A/N: We interrupt the piling-on of Portman-angst to bring you some "insanely sexy" (whatever you say, guys...) Fulton-in-Baton-Rouge-ness. And a new OC. Don't hurt me!
****
"Combat Boots and Clover, Chapter Seven"
[FULTON GARRETT REED]
After school on Tuesday, I sat in my room and started to go through my repitoire of songs: 'We Are the Champions' and 'We Will Rock You' courtesy of Dwayne; 'Blitzkreig Bop'; 'Holidays in the Sun,' 'Pretty Vacant,' and 'Anarchy in the U.K.'; 'Lake of Fire'; and 'Come as You Are,' 'Sliver,' 'Lithium,' and 'Rape Me.' I was halfway through 'Pretty Vacant' when Cade knocked on the door. I knew it was Cade because when I checked about half an hour ago Mom was in her room, practically unconscious on the bed. And she sleeps for four hours at a time, almost so that you could set a watch by it.
"What do you want, Cade?" I called.
Apparently, he thought it meant 'come on in' because he opened the door, walked in like he owned the place--which he doesn't, even if his father does--and tossed a magazine on the bed. "Here. Thought you might want this."
I glanced at it. One of those guitar monthlies like Aunt Louise had been pointing out on all the newsstands lately. You'd think I was some kind of musical prodigy, the way she acted. "Where'd you get it?"
"Took it out of some kid's backpack in study hall," Cade said casually, with the lazy, self-important grin that Ellie and about sixty other girls think is attractive. "It's an old one anyway."
"Yeah, thanks," I muttered, absently plucking the first few notes to 'Lake of Fire.' I'd checked an issue of the magazine--'Guitar World'--once. There weren't any tabletures in it; I could only work from tabletures, or from playing by ear. I had no intention of keeping the magazine. Cade is a mild kleptomaniac--I'm fairly sure that he steals small things from his friends and then gives them back later, just to satisfy his weird craving for theft.
"Are we leaving now, Sugar?" Ellie simpered at Cade, poking her head into my room. Her gold-brown hair was teased within an inch of its life to flip outwards, she had a dark pink sundress on, and tall platform sandals that matched the dress exactly. She smiled her fake smile at me and wiggled her fingers in the kind of wave that besotted relatives give to little babies.
"Yeah." Cade smiles at her, and--for my benefit, I'm sure--practically bends her backwards with a deep kiss. "You ready, Princess?"
Ugh. Excuse me while I gag myself with the Gibson's headstock. Fortunately, Slutboy and the Pink Wonder took their lovey-dovey bullcrap out of the house in a minute. At least Dean and I have the decency not to sicken people with public displays of affection.
Oh, fuck. 'Nice going, Fulton; depress yourself.' I stuck my guitar back in its case and flopped down on the bed. I missed Dean.
****
I had a dream that night. I don't remember what it was about--I rarely do--but I woke up crying. That just /couldn't/ be a good start to the day. Fortunately, I remembered to pack the magazine into my bookbag before leaving for school with Cade. He's a junior and has his driver's license now, but of course his little trophy girlfriend gets shotgun, so I have to put up with the cramped backseat of his Z.
Almost immediately, Mac Perry, that skinny long-haired dude, stormed up to Cade and demanded, "Okay, you fuckin' klepto, where the fuck's my magazine?"
"What magazine?" Cade asked, mocking grin securely in place. In a way, I could see that Cade had reason to laugh--Mac was wearing these ugly plaid pants that I swear I saw in the Juniors section at JC Penny, a collection of brightly colored plastic bracelets that looked like they came out of those 25 cent machines, a purple shirt reading in bright pink fabric-paint 'I know you are but what am I?,' and white boots.
I rolled my eyes. "You brat, don't play dumb," I told him. "Oh, wait, you're not playing." Mac looked at me in surprise, but he was having a hard time keeping a straight face. I slung my backpack off one arm and unzipped the big compartment. "Here's your mag. Cade thought I could use it."
"Really? Amazing, he thought of something." Mac quipped. Cade said nothing, only glared at me and walked away with Ellie clinging like a leech to his arm.
I shrugged and started heading to Honors English--the stupid admissions counselor decided to 'challenge' me, so I couldn't avoid it--when he called me back.
"Hey, wait a minute!" I glared at him over my shoulder. Best to play into the little role that Istrouma cast me in. But he ignored the death glare and bounced on over to me. "Do you play guitar? Are you any good? If you want, I could--"
"Perry," I growled, "I have to go all the way across campus. Keep talking and I'll be late. That would not be good."
"Oh." He said, looking sort of sheepish. I took my chance and got out of there.
