Chapter 21 Walk Again
A/N: 'Ello, my pretties! I'm back! In an amazingly short time, especially since I went to a concert for One Frickin' Republic and Christina frickin' Perri on Friday night! THAT'S RIGHT! It was awesome, of course, but it set me back a day or two. Plus I've had classes all this week, so I wrote most of this on paper, which meant I had to transfer it to the computer, as in retyping it into a Word document. But it's finally here! Another chappie for you all to sink your little teeth into!
And for everyone who has responded and will respond in future to my bit of begging, thank you so much. Please keep reviewing. And…if you see anything you don't like or think I could improve—especially dumb misspellings or grammar mistakes—I do Spellcheck but that doesn't catch everything—the surest possibility of seeing what you want is to tell me. Trust me, I won't be offended. My psyche has taken pretty severe blows, so I think my "fragile" *cough*self-esteem can handle a few non-compliments ;) So HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT! Anyway.
To you Unmasked readers…I'm SO sorry. I promise I will update when I'm mostly done here. I just am on a roll with this story, so I want to take advantage of it. But I swear to God I WILL NOT ABANDON UNMASKED. I make my promise to all readers that I won't discontinue a story, because I've seen it happen with promising stories. You all have, and I SOOO feel your pain. So it'll come, eventually! And in the meantime, enjoy this pretty gift-wrapped chapter I give to thee!
And if it seems a little fluffy…live with it. It's not totally…and besides, I need a little break after all that angsty stuff. Never fear, there is more plotty and angsty goodness to come. Jeez...the things I do for love! (sigh) Just kidding…I love this story…I really do…
Gwyneth
" 'Never Surrender'," my lips shaped the words as I read them off the paper. "By Skillet."
I'd heard of Skillet—Emily raved about it, but the only song of theirs I'd ever heard was Imperfection, weeks ago, and after a fairly encouraging first verse, the refrain went exactly like this:
"You fall to your knees
You beg, you plead
Can I be somebody else
For all the times I hate myself?
Your failures devour
Your heart in every hour
You're drowning in
Your imperfection."
Yeah. That unnerved me so badly, for now obvious reasons, that I instantly stopped listening and never went near Skillet since. Even now, I wasn't sure I could handle that song.
I typed in the song title and skillet, then clicked. Several videos popped up, and I went immediately to the first one I saw that had just the lyrics. I didn't mind music videos, but they could be distracting, especially if I was just hearing something for the first time and wanted to focus on, you know, the actual song.
The beginning sounded nothing like Imperfection. For a few seconds I could just hear a soft acoustic melody. But then a loud guitar cut through it with the same tune, blasting for a few seconds.
Do you know what it's like when
You're scared to see yourself
Do you know what it's like when
You wish you were someone else
Who didn't need your help to get by
Everything else, the rec room, with its mess of random guitars and knickknacks and video games and accompanying TV screen faded into the background as I stared at the computer screen. Those lyrics could have taken part of my head, formed rhetorical questions out of it, and set it to music. It was the sort of thing that seemed cliché if you just heard about it in cold blood, but when it happened, I had no way to prepare for it.
Do you know what it's like
To wanna surrender
On the last phrase, the drums picked up, and then the guitars were blasting again as the guy kept singing.
I don't wanna feel like this tomorrow
I don't wanna live like this today
Make me feel better
I wanna feel better
Stay with me here now
And never surrender
My brain began singing, right after, "I don't wanna live like this today…," I found myself grinning. It wasn't The Greatest Song Ever Written by most's standards, but it spoke to me on a level that no song, even Eye of the Tiger, had ever managed before.
When I heard the next verse, I had that weird little jump inside me. For some reason an image of Warren, his eyes intently fixed ahead, jumped out at me from the void.
Do you know what it's like when
You're not who you wanna be
Do you know what it's like
To be your own worst enemy
Who sees the things in me I can't hide…
"I do," I whispered.
"What's that, honey?" My mother stood in the doorway of the rec room.
"Oh, it's a song." I pointed. "It's called Never Surrender by Skillet. Warren said it was good."
"Oh." My mom nodded knowingly. "Well, tell me if you need anything."
"Okay, Mom. I'm fine." I couldn't help feeling warm and fuzzy inside. Ever since two days ago, my parents had treated me with the infinite gentleness of family watching over a kid with the flu. I couldn't blame them, and I didn't. There wasn't really any reason to mind, and it reminded me of what Ms. Peace had said. "…talk to your parents. I want you to go to them and your friends as much as possible. This is a healing process that your family needs to be a part of." I had to admit, she was right. I'd shut them out of my emotional life for too long.
Next up on the list of Songs Warren Gave Me: Not Gonna Die.
The second I heard the intro, my heart leaped up and started breakdancing. And then the singer began the actual song.
Death surrounds
My heartbeat's slowing down
I won't take this world's abuse
I won't give up
I refuse
Oh. Yeah.
A grin began spreading across my face. I understood why Warren said these songs were the best ever.
This is how it feels when you're bent and broken
This is how it feels when your dignity is stolen
When everything you love is leaving
You hold on to what you believe in
The last thing I heard was you whispering goodbye
And then I heard you flatline
A gasp escaped me, and I closed my eyes to stop hot tears from welling up. My throat was choking. I'd thought Never Surrender spoke powerfully to me—but even that hadn't made me cry. I couldn't think of any other time when a song had elicited such an instant emotional response from me. This was hitting me right in the gut.
No! Not gonna die tonight
We're gonna stand and fight forever (don't close your eyes)
No, not gonna die tonight
We've gotta fight for us together
No, we're not gonna die tonight
I opened my eyes, blinking the tears away. On the first shout, "No!" I felt a swelling inside me. It was like what a knight might feel at the moment when the king taps his shoulder with the sword, and bids him rise in the name of the land. The song made me feel like that knight, like a warrior who might have been wounded, but wasn't going to give the hell up until they came out of the battle.
Break their hold
Cause I won't be controlled
They can't keep their chains on me
When the truth has set me free
This is how it feels when you take your life back
This is how it feels when you finally fight back
I started head-banging, and my glasses flew off onto the computer desk. I started to grab for them, then shrugged. It had been a while since I'd smiled for such a length of time, but I couldn't stop. New life, new blood, seemed to pump through my body, and the beat was working my heart in its rhythm.
Don't you give up on me
You're everything I need
This is how it feels when you take your life back
This is how it feels when you
Fight
Back!
"Oh, ye-ah!" I leaped out of my chair and began air-guitarring, driving my fists downward across imaginary strings in a way that would have broken any real guitar, but I didn't care about accuracy right then.
No, not gonna die tonight
We've gotta stand and fight forever (don't close your eyes)
No, not gonna die tonight
We've gotta fight for us together
No, we're not gonna die tonight
I finally sat down when the song ended, and it surprised me to realize that I wasn't out of breath. Whenever I really jammed out to my favorite songs in the past, I wound up panting and sweating and breathless. Now, I'd barely broken a sweat anywhere on my body, and my breathing felt even.
