Disclaimer: Still Saban's sandbox. Still play here because it's fun.
Author's Note: These pieces all take place within the same universe (meaning if I mentioned it happening in one fic, you can assume it holds true throughout). However we're jumping timeline all over the place, so this piece occurs way before the last one. I'll jump timeline again in future parts.
Also, for those of you who might have had some sugar shock from the last part, break out the insulin for this entire fic. Something about finals and free-writing puts me in a rather sacrine mood. Zach's turn.
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Trini Kwan doesn't take crap from anyone. There's something really attractive about that.
It's not exactly something you get about her at first glance or even the second. After all, when you see her the first thing that comes to your mind is patience. The girl's got it in spades. An unwillingness to put up with people's B.S. doesn't seem to fit with a fuse that long, but somehow she makes it work. Iron fist. Velvet glove. That saying was made for her.
There are some people who never get it, like Eric, Trini's old negotiation partner. Man, am I glad not to be that stupid.
The peace conference is supposed to be all about 'teaching appreciation of other cultures through positive interaction', but they're not above a little friendly competition, especially when the ones they organize are all centered around 'life-skills'. Someday I'm going to get them to explain to me how speaking for three minutes on random topics I pulled of a hat is a life skill, or any kind of skill at all. I've been doing that since I could talk, but hey, not complaining.
So Trini picked negotiation, and she got paired with Eric. The two of them were pretty good together. Good as in everyone who went up against them practiced an extra day just so they wouldn't embarrass themselves. You know, scary good.
But Eric never got it. He never got that they were winning because of Trini, or maybe he did and his ego wanted to prove that wasn't the reason. I don't understand the boy. I just know I don't like him. He went into this huge fit about how she was always giving too much away, how she was like a reed that just went whatever way the wind did. You idiot, you're winning! I wanted to pull him into a dark alley somewhere and channel Jason and Tommy. Trini just stood up, looked him in the eye and said, "Thank you for the compliment, it's been nice working with you."
She's gone up against Eric four times since then, and still hasn't lost. Fist. Glove.
I asked her what the compliment was, and she explained it to me. Some time watch a reed in a storm. You know the kind that breaks tree branches. The reed goes this way and that way, but at the end of the storm it's still standing. After other things have been destroyed, it hasn't moved.
So Eric did get it. He just never knew it.
So when did I? Third time I looked at her. We're not talking about ever day looks. Not, hello Trini that's a nice shirt you have on, and oh, I finally realized you cut your hair looks. No, we're talking take notice and alter your thinking looks.
Like when I realized she might be pretty cool to know. We'd been in classes together for as far back as I can remember, probably since the beginning of school, but I never really noticed her. After all, she always sat in the first row and didn't say anything. Me? I sat in the back and said too much. There was a whole playground between kids like us. Then I broke my leg in the fifth grade. They don't let you go out to recess with a broken leg, and I don't care how many friends you have, when it's between you and tag . . . tag wins. Usually Jason would stay in with me, and we'd play cards or something, but he was sick that day, so I was facing a long half-hour of quality library time. Yup, just me and old Mrs. Simmons in the library.
'Cept Trini stayed behind, sat down across from me and asked whether I'd like some company. She didn't know anything about me, except I got my name put on the board for talking a lot, and I won out over tag. So she wasn't just the quiet girl who sat in the front of classroom anymore. She was the quiet girl who I wanted to invite to my next birthday.
Then one day you look up and realize your friend's a girl. At least that time, I had two other guys to help get me through that startling realization. Nothing like spandex to hit you over the head with that obvious fact, although Billy and Jason were probably a little bit ahead of me there. Still, being friends with a girl in high school is sort of different from being friends with one in junior high. Guys start asking you whether she's available, you have to be careful where you put your hands when you tickling her . . . your best friend confesses to having a crush on her. There were days when I wished Trini had remained the girl at the front of the class.
Right now, I'd just settle for Jason having stayed in Geneva, firmly planted between her and me, like some great brick wall. Yeah, okay, so I was definitely the odd man out when those two were together, but at least I got to sit back and watch Jason make a fool of himself. It's much funnier when you're not an active participant.
I am definitely not laughing now. Well, except for that odd strained sound I made when she teased me about this being a date. It wasn't supposed to be one. I swear! What else is a guy supposed to do for his friend's birthday in the middle of Europe? You go around, you see all the sites that you haven't had time to see yet because the program's so tough. You buy her that ugly gnome she was admiring in a shop window. It's her birthday.
It's not a date! I've been out on dates. I know how dates work. Lots of careful planning about how I will impress her with my charm and wit, and great jewelry *not* bought from putties, followed by four hours of prayer, and a moment at her front steps when I seriously think this must be what jumping off a bridge feels like.
There was no planning to this, other than trying to find out which sites she hadn't seen, and picking a good restaurant. But really we were just hanging around, until over dinner we got into this discussion about nuclear disarmament. That's one thing I'll say for being here, my conversation topics have really changed. Warning bells should have started to go off in my head when I heard myself talking more than her.
