Whoa . . . way to rebound, Lolly.
We're back! Kat and Lolly, here to terrorize. I think this is a very good effort on my part, because, well . . . gah, don't be modest . . .
I PASSED OUT YESTERDAY.
TWICE.
RUSHED TO HOSPITAL. Eugh, not cool. Guys? If they say that they have to put a drip on you, say NO! I DO NOT WANT A HIDOUS BRUISE ON MY – get this – TYPING HAND!
Nurses these days . . . no appreciation for the art of Fanfiction. Tut.
Enjoy!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------
Bah, recess at last. I'd just had to sit through the most boring History class ever. Not that I don't like history, hell no. Love it. But when you have to copy out the names of convicts that were shipped from France to America in the early fifteen hundreds, well, your brain would be leaking out of your ears too. So yeah, even us nerds can be bored. I could actually feel my brain turning to a greenish-brown sludge-like substance.
Only, that recess thing? Yeah, not for me. Nup, I had Literature next, and damn it, I had an essay to hand in. Minimum five pages. And I hadn't even started it. Now it is NOT like me to fall behind. No way. I'm usually on top of everything. I pride myself on my marks and stuff.
But I dunno. I haven't been feeling that "on top" lately. At all. In fact, I was lingering on the lowest rung of life's ladder.
And it sucked. Oh boy, it did.
So that was why I was still cooped up in an empty classroom during our daily twenty minutes of freedom. I had to discuss the motivations for . . . um . . . some Shakespearean guy or other . . . oh yeah. Hamlet. Aw, man, I hadn't even READ the text I was supposed to be babbling about. THIS WAS NOT GOOD.
Cee? See the F? That's your paper. Get ready for it.
I sat at one of the corner tables, tapping my pencil madly on the desk, trying to force my mind to come up with something or other about . . . something or other. Hamlet. Who cared? Sorry, but, who cared about Hamlet, and Ophelia, and . . . GAH, who else was in that stupid play?!
I leant back in the chair, glaring at the roof. I was going to fail. I couldn't even get Adam, my best friend, so how could I do this even?
It was DUE IN NEXT PERIOD.
I lay my head on in my arms, feeling a rush of panic and depression.
Why was it so cold?
I couldn't write five pages in now - I checked my watch - fifteen minutes! Oh, crap. I felt myself starting to panic. Mr Henry would be totally disappointed with me. "This isn't like you, CeeCee." Or worse . . . "I'm going to have to fail you in Lit. You can't cut it."
Or the worst . . .
"Susannah Simon just asked Adam McTavish out, and he said yes. Isn't that glorious, CeeCee? . . . CeeCee?"
'CeeCee? CeeCee Webb, right?'
I sat up abruptly. Oh no, I'd been dozing! What, was this the teacher from the next class, coming to tell me to WAKE UP AND GET THE HELL OUT OF HER CLASSROOM . . . or just to quietly leave? I jerked up blearily, looking around in alarm. 'Sorry! I fell asleep, I'll go -'
'I thought it was you. Yeah . . . not that many albinos at the Mission. Funny that,' drawled that I recognized, to my irritation.
Paul Slater.
Tall, dark, handsome Paul Slater. My momentary hero of a couple of weeks ago, when he dissed Kelly Prescott. Arch nemesis in the Vice President thing. The only thing that Suze was scared of. Which is saying a LOT. I kind of swallowed when I saw him there . . .
Again, I quickly looked at my watch . . . it had only been another five minutes! There was still ten, to write -
A whole five pages?
Face it, Cee. You are screwed.
I glared at Paul. 'I'm kind of busy,' I snapped.
What? That Student Government thing had me PISSED, okay? Excuse ME for being hostile, but when you get into politics . . . you'll understand, okay?
'Yeah, I noticed. Working on that snore takes a lot of concentration,' he nodded seriously, sitting on the desk in front of me. I shifted back a little, feeling nervous all of a sudden. This was . . . a guy. A very good- looking guy at that. Within ten meters of me, no less. And more still, looking at me. Me, the albino.
Not Suze, the babe.
I blinked at him. 'Er . . . hi.'
He smiled down at me, and I noted with approval - okay, maybe a little admiration - that his hair looked perfect, even in the dim light of the room.
Adam's was always a mess.
'Hi,' he said.
I stared at him. What was he doing here? Why wasn't he chasing after Suze, as per usual?
'Um . . . you want anything, at all?' I asked with a weird look.
His eyes seemed to flash a little there, with some vagueness. 'Actually, yeah. I was hoping that I could catch you alone.'
My heart skipped a beat.
'Er . . . '
He seemed to find my very critical case of er-ititis kind of funny. If the way he grinned more widely was any indication. Again, I felt myself flush. Aw, crap.