I'm getting in shape, I realized with a thrill. All of Warren's relentless pushing was having an effect that I'd somehow never thought about. All that training and exercise is finally paying off.
The next song on Warren's list was Imperfection, but I skipped that and looked up the next one. I had never heard of Sarah Slean, but I soon found a video for You're Not Alone, and thought, this oughtta be good.
No guitars greeted me when the lyric video began to play—only a woman's voice, low, well-modulated, and smooth. I had to close my eyes after a few seconds just to focus on it. Other than a simple piano playing in the background, nothing else accompanied her.
Endeavor to go into it
Until the sign appears
Don't be afraid of anything
You are guided
Skillet was the sort of song I'd expected Warren Peace to listen to: this was not. But I guess you really can't judge people based on stereotypes. I felt a little ashamed that I'd consigned him one in my head without even knowing it. Sarah Slean's voice was beautiful, rich and deep without sounding ugly. But then it rose slightly in pitch, and I found that she had a higher range than that.
It will never be as we imagine it
Unless we imagine it to be
I wonder where you are now
I hear you calling me
Then the piano broke into soft full orchestra, and the singer's voice began to soar.
I'm telling you you're not alone
A kind of light flows through it all
I hear a voice inside my own
Like a waking dream
No you're not alone
Tears stung in my eyes. I couldn't stop them this time, though. Bending over the computer desk, hands going up to cover my face, I began to sob quietly. The effect of the song was like a balm that burned and stung at first, but it left behind an indescribable feeling of comfort, of beauty. I'd never heard a song like this in my life. This was miles away from Skillet, but it affected me as deeply as either of the songs I'd just heard.
There isn't time
For anything
But mercy
Everything is giving birth to everything
Nothing in the world is as it seems…
My mother's voice startled me. "I was wondering if you want-oh! Oh my goodness, sweetie! Are you all right?"
I lifted my head just as Mom was crouching down beside me, rubbing my shoulders and alternately gazing with concerned anxiety at me and glancing with apprehension at the screen. "What is that?"
"Mom," I don't know how I got it out, "That, is the most beautiful song I have ever heard—scratch that. Ever written."
"Oh." My mom looks at the screen again, and her eyes softened. "That kind of crying, huh?"
I had to smile. "Yeah."
Mom hugged me throughout the rest of the song. Then she asked, "I was gonna ask you if you wanted grilled cheese sandwiches and soup again, or homemade pizza."
"Ooh." I gave a teary sort of laugh. "Tough choice." Mom smiled back.
"I think I'll go with the pizza. We had grilled cheese last night."
Mom hugged me one last time before standing up. "Okay, Gwyneth. You sure you're all right?"
I wiped my glasses on my shirt and smiled, tiredly, but it was a real smile. "Yeah."
The next day, my dad took a day off and drove me to the mall. After lots of school, and spending yesterday at home, it felt kind of strange, but undeniably refreshing to escape the house. The sky was overcast yet I still needed sunglasses.
When we got inside Barnes and Noble, I headed through the comics section.
Titanium. The word on the back binding caught my eye, and I pulled out a thick book with Adventures of Titanium: The Collected Works.
A flash of silver and black streaked across a gigantic apelike creature. I stared at it, the mask and figure growing increasingly familiar. I always knew that Shadow was really my mom, so reading comics was both cool and kind of funny. But all the other heroes—except for Kat's mom, I didn't really know any adult heroes, so I viewed all the others with slight awe—heightened by the fact that I kind of shared a special bond with all of them. We were all mutants, all supers, all different, though no one on the citizen side knew it.
My thoughts wandered from myself to the pages as I flipped through the book. Warren's mom…seeing her portrayed as a full-fledged superhero felt really strange, because I actually knew her in her citizen identity. If anyone flipped through this, all they'd see was a woman in spandex fighting baddies. But I knew her first and foremost as Ms. Peace. My friend's mother. The woman who was counseling me.
Either woman was a hero. But one was just more obviously "heroic" by the standards of the naked eye. Was it really more difficult to take down a monster or some baddie with an inflated ego, or to try and put a broken person back together?
Out of curiosity, I flipped towards the back of the book. The last issue detailed the fight between Deep Freeze and Baron Battle, Deep Freeze's capture, and the subsequent showdown between Baron Battle and the Commander. The comic's writer went into great detail of the fight, but only a small portion about the tragedy of Titanium, suddenly realizing her husband had turned into a villain, and being stuck with his child.
The whole thing struck a discordant note I never would have heard a few months prior. To most readers of this comic, heck, to most people period, Warren was nothing more than an interesting psychological story of someone caught between dark and light.
And in a way, they'd hit the issue just right. Warren's parentage had caught him between two sides, two possibilities, two different destinies, and through absolutely no fault of his own.
But at the same time, his life surely meant more than a plot device. It was a real story. People had to know that. They knew the Commander and Jetstream and every other hero out there was real…the reality of Warren and his mother's lives had to occur to them. And that had to have an effect…didn't it? Did Baron Battle's fall automatically make his wife and son's lives less valuable, or less full? Did the whole human body and soul, everything that made up my friend (sort of) my classmate, my lab partner, actually mean nothing more than someone's tragic mistake?
"And in the midst of all this, Titanium, caught between her husband's infamy and her now-tainted reputation, had to watch over a son whose parentage held both potential promise and dark foreshadowings of impending doom—a child of darkness and light."
Suddenly I didn't want to read anymore. I pushed the book back onto the shelf and walked away, my mind seething with questions. What if the people who wrote that comic met Warren? What if they were pushed to be his lab partner? If they spent a few minutes a day with their poor little "child of darkness and light," if Warren helped pull their mind from the brink, would they think of him as a burden his mother had to watch over, a victimized hybrid who had at least a 50% chance of turning dark, no questions asked?
It's a comic book. The voice of logic interrupted my internal rant. Cool down. Why are you so worked up? It's not the writers' fault they were writing what they thought would sound awesome and sell comics.
All that did nothing to stop the rising wave of unreasoning anger in my chest. Even though the people writing and reading that comic all called Warren's story sad, unfortunate, they didn't truly care about him.
Most people would discuss the issue, if they thought about it after reading the comic at all, in terms like: "Oh, that poor kid!" "Yeah, what a tragic story, right? Dude, did you see that game yesterday?" To just about everyone who didn't know him, the struggle of a real person's lifetime meant entertainment.
The speeding up of my heartbeat, and the sudden flush of blood through my body as it responded to the swell of emotions startled even me. I quickly headed deeper into the store. Time to cool down, Gwyneth. Time to stop getting angry over something you can't do a thing about. Letting my temper rise wouldn't exactly change anything. But the comic lingered for much longer after I left the mall that day.
"Did you write anything in your journal?" I fought back the urge to glance at Warren. When I wrote about my responses to his songs, I'd intended to thank him. But now my little letter seemed a bit too gushy.
Reluctantly, I handed the journal over. Ms. Peace opened and it—thank the gods—she began to read, silently. Her eyebrows did climb a little as she read my thank you, and I tried to focus on Warren instead. As before, he didn't say anything, but he did lift his eyebrows a bit and nod when we made eye contact.
