A/N: Okay, this took it's time getting up, as I had to finish a part of it...

Thanks for the reviews, everyone!

Swimmerkitti: I'm all aboutcharacter developement. Thanks for the praise, and the band suggestions. Bon Jovi is great, but I couldn't use Creed. No offense, but they suck in my opinion and I would never waste any time in my story referencing them. But as they are a popular band, I couldn't give them a bad reference either.

sweetcaroline: I know that you like Freddy/Marta pairings, so I'm glad you understand. I'm taking into consideration either a Marco/Marta pairing, or a Marta/Leonard pairing...but I'm not sure. We'll see how the story goes. It's all about where the characters take me.

Nanners-77: Oh yeah! The pope died! Oh...um...I'm sorry...it's very sad...big loss and what not. Hey, I'm still upset John Lennon died, alright...and what with my cat passing, I have very little room for any more grieving! (I apologize thoroughly for my offensive nature, I have no morals...) I like writing the Zack/Katie stuff, but I felt bad about the Marta/Freddy thing...because she was kind of used, and you'll see how in this chapter. I hope you had a better day, too!

Parcie05: I would say, Summer/Freddy is the one I'm most stubborn about. I will read other various parirings, but not if it puts the two of them with anyone besides eachother. Which probably seems a little unfair, but hey, I'm a bitch. Little can be done about that. And Katie/Freddy. Forget about it. Doesn't work in my mind. Marta with Marco, that seems to be the general consensus. We'll just have to see where the characters take us, romantic wise. And Summer finding out Freddy kissed Marta...like I said, we'll just have to see where the characters take me. You're favorite story out of all the one's you've read...wow, I'm really flattered. Thank you.

closetwriter: I'm glad you loved the Katie/Zack stuff. Fighting...I don't know...hm...read on and find out, I guess.

wyverna: You know what's funny. Leonard was my original romance picking for Marta, but then I didn't know. I really didn't care, I just felt bad about what I'd be doing to her in this story. You've never heard of Insane Clown Posse? Hm...I guess they're not huge...Limp Bizkit doesn't all sound the same! They're fun. I like to sing along...hehe...they're my bad addiction. But Papa Roach, I can agree. And they overplay their songs, too, on the radio. God, give me classic rock...at least them I can stand listening to over and over again. I can listen to the classics all day. But you really can't bust Linkin Park for the compilation with Jay-Z, because even Aerosmith did a hip-hop crossover a few times, and can you really claim that Aerosmith (one of the all-time greatest rock bands) is a sell out? And thanks for the band names, they came in handy. I love this story, because I get to research, and I'm realizing which bands sang which songs, and I'm recalling a lot of really great bands too. It gives me something to talk about with my dad, as well. He's huge on the rock thing, as well. He's what got me into to begin with, and then the movie got me re-into it. Hehehe...why couldn't you ask if his son was cute? I would have! I don't mind, I'm a bitch too. You should be on AIM, imagine what I'd say. "So...wyverna, what's goin' on?" "I don't know, SD, what's goin' on with you?" "Nothing much." "..." "..." HA! I don't feel good.

IndesElfwine: You're welcome. If you need any recommendations for great Summer/Freddy fics, I know of a lot.

Alex: It makes me so happy to know you loved the chapter, and the whole part where she pulled out all that crap about Pink Floyd (which was fun to write), but...yeah...no. I didn't know all of that, I researched it, and found a totally awesome fansite with Discography and everything. Which was cool. I'm not a huge Pink Floyd nut, either. I love them, but all the band stuff you see, most (if not all of it) was researched. Yeah, Jesse McCartney sucks. As does Linkin Park. But Jay-Z is kind of cool...j/k. HA! If you're talking about things that make me violent (or just want to blow my brains out...) well, there you go...hip-hop and R&B, hugely high on that list. And don't get me started on rap. You didn't like Marta? I thought she was cute, I really don't get the Freddy/Marta pairing, though. Eh, to each their own, I suppose. Thanks for the review!

i am not a chipmunk: I know the pain. This site is so bad with losing reviews and data and whatnot. It's so annoying. You just got to learn, save and save often. Computer nerds learn it early. Yeah, and more Austin coming up, actually. And he's not so much evil, as really screwed up, and he has his reasons. I don't know if I'll go into them, though.

Okay, that wraps that up.

ENJOY!

Chapter 9: Fighting Never Solves Anything

Dad's house. Would have been an understandable place to end up. Mom's house, even. Liquor store. Seemed about right, fit the mood. Friend's house. Most of them, outside the band, had booze. So it seemed about right as well. Freddy could have ended up anywhere. Anywhere but that dark house, on that small cul-de-sac, in that upper middle-class area.

This is what happens, Freddy realized, when he let his feet do the walking. He didn't want to be here, did he? He didn't want to be standing on Summer's doorstep, tracing his finger over the doorbell. Did he? He leaned against the door, staring out at the street, glowing from the streetlights. The blue house across from Summer's was alight, and there was a car parked in front. The bitch in the blue house. He scowled, shoving his hands in his pockets, and trying to figure out what he was doing.

