That '70s Phoenix

by xxWonderFablexx

Born in AZ, raised in Point Place to 1 hippie Mother, 1 former rockstar Father & a raging sadistic kitten for a little Brother, Phoenix Daniels has her arms tied between the pressures of school, pleasing her Father as an aspiring musician & the drama that comes with being a regular guest of the Foreman's basement by the invitation of her childhood friend, Donna Pinciotti.

1

She Took a Long Cold Look

"Phoenix! Phoenix!" The pubescent voice of a boy echoes down the hall as little feet beat brutishly on carpeted flooring. In the next instant, my door whips open and bounces off the back wall for the thousandth time, crashing something violently to the ground which goes unnoticed by an ecstatically crazed child. Much too excitedly, he rockets onto my queen mattress and lands unceremoniously on my back, pulling on my bronze hair not unlike his, chanting, "The Forman twerp down the street wants Grover! Forman wants Grover!"

If Red wants Dad to look at a car, why doesn't he just take it to Duke's? He'll be there till five and be out the door to his gig at eight – OW! I need to get this spider monkey off my ass!

"Nova –" Grunting and wiggling as he snickers deviously, I struggle to move his stone-like weight off and even fail to twist around to buck him off that way so I wait him out - as usual.

This kid, I swear, if he wasn't blood –

Switching tactics, my hands move into my scalp to combat his harsh, inconsiderate yanking, hoping to save some of my dignity and wavy locks. "You're seriously way too strong for a nine year old!"

"I get that a lot." He shrugs, hesitating in his fifteen seconds of sadistic pride.

In that moment, I roll off my mattress and plummet gracelessly to the floor on my stomach with an audible thud and a groan. "Get off me, little supernova!" Unfortunately my shout is muffled by the carpet; tasting grit, I spat out sixteen years of dust that kicked up in my mouth and face.

Great. Now I'm going to be sneezing all day. Why can't I get one day to myself? If Mom isn't having me work Saturdays at the wellness shop then I'm in set practice with Dad on weeknights or I'm doing homework with Callie after school or babysitting Nova. Drama club and choir are out of the question; I know the school year just started but it's like I can't win at anything, I can't do what the hell I want! I can't even sleep in on Sundays without Nova sneaking into my room sometime in the middle of the night only to have his baby snore wake me up or have a little foot kick me in the stomach. One time, he woke me up with a wet willy because he was hungry and demanded me to make him waffles at six in the ungodly morning. That damn little prince can do no wrong in Mom's eyes either and Dad always shrugs his shoulders and keeps strumming his chord or maneuvers into the garage to work on the GTO, blasting Black Sabbath or Zeppelin. Seriously, I may be Dad's favorite but that has nothing for Mom's favoritism over Nova. Seriously, it's fucking annoying and you deserve a medal if you piss me off; I'm the chilliest person I know.

A squeaky whine fades me from the fog of my thoughts. He releases my hair but not without stepping all over my back as he marches away, "Man, you're no fun."

"Our definitions of fun clearly aren't the same." I dust myself off and wipe my face on my sleeve. Risen, I collect sheet music strewn about the floor from his attack; papers stacked neatly atop my desk in the corner across my bed, I quip an empty mug and narrow hazel eyes at the brat occupying my doorjamb coolly, like he owns the joint. "Go back to reading Spider-Man, kid."

Round baby features souring, he spats, "Don't tell me what to do, bird brain!" He storms down the hall, maneuvering to the living room where I planted him an hour ago in an ocean of new comics Mom gifted him yesterday.

Clad in dark jeans, leather moccasins and a long sleeve scarlet V-neck tee, I skim to the bathroom just outside my room and reshape shoulder length waves with my fingers, willing them to behave and remain naturally free-flowing and pretty.

Stay! Good. Now to see what Red wants.

Strutting past Mom and Dad's master room cracked ajar as usual, I faze by to a hall entrance to the kitchen that's empty of human bodies, and continue the hall's length to the sun room on the left where Mom keeps all the houseplants and the massive living room on the right. Banking right, I stifle a laugh at the image of one Eric Forman – son of Kitty and Red, little brother of the biggest slut in town, Laurie Forman – sitting on my couch leafing through a comic Nova excitedly flashes him and spins his tongue about. Mused, I lean on the back of said couch and silently peer over his shoulder at the detailed, vivid colors of the X-Men facing off against the Dark Phoenix.

Aw, I didn't know he's still into this stuff. Maybe I can pass him off to babysit one of these times.

"Nova,"

Eric jumps sky high off the couch in a very cat-like fashion, making it hard to be stern with an equally amused Nova sprawled on the floor.

I brush off the brunette's saucer-wide eyes and cock a hip into my hand, pressed on looking semi-serious to the boy. "What've I told you about letting people in the house without telling me?"

"That I should?" He flicks back to the comics, carelessly not bothering to look at me as he speaks sarcastically, "Especially for scrawny boys and the cops?"

"Well, I'm no cop." Eric comments lightly, seeming to have caught his breath after the gentle scare. Blue eyes trace my lithe shape, openly appraising my transformation from the last time we bumped into one another.

He hasn't really changed. I mean, yeah Eric's still all arms and legs, but his face is a tad sharper with masculinity and his hair's longer, browner too. He's taller than me now too, which is great for him. Man, he's staring at my chest like crazy and following the gentle dips of hips as if he'd never seen a girl before. Donna's his neighbor and she definitely has it; her ass rivals mine but her chest's more curvaceous than mine. For his sake, I hope he doesn't gawk at every member of the opposite sex he comes into contact with. Either way, if he's pleased now, wait till he gets a look at my ass. It wouldn't surprise me if I'll suddenly discover him walking behind me all the time simply for the view.

Finding him kinda adorable in an endearing-brotherly sorta way, I return his sheepish wave across the room and smile when his face burns crimson.

"No shit."

I feel my mouth form an "o" of embarrassment. "Nova!"

"Phoenix."

I'm never going to win at anything with this sadistic kitten.

"So Eric, what's Red need?"

"Um well, it's kind of an emergency. Is he home?"

"No. Why doesn't he just take him to Duke's – "

"The tire's flat!" He cries, fidgeting his hands relentlessly; he rambles nervously for a couple minutes about how he'll need Red's foot surgically removed from his ass. "I cut a corner too tight leaving the store to pick up more blue frosting for Mom because she had red and white but needed blue because Ford's coming and I need Grover to put on the spare before Red gets home from work and I only have a half hour and I can't – I would've learned to do it myself like Red told me too last week but I didn't like a dumbass – t-this wasn't supposed to happen! Please, tell me Grover gets off work before Red so he can fix it! I just got the Cruiser and I can't get her taken from me –"

In the corner of my sight, a pitiful Nova analytically watches the teenager's genuine fear show plainly on an abnormally pale face. He sighs softly, breaking Eric's monologue to give me a very peeved frown similar to his "constipated face". "Just fix it for him, his voice is hurting my ears and I can't focus on Wolverine gutting the Shi'ar Empire when there's a teenage boy crying in the room." The small brown haired boy shakes his head disappointedly at Eric, our mother's caramel eyes dull as he grabs a comic to tuck under his sweater. "Pathetic."

Fringe leather jacket on, I motion them to follow, guiding us into a connected garage through a kitchen entrance after automatically locking the front door. I shovel through a metal chest of drawers pressed against the far wall near a tall desk, both full of shiny and sharp equipment I'm familiar with; it takes me a minute to fill a small tool box full of the necessities needed to resolute his desperation. The standard door for the garage I leave unlocked so I don't have to worry about a key, but for logistical common sense, I grip the handle at the top of the wide metal sheet and give the vehicle entryway a heavy yank, feeling a pair of eyes on the small of my back as my shirt rides up, the door falls shut.

I'd ask Eric to do it, but I think it'd break his arm or something equally ridiculous like he'd slingshot in the air or something crazy. And I don't mean that to sound bitchy, I just don't like seeing people hurt rather I like them or not, because I myself don't like feeling any kind of pain.

"Just so you know, Grover's a nine to fiver, six days a week." Turning, watch Eric's face fall as his hands tuck uncomfortably in denim pockets, his face glazing over with rising panic and a thousand would-be solutions formed by fear. Before he loses his crap, I softly offer reconciliation, "I can fix it for you in fifteen minutes flat if you want, but I'm not leaving this one home alone with a house full of toothpaste and two toilet seats."

