A.N.: Erm…Yes. Please review!

Rose Amongst Thorns

Chapter Eleven

Girl-talk

On Monday during Art, Rose was had started sketching away and having a quiet chat with Pearl, who was knitting something to put in her fashion-design portfolio, when there was a rustle of movement and someone squatted down beside her end of the table. By the paint-streaked floppy blonde hair, she knew instantly who it was even without having to look more than out of the corner of her eye.

"Hey, Finn," she said quietly, licking her lips.

"Hey," he said softly, offering her his packet of Fruit Gushers. "So, what's up?"

"Hm?" Rose glanced at him and turned back to her sketchpad. She was trying to get the exact way Miller's mouth dimpled at the corners whenever he pouted thoughtfully. He had the most amazing lips she had ever seen. Well, almost. Finn's were just as, if not more beautiful.

"You were real quiet this weekend," Finn said. "I mean, you're not chatty at the best of times, but you were like…silent." Rose shifted one shoulder in a would-be nonchalant shrug. He had noticed that, had he? Yet he'd taken no pains to talk to her, either. He hadn't come downstairs to watch the game with her and Miller, hadn't helped her make more moussaka than she'd ever made in one sitting, or come to the Farmer's Market with her and his mom. He'd taken the canvases and paints from Regina and disappeared after dinner on Saturday.

"Yes, well…I heard you all having a meeting about me on Thursday. So, sorry if I wasn't in the mood to go out of my way to be nice when I'm not wanted," Rose said, her cheeks flushing with a combination of hurt and anger—mostly hurt. Finn froze, staring at her.

"Oh. Okay. You…Good." Rose glanced up.

"Good?" Finn blushed. She had never seen a prettier boy than when he blushed. Bastard. Boys who made her feel so shitty didn't get to be pretty.

"Sorry—I do that sometimes. I was gonna say, 'You did?' but I wanted to say, 'Not good,' as well," he said, absentmindedly tearing up his Fruit Gushers wrapper. "I have my own special language in awkward situations. So…you heard us."

Rose turned back to her drawing, nodding. Finn's hand curled over her wrist, and he rubbed his thumb against her skin.

"Rose, I'm so sorry you had to hear that," he said earnestly. "You know it has nothing to do with you, personally, don't you?"

"What do you mean?" Rose said hollowly; it had sounded pretty personal to her. In Doug's mind, she had ruined their family. Finn sighed heavily.

"Look, okay, we were just… We're all just very used to the way things were," Finn said, sighing again.

"So was I," Rose said miserably. Finn bit his lip, his eyes softening to the most wonderful early-dawn blue.

"You know how when you get a cut, white blood-cells attack any sign of infection? Well, that's kind of how we've reacted to you coming to live with us," Finn shrugged.

"You're comparing me to a disease?"

"You know what I mean—you're a foreign body in our system," Finn smiled softly. "Eventually the guys'll come round. I mean, they just have to sit back and think about things from your perspective and they'll see who's worse-off."

"The guys?" Rose murmured. Finn smiled.

"Having you around is…different. But if having you here means having your cooking, I think I can deal," Finn smirked, and Rose had to smile in response. His eyes were so playful and glittery. "Where'd you learn to cook like that, anyway?"

Rose's smile faded away, and she fiddled with her pencil; Finn's hand was still curled warmly over her forearm, his thumb sending tingles through her skin. "Um…last year my mom…stopped taking care of us. So I had to."

"What d'you mean?" Finn asked curiously. "Stopped taking care of you how?"

"She started drinking, for one," Rose said, and her cheeks flamed. She'd never even told Pogue that; he'd just always known, so she hadn't had to. Finn was the first person she'd ever told that she knew her mom had started drinking heavily after what happened to Lucia. "Whatever," she sighed heavily. "So, I learned to cook."

"Well, you learned well," Finn smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, which were fixed on Rose's face and betraying a whirlwind of thoughts. "So…Whaddaya say? Stop tiptoeing round the house like a sylph? Hm? 'Cause, you ignore my brothers, they'll only turn the screws harder. And, in case you haven't notice, we're kind of everywhere. High school's gonna seem an eternity if you turn into the Invisible Girl. The in-their-face tactic is pretty much all my brothers will respond to."

