A/N: Technically this is a day early...depending on how long it takes me to write up these A/N's. Nope, it's not.

Thanks for the reviews guys:

IndesElfwine: Thanks for the praise. I'm glad you liked the interactions. Who was your favorite band, if you don't mind me asking? I mentioned a lot of them...

Ash (Ashley): I'm glad you decided to review, thanks so much! I really didn't like She's Leaving, but it makes me feel better about it, knowing that you felt it was so good!

radiance x: I'm flattered you feel that way, but I don't think Miranda Cosgrove and Kevin Clark would be very happy with any sequel I wrote...considering there is a slight age gap between the two of them...hm...I do love emotion. It's so much fun to work with...that sounds weird.

wyverna: Ska's not my forte either. Though I did love the Aquabats (HUGELY! Mission Applesauce, applesauce, applesauce...!) hehehe...who knows what happened to Gwen's bandmates...well, somebody probably does, but then...eh. You're not that bad. I don't make friends at all. People who I'm friendly with, I don't know if they're my friends. I don't know if I have any friends...I have people I talk with...at work and junk. Oh my god, I have no friends. I'm an anti-social loser. I could cry right now...You should never be afraid to sound dumb. Because the majority of the world is dumb, and you seem rightly intelligient to me, so you're way ahead of them anyways. Technically, Dewey mentioned those issues, and yeah, I know about the religion thing. Even though condoms are the only form of contraception that offer protection against STD's.The deal with those misspellings. When I mentioned Ozzy, I was thinking of the spelling of Joan Osbourn's name, and that's why I spelled his name that way. And then in regards to Freddie Mercury (RIP), I am so used to spelling the name 'Freddy' (as per our beloved Freddy Jones), which is why that happened. I really wasn't thinking. And no, it didn't sound mean. I appreciate when people point those things out to me, as I don't always take the time to double check my spelling on band names (and bandmate's names), and a lot of people are a little anal about those things. I'm a mean person, so you really shouldn't worry about being mean to me, either. Love the long review!

sweetcaroline: Yeah, it wasn't the greatest display of my writing abilities, but as I said, it was necesary to the plotline. The Backstreet Boys are back? DAMMIT! I am so firing that hitman...I can't really update out of time, because then I'll get all screwed up, and catch up to the chapter I'm writing right now, and then I'll be writing them really quickly and posting them when they're finished and updates would take longer and...I bet none of that rambling run-on made sense. I reviewed Mr.&Mrs. Jones, though Ididn't sign-in (sorry...there was a reason...but I forget). I signed as "SD", like I always do when I review unsigned.

i am not a chipmunk: Yeah, there are few boys in this world as cute as him...sigh...Fredmister? Okay. Your mind, your fantasy. Oh, yes, hot bastard on asshole action. Yeah, Summer's mom (in my story) is a bitch. Yes, I do think. Quite often, actually. SometimesI stop, because my brain somewhat...shuts down...but I do think! J/K. Sorry...

Nanners-77: Did you catch the New Kids on the Block reference too? Or am I the only one old enough to get that...I can't tell you what happens...I don't laugh at Richard Simmons, I don't laugh with Richard Simmons. He scares me, and I cry. I don't know if your guess got cut off, or what...but I'm not sure what "sort with herself" means, so I can't tell you if you're right or not. But I don't doubt you're not too far off. Bullies smell? Some of them do, I guess...and yes, it is a good thing that you're getting into this story!

closetwriter: Yup, I loved writing the Dewey/Freddy conversation. Wait no more, here it is...

Alex: Whelp, sounds like you have it all figured out...sort of. Are you thinking of Kyle when you say Austin? I think you're confused, or I'm confused, or you're confusing me...ACK! Dewey would SO NEVER go back to No Vacancy. I know, I've seen this characterization of him too many times to count. That he's a drunkard, a bum, or leaves the band for a band of older, more professional musicians. Those people really aren't in tune with the movie, or are taking serious liberties. Just because Dewey went to school with a hangover means nothing. Remember, he went their that day on short notice, and got drunk the day before, not knowing he would be going to "work". Jeez, people, WATCH the movie, for crying out loud! Sorry, didn't mean to rant. Yup, I loved the Freddy/Zack high-five too! My birthday is soon...

Parcie05: Thank god, I hate bad references, and recalling those days when EVERYBODY listened to the Backstreet Boys (even if they sucked, and were really scary.) I can honestly say, I never listened to them...but I may have listened to N'SYNC, and maybe went to one of their concerts...but I never really liked them. My friends were all into them, and I was just like, 'okay, whatever'. Did you notice I asked that, and then went off into a Beatles song? He's a real nowhere man, sitting in his nowhere land...yup, I am easily distracted. Kill Kyle off? That seems to be the general vote.

vaguely specific: Of course I caught that. Can't Hardly Wait is a good movie. Want to know why? Because Seth Green is in it...mmmm...Seth Green...Actually, when it came to the bands, I was thinking about who I would recommend if I was Dewey. When I watched the movie the first time, I was all like "DON'T GIVE TOMIKA PINK FLOYD (albeit they are a great band, with great lyrics, great music, and great vocals) GIVE HER QUEEN!"And then from there, I was like, "Blondie's okay, but what about Pat Benatar, Stevie Nicks (well, she got a lot of notice in the movie, actually...), Joan Jett, Janis Joplin, Melissa Etheridge even!" And then Aerosmith was a given. And then, I LOVE the Stray Cats. I don't care what anyone thinks, those guys are GREAT! I love all the bands mentioned. You were pretty close with your guess on Summer's POV switch. But it was a little simpler. She's kind of finding her own voice, is all. In her mind, she's starting to stick up for herself, which could lead to her sticking up for herself in real life too! And I did update soon. I update sooner than anyone else writing on this site (I think...)!

That's everyone...

ENJOY!

Chapter 11: Blood Is Thicker Than Water

Katie let her phone droop to her shoulder as she lie staring up at the ceiling from her bed, her bass comfortably settled over her stomach. She felt a smile slip over her face. Best friends. It sounded good. She liked it. She lifted the phone again, staring cross-eyed at it as she dialed another number, one long since memorized by heart. She lay it again by her ear and listened to it ring.

"Hello…" a relaxed drawl answered.

"What are you wearing, baby?" Katie said in a low key seductive tone. There was a light shuffle, and she heard the click of, she assumed, a door shutting in the background.

"Oh, you know…the usual," came the answer, as the shambling ceased, "My flame decaled footsy pajamas." Katie scrunched her nose.

"Footsy pajamas?"

"Yeah, my cute bunny nightgown was dirty," was the snickered response.

"I don't want to know, Zack."

"What's going on, Posh Spice?" he questioned, donning a fairly decent fake British accent, "You sound like you got your Girl Power back."

"I talked to Summer," Katie answered, plucking the strings of her guitar, their melodic rings a comfort along with Zack's soft breathing in her ear.

"Oh?" Zack said, serious once more, hesitant, "And…?"

"We're best friends," she announced happily.

"Katie?" an annoyed voice called, muffled through the door, followed by a light tap.

"I'm busy," Katie shouted, covering the mouthpiece of the phone and frowning.

"Whatever," the voice muttered, "Mom just wants to know if you did your homework."

"Yes, it's done. Now leave," Katie growled.

"Loser gothic," the voice hissed as fading footfalls signaled the unwelcome guest's departure. Katie sighed, pulling herself into a sitting position and giving 'the finger' to her door, accompanied by the sticking out of her tongue. She felt childish, but then, it was hard not to, as the owner of that voice always made her feel that way.

"Your sister," Zack acknowledged.

"Yeah. The older, blonder one," Katie rolled her eyes.

"She's blonde again?"

