A/N: My mom is watching the story on this chick that they took of life support and starved to death (because she had brain damage). You all must've heard of the story, it was pretty big. This is where the euthanisation laws are so screwed up. I mean, if I was a vegetable, I would want to be euthanised, or if I was dying a slow painful death, I would want a quick drug overdose to get it over and done with right away. But because of the stupid laws, I have to suffer. WHat a crock! What do you guys think about it?

ENJOY!

Chapter 6: Words Can Never Hurt You

Katie broke into a run to her car, Zack beside her, and Marta trailing behind. She stopped at the top of the stairs, other kids walking briskly past, as the final bell finished its chime. Zack slid over the hood of the car, swinging open the passenger side door and hopping in.

"I'll catch a ride with Eleni," Marta called, and Katie waved before ducking in behind the wheel.

"We should of brought Frankie," she said to Zack, who looked at her wide-eyed and impatient. He tapped the dashboard as she revved the engine, both readily buckled in, "Kyle's gonna kill Freddy…"

"No, he's not. Summer won't let him," Zack mumbled, though he didn't sound as though he believed it himself.

"But…"

"Just go!"

Katie peeled out of the school parking lot, several students and faculty members stopping to stare. She ripped down the street, Zack fidgeting beside her.

"Where are they, right now?" he asked.

"Summer said they were going back to her house," Katie replied, her tires squealing as she raced to make a turn on a yellow light, "But how long will it take for Kyle to check there! He had that look in his eyes…that 'I'm going to murder someone' look and…"

"At least Summer and Freddy are getting along again," Zack broke in.

"I don't know…Summer sounded a little upset on the phone. Hey, did you talk to her, yet, apologize?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, "I did this morning. I think I was the fourth person…because she wasn't really surprised. But she didn't look a lot better…can she really be serious about ditching us for this guy? They've only been an official couple for a few days!"

"I know, I know…but it's not about that," Katie replied, glancing at him, as she cut a little blue car off, "I guess…I don't know…what this is all about, really. But I know it's not because she's dating him. This is a big opportunity for her and…"

"I wish you guys would stop saying that," Zack moaned, "So what if it's a big opportunity for her! What happened to waiting for School of Rock to get its big opportunity? What about sticking with our band, sticking it to The Man, and playing for the music? She's selling out! She's…"

"Don't go into a Freddy rant on me, Mooneyham," Katie warned, "If you start yelling about how she's playing the sensitive bitch, and she's just trying to get to the top, stepping all over us along the way, but doing it gently, then just stop right there."

"Hey, when you word it that way, it kind of makes sense…"

"Shut it. Look, this is Summer's first boyfriend, and -"

"Aren't you getting tired of arguing her case?" Zack interrupted, "I know you, Katie. You don't really believe what you're saying. You think it's a load of bull like the rest of us. Maybe Freddy was right, maybe we should be mad at her, maybe we should be royally pissed off. And if she doesn't need us, then we don't need her."

"But that's exactly what she's saying," Katie said quietly, "I don't know. Maybe this is all a test. She wants us to support her, Zack, and that's what we have to do. If we push her away, then she'll leave for certain."

"Or maybe," Zack put in sarcastically, a mutter under his breath, "It's all a bad dream."

"She's my friend, Zack," Katie told him solemnly, "I just think I should support my friend. She's obviously going through some shit right now, but I have to trust she'll make the right decision in the end."

They fell silent. Katie pulling off the highway into the familiar neighborhood where Summer's house was nestled.

0-0-

Summer frowned at the television, volume turned on low, MTV flashing some pop band that reminded her of Kyle and the Barber Boys. Freddy entered the living room, his uniform casually pulled back on. He was spinning one of his drumsticks in his fingers, throwing the bunched up clothes he'd borrowed on the couch. They hadn't said anything to one another, since they'd left the amusement park. They'd stopped at a pizza place, for food, making small chat about vaguely random and irrelevant subjects, and then returned to Summer's home.

"What's on?" Freddy mumbled, catching the stick and shoving it in his back pocket with the other one. Summer looked at the remote, flipping the channel a few times, before coming back to the original station.

"Nothing," she muttered.

"These guys suck," he commented, leaning on the couch and scowling at the screen.

"Yeah," Summer agreed, "I think they're looping the same chorus in the background. And the music…" she shook her head.

"It has no rhythm," he finished for her. She smiled, and then it faltered, as she suddenly recognized the song. She'd heard it on Friday, in Kyle's car. He liked this "band". And then she felt badly. She'd told him that she'd liked the song, and now she was unwittingly making fun of it with Freddy. And she'd ditched him for Freddy. And she'd failed to call him, didn't want to hang out with him after band practice, because of Freddy. She looked to the drummer, uncertain of how to feel. It seemed she was doing a lot of things those past few days because of Freddy. Mostly crying.