"Vaseline works just as well." He chirps smugly, freakishly studying Eric razor-sharp.

Eric gapes a bit at my brother, paling a shade lighter at the unspoken realization of the child's sadistic but genius abilities, or the fact that he creepily stalked us. Blue links onto my hazel orbs when I speak again and observes how I stand habitually with my weight favoring one hip over the other, both hands gripping the not-too heavy tool box at my pelvis.

"See what I mean? I don't trust the master of mischief alone to booby-trap my room or set my clothes on fire, so he's coming too and whatever he does in your house is on you."

If he can't lose his car, his freedom, then I can lose the responsibility over Nova for fifteen minutes, my freedom.

"Ok, whatever, sounds fine to me." Relief lightening his cerulean orbs, Eric swivels invitingly to Nova, "So, I have a huge Spider-Man and Star Wars collection if you want to read some?"

Oh dear god. Eric has no idea the shit storm he's unleashed upon himself. The poor guy's never going to get a break and hell, maybe Nova will demand waffles from him for the foreseeable future. That's some dream come true stuff right there.

"YES!" The stocky boy bounces on his red converse, grabs Eric's tiny wrist and hauls him down the stretch of our driveway onto the sidewalk of the neighborhood. "C'MON, PHOENIX! HURRY UP!"

How does he know where Eric lives? Maybe because he knows Midge is Donna's mom and he goes with Mom everywhere and our parents are way tighter than us kids, for sure. I can't remember the last time I hung out with Donna, actually. Maybe we had a project in class or something? That's sad, Phoenix. It's so damn sad that I consider "hanging out" something school revolving and mandatory. I really need to broaden the horizon on my definition of "friends" since both mine from kindergarten decided it'd be cool to dump me like dirty laundry, hook up and date behind my back. I don't care, I won't let myself forgive Callie this time because what she did was manipulative and sneaky and conniving; she fucked my boyfriend, our best friend, and Scott cheated on me with her, my best friend! Things like that don't "just happen". Everything's a choice, we all have a choice. It just blows because I feel so betrayed as if I discovered my Mom's covertly still a cooperate doctor, or something equally wild, and not the biggest anti-government hippy in Point Place. Yeah, not in a million years. Then again, look what Callie and Scott did… Anything can happen, I guess.

A handful of paces behind the chatty pair and passing the sixth house between us, I stroll up Red's driveway but slowly stop at the small group sprawled around or on the Vista Cruiser; two familiar faces dribble a basketball around, tossing it back and forth or bank hoops. Instantly, my stomach drops a stone and a bubble of shyness scorches my cheeks.

Aw, damnit. I thought Callie was kidding about Jackie Burkhart hanging out with Donna, no offense to Donna; they're just polar opposites and look a little odd side by side. But Jackie being Jackie, she'll bring up Scott and I know so because how couldn't she? It's in her makeup to be impulsive and bitchy and I accept it because that's just Jackie, but seriously, if she says anything about him, I'm out. My crap with him is raw and I'll be pissed if I cry. I hate that I'm a crier.

No matter how hard I try to move to get everything over with, my feet refuse to lift; the motor neurons in my brain are shooting blanks to freeze me in place, instinctively keeping me alive.

Nova takes residency in a lawn chair outside a sliding glass door leading to a warm toned kitchen. As the saying goes "looks are deceiving", he smoothly picks up where he left off but discreetly lowers the thin book, blank-faced, when Eric says something to the group, gesturing to him universally.

The group stare at him, wordless and probably confused as to why a kid's in their space out of the blue.

Nova, ever the critic, scans each person but nods a curt greeting solely to the tall redhead he clearly recognizes from our parent's deep history and strongly knit relationship. His searching glimpse back at me also cues five pairs of curious eyes to land on the figure standing at the end of the driveway.

Ok, deep breaths and the nicer you are, chances are people will be nice back. Brave face on, Phoenix. I can do this, new people are exciting. Crap. I hope Grover's right about all this karma stuff and if not, I'll go route two and become mute. It actually pisses a lot of people off when they can't get any answers out of you, if they can't tell what you're thinking or get a straight answer. It's a strong weapon in my arsenal of self-defense.

Glad my leg have bowed down to my commands, I stop timidly when I'm standing face to face with Eric's clan of miscellaneous friends. Now it's my turn to wave uncomfortably. "Hey, guys." Unintentionally, I find Donna's gaze fist, silently willing her to hear my mental plea for help.

I hate my shyness so much. If it wasn't for Grover teaching me confidence and the fundamentals of having control of the stage and audience, I'm not sure I'd be able to do even this right now. This is stupendously awkward, not scary, but it's no less uncomfortable on my end. Eric's harmless, I'm not awkward around him because his vibe isn't threatening or scary, it's kinda sweet and endearing so I roll with it and feel confident. The same rule applies to Donna, though I haven't seen her in forever but we do go back because of our moms being so close. But Jackie Burkhart? She doesn't always make me feel nervous but with the dirt she has on me from Callie being a cheerleader and hours of shit-spinning gossip, I know she knows who I am, making me a target simply because she has the power and she can and I'm available to be "lesser" by her standards of bitchy perfection. Last week, I'd be indifferent about her and wouldn't exactly care if something crappy happened to her, but I wouldn't want her to be hurt or anything. It's a bit fucked up to wish ill will on anyone in my book so I steer away from it as much as possible and focus on reconciliation and fixing issues because usually it's all just petty BS. But not when it comes to Scott and Callie. Callie and Scott. Ugh, even their names sound great together! Kelso can be sweet, I've seen it, but he's too much of a ditz to know any better so he gets a "special" pass from me; not on everything, but when it comes to the really moronic stuff, yeah. The new kid? I have no idea what's going on with him or if he can even speak English. He's in a couple of my classes, including sixth period gym, and he stares. A lot. I heard he gets beat up a lot by the jocks, some of Todd Trinke's football meatheads I think, but he seems decent, rivaling Eric's social skills for sure or lack thereof. … And Hyde. I can't even say enough love-sick crap about Steven Hyde; in short, I've had a mega crush on him since fourth grade when he punched and pushed my playground bully, Logan Mathews, in the dirt and had recess detention for two weeks because the asshole wouldn't stop spinning the tire swing whenever I went on and never let me off which led me to a lot of fainting and visits to the school nurse. I called him my hero and I'd meant it, but the next day he had an ugly black eye he hid with a pair of chunky sunglasses, opposed to the slick aviators he picked up in junior high, and told me to buzz off, avoided me like the plague, and since then he's never spoken to me and at the time, I said everything I needed to. … I wonder if he remembers that day. I know Grover hasn't and if he knew who Hyde was, I'm sure he'd give him a pot of gold for standing up for his Baby Phoenix because god knows I can't fight for anything. I mean, I could, I just wouldn't because I hate confrontation and fighting and I know life isn't always singing CCR, Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash or Heart and smoking a bag of pot all day to dull emotions and crappy memories, but why can't it be?

In the same breath, Donna's already sliding off the Cruiser's hood and engulfs me in a hug that the boys, especially Kelso and the new kid, gawks at. "Phoenix! Oh my god, you're – I haven't seen you since last summer at that thing with Grover! I just, wow. You look amazing. And wait, do you have a tan in September?" She retracts, smiling wide and glimmering pale eyes up and down my person, like she's stunned or something.

So much for making her my Hail Mary. Thanks for embarrassing the hell out of me, as if this isn't awkward enough. People can change and I guess it makes me living proof that an ugly duckling can turn into a swan.

Channeling my sheepishness to business, I laugh off her awe and easily flash a kind smile, a bit flattered by her astonishment. "Yeah, puberty and this thing called 'tanning'."

"And it hit you like a train! Damn, Phoenix, you were a total uggo when we're kids and now you're an absolute babe with a capital B! – OW! Damn Jackie!" Kelso announces the obvious, earning a painful pinch and twist on the arm from his tiny girlfriend.

Shut up, shut up, shut up! I don't need to give your tiny, intimidating girlfriend another reason to verbally attack me, Kelso. Thanks, I think, but either way, shut up, Kelso! And I wasn't "uggo". I just wasn't the cutest kid, ok? I blame Mom for the freckles.

