Temporary Insanity
Chapter fourteen: Every Party has a Clown
"Did we really have to invite your other two girlfriends to Aldo's birthday?"
Dylan smiles as he pulls on a Metalica t-shirt that he found at a cool thrift one summer in Greenwich Village paired with a pair of dark jeans. He looks deep into the mirror, past his own image and at the girl standing behind him. Her sundress is simple yet chic and the smooth color of champagne, accompanied by mahogany gladiator sandals that lace up her ankles.
"Yes, we did," Dylan confirms, swiftly taking her by the wrist and reeling her into the bathroom. Her waves of caramel are flying every which way as Dylan moves to press her up against the back of the door, his free hand reaching over to flick the lock shut.
"Does Silver know Brooke's invited?" Phoebe questions. Her face shows her annoyance when she notices how Dylan's transfixed on her little pink mouth, his mind turned to mush. "I'm not about to play mediator, Dylan."
"Phoebe, chill," Dylan says with such a blasé attitude towards something that could possibly be a volcano waiting to erupt. He smiles gently, his hand sweeping through her tresses that are soft as silk. "I told B to stop by Bliss and pick up cupcakes to soften the blow. She's cool. Silver−"
"Silver is a ticking time bomb," Phoebe finishes. "I don't even know if she's cool with me."
"Silver doesn't hold grudges," Dylan assures her, shaking his head. Phoebe doesn't hesitate to show her disbelief. "Okay, so she may seem like the type to and there are exceptions to the rule, but looks can be deceiving. I mean, look how many times her and Rodge have gotten back together and he does worst shit to her on a daily basis. Trust me, Pheebs."
She scowls, "Trust you? Mr.−"
Phoebe hardly has time to suck in a breath before his lips come crashing against hers. He kisses her so hard, so intensely, that Phoebe can't do anything, but return it, her lips mimicking his in movement. It's moments like this where she both curses and adores Dylan North. On one hand, it's frustrating because they never get anywhere when she wants to talk about important issues yet being with him is the sweetest escape she has.
He breaks the kiss, panting against her lips, "Now, Phoebe, be good today."
She laughs airily, "Don't tell me what to do."
Their lips meet again in a kiss that's more attentive and affectionate than the rough, breathtaking ones that are reserved for shutting each other up. Her arms go around his neck and she presses into him as if she were trying to merge them into a single being. He groans. She moans. They kiss again. His fingers are tipped with fire, setting her skin ablaze with each touch.
BOOM!
BOOM!
"Dylan, you've been in there forever! Get out of the bathroom!"
BOOM!
BOOM!
Dylan grunts irritably and Phoebe's arms go slack as she leans back against the door, feeling the entire door vibrate each time Naoko strikes it with her closed fist. They reluctantly detangle their limbs and turn to the mirror, sure to straighten every article of clothing and put every strand of hair back in place. It's times like these where they have to be extra careful, when they know they have an audience.
Dylan groans impatiently and he angrily throws the door open.
"It's my fucking bathroom time, Phoebe," he sneers and Phoebe tries hard not to show how she's slightly impressed with his hidden talent of acting. "You can't just barge in like that just because your hair needs a little volume."
"God, you can be so dramatic sometimes," Phoebe rolls her eyes and scowls in response. "You were brushing your teeth! It wasn't like you were jacking off or something."
"Oh, that's real appropriate, Phoebe."
"Bite me, Dylan."
Their eyes meet with a hateful fire behind each pair of orbs before they take off in opposite directions of the hallway, leaving a slightly bewildered group of youngsters looking between the two retreating figures.
They wait on opposite sides of the lighthouse and count to ten before meeting up again at the top of the steps. When they do, they're laughing hysterically and grinning from ear to ear. He reaches for her hand, but then the door bell rings and Phoebe easily eludes his grasp, instead running down the stairs, sneaking Dylan a wink that makes his smile effortless.
Phoebe rips the door open, coming face to face with New London's most dysfunctional couple. Rodge is sporting a leather jacket over a simple white v-neck and his arm is lazily thrown around Silver who looks like she's attending some Hollywood red carpet event opposed to a six-year-old's birthday. Her electric blue dress makes her eyes absolutely pop, her black tights outline her shapely legs and she tops her look off with a pair of all-black Converse.