It seemed strange. How natural it felt, for Summer, sitting there chatting with Freddy. Their dialogue was forced, their smiles nervous, and there seemed a great deal of tension in the air, because of their recent fight and the foreboding of Kyle's reaction. But this was what was familiar to her. This was her norm, trying to decide whether she hated Freddy at that moment, or if their fight was worth giving another thought to. When did it become this way? Kyle was her boyfriend. Shouldn't she be thinking of him instead of wondering how far she would have to reach to touch Freddy's cheek? You don't know how this works, Summer told herself, you don't know what it means to have a boyfriend. It's not like in the movies, you know. You really like Kyle, and there's a great deal of potential between you and him.

Most every girl at Horace Green, and in varying other schools in the city, were undoubtedly wishing they had Freddy Jones standing in their house at that moment.

What a shallow thought, Summer scolded herself, not one of those girls knew Freddy. Her heart gave a foppish thud. What do you really know about Freddy? You yell at him, that he's not a great friend, but when have you ever taken the time to get to know him? To really know him? The way friends do. When have you ever taken the time to get to know any of them. She narrowed her eyes, studying the tendon that ran from his ear down his neck. There was a little scar, on the back of his ear, that she'd never realized was there. Before she knew what she was doing, she had reached out and touched the tiny imperfection. He flinched, looking at her in surprise.

"How did…" she attempted, and he looked at her in confusion, before bringing his own fingers up to touch the scar, and realizing what she meant. He resettled against the couch.

"It's nothing," he told her slowly, his eyes refocused on the television, "I was five, climbing on the counter to get the cookies, and I slipped, fell, banged my head, lots of blood, lots of crying…fun stuff like that…"

"Oh," she mumbled, he was lying, "Today wasn't so bad, was it?" He smirked at her.

"No. That is, up until the part where Katie called.…"

"What about the part where we were at each other's throats?" she asked, not even bothering to hide the resentment in her voice.

He straightened, taking the remote from where Summer had thrown it and turning the television off. Summer folded her hands in her lap, bracing herself for another screaming contest. But there was silence, as Freddy crossed the room, picking up one of the framed pictures off a shelf.

"Those are my grandparents," Summer explained, turning to see what he was up to. He flinched slightly, putting the picture back down, and running his fingers over another one, "And that's my father…"

"Where is he? This is the only picture I've seen of him. Did he run off or something…"

"He died."

"Oh. How?"

"You're supposed to ask if I mind you asking," Summer whispered.

"What?"

"You're supposed to ask if I mind you asking," she repeated and he turned to meet her eyes, before shrugging.

"Okay. Do you mind me asking?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

"Okay," Freddy turned back to the pictures, "So, how'd he die?" She was quiet a moment, looking back to her hands sitting in her lap.

"I don't know, exactly," she said hesitantly, "He was in the military…there was a knock on the door, they always knock when, you know…and these men came, and they told my mother. I was eight, I think."

"Wasn't that when you came to Horace Green?"

"Yeah," Summer shifted, leaning back into the couch, "Well, I came before he…well, died. But that was the same year."

"Really?" Freddy turned, leaning against the shelf, his palms pressed into the wood, "You were always so cheerful. God, it was sickening. You were so peppy, and happy. You were like the fucking energizer bunny…"

"I don't want to talk about this," Summer mumbled.

"Sorry. Were you close?"

"Excuse me."

"Were you and your dad close?"

"Can we talk about something else?" Summer clicked her tongue, looking at him peeved. Oh, how he got on her nerves.

"It's either this, or Kyle," Freddy spat. Summer made a face, and he looked rather smug, "What? You prefer when I call him bastard?"

"I would prefer not speaking about him with you."

"You're father or the bastard?"

Summer pursed her lips, pushing herself to her feet and turning to face him. "You're trying to make me angry," she accused, "You really want to know? My father and I weren't close, alright? But then, he was never really home, and I was eight years old. That's it, end of story."

"Fine."

She clenched her hands in fists at her side, and he stared down at the ground. They were quiet, their breath the only sound between them. She could feel her fingernails biting into her palms. She couldn't figure him out. Why was he doing this to her? Did he hate her? Her heart clenched at that. She didn't want him to hate her, she realized.

"What's his band like?"

The question took Summer aback. Her mouth hung open, swinging, flailing uselessly. Freddy glanced at her, intensely, waiting for her answer.

"You said the bastard's band was good. What's it like? Do they play rock?"

"No…I just…nothing."

"They play nothing?"

Summer fidgeted, turning away. What was she going to say? Kyle was in a little boy band? Are you embarrassed, Summer asked herself, why can't you tell him? She chewed her lower lip, folding her arms in front of her, shaking her head. Her hair was a mess, she might as well take her ponytail out, so many strands had escaped around her face.

"They don't play rock, okay! They're not so much a band as a…well…a…singing group," Summer snapped, "Happy now?"

