A/N: FInally, the brandspanking new chapter that NO ONE has read yet. Chapter 7...oh...this chapter...hm...what to say. Summer pulls another bitch act (and we get to see a little more behind what's motivating her indecision), and School of Rock find out how much Summer really does for the band. I wonder how much that is...is it little to nothing...

I actually read all the reviews I got for the last chapter (before this story was taken down), and I saved a few in my inbox when I discovered my story (and reviews) were gone. I would thank those people individually, except I didn't save all of the reviews, and it wouldn't be fair to thank them and not the others. So, for those of you who reviewed (you all know who you are), you all totally rock!

THanks for the patience, I know it was a bitch, this whole ordeal. God, it pisses me off. But here's your new chapter, finally.

ENJOY!

Chapter 7: Your Family Loves You

Summer lay on her bed, at home, staring up at the ceiling in silence. The days had passed almost hazily for her, weaving in and out of awareness, like dream walking through her life. She avoided the members of School of Rock, and they did likewise. She ate lunch with Kyle, and he opted to give her rides to and from school. She hung out with him, and his friends in the band, and their significant others. But those moments in time, were just moments in time. She could barely remember them, they meant nothing to her. She would smile, and nod when they spoke to her, give some run-of-the-mill reply. And they would laugh, and joke around, completely oblivious to the fact her insides were in complete shambles, that it was all a fake charade, that beneath that smile and airily confident voice, she was in so much pain.

And now, it was Friday night. The night Summer would go out with Kyle, to see him perform on stage with his group. She felt her stomach knot, felt nauseas. School of Rock had a gig that night. They would be playing a small time club, headlining. It would be their first gig that she'd miss, since they'd formed in the fifth grade. She hadn't even missed that one when she was completely bedridden with pneumonia, even as she'd passed out backstage and Dewey had to carry her home. She buried her head in her pillow, her eyes dry. She hadn't cried since she'd left Dewey's apartment that day of practice. She glanced the clock. She had three hours before Kyle came to pick her up. She had to take a shower, pick out clothes, get herself all done up.

Having a boyfriend was hard work.

Summer rolled onto her belly, her hair falling around her face. Sickly she realized, she didn't want to go. Tears filled her eyes.

"Oh god," she moaned softly, numbly wiping at her cheeks, "I can't do this again. I can't cry again." The gig, for School of Rock, was only an hour and half away. By now, they would all be gathered at Dewey's apartment. Her and Dewey would be going over the equipment with the roadies, running through the checklist. Gordie would be reviewing his light display, Billy would be tweaking the hairstyles of the band members, Michelle and Eleni would be checking their band merchandise and the pricing. Summer sighed, pulling herself up to a sitting position. "Don't do this to yourself," she commanded, "Don't think about them."

They're probably doing fine without you, Summer told herself, in fact, they're probably having the time of their lives without you to ruin all their fun with your nagging and sticking to the schedule. Right now, she thought bitterly, their probably realizing how little they need you. She sighed, leaning back in her bed, tears coursing down her cheeks, shaking from her chin. She was trembling. They used to joke with her, about her prim personality, misbehaving just so she'd yell at them. Then Katie would slink an arm over her shoulders and tell her, "you know we love you, Summer." And Zack would laugh, and say, "Yeah, you're like a doting old grandmother." And Freddy…

Summer ran her hand through her hair. Everything was so screwed up. How could she say all those things? How could they say all those things? Or maybe not them, but Freddy. She wrapped her arms about herself. She felt guilty, having shoved their kindness back down their throats that day. They want you to stay, she told herself. Then chuckled bitterly. Yeah right. You're useless to them. And now, they're probably realizing just how useless you were, if they hadn't already known. You were never a part of them, she reminded herself, you were always just there. They can do everything you did, without having to put up with you. They never smiled when she walked into the apartment. Sometimes they would be sitting around, hanging out, laughing about something, and fall silent when she entered. It's time to work now, they would think.

The body length mirror at the edge of Summer's room was shooting her a particularly revolted stare. They were probably talking about you all those times. You can always tell when people are talking about you behind your back, because they always stop when you enter the room.

Summer pulled herself off her bed, crossing the room towards the bathroom. She flicked the light on, and shut the door behind her, running the water in the shower to warm it up. She saw, from the corner of her eye, her cell phone tucked beside her pack, shoved up against the wall. She picked it up, delicately, flipping it open and staring blankly at the empty black screen. She had turned it off, back when she'd stormed from Dewey's apartment. She hadn't wanted Katie to call, and force another ride on her. She couldn't take that. After what she'd said, after everything that had happened. She couldn't sit there in that car with Katie. She cared too much about the shy bassist to put her through that kind of suffering.

No. Summer frowned at her image in the mirror above her bathroom sink. That sounded too self-righteous. The truth was, she didn't want to hear it not ring. She didn't want to not pick it up, and not hear her good friend's deeply concerned voice not demanding where she was and how she intended to get home. And that was why she'd kept it off for that past week. So she couldn't hear its deafening silence. She turned it on now, though she didn't know why. The bright screen lit up, and the message, '13 missed calls', greeted her. She clicked on it, viewing the numbers. All Kyle. Except for the odd one. Zack's. For a moment, her finger lay on redial. She pulled away tossing the phone in her pack.

The reflection in the mirror was an ugly one. Summer had long since given in to the frumpy look to match her frumpy feelings. Her hair was straight, stringy, greasy. She hadn't been taking her daily showers. Her face was pale, dark brown ringed her eyes, and her lips were slightly chapped. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt and loose-fitting sweat pants. She tugged the shirt off over her head, and frowned at her little white cotton bra. Rock. She wasn't rock. She wasn't punk, she wasn't alternative, she wasn't jazz, blues, folk, gospel, or ska. She pouted, before rolling her lips in and pressing them together. Hell. She wasn't even emo.

Summer stuck her tongue out at the image, and it returned the gesture. She continued undressing, stepping in the shower and reveling in the water's rejuvenating ability. She'd forgotten how good a shower could feel, rushing over her skin, sinfully erasing her day, peeling back the layers of pain and hurt, grief and sorrow, to reveal a fresh start. She lathered shampoo into her scalp, rinsed it out, beginning the ritual of washing her hair. Another massaged application of shampoo, another rinse cycle, and then conditioner. She picked up her loofah, squirting some body wash in it and scrubbing her skin fiercely. Droplets fell from her face, rolling down her cheeks, and splattering to the porcelain ground. Were they tears? She couldn't tell in the shower. And she smiled at that knowledge, or lack thereof.

