Wow! Thanks to those who reviewed!
JohnCenasgurl…where are you?
Jeff's favorite skittle…I made Chapter 9 and this chapter especially for you! Please read it soon! And thanks for reviewing Mr. Clay! Orton rox my sox!!!
Mitchy…ahem…never mind!
Icy Rabbit…more John/Torrie soon, and expect a rated R chapter soon! I'm already working on it!
Nisha…thanx for the nice opinions!
BeautifulMe89…I hope I got your name right! Thanx!
And…errm…does anyone around here know that JOHN CENA and RANDY ORTON are actually friends in real life? If anyone knows this it's fine by me, but to those who doesn't—you can tell me, it is pretty shocking. These two help each other on how to eat right and keep their bodies fit, and of course, WWE Superstars are often on the road, so alliances can be made! It is proven from Randy's interview that when he was asked who he wanted to be his tag-team partner, he would like John Cena to be one. On a certain SmackDown! mag, John was asked the same question, and he answered that he would like Randy to be his tag-team partner. Just imagine if that really happened! Talk about high stakes and ratings! I just wish McMahon would finally cave in for these guys to be together, because they are really good wrestlers, not to mention really HOT and they're the loves of my life…
Not that I'm bragging, but I have a picture of both of them together, and up 'til now I'm still scratching my head whenever I see the weirdness of what they are doing in there.
Ok…that was too much blabbering…I'm becoming sweaty again…
Here you go…Chapter 10!
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From the desk of Principal McMahon
(Note to professors: Please read in homeroom.)
Good morning students!
To make-up for the last months of this outstanding school year, we will celebrate the annual joint event of Springville College and Red River College, the Spring Night. This will take place on Friday tonight from six o' clock in the evening to twelve o' clock midnight at the Halsey Manor Lodge. Program ceremonies will follow immediately after the Buffet Dinner at six. Students are asked to come on time so that they will be able to enjoy the night dining and dancing. As Hotel Policy, no shirts, no shoes, no service, so the students are asked to wear decent outfits fitted to the occasion.
As agreed upon during the meeting of the Springville/Red River Student Council held last week, President Steve Austin decided that the Spring play of the RRC drama club "Autumn of the 70's" will be postponed at three o' clock in the afternoon on the same day so that students will be able to watch, and the actors and actresses of the play will have time to get ready and go with their dates. SC will also have their share of excitement, as the winner of the Great American Award will finally be announced around seven to eight in the evening, organized by Kurt Angle, the new General Manager of the SC Eagles. Again, for the good people not knowing, the nominees are Booker Huffman, Paul Wight, Charlie Haas, John Cena, and John Bradshaw Layfield. Polls are still open until lunchtime so the students are still allowed to vote, and the final canvassing will take place at dismissal. Every vote counts, so make the right choice.
Though I will not be around to party along due to personal matters, I wish to everyone to all have a good time. Any roughhousing detected from the students will be suspended right on the spot.
Enjoy yourselves and have a happy evening.
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After two grueling weeks of waiting, the time has finally come.
Yup, this was it. We all heard Mr. McMahon's announcement. Everyone was already excited, talking about what they'll wear or who'll they take. The Spring Night was the last school happening this year; soon it'll be summer and fun in the sun.
Yet there was still one issue that our school won't forget, when Eddie Guerrero pulled one of his spontaneous pranks, stealing Bradshaw's hat and completely desecrating it, causing the humiliation the idiot wouldn't possibly take.
But I know Eddie. He has something better up his sleeve; the way he said we haven't seen anything yet.
After that, Bradshaw made himself an utterably horrible bratinella (A/N: Bratinella is a made-up word here, meaning spoiled little girls!), considering Eddie's actions are like of felony, describing the whole thing as if Eddie did robbery and homicide in a local bank instead of trying to look into the real thing. Because of that, everyone despised Bradshaw now, forgetting the Texan that they once loved, and there's not one person in the whole student body of SC who wouldn't throw "the finger" in the direction where his back was turned.
Eddie couldn't be any happier.
Back to reality. This was it, the joint and final annual party of SC and RRC, the Spring Night. I was lingering around the entrance of the Halsey Manor Lodge, adjusting my orange STRAWBERRY jersey shirt with a few buttons undone to reveal three-fourth's of my bare chest and yanked my chains back and forth. Rey was already inside, acquainted with Matthew Hyson, a draftee from RRC (errm…this is Spike Dudley's real name!), while Eddie picked up Vicky from the RRC auditorium. Rey and I both came to watch the play, and it was really great. When it was finished, Eddie urged us to go ahead of the hotel first, since the both of us don't have dates anyways.
