Oh hey, I'm alive! Yo soy baja! I think...

Enjolras: Oh, just get to the point!

So, as Mr. Grumpy-Pants said, I have to "get to the point". The point is, this chapter includes various "math problems", with are:

Broken Thumb = Angry Enjolras + Montparnasse + Combeferre + X

Surgery = Broken thumb + Enjolras

Possible Suggestiveness = Rosie + Enjolras(Angry at parents)

(They'll make sense later, I promise. AND DAMN YOU REID! Why must you be #1 in the eighth grade in math, and I am only #2? Sure, it helps with your superiority complex, but still...)


Enjolras was still mad at everyone; mad at Combeferre for yelling at him, mad at Montparnasse for breaking his thumb, mad at his father for yelling at him for "ruining his future career". The only good thing was his mother, who was always the mediator between her husband and son. But today, Mrs. Enjolras let the two hash it out. She felt like they needed to; that they needed to know what the other wanted.

"Mr. Enjolras?" A nurse questioned quietly. "Are you ready to go into the operating room?" Enjolras looked over at the game ball from his first win ever, and nodded.

"Yes, ma'am, I am."

As Dr. Combeferre, 'Ferre's father, operated, Rosie arrived only to run awkwardly into Mr. and Mrs. Enjolras. She immediately became more timid; though she knew Mrs. Enjolras to be a fairly agreeable woman, she wasn't quite sure about Mr. Enjolras.

Mr. Enjolras, though, regarded her warmly.

"Why I'll be! It's old Mitchie's little girl, Rosie! What brings you here?" He inquired. Rosie gulped to herself; could she tell them she was here to see Enjolras?

"Oh, I just heard two football-"

"Yes." Mrs. Enjolras stated. "My son is one of them. He's in surgery right now. They have to set his thumb with pins. PINS!"

"Oh," Rosie mumbled. "I didn't know..."

"Dr. Combeferre sure had a good laugh about it." Mr. Enjolras grumbled. "Said my boy's thumb broke just like Cutler's."

"You mean Jay Cutler's? Didn't he mi-

"A whole SEASON?" Mr. Enjolras boomed. "Yes, he did. Now go away, little girl."

Mr. Enjolras's BlackBerry went off abruptly and he read whatever message he had just received. It was an email, from Vice Principal Javert, stating the events his son had partook in earlier that day. He looked up at Rosie in disbelief.

"You... YOU were the reason my boy got hurt!" He shouted at her.

"I am not!" Rosie defended. "Montparnasse made that tackle!"

"But you're the reason he was so distracted! If you hadn't been with him in the science lab, skipping class, practically..." He trailed off. "Never mind. Go, gir-"

"Rosie?" Enjolras mumbled as he was wheeled out of surgery. Rosie smiled at him and he grinned back. The cast on his hand to hold the thumb and pins in place was red, of course, and it didn't seem to bother him. Enjolras had been injured plenty of times because of sports; most memorably his basketball injury where he twisted his ankle nearly one-hundred-eighty degrees. He's sprained, twisted, and broken plenty of parts of his body, and almost every injury had to do with sports. (His physician actually sent his parents a Christmas gift every year...)

"Enjolras, how are you?" Rosie asked as she followed behind closely. He shrugged.

"Fine. My hand itches though." He replied with a chuckle. Rosie had never had a cast before, so she didn't understand the whole thing about itching problems. Enjolras just sighed as she stood there puzzled for a moment.

Later, after an X-ray had been performed to see if the pins were set right, Coach Boubil came up to talk with Enjolras about a new game plan.

"Now, I've got two choices for QB this game; Courfeyrac and Robyns. Courfeyrac has played the position before, and Robyns was supposed to be starting quarterback this year, as intended by Hadley before you came along." He told Enjolras.

"No. Courfeyrac runs too easily. Guardston's athletic, they'll have no hesitations on chasing him down all night. And Robyns! He can't throw worth anything! I want to play the Blanche kid, Ryne? Is that his name?"