Summer. No. Ugh…why was he thinking of her? Wasn't he mad at her? Yes. He was furious with her. She was being a bitch. Understandably, he wasn't being that sweet a guy either. No. He was right, she was wrong. She wanted to leave the band, she was putting everyone through hell, she was pushing everyone away, she was treating everyone like crap, she was…she was…dating that bastard. He straightened, grimacing as the back of his head slammed against the door with a thickening crack.

"Ow," he mouthed, bringing his hand up to touch the injured area. He smirked, somewhat. How many people would get a kick out of him, Freddy Jones, standing on a girl's, but not just any girl's, the class factotum's doorstep late at night. The class factotum, the pure little good girl, the sweet innocent girlfriend of Kyle Emerson; school heart throb, basketball star, and Mr. Goody-two-shoes himself, the prep poster boy.

Freddy smiled slightly. He liked standing on Summer's doorstep. It filled him with a sense that she would be coming down those stairs, coming to open the door, smiling brightly at him, greeting him whole-heartedly, leaning forward to…

Now what was he thinking? No. No. Think of anyone…no, think of the biggest tramp you've ever been with, Freddy commanded himself. Think of the worst, dirtiest, nastiest, slut you've ever woken up next to. And remember, those are the girls you date, those are the girls you want, those are the girls that want you.

Can you see her?

Freddy nodded, sub-consciously, causing the motion detector porch light to flicker on. He could see a little redheaded number, leather mini skirt, dark blue halter, belly button ring, tattoo of a falcon on her lower back, knee high go-go boots. If he recalled correctly, those freckles of hers were dabbled over her entire body. Did she have a name? She hadn't given one.

Sickness washed over Freddy, as bits and pieces of his night with that redhead flooded back to him. Yes. Those were the type of girls who wanted him. The kind that forgot his name or never knew it in the first place. The kind that liked him, as soon as they saw his face. The kind that loved him, after they saw his wallet. The kind he couldn't stand when he was sober.

The kind that were already so bad, he couldn't possibly screw them up any worse.

So there was no reason, Freddy decided, for him to be standing on that doorstep. He began down the street again, thinking of other places he could go.

Back to the club? No. He couldn't face Marta, not after what he'd done. Not after he'd treated her like another one of those girls, when she so obviously wasn't one. Not after he pushed himself on her. Not after she allowed him to do so. Not after she hadn't pushed him away. Not after he evidently took advantage of her.

Not after he'd pretended she was Summer.

The band would have left by the time Freddy returned there anyways. Marta would tell them he'd taken off. He wondered if they'd worry.

Home? Where the fuck was that, he mused. Certainly not that hulking Jones' Estate.

Dewey's apartment? Good option. But then, no. Dewey would be taking the band members home. Freddy would be stuck on the doorstep, waiting for Dewey to return, which may or may not ever happen that night. Or worse. He'd be stuck with Ned, who Freddy didn't dislike; he just wasn't comfortable with the more mature and, rather, wishy-washy older man.

Liquor store? Still seemed to fit the situation. Freddy paused a moment, to stare at the yellow lines in the middle of the street. They were blurry, swaying, and he realized, he wasn't exactly walking a straight path. With a slight dismay, he decided he was drunk enough for that night. The morning hangover was already promising to be a serious bitch with the, to Freddy's anguish, now forming severe headache and nausea.

Let the feet decide? Freddy began to walk again. No. He couldn't do that. He saw what happened when he left the decisions up to his feet. He ended up on doorsteps of girls he wasn't so certain he didn't want, who most definitely would never want him, and that he was furious with.

Zack's house? Zack wouldn't be home until later, lived on the other side of town, and Mr. Mooneyham hated Freddy with a passion.

Any of the other band member's houses? Zack was the only one Freddy would ever allow to have to put up with him when he was drunk or hung over. It could be blamed on a "best friend thing", but Freddy just felt more comfortable in that situation with Zack, then anyone else. Maybe because the lead guitarist knew him best, had seen him at his worst, and, what with being his best friend, was obligated to never think less of him.

And suddenly, Freddy was somewhere. It was as though he had headed there on purpose, and in his mind, it completely clicked, 'why hadn't he thought of it before', as he swung open the glass door with the OPEN sign hanging on the handle, and walked in completely natural. It was getting a little late, and a few teenagers were hanging out in the aisles, rifling through CDs and records. He headed straight for the Rock section, his section, only to be brought to a complete halt when he saw the purple-haired worker, that he recognized as Greg, chatting animatedly with a dark haired young woman. Greg trailed off from the chatter, noticing Freddy.

"Hey, hey…it's you. Come here, man, this girl is amazing. She probably knows more about rock than you," he called, and the girl turned, a smile neatly in place, until she met Freddy's eyes. She looked down, immediately, and her smile slipped, "This guy's a regular costumer, and he's a real rocker, he's almost like a Rock guru," Greg went on. Freddy stood facing the young woman, and she had turned a slight pink, "Go ahead, man, ask her anything…"

"I should really…" she mumbled, starting forward, but finding that Freddy stood in her path and wasn't budging, as he crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes at her.