"Hey Pheebs, don't get me wrong, you totally rock your ripped jeans and Chucks, but keeping those long oh hot damn goddess legs hidden from the general public is most definitely a crime," Rodge blurts out, practically drooling as his eyes trace from Phoebe's porcelain kneecaps to her red-painted toe nails and back up to repeat the process.
"Hmm, usually I get pissed when my boyfriend blatantly checks out other girls, but Rodge does have a point," Silver agrees, holding a vintage Super 8 camera in her hand, capturing Phoebe's appearance from head to toe. "You've got great legs, Pheebs."
"Um, thanks. Usually I'd be flattered," Phoebe says to Silver before turning her gaze over to Rodge who's licking his lips like a disgusting, hungry wolf, "but it's Rodge."
"Hey guys," Dylan smiles from the foot of the stairs, entertained by the way his two friends are both entranced by Phoebe, particularly her legs. "The party's out back."
"Cool," Silver smiles, "Hunter's parking the car and−"
"Look who I found out front," in arrives Hunter's voice and though he's out of sight, it's safe to assume he's pleased, the hint of a smile evident in his voice. They all turn to find the football star with both of his strong arms wrapped around the tiny frame of the one and only Brooke Ferris.
Hunter's laughing such a jovial laugh, not the one when he's making small talk with adults or when he's hanging out with his supposed friends from the football team as they drink themselves into oblivion and have belching contests. He seems genuinely happy, standing there in his Moreno Black Chino shorts, a simple gray t-shirt and Dolce sunglasses that are assumed to be Brooke's.
Phoebe thoughtfully chews on her bottom lip, waiting for this entire thing to explode, waiting for Silver to bluntly point out their past and mistakes everyone's made. She's pleasantly surprised when Silver doesn't scream or shout or even glare. Instead, she smiles and points her camera at her ex-best friend.
"So how does it feel, B?" Silver questions while directing the lens of her camera at the petite brunette in the short, sleeveless and backless, firecracker red dress. Silver's smile is warm and almost everyone (except a grinning Dylan North) is in complete shock.
"It feels like home, S," Brooke says in a voice that's much softer and much more gentle than the usual Brooke Ferris who's often questioned if she's ADD. No longer able to contain herself, Brooke moves forward and embraces Silver who gladly returns the hug.
"How'd you do it?" Phoebe asks Dylan, so tempted to touch him when standing so close.
"Both of them are stubborn as hell. Neither was going to let their seventeen year friendship die without a fight," Dylan proudly explains. "They just needed a little Dylan North to point that out to them."
"Let me guess," Phoebe muses, thoughtfully tapping her finger against her chin. "You had nothing better to do during your little suspension from school, called both of them, tricked them into meeting when they thought they were going to hang out with you and somehow you magically got them to work out their issues."
"Wow, you know me well," Dylan laughs. "Well, it wasn't just me. Nate and Mrs. Munion helped too; it turns out the ol' girl is a huge Ferret Fan. Dude, locking them in a closet together was totally genius."
Phoebe laughs. "Seriously?"
"Well, at first I thought it was," Dylan honestly replies, running his fingers through the chocolate strands at the nape of his neck. "What really brought them together was when they pretended to be cool with each other, convinced me to set them free and tried to break my other arm."
"And you didn't tell me any of this in the bathroom this morning because?"
"I think it's cute when you squirm," Dylan replies in a teasing whisper. This time Phoebe doesn't hesitate to touch him when her fingers coil into a fist and her knuckles meet his shoulder.
"Come on, guys," Phoebe calls, motioning to the back door. "We've got a party waiting."
Stepping into the backyard is like walking into the warped world that is Chuck E. Cheese minus the air condition and loud, light up games. The property is crawling with little kids, running from the food tent to the game tent. There's Dylan giving temporary tattoos, a clown that's entertaining the children with balloon animals (and sexually assaulting Brooke with his eyes), a magician, a petting zoo, pony rides, cotton candy machine and an inflatable, jumping castle.
They immediately seize all control of the Rockband station, Hunter and Brooke alternating with the microphone and Rodge on bass, his comfort zone. Phoebe rocks the guitar, but then switches to the drums when Silver is the reason they fail one too many songs, loudly cursing her lack of coordination. Dylan grumbles from his station, but the sight of Phoebe laughing and playing around with their old friends is a sight to sweet to stay grumpy.
Kids who can barely operate the instruments start to complain and the big kids need to search for something else to occupy their time. The rest of the evening consists mostly of teasing Dylan and eating junk food and watching little children participating in tug-o-war.
