Hehe! Okay, it's not a one-shot then. You've inspired us to casually-continue.

Lolly and Hayley.

- 8 -

History. Last period. Tuesday. Boooored.

Another vocabulary worksheet. They serve no other purpose except to be used as busy work. Mr. Walden was just a little behind on his grading, especially since he assigns essays daily.

'All right, guys. Do your work,' he said, causing everyone to groan. Everyone pulled out their history books to look up the words, except for me. I had better things to do. Like chat up Suze.

'Our big lesson's in an hour.' I whispered to Suze, who was sitting in front of me. I could tell she really wasn't concentrating on her worksheet.

I wasn't either. Utter boredom deserves company.

I wasn't really concentrating on my worksheet. I think that must have been obvious. I was staring at the space where my name was supposed to go. Suze Simon . . . Susannah Simon . . . Miss Ackerman . . . I got called a lot of things, didn't I?

. . . Querida.

With an irritated look, I wrote that, and leant back so Paul could see it.

I was trying to forget about our 'big lesson.' It sounded kinky when you said it like that.

Learning about all things BIG.

Then Paul certainly couldn't come.

Yeah. You heard me.

Hmph.

The word Querida in its midnight black ink, sneered at me from her worksheet. It mocked me. I tried to ignore it by saying, 'How is Queer-ido, by the way? Have you told him about Tennis yet?'

No.

'Yes,' I lied.

'Really? What does he think about you taking lessons with me?'

Had she even told him?

I bet she hadn't.

'Sure,' I said.

I raised my eyebrow. She was obviously distracted. 'Sure?' I asked. 'He thinks 'sure' about me being your tennis instructor?'

Or maybe she was lying.

That's it. She didn't tell him.

Of course he wouldn't think 'sure.' A) He's from 1850. B) He's not all that into Paul.

. . . And for that, I'm seriously glad. Jesse already runs the risk of homosexuality in those tight pants.

Which look HOT.

But a little . . . not so straight, if you catch my drift.

I tried describing them to CeeCee once. She asked if he was a nineteenth century gigolo or something, and I elbowed her.

'You didn't tell him about the lessons, did you?'

'Hmm?' I said, hearing perfectly, but stalling.

'Jesse doesn't know you've taken up tennis.'

My mind was still on that kiss from yesterday . . . I'd been thinking about it all night.

'What do you CARE?' I hissed at him.

I smiled. It's great to be right. 'You didn't tell him because you don't want him to know how much time you'll be spending with me. Alone.'

I shiver crept up my spine, as if he was trailing fingers across the naked skin of my back.

But he wasn't. His voice just had that effect,

. . . Alone . . .

'I'm busy,' I said huffily, leaning over my paper.

Thinking of how he'd kissed my neck . . .

Like he never wanted to stop.

Like I never wanted him to -

SNAP OUT OF IT, YOU FOOLISH EARTHLING.

With another shiver, I edged my chair away from him a little.

Two hours. A TWO HOUR LESSON.

. . . I hoped that he wouldn't make me wear the uniform . . .

She pretended to be busy in her worksheet. But I knew that she was spacing out. About what, who knows? Probably imagining what Jesse would look like without the spurs. Spurs. Hah. What a joke.

Seconds ticked by. I hadn't done a single thing on the sheet, except my name.

Which wasn't all that much, since I'd written Querida as a joke, even.

Maybe I could like, set fire to my work, and after sobbing in trauma, say I'd been almost finished . . . and then the terrible tragedy of inferno had claimed my intelligence . . . but then, Mr Walden would sympathetically make me start again. Bummer.

Mum had been so thrilled when I'd told her I'd made it onto tennis.

Gah . . . evil mother of hell . . . SHE PLANNED THIS ALL. IT WAS HER PLOT TO MAKE ME EXHIBIT PREENING BEHAVIOUR FOR PAUL SLATER.