"What?" he managed, his eyes large white circles, his mouth partially parted. Then he shook his head, understanding falling on him. He sneered, "It kind of fits."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know," he answered, looking away, pulling out a drumstick to twirl distractedly, "You never really fit the whole rock n' roll atmosphere. Too preppy for your own good. Maybe you should be the manager of a teeny bopper group. If it weren't for School of Rock, hell, you'd be a teeny bopper."

"Shut up, Freddy."

"Why, because it's true? Face it, Summer. You are the epitome of everything rock is against."

"Epitome, that's a big word for you…"

"Oh, that's a great comeback," Freddy spat, "Look at you, Summer. You're wearing a blouse, for crying out loud!" He stopped the drumstick, staring her down. She was trembling now, enraged, and he was just as livid, his muscles tense, "Jesus Christ, Summer, we can do without you! And fuck, you can sure as hell do without School of Rock."

"Fuck you."

"What? Did you just…wow, Summer, I am impressed. Foul language like that isn't very becoming of a young…"

"Shut up," Summer screamed, throwing a pillow at him, "You. Goddamn, Freddy, what are you trying to prove? Freddy Jones. You're family is richer than God! You're mother is a lawyer, you're father owns three successful companies, and you are the poor little rich boy! What is so bad about your life? Huh? You've never suffered, you've never been miserable! My father died, and no, we weren't incredibly close, and yes, I put on a good show at school of how incredibly happy I wasn't! But at least I have something I can relate to when I turn on that radio and the music pours out!

"You can't sit there and tell me that I don't fit the 'rock' profile, Mister Country club! You cause trouble just because you're bored, not because you're trying to make some statement! You have everything you ever wanted in life, and then some! You've been complaining that it's about the music, you don't even understand the music, you're life is perfect!"

"You're right. You're absolutely right. My life is fan-fucking-tastic," Freddy spat, "I hope you enjoy managing your boyfriend's boy band while its popular. In a year, it'll be nothing, and School of Rock will hit it big. Without you." He swung the front door open, Kyle standing on the porch, finger hovering over the doorbell. They exchanged a look, Kyle's mouth opening as he was ready to say something, but Freddy pushed past, barging down the walkway as Katie's car pulled up to the curb.

"What is going on?" Kyle demanded of Summer, "You and I were supposed to have lunch! You ditched me for…"

"I'm sorry, Kyle, alright," Summer whispered, her eyes welled with tears, "I…I…I made a mistake. I'd forgotten about lunch, and…"

"But with him," Kyle demanded, pointing menacingly at Freddy's back, as the blonde made his way down the street. He paused, at Katie's car, as Katie and Zack exited the vehicle.

"What's up?" Zack asked Freddy, who shook his head, shrugging.

"I'm sorry, okay," Summer whispered, "I just…"

"Did you kiss him?"

"Oh, Kyle, whoa," Katie cried, "You are jumping to a huge conclusion! Summer…and Freddy…that would just never happen!" Kyle spun, glowering at her.

"Stay the hell out of this!" he snapped.

"Don't talk to her like that," Zack yelled.

"Will everybody just please…" Summer cried, and Kyle turned back to her, his eyes boring into her own.

"Summer. How could you do this? I thought…you and I…but him…him? I can't do this, Summer. I have to know, did you…do anything…with him?"

"No," Summer answered quietly, her eyes flickering to Freddy momentarily, tears spilling down her cheeks, "I really am sorry about all of this. Please…will you please forgive me."

"I don't know, Summer."

"Kyle, please…I'll make this up to you, anything, please…"

"Katie, can I get a ride home?" Freddy questioned, looking to the bassist with dark eyes. She looked confused a moment before realizing what he was saying and nodding, "Then let's go."

"I can forgive you," Kyle said steadily, "If you never see him again."

Everything stopped. Katie's eyes went wide, Zack's mouth dropped, and Freddy stared down at the car window as though trying to shatter it with his look alone. Summer took a slow breath, licking her lips, and blinking a few more tears down her face.

"I said, let's go," Freddy hissed to the others, flinging the car door open and sliding in. He didn't want to be there, he didn't want to hear her say it. He didn't want to hear her tell him, 'sure, no problem, I don't even want to see him ever again'.

"No," Summer's voice was so soft, just below a whisper.

"What?" Kyle gaped.

"No," Summer said, more firmly, "I really like you, Kyle, but Freddy is my friend. I know that something happened between you and him, and I understand your feelings, so I'm not going to ask you to try and be civil towards him. But I cannot tolerate an ultimatum like that."

Kyle took a deep breath, before grabbing Summer's hand and dragging her in the house, whispering harshly, "I want to talk privately", shutting the door behind them.

Katie and Zack stepped forward, faces etched with worry. They wanted to go in that house. They feared the worst would happen. But Freddy relaxed in the car, frowning at the back of the seat. Why did she have to say that? He took out his drumsticks, pounding them against the soft cushion. He wasn't going to forgive her for what she'd said about him earlier. Maybe his family was rich, and maybe he was playing the part of the poor little rich boy, but she didn't know anything about his life. He frowned, pausing. Maybe she was right. It was perfect. It was exactly what he deserved.