You heard it right. I-DON'T-HAVE-A-DATE.
Rey actually preferred to go alone, but it was my decision not to ask anyone out. And despite Randy's little theories, I don't think anyone would notice if I took some random girl with me. Parties like these can't count as a male bonding experience.
I checked my watch. A quarter to eight. In contrary to the announcement Vinnie Mac made earlier, the awarding ceremony didn't even start yet. I was arriving a little late, but that was all part of my strategy. By now thing would be in full gear, couples would be switching around to dance along with friends, and everyone would be a lot less likely to notice I was arriving stag. I heard loud rock music form the inside and students singing along with the lyrics. Yet I had my thoughts on that nice, little trophy, the Great American Award. Who will win?
I peeked at my watch when a black limousine suddenly pulled over from the hotel entryway. I leaned against a nearby wall when the chauffeur came out and pulled the car door open. Four men hopped out.
I raised my eyebrows. It was Evolution, all in their fancy suits. When they walked to the doors, their steps suddenly halted when they saw me.
"Nice suits, hookers." I greeted them with a fake smile.
Hunter snorted and continued to walk as if I wasn't there. Batista settled for a death glare, while Flair made a little twirl in front of me, parading his suit and followed the other two. I curled my lip in disdain.
"Ahem."
I turned around, seeing Randy Orton clear his throat repeatedly, as if daring me to notice him. He was wearing a leather jacket over his plain black button-down elbow-sleeved Ralph Lauren shirt, Levis jeans, and shiny black shoes. Looking at him right now, he truly is a vision to the ladies. I made a sexy whistle as I did him a slow once-over.
"Hey Randy," I said, slapping him on the back. "You're lookin' fine tonight."
"Hi John." Randy regarded me smoothly. "You're not half bad yourself."
I peered at his wrist. "Is that a Rolex on your hand?"
Randy played with his wrist, shaking it around my face. "Duh. What can a guy want more?"
I looked back at the entrance. "You, uh…your friends are having a period or something?"
Randy looked back at the entrance too, then he just shook his head. "Just ignore them. You wanna come with me inside?"
I smirked. "Nah. You go ahead. You have dates waiting for you, and I don't want them thinking that we're speaking fag."
"Damn right." Randy said, matching me smirk by smirk. "I'll see you later."
Randy finally went inside, and after few several minutes, I pushed the heavy door open and walked to the lobbies until I finally reached the ballroom.
White bulbs dripped like icing from every eave, column, and window ledge, giving the log façade of the big hotel a festive appearance. Crystal chandeliers hung low from the ceiling, their glittering reflection bouncing off darkened windows. I could just discern the lanterned edge of a long outdoor deck, and the silhouettes of a few couples taking advantage of the moonlit view. Around the perimeter of the large room was a host of round, white-draped tables with star shaped balloon centerpieces. Few chairs were occupied, but the coats and purses draped over them made it clear how many had been reserved.
Whoa. I breathed. The schools have selected a great place for this party.
On the stage, RRC's rock band Fozzy continued to blear out high notes of guitars, basses, and drums. Junior Chris Jericho, linebacker of the RRC Lions, was on vocals, jumping with the mic with his punk attitude, causing the dancing audience going bonkers in all their gothic glory.
"Don't you wish you were me!" Jericho sang out.
I walked around, bopping my head along with the music, looking for a chair in that crowded room. Everyone was having fun, despite the fact that RRC and SC were in one roof. I saw some students actually making friends from the other school. Rivalries actually didn't matter; it only happens during game night. I was about to get an empty chair when someone tapped me from behind.
"Excuse me, would you like to buy a ticket?" a girl's voice asked me.
I turned around and my eyes widened. It was Torrie Wilson, wearing a strappy pink sundress. Her eyes widened, obviously surprised herself.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know it was you."
"My fault," I replied, checking her out. "Errrm, what ticket?"
Torrie looked down from the small scraps of paper in her hand then back up at me again. "Extra ballots for the Great American Award. I'm helping the Student Council to sell them so you guys can get extra points."
"What are the results as of lately?" I asked her coolly, trying to control myself. Talking to Torrie in her flashy outfits was starting to take a toll on me.
"You won't believe it, but you're on the lead," Torrie told me, smiling. "You sold out so fast; Huffman's trailing behind you along with that jerk Bradshaw."
I cocked an eyebrow. "Really? Can I buy one?"
Torrie looked confused. "What? You're going to win anyway."