"No, wait, I want to see how 'amazing' you really are," he sneered, and she peered up at him, "The band Rush, who was the original drummer that Neil Peart replaced?" A challenge. There was no way she could pass up a challenge, Freddy knew, as soon as he saw that glint in her eye.

"John Rutsey. When did he replace him?" she shot back.

"In 1974. What is Bon Jovi's best selling single?" he returned.

"That would be 'Always'. How long was it in the US top ten?"

"Six months. Which album did Motorhead release in 1984?" Freddy stepped forward, his arms dropping to his sides.

"'No Remorse'. What was track six on the album?" her lip curled into a smirk.

"'Killed by Death'. Sheesh, at least challenge me. Which member of Black Sabbath left the band to join Jethro Tull?"

"Tony Iommi in 1968. Who did he replace in Jethro Tull?"

"Mick Abrahams. Who were the original founding four of the Ramones?"

"Johnny, Joey, Tommy, and Dee Dee. Along with them, which other member was inducted into the Rock hall of fame?"

"Marky, on drums. Flock of Seagulls, when did…"

"No way," she groaned, looking utterly disgusted, "They were a one hit wonder band. And what's worse, they were formed in the eighties!"

"What's wrong with rock bands formed in the eighties?" he demanded.

"They were…formed in the eighties! Enough said. I mean, come on, name one good rock band from the eighties, and if you say Men At Work, I am confiscating your drumsticks for two weeks!" she cried, staring up impudently at him.

For a moment, Greg seemed to be in a trance, looking between the two, trying to figure out which he should be in more awe of. But now, his brow drew together, and he looked in confusion between the blonde drummer and petite young woman. Something seemed a little off about the way they were looking at one another, and how naturally that threat had escaped her lips.

Freddy shifted slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, and leering down at the young woman, back rigid and obviously amused. "What are you doing here, Summer?" And Greg put two and two together, and his face dropped.

"Hanging out. You?" she answered haughtily.

"Shopping."

"How was your show?"

"Wonderful," Freddy spat, "Yours?"

"Superb," Summer seethed.

"Really. Then where is bastard?" Freddy questioned. Summer's mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out. He felt particularly smug, "If the show was so 'superb', why did you call it a night so early? Face it, Summer. That bastard has nothing on School of Rock. But don't worry, we did fine without you. And we'll do fine without you, when you ditch us. We hardly even missed…"

"If the show was so 'wonderful', Freddy Jones, why did you call it a night so early?" Summer interjected, her eyes flashing with unmistakable rage, as well as mortification, as she stormed past him out the door. Freddy shook his head, glancing miserably after Summer, then looking to Greg, who was staring almost shocked and appalled at him. Everyone else in the record shop had stopped as well, and were blatantly staring.

"What?" Freddy hissed, as though daring anyone to say something, scowling at them, before looking back out the window into the empty night.

0-0-

Summer walked briskly, marched more like it, down the road. It had gotten considerably colder, and now her breath puffed into the air in wisps of fog. She tightened her arms around herself, staring hard at the gray cement passing beneath her feet, and trying to sort out her spinning head. She was angry, that was for certain. But mostly at herself. She chewed her lower lip. Why had she gone to that record store? You were looking for him. Freddy Jones. She swallowed hard, her hair falling about her face in itching strands. But why? So he could hurt you more. Evidently, you're a glutton for punishment.

Maybe to apologize. It seemed so crazy, Summer thought, it just might be true. She sniffed, lightly, running her fingers through her hair, the chill causing her eyes to water and her nose to run. What do you have to be sorry for? He was the one in the wrong! Awful words had been exchanged, Summer reasoned, I said a lot of things I didn't mean. I might've hurt him. Ha. That's a laugh. You, hurt the, great, invincible, insensitive, impassive Freddy Jones?

The wind smacked Summer's bare legs violently, and they prickled with icy chills. Wrapping her arms tighter about herself, she felt the awnings of heartache, and what's worse, pity. Freddy wasn't void of feelings, she told herself. But deep inside, she wondered if it were true. He acted so cool, so calm, so composed. It seemed the only emotions he really had were anger and apathy. But the other day, that Tuesday, when she'd said all those things, something had passed across his face. She couldn't even remember what she'd said, but she knew it had been horrible. And wrong. It was almost as though watching him break right in front of her eyes. And all that was left was undirected rage.

By the time Summer had noticed Kyle that day, she was in tears. At the time, she had thought it was because of Kyle she was crying. She thought she was scared, worried that he would end things, and hate her. But now, she realized, she had been crying before he arrived. She realized that she had been crying because of Freddy. No. Not because of. For. But why? Shouldn't she have hated Freddy? After the things he'd said, the questions he'd shoved down her throat, to receive pained answers for his satisfaction? But she hadn't. She'd felt a strong urge, a want to go to him, to…No. She would not think those types of thoughts. She had Kyle. Kyle was sweet. Kyle was loving, tender, caring, always told her exactly how he felt about her, never strove to anger her, always talked things out. They'd never had a fight, though it was early in the relationship. The first time she really met Freddy, not just was acquainted with his presence, but actually spoke with him, she recalled, they'd gotten in a fight. And while she couldn't remember what it was about, she faintly remembered slapping him, and then they gave one another the silent treatment for a week. Which was particularly detrimental to both of them and extremely difficult to do, as they were grouped together for a class project with two others. It was the first time, in Summer's life, that she had felt true fear of flunking an assignment.