It's this thing she does. She starts to agree with you on little things, makes you think your winning the debate. All the while she's asking these questions that as you come up with answers to them, you start to move away from your position. Next thing you know, you find yourself arguing her side, and she's just sitting there nodding. Give a man enough rope . . .
Only this time, when I realize I'm now completely supporting her side, I look up to find her smiling at me with that triumphant, amused sparkle in her eyes and it strikes me how nice that expression is. Suddenly the fact that I can't breathe has absolutely nothing to do with the verbal noose around my neck.
Why is it that nice restaurants always dim their lights at dinnertime? And why did I have to spend the rest of the meal thinking about how the candlelight makes her skin glow?
What am I doing? She's nothing like Angela or any of the other girls I've ever been attracted to. If she was, I'd know what to do, but she's not . . . she wouldn't be impressed by all those things. Remember what I said about not putting up with people's crap? That still applies.
Why am I even thinking about this? I'm not Billy, who she seems to have a special frequency for. I am definitely not Jason who would keep her safe, but only if she let him. Intellect, leadership . . . I can't match her in any of those things. I'm just Zack, the guy who reminds her to get out and sometimes gets lucky enough to make her laugh in a way that sounds like wind-chimes.
Except we're standing at her door, and she's thanking me for a wonderful birthday and something about the way she's looking up at me makes want to look over my shoulder to make sure that Jason or Billy didn't just appear out of thin air. Nope just me here. Just Zack.
Suddenly being me seems sort of cool. Pardon me ladies and gentlemen, I have to go jump off a bridge.
If this were like the movies, especially one of those old movie musicals, there'd be a big musical swell, possibly a fountain that suddenly comes on, and we'd fade out on a great kiss.
My life is not a movie.
Did I even kiss her? It was so awkward and quick, that I can't be sure. Still her eyes are sort of opening, like they might have been closed, and now she's staring down at the ground.
"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah."
Idiotidiotidiotidiot. That's the problem with falling for a friend. With Angela, I could try try again. This is a one shot deal.
"Trini!" Did I say that out loud? She's turning, so that would be a yes. Don't think this time Taylor, just jump.
And cue the music. She has the softest lips, and her hair feels a little bit like silk. What perfume does she wear? I need to go buy her enough, so that she never runs out. I'll have to ask . . . later . . . much much later.
Next time, I'm gonna try for a fountain.
- + - + - + - + - + -
It's amazing what you come up with when you're avoiding molecular genetics lab reports.
Thanks for reading.
Comments, criticism, and suggestions appreciated as always.
Author's Note: These pieces all take place within the same universe (meaning if I mentioned it happening in one fic, you can assume it holds true throughout). However we're jumping timeline all over the place, so this piece occurs way before the last one. I'll jump timeline again in future parts.
Also, for those of you who might have had some sugar shock from the last part, break out the insulin for this entire fic. Something about finals and free-writing puts me in a rather sacrine mood. Zach's turn.
- + - + - + - + - + -
Trini Kwan doesn't take crap from anyone. There's something really attractive about that.
It's not exactly something you get about her at first glance or even the second. After all, when you see her the first thing that comes to your mind is patience. The girl's got it in spades. An unwillingness to put up with people's B.S. doesn't seem to fit with a fuse that long, but somehow she makes it work. Iron fist. Velvet glove. That saying was made for her.
There are some people who never get it, like Eric, Trini's old negotiation partner. Man, am I glad not to be that stupid.
The peace conference is supposed to be all about 'teaching appreciation of other cultures through positive interaction', but they're not above a little friendly competition, especially when the ones they organize are all centered around 'life-skills'. Someday I'm going to get them to explain to me how speaking for three minutes on random topics I pulled of a hat is a life skill, or any kind of skill at all. I've been doing that since I could talk, but hey, not complaining.
So Trini picked negotiation, and she got paired with Eric. The two of them were pretty good together. Good as in everyone who went up against them practiced an extra day just so they wouldn't embarrass themselves. You know, scary good.
But Eric never got it. He never got that they were winning because of Trini, or maybe he did and his ego wanted to prove that wasn't the reason. I don't understand the boy. I just know I don't like him. He went into this huge fit about how she was always giving too much away, how she was like a reed that just went whatever way the wind did. You idiot, you're winning! I wanted to pull him into a dark alley somewhere and channel Jason and Tommy. Trini just stood up, looked him in the eye and said, "Thank you for the compliment, it's been nice working with you."
She's gone up against Eric four times since then, and still hasn't lost. Fist. Glove.
I asked her what the compliment was, and she explained it to me. Some time watch a reed in a storm. You know the kind that breaks tree branches. The reed goes this way and that way, but at the end of the storm it's still standing. After other things have been destroyed, it hasn't moved.
So Eric did get it. He just never knew it.
So when did I? Third time I looked at her. We're not talking about ever day looks. Not, hello Trini that's a nice shirt you have on, and oh, I finally realized you cut your hair looks. No, we're talking take notice and alter your thinking looks.