When Hunter gets bored with kids yelling at Dylan, hating on his rock band logos for tattoos and Rodge cowering away from the clown, he proposes a friendly game of soccer. Out on the field, he likes feeling the sun beating down on him and the feel of the grass beneath his shoes. He likes having a goal and doing anything in his power to achieve it despite anyone or anything that may stand in his way.
Thump.
"Ouch," Hunter grumbles, running his fingers over the sore spot on the back of his head, fingers raking through short, dark curls.
"Sorry," Kelly laughs with a soccer ball at her feet. She kicks the ball up into the sky and Hunter easily catches it between his large, strong hands. "As much as dad thinks he can lead a team, we outnumbered him in the vote so you're captain of one team and apparently we can't be on the same team. They think it'd be unfair."
"It kinda would. We'd completely cream them," Hunter puts on a wide smile for the young girl. He holds out his hand, fingers curling into a fist with Kelly imitating him, their knuckles bumping. "So I guess I'm leading an army of Norths then, huh?"
"We learned to integrate a while ago, Hunter," Kelly explains with an affirmative nod. "Well, except we're a bit uneven. You think your brother wants to play?"
"Ha, are you joking? Rodge and sports, not exactly a match made in heaven," Hunter laughs at the very idea. He scans the table of friends who are huddled around an iPod with connected speakers. "Kel, I'm going to do some quick scouting."
"Game starts in exactly fifteen," Kelly announces and Hunter flashes the girl another smile that dazzles her in a way that surpasses the likes of Edward Cullen or any other boy both realistic and fictional.
"Hey guys..."
"You're such a pedophile, playing with all those youngens like that," Rodge teases while gnawing on the bendy straw he plucked from his can of cola. Brooke freezes though it seems Dylan and Phoebe are the only ones that notice.
"That little girl totally has a crush on you," Silver claims, "leading her on like that, not cool."
"Really, because I think Rodge would call it being nice," Hunter says, enjoying the way his brother chokes on his soda. "Anyways, who wants to play some soccer?"
A round of groans comes from all across the table.
"Fine, you guys suck," Hunter says dismissively. His eyes roam the other tents of guests and he finds a lonely blonde across the way.
Without even a goodbye, Hunter takes off, approaching a downhearted girl in J. Crew from head to toe. He plasters on a charming smile and smoothly settles in beside her on the porch steps, balancing the soccer ball on his knee. She absentmindedly fiddles with the hem of her sundress when Hunter clears his throat to make his appearance known.
"Hey Christina," Hunter greets, breaking the cheerleader from her deep thought.
"Oh, hey Hunter," she forces a smile and it's painful to witness.
"So what are you doing all the way over here all alone?"
"Just tired," Christina dances around the storm that's raging in her head. "And the clown is seriously creeping me out."
"Aww Tina," he chuckles, spinning the black and white ball on the tip of his finger. "I'm a jock, yes, but stupid no."
Hunter nods across the lawn to the table where the group of musically inclined teenagers are laughing and probably enjoying a round of teasing the crap out of each other. Christina's eyes reluctantly follow and she notices the way Rodge whispers in Silver's ear and how she pushes him away with a beautiful laugh.
"She's pretty," Christina coldly comments, wondering what Rodge could possibly see in Silver Silverberg. Sure, Silver's thin and curvy and has captivating eyes and with her acceptance into Yale (the talk of the town) one can infer that she's intelligent. Then there's her attitude, how she's completely shameless, bold in her every move. "Who am I kidding? She's flawless."
"A bit of an over exaggeration, but yeah, if anything, Rodge has great taste," Hunter agrees. "They look real happy, don't they? Give it maybe fifteen minutes. He'll say something she finds offensive and I think it's her turn to angrily storm off. Then knowing my brother, he'll probably go on a sugar binge instead of chasing after her."
"Yeah, but my question is why," Christina muses darkly. "How can he− she− both of them be so masochistic and continue such an unhealthy relationship?"
"One of life's many unanswered questions," Hunter smirks, seeming like the epitome of calm compared to Christina who's ready to rip her hair out. "Look, Christina, don't sweat it, alright? It isn't your shit to obsess over."
"I'm not obsessed." She pouts, not a patented Brooke Ferris pout, but the expression is still adorable and heart wrenching enough to make Hunter sympathize with the girl.