I nodded. "I know that. I ought to give the other nominees some slack and vote for them so they wouldn't get their feelings hurt."
Torrie shoved me playfully. "God! You're so bad!"
I laughed. "Bad boy for life, honey. Just being helpful."
"Okay then," Torrie said, relenting. "Who would you like?"
I thought for a moment. "Give me one for my good friend Charlie Haas."
Torrie took a small scrap and gave it to me. I handed her a dollar. "Keep the change." I told her.
"Pleasure doing business with you," Then, Torrie leaned on me as if spilling a major secret. "Speaking of Charlie, could you do me a favor?"
"I guess. Sure."
"You remember my friend Jackie right? She has this, uh…huge crush on Charlie and couldn't even talk to him. So, can you give Charles a little push?"
I only smiled. "I'm a thug, not a matchmaker."
"I know you're going to say that," Torrie guessed. "Just look at Charlie from the punch bowl and Jackie from that table. You'll see what I mean."
My eyes were strained to the punch bowl. Charlie kept looking to the table where Jackie sits, while Jackie sat in her chair, looking cute in her light blue dress, but she seemed somewhat uncomfortable. Wanting-to-talk-to-Charlie kind of uncomfortable. Obviously the two of them wanted to talk to each other. I guess Torrie was right.
"Gee…that was weird." I said, looking at both of them back and forth
"So what do you say?" Torrie asked. "Are you gonna help me or not?"
"Help," I decided. "That's what Charles needs."
"Okay, I'll talk to Jackie, and you talk to Charlie."
"Good."
Though it seems kind of foolish, I made my move, but take note: I'm just helping out a friend. I approached Charlie, a punch cup in one hand while staring out in space.
"Enjoying your punch?" I said behind him.
Charlie jumped, and then turned around, startled. "Cena! You scared me!"
"That's what I love to do. Listen. See that blonde over there in that table? I think she's hot." I pointed to Jackie, going through my prepared speech.
"Jackie Gayda…" Charlie said, his eyes going misty. "Yeah. She truly is a sight."
"Definitely. You know what? I asked her to dance with me, but she refused. She actually said you were the one she wants. So I just left. Why don't you give her a try?"
"I don't know, John. I'll end up looking like a fool."
Shit, this isn't working. I saw Torrie talking to Jackie on the other table, and Jackie seems to fall into her trap. I saw them both stand up, approaching the punch table, and I knew I have to say something, right now.
Then I had an idea.
"You want to end up looking more like a fool when I tell everyone out here that Rico's ogling on you?" I got out, naming the gay draftee from the RRC.
Charlie gasped. "No! You wouldn't!"
"Damn sure I will."
Charlie gulped, and took a deep breath.
"Come on, Charlie," I said impatiently. "What have you got to lose?"
"My self-respect," Charlie countered. "But I'll give it a try. I won't die anyway."
I smirked. "That's the spirit. Now go to her, lover boy!"
Charlie approached Jackie as Torrie went to my side. I saw Charlie talk a little, and then gave Jackie a hand. Jackie smiled shyly and nodded, holding hands to the dance floor.
"That's so sweet!" Torrie squealed.
"They're not a bad item, I should say so myself." I gloated.
Torrie grinned. "Thanks for the help."
I looked at her. She smiled—that dazzling cheerleader smile of hers—and the low lights sparkled the diamonds in her ears, and I knew half the guys in the room were probably watching us at that moment. Our faces were so close, almost several inches away. God, she looks so beautiful…
"I…I'm just glad to help the guy out," I said awkwardly.
Torrie didn't say more, as she tiptoed from her heels and gave me a long, sweet peck on the cheek.
My jaw dropped. Did Torrie just kiss me?
She shyly drew back, a blush tainted on her cheeks. "Sorry. Got caught up in a moment, I guess."
I bent my sunvisor down, reddening myself. "That's okay. I kind of enjoyed it."
"Good. So I'll see you around?"
"I'm happy to be around."
Torrie smiled at me one last time, and then ran off to join her friends. I took several deep breaths. This is gonna be one hell of a night.
"Hey tiger," Randy suddenly said behind me.
I shook my head, then faced him. He was smirking, almost in a challenging manner. He also had a cup of punch in one hand, meaning that he has been here a long time.
"You saw the whole thing, didn't you?" I queried.
Randy shrugged, trying to look innocent. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Liar. I could see that you're having fun, you sadistic son of a bitch."
Randy's grin was so wide was almost to his ears. "I'm just happy for you, pal. She finally got a taste of you."
I crossed my arms and watched the people dance along to a new song. "Not really. Not totally, actually."