Despite his brash no-filter outburst, I damn the heat tinting my cheeks and ignore it instead of laughing something off like I already did. I inhale bravery which involuntarily swells the round mounds on my chest, much to the boy's pleasure. "Fifteen minutes, Eric."

"Oh, right. It's over here and if you need something, I'll be here." Quickly so I can get started, he points out the spare tire pressed against the garage's inner wall and leans contently on the driver's side of the hood, examining my process for his future knowledge.

Seeing the tire barely hanging on due to some missing lug nuts, I give the tire a gentle tap with the toe of a moccasin, gauging the pressure by feel and habitually purse my lips thoughtfully. "What the hell kind of curb takes off lug nuts?"

"The…curby ones?" He replies sarcastically in a very Eric-like fashion, glancing down at me as I sink to my haunches and squeeze the rubber treat dangerously thin, signaling it's insanely low pressure.

This is so risky, it's not even funny. Curb or no curb, I'm incredibly happy he didn't wait another second to grab Grover, incidentally me, to fix this. This could easily kill someone.

Moistening my lips, I dig through the tool box whilst kneeling and point the blunt end of a screw driver up at him sincerely. "Curb or no curb, don't ever drive on a flat. EVER. This is the stuff of fatal accidents, Eric. The next time you think you see a flat, check the pressure immediately and fill the air if she needs it. Do not put it off like you did here and nearly kill yourself and everyone else in the car with you, OK? Hell, call me and I'll do it, just don't wait before something or another happens that you can't take back, OK? Eric, this was…" I shake my head at the missing nuts, knowing for damn sure a curb didn't do this and he's lucky worse didn't happen. "Don't do it again or I'll have to tell Red because this isn't about responsibility, this is about safety and I don't play with anyone's safety. Especially when I'm doing a friend a favor and involving my pain in the ass brother, OK? Do you hear me or do I have to write it out for you?"

Regret painting his face, he nods solemn understanding and flinches when the new kid appears at his side shouting with a mushy accent about trying to get them killed and reminding him that he still isn't comfortable in a car in the first place.

"Dillhole! You're so lucky Phoenix was home or else Red would have your tiny little ass." Donna smacks a puppy-dog faced Eric in the arm lightly but hard enough to make someone of his nimbleness grimace, reprimanding him much to my amusement.

They're so cute. I wonder if he finally asked her out, I mean, they're a thing anyway. Everyone in town who has eyes and the gift of hearing knows Eric's loved Donna since the fourth grade so I hope he can conquer his awkwardness and make it happen. Man, I'd be so proud of him if he did.

"Eric, you idiot! I can't die before Michael! I have to go to homecoming and be perfect at everything before that's even an option!"

I always hear Jackie before I see her. Is that just me or is that everyone else's experience too? And something tells me Death won't give Jackie Burkhart a free pass. She's so ridiculous, I don't know how Kelso doesn't just ditch her at the mall or fake his death and move to Mexico or something just as insane as her. But again, he's so stupid, maybe he does like her controlling ways? And how the hell did Jackie manage to be in the same group at Hyde? He's actually cool and she's…I'm just going to stop there. I don't think I'll ever understand that one even if hell freezes over.

A smiley Kelso shoots his arms overhead, hollering energetically into the evening air with gusto, "Who's the King now?"

"Still you, moron." Hyde retorts, catching the basketball he successfully banks in the hoop and chucks into said moron's abdomen roughly, making him double over for air with a manic laugh.

Smirking, I glimpse to Nova who immediately pretends to be reading and blushes irritably at his lack of covert spying. Craning my neck at Eric, I squeeze his shoulder comfortingly. "It's cool, I'm not mad, but you owe me one for giving me a baby heart attack." Pumping legs carry me to said spare tire that I roll vertically between my legs to the driver's side front tire.

"Can I get you anything? A coke?" He rambles remorsefully, gesturing to Nova and regarding the kitchen. "Mom made some cookies for the block party tomorrow, it's to celebrate Ford coming to Point Place on Monday. Wait, you are coming to the party, right?"

Raising thick lashes, I lock eyes with Donna's knowing smirk and allow her to answer.

"Midge and Holly volunteered to do décor and bring some salads and inducted Phoenix and I into helping. So yeah, we'll be there but unwillingly and I guess it's for a good cause. And if not, it's a free meal."

"That sucks." Hyde notes passively, the comment obviously more aimed toward Donna who shrugs.

He didn't want to talk to me then, why the hell would he now?

"I'm good, thanks. Nova?"

"Coke, stat." Without peering up, he snaps his fingers and, of course, lands miraculously on Eric.

He juts a thumb toward the prodigy dictator. "Is he always like this?"

I exhale an "unfortunately", knowing he's already in motion for Nova's command – just like everyone else around him. In a crouch with my back to the uncomfortable field of Jackie trying to distract Kelso as the foreign kid simply ogles, I peel off my outer layer knowing it'll restrict my movement and toss it on my brother.

The death-glare he throws me bubbles a barely stifled laugh up my throat.

Being the intuitive, accurate prince of mischief that he is, he loves making other people's life a living hell, especially mine, but if I try to dish it back or even laugh at him, he swears vengeance. His worst feats of pranks birth from embarrassment and annoyance, exactly how I just did now not only in front of a crowd, but in front of Donna Pinciotti, the only person he's remotely tolerable around beside Mom. Donna must think he's an angel when he's around her attached to Mom's hip when they're hanging with Midge, because he does his damn best to wreck my life when I'm around, crowd or not. Even if he's mellow with Mom, I could show up for five minutes and he's giving me crap all day or simply tornadoes my room, which I hate with a passion. He hates me and knowing I don't have a mean bone in my body, Nova exploits that weakness every chance he gets for whatever reason beyond me. Maybe to get a rise? So I'll snap? I don't know, but when he goes "supernova", I leave the house for a few days so he can cool down and we start the cycle all over again. How lovely. I don't get mad at him, just frustrated, because he is a child and I believe he doesn't know how to properly express his anger so like a typical bully, he takes it out on the weakest link in the house: me. Grover gets after him a lot, but it's gotten him and Mom in a lot of shouting matches so I made him drop it years ago. I just deal with it and Nova just keeps supernova-ing and does no wrong and I roadie with Grover. Grover's the best, seriously.

"You're going to pay for that."

"I've been paying for it since you were born, hellion."

Kelso tosses me a charming grin and an unapologetic one to Nova. "Sweet burn. Sorry, little man."

Nova grumbles something I can't distinguish but whatever it is calls a victorious smirk to itch his mouth, forcing Kelso to scoff repulsively, clearly offended, and invent conversation with Hyde.

Right around this time, Eric slides the glass open and passes the boy a can of coke with an optional straw then reclaims his place at the left side of the hood to memorize my movements.

Testing the door handle and glad it's unlocked, I ask Eric for the keys to which he passes me sporting a confused brow. Finding a suitable station of mainstream rock hits, I leave the volume to a hum and feel Nova's newfound comfortability fan across the driveway from here as he genuinely reads about the X-Men, never-minding us idiot peasants. Spotting the questionable looks and pauses in conversation, I explain humbly, "Music helps me focus, especially a gnarly guitar riff and a dope beat."

"Cool shirt." Hyde juts his dimpled chin at my Pink Floyd tee. "Good song." Tinted aviator shades on and dribbling the basketball I heard banging down the street hours earlier after school, dark blonde curls bobs ever so slight to Ted Nugent belting 'Stranglehold'.

I return a close-lipped smile. "Thanks."

Holy crap. I know this probably sounds pathetic, but he actually talked to me. Five years later and he actually said something, no he complimented me. Oh my god, I wish Callie didn't decide to be a slutty boyfriend stealer so I could call her and ramble ridiculously for an hour about it. Stupid Callie and her greedy vagina.

"Um ew, no. Band tees are so trailer trash, Hyde."

Damnit. I can't believe I'm thinking this, but her shoes are adorable. Now I want to punch myself in the face for complimenting the enemy's wardrobe. Seriously though, how does she walk for hours at a time in them? No, how hasn't she broken her neck by now and blamed it on falling off a human pyramid or something? Wedge heels provide balance, that's the only heel I wear and of course, nothing over two inches or I do my best imitation of Drunk Phoenix. Drunk Phoenix loves shaking her ass because she has blinders on about her shyness, leading to a lot of nonsensical singing and making out with the nearest boy so yeah, Drunk Phoenix hasn't been free in nearly a year. I don't need to get pregnant and I definitely don't want my first time to be –

Jackie suddenly swivels downward at me as I use the edge of the new tire as a makeshift seat, she seemly debating to squish the ant or not with a scare-tactic beady-eyed glare. "No offense or offense, I don't care."