"Most girls who chase after Rodge have this mentality that they can fix him. They just see him as this bad boy waiting for a good girl to make him better. It's actually pretty cliché," Hunter explains to the best of his ability. "You see Silver, she isn't like those girls. She's smart and aggressive and stubborn and she doesn't chase him. She doesn't try to fix him."
"And she isn't happy," Christina surely adds, words that make Hunter look away, shamefaced. "Listen, Hunter, I got the talk from Phoebe and Dylan. If you think I'm chasing him or I'm so disillusioned I think I can tame the wild bad boy, well, don't. Rodge and I aren't even friends."
"I heard about that," Hunter winces and Christina quickly looks to him with interest. "I briefly remember him ranting to himself about you and Silver and growing up. What's that all about?"
"It just…annoys me that he runs to me not because we're friends, but because he needs an ego boost every time he fights with his girlfriend," Christina vents, "and it's not like he even listens to what I say or cares about me because he just goes back to her. I just, I want off the merry-go-round."
"Try having to deal with both of them," Hunter says, thrusting a hand through his hair in a weary gesture. "Rodge does something stupid, he wants me to talk to her and smooth things over. When Rodge storms off, I'm the one that has to reassure her that all the making up they do isn't for nothing."
"It isn't?"
"Not even I know anymore," Hunter says, shaking his head. "What I do know is that when they ask me for help, I help them. It doesn't matter what I think. It's their lives. He's my brother. She's my friend. I don't have the right to judge them so I don't."
"How mature of you," Christina goes for a genuine smile, but fails miserably. She sighs, thankful for waterproof mascara. "God, I feel like a complete joke, the little girl sitting in the corner staring at them like a freak. I might as well make my stalker level weirdness official, put on a red rubber nose and join the creepy clown guy."
"Yeah, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. Dude is a complete perv. I gotta wear my back-the-fuck-off snarl every time the creep makes a pass at B," Hunter shakes his head and chuckles despite the fact that it's true. Christina resists a reaction and the beautiful twin leans closer with determination lighting his eyes. "Aww, what's with the broody face? Come on, Tina, it wouldn't kill you to smile, would it?"
Her lips curl up, just seeing his sweet smile.
"That's my girl," Hunter grins and stretches his strong arm across her shoulders, pulling her in for an affectionate hug, though shorter and looser than the ones he gives Brooke and Phoebe. "Now, get up. We've got a soccer match to win and I think me and you are enough to make William cry."
"Why are you such a great guy, Hunter?" Christina wonders aloud. Hunter stands from the porch steps and holds out his hand. Christina easily takes his offering and he wraps his arm around her shoulders, leading her to the grassy area that'll serve as their field.
Hunter squeezes her again, hoping to hug away her sullen attitude. Laughing, he jokes, "Because Rodge took the jerk gene."
…
"Who's the blonde?" Silver asks, her voice taking on a defensive quality. Dylan releases his finger from the airbrush, admiring the ruby red lips, the pearly white teeth and outstretched tongue he sprayed onto the arm of a five-year-old in a party hat. His eyes travel across the way and his eyebrow goes up, noticing Christina and Hunter all buddy-buddy all of a sudden.
"That's Christina Beardsley," Brooke explains when no one jumps to Silver's question that hangs in the air. "She's William's little sister, stepsister to the Norths, cheerleader, cheery and cute in this naïve baby rabbit sort of way."
Silver wastes no time with her questions. "Are they dating?"
"He better not," Rodge grumbles beneath his breath, though Silver's too busy eyeing Christina to take notice to her boyfriend's sideline commentary.
"What's it to you if they are?" Dylan laughs, swiping his finger across the frosting of Phoebe's cupcake. She playfully slaps him and Dylan grins, pressing his finger past his lips and into his mouth.
"Just curious," Silver absentmindedly responds, chewing on her bottom lip.
"Rest assure, babe, he isn't dating her," Rodge butts in, shaking his head. "He may be all sweet and whatever with you girls, but he's my brother, a Montgomery, a dude. I know him and he's so into this football gig right now he doesn't do relationships. End of story."
"Aww, Hunt's just waiting for the right girl to come along. Give me twenty years to live out the rockstar roller coaster and then when I'm a famous singer ready to settle down and he's a famous NFLstar with a Hollywood mansion, I'm totally marrying him," Brooke says with stars in her eyes.