****
Mac tracked me down near the pool at lunch, despite my best efforts to be invisible--but when you're a hefty-looking six one, that's difficult anyway. Again, he questioned if I played the guitar, whether I played well, and so on. I gave in and told him I was beginning to play the bass guitar, I didn't think I was very good at all, I listened to a lot of hard rock and punk, and no, I'd rather that he not try to give me lessons.
"Aw, Fulton, man," he cried--and just who the hell gave him the right to use my first name?--"come on! I'm really not that scary!" He tried putting an arm around my shoulder--his hand barely reached my left shoulderblade (he was sitting on my right)--and whispered conspiratorially, "Is it 'cause people say I'm gay?"
"Dude, don't touch me," I ordered him, shrugging to rid myself of his friendly gesture. "That's not it. You're just an annoying pest is all."
"Fulton. I am not gay; you can ask my bandmates!"
"Perry, that's not a problem. Your unnerving persistance in being friendly towards me, though...that is." And have I made it clear yet that I really dislike people I barely know calling me by my given name? It annoyed me when Bombay did at first, I accepted it at the Goodwill Games, I tolerated it from Orion at Eden Hall, but nothing says that I have to take it from this quasi-crossdressing reject.
"Fulton!" He exclaimed, frustrated.
That did it. "Quit calling me Fulton!" I shouted at him, "I never gave you permission to call me that!"
"What's your /damage,/ man?" Mac mumbled, dodging the curious stares that I seem to have a habit of attracting.
"I don't like total strangers coming up and being all buddy-buddy with me," I hissed in an undertone to him, "and I don't like being here hundreds of miles away from my boyfriend and teammates, and I don't like being in this fucking school full of fucking morons like /you/! So leave me /alone/, Perry."
"Did you say 'boyfriend'?" Mac whispered back curiously.
I scowled at him and walked away. 'What a jerk!'
****
The whole Mac Perry fiasco pissed me off enough that I took the chance of skipping Ms. DeMarco--also known as the Mistress of the Innermost Sanctum of My Personal Hell--and Calculus at the end of the day. I walked home, knowing that Cade wouldn't care.
At that moment in time, I despised Mac. If anyone had told me then that he'd eventually become one of my best friends, I would have suspected severe head trauma. But if anyone had told me two years ago that I would fall in love with Dean Portman--and that he'd reciprocate those feelings--I would have suspected the same.
Just goes to show that life is never really what you expect.
~~To be continued...~~
****
"Combat Boots and Clover, Chapter Seven"
[FULTON GARRETT REED]
After school on Tuesday, I sat in my room and started to go through my repitoire of songs: 'We Are the Champions' and 'We Will Rock You' courtesy of Dwayne; 'Blitzkreig Bop'; 'Holidays in the Sun,' 'Pretty Vacant,' and 'Anarchy in the U.K.'; 'Lake of Fire'; and 'Come as You Are,' 'Sliver,' 'Lithium,' and 'Rape Me.' I was halfway through 'Pretty Vacant' when Cade knocked on the door. I knew it was Cade because when I checked about half an hour ago Mom was in her room, practically unconscious on the bed. And she sleeps for four hours at a time, almost so that you could set a watch by it.
"What do you want, Cade?" I called.
Apparently, he thought it meant 'come on in' because he opened the door, walked in like he owned the place--which he doesn't, even if his father does--and tossed a magazine on the bed. "Here. Thought you might want this."
I glanced at it. One of those guitar monthlies like Aunt Louise had been pointing out on all the newsstands lately. You'd think I was some kind of musical prodigy, the way she acted. "Where'd you get it?"
"Took it out of some kid's backpack in study hall," Cade said casually, with the lazy, self-important grin that Ellie and about sixty other girls think is attractive. "It's an old one anyway."
"Yeah, thanks," I muttered, absently plucking the first few notes to 'Lake of Fire.' I'd checked an issue of the magazine--'Guitar World'--once. There weren't any tabletures in it; I could only work from tabletures, or from playing by ear. I had no intention of keeping the magazine. Cade is a mild kleptomaniac--I'm fairly sure that he steals small things from his friends and then gives them back later, just to satisfy his weird craving for theft.
"Are we leaving now, Sugar?" Ellie simpered at Cade, poking her head into my room. Her gold-brown hair was teased within an inch of its life to flip outwards, she had a dark pink sundress on, and tall platform sandals that matched the dress exactly. She smiled her fake smile at me and wiggled her fingers in the kind of wave that besotted relatives give to little babies.
"Yeah." Cade smiles at her, and--for my benefit, I'm sure--practically bends her backwards with a deep kiss. "You ready, Princess?"