"That's what Pogue said," Rose sighed softly.

"You talked to your friend about this?"

"I talk to Pogue about everything," Rose shrugged. Finn winced subtly. Was he regretting, or ashamed of, the actions of his brothers, because Rose had told someone about them? That she had felt the need to call her best-friend in North Carolina because of what she had overheard? Well, good; he should be, Rose thought.

It was a game-day, and when Rose emerged from the lunch-line later that afternoon, her tray laden down with a water bottle, orange juice, chocolate milk, a yoghurt, an apple and a Spanish omelette, Miller was already sitting at his picnic table in the courtyard, his headphones in place. She had brought Gone With the Wind to read, knowing there was no chance Miller would miss the game to continue their fact-question game.

"Rose! Over here!"

Aimee waved from the centre of the cafeteria. Glancing at Miller, who was ensconced in his game and his lunch, Rose thought he might forgive her for not sitting with him, and made a beeline for Aimee's table, where she sat with Pearl and several other girls Rose thought she might know from some of her classes.

"Hey," Aimee said, smiling, as she dropped back into her chair. Rose smiled, flushed embarrassedly at the friends Rose didn't know who were staring at her, and awkwardly sat down opposite Pearl, who reached across the table, grabbed Rose's hand, and held her still while she measured yet another bracelet.

"Have you met Jenna and Ria?" Aimee asked, as Pearl stuck her tongue out in concentration, measuring the bracelet. Rose glanced at the two unfamiliar girls sharing Aimee and Pearl's table. Jenna had a long braid down her back and wore stylish Aviator glasses; Ria had the intense expression of a girl who could easily find the chinks in a suit of armour. Rose and Pogue had a few friends like her back home, and after a few war-wounds, Rose knew how to handle them now.

"No…hi," Rose said bashfully, waving slightly.

"Hi," Jenna said, pushing her glasses up her nose. "You're in my French class, right?"

"Second period with Monsieur Gilliard?" Rose asked. "I don't think he likes me very much."

"That's 'cause you know more French than he does," Jenna grinned. "Where'd you learn?"

"Oh… I was born in Paris," Rose said quietly, blushing when Jenna's eyebrows rose. "I went to a French pre-school and learned there, and when we left my mom kept speaking French to me so I wouldn't forget."

"So, Rose, let's get down to it," Ria said seriously, leaning her elbows on the table. "How, exactly, did you end up bunking in boy heaven?"

Rose blinked. "Boy heaven—oh, do you mean the McGowans'? I wouldn't exactly call it heaven," she said quietly. The girls all made exclamations of incredulity.

"Not boy-heaven!" Aimee laughed. "Are you kidding—they're like the hotness brigade." Rose laughed and took a sip of juice. "What? They are! I still can't believe my sister is dating one of them."

"Please. Once those two both won best-looking in eighth grade, we all knew they were gonna be swapping saliva sooner or later," Ria said, digging into her pasta.

"Ria!"

"Ew," Aimee grimaced.

"So…what?" Ria said, addressing Rose. "Did you win some contest or something?" Rose flushed; she didn't really want to tell them why she was living with the McGowans, because she didn't want the sympathetic looks and hushed voices she had dealt with in North Carolina. That was the only thing she liked here; no one knew—except the McGowans—what had happened to her parents. But at Ria's intense expression, Rose licked her lips and fiddled with her spork.

"Um…no," she said quietly. "My parents died two weeks ago."

Eyes widened. Jaws slackened. Rose saw it all, the familiar 'oh-shit' moment when people realised they were talking to a recently-bereaved orphan. "My mom and Regina McGowan were best-friends in high-school, and my parents left me to John and Regina's guardianship in their will."

"Oh…"

"So, have you, like, seen any of them naked?" Ria asked; Rose knew she had asked for two reasons; a, she was genuinely curious, and b, she had wanted to stop the awkward silence. Rose was very grateful. Jenna, Aimee and Pearl were all rapt with attention. Rose laughed and blushed.

