Chapter Sixteen: I'll Be Fine Without You

Damn you, damn everyone
I'll be fine without you
I'm still tired of running into you
Try one that's with you
Tear my heart in two

"Damn You, Damn Everyone," Foo Fighters


[Warren's POV]

"Children, children, settle down now," Mr. Saunders says with a grin as he walks into the classroom.

"When will he realize that I'm not a child and am a full grown woman who's capable of satisfying his every need?" I hear Michelle complain frustratedly. My question is when will she realize that I'm a full grown man capable of satisfying her every need? Now that Ms. Hanton is officially off the market, I have to find other women, my friend.

Mr. Saunders sits and places his briefcase on his desk. I wonder if he has a Chinese death star in that briefcase. I'm sure he does. I mean, what CIA agent doesn't carry a death star twenty-four seven?

He takes off his jacket and places it on the back of his chair.

"Ow-ow, take it off," I hear someone wisper and then a collective sigh from the smitten females of the class. It's a wonder that they haven't dropped him like last week's mystery meat. Teenage girls: so fickle. The fact that he's captivated them for so long is shocking...He must be the real deal. Thank God they don't know the truth or there'd be no hope for the rest of us.

I bet he's really buff under all those layers. You'd have to be buff to be able to kick ass like he can. And that's simply an observation, verging on inference. Absolutely no sexual connotation whatsoever. Really!

I wish I could be that buff. What am I saying? I already am that buff. Don't you know it.

Maybe he'll let me borrow that gun holster of his. I'm sure he has a ton at home...That thing must be a chick magnet.

I'm considering styling my hair a la Michael Saunders. Dye it light brown, perhaps. Make it stick up sorta...But not in that over-gelled wave that has been going around lately. The man is my hero. I shall, from this point on, model myself after him. Just point me in the direction of the nearest Lens Crafters, schedule me an appointment after school to get green contacts, and I'm so there.

The class suddenly quiets down as he pulls a stack of xeroxed packets out of his bag and starts to pass them around.

"Because I'm such a merciful teacher, I decided to actually make you all copies of the outline of the next chapter." He starts as he walkes down the first aisle. I hear Michelle whisper to Jenny behind me.

"I bet he's a merciful lover."

"Does that even make sense?" Jenny asks, confused.

"No, it actually doesn't," I say, turning around. Yeah, those definitely aren't 'come hither' stares so I'll be facing forward once again. Being shot down is not fun.

I wonder what aftershave he uses, because he's definitely attracting the girls in this class like dogs to a fire hydrant. Oh, snap! Score one for the Chez's use of similie! I'll have to ask him when we chizzill at the Stuckeybowl. Because you all know me and Mizzike are like this. And by this, I mean TIGHT. Again, in a completely non-sexual way.

But really, get this: as he walks down aisle handing out packets to everyone, Chrissy completely turns around and starts sniffing him! No standards, it's sick really. I was kind of tempted to do the same thing, but realized that would really be verging on creepy. Actually, creepy doesn't fully encompass the wierdness of that. Let's just say I'm thankful my better judgement won out for once.

"Cheswick," I hear Mark call me and I turn around to him after taking a packet from Mr. S (Yes, he is deserving of the one initial last name. I pity the fool who thinks Mr. T has anything on him). I shoot him a "you're my dawg" look with the accompanying chest pump and head nod. And yes, I'm still ass white, but I'm working on it! Cut me some slack.

Mark rolls his eyes at me before speaking up in a hushed tone.

"So isn't it crazy that he really does what he does?" He asks, motioning to Mr. Saunders with his head. I promptly shush him and point a warning finger in his face.

"Marcus, if you speak a word of this to anyone and prove to them that we aren't trustworthy, I'll bitch slap you so hard--"

"Warren!" Mr. Saunders's yell pulls me out of my strict reprimand of Mark. "Have you been listening to a word I just said?"

Silence.

"That's what I thought. Now pay attention or you're really regret it when it comes time to turn these papers in."

Oh man, that was cold. Ice cold. Add that to the things to do/characteristics to adopt to be more like Michael Saunders List. Be all business when it comes to work. Ice water runs through my veins.

But what right does he have to yell at me? I thought he's my "peep" now. We're tight...

Who am I kidding? I loved it. You know I loved it. If I could go through it again I probably would just to take notes. He's just so damn cool. He's like Hugh Jackman...One minute he's romancing the ladies, being all charming and witty, and the next minute he's going all Wolverine on your ass.

