My mother's voice called from the bottom of the staircase. "David! Come down for dinner."

Just in time. I was finishing up the last of my homework assignments from my honors history class. Doing homework nonstop for three hours really took its toll on me. I'd worked up an appetite and the aromas from the food almost made my mouth water. After making it down the steps I grabbed my plate and chastely kissed my mother on the cheek before taking a seat at the dinner table.

Just then my father entered from his spacious office looking disheveled. I could tell he had worked up an appetite, as well. "Hello everyone." Tired as ever, managed a small smile toward my mother. "The food looks delicious, sweetheart."

I had already dug in eagerly which escaped neither of my parents' eyes. My mother chuckled lightly. "My goodness, David. You'd think we never feed you."

With my mouth full of mashed potatoes I smiled sheepishly. "I'm hungry," I explained.

Bemused, she replied: "Yes, your father and I can see that."

I had just served myself second helpings when my father spoke. "I'm surprised you joined us for dinner tonight, son."

"What do you mean?"

He undid his already loose tie. "I mean it's Friday night and you're actually home. I feel like I never see you anymore. Especially during the weekends."

"Well dad, you know I have a girlfriend and everything..."

"I understand that son, but I feel that you sometimes spend more time out and about than you do at home. Even on school nights you are out with this young lady."

"Dad, I like spending time with her. What's the big deal? It's not like I come home late when I know she and I both have school the next day."

"That's another thing," he gestured with his fork. "I've noticed that your grades have been slipping lately. You come home, rush through homework--which should be your first priority--then you go back out."

"I'm still getting good grades. Since when is a B average a bad thing?"

Mom interceded. "It's a bad thing when you simply settle for a grade. Your father and I know you are capable of the absolute best. You've just been doing enough to skate by which is unacceptable."

I didn't like where this conversation was going. They were making Veronica sound like a bad influence which definitely was not the case. I itched to snap back in defense but I knew that wasn't the route to go. Instead I decided to change tactic. "Okay, you guys are right. I promise I'll work on getting my grades back up." I checked my watch. "But I have a date with Veronica in an hour."

"David..." dad warned.

Holding my hand up in a pleading gesture, I said, "I don't want to cancel on her last minute. If you let me go out tonight I promise I'll stay home tomorrow."

My parents shared a gaze. As if reading each others thoughts without speaking a single word they reached an agreement. "All right," my mother patted my hand. "But remember, from now on your school work comes first."

I smiled and stood from the table. "Thank you."

"Why do you wear those hats?"

Veronica and I were strolling through a park in a nearby neighborhood when she asked this question. Knowing I wouldn't be able to see her again until Sunday, I made a more than usual effort to make myself presentable for her. My beloved hats were steadily collecting dust in my closet and I thought this was as good a time as any to bring them out of hiding. The forest green shade of the hat matched perfectly with the retro bowling shirt I had worn that day.

Shrugging, I smiled. "They're somewhat of a collection of mine. Plus no one else ever wears these. I guess that's what I really like about my hats."

She shook her head and smiled. "Maybe there's a reason nobody wears these hats anymore."

I figured she was teasing so I decided to play along. "Are you disrespecting my hat?"

"Are you barely catching on to that?"

"Aw, c'mon. It's just a hat. It's not like I have a pimp cane to match with it."

She pointed at me, grinning. "Ah ha! You see, you even admit that it looks like a pimp hat."

"It's just a stereotype that ignorant people made up to go with the hat. Doesn't make it true."

"David," she sighed. "I thought I could laugh it off at first, but I really don't like these hats that you wear."

"What? You can't be serious."

"I am. Listen, I'm not saying you can't wear them. But please just don't wear them when you're out with me."

Well...this was certainly news to me. If this was maybe a month ago I would have protested and fought for a compromise. Then I remembered that I had promised myself that if she took me back I would use the opportunity to make it up to her in any way possible.

...which she did.

Sighing, I reluctantly agreed. "Fine. It's a deal."

In response she smiled and threw her arms tightly around my neck. "Thank you, sweetie."

"Does this mean I get a treat for my obedience?" I teased.

"Hmm," my brunette beauty placed her forehead against mine. "I'm thinking about what kind of kiss I should give you."

Instead of laughing I opted for a playful smirk. "Really now? What options do I have?"

"Why don't I show you, and then you can pick which one you'd prefer," she breathed against my lips and then proceeded to 'display' her 'treats'.

Wide awake I layed back against my pillow. The clock read 11:23pm. Man it was early, I thought. Then I realized there were two reasons I felt so wired. The obvious reason was that I was feeling very, uh...anxious. During the past couple weeks our intimate sessions had begun to grow in intensity and passion. Vero's hands were constantly roaming too.

Then there was the other reason.

Tonight was the same night as the party Harold had been ecstatic about. I wondered how my friends were holding up. No doubt Miranda had unsuspcting strangers under her alluring charismatic spell. I knew only Lizzie and I were immune to her persuasive 'powers'. With anyone else she could talk her way out of undesirable situations. My mind wandered over to my not-so-much-in-your-face friends. Aka, Denisse and Blake. The last I heard about them was from Lizzie who mentioned a maybe kiss.

I laughed quietly. I still couldn't wrap my mind around that pair as a romantic couple. She was, at most, an inch or two past five feet. And here comes Blake towering over us at a minimum of six feet and three or four inches high. His features were strongly defined, and almost hard. Whereas Denisses' face was smooth and porcelain-like. Opposites attract I suppose. It seemed to be true in my case, well.

I already knew it would be pointless to call Miranda. I'd probably bum myself out knowing that all my friends were out partying and I was stuck at home on a Friday night. Then I remembered that I would be stuck at home tomorrow night, too. Shit.

Maybe Lizzie was home...

She wasn't as religious about the party scene as Miranda. And the only time she would go would be because Miranda needed a ride. Maybe Miranda caught a ride with Daniel. It could happen. I had just picked up the phone to dial when an alternative came to mind. She could be out with Charlie. I frowned at the thought. Then again, would it really be a big deal if I accidentally interrupted their date?

I was halfway through dialing her number when I hung up the phone. There was no way in hell I'd pull a Steven. Reminding myself how much I couldn't stand his imposing antics I placed the telephone back on the cradel and layed back down. I'd call the girls tomorrow...