I was blushing. CeeCee Webb does not blush.
And the worst thing, on my skin, it's kind of obvious? Yeah.
Paul leaned in a little closer to me, and I swallowed. Hard. My white hair fell by my face, and I went kind of cold with nerves. 'I wanted to ask you about . . . Suze.'
. . . Suze?
'Oh.'
Yeah, I'll admit it. I was kind of . . . you know, put out. You know? That he was asking for Suze, I mean. Because yeah, I already knew that it's Suze that everyone wants. But . . . well, I just thought that maybe . . . when he said "alone" that he . . . anyone might want to say something to me.
But no.
They wanted to talk about Suze.
It was always Suze.
As I inwardly groaned for my pathetic woes, I forced out a half smile. 'Sorry, I don't know where she is. She's not here. So, yeah.'
His gaze . . . wow. It was so . . . intense. The irises of his eyes looked like they'd been had sculpted from thousands of tiny ice shards. They made me feel kind of prickly along my neck. 'Uh, I noticed that.'
Yeah, Cee. He noticed that, you loser.
Again, I blinked at him. 'Er . . . well, what then?' I shuffled in my chair, and looked with disappointment down at my blank page. It had my name in a hurried scrawl at the top, and the date opposite that. Other than that, it was empty. A white, empty space.
What I felt like, half the time.
Only having my name, and my whiteness.
He cocked his head to the side, staring at me. It was kind of freaking me out. I'm not used to people staring at me, you know? Especially guys. So, whether it was because I had a huge pimple on my face, or I had suddenly become dazzlingly attractive, I wasn't to know. Because he opened his mouth - wow, even his lips were perfect - and said in a voice like tame, soft thunder, 'Well . . . I think that you and I both know that I have a thing for Suze.'
Yeah, Cee. A thing for Suze. Don't sound so disappointed.
'Yeah,' I said coolly - well, I thought it sounded cool, sue me? - 'I picked up on that.'
He grinned. 'And, I was kind of hoping that you could, you know? Give me some - '
Tongue?
' - Inside information.'
Oh.
Ew, I'm such a loser. No, I wouldn't have kissed him. Icky, ew. But . . . it would have been sweet to ask, you know? To give me the satisfaction of slapping him and all, and saying, "No! My heart - and my tongue - belongs to Adam dearest, you will never have me! Or my . . . er, tongue . . . "
Whoa. Even my thoughts are lame.
I raised my eyebrows at him. 'Uh . . . I think that as the loyal friend, I'm not supposed to do that. Suze really, really doesn't like you.'
Paul's look hardened. 'That's what I'm trying to change,' he said.
And if I'm not mistaken, I could have SWORN that I heard a very subtle threat in his tone. Who was HE to threaten ME?! Um, rude?
Well, I wasn't telling him anything about Suze. He could go screw hims-
'I really shouldn't,' I said quickly, starting to get annoyed. Okay, freaked. I mean, seriously. Comes in here, interrupts my - not so active - essay writing . . . okay, my sleep, and demands Susie gossip? Um . . . no.
'Look,' he said, standing up again, so he was looking right down at me. I felt my eyebrows shoot up in something like alarm. His bottom lip looked determined and yeah, choleric too. 'All I want is to know some stuff. I'm not going to stalk her or anything, God.' He then made my breathing quicken, as he bent forward, rested his hands over my blank essay paper, and leaned very close to me.
Argh, this wasn't good.
His eyes narrowed at me a little, and he seemed to be searching . . . narcotizing me. I felt a strange tingle in my head, and kind of felt . . . you know . . . dizzy . . .
And then, I realized that, hey, it wouldn't be so bad to tell him everything he wanted to know . . . laah. No big, right?
'All I want you to say,' he said with a kind of sensual melody in his tone, 'Is . . . has she said anything about me?'
Ugh, dizzy . . .
I blinked up at him. 'Yeah . . . stuff.'
. . . Dizzier . . .
He smiled slightly. 'I thought as much,' he said, and his eyes raked over my face. 'What did she say?'
Feeling extremely light-headed by then, I frowned a bit. 'She said that . . . well, she hates you. And she said something about Jesse.'
His eyes kind of flashed darkly then, and I felt a jolt in my head. I winced and held my forehead quickly.
'Sorry,' he said in a throw-away manner.
'For what?' I wanted to know.
'Uh . . . nothing.'
This was confusing . . . Aw, man . . . I felt kind of giddy. Like, I'd just fallen a hundred meters, and I had stopped very quickly. 'What did she say about Jesse?' he urged on.
I frowned some more, and stared at his darkly tanned hands that were still over my yet-to-be-written essay. 'Why should I tell you -'
'Because,' he said, 'I think I have a right to know.'
'And why is that?' I hissed at him icily.
