Author's Note[Kaile]- Want to know something sad? Of course you do. When Jessi's not going homework (which is seldom thus the less than frequent updates) we sit here and brainstorm angst.

Supergurl181 (Jessi): and THAT drives him off

Supergurl181: and then he tries to kill himself

Supergurl181: resulting in adam and casey angst?

Supergurl181: should i kill hallie?

Laffytaffyislife (Kaile): eh nah

laffytaffyislife: too insig to use death on

laffytaffyislife: we must use it wisely

Supergurl181: yes

Just a short snipet which accomplishes nothing. Jessi wrote Guy, I wrote Connie and Charlie, sorry it's choppy and gross. I had to write a letter to get my brother into the Catholic school near my house for my mum and that threw my groove off and now my mind has gone to crap. Once again all feedback is more than appreciated.

Disclaimer- Ducks go to The Mouse, "OC"s go to their figure in reality. Whatever you get the idea, I'm not funny nor creative.

~*~

Reviewer shout outs-

[Padfoots Pirate] Well you finally saw the movies Kaitlin ;-) I'm so proud. Now you can understand what's going on. Tell me if you're out looking for food anytime soon, I'd be glad to come along.

[D.L. SchizoAuthoress] On the behalf of both Jessica and myself, we're honoured for you to leave a review, let alone read this. Thanks for the compliments and take your time reading ;-) We're slow updaters.

[crazy4nc128] Thanks :-)

[C-Chan96] Yes, Banksie is very much so in denial. We're attempting some Charlie angst here. It may be subpar, but I need to start breaking my angst block somewhere.

[KShyne99] Ha good, I like writing the Connie plot. And that's a good idea. The transitions are very choppy, I've noticed that, but at the same time am not sure how to fix it. I suppose it's just the style of the plot, separate scenes and people and times. But I'll make an honest effort to improve, I know it needs done. Thanks.

[The Artist Formerly Known as Q] Just as in the case of Schizo, we're honoured. Lol, don't worry about the adjectives, it's a work in progress. I need to stop using them and start using better verbs. Makes things more clear ;-) I've tried to figure how else to tie all the subplots together but have gotten no where, so I'm glad you're managing the skippy, spastic way things are turning out. Thank you :-)

[L.M. Lachance] laffytaffyislife: write a response

Supergurl181: yay! *waves flag* I'm glad i could turn you towards bash slash.  And it's always great to hear positive feedback about our writing

[NyGoldfish54] Ah, thank you regardless for your faithful reviewing. It always makes me happy to see I have a new review in my e-mail.

[marina] Wow, you make an excellent point. I never picked up on the swearing (nor did Jessi, her usage surprises me, she's far more clean than myself) but after reading your review I went and re-read the entire story with an eye out for cussing. Sure enough every chapter, heh. I guess it's natural for me, seeing the hockey environment that I've grown up in. Locker rooms are far from clean places (both verbally and physically) and it becomes second nature for us when we leave. So while it (from my experience) reflects how a hockey team talks I can definitely see how it's getting overwhelming. I'll try to use it only in places where it should be. Adam is certainly dealing with some 'issues', but we're trying not to angstify him too much, seeing as everyone in this story is bordering on angsty-Sue. Our updates are few and far between, I have awful ADD and am spacy while Jessi spends many hours studying like the good person she is. Hope you continue to read, thanks for the feedback!

~*~

 Guy stared at the grain of the cheap wood of his desk.  Not entirely sure what had just happened. 

"I don't need you… you're a pompous little bitch."  Maybe it hadn't really happened.  He couldn't think of saying that to his Connie.  His sweet Connie Mereau.  And she couldn't have… no.  It had never happened, she wouldn't. They hadn't just broken up.  But she never returned your calls. Ever.   A nagging voice in his head taunted.   He wouldn't believe that she had had… sex with another guy.  She was also living with a guy, what was his name? Chris? What if his friends… what if she was raped and ashamed? I'm not there for her.  She might need me.  He became frantic and called her phone again. 

"Hello? Connie?"  He asked into the receiver when the incessant ringing had stopped.

"Fuck off bastard." And she hung up.