Oddly enough, she found herself smiling at the recollection. Their two group members had gotten fed up of, "Will you please tell Freddy…" or, "Will you ask Summer…", that they'd dumped the remainder of the project on the seeming two archrivals, which, ultimately, forced them to work together. Summer had taken over, of course, as she refused to fail even the most menial of assignments. Certainly, Freddy had fought her, at first, but her straightforwardness had won out over his stubborn rebelliousness in the end. Anything to shut you up, he'd said. But when that assignment was over, which they'd gotten an 'A' on, neither spoke another word to the other. That is, until Dewey came along and School of Rock was formed.

For a moment, Summer's thoughts dwindled on that kiss, in Dewey's apartment. It wasn't a real kiss, she decided. The way Freddy held her in his arms, it wasn't her he was holding. They had seemed so stiff, so uncertain, so awkward. The passion had felt real enough, how his lips moved against hers, his taste on her tongue, his smell dizzying her head, his touch against her skin, his breath soft in her ears. Him, filling her senses. But it wasn't real, she told herself. So don't waste your time thinking about it.

The amusement park had been real. The way Freddy had drawn me into his arms, Summer mused, even as I had fought him to the end. He must have really wanted to hold me. His grip had been tight, firm, and rough. No. Maybe it was his stubbornness. Maybe he felt he was being suave, maybe he…she shook her head. Who cares what he thought? It's what you thought. And you thought of Kyle while you were in his arms. Did you not? Well? Didn't you? She furrowed her brow, shaking her head so that her hair flailed loosely about her face, and chewing her lower lip. Maybe I didn't think about anything at all.

What a lie.

Too consumed by her thoughts, or trying not to think her thoughts, Summer didn't realize until it was too late, the figure that had come up behind her. She felt a jolt, as she was dragged to a sudden halt, a strong, alien hand wrapped about her forearm. She spun her head, hair bellowing in her face, looking in shock at the young man who tightly held her place. He had dark hair, darker eyes, a deep-set tan, and a grisly goatee. He had that almost thuggish look, as though trying to appear more dangerous than he actually was. She easily recognized him, but couldn't put a name to the face. Maybe she didn't know his name, maybe she'd just seen him around. He went to the local high school, the one she was zoned for.

"Hey, it is Punky," he lisped surreptitiously, grinning maniacally, and pulling her closer towards him. His hand fell to her waist, and slipped up her blouse to trail his fingers along her warm, soft belly. The sudden cold of his touch shook her from her shock, and she squirmed against him, struggling to break free of his hold.

"Let me go," she cried firmly, seeing more figures, his friends, descend upon them from the darkness. Her heart leapt to her throat. How had she been so stupid? She'd read about these kinds of things. Girls walking down the street, alone, in the dark of night, usually upset and completely oblivious to their surroundings. They wouldn't be far from home, when they would get grabbed, or jumped, by a group of hormone raged boys or perverted older men.

"I thought it was you," the boy continued, pulling her closer, bracing her against his body to give him more lever and control. He'd caught her arms, holding them twisted behind her, and walked her into a light pole, where her back pressed against the cold metal. He came to her ear, whispering against her neck, "You've grown cute. Still getting straight A's, Punky?"

"Please, just let me go," Summer pleaded, feeling weak as her voice broke into a quaver. She didn't want this boy to know how scared she was, but she couldn't help it.

"Don't be frightened," he clucked, his pelvis biting into her hip, and she could smell his stale, musky scent. It overwhelmed her. She heard one of his friends laughing, behind him, and squeezed her eyes shut as he brushed his lips along her jaw line, to her cheek, not quite touching a kiss to her skin, but his breath pervading her flesh. He clamped her wrists together with one hand, up above her head, using the pole for support, and slipped his other hand down to fiddle with the buttons of her blouse, his pinky rubbing against her breast every so often.

"Please, don't," she begged, though trying to sound as though she were giving a command. She had no control over the situation, and his friends all joined in the laughter this time, enjoying his sadistic public display of her humiliation.

"Don't what? I'm just having a little fun," he laughed, glancing over his shoulder at his friends for encouragement. He evidently received it, in jibes and more chuckles, as he returned to her, slipping his hand up her shirt, and pushing himself bruising-ly against her body. She tried to curl up, feeling vulnerable in the position he held her in, pinching her eyes ever more shut, and whimpering ever so slightly. She panicked, not knowing what to do. Only one thing, or person, stood out in her mind in that moment.

"Freddy…" she cried out, though her voice was muffled by the pressure against her chest.

"Let her go," a less than amused voice said behind the boy, and for a faint moment, Summer was thankful. Until she recognized the voice. The boy pulled back reluctantly, though he still gripped her wrist. She wasn't moving, scowling at the other boy standing amidst the group, a girl clutched at his side. She looked bored.

