Hey everyone! Thank you so much for your reviews last chapter. Shoutouts to Girlz-Rule and charmedrocks33 for becoming regular reviewers, I really appreciate it. Now, who wants to celebrate? I have officially finished classes for the year, as well as the novel I was working on for NaNo, which means I have free time to do what I love - write fanfic for you guys! So as usual there'll be weekly updates for this story, but there should also be more updates for my other stories, including C'est la guerre (an A-Team Spoby story which you should all go check out if you get bored waiting for the next chapter of this fic).
As for this story, this chapter was fun to write, especially protective Melissa. I don't normally write her character, and I don't often see stories where she's one of the good guys, so this was interesting to explore. I hope it worked well. And, just in case you weren't hyped up enough, next chapter is my favorite so far for several reasons, and I really think you guys will like it. Something pretty big happens, so you definitely don't want to miss next week's instalment.
So for now, enjoy, review, PM me, whatever, and I'll see you guys next week.
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Despite his efforts, Toby's grip on the book slackens; he's so entranced by what he can see in front of him that even basic motor functions seem too difficult. Spencer smiles at him and starts to descend the stairs, not taking his eyes off him. When she reaches the bottom his heart speeds up as he realizes he needs to say something. His vocabulary suddenly seems woefully inadequate. He can't think of a single word to describe her; everything falls short.
So instead he just holds out the book, startling her. She frowns, her eyes scanning the cover, and then her smile returns as she takes it from him, their fingers brushing over the top of the title.
"Thank you," she says, tucking it under one arm as if she's going to take it with her. So he was right; being without a book for her is like being without shoes for someone else (his mind automatically goes to Hanna as soon as he thinks of that metaphor). "Was it as good as you remembered?"
"Better," he replies, and suddenly he doesn't mind that he can't think of a word to describe her. Maybe the only one he needs now is indescribable. He's relieved that they've skipped the greetings, the compliments, the formalities. They're both uncomfortable with tradition, and it's easier just to stick to what they know. He wouldn't be able to do this with anyone else, and it makes him remember why he was so drawn to Spencer in the first place. There's something about her, despite her walls and her defenses, that's just so… relatable.
"Have you started the essay for English yet?" she asks, as if this is just another day, just a normal night, and they're not dressed up and about to embark on a social journey that will be uncomfortable at best, and a disaster at worst.
"The one on The Scarlet Letter? No. I was going to do that tomorrow."
"I'm struggling with it," Spencer says, shifting her book to her other arm as her eyes start to shine; talking about schoolwork actually makes her excited, which always perplexes Caleb and amuses Toby. "I was thinking of trying something more complicated, relating it to some other sources and texts, but my draft word count is over the limit by almost half."
"I've never met anyone who would complain about something like that," Toby says teasingly, but he knows she understands what he's really trying to say. I've never met anyone like you.
"You both look the part," says a voice from the room behind him, "but are you really talking about school right now?"
Melissa appears from the kitchen, absently stirring a cup of tea while giving the pair in front of her a jokingly disapproving look.
"We -" Spencer blushes, trying to come up with an excuse, but then she just shrugs. "Yeah."
"Each to their own," Melissa says. "Mom and Dad said to wish you good luck. They headed out about ten minutes ago, and they said to call them if anything comes up."
"Thanks." Spencer nods at her sister, and then turns to Toby. "Should we… should we get going now?"
He looks at his watch. "Yeah. It's meant to start in less than twenty minutes."
Spencer starts moving toward the door, but then she sees Melissa's raised eyebrow and quizzical look. Glancing down, Spencer realizes that she's still holding the book.
"Spence, I know you're big on this whole studious thing, but isn't that taking it a little bit far?" Melissa takes a sip of her tea, still watching her sister.
Rolling her eyes, Spencer says, "I wasn't going to take it with me. I'll be right back."
Then she dashes up the stairs, leaving silence behind. Toby tries to think of something to say, but, as with most social interactions, finds that his lack of experience hinders his ability to deal with it appropriately. "She's a great girl," he says finally, gesturing half-heartedly toward the stairs.
"She is," Melissa agrees. She stirs her tea, once, twice, and then clinks the spoon against the edge of the cup, loud enough to make Toby jerk his head toward her. Once she's sure she has his attention, she says, "And she's also my baby sister. She's been through a lot, and I don't want to see her get hurt. Do you see what I'm saying?"
"Yes," Toby says quickly. "I'm not going to hurt her. I promise."
"I should hope not," Melissa says, stirring again in what can only be described as an ominously casual way. "Because if I find out that you did anything to her – if you held her hand when she didn't want you to, if you called her by a nickname she didn't like, if you even looked at her the wrong way – I will find new and imaginative ways to make your life a living hell. I'm on vacation right now, so I have nothing but time which I can spend devising torture methods you've never even heard of. Are we clear?"