0-0-

"Do you think Summer is going to be alright?" Katie asked for what seeemed the hundredth time, turning in the car to face the two boys. She'd parked in front of the Jones' estate only moments ago. They had ridden in silence, that tension hanging in the air. Freddy brooding in the backseat, Zack worried in the front, and Katie trying to concentrate on the road while the two boys' deafening silence kept her on the edge of her seat.

"She'll call," Zack murmured, as Freddy got out. They waved good-bye, watching the solemn drummer make his way up to the large house. Katie pressed her lips together, waiting until he was well within the gates, before turning her car out of the street, passing lavish mansion after lavish mansion.

"I wonder what happened between them," Katie mumbled.

"I told you, she'll call and tell us what Kyle…"

"I meant between Summer and Freddy!"

"Oh," Zack moved to turn the radio on, but paused, leaning back into the seat instead, "You hungry?"

"What?" Katie glanced at him, a little startled. He shrugged, smirking slightly.

"I don't know, rushing off to rescue friends kind of works up an appetite."

Katie smiled, brushing her hair behind her ears. She glanced at Zack, who was eased in his seat, laid back and calm. It's just food, she told herself, don't get overexcited.

"Okay. What are you hungry for?" Was that squeak my voice, she thought.

"Burgers fine," Zack answered.

"I don't really have money," Katie said. Good, that's coy, she mentally noted, if he pays, it's a date, right?

"It's okay, I do," Zack told her.

Katie smiled, running a hand through her hair and settling back into her chair. She had a strong urge to check her make-up. Was Zack actually asking her on a date? No, Katie told herself, that's jumping to conclusions, I'm being silly. Of course, she couldn't really tell that to her heart, racing like mad, and her head, soaring high in the clouds. She hated feeling this way about the lead guitarist, hated lying to his face about why she was worried about her looks all the time, hated how a simple word or compliment from him could send her on the fritz. And she hated, most especially, how she had only recently gotten over her shyness, just for it to come creeping back with the one boy she'd ever felt completely comfortable around.

"This is good," Zack continued, "Because Summer will call you, so I don't have to wait until tomorrow to find out what happened."

"Oh. Yeah," Katie murmured, her face falling somewhat. So that's it. He's worried about Summer. She clenched the wheel tighter, forcing her smile back in place. Yeah, she thought bitterly, silly.

0-0-

Freddy closed the door quietly behind him, walking through the halls of the large house. A man, busy cleaning the windows, paused to glance at him, before resuming his work. The walls were white, empty, bare, not a single picture adorned them like Summer's house. In fact, there were no pictures to be seen, anywhere. The great entryway was graced with a long spiral staircase, that split off into two sets of stairs. One led to the second floor, the other to the third. It was a high ceiling, a crystal chandelier at the very top. To the side was a massive den, one of many little sitting rooms. There was a couch, black leather, that had never been sat on. A fireplace, that had never been used. To the other direction was another room, with a table, a bushel of flowers in a vase on top. They were replaced daily. Then more richly designed, pricey furniture that was never used. The back hallway led to the kitchen, massive. Freddy had never been it in for more than two minutes. The cook didn't like him. And then farther back was the sliding glass door, that led to the backyard. There was a pool back there, Olympic sized, larger than the indoor one a floor below, a tennis court, and a half basketball court were back there as well.

Freddy walked past the staircase, into the hallway. No candid pictures of smiling children, or old people, or aged portraits of dead men graced those walls. There was, however, an abstract painting, by some unknown artist. He passed a housemaid, who gave him a small glance, before continuing with dusting. He paused.

"My dad home?" he asked, not bothering to turn, and the woman was surprised. He didn't usually talk with the domestics, they were invisible, non-existent as far as he was concerned.

"Yes, sir," she answered after a moment's hesitation. He frowned. He could always tell when his father was home. It was like a dark cloud hovered over the mansion. It always made him feel sick to his stomach. Like his father had an unnatural presence.

"Don't tell him I'm back," Freddy muttered, and continued down the hall. He didn't need to see her confused nod of the head to know she would obey him. It wasn't as though she was paid to be his keeper anyways.

He stopped at the glass door, at the very end of the hall. It was perfectly shining. No fingerprints, no dirt, no dust, not a smudge. It smelled of Windex, and he wondered if he ran his finger along it, would a thick coat of blue stain its tip. He pressed his hand against the window, instead. It was cold. He pulled the appendage back, admiring the mark it left, a greasy handprint, before opening the door and marching into the back yard. He could already sense the housemaid, like a whirl, already there, cleaning up any indication that he'd ever existed in that house. The gardener was busy mowing the lawns, he put a brake on the large mower he was riding on, to give Freddy a once over. Freddy ignored him. He could see the tennis court, rackets casually discarded on the green gravel. A middle-aged man was busy picking up scattered green tennis balls around the court. Father had company.

