw Dad smirking. "Think you're obsessed?" he teased.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not obsessed."

"Oh? What, just think Brian is cute so you pretend to dig the music too?" I made a face. Brian Wilson? No thanks!

I shook my head. "I'm more of a Dennis girl myself, but no. I like the music, it's great. They're my favorite. I just wouldn't say I'm obsessed."

Dad chuckled. "Nah, you're obsessed." Just as I was about to protest, Dad handed me the bottle of vodka and cut me off. "Drink the rest. I've got plenty more."

It was a thirteen-ounce bottle, only half full, but it still seemed like a lot to be drinking this early in the day. I watched as Dad pulled another thirteen-ounce bottle out of the brown bag on the floor and just shrugged. At least I knew I wouldn't be drinking as much as him.

I took a couple mouthfuls of vodka, then rested my head on Dad's shoulder, careful not to get blood on his shirt. We both watched the TV while Ed Sullivan talked to The Beach Boys. I frowned a bit when Ed jokingly called Dennis Ringo, though. Ringo had nothing on Dennis.

Dad and I both laughed at the one fan who went nuts in the crowd while Mike was talking. His face only made it better. He made a very taken aback bitch face. It probably wouldn't be as funny if I hadn't had anything to drink, but regardless, I thought it was funny now.

"Do you think he's right?" Ed asked Brian. "When Mike said surf music is just-" but a fan cut Ed off with a scream.

Brian looked like a scared puppy at that moment. Kind of in the way Johnny did, only Brian made it look good. "I didn't actually hear that..." he admitted.

They continued trying to talk, but the screams just grew more frequent and louder, so eventually Ed gave up and just let them play another song. They were playing When I Grow Up.

The first time they tried to sing it they screwed up a bit. They sang it too flat, and not everyone started at the same time. Dad chuckled beside me, and I moved my head so I could smack his shoulder. "One does not laugh at The Beach Boys."

He raised his hands, as if to make fun of me, but he watched them in silence nonetheless. I smiled as I watched them. They all looked so happy, it was contagious.

Dallas came in through the front door close the end of the song, and I hadn't realized until then that he must have been out. He was about to walk right past us, but something made him stop. He looked over at us and made an annoyed face. "Well ain't that a perfect sight. My alcoholic father with his stitched up face and my kid sister with her swollen, bleeding face, watching the Beach Boys while drinking together at-" he paused to check the time "-one thirty."

Dad and I both ignored him, but it made me think. Did I drink more than Dallas? I mean, I knew Dallas drank a lot, but he almost never drank before dark. Just because I drank at different hours than he did, didn't mean I drank more than him, though. When Dallas drank, he seemed to develop a go-big-or-go-home kind of mentality. But when I drank, I was usually careful not to drink too much.

"I want to go to California one day." I said, out of nowhere.

Dad turned and gave me an amused smile. "Oh yeah?" he turned back to the TV, but he didn't stop smiling. "Maybe I'll take you one day."

I grinned, knowing full well he wouldn't. It was a nice thought, though. And hey, a girl can hope.

I continued watching TV with Dad until around 3pm, and somewhere along the line I finished the bottle of vodka. But once it hit about three, I decided I should probably start to get ready for the party. I hadn't been told what time it was at, but I knew that Bob refused to show up to a party before dark, no matter what time it started. And since it didn't even start getting dark out until seven, I figured I'd leave here at around six and hang around Bob's until they decided to leave.

I figured before I did anything else, I should probably shower. That way I could properly clean out the cut on the side of my face, and wash my hair. So that's exactly what I did.

I had I Get Around stuck in my head since I watched The Beach Boys preform it on TV, so I couldn't help but sing it to myself while I was in the shower. I stopped not long after I started, though, because Dallas banged on the bathroom door and yelled at me to shut up.

When I got out of the shower I checked my face in the mirror to see it was still bleeding. As I expected, it was. I grabbed a face cloth and held it to the cut in hopes that it would help stop the bleeding. At this point I wasn't really sure what to do about the cut. It would stop bleeding for a bit, but next thing I knew it was bleeding again.

I tried not to think about it. I'd deal with it after my hair was dry. I ran a brush through my hair as best I could, before attempting to dry it with one hand. Usually I would brush it while I dried it, but I was more concerned with trying to stop my face from bleeding.