"What's up, Austin? I'm just having fun. Why didn't you tell me your baby sister got boobs?" the boy laughed, and the others chuckled, though somewhat nervously around them.

"Oh come on, she hardly has anything," Austin snorted, "She's flatter than a piece of wood."

"You're supposed to say that, she's your sister," the boy rolled his eyes. Austin smirked.

"Yeah, I guess you're right on that one," he replied, before turning his gaze on Summer, an evil glint in his eye, "Shouldn't you be out on your little date?"

"That's none of your business," Summer stammered in response, tears threatening to fall. She felt helpless. She'd never minded, before, being the center of attention. But in front of this group of kids that had tortured her for the greater half of her life she felt small and outcast. And more importantly, alone.

"Aw…did pretty boy decide you weren't good enough for him? Did he see a girl with more up front, maybe blonde…with nice legs?" Austin taunted, and the group laughed. Summer recognized Jeff amongst them. There were others she knew as well. She finally found the name, for the boy who had been molesting her mere moments before. Jim, Austin's best friend since third grade. He'd pinned her against walls then, too.

"No," Summer pouted, as the group laughed again.

"Punky had a date?" Jeff mocked, "Who would want to date her?"

"Nobody, obviously," Austin answered, "Notice how she's not on her date? I thought you told mom you were going to be out late…"

"I did not," Summer hissed.

"What's the matter? Get cold feet? Or did pretty boy see you naked and…"

"Shut up, Austin," Summer cried, flustered, and aghast. How could he say that? She ripped her wrist from Jim's hold, as it had loosened considerably. She began down the street, but Austin was on her, grabbing her arm.

"Where are you going, Punky? We aren't done with you?" he spat, pulling her back towards the crowd. She looked to him, meeting his eyes with fear, anger, frustration, and sorrow. Why was he doing this? To impress his friends? "Honestly, did the date go well? Was he a real gentlemen?" he words were biting, and he had narrowed his eyes at her, smiling despite the agony he saw in his sister, perhaps even because of it, "Now am I right? Did he bail when he came to his senses and realized what a troll he was out with, or was five minutes all it took?"

Summer couldn't control her impulse, as her hand struck Austin across the cheek. The laughter from his group died. She looked stunned at her hand, as though it wasn't hers, as though it wasn't apart of her body, as though it were a monster. Then dared a glance towards her brother.

"I didn't…mean…" she stuttered. A darkness had fallen over his expression, and he lashed out. She fell back from the force alone, her legs buckling beneath her. A form brushed by her, and she regained enough focus to see her brother fall back as a fist struck him hard on the jaw. The newcomer had raised another fist, readying to strike again, and grabbing the still stunned Austin by the collar.

"Freddy, stop!" Summer cried, rushing forward to latch onto the drummer's arm, in an attempt to halt the falling fist, though she was lightheaded and weak and she ended up clinging to it rather for fear of falling to the ground, "Freddy…please…don't…" his jaw was set firm, and he was scowling down at Austin, considering his options. He glanced at Summer, staring with pleading eyes, obviously frightened. His brow furrowed, and he growled softly, before shoving Austin away and letting Summer lead him from the crowd, hands tugging his shirt. Finally, he wrapped an arm about her waist, offering support to the dizzy young woman, who leaned in to him and rested her head against his shoulder.

Summer left Freddy outside, standing beside the green power box. She returned to him, first aid kit in hand, and slipped up in a sitting position on the metal thing, buzzing with electricity. She opened the plastic white box, and he sniffed, flickering a guilty look to the bruise quickly forming on her lower left cheek and chin.

"Who'd I punch?" he asked. The words sounded harsh in what had been a tranquil silence. She pursed her lips, taking his hand. One of the knuckles had split, probably connecting with a tooth, and was swollen, oozing blood. The rest of the knuckles were a light purplish. She used a piece of gauze to dab a little anti-septic on the wound, and he drew his breath in with a great hiss of pain from the stinging.

"My brother," she answered solemnly. Freddy's eyes went wide.

"That was your fucking brother? Shit, Summer…"

"Don't use words like that," she whispered, as she cleaned the blood up, "And don't look at me like that. I don't need you to pity me, now. You don't know anything about it."

"Summer, you're brother hit you…"

"He's always been violent with me. That's how siblings are, I suppose," she cut him off, "But that's the first time he's ever struck me. It was because I slapped him…he…he…had his reasons."

"You've slapped me plenty of times, Summer, and I'd never hit you. And I'm not your brother!"

"Exactly," Summer seethed, meeting his eyes with a meaningful look. He took the hint, and let it drop. She chewed on her lower lip slightly, "How did you know I was in trouble?"

"I was following you," he answered casually, wincing as she applied pressure to his injury.

"You were what?" she demanded, shooting a bewildered look up at him.

"Ow…Summer…not so hard…the hand, the hand…" Freddy moaned, and she shook her head, releasing him. He took a deep breath, looking to her, equally bewildered, "What? Did you want me to let you walk home alone in the dark? No way. I am not giving you the satisfaction of yelling at me for that when you turn up dead in the gutter the next morning."