They had broken up?  No.  But she- he ran a hand through his tangle of curly hair and rubbed his face.  How had that happened? He didn't understand anything anymore.   Fumbling the two paces to his bed, he flopped into it, burying his head into his pillow.  Screw classes.

Slowly he drifted off again still tripping over the same redundant questions.  Guy didn't notice his pillow was damp, nor did he recognize the fear growing in his stomach.  Perhaps he was just in denial. It was going to be a long night.

~*~

Connie wiggled uncomfortably on the cheap wooden bleachers which she assumed was manufactured the year the school opened, aka 1973, along with the nauseating orange lights that reflected off the walls. A short, somewhat crazed man was pacing along the court directing half the class of apathetic teenagers in a game of floor hockey, randomly yelling out comments such as 'FOCUS! Be the tiger ladies and gentlemen!' and 'The goal is a castle, you are a princess your defense is a moat, AHHH!!!!". The other half wasn't dressed out, not that Renes cared, they all received passing grades anyway, and consisted of a couple giggling, make up caked girls who had walked out of the gym within the first four minutes of class, like they did everyday, an overweight black girl who sat alone in the corner engrossed in a book, and Connie. She hadn't gotten over the original shock that she wasn't in the mood for floor hockey the second day of class and was now just miserable. No one should be punished with gym first hour alone...

Shifting again, attempting to take a bite of a graham cracker she had grabbed from the Miller's pantry that morning, she couldn't help but wonder what had gotten into her lately. She had been sickeningly disintegrated from her surroundings, and the excuses of altitude sickness and a new state were no longer viable. She was sluggish and moody, something Donna had sympathetically attributed to a stomach virus that had been going around. Regardless of how sick she was or how clingy Guy was, she was second guessing her flat out bitchy reaction to him. Imagining her boyfriend so broken over her was enough to make her want to burst into tears, if at the same time the mouthful of honey graham cracker wasn't on the way back up her throat, prompting her to sprint out of the gym towards the bathroom. Maybe Donna had been right, she should have stayed home and slept.

~*~

Charlie was surprised that he had been able to pull off his facade for the last week without breaking down. He was constantly skating the line between mental and emotional collapse, yet he was past the edge of hysterics and was verging on a complete breakdown which would involve him collapsing the floor silently, unable to move, to talk, or to think. He had been testing his strength, the weight of his musings building up pressure against his rusty and weak mental boundaries, which were now pulsing with fatigue. An entire week he had not only refrained from showing the slightest bit of negative emotion, he had been able to pull of a cheerful demeanor.

But he couldn't take it anymore. He quickened his pace through the commons, the path masked by the dusk that had fallen, the chilly air biting at his exposed skin. His duffle bag was more than likely still sitting abandoned in the apartment complex basement so he had been forced to beg Adam for clothes, which he had willingly lent his roommate, but not without suspicion. The only plausible excuse he could muster was that the detergent had gone bad, ruining the entire load. It still left Banks with an air of doubt, but he was able to obtain the stiff corduroy jacket, two pairs of khaki pants, a couple polo shirts and boxers, which Charlie was oblivious to his friend's blushing as he handed them over. He had willingly worn the jacket over the shirts, to cover his arms, to avoid any questioning.

He knew he had sunk low. Typical teenage angst scarred his arms, with a piece of scrap metal stolen from none other than his science classroom. He had hit some kind of rock bottom, insulting everything that he was under the impression that he stood for. Yet his morality must have been thrown out the window for good when he had left the apartment that night, when his mother, his only family, had disowned him.

His thoughts were no longer coherent. He was unable to sleep, incomplete thoughts constantly echoing in his head at night, long hours spent watching the ceiling and the poetic rise and fall of Adam's shallow breathing. In return he attempted to vent the pent up energy through extra devotion to practice, skating every drill at one hundred percent, staying after for laps. Yet it had failed, increasing his struggle to keep his emotions under his veneer, all of which had decreased his appetite. Luckily he had never been a success in the classroom, or his grades would have plunged from the fatigue.

Unaware of what he was doing, he briskly walked towards the main building on the edge of the campus. Towards the back stairway that led up along the back of the aging stone building, towards the greenhouse and up another flight of murky chilling steps to the top tower of the roof. To the place so high above the problems that life on the ground possessed, he wasn't sure if he ever planned on returning.