Eventually, Ms. Peace handed the journal back. "So. You've learned the great healing and inspirational power of music."
"Um…yeah, I guess so."
Ms. Peace smiled. "Don't feel silly. I've felt the same way about certain songs when I heard them at certain times of my life. Music can speak to us on a far deeper level than anything else."
Not having anything to add, I nodded.
Ms. Peace shifted on the couch. "So, how are you doing today?" she asked. "Did you do anything special?"
I wondered if she and my parents had conspired to get me out of the house—not that I really wanted to complain. She nodded several times when I told her about going to the mall.
"That's good. It's good to get out of the house. Sometimes, when we're grieving or going through a hard time, we can focus too much on how we're feeling and what we're thinking. We can get locked inside our heads. You'd be surprised what a simple thing like that trip can do."
"I know."
"How is it with that block I gave you?" Ms. Peace said, and it startled me when I realized I hadn't even thought about it. I hadn't remembered TJ, and thought he should be alive instead of me since I left the house that day. I'd felt a little of the familiar ache return when I was on my way to the Peace's apartment, but that was nothing next to how I felt the entire day before I went to see Warren's mom.
"Um…I've…I've hardly felt anything at all—I mean, any guilt," I said slowly. "Or, I've felt some, but not nearly as much. I felt it when I thought about the whole thing, but it wasn't so intense that I couldn't even focus on anything else for more than a few minutes. But that's how I felt…before you…put the block on me."
Ms. Peace's eyes brightened. "Excellent! It's working after all." She smiled softly. "It feels good to be able to live again, doesn't it?"
"Yes, ma'am." I spoke with more sincerity than I'd ever felt in my short life.
Ms. Peace smiled at me. I'd always had this stereotype in my head of psychologists as weird people who grilled you about your personal life and analyzed everything you did ruthlessly. Nothing, it seemed, could be further from the truth. Talking with Warren's mom felt nothing like that. She acted like a real person, and treated my problems like real ones—with gentleness, tact, and as much poise as if she dealt with this every day.
"It won't last forever." Her eyes were serious, wide and intent. "You know that, don't you?"
My heart fell, but I nodded.
"It'll be all right," she said, and I felt that reassurance again. "When it wears off, you'll hurt. And then you can come to me, and I'll renew the block. But I won't make it quite as strong. You won't notice a difference at first, but gradually, I'll make the blocks less and less strong, until soon you'll be just functioning on your own."
I swallowed. "I'm not sure I can-I mean, I think…I guess I can do it."
"You don't have to pretend you aren't nervous if you are. It will be hard. I can't tell you it won't. But," here she took my hands and turned so she practically held me with her eyes, "The process of struggling will make you stronger. And this period of happiness will give you the motivation to go on, to keep healing, to not give up. I promise I'll let you down slowly, and if I don't feel you're ready to have the block lessened at any point, I'll keep it where it's at for awhile. And whenever you need help, or just need to talk, you have your parents, and you have your friends. They're willing to listen to you, and they can help you if you let them. And if you really truly need help, outside of your family and friends, you can always come to me. I promise."
"Okay." The sudden tightness in my throat made it sound kind of funny, but I blinked hard and I soon felt better.
"Is there anything you wanted to talk about?" Ms. Peace sat back comfortably on the couch.
"I…I'm a little worried," I confessed.
"About what?"
"About school."
"Oh." Ms. Peace's eyes lit with understanding. "I get that. You're worried because you don't want to use your powers. Is that it?"
I shook my head. "How do you do that—oh yeah." I grinned sheepishly. "Empath."
Ms. Peace grinned as well. But she gazed down at her lap. I had an uncomfortable feeling she was trying to think of what to say.
"I don't know," she stated. "I can't decide that for you. You could always decide you really don't want to be a hero, in which case you could start going to a regular high school. It would be rather difficult, though. You'd have to hide your powers. But you could do it. It's been done. Live the normal life, go to college, get a job, whole nine yards. But if I were you, I wouldn't close your mind just yet. I know the memory of your friend is still fresh in your mind, and the thought of using your powers on someone else in the same way horrifies you."
I couldn't really respond to that.
"But you might work through that." Ms. Peace took a deep breath. "And…you may yet decide that your powers were given to you for a reason, and that the losses are worth the chance to help others. Your powers could be very, very useful someday. It's worth thinking about." She fiddled with a ring on her finger. "It's…how can I put this? When there's a war, soldiers have to kill the enemy. But they believe it's the right thing, something they have to do, because their country tells them to, and because they're fighting for something they believe is worth the loss of some human life—not to mention protecting their fellow soldiers."
I shut my eyes. My head told me Ms. Peace was right. But this was different. There were other heroes out there. I didn't have to make a choice. I could choose whatever I wanted. And even if I did recover, I knew my experiences had settled the decision for me.
"Give it a year at least," Ms. Peace persisted. "At least finish this year at Sky High. In fact—I'd prefer you wait until you've recovered, and have lived for awhile without my direct help. You understand what I'm getting at?"
I thought about it. It seemed fair. Part of me knew I might change my mind, but a far larger portion felt certain that my original decision would stand.
"Okay."
"Thank you."
Ms. Peace glanced at the clock and a sigh shook her body. "I believe we're done for today," she said. "Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about, or are you fine if I start making dinner now?"
"Um…," I shook my head. "No, ma'am. Thank you."
"Oh, don't call me that. Please. It makes me sound like a grandmother." Ms. Peace rolled her eyes to heaven and stood up. "I might be almost old enough to actually be a grandmother, but I have some pride."
"Uh—okay." I couldn't help smiling at Ms. Peace's theatrics. It was the most childish thing I'd ever seen out of her. From what little I'd observed, she seemed almost as serious as her son. But I guess she had plenty of reason to be.
Ms. Peace left for the kitchen, and Warren and I sat in silence for a few moments.
"So," he said at last. "Barnes and Noble, huh?"
I laughed, and Warren stared at me. It wasn't really much, just a light, one syllable laugh, but I guess it had been some time since he heard me laugh. "Yeah. It was great. I love going there, but the problem is, I get so absorbed in looking at books I think are interesting that I forget about buying anything. Or I start reading a book, and I wind up buying it just so I can finish it."
Warren laughed—sort of like the laugh I'd given him, and it was my turn to stare.
I'd never heard Warren laugh before, and I'd definitely never seen him smile. Oh sure, I'd seen him smirk slightly, closed mouth turning up a little at the corners, eyes glinting with amusement when I did or said something stupid, but not a real smile. The one brief moment was all it took to totally transform his face, opening it up and making his eyes unusually bright and warm. I'd never seen a guy with such an actually…okay, I'll say it…a beautiful smile in my life. Applying that term to someone else's smile didn't even occur to me that often, and for a boy, it was even rarer.
"What?" I realized I'd been staring, my mouth slightly open, and shook my head. Way to weird out. But DANG, that smile…whoa. If Warren smiled more often, he wouldn't be able to walk the halls at school. Girls would be stalking him everywhere he went.