"Oh," she mumbled, she hadn't really thought of it that way. She took his hand again, and found the roll of bandage in the white plastic box next to her. Pressing gauze soaked in iodine on the wound, she carefully wound the bandage around his hand. Those first aid classes your mother made you take to bulk up your college resume are really coming in handy, she thought as she licked her lips, and knew she wouldn't be able to sleep that night if she didn't ask the question hovering in her mind as she replayed that horrendous event, "Why didn't you help when…when that other boy…" She couldn't bring herself to say it. Took advantage? Molested? What could she say without making herself sound pathetic?

"Oh man," Freddy muttered. Evidently her feelings from that moment in time had jumped back into her voice, as he easily read that it wasn't a pretty ordeal, "I'm sorry. I must not have been there. What did he do?"

"It's nothing," she whispered, trying to appear reassuring. But her hands were trembling as she tied off the bandage. Freddy caught them, with his own, holding them still. She noticed his other hand. While the cut had healed considerably, a mess of band-aids still adorned it. She frowned, "You really need to be more careful with your hands," she commented.

"Why?" he scoffed, "I'm a boy. We get scrapes and shit all over the place, from all the roughhousing we do. Do you like a guy to have soft, girlish hands?"

"No," she stammered, "You're a drummer, remember? You're hands are kind of…needed, to play your instrument. If you mess them up, what will you hold your drumsticks with? Your feet? What did you do to this one, anyways? Punch out another girl's brother who was being rough with her?"

"No, I only do that for you," Freddy said softly, he'd meant it to be teasing but she felt her cheeks flush with color anyways, "I was trying to clean up broken glass. Turns out I'm not very good at cleaning. I have a newfound respect for my house maid…what's her name."

"Why was there broken glass?"

"I threw a vase."

"Why?" Summer met his eyes, confused, and concerned. He flustered. Maybe he shouldn't have told her the truth, he realized. But now he couldn't lie to her. Not when she was looking at him like that.

"Because it was in the Jones Estate, and it wasn't broken," Freddy muttered beneath his breath, then looking down, to their clasped hands. They were partially intertwined, as though half-way through tangling them one or the other had gotten shy, "Because I was mad. Don't worry, though, my psychiatrist says that I'm getting better at expressing my rage."

"How's that?" Summer snorted.

"I didn't burn anything," he shrugged. She smiled, laughing softly, meekly, and he glanced sheepishly to her, letting go of her hands. They fell to her lap, as though lost and purposeless without his to hold. She met his eyes, and he stepped forward, his feet moving without his consent, though he really wouldn't have argued with them. Why did he feel this comfortable around her? The reminder of the broken vase, and why he'd broken it, washed him with pain. He wanted to be held. But not just by anyone. He wanted those thin, pale, delicate arms about him. He wanted to smell her scent, to be encompassed by her small frame, to feel her hold him, and he thought that perhaps, somehow, he could feel safe and loved in those arms.

"Be honest," Summer whispered, "How did the gig really go?" He bent, pressing the palm of his hand against the warm vibrating metal, his thumb flush against her thigh. Her gaze drifted to it, examining it, as though trying to discern if it belonged there. She pressed her lips together, all of sudden shy, then puckered them out, absently running a tongue over the bottom pout.

"It sucked," he admitted quietly, his words airy, little more than puffs of breath, "Now you be honest. How did the show really go?" She looked to him, her eyes drifting shut as he drew near her.

"It sucked," she whispered, warm air against his lips. He smiled, close enough that he could feel every breath she took from her mouth against his own. Her heart was pounding, but she wasn't pulling away, even as a part of her knew that she should, and nagging-ly pointed it out. He knew what he wanted. No, what he needed, and he wasn't backing down. He wanted and needed those lips…

Honk! Honk! Honk! Headlights filled the street, and the blaring car horn caused Freddy to jump and straighten, and both teens to turn away from each other flustered, hearts pounding. The car pulled into the Fuller driveway, and Mrs. Fuller exited the vehicle, looking to them, and waving ecstatically.

"Summer? Summer, is that you? What are you doing out so late? And who's that with you?" Mrs. Fuller called, and while she put on a good show of sounding friendly and concerned, there was an unmistakable hint in her voice that she was simply being nosy. Two other figures crawled from the backseat, and Summer easily identified them as Allison and Rachel.

"Summer? Is that your friend from the amusement park," Allison called, sickeningly sweet, "Let's go say 'hi', Rachel." She latched onto the redhead's arm, practically dragging her across the street, "We'll be right back, mom."

"Of course, dear, don't be long," Mrs. Fuller waved, "Say 'hello' to your mother for me, Summer, though I'm sure I'll see her at the Neighborhood Watch meeting this Sunday." She turned on her heel, hurrying up to her house, and Summer dared a look to Freddy. Her heart was racing. Was she imagining things, or had they been mere millimeters from kissing moments ago? And was he red in the cheeks? Freddy Jones did not blush. It must be the dark, Summer assured herself, you're seeing things, and you're delusional. But why do I feel so feverish? And disappointed?