Clean and fresh, Summer groped the wall for a towel, and stepped from the shower, slapping the water valve off. She dried her body, patting the fluffy cloth against her skin, and sighing. The feeling endowed by the shower was gone. All that was left was the steam and her thoughts.

"What'll I wear?" she asked the empty air, as though hearing the question aloud would make her care. She took a deep, shaky breath, before exiting the bathroom and rummaging her closet for clothes.

They would be on their way to the gig by now, she realized, glancing at the clock. Dewey would be driving the crew, Zack following behind with anyone that didn't fit in the van. They would be arguing over the radio, she knew. The girls would want to listen to something more soft, the boys something more punk. Then Zack would settle the debate by choosing his favorite, the classics. And nobody could argue with the classics.

Summer tugged out a blouse and skirt. She tossed them to the bed, ringing out her hair and rubbing it. She let it fall damp around her shoulders, pulling on some lingerie and the skirt. She walked back towards the bathroom, plugging her blow-dryer in and switching it on. The heat quickly permeated her wet locks, and she worked the hot air around her head, scrunching her hair and busying herself with drying the mess. She probably would have taken a seat in Zack's car, with Katie and Freddy and Alicia. She would be sitting, uncomfortably in the corner of the backseat, watching the others talking loudly, laughing. She would make a comment, about homework, or how Zack should concentrate more on the road, and they would give her disapproving clucks of annoyance. Then she would give an anxious rant about the upcoming concert, and they would all laugh at her. "Don't worry, Summer," they would say, "It's not like you're performing. It's not like you're in the band."

Satisfied that every strand of hair was dry enough, Summer unplugged the blow-dryer and replaced it in the cabinet under the sink. She left the bathroom, finding her blouse and slipping it on, before noticing the young man standing in her doorway. She jumped, startled, spinning wide-eyed.

"Austin, what are you doing in here? Don't you know how to knock?" she demanded. Her brother leaned against the doorframe, giving her a once over.

"I heard something funny, the other day," he started, and she shook her head, turning back into the bathroom in search for a brush.

"I don't have time," she muttered, running the hardwire brush through her tangles, coming back into the room to stare at her brother with reproach and a look that said, 'what are you still doing in my room?'

"Okay. Mom probably does though," he smirked, beginning out the door. Summer took a moment to think of all the meanings behind that statement.

"Wait," she called, "What?" He turned back, his eyes glinting with mischief. Whatever it was, it was good.

"Oh, I just heard that…you know, a few of my friends from school saw a girl, strikingly similar to you, at the amusement park on Tuesday with some boy," he told her, and her heart sank. It was good. She took a heavy breath, heart fluttering madly in her throat, as her mind reeled.

"I was at school Tuesday," she finally lied. But her eyes were shining, her voice quivering. She never was a very good liar. Austin's smirk turned into a full fledged grin. He shut the bedroom door behind him, leaning against it and crossing his arms over his chest.

"So you actually ditched," he taunted, and she shook her head, turning away, "Was it with the same guy you're going out with tonight? Because if mom knew what a negative influence he was on…"

"No," Summer spat, "It wasn't him. What are you going to do…? Tell mom?"

"Maybe," he said, his smile never faltering, "Who was the guy?"

"Like I would tell you," she mumbled. He made a face. She felt her body tense, saw his muscles ripple slightly. She moved, he moved faster, grabbing her arm and twisting it behind her back, his free arm wrapped about her collar, holding her against his body.

"Tell me who it was," he commanded.

"Let go of me!" she hissed. He tightened his grasp, bending her arm at an unnatural angle. She bit her tongue, gasping slightly, and attempting to pull away. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing or seeing her pain.

"Tell me, Punky," he pressed, nails digging into her flesh.

"Oh god," she moaned, squeezing her eyes closed, "Freddy, it was Freddy! God, get off me!" He let her go, backing up, his face scrunched as he tried to put a face to the name. She pulled her arm to her chest, examining the damage. A little skin was curled up, white and dead, but nothing serious.

"Isn't he the drummer in that stupid band?"

"Yes," she stammered, then adding quickly, "And School of Rock is not a stupid band!"

"The same guy you were crying about all those times?"

"Why are you here? If you know about me ditching Tuesday, why come here and throw it around in my face? Why not just tell mom and get it over with?" Summer spat, suddenly angry. She most certainly did not cry about Freddy Jones. She sniffed indignantly. She cried because of Freddy Jones. There was a distinct difference.

"You want me to tell mom? Okay, I'll go tell mom," Austin hissed, moving to fling open the door. Summer panicked, her chest heaving. She grabbed onto his arm.

"Please," she begged, tears already spilling down her cheeks, "Please don't tell mom, please. What do you want, Austin? Just don't tell her…please. I'll do anything." A wicked semblance of a smile slid over his face as he looked down at her.

"It would really kill you if I told mom, wouldn't it?"

"What do you want?" she asked carefully.

"Nothing, right now," he shrugged, his evil smirk still in place, "I'm just going to hold on to this, for when I need it."

"I hate you," Summer stated evenly and Austin frowned. They stood at a dead standstill, silent.

The tension broke when Summer's pack in the bathroom emitted a high-pitched rendition of Pink Floyd's Brick In the Wall. She turned away from him, backing up into her bathroom and digging in her pack for the phone. She flipped it open, not even bothering to check the number, expecting it to be Kyle.

"Hello," she answered, her voice a slight whisper.

"Summer," she was so shocked to hear that voice croak from the phone, she nearly dropped it, "I tried to call you before."

"I know, Zack, I turned my phone off," Summer managed to stutter, "What did you want? To apologize," she hadn't meant for it to sound so much like a scoff. She didn't want him to apologize. She was sick of it. Sick of them all saying sorry, making her feel worse than she already did, because they hadn't really done anything wrong. She had. She'd screwed everything up, but she wasn't sure how she could have gone about things more delicately.

"No," he replied, and she wasn't sure if she was relieved or hurt. She heard the click of her door as Austin left the room, "I just…did a lot of thinking."