After my hair was dry, I took the cloth off of my face. From what I could tell my face currently wasn't bleeding, so I rinsed the cloth off under the tap, then wiped away some of the blood around the cut. I took the fact that it didn't start bleeding as a good sign, so I made sure the towel I had wrapped around my body would stay put, the quickly walked out of the bathroom and into my room.

Once I was in my room I threw open my closet. It was a soc party, so I probably should have worn a party dress, but I just wasn't feeling it. Besides, most of the people there knew me. Which meant most knew I wasn't exactly a soc. I closed my closet then walked over to my dresser. I opened all of the drawers, but then remembered I had emptied the contents of my dresser throughout my room. I sighed and shut all of the drawers, then looked around my bed for a pair of pants to wear.

The first pair of pants I found that I like were a pair of skinny black leather pants. I'd worn them over the summer, so I knew they still fit, but I figured that even though everyone at the party knew I wasn't a soc, I probably shouldn't make it that obvious. I'd stick to a pair of jeans. Even though most of the girls there would be wearing dresses and skirts, I figured I wouldn't stand out too much if I wore a pair of jeans. I knew there were a few soc-y girls around our school that wore jeans, but they were the girls who tried to act edgy, or hated their parents and wanted to rebel. Still, they were socs nonetheless, so I figured jeans would work.

I found a pair of light, high wasted skinny jeans that I laid on my bed, then I started to search for a shirt. Upon not finding any on the ground, I opened my closet again to look in there. I looked over the countless black, white, and grey shirts, hoping to find on with a bit more color. I picked up one of my pink blouses, but I decided against it. I'd never really liked the way pink looked on me.

I put the blouse back and continued looking through my closet until I found a red, polka-dotted shirt. The shirt itself was red, and it had white polka-dots all over. When I was wearing it the shirt would stop at the top of my hips, so it was just short enough to not need to be tucked into a pair of high wasted jeans. The neckline didn't come down too low, but was wide enough to show off my collar bones. Better than all that, not only did it look good, but it was one of my most comfortable shirts. So of course, this was the shirt I went with.

After I got changed, I sat down in front of my vanity. As much as I wanted to say I didn't care what I looked like, it wasn't true. I mean, I'd love to be able to just go to the party without taking time to do my hair or makeup, but everyone dressed up at least a bit to go to parties. Or dressed down, depending on who you were.

I decided to do my hair first. I still wasn't sure if the cut on my face would start bleeding again, so I wanted to wait as long before doing my makeup so I could be sure it was done bleeding for good.

As I was trying to decide what to do with my hair, I spotted a red bandana that matched my shirt perfectly, with gave me an idea. I grabbed some hair from the front of my head and let it fall in my face, then pulled the rest back into a ponytail. With the hair in the front, I pinned it up to look like a curl, then sprayed in some hair spray to keep it in place. After that, I took the rest of my hair out of the pony, brushed it again, and put it in a bun on the top of my hair. It looked pretty silly right now, but after I tied the bandana on in between the curl and the bun, it looked cute.

Now that I was done my hair, I ran a hand down the cut on my face. Since it still wasn't bleeding, I figured it was safe to apply makeup. The cut was mostly just below my cheek bone, so I figured if I contoured my makeup properly it probably wouldn't be to noticeable. So that's exactly what I tried to do. After I had finished all of the contours the cut was still noticeable, but not nearly as much. The cut on my lip, however, was actually quite noticeable, so I decided to go with a dark red lipstick to cover it up. Aside from that, I just applied a bit of eyeliner to make my eyes pop, then put on some mascara.

I turned to leave, only to find Dallas standing in my doorway. "You look..." he trailed off. "Like a greaser."

I looked in the mirror and sighed. I knew he was right. My whole point was to resemble a greaser as little as possible without wearing a dress or skirt. "Didn't know you even had the attire to look so rockabilly. You'd never be able to tell you were from New York. Where you goin' that you need to get so dressed up for anyways?"

I went to run a hand through my hair but stopped as soon as my hand touched my head. I kept it there though, and tapped a finger against my bandana anxiously. "A party."

I walked over to my closet to grab a pair of red pumps and put them on, before walking past Dallas and stumbling into the living room. Dallas was following close behind laughing. "A party? A soc party? Like that? That's rich!"

"Don't wear shoes you can't walk drunk in." Dad advised.

I ignored Dallas, and instead payed more attention to Dad. He was right, these shoes would be terrible to walk drunk in. I could hardly walk in them sober. Again, I pushed past Dallas and walked into my room to grab different shoes. I decided to just wear a beat up pair of white converse. They looked better with the outfit, anyway.