"No, I have not seen any of them naked," she smiled. She looked around and leaned in toward the table. "But I have seen most of them in their boxers."

Jenna nearly swooned. "Oh my gosh, Evan McGowan in his boxers. What was it like?"

"Well, it was first thing in the morning, so what do you think?" Rose asked, smiling playfully. Pearl had raised her Gatorade to her lips just as Rose had spoken, promptly choked and spat out the mouthful of blue water all over Rose and Aimee.

"Urgh! Pearl!"

"Sorry!" Pearl choked, her big eyes wider than usual. "Evan McGowan is so perfect," she said, when she had recovered. "I had my first ever sexual daydream about him."

"Really?"

"I think most of us did," Aimee replied.

"I didn't," Rose smiled. "Mine was Gerard Butler." She almost swooned, and smiled at the girls' laughter.

"How can you not think it's heaven, living with the McGowans?" Jenna asked curiously. Rose laughed shortly, and recounted everything that had happened that first morning of her arrival in Boston. The girls were all rolling around in their seats, clutching their stomachs and crying with laughter by the time she had ended her story—including the fainting incident after being smacked in the face by a basketball, and the major third-wheel syndrome with Evan and Hailey, driving home from school that first day.

"Evan McGowan is such a flirt," Aimee said thoughtfully, shaking her head and frowning.

"That's true," Ria said. "That boy will flirt with anyone, anywhere, anytime. Even the ugly girls."

"Ria!" her friends shouted.

"What? It's a good thing!" Ria countered, eyes wide. "To have an Adonis like that flirting with the trolls. It's gotta be good for the self-esteem."

Rose glanced across the room, to where the footballer, cheerleader, Abercrombie types were congregated; Darnell Wilcox caught her eye and waved; Rose smiled and waved back. She scanned the crowd and found Evan, chatting animatedly with three pretty cheerleader-types who were all rapt with attention and playing with their hair and smiling coquettishly. She hadn't noticed before; Ria was right. Then she remembered Darnell's birthday-party, the way Evan had acted after Hailey had disappeared for the night. Like he was single. He had flirted with anyone—male or female, especially after he'd had a few drinks—and had been smiley and good-natured and laughing, and made people smile, particularly the girls. But Rose had never seen him kiss another girl at the party, or do anything untoward to them, like making a move. Perhaps he was just one of those inherently flirty people; Pogue was like that, sometimes. He was such a social whore.

"Sorry. Ria doesn't realise that not all of us need attention from cute boys in order to have self-esteem," Jenna said, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

"Well, whatever," Aimee sighed. "I just wish he would quit it already. He's gonna give Hailey an aneurysm and the rest of my family will suffer the consequences."

"She doesn't like it," Rose guessed, glancing back at Darnell's table, and found Hailey, frowning while she talked with her friends, her eyes flickering occasionally to Evan, oblivious to her glares.

"Hates it," Aimee said. "She lives for that guy, I swear. To be honest, I don't see what the big deal is. He can be kind of a jerk and he isn't even the hottest one."

"Oh, no. That would be Finn," Ria put in.

"Really?" Rose blinked. She knew Finn was pretty, but Evan had that Abercrombie appeal. Of course, Sean had the gorgeous, rugged handsomeness inherent in young men who rode Harleys. She had no comment on Doug. Miller was very good-looking, when he raised his eyes off the floor. She didn't know which she preferred to look at—well, no, that wasn't true; since Miller was the only guy in the whole family who actually talked to her (even if he couldn't sometimes bring himself to look at her, which she understood) she liked looking at him most. He did have the most lush lips she had ever seen on a boy. And the thick, curling eyelashes he and Finn shared. But then, Finn had those wonderfully expressive grey-blue eyes…

"Evan is so much hotter than Finn!" Pearl put in.

"Actually, I was talking about Miller," Aimee said, blushing.

"Miller?" they all repeated, dumbstruck. Aimee glanced across the cafeteria at the courtyard, where Miller was leaning back in his seat, listening to his radio. "I don't know. There's just something about him," she said, narrowing her eyes wistfully as she watched him.