"We're clear," Toby says, hoping that Melissa can't see the way his knees are trembling. Even though he would rather walk through fire than do a single thing to hurt Spencer, he knows that mistakes happen, and if he messes up – which, according to his father and about half his grade, is all he's good for – he has no doubts Melissa will follow through on her promise. She is one terrifying lady, and he does not want to cross her.
But she just nods, satisfied, flashes him half a smile, and finishes off her tea, all the while maintaining the cold calmness and casual threatening manner. He looks away, suddenly not so excited to be going tonight, but then Spencer reappears at the top of the stairs and his doubts vanish.
"Are you ready to go?" she asks, her voice brighter than he's ever heard it.
Toby isn't sure if the enthusiasm in her voice is feigned, but it's encouraging nonetheless. He leads the way out of the house, into the cool night air, Spencer half a step behind him and seeming eager to get going. Melissa watches from the doorway as he opens the door to his beat-up old car and Spencer climbs in. She keeps watching as Toby gets into the driver's seat and pulls away from the curb, and as he reaches the end of the street he sees her silhouette against the doorframe.
Then he turns the corner and the Hastings house disappears. As he turns on the radio, glancing at Spencer to see if she minds, he realizes that if he'd been a true gentleman he should have done more. He should have offered her his arm to lead her down to the car; he should have bought her a corsage. At the very least he should have complimented her.
"You look beautiful," he says, as dubstep thuds from the radio.
She looks over at him, startled but not displeased. "Thanks."
While he switches the station over to a softer, classical music one, Spencer gazes out the window. He tries to get a read on her, but as usual she's guarded. By now he knows not to take it personally; she's probably spent so long closing herself off that it's second nature to keep her cards close to her chest. Although he wishes he could tell if she was enjoying herself, at least, he figures it's probably better not to ask.
In an effort to fill the silence with words, however trivial, he asks, "So why did the teacher call you back after class today? Was it about the essay?"
In the time he's known Spencer, Toby has gradually started becoming accustomed to swift changes in mood. He can usually see them coming; her lip will quiver or she'll close her eyes for a second too long or she'll clench her fist under the table. And normally the cause is evident, in the shape of a voice that's too loud, a word that's too harsh, or even a song that sets her off.
But now, he can't tell what it is. As far as he knows he hasn't said anything wrong, but he's never entirely sure on that front. He quickly traces his words back through his mind, and it doesn't seem like there's anything that would have upset her. But her lip is quivering, and although she doesn't look like she's going to cry, she's definitely agitated.
"Not exactly," she says, and leaves it at that.
Eager to right whatever wrong he has unintentionally done her, he starts talking about his work – his carpentry. He's still working on an old table he started almost two years ago; it's barely knee-height, but it's been taking him a long time to do the intricate carvings along the side. He does it for hours at a time, he tells her, not sure whether she's interested or not. Each line has to be perfect, each swirl the right size, each angle just right. One simple slip could ruin the whole thing, and as he talks he can't help but think that his friendship with Spencer is much the same.
He can do everything right, tread carefully around her, say the right words at the right time and be there when she needs, but a single mistake could be enough to send her running. One wrong word, one failure, one minor fault on his part, could ruin this friendship. Suddenly he stops talking, aware of how clumsy his words are, how easy it would be for them to do damage if he doesn't pay attention.
The silence stretches for a couple of beats, and then, to his surprise, Spencer begins to fill it. She remarks that the tree on the corner looks like one she used to have in her yard as a kid, and then she tells a story of her sister's failed attempt to make a tree house in it. Toby listens, captivated, to Spencer spin the longest story he has ever heard from her, talk for the longest time he's sure she's talked in years. Her face becomes more animated as she tells of how her sister thought the tree house was stable, only to have it collapse under her and send her tumbling to the ground.
They take turns telling stories, all light-hearted and full of laughter, and the drive seems to fly by. But Toby can't help but notice the common thread through their stories. Spencer's are all from when she was a child, before she moved to Rosewood, before Everything happened. She talks as if she was happy then, and she completely ignores anything that's happened since, as if hoping to lessen the hold the past has on her by refusing to talk about it. Toby's stories, however, are all more recent; all from the time since he's known Spencer. Most of them aren't about her, but they're still in that timeframe.
He's not sure why, exactly. He's been happy before that. Caleb has stood by him, and Toby even has fond memories of hanging out with the others, like Hanna and Mona, and Emily and Aria – even once when all of them had a picnic, although that had ended with them all splitting into their regular groups anyway. Why, then, can he only think of happiness in the time since he's known the girl sitting beside him? It feels like – although he's tentative to admit it, even to himself, as if by acknowledging it will make it more elusive, make the truth of it skitter away from him – she's redefined happiness for him. Before it had been simple; he kept to himself, he only really talked to Caleb and a handful of others, and despite all of the rumors and taunts he faced from classmates, he was reasonably content.
Now things are different. He feels a connection to Spencer that he hasn't felt with anyone before, and he still can't quite figure it out. But for now he's content not to question it; all he knows is that, even without Melissa's warning, he's going to try to make this the best night of Spencer's life.
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