As I walked past the living room this time, Dad seemed to approve of my shoes. He nodded slightly, but didn't say anything. I grabbed my leather jacket that I had hanging up by the front door and slipped it on. "I'm gonna head out now." I informed Dad. "Not sure when I'll be back. Will you be here?"

Dad shrugged. I wasn't exactly expecting a solid answer, so it didn't bother me.

"You're wearing that jacket to a soc party?" Dallas asked.

Now I shrugged. I already looked like a greaser, I guess it was go big or go home.

It was just past six when I left, because yes, it did take me three hours to get ready. Perfection takes time, doesn't it? As I was walking to Bob's, I felt a little silly on greaser territory. I half expected them to all point at me and call me a poser. I kind of felt like one because of the way I looked. I mean, I knew that in reality I actually was a greaser, but right now it just seemed to obvious. I looked like I was trying to look like a greaser, but in fact my original goal was the exact opposite.

I didn't feel how I usually felt on soc territory, either. I had that kind of feeling you get when you step into your new house after you move; the kind of feeling where you feel like you belong, but at the same time you really feel like you don't. I mean I knew I always was out of place on this side of town, but because I spent so much time over here I started to forget. But now, with the way I looked tonight, it was just so obvious.

When I got to Bob's and knocked on the door, I was let in immediately. The girl who opened the door was the same girl who I almost bumped into yesterday. But she literally only opened the door. She didn't say hello, ask who I was or why I was here, or even smile at me. She just walked away as soon as the door opened. Not that I really cared, though. I'd been here a thousand times before. I knew where everything was, I knew where to find Bob, hell, I even knew the names of over half of the help.

I was about to walk upstairs to see if Bob was in his room, but as soon as I looked over at the stairs Bob started walking down them. He was wearing basically the same thing he did every day, khakis and a plaid shirt, only he hadn't yet buttoned up his shirt. I could see a bit of the stab wound from the way his shirt was, and from what I could tell it was healing up nicely.

Bob smirked at me and wiggled his eyebrows. "Well look at you, all dolled up."

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. "Yeah, I know I look lousy. Next time we go to a partly I'll borrow an outfit from Izzy."

"Hey, no, you look great." he stopped in front of me and smiled. "Oh yeah, speaking of Izzy, we're meeting Randy at his place then walking from there. It's only a block and a half away."

I nodded. Last year Bob had been caught drinking and driving and the cops threatened to have his license taken away. That had to be one of the first times a figure of authority said no to him, and it seemed to knock some sense into him.

I waited a few seconds and Bob just looked at me expectantly. "You're going like that?" I asked, referring to his still unbuttoned shirt.

"You just don't want any other girls to look at me." He teased.

I shook my head and buttoned his shirt up myself. "No. I've just never looked this greasy on your side of town, and I'd like my protection to look respectable."

Bob put a hand over his heart and pretended to look hurt. "That's all I am to you? Protection?"

I ignored him and left, knowing he'd laugh and follow. Which was exactly what he did. He quickly caught up to me and slung an arm around my shoulders with a smile on his face. My mind flashed back to when Two-Bit put his arm over my shoulders at school that one time, and how Bob got pissed off at him. I frowned slightly at the memory. I was almost sixteen; Bob had to understand that I could take care of myself. I'd been taking care of myself for a while. If Bob didn't learn that soon I'd probably end up forever alone, and it'd be his fault.

When we got to Randy's house we walked straight in without knocking. Randy's parents had learned to expect that from Bob. They'd told me quite a few times I didn't have to knock either, but just walking in seemed weird to me. When we got inside, Bob kicked the door a few times to announce that we were here.

"C'mon, let's get going!" Bob yelled up the stairs.

I turned to face Bob and give him an are-you-kidding look, but as soon as I had my back turned I heard another voice. "Looks like you're on the wrong side of town."

I sighed loudly and turned around. Coming down the stairs was Randy, and up at the top of the stairs stood Izzy. "Oh my gosh, I love your hair!" Izzy gushed. "You need to do my hair like that sometime!"

I laughed a bit. "Don't talk like that, Izzy. Your brother'll have my head and I won't be able to come around here anymore."

"Well ignore Randy, you look great. I have to borrow that outfit sometime, too."

Randy glared at Izzy, then me. "We should probably go."

