Disclaimer: Me? Own this happy, happy thing? –bursts out in hysterical laughter-

French class seemed to take forever. Christine tersely drummed her fingers against the desk as she watched the clock.

"Five minutes," she whispered. The longest five minutes of her life. Maybe if she stared at it and didn't blink, she could make the time go by faster.

As if reading her thoughts, Meg glanced up. "You know that clock's five minutes fast, right?" she hissed so as not to attract the attention of their mental teacher. Christine gave a monstrously loud groan and smashed her head down on the table. Her vision spun.

"Mlle Daaè?" Madame Grace asked. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Never better," Christine lied unconvincingly, plowing her forehead into the desk again. Brain damage, brain damage, brain damage…

"Well, I know something that will make you feel better!" Madame chirped, hopping over to her ancient cassette-player. "The great song stylings of Celine!"

The entire class mirrored Christine's head-against-the-table movement. The teacher did not notice; she simply pressed play.

"My heart will go on!" she cried cheerfully, doing a horrible little dance.

Meg twitched visibly. "Next class, you're distracting her and I'm flinging that out of the window. And we'll burn the books and tapes too. I will watch no Madeline!"

Christine shut her eyes. Under any other circumstances, this entire scene would be funny, she thought miserably. At the present time, however, the ache for Erik, the strange desire to talk to him, to console him…it was burning her alive.

The bell chimed weakly, as if it were ill. Before she could blink, Christine was out of her desk, backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder, and out of the door. Behind her, she heard Meg shout, "Christine, where are you going?" She couldn't have cared less; only one word ran through her mind.

Erik, Erik, Erik, Erik, ERIK!

You really are losing it, her mind told her cheerlessly. You're going to end up in an insane asylum.

Don't care, she thought back determinedly as she shot down the choir hall. It didn't even occur to her that she was having a perfectly-serious conversation with herself, although she supposed later that it probably wasn't a good sign.

Skidding to a stop at the familiar door to her sanctuary, another thought hit her. What if Madame Giry was in here? Surely she wouldn't let her through.

Damn, now I have to think up a plan of attack…

Cautiously, she poked her head into the room. It was empty—Madame must have rushed out early. Thanking God, Christine slipped in and headed for that mysterious door, the long staircase, and the shadow that she knew she would find at the end of the tunnel.

Well, not a tunnel. A staircase. Whatever.

The door was closed. Apprehension punched through her; what if he wasn't there?

Then I'll just wait for him.

She was insane! What the hell was she thinking? Stalking a poor guy who probably never wanted to see her again because she'd accidentally killed his livelihood somehow…what would her father think?

She stopped, her hand on the doorknob. Her father. Would he be ashamed of the way she was behaving? Yelling at her friends, acting like a child toward her teachers, giving herself numerous bruises out of a need for a tortured young man?

Or would he be proud of her? She was, after all, going to speak to a boy whose entire day seemed made up of insults and helping teachers. She was trying to brighten his day, really. What harm was there in that?

You're stalling, her mind reminded her. And you're still insane.

Thank you.

She pushed the door open. The room was, as she had feared, was empty of all Eriks. She went in, stomach quivering.

I really hope he comes back soon, because I don't think I can handle staying here overnight…What are these?

She lightly brushed her fingers against one of the posters on the wall. It was advertising what looked like a carnival…was Erik a carnie? She blinked. He really didn't seem the type. Weren't carnies usually leering men with too much facial hair?

Maybe she'd been reading too many horror books.

Not all the posters were about this weird little fair. Some were advertising symphonies that she'd never heard of. Could he be a part of these?

Turning her attention to the small desk, she flipped through the various papers and books. A battered copy of George Orwell's 1984, some geometry papers that he was obviously in the process of checking…a sketchbook.

Intrigued, Christine picked up the weathered-looking hardcover and stared down at it. She was snooping, she knew, prying into this poor boy's private life. By opening this, she would be crossing a line…one that she wasn't too keen on crossing.

She set the book back down.

You should get out of here, her rational side warned. If he comes back to find you snooping around, he's not going to be happy. Remember? He likes his solitude.

Christine sighed. Logic was beginning to win out, as it so often did. She needed to get out of this room, to escape the gentle scent of Erik that lingered here…

"What do you think you're doing?" an angry voice demanded. Christine whirled around.

Erik's lip was curled in a way she'd never seen before. He looked as angry as she had felt earlier. Her heart wrenched.

"I-I was looking for you," she admitted. "I wanted to see you."