I turned towards Paul. 'Can I changed the day to Thursday?' I asked hopefully, 'Just, you know, I don't really feel up to - um, I mean, I have homework from - yeah, I love my homework,' I finished lamely, and just turned around, not bothering with the reply, because I knew what it'd be that THAT blistering argument.

'Thursday's no good for me. Sorry,' I replied. Well, any day would be good for me, but I knew she was just trying to get out of the lesson today. And you know I won't let her escape . . . this time.

I swallowed a little. 'Right,' I said.

I got some WhiteOut, and erased the ink up the top where it said Querida, and I wrote in a bubbly 'Suze.'

I'm such loser.

No longer Jesse's Querida, eh? Just Suze.

Then, I forced myself to answer the first six questions briefly. Then I stopped again. Seven more minutes of class now.

As much as History bores the slimy hell outta me . . . I wanted it to last longer. Postpone this stupid Tennis one-on-one.

God . . . I got a chill thinking about it, even.

I saw her shiver as if she got a chill. She had been doing that a lot today. I wonder who's involved in that? I'll give you three guesses.

Yeah. Me, myself and Irene.

I couldn't wait until the lessons. I didn't really know where to start with tennis. I was more concerned with what happened at the lessons, not what to teach her.

It was, after all, just going to be the two of us.

Oh God . . . it was going to be just us. On an empty tennis court.

Not that Paul's probably thinking about that. He's probably wondering about stupid volleys and stuff.

. . . Yeah, Suze. And there ISN'T tripe in Chicken McNuggets.

Isn't nugget a funny word? Ha. Ha. Ha . . .

The minutes crawled slowly. I just wanted History to be over. I looked at my worksheet and then looked at my book. I guess I should start working on it. But I was just so distracted . . . thinking about our little escapade yesterday. My mind flashed back, and I could just feel her lips on mine again. I could feel her smooth skin beneath my fingertips they grazed her cheek . . .

I'm smitten. Obsessed. Almost unhealthily.

But it didn't matter to me. I wanted her to give up the charade and just give in. Give in to temptation . . . give in to me. And GIVE UP ON JESSE.

What would it take?

Nugget. Nuuuuuuh-gget . . .

What can I do to make her mine?

McNuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh-gget.

How could I get her to want me?

NUGGET!

Wow. I'm deep. Cool.

'Hey, maybe after our one-on-one we could have dinner together at my place? My grandpa's day attendant is an excellent cook.'

And have McNuggets -

'NO.' I snapped out of it. 'Nice try, Sparky,' I added. 'My step-dad's a better cook. The best.'

'I don't believe you. Not until I try it myself. You'll just have to invite me over one night,' I said charmingly.

I gave him a withering look.

I dipped my voice low, 'You know, tennis makes you very hungry. You'll change your mind after our lesson, I'm sure.'

If it's not because she's hungry for food, it'll be because she's hungry for a little something else . . .

For me.

I gave her my trademark grin.

'I'm sure I won't be,' I said, suppressing another shiver.

Yeah. Right.

'All right,' I said. I went back to my worksheet, which I completed in about two seconds. Seriously. Democracy, Theocracy, Monarchy, Tyranny . . .

What the HELL was autocracy? I stared at it, frowning. I didn't want to, like, ask Paul though. That would suck.

She was struggling with her worksheet, I could tell with some satisfaction. Not that I wanted her to fail. I just knew her thoughts were elsewhere, possibly thinking about our impending lessons.

'You know, tennis takes up a lot of time. If you ever get behind in your studies, Suze, I'll be glad to offer my services as a tutor.'

Oh, Jesus. This was REALLY going too far -

'Okay, times up. Write your name at the top, and then stand if you've finished. Those who haven't can stay until they're done - no, Ackerman, I don't care if you have to get home,' Mr Walden glared.

My face brightened, as I saw my half-done worksheet.

'Darn,' I said to Paul. 'I might be late, Slater.'

