Okay, frosh weeks are just fun events the first (full) week of school where the grade nines (actually, everyone) participate in a bunch of crazy activities at lunchtime. They can get pretty nasty. (One year there was a game called 'Eat it or Wear it.' I don't have to explain it to you.) But I didn't get a concussion. The disgusting stuff came out of my hair well in the girl's room sink. (But my shoelaces still have chocolate sauce stained onto them!) And, you probably figured it out--Anthony is the guy that won for SC. Okay, he's a good guy, but doesn't "DAMN YOU ANTHONY!" just roll right off your tongue? So join with me, and shout--"DAMN YOU ANTHONY!"

This chapter is kinda pushing the rating at the end. But it's good drama.

Chapter Six

Terry looked at Billy, stabbed her fork into her meatball, looked at her parents, sliced it in half, looked at Erica and then ate the piece. She repeated the ritual about five more times, each time getting more tense. She reached for a role.

"That's your second one, Terry," her mom scolded softly.

"It's bread," she retorted, "Not cake." Her mom said nothing to her. Instead, she turned her attention to Erica.

"How's senior year, dear?"

Erica smiled falsley. "It's been great. I've really had time to get into my schoolwork." She snuck a small evil stare at Terry that no one but Billy noticed. "I'm thinking of getting into the Reach Team."

"That's wonderful!" Mr. Chaney said with way too much enthusiasm. "Terry, you should join the reach team as well!"

Terry shook her head. "You know, I've always wanted to do cheerleading," she told her dad as if she hadn't gone on and on about it since she was six. "And the track team is starting soon."

"Athletics are good," her mom agreed, "But academics shouldn't be a chore. You should get more into it."

Terry opened her mouth to protest when Billy stopped her. It was time to work his charm that always made adults think he was a 'sophisticated young man.' While he was a little dim, he sure had strong personal politics. "I think it's a good idea to explore a more athletic side of yourself," he debated, "After all, academics are important, but you have to know your passion. It doesn't always have to be athletics, either. Like, my friend, Clear, she tells me that she struggles in history, but she sure makes up for it in music. Everyone has a passion." He took in a deep breath.

Mrs. Hannamn was not fooled by Billy's performance. She looked at the boy, his baggy red t-shirt, his messy hair, he didn't exactly look like the kind of boy to go crazy for extracurricular. "And what is your passion, Billy?"

Billy felt his words get caught in his throat. What WAS his passion? He was too much of a klutz to be an athlete, not talented enough for art or music, and had too much dignity left in him for chess club. "Right now," he said slowly, "My passion is keeping my grades up, stayin' outa trouble, and having good friends." He noticed a few skeptical expressions. "I mean, I probably will join a team later in the year." 'Unlikely,' he thought. "But for now, I just want to find myself. That's something Terry's already done."

Erica groaned and didn't bother to hide her dramatic eye roll.

"Something the matter, Erica?" Terry challenged in a clipped tone. No one would insult her boyfriend after he defended her like that.

"I just find it hilarious that your boyfriend is the one doing all the talking for you--maybe you should learn to think for yourself. Not lie to yourself and everyone around you."

"Erica!" her father shouted, "What was that for!"

"That's for ditching me this summer for popularity. And for Billy."

Mrs. Chaney looked ready to burst out at her daughter. "Terry, is Erica telling the truth when she says Billy is your boyfriend?"

Terry's face was hot, here eyes sinking down into the table, her mouth soft and numb. "Er... yes." She looked up. "Yes, mom. Billy is my boyfriend. And he's good for me."

Mrs. Chaney stared daggers at her. "I told you no boyfriends until you were sixteen. By breaking that rule that is disrespecting me. How can you date any boy without being mature enough?"

"Mom, stop it!" Terry exclaimed, "I can do what I want! I'm a woman! I can make my own descisions!" She flicked her finger at Erica. "Some people can't deal with it. But I'm still your daughter and you should trust me that I'm mature enough for this!"

Mrs. Chaney gaped at her daughter and said nothing.

Terry stood up and grabbed Billy's hand. "Come on, Billy," she muttered, "Let's not waist our time."

Billy nodded. The two rose and walked out of the house.

***

A blue hackey sack soared across the room. It landed on top of George's hand. He kept reading his book and barely took the effort to toss it back. It landed three feet from his brother.