"Oh, nothing." All at once the silence felt awkward, and I studied the carpet instead. Then all at once I thought of something. "Oh! I, ah, wanted to thank you for giving me those songs?"
"Those songs." Warren looked blank, but then he remembered. "Oh. Yeah."
"That's all you have to say?" I snorted. "Those songs were freakin' awesome!"
Warren's eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. He didn't smile again (alas) but he looked like he wanted to. "That good, hmm?"
"Good? Good?" I actually started laughing. "They were awesome! Especially Not Gonna Die. That song - okay, that song is...is basically like audible badass. I have never heard a song that amazing and inspiring in my entire life."
"I-,"
"And Sarah Slean-that song was so beautiful! Don't even get me started on that song. I didn't know you listened to music like that."
"Who says I can't?" Warren shrugged, but even from just his eyes, I could see he was amused, and even pleasantly surprised.
"Nothing, I guess."
"Gwyneth?" Ms. Peace stuck her head back in the room. "You want to call your parents? We ended a little early, but they might not know that."
Kat, Becky, and Emily came over that night, and we had a major study/homework session. I'd missed two days of class, so I had a lot of missed make-up work. But then, when we finished, and after dinner, Emily dragged out every Disney movie I owned and we all set up a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor.
"Okay, I have to go home at 8:30," Becky stated, "So I get first pick."
"Well, technically, I'm the whole reason you guys are over here, so I should get first pick." I grinned at her look. "Just kidding. You can pick."
Becky eventually chose the Little Mermaid, and we settled down.
After seeing Ariel get her voice back, and her prince, we went to Anastasia. Just as we finished witht hat, Becky's cell phone rang.
"Oh, hold on." She picked up the phone. After a minute or two of, "Yeah…okay," and "I know…okay, I'll be there," she hung up.
"I have to go." She managed to climb up off the floor. "That was my mom. She wanted to know when I was coming home."
"Mine's probably gonna call any minute." Kat stood up, and turned to Emily. "Ready to go?"
"Yeah." Emily stretched and got up. She'd somehow convinced her foster parents to allow her to stay over at Kat's house for the night, and go to school with her in the morning.
Kat hesitated. "Are you gonna be okay, Gwyneth?"
Any other time, I would have rolled my eyes, but I knew that even as my friends had tried to cheer me up, their efforts concealed genuine concern, and I loved that about them.
"I've survived for a few days on my own, so I think I can make it." I got up and hugged Becky first. "Goodnight. I'll see you guys later."
"Okay." Kat and Emily hugged me next. Emily picked up her backpack and overnight bag. Soon I was alone in the living room.
My mom had come out when my dad left to drive Becky home (she didn't live within walking distance.) "How are you doing, sweetie?"
"I'm fine." I hesitated. "Mom?"
"Yes, honey? What is it?" She came into the living room.
I took a deep breath. "Mom, I want to go to Homecoming."
Mom stared at me. Her blue eyes widened. "Oh…Gwyneth, are you sure you're ready? You haven't even gone back to school yet."
"I know." It still put a nervous twinge in my stomach, but I got it out. "Mom…I want to stay home for the rest of this week. But after that, I want to go back. Can I…is it okay if I go to the Homecoming dance? I can just see how well I do, and then if I'm ready, I'll go back to school Monday."
Mom looked down at the floor for a long time. "I'd prefer to ask your father and get his opinion, too…but…I think it'll be okay."
A/N: I just realized something awkward—Skillet's songs came out a little late for when this is set. Call it artistic license and live with it…I won't do it again if I can help. That was just too good an opportunity to pass up. Skillet effing rocks!
Warren
"Mom, there's no point. Nobody I know is even going to be there, and I don't want to go to school and dress up just to stand around and eat snacks for three hours."
"Gwyneth's going to be there."
"…What? Since when?"
Mom's smirk was all-too-pleased. "She told me. Yesterday, when she was here, if you were paying attention."
I thought back to yesterday's session, which I'd walked right in on, and tried to recall. "I think I was gone."
Mom waved her hand. "She is going, though. And you should go too, Warren. It'll be a good experience for you."
"Mom-,"Taking deep breaths, I tried to rein in my temper and not snap at her. I love my mother, and I knew she meant well now, but…seriously. She knows I hate even going to school, and I'm not a person who does dances or parties—at least, with all the mental and emotional bitching I've probably done, she should.
"Give me one good reason that going to a dance full of strangers who either hate my guts or are too intimidated to speak to me," I didn't add, 'and believe me, I don't even want to know them either,' "and spending three awkward hours in a gym listening to music I don't freaking like is a good experience!" I didn't exactly shout, but my voice got harsh and dark with frustration and anger at the end.
Mom looked a little startled, and slightly deflated. But then she brightened. "Gwyneth's going to be there. And you know she'll talk to you. And she said she's going to sing. If only to support her…"
"She has friends," I replied, but I could feel my position weakening as I spoke. I sensed I wasn't going to win this one. When my mom really makes up her mind, an act of God couldn't change it, and I sensed she'd dropped anchor on this issue. But I'd inherited some (okay, a lot and then some from my dad) of her stubbornness, and I wasn't giving up yet.
"She could use one more. Besides, you never know. Some nice girl could ask you to dance—not even counting Gwyneth, and who knows? You might have a great time."
I rolled my eyes. Even after thirty-six years of life, a failed marriage and divorce, my mother was still a girl at the end of the day. A romantic girl. "Mom…," It sounded more like a groan than a grumble.
"Oh, come on. Despite your earnest efforts to hide it, you're an attractive young man. That's one of your father's traits—a good one—that you inherited. Girls are going to notice you. They probably have already."
"I haven't exactly gotten mobbed. And I don't want to be." Lord knew the first two weeks of school had been bad enough before I chased away everyone brave or stupid enough to try and hit on me…besides, I really wasn't interested in anyone at the moment. Sure, I thought some of the girls at school were cute, but I didn't want any of them badly enough to open up to a group of people—half of whom I knew by reputation would turn up their noses and throw it right back in my face because of my parentage and my status as an outcast. No thanks. God help me if I ever sunk to needing anyone outside of my small family that bad…
Mom gives me a look—that knowing, slightly sad mother look that gets me all guilty every time. She knows I hate that. She sees through me. She knows how hard I've tried to be isolated, and I have a pretty shrewd hunch that she's guessed the reason. Once you've had one turn of an entire school persecuting you, you've had them all, and I determined by seventh grade that I wasn't going to let it happen again. So I became more frightening than the worst kids in school and used my reputation, my newly acquired matching looks, and my fists to force everyone to give me a wide berth, even if they didn't like me. It sure as hell beat the alternative, and I'd kind of gotten into the habit.
At Sky High, I hadn't even had to endure the messy breaking-in period where every musclehead with an axe to grind tried to make me their pet victim until they learned better—most people stayed out of my way automatically. It might not be fun, and damned lonely to boot, but my life had been worse. I could handle that—I'd done it for quite awhile.
"You should still go," she said softly. "For Gwyneth. And for me."
I growled in my throat and turned my back. "I am not going to the damn Homecoming dance just to get you to stop guilt-tripping me."