'Well, I really want to get back into her good books. I kind of screwed up when she came over to my house that time. She's a great kisser, if you wanted to know. Not that you would . . . she's probably too – feminine for your liking,' he smiled, looking kind of smug.
Suze . . . oh my God . . .
My eyes widened as I looked elsewhere. Suze had . . . they'd done –
Argh, shut up, Cee.
But . . . whoa . . . I never thought that they'd – that Suze would just – with Paul.
Whoa.
THAT was why Suze hated him?! What, too SMALL?!
EWW! STOP THINKING, damn it!
'Look at me,' he murmured. With a glare, my eyes snapped back to his, and - aaah . . . I really need to get more sleep. I couldn't go to school feeling all fuzzy like this, it wasn't good. I sure as hell couldn't write essays, when I could barely think . . .
My vision kind of swam . . . his face seemed to jump all around, first left, then diagonally right, the up, then swept up in blackness . . . and then in front of me again . . .
Ow.
His eyes narrowed at me a little . . . 'I'll ask again. What did she say about Jesse?'
With a very dim-witted expression, I said, sounding extremely drunk, 'She said that you were trying to break them up. And that she hated you. And that she hoped your nose really ached.'
His eyes flickered a little, and I felt my mind whir. Like something from inside was prodding my brain. Poke, poke . . .
'What else? Has she said anything else about me?' he demanded, leaning a little closer.
I could feel his breath on my face now . . . and all I wanted to do was sleep. I tell you, if Adam ever declares his undying love for me, I'm so going to just look at him and start snoring, aren't I?
'She said that . . . you were the person she trusted least in the world, and that she didn't want to speak to you again after what you did,' I droned on. Man, I'm a bore. Any second, PAUL will be asleep.
' . . . And?' he pressed on.
I blinked, oh so intelligently, and kept staring . . . wow, his eyes were cool . . . they kind of glowed blue, and stuff . . . like they were a x-ray machine. I felt like I was being invaded or something. I know, I'm a loser. But his gaze . . . that's just how it made me feel. Like, I could tell him any secret. Like I could trust him.
But Suze didn't trust him.
Hell, Cee . . . When are you going to realize that Suze is NOT the hear all and end all of your life? Just because she had a problem with this guy, didn't mean that you couldn't trust him. So what about the Student Government thing? Maybe there was a misunderstanding or something? Right? I could give him the benefit of the doubt, couldn't I? Paul Slater, right now, seemed . . . sincere.
And all I could do was blink at him like a slack-jawed loser.
Man, I suck at first impressions, and all impressions after that.
'She . . . hasn't said anything else,' I whispered to him, feeling lighter . . . and lighter . . . I felt like a bubble, and I was floating in the breeze . . . just waiting to pop of a blade of glass or something.
Lighter . . . lighter . . .
'Are you sure?' he implored, watching me with more intensity.
And lighter . . .
'Yeah,' I breathed, 'I'm sorry, I don't know anything else about -'
My bubble popped.
I plummeted back down to earth with a horrible rush. Like, all the blood had come back to my head, very suddenly. DAMN, it hurt!
'Ow . . . ' I massaged my knuckles on both of my temples, 'Sorry . . . headache . . . '
He smirked at me, looking . . . well, kind of disappointed. 'Yeah, I have that effect on people.' His eyes twinkled secretively. That bluish glow was gone . . . but his eyes were still so occult, and hypnotic . . .
Adam's looked like he'd just heard a bad joke all the time. Hazel, and boring. They didn't mesmerize me, by any means. They were just Adam's eyes.
I swallowed hard, realizing with a jolt, how close his face was . . . so close I could just lean forward and -
He pulled back.
I felt strange . . . really strange. Like I was half stoned or something . . . Or, half alive. Eeek. Go the soul sucking conspiracy, Cee. Paul sat on the desk in front of mine again, looking half satisfied with himself. 'So,' he said boredly, 'What are you doing?'
I looked down at my blank page and – OH NO! I ONLY HAD ANOTHER THREE MINUTES!
'Oh my God, look, you need to go, I have to write this before next period, or I am so dead,' I burbled in a frenzy, snatching up my pen. My palms felt all clammy . . . and I just felt flushed in general.
He looked at me with a mixture of boredom and sympathy. 'Oh, okay . . . what you gotta do?'
A feeling of hysteria rose in my stomach, and I felt myself starting to really seriously panic.
'A five paged essay on Hamlet for Lit. that I have to -' I stopped, and glared at him, 'Why am I telling you this?'
He shrugged, with a decisive smirk. 'You tell me.'
And then . . . oh my GOD, humiliation at its worst . . . I just . . . fell face first onto my desk, taking a siesta.
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I couldn't believe it! Falling asleep in front of a hot guy who's trying to find out about your best friend is NEVER good. But I did.