I hadn't written my name on my sheet. But I had an idea. I scribbled Suze's name on my page and quickly swapped our papers, snatching the WhiteOut while I was at it, and putting my name on her paper. I stood up quickly.

Mr. Walden looked disappointed. 'Paul, you didn't finish?'

I just stared at him with wide eyes.

But - WHAT?

'Sorry, sir. My mind must be elsewhere,' I said, with a quick glance at Suze.

Mr. Walden shook his head. 'Get to work, then. Everyone else may leave. Hand me your sheets as you come out the door.'

I was appalled, and I couldn't barely speak.

Numbly, I picked up Paul's sheet. How could Mr Walden NOT notice that it wasn't my handwriting?

. . . Paul's a Jumbo Dumbo.

Gah.

However, he didn't. Mr Walden didn't notice, I mean.

Brad hadn't finished his either.

But he was trying to get some nerd, Alison Sharp, to tell him what Theocracy was. Death threats and everything.

'I'll kill your dog,' I heard him snap.

'I don't have a dog,' she said coolly, leaving the class.

He glared at Paul, and then at me, before biting his tongue in angry thought, scribbling God knows what on his paper and shoving it at Mr Walden.

I left the classroom to go to my locker.

Adam was there, with CeeCee. 'Hey, Susie-muffin,' Adam wiggled his eyebrows at me. 'God, that shirt is doing things to me.' He made a big production of um . . . holding somewhere down south, whispering 'Down, get DOWN!' in mumbled tones. CeeCee swiped him across the head.

Charming.

'Suze, me and Adam are going to the mall,' CeeCee said. 'You wanna try and get over that fear that you have?'

Well, at least I didn't have to tell them about tennis.

'Definitely not,' I said.

'Aww, come on,' Adam whined. 'Do not subject me to three hours with Miss Webb here. I can only handle so much white.'

CeeCee gave him a jokey glare.

'Nah, can't,' I muttered regretfully.

Believe me. Sensory overload would beat spending time with Paul.

Because in a way, that was sensory overload, too.

I was able to finish the worksheet in two seconds flat. I handed it in to Mr. Walden, and walked out. Suze was with her friends

Adam looked past my face.

CeeCee's look went stony.

'Your stalker's arrived,' she mumbled bitterly.

I went over to Suze and leaned against a locker. 'You better get changed, Suze. You're going to be late for our lessons.'

'I resent that,' Adam said defiantly. 'That is officially my job.'

CeeCee gave me a curious look.

I blushed horribly, and shot a dark look at Paul.

'Thanks genius,' I said to CeeCee. 'You didn't bother telling me WHO the Tennish Captain was.'

TO MY HORROR, CEECEE'S FACE CRACKED INTO AN EVIL GRIN, RIGHT ALONG WITH ADAM'S.

Before I could demand if she'd KNOWN ALL ALONG, and call her a WORM and possibly a BITCH, Paul spoke again.

'Mr. Thompson has your uniform. Don't be late,' I said. I gave her a quick wink and left to go change.

With a glare at CeeCee, I asked calmly, yet furiously, 'Did you set me up for that?'

She grinned. 'Actually, no. But it's pretty funny,' she admitted.

I exploded, 'IT IS NOT!!!'

'HE'S INVITED ME FOR DINNER!'

Adam started laughing heartily. 'Oh, this is good . . . '

'IT IS NOT.'

CeeCee was smirking.

'Sure it is.'

I swear - they have no clue - NO CLUE AT ALL.

'You're evil,' I informed them icily, before turning and heading relucantly to the Sports Office. They were both still laughing at me.

I put on my tennis uniform, which was pure white. As I was lacing my shoes, my reflection caught in the mirror in the locker room. I stood up and looked at myself.

What was wrong with me? Why didn't Suze want me?

No deformities to speak of. No third heads or webbed feet. I checked my breath . . . it was good too. Minty fresh. I'd popped in a Listerine strip in earlier.

And it wasn't like I was unapproachable. I had been approaching HER for Christ's sake.