"You're not satisfied with only a peck?" Randy said incredulously. Then he grinned. "Oh, I get it. You totally want to stick it down her throat, don't you?"
"Stop it, Randy," I said blandly. "I'm not like you."
Randy slapped my shoulder in a way to make me feel better. "You can criticize me any way you want, but that's okay. I've been through this kind of drama—this kind of things just takes time."
"You mean to say you've been into this drama you're whole life?" I said, trying to humor him.
Randy smirked in his non-transparent manner. "My mistake."
What the hell did that mean? Randy looked on to the silhouettes of dancing people, but I don't know what he was thinking. His eyes were so hard to read.
I saw Fozzy ended their song, bowing to the audience. Students applauded, then started to cheer when the SC/RRC Student Council President Steve Austin took the mic. Austin has a cool rep in both schools—he's a very popular senior on RRC, solving any uprising taking place with only a snap of his hand. He also used to be the Lions' football team captain, so I bet you this guy is really large. He didn't play anymore, so he decided to run for Council President of the SC/RRC Student Council. He won, and of course I voted for him—this guy was one of my idols.
"Nominees of the Great American Award please get ready," Austin announced. Geeks carried the award on a small card table covered in a black cloth. Austin gave the mic to Kurt Angle.
"You'd better get ready, man." Randy nudged me.
"I will."
"Good luck on that award thing—you got my vote." Randy called out before disappearing to the crowd.
I yanked my chains nervously, and then I took off my hat and raked my hair. I fished out a mint-flavored Kissy Fresh from my throwbacks pocket and sprayed it inside my mouth. I got my hat back on again. Got to make a good impression!
Kurt Angle took the mic. "First of all, I would like to thank everyone for supporting this project. Over a thousand votes were made, and it never would've happened without the cooperation of the SC and RRC student body. The polls have finally been finalized, and I would like to say that the results have been like a shockwave to the canvassers."
Everyone applauded.
"Now I would like to call all the nominees," Angle continued. "John Cena!"
All the students cheered—and I meant all of them cheered, including the students from Red River as I went up the stage. Angle held out a hand for me to shake, but I only gave him my patented "nuts" and put it in his front suit pocket.
He scowled. "Next nominee, Charlie Haas!"
Charlie went up the stage, his applause a little less thunderous than mine. He stood beside me.
"Good luck, Cena," he told me.
"You too." I whispered back.
"Thanks for the Jackie thing too. I couldn't have done it without you."
"No problem."
Angle spoke up from the mic again. "Paul Wight!"
Big Show went up the stage. He was the biggest guy in SC/RRC history, over seven feet tall and weighing at least 470 pounds. I mean, I'm only measured to his arm pits, dammit! He stood next to Charlie, who shuddered.
"Next nominee, Booker Huffman!" Angle called out.
The students of RRC cheered to their former football player from their team, I've never really seen the guy before, but I'm seeing him now. He was tall, and dark, bearing the African-American features, and just like Rey said, he had dreadlocks almost to his shoulders. His face was blank, unperturbed, as he stood next to Big Show.
I heard once that guys like these, you know people having dreadlocks; they don't take a bath to keep their hairstyle intact. My sense of smell was really strong, and by far I haven't smelled anything that stinks. I actually don't want to tell it to this guy's face first though; it would ruin our relationship in the near future.
"And last but not least, my personal favorite," Angle said cattily. "John Bradshaw Layfield!"
Boos were heard again from everyone. Bradshaw came out and went up the stage, wearing one of his usual suits, his black cowboy boots, and a brand new cowboy hat. He just looks more stupid than usual.
"Now that were done mentioning the nominees, let's look at the Titan tron for the results," Angle said.
A huge screen, or Titan tron, was built up the ceiling of the Halsey Manor Lodge. Results were shown, and the nominees' names were listed, with the number of votes on the side. My name was on top, high above everyone else.
John Cena: 200,000 plus tops. I nodded, trying not to look surprised at all. Everyone in the room started talking excitedly.
"Now, the results have been tabulated, and we obviously have ourselves a winner here," Angle said good-humoredly, looking right at me.
Wow. Lumpy's in a good mood today.
Angle spoke up again. "And so, the winner of the Great American Award is—''
"WAIT!" Bradshaw suddenly yelled. "I would like to say a few words here."
I yanked Bradshaw's arm down. "What the fuck do you think you are doing?!"
Angle set the microphone down and turned to both of us. "Men, stop this for a while! We're in front of the entire student body here!" he hissed. Then he turned to Bradshaw. "Bradshaw! What the hell do you think you're going at?"