"Oh," Summer murmured, "About?"

"What you said, and what Freddy said, and some things the others said while you weren't there. By the way, you should call Katie."

"Why? Does she want to talk to me? She could always call…"

"Why should she have to?"

Summer chewed her lower lip, sinking to the floor and drawing her knees up to her chest. He was right, why should she have to? Summer had screwed up. Katie shouldn't have to be the one to try and bridge that gap that Summer kept thrusting between them.

"I'm sorry, Zack," she whispered, barely audible.

"Excuse me? What?"

"About what I said. I didn't mean it, most of it, at least. I was just…god, I don't know. Why did you call?"

"I…because…well, I just haven't had the chance to say how I felt about everything, and…it's just…never mind, I shouldn't of bothered."

"Zack, wait," Summer cried, "Please, just talk to me. Tell me. I want to know. I want someone to honestly tell me how they feel about this whole situation."

"No, Summer, you don't," Zack said evenly, "You don't want me to be honest. You don't want to know everything I've been feeling, and thinking about you and this goddamned situation."

"I do." she meekly whispered. They were silent for what seemed an eternity, but was probably more along the lines of a few minutes.

"Why didn't you just tell him 'no'?" Zack finally spoke, "Why are you doing this, Summer? Are you testing us? Do you really want to see how much you mean to all of us? Because this isn't the best goddamned way to go about things. We want you to stay, we made that clear, at least we think we did. Or we wanted you to stay."

"You don't understand…"

"Damn straight I don't! School of Rock means the world to me, I thought it meant the world to you too, and suddenly you're intent on leaving? Hell, Summer, did anything Dewey taught us sink in? Kyle is THE MAN! And we…we are a band! You have to be loyal to the band…"

"No. You guys are the band," Summer snapped, "I'm nobody! Useless, remember? You said it yourself, I don't even need to be at every practice, hell, I don't need to be at any practices! You guys don't need me!"

"Summer, please," Zack mumbled, "I'm not Freddy. I don't think cramming my ideas down your throat are going to make you see things my way. So I don't want to get in a contest to see who can say the cruelest things louder. I just…I need to know…did none of it mean anything to you? Did all that time, did everything that went down in School of Rock, just…pass over your head, just…completely…is it like it never happened?"

"No," Summer whimpered, laying her head against her knee, tears splattering down her legs to the ground, "I love the band, Zack. I love all of you guys. And everything that happened, they're the best times I can ever remember having…it's just…I felt…well…I mean…I didn't feel like I was a part of any of it. You don't know what it's been like for me, the past few years. Watching you guys on stage, and the crew running around making things happen, and me…standing around…watching everyone. If Kyle is The Man, then so am I. Because Freddy's right, I am the same Summer Hathaway I was in fifth grade. I'm still looking to get straight A's and the most gold stars. Because a huge part of me really wants this. A huge part of me really wants to manage Kyle's band, because of the great opportunity it is. Because of how greatly it'll affect my career. Because maybe my mom'll finally tell me, 'you did a good job, Summer. I'm proud of you'."

"Summer…" Zack whispered, lamenting her name with his soft breath.

"It gets worse, Zack," she went on, "I've never wanted friends. Because I've never had real friends. I'm scared, Zack, I'm so goddamned scared to commit myself to School of Rock, and everyone in School of Rock. I guess I'm getting stage fright. But be honest, with me and with yourself, do you really like Summer Hathaway? Do you really like her over organization, her drive to succeed, her annoying know-it-all manner? If I leave the band, to manage Kyle's, you won't, will you? I'll get on your nerves, drive you up the wall. We weren't real friends, Zack, were we? Take a good look around at all your band mates. Sure, you say 'hi' to all of them in the halls at school, maybe stop and chat with them awhile, but who do you call more, who do you hang out with more outside of school and practice, who do you laugh with harder, joke around with more, whose company would you rather be in over the rest? Rock was our sheep skin. Pull it back, and what have you got? A bunch of kids that are nothing alike, have nothing in common, and would otherwise, want nothing to do with one another."

"Don't say that," Zack finally managed, his voice quavering. It sounded weak.

"I'm sorry. I'm being a bitch, again, huh? Making a point of things everybody would rather just ignore," Summer persisted, "Are you going to miss that about me, Zack? When this whole thing blows over, and we hate each other, because of all the awful things that went down? Because we weren't real friends."

"Do you want me to hate you? Because it sure sounds like you do."

"No," Summer sobbed, "I don't. I really don't want you to hate me, Zack. And I really don't want the rest of the band to hate me either. But…it's inevitable, right? I'm not the best of people. I'm surprised you've all put up with me as long as you have. I really am a bitch. I'm just saving time, Zack. Making it easier for you guys to hate me…not for you, but for me. Because I'm selfish too. It'll hurt less, for me, if I give you a reason to hate me, rather than just have you all wake up and decide you hate me one day. So that I don't have to lie alone at night wondering why. I'm a control freak to the end. I want to control how you guys feel about me…when you guys hate me." He was silent a moment. His breathing, soft and steady, the only indication he was still on the line. Obviously, he didn't understand, and he didn't know what to say.

"Summer, do you really want to manage Kyle's band?"

"I already told you, a huge part of me does."

"Okay," Zack took a deep unsteady breath, "Do you really want to leave School of Rock behind?" There was a momentary pause.

"No."

"Wholeheartedly?" Zack pressed, bracing himself for the answer.

"No. A part of me does want to leave."

"Because you're scared," Zack surmised, trying to force down the biting bitter in his tone, "That we're not your real friends?"

"No."

"What?" Zack was taken aback. Just when he thought he had her figured out.

"It doesn't matter, if you're my real friends or not. It's business. I may never get a chance like this again. Don't let opportunity just walk by, it doesn't knock twice, you've heard all of those, right?"

"Summer," Zack sighed, exasperated, "No matter what happens in life, you're going to succeed. Because you're smart, and motivated, and you're a leader. You are only sixteen and you've already been given this huge opportunity. This is not going to be the last great chance dangled in your face! But that doesn't change that you are still only sixteen. This is the time in your life that you should make the choices that you want to make, to make the decisions that make you happy! And not even worry about whether it's the right one to further your career and benefit you in the future! You need to think long and hard about what your priorities are, not in the future, but right now as a sixteen year old girl!"