"Yeah, something weird," Ria said. Rose glanced her. Ria was the kind of girl who said what was on her mind and never said anything she didn't mean. If she could be so callous about someone she didn't even know, Rose could only assume that it wasn't common knowledge that Miller had Asperger's.

"Ria!" her friends scolded. Rose watched Miller, and the way Aimee was looking at him. Taking away what she knew about Miller, looking at him from a complete outsider's perspective…she saw a very cute, shy guy.

"I think I see it," she said slowly, tilting her head to one side thoughtfully, watching Miller. "He's…strong and silent."

"Yeah," Aimee said, with a bashful smile, sitting up straight. "Not that I could ever get a guy like that. Or any guy."

"What are you talking about?" Rose asked, frowning bemusedly.

"Please. Look at me," Aimee sighed. Rose did, frowning. She saw the same cheekbones Hailey had, flushed naturally from gym, her last class, glossy blonde hair that had never seen any colour but its own, and wide, friendly eyes. Aimee had broad shoulders, a lot of muscle, and maybe a little extra meat on her bones that nevertheless gave her some great curves. She was hardly huge.

"I'm looking. What's wrong with you?" Rose asked, confused. She was very funny, friendly, and quite sweet, and cared about other people's feelings. Why wouldn't any guy be lucky to be given a chance to date Aimee?

"Come on! My arms are thicker than Hailey's calves," Aimee said, frowning. "Give me a break."

"We've been telling her for years that she's hands down the better-looking Farmer," Ria said, shaking her head. Rose glanced from Aimee to her sister, across the cafeteria.

"Hailey wears too much makeup," Rose said, frowning, and glanced at Aimee. "And your smile is prettier." Aimee just shook her head.

"Whatever! You guys know I'm fine with my size. Someday some guy will totally fall in love with me. Just not in high school," Aimee sighed. "Boys in high school are too superficial." Evan, yes. Rose got the impression he and his clique were those kinds of people, the ones who would smile to your face and cut you up behind your back without a second's hesitance.

"Not all high-school boys," Rose said, nodding towards the courtyard. Aimee followed her eyes to Miller, who now sat leaning back against the tree right behind his seat, his eyes closed, and a tiny smile tweaking the corners of those gorgeous lips of his as he listened to the radio commentator, bathed in sunlight.

"Have you ever seen Miller's smile?" Rose asked, and Aimee frowned.

"No, I don't think I have. He's always looking at the floor," Aimee said thoughtfully. Rose could tell Aimee knew that because she spent a lot of time looking wistfully after Miller, and smiled.

"It will take your breath away," she said softly. "Trust me." Aimee bit her bottom lip and glanced over at Miller again. Suddenly he raised his fists in the air and cheered, startling the Goths across the courtyard. Aimee laughed and returned to her salad, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Well, whatever, I still say it's Finn," Ria said, gazing past Rose's shoulder. "You guys just don't have the same refined tastes as me. I like the deep, soulful type. I mean, just look at the boy! Those blue eyes, that just-got-out-of-bed hair. And look at the way he dresses. Any guy that can just throw on whatever and still be that beautiful has got my vote."

Rose glanced over her shoulder and saw Finn, sitting at a table under the window, wearing a faded black t-shirt, and baggy jeans tucked messily into his ever-present paint-splattered boots, which were half-laced up and battered and broken-in till they looked as soft as butter. The sun poured in through the windows, highlighting his blonde hair and intense expression, making his eyes glow brightly, even from the distance Rose sat from him. He was surrounded by artsy types—some of them she recognised from Art class—who were all laughing and joking with each other, but Finn's concentration was riveted on the sketchbook propped up on his knee; he sat with his foot tucked up on the chair, the other outstretched, and the muscles of his tanned arms rippled slightly as his hand moved quickly across the page of the sketchbook. Even when someone threw an orange past his nose, he barely looked up.

"Well, you do have to admire that level of concentration," Jenna acquiesced.

"I just love it when he's in his football uniform," Aimee said, grinning shyly.

"Finn's on the football team?" Rose asked, surprised. She hadn't thought he was interested in sports very much—and she was certain he would have caught a ride home with her and Evan if he was at afternoon practices.

