Author's Note: So I'm pretty much terrible at being consistent with updates. I've apologized for almost every late chapter so far, and it wouldn't hurt to do that one more time. So I'm sorry for this being so late, but I really had to fine tune it. Eeenjoy.
Disclaimer: Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own.
Butter Fingers: Michael
Tuesday, November 21st, 2006 (3:17 pm)
Shit, can girls ever talk.
Well, two girls in particular: Nicole Bristow and my girlfriend, Taylor Cowell. Both of whom are in my last class of the day (Spanish) and both of whom had decided that spending today's class talking about fashion was the best possible thing to do.
Usually, I'm pretty ecstatic about Taylor being in my class. But today, she was less interested in holding my hand than helping Nicole show me all the cute purses they were thinking of buying in Teen Vogue (it's their biggest issue ever). There was the orange one with rhinestones for a simple movie date, the oversized lavender one with lemon accents for a day at the beach, and of course, the classic discreet black suede clutch with the strappy handle for all and every occasion.
Not to mention the russet leather ankle boots, the rose and cranberry pashmina, the sapphire blue satin ballet flats and the charcoal (it is NOT black Michael!) off the shoulder sweater. All reasonably priced at $175 and up.
It's enough to drive a man insane.
Finally, after eighty minutes of sheer agony, the bell rang and we were herded from the classroom by a cranky teacher who probably wants nothing more than to settle back with a cheap glass of wine. Needless to say, I bolted. So it's now just me, a free, if a bit lonely, man, walking back to my dorm. Chase and Logan were supposed to meet me by Sushi Rox for an afternoon pick me up, but neither of them showed. Didn't phase me much, though; I don't think they deserve my company anyway.
I stroll by the courtyard, vaguely taking in the hordes of kids that gather there every Friday afternoon. I don't even bother trying to distinguish people in crowds anymore; they always move and change position, making it ridiculously hard to get their attention. People seem to assume that I'm the very definition of partier, but parties aren't really my scene. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a good shebang. I'm just not a big fan of crowds, never have been.
Squeezing my way through a group of skaters (claustrophobia kicking in), I approach my dorm building, rubbing my hands together. Alright, the tricky door. The sign reads pull, but I always, always push. It's been about a month and I still haven't figured out that it never changes; it's always pull. I reach for the door handle when it suddenly opens, revealing a bushy-haired head.
"'Sup Chase," I greet, high-fiving him as he emerges fully from behind the door, holding it open as people pass him by. I decide to let the sushi stand-up slide this time. "Why aren't you with Logan?"
Chase scratches his head with his free hand before answering. "He took off."
"Court again?" Classic Logan behaviour.
"Dunno. I mentioned the D word," (I feign horror) "and he got this über weird look on his face. Then he just left. He did that on the day she came back, he did it the other day: every single time, man," he says, shrugging. "So you've got the dorm to yourself; I'm meeting Zoey so we can go over our science homework."
"Ho-ho yeah, man, good luck!" I exclaim, high-fiving him again before he leaves to go to his little study-date. How cute, he's going all red; I tend to have that affect on people. He lets go of the door and walks away. Spotting my chance, I slip into the opening before it closes, avoiding the entire process of pushing and pulling.
"Michael my man, you are a genius," I say proudly, approaching our dorm room. I open (push) this door and go in to find it empty, just like Chase said. Empty; just the way I like it. I can do whatever I want and nobody can stop me. And with all the stuff Logan's dad gave him for our room, it's a pretty sweet deal. Now it's just me, the air conditioner and our beautiful, high-speed internet computer.
I relax into the plush leather rolling chair, kicking off my Shocks. Ahhh, my favourite time of the day: loading new music onto my mp3 player. It holds so many songs it's almost ridiculous. I remember the first day I got it, I was sitting in the lounge and Dana helped me figure out all the controls so I gave her some space on it. I still have some of her songs, actually; they kinda grew on me. But I don't go spreading that around. Rock just isn't my thing.
Blip.