To the very end of the backyard was an apartment, built high up above the storage that held all the gardening equipment. Freddy jogged up the white wooden steps, pausing at the door as he shifted in his pockets for his key. He'd staked his claim on that small separate building when he'd first moved in to his father's house. It was small, with a little kitchen, a tiny bedroom, a closet sized bathroom with no more than a toilet and a hand sink, and a little 'den' space connected to the kitchen. He didn't live in it, as he wasn't even supposed to be going in it. It was rundown, and a housemaid was paid to come clean it everyday, but she only did it once a week. Nobody else went in to check if she did her work, so why bother?

He checked his pockets, pulling them inside out, before tucking them back in. He tore open his book bag, that was mostly empty save for a binder of blank loose-leaf paper, his personal CD player, a small book of CDs and a half-eaten bag of cotton candy. He frowned, deciding he must have forgotten them in his room in the house. He looked back at the cold white palace of ice with despair. He couldn't exactly stand out there all day. He made his way back across the lot, flung open the glass door, which had been cleaned, he noted, and marched back into the house.

Freddy raced up the stairs, alert for any movement. He jumped nearly three feet in the air when he ran into a man servant that looked strikingly like his father and only breathed easier when he reached the familiar white door. The last thing he wanted was to run into his father. Because then they would have to talk, and, for good reason, Freddy didn't want to talk with his father. He opened the door, sliding in, shutting it carefully behind him. The room was spotless. He hated it. He always felt so small in that large empty space. There was a desk, with a top-of-the-line computer pressed up against the wall. He'd never turned it on, he didn't even know if it worked or if it was plugged in. There was a dresser, where his clothes, that he didn't wear, were neatly folded and placed inside. A trash bin, that was empty. A lamp, his bed, a bedside table, an alarm clock that was blinking 1:42 am. Had he forgot to fix that when he last pulled the chord out to stop the blaring alarm? There was a television, another unused relic, with the remote balanced on top of it. Every game system ever created, a VCR and DVD player, and a large sound system was set up around the television. There was one poster on his wall, of Harvard, the school Freddy's parents wanted him to go to, but gave up on the dream of him ever attending sometime in the third grade.

It was dark in that room, the curtains drawn back. Freddy crossed to the bedside table, his foot kicking hard glass. He paused, looking down, his hands on the small drawer where he kept little things like keys and his drumsticks. It was an empty bottle of Chardonnay, that he knew wasn't his. He preferred hard liquor; rum, tequila, vermouth, and even still, he'd always drunk red wine. And that's when he noticed the rumpled mess his bed was. He looked to it, knowing what he'd see. A woman, naked, her primped hair a fan of tangles across his pillow. His blankets strewn over the bottom half of her body, one leg dangling out, the rest knotted about her. She lay on her side, one arm covering the majority of her ample breast, though one partially puckered out so that he could see a fraction of the nipple. She stirred, her eyes opening somewhat, to look at him drowsily. She was still drunk, he could tell from her slow intake of the scene around her and how her eyes wouldn't focus.

"Hey," she slurred, touching the front of his shirt, pressing her fingers against his stomach, "Who are you…? You're kind of cute…"

She pulled him forward, pressing her lips against his. She tasted of lipstick, wine, and, sickeningly Freddy thought, his father. She gripped his shirt tightly, and he felt like he was going to throw up. He pushed her away, stumbling back, and she fell once again to the bed, half-passed out, yet still conscious enough to give him an almost 'come hither' look. He burst from the room, slamming the door shut behind him, and sliding down to the ground. His head was spinning, his heart pounding, his breath heaving gasps. He wiped at his mouth, furiously, and pulled back his hand, surprised when he felt droplets of something wet. He touched his cheek. He was crying. He didn't cry. He'd never cried. Not even when his grandmother died, or when his parents got divorced, or when he'd broken his arm in the first grade. He sniffed, running the back of his hand over his eyes and leaned his head back against the heavy wood of the door. He could hear heavy snores inside, muffled by the obstruction. The woman was asleep again.

Unsteadily, Freddy rose to his feet, making his way back down the stairs. He gripped the banister tightly, for fear his legs would give out on him and he'd tumble to the ground. For a fearfully fleeting moment, he considered doing exactly that. But he realized, it wouldn't kill him, not like he hoped it would. It would merely cause him more pain. Maybe break a few of his bones. At the end of the stairs, he leaned heavily on the railing, staring into that room, with the daily replaced plant. Suddenly adrenaline kicked through his veins, he wanted to destroy something. He marched into that room, grabbed the vase, and threw it with all his strength to the ground. It shattered, the water splashing up onto his pant legs, and across the carpet. The flowers, a limp, desecrated mess, scattered across the floor. Good, he thought, it was too beautiful to belong in that house. It had too much life, it should be dead.