The whole walk there I walked backwards in front of Randy and Bob so I was facing them. I stumbled a few times, tripping over rocks and other stuff, but for the most part I was good. I'd walked around here enough times with Bob and Randy to know where I was going.

"So, what happened with your outfit? Why do you look so greasy?" Randy asked, not long after we left his place. "I mean, you look fine, it's just not like you to look this greasy."

I shrugged. "Y'know, it wasn't my original intention. But somehow it happened, so I figured go big or go home. I know most of the guys at the party anyways, don't I?"

Randy tilted his head from one side to the other and shrugged, before nodding. "Fair enough."

It was already dark out by now, and you could hear the music from the party down the street. From where Bob, Randy and I were the music just sounded like hums and murmurs, but the closer you got the easier it was to make out. I walked backwards up the stairs to the front and opened it up, then entered, still facing Bob and Randy. The second I entered I was flooded with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol, and the loud music that was playing.

I'm gettin' real bugged driving up the same old strip
I gotta find a new place where the kids are hip

I smiled. Though the song was terribly overplayed, I still liked it and couldn't help but sing along. "My buddies and me are getting real well know." I sang, continuing to back in the room. I poked Bob with every word, which caused him to smirk at me. "Yeah, the bad guys know us and they leave us al-"

Two hands on my hips stopped me from backing up anymore, and caused me to stop singing in the middle of the word. "Better watch where you're going, Doll."

I calmed down immediately at the voice, though I was annoyed at the nickname. "Shut up, David." I turned around to face him, only to find a smirk that seemed to be permanently attached to his face.

I saw Michael walk up and stand beside David. He nodded at Bob, Randy and I. "I was starting to think y'all weren't gonna show."

David laughed a bit at that. "Alcohol's in the kitchen, guys." And with that, both David and Michael left.

That was The Beach Boys with I Get Around, next we have The Shangri-Las with Leader of the Pack.

I frowned at the radio announcers voice. I loved this song, don't get me wrong, but I was disappointed that it wasn't a record playing. I was hoping to listen to more Beach Boys.

I finally decided to look at my surroundings. The house was big, but surprisingly full. I'd been told that there was only going to be the guys at the rumble, maybe a few more, plus some girls, but if this many guys showed up to the rumble it was no wonder how they won. I recognized quite a few of them, but not as many as I was hoping. I did notice that Cherry and Marcia were here, and I wasn't too sure how I felt about that.

I was snapped out of my thoughts to Bob shoving me towards the kitchen, which made me laugh under my breath. I swear, free alcohol is probably the only reason he comes to parties. That, and to talk about sports. You'd actually be surprised how many people Bob could find at a party that would just talk about sports with him. I thought most guys came to parties to hit on girls, but apparently not all of them do.

When we got to the kitchen I saw that there was an island in the kitchen with stools around it, so I went and sat down right away. Bob noticed and rolled his eyes at me, but when he went to grab himself a beer he grabbed me one too. He sat down beside me, but something else seemed to catch his attention. I followed his eyes and noticed a TV with something on it. I couldn't help but think about how stupid that was, since there was no way anyone could hear it over the music.

I didn't know what was on, but I did recognize a face. "I hate her." I yelled over the music.

"Sharon Tate?" Bob question. "Why?"

I shrugged, even though I knew he wasn't looking at me. "She's just Hollywood scum. They're just trying to use a pretty face to brainwash us into buying whatever they're trying to sell. It's pathetic." I looked over to Bob, but he didn't seem to hear a word I said. He was too occupied watching the TV. "Apparently it's working, too."

Bob shook his head. "You don't hate her. No one hates Sharon Tate."

"I want her to die." I informed him. "So I think I hate her."

At that point Randy joined us, sitting on the other side of Bob, beer in hand. Which reminded me, I had my own beer. I had almost forgot. I opened it up and chugged about half of it right away, then made a face. This stuff tasted shittier than any other beer I had. I shrugged it off, though. Maybe if I got drunk enough it would start to taste good.

At one drink, Bob and Randy were both still watching the TV like mindless drones. They only took their eyes off the TV when they realized their beers were gone. When they got up to get themselves another, Bob brought me back one, smiled, then went back to staring at the TV.

Two drinks in, Bob was complaining to anyone who would listen about how unfair the coach was for not letting him be on the football team. "I got stabbed, big whoop." He'd say. I laughed a bit at that. Bob really didn't understand the severity of getting stabbed it seemed. But Bob insisted that eventually the coach would give in. I think most people agreed with him on that, but I heard a few people making bets on whether the coach would give in because of how annoying Bob was, or because of how good of a football player he was.