What's this? A new e-mail? Well isn't that just a coinci… oh shucks. It's not for me, it's for Logan; he forgot to log off our computer. I hate it when he does that. Well, I guess I should log him off…
…then again, the e-mail is practically inviting me to open it. And besides; if he didn't want people reading his stuff, he wouldn't have stayed logged on, am I right?
Oh, I am so right.
Here's to teaching Logan Reese a lesson. I'll just click this little envelope and…
Hey Logan, we're all meeting in the co-ed lounge at 4:00 to discuss the final touches
for our project. Lola's coming by to pick you up in case you don't get this in time.
- Anthony
"Anthony? Who's Anthony?" I ask myself. I've always had this bad habit of thinking out loud. It gets me in trouble a lot, but it's actually worked to my advantage once: I wanted to ask Taylor out, but I couldn't find the words to do it, so by accident I started thinking out loud. I didn't know that I was doing it, but Taylor suddenly said that it was the sweetest thing she'd ever heard, so I guess I said something right.
I've always secretly hoped I didn't say she had a nice ass.
Anthony… rings a bell, actually… oh, I got it. He was in my media class last year: total psycho.
Logan has got no social life if he's getting e-mails from Anthony about a… "project". Speaking of which, Reesey-boy is gonna miss that meeting if he doesn't skedaddle over there in the next twenty minutes. I would call him and inform him of this little meeting, but then he'd know I was snooping.
Let's see what else he's got. Chain letters, ads, random e-mails that aren't interesting at all… what's this? A folder marked C? I probably shouldn't look at this. I should log him off and turn away right now.
"Oops, my finger acci-denta-lly slipped," I say loudly (awkwardly) as if I were a bad actor reciting a line.
But hey, who's acting here?
There's a boatload of e-mails in here – about 17 pages worth, actually, dating from last October to earlier today.
Intriguing? I think so.
"So what's the C stand for, Richie Rich?"
Damn thinking out loud. I hope Logan isn't standing outside. Or was telling the truth about his superhero hearing. Seeing as the first page has the first messages, let's start at that page, shall we? With the very first e-mail.
Dana,
Hey, how's Paris? I know what you're thinking; doesn't Logan Reese have better conversation starters
than that? I do, actually, but I don't think you'd want to hear them. I'm basically sending you this
because I know you well enough to guess that you'd never be the first to communicate.
Something about showing weakness, perhaps?
- Logan
Ohhh, I get it. C is for Cruz. Clever. But why is he saving the e-mails he sends?
Logan,
Haha, very funny. You know, I probably would have sent you an e-mail sooner or later.
Probably later. But I still would have. Paris is amazing. The city is gorgeous, and everything is
so interesting; even the sewers. Paris has sewers with HISTORY. Great, huh?
Anyway, I don't want to bore you with the details 'cos I'm sure your famous faaather has
taken you to Paris tons of times.So enough about la belle France;
how's PCA without me? A stinking hellhole of misery?
- Dana
P.S. About your conversation
starters? Thanks for not
wasting my time.
Dana,
Oh, but you're a lot funnier than I am. You would have sent me an e-mail sooner or later?
Later doesn't cut it in the Reese family, sweets. Actually, I've never been to Paris.
It sounds pretty cool; I'd like to go sometime. We should go after we finish high school. Speaking of that,
are you ever coming back, or will I have to conveniently run into you on some street in Paris?
And yeah, that hellhole of misery pretty much sums it up. There's a new girl.
- Logan
P.S. No problem chickadee.
Logan,
Lateness doesn't cut it in the Reese family? Since when have I been a part of your fancy little famille?
I think you'd like it here. There are models everywhere you look and they absoloutely fawn over
foreign celebrities.So by we you mean the whole PCA gang? And what's this about a new girl?
I've heard about her from Zoey, too. You guys are replacing me already? Tsk tsk.
- Dana
Dana,
Don't deny it; you've always dreamed of being Mrs. Dana Reese. Did you say models? Yeah, sure. Or, you know… could be just us?
I love models. Models love me. Hell, everybody loves me. Now I can't wait to go to Paris;
my dad's a foreign celeb, there are hott girls, nice clothes. Heaven.