"She re-dyed her roots, finally," Katie explained, then sarcastically, "But, sigh, that's one less thing I have to make fun of her for."

"But then, there's still her low IQ, her prep getup, the fact she likes wearing her school uniform dress code regulation, her choice in music…cough, cough…Spear Brittany…cough…" Katie felt her smile return and she chuckled lightly, "And, you know, if it makes you feel better, you're not a loser. At least, I don't think so."

"What about a Goth?" Katie questioned and Zack seemed suddenly overwhelmed with a coughing fit.

"I'm sorry…I'm choking here…can't…answer…that…question…" he gasped.

"Jerk."

"Goth."

"Loser."

"Bigger loser."

"You just said I wasn't a loser."

"And you believed me, a loser myself?" Zack broke into laughter, and after a moment, Katie joined in, falling back onto her bed, "What's with the wicked bleached blonde of the west, anyways?" he asked, as their amusement died down.

"We got in a fight, and reached an unsettling conclusion."

"What would that be?"

"There's no possible way we're related, and as I fit in this family the least, I must be adopted," Katie exclaimed in mock perk, but her last words caught in her throat.

"Katie," Zack whispered, "You know that that's not true…" But he trailed off. He knew what was coming.

"I was four when he told me to stop calling him dad," Katie mumbled, crossing the room to set her guitar in its case. She plucked the first string once more before walking away from it to stand in front of her full length mirror and study herself.

Her shoulder length black hair was twisted back into a bun, small strands of hair sticking out at the top and fanning around the crown of her head. Baby hairs curled into her face. She rubbed a thumb over her olive skin, and traced a finger under her eye, noting the natural dark circles beneath. She was tall, thick and clumsy. People often told her she should be an athlete. She hated that. She sucked in her stomach, wishing it wasn't quite so rounded, that her shoulders weren't so broad, her hips weren't so wide, and maybe her chest was a little more pronounced, little more shapely. She looked nothing like her siblings, fair complexions, light hair, light eyes, dabbled freckles, and dimples in their cheeks. Her two sisters were thin, delicate, and femininely shaped. Her brother was lithe, with a gymnast's body, wiry form. None of them were as awkward and gangly as she was.

Zack was silent. He hated being the one she talked to about all of this, but as he was the only one who knew, he had to deal with it. She needed him to listen and he would be damned if he wasn't there when one of his friends needed him.

"I used to wonder," Katie went on, "Why he would pick up Miranda, swing her through the air, and call Lydia his little princess, why he would ruffle Scott's hair…why he would tuck all of them in at night and give them kisses on their foreheads, and he would just ignore me." She spun from her image, but found herself falling to the floor, sitting cross-legged on the rough shag carpet. Her voice was surprisingly steady, like always, it failed to betray her true emotions, "I thought I was doing something wrong, but it didn't make sense. I did everything the way they all did. I called him 'daddy', I tried so hard to be a good girl…"

"Katie, don't do this to yourself," Zack interrupted.

"I was four, Zack," Katie cried, shuddering, "I spent most of my life being invisible to the only father I ever knew. He couldn't even pretend…but why would he? I am the constant reminder that his wife couldn't keep her legs shut! I'm the bastard product of my mother's infidelity! Sometimes…you know, sometimes…I think it would have been better if I were never born…"

"Now you can stop that, right there," Zack snapped, "Jeez, Katie…if you were never born, who would be the awesome bassist in our band?"

"Oh, great, I'm a guitar player. What a reason to live," Katie muttered cynically, burying her face in her lap, her words choking in her throat, "He wishes I were never born. My mom wishes I were never born…she would have gotten away with that stupid affair of hers…they all wish I was never born, because I'm the reason their mom and dad fight all the time and hate each other…name one person, one goddamned person, who's happy I was born."

"Me."

Katie was silent, twin streaks staining her cheeks. She hadn't even realized she was crying. She could have sworn her heart skipped a beat at that one word.

"I'm sorry, Zack," she said softly, "I guess that fight I had with my sister really got to me. I don't mean to whine. No wonder everyone thinks I'm a depressed loner Goth."

"It's cool," Zack told her, and she heard the beginning riffs of Guns N Roses "Sweet Child O' Mine" play lightly in the background. He knew the song comforted her but this was an almost subconscious strumming, as though his fingers just instinctively knew she needed to hear the melody, "I guess I have my moments too. We can all be drama queens at some point in time."

"You're really happy I was born?" she dared ask.

"No, I was just saying that to shut you up," Zack joked and Katie smiled, "Of course I'm glad you were born. Who else will call me up in the middle of the night to ask me what I'm wearing?"

"You're right, Zack. If I was never born, nobody would ever know you were wearing footsy pajamas right now," Katie chuckled.

"You know I was lying, right?"

"Oh, were you?"

"Yeah. I'm not wearing anything. I'm completely naked. What about you?"

"Me too. Nude as the day I was born."

"Which was a very good day," Zack put in, "Because if you weren't born then, you wouldn't be sitting here naked with me right now."

"Right," Katie agreed, grinning.

"So what did Summer say?"

"That came out of nowhere."

"Well, someone has to get this conversation back on track, and by gum, I'll do it. I'm not proud of what I have to do, but it's my duty, and I'll..."

"Okay, that's enough," Katie giggled, "Me and Summer just…talked. She apologized mostly."

"And then you reached the conclusion that you were best friends?"

"Yup."

"Lucky. We didn't decide me and her were best friends," Zack pouted.

"Of course not, 'cause I'm her best friend," Katie pointed out, then dropping her tone to one of a more serious nature, "I'm really worried about her, Zack. She started talking about how she's never had real friends…something's up and I really wish I knew what it was. I also think something serious went down between her and Kyle."

"But she didn't tell you?"

"She had to run off for some meeting with some college guy. She said she'd call later," Katie crawled her way towards her bed, pulling herself up lazily and stretching out over the comforter, flopping onto her pillow, "I'm just now starting to realize…how little I know about her. I mean, I've known you since…"

"First grade," Zack supplied.

"Yeah, when you dumped finger paint on my head."

"Hey, that was an accident!"

"Sure…whatever you say," Katie muttered indignantly, then clearing her throat, "But Summer didn't come until the third…fourth grade, and even then, I didn't talk with her much until fifth grade when Dewey came."

"And after that, it was almost like…we didn't talk about our home lives and everything. It was always about the band and the music," Zack cut in, "Jesus," he breathed.

"What?"

"She's right," he whispered, "I can almost see where she's coming from…god, that's scary…"

"Zack, don't start agreeing with Summer on me…"

"I'm not," Zack assured her, "I just…I'm starting to understand. Hey, call me later, after you talk to her again. I want to known what happens."

"Sure thing," Katie said, "You know, Summer is my first best friend. I mean, I've had friends before, but no one who I could truly connect with and, you know, me and her really click. She's totally down with all my Greenpeace shit, and I've never had a friend who doesn't mind debating with me and talking about the issues. It's so cool. And she's a feminist."

"So, when's the wedding?" Zack teased.

"Shut up," Katie rolled her eyes, "I wonder how long this college meeting thing is going to take…"

0-0-

Summer glanced out her car window, watching the small suburban houses turn into the city, and then the city turn into the highway, and the highway turn into lavish area with giant plush houses. Time seemed to pass slowly, and quickly all at once as the scenery rolled by and her mother silently watched the road. The radio never played in her mother's car, it was a "distraction". Summer had the distinct feeling that her mother didn't like music of any kind, but then, classical had always played in their household, and musicals. So that couldn't possibly be true. And her mother had played the clarinet, which was why Summer did.