"Is there a problem here?" Austin demanded.
"I can handle it, Steve." Angle told Austin icily.
"Just give me the microphone, Mr. Angle," Bradshaw said. "I'll take it from here."
Angle frowned, giving Bradshaw the mic. "Be my guest, I'll just stand here!"
Bradshaw took the mic, and then turned to the audience. Everyone booed him, louder then before, but he just ignored them. "Now, you people may think that I'm disappointed that I didn't get the most votes, but I'm not. That's why I prepared a little something-something for you all to watch, and it might just change your minds. Now if everyone would just turn their attention to the Titan tron…"
The lights went out, and then everyone looked at the Titan tron. Bradshaw happened to have prepared a home-movie, and it showed him standing alone in a dark unnamed territory around Texas. He blabbed and blabbed in the video, and after a few minutes of understanding, I deduced he was in a border line where Texas meets Mexico. He explained that Mexicans don't have the right to live in America because they take advantage of our health insurances and our economy, meaning that they take home American dollars and exchange it into their currency. As the video wore on, I saw Bradshaw stealthily move on the grass and scared the living hell out of a few Mexican teenagers trying to cross the border. Bradshaw yelled a few curses out of them, even giving a kick to one of the kids that sent them scurrying off. Bradshaw laughed like a hag, the hag from the Hansel and Gretel story, the one who tried to push little Hansel into a hot, steaming oven. I suddenly imagined that Eddie was the one being shoved into the oven.
I gulped. Eddie was still nowhere to be seen.
The video finally came to a halt as the lights went back on, and some of the students who happened to be from the South of the Border were clearly offended, yelling you-know-what's to Bradshaw. Angle, on the other hand, was clearly impressed, smiling and nodding along with Bradshaw.
"That was really impressive," Angle said. "Very wonderful. Truly a work of an all-American."
Bradshaw smiled proudly, but I was dying from the inside out. I looked both at Angle and Bradshaw. These two must be joined at the hip immediately. They're starting to look alike. I glared at Bradshaw as he went beside me.
But then the whole thing filled me with doubt. The decision was going to be Angle's, after all. Bradshaw may win, but the video he just showed was practically an ultimate display of rudeness to the Spanish community. I wonder how Eddie and Rey were reacting to this.
I looked around the audience. Where the hell was Eddie anyway?
"And now I know that I have made a right choice," Angle stated. "And so, the winner of the Great American Award is…John—''
I held my hand up gangster style.
"Bradshaw Layfield!" Angle finished.
The crowd went berserk. Bradshaw jumped for joy, not knowing he completely squashed me. The other nominees started to go down the stage steps, looking pissed. I was about to make a go on Bradshaw until I saw Rey calling me from down below.
"J! Get down there right now!" Rey told me.
I went down the stage steps and approached Rey, giving him a confused look. "What? What is it?"
"I'm here to save your ass!" he said.
I frowned. "What the hell are you talking about? I just lost the Great American Award! And what do you mean by saving my ass?"
"I'm saving your ass from getting humiliated!"
"What?!"
Rey smirked and pointed to the still-covered trophy. "Just watch."
As my eyes went back up the stage, I saw Angle congratulate Bradshaw for the award. They both shook each other's hand, smiling like perverts.
"Congratulations, Bradshaw!" Angle said joyfully. "Presenting the winner of the Great American Award!"
Bradshaw grinned toothily to the audience who booed him even more so in return. But he didn't mind—he was the winner anyway. I felt robbed.
"Okay partner," Angle told him, pointing to the covered trophy. "The award's all yours."
Bradshaw looked excited, as he grasped the black cloth that covered the trophy firmly. Then he jerked the cloth down, excited to see what's in store for him.
But what was now standing on the card table was a radioactive pile of seething resentment.
The vision of the gold-colored, red, white, and blue colored trophy was nowhere in sight. Instead, a bunch of straws and sticks were glued together with Scotch tape and bubble gum, resembling an improvised trophy. There was a Chicken Run action figure on top with small dice cuffs around it, and everything was a disarray of red, white, and blue rubber bands.
And to add insult to injury, below the "trophy" was a framed picture of Latino Heat— Eddie Guerrero himself, in his signature smirk, and like I said, that smirk was always, always up to no good.
It was official. Eddie stole the Great American Award. And at times like these, I'm glad that McMahon wasn't around to witness all of this.
After it registered to everyone's heads, a fresh wave of laughter swept the entire ballroom. Angle and Bradshaw were both fuming. Bradshaw took the mic.