Her name's Lola, and she's all dramatic and stuff. She's okay, but I dunno. Not my favourite.
She's clinging on to Zoey. It's like having another Nicole, but this one has coloured hair.
And no, you can't be replaced, because you're coming back.
Actually, you still haven't answered that yet. Are you coming back?
- Logan
Logan,
Haha, in your dreams kid, not mine. And yeah, you're right;
everybody just ADORES you and your arrogance.
"Just us". ???
Lola? Wow, sounds dramatic. Is she all feather boa and pink pumps?
- Dana
P.S. I don't know.
Dana,
So I'm arrogant, who cares? I know I don't.
Lola: depends on what day you see her. I swear, this girl finds the weirdest clothes
in the bargain bin and layers them about fifty times. Sure, originality is cool and all,
but she's just weird. And for her first impression, she pretended she was a goth chick.
Lame? Yeah.
- Logan
P.S. I think you know what I
meant by that.
Logan,
By what?
- Dana
Dana,
"Just us".
- Logan
Hmmm… this just gets curiouser and curiouser. It's a good thing my conscience is on a well-deserved hiatus; normally I'd be beating myself up about doing something like this. Oh well, it's too late anyways; I'm finished the first page. The next few pages are probably virtually the same, so I'll just skip to the last one.
From 12:37, this afternoon (November 21st), only one piece of mail. And only one of me to read it; works out perfectly if you ask me.
Dana,
Meet me at the courts at 4:00 today. Don't worry; it's not about
me wanting to kick your ass in a rematch. But it is important.
Logan
So I'm thinking I shouldn't investi – I mean, my finger shouldn't slip any farther along the page numbers. I'll just log Logan off and get my new music. No thinking, speaking or asking about this ever.
Ever.
X button, green button, delete this little episode off his computer's history, another x button and finally the yellow button. There, no more snooping. Music time, music time, music time; that's all I was doing in here. Music time, music time, music time…
I select about 20 new songs and click the upload button just as Chase enters the room at a sprint, looking frantically through his neat stacks of paper. His face is flushed and he's hyperventilating; sometimes I just like to sit back and watch him run around like a spooked horse. Just for the fun of it. But today is a Zoey study date day, meaning no time for my shenanigans.
"Dude, calm down; what are you looking for?" I ask him, spinning in the chair to face him. I feel so James Bond.
"My notebook: it's got all my notes, my paper, my writing uh, my writing things, uh uh uh…" He's starting to spazz, wringing his wrists in frustration. "Michael please, you've got to help me! Zoey's waiting and I, I–"
"Chase: chill, man. Your notebook's right there." I point to an army green binder lying on the ground by the tv. I'm guessing it's his because mine is navy blue, and Logan's more into reds.
"THANKYOU!" Chase yells as he speeds out of our room. The door swings shut with a quiet click, but not before I hear a thud from the hallway; the boy's big hair got him hurt again.
I know I shouldn't laugh, but I can't help it. He's so... panicky.
I plug my headphones into my ears and slump onto my bed, lying on my orange and white striped quilt as steady drum beats and fast words fill my ears. I lie content for a while before my mind starts to wander. All this music is reminding me of Dana; we've always connected on a musical level if nothing else. We're constantly debating about why rap or rock is better, and what the real purpose of techno is, anyway. Unfortunately, Dana is reminding me of what I've accidentally read.
I mean, it was a given that Logan would be in touch with Dana while she was in France; we all were. It's just, I didn't know to what extent he was in touch with her. Those last few e-mails were kind of unnerving.
He almost sounded… serious about her.
And that was just the first page.
Author's Note: So this was Michael; personal favourite of mine. I'm sorry if the e-mails weren't all that easy to read, but the stupid thing kept screwing up my format so I just settled for what I could get. You may have noticed that I've added the date and time as a header in this chapter. I was rereading this story and realised that there was no structured timeline, so I decided to make one. I've added a date and time to every previous chapter and it will be present in every future chapter. So if you go back and check, the timeline of the story might make a little more sense to you (hopefully).