Did she just call me trailer trash? What did I ever do to her to make her hate me in the first place? If it's about Callie, well Scott and I were together first and she was in the wrong so she can shove it up hers. Secondly, if it's about Kelso who I'd just spoken to this evening for the first time in like two years, then the rumors are true and she's as territorial, possessive and judgmental as she comes.

"Any who, aren't you dating Scott Ladson? Oh no, wait. You're not because Callie swooped in and snatched him because you wouldn't sleep with him, right? I thought I heard that from Pam Macy who talked to Callie this morning." Dark, nearly black eyes glitter domination as alpha female.

Well, I can't say I'm surprised she's as shallow as a puddle to bring it up.

"Jackie." Donna sits up from her spot on the front bumper behind Eric, admonishing her friend and quickly sends me an apologetic smile on the dwarf's behalf.

Eric rolls his eyes and thins his mouth gravely at me in quiet remorse, probably mentally kicking his own ass for letting the Burkhart in his inner circle in the first place.

To egg me on, she says innocently to no one in particular, willing me to take the bait for a fight she so happily casts out, "What? It's not gossip if it's the truth and it is, right?"

Deep breaths, Phoenix. That's just Jackie and her mouth is her problem, not mine. Don't associate, don't reply. Just finish the damn tire so you can go home and cry in the shower and sing with Grover. Singing. Yeah, singing's good.

With renewed purpose, I skip applying the wheel wedges to cut time but grab the quadrilateral wrench and vigorously begin loosening nuts with two turns, but not enough to them to fall off by gravity. Hub cap gliding off independently, I habitually pinwheel the wrench between my fingers as I align the jack beneath said tire and stand pump it up to properly remove bald rubber, finally rolling it aside for the new one. Lifted six inches off the ground, my body instinctively kneels with parted legs, letting me easier access to fully unscrew and remove each lug nut.

Now for the fun part.

Tools and parts aside, I rub greasy, gritty and slightly sweaty palms on denim thighs in preparation. Gripping the old tire by its worn treads and slightly lifting, I pull the dead-weight toward me in unison thanks to the aid of adrenaline via the comeback anthem, 'Fox on the Run' – and the internal promise of this whole thing being over ASAP. Halfway done, I plant aside the bad rubber and lift the new one vertically then reel it up so it easily sides onto the back hubcap connected to the vehicle's muscle. Behind me, someone claps and another whistles appreciatively – I assume Eric and Kelso but the other I can't be sure – and efficiently go about pushing the lug bolts back into place in the steel rim, then tighten some older nuts and newer ones I had to compensate for the missing ones by hand. Pausing to wipe the clamminess of my forehead on the back of my sleeve, I murmur encouragements to the hunk of metal and slam all my body weight – which isn't much but it'll have to do – behind each aggressive turn for insurance using the quadrilateral wrench. On my feet, I bend over for a second to lower the jack with a foot and blink at Donna through the window and windshield who's situated on the hood. Simultaneously, I overhead the end discussions belonging to four boys regarding my "glorious ass".

"Boys will be boys", Mom's words of wisdom speak then proceeds to seduce men half her age like the sexually free hippy she is.

Finally, I reach over for the hub cap the foreign kid politely hands me with an eager smile, thank him, and effortlessly stamp and secure on the last step. Hands brushing together and tools stowed in my tool box, I toss Eric his keys and lean casually on the driver's door, savoring the autumn breeze. "That was fun, but remind me to never ride with you if you're driving."

"Same here, Forman. Seventeen's too young to die." Hyde snatches the keyring straight out of his best friend's hand and pockets them; smooth as silk, he also takes a half-drank coke from a stunned faced Eric and empties it's remains.

I doubt he cares about Hyde jacking his stuff in general since they're practically brothers but in this moment, Eric's pale eyes sparkle relief and upmost gratitude at me. "Holy crap, Phoenix, you did it!" Eric squats by the tire, examining my work in amazement.

I can't help myself, I laugh and hang my thumbs off a heavily influenced Navajo crotchet belt Mom got me from one of her trips to Arizona. "Of course I did. You should be golden for a month but don't be afraid to baby the tire pressure until you see Grover because at some point this is going to need a legit tire, not a half-assed spare. So just let me know when you need an appointment and I'll set it up. Are we cool now? Because I have to ready for a gig."

"A gig?" Hyde leans off the white wooden rail encapsulating the alcove around the sliding glass entrance to the kitchen, field of vision sighted on me as a brow cocks both suspiciously and curiously. "You drag race for extra cash or somethin'?"

"Or somethin'. Nova, you ready?"

"Born ready."

Tool box and brother in tow, I don't bother nudging him along with a maternally touch on his shoulder or dare reach for his hand, too late anyway since he's running ahead of me up the driveway and ducks left toward our house. I pull Grover's business card from an outside slot on the box's side and hand it off to Eric. "I'm sure Red has the numbers, but let me know if you need a tune-up. Oh, and I'd get your tires rotated too whenever you get the new one."

"Thanks again, Phoenix."

"No problem." I face the gang and nod friendly to each of them, not shocked at Jackie's blatant tolerance via eye roll but a wave of shyness instantly pinches my cheeks when Hyde says an acknowledging "later". Skating backwards along the cement, I shout a "bye guys" and push through the standard door leading to the garage connected to our house after a seven minute walk. "Nova?"

"WHAT?"

Abruptly, a shrill echoes through the house.

"PHONE'S RINGING!"

He's lucky Mom's on her way home or else. I'd never lay a hand on Nova, but you bet your ass I'd padlock the hellion in his room for a radical time-out.

Sighing, I skirt to the pastel blue phone hanging ominously off the wall near the breakfast nook in the far corner and answer the call platonically.

"Phoenix? Hey, it's Donna."

Oh. That was fast.

"Are you calling from your house or Eric's?"

"Eric's. It was closer. So what you did for the Vista Cruiser was pretty rad."

"Yeah, I guess."

Where's she going with this?

"Tomorrow's Saturday, are you doing anything?"

"I could get out of it. Why?"

"Well, Hyde mentioned something about Holly growing pot her shop downtown and I'm, well we're wondering, if she'd sell him some? Besides, Eric wants to express his gratitude and invite you to hang in the basement if you want."

I would but Kelso hangs with Hyde and Eric all the time, meaning if Kelso's there, so will Jackie and I'd rather not face-off with her anytime soon.

Phone wire curling around a finger anxiously, I shrug unceremoniously. "I work weekends at the shop, nine to two. If he wants, he can stop by tomorrow and I can meet you guys to hang? I mean, if anyone seriously want me there, omit Jackie."

Donna responds encouragingly, her tone matter-a-fact, "Of course we want you there, omit Jackie. Do you know how impressive that was? You knocked that lickety-split and didn't bat an eye at her bait; honestly, I'm sure she's just jealous she wasn't the constant center of attention. Eric can't stop raving at the job you did and I'm already contemplating punching him so he'll shut his dillhole.Even Hyde was impressed and he isn't one to hand out compliments, rather he'll say so or not." She titters again, making me thankful she can't see my cheeks heat up. "Eric feels bad about neglecting the Cruiser and wants you to come by anytime if you need to breathe air separate from Nova or if you feel like it, ok?"

As much as Jackie's like an ankle-biting Chihuahua, years of practice has made me a master of ignoring annoyances and wastes of time so I'm sure I'll do fine since staring doesn't unnerve me, but people's vibes and energies do. Then again, I'm pretty sure we'll be too toasted tomorrow to care if we inhabit the same room or not. Wait, does Jackie smoke?

"You know, Phoenix, it's kind of crazy that you haven't been hanging with us this whole time since Holly and Midge are inseparable and I've never seen Red enjoy himself around anyone but Kitty or Grover." Brining me out of my thoughts, she asks frankly, "Why aren't we closer again?"

"I have a ridiculously extreme case of shyness paired with a bleeding heart too gold."

