About time I put up another chapter, ne? But before we get to the good stuff, I best inform you, the readers, that Quatre's sisters are of my own creation. Any resemblance to other authors' Winner sisters is purely coincidence. So no, I did not rip off Lady Bast, she and I have had this discussion already. Standard warnings and disclaimers apply. Anything that looks like I don't own, I don't own, and Quatre is still gay. There. Get on now, go read. I'll see you at the end of the chapter.
The next day seemed to drag on painfully for Quatre. Not only was it his least favorite classes one right after the other, but he'd been coerced into staying after for a Latin Club meeting as well. The girls had promised it would be worth his while, but as the end of the regular day drew closer, he was beginning to have second thoughts. Now he sat in his Classical Cultures class, idly scribbling on a piece of paper while listening to his teacher prattle on about the connections between Greek mythology and Star Wars and how Obi Wan Kenobi was trying to lead Luke Skywalker to patricide and incest, paralleling the story of Oedipus. He was just hoping to get to the lightsaber battle before class ended for the day.
"Please excuse this interruption, I have several announcements before we ring the bell," the intercom blared, the nasal voice of the office secretary making everyone cringe as they pushed their desks back into the correct rows. "Boys' JV soccer practice will be at two-thirty at the junior high. The bus leaves from the new portable parking lot immediately following the bell…"
Quatre wasn't paying attention to the announcements; he really had no need to. He was busy trying to fish a cough drop out of some obscure pocket of his backpack, his throat starting to throb slightly. Of all the times to get sick, he mused, when we have a test coming up in pre-calc.
Finally the secretary finished her prattle and rang the dismissal bell, letting the students once again swarm out into the crowded hallways. Quatre pushed against the surging tide, hoping to make it to the practically hidden staircase at the end of the hall, a shortcut to the portable building where the meeting was being held. He darted down the stairs, out the door, and smack into Sally Po, who was in the process of opening the door to the portables.
"Oh, sorry about that, Quatre!" she said, moving aside. "Wasn't watching where I was going, as usual. Ms. Woodhouse wanted me to run down to the cafeteria and get the drinks out of the fridge."
"It's all right," he replied, rubbing his forehead. "See you in a few minutes?"
"Yeah!"
He hurried down the hallway into the Latin room, dropping his bag and agenda down under the desk beside the one Lia was sitting atop, a plastic laurel wreath twined in her hair.
"What are you doing?" he asked. She bent over backwards, grinning at him upside-down.
"Being a goddess," the brunette answered simply. "Heard a rumor today you might be interested in."
Quatre raised an eyebrow as Lia sat up straight, swinging her legs on the desk edge.
"Your Italian friend might be transferring into our class as soon as tomorrow."
Hilde walked in with a bag of chips, dropping it onto another desk. "Oh, we talking about that wicked hot new guy in choir? Man, if somebody doesn't snag him, I just might!"
"Don't get your hopes up, Hilde," Lia chided. "He could be gay, you know all the good ones usually are. Just look at Quatre."
He pouted at that comment. "Hey!"
Ms. Woodhouse called the meeting to order not long after that. There were only a handful of students present, but they all seemed enthusiastic enough about participating. Plans were set into motion for a Latin Halloween bash, and food was passed around.
"All righty then, what do you all say to a game of Fructus?" the petite, white-haired woman asked, narrowing her eyes mischievously.
"What's that?" Quatre queried hesitantly, following his two female companions out into the hallway, where a circle of chairs was in the process of being set up.
Hilde grinned viciously. "The most violent game of musical chairs you will ever play, my young friend. I hope you've got some pretty hefty insurance, 'cause I take no prisoners. Right, Lia?"
"Yeah, I'm still bruised from the last time we played," she replied, rubbing her arm.
The rules seemed simple enough; everyone was assigned a fruit (in Latin, of course), and they all sat in the chairs in the circle, there always being one chair less than people playing. The person in the center, Ms. Woodhouse in this case, had the choice of calling out either a fruit, which sent those deemed 'apple' or 'pear' scrambling for a new seat in hopes of not being the odd man out, or fructus, which sent everyone running. Quatre didn't understand how the game could be so violent until he watched it in action. Hilde, a grape, had practically plowed a sophomore down to get a chair. Lia nearly missed the chair completely, almost going right over the top of it.
"Fructus!" the current middleman shouted, and Quatre was on his feet, racing for an open chair. He was almost to safety when he tripped on someone's untied shoelace and went flying, hitting the side of his head on the lip of the chair with a hollow crack. He fell to the floor, reeling, and the game was paused.
"You all right, Quatre?" Ms. Woodhouse asked, helping the junior up. Quatre touched his temple, feeling something wet slide down it. His fingertips were red and sticky.
"I'm bleeding," he murmured before promptly passing out.
~^*^~
"I'm telling you, he doesn't have a concussion, and he doesn't need to be ambulanced out of here!" a shrill voice declared at the edge of Quatre's subconscious as he woke. He smelled sterility, felt the cushion under his aching head and the cotton and synthetics of a large butterfly bandage plastered to his forehead.