"I'm not guilt-tripping you." Damn. She sounded much too sincere for me to doubt her. "You'd feel it if I was, believe me. But I still say you should go at least once when you're in high school. It's the kind of thing that only comes along once—or four times—in your life, and it'll be gone before you know it."
I should be so lucky.
"…like I said, you never know. Someone might come up to you, and-,"
I groaned and grasped fistfuls of my hair. "Mom. I am not going to be approached by the love of my life at this dance, okay? I don't want to go."
Mom made a frustrated noise in her throat. "You sound like a kid I used to babysit."
"How?"
" 'I don't want to.'"
"Oh, so just because I'm not caving immediately, I'm a child?"
"Don't you give me that attitude, young man. Just because the rest of the world expects teenagers to be rude doesn't mean I'm going to let it fly. You know better than that, and we both know it." Mom's tone became more coaxing. "Please, Warren, I won't ask you to go again if you just give it a chance, at least once. You should go, just once before you graduate from high school. I think it's important for you to have the experience. Don't sell it short."
I hesitated, still unwilling to seem like I'd caved outright. Only one time…would it really kill me to go to just one stupid dance? And if Mom would only make me do it one time, and if it kept her happy…
"Well, whatever decision you make, you'd better make it quick." Were my eyes messing with me or…had my mother just blushed? Did she look…guilty? "I need to leave the house in ten minutes."
"Mom, what's this all about?" I asked suspiciously. Mom was definitely acting off tonight.
"I…," Mom was blushing. She dropped her eyes and shifted on her feet. "I…um…well, Warren, I'm—going on a…," she mumbled the last word, but I realized what the last word must be.
"What?" I couldn't help it: a Cheshire cat grin spread across my face. "You're what? Mom, why didn't you tell me?"
"I wasn't sure how you'd take it." Mom turned away—a sign of utter embarrassment. She looked like a bashful high schooler. "I mean…with your…I didn't know how you'd feel about me—going on a date. I should have told you sooner…,"
Okay. I got that. That did make some sense. And for the first time, I took a look at my emotions and almost asked…why wasn't I more upset? Why wasn't I freaked out, or resentful that she might be "replacing my dad" or some shit like that? Surely I of all people ought to be the most worried, the most protective of my mother. I'd learned, both from my dad and from Anna, how even people one was close to, the people you loved most, could tear you apart.
And…I didn't care what I'd heard in the news, or that I hadn't seen my father since I was six, yes, I fucking well loved him, and I wished to hell he was here with us where he belonged, instead of several hundred miles away in the most secure prison in the country. It did feel a little odd to think that…just maybe, I might have another person living in our house—but that was a long way off. Dating wasn't marrying, and…if Mom married a nice guy and he and I got along fairly well…I could deal with it. It wouldn't be easy, but I could do it.
Besides, after seeing Mom cry at night for years, even after divorcing my father, and struggle so long and work so hard to give us a decent life, I couldn't find it in me to resent that she was getting out there. Guess I just wanted to see her happy and having fun on her own for once, instead of working, or hovering and stressing over me, more than I worried about the possibilities of what a new dad might bring. How astonishing, right? I actually cared.
So I found myself actually giving my mom a hug, and responding,
"Don't worry about it, Mom. This is…awesome. You've been single for…what, six, seven years now? It's okay. Go for it."
But I was still human, and I couldn't resist asking, "Who's the guy?"
"I met him in my Psychology class. It was a few nights ago... His name's Chris." Mom blushed again. "He asked me out four days ago."
I grinned. My mother was going out on a date. "Dude, that's great." Something evil whispered in my ear, and I added, "Good thing you got out there now, instead of in a few years."
Mom's eyes widened and she pretended to smack me upside the head. "Watch your mouth, young man! I'm not too old to turn you over my knee."
I snickered. "That I want to see."
Mom fake-glared at me, then she smiled hopefully. "So are you going?"
Crap. Truthfully, I forgot what we were originally talking about. I racked my brain. Mom had me cornered. Deep down, I sensed she would push me into going to the stupid dance whether I wanted to or not. It wouldn't kill me. But I didn't want to make it look like I'd just-
"I won't make you wear your dad's tuxedo," she added sweetly.
Approximately thirty-two minutes later, I sat in the back of a busful of chattering kids in ill-fitting tuxes and sparkling dresses. In contrast, my Guns 'n Roses T-shirt and the same torn-up jeans and leather jacket I wore on a regular basis made me stick out like a sore thumb. Standing out so drastically might have bothered me more if I wasn't fairly used to it.
We soon arrived at school, and I followed the gaggle of kids into the gym, which had been redecorated for the dance.
"Welcome to Homecoming!" The dark blue lettering on the background of a silver sign over the gymnasium doors tipped me off as to the decor. Everything inside glittered blue and silver, blue streamers, the works. If it weren't for the wooden floor the gym would have appeared unrecognizable. A large group of kids had shown up, but not quite as many people as I expected. That was a relief.
I wandered over to the refreshment table to check out the snacks and the punch, but a twittering group had gathered there so I moved away. Actually, I was scanning the crowd out of curiosity, to see if Gwyneth really had shown up, but I couldn't pick her out.
I couldn't recognize the song, but it made me wince. I saw a table of guys dressed in black by the stage, so I headed over.
"Hey." The guy there had more tattoos on his arms alone than me, but his hair was shorter. "Do you have a song request?"
I paused, trying to keep my face appropriately blank while thinking. I didn't really have any specifics in mind, but-
"Try to play as few Top Forty songs as possible, okay? And...," I thought. "Could you throw in some ACDC and Def Leppard?"
"I'll see what I can do."
I started to turn, then added, "And if you have anything by Avenged Sevenfold, put it on."
"Ah...okay." The guy looked a little taken aback. "I don't think we have...anything, but I'll check...,"
I nodded. Though part of me had kind of expected that last would be too much to hope for from DJs at a traditional school dance, I couldn't help feeling disappointed. At least they had to have some classic rock in their arsenals, or tonight would be unendurable.
My tastes weren't limited to those kinds of music: though I leaned towards rock, punk and heavy metal, I listened to plenty of other types of music. Some of them, like Sarah Slean's music, were alternative and kind of out there, but I also liked quite a few country songs. But pop, along with rap and disco...I was tempted to put in my ear buds just to block out most of the irritating sound, even if I wouldn't be able to hear my music over the noise.
"Hey!" In turning around and walking away, I just about collided with a short blond girl. Then when I saw her face, I did a double take.
"Ice Cube? What are you doing here?"
"Asking about the karaoke contest!" Gwyneth smiled up at me. "I didn't expect to see you here!" She shouted over the music.
I headed away from the enormous speakers and she followed me. Gwyneth had definitely dressed up. I'd never seen her wear so much as a skirt, once, but the calf-length sleeveless blue dress was simple and it looked pretty good. She'd even partly pulled back her hair in a shiny blue thing I caught a fleeting glimpse of when she turned to follow me. And she hadn't overdone it on the makeup-hadn't really done any at all, as far as I could see, which in my mind, somehow fit Gwyneth's personality. Even with the round-rimmed glasses, Gwyneth actually looked…kind of pretty.