Three drinks in, an Elvis song came on. It was a slower song, and it seemed to impact the party in a negative way. I knew I'd heard it somewhere before, but I didn't have time to think about that before Randy and Bob started complaining.

"If you're not drunk enough to like Elvis," I started. "Then you're not drunk enough." With that, I got up for the first time since I sat down and got us all another drink. Randy complained, saying something about how he literally just finished his second, but I just smirked. "Keep up."

I had finished my fourth drink before the song was over, and it seemed to hit me harder than the others had. I found myself singing along, which caused Randy and Bob to laugh. "But I can't help falling in love with you." Sang my horribly off-key voice. I was actually a pretty okay singer; I just didn't care enough to try to sound good. I mean, it was only Elvis. Why bother?

Five drinks in Bob and Randy also started singing along to whatever song was playing. It was a song that had a boy and a girl singing, I think it was Love is Strange by Mickey and Sylvia. Whatever song it was, Randy sang the girl part. It was laugh worthy.

At six drinks, David finally came over and joined us. "Having a good time so far?"

"Bob and I want to see who can get more girls' numbers." Randy blurted.

David and I both looked at them, amused. "I'll keep track then." he told them. "Come back in half an hour, we'll count then." David looked somewhere, presumably at a clock, but I couldn't find one anywhere. "Game on."

Bob stumbled a bit getting up, but as soon as both Randy and Bob were gone I turned to David. "Bob's so gonna win."

David scoffed. "No way." I give him a look as if I wasn't convinced he even believed what he was saying. "Ten bucks?"

"You're on." I shook his hand.

He sat beside me on the stool Bob was sitting on and looked at the beer bottles laying around. "You guys sure have drank a lot." I shrugged. Six drinks didn't seem like much, but at the same time it did.

At some point during those thirty minutes when David wasn't looking I found a napkin and a pen on the island. Since I wanted Bob to win, I did what any sensible person would. I wrote down my number. Granted, I had to write it a few times because I kept fucking up, but I wrote it down. And when David looked to see what I was doing, I just brought it up to my lips and pretended I was wiping my face. After David looked away I checking the napkin and it just looked like I kissed the napkin, which worked.

Later on, David spotted Bob and Randy nearby, so he yelled at them that time was up. When Bob walked over to us, I noticed half of his face was red and he had a smug smirk glued to his face. I laughed a bit, but slipped him the napkin when David was too busy counting the numbers Randy got.

After David was done counting, it was determined that Bob had won by one, and I was ten dollars richer. Bob called David and idiot for betting against him, and David just glared at him before walking away.

During my seventh drink, I ended up having a conversation with someone other than Bob, David or Randy. That was rare, even at school. I wasn't really one for making friends or socializing, so I could actually count the number of friends I had on one hand. But I wouldn't call this person a friend. He was more of an old acquaintance.

"Well now, I know that can't be little ol' Candie."

I turned to the voice and smiled. "Hey Paul. Haven't seen you in forever."

Paul was four years older than me. He was a real good guy, but I only really knew him from when he got Bob to start playing football. It was hard to believe there once was a time when Bob didn't play football, but in reality he only started when he was in grade six. Paul's and Bob's parents were close friends, so they spent a lot of time together when they were younger. Sometimes I despised him for ever getting Bob into sports.

"Well now, last time I saw you still drank beer with a straw." I laughed a bit at that. When I first started drinking I insisted on drinking everything through a straw, because I didn't think it tasted as bad that way. In reality the only difference it probably made was that it gave me hiccups.

"It wasn't that long ago." I protested. "Bob dragged me to your high school graduation, don't you remember?"

I noticed my words starting to slur together, and Paul must have noticed to because he started to laugh. "You a bit drunk?"

I tried to scoff, but a hiccup ruined it. "Just a little." I held my index finger and my thumb close to each other, to indicate how little I meant. With my other hand, I waved my beer. "I'm on my seventh."

Paul shook his head with a smile, pat my back, then walked away. Hiccupped again and frown. I turned to Bob and rested my forehead on his shoulder, and hiccupped again a few seconds later. "I have hiccups." I told him, as if it wasn't obvious.

I heard Bob laugh, and I could feel it too from the way his shoulder was moving. "You're just a little baby. What are you even doing here?" he rubbed my head and continued laughing.