"Well, I'm glad one thing stayed the same. God, I'm so embarrassed I didn't recognize you if not for Eric actually knowing who you were. Please don't hate me," She sighs regretfully into the opposite end of the line, "I think this may be my fault because I see you all the time at school but I never put two and two together and realized Phoenix Daniels is this Phoenix Daniels, goddess of mechanics and totally gorgeous."

"I'm not gorgeous. Jackie's more in that category, well, maybe she would be if the inside matched the outside."

A feminine snort of agreement expels the redhead, "Yeah, you get used to it. So, I um, wasn't going to ask but…"

"It's ok. Um hold on, Donna." Phone to my chest, I listen for telltale little steps thundering down the hall behind the kitchen's hall door for a solid minute and am glad to be returned with Aerosmith humming in his room.

Nova and his creepy, stalker-ass tendencies, I swear.

I relent woefully into the line, "Go ahead."

"Is everything ok?"

"Yeah. I just had to make sure the hell spawn wasn't eavesdropping. For someone so tiny and Rottweiler-like, I swear he makes it a daily goal to peel back every detail of my life despite how boring and pathetic he thinks I am. He's such a bizarre boy."

"He seemed pretty ok to me."

"Yeah, only because he likes you. Nova doesn't like anyone outside of Holly and everyone else he tolerates or hates passionately. I'm his sister and am labeled in the 'hates passionately' category. I'm sure he'd stone me in the town square if he'd find a way to get away with it, which he might because psychopaths are geniuses, you know?"

"Yikes. So…what really happened with Callie? There's like ten different rumors I heard but I'd rather hear it from the horse's mouth."

Not hesitant to be truthful but incredibly concerned of a potential fight with Jackie if word gets out, I white-knuckle the phone handle. "Promise not to tell anyone?"

"Totally. It's not my place to share anyway, unless you don't care. Honestly, Phoenix, I'm just trying to figure out why Jackie hates you so much."

"Welcome to my life. What the hell's that all about? Anyway, I don't know what you heard, but I'll give you the short and true version of my side."

"Ok."

"Scott, Callie and I've been best friends since kindergarten and Scott and I've been dating for almost a year. God, I'm so stupid. … So um, last week I forgot my gym clothes in Callie's car, we used to carpool to school, and when I went to get them between classes, I caught her eating his face off and he was...'out' of his jeans." Memories rising of Scott thrusting his hips up into her skilled hand and his own hand swept inside the unzipped waistband of Callie's floral bellbottoms, I slap the betrayal aside and try my damnest not to sound so pitiful. "A lot of people say it's because I wouldn't sleep with him, that Callie's obviously the more willing party, but I don't know because neither of them have reached out and tried to apologize or explain and now I'm a ghost more than ever at school." I sigh monotony, "…I guess our friendship didn't mean as much to them as it did to me, but I'm in a way, I'm glad I saw it because if I didn't, I wouldn't have known not to sleep with him. Regardless if they're sorry or not, I hope they work out better than he and I did."

"Wow. What a bitch, uh no offense, but she is. It's your body and your choice if you want to sleep with him or not and for Scott to automatically cheat on you proves he's a loser, and for the record, I'm glad you didn't sleep with him either."

"Agreed. So that's what happened and that's the truth. I just wish I knew sooner, that I saw the signs, you know?"

"Again, I'm just glad you didn't sleep with that walking STD farm. Ugh."

"Me too. Whenever we tried, I kept laughing and he'd get so mad, say 'giggling isn't sexy, Phoenix' then he'd leave." Mimicking his deep voice, a smile curls my lips, flattering the angles of my heart-shaped face. "I can't help the fact that I'm ticklish or that I'm 'not sexy'. Plus, he was handsy, which wasn't all that great considering his paws were always too cold or super clammy."

"Oh my god, forget that Ladson dillhole. Kelso didn't just call you a babe to call you a babe, he meant it and is still wearing the goofiest star-struck look on his face from when you first talked to him, much to Jackie's annoyance. And as much as I hate to admit it, Eric can't get over how badass you are and yeah, he said 'badass'. Hyde's Hyde and you know how he is? Silent, chill and broody but credits when credit's due. Honestly, I think he's impressed but knowing Hyde, he'd never admit it. He's way too cool for that." She chuckles. "I don't need to be a mind reader to know Fez's got it bad. You've made one hell of a first impression, saving the day like that, Phoenix."

Fez, that's his name. Ok, cool. Now I don't have to ask her his name without looking more like an idiot than I am.

"…I don't know what to say."

I've been so malnourished from compliments all my life and in uncharted territory when it comes to people raving and genuinely liking me that I have no fucking clue what to do or say, scared to death I'll mess it up and change their minds. Tragically, the only person who ever compliments and gives me regular positive reinforcement is Grover, but he has too because it's a given and he's my Dad and I'm his baby Phoenix so I don't count that.

"Just say you'll let Hyde pick you up after your shift and hang in the basement tomorrow. How about that?"

I'm not sure, but she sounds self-satisfied so I do as I'm told and she puffs a gentle laugh of adornment and lets me go, explaining that Red just pulled up.

My night far from over, I scale to the fridge and skim over the two day old Schwan beef pushed to the side and the collection of assorted lunchmeat and cheeses.

I thought there was veggie low mien in here and since I'm the lone vegetarian in the house, there'd be no reason for anyone to eat it unless...

Grabbing an orange cream soda and popped the cap off on the lip of the counter, I saunter through a barn door into the hall and walk quietly to the goblin's doorjamb. "Hey," I call over Steven Tyler belting a note, paired with wailing guitars. Suspicious brown eyes speckled with green narrow at the child situated in the corner of a blue painted room stickered with superhero memorabilia and various rock band posters from Freddie Mercury's Queen to the bloodcurdling rock of AC/DC. "What did you do with my low mien?"

"Why would I touch your boring food? I like flavor and meat is flavor meaning yours is bland and dull. I didn't do it so stop blaming me for everything, Phoenix. It's like I'm living a re-run of the crappiest nightmare every day."

God, he's horrible. How does a nine year old accumulate that much bitterness and meanness?

"Fine. I'm ordering pizza, what do you want on it?" I tip back creamy, citrus soda and loftily clutch the neck of the bottle at my hip, eyeing the brunette haired boy buried in an oversized bean bag.

Sadly, he doesn't practice the curtesy of making common eye contact with me, resuming his infamous form of literature in the form of a dark and stoic Batman comic. "You're so stupid."

Thanks for that. It's not like I haven't heard it a thousand times before.

Leaning off the doorjamb, I flick the light switch on and off a couple times, gaining a blank look of annoyance from round, tan features much like Mom's. Sweetness lingering on my tongue, I flitter a glance around the boyish room and land on the Wolverine sheets christening an unmade twin bed. "Whatever."

"Whatever yourself."

Seriously, Nova?

"Do you always have to have the last word?"

"Obviously." He sneers, somehow exasperated and resigned because he's Satan.

Fine then, be a snob.

Once again in the kitchen, I'm contemplating weather I want a garden calzone or a small veggie pizza to myself when the door to the garage parts to reveal Grover clad in his usual jumpsuit stained with black tar and corroded car grease. "Hey, Dad." Having not seen him since seven earlier this morning before school, I dismiss his warning of dirtying me and wrap my arms around his robust waist.

Feeling my warmth and reciprocating the gesture by dropping a kiss to my crown, he drapes a heavy arm on my shoulder, cocking his weight on the limestone tiled counter. "Hey, sweetheart. You ordering dinner?"

Smelling the firestarter aroma of gasoline cling to the jumpsuit from a full day's work, I fluidly uncurl from his arm, feeling him pick up on my dance cue as he spins me accurately to the fridge. Smile cracking my face, I pass him a root beer cream soda, seeing the muscle of his piston-like arms shift and ripple strength while he pops off the lid. "Yeah. Pizza. You think Nova will be ok with meat lovers? I don't know if I want a pizza to myself or not."

"That should be fine. We have Clover Points tonight at eleven so I don't want you showing too much skin, you hear me? That reminds me," For drama and to build anticipation, the dirty blonde haired mechanic takes a gulp that drains half the bottle, evidence of a stressful day pronouncing the smile lines etched around his eyes or the dimples in his smooth cheeks I'm told are genetic. "Principle Franklin had his brakes and a tune-up done today. Apparently, his nephew saw our gig at Clover Points last month and recommended you to sing the national anthem for Monday at the rally for Ford. He asked if you'd do it, I told him yes."