"He said he loves me," Summer interrupted, quietly.

"What? Who?"

"Kyle. That day, Tuesday, in the house. He said he loves me. That he knows it's sudden, and I don't have to say it back, or feel the same way, yet. But he loves me. And he has said it everyday since," Summer explained. Zack was quiet, stunned, "And I've been hanging out with his friends. I feel like I belong with them. Sure, a part of me wishes I was hanging out with the band, with School of Rock…but then I remember, I was never included with you guys like I am with Kyle and his group. They ask me what I think, what I feel, about certain things. And they actually listen."

"We ask you those things, too," Zack argued.

"'If School of Rock could open for any band of our choice, who would you guys choose?' Do you remember that question? "

"I asked all of you guys. You could have answered!"

"To what respect? No, Zack, you asked the bassist, the drummer, and the back-up singer. I just happened to be there," Summer stammered, "Because I'm the manager, right? I'm not about the music. So whatever band I choose is automatically overlooked, because I'm probably just choosing one that could help further the band, not because they really rock. Right?"

"That's not true…"

"But it is. It's been that way before. My opinion's never been respected, because…because I am The Man, aren't I?"

"Summer…"

The doorbell downstairs rang, and Summer peeked out the door at the clock. It couldn't be Kyle, he would be way too early. But that was alright, Zack didn't know that.

"I have to go, my date is here."

"Summer, wait, one last thing," Zack called, and Summer waited, a part of her not even wanting to hang up the phone, wanting for Zack to say something astounding to erase all her doubt and make everything right again, "I just want you to think…just think about it. Who are you going to choose? Huh? A boy you've just recently met who whispers sweet things in your ear and tells you he loves you every chance he gets but has of yet to prove that it's true, or the group of friends who have shown you time and time again how much they care about you even if they don't realize they don't say it enough?"

"Good night, Zack, and good luck tonight at the gig, not that you guys need it," Summer said firmly, hanging up the phone without waiting for his reply. She was trembling now. It had taken all her strength not to break into uncontrollable sobs. She buried her face in her knees, tears cascading from her eyes.

0-0-

Freddy looked blearily at his clock, the phone ringing insistently in his ear. He reached his hand over the dresser and grabbed the offensive noisemaker. He looked at the number, realized he couldn't focus on it well enough to read it, and answered it instead.

"Hello?" he slurred, groaning as he pulled himself into a semi-sitting position. The blood stampeded to his head, and he slipped back down to his pillow in agony, slapping an arm over his eyes to block out what little blaringly bright illumination came in through his window from the streetlights and moon.

"Freddy? Get up," Zack's voice screamed in his ear, and he winced.

"Not so loud…shit…"

"Are you drunk?"

"No. I don't think so," he rolled onto his belly, peering over the side of the bed at the empty bottles on the ground. He scrunched his nose and peered at the clock on his bedside table, reading the time. He laid back on the bed, "Nope," he said firmly, "I'm hung over." Zack swore loudly, causing another grimace to crease Freddy's drowsy features.

"Get out of bed, get dressed. Katie's on her way over to pick you up," he hissed.

"What? Why?" Freddy questioned, his voice hoarse, as he, himself, was dazed and confused.

"We have a show tonight in half-an-hour, that's why! Now get your lazy, alcoholic ass out of bed!"

"I'm not an alcoholic," Freddy retorted.

"Freddy, you're hung over and you're passed out, I can tell. You were out like a log, I've been trying to reach you for the past ten minutes. I bet you can't even remember the last several hours. You weren't at a party, so you've been drinking alone…"

"Thank you, Mister AA, but I know the symptoms of an alcoholic," Freddy growled, then muttering under his breath, "After all, my dad is one." He flopped to his side, moaning miserably, "I just had a few drinks this morning. How come nobody told me we had a show tonight?"

"Because…well…nobody knew," Zack admitted sheepishly, "We're in a rush! We're already late. Just get up and get dressed. Grab your drumsticks and get ready to rock. Please?"

"Okay, okay," Freddy murmured.

"Right. Katie should be there any minute now. Hurry." There was a click and the dial tone began its monotonous buzz.

"Well, good-bye to you too," Freddy muttered, hanging up the phone and attempting to tug himself out of bed. He frowned at his closet, that seemed so far away. How come nobody knew they had a gig that night?

0-0-

Summer quickly finished getting herself ready. She smeared some lipstick on, powdered her cheeks and nose, and eyelids; then pressed in some small berets to hold her hair out of her face. She slipped on some dress shoes, as the finishing touch, and frowned at her image in the mirror. You would have looked out-of-place at a rock show, she noted, but you look perfect for a boy band concert. She couldn't discern if this was good or bad, so she turned, picking up her pack and pausing to turn her cell phone off again, before making her way out of her room and down the stairs.

Kyle, to Summer's shock, was sitting on the living room couch, settled in to the white cushion, scratching a disgruntled looking Felix behind the ears.. For a moment, she recalled Freddy's initial reaction to the cat's presence and snickered beneath her breath. Then, remembering she was supposed to be infuriated with Freddy, she quickly dismissed the thought. She had something new to worry about, after all. Namely, her mother sitting across from Kyle, chatting with him. Austin stood in the background, watching the television with disinterest, a soda in his hands. Her heart dragged out a few 'badums', as she staggered the rest of the way down the stairs.

"Kyle," she started hesitantly, and her mother paused in their conversation, as all three occupants of the room turned to look at her, "When did you get here?" Kyle smiled, widely, standing and crossing the room to put an arm around Summer's waist and press a kiss to her cheek.

"Twenty minutes or so ago," he answered casually, as she blushed from their sudden closeness, and tried to angrily banish pervading thoughts of another boy who had held her that close once before.

"Should we get going?" Summer asked, mind reeling at the possible things Kyle could have been chatting about with her mother. She saw her mother, from the corner of her eye, rising from the couch as well.

"We have an hour before we have to leave," Kyle told her, "We're in no rush."

"Oh," Summer murmured, "Then I guess we'll hang around here…until then."

"Summer," her mother called, and she turned to the older woman with underlying anxiety, "Could you help me in the kitchen with something real quick?" It wasn't a question. Summer nodded, following her mother down the hall. They paused in the dining room, and for a moment, Summer thought to ask, 'what do you need help with?', but she knew better.