I couldn't tell if he was mocking me or not, but either way, it was clear he had a few more drinks than I had.

I waited until the hiccups stopped to move my head. In the meantime, Bob had started up a conversation about football - surprise, surprise - and Randy had taken off to God knows where. I looked out towards the living room and saw David talking to some other guy. I wasn't too sure what they were talking about, but I managed to make out David's voice over the music.

"We need girls for that, ya' goof!" he sounded annoyed, and looked it too. He rolled his eyes and started to walk away, until I walked over to him.

"David, I'm bored and Bob's talkin' about football." I complained.

The boy that was talking to David, who I now recognized as a boy named Bryan, looked between me and David brightly. "She's a girl."

"She doesn't count." David stated, putting an arm around my protectively. "She's off limits. Plus, we need more than one anyways."

Bryan didn't seem too happy with this answer. "C'mon, we can try to gather other girls while she's in there, it'll work."

David was about to speak, but something caught his eye. I looked where he was looking, only to find Bob talking to some chick. I rolled my eyes. I'd only been gone under five minutes, and he'd already found some chick to chat up.

"A couple of us guys wanted to play seven minutes in heaven." David told me, seeming to not care about what he said earlier. "Obviously we can't play it with ourselves, but we don't have any girls playing yet either. I know it sounds so grade seven, but most of these guys are too drunk to care."

I wouldn't know it was 'so grade seven'. I remember once back then I was playing a game of spin the bottle and Bob got all protective and made me stop, so it stood to reason that seven minutes in heaven would be off limits. But I was almost sixteen, and Bob seemed to be busy enough chatting up that girl, so I figured what the hell?

"I'll play." I volunteered.

David looked a little hesitant, but nodded and pulled a blindfold out of his pocket and started to tie it over my eyes. "Rules; never ask why I have a blindfold. It's a long story that would probably be best left untold." David informed me. "Aside from that, pretty much anything goes. It's called seven minutes in heaven for a reason, so don't start anything you can't finish in seven minutes." I nodded along to what David was saying.

After he was done tying the blindfold on, he turned me so I was facing him. Or at least, I thought so. I couldn't actually tell. "How many fingers am I holding up?" I shrugged, and David made a noise of approval. "Good. You know, you can still change your mind if you want." he offered.

I shook my head. "I'd like to actually do something normal kids do for once, without someone ruining it for me." I heard David laugh slightly.

"That bad, huh?" David and I weren't that close when we were younger, so he wasn't around to see how annoying Bob could be when it came to me. But when we started hanging out, around the beginning of grade eight, he caught on fast. "Well, if you're not going to change your mind, I'll lead you to the room."

For some reason they didn't think to put the blindfold on in the room, or even just outside of it, so I had to walk upstairs drunk and blindfolded. Let me tell you, that takes skill. Skill I didn't have. If it weren't for David and his soberness, I'd have fallen down the stairs by now.

When we finally got up to the top of the stairs, I was lead a couple of steps to the left, then I heard a door open. "You wait in here; I'm going to make sure they don't send some creep up."

Well, that didn't exactly make me feel great.

I paced around the room. I didn't know what else to do. I had to keep the blindfold on because someone would be coming in here soon. Outside of the door I could just barely hear voices. I couldn't make out any of the voices, so I decided not to bother paying attention to them. Shortly after I stop paying attention to them, however, I heard a noise like someone had kicked the wall. It wasn't too loud, but it was enough to startle me and make me jump.

Not too long later I heard the door open and close, followed by the sound of footsteps. The footsteps stopped for a minute and I heard whoever was in here let out a slight chuckle under their breath. It was a chuckle I couldn't understand, though. It didn't sound like a normal chuckle. I couldn't quite pin the difference, but I knew it was there.

The footsteps started again and next thing I knew there were two hand on my hips, slowly backing me up until I was against the wall. It was around that time when I started to wonder if this was actually a good idea. Maybe there was a reason Bob always got mad when I tried to do things like this. I guess it was possible he wasn't as unreasonable as I thought.

I felt one of the guy's hands leave me hand and brush my hair out of my face. I resisted the urge to crack my neck or back when I heard him whisper something. "I need you to just trust me."

I hadn't realized how close he was to me, but it sounded like his mouth was right by my ear. I didn't recognize the voice, though even if I did know the person I wasn't sure I'd be able to tell it was them. The voice was so quiet that it just sounded raspy.

