A/N: Hey guys, it's me again, with another story of Christine being random. By the way, I have a kitten that I got yesterday named Christine. She's already such a prima donna, I almost changed her name to Carlotta, but she's far too sweet for that.
I myself have done another increasingly random thing.
My dad and his girlfriend live only a little while apart.
My dad had his truck parked outside her house. Her car was also there.
My dad and I came over in a black Miata. (If I didn't misspell it) We left in a white truck. We came back in a white truck (we had to pick up a doghouse). We left in a white sedan. We came back in a white sedan. (I don't remember what we had to do) We left in a black Miata. We came back in a red Jensen Interceptor.
Every trip we made, we saw a middle aged couple out walking. You can believe how many strange looks we were getting.
Review responses. My favorite part (because it means I have reviews!)
Syen-No offense to you, but I can't really thank you for anything, since you didn't leave a real review.
Maidenhair-It's always good to meet insane people. I'm glad I provided you with entertainment.
Silvermasque-Grin. I'm so glad you reviewed. I absolutely LOVE a mirror between worlds. NOTE TO THE GENERAL POPULACE: YOU ALL NEED TO GO READ A MIRROR BETWEEN WORLDS. And you're right. It IS so much easier to love someone from a book, because you know their thoughts and beliefs and where they stand on everything.
Erik for President-Thank you muchly. I'll help on the campaign, if you want. :gives entire life savings to campaign fund:
On with the phic!
♫ ♫ ♫
Meg pulled over instantly, when she saw Christine pass out. It took a few moments, but she managed to rouse her friend. Her, by now, very angry friend.
"Meg! Quit playing jokes like that!" Christine yelled. (A/N: You've all heard of Angry Erik, but what about Angry Christine? Still trying to be original, here)
Meg looked around nervously. Her mother had taken her first aid kit out of her car to fix some brat's sprained ankle. Meg then realized that they were a lot closer than she thought, only about a block from the school, so she kept driving.
"Meg!"
Meg pulled into a parking spot.
"Meg Giry! Apologize right now or you'll be roasting on a spit for my lunch!"
Meg got out of the car and ran.
♫ ♫ ♫
Meg sat in Pre-Cal, fiddling with her pencil, trying not to bite her lip. I hope Christine's BC Calculus class drains her of all will to live today like it usually does. I have choir with her next. I hope she's not still pissed off about that joke I played. Who would've thought that she'd react so violently? First fainting, then trying to rip my head off. I knew she liked that actor, Mr. Butler, but had no idea she'd read the book, too.
The teacher finished her speech about something about the midterm, and then said that they could talk for the rest of class.
Meg considered what Christine would say. Who cares? she decided after a moment. Even if BC Cal doesn't turn her into a bitter, sarcastic shell of her former enraged self, just stepping foot into the choir room will.
One of Meg's closest friends, Jammes, the French foreign exchange student, came up to her. (A/N: Translations are in the parentheses ( )). "Bonjour, mégohm. Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui? (Good morning, Meg. How are you today?)" she said.
"Très bien, Jammes. Il est bon de vous voir, (Fine, Jammes. It's good to see you,)" Meg answered.
"Oui, il est. Est-ce que je peux demander pourquoi vous couriez à travers le sort de stationnement ce matin? (Yes, it is. May I ask why you were running across the parking lot this morning?)" Jammes asked.
"Oui, vous pouvez, (Yes, you may,)" Meg answered gravely.
"Pourquoi couriez-vous à travers le sort de stationnement ce matin? (Why were you running across the parking lot this morning?)"
"Christine lue le livre, (Christine's read the book,)" Meg said.
"Le livre? (The book?)" Jammes asked incredulously.
Meg nodded. "Oui. J'ai mentionné vous-connaître-qui appellent, et elle freaked dehors, (Yes. I mentioned you-know-who's name, and she freaked out.)"
"Ainsi, étiez-vous à la partie vendredi? (So, were you at the party on Friday?)" Jammes asked, trying to change the subject.
Meg didn't resist her efforts. "Ouais. Charlotté et ce type, défaut de la reproduction sonore. (Yeah. Charlotté and that guy, wow.)"
"Le type avec le visage? (The guy with the face?)" Jammes asked, trying to clarify.
"Ouais. (Yeah.)"
"Quel un? Elle était avec au moins trois. (Which one? She was with at least three.)"
"Celui avec l'aiguille collant hors de son bras, (The one with the needle sticking out of his arm,)" Meg answered.
"Ah, ce type avec le visage. (Ah, that guy with the face.)"
The bell rang. Meg waved goodbye to Jammes, who was going to AP Chem, and set off for choir.