"My room?" Freddy demanded of the broken glass and soaked floor, "Why did he have to fuck her in my room? There are five hundred fucking rooms in this house! Why mine? Was he too fucking drunk to make it all the fucking way to his own goddamned room?" He ran his hand over his forehead, messaging the temples, as the butler and a few housemaids came in to see what the commotion was about. He heard one cluck her tongue, probably looking at the mess disapprovingly. Damn rich people, she was most likely thinking, they get a little dramatic and I have to clean up after them. What have they got to be so upset about? Their lives are perfect.

Freddy felt badly suddenly. He bent down, thinking of cleaning up the mess, but then he wouldn't know how. He'd never cleaned before. He touched a piece of the vase, then dropped it in surprise, gasping, and balling his hand into a fist. It had sliced through his flesh, cleanly, and now thick black red filled his clenched hand, dribbling to add to the mess.

"Um…sir," one of the housemaids finally spoke up, "Are you alright?" She had a soft voice, filled to the brink with concern, and fear. She was scared of him. He stood, his back straight, his head held high.

"Perfect," he told her. He turned to her, smiling broadly, "I'm Freddy Jones, of course, I'm alright. My life is perfect."

The domestics stared at him, blankly, uncertainly. They didn't know what to say. He left them, walking from the room, to the back door, to the backyard. His hand was quickly covering in blood, and it was splattering in great drops to the ground. But that was alright. It would only take the housemaids seconds to clean it all up. And then, it would never have happened. Because there would be no trace, no evidence, besides broken pieces of colorful glass put out in the dumpster on the side of the road. He didn't care. And he didn't care that he had failed to grab the keys to the apartment in the backyard. It didn't matter. He could sit there on the porch of the apartment, or even jimmy the lock with a credit card. He had dozens of those, though he wasn't sure he knew how to open a lock with one. But he didn't mind.

Freddy stopped, at the bottom of those old wooden stairs, pressing his hand onto the railing, wavering back and forth, suddenly lightheaded.

"Summer can leave," he muttered, suddenly washed over with fatigue. He didn't know where it came from, why she was suddenly on his mind. But for some reason, her image was there right in front of his eyes, "We don't need her. What does she do for the band anyways? Nothing! She can manage his band, and I hope she's fucking happy." He climbed the stairs, before collapsing on the porch, pressing his cheek against the cool wooden floor, grains of dirt pressing into his skin. Sometimes, he just wanted to sleep.

0-0-

Everybody was surprised, to say the least, when Summer walked in through the door for band practice. They all expected Freddy over her. She marched in with her usual air of confidence, set her pack on the counter, flipping it open to search for her band organizer, clipboard, a pen, her cell phone, and anything else she might need.

"Hi, Summer," Michelle spoke up, killing the silence that had invaded the room. And the others, remembering the day before, all broke into jubilant greetings.

"How are you today, Summer?" Marco asked.

"How's it hanging, Tinkerbell?" Dewey slickly called.

"Glad you're here," Alicia smiled winningly. Marta was still quiet, eyes on the ground, sitting on the couch. She felt guilty, obviously, from letting things slip to Kyle, and even then, she wasn't sure she was ready to forgive Summer, and didn't want to join in on the 'be-kind-to-your-manager' plan. Katie crossed the room, leaning on the counter and smiling at the very startled Summer. She was staring out at the others, her cheeks flushed from their unexpected attention.

"What's going on, guys?" she started, a little wary of their staring and overbearing friendliness.

"Nothing, just waiting for you," Zack said, and everyone nodded agreement.

"Um…okay," Summer mumbled, "Shouldn't you all be practicing, and…stuff?"

"Oh, right," Dewey grinned, "Summer, where would we be without you?" Summer shrugged.

"Yeah, thanks, you always keep us right on track," Tomika smiled sweetly and they all went back to prepping for practice. Katie leaned closer to Summer.

"What happened with lover boy?" she asked conspiratorially. Summer flipped through her organizer.

"We talked," she murmured, "He agreed that it was wrong of him to give me that ultimatum. I told him it was wrong of me to take off with Freddy like that. We worked things out."

"Did you talk about…the…um…manager thing?" Katie pressed, quietly, plucking at a loose string on Summer's pack. Summer slammed her organizer shut.

"No," she answered, "He didn't bring it up. Katie, shouldn't you be on the bass, instead of chatting with me?"

"Oh, sorry," Katie grumbled, then wincing, and forcing a pleasantly appreciative smile, "I mean, yeah, you're totally right!" She picked up her guitar, crossing to stand with Zack, who was tightening the fifth string of his guitar somewhat. He glanced at her.

"So? What'd she say?"

"Things are good with her and Kyle," Katie answered, busying herself with tuning her own guitar, "We overreacted. We shouldn't have worried so much. Kyle's a good guy…"

"Yeah, whatever," Zack muttered sarcastically, "He's a real saint, and he's great with the trust thing."