I don't know why, or hell . . . HOW, but I did. Like, someone had tranquilized me or something. Only . . . I wasn't asleep for very long at all . . . when I woke up, I found myself very, VERY confused.
Only about half a minute had passed, judging by my watch . . . but, as I peeled my face off the desk, I found myself staring at - no, not Paul, he wasn't there at all - a six page essay, written in my handwriting.
. . . What the . . . ?
I blinked in surprise, and scanned the page . . . whoa. This was stuff I didn't even KNOW. Who the hell was "Polonius"?
Was I on CRACK?
I frowned very heavily . . . maybe, um . . . maybe I'd written the essay, and had DREAMED that Paul was there . . .
WHY AM I DREAMING ABOUT PAUL SLATER?!?!
Oh, crap. This wasn't good -
Hang on. It was. Well, half good, anyway. My essay was done.
That's all that mattered at the moment . . .
I read it all very quickly, marveling at my own intelligence. Ha, half these words I didn't even know. Maybe I was just really . . . tired. Or had been hearing them on subliminal tapes, like Homer did on that episode of the Simpsons, the one to increase his vocabulary . . .
That episode that I'd watched at Adam's house . . .
Still feeling kind of freaked, I looked at my watch – ARGH! Lit. like, NOW.
Scrambling up, I staggered out the door – the open door. The one that I had made a point in closing when I had come into the classroom, as to block out the distracting sound effects of random jock punch-ups and squealing girls, blubbering about their latest woes of being dumped.
So why was it open?
. . . Oh, God. This was too much. I was groggy. I did NOT need to be thinking so much. My essay was – if I do say so myself – exceptional. I had done my thinking. I wanted to just stop it now. Stop it before I got thinking about . . .
Paul.
. . . .Crap. Too late.
There was something that was bothering me. What right did I have to be dreaming about Paul Slater?! The guy that made Susannah Simon shiver? That I was supposed to hate, for almost beating us to Vice Presidency? This wasn't good, it really wasn't. I liked Adam. So why was I getting all, you know, flushed, just thinking about this intrusive new guy?
Not the foggiest. Please tell me?
Aww, man. This wasn't good. So yeah, Adam was kind of taking a while to realize that I loved him soulfully, but . . . I didn't have to have lustful – okay, slightly boring – dreams about other guys, right? It was WRONG.
And SECONDLY – even though I AM fully aware that it was just a dream – where did I get off, telling Paul about Suze? And don't tell me that my dream was really just a message, of how I was feeling at the moment, and that I could only trust outsiders, or whatever. I don't go for the astrological, new age crap. Sorry, I don't. I like what is documented and signed by authorized people, proving something to be real, with evidence and certainty.
. . . So why was I thinking that Paul's hair was gorgeous? That it would be sooo good for him to just grab me around the waist and slam me against the lockers in the locker room and just –
Oh MAN. I need therapy! Argh, help!
This was bad. This was really bad. Why did my life suck? Why did I have to get all uncertain, at a time where I truly needed to be certain of my goals, and my life? Why did Paul have to start looking so hot? And why did it look like his nose had never really been broken, even though it had been? Was it that plastic surgeon father of his? Is THAT why he looked so perfect?!
Adam's nose has been broken twice. First he fell of the see-saw, and then Brad Ackerman punched him for Adam calling him a loser when Brad teased my freakiness aka albino appearance.
So his nose isn't the prettiest in the pageant, basically. It kind of flattened a teeny bit at the bridge. Why did I care? I mean, I've dealt with it for like, all my life, so why was it suddenly bothering me so much? That little flat bit? I mean, he got that flat bit for ME.
. . . What was it about Paul Slater that was so . . . appealing? Was it because he was so dark? Such a mystery? Something made me really, really crave to solve that mystery . . .
But what about ADAM?
. . . He had his chance. Git that he is . . . not my fault he didn't know what he had till it was gone. Well . . . almost had. He didn't exactly have anything. He didn't even WANT anything.
Then again, neither did Paul Slater.
Wrong again. Adam and Paul? They both wanted Suze.
Suze, Suze, Suze. Vice President of the sophomore class, Susannah Simon. "Oh look at my beautiful curly chocolate locks and my glittering emerald eyes and my killer figure and in one second flat I'd drop you all to join the renowned Prescott posse of bitches" Suze.
Oh my God . . . I think it's ME who has the green eyes.
I'm a green-eyed monster . . .
Shit.
Feeling very low, then, I grabbed my five textbooks from my locker, and ran to Lit. with my fool-proof essay.
God, I'm good.
And yet, at the same time, bad.
Half-and-half.
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Love Kat and Lolly.
PLEASE REVIEW!!! OOOH, what's with CeeCee and her Paul thoughts? ARGH.