"Friday night at eight," Tod said dryly. "I ain't got no date." He smiled at himself. "Thing's ain't going great," he continued with a smirk. "I--"

"Would you shut up?" George exclaimed. "If Eminem teaches us anything, it's that unless you're holding a gun at your ex-wife's lover's head or bashing on Moby, white guys shouldn't rap."

Tod sat on the bed, embarassed. "You're being a real womanly bitch," he muttered to his brother. He picked up the hackey sack and started lamely bouncing it around. "I'm guessing you're upset about Clear?"

"Fuck yeah!" George exclaimed, "I mean, you know how when you get dumped the last thing you're gonna believe is, 'it's not you, it's me?' Well that's basically what Clear gave me."

"'Least you've had a girlfriend. Today, Christa--"

"Tod, I know you're hung up of Princess D Cup, but right now I wanna sit here and wallow in pathetic self-pity in hopes that someday, this sucky situation will make sense to me. So will you back off?"

His twin looked at him. George had always been overly serious about everything, but this was too much. "Okay, George, enough. You're being a real woman here. I mean, go celebrate! You're stag! Now you don't have to feel ashamed when you break out the porno!"

"Porno?" George asked with a raised eyebrow and a small smirk. "I'm fifteen, I'm a dumbass, and I have no money. What makes you think I have porno?"

Tod shrugged. "At least it got you talkin'."

George laughed. "So what the hell are we going to do tonight then?"

"Uh..." he looked at the phone. "Wanna call up Billy and Alex and head to Finn's to go shoot some pool?"

George smiled. "Guess that's the best we can do."

"That's what I'm talkin' about!"

***

Clear opened the door a crack and peered out into the hall. Sure enough, there was nothing there. Nothing that you could see. Hearing no screams or arguments, no crashing, just the soft sobbing of her mother in the other room. Her mom was in another daily depression. Clear was unnaware the location of her stepdad--he could have out drinking, or home drinking. Take your pick.

Clear closed the door again. She felt like her knees lock, and she couldn't stand up. She turned and saw the clock. Eight thirty. Only eight thirty. How much longer until she felt safe to walk through the hallway? The fight she had heard--and what she had seen after the fight--was enough to scare her from leaving her room for the rest of her life. She would be up, worrying, all night. Again. Only this time, she lay cold and shaking, feeling too emotionally weak to even climb her bed. And it didn't even happen to her!

She looked from one side of her room to the other, at the cold surrondings. Everything had a red hue to it. The sun was just going down. She wondered what Terry, or Alex, or Tod and George were doing now. They were probably having a good time.

She heard the wretched sound--Colin took one step up the stairs.

"No," she whispered, "Don't come up."

She felt helpless. She knew Colin had seen her see him and her mother. That was an hour ago. Enough time for him to get drunker, more violent.

Another two steps. "Stop," she whispered to herself.

Finally, she could tell he was at the top of the stairs. He was on the second floor. Closer to her. She was closer to spilling over the edge.

She stood up slowly. Slowly, numbly, she reached over her desk to her window and pulled it open. She stepped onto her chair and was leaning out the window... and he came in.

She would have said 'shit.' But 'shit' didn't describe it. In fact, if there weren't such a lump in her throat she would have screamed. But she couldn't scream. Not at all.

She couldn't even budge as Colin made a lunge at her and swiped her to the ground. Panting heavily, she tried to figure out how she could get away. But when her door slammed, she knew.

There was no getting out.

~~~

Heyy, Sparky, gladya like my FD story--and you shared your own! No one here has the FD cars, because it's all pickups and minivans (my dream car is a Hummer H4. This has little or nothing to do with anything.) Anyways, today, I had the FREAKIEST Fd-experience--

I was at the dentist getting a cavity filled. The dentist looked like the dentist from FD2, plus, he has a son I know named Tim. So, I'm getting a giant needle in my gums, I look out the window, and I am conveniently on the third story looking out onto the scary street (no pigeons or construction thank god!) and I look up and see... a mobile. It had no spiny fish, but little airplanes... they looked so... deadly. Worst of all, in front of me was a painting of a happy clown waving. I'm like "Oh dear God, I'm getting a wave good-bye from a happy clown, and I'm gonna die while listening to that stupid Marc Anthony song!"