"He hit his head and passed out, that's what happens when you get a concussion," a more mature voice replied.
A third piped up. "Quatre's afraid of blood."
Upon hearing his name, the blonde boy made an attempt to sit up, but the school nurse forced him back down onto the leather cot.
"Sorry hon, but you've got to stay put. Don't want to make your concussion worse."
"He doesn't have a concussion!" Hilde repeated. "He only whacked his head a little bit, huh Q?"
Sally nodded, ruffling his hair. "Quatre's always had a blood phobia. Can't stand the sight of it."
"Yeah," he added blearily. "I was bleeding after I hit my head on the chair, passed out from the blood. Otherwise, I would've just gotten back up. Hey…how did I get into the nurse's office?"
"Memory loss!" the nurse cried. "It's a concussion!"
Hilde glowered. "Oh, go type up whooping cough memos, it's not a concussion."
Lia stepped forward, wrinkling her nose at the sight of the bandage on his head. "Ouch, that's going to leave a mark. You were carried here, Quatre. Somebody was nice enough to pick your skinny ass up off the floor."
"Who was it? Do you know? I should go thank them!" he exclaimed, trying once again to get up, and again thwarted by the overcautious nurse.
"Sure I know, it was…"
"Colonel Mustard in the dining room with the wrench!" Hilde cried.
Sally hit her over the head with a digital thermometer. "Close, but no. It was that hot Italian boy from choir."
Quatre squeaked. "Trowa?"
As if by command, the dark-haired boy appeared, leaning over the cot, face grim with concern. Quatre felt his insides shudder with a rush of emotion.
"How is your head, Katore? Better?" he asked quietly.
Quatre rubbed the bandaged cut, nodding slightly. "A little, yes. Thank you for helping me, I don't like the sight of blood very much."
Trowa chuckled. "Neither does my sister."
"Come on, I'll give you a ride home, Quatre. Don't want you standing out in the cold waiting for the Loser Cruiser in your condition," Lia offered, swinging her keys around on her index finger. It wasn't like her car was any better than the school late bus, it was a white 1987 Toyota pickup that had seen far better days, but it was a car nonetheless.
~^*^~
Quatre shivered in the passenger side of the pickup, stuffing his hands further into his pockets. The cab smelled of old vanilla cardboard air fresheners, faded glow-in-the-dark WBCN bumper stickers in the compartment under the radio, the floor mats practically chewed away. The little white pickup bounced and rattled down the road, the petite Lia just barely visible over the steering wheel. There was no working heat and the gas gauge was broken, unreadable.
"You doing all right, Quatre? I would've driven down to Evanswood and gotten the van from Mom, but I didn't think she'd appreciate coming out of work and finding her car missing," the brunette girl said, adjusting her rearview mirror yet again.
"Oh, it's fine. Thanks for driving me home, it really sucks not having my license."
"Yeah. So…what do you think about that Italian boy? Isn't he wicked hot?"
"I saw him first, hands off," Quatre snapped defensively, glaring.
Lia chuckled, turning onto Quatre's street. "Little slut, already trying to make your move on him. You best hope he's gay, or you'll be shit out of luck."
He frowned. "When am I not shit out of luck?"
"Never, just like me. Hey, I was thinking about heading up to the Plaza this weekend to do a little homecoming shopping. You up to coming along?"
"Lia, I told you, I don't want to go to homecoming. It's a stupid, bigoted tradition all about being part of this great heterosexual conspiracy to play happy families."
She laughed, pulling into his driveway and shutting off the engine. "Now that's a good one. I just wanted somebody with decent taste to give me their honest opinion, which would be you, my adorable little friend. I have no intentions on roping you into homecoming, as much as I pretend to in front of the other girls. Let me know if you're up to it, kay?"
Quatre nodded, hopping out of the truck. "Kay. Thanks again, Lia. See you tomorrow."
"Right!"
He ambled up the front porch, shouldering the door open. Sandrock sat patiently on the doormat, licking her paws. Quatre stroked her sandy-colored head and stepped in, dropping his bag in the corner. A note taped to the microwave announced that all five Winner sisters were out working, and that there was a crock-pot of curry that needed to be turned off, which he did.
"What do you think, Sandrock? You think I stand a chance with Trowa? Or do you think he's straight?"
The cat let out a petulant mewl, staring crossly at her owner, as though she were scolding him for having the audacity to ask such a question. Quatre sighed, grabbing a bottle of lemon-flavored Fruit2O from the refrigerator and flopping onto the couch in the next room. The Siamese followed him, curling up on his feet.
"Yeah, I think so too, my Sandrock. I think so too."
~^*^~
I've never gotten a concussion or near-concussion playing Fructus, but there is the possibility of getting injured. Do not attempt without proper supervision and safety equipment.
Next Chapter: More Trowa, fun in gym with Heero and Wufei, and the Winner sisters play fashion consultant with their baby bro. See you then!