"Summer did seem to ditch him for Freddy. Can you really blame him?"

"Come on, Katie. I don't trust that guy. I don't know why, but he creeps me out."

Katie gave Zack a surprised look.

"I didn't know you felt that way," she stated dumbly, "How come you didn't mention this before?"

"Oh please, you'd think I was just siding with Freddy. Best friend or not, I do have an opinion of my own. Freddy thinks the guy's a jerk, I think he's a little weird…there's something off about him," Zack shrugged, "After the way he acted with Summer. He's taking things a bit fast, don't you think? He wants to be her boyfriend now, wants to work with her, and he wants to decide who she's friends with? That sounds pretty…"

"Summer's a strong girl," Katie cut him off, "So if you're going in the, 'he might be or will abuse her direction', forget it, Zack. She would end that relationship so fast…and I hate to admit this, but maybe he does have a good reason to fear her hanging out with Freddy."

"Why? Because of that Kyle's ex-girlfriend thing? Please," Zack shook his head, "I remember when that happened."

"So do I, everybody heard about it at school…"

"Well, I saw it all," Zack hissed, and Katie fell silent, looking at him wide-eyed, surprised. This was news to her. He sighed and glanced around, before taking Katie by the elbow and leading her to a more secluded corner, "Look, what I tell you, stays between us. Freddy doesn't even know exactly what happened that night, alright?"

"O-okay…what?"

"The reason Freddy doesn't remember it is because he was drunk. We were at a party, me and him, and he'd gotten into the booze. I was designated driver, so I was pretty much the only sober one at the party."

"So it was a drunk thing? Greta made out with him when they were both drunk…?"

"No," Zack murmured, shaking his head, almost sadly, "She wasn't drunk, she was as sober as a priest. She knew exactly what she was doing. It's not what everybody thinks. Freddy didn't come on to her, he didn't seduce her or any of that crap everyone thinks he did. He was so drunk, I don't even think he could see straight. Seduce someone? Forget about it. Wasn't gonna happen that night. Greta came into that party looking for someone to make-out with. She saw Freddy, and practically jumped him. No one else noticed, they were all busy having fun, and they just figured, Freddy, nailing another chick. Big deal. When Kyle came in, he reached the same conclusion everyone else did. He figured Freddy had been flirting with her, and initiated the whole thing.

"There was a huge fight, and he ended it with Greta, right there in front of everyone, and she didn't look like she was exactly unhappy about it. In fact, she looked pretty satisfied with herself. By then, Freddy had passed out. Which was good, because Kyle looked like he wanted to kill Freddy, and if Freddy had said anything…oh man. But that's how it happened. Greta pushed herself on Freddy, she wanted to end her relationship with Kyle, and I think that's the only way she could figure out how."

"What a bitch," Katie muttered, "Doing that to her own boyfriend…"

"You're not listening to me, Katie," Zack persisted, "I talked to her, afterwards. She helped me carry Freddy out to the car. I asked her why she did it. She told me she had to get out, that she had to get away from him."

"What?" Katie shook her head, "You misheard. That's stupid."

"No, I didn't. We were alone, in the middle of the night, no one was around, and she was speaking pretty damn clearly. I heard what she said."

"Why haven't you said anything about this? Why…why…did you…how come I didn't hear about any of this?" Katie questioned, eyes wide, face contorted with shock. Zack sniffed, shaking his head and glancing at the others, as though thinking they'd all heard and were staring at them now.

"Because pretty much no one at the party was from Horace Green, for one thing. And because it wasn't that huge, I'd forgotten about it until recently," Zack shifted, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, "It's not fair to Freddy, that he gets such a bad rap about all of this. Most of his reputation comes from things he did when he was drunk, things he can't even remember doing, or things other people spread about him, that he never did, but he can't be sure, because he might of been drunk. And whatever you and the other girls may think, I know him. He's got morals. He respects girls who are dating other guys, he'd never come on to a girl if he knew she had a boyfriend."

"Oh man," Katie shook her head, "I can't believe it. I won't. Kyle respects Summer. She said herself, they just talked things out, and he completely understood. And they reached an agreement. He wouldn't hurt her, or anything like that."

"I hope you're right," Zack sighed, looking to the petite manager, who was busy talking to Billy, Gordie, and Marco; probably something having to do with the upcoming show. Billy said something, obviously about her hair, as she brought a hand up to touch it, blushing and shocked all at once. "So, what do we do about her?"

"Keep with what were doing," Katie suggested.

"Kill her with kindness?"

"You got a better plan to keep her from leaving?" Katie asked.

