I'm back after a long writing hiatus. YAY!

So this story is titled after a song by the French Kicks, who are an amazing shoe gazer-esque band from NYC. I recommend that you download "Close to Modern", "1985", "One More Time", and "Oh Fine"-- a few of which are available at the French Kicks website. Kthnxbye.

/jacki

Was it a Crime? Chapter One

I try to imagine passing Algebra I. Going to the Algebra I Roast will be fun. I will get up on the podium and look happily over to the book sitting on the chair next to me- Mr. Gianini beside it, because he and the book are in love- and say how "we've had some good and bad times, haven't we?" Or "remember when I didn't know how to solve for variables, so I just used the FOIL method for everything and wasn't that funny?" Many more things too. I don't know what.

See, these are the sorts of things I've been thinking about since Kenny broke up with me. Surprised? Yes, me too. I mean, I hate to sound conceited, but I really am too good for him-- well, just a bit.

Heck, who am I kidding? The kid is obsessed with anime and breathes out of his mouth. Any decent human being is too good for him. I literally fell out of my chair when he told me over the phone that he'd met "someone else" at last weekend's anime convention. I picture her looking like that female Garth clone in Wayne's World.

To go back to Algebra I for a minute, promising myself that this will indeed lead to something more interesting, I am in dire need of help. I was doing alright with Michael tutoring me, but he just sort of disappeared all of a sudden. I know how when people say that, they usually mean that said person is preoccupied with schoolwork, or has been sick, or has joined an RPG club and doesn't want to come out of his room until he masters the D&D guide, but Michael really is no where to be seen. In fact, his whole family has been totally worried since Monday morning. They'd thought he was just sleeping really late, but when Mr. Moscovitz finally peered inside his room at 2 pm that day, no Michael. No Michael anywhere for the past 104 hours.

I assure you police have been alerted. It is sad to say though, that not so much attention is being paid to this case. It's almost as if Michael's a lost puppy or parakeet-- like his existence is so inconsequential and worthless that this sort of absurdity is capable of happening. "Ma'am, I'm sorry. Hundreds of boys get lost everyday in New York. It's a sick, sick world, ma'am."

What is that nonsense? Nothing should be like this.

With Michael gone, I'm trying to remember him as best I can. Through this, I realize how much I don't know about him. I'd never thought he'd end up as just a speck on my history. I'd never thought he'd be some insignificant player in my life movie. But you don't when you're fourteen, do you? You think unrequited loves will come out of the woodwork to make your fantasies come true. There are Barbie Dream Houses involved. There are kids named Buster and Sally and dogs and white picket fences. Not to say that Michael and I would have ever been more than friends…

Look at me! I'm already speaking like he's never coming back! Like he's dead or something!

There's a tapping on my window that won't stop. I can't imagine Fat Louie would want to go out on the fire escape; it's freezing outside and he hates heights.

"Thermopolis!"

Startled, I whirl around. Instead of fining that Fat Louie had acquired the amazing, evolutionary skills of speech, I find a rathered tattered, shaggy-haired boy croutching outside my window, obviously shivering to death in the dark. Things cannot get more surreal than this.

But I hope they do.

I rush over to the window, in my pajamas and struggle to open it. The shaggy-haired boy just waits patiently, gratefully, with his winter coat and a blanket wrapped around him. He obviously has too much confidence in my upper body strength. The window finally pops open and the boy climbs inside, while the blustery January wind pushes in behind him; he turns back and shuts the window to stop it all. I notice how red and chapped his hands are.

"Michael!" I'm apparently too shocked to say anything else.

"Yeah," he has the audacity to laugh. By some cosmic fore, I begin rubbing my hands up the sides of his arms to restore warmth. A strange smile just creeps up on his face and he grabs me in a tight hug.

"Agh! You're covered in snow!" Even though I couldn't really complain.

"You saved my life, Thermopolis!"

"Not really…"

"You saved me!"

"I just opened the window… And, I mean, I wasn't very good at it. It was stuck, but if I wasn't such a loser, I could have opened it faster." Michael let out a laugh too hardy for someone left out in the cold, and hugged me again.

"Thank you, Mia. Because I didn't know where else I was going to hide out." he said with a smirk.

"Wait, wait! What?" I said, pushing him off of me. "You've been gone for the past five days- no explanation, no phone calls to anyone- and you just assume I'll let you stay in my room… to hide out?" I had to admit that the whole scenario did sound tempting.

"Don't worry," he said. "I promise not to be a burden. You can keep me in your closet or cuffed to your bathtub or something. Anything not outside is good enough for me." Sighing, I weighed my options. I could secretly keep this gorgeous, shaggy-haired boy in my room, probably getting caught and in big trouble in the process, or I could force him back outside or tell an adult, let this wacky opportunity slip out of my hands, and be left with the "what if" questions for the rest of my life. Really, who would choose the latter? Someone responsible, that's who. So in the spirit of irresponsibility…

"Okay," I said finally. "I agree to secretly house you up here. But you have to tell me what's been going on with you."

"Oh, nothing much. I have a bit of a headache though, I suppose."

"No, you know what I mean." But he looked at me as if he didn't. Finally, he acknowledged my statement.

"Oh, right," he said smugly, taking off his blanket and jacket, and setting them across my desk chair. "Is tomorrow okay? I'm extremely tired. You understand." After this, and taking off his boots, he just hopped into my bed and closed his eyes. So much for not being a burden.

I grabbed a blanket from my closet, turned off the light, and lay down on the floor.

"No, Mia, there's plenty of room in your bed." In the darkness, I saw him scoot over and pat the empty space beside him. I stood up, but faltered. "C'mon," he whispered. "I'm freezing over here by myself. I'll die."

Biting my lip in anxiety, I tiptoed to my bed and got in. Michael really was still freezing. I found my arm laying itself over his chest as I rolled over onto my stomach. Our legs entwined, but neither of us said anything about it. Before I fell asleep, I heard "Nice pjs, Thermopolis."

END CHAPTER ONE

On the short side, yes. Sorry. I just wanted to do a first chapter to start off.

Tell me if you want more. This will all have a strange explanation, I assure you.