"What are you doing here?" Gwyneth spoke a little loudly, but I could hear her.
"I could ask you the same question." I slid my hands into my pockets.
"I decided to stay home the rest of the week but come tonight. I'll be back Monday." Gwyneth's smile faded when she said that.
"That's good." I kept my expression deadpan as I continued. "I've really missed being interrupted every ten seconds when I'm trying to read."
Gwyneth smiled, but she seemed a little preoccupied before responding quickly. "Oh, and I missed being pounded into the floor every afternoon."
"Don't be a baby. You can take it. We're both supers. I didn't hit you that hard." I snorted, but then part of me started to wonder if I should have said that. Gwyneth had endured an ordeal that would mess some people up so bad they'd wind up in a rubber room, and she was here, at this dance, a little less talkative and sharp than usual, but with her mind, somehow, still in one piece. I didn't know what her soul was made of to have that resilience, but she made babies out of "normal" people.
"Baby?" Gwyneth grinned at me, her first real grin of the evening. "I'm not a baby. I'm going up to sing tonight."
It was a damn good thing that I didn't grab punch a few minutes ago, because I might have choked on it. "What?"
"I'm going to sing in the karaoke contest." Gwyneth shrugged and smiled, seeming both triumphant and embarrassed. "I was going to sign up when I bumped into you, actually. Oh!" Her eyes flew wider open. "Oh my gosh. I forgot to tell you-,"
"Ice Cube, wait." To her credit, Gwyneth stopped and waited. "So you're actually gonna sing?"
"Yeah." Gwyneth worried at her lower lip, drawing my eyes to it. She needed to stop that, I thought offhandedly. Her lips were already dry and chapped-but they weren't now. Gwyneth had put something on them to make them pink and smooth. ChapStick, or lip gloss, apparently-the first makeup I'd ever seen on Gwyneth Patrick.
"I thought you wouldn't do it." At Gwyneth's blank look, I added, "Stage fright?"
"Oh, yeah." Gwyneth swallowed, and I saw the nervousness she held back. "But I'm still doing it. I want to. I've been thinking...about what you said, and I don't want to stay in the shadows, terrified of going up on stage just because I get nervous in front of an audience." Her face softened into a sort of dryness. "Besides, after Monday and Tuesday, going up and singing in front of people seems a lot less scary than it used to. I've done harder things."
Ouch. She had a point. Gwyneth's unusual boldness and her quiet logic surprised me. Admittedly, after an experience like that, she probably felt less easily fazed by stage fright. When the worst thing in your life has happened, everything else seems halfway between pathetic and bad but doable.
"You have a point."
Gwyneth shook her head, her tone turning slightly affectionate—which was kind of weird. "My, you're a man of few words. I keep forgetting that."
"So what are you singing?" I mainly wanted to change the subject, but Gwyneth surprised me by replying instantly, "Somebody to Love."
"Queen?"
Gwyneth nodded, and I raised my eyebrows. "Good luck, Ice Cube."
"You sound like you're prophesying my eminent doom." Gwyneth laughed, but it sounded nervous.
"Imminent," I corrected automatically. It wasn't me trying to be smart—I happen to be a grammar Nazi. So what?
"Right. I pronounced it wrong. Anyway, you sounded like you were a prophet foretelling my imminent doom."
I shrugged. "I just said good luck."
Her nod seemed kind of doubtful. Then she blurted, "Do you think I should do that? I mean, I had another song in mind, in case I make it into the top 5...which I doubt I will-but I don't know-I've never sung that except in my room, and I was by myself...so I have no idea if I'm even any good at it."
"I've only heard you sing one song, ever. I don't know."
Oh, go on.
"And you sounded pretty good there, so just go for it. Whatever you want."
"Do you actually think-you think I could do that song, though? Be honest."
"What, you think I wouldn't be?" I fired back.
"No, but...I don't know." Gwyneth looked up into my eyes. "But seriously, don't spare my feelings. If you think I'd suck, tell me."
Tossing my hair back from my eyes, I stared directly down into Gwyneth's wide, honest, trusting eyes. "You want my honest opinion?"
"Yes."
"Go up and sing." I leaned down closer. "Blast the fucking roof off. Enjoy yourself and don't give a shit what the judges think. You need it."
Gwyneth stared at me, startled and a little almost...disappointed. But then her eyes lit up. Gradually, she began to smile, and a pretty un-Gwyneth-like grin began spreading across her face.
"I might just do that."
"Go for it."
"I will. I'll go for it all right." Gwyneth grinned at me. "Thanks, Hothead. I have some confidence now." She clapped her hands. "Woohoo! Let's move it!"
"Gwyneth!"
I forced my face to stay blank as Gwyneth's techno friend hurried up. She started when she saw me, but she kept talking to Gwyneth. "Did you sign up?"
"Not yet." Gwyneth turned towards me. "I should probably go do that-,"
"Oh, and you don't have to worry about Speed and Lash. They were going to make you look like an idiot in front of everyone, but..." Emily grinned in a particularly evil way. "We put a stop to their little prank."
"Um…okay...how?" Gwyneth sounded a little nervous. She might have had reason.
"Let's just say that three of the Fantastic Four of Sky High have effectively put them out of action." Emily winked.
Gwyneth went a little pale. "What did you do?"
Emily sighed. "Fine, you want the specifics. Here they are: Becky wrapped Lash around Speed, and I got some cord, and made a lock to put on that. In short, they're tied up until we free them—which will be at the end of the night."
"You what? Emily, what were you thinking?" Gwyneth almost shouted. "I've just gotten them to leave me alone up until now, and then you just went and made them mad! Now they'll go after me on Monday. They'll be out for my blood as soon as I go back to school!"
I felt a certain crucial detail, which I had been seeing to for the last several weeks, needed bringing up, so I cleared my throat. Loudly.
Emily glanced at me briefly in a rather odd way. Gwyneth turned, and then started ranting at me. "I can't beat Speed and Lash, Warren. I'm not ready! You beat me every day—I can't even beat you in our—training sessions, so how the hell am I gonna beat Speed and Lash next week?"
My eyes widened. Gwyneth never cursed—and I mean never. She was definitely old enough to at least know some choice words, or to have heard them at least, but I had never heard her use any kind of profanity. And now she just had, so I realized just how freaked out she must really be.
I'm not in the habit of handing out unnecessary compliments, but I felt a little panic control was in order. "Look, Ice Cube…you're not doing horrible."
"Oh, thank you so much. I feel so reassured by your confidence!"
"No, seriously, you're actually not…horrible. The last week—or two—we practiced, I've actually had to try and beat you. I didn't have to at first."
Gwyneth stopped looking quite so horrified. "Should I be reassured about that?"
"You should. Especially since I'm not being an ass, and I'm actually complimenting you, so would you just let me be nice for once?"
Gwyneth still looked a little freaked out. "But…there's two of them. And one of me!"