My head whirls up from the menu so fast, I'm sure whiplash will hit me sooner rather than later. "You WHAT?"

Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap! I've never sang in front of anyone from school and the rally's at school and everyone's going to fucking be there. Oh god, oh god, oh god! Why, Dad? Why now? Eric's gang is going to put me in the wringer about this one, especially Donna for holding out on her and Jackie for whatever the hell she'll find to nit-pick and fuck…Hyde. Hyde thinks I freaking drag race! But no lie, it would make sense for him to think that, I would if I were him. Knowing Grover, he'd probably go a ride around the block if I asked him since he's the most interesting person in Point Place. I remember the first time he told me the stories of his exciting youth, physically showed me pictures of him and Mom in high school with Bob and Midge and a young Red who wildly resembled Eric at his age now that I think about it, and holding his trophies for myself. The first time he won something, he was fifteen and it was the Wisconsin State Wrestling Championship; it's crazy and remarkable to me because I've never heard of a fifteen year old taking down eighteen year olds. Totally radical. He and his accapella group won the school talent show in his senior year singing, the Beetles 'Hey Jude'; according to my mother, it brought everyone to tears including herself. Grover also entered a state-wide battle of the bands competition in sixty-nine at the age of twenty-one; lo and behold the guy who managed Jimi Hendrix offered him a place to tour right on the spot. Even though he turned down the thrill of a lifetime, he still traded and bounced riffs and wails with the rockstar himself. Dad said he'd never been so high off his ass than he was that night at the House of Blues. Of course, Grover's been aware of his barreled figure since high school but he took it a step further when I was five by entering a Wisconsin Strongman Competition after a solid year of eating protein and heavy grains alongside insane powerlifting workouts to bulk up. The bodybuilding stuff I thought was kinda gross, especially with the freakishly thick, bulgy muscles but now that I can appreciate it, it's cool to seeing how passionate he is doing what he loved; to this day, he has the gold belt mounted in the basement, among several other accomplished memorabilia. Still, none of that comes close to his life-long love affair with music, most notably singing and damn does he have a wide range. The guy can belt a heartfelt Roy Orbison classic in the shower then go gritty like Angus of AC/DC or turn around and sing squeaky soprano like a Bee Gee on a dime; the acapella he did forever ago trained his vocal chords to expand and steady notes. Also, it gave him the gift of mimicking voices from a British or southern accent, copying Donald Duck and Darth Vader, all the way to Scooby Doo. Voice impressionswere a great exercise for me when I was a kid and overall, copying sounds or whistling tunes before I could talk shaped my own range. That, paired with the echoic memory I inherited gifted me the ability to learn songs on a variety of instruments by ear, which I usually and miraculously nail it the first try, and lyrics are permanently tattooed in my brain. I'm one year older than he was when he won the Wrestling Championship and here's his kid who's supposed to be better and more victorious than him and she's barely swimming above water. His legacy's a lot to live up too, it's a lot of expectation on me because I'm Phoenix Daniels, the sole daughter of Grover Daniels and I'm so scared I'll never measure up and forever be a disappointment. Hell, I am to everyone else so why wouldn't I be to him? It scares me to death. I love singing and the thrill of feeling absolutely free and lost to the bliss of music, I get it, but I'm terrified that my best won't ever be my best for him.

"…booked you to sing for the President."

Frozen in place, I grip the counter for stability, unsure if I'm going to pass out as a ball of trepidation forms and drops like a boulder in my stomach.

Is it hot in here? Yeah, it's a freaking oven in here. Holy crap.

"But –"

"We'll work on lyrics this weekend so it sinks in." The softness of his stern tone saying "that's final", one of Dad's hands encompasses mine, dwarfing it in comparison to his thick digits calloused in all the appropriate places from years of guitar playing, mechanic work, and sometimes helping my uncle with his carpentry business.

Anxiously, I bite the inside of my cheek and stare at the middle of his chest where my height stops in comparison to his towering beefcake stature so he doesn't have to see the glossiness of hazel eyes. Worried I'll screw up and disappoint him and ruin his credibility more than anything, I fret, "I can't – "

He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and maternally brushes aside the fringe of hair splaying my forehead, probably hearing the tears in my voice or somehow sensing I'm upset like he always seems to do. "I know it's nerve-wracking because everyone's going to be there including out of towners, but you've been front in center on stage and rocking every audience since you were Nova's age. You're going to nail it, you always do." He slices a hand in a brushing motion of finality as if it'll clear the alarm scorching my nerves, proceeding to loftily pluck the pizza menu for browsing. "And I don't want you to give your shyness the power to make you worry, because chances are if you do, you'll mess up. Believe in your ability to knock this out of the park, Phoenix. It's just another song, a new threshold to pass through. All right?" This time, he catches my sight and holds our thread of contact. "Of all the things I've done, singing to the President is one hell of a gig, fire bird."

Yeah, he would know.

"I love you, Dad."

"I know."

Star Wars. God, I swear if he brings it up again or proposes to see it for the twentieth time, I'm out. Grover's great and all, but I can't stand his new phase with space stuff. Star Wars was Pandora's Box and recently the last few years he's been studying all kinds of space crap. I'm half expecting him to ask me if I want to book it to Houston with him so he can chat the ears off NASA; it wouldn't shock me if the man-child decided he wants to be an astronaut. Hell, I'm confident they'd take one look and let him join for his physic alone. I overheard him on the phone with someone who was not Mom or Uncle Leo about "fucking a green martian lady". God, men are bizarre creatures. I mean, who thinks of this crap?

"You're a man-child."

"And you're a mythical bird of fire. So, were you thinking an extra veggie with cheese or extra cheese with veggie?"

I square a manicured brow, watching him tread to the opposite side of the sandstone orange and indigo blue color scheme of the L shape kitchen and quip the corded phone from an accented wallpapered wall. "Is there a difference?"

Suddenly, it's his turn to snap his neck up and stare at me defensively like I've viciously offended his ancient ancestors or something else ridiculously eccentric coursing through his mind. "Absolutely."

"Ok, then surprise me. I'm going to get ready for tonight."

"Will do."

"So, what're you feeling?"

"The Eagles," Dad dials up their newest hit 'Hotel California'. "Definitely this one and 'Take it Easy' or 'Life in the Fast Lane'. Second set will be Sabbath's 'Paranoid',"

"Obviously."

That'll get their blood pumping.

"'Whole Lotta Love' and 'Rock and Roll' then 'Stairway to Heaven' by Zeppelin will cover us. What do you think?"

"I know, I'm crazy, but too much Zepp. I don't want anyone thinking we're limited to just one genre. Maybe we can trade 'Whole Lotta Love' for a something mellow? How about Bee Gees 'How Can You Mend a Broken Heart'?"

"Fine, but you're covering it. God knows I'll blubber like a baby and won't be able to hold the note. Or I'll blank out."

Knowing no such thing has ever happened to Grover or will, I adjust the seat belt behind my shoulder so it'll stop scratching and itching my neck. "Then it turns into a duet. Surprise Plan B!"

"So Eagles, Sabbath, Zepp and Bee Gees. Anything else you want to add?" Loading the last of our instruments in their respective cases into the wide trunk of his '70 opal white Pontiac GTO, it's comical to watch a massive bear of a man have to awkwardly maneuver through the sleekly angled doorframe, but he manages after two practiced positions concerning his broad shoulders and neatly folding his long legs. "It's always good to have a couple backup songs ready by another artist, just in case."

Looking out the window thoughtfully as our garage shrinks in the windshield as he reverses, I poke at the radio for inspiration. "Yeah, let me think."

He swats my hand aside, dialing down the volume. "No, no. Feel, Phoenix. What are you feeling?"

Ok, swatting's rude.

"Right. Um… How's 'Wild Horses'?"

"Mm. I approve. Oh, but don't forget Heart." Wavy hair not unlike my own hanging lose and gracing the peaks of his shoulders, he twists 'Walk This Way' to a hum and reconfigures his grip on the beige steering wheel with an opposing hand, barely adjusting the rearview mirror.