Summer wanted to talk to Katie. At that moment, she had so much to say, so much bursting through her, and for once, she finally felt like she could let it all fall out. She finally had a best friend. And not like Rachel, no. Her and Katie weren't going to sit around and make up lame excuses for why nobody liked them. They weren't going to mope, and feel sorry for themselves. And they weren't going to rely on each other for friendship because no one else would offer. They were friends because…she frowned. Maybe it was a lie. It had been too easy to get Katie to forgive her. Maybe she was being set up. She felt a wrench in her heart. It wouldn't be the first time she'd been played for a fool.

The car pulled to a stop, and the slam of a car door shook Summer back to reality. Her mother had exited the vehicle. Summer glanced out the window at the large white house with a heavy sigh. Her mother knocked on the pane of glass giving her an impatient look. She grimaced, swinging the door open and hopping out, wrapping her arms about her self and following her mother begrudgingly up the courtyard to the front door. Her mother rang the doorbell, and tapped her foot, before looking to Summer and reaching a hand out to straighten her daughter's hair.

"You're not wearing the shirt I left out for you," her mother realized.

"Yeah…I…" Summer cleared her throat, "I wanted to wear this instead."

"It looks tacky," her mother commented, tsking, "I guess there's nothing that can be done about it, now. I don't see why you couldn't wear the shirt I picked out…"

"I'm not a little girl, mom," Summer muttered, immediately regretting it as a familiar rage flashed through her mother's eyes. She flinched as the front door opened and Mr. Philbur's smiling face greeted them, along with his perfect blonde wife neatly strapped at his side.

"You must be Mrs. Hathaway and…Summer?" he greeted, and Summer's mother took his outstretched hand, "This is my wife, Helen."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm sorry we're so late," Summer's mother quickly apologized, "I hope dinner hasn't gotten cold…"

"It's no problem," Mr. Philbur assured her, "Our cook kept dinner warm in the oven, and it's not like you could control the situation. Unless you have some machine that clears up traffic…because I would pay good money for that." The three adults broke into laughter, and Summer simply nodding, forcing a smile.

The Philburs stepped back, letting the mother and daughter in and leading the way to the sitting room. Helen seemed to be explaining the many artworks on display in the hallway, and the different rooms, and the history of the house, but Summer walked almost blearily behind them, not really paying attention and unable to focus. She let her mind wander, staring at her feet as she followed the adults down the hall, and sat gracefully down onto the plush mahogany sofa, next to her mother. She wondered what School of Rock was doing at that moment, how they were preparing for the Battle of the Bands. Then she thought of Kyle and the Barber Boys. How could both groups do this to her? They couldn't possibly think that she would go along with whatever the outcome was…could they? She chewed her lower lip. Would she?

It felt good, being on good terms with Katie again. Summer wondered how the others would react to an attempt at rebuilding their friendship. She wondered how Freddy would. She felt her stomach knot, closing her eyes. You shouldn't have slapped him, she told herself. No. I was angry. He had punched my boyfriend, I had every right. He probably thinks you're a complete and total bitch. After the night before, after Austin, after how he acted, after everything was normal between you and him…you turn around and slap him in the face. And Zack. All those things you said to him. If he told Katie, there was a good chance, he'd told all the others as well. She wondered how much of what she'd said was true. To her, to them.

"…I'm personally fond of Beethoven, but who isn't? Summer, who would you say was the greatest composer of the past century?" Mr. Philbur's voice broke into her thoughts. She startled, all eyes eagerly on her.

"John Lennon," she murmured.

"Excuse me…who?" the room was stunned quiet. She shook from her daze.

"I'm sorry…what?"

"We should probably serve dinner," Helen announced, and her husband was quick to agree. They all scrambled to their feet, heading towards the kitchen. Summer's mother placed a hand on her shoulder, holding her back momentarily, and hissing in her ear.

"Pay attention. Do not screw this up, Summer, I pulled a great deal of strings to set up this meeting. Show a little manners and listen when he speaks to you."

They took a seat around the great oak dining table. And Summer slumped in her chair, until she received a stern glance from her mother. She straightened, smoothing out her skirt and placing a fake smile on her face.

"So, tell me about your goals," Mr. Philbur spoke up, laying a cloth napkin in his lap, "Which school do you plan on going to? My old alma mater can't be the only thing on your list…"

"I'm not certain," Summer replied, "Harvard was my top choice, as well as Yale, of course, Dartmouth, Princeton and Brown were my backups."

"Ambitious," Mr. Philbur commented, leaning forward on the table to peer amusedly down at the young woman, "What do you hope to study?" Summer faltered momentarily, her lips twitching, her mind racing for an answer. What did she hope to study? Her mother shot her an aggressive look.

"I…um…originally I had hoped to pursue a career in politics," she offered.

"And…now?"

"I manage a rock band," she blurted out. Then grimaced, as the Philburs' faces contorted with confusion and her mother's eyes flew wide. The rest of the night, as was expected, went downhill from there.

As they left the house, Summer stiffly ambled into the passenger seat of her mother's car. Her mother started the engine and slowly pulled out of the courtyard onto the road. They sat in silence, Summer rigid and braced for what she instinctively knew, from long years of experience, was coming. Her mother gripped the wheel tightly, her fingers and knuckles turning white under the pressure and her breaths were sharp gasps. Summer folded her hands in her lap, studying them and wishing she could disappear, fade into the leather seating of her mother's Volkswagen. Alas, but that was physically impossible.

"You are a complete and total disappointment," her mother finally spoke, her words low and seedy, "I should have known your brother would have all the potential. He would have handled the situation with grace, he would have…"

"Then why didn't you set him up with that meeting?" Summer spat, then catching herself, she bit into her lip. She knew the answer to that, though her mother would never admit it. The car wheels squealed as the vehicle veered off the road and was pulled to an abrupt halt at the curb.

"I have given you everything," her mother seethed, "I have worked my hands to the bone! I have spent days and nights slaving at a job I hate, so that I could pay fifteen thousand dollars a year, so that you could make something of yourself! So that you would never have to face the turmoil and agony and suffering that I have. And all you have to give me is a…a…rock band? A damned rock band? Listen to me, Summer, now you have me using foul language!"

"Yes, mother, I've crossed the line now," Summer muttered, "I'm sorry if my dream in life is no longer the same one you crammed down my…" Her mother's hand flicked across her cheek, once, twice, three times. She waited, in that silence that followed, for her mother's usual apology, her cheek stinging, both women breathing heavily. It never came.

"Get out of the car," her mother commanded.

"What?" Summer looked dry-eyed to her mother, shocked.

"You heard me. I'm tired of your ungrateful mouth, your ungrateful presence. They're not your friends, you little brat, they're just using you. I've told you that time and again, and yet, you're still willing to throw away everything you…everything I worked for, for them? Get out of the car, get out of my sight. You can walk home, you unappreciative…little…GET OUT!"

"Mom…I…"

Her mother stretched over her, hand shooting out to toss her car door open.

"Get out!" she screamed, shoving at her daughter, "Get out! Walk yourself home! See what carrying yourself feels like for once! You want to manage that band, then you're on your own! With everything! Don't ask me for help anymore! Get out of my car!" She raked her nails along Summer's arm, pushing, shoving, grabbing the younger girl's hair and head and throwing her out of the vehicle with a great deal of force. Then the older woman reached forward, grabbed the door and yanked it shut, pulling away from the curb and tearing down the street.

Summer stood, stunned. Her cheek hurt, her head hurt where her mother had pulled her hair, some of the strands had tugged out, her arm hurt where her mother's nails had dug into her flesh, it was now lightly bleeding. Sickeningly, she realized, her mother was not coming back for her. She wrapped her arms about her body, sniffed lightly, entranced by the faded afterimage dancing in front of her eye of the fleeing car. She was alone now, standing in the dead streetlamp light. She looked around, trying to get her bearings straight, and realized she had no idea where she was. And then another unsettling fact gripped her. In the sudden commotion, her pack was left behind in the car. Along with her cell phone. She swallowed hard the tears forming, but she couldn't seem to get past the thick lump that now blocked her throat. She was alone. Abandoned. And lost.

