Ten

I awoke early, after literally collapsing on my bed just a few hours previously, if it wasn't for the sweet tropical fragrance of Liz's hair gel clinging to my skin I would have thought last night was a totally out of character one-off dream, generated by an excess of testosterone. Yeah, the truth was harder to swallow. Simon's snores reminded me that only my world had been tipped on its axes last night, my watch told me it was close to six in the morning, the birds were stirring to life outside. I deliberated about going downstairs to sneak a snack or finding Liz so we could . . . I don't know.

I'm not a romantic person, I have been fully aware since I was seven, and saw a pair of teenagers surgically attached to each other's mouths and declaring undying love for each other at a bus stop, that I am mentally incapable of being infatuated. It's just not in my nature, I don't get attached to strangers so it wasn't as if I was planning mine and Liz's elopement. I, by and large, tend to teeter on the more pessimistic perspective of life, thus I didn't expect Liz to gush to everyone about our tryst. Not only did she seem like a private person, but girls don't brag about their sexual exploits for fear of being labelled as promiscuous or "easy". Besides, I don't look like Troy Bolton (nor do I wish to) and am quite certain that last night will soon be termed by Liz as never-to -be-repeated.

She's just so pretty.

It's not like I hadn't noticed it before, all the girls here are aesthetically pleasing, in fact I am surprised that Simon – aside from Chloe's recent entrance – hasn't made reference to it more often. Rae's copper skin is flawless and her rich mahogany curls look like they should be the focus of a shampoo commercial or Elnett hairspray. Even Tori has her attributes in spite of her truly horrid personality, her high cheekbones and stylish hair suit the confidence she radiates on a daily basis. They are all neither underweight nor obese; though Chloe is tiny she doesn't come across as emaciated.

Liz is of average height and weight, her hair is really what makes her stand out. I don't want to be the predictable guy that always falls for the fickle, ditzy blondes and overlooks the savvy, smart darker-haired girls, but her hair is lovely. The brightest natural blonde I have ever seen, plus it is unbelievably soft to touch; her tresses match her eyes. Blue eyes and blonde hair, I guess I am a tad conformist, the constant media attention that surrounds said starlets like Blake Lively far surpass others, even though aside from their trademark locks they are not that striking, not say in comparison to Olivia Wilde (the only celebrity I fancy and Simon hasn't figured it out yet).

I tug at my hair, it needs a cut, and listen carefully, it's eerily quiet here. The tiny hairs on my forearms prick up, my werewolf instincts screaming at me to go investigate; I rub my suddenly clammy hands together. Yanking a hooded sweatshirt over my head I creep to the door. The material strains over my upper half constraining my muscles: Simon's. I have become so used to loose-fitting clothing that this stupefies me for a while.

"What in the hell are you doing up so early?" I jump at the sight of Simon's sitting dark form, his hair a spiky catastrophe. He grins, "That's the first time I've ever scared you," he gulps thirstily from the glass by his bedside. Always a morning person. "So what are you doing? Where were you going? Stupid question, food, right?"

"Do you want to actually let me answer or are you just happy babbling? Sometimes I think you really like the sound of your own voice," I answer, a little tetchily, my muscles jump under Simon's top warning me they need release and exercise. I rotate my shoulders.

"Maybe so, but that obviously means you hate the sound of yours." He extends his arms above him, yawning widely, "What time is it?"

"Six"

"Jesus, I think you're abnormal appetite is contagious because I'm freaking starving. Too bad nobody's awake yet," he eyes me suspiciously, "Yeah, Derek either you've grown so much over night that none of your ridiculous Eminem clothes fit you or that hoodie is mine," I took it off with a scowl, in no way, shape or form does my choices in clothing coincide with Eminem's. I pulled on a baggy grey jumper.

"Preppy, very Seth Cohen."

"Who's that?" I asked, confused. Simon waved it away with a look that communicated he was annoyed that I never got his popular culture references. "I know who Megan Fox is," I pointed out in my defence.

"Yeah, you and every other male in the world, so it doesn't count." I tried to think of something helpful Liz might have said and got nothing.

"Whatever, I don't watch much television –"

"Or listen to music, play video games, watch DVD's, or dare to step out of the confines of these walls and why? Because –"

"I played Grand Theft Auto and broke the controller because you cheated and then you cried for a week," I said effectively shutting him up, he opened and closed his mouth like a fish, eyes darkening, train of thought forgotten.

"You can't cheat at Grand Theft Auto," he hopped out of bed going straight to the mirror. Not that he's vain, this is the first time he has looked in the mirror out of interest since being here, usually restricting face time with the reflective glass for when he's brushing his teeth, but now he was taking a supreme interest in his reflection. Studying his face from all angles.

"If I didn't know better I would say you were practicing for your mug shot," I quipped.

"Ha ha," he kicked a lone, battered skateboard towards me, our room was full of abandoned equipment, Simon tried at least every sport once, basketball and soccer being the only ones that stuck with him. Lacrosse apparently is too complicated. Ice hockey too violent. Football too similar to wrestling.

"But I do know better," I continued, "and you only get this conceited if there's a girl or another charity fashion show."

He glared, "One time, Derek, one time, you know Dr Gill should warn you not to hold onto things so much, it's unhealthy. Besides it was for charity, I was just doing my bit for the . . . what was it?"

"Children, local hospital, you met with a little boy who had cancer . . . anyway as I remember it, and as I've just demonstrated my memory is more or less infallible, a girl had something to do with that too, and you walked down the runway in a scuba diving costume. Is that what people wear to the beach these days?" I teased, "I must have missed the memo."

"Charity." He repeated stubbornly, "I wonder if Chloe had done that at her school."

"Why would you wonder that?" I sneered.

"Well, she's at an art school," He tugged a comb through his tangled mass of hair, yelping when it caught. "You know, they do arty things, fashion shows are pretty arty."

"Really," I tried to rein in the sarcasm, but it was my instant response to whenever Simon grew interested in a girl. It didn't stem from jealousy rather the fact that every girl he met and dated was the same and Simon got bored after two days in their company.

Simon's jaw tightened as he sent a dark look in my direction, "You're such a cynical bastard."

My lips contorted fighting out an apology, "So she majors in fashion," I tried for an about face, keeping any satire off my features. Simon smiled, accepting my indirect apology.

"I have no idea, I doubt it, I mean her clothes are nice," They were?, "but she just doesn't seem that . . ."

"Superficial?" I supplied, not to his satisfaction, "Not superficial is good, excellent, even."

"Okay, I think you've filled your kindness quota for today," he threw his comb on the desk grabbing a tee shirt, "Let's get some food before we both pass out."

The house was slowly but surely coming to life, Tori and Rae were having a screaming match and then Talbot came scurrying past to calm Tori down. Peter's gameboy was zapping downstairs and if I listened hard I could hear Chloe talking. Either she talked in her sleep or she'd met a ghost because I couldn't hear Liz at all.

Where was she?

Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa guys, something must have got lost in translation: Liz and Derek did most definitely hook up, 'if it wasn't for the sweet tropical fragrance of Liz's hair gel clinging to my skin I would have thought last night was a totally out of character one-off dream' but Liz's scent is clinging to him, so it was not in fact a dream. It was real. Oh and I am really sorry but Liz has to die otherwise it won't fit in with the books. She'll still be in it though. Keep reading!