"Eddie Guerrero! You damn Latino thief!" Bradshaw yelled, taking off his hat and coat in anger. "Give me my award right now!"
Angle took the mic away from Bradshaw's hands. "Eddie Guerrero, come on out here right now! Get your ass over here with my trophy right this minute!"
As if hearing his presence called, the giant fire exit doors of the hotel opened. People cheered when they saw Eddie on a low-rider, trying to drive its way inside. Then, he stood up from the passenger seat and shook his shoulders.
And what do you know? The Great American Award was right on top of the radiator. Luckily, Eddie had a mic of his own.
"Hey holmes!" Eddie greeted them. "Congratulations Bradshaw! You have certainly proven to everyone that you are the Great American Asshole!"
The students in the ballroom howled with spontaneous, raucous laughter, me and Rey joining in. He still might not be over that clothesline Bradshaw gave to him, but Eddie was born with hilarity—a person could get easily used to him. Bradshaw took the mic again.
"You sneaky son of a bitch, Guerrero!" Bradshaw dictated. "You give back my award right now!"
Eddie shrugged as if not registering what Bradshaw was saying. "You want your award, esse?" he asked. "Well, you just stay there and I'll get it back to you!"
Eddie jumped off from his car, grabbed the trophy from his radiator, and then ran to the stage, putting down the award on the card table. Bradshaw and Angle immediately fled from the stage when they saw Eddie taking a steel chair then threatened to whack them with it.
Suddenly, Eddie's eyes widened, as if an idea just went right to his head. Still holding the steel chair, he set the Great American Award right on the stage floor with his free hand. The audience was confused, not knowing what Eddie really was doing.
After a few seconds, I was the one who got it. And Angle seemed to have gotten it as well.
"Don't do it, Eddie," Angle warned him. "Don't do it or you'll pay!"
Eddie didn't listen. Holding the steel chair high, he whacked the trophy, slapping it so many times with the steel chair that it was all left to crumble to pieces. Angle was on the verge of crying, while Bradshaw's horrified expression was frozen on his face. The audiences' voices joined together in lackluster laughs, jeers, and applauses. Fed up, they both fled the scene.
"That was really great!" Rey exclaimed. "Latino Heat strikes back!"
"I owe him big time," I said giddily. "But how does he know that Bradshaw was going to win?"
"He knows that Angle wouldn't let you get that trophy," Rey stated. "This idea was on-the-spot, in fact. He just thought of this a while ago."
"Really? Wow. I can't do that. Eddie isn't human at all!" I said, impressed.
Our eyes went back up the stage. Eddie was now kicking off the shards of the trophy with his feet until Steve Austin approached him, two cans of beers in both hands.
"And that was, I think, the final awarding ceremony of the Great American Award," Austin told the audience in the ballroom. "Let's hear it for Eddie Guerrero!"
There was some more applause, then the chant started from the back: "Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!" Austin gave Eddie his own beer can, both laughing as they opened it. They both held it up when Austin spoke up again.
"To us!" Austin said, holding his beer can aloft. "To Springville and to Red River, and the end of a fantastic year together, and the start of a fantastic year ahead. And that's the bottom line; 'coz Stone Cold said so!"
Everyone raised their glasses. Austin and Eddie's beers sloshed on the stage as they drank it together and everyone's glasses clinked all around the ballroom.
Eddie, once again, saved us all.
"Hey Jericho!" Austin called out from the audience. "Get your ass up in here and get Fozzy started up again!"
Instruments were boarded up again on the stage. Once everything was ready, a high string bass note was made, then Chris Jericho took the vocals again.
"Are ya' ready to rock on once again, boys and girls?!" Jericho asked the audience.
"HELL YEAH!" the audience answered in unison.
"Well, let's get this party started once again, baby!" Jericho exclaimed. Another new song was playing, with louder guitars and drums involved. I joined in with the cheering audience.
Spring Night was an official success.
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(12:00 midnight)
The last song came to an end. "Good night Springville and Red River!" Jericho cried, waving from the stage.
The lights came up to sighs of disappointment, but it didn't take long for people to start clearing out, practically stampeding to the parking lot in their hurry to beat the crowd. Girls grabbed the star-shaped balloons as they went, while the guys were talking and laughing, complaining on how full they were from the delicious food and what a blast they had had.
I drank the last of my punch cup, crumpled it, then threw it down the floor, still sober and awake. Eddie and Rey were lying asleep on the table, both tired and drunk. They've been drinking all night and dancing with the wrong people, talking to their football teammates in over animated voices. Sighing, I shook both their shoulders to wake them up.