For a few minutes, Summer wandered around aimlessly. She crossed the street, wandered past gated mansions, and insanely well kempt lawns and streets. She passed the same houses a few times, and finally found herself back at the streetlamp where her mother had left her. Her bottom lip trembled. She was walking in circles, of course. She slid to the ground, pulling her legs to her chest and succumbing to tears.

"Where am I?" she whimpered, "I'm so lost…" then a great sob burst through her chest, "Daddy…" It was all she could think of, this great aching inside of her, overcoming her. All she wanted at that moment was the stability she once knew. The stability she'd had when her father was alive. She just wanted someone strong, someone to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be alright. Someone to hold her, stroke her back, take care of her, protect her.

The sound of footsteps brought Summer to her feet. She searched the darkness of the night with wide, red-rimmed eyes, alert for any movement. A figure was making its way up the sidewalk, a bag in hand. As the person grew nearer, she felt a calm compose her. There was something familiar in this newcomer. She rubbed her cheeks, and the person stopped in the edge of the light, eyeing her curiously, and she stared back in shock at the young man before her casually dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, a jacket. He held a brown paper grocery bag in his arm, and his drumsticks were casually held in his freehand.

"What are you doing here?" she questioned, agape.

"I live right over there," Freddy answered, as though it were obvious, "What are you doing here?" Summer looked down, chewing her lower lip. She couldn't think of a reason, her brain was a mess. "Are you okay?" the concern sounded so completely genuine, that Summer couldn't help the tears that spilled down her already wet cheeks. She nodded.

"I…I was visiting with someone," she began, her voice shaky. It was somewhat the truth, "And I…I assured them I could walk home….but…foolish me, I really don't know this area…and…I've gotten myself all turned around and…"

"Where's your phone?"

"I left it at home," she quickly lied, "Foolish me again…"

"Well…I can walk you home," he offered.

"No," Summer snapped, all too fast, and hastily covered it up with, "I mean…I just wanted to sit in the cool air for awhile, I've been walking a long time and…" She didn't want to go home yet. Her mother would be there, and she really didn't want Freddy to see her mother in that kind of mood. Not to mention, if he walked her home, it would only further upset her mother, who was intent on teaching her a lesson about how 'bad' her friends were.

"Whatever," Freddy shrugged, "I'm going back to the Jones' Estate then." He began to turn and she made an almost squeaking noise. He stopped, giving her a bewildered stare. He didn't know she could squeak.

"You're going to leave me here…alone…in the dark…?" He rolled his eyes.

"You can come too, if you want," he suggested. She glanced around sheepishly, seeming uncertain of the idea. "Look, I'm going. If you want to stay here, then stay here. But I'm not." As he began off again, a slight smirk graced his features as she followed slowly behind.

Freddy led the way to another street and marched up the gravel pathway to an elaborate gate. He squeezed through the bars, and Summer followed suit, reluctantly at first. She stared up, or gaped more like it, at the mammoth house, easily the largest on the block. With wide, tall, painted glass windows, white walls, and fancy arcs, elaborate buttresses, and romantic balconies; short of turrets, it was a castle. Immediately, she was ashamed of her own house. How small, simple, and undistinguished it must have seemed to the boy who could call this gorgeous mansion home.

The drummer hopped up towards the double doors, and jabbed a key in, twisting the lock and swinging open the heavy oak door. He held his arm out, motioning for Summer to enter, and she did so. Her mouth dropped. If the outside had been impressive, then the inside was simply stunning, sheer beauty. Everything glistened, everything shined, and sparkled. She suddenly felt so plain and small in that household, where magnificent people must have walked and lived and danced and marched. It seemed to press in on her, all the gloriousness, and she could hardly breath. Too taken in by the entryway alone, she barely noticed as Freddy began down the hall, barely glancing at his surroundings. He paused, flickering a glimpse her direction. If she'd caught it, she would have seen the unmistakable hint of regret, and sorrow. He didn't want her to be there. Didn't want her to marvel at this prison he was forced to live in. Didn't want her to look at him differently now from seeing this house, the luxury his parents afforded, and forced on him. Not all that glitters is gold, he wanted to tell her, but he couldn't get the words out. She was already changing, he thought, her perception of him was already altering. She would never understand. She must be thinking, he realized, how fortunate he was. How perfect his life must really be.

She met his eyes, and smirked, "So this is where you actually live?" He snorted lightly, shaking his head.

"Come on," he prodded, heading down the hallway and she shuffled to fall into step behind him. She watched with wide-eyes the rooms and decorations they passed, taking it all in. He felt a knot forming in his stomach. The perfect life, he told himself miserably, the perfect house, perfectly rich, perfectly…

"Where is everyone?" Summer broke the silence. He paused at the sliding glass door, hand resting on the knob, and looked back at her perplexed. What did that mean?

"Um…my dad's on business, and…the clean team doesn't come until the morning," he answered casually, confused. It was an odd question, but then, he was used to the empty household and for him it was normal that nobody was there. She gave him a strange look and he wished she would go back to staring in awe at the house. Her brow was drawn together, her lips pressed, and she was almost studying him, as though searching for something in his eyes, though he didn't know what. He felt uncomfortable under that gaze, almost naked. He shifted.

"Is it like this every night?" she questioned, though she had already guessed the answer, so he said nothing, "That's…sad…" she murmured, and he was taken aback. Sad? Didn't she think his life was perfect? And now she found something about it…sad? Her eyes had drifted to the floor, and all at once she seemed downcast, "So…you're all by yourself?"

"No, you're here," Freddy pointed out awkwardly, wanting her to stop with the direction she was taking this conversation. She shook her head.

"It must be lonely…" she commented.

"I don't stay here a lot, alright. I go out," Freddy spat, flinging open the glass door and strutting outside. He wanted to regain composure, to be back in control of the situation. Her utter sympathy for him had taken him by surprise. He hadn't expected for her to notice the one thing in his life that was completely pathetic. The one thing he, himself, had never noticed. That he was alone in that household, that he was alone in life, and that he didn't even miss having company, someone there with him in the late nights, because he never knew that other people had that. He never knew that it was common for people, families, to spend time together. He didn't know what he was missing, so he thought his life was normal. He sniffed, and Summer stepped out of the house beside him, her arm brushing against his, and the tiny hairs stood on end from the sudden rush of warmth.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, "About what I said. About your life…how you couldn't understand rock music…how your life was…"

"Perfect," he offered.

"Yeah…I shouldn't of assumed," she continued softly, "That because you're family was rich and you were pampered since birth, that there was nothing wrong with your life. I know you have your problems, I guess we all do…"

"I don't need your pity, now," Freddy murmured teasingly, and she smiled, chancing a glimpse up at his face.

BARK! BARK! CHINK! BARK! Summer jumped, latching onto Freddy's arm and scanning with wide-eyes the dark backyard, heart pounding in her chest, when the growls and barking broke through the serene atmosphere. Her eyes fell on the group of rottweilers, ecstatically ramming their bodies against a chain link fence across the courtyard. Freddy broke into laughter.

"They're just dogs, Summer," he mocked, taking her hand and leading her across the pavement towards his claimed apartment. She blushed, staring down and leaning in close to him.

"I just…I…didn't expect it, is all," she stammered, lacing her fingers with his, "I didn't know you had dogs."

"They're not mine," Freddy muttered, suddenly disgruntled, "They belong to security. They're just guard dogs. You know, keep out unwanted intruders and solicitors." Summer glanced at the muscular animals, energetically trying to rip through the fence, eyeing the two teens almost hungrily. She swallowed hard. He took her up the wooden steps, and she noticed a splatter of blackish purple on the pavement. It looked like blood, but she shook her head. It was probably paint.