♫ ♫ ♫
Christine sat in BC Calculus, fiddling with her pencil, trying not to bite her lip. Why did I react like that? she thought. I guess it's the musical. Even if that part of the story wasn't made up, the Choir Teacher From Hell would give Charlotté the lead part even if it was for a bass.
A hand shot up in the back of the room. Miranda, the class clown, asked, "It's just a few minutes until the bell, can we talk?"
The teacher, Dr. Mueller (A/N: Forgive me, Anya. It was just too good.), swiveled his head in her direction. "Nein!" he thundered in his creepy German accent, "Class has barely begun, and you vant to talk?" (A/N: Me again. Sorry if the German accent didn't come out right, but just imagine that it did.) Miranda shrunk down visibly in her seat, along with Christine and the rest of the class. (A/N: In their own seats, obviously, not Miranda's). "Ve vork until zat bell rings!" Dr. Mueller continued.
Christine sat there for the last five minutes of class, taking notes, utterly sapped of her will to live.
♫ ♫ ♫
As Meg was walking down the hall from the math wing to the choir room at the other end of the school, she picked up on some juicy gossip.
"There's a new kid."
"He's really hot."
"He's so mine."
"He's so mine."
Meg smiled at the sounds of the catfight behind her. Maybe a hot new kid would perk Christine up. And if it didn't, well, Meg was certainly perked up.
♫ ♫ ♫
Christine was late to choir, since the police had blocked off the one hallway that led to the choir room. From what she'd gathered, two girls had been fighting. Probably about some guy. The reason the police were there was because one of the girls, Tiffany, had pulled a knife on the other girl Ashley, and stabbed her in the arm. Ashley had a gun, which she somehow managed to smuggle in, and shot Tiffany in the leg. (A/N: Two girls at my school named Tiffany and Ashley actually did get into a fight over a guy. There were no weapons, but it took the vice principal, two gym coaches, and the algebra teacher who also doubled as a track and football coach to separate them) They would probably have killed each other, but the Gym coaches and the ROTC sergeant had arrived to break them up.
She stood up on her tiptoes, trying to see if anyone was getting through. It didn't look like it, so she decided to go out and enter the choir room from the outside, before she was too late to class.
The bell had already been and gone a good five minutes before Christine managed to fight her way through the exponentially increasing crowd. This was no easy task, as many of the people in the back were jocks, and running into them with her petit frame had about as much effect as running into a steel beam, as far as moving them went, but eventually she got outside, jogged around the building, and entered the choir room.
♫ ♫ ♫
Meg looked around nervously for Christine. Christine was never late. The only time she was ever even slightly delayed for anything was when she'd been singing to herself in her mirror or listening to her soundtrack.
Approximately ten minutes later, Christine slipped in through the back door. Meg sighed in relief. Christine got settled in her chair just in time, as only seconds later, the door swung open to reveal the choir teacher strolling in with a cup of coffee in one hand and a donut in the other.
"Good morning, Mrs. Bowers," Charlotté simpered. (A/N: Mrs. Bowers is a name I pulled out of thin air. If she bears any resemblance to a Mrs. Bowers you know, it's unintentional.)
"Why, it is good to see you, Charlotté," Mrs. Bowers simpered right back.
"Do you think those two are lesbians?" Meg whispered.
"They certainly seem so at times," Christine replied.
"Class," Mrs. Bowers called, setting down her refreshments, "I am sure you are aware that there will be a musical at this school that the Concert Choir—that's you guys—will perform."
Christine and Meg looked at each other excitedly.
"The musical is untitled, and that fact is a part of the story. This musical was written and composed by a student here in the city, but he wishes to remain anonymous," Mrs. Bowers continued.
Meg looked at Christine with an I-told-you-so expression. Christine just crossed her eyes at her friend.
"You might have heard that this musical has an alto part for the lead," said Mrs. Bowers.
Christine smiled brilliantly, songs she could do at her audition already going through her mind.
"Well, you were wrong."
Christine gaped.
"I have taken the liberty of transposing the part so that our leading soprano, Charlotté Williams will sing it."
Christine's face fell. Just like everything else in this rotten excuse for a choir, she thought.
"I have also taken the liberty of removing the…" her nose wrinkled, as if she was about to say a profanity, "…ballet, from the musical."
Meg's expression was exactly similar to Christine. A mixture of disbelief, anger, disgust, and depression.
♫ ♫ ♫
A/N: This chappy belongs to my kitten, Christine, who has sat on my lap the entire time while I typed this. SHE'S SO CUUUUTE!
R&R, please.
Tris