It's because I'm not Jesse.

That's it.

I went into Mr Thompson's office. He wasn't in. I saw a uniform on his desk with a post-it sticky note. 'SIMON.'

That's me.

Well, you know what? I can wear the frilly shirt. The spurs too. I draw the line at the tight black pants, though.

I took it, sighing. And then I went to the girls change rooms. The skirt was short, and pleated, and looked really cute. The top was a little small, but it just looked fitted, rather than loose.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

Why did Paul want me?

I mean, I'm nothing special. I don't look like a loser, or anything. I'm pretty, I guess. But . . . I dunno. I was so cold to him. So why did he bother?

My hair was nice, I'll give me that.

But . . . I dunno. Wasn't I just average looking?

At least I wasn't flat chested. That would suck.

I sighed at my reflection. Maybe I'm not as perfect as I'd like to think. Girls liked me. But not Suze.

I lifted my racket over my shoulder and left the locker room, heading for the courts. They were empty, of course, because Mr. Thompson had let me borrow them in order to give Suze more instruction.

I hit the ball and bounced it off the wall, coming back to me. I hit it back quickly, increasing the pace.

'Think of the ball as something you hate,' my dad told me when he first taught me to play.

Glumly, I left the change room, hating Paul.

Well, at the time the face was that of my own father. I was mad at him for making me play. Tennis became an outlet for my anger and frustrations. Hitting all of my annoyances away.

Hating him. Stupid Tennis Captain-y loser . . .

This one's for Suze's inability to see we were meant to be. Smack. This one's for Suze's undying love for someone of the undead. Whack. This one is for that undead person, Jesse. SLAM.

And this one is for –

Damn.

Suze looked hot.

Again, Paul looked like some sun-bleached Apollo or something. I hate him even more . . . watch me foam at the mouth . . . and bark . . . grrrr, argh.

Okay, not so much with the foaming. Or barking.

. . . Foam would have been white though. I'd be colour coordinated.

Whatever

I gave Paul a prudish look. 'I need a racket,' I said, knowing perfectly that my heart was beating that little bit faster now that I'd seen him again.

She looked like a little angel all dressed in white. Sent from heaven to save my dark soul.

I quickly handed her the extra racket I had. It would be a little big for her, but I figured I could buy her a new one.

'Here. Take this.'

I took it grumpily.

Okay, maybe not so grumpily as nervously.

But let's not get catty.

I smiled at her with a smile that I knew would melt her. I saw her shiver again. 'Let's hit the courts,' I suggested. 'That one over there is in the shade . . . '

A little chill ran down my arms. I still stood there, blinking. Suddenly, you know, wishing that maybe my shirt could have been a little longer . . . ?

'Come on, Suze,' I called back to her, 'Let's get started.'

Was it just me or was this a little awkward?

This was SO awkward.

She still stood there, so I grabbed her hand and pulled her to the shady court. She looked at me with her wide eyes, half scared half curious.

At the moment of contact, my nervous system started going haywire again.

Like my arm had been stung like a bee.

Only, in a good way.

. . . Is that possible?

Gah.

I'm insane.

Teehee.

I had to fight the urge to look her up and down. Seriously, her skirt was short and her shirt fit tightly . . . hugging her curves perfectly. It wasn't fair.

When we were both standing in the shaded court, I again, gave him a look and said, ' . . . So????'

I shook my head to gather my thoughts. 'Let's begin. I'll be on the other side, and I want you to hit the ball to me, okay?'

I went to the other side and waited for her to hit the ball to me

I hit the ball to him.

. . . Only logical, after all.

It was kind of a bad hit, too. Too weak.

'I suck at tennis,' I informed him.

There wasn't even a net.

How sad.

'Don't say that,' I told her. Her lower lip jutted out in a cute little pout. 'I'll give you a tip my dad gave me. Hit the ball like it's something you hate.'

I gave him a sweet smile. 'Okay,' I said. 'That won't be hard.'

