*Bounces* Hello everyone!

I know, I took forever and a day (well, a month and a week) to update. That's actually better than for some of my other stuff, actually. I haven't worked on A War of Two Kinds (HP slash) in months, as well as Switched (also HP slash). Hopefully, with two more weeks of winter break left, though, I can work on them more! Whee! Anyway, wrong genre.

I'm not sure if this chapter is better or worse than the last one. I have a lot of problems with staying in character, and writing Blake's dialogue is just hard... Pennsylvanians generally don't know much about what and how the Brits speak, lmao.... Anywho. Tell me what you think after reading!

A big thank you to my reviewers!!

Bella12 - You really think I'm staying in-character? O.o Wheee, that's good to know, hehe.

Blue Midnight - Wheeeee you reviewed my story! I read Playing the Matchmaker ages ago and I... think... I reviewed... *sweatdrop* It was awesome! Ahh! *Coughs* Woot!

Fedishi - This soon enough? ^^" You reminded me about this story, lol... thanks!

Here we go!

.~*~.

Dinner, normally filled with either one of the three family members talking about their day, was unusually silent.
Sure, Ginger, Carl, and Lois Foutley talked a little. But it was only things like, "Could you pass the butter?" Both children were wrapped up in their thoughts, and their mother wondered what on earth could be so important to keep them entirely stuck on it.
The meal was shortened when Ginger asked to me excused, then left for her room, and then Carl disappeared to his doghouse.
"It's possible they're just trying to escape doing the dishes." Mrs. Foutley grunted as she cleared the table.

"What did Hoodsey mean?" Carl asked Maude's gallstone. "Hate and love are entirely different...."
His eyes fell on Blake's tonsils. "Did he mean Blake?"
He shuddered. "Me, like him? No, he meant Noelle. Right? Right?"
Shaking his head, he regarded the tonsils coldly. "I hate you, Blake."
Then he choked, because Hoodsey had said that love and hate were the same thing. And he might be right.
"What am I thinking? I can say I hate Blake all I want. Because they're two different things, love and hate. Really. I hate him. Hate hate hate hate. Yeah, that feels good," Carl muttered, spinning his chair away from the pickled body part. I must be going crazy, I'm talking to myself....
It's probably because I hate Blake.

Saturday morning came and went, Carl too busy trying to come up with wonderful pranks to play on Blake and too angry at Hoodsey for suggesting that he might have feeling for Blake to let his best friend join him. So he was frustrated and getting nowhere.
He decided to take a walk and ended up on the outskirts of Protected Pines, having not realized where he was going or how far he'd gone. He stopped walking and just stared up at the huge, perfectly built houses with large lawns and swimming pools. And he cursed his bad luck when a familiar black limousine rolled up to the corner he was standing on and stopped.
"What do you want, Blake?" Carl spat, as soon as the back window had opened up and Blake had opened his mouth to make some stupid remark.
"Never mind, Winston, he obviously doesn't wish to have a ride back to his house," Blake told the driver with a cold edge on his voice. Carl froze.
"You want to drive me back home?" he asked, gulping dryly. "In a limousine?"
"I did," Blake answered bitingly. It took almost all of his concentration for Carl to not wring his hands nervously. Hoodsey's confusing statement rang in his head, pushing the thoughts of hating Blake back and forth....
'But you know, they kind of say hate and love are the same thing....' 'Who are you refering to?' 'You decide.'
"Er."
Blake was watching him impatiently, waiting for him to respond with some hot-headed retaliation. But he didn't, no matter how much he wanted to. Carl's frustration and anger at both the Gripling and his best friend drained out of him, leaving him feeling very small.
"Well?"
"Uh... you have any plans of reconsidering?" He asked with a voice he hoped sounded cool and not shaky. "It's an awfully long walk...."
After his eyes ceased nearly popping out of his head, Blake shrugged. "Of course. We were going that way anyway, weren't we, Winston?"
The driver blinked. "We were?"
Blake ignored him, hopping out of the limo and holding the door open for Carl, who raised an eyebrow and didn't move. "Why not just make me get in myself?"
"It's impolite," the blonde boy responded with a new impatience. Carl crawled into the... very large... car, followed by Blake, who then offered him hot chocolate.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" He asked, accepting the mug and hoping that they wouldn't run over any bumps and cause him to spill it.
"Why not?" was the answer. Carl thought about that for a second or two.
"I don't know, I thought you had the impression that I hated you," he said, some of his frustration coming back. His own moodiness was really getting on his nerves. There was no response.
"Sometimes I hate you but sometimes I wonder why I would. I mean, it's not like you're constantly getting on my nerves or anything," Carl continued, talking to the statue next to him that was staring out the window. "Rather, you should hate me. That's why I wonder why you're always so polite. Why?"
"Why not?" Blake repeated.
"Oh, come off it. Why?"
The car stopped smoothly. "We're here. Nice talking to you. Bye."
Carl got out of the door on his side after a moment of hesitation, then cursed his moodiness again. Why was he suddenly feeling sorry for Blake?
Why was he suddenly always thinking of the boy?
"Later."
The limousine drove off, making a U-turn and leaving Sheltered Shrubs.
"Going this way, right. You confuse me, Blake."

