Hello! Time for the latest installment of G&B (yay!). And I just want to thank you all for your fabulously encouraging reviews, I had more or less given up on this story but your dedicated loyalty inspired me to get my fat ass off the couch and start typing. So kudos to all you reviewers :)

Does anyone remember if Lindsey has a phone in her room? I wasn't sure and since Fox-Family got taken over by ABC the reruns have stopped and I (stupidly) don't have any episodes taped. Gurg. Well. In this story she doesn't, or if she does, she can't use it because her parents will raid the phone bill and ask who she called at 11:31 am on a Saturday night, whereas if the call was made via the main line it could have been anybody and no one has any evidence against her…right, that works. Read on.

~*~

Ch.5-Midnight Calls & Screaming Fiendish Dire Weasels

"God, can you believe he like, totally overdosed?" Trilled an annoying voice from the lip-glossed mouth of a perky girl decked out in cheerleader uniform.

"Oh I like know, what a freak," chimed an agreement.

"Yea, all his friends are freaks too. All they do is get high and have sex."

"I am SO glad there aren't any freaks in our grade."

"Yea, like, no one does drugs or has sex…"

"Well…Cindy…"

"Oh my god you're right! She's so like them! She's SUCH a freak!"

"Yea! She should go hang out with those other losers."

"Totally."

Her face was blank. Normally she would have hurled herself into a ball on the cold toilet seat and sobbed wretchedly until bio started, but she was past the tears and the pain. When everyone had thought she was little miss perfect that was who she strove to become. Now everyone thought she was one of them--a freak. Well she'd show them what a freak she could be. She'd been dictating her personality and her life by the point of views of others--what they thought of her, if they liked her expensive clothes, what boys asked her out and what girls wanted to sit with her at lunch. Well, she was an expert at the game by now. They thought she was a freak? They didn't know the meaning of the word--she'd have to teach them.

~

"Hey Bill, so have you heard about Nick?" Sam asked, frowning at his lock, trying to remember the combination.

"No," he mumbled absentmindedly.

"Where have you been?" Neal asked incredulously.

"I've been playing D&D…I'm now fifteenth level! I can shoot fireballs!"

"Screw your fireballs Bill, this is big news!" OMG, I'm sorry, I can not resist the urge to laugh hysterically right now, I know it was totally out-of-character…but c'mon, "screw your fireballs Bill"? LOL!!!

"Are you gonna tell me what happened all ready?"

"Hey guys, is my code 7-28-0?"

"Well Nick, you know, that guy that Lindsey hangs out with," Neal made a disgusted face; he vaguely knew that there was something more than friendship going on between the sleazy pothead and his beloved sophomore crush, "he passed out yesterday in the middle of the courtyard! Everyone's saying he overdosed on some sort of illegal stimulants. And Sam, I think that's the first three digits for some sex-hotline."

"Ew! No…"

"So did he?"

"Seven is s, two is e, eight is--"

"Forget it, I think it starts with a six anyway…then a nine, then what?"

"Did he what?"

"Take too many drugs at one time, cause that's really dangerous, my mom told me."

"Do you believe everything your mom tells you Bill? And Sam, Sam, do you know nothing you naive little boy? Six-nine? Oy."

"What? Is it my fault my locker combination is perverted? I hate perverts."

"Yea and my mom's really smart. She went to two years of junior college."

"Whatever."

"I got to go anyway, me and Gordon are gonna go fight some screaming fiendish dire weasels."

"Hey, wait up! I'll play too."

"Sam, oh."

"Oh, what?"

"Well…it's just, you'd have to roll up a new character and start it at level three or something, because it wouldn't be fair to just be a fifteenth level like me when you haven't earned any experience points, and we're fighting dire weasels remember…"

"Oh. Fine. Forget it. I got to, um, go talk to my bio teacher about, y'know, that thing we have to do…"

"K. Bye."

"Everyone is a screaming fiendish dire weasel in high school," Neal muttered. The hallway was empty, and he was once again all alone.

~

"So like, what did Linds tell Nick anyway?" Daniel asked lazily. He was stretched out on the bleachers idly watching a troupe of freshman pant and gasp for air as they ran around the field track.

"Nothing."

"C'mon Kim, we know you know."

"No asshole," Kim scowled.

"Is she moving out of town or something?"

The blond girl rolled her eyes, "no, that's not even close."

"Did she break up with him? That's so typical of her."

"Yea, I always knew she was a player."

Kim stayed silent, although she was really laughing inside. Innocent little Lindsey was hardly a player, even if she did manage to get herself pregnant.

"Ah-ha! And the silence proves the truth; Lindsey is officially a slut. She uses a guy and then dumps him."

"Kinda like Kim."

"Watch it Desario," Kim grumbled.

"Hey Kim, better be careful, before you know it Lindsey will catch up with you and you'll be out of the job as royal bitch," Ken said in a monotone.

"No way! I'm sluttier and smarter than her, and at least I know how to not get pregnant--"

"Lindsey's PREGNANT? What?"

"Oh shit--wait you guys, she'd kill me if she knew I told, just shut up all right!"

"Man this is big."

"Bigger than big."

"Bigger than your dick big."

~

"SA-AM, it's for you!" Lindsey called from the kitchen, juggling a glass of milk, some cookies, and the phone in one arm. The other was busy trying to disentangle her feet from the plastic wrapped cord. She'd been in a funk all day--walking into walls and gazing off into space. Her visit with Nick went surprisingly--well--all in all considering. She'd get the money. It wouldn't be fun, and it wouldn't be easy, but the plan would work. It was amazing what he had agreed to do for her.