I returned to my spot and waited for her to hit the ball. And she did hit it. HARD. I know because it actually hit me square in the forehead, and completely knocked me out for a few moments.

I would have been shocked, or horrified, if it had have been anyone else. But it wasn't. So I just giggled helplessly, my hand over my mouth.

Teehee. Loser.

Blackness . . . was all I saw . . .

Ugh.

With the roll of my eyes, I moved over to him. 'Paul?' I poked him.

Um . . . 'Paul?' I asked, a little more worried.

I knelt down next to him. 'Paul, I'm sorry - '

I opened my eyes slowly. Suze was kneeling next to me, her face looming over mine with a little worry. Why was she apologizing again? Oh, yeah. For hitting me.

I winced.

I guess I shouldn't have hated him so much. I didn't want to like, put him in Emergency or something.

I should keep my hate bottled up inside next time.

Silly me.

'You should be,' I groaned, sitting up a little. 'I thought for a moment I died and went to heaven.'

Yeah. When I saw your face. But I feel that was too cheesy to mention.

Now I'm a believer . . .

Ha.

I blinked lamely, and stood up. 'Sorry,' I said again, getting even more embarrassed. . . turd. He probably passed out just to annoy me. Wouldn't put is PAST HIM. Hmph!

I got up, with no help from Suze, and returned to my spot. 'That one was a good shot. But you're supposed to hit the ball, not your opponent.'

Again, I let out a nervous giggle. 'Sorry,' I said again.

Agaaaaaaain.

I did hit the ball, though. Just kind of AT my opponent.

I jogged back to the other side of the court. So far, this seemed kind of useless. Maybe I should stop trying to kill my coach, or something.

I'll give it some thought.

'Why don't we try a little match? You versus me,' I suggested. This could actually be fun, you know? I love a little competition.

But I am not the type of guy that let's the girl win.

I kind of blanched.

'Sure,' I said haughtily. I could SO beat him.

. . . Jut because he's TENNIS CAPTAIN, and all . . . um, so?

I wasn't going to let her win, because I had a little idea.

I walked to the center of the court. Just a game, right?

'Here are the rules. If I win,' I smiled, 'then you have to come have dinner with me at my place. Tonight.'

Or, should I have said WHEN I won.

I stopped. He was making it a deal.

. . . Shit.

'If I win,' I said, 'No more shifter lessons. Any you still have to leave Jesse alone.'

I hoped that would hit him where it hurt.

Hmm. She drives a tough bargain. But did it really matter what she bet? 'Deal,' I said, after minimal thought. I went to the center of the court and stuck out my hand. 'Let's shake on it.'

Hmph. He agreed a little easier than I thought he would. I walked to the center, and shook his hand worriedly. At least he didn't bet to have sex with me.

. . . See? I count my blessings.

How I shudder . . .

I shook her hand strongly. I couldn't WAIT what tonight would have in store for us . . .

What? I'm optimistic.

I returned to my half. Oh well. If all else failed, I could just hire Kelly Prescott to flash him or something.

Yeah, Suze. Because Kelly's on hand RIGHT now.

You loser. Loser, loser, loser . . .

Okay, I admit. I was freaked. And nastily, my mind went straight back to that kiss from yesterday. That scintillating kiss . . . Oh, I'm so dead.

I served. I'd seen tennis on TV. How hard could it be? I hit the ball hard and high, with the words I HATE PAUL SLATER screaming in my mind.

She'd hit it hard, but I hit it back to her harder. I was determined to win. Determined to be with her tonight.

I ran toward where he'd hit it - right over my shoulder, and I smacked it back.

I'd seen Wimbledon . . . I could do this. Teehee. I loved one line out of that movie.

In Tennis, Love Means Nothing.

So true.

I hit the ball into the deuce of her court. There was no way she could have hit it. She ran after it pointlessly. I scored.

I gave him a woeful look.