"Hi. We weren't properly introduced the other day, and I feel totally rude because of it. I'm Allison," the buxomest brunette smiled, sticking her hand out for Freddy to shake. He looked at it as though it were a puzzle he couldn't piece together, then in disbelief at her. And finally, disregarding the two girls altogether, he turned back to Summer.

"Will you be okay?" he asked, a bit uncertainly, "I mean, will your brother…"

"Austin won't do anything," Summer murmured, feeling her lips curl up at the corners, lightly teasing, "Are you worried about me?" He fidgeted, looking flustered to the ground. She lowered her eyes, saying softly, "I'll be fine."

"Then, I guess…I'll see you tomorrow," he told her, then smirking, "Tinkerbell."

Summer couldn't fight the broad smile that slipped across her face at the nickname. It was his way of saying, she supposed, that they were back on good terms. Who knew how long that would last.

"Later, Spaz," she returned, and watched his retreating form as he strode out of the cul-de-sac towards the bus stop. Then she glanced at Allison and Rachel, who watched the blonde's back longingly. Allison spun suddenly, to glare at Summer, and it was a tribute to her pure snootiness, how she could be looking downwards and still appear to have her nose sticking up in the air.

"Tell me about him," it wasn't a request. Summer made a face.

"What? Are kidding? Why would I tell you about him? Or anyone I know for that matter?" she cried, appalled by this girl, who had long been her tormentor. She was suddenly overwhelmed with anger. Allison was just like all those other girls fawning over Freddy. Wanting him for his good looks and pretty face. They didn't know him, they didn't know what he was like, they didn't know what made him laugh, or what made him angry. At least, Summer knew those things, and that, for once, put her ahead of little Miss Fuller.

Summer was shaken when Allison took a seat next to her, strapping an arm over her shoulders. Rachel looked surprised as well, but it was quickly replaced with angry envy, as her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

"I know you and I have had our differences," Allison began, "But I think we can overlook them…"

"So you can get your claws in another boy I like?" Summer spat, then lifting herself up and ripping out of Allison's grip, "He's not interested, anyways. He flirts with anything female that moves, and…well…he didn't even give you a second glance."

"You…you…" Allison stammered, and Summer practically skipped up the walk towards her house. She turned, smiled mock pleasant, and waved, before swinging open her front door and disappearing into the house. As soon as the door was shut, she realized something. She referred to Freddy as a "boy she liked". She leaned heavily against the wooden frame, folding her arms over her stomach and sighing deeply. That's not what I meant, she thought. Was it?

0-0-

Freddy leaned back on the freshly polished floor of Horace Green's gym, loathing his P.E. uniform. It was better than the school uniform, he supposed. At least he got to wear a t-shirt, instead of the button-down collar deal, and shorts instead of those hidious plaid trousers. And he got to wear sneakers, though the gym coach wasn't incredibly encouraging of his Vans and Etnies, as opposed to the Nikes and Air Jordans all the other boys wore. He watched the other boys running their laps and doing stretches, waiting for the coach to come down. He shared this class with Zack, Leonard, and Lawrence; who were all still busy changing in the locker room. Katie, Tomika, and Alicia had girls' P.E. the same period, and both classes were in the gym that day, but the girls had yet to descend from the locker room.

Kyle and a few other boys on the basketball team also had that class, as well. And they were standing, huddled, to one side of the gym. Kyle sent a look Freddy's way, and the drummer felt unease growing in the pit of his stomach. It was confirmed, as the boy, head of the basketball player pack, strutted towards him. They came to a halt in front of the lounging, and he stared up at them cheekily.

"What do you want, bastard?" he asked cheerfully. There was shuffling, and suddenly Freddy felt very vulnerable sitting on the ground. Trying to appear calm and composed, he lifted himself up as coolly as he could muster with those towering boys gathered around him threateningly. And with his usual rebellious scowl, he met Kyle's eyes. Though, Kyle was a few inches taller, Freddy still managed to look intimidating in his own right.

"You to stay away from Summer," was the smooth answer. Freddy quirked an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest, and looking about the room in a bemused way, before his eyes settled one more on Kyle.

"Are you fucking crazy? Didn't you have this chat with Summer? She said 'no', dude, remember?" he hissed.

"I know. But I'm not asking her. I'm telling you. Stay away from my girlfriend…and band manager," Kyle retorted, a sneer on his lip. Freddy winced, and he hated how sick that statement made him feel. His muscles tensed, pulling taut along his back and arms.

"What?" he barely managed to choke out.

"Didn't she tell you? She's agreed to be the manager of my band," an almost sadistic grin darkened Kyle's elegant features. Freddy felt an ache in his chest. He narrowed his eyes at Kyle.

"That's a lie," he said flatly. It sounded flimsy, hanging empty in the air.