"I really like Kyle," Summer started instead, her voice just above a whine.

"So do I," her mother cut her off, and her jaw almost dropped from the shock, "He's smart, going places," her mother crossed the room, busying herself with straightening the already clean table, "And he's got a lot of potential. He's already signed with a recording company, now that's big. He told me he's asked you to manage his group."

"I don't know if I will…"

"Why not?" her mother turned on her, lips rigid, white around the edge, "Because of that little band, School of Rock? You're wasting your time with them…"

"Mom," Summer started.

"No. I've let you keep with it for so long, and it's such a waste of time. And do you think those kids, those 'rockers', are your friends? They're going to be nothing with their rock 'n roll, and they're starting to influence you, with laziness and lack of motivation," her mother snapped, "You know, if you keep letting offers like this slip by you, you'll get nowhere in life. And then you'll be a nothing. And Kyle's not going to want a nothing. He'll leave you for a smarter, prettier, more motivated young woman. You need to get your life together, and your priorities straight! It's probably because of that ridiculous rock band that your grades are suffering…"

"I got one B, mother!"

"Don't take that tone with me, you ungrateful brat. I don't work my bones dry, to pay fifteen-thousand dollars a year for you to screw around and let chances like this pass you by! That boy out there could very well be your future."

"I'm only sixteen," Summer started, Zack's words reverberating in her mind, "My priorities mean shit right now, and you…" she should have felt it coming. Her mother's hand struck across her face, flesh smacking flesh. Her head moved to the side from the sheer shock of the assault, and left only a stinging imprint of the hand behind. She bit her lower lip, to keep from crying out, and made no move to cradle the injured cheek. Her mother's face contorted from anger to horror to aghast and then sorrow. She reached forward, grabbing Summer around the neck and pulling the young woman to her.

"Why do you make me hurt you?" her mother whimpered, holding her rigid daughter with a roughly gentle childish hold, "You know I don't want to. Why do you make me mad? Why do you disappoint me like this?"

"I'm sorry, mom," Summer murmured, unmoving, numb. She couldn't think to say anything else. Her mother was right. She was a disappointment. She always screwed up. She made people hurt her. She made people mad at her. Her mother released her, straightening.

"Do you think those kids in that rock band care about what happens in your life? Do you think they care about your future? They're all too self-absorbed. And they're jealous of you, you know that? They're just using you, Summer, and they're dragging you down. But I care about you, and I care about what happens to you, and I care about your future. I want the best for you, the chances I never had. I want you to manage that boy's band," her mother said firmly, "I want you to take him up on this offer."

"I…" Summer began, then silently, "Of course, mother." Her mother reached forward, smoothing Summer's hair and placing a stiff hand on her shoulder.

"I think this boy will be a good influence on you," she stated, before beginning back towards the living room, calling over her shoulder, "Lord knows you need it.".

Summer held back, chewing her lower lip. She felt like crawling back upstairs, curling up in bed, and fading away. She straightened her skirt, jutted out her chin, touched her cheek and winced slightly, before striding back towards the living room.

0-0-

Miss Mullins took her coat off, entering the jiving dance club. Music was pounding off the walls, the dance floor was alive with bodies moving, and colors were flashing through the air. She weaved her way awkwardly through the tables, backing into someone, knocking a chair over, apologizing thoroughly, before finding herself face to face with the portly, original rock diva, Dewey. His usually zealous expression was sullen, and he barely managed a forced smile.

"Hey, Ros," he mumbled. Well, as much as he could sound like he was mumbling while attempting to shout over the music, "Backstage is quieter, we can talk there."

He took her hand, so she didn't get lost in the crowd, and didn't notice the color that crept over her cheeks. She tried to see School of Rock perform whenever she could, becoming an almost groupie in her own right, and shrugging it off as her just wanting to support the kids. In truth, it really helped her release a lot of the stress from work and her life in general. Lost in that crowd of cheering people, seeping into a half-consciousness, music overwhelming her, body moving to the rhythm of the song, the lyrics pouring into her soul. She felt more alive than ever. And she felt special, being allowed backstage. She was told she could watch the show from back there, but it just didn't have the same affect over her as watching it in the crowd.

And a small part of her, though she would never admit it, liked spending the time with Dewey.

He had been right. Backstage was quieter. The music could still be heard, though slightly muffled. She could see most of the band sitting around, the others busying themselves with breaking down the equipment. They all wore the same forlorn looks as Dewey. Immediately, she sensed something was wrong.

"Sorry, I didn't get to see the show. The meeting ran a little longer than I expected," she announced, and a few of the kids lifted their heads to acknowledge their principle, "How'd things go?" There were a few murmurs, mutters under breath, but no straightforward answers. She scrunched her nose, frowning, "Um…is everything…alright?"

"Well, Miss Mullins, it was kind of…well…it…uh…" Zack attempted.

"The show was…" Alicia started.

"We…well…um…" Marta stammered.

"It really sucked," Freddy spat, kicking at a trashcan in anger, then falling in a plop to the grungy looking couch set up around a table, much like a little lobby.

"Oh, what happened?" Miss Mullins questioned, pressing her glasses back up her nose with her index finger, crossing her arms over her chest, and peering expectantly out at the band. She had never gotten that reaction from the usually pumped, usually energetic, usually cheerful-to-perform kids.

"Would you like a list?" Dewey muttered, taking a seat next to Freddy, "I mean, what didn't happened? We rock! We know we rock! But we were really out of the zone today…"

"Start from the beginning," Miss Mullins soothed, "What happened?"

"The very beginning?" Zack moaned, "Okay. We didn't know we had a gig tonight until last minute…so we were late. Which means our pay for the gig is docked."

"Then Lawrence's keyboard died," Marco sighed, "Bad wire or something…"

"And then Dewey broke two strings on his guitar," Zack went on.

"And nobody remembered to bring extras, or extra guitars," Frankie muttered.

"Or my high hat and one of my snare drums," Freddy added.

"Or our microphones," Tomika said.

"Or our amps," Eleni joined in.

"And my lightshow, which was half-finished anyhow, was somehow deleted," Gordie groaned,

"And I didn't have a backup saved."