"Then it's settled…"

Ok so tonight's first set is all Dad, per-usual. 'Hotel California', with 'Life in the Fast Lane' or 'Take it Easy'. Definitely Sabbath's 'Paranoid'. Zeppelin's 'Rock and Roll', then he'll slow then down for my set with 'Stairway to Heaven'. Simple enough. If worse comes to worse like for instance a really bad bar fight breaks out and there's no consoling battered victims or stalling the boozers before the cops are called, we have a fallback rule that I channel my inner Etta James and basically stun the hell out of everyone wielding the power of soul music like a sword of precision and strength. During my set, Dad plays backup vocals or duet depending on the song but mainly he's the lead guitar player as I am during his set so we're easily interchangeable and efficiently seamless. Following Grover's lead from a chill but rad ballad to anticipation building and heartfelt, I'll start off with the Bee Gees as discussed. I'll rile them up a little with 'Crazy on You' and 'Magic Man' by Heart at Dad's request then polish the night with a softie, The Rolling Stones' 'Wild Horses'. That sounds like a good night to me... What the hell? –

Spotting a tall, moving object in the corner of my eye not a second later, I inhale a sharp breath and straightaway, my heart thunders harshly against my ribcage like a drumstick hammering a gong. "LOOK OUT!"

The GTO swerves pugnaciously, blurring the world by in a swirl of streetlights and color and also, my neck's sore. I can't move and my throat's burning with noise…

I think I'm screaming, but everything's numb.

Fingers white due to stress and trepidation, I flinch when someone rustles my shoulder – I know those hands – and softly directs my bami eyes on his intensely dilated green. Body still, I blink welling tears, not caring if they cascade my stage makeup, and reciprocate the bone-crushing hug my big bear of a father wraps around me, reciting reassurances and gentle coos. "Did something hit us? I saw…"

I don't know what I saw, it happened faster than I could blink.

"Are we dead?"

"No, sweetheart. No. What you did was instinctual and haven't you warned me, we would probably be wrapped around a tree." For whatever reason befallen to me, the rocker grits his jaw, squaring and flexing the vein in his forehead like he does he when's super pissed.

Uh-oh.

"Dad, are you hurt?"

"No. You?"

"I don't think so."

Ok then what's happening?

"Did you know what happens?"

Eyes scan me carefully for a long minute while worry lines crease his forehead, his stature leans forward to glare outside my window. "Yeah, I sure do. A Kelso."

Michael did this? How did he…? How? Oh wait. Michael!

Mimicking his field of sight and wincing at the uncomfortable pull cricking my neck, I massage my nape and simultaneously face the windshield, righting myself enough to see the youngest Kelso rubbing his ass in a flowerbed of Mr. Patchilli's beloved petunias. Hearing a car door open, I shadow Dad's movements toward the teen but for the exact opposite effect he plans on inflicting.

Chest huffing violently and vein throbbing wildly in an undomesticated beast-like manner forming Grover into more of an angry grizzly instead of the lax teddy he's known to be, he stands over Jackie's boyfriend wearing the most scrutinizing, shit-your-pants-inducing glares I'd ever seen in my sixteen years.

This isn't Grover Daniels, Point Place's rockstar and go-to mechanic, no. This is the legendary "Grizzly Daniels", a mythical creature I've never had the pleasure to meet until this moment brought out by, of course, a screw-up Kelso. Then again, I'd never witnessed him this disconnected with logic, blinded by the fear and rage of the "what-ifs" and overall close-call.

"WHAT THE HELL, MICHAEL? ARE YOU TRYING TO GET US KILLED?"

Kelso's stupid, not suicidal and he isn't malicious unlike his girlfriend. This was an accident; more than likely Michael wasn't paying attention or goofing off and he almost killed us. On accident. Yeah he fucked up, but judging by his shuddering, wide owl eyes and incoherent words, he knows he fucked up. But it doesn't mean he needs to feel worse about it than he does.

Red boots with an orange and gold dragon stitched in a wingspan that both accents my lithe legs and compliments the rose gold belt highlighting a slender waist, I inch forward but hesitate to close the space between us in the fear of him forbidding me to help. "Dad – "

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?"

On Patchilli's crisply green lawn, Kelso's lip quivers a hushed sob and his nose glistens snotty boogers with puffed, tearful eyes in a very child-like fashion. For the briefest second, he glimpses at me before swallowing down the fear bobbing his Adam's apple at the sight of Grover's clenched fists and windblown hair adding to the irate tone of the situation.

"DAD! Stop!"

"His dumbass almost got us killed and you want me to stop?"

Scared to death of the anger sharpening the lines of his handsome face, I glance at a frozen Kelso noting he's holding his breath and splayed backward on all fours, and return to critical lime eyes. "We can take us to Mrs. Forman and get checked out. I-I still want to go to Clover Points – "

"Absolutely not. I'll drive you both to Kitty's and once dumbass over here's declared 'finely stupid', I'm taking the pretty boy home then we're going home. There's always next month, Phoenix. You hear me?"

I nod once, doing my best to push down the dizziness swimming my cotton-filled head, causing a wave of nausea to grimace my features. "I hear you." Booted feet trudge me toward Kelso but before I can do anything, Grover's hauling the poor kid up but the collar of his shirt akin to an angry owner grabbing the scruff of a naughty puppy, and drags the lanky boy toward the curbside GTO.

Kelso obeys, silent as he slides uncharastically gingerly in the compact backseat after Dad bends the driver's seat back into its original shape.

Feeling a pair of eyes on me when they should be on the floor, I can tell Grover's walking around his prized opal girl he built from the ground up himself as I occupy the passenger's seat based on the plethora of disgusted and disappointed looks he shoots toward the backseat every five seconds or so. My voice soft and void of spite, I delicately enquire, "Kelso, how?"

"Basketball."

"You were going after it or something?"

"Yeah," He murmurs so quiet, I strain to hear his inaudibility, "Now I owe Eric a new ball. Grover ran it over, almost ran me over trying to grab it. Nearly killed you…I'm really sorry, Phoenix."

"I know." I mutter back, not feeling so great and revert to silence in hopes to drown this massively annoying headache.

Grover doesn't bring up anything about the GTO, but I can tell there's damage he'll have to put a day's worth of labor into based on the vehicle's jerking motion and the glance I get of the back passenger tire's wheel well is evident of shredded textured rubber.

Honestly, he'd be best to just change it all together.

A heavy pound on the Forman's front door at nine o'clock in the evening's sucks my senses to the present and yes, I inadvertently whine at the noise as it only fuels the pouncing in my skull. Accidently, I shudder into a solid stature and quickly banish the heat coloring my cheekbones upon seeing Kelso hinting a goofily charming grin between Grover's apprehensive glances at me.

Even in the face of danger, he's charming to the end. Boy, what a trooper.

In ten seconds flat, the door peels back to reveal a peeved Red still clad in his chosen flannel and jeans of the day with Kitty not far behind who glides off a yellow-green couch nursing a nighttime martini. Red measures each of us for a handful of seconds at a time, expression masterfully stoic to gauge the situation; finally settling on Grover, one of his few longtime friends, a tight smile pops a dimple in his cheek. "Grover, I see you went fishing and caught yourself the town dumbass."

"Now Red, he prefers 'specially inclined'." Kitty cackles a distinctively cute laugh at her husband's side. She lingers a few extra, amusingly dreamy seconds on Grover's striking features tensed in a "if look could kill" smolder before her cerulean blue scan me not unlike Eric.

"I'm inclined to put a special foot up his ass." Grover rumbles, sending poor Kelso a dagger-filled glare and tightens his hold on the collar of a David Bowie tee. A massive, calm hand finds my shoulder and easily corrals me through their living room where – to my horror – Eric and Hyde's gazes follow our conga line transition to the wallpapered kitchen doused in sunshine oranges and yellows.

On our heels, Eric's frightening, disciplinarian of a father demands, "What the hell's going on, Grover?"

Responding obediently to Dad's stern point to the kitchen table with his eyes, I take a compliant seat and nonchalantly cradle a hand on my nape beneath lengths of straightened hair and shut my tired eyes to half-lids. "I need Nurse Kitty to check Phoenix's neck, make sure she didn't break anything,"

In nurse-mode, Kitty swiftly knocks back her martini then dashes past Eric and Hyde who're entering in unison to her leaving but she changes her mind about something because she tells her son to grab the medical kit from she and Red's bathroom, leaving Hyde to lean against the far wall holstering the phone and relish Kelso get one of the worst burns.