"Come on guys," I repeatedly said, both shaking them continuously. "The party's over."
Rey sat up, then staggered on the floor, almost tripping on his sneakers. Eddie looked the worst of all—his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were barely open.
I helped both of them up, putting both their arms around my shoulders as we all walked slowly to the exit.
"Mornin' already?" Rey asked, his loud disappointed voice carrying over the silence of the room.
"Almost," I answered.
"I want my mommy, esse," Eddie slurred. "Is there any more punch? Issa house specialty!"
"No, Eddie. We're going home and I'm takin' care of both of you." I said calmly. "Now come on. We're almost to the parking lot."
Then I noticed something. I left my chains on the same table inside. I wanted to make a dash back again, but I couldn't leave Eddie and Rey here.
After I put them in the car, I decided. I continued to help them walk.
The three of us were almost the last persons in the parking lot now, but I noticed other students were still lingering around or making out on outside benches. We're almost three feet from Eddie's car, until I heard Eddie made some gurgling noises, covering his mouth with his hands.
"Eddie! Not here!" I exclaimed. "Hold it in until we reach the bushes!"
"Need help?" a voice said beside me. I thought it was Rey, but when I looked up, it was Randy, an amused look etching his face.
"Good! You're here!" I said, relieved. "Hold Rey and make a go in the bushes!"
Randy grabbed Rey, his tattooed arm going around the little guy's shoulder. "On it."
We both ran to the bushes. Eddie's head was already bending over. Jumping back just in time to avoid my Reeboks messed up, Eddie threw up right on the bushes, and a few minutes later, Rey joined in with him, both puking out steaming, toxic-looking mixture of punch, beer and half-chewed Chee-tos. I rubbed both their backs while Randy stifled his laughter within him.
"Come on, just let it all out guys," I murmured, tapping their backs gently. More puke went out. At that moment, I felt like throwing up myself.
"Shit…I'm glad I didn't went overboard." I said to Randy. "This is so embarrassing."
Randy held up a hand. "I hang out with three guys who drink all the time. Believe me, seeing the three of them throw up is a hundred times worse than this."
I went green. "Gee, I'm glad you reminded me."
Randy chuckled, then went suddenly serious. "I'm sorry about the award thing. Bradshaw's a real asshole."
I was startled, still rubbing Eddie and Rey's backs, then flashed him a sympathetic smile. "It's fine with me. I'm good. I'm actually glad I didn't win. It's better than being pranked by Eddie."
Randy nodded. "Your boy Guerrero was hilarious. The four of us were actually laughing our asses out."
I shrugged. "That's our Eddie."
Randy smiled, rubbing his palms together. "Anything more that I can do?"
"Aren't you going home yet?"
Randy shook his head. "Hunter, Ric, and Dave are still inside on the phone, making a reservation at the Danger Zone, hooked up for another party. I'm just waiting for them out here, but I'm getting bored. Everyone awake is still going."
By now the two Latino fools have finished throwing up, but still pretty much intoxicated and now ready to fall asleep. I fished out the car keys from Eddie's jeans and handed it to Randy.
"Take them to that low-rider down there. I'll drive them home." I told him.
Randy hesitated, stepping backward. "I don't think so. Both our football teams are rivals, and they know what position I am in, so…"
I got his point easily, but this is no time to act like a prima donna. "I forgot my chains inside so I have to go back. And don't worry—by the state that they're in, they won't be able to recognize you. Got that, Randall?"
Randy narrowed his blue eyes. "Don't call me Randall."
"Look, Randall Keith Orton, just do me a favor and put them in the damn car." I retorted. "It's not that hard to do."
I stared at him down before he finally shrugged and relented. He held up his arms.
"Alright, Mr. John Felix Anthony Cena. Hand those children over to me while I play the baby-sitter." Randy muttered.
I smiled as I handed Eddie and Rey over to him. "Okay then. I'll pay you a hundred bucks for doing a good job."
Randy laughed when he put Eddie and Rey's arms around his shoulders. "Now go back and get your chains before these babies puke on my Ralph Lauren's."
With a quick turn, Randy pulled both Eddie and Rey to the low-rider in a matter of seconds. He was taller and he has stronger arms so it was easier for him. He opened the car with the keys; pushed Eddie and Rey in the back seat to sleep, and closed it. He pumped his fist, triumphant.
"Thank you!" I called out.
Randy smiled, giving me a dismissive wave, then disappeared as he went inside the Evolution limousine. Then, I sprinted back inside the hotel and made a turn into the ballroom.