"And it doesn't matter anyways, because we didn't have those other things. So we played the show without a keyboardist, an incomplete drum set, using the house microphones and amps, and a four string guitar," Zack growled, "So, yeah, saying it really sucked is putting it mildly!"

"Tonight was the first night in the history of School of Rock that we got booed off stage," Dewey roared, "We got booed off stage, Ros!"

"And even before that," Michelle said, "We weren't really prepared. We usually have schematics of the stage area we'll be performing on, and a tactical game plan, days in advance. And we practice a lot more."

"Well, obviously you need to find the root of the problem. Who schedules the practices?" Miss Mullins asked.

"Summer does," the band murmured in response.

"Oh, well, who draws up the schematics of the club?"

"Summer does."

"Who tests all the equipment to make sure it's all in working order before the show?"

"Summer does."

"Well, who makes sure everything is loaded and ready to take to the show?"

"Summer does."

"Who keeps track of the shows," Miss Mullins cried in exasperation, sensing a pattern.

"Summer does."

"Alright, then who…"

"Whatever it is," Katie interjected, "Summer probably does it." Miss Mullins sighed, pursing her lips together.

"Well then, where is Summer?"

Freddy kicked the table in front of him, and it tipped over, crashing loudly to the ground. He slouched down low in the cushion, crossing his arms over his chest.

"With that bastard," he seethed.

"We've kind of been having…well…" Dewey began to explain. He trailed off, before tossing his hands in the air and standing on his feet once more, pacing the room, "How could she let us down like this? I refuse to believe that we rely on her this much! Come on, guys! We're all capable people! If she wants to turn her back on the band and her friends, then so be it! We're independent guys. We don't need her! What we need is…well…what we need is….we need…"

"What we need is a new manager," Freddy supplied from the couch, as Dewey slumped back down.

"Any suggestions?" Tomika questioned him haughtily, placing a hand on her hip. The blonde looked about, the gears in his head slowly winding.

"Lawrence, you're smart," Freddy cried, sitting up straight. The shy Asian boy shook his head.

"I'm not as straightforward as Summer. I don't have her…ambition…her…ability to get what she wants. I can't tell people what to do," he whispered quietly, looking awkwardly at the ground.

"Ugh," Freddy moaned, "Gordie…?"

"I do special effects. I may be a genius, but I'm not very organized."

"Er…Dewey?"

"Come on, with this raw rock power, do you honestly think I can manage a band? I am a visionary! Visionaries do not manage, they make visions happen! What happens when a visionary takes over managing his vision? Nothing! It's all just visions, one after the other."

"Okay. Miss Mullins?" Freddy meekly attempted. The woman shook her head.

"I am a principle," she pointed out what was already well known amongst the group, "I already have a lot to deal with."

"Zack Attack, man, you are dedicated to this band. You are all about this band! You…"

"Are not Summer," Zack finished for him.

"Come on, you guys!" Freddy cried, "It's not like Summer was one of a kind," but as he said it, he knew it wasn't true.

"Face it, Freddy," Katie sighed, "We can't just get anybody. We need Summer." He sank into the couch, laying his head against the back of the seat.

"So then, what do we do?"

"Oh no. We've done this before," Zack quickly stated, "Didn't work. Remember our solution? It got us…here."

"Look, maybe you all should tell me what's going on?" Miss Mullins suggested, "And, perhaps I can give you a few ideas on what to do?"

"Fill her in, Mr. S," Freddy said, pulling himself up and patting Dewey's shoulder as he walked from backstage towards the dance club, "I'm going to enjoy what little is left of this night. Coming guys?" Reluctantly, the others followed, making their ways to the music and mass of tangled bodies. Miss Mullins edged her way to the couch, before sitting stiffly next to the lounging Dewey.

"Alright, so…what happened?" she questioned. He groaned.

"Well…" Then, in a manner, complete with erratic facial expressions, quick dramatic tones, and wildly thrashing hand gestures, "She got that date, the kid asked her to manage his band, then we had a fight, she decided she can't manage two bands at once, we were trying to be nice, then Summer was crying, and GOD, we're so screwed!"

"Um…" Miss Mullins shifted slightly, cleared her throat, and furrowed her brow, "Maybe…could you start over? And maybe, be a little more…I don't know…detailed?" Dewey sighed, then licked his lips, pushed his hair back from his eyes, cleared his throat, and began again.

0-0-

Immediately, Michelle and Alicia took to the dance floor, as Marta and Eleni hovered around giggling and talking about boys standing in the crowd. Leonard, Gordie and Marco found a seat, both daring one another to go talk to a girl, and Frankie looked as though he were considering going to ask Michelle to dance, when a girl came to him and began chatting. Freddy disappeared in the crowd, much to Zack's displeasure, who instead stood around the DJ, Katie the only one sticking with him. They both decided to amuse themselves talking with the DJ and trying to convince him that you could dance just as well to KISS or Guns 'n Roses as Pink or Jessica Simpson. Katie even agreed to try flirting with the DJ while Zack snuck an AC/DC CD in, but it didn't work out. Billy looked as though he was giving some overdone girls fashion advice. They didn't look as though they appreciated it.

Lawrence found himself a secluded booth seat. He wasn't exactly a partier, and he didn't really like the loud music, and brightly flashing lights. And crowds made him claustrophobic. But then, he couldn't exactly leave alone. He didn't want his friends to think of him as square, as a nerd or anti-social. So he settled for simply watching, hoping they'd tire themselves out soon and leave. He was startled, when Tomika sat beside him. They had been spending a lot of time together, at practices, chatting and talking. She was sweet, kindhearted, intelligent, and read almost as often as himself. She never acted superior to him, always took the time to say 'hi' to him in the halls everyday and always stopped to talk with him, often times meeting him at his locker in the mornings. Even though she was so popular and he was just…Lawrence. Needless to say, her company was welcome. He smiled a greeting to her, and she returned it.

For what seemed a long while, they sat quietly next to one another. Their shoulders mere centimeters away. The music was so loud, both knew a conversation would be next to nearly impossible to hold. But that stiff and awkward silence between them was much more piercing than the music.

Finally, Tomika leaned close to whisper in his ear, "I really don't like these kinds of places." Then she sat back, and Lawrence was left for a moment to think about how warm her breath had felt against his skin. After taking the time, to consider why he suddenly felt so flustered, he leaned towards her.