We're back! Kat and Lolly, here to terrorize. I think this is a very good effort on my part, because, well . . . gah, don't be modest . . .
I PASSED OUT YESTERDAY.
TWICE.
RUSHED TO HOSPITAL. Eugh, not cool. Guys? If they say that they have to put a drip on you, say NO! I DO NOT WANT A HIDOUS BRUISE ON MY – get this – TYPING HAND!
Nurses these days . . . no appreciation for the art of Fanfiction. Tut.
Enjoy!
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Bah, recess at last. I'd just had to sit through the most boring History class ever. Not that I don't like history, hell no. Love it. But when you have to copy out the names of convicts that were shipped from France to America in the early fifteen hundreds, well, your brain would be leaking out of your ears too. So yeah, even us nerds can be bored. I could actually feel my brain turning to a greenish-brown sludge-like substance.
Only, that recess thing? Yeah, not for me. Nup, I had Literature next, and damn it, I had an essay to hand in. Minimum five pages. And I hadn't even started it. Now it is NOT like me to fall behind. No way. I'm usually on top of everything. I pride myself on my marks and stuff.
But I dunno. I haven't been feeling that "on top" lately. At all. In fact, I was lingering on the lowest rung of life's ladder.
And it sucked. Oh boy, it did.
So that was why I was still cooped up in an empty classroom during our daily twenty minutes of freedom. I had to discuss the motivations for . . . um . . . some Shakespearean guy or other . . . oh yeah. Hamlet. Aw, man, I hadn't even READ the text I was supposed to be babbling about. THIS WAS NOT GOOD.
Cee? See the F? That's your paper. Get ready for it.
I sat at one of the corner tables, tapping my pencil madly on the desk, trying to force my mind to come up with something or other about . . . something or other. Hamlet. Who cared? Sorry, but, who cared about Hamlet, and Ophelia, and . . . GAH, who else was in that stupid play?!
I leant back in the chair, glaring at the roof. I was going to fail. I couldn't even get Adam, my best friend, so how could I do this even?
It was DUE IN NEXT PERIOD.
I lay my head on in my arms, feeling a rush of panic and depression.
Why was it so cold?
I couldn't write five pages in now - I checked my watch - fifteen minutes! Oh, crap. I felt myself starting to panic. Mr Henry would be totally disappointed with me. "This isn't like you, CeeCee." Or worse . . . "I'm going to have to fail you in Lit. You can't cut it."
Or the worst . . .
"Susannah Simon just asked Adam McTavish out, and he said yes. Isn't that glorious, CeeCee? . . . CeeCee?"
'CeeCee? CeeCee Webb, right?'
I sat up abruptly. Oh no, I'd been dozing! What, was this the teacher from the next class, coming to tell me to WAKE UP AND GET THE HELL OUT OF HER CLASSROOM . . . or just to quietly leave? I jerked up blearily, looking around in alarm. 'Sorry! I fell asleep, I'll go -'
'I thought it was you. Yeah . . . not that many albinos at the Mission. Funny that,' drawled that I recognized, to my irritation.
Paul Slater.
Tall, dark, handsome Paul Slater. My momentary hero of a couple of weeks ago, when he dissed Kelly Prescott. Arch nemesis in the Vice President thing. The only thing that Suze was scared of. Which is saying a LOT. I kind of swallowed when I saw him there . . .
Again, I quickly looked at my watch . . . it had only been another five minutes! There was still ten, to write -
A whole five pages?
Face it, Cee. You are screwed.
I glared at Paul. 'I'm kind of busy,' I snapped.
What? That Student Government thing had me PISSED, okay? Excuse ME for being hostile, but when you get into politics . . . you'll understand, okay?
'Yeah, I noticed. Working on that snore takes a lot of concentration,' he nodded seriously, sitting on the desk in front of me. I shifted back a little, feeling nervous all of a sudden. This was . . . a guy. A very good- looking guy at that. Within ten meters of me, no less. And more still, looking at me. Me, the albino.
Not Suze, the babe.
I blinked at him. 'Er . . . hi.'
He smiled down at me, and I noted with approval - okay, maybe a little admiration - that his hair looked perfect, even in the dim light of the room.
Adam's was always a mess.
'Hi,' he said.
I stared at him. What was he doing here? Why wasn't he chasing after Suze, as per usual?
'Um . . . you want anything, at all?' I asked with a weird look.
His eyes seemed to flash a little there, with some vagueness. 'Actually, yeah. I was hoping that I could catch you alone.'
My heart skipped a beat.
'Er . . . '
He seemed to find my very critical case of er-ititis kind of funny. If the way he grinned more widely was any indication. Again, I felt myself flush. Aw, crap.
I was blushing. CeeCee Webb does not blush.