Sh-t, I really should be paying attention.

"Questions? Yes, Chrissy," Mr. Saunders says, leaning his back on the front of his desk.

"Do you shot at Banana Republic, Mr. Saunders?"

"What does this have anything to do with your paper, Chris?" He asks, furrowing his eyebrow.

"Absolutely nothing. So do you?"

"Yeah, a little," He replies, walking back to his seat.

I think a little trip to the mall is in order. Banana Repulblic, check.

"Really? I thought so. You look like a Banana kinda guy. Going for the shabby chic--"

"What about J. Crew?" Michelle butts in.

"Yeah, I guess so," Mr. S responds, looking up bemusedly.

J. Crew? Check.

Man this wardrobe will wipe me out.

"Now are we done with this fashion inquisition and are we ready to move onto more interesting things like..."

Please don't say the last night's assignment, please don't say last night's assignment...

"Last night's reading."

Sh-t.

~~~

"Since I gave you guys that outline, I'm not planning on going over the chapter. So I expect you all to read through the chapter along with it and be ready for a test towards the end of the week--" Mr. Saunders stops as he realizes his attempt was futile. Yes, the girls love him and the guys are mad jealous of him, but like I said -- teenagers are still the fickle pickles.

I like pickles.

As usual, me, Diane, and Mark stick around for a few minutes after class.

"So, Mr. Saunders," I say as I shove my hands into my pockets and start grinning like a fool.

"So, Warren..." He responds sarcastically, sitting down in his chair and leaning back.

"So if you're not really a teacher, isn't the fact that you're teaching us both wrong and non-beneficial to us as Seniors seeing that we're taking this class in order to prepare us for college?" Why does Diane always find a way to ruin the perfect segway into the 'Yo, my dawg, what deoderant do you use because I want to be your teenage twin.'

"Trust me, Diane, I'm prepping you well," he says nonchalantly as he plays with a pencil. "In case you've forgotten, I did go to college, and I'm pretty sure I remember what it was like."

"Ah, sure, but the real question is where did you go to college?" She asks suspiciously. "For all we know, you could have just gone to the nearest community college."

That would be sweet, even though I know he didn't. I mean, if I want to be him, that means I have to go to the same college (or as close to the same as I can get), and you know it'll be a lot easier for the Chez to rock Stuckeyville Community College Michael Saunders style than Harvard.

"Diane, I'm sure the man is a erudite scholar who went to one of the top schools in the nation." Mark replies cooly.

Eru-what?! Mark done got himself an edge-a-macation!

Mr. S laughs and points a finger at Mark.

"That, my friend, just earned you an A for the term."

"I only speak the truth," Mark jokes, shrugging. Oh God, someone please gag me with a spoon and put me out of my misery now. If anyone's going to be kissing Mr. Saunders's ass, it's going to be me. Dammit! Why do I always have to speak with sexual undertones?!

"Mark, you've got a little something on your nose..." I say, touching my nose discreetly.

"Ha ha, Cheswick."

"No, but really, where did you go to college?" I ask, thoroughly interested.

"I actually went to Columbia." He responds, standing up and picking up his briefcase. "Would you like to know what honors I graduated with, Diane?"

"H-h-honors?" I knew that smitten kitten was hiding somewhere under all that thick outer layer. Leave it to the hot guy with the brains to steal Diane's heart.

He laughs as he clips his briefcase shut.

"You guys should really get to class...I'm not sure how much Syd'll like starting off another week being late."

Syd. Sydney. Sydney Hanton. Ms. Sydney Hanton.

Mrs. Sydney Cheswick.

Sigh.

But alas, that dream is gone. Atleast for now.

There's no way I could ever win her over now. Not only is she a nymph with kick-ass capacities, but her boyfriend is superhuman. No competition whatsoever. Give it up, Cheswick, cause it's never going to happen.

"You're right, see ya Mr. S!" I call out as I walk out the door.

"Mr. S?" He asks with a hint of confusion with some disgust mixed in.

Ditch the S. Maybe something more personal...Mike. Nah, too bland and boring. Mikey? Definitely not. Too...Creepy, I guess? Mizzike? Too Snoop Dogg.

M to the S-a? I think we've got a winner. Watch out J to the L-o, you've got some mad competition on your heels.

By the time I start paying attention to what Mark and Diane are bickering about, we are at the top of the stairs and I wish I could have prolonged my space out for a while longer.

"I don't know what you are talking about, Mark. You are being completely and utterly irrational."

"You've got to be kidding me! I've never seen you look at me like that. And I'm your boyfriend!"

"Mark, the man is like 30 something. The thought of me being involved with a man his age is illegal!"

"Ha, 'illegal'? The thought doesn't repulse you, it doesn't make you sick, it's simply 'illegal.' You are unbelievable!"

"Hey! What do you expect me to say...'I don't think the undeniably gorgeous, green-eyed, kick-ass, Columbia graduate that teaches our History Class is hot in the least bit.' That is unbelievable! Why am I not allowed to oogle over guys when you and Cheswick are allowed to oogle over any woman that crosses your path?!"

"Did someone mention The Chez and his ladies?" I ask as we walk through the door into Ms. Hanton's class.

"Shut up, Cheswick," they say simultaneously.

They keep bickering and I'm just thankful that Ms. Hanton isn't here despite the fact that the bell rang a few minutes ago. I need time to formulate some sort of game plan. How will I make her wildly jealous and really regret the fact that she's got M to the S-a rather than me?

Oh man, I don't think there's anything I can do. Even having Jessica Martel on my arm wouldn't make this situation any easier.

Think, man, think!

I know what I'll do--

Suddenly, Ms. Hanton walks through the door and every thought I once had in my head has escaped. I swear she's moving in slow motion. Yeah, and that wind that blows her hair as she walks and the white light that exudes off of her...

Snap out of it, Warren! Get yourself together!

You can't daydream about your peep's woman. No. Down, boy, down.

"Hey, Warren," did she just say "Hi" to me? Did she? I definitely didn't say "Hi" to her so she definitely did that on her own will...

"H-h-hey Ms. Hanton."

Damn the stutter! Damn it to Hell! Why must you always stutter when you talk to the woman of your dreams?!

Yes, she is still the woman of my dreams, no matter how much I try to deny it.

A man can have dreams. Even if those dreams will never become reality.

Sigh.