I nodded at the person, but it didn't seem to be what he was looking for. "No, I-" he seemed to notice that he was speaking louder than before, so he lowered his voice again. "Just say you trust me. I just need to hear it."

"Okay, I trust you, alright?"

The person didn't seem to believe it. He took a step back and let out an audible sigh. I heard him pace around the room for a bit, then stop suddenly. The next thing I heard was him mumble "Don't hate me for this."

I'm not exactly sure what it was that I was expecting, but still I was surprised when I felt lips pressed against mine. My breath got caught in my throat. I wasn't really sure what to do. Between the alcohol and my heart racing a million miles an hour, I couldn't think straight. I was hardly even aware that the person's lips left mine, and were now working their way down my neck.

Fortunately, that didn't last long. I wasn't aware of how long I'd been that room, but I heard the door open. I knew who it was before they even spoke, and this was probably the only time I'd ever been glad they'd interrupted anything. Before the person who opened the door spoke, though, the other person removed their lips from my neck and whispered "Forgive me."

"The hell do you think you're doing?" Came Bob's voice. "Get off her!"

The other person, who I still didn't know, removed their hands from my hips and stepped back. I felt one of them - Bob, I assumed - grab my arm and drag me out the door. Again, I was on the stairs drunk and blindfolded, only this time I was going down them. I tripped slightly on my own feet, but the grip Bob had on my arm didn't give me much space to fall. Once we got down to the bottom of the stairs, Bob took the blindfold off.

"What the hell were you doing? What made you think that would be a good idea?" All gratefulness I felt towards Bob slipped away with these two questions.

"What the hell was I doing? What the hell were you doing! I'm not a kid anymore, Bob. I'm sixteen, I can take care-"

"You're fifteen. You're not sixteen for two and a half weeks. And don't even try to say you can take care of yourself, because clearly you can't. Look at you. How much have you had to drink, Candie? Can you even remember? What are you even doing at a place like this? You're the youngest person here, you know that?"

What was I doing here? He was the one who asked me to come in the first place. Bob opened his mouth to say something else, but I spoke faster. "Well I guess I just learn from the best." That made him close his mouth pretty fast. "Why do you care, anyways? Why'd didn't you just keep on chatting up that pretty blond?"

Bob looked angry and annoyed. He didn't say anything for a second, he just looked like he was biting the insides of his cheeks.

"Because she isn't you."

To say I was taken aback by his words was an understatement. I couldn't even look at Bob after he said that. I ran a hand through my hair and glanced around the room. The music was still playing loud, so no one seemed to notice the argument between Bob and I. That being said, I felt like someone was watching me. I felt eyes burning on the back of my head, so I took a better look around the room.

David, who was standing at the bottom of the stairs, was smiling at me. Not a normal smile though. This smile was the smuggest smile I'd ever seen on his face. There was also I hint of pride, and something about him looked nervous or on-edge.

I drew my eyes away from David, and looked at the floor in front of Bob. I sucked in a huge gust of air that I didn't know I needed, and avoided looking at him. "What does that even mean?"

"It means she isn't the little girl crying on playground on her first day of grade one."

This confused me enough that I forgot why I couldn't look at Bob only moments before. I lifted my head and looked at him with a confused look.

He shrugged and continued. "She isn't the little girl who use to paint all over my arms in art class. Or the girl who was afraid of loving anyone until grade seven because she actually thought babies were made from love. She's not the ten-year-old who tried to run away to California in hopes that The Beach Boys would write a song about her. Or the thirteen-year-old who came back from New York covered in cuts and bruises because she decided to try to seem tough and get in a rumble. Or the girl who decided to name her kitten after an outlaw-"

"Gunslinger." I corrected, under my breath.

Bob rolled his eyes. "She's just some no personality blond girl. She just wants the social benefits of dating a football player. You don't even care that I'm on the football team. More than that, you actually dislike it."

Now I rolled my eyes. Sports were stupid. I'd never liked that Bob was on the football team. When he made the team in grade nine, I decided to try out for the cheer squad. Cheer practice and football practice were usually at the same time, same place, so that way I'd still be able to see Bob pretty much as often as I had before. I made the squad, too. And so all grade nine I was actually a cheerleader. Part way through grade ten, too. But Dallas found out through the grape vine, and I ended up quitting. I didn't know how to explain to Dallas why I was on the team without telling him I was friends with Bob, and dealing with Dallas constantly making fun of me just wasn't worth it. Sometimes I missed being on the squad, to be honest.