And the worst thing, on my skin, it's kind of obvious? Yeah.
Paul leaned in a little closer to me, and I swallowed. Hard. My white hair fell by my face, and I went kind of cold with nerves. 'I wanted to ask you about . . . Suze.'
. . . Suze?
'Oh.'
Yeah, I'll admit it. I was kind of . . . you know, put out. You know? That he was asking for Suze, I mean. Because yeah, I already knew that it's Suze that everyone wants. But . . . well, I just thought that maybe . . . when he said "alone" that he . . . anyone might want to say something to me.
But no.
They wanted to talk about Suze.
It was always Suze.
As I inwardly groaned for my pathetic woes, I forced out a half smile. 'Sorry, I don't know where she is. She's not here. So, yeah.'
His gaze . . . wow. It was so . . . intense. The irises of his eyes looked like they'd been had sculpted from thousands of tiny ice shards. They made me feel kind of prickly along my neck. 'Uh, I noticed that.'
Yeah, Cee. He noticed that, you loser.
Again, I blinked at him. 'Er . . . well, what then?' I shuffled in my chair, and looked with disappointment down at my blank page. It had my name in a hurried scrawl at the top, and the date opposite that. Other than that, it was empty. A white, empty space.
What I felt like, half the time.
Only having my name, and my whiteness.
He cocked his head to the side, staring at me. It was kind of freaking me out. I'm not used to people staring at me, you know? Especially guys. So, whether it was because I had a huge pimple on my face, or I had suddenly become dazzlingly attractive, I wasn't to know. Because he opened his mouth - wow, even his lips were perfect - and said in a voice like tame, soft thunder, 'Well . . . I think that you and I both know that I have a thing for Suze.'
Yeah, Cee. A thing for Suze. Don't sound so disappointed.
'Yeah,' I said coolly - well, I thought it sounded cool, sue me? - 'I picked up on that.'
He grinned. 'And, I was kind of hoping that you could, you know? Give me some - '
Tongue?
' - Inside information.'
Oh.
Ew, I'm such a loser. No, I wouldn't have kissed him. Icky, ew. But . . . it would have been sweet to ask, you know? To give me the satisfaction of slapping him and all, and saying, "No! My heart - and my tongue - belongs to Adam dearest, you will never have me! Or my . . . er, tongue . . . "
Whoa. Even my thoughts are lame.
I raised my eyebrows at him. 'Uh . . . I think that as the loyal friend, I'm not supposed to do that. Suze really, really doesn't like you.'
Paul's look hardened. 'That's what I'm trying to change,' he said.
And if I'm not mistaken, I could have SWORN that I heard a very subtle threat in his tone. Who was HE to threaten ME?! Um, rude?
Well, I wasn't telling him anything about Suze. He could go screw hims-
'I really shouldn't,' I said quickly, starting to get annoyed. Okay, freaked. I mean, seriously. Comes in here, interrupts my - not so active - essay writing . . . okay, my sleep, and demands Susie gossip? Um . . . no.
'Look,' he said, standing up again, so he was looking right down at me. I felt my eyebrows shoot up in something like alarm. His bottom lip looked determined and yeah, choleric too. 'All I want is to know some stuff. I'm not going to stalk her or anything, God.' He then made my breathing quicken, as he bent forward, rested his hands over my blank essay paper, and leaned very close to me.
Argh, this wasn't good.
His eyes narrowed at me a little, and he seemed to be searching . . . narcotizing me. I felt a strange tingle in my head, and kind of felt . . . you know . . . dizzy . . .
And then, I realized that, hey, it wouldn't be so bad to tell him everything he wanted to know . . . laah. No big, right?
'All I want you to say,' he said with a kind of sensual melody in his tone, 'Is . . . has she said anything about me?'
Ugh, dizzy . . .
I blinked up at him. 'Yeah . . . stuff.'
. . . Dizzier . . .
He smiled slightly. 'I thought as much,' he said, and his eyes raked over my face. 'What did she say?'
Feeling extremely light-headed by then, I frowned a bit. 'She said that . . . well, she hates you. And she said something about Jesse.'
His eyes kind of flashed darkly then, and I felt a jolt in my head. I winced and held my forehead quickly.
'Sorry,' he said in a throw-away manner.
'For what?' I wanted to know.
'Uh . . . nothing.'
This was confusing . . . Aw, man . . . I felt kind of giddy. Like, I'd just fallen a hundred meters, and I had stopped very quickly. 'What did she say about Jesse?' he urged on.
I frowned some more, and stared at his darkly tanned hands that were still over my yet-to-be-written essay. 'Why should I tell you -'
'Because,' he said, 'I think I have a right to know.'
'And why is that?' I hissed at him icily.