Like when I realized she might be pretty cool to know. We'd been in classes together for as far back as I can remember, probably since the beginning of school, but I never really noticed her. After all, she always sat in the first row and didn't say anything. Me? I sat in the back and said too much. There was a whole playground between kids like us. Then I broke my leg in the fifth grade. They don't let you go out to recess with a broken leg, and I don't care how many friends you have, when it's between you and tag . . . tag wins. Usually Jason would stay in with me, and we'd play cards or something, but he was sick that day, so I was facing a long half-hour of quality library time. Yup, just me and old Mrs. Simmons in the library.
'Cept Trini stayed behind, sat down across from me and asked whether I'd like some company. She didn't know anything about me, except I got my name put on the board for talking a lot, and I won out over tag. So she wasn't just the quiet girl who sat in the front of classroom anymore. She was the quiet girl who I wanted to invite to my next birthday.
Then one day you look up and realize your friend's a girl. At least that time, I had two other guys to help get me through that startling realization. Nothing like spandex to hit you over the head with that obvious fact, although Billy and Jason were probably a little bit ahead of me there. Still, being friends with a girl in high school is sort of different from being friends with one in junior high. Guys start asking you whether she's available, you have to be careful where you put your hands when you tickling her . . . your best friend confesses to having a crush on her. There were days when I wished Trini had remained the girl at the front of the class.
Right now, I'd just settle for Jason having stayed in Geneva, firmly planted between her and me, like some great brick wall. Yeah, okay, so I was definitely the odd man out when those two were together, but at least I got to sit back and watch Jason make a fool of himself. It's much funnier when you're not an active participant.
I am definitely not laughing now. Well, except for that odd strained sound I made when she teased me about this being a date. It wasn't supposed to be one. I swear! What else is a guy supposed to do for his friend's birthday in the middle of Europe? You go around, you see all the sites that you haven't had time to see yet because the program's so tough. You buy her that ugly gnome she was admiring in a shop window. It's her birthday.
It's not a date! I've been out on dates. I know how dates work. Lots of careful planning about how I will impress her with my charm and wit, and great jewelry *not* bought from putties, followed by four hours of prayer, and a moment at her front steps when I seriously think this must be what jumping off a bridge feels like.
There was no planning to this, other than trying to find out which sites she hadn't seen, and picking a good restaurant. But really we were just hanging around, until over dinner we got into this discussion about nuclear disarmament. That's one thing I'll say for being here, my conversation topics have really changed. Warning bells should have started to go off in my head when I heard myself talking more than her.
It's this thing she does. She starts to agree with you on little things, makes you think your winning the debate. All the while she's asking these questions that as you come up with answers to them, you start to move away from your position. Next thing you know, you find yourself arguing her side, and she's just sitting there nodding. Give a man enough rope . . .
Only this time, when I realize I'm now completely supporting her side, I look up to find her smiling at me with that triumphant, amused sparkle in her eyes and it strikes me how nice that expression is. Suddenly the fact that I can't breathe has absolutely nothing to do with the verbal noose around my neck.
Why is it that nice restaurants always dim their lights at dinnertime? And why did I have to spend the rest of the meal thinking about how the candlelight makes her skin glow?
What am I doing? She's nothing like Angela or any of the other girls I've ever been attracted to. If she was, I'd know what to do, but she's not . . . she wouldn't be impressed by all those things. Remember what I said about not putting up with people's crap? That still applies.
Why am I even thinking about this? I'm not Billy, who she seems to have a special frequency for. I am definitely not Jason who would keep her safe, but only if she let him. Intellect, leadership . . . I can't match her in any of those things. I'm just Zack, the guy who reminds her to get out and sometimes gets lucky enough to make her laugh in a way that sounds like wind-chimes.
Except we're standing at her door, and she's thanking me for a wonderful birthday and something about the way she's looking up at me makes want to look over my shoulder to make sure that Jason or Billy didn't just appear out of thin air. Nope just me here. Just Zack.
Suddenly being me seems sort of cool. Pardon me ladies and gentlemen, I have to go jump off a bridge.
If this were like the movies, especially one of those old movie musicals, there'd be a big musical swell, possibly a fountain that suddenly comes on, and we'd fade out on a great kiss.
My life is not a movie.
Did I even kiss her? It was so awkward and quick, that I can't be sure. Still her eyes are sort of opening, like they might have been closed, and now she's staring down at the ground.
"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah."
Idiotidiotidiotidiot. That's the problem with falling for a friend. With Angela, I could try try again. This is a one shot deal.
"Trini!" Did I say that out loud? She's turning, so that would be a yes. Don't think this time Taylor, just jump.
And cue the music. She has the softest lips, and her hair feels a little bit like silk. What perfume does she wear? I need to go buy her enough, so that she never runs out. I'll have to ask . . . later . . . much much later.
Next time, I'm gonna try for a fountain.
- + - + - + - + - + -
It's amazing what you come up with when you're avoiding molecular genetics lab reports.
Thanks for reading.
Comments, criticism, and suggestions appreciated as always.