There was the chink of keys, and then jiggling of metal scraping against metal, as Freddy opened the door of the small garage apartment and led Summer inside. It was musty, smelling of Pine-Sol, Windex, and Febreeze. There was a run-down couch in the middle of the brown carpeted floor, looking as though it had been salvaged from the side of the road. There was a small television set up on a table across from the couch, with an obvious cable hook up. The kitchen was bare, tiled with ugly floral print, and the walls were bordered with plywood. There was a, seemingly, brand new fridge pushed against the pantry, and a closed door that Summer decided must lead to a bedroom. Freddy had a drum kit pushed to one side, an assortment of drumsticks lined up on one of the snare drums as though someone didn't know what to do with them and simply discarded them there, and posters of several famous drummers and bands were stapled to the walls. The Who, The Sex Pistols, The Ramones, were among them, along with some more recent bands like Greenday, NOFX, Nirvana, and the Foo Fighters. A t-shirt, another seemingly out-of-place because someone didn't know what else to do with it relic, lay draped over the couch, straightened out. It had a Metallica design on it.

Freddy went into the kitchen, flicking on a light switch and setting the bag on the counter. Summer stood awkwardly by the door, wrapping her arms about herself and pink in the face. She felt very much like an innocent young girl brought into a more experienced boy's room. It was strange, she decided, seeing as how this wasn't exactly his room. But as she took a deep, unsteady breath, and ran her eyes over the small apartment, she knew that it was. This was all Freddy, where as that house across the way, was not. This was where he was himself, where he was content, his sanctuary, his resting place…she would even dare go so far as to say, his home.

"You hungry?" he asked, and she shook from her thoughts, looking startled to him.

"Um…" she glanced down at her stomach. That evening had been stressful, and she realized with a groan from her belly, she hadn't really eaten the dinner given to her. She'd pushed the chicken around, and nibbled on the vegetables, but that was about it. She put a hand on it, as it grumbled softly, flustering, "I guess I am."

"Cool, 'cause I'm starved," he grinned, making his way to the fridge, "You want a drink?" Immediately, knowing Freddy, she thought of alcohol.

"I really don't drink…" she started, but trailed off as he lifted a cola out of the fridge and tilted it somewhat her direction, eyebrow quirked, "Oh…I knew that…yeah, sure." She stepped forward, taking the can out of his hand, their fingers brushing in the exchange, and then he reached back into the cold box, drawing a brown bottle out. Beer, she dimly recognized. He went back to the bag, setting his drink on the counter.

"Make yourself comfortable," he shrugged, motioning towards the makeshift living room. She nodded, walking stilt-legged to the couch and carefully sitting down. She sunk deep into the cushion, as it was worn and no longer had the support of a brand new seat. Rigidly, she popped the cola open, a hiss sizzled from the top, and she took a tentative sip, looking blankly at the black television screen. She flicked glances towards the kitchen, where Freddy was busy with whatever had been in the grocery bag. Then she spotted the remote control, on the edge of the couch arm, and took it up.

"Can I?" she asked, shaking the remote, and Freddy shrugged.

"Sure, whatever," he answered, and she turned the television on, flipping the channels disinterestedly. She stopped on the news briefly, it depressed her. The CNN report, again, it depressed her. A primetime drama, she didn't understand what was going on. Sports, once more, she didn't understand what was going on. A sitcom, she didn't find it, or anything at that moment, funny. VH1, the music reminded her of the bands, which reminded her of the current situation, which in turn, depressed her. She turned the television off and threw the remote back to the arm of the couch.

Freddy dragged a small crate flipped upside down to the center of the room, and Summer startled, watching him as he retreated back to the kitchen, and returned with two paper plates. Each one had half a sub sandwich on it, as well as a stack of potato chips. He placed those atop the crate, went back once more for his beer, and then plopped on the floor across from Summer, grinning proudly.

"I'm a regular gourmet, huh?"

"I'm impressed," she commented softly, humoring him, and slipping to the ground in front of the plate opposite of his. He twisted open his beer, and took a bite of his sandwich. She popped a chip in her mouth.

They ate in silence at first, quietly munching on their food, taking sips of their drinks, and avoiding eye contact with one another. But the silence was unsettling, uncomfortable, and simply didn't seem right between the outspoken teens. Freddy shifted, restlessly, and Summer cleared her throat. They were itching to talk, to say something, but neither knew where to start without inciting another fight that was so common amongst the two.

"What kind of business is your father on?" Summer finally asked, hoping she'd chosen a safe topic to discuss. Freddy scoffed, sneering at his plate, and she knew she hadn't.

"Either the 'having sex with your gorgeous associate or secretary' kind or the 'weekend getaway at a luscious villa with a beautiful client under the guise of a business trip' kind. Take your pick."

Summer took a small bite of her sandwich, chewing carefully, and wishing she hadn't opened her mouth. She made a note, talking to Freddy about his father was a bad idea. She searched for something else. She was succumbing to the silence, finding nothing to chat about, and she hated that. Avoiding conversation on the band left them with no conversation at all. She tried to remember everything they'd chatted about on Tuesday, but while the day was firmly ingrained in her mind, the random chit-chat was far flung and faded. She almost found herself asking, "Read any good books lately", but was saved.

"Who were you visiting with?" Freddy asked.

"Hm…?"

"You said you were visiting with someone around here. Who?"

"Oh," Summer shook her head, "Just some guy…"

"Just some guy…" Freddy repeated skeptically, "Would that be…your sugar daddy?" Summer scrunched her nose at the comment, until she realized what he meant and her eyes bugged out.

"What?" she cried shrilly, "No…I…never…" she flushed as the blonde broke into chuckles, "Freddy Jones, that is not funny."

"I beg to differ," he laughed. She gave him an annoyed look, but couldn't fight the smile that pervaded her lips. When he finally managed to control his mirth, he met her eyes, "So? Who were you hanging out with?"

"Oh, I suppose there's no harm in telling you," she sighed, exasperated, "Just some alumnus from Harvard. My mother wanted me to meet with him, as he is offering a scholarship for Ivy League academies, and I could certainly use the tuition money." Freddy's smile seemed to fade slightly.

"You're going to college?" Even he realized how stupid that question sounded. He picked the tomato out of his sandwich, lowering his eyes, "I mean…where are you going?"

"I don't know, yet. My aim used to be Harvard, but now…I'm not sure," Summer slumped, "What about you?"

"I'm a drummer," he stated, as though that were the answer to everything.

"Yeah. But you didn't always want to be."

"I don't know…" Freddy muttered, almost agitatedly, taking a last gulp of his beer, before standing up and heading towards the refrigerator for another one, "My parents wanted me to go to Harvard."

"They did?" Summer said, dumbfounded. He shook his head.

"You don't have to sound so surprised. My parents did have plans for me…that is…until they realized they could no longer afford to send me to college."

"What?"

"Well, you know, there's tuition, and then all those pockets they'd have to line, all those donations they'd have to make, and eventually, all those professors they'd have to pay off; and, well, contrary to whatever you and most everyone else in the world may think, my parents do not have an unlimited supply of money. I know, I got enough lectures on that crap," he muttered, returning to fall back to the floor and setting his new beer bottle on the crate. Summer frowned at it.

"Don't you want to be something? Other than a drummer? Just in case, you know, the whole rock thing doesn't pan out? I mean, growing up, what did you want to be?"

"Nothing," Freddy shrugged, opening the beer and taking a sip. Summer raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Really. So you always wanted to be….nothing. And now, you want to be…nothing? Well…a drummer, but if that doesn't work out, you still have…nothing to be…that's a well planned out life you have there…"

"Okay, fine. There might've been one thing…" Freddy straightened, leaning forward, "But you have to promise not to laugh." Summer put up three fingers.