"Hold on, Gwyneth." Emily finally spoke up. "You're forgetting someone. Three someones, namely your friends. We're not gonna suddenly ditch you. And you have him training you and walking you back to us. If you think either Speed or Lash would have the guts to bother you unless you're alone, I think you're wrong. They're bullies, which means they're cowards. They don't really want a fair fight. They want a fight where they think they have a good chance of beating the crap out of—anyone they want to. But they probably wouldn't have the balls to fight somebody who could fight back."
Gwyneth stared. "I…I guess I never thought of that." She shook her head slowly, staring off at some indistinct object. "How stupid can a person be?"
"Pretty stupid, I guess." Emily obviously wasn't sure what was going through her head, but she still put in her two cents.
Gwyneth finally smiled. "You sure they can't get out?"
"Absolutely positively, without a shadow of a doubt."
Gwyneth's smile widened a little. "Then I can do this."
"Atta girl!" Emily high-fived her, then started hauling her towards the DJs and their equipment. "Let's get you signed up!"
Well. I shook my head and started fiddling with the key on my belt loop. Part of me wondered if Gwyneth would actually have the guts to sing onstage. She was shy and awkward as hell, but if she could pull it off…
Gwyneth didn't come back to talk to me, which I half-expected. So I just inserted my ear buds to block out most of the sound, and hung out on the sidelines.
One of the key advantages to wearing black is that it helps you blend in with the shadows. If you're standing off to the side, where there aren't a lot of people, you tend to go unnoticed, and that was exactly what I wanted. It was about as interesting as I'd expected—which is to say, not at all, but I knew the karaoke contest would start eventually, and then things might get interesting. So I waited, for maybe twenty, thirty minutes—I was never sure, but I definitely noticed when the music stopped, and the crowds went quiet.
Then a louder voice came over the speakers. I saw a woman in a red evening gown up on stage, and when I took out the ear buds, I recognized Principal Powers' voice.
"Ladies and gentlemen, an annual Sky High Homecoming tradition…the karaoke contest!"
Cheers broke out. Then she startled me by declaring, "And the first one up is Gwyneth Patrick!"
The crowd murmured with interest, part of which, I sensed came from Gwyneth's absence. She hadn't shown up for the past week, and some of the rumors of her whereabouts and the reason for her disappearance had gotten wild. Someone besides Lash once got up the nerve to ask me if I knew where she was, but I just shrugged my shoulders. It was none of their business, anyway.
Looks like she beat the rush to sign up. I slid my ear buds into my pocket.
Then a small, blue figure slowly and methodically walked across the stage, her blond head slightly down. I couldn't see Gwyneth's face from the back, but I knew who it was. She adjusted the mike, then I heard her voice, magnified, sounding awkward and strange coming through the sound system.
"Hi. (Ahem.) I'm—Gwyneth. Gwyneth Patrick. And I'm going to be singing (another cough) Somebody to Love by Queen."
Gwyneth stood on stage for another moment beforet turning her head towards the side, where the DJs were, and I could hear her voice murmuring slightly.
She turned back towards the microphone. For a moment, I could only hear Gwyneth's breathing huffing against the microphone. Then I heard her voice, soft and sweet and clear.
"Can…anybody…find me-,"
Somebody coughed. I could feel the stillness in the room.
"Somebody to…love."
One or two people began whispering in the crowd, but for the most part, everyone remained surprisingly quiet as a phantom piano started up. Then the drum picked up and the guitars broke into the accompaniment of the song.
Gwyneth's voice sounded a little shaky and breathy, but it began to gain in strength towards the end.
"Each morning I get up I die a little
Can't barely stand on my feet
Take a look…in the mirror
And cry
Lord, what you doin' to me."
"Keep going, Ice Cube. That's right," I murmured, not that Gwyneth could hear me. I mostly said it to myself, the sort of thing people do when watching an intense game and they're trying to urge their team on to better, faster, more points, win, win win! even though they know in their heads their chanting and pleading won't do anything.
"I spent all my years believin' you
But I just can't get no relief
Loord somebody," Gwyneth dropped into a slightly lower range, not quite as pitch perfect as her high notes, but still sounding pretty damn good for someone who just a few days ago was a total mess.
"Somebody, can anybody find me-
Somebody to love."
Someone let out a whoop from the crowd and more let out noises of encouragement. I knew some of them had to be Gwyneth's friends, but at the same time, the sounds came from more than three people. I kept my eyes fixed on the stage, silently praying Gwyneth wouldn't screw up now.
"Got no feel,
Got no rhythm.
I just keep losing my beat." Gwyneth's voice grew stronger, louder. She actually sounded confident, not timid and scared half out of her mind—which she probably still was—or maybe not.
"I'm okay, I'm all right
Ain't gonna face," she hit the note with a bit of a kick, "no defeat."
Oh, fuck yeah. Keep going, Ice Cube, keep going! My brain went into a silent chant.
"I just gotta get out of this prison cell,
One day I'm gonna be free, Lord,
Somebody, somebody, can anybody find me
Somebody to love…,"
This time, Gwyneth let go of the microphone, and began to spread her arms higher and higher. Her voice slowly crescendoed, until she practically belted the last note. I actually grinned in spite of myself.
"She works hard," faint voices came out of nowhere. Apparently the karaoke machine had the sense to realize it didn't really sound the same without the back-and-forth voices.
"I work hard…," Gwyneth sang back.
"Every day…,"
"Every day…
I try and I try and I try…
But everybody wants to put me down,
They say I'm going crazy.
They say I've got a lotta water in my brain
Got no common sense, I've got nobody left
To believe in.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!"
On the last yeah, Gwyneth kind of broke and yelled it, but I couldn't blame her. I could see her grinning from the back of the room. The guitar solo broke out, giving her a break, but she didn't just stand there. Gwyneth started to clap in rhythm with the music, a little uncertainly at first, but then with more confidence as the audience began to clap with her.
Then, the guitar stopped. Faint voices from the karaoke machine began repeat the phrase, but them the crowd started to drown it out in a soft chant of their own.
"Find-her-somebody to looove, find - her - somebody to looove...,"
Gwyneth stared out in wonder. Then a smile I could see from the back of the gym broke out across her face.
All at once she began to sing. Her clear soft voice carried over the rising chant of the crowd.
"Find - me - somebody to looove, find - me - somebody to looove, find - me - somebody to love-,"
I'd never seen anything like it. One minute Gwyneth had been a shy, petrified singing mannequin on stage, whose voice floated over the crowd without any matching signs from her face or body. But now as she gradually lost her fear, Gwyneth was coming alive. I could see it on stage, confidence and animation making her blossom like a magic flower or something. She was actually clapping, and swaying as if she wanted to dance.
He'd voice rose over the crowd, and then Gwyneth did a twirl as she sang, spinning around the microphone.
"Can anybody find me-,"
She spun to a dead stop behind the mike. Silence hovered over the gym for a beat or two, but it was an expectant silence, an eager hush, not an awkward moment.
Gwyneth's voice soared sweetly up to the high note in the middle of the phrase, then dropped, lingering over the word "love," with a slight up-and-down vocal riff.
"Somebody to...lo-o-o-ove!"