Rodge cringes, "Poor Hunter."
"Poor William," Phoebe interjects. "Brooke, he just walked by and heard all of that."
"Forget William." Brooke's demeanor suddenly changes, her plush lips poking out in a pout as she whines, "Phoebe, tell your stepbrother to quit staring. It's really starting to freak me out."
Combing her fingers through her bangs, Phoebe takes a look around and notices a number of admirers, one leering quite creepily catching her eye. "Well, Harry just hit puberty to where his voice cracks and he actually notices girls now," Phoebe says a bit awkwardly, "With Silver and you looking like−"
"The Girls Next Doors," Rodge interrupts just to be slapped across the head by Silver and socked in the arm by Phoebe. "Ow! Fine! Adult film stars."
"Watch it," Silver warns.
To which Rodge rolls his eyes. "It was a joke."
"Anyways," Brooke cuts in, already feeling one of the couple's many arguments coming on, "I didn't mean Harry who I think I might flash just to see how red he'll turn." Brooke bites the tip of her tongue, wiggling her fingers in a wave at the sandy-haired boy who stops to stare, giving Christina the opportunity to steal the ball from him. "I was talking about Will."
Dylan blinks. "I distinctly remember you saying 'forget William'."
Brooke sighs, "Well, it's kinda hard with him staring like that."
In three second flat, four heads turn simultaneously to find the Coast Guard's oldest son, well, also staring. Embarrassment plays across his face and William quickly goes back to the soccer match, trying to shake off the fact that every pair of eyes sitting around that table are observing his every move.
"Nice guys. Way to be inconspicuous,"Brooke groans, shielding her face with her hands, a sign of sheer mortification. "Ugh, does he not get that the breakup was permanent?"
"Well, no, not if you're sending him mixed signals," Dylan mumbles beneath his breath, thinking of the ridiculous way William accused Dylan of stealing that photo of him and his beloved Brooke. Looking at the musician with her head thoughtfully tilted to the side, Brooke's about to question Dylan, but is interrupted by Rodge.
"Here's an idea. B, why don't you use Hunt?" Rodge deviously proposes, his dark side itching for a little fun. "Nothing like a little fake out makeout to tell a guy it's over. Foolproof, I promise, and you know Hunter. He'll totally be fine with it."
"No," Silver surprisingly objects and Brooke throws Dylan a knowing smile. "One, even I think that's cruel. Two, we're at a five-year-old's birthday party. And three, it makes you look cheap."
Brooke sighs, "Then what do you suggest I do, Silver?"
"Hey William Beardsley!" Silver shouts in the loudest voice she can muster, standing up. Despite his bellowing father, William stops again, impatiently watching Silver. "Quit stalking your ex and get your head in the game! FYI, you're kinda being a creeper!"
Brooke groans and immediately grabs Silver by the wrist, yanking her back down into her seat. With animate eyes, she sneers, "Oh yeah, that wasn't cruel at all. Thanks a lot, Silver. It's nice to see you're still a shameless emo whore."
"And they may have made you give back the uniform, but you're still a slutty cheerleader bitch," Silver grins a grin of accomplishment. "I've missed you too, B."
"Ha, yeah, thanks. Now I'm totally bummed," Brooke grumbles as she sits up and threads her fingers through her shiny tresses that resemble a wave of chocolate. Watching Silver so smiley, Brooke gets an idea and her signature cheeky grin returns. "You know, I think I'll just makeout with Hunt as a pick-me-up."
The smiley attitude immediately drops and Brooke feels sickly satisfied.
"Now that makes you sound cheap," Phoebe laughs lightly, Brooke deflates with slumping shoulders, too miserable to even retaliate. Seeing all her friends preoccupied, Phoebe's hand finds Dylan's thigh beneath the table covered in plates of cake and cups of juice.
"Nah, not cheap. Just Brooke," Dylan laughs, his hand finding Phoebe's and entwining their fingers. His hand is so much larger than hers and when she feels him squeeze, she's filled with such warmth, sure to squeeze back.
"Whoa, hold on there, North Pole," Silver laughs, bringing his attention back above ground. The dark-haired girl shifts in her seat and lazily points her camera at Dylan. "Are you implying that our lovely Brooke Ferris is indeed synonymous with cheap?"
"Aww, Silver, you're talking to Dylan here," Phoebe reminds her friend, "I think you need to use smaller words."