"Scout's honor."

"Alright…I may have - for a very short period of time - wanted to be…a…um…well…" Freddy stammered, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing about the room, as though looking for some unexpected person hiding in the shadows. He dropped his voice to just below a whisper, "A plumber."

"A…what?" Summer exclaimed, mouth dropping and the corners of her lips twitching up.

"You said you wouldn't laugh," Freddy cried.

"I'm not laughing…I'm just…" she shook her head, pressing her lips together in an effort to remain silent as images of Freddy wielding a plunger and wearing oversized, yet, somehow tight fitting pants that descended his backside when he was bent down, flooded her mind. She scrunched her nose, "You really wanted to be a plumber?"

"Look," Freddy snapped, obviously irritated, and for good reason, "I was three, alright, and I was obsessed with my Super Mario Bros. Game. I…thought…that…plumbers…well…uh…I thought they…I thought they actually fought huge ugly turtles and…that they…actually…got to…climb through huge green pipes…and that those pipes actually took them to these other places. Alright?"

"That is…" Summer stuttered, "That's…oh god," she broke into a fit of giggles, covering her wide smile with her hand, "I'm sorry…I really am…that's just…so…cute…oh my god…"

"What about you?" Freddy challenged, annoyed and leering over the crate at Summer, who suddenly choked down her laughter, "What did you want to be when you were a little girl? Or did you just pop out of your mom as a miniature Murphy Brown, with your organizer and business suit?"

"I did not! I did have something…but…well…I…I couldn't," Summer murmured, all at once serious, "It's stupid. And childish, and…no."

"Come on. I told you mine," Freddy pressed, suddenly intrigued. This was new. Summer hadn't always wanted to be little Miss know-it-all perfectionist factotum?

"Well…I suppose…if you promise never to tell anyone."

"Fine. If you promise never to tell anyone I wanted to be a plumber."

Summer smiled at that, pursing her lips together, leaning back, her hands pressing into the carpet for support.

"Alright. I…I wanted to be…" she tucked her chin against her collar bone, whispering, "I wanted to be a cowgirl." It took Freddy a moment to realize what he'd just heard. His eyes went wide, and then his surprised expression quickly gave way to a huge grin.

"A…a…" he snickered, "A cowgirl? With the hat…and boots…and a horse…?"

"Yes," Summer confirmed, indignantly, "I was four years old, and a girl in our neighborhood had a Wild West themed birthday party. All the kids had to wear cowboy style hats, bandanas, and boots, the girls in skirts, the boys in chaps, and we were all given jump rope 'lassos'. They had a pony ride and…well…I fell in love with the romantic idea of living by the law of the gun in the wild untamed desert, with only your horse to keep you company."

"But a cowgirl?"

"At least I didn't idolize a cartoon character!"

"That's a low blow, Summer," Freddy said, mock hurt, "Or should I call you…Cactus Jane?"

"Freddy…"

"Or, Prickly Pear Summer? I like that one…it fits you."

"Oh, you are so impossible!"

"And you…are like a desert rose."

"That's not funny!"

"Oh I went through the desert on a horse with no name…"

"Freddy Jones, cut that out, right now. I mean it!" Summer hissed, and he trailed off, smiling at her.

"Sure thing, Prickly Pear." She shook her head, flushing, and taking another drink of her soda. They settled into a moment of silence, as he watched her shift uncomfortably, eating her sandwich somewhat.

"What were their plans?" she finally questioned, and he furrowed his brow quizzically at her, "I mean…what did your parents want you to be?" He shrugged.

"Hell if I know. Someone they could parade around at the country club," he muttered, then donning a mock tone that Summer supposed was one of his parents, "Yes, this is our son. He goes to Harvard, and we only had to donate a library!" Summer covered a smile, "But, you know, then they got my grades and found out what an idiot I was, so that dream was shot."

"You're not an idiot," Summer clucked, "You just don't try. I don't see why you're not more attentive to your studies," she commented, then glancing his way as he lifted the bottle of beer to his mouth for another drink, then looking to the already empty bottle, she rolled her eyes, "But I suppose killing off as many brain cells in one sitting as possible is a great solution to your lack of academic achievement." Freddy looked as though he weren't amused, slamming the bottle back down on the crate and meeting her eyes. He smirked.

"I bet you've never had a drink."

"What?"

"You heard me. You've never even tasted alcohol, have you? Man, Summer, no wonder…"

"No wonder…what?" Summer demanded, straightening. He shrugged casually, turning the brown bottle and examining its rim, gazing at her over the top.

"No wonder you're so…um…how should I say this…stuffy. I mean, look at you. Sitting there so stiff, with your Mary Tyler Moore outfit, and goody-two-shoes. Every single one of your teeth is perfectly shiny white, you've probably never even had a cavity in your life, and you've never known what it was like to go a day barefoot, or to dance because you can, or to just let loose once in awhile. Admit it, Summer, you have never had a drink," Freddy crossed his arms over his chest, looking impudently over at her. She straightened, shaking her head. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes white.

"I…I have so," she argued, "I…on New Year's Eve last year…I had a glass of champagne." Freddy raised an eyebrow. She licked her lips, "Well…maybe not a glass, but half a glass…" she frowned, "Or…more like a gulp." she folded her hands in her lap and her hair fell about her face, defeated, "Okay, I had a sip, because I mistook it for water." Freddy nodded, triumphant and she shot him a dangerous look, before snatching his beer and bringing it up to her mouth. His eyebrows arched, and he watched her with stun. "Fine," she snapped, "If you really think I'm so stuffy. Is this something a stuffy girl would do?" She tipped the bottle back, taking a neat gulp, and nearly coughed it back up, covering her mouth and making a strange face, "God, that tastes awful. How can you actually drink this stuff?" she gasped. Freddy burst into laughter.

"Oh man, Summer…I didn't think you would actually drink it," he reached forward, motioning for the bottle back, and she shook her head. His laughter stopped, and he narrowed his eyes at her curiously, "You want the rest?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, then looking up to meet his eyes with her own alight with determination, she stated more firmly, "Yes, I do." Freddy was hesitant a moment, before finally conceding with a slight nod of his head and a casual shrug.

"Suit yourself," he muttered, stretching. He lifted himself up, gathering their cleared plates, and heading back towards the kitchen to trash them as Summer took a few more timid sips of her beer. Not being a drinker, she immediately felt the effects of the alcohol, and even before the bottle was half-empty, she was starting to feel slightly lightheaded. She placed it on the crate, decidedly abandoning it, as the taste was bitter and really just disgusting. She wanted Freddy to think she could be loose and do outrageous things, but she didn't want to overdo it.

"Allison likes you," she found herself saying. It came out of the blue, from nowhere, but she supposed it had been on her mind. She pulled herself unsteadily to her feet, shakily making her way to the kitchen as well, where Freddy had pulled out another beer and now leaned against the counter as she approached. She stumbled, and he quickly shot forward to catch her, offering his arm as support. She found the tumble hilarious, however, and broke into a fit of giggles. "Sorry," she laughed, meeting his eyes, and the humor died, "She really likes you. And when she sets her mind on liking somebo-person…um…guy…she doesn't really forget until she gets that…um…you." Her brow knitted together as she wondered why everything seemed so foggy.

"Oh," Freddy mouthed, not sure why they were talking about it and trying to remember who Allison was.