The audience exploded with premature clapping and whistles. To my surprise, I realized I was applauding myself, loud and hard, but I couldn't help it. That had been the most amazing comeback I'd ever seen in my entire life-the sort of scene belonging to some Underdog-Conquers-All-Obstacles-and-Makes-It-Big type of movie, except it was real.
The song's repetition of the same phrase went on and on for nearly a minute before it finally ended. Gwyneth set the mike back in its stand, took a quick little bow, and then scurried off the stage—still smiling.
The audience, however, didn't let it go as quickly as she had. They went nuts, cheering and clapping and whistling. I couldn't see Gwyneth, but I had absolutely no doubt her friends were all over her, congratulating her. I realized I was actually happy she'd done a good job.
Holy fucking hell. I shook my head, but I could still see the way Gwyneth had started to open up. No way did that just happen. Little Ice Cube actually had the nerve to go up on a stage? There's hope for her yet.
The same blue figure caught my eye as she squeezed out of the crowd. Even as she emerged, people were talking to her, making her pause every couple steps, congratulating her. Gwyneth nodded and smiled to all of them—although she never really stopped smiling.
"Warren!" Gwyneth dashed up to me, or as fast as her miniscule heels would allow her to trot. "Warren, Warren! Did you see that! That was awesome! I can't believe it! I just—and…,"
"Yeah. Who would've thought?" I tried to keep it casual—jumping up and down like Gwyneth was practically doing wasn't my style. But I still don't think I managed to sound totally unaffected.
"That was so amazing." Gwyneth stopped her open-mouthed grinning, but her mouth stayed fixed in a smile. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone. She looked pretty giddy, and I couldn't really blame her.
"Yeah." Ordinarily I would have made up a snarky comment, but I didn't really have the heart to. Gwyneth deserved one moment of unequivocal happiness.
"Oh…but I have to go up again." Gwyneth's expression fell a little, then she lifted her chin. "But I can do it. After all…I should thank you, really."
I raised an eyebrow. Oh really? "Me?"
"Yeah. You know, you were the one who first told me I was good." Gwyneth twisted her hands together and rocked on her feet, but then she met my eyes with surprising directness. Sometimes she seemed so dorky and awkward, but other times, she had a startling openness which was kind of refreshing in a girl. "I thought about it, but I might not have really done it if you hadn't told me that."
My eyes widened, and this time, my surprise was genuine. "You did this because I complimented you?"
"Yeah." Gwyneth gave me something which looked kind of like an attempt at my half-mouth quirk. "After all, like you said…you aren't nice that often. And you really don't butter people up—that might sound bad, but it's good. Cause when you say something's good, it's like…I figure you must think it's really good."
I stared at Gwyneth. This…how was I supposed to respond to this? I…did not get compliments. And the realization that Gwyneth had done this whole thing because of something I said…well. I wasn't sure how to handle it at all, or respond.
Finally, I settled with, "No problem."
Gwyneth still smiled that damned smile at me. "Oh my God, I'm so happy." She suddenly perked up. "Would it be a bad idea to try and hug you again?"
"If you want to keep that dress unsinged," I responded without an instant's hesitation. At least here, I had a good response I knew to make.
Gwyneth sighed. Her smile turned wry and her shoulders slumped just an inch or two. "You can't blame a girl for trying."
Gwyneth made it into the Top 5. (Her next song was Somewhere Over the Rainbow.) She didn't win, but she did get second place—which was great for a freshman.
When I went home, my mom met me at the door with a hopeful/smug look on her face. "How was it?"
"Cool."
"Cool?" Mom's forehead wrinkled, then her face spread in a smile. "That's all you have to say about it? Cool as in I-was-bored-and-I-hated-it or Cool as in, I-kind-of-liked-it-but-I-don't-want-to-admit-I-was-wrong?"
"I was bored." I looked my mom directly in the eye. "Okay, one part was interesting."
"What part?" Mom perked up. I rolled my eyes.
"Relax, Mom. I didn't meet the love of my life. I didn't meet anyone, really. But Gwyneth sang karaoke."
Mom's eyes widened. "What? She did? Really?"
"Yeah." I turned and headed towards my room, hoping that would end the conversation fairly quickly. Of course, no such luck.
"Well, was she good?" Mom's voice hid a smile.
"Yeah," was all I deigned to answer, before shutting the door.
Why the hell did Mom just laugh at me? All I said was yeah.
Okay, okay…I KNOW you'll be thinking, "Good Lord, she wrote over 12 thousand words and fooled us into thinking there was so much plot, and THAT was what she gave us? A musical in writing? A corny musical?" I know, I know, it was corny, and it was fluffy, but I warned you, didn't I? It's my story, I'll do what I want. And don't fear…next chapter things will take another (slight) twist. And like I said, you'll have more grief-struggling, fight-training in future. This was just a little light break. I hope you can forgive me…I'm not ending it like this. I promise. It would leave too much hanging, anyway…
In my universe, Ms. Peace works full-time and is taking night classes to get her teaching certificate. She and Baron married right out of high school and she started full-time hero-ing. Hence the reference to meeting the guy in class. I'll check for inconsistencies in earlier chapters and alter where necessary. If you pick up anything I missed, let me know.
Yes, the title of this chapter goes with the song "Walk," by the Foo Fighters. I'm not in love with most of their stuff, I mean it's okay, but…but I definitely like that song. It's perfect for moving on…like Gwyneth is starting to do, and the lyrics are eerily similar to the message in this part of ze story.
And if you think that I was overstating the effect of the Skillet songs…you either haven't heard them, or I'm afraid it's hopeless...Check them out, especially Not Gonna Die, and you just might get what I mean. It can inspire anybody like nobody's bidness! Plus, just imagine how these songs would affect someone as vulnerable and emotionally fragile as Gwyneth is at this point.
As for Sarah Slean and her song...all I can say is...look it up. You WILL NOT regret it, and it is every bit as beautiful as described.
Before I go, I just wanted to thank the guest commenters on the last chapter. These are going in order that they were given—the order they appear.
Guest 1: Thank you so much! I really wish you had an account…I so appreciate your faithfulness in sticking with this story, and hope you continue to give me your time and your opinions until ze end…whenever that is
Guest 2: Thank YOU so much! I'm more than flattered, I'm touched. Seriously, this rocks…all I have to do is beg and people are being this amazing? I never expected such overwhelming support when I started this story…I thought that nobody was into Sky High anymore and I'd be lucky to get reviews period…but I was obviously wrong. There are geeks out there, just like meeeee! Keep the geek spirit alive! Fist pump!
Incidentally, if you want to find authors who transcend the typical average or below-average fanfics, check out Jeune Chat (I know, I just kind of have a little hero-worship/weird writer's crush on her because she is SO FRIGGIN AWESOME!), Azul Tigress, SeraphStar, fantasychica37, and GaladEstel. They are some of my favorite writers, and they totally kick ass. Especially Jeune Chat.
Okay, I'll admit it. She's my favorite writer on this site, okay? I ADMITTED IT! (sniffles)
Megknsis: Over and out!