'Fifteen, Love,' I told her, smiling to myself in satisfaction. She had no idea just who she was up against.

Love.

Ugh.

Then, I served her the ball, and the game got rolling again.

I hit it back, hard. Wow. I'm not bad, you know.

He was in the front corner, and I hit it to the very back. It JUST stayed in the line, too.

I had scored one.

. . . Whoa.

I was kind of shocked. I almost apologized, but I caught myself.

Damn. She scored. Well, I might as well let her have one point. I had plenty of opportunity. Just watch the pro...

I raised my eyebrows, still surprised at myself.

'Well, hurry up?' I said to him, and even allowed a small smile.

Just think . . . dinner with him. You can't take that lying down, Suze.

WHOA. Hopefully you won't take ANYTHING lying down.

. . . Sicko.

'Don't get cocky, Simon,' I warned.

I stopped smiling.

I was just ready to serve the ball when-

'YOU'RE GAY WITH JESSE,' I yelled.

Annnnnnd the ball dropped out of my hand.

'Ha!' I beamed triumphantly.

I didn't think that would work.

I followed through with my next serve. 'You're not jealous are you?'

'No,' I said casually. 'I know that Jesse is completely straight. Unlike yourself.'

If he's gay, then I'm never going to kiss anyone else unless they're a member of the Fab Five.

'Hey. I'm not the one wearing the frilly shirt and the tight, paint-on pants,' I chuckled, hitting the ball to her. I don't understand why Suze wouldn't want to go out with more of a man than Senor de Studly. He looked like someone that walked away from a salsa dancing contest.

I had no reply to that. It was kind of true, I guess. But he couldn't help it. He was . . . um . . . dead. I just concentrated on what I was playing.

. . . Ten minutes later, suffice it to say I lost.

Badly.

I was traumatized.

And Paul was like, all smug and everything about it.

I won, again. But it never gets old for me.

I just pouted a lot. I'd almost, you know, gotten out of the stinking shifter lessons.

But NO. Now I'd just earned myself MORE time at his house.

NICE ONE, YOU FREAK.

'Excuse me while I go call Mark and tell him to set an extra place,' I said, digging my cell phone out of my pocket. I really didn't have to call him, but I just wanted to rub it in. I won. I WON.

Yes.

My look of despair deepened. He'd won fair and square. But still, I was bummed. 'Oh my God, I just remembered, my um - cat . . . um, Spike. He has - gas. I need to take him to the vet tonight - ' I started, but he wouldn't hear it.

'I thought Spike lived in the rectory?' I asked. Trying to get out of it again, was she?

Damn. Sprung.

'Did - did I say Spike?' I laughed nervously, 'I meant Max. My dog.'

'Right,' I said. She wasn't even trying to be convincing. 'You might want to change. Or, if you choose to stay in that skirt, that's more than all right with me.'

My dark look got that little bit darker.

'Go on, Suze. I'll be waiting by my car,' I smiled my toothy smile again. I love the reactions I get from her when I say something.

My look turned from angry, to suddenly very anxious. It was now quarter to five. You wouldn't have believed it, but it was.

Right as I walked past her to go to the locker room, I gently patted her butt and said, 'Good game, sport.'

AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!

What? They do it on TV all the time. With a grin and a quick wink, I disappeared into the locker room.

'HEY!' I yelled at him, poised to slug him to Kingdom Come, but he was already at the change room door.

'I HATE YOU,' I decided to inform him again.

He needed to be reminded on a daily basis, you know?

I poked my head out of the door. 'There's not hate in tennis. But there is love.' I went inside with a grin plastered on my face.

Tonight was my night.

Oh, God . . . this was going to suck . . .

Dinner with Paul?

I hope I choke.

Dinner? Yeah. Right.

- 8 -

REVIEW!!! LONG REVIEWS! MUAHAHA. OR WE'LL GO ON A FLASHLIGHT STRIKE.

Yeah . . . You heard us.

Muahaha. Love Lolly and Hayles.