"My point is, you're different." Bob snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Are you sure your point isn't that I was the only greaser to make the cheer squad in the past three years, at least?" I joked.

Bob rolled his eyes again, but this time he smiled. "Y'know, you really are something else, Candie."

I found myself unable to look at him again. If any other girl were in this situation they'd be shitting themselves with joy. A football player who liked them this much? Never mind that it was Bob, who would be popular even if he wasn't on the football team. But maybe that was what he meant when he said I was something else. Maybe it wasn't a good thing, like he made it sound.

I looked over to David for help, but he just shook his head, still looking smug. I gave him a pleading look, and the smug look changed to annoyed. 'Don't try to tell me you don't like him.' David mouthed.

I glared at him, but I thought about it. I'd never thought about Bob like that. He was always just like a big brother to me. But weird enough, given the circumstance I wasn't repulsed by the idea of Bob being anything more than a friend. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed normal. It almost felt right, like it was supposed to be.

Bob put a finger under my chin and moved my head so I was looking at me. He raised both of his eyebrows, as if to ask me what was going on in my head. I pushed his hand away and laughed slightly. "I hate you."

He shook his head. "No you don't."

The grin on his face slowly became apparent, as if he knew what was going through my head. I wouldn't be surprised if he did, I'd known him for so long. It often seemed like he could read my mind.

"You're right." I told him. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. It was just a peck on the lips, but it was still enough to catch someone's attention.

"I was gone fifteen minutes." I looked over and saw Randy standing there, looking confused out of his mind. "What the hell happened?"

David walked over, still looking smug, and rested his elbow on Randy's shoulder. "Long story short; me."

Randy turned, making David's arm fall, and his face grew even more confused. "Have you been smoking?"

David looked confused, before he realized what Randy was talking about. "Oh, no. I was in one of the rooms upstairs, someone must have been smoking in there earlier."

At first I thought nothing of it, but when I noticed Bob's irritated look suddenly it all clicked into place. "Wait you were the one in the room with me?"

Poor Randy looked even more confused than he had been prior, but I was too distracted to fill him in. David seemed to be on the same boat as me, or at least a similar one, because he didn't fill Randy in either. "I certainly was."

I sighed loudly and put a hand on my head, chuckling slightly as I did so. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, so you would have let me kiss you if I did?" David asked. "And you wouldn't have objected to letting me kiss your neck if I explained it was because I was sick and tired of you and Bob both pretending y'all don't like each other?"

Bob scowled at David, which I wasn't sure if I'd ever seen him do before. He took a step towards David, but I quickly stood between them, stopping Bob in his tracks "Bob, really? Just leave it."

Bob began to object. "But he-"

"Kissed me. That's it, Bob. If you feel the need to go off on everyone who kissed me it'll be a long night." Bob gave me a look that was a mix between confusion and suspicion. "We'd also need to go to New York."

Bob looked like he was about to say something, but David gave us an exasperated look. "Come on, guys. I put my beautiful face on the line for this, in hopes you guys would stop being idiots and just start dating already. Don't tell me I did it all for nothing."

I didn't wait to see if Bob had anything to say. Instead, I said the first thing that came to mind. "Dallas would hate me."

If it wasn't obvious, I didn't put much thought into what I was saying. Bob and David both gave me a weird look, and Bob rolled his eyes. "Oh, as if you actually care about what your brother thinks." Bob didn't seem to put much thought into what he said, either, because I'd never heard him say anything that sounded so cocky before. Maybe it was just the alcohol kicking back in again. "C'mon Candie, what d'you say, will you be my girl?"

I'm not quite sure how I heard it over the noise of the music, maybe I just knew in the back of my mind to expect it, but I heard a quiet gasp coming from behind me. I didn't even need to turn my head to know it was the redhead Bob once called his girlfriend. Now, I don't want to say she was the reason why I said yes, but she certainly was my motivation to answer so quickly. "I'd love that."

I felt my face heat up at how stupid I sounded. I'd love that? Why didn't I just say yes like a normal person. I was sure that my whole face was a deep red, but Bob snapped me out of my thoughts by grabbing my hand and spinning me around. "Dance with me." He laughed.

I still felt embarrassed, but as soon as I realized Bob didn't care about what my exact words were, it didn't seem to matter. I laughed as well, and let Bob drag me onto the dance floor, past Cherry, and began to dance with him.

The wildest short around is my cherry, cherry Coupe
It's the sharpest Coupe in town and the envy of my group