He turned and ran into Hoodsey, causing both of them to fall over.
"Carl! I was looking for you, I didn't know where you went... were you just in the limo with Blake Gripling?"
"Um... yeah. Why were you looking for me?"
"I wanted to apologize for yesterday in the doghouse, I don't know what I was thinking, I shouldn't have..."
"You made me think. About him."
"Sorry," his friend said, wringing his hands. His hood had fallen down and one of his shoes was untied.
"Nah, that's okay. But I really don't understand him. He's really... I dunno... he's nice to me. He didn't used to be. So why is he now?"
His friend was silent, tagging along to the doghouse.
"You going to say anything or not?"
"Sorry, I was just thinking. Um... maybe he likes you." Hoodsey said in a really quiet squeak. He seemed afraid to freak Carl out again.
Carl unclicked the doghouse lock. "Sorry, didn't catch that. What?"
"I said maybe he likes you."
He blinked, and tilted his head. "Hey, that'd explain a lot, actually."
Hoodsey unscrewed his face. "You're not mad at me? You're not freaking out?"
"Should I?"
His friend gave a sigh of relief. "If you don't mind, no."
Carl laughed. "Hmm."
"Do you like him? Because, um, if you did, not saying that you do or anything, of course, but if you did, I'd totally be alright with it," Hoodsey said awkwardly.
"I dunno. Up until this morning, I thought I hated him."
"Well, yeah, I guess so."
They gradually stopped talking about Blake and more about other things. They avoided the topic of the dance, or of playing an April Fools' prank on Blake. So passed Saturday.

"You're going to the dance?" Ginger whined at the breakfast table the next morning when Carl asked their mom to sign his permission form. "With who?"
"Who knows?" he responded in his unique laid-back manner. He stretched and ate some cereal.
"It's on April Fools' Day. What prank are you going to play? I know you and Hoodsey are planning something, and I better not be a part of it."
Ginger had been a lot moodier since she'd broken up with Darren. As a matter of fact, since Noelle had left, Carl had been moodier too.
"Actually, we don't know yet. Any ideas?" he asked jokingly. He didn't feel like arguing with his sister right now.
She ignored his joke and grumpily glared at her empty cereal bowl.
"Hey, if you want cereal, you need to get it, Ging," called their mom from somewhere near the fridge. Ginger sunk onto her arms, looking like she was going to fall asleep on the table. Carl shook his head and left the room to watch some cartoons.

Ginger had reminded him about the fact that April Fools' Day was in five days.
Doesn't mean I can't play a prank on Blake if I like him, Carl thought, smirking. I wonder if I like him. He thought about the irony of himself being convinced that he hated Blake, only twenty-four hours ago. Hoodsey must've been right. Hate and love could be the same thing, I guess.
I wonder if Blake would take me home again if I reappeared in Protected Pines.
Doubt it.
There was a knock at the door, and Ginger opened the door to see Dodie and Macie. Two seconds after she'd closed it and had started jabbering to her friends excitedly, there was more knocking, and Hoodsey came in, presumably having followed Dodie.
"Hey, Hoods," Carl said, waving for him to sit on the couch too. When Hoodsey had done this, Carl said, in a much quieter voice, "I think I do like him. I thought about it, and, um, he is kind of... uh... cute?"
Hoodsey looked ready to laugh at the last part of Carl's statement, so Carl continued rambling so he wouldn't.
"Anyway, we need to think of a prank!"
His friend stopped smirking and blinked. "You're going to play a prank on Blake anyway?"
"Why not?" he asked, grinning. "Anyway, I need your help to come up with something. Something good. Any ideas?"
"Um, Carl," Hoodsey said, changing the channel of the TV, "haven't I been doing that for the past few days?"
"True," Carl replied, tilting his head. "Hmm."
After numerous clicking noises followed by snatches of conversation, Hoodsey turned of the TV. "Nothing good on this morning," he muttered, yawning.
"Uh huh." Silence followed. The boys sat on the couch facing the blank television, not speaking, causing a few funny looks in their direction by Ginger and her two friends before they went upstairs.
Hoodsey cleared his throat. "Have any snacks?"
Carl jumped over the back of the couch and opened the fridge. "Help yourself."
The morning and afternoon followed quickly as they poured over several old alien movies that Hoodsey had found in his attic. He was called home for dinner and Carl only remembered that the dance was only in five days when he was already lying in bed, eyes shut.