Coach Boubil stared at him like he was a raving madman. "Blanche? The kid's Frosh, Enjolras. Just got to Schonberg! And you expect him to compete at the Varsity level?"

"Yes," Enjolras answered. "I've seen him play. The kid's goo-"

"Blanche is SCRAWNY! The Guardston linemen will make a meal of him! I'd be more comfortable putting his twin, Joseph, in! At least he's tall and-"

"Looks like he could get blown over by a slight breeze? At least Ryne's stockier; he won't look like he'll topple over at any minute like Joe!"

"Fine. But if he starts to struggle, I'm sending in Robyns."

Coach Boubil left and passed Rosie as she entered. He talked with Mr. and Mrs. Enjolras just outside the door as Rosie and Enjolras talked.

"I'm sorry you won't be playing in the homecoming game." She stated softly. "Who are they going to replace you with?"

"Ryne Blanche."

"Oh! I know Ryne, he's a sweetheart! He's a trumpet player in the symphonic band. His brother Joe plays trombone."

Enjolras smiled a bit. "Y'know, they're pretty good athletes, too, Rose." He pointed out. Then Mr. and Mrs. Enjolras came in, halting their conversation.

"Well, Julien, the Notre Dame Athletics Department sends their wishes of a speedy recovery." Mr. Enjolras said happily, then noticing Rosie. "Well, well, well. Old Mitchie's daughter sure has been spending a lot of time with you, my boy. Or so Mr. Javert says."

Enjolras paled. "Sure. We're good friends." He lied through his teeth.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Javert said you two are very good friends. Now, Miss Mitchell, how would you... Rate my son's capability in... An intimate relationship?"

Rosie's face colored and Mrs. Enjolras, who hadn't been informed of the events from earlier today, gasped. Mr. Enjolras awaited Rosie's reply, while Enjolras fumed.

"I have no past experience with any other men, so I can't say." Rosie mumbled.

Mr. Enjolras chuckled. "Ah, I see. Now," he kneeled down at Rosie's eye level, "honey, you and my boy come from different worlds. One day, he'll be winning Super Bowls. And you'll... Shop. Understand? You won't fit into his world unless you grow six inches, become a size 2, and have prettier eyes. He'll marry a supermodel... You'll marry an accountant. Get my point?"

Rosie glared at him and stood up. "Mr. Enjolras, I cannot believe how ignorant you are to your own son. He doesn't want to be a professional athlete! He wants to be an attorney! If you would've used your ears and listened to him once in the past six years, you would've known that!"

Enjolras' mouth was agape, thinking of what his father might come back with.

"You think I don't know my own SON? Listen, you little brat, you may be smart at school, but-"

"DAD!" Enjolras yelled. "That's ENOUGH!"

Enjolras sprung out of the hospital bed, happy to be in his own clothes, that he'd changed into in the bathroom earlier, and wrapped his arms around Rosie from behind. He stared his father down and Mr. Enjolras cleared his throat as he sat down.

"Don't worry," he murmured in Rosie's ear. "Everything's alright. Meet me at the Zane's at ten. I've... Got a little something planned for tonight. Will you permit it?"

Rosie smiled slightly. "S-Sure."

"Great. See you then."


Grantaire: HEY! That's my line!

Me: I know. But it's also the basis of many E/R slashfics. So I stole it for Enj to say to a girl! Hah!

Oh boy... Enjolras has been drinking Essence of Courfeyrac a lot, I think. But don't worry, he's still Enjolras. Just... Teenage boy!jolras!

And Jeez, I made Mr. E a jerk; but hey, I guess NFL Quarterbacks can't be with 5'4", size 4 petite, brunettes with green eyes. :P

Next chapter was taken over by Courfeyrac and Jehan, so expect fluff, fluff, fluff and some suggestive material. Not a lot, though. 'Kay? 'Kay.

~TheClassof1832