"Shut up," Dylan orders playfully and notices his mother sending him hand signals from across the yard. "I'll get back to you, Silver. Pheebs, I think mom's telling us it's time for the cake."
"Yeah, we should really help out. Mom's totally swamped with five-year-olds and Frank's out there playing soccer," Phoebe scoffs, rolling her eyes. Dylan heads back towards the kitchen and Phoebe stands reluctantly. "We'll be right back, guys."
"Hey Pheebs, when you walk away, can you sway your hips a bit? Rodge likes," the bassist winks at the pale guitarist who narrows her eyes into angry slits before pelting him with a plastic water bottle and sauntering away.
"Rodge is really starting to get on my nerves," Phoebe complains, shoving the backdoor open and stomping into the empty kitchen. Inside, Dylan's inspecting the birthday cake straight from the beloved Bliss Bakery. He looks up at Phoebe and smiles, seeing her with her arms crossed, gritting her teeth.
"Rodge only says what he says and does what he does because he knows all of it pushes your buttons," Dylan laughs, his arm roping around her hips and pulling her to him. "Plus, you're kinda hot when you're all worked up."
"Shut up, Dylan," Phoebe snaps, teasingly pulling away when he tries to kiss her. "And what's with you and Brooke trading all those secretive looks from across the table?"
Dylan laughs, relishing in the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips, holding her tight and not wanting to let go. "Ferret seems to think that Silver's got a thing for Hunter and vice versa so we've got a little bet going."
"If only she knew what the other twin was doing with Christina," Phoebe mumbles, sympathizing slightly with the cheerleader who's been in a rather gloomy mood the last few days.
"Yeah, I wouldn't wanna be Christina right now," Dylan winces. "There's nothing worse than being on Silver's Shit List and you totally know she has one. I've seen it. It's on her Blackberry."
"Shut up and grab the cake, Lennon," Phoebe laughs and gently shoves his shoulder. Grinning, Dylan pulls her in closer and not even Phoebe North can deny the butterflies she feels rattling her ribcage. He leans in and she shoves him away again. "Dylan, what if someone comes in?"
"Phoebe, just trust me."
Their lips meet briefly, a light and delicate kiss with a hint of anxiety stinging deep within them both. At the smallest sound they break apart, Phoebe looking around frantically and Dylan smoothing his fingers through his hair. Both their eyes drop to the floor to see the two dogs staring up at them with big brown eyes and heads tilted to the side.
"Dylan," Phoebe whispers through her teeth, fisting his shirt with her long, slim fingers. "They're staring."
"I'm adopted," Dylan blurts out with a nervous laugh. "And I'm talking to the dogs, aren't I?"
"Yeah, I don't even know why I bother with you," Phoebe says with a sigh, patting his chest before walking across the kitchen. "Now grab the cake. I've got the forks and plates."
With her arms full with paper plates and plastic forks, Phoebe opens the backdoor, but before Dylan can even take a step out, Silver and Naoko step in with the much younger girl chattering incessantly. Being strong, beautiful and not to mention talented with anything somewhat related to technology, it's only natural the freshman idolizes Silver Silverberg.
"That's so cool of you helping your sister with a documentary," Naoko gushes.
"Ahh, it's the least I could do especially since I might be crashing at her place if this whole LA film school thing works out," Silver goes on, not minding Naoko's obvious admiration one bit. "Did you hear what that Frank guy said when I was interviewing him on love? What a total cheese ball."
"Hate to interrupt, but we're gonna cut the cake," Dylan announces, motioning to the white box between his hands. "Come on, guys, who can resist Bliss?"
"Oh, okay," Naoko nods, nervously fiddling with the large black beads hanging around her neck. "I was just going to show Silver this totally classified, top secret and probably intensely embarrassing for the Beardsleys little project I've been working on."
"And I'm thrilled," Silver grins without an ounce of her usual sarcasm. Naoko squeaks with a grin, moments away from jumping up and down in excitement. "Save me a slice of cake, will yah, Norths? You know I'd kill for Bliss."
"No problem," Phoebe answers as she and Dylan walk out and back over to the party.
"Here's my camera! I've been looking for it all morning!" Naoko shouts and retrieves the small camcorder sitting atop the kitchen table. The young Asian girl almost gasps when she sees the flashing little red light. "Oh crap. I think it's been recording this whole time."
"Don't worry," Silver smiles encouragingly. "The best stuff is always candid."