"Carl, get up!"
Said boy's mother tossed his pillow to the foot of the bed, so Carl would have to sit up to reach it. He sat up and stretched, rubbing his eyes. His mother was already heading downstairs. He could smell pancakes.
"Pancakes?" he asked his mother as he jumped down the last few steps of the stairway, changed into school clothing.
"Not for anyone who oversleeps," Lois told him, nodding at the clock as she put the syrup away. Carl grumbled as he poured cereal for himself, eating quickly and stuffing papers in his bookbag for school. He made sure to put the permission slip in last so he would remember to take it to class instead of leaving it in his locker.
Hoodsey met him in the hallway of Lucky Jr. High as he made his way to the lockers. "They're taking permission forms in the office. I gave them mine already."
"Wanna take mine?" Carl gave him little time to protest before stuffing the paper into his hand. "Um, sure," Hoodsey replied, heading off the way Carl had come.

"I see you're going to the dance, Woodsey," Blake Gripling commented, stopping in front of him. Hoodsey had always been intimidated by the kid, even if he tried as hard as he could not to show it. His best friend seemed pretty fearless, he wished he could be more like him at times like these.
"Nah, this is Carl's," he answered, walking around Blake. "And it's Hoodsey, Gripling."

Lunch came. Lunch went. Hoodsey seemed intent on finishing homework all afternoon, so Carl did his own, glancing at his friend's work every few seconds to copy the answers. And then Hoodsey and Dodie left early at their mother's request. Carl sat in the doghouse for a while before he decided to take another walk, and ended up at the park, sitting on a bench, watching a few pigeons hop around a little kid who kept tossing bits of a bagel to them, other children playing around in a sandbox, new parents who tried to read but glanced over their newspaper or novel every few seconds to check on their toddlers. It gave him a weird, sentimental feeling he could describe as dusty.
He was stretching and preparing to go home when he thought he saw it... a flamingo. It appeared at the top of the hill, first a head, then a long neck and body, and finally even longer legs. And beside it....
"Noelle?"
She had noticed him too and grinned, waving. Then they were standing in front of each other, and neither had any idea of what to say.
"I missed you," Noelle said finally.
Carl was preparing to say, "if you missed me so much, why didn't you call," but decided against it when he saw Blake walking from the other direction.
The moment their eyes met they each glanced elsewhere; Blake, at the lake, red from the setting sun, and Carl, at Noelle.
"I missed you too," he told her awkwardly.
And before he knew it he was being kissed, and his back stiffened, eyes wide. Noelle pulled back almost immediately, and Carl's eyes briefly wandered to Blake, who was walking past, seemingly unaffected. He wasn't sure whether he had wanted Blake to appear to care or not.
"Something wrong?" Noelle asked him, head tilted to the side in question.
"Something wrong?" Carl exploded. "Yes, I think something is wrong, Sussman! You left me here six months ago, promising to write, promising to call, promising you'd be back in a week or so. And I didn't get one letter, I didn't get one call."
Noelle had slumped her shoulders. "Carl, I–"
"I'm not done yet." He took a step back so he wasn't yelling right in her face anymore. "You know how worried I was for the first few months? Why didn't you call me?"
"Because I thought you mi–"
"Might get mad at you? So you just shrugged it off?"
She nodded. Carl shook his head. "Sorry. Just... I don't like you as much anymore."
"Ah." Noelle crossed her arms, giving him a searching look. "I see, you like someone else."
Carl had a fleeting suspicion the girl could read minds. Well, that certainly wasn't a good thing. His eyes flickered over her shoulder again, and they saw that the Gripling boy had settled on a bench within hearing distance. Great.
Noelle had an eyebrow cocked, and Carl gulped. He tried to send her thought bubbles not to say that he liked Blake here. She smirked in challenge. It was amazing how quickly she could go from being on the bottom of this conversation to being in control of it.
"Well, since you like–"
"Please, not here!" he hissed to her, carefully making sure not to eye Blake right at that moment.
"I'll have you know that all the time I was in Portugal, I didn't bother looking at other guys because I knew I liked you more than them, and I thought that you thought the same of me."
Ouch. He didn't only not like how the comment hit home and made him feel guilty, but he was uncomfortable with her slight accent on the word 'guys.'
"Well sorry, Noelle, but you still coulda called." It was lame, but it was a retaliation.
"Right." She flipped her hair over her shoulder, and he saw that she had grown it long while in Portugal. "Whatever, Carl." She left, her flamingo padding along beside her. Carl sunk back down on the bench and looked over at Blake, sending him a glare when he saw that the boy was also looking at him.
Eventually Blake left, keeping to the opposite side of the path when passing Carl, and this was when the Foutley realized it was well past dinnertime, and his mother would be seething when he showed up.
He stayed on the bench anyway, stretching up and looking at the moon. He'd go home later.