'Well, I really want to get back into her good books. I kind of screwed up when she came over to my house that time. She's a great kisser, if you wanted to know. Not that you would . . . she's probably too – feminine for your liking,' he smiled, looking kind of smug.
Suze . . . oh my God . . .
My eyes widened as I looked elsewhere. Suze had . . . they'd done –
Argh, shut up, Cee.
But . . . whoa . . . I never thought that they'd – that Suze would just – with Paul.
Whoa.
THAT was why Suze hated him?! What, too SMALL?!
EWW! STOP THINKING, damn it!
'Look at me,' he murmured. With a glare, my eyes snapped back to his, and - aaah . . . I really need to get more sleep. I couldn't go to school feeling all fuzzy like this, it wasn't good. I sure as hell couldn't write essays, when I could barely think . . .
My vision kind of swam . . . his face seemed to jump all around, first left, then diagonally right, the up, then swept up in blackness . . . and then in front of me again . . .
Ow.
His eyes narrowed at me a little . . . 'I'll ask again. What did she say about Jesse?'
With a very dim-witted expression, I said, sounding extremely drunk, 'She said that you were trying to break them up. And that she hated you. And that she hoped your nose really ached.'
His eyes flickered a little, and I felt my mind whir. Like something from inside was prodding my brain. Poke, poke . . .
'What else? Has she said anything else about me?' he demanded, leaning a little closer.
I could feel his breath on my face now . . . and all I wanted to do was sleep. I tell you, if Adam ever declares his undying love for me, I'm so going to just look at him and start snoring, aren't I?
'She said that . . . you were the person she trusted least in the world, and that she didn't want to speak to you again after what you did,' I droned on. Man, I'm a bore. Any second, PAUL will be asleep.
' . . . And?' he pressed on.
I blinked, oh so intelligently, and kept staring . . . wow, his eyes were cool . . . they kind of glowed blue, and stuff . . . like they were a x-ray machine. I felt like I was being invaded or something. I know, I'm a loser. But his gaze . . . that's just how it made me feel. Like, I could tell him any secret. Like I could trust him.
But Suze didn't trust him.
Hell, Cee . . . When are you going to realize that Suze is NOT the hear all and end all of your life? Just because she had a problem with this guy, didn't mean that you couldn't trust him. So what about the Student Government thing? Maybe there was a misunderstanding or something? Right? I could give him the benefit of the doubt, couldn't I? Paul Slater, right now, seemed . . . sincere.
And all I could do was blink at him like a slack-jawed loser.
Man, I suck at first impressions, and all impressions after that.
'She . . . hasn't said anything else,' I whispered to him, feeling lighter . . . and lighter . . . I felt like a bubble, and I was floating in the breeze . . . just waiting to pop of a blade of glass or something.
Lighter . . . lighter . . .
'Are you sure?' he implored, watching me with more intensity.
And lighter . . .
'Yeah,' I breathed, 'I'm sorry, I don't know anything else about -'
My bubble popped.
I plummeted back down to earth with a horrible rush. Like, all the blood had come back to my head, very suddenly. DAMN, it hurt!
'Ow . . . ' I massaged my knuckles on both of my temples, 'Sorry . . . headache . . . '
He smirked at me, looking . . . well, kind of disappointed. 'Yeah, I have that effect on people.' His eyes twinkled secretively. That bluish glow was gone . . . but his eyes were still so occult, and hypnotic . . .
Adam's looked like he'd just heard a bad joke all the time. Hazel, and boring. They didn't mesmerize me, by any means. They were just Adam's eyes.
I swallowed hard, realizing with a jolt, how close his face was . . . so close I could just lean forward and -
He pulled back.
I felt strange . . . really strange. Like I was half stoned or something . . . Or, half alive. Eeek. Go the soul sucking conspiracy, Cee. Paul sat on the desk in front of mine again, looking half satisfied with himself. 'So,' he said boredly, 'What are you doing?'
I looked down at my blank page and – OH NO! I ONLY HAD ANOTHER THREE MINUTES!
'Oh my God, look, you need to go, I have to write this before next period, or I am so dead,' I burbled in a frenzy, snatching up my pen. My palms felt all clammy . . . and I just felt flushed in general.
He looked at me with a mixture of boredom and sympathy. 'Oh, okay . . . what you gotta do?'
A feeling of hysteria rose in my stomach, and I felt myself starting to really seriously panic.
'A five paged essay on Hamlet for Lit. that I have to -' I stopped, and glared at him, 'Why am I telling you this?'
He shrugged, with a decisive smirk. 'You tell me.'
And then . . . oh my GOD, humiliation at its worst . . . I just . . . fell face first onto my desk, taking a siesta.
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I couldn't believe it! Falling asleep in front of a hot guy who's trying to find out about your best friend is NEVER good. But I did.