Ugh. Excuse me while I gag myself with the Gibson's headstock. Fortunately, Slutboy and the Pink Wonder took their lovey-dovey bullcrap out of the house in a minute. At least Dean and I have the decency not to sicken people with public displays of affection.
Oh, fuck. 'Nice going, Fulton; depress yourself.' I stuck my guitar back in its case and flopped down on the bed. I missed Dean.
****
I had a dream that night. I don't remember what it was about--I rarely do--but I woke up crying. That just /couldn't/ be a good start to the day. Fortunately, I remembered to pack the magazine into my bookbag before leaving for school with Cade. He's a junior and has his driver's license now, but of course his little trophy girlfriend gets shotgun, so I have to put up with the cramped backseat of his Z.
Almost immediately, Mac Perry, that skinny long-haired dude, stormed up to Cade and demanded, "Okay, you fuckin' klepto, where the fuck's my magazine?"
"What magazine?" Cade asked, mocking grin securely in place. In a way, I could see that Cade had reason to laugh--Mac was wearing these ugly plaid pants that I swear I saw in the Juniors section at JC Penny, a collection of brightly colored plastic bracelets that looked like they came out of those 25 cent machines, a purple shirt reading in bright pink fabric-paint 'I know you are but what am I?,' and white boots.
I rolled my eyes. "You brat, don't play dumb," I told him. "Oh, wait, you're not playing." Mac looked at me in surprise, but he was having a hard time keeping a straight face. I slung my backpack off one arm and unzipped the big compartment. "Here's your mag. Cade thought I could use it."
"Really? Amazing, he thought of something." Mac quipped. Cade said nothing, only glared at me and walked away with Ellie clinging like a leech to his arm.
I shrugged and started heading to Honors English--the stupid admissions counselor decided to 'challenge' me, so I couldn't avoid it--when he called me back.
"Hey, wait a minute!" I glared at him over my shoulder. Best to play into the little role that Istrouma cast me in. But he ignored the death glare and bounced on over to me. "Do you play guitar? Are you any good? If you want, I could--"
"Perry," I growled, "I have to go all the way across campus. Keep talking and I'll be late. That would not be good."
"Oh." He said, looking sort of sheepish. I took my chance and got out of there.
****
Mac tracked me down near the pool at lunch, despite my best efforts to be invisible--but when you're a hefty-looking six one, that's difficult anyway. Again, he questioned if I played the guitar, whether I played well, and so on. I gave in and told him I was beginning to play the bass guitar, I didn't think I was very good at all, I listened to a lot of hard rock and punk, and no, I'd rather that he not try to give me lessons.
"Aw, Fulton, man," he cried--and just who the hell gave him the right to use my first name?--"come on! I'm really not that scary!" He tried putting an arm around my shoulder--his hand barely reached my left shoulderblade (he was sitting on my right)--and whispered conspiratorially, "Is it 'cause people say I'm gay?"
"Dude, don't touch me," I ordered him, shrugging to rid myself of his friendly gesture. "That's not it. You're just an annoying pest is all."
"Fulton. I am not gay; you can ask my bandmates!"
"Perry, that's not a problem. Your unnerving persistance in being friendly towards me, though...that is." And have I made it clear yet that I really dislike people I barely know calling me by my given name? It annoyed me when Bombay did at first, I accepted it at the Goodwill Games, I tolerated it from Orion at Eden Hall, but nothing says that I have to take it from this quasi-crossdressing reject.
"Fulton!" He exclaimed, frustrated.
That did it. "Quit calling me Fulton!" I shouted at him, "I never gave you permission to call me that!"
"What's your /damage,/ man?" Mac mumbled, dodging the curious stares that I seem to have a habit of attracting.
"I don't like total strangers coming up and being all buddy-buddy with me," I hissed in an undertone to him, "and I don't like being here hundreds of miles away from my boyfriend and teammates, and I don't like being in this fucking school full of fucking morons like /you/! So leave me /alone/, Perry."
"Did you say 'boyfriend'?" Mac whispered back curiously.
I scowled at him and walked away. 'What a jerk!'
****
The whole Mac Perry fiasco pissed me off enough that I took the chance of skipping Ms. DeMarco--also known as the Mistress of the Innermost Sanctum of My Personal Hell--and Calculus at the end of the day. I walked home, knowing that Cade wouldn't care.
At that moment in time, I despised Mac. If anyone had told me then that he'd eventually become one of my best friends, I would have suspected severe head trauma. But if anyone had told me two years ago that I would fall in love with Dean Portman--and that he'd reciprocate those feelings--I would have suspected the same.
Just goes to show that life is never really what you expect.
~~To be continued...~~