"No, just let things be," Zack shrugged, "If she leaves, she leaves. It'll be her decision, and yeah, it'll suck, but we'll get over it…I think…Besides, she's smart. She might figure out what we're doing and imagine how pissed she'll…"

Everyone jumped when the door to the apartment building slammed open. Freddy swaggered in, sunglasses over his eyes, and a bandage around his hand, stained through with a bright red flower. His drumsticks casually shoved in his pocket, his hair a mess, and he tossed his jacket to the coat rack. It missed, falling to the ground. He didn't seem to care, slumping into his drum stool.

"Uh oh," Zack mumbled, "Those are his hangover glasses."

"We only left him a few hours ago," Katie replied, "He couldn't of gotten drunk in that short period of time."

"Oh ye of little faith," Zack muttered cynically, slowly making his way towards the drummer, Katie hesitantly behind.

"You're late," Summer began, her voice sounding a bit on edge, "You should have…"

"What are you doing here?" Freddy interjected harshly, and only Zack seemed able to detect the slight slur in his words, "I thought you were between bands."

"I…I am still active manager of School of Rock, and I…" she faltered, looking to the clipboard in her hands.

"Whatever," Freddy muttered.

"Shut up," Katie hissed, "We are happy that she is here." A murmur of less than certain "yeah's" followed.

"Yeah, and thankful that she's our manager," Marco added, painfully obvious that he wasn't really certain how much he believed what he was saying.

"Oh please," Freddy groaned, "They been feeding you this bull since you came in?" Summer flickered a glance to him, before continuing her staring contest with the paper in front of her.

"Freddy…Freddy, come on, watch it," Dewey warned, "Don't listen to him, Summer…we're glad you're here and…"

"You're our special member, and our favorite friend," Freddy cut him off, bitterly taunting, "They're just sucking up so you don't leave. Jesus Christ, Summer, you must have figured that out by now, oh great queen of brownnosing."

"Watch it," Tomika started threateningly, but the drummer disregarded her.

"What? I'm sorry if I spoiled your guys' little plot," Freddy spat, "Maybe if you lick her shoes and…"

"That is quite enough," Summer interrupted, her voice shaking, "You're right, Freddy Jones. I knew something was up, and I don't need you to rudely point it out to me. I wasn't going to say anything, but if you're so desperate to bring it to attention," she pushed the hair behind her ears, "It's still hanging in the air, this little decision of mine, and maybe I'm waiting for some great epiphany to fall from the sky and strike me upside the head with the correct answer. The one that makes the most sense, the one that feels right. But as of yet, nothing has hit me, except for one little fact. My friends are so incapable of stepping back and letting me think things through and let things be.

"What's next? Are you going to all stop being my friends until I reach the decision you're all happy with? You've all made it more than clear that I'm not needed here. First I'm told that I'm the same Summer I always was, that I haven't changed, and School of Rock means nothing to me. Then I'm being apologized to and sucked up to? Did you all honestly think it would work? How can you all pressure me to make a decision, when I don't even think any of you know what you want the outcome to be! You say you want me to stay. Why? Why do you want me to stay? What am I to any of you? Because we're friends? We can all still be friends, no matter what I decide! Or can't we?

"Frankly, I must state, I am utterly disgusted with all of you. And this…this…this sorrowful attempt at long overdue respect, is not going to help your case any. Perhaps you're right, perhaps you're all right. And you, Freddy Jones, are more right than anyone! I am completely useless to all of you," she marched towards the door, lifting her pack and shoving her things inside it, she spun again, to face everyone in the room, "Kyle has invited me to watch him and his band in concert this Friday. I wasn't going to go, but recent turn of events has persuaded me otherwise. I'd rather be with someone who isn't constantly shoving on my shoulders the weight of this huge decision that could completely alter my life! Good bye, everyone, and good luck on Friday without me." She slammed the door behind her. Everyone felt sick in the stomach, lumps lying there, dead guilt.

"Great going, Freddy," Leonard started.

"It's not his fault," Dewey cut him off, "Summer's right. This was pathetic. What's wrong with us? I think we should cut practice short today. Everyone, go on home." The gang moved towards the door, silently mulling over the things Summer had said. Her questions rang in their ears like the brilliant striking of church bells. Why did they want her to stay with them? What was she to any of them? What did it really matter if she left?

END A/N: Ahhh...the fight scene that never happened. I know, you're all terribly dissapointed. ACtually, I recently wrote the fight scene between Freddy and Kyle. You're all going to be very happy with it, I think. Maybe you won't be...who am I to know?

My cousin and I decided to start a band. I'm lead guitarist, songwriter, and vocalist (I have to take singing lessons, though) and she's bass player, and she'll probably help with songwriting. It'll be so much fun! We need to find a drummer though...I heard Kevin Clark was between bands...hm...

Actually, we (mostly me) really suck, and I highly doubt he (orany other really good drummers) would be interested in partaking in our band right now. But in a couple years, we'll (hopefully me) will be a lot better! With practice...

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. REVIEWs are very appreciated, especially right now when I'm down on my luck...

THanks for REading.