The ballroom was now dark, almost scary, but I saw few maintenance crews cleaning up messes from the floor. I approached the nearest table cleaner.
"You seen a padlock with chains on it?" I asked her.
The woman was startled, then she pulled out something big and heavy from her pocket. It was my chains.
"This little thing?" the woman said incredulously. "You actually carry this around?"
"I wear it, ma'am. Thanks."
The woman snorted, continuing to clean tables. "Have a good night, kid."
Walking out from the ballroom, I wore my chains, swearing that I'll never take it off on public places ever again. As I was about to reach Eddie's car, someone was yelling.
It was a girl's voice, crying for help.
My steps made a complete stop. That was Torrie's voice!
I ran to the opposite direction in total panic. Torrie was in trouble, and I don't even know where she was!
"Somebody please help me!" she cried out.
"You shut up, little girl! No one will hear you!" another voice yelled out. It belonged to Big Show's.
Calming down, I gradually found out where the voices came from. It came from the outdoor deck of the hotel, one storey high from the ground. I hid from the trees, but I made out two figures; Big Show crushing Torrie's shoulder while she just yelped out in pain, Big Show threatening to throw Torrie off the ledge.
"Please Show, I'm begging you…" Torrie pleaded, starting to cry.
"Shut up!" Big Show barked at her. "I already lost that award, and then you laugh at me? How cruel can you be?!"
Torrie? Laughing at Big Show for losing? Torrie never made fun of anyone. But is it possible? More to the point, what was wrong with Big Show? My head was spinning.
"Show! Put Torrie down right now!" a deeper voice boomed out.
Cripes! It was Kurt Angle, coming out from the trees. Shaking my head, I quickly ran up to him before he did anything.
"Hey Lumpy!" I called.
Angle turned around, obviously confused when he saw me. "Cena?! What are you still doing here?!"
"You shouldn't go up there, Kurt," I said breathlessly. "I have an idea. We should—''
"I have no time for this, Cena! I've got to go up there! Now go inside and call the police. I'll take care of this."
"But Kurt—''
Too late. Angle already ran up the stairs to the outdoor deck, leaving me in a state of confusion. I wanted to get up there and save Torrie myself, but I don't want to end up falling from that ledge. But what will I do?!
"Please help me!" Torrie cried out again.
"Don't worry, Torrie. I'm here." Angle said. He was now up the deck.
"No, Kurt! Get back here!" I yelled, looking up from the deck.
I saw Big Show smirk from high up, not really noticing me. He was eyeing Angle with a sadistic smile. "You wanted to get killed too, bulbhead?"
I gasped. This was getting serious. Angle and Big Show were now yelling curses at each other, and who knows what might happen next. Should I run inside and call the cops, or stay here, or go up the deck? What?
Suddenly, Big Show pushed Torrie away. I was shocked; turning pale as Big Show held Angle by the neck, and that was the part that I realized that the way Big Show carried Angle was not in a normal way an ordinary human carried another. Angle was now punching Big Show's chunky arm, turning purple.
"Let go of me, you big jerk!" Angle ordered him.
And with a swift move, he held the Eagles' General Manager high up…and choke slammed him twenty five feet in the air to the ground.
Thud. Then silence.
Seconds passed. Minutes.
I slowly opened my eyes, trying to tell myself this is only a dream.
But it wasn't. Kurt Angle lay motionless on the ground, his left leg twisted beneath him, blood coming out from behind his head.
"Kurt?" I blurted out, approaching the prostate body lying on the ground.
No answer. Kurt was as white as a ghost. I bent down and touched his hand.
Cold. As if he was dead.
He's dead.
My breathing went sallow. The world was spinning, round and round. I tried to move my hands, trying to look for something to lean on, but my whole body went numb. I felt like I lost control of my brain as the world continued to spin faster.
The last thing I saw was Big Show bearing down from the ledge, looking down on Kurt, and the last thing I heard was Torrie's scream piercing out into the dark, silent night.
The world continued to spin, the fastest than it ever was before. I was desperate to stand up, but my legs gave out, feeling dizzy. I suddenly felt hot, the surroundings swimming out of focus. I saw Big Show's face dissolve the last of all, melting into a warm, brown blur. I felt my body go limp.
Then the world went black.
(t.b.c.)
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Really guys. I want y'all to be honest.
Is John Cena here more OOC than you expected?
What do you think of him and Torrie as a pair?
Was Randy's role here good enough as a friend of Cena's?
Should I include Carlito in the future?
Am I lacking my abilities on typing descriptions?
Does my English suck at all? (BLEH!)
(starts to cry) WAAAAAHHHH!!!