I don't know why, or hell . . . HOW, but I did. Like, someone had tranquilized me or something. Only . . . I wasn't asleep for very long at all . . . when I woke up, I found myself very, VERY confused.
Only about half a minute had passed, judging by my watch . . . but, as I peeled my face off the desk, I found myself staring at - no, not Paul, he wasn't there at all - a six page essay, written in my handwriting.
. . . What the . . . ?
I blinked in surprise, and scanned the page . . . whoa. This was stuff I didn't even KNOW. Who the hell was "Polonius"?
Was I on CRACK?
I frowned very heavily . . . maybe, um . . . maybe I'd written the essay, and had DREAMED that Paul was there . . .
WHY AM I DREAMING ABOUT PAUL SLATER?!?!
Oh, crap. This wasn't good -
Hang on. It was. Well, half good, anyway. My essay was done.
That's all that mattered at the moment . . .
I read it all very quickly, marveling at my own intelligence. Ha, half these words I didn't even know. Maybe I was just really . . . tired. Or had been hearing them on subliminal tapes, like Homer did on that episode of the Simpsons, the one to increase his vocabulary . . .
That episode that I'd watched at Adam's house . . .
Still feeling kind of freaked, I looked at my watch – ARGH! Lit. like, NOW.
Scrambling up, I staggered out the door – the open door. The one that I had made a point in closing when I had come into the classroom, as to block out the distracting sound effects of random jock punch-ups and squealing girls, blubbering about their latest woes of being dumped.
So why was it open?
. . . Oh, God. This was too much. I was groggy. I did NOT need to be thinking so much. My essay was – if I do say so myself – exceptional. I had done my thinking. I wanted to just stop it now. Stop it before I got thinking about . . .
Paul.
. . . .Crap. Too late.
There was something that was bothering me. What right did I have to be dreaming about Paul Slater?! The guy that made Susannah Simon shiver? That I was supposed to hate, for almost beating us to Vice Presidency? This wasn't good, it really wasn't. I liked Adam. So why was I getting all, you know, flushed, just thinking about this intrusive new guy?
Not the foggiest. Please tell me?
Aww, man. This wasn't good. So yeah, Adam was kind of taking a while to realize that I loved him soulfully, but . . . I didn't have to have lustful – okay, slightly boring – dreams about other guys, right? It was WRONG.
And SECONDLY – even though I AM fully aware that it was just a dream – where did I get off, telling Paul about Suze? And don't tell me that my dream was really just a message, of how I was feeling at the moment, and that I could only trust outsiders, or whatever. I don't go for the astrological, new age crap. Sorry, I don't. I like what is documented and signed by authorized people, proving something to be real, with evidence and certainty.
. . . So why was I thinking that Paul's hair was gorgeous? That it would be sooo good for him to just grab me around the waist and slam me against the lockers in the locker room and just –
Oh MAN. I need therapy! Argh, help!
This was bad. This was really bad. Why did my life suck? Why did I have to get all uncertain, at a time where I truly needed to be certain of my goals, and my life? Why did Paul have to start looking so hot? And why did it look like his nose had never really been broken, even though it had been? Was it that plastic surgeon father of his? Is THAT why he looked so perfect?!
Adam's nose has been broken twice. First he fell of the see-saw, and then Brad Ackerman punched him for Adam calling him a loser when Brad teased my freakiness aka albino appearance.
So his nose isn't the prettiest in the pageant, basically. It kind of flattened a teeny bit at the bridge. Why did I care? I mean, I've dealt with it for like, all my life, so why was it suddenly bothering me so much? That little flat bit? I mean, he got that flat bit for ME.
. . . What was it about Paul Slater that was so . . . appealing? Was it because he was so dark? Such a mystery? Something made me really, really crave to solve that mystery . . .
But what about ADAM?
. . . He had his chance. Git that he is . . . not my fault he didn't know what he had till it was gone. Well . . . almost had. He didn't exactly have anything. He didn't even WANT anything.
Then again, neither did Paul Slater.
Wrong again. Adam and Paul? They both wanted Suze.
Suze, Suze, Suze. Vice President of the sophomore class, Susannah Simon. "Oh look at my beautiful curly chocolate locks and my glittering emerald eyes and my killer figure and in one second flat I'd drop you all to join the renowned Prescott posse of bitches" Suze.
Oh my God . . . I think it's ME who has the green eyes.
I'm a green-eyed monster . . .
Shit.
Feeling very low, then, I grabbed my five textbooks from my locker, and ran to Lit. with my fool-proof essay.
God, I'm good.
And yet, at the same time, bad.
Half-and-half.
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Love Kat and Lolly.
PLEASE REVIEW!!! OOOH, what's with CeeCee and her Paul thoughts? ARGH.