"You saw me fourth hour," he shot back, still hovering in the doorway. It was as if she had some horrible disease that he was afraid of catching. She swallowed.

"I saw you, but you didn't…did I do something wrong?"

He seemed caught off-guard by the question. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you've never told Madame Giry that you didn't want to see me before. I wanted to know why." Her resolve strengthened.

Unfortunately, so did his. "It's only been a few days. You can't have thought you'd always be the one to fetch me."

Hurt washed over her. Why was he treating her like a little kid?

"You don't have a right to be in here," he continued roughly. "Get out. I told Madame that I didn't want…God!" He slammed a fist against the doorframe, then sank down in a crouch, bending over so his head was resting against his knees.

Christine stood there for a moment, helpless. "Erik…"

"Go away," he murmured, not sounding quite so angry. "I can't deal with this right now…"

She came to his side, kneeling down and gently resting a hand on his shoulder. He was trembling.

"Erik, what's wrong?" she asked softly.

He shook his head against his jean-clad legs and said nothing. She gave a tiny sigh.

"Erik, I want to help you. Tell me why you told Madame not to send for me anymore."

He muttered something unintelligibly. She tilted her head to the side.

"What?"

"I said, because you don't need this either," he repeated more loudly. "Making friends with me is not worth it, believe me. Or believe them; they'll tell you anything you need to know about me." He sounded disgusted, though she couldn't tell if it was at his peers or himself.

She tried to peer more closely at him. "Erik…I don't want to believe them. I want to believe you. Tell me what's wrong; why do they do this to you?"

"Because," he said simply. "I'm a freak."

She frowned. "You aren't a freak."

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Want to bet?" She leaned her face closer to his; he turned back into his knees.

"Erik…do you want to do something with me?"

His body gave a visible jerk. "Like what?" he asked guardedly.

"Like…go to a party? Show people that you aren't a freak, that you can have fun just like them?"

He lifted his head. "Are you kidding me?"

"Not in the slightest," she replied. "Will you come?"

Erik seemed to consider it. Then he got up, very suddenly, and paced to the other side of the tiny room.

"No," he answered. She blinked.

"Why not?"

"Because it's a pity invitation," he spat. "I don't do pity, Miss Daaè."

"It is not pity," she shot back. "I really want you to come. We're going with a little group and I'll make sure no one bothers you. Okay?"

He turned his back to her and said nothing. She huffed loudly.

"Erik, I am putting my foot down. You are coming with us. Sitting here in your private Batcave is not healthy."

Erik twisted around to face her. "And who says you have any say in the matter? You've known me for, what? Two days?"

"Three," she answered defiantly. "And you're coming. We'll be picking you up at eight. What's your address?"

"I'm not telling you that!" he cried, but she could hear the resignation in his voice.

"Then I'll just stalk you," she told him. "We can do this the hard way if you'd prefer, Erik, but I'd really rather it if you came quietly."

He gritted his teeth, then ground out, "Give me a sheet of paper and I'll write it down."

"That's more like it." Satisfied, Christine reached into her backpack and drew out a pen and notebook. Looking like he was signing his own death warrant, Erik scribbled out a street address and pushed it back into her hands.

"Eight?" he asked quietly. She grinned.

"Eight. And you will have fun. I guarantee it."

A/N: Wow, that came out a bit more humorously than planned. Ah well, I'm sure you guys won't mind much.

Review Replies (there's so many!):

Aki T- Ooh, candy! Lol, yes, there will be more E/C moments.

Rilette- Wow, magnificent? –is thrilled by the sparkly word-

erik'sangel527- Thanks so much for all the great reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far.

La Foamy- Look! An update! –grins-

Tsuki- You're so random, my Muffiny buddy. Tanks for all the reviews.

AMLisdabomb- lol, I don't think Erik's going to contract heatstroke anytime soon…but I'm sure he's glad that you're thinking of him.

Once Upon a Thyme- Got it all under control. –updates-grins-

Angel-of-Music1331- Sure, have another cookie. I have a whole plate here for my awesome reviewers!

EmailyGirl- Aw, don't cry. Erik's life is getting slightly better; -points up at chapter- look! A party!

Pirate Perian- Gotta love Evanescence.

Sorry if I missed anyone! I get slightly confused when I review reply, not always sure if I've already answered someone. Lol, enjoy this update and I'll be back again soon. Not sure if there'll be another one tonight though; I have to drag my butt to Coming Home. –rolls eyes-