"Me too," he said, as though they were conspirators. He leaned back, sitting up straight. He had never whispered in a girl's ear before, and even if it was Tomika, whom he'd known most of his life and was very good friends with, his heart was still pounding at the daring move. But he didn't expect anymore of the conversation, turning his attention back to the dance floor, watching enviously at how comfortable the rest of the band seemed to slip into the crowd.

"You want to get out of here?" He was surprised, when her breath blasted against his ear again, her soft voice a relief compared to the abrasive rhythms pounding from the club speakers. He looked at her, and she was smiling shyly, uncertainly at him. The question was one he had waited many times before for one of the band members to ask him. An escape, an opening, an out from the party atmosphere. He nodded, hoping he didn't appear too eager.

"Very much, yes," he replied, the words spilling out, before he could stop them. So much for not appearing too eager. Her smile widened, and she took up her purse and led the way to the door.

The fresh air and serenity of the outside was a refreshing change to the inside of the club. It had recently rained, and the strong bitter smell of water was still in the air. Everything seemed to glimmer with raindrops, and there was a slight chill. Lawrence, having been bred the gentlemen, offered up his coat to Tomika, who really wasn't heavily clothed in anything to keep the chill out.

"Thanks," she whispered, slipping the garment on, and folding her arms over each other to gather up more warmth.

Lawrence had grown from a shy and awkward young boy to a shy and awkward young man. He was shorter than Tomika, though only by a couple inches. His hair was slightly longer, coming to just above his ears, and Billy had opted to spike it with gel that evening. The dried hair-stuff felt stiff and strange against his scalp, hard like a rock, and brittle. He didn't like it so much. He had slimmed, considerably, and his features weren't quite so childish as before, but sharp and exact. He had the scruff stubs of thin dark hair beneath his nose. He'd wanted to grow a mustache for a short period of time, thinking it would make him look more distinguished, cooler even, but was disappointed to find he couldn't grow much more than a little baby fuzz. Facial hair just didn't appear to be in his future. His black rimmed glasses were settled on his nose, he'd gotten square frames his last visit to the optometrist. He liked the way they set on his face. He could proudly say his tan was natural, as well, if anyone at school would ask. He was a nerd. While people now noticed him more than when he was in fifth grade, he just couldn't seem to shake that image in his mind. That he was, still the un-cool Lawrence he always had been. And he most certainly knew, he was incredibly lucky to be walking beside Tomika that night. Any girl would be an accomplishment, of course, but Tomika wasn't any girl.

Lawrence took a moment to study her, from the corner of his eye. She hadn't changed a great deal from childhood in appearance so much as attitude. Of course, She had lost her baby fat, and while she wasn't what you would call overweight, she wasn't exactly thin as well. She was in between, voluptuous, with wide hips, a soft belly, broad shoulders, and a well-rounded bosom. She had her short hair braided back, and her cherubic round face seemed bright in the light of the streetlamps and damp air. It seemed that only one word could aptly describe her. Soft. Her features were soft, her smile was soft, her voice was soft, her laughter was soft, and her personality was soft. She wasn't cute, or pretty, or sweet looking. She was just beautiful. And her confidence made her attributes shine brilliantly. She had always been a beautiful girl, but before Dewey had come, she had held herself in a different way. She would sit quietly behind Lawrence, hiding in her self-consciousness, convinced she was fat and plain and that everyone would laugh should she speak or try to befriend anyone. But now, she strutted around with her head held high. She sang, like an angel, on stage in front of crowds of people, with an angelic beaming smile, personality, and look to match. And now she spoke to people, starting conversations when she had once sat and waited patiently for others to speak to her, and she set out to befriend people. Swelling with pride, Lawrence thought, he was one of those people she had set out for.

"So," Tomika began, probably annoyed by the quiet that was usual between the easily shyest members of the band, "What do you think of this whole Summer thing?" Lawrence took a deep breath. It had to come up sooner or later, he sighed.

"I don't know," he mumbled. Great. Witty and brilliant, he silently mocked himself. It was so easy talking to her in school or at Dewey's apartment. Why couldn't he manage to form any conversational base in that chill night atmosphere walking side-by-side her? Her soft smile never faltered, and she looked at him briefly, almost as though expecting him to continue. So he did, "What should I think? Summer is going to leave, and everyone is angry with her, but knows that we need her. Everything is a mess, and…nobody knows what to do. I'm starting to think…well…I'm really starting to think that this is the end of School of Rock." He braced himself for whatever smiting the Rock God would descend upon him for that sincere and blasphemous statement.

"I was thinking the same thing," Tomika confided, and they were silent, contemplating what had just passed. Had they just damned the band?

"You put on a very good performance tonight," Lawrence commented, feeling that it was probably necessary to change the subject before they fell victim to its misery. The last thing he wanted to do was associate depression with Tomika's company.

"Thanks," she breathed.

"But then, you always do," he added carefully, and a blush crept over her cheeks. Something about her, always made him open up, made him more liberal with the things he said, more able to speak his mind, to say and do risky things. He liked that feeling, but at the same time, it made him feel so sick with anxiousness. What if she thought he was stupid, what if he said something, revealed too much of his feelings and emotions, scared her away and was left mortified and alone?

"Thanks. It was too bad you couldn't perform," she replied, "The songs were definitely lacking because of it…"

"The songs were lacking, but I don't think because I wasn't playing," Lawrence told her modestly.

"Yeah. At least you weren't up there when they started booing," Tomika chuckled, "I think one person was saying, 'a group of midgets could do better than this'. Drunks, huh?"

Lawrence couldn't help but laugh. She paused, holding him back before jumping forward into a puddle of water. It splashed up on the both of them, and if it had been any other person, he would have been annoyed or angry that the hem of his pants were now soaked. But he felt a smirk appear across his face, as he watched her leap forward into another puddle and break into a fit of laughter.

"You seem to be having fun," he noted, and she turned to him with a bright grin.

"I love the rain," she informed him, "But not as much…" she spread her arms wide, spinning slightly, "As I love the streets after the rain ends and there's all the puddles and…" she stopped, looking at him with her soft smile, "Sorry. I didn't mean to get you wet."

"I don't mind," he told her honestly, "I'm glad you are enjoying yourself."