To the guys, I bet this is historic since no one's ever managed to piss Grover off so bad he's practically shitting bricks. Kelso's never going to hear the end of this, I totally feel bad that of all the screw-ups in Point Place, it has to be him. Why couldn't it have been Logan Matthews? Sure I forgave him a long time ago for being my playground bully, but I heard from the grapevine that he's a grand asshole and in my opinion, karma's a bitch.

Kitty giggles – from nerves about the edgy conversation or the alcohol, I don't know – and orchestrates some basic examination tests like checking my pupils and ears with a flashlight from a cabinet drawer and orders me to follow her finger. Finally, she frisks my neck, shoulders, back and gently kicks my kneecaps with a rubber hammer from said medical kit.

Grover and Red converse, as they have been for fifteen minutes now. "The kid ran a fucking basketball into a tire! We're lucky we didn't flip!"

"Oop! Now there's a dollar for the swear jar." The petite blonde taps the hammer's butt on Grover's temple comically and chitters a small chortle when he massages the spot, fixing her a cocked brow.

Any other time, I'm sure Grover would find her quirkiness adorable and share the laugh, but right now he's too pissed to find anything relatively funny.

"In the GTO?"

"Yeah." Dad growls, delivering the culprit his evil eye and turns to the Price Mart manager. "I'm taking him home, going to have a chat with the Mister and Misses. Want to join me, Red?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Keys in tow, Red ducks out the sliding glass door to the driveway but not without wishing me well and giving Kelso an icy look. "I'll meet you in the Toyota."

Beer guzzled back and in the trash, Grover gives the two eavesdropping boys a wordless threat of pure overprotectiveness; he glints between the off-duty nurse and I precariously as he speaks, "I want Phoenix to stay with you until I get back. I hope you don't mind, Kitty."

"Oh, no, it's not a problem at all. We haven't seen Phoenix in ages and it'll be nice to have a new face around here, right Eric?"

"Phoenix, maybe you can teach these boys a few things about not being a dumbass."

Well, isn't he just a ray of sunshine?

Feeling out of place in Eric's home with five sets of gazes pinned solely on me, I raise finely winged eyes at Hyde whose aviators reflect the whiteness of the overhead light despite feeling his gaze. "We'll see."

Just as the hulking figure hesitates his departure, I notice Kelso's doomed look and impulsively grasp his hand under the table, hoping I'll magically transfer some form of bravery and intelligence into him. A familiar weight drapes my shoulder, causing me to notice Dad's face that's lost the edge of anger it held minutes ago, one again smoothing the lines of his symmetrical face bearing a crestfallen tenderness. "How long do you think you'll be gone?"

"An hour, but it's still cutting it too close to make it out to Clover Points so I want you to call Chase and let him know we're sorry for the inconvenience. Give him Layla's number; she may be all soul and blues-rock, but she's a powerhouse and will give them a good time. Kitty, do you mind calling Holly and explaining what happened? I don't want her worrying if she doesn't have too, the situation's under control."

"Not at all. I'll give her a call, but first I need you to take these, honey. For the whiplash and headache."

I swallow the painkillers she offers with a glass of water Eric so kindly sets on the table. "Thanks. So, um, where's your bathroom?"

Eric speaks up, "I'll show her."

"If you need anything, Phoenix, don't be afraid to ask, sweetheart."

Agreeing with a universal thumbs-up after semi-listening to whoever's talking, I stand and immediately stiffen and succumb to gravity and tumble into the solid heaviness of two hundred-fifty pounds of pure muscle which encompasses my incredibly slimmer stature in a long, tight hug. Glimpsing around sleepily, I notice the pale face of an oddly owlish Kelso who's suddenly up on his feet, alike Hyde and Eric's tense shoulders who must've taken a step or two closer because man, they are a lot closer than I thought. Feeling the accursed shyness cloud and fog into the awkwardness of a serious situation, I wiggle my fingers due to the python arms barrel-hugging me. "Dad…you're crushing me and I'm full of pee!" I blurt.

Almost too quickly, he's off me and ushering Kelso to the Toyota for an unimaginably awkward ride home.

As Kitty puts her medical kit back together and I slouch wanly into a seat with my head slumping in my hand on the table, she watches me subtly, humming loftily and homing various dishes in their respected cupboards. "Now Phoenix, I know you're sleepy but I don't want you napping on us for a couple hours in case you have a mild concussion. We don't need Sleeping Beauty in a coma so pop those pretty green eyes open!" For good measure, she slaps the counter and cackles at the jolt I do in the seat.

Eric's voice slices the air curiously, "So, did you still need to pee or…?"

Oh my god. How could I already forget I had to pee? Nova must be onto something about me being stupid. Or I actually have a concussion.

"Yeah, a toilet would be great." I trail him into a hallway passed the fridge ultimately leading to the den near the front of the house, but I also spot two doors in our midst.

"Second door on the left. This door leads to the basement, just so you know. Phoenix, I'm sorry about Kelso, he's a bit…different."

"It's alright. I believe individualism is a form of power because no one is like anyone else, therefore you can't do something someone else can, but that means they can't do something you can either. People are special, so of course Kelso's special. And I can't be mad at him, it was an accident."

"Right." He says sardonically and spies me head to toe in amusement. "So, what are you wearing? Are those dragon boots?"

Balancing on the doorjamb to lessen the chance of dizziness, I look up a bit too quickly from peering at said boots and rapidly blink away the dark spots littering my vision. "Yeah. I'm in a band. I think I'm going to pee now."

"Hey, you ok?"

"Just a little dizzy. I'll be ok." Closing the door behind him before he offers to help take off my pants and balance me on the porcelain throne or whatever it is he thinks about, I empty my bladder and catch myself blinking slowly with heavying lids. Hands white-knuckling the sink and cold water on, I complete a double-take and widen doe-eyes at my paler than pale complexion and swoop tresses of hair aside at the sight of a nasty belt burn on my neck surely made from the seatbelt holstering me in place.

Damn.

"Phoenix? Honey, are you alright?" Kitty raps on the door.

"Yeah. I'm coming."

Door opening as promised, Kitty ushers me to sit on the toilet lid and proceeds to rub an ointment on my burn from a tube in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror above the sink. "If Grover isn't back in an hour, you're staying the night so I can monitor on you in case your headache doesn't go away or if you start vomiting. If your tummy gets queasy at all, let me know. For now, I want you on the couch with me and the boys. Don't worry, I'll make sure they keep quiet but they won't let you fall into a coma either. C'mon, honey."

Sleep over? Where would I sleep? I know Laurie has a room but no offense to her, but I really don't want to be in the bed of someone so…sharing. That's a nice alternative name to skank, I guess.

Planted in the center of the chartreuse sofa that's surprisingly comfier than it looks by the woman of the household and offered a bottle of ginger ale and some saltines that stares back at me from the coffee table, I blink incoherently at Kitty's distinct voice chattering as if she's talking under water. Someone with light eyes tilts me by the chin and steers my face to the left – I think. Maybe? – and rather quickly I feel myself fall into a hole of dreamlessness.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Of course, I don't own That '70s Show, just my fictional peeps you've never heard of :) So this is probably my most "realistic" fic I've ever written & thus my most challenging; 1st person doesn't help me out either but that's ok, it's healthy 2 challenge ourselves every now & again. I've been writing & re-writing this since high school where my love 4 this fandom began + its helpful when your older sister has each season on DVD 4 research purposes :D. I haven't touched this fic until recently & am pretty proud of my 1st person result + my cultivation of Phoenix; I think I love creating characters more than I do writing them. Any1 else feel this way? Mm-hmm. Yes, yes. *nods head avidly* Interesting. I have 2 say that my biggest writing weakness is plot; like I know what I want 2 happen, its just finding the words 2 form the situation...that being said, I always do Face Claims of which I will post each character as they cameo. CC is VERY APPRECIATED during R&R!

LADIES:

Andie MacDowell - Holly Daniels

Madchen Amick ('90s style) - Phoenix Ashley Daniels

GENTLEMEN:

Brad Pitt ('90s style) - Todd Trinke

Ethan Hawke ('90s style) - Heath Trinke

Kevin Costner - Grover Daniels

Rob Lowe ('90s style) - Scott Ladson