He put his beer bottle down on the counter and drew Summer closer to him, so that she could stand straight, and he could hold her stable with both hands, resting them on her shoulders. She seemed to be sorting through something, her eyes narrowed, staring into empty air and her lips pressed together. She suddenly looked up to him through her lashes, and he felt his stomach bottom out. He brought a hand up, to touch her chin lightly with his thumb, then pulled it away, as though scorched by her soft skin. His heart was pounding madly in his chest, and heat was flushing his body. He couldn't be this close to her, he couldn't be this alone with her. She had a boyfriend. She had Kyle, even if he was a bastard, Freddy had to respect that. He couldn't feel this way about her, he couldn't think this way about her, because she was taken. Because she felt all of what Freddy was feeling for her, but for another boy. As much as it hurt, he knew she couldn't feel that way about him. He wasn't good enough. He wasn't smart enough. He wasn't…he wasn't perfect Kyle Emerson, that was for certain.

"It's really awful, actually," Summer continued quietly, lowering her eyes and chewing her bottom lip, "That Allison likes you…"

"Why's that?" Freddy asked carefully, his voice a brusque murmur. Wishing the subject would drop and she would come to her senses and stumble back to the den before he lost control.

"Because she always does this," Summer whimpered, curling her fingers in the hem of Freddy's shirt, "She always takes the boys that I like…" His heart caught, and he shot his eyes up to study her, wondering how much of what she was saying was the alcohol. And then he realized, she was trembling, "But it's not like with Jeff," she went on, "If Allison takes you…then…then I…" her voice broke into a quiver, "It would really hurt…because I don't want to lose you, Freddy Jones."

She looked up into his eyes once more, her own shining with fresh tears, and she seemed so close, so within his reach, so…attainable. Her words hit his ears in a soft, awakening blast, and suddenly he couldn't fight anymore, not with her looking at him like that, not with her saying those things.

"I have to tell you, Summer," Freddy whispered roughly, slipping his hands down to her arms, tightening his grasp, and gently pulling her forward so that her body was adjacent to his, and his lips were close enough to her own that he could feel her warmth emanating from that beautiful full pout he loved and thought about so much, "I'm really not interested in her."

He caught her mouth, and the heat and energy, and emotion, and everything he'd been feeling those past weeks burst from him into that kiss and she nearly fell back from the overwhelming shock of all of it alone. He'd wanted that kiss. He'd needed that kiss. He'd craved it, lusted after it, denied how he'd felt about it, but it had been all that he'd thought of. He had been certain if he could just kiss her once more…than that would be enough, that would satiate him, and he would neither need nor want anything else from her. He should have known better. He was incredibly pleased to find that her lips did indeed still taste the same, and that her body still felt the same against his as he remembered, and her skin was just as warm, soft, and smooth.

He was certain she would push him away, he waited for it, he expected it, and he prepared himself for the pain of the rejection.

It never came.

Summer's hands curled against Freddy's chest, nestling in the folds of his shirt, and she gave in to his mouth's ministrations, parting her own slightly to allow for his tongue to taste the very tip of her lips. Her legs carried her backwards, she was pressed against the wall for a moment, her shoulder blades slamming uncomfortably against the hard plywood. But they moved away from that, brushing against the refrigerator, drawn against the pantry door, and suddenly, with a bang of her heels catching the wooden cupboards, Summer found herself leaned against the counter. Freddy's hands cupped her face, thumbs flush with her jaw line, fingers encompassing her neck, as he deepened the kiss. They broke for a split second, for a short breath, before he reclaimed her mouth once more, his hands falling to slip around her waist, to touch the small of her back and draw her near him for only a moment, before they retreated back to resting on her hips. Then that kiss turned into a multiplicity of desperate ones, one following the other, quick, short, each just as passionate as the next, each just as determined.

He lifted her up, hands around her waist, and placed her on the counter. Her knees straddled his body, and her arms wrapped around his neck as he took her lips into another kiss, and another. He couldn't stop, and she seemed just as willing to continue. There were so many things, so many reasons, that he knew this wasn't supposed to be happening. But they didn't seem as important as feeling her arms about him, her hands on his body, her lips against his own. And then, suddenly, her lips weren't enough. He needed to taste all of her, to feel all of her, to cover her with his kisses, so that she understood. But understood what? He couldn't figure it out, but he knew it had something to do with wanting her. And wanting her to want him.

He broke away from her lips, and found a bare spot of flesh on her neck, pushing her hair, her dark black hair that smelled of her and shampoo, behind her shoulder as he brushed his lips against her skin. She didn't seem to mind the sudden switch of attention, softly murmuring, her breath heavy and warm in his ear. Her fingers curled into claws, digging into his shirt and his shoulder, and she gasped slightly, as he lowered his area of focus to her collar bone, tracing kisses to any pale peach he came across.

"Oh god," Summer whimpered, finally finding the strength to push Freddy back, and meet his eyes; which displayed hurt, confusion, and various other painful and unreadable emotions. His breathing was just as heavy and erratic as hers, his cheeks just as flushed, and she could tell by the thin layer of sweat on his forehead, he was just as feverish as she. "Oh god, Freddy, what are we doing? We can't…we're drunk…" He lowered his eyes. If only she'd done this before the second kiss. He'd been ready for the rejection then, hadn't he? He pulled away, walking into the living room, and sniffing slightly. Summer's hands fell forlorn into her lap, lost without him to hold, feeling empty, and she watched him with careful eyes. A part of her wanted to call him back over, to tangle herself in his arms and kisses again, to hell with everything else. But she knew neither of them had to be thinking straight, right?

"I'll…I'll call you a cab," he managed to murmur. He sounded short of breath, flustered, and angry as well. She swallowed hard. He had every right to be mad at her. Had she led him on? She wasn't sure. Had she taken advantage of him? She reviled the thought. Did he think he'd taken advantage of her? She wondered if he had.

"Alright," she mumbled, as she turned her attention to the tile floor. She waited quietly while he called the cab services, choosing not the notice he had the number seemingly memorized, and mulling over what had passed between them. She brought trembling fingers up to brush her hair from her face, and slipped down from the counter to stand awkwardly, arms crossed rigidly in front of her chest.

Freddy hung the phone up and turned slightly, though avoiding looking Summer's direction. They were silent, and it felt as though there was a great rift between the two. Never had things been so awkward, even after everything that had happened.

"We should go outside and wait for it to get here," he spoke up, clearing his throat, and she nodded, following as he left towards the door.

They stood outside the courtyard, beside the closed gate staring out at the street. Back to back, they were silent, softly breathing, and listening to the breeze shuffle in the air. Summer leaned against the wall and watched Freddy from the corner of her eye as he paced the pavement, kicking at small pebbles on the gravel. She took a deep breath, thoughtlessly running her tongue over her lower lip.

"I…um…I'm sorry," he said, finally, and she took a deep breath.

"It's not your fault."

"No, it is," Freddy muttered, pausing, running his hand over his head, "Summer…I…I kissed you and…"

"We were drunk."

"No," Freddy snapped, turning to finally meet her eyes, "It takes a lot more than a beer and a half to get me drunk. I'm not very good at figuring this kind of thing out," he shook his head, downcast again, "It's just…it's…goddamn it, Summer!" He slumped against the wall next to her , leaning his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. What was he supposed to say? That he couldn't get her out of his mind? That he wanted to kiss her then, and now? That he wanted to hold her in his arms, wanted to be held by her, wanted…things he didn't even know he'd ever wanted? It sounded stupid. He wasn't that kind of person. He could never be so straightforward.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For?"

"For everything. For all our fighting, for all the things I said and didn't mean, for slapping you back at Dewey's, for," she took a deep breath, "Letting you kiss me, for…"

"That's the thing, Summer. You didn't let me, you pushed me away," Freddy argued, "You're probably the first girl that has ever done that."

"You sound happy," Summer snorted lightly. They were quiet again, and Summer looked up to the night sky, "I'm really sorry about all the crap I put you and the rest of the band through these past few weeks. I hadn't meant for things to go like this."