"Is it Bill or Neal?"

"Um…neither, some kid named Alan."

"WHAT? Er, tell him I'm not home, tell him I went to the store because, because I ran out of glue!"

Lindsey shot her kid brother a weird look, "tell him yourself, I have to go calculate the half-life of Carbon-14."

Sam looked like he was going to piss in his pants from nervousness. Never, ever had Alan the Bully called him at his house (excluding that one practical joke where someone on the other line breathed in a Dark Vader voice and Sam thought it was Bill and asked him when he was coming over to watch the Jerk and the mysterious prankster chortled on the other line that he was a wierdo and hung up, which might have been Alan)…wasn't tormenting him at school enough? He took a deep breath and answered apprehensively, "H-hello?"

"Sam! My man! All set to party?"

"What?"

"Aw stop kidding around, y'know, Chad's house, his parents have skipped town, it's tonight!"

"Er…"

"My cuz 'll be over in ten, seeya!"

"But wait! No, I'm…" The dial tone rang through the empty cord, "sick." Sam hung up and stared at the wall. Ten seconds later he was flying up the stairs, "where in the world are my socks?"

~

Down the hall Lindsey peeked out her door. Good, her parents were sound asleep and Sam had left for his first-ever high-school-party (after changing his shirt ten times…after all, the first high-school party is truly monumental …like your first middle-school party, except instead of kissing games there's free beer and people covered in shaving cream jumping off the roof.) She crept slowly down the stairs, taking care not to step on the creaky step second from the bottom.

She glanced around nervously while she dialed, and whispered into the pitted circle of plastic, "hello? Um, are you Roger? Er, yea, hello, I think my friend Kim talked to you the other day, I'm Lindsey--yes I'm the pregnant sixteen-year-old--the money? Well, I don't have it yet but--no wait! It's coming, I've already sold it and all I need is for the buyer to pay me, yes I'll hold. Thursday? This Thursday? Um, yea, I guess that works…ok, I'll be there, thanks."

She took a deep breath and hung up. Never in her entire life had a telephone call scared her so much, not even that time she was dared to call Jordan Blashek, the cutest guy in the sixth grade, at her friend's slumber party. And that seriously took a lot of guts.

~

Sam smiled and nodded his head, pretending he understood what these people were talking about. All around him milling about were strange creatures covered in glitter, denim, make-up, and leather, laughing at nothing, dancing to grating sounds of screeching, swallowing each other's faces in the dark corners of bedrooms and closets, loosely holding big red cups of yellow-brown liquid that tasted like piss. How could anybody possibly call this fun?

A plastic cup was shoved into his hands and he clutched at it like a lifeline. He felt awkward just standing around with nothing to do; at least if he was holding something he wouldn't look so out of place. "Drink up Sammy! It's good," hollered an unidentified voice.

Sam smiled wearily and took a sip, fighting the urge to spit it back out again. With a barely contained look of disgust he swallowed, and gasped at the tingly feeling spreading down his throat. So this was what beer tasted like! BLEGH! How in the world could anyone drink this, like, on purpose. He could understand if it fell in your mouth and you had too, or Dark Vader threatened to chop of your head if you didn't, but voluntarily? Why? It reminded him of the time he asked his mom if he could try a taste of her coffee and she had warned him that he probably wouldn't like it, but if he wanted to anyway go ahead. He had discovered that he should have just listened to his mom. Although I, personally, am a capachino fanatic, not that you care

"Hey Sam, why aren't you drinkin'? What are you, chicken?"

"No."

"BAUK! BAUK!"

"C'mon Sam, don't be such a whimp."

"Fine, whatever," he mumbled, and gazed down into the murky clearish-yellow liquid. Just as he was about to take a gulp for the sake of avoiding adding "chicken" and "whimp" to the long list of cruel nicknames (he still hated "pygmy" with a passion), a hush spread through the room and all eyes turned towards the door. There, standing in the shadowy frame stood a girl dressed in all black. Fishnet stockings provided little cover for her otherwise exposed legs, due to a scandalously short leather mini-skirt. A ripped shirt missing its sleeves, back, and lower middle clad her upper body, along with black chokers and silver crosses dangling from her neck. Knee-high shiny boots and a seductive grin completed the ensemble.

Sam's forgotten cup lay abandoned as he gaped in horror at the sight before him. What had Cindy Sanders done to herself?

~*~

Dun dun dun! This is getting fun :)

Disclaimers: Nothing here is mine except the plot…not even that name, "Jordan Blashek"…sighs dreamily…ah to be in sixth grade, drooling over the class hunk with ten other girls crowded around the phonebook…sigh. Anyhow, he shouldn't mind that I borrowed his name, as I seriously doubt he's going to read this, but if he does, call me! I'm the girl you co-starred with in the sixth-grade play…right, anyhow, after that plea of desperation, on with the disclaimer. The characters all belong to the producers of the show and whoever else is affiliated with them. I claim nothing. And oh! Anyone watch the show Smallville? (seriously kickass show btw, Clark is amazingly adorable…hey, who isn't in love with superman?) Right well in one of the episodes Lana "goes through a disturbing change," to quote, and that's kinda like what's happening here. Only Lana was under a spell and didn't know what she was doing, and Cindy, last time I checked, wasn't bewitched. Anyhow the ideas are quite similar so kudos to the creators of Smallville for their inspiration, and credit and all that to them. Ok, see y'all later.