They came to the parking lot to stand by the van. It was yet to be loaded up with the band's equipment. Tomika pulled herself up on the hood, sitting with her ankles crossed.

"Why do you like the rain so much?" Lawrence brought himself to ask. He inhaled deeply. There was that daring, risk-taking, openness that she brought out in him.

"Oh, I don't really know," Tomika sighed, laying back on the windshield to stare up at the stars, "I guess it's because of my grandmother."

"Oh?" he prodded her to continue.

"Well, when I was a little girl, my grandmother and I always went for walks, everyday. That was when we lived near her and she watched me, while my parents were at work. When it would rain…she and I always jumped in every puddle we came across," she smiled nostalgically at the memory, "It became almost a contest, to see who could jump in more puddles, who could get the other wetter," she peered down at him with her soft eyes, "What about you? Any fond memories with your grandmother?"

"Well, one lives in China," Lawrence admitted, "And the other is dead. So…no."

"Oh," she mumbled tentatively, before biting her lower lip and looking up at the sky. She seemed sad, almost sympathetic to him. He fidgeted, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets.

"There is…well…one memory," he confided, and she rolled her head to meet his eyes, showing that he had her full attention, "My grandmother, who is dead now, was a great pianist. Far better than me. She used to set me up, at the piano in her house, and we would play several classical pieces."

"Is that why you play the piano?"

"Um…no," he flushed, fidgeting sheepishly, "My parents wanted me to learn the piano. They…I don't want to say they forced it on me, but…I guess my grandmother is why I don't mind playing it so much."

"But you don't like it?" Tomika questioned, evidently in disbelief, but slightly concerned as well. She had sat up, looking down at him with a sadness creeping beneath her soft expression. Was that pity?

"I…" he was stunned, by the inquiry, really. He'd never thought about it before. It had never been about liking it. His parents had insisted he learned to play, and being the good Chinese boy he was, he felt no need to do anything but oblige them. In all those years of concertos, and recitals, of practicing long hours in the night, of being berated time and time again with classical music, Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, Mozart, he'd never once thought to wonder if he liked it at all. "I don't know," he stammered.

"You don't know?" Tomika raised an eyebrow, "How can you not know?"

"I just…don't know," he whimpered, and without realizing it, frustration rushed through his bloodstream. Suddenly, words were spilling from his mouth, words he couldn't control and things, statements, proclamations he'd never heard reverberated in his mind before, "It's because of my parents. My parents are why I play. They have all these plans for me. I don't need to think about whether I like it, it's not about what I like. It's about what my parents want. My parents want me to play the piano, and so I do. My parents want me to get good grades, study hard, so I do. My parents want me to dress the way I dress, to read all those books, to become a doctor, to marry a good Chinese girl, have lots of babies, and be very successful. To make lots of money, work hard, give lots of grandchildren, and die. That's my life, planned out by my parents. Whether I like it or not, means nothing to them. I'm to live the typical life of a Chinese boy. And do I like it? I. Don't. Know."

He flushed, taking a deep breath and looking away. Tomika was stunned, silent. He hadn't meant to go off on her. Did he really mean all those things he'd said? He shook his head.

"I am sorry," he whispered. He was surprised, when her fingers brushed against his hand, curling within it.

"I'm sorry, too," she told him. He blushed, realizing his fingers had intertwined, almost subconsciously, with hers, as though it were natural, as though they had held hands like that many times before, as though that was where his hand belonged, wrapped around her own.

0-0-

Miss Mullins took a deep breath, pressing her lips together, and squinting her eyes in concentration. She'd listened to Dewey tell the story of the recent happenings with Summer, as best he could as he didn't have all the facts, and wasn't really a great story teller. He lost focus for a short time, when a song came on that he didn't mind, and he had to sing along, before coming back to reality and asking, "what were we talking about?" Eventually, she had a semi-comprehension of what was going on.

"Oh my," was all she could find to comment.

"You got that right, sister," Dewey groaned, "Summer is bailing on us. I feel like all my lessons went in one ear and out the other with that girl! She was my prized student, she'd undergone the wickedest rock transformation! I was so proud of her…" he sniffed, shaking his head, "I can't believe she's doing this to us! What do you think, Ros?"

"Honestly?"

"Yeah. Honestly."

"I don't know what to think," she sighed, "It seems to me Summer doesn't know what she wants, which band she wants to choose. Which may or may not be a good thing. But then, I've known Summer a long time, and she's anything but indecisive. It sounds like she may be a little scared right now, and maybe, a little uncertain. Perhaps, you're all looking at it wrong. Everyone assumes that she's trying to decide which band is the best opportunity for her. But I think she's just trying to decide whether she wants to stay with School of Rock or not. It does sound like you were right, that she felt a little underappreciated, but maybe it's more than that. Because obviously when you tried to show her some appreciation, it didn't work. I'm really at a loss. I really don't know what could be bothering her."

"Hm…" Dewey mused. He had the look of someone who hadn't really paid attention to everything Miss Mullins had said, but obviously one thing had stuck with him, "So, she can't decide who she wants to go with. Maybe…maybe we need to make that decision for her."

"Oh, Dewey…no, no, no," Miss Mullins cried, shocked.

"No, Ros, you're right," he interrupted, "She's being un-Tinkerbell like. If she's scared to make the decision, we'll just have to help her…"

END A/N: OH YAY! This was the chapter where I introduced my new pairing, Tomika/Lawrence (if you didn't pick up on that, shame on you, go back and read the passage!) Not to mention, we got a little insight on both of those characters (mostly Lawrence). For his character, I am going a little on what I know about Chinese families, mostly traditional ones. He strikes me as the type who was raised in a traditional Asian household, and I have a few friends who were raised in a similar environment, so I'm going off them for inspiration. And I know a thing or two about Chinese tradition and culture...not as much as Japanese culture...but I can live.

Oh, and so I don't forget, a little Mullins/Dewey interaction.I love that pairing soooo much. I always read stories with them paired together (especially centered around them) because I love their pairing so much! And, I'm absolutely falling in love with this Tomika/Lawrence pairing. I may even like it more than Freddy/Summer! Gasp! I'm going to post the next chapter (give you all plenty of time to review...and me time to proofread it...) tomorrow night, I think, and then pick up again on my three day interval updates.

So, please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. REVEIWS, please.

THanks for reading.