"Oh, yeah! He's on the varsity, too," Aimee said, nodding. "His butt is so cute in those shiny pants they wear."

"Finn's on the football team?" Rose repeated. "I've never seen him around the locker-rooms after training."

"He usually gets a ride home with friends he has on the team," Aimee said knowledgably. "He's real modest about being on the team, too, even though he's the starting fullback, and he's only a junior. All the cheerleaders love him." That was new; it explained why Finn was surprisingly muscular for an artist.

"Yeah, but it's totally pointless," Ria sighed sadly. "That babe only has eyes for one girl."

"Really?" Rose glanced up, eyes widening with intrigue. Finally; dirt! "Who?" Ria pointed with her plastic fork.

"Kayla Bird." The way she said those two words, Rose knew exactly what Ria thought of the tall, willowy, olive-skinned beauty who floated over to Finn's table in a long skirt and black boots. She lifted a sheet of wavy light-brown hair over her shoulder as she sat; Finn glanced up, saw her, and instantly closed the sketchbook.

"Who is she?" Rose asked quietly.

"She's a junior. Dancer, beautiful, perpetually tan," Ria said.

"She wears string bikinis at the town pool," Aimee added. "This is Massachusetts. I mean, who can compete with that?"

"She's too skinny," Pearl remarked, her tongue poking between her lips as she threaded tiny seed-beads onto the bracelet she was working on. Rose glanced at Kayla again. She was wearing a white tank top, and next to the strap, she had a small birthmark; she wore a delicate, antique-looking gold watch on a slender wrist. Everything about her was graceful, but looking closer, Rose saw Pearl was right; she could see the curve of the back of Kayla's ribs through the flimsy fabric of her top, and her wrist-bone was prominent against her skin. Still, she was beautiful. Even when she lifted her water-bottle to twist open the top, she looked like a ballerina. Rose turned back to the girls.

"Finn would be interested in someone like her?" she asked. She would have thought Finn would like…well, not an anorexic dancer, that's who. Maybe a normal girl, like Aimee; she had once thought Finn might like Pearl. She could see it; they were both quite quirky.

"Interested? He's obsessed," Ria laughed. "He's always staring at her. Of course, Kayla's too stuck-up to notice. I'd notice if Finn McGowan was staring at me."

"Who's your favourite McGowan, Rose?" Jenna asked, smiling. Rose shrugged, blushing.

"I know that one!" Pearl blurted, grinning. "Finn. He was practically holding your hand today in Art."

"He was not."

"Yes he was—he was doing this," Pearl said to the others, and curled her hand over Rose's wrist the way Finn had earlier, rubbing her thumb against Rose's skin. "And you didn't see, 'cause you were looking at your drawing, but he had this face when he looked at you. Like you were like, I don't know, the only woman in the universe." Pearl spoke with the candidness of a child, and strangely it didn't make her sound naïve at all. On the contrary, Pearl's innocent honesty made her utterly endearing. If a little embarrassing.

"He did not!"

"He did!" Pearl protested adamantly. "I've read enough romance novels to know what that look means. I could tell he likes you. You didn't see the look because you kept blushing. You blush an awful lot, Rose."

"I do," Rose said softly, feeling her cheeks flush yet again.

"Well, I think Finn likes it," Pearl said. "Every time you blushed, he'd look at your cheeks and smile. You know, Ria, the way he does with his eyes."

"I love how he does that," Ria swooned. "So is Finn your favourite?"

"I…I don't know. I don't know any of them well enough to have favourites," Rose said honestly.

"Okay, but who do you like looking at the most?" Ria pressed.

"I don't know. They're all pretty," Rose said, blushing. "But they don't like me, anyway."

"What? Why not?"

For the rest of lunchtime, all Rose and the girls talked about were the McGowan boys. Rose learned a lot about Evan and Finn, the two most popular McGowan brothers; she told them about living with said popular guys, about Pogue and her other friends in North Carolina, the first party of the year this coming Friday, and when they should all get together to go to the mall to buy new outfits for it.

A.N.: Please review.