"Is it?" Kyle replied, beginning a circle around the stiff blonde, as though a vulture preparing to swoop on its dying prey. All he had to wait for, was that killing blow, "There was no doubt, that she would chose my band over your childish…group. It was time for her to move to greater opportunities." Freddy flinched, finding a shiny spot on the floor to glower at lest he make a fatal move that could lead to expulsion, "Does that bother you?" Kyle mocked, "You know," he mused, "I don't think it bothers you quite so much that she's the manager of my band," he stopped, at Freddy's shoulder, his words falling into the drummer's ear, abrasive and taunting, "As the fact that she's my girlfriend." He began pacing again, walking back to stand in front of Freddy, his hands clasped behind his neck, "I'll tell you the major bonus of her managing my band now. She gets away from you. Don't get me wrong, I don't think she'd fall in love with you, or anything…but I know how you work. You'd find her at a weak moment, and take advantage of that.

"You really are a spoiled brat. I've seen the way you've been looking at her lately, and after that Tuesday," Kyle snarled, "You can't stand anyone having anything you don't. But you'll never have Summer," he smirked, seeing how the blonde flinched against this statement, "I guess, so you don't lie awake at night wondering…I could tell you," he turned, pacing, "She's a great kisser," He turned, looking Freddy square in the eye, "But to be honest, she could have a better body and be a little less of a prude. Making out isn't quite so fun when there's so little to grab and she won't let me go through with it anyways. Yet. something tells me she'll be a little more willing once I get her away from…"

A flash of anger blinded Freddy for a moment, and before he knew what he had done, his fist connected heavily against hard bone and soft flesh. He stared amazed at Kyle, whose head was turned to one side, his lip bloodied, and eyes wide from the shock. By then, the girls were starting out of the locker room, and Zack, Leonard, and Lawrence had hit the gym floor, and stared wide-eyed at what they'd just witnessed. But Freddy's anger hadn't subsided, and where any other would be left satisfied with the obviously painful strike, he lunged out, grabbing Kyle by the collar and sinking his other fist in the other boy's stomach. At that moment, Kyle had come to his senses, and was somewhat able to block the second attack. He groaned, softly, trying to push the angry drummer from him. All he managed was a backhanded smack to Freddy's chin, and then Zack was there, pulling Freddy back, and Katie was quickly stepping in the middle.

"What is going on?" she demanded, looking bewildered between the two boys. Freddy was growling, pulling at Zack's grasp, trying to get at Kyle, who was clutching his lip and chin, while one of his friends offered support.

"He struck me for no reason," Kyle sputtered, seeing the coaches coming from their offices towards the gym and the great commotion. Everyone around them had stopped and were watching with piqued interests.

Freddy flushed, realizing the utter scrutiny he was suddenly under. He couldn't tell them the real reason he'd gotten fired up, so he searched for an alternative excuse, and the first words that tumbled from his mouth were, "That bastard says that Summer's going to manage his band!" It took only a few silent minutes for his words to sink in, before all hell broke loose amongst the School of Rock members. Zack still held tightly to Freddy, who still looked ready to lunge though he wasn't moving, and the others began shouting obscenities and eccentric rants.

"That's a lie! That's a goddamned lie!" Alicia was shouting at Kyle, a Chesire cat grin on his face, particularly pleased with himself.

"She was our manager first," Lawrence stated, confused and dazed.

"You mean she's leaving the band?" Leonard questioned, hurt and quiet.

"Now, we just need to take a moment to straighten this out," Tomika was trying to cry over everyone else, trying to regain composure in the group.

"You are so full of shit," Zack was yelling, and as curse words were hardly his thing, it was especially harsh coming from his mouth, "You smug bastard. You fucking smug bastard. You don't even know what you've done…"

"I don't believe you," Katie was whimpering, "I don't believe it. Summer wouldn't…would she? She wouldn't leave us…would she? I won't believe you…"

"Why don't you all just get over it, already?" Kyle hissed, his words inaudible to anyone else outside of the group, "She's moved on to bigger…better things." A new rage coursed through Freddy, and he tore from Zack's grip, landing a square punch in Kyle's face and pinning him to the ground with his knees, readying another assault before the coach descended upon them, ripping Freddy off the other boy and dragging him to his feet.

"All of you," the coach roared, glowering out at the members of School of Rock, "Principle's office. NOW!"

END A/N: Yay! The fight scene everyone was waiting for, anyone dissapointed? And another almost-kiss scene.

Eightees rock bands...okay, eightees was not a great time for rock bands. But there were some good ones, and that's all I'm leaving it at. I don't want complaints about that statement she made, she has issues about the eightees, I don't. I love the eightees, actually. I was born in the eightees. I lived partially in the eightees. I had an eightees hair-do. Eightees greatly influenced my life. I love the eightees. (I watched every I Love the Eightees episode on MTV). If you don't love the eightees. Oh well, your problem, not mine.

Oh, and a funny thing about Men At Work. I had recently (after writing this chapter) discovered their CD in my dad's collection. I was so stoked! I just had to play it. Oh man, it was great. My dad came home and it was blasting, and he looked at me funny, and I had the biggest grin on my face!

ANYWAYS, please REVIEW. And please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

I can't wait until Friday, for the Kim Possible 'So the Drama Movie'...god, that sounds so lame...but their advertising a possible Kim/Ron romance, and if they do not deliver, I will be so dissapointed and there will be hell to pay!

But...uh, thanks for reading, and this rocker is out (my guitar instructor taught me Smoke on the Water...so cool...I suck at it though...)!