~~~

"Hit me with the shots," I say exasperatedly as I plop down on a stool at the Goat.

"I don't think so," Old Charlie says, shaking his head at our oh-so-familiar exchange.

"A beer?"

"Try again."

"Okay, fine, a coke with a little summin' summin' mixed in??" I ask, wiggling my eyebrows and leaning over the bar. He just stares at me.

"Dammit, just give me some milk, alright?!"

"That's more like it."

I've had a tough afternoon. Tough doesn't begin to describe the heartache I was forced to endure during Ms. Hanton's class. I told myself over and over again that I was over her, that it could be no longer...She's a goddess and I'm a mere mortal. We can't be together. And I understand that, and I've accepted it, and I am obsessed with her boyfriend...

Then why do I still want her so badly?

Damn teenage crushes. And hormones for that matter.

"Hey, man," I turn around and see Ms. Hanton and Mr. Saunders's friend, Will, sit down on the stool beside me.

"Oh, hey--" I say somewhat awkwardly. First of all, I don't really know him and this is a little bit uncomfortable. Second of all, I definitely have a milk mustache...

Wipe! Wipe! Wipe!

There we go.

"Milk. Does a body good." Will says with a chuckle as he motions to my cup with his hand. Oh God, you've got to be kidding me.

"Dude, that's so ten years ago. Now it's 'Got Milk?' Get with the times." Yes, I tend to lash out when I'm in a state of desperation and depression.

"Oh, sorry," he says, shaking his head. He orders a beer then turns back to me. Why can he order a beer and I can't?! And don't bring up that whole me not being 21 yet thing, because we all know that's crap. I want to drown my sorrows on some booze, and instead I get to do it with a wonderful Dairy product milked from the udders of cows. How pleasant.

"You must be sulking about Syd," he responds, taking a sip of his beer.

"How did you--" Dude, this man is psycic, for real.

"You're talking to a man who spent five years with that look that you have right now."

"So you had the hots for her too?" I ask in shock. Actually not really shock because I'm not suprised in the least. She's a heartbreaker.

He nods his head with a grin. "Let me give you one piece of advice -- don't. Just don't. Syd is a special woman, and trust me, as much as I'd love to be in Mike's place, I'm happier with my role as best friend."

Friend, eh?

"He may be in her bed, but I'm in her head."

How corny. Yet intriguing...

"Friendship, you say? Tell me more, Will Tippin, of this friendship you speak of..."

END CHAPTER SIXTEEN