"How did you mean for things to go?"

"I don't know," she murmured, her eyes falling down to study the pavement once more, "I didn't expect such a fuss, I can tell you that. It's just me, after all…"

"Yeah. It's just you," Freddy scoffed, "The most irreplaceable member in the band."

"Hardly," Summer sniffed, "Imagine life without me. Imagine if I'd never come to Horace Green, if I'd been just as socially apt as my brother, and been just as happy to spend my days at public school. Then the band would have formed without me…and then…"

"We wouldn't have gotten on the bill for Battle of the Bands, we would have never had a reason to get Dewey back, and we'd never of put on that totally wicked concert, and School of Rock would have fallen apart long before it ever really got started," Freddy interjected, "Just shut up for a minute, Summer, and think about it. Really think about it without your whiny, 'nobody loves me', bull."

"I have…" Summer whimpered, and he turned suddenly to face her, grabbing her shoulder and pinning her to the wall, her eyes boring into her own.

"No, you haven't!" he cried, "Why aren't you being more stubborn about this? Shit, the Summer Hathaway I know…the Summer Hathaway we all know…is so goddamned overconfident and pompous, that she never would have doubted for one fucking minute…"

"Well maybe that Summer Hathaway was a complete and total phony, and this is the real Summer," she interrupted, voice quavering, she looked away, "God. Oh god…you don't get it. I spent so many years…in that damned public school, and in my neighborhood, going to the same youth center, and the same neighborhood get-togethers with all those same kids…Allison, Jeff, Rachel, they weren't even the tip of the iceberg. They all hated me, little Punky Brewster, they called me. Wearing my colorful clothes, my pigtails, and what with my perky, upbeat personality, I fit the Punky profile. And you know what, I spent hours in the bathroom practicing that smile, hours practicing my manners, practicing my arrogance, my frigid bitchy-ness! So that no one could call me Punky Brewster ever again! Because I wouldn't give them the opportunity to see that I was weak in anyway…that I was susceptible to anything…and…"

"You push people away to protect yourself from getting hurt," Freddy concluded, loosening his grip on her and lowering his eyes, "You let that one girl in, long time ago, the redhead…and she burned you. I get it."

"What…"

"I practically live in the psychiatrist's office, remember?" Freddy smirked, shaking his head solemnly, "It's better to shut down and shut everyone out, rather than leave yourself open to the risk of getting burned again. Jesus Christ, Summer, do you really think we'd do that to you? You've known us how long? Six years! Do they not count for anything?"

"I'm trying, I am…"

"With Kyle," Freddy spat, and Summer sighed, shaking her head. He turned away, leaning back against the wall and staring up at the large house. It was dark, save for the porch light flickering on and off. "People are hard to trust," he whispered, taking a few agonizing breaths, and realizing fully well what he was about to do, "Believe me, I know." She peeked up at him curiously.

"Really?" she retorted, skeptically.

"Yeah, really," he shot back, "Growing up, I didn't exactly have a lot of people around me. I went through so many nursemaids, it was ridiculous. I don't know what it's like to rely on someone to always be there for me, at least, I didn't. Because I never had that. When you woke up from a bad dream, your mother probably came and comforted you, or some shit like that. You know, once when I was five, I had a bad dream. I braved the dark halls, all the way up the stairs to my parents' room. When I went in there, my mom was no where in sight, and my dad was busy having sex with some other woman. When my dad saw me, he yelled at me, told me I didn't belong in there, to get back to my room, to quit bawling like a baby, to suck it up and be tough. That was the last time I ever tried to find someone to comfort me. You see, at least you had the chance to know what it meant to trust someone. I never knew. My entire life was spent building a wall around myself to rival the walls everyone else was building around themselves…and then suddenly I'm in this band, and there's this wacko eccentric guy that's telling me I can make some difference in the world. Me, some brat kid, that nobody cared about…fuck, Summer, you want to start trusting someone, maybe you should start trusting yourself."

Summer pressed her lips together, horrified and uncertain. She could feel Freddy beside her, shaking, trembling with emotion. Perhaps rage, incited by the past memory of his childhood, or even anger directed her way, frustration probably. But she couldn't help but hear her heart break slightly, knowing ever more about the person Freddy Jones was. She wondered why he'd told her all that, as little as it was, for Freddy it was a great deal of personal information to let out.

He, himself, didn't know why he'd felt the need to tell her. It was bothering him, how he looked at her, and saw a lot of similarities between the two of them. A lot of the same broken pieces. They seemed so different on the outside, and yet, they were hurting in all the same ways on the inside.

"I'm sorry if I seem a little…unappreciative," she choked slightly on the word, "Of the friendship everyone so eagerly offers me. And I'm sorry if I'm shutting everyone out…but I…I really don't have control over the situation anymore, anyways. It's in all of your hands, now, isn't it?"

"Yeah, right. Because even if we win Battle of the Bands, that means shit. You might still leave us, because Kyle will still want you too…and you'll do it. Because for some goddamned reason you trust this guy you barely know over the band mates you…"

"Barely know," she supplied, before shaking her head, and concluding, "You don't think he loves me."

"No. I don't know. I think if he says he loves you…and he doesn't mean it…then…then I should have hit him harder. And if he does mean it…then I wish I'd hit him harder, because he's too big a bastard for you…and…you shouldn't apologize for slapping me. And I shouldn't of kissed you," Freddy trailed off, shaking his head, and closing his eyes tightly.

"Why not? Why shouldn't you of kissed me? I know I was drunk…but why? And why did you kiss me if you weren't drunk?" Summer demanded silently.

"Because you have a boyfriend, and I don't know," Freddy replied, "Maybe because…maybe because I wanted to. Maybe Kyle's right. Maybe I am a spoiled rich boy, and I do always want what I can't have. And you, for one, are something I can't have. You're hugely something I can't have."

"Why?" Summer quietly pressed.

"Why? Why do you think?" Freddy cried, "Because you're so much smarter, so much kinder, so much better a person than me, than anyone else I've ever met! Because you actually have a purpose in life, whereas, I have none. Because you're so strong, and perfect, and beautiful, and wholesome, and pure…and I'm not. I'm such a fucking bad person, that I probably only want you now, because you have a boyfriend. That's what a rotten person I am. And maybe it has to do with the fact you want to leave, and I can't have that, so the only thing I can think of to do, being the terrible guy I am, is get you to fall for me. Because I'm so goddamned selfish, that I can't give you up, I don't want to lose you to that bastard, even though you were never even mine."

"Is that all?" Summer whispered solemnly, and Freddy nodded, defeated, "It was harsh."

"It was better than lighting something on fire."

"I don't mean that. Freddy, you don't have to be so hard on yourself," she insisted, "God, how did I delude everyone with this fake me. I'm not perfect…I'm not pure…I'm not kind…I'm not a good person."

"You are to me."

"No. I'm a bitch to you."

"You just treat me the way I deserve to be treated," Freddy shrugged.

"That's not true," Summer cried, exasperated, this time turning to him, "You complain about me! Since when are you the dog that's been kicked one too many times!"

"Maybe I always have been. I fuck up everything. Look at this whole mess…you think if I'd kept my mouth shut, we'd be in this? Shit, Summer. Do you think if I'd thought with something outside of my fists, outside of hitting things, that I…that this…fuck, Summer, I have screwed this situation up way more than it should be!"

"No. That would be me," Summer argued softly, she stepped forward instinctively, wrapping her arms around him and he didn't say anything. Maybe it was all the things he was saying, or even perhaps the anger and sorrow she felt coming from him, but for some reason, she just wanted to hold him, "I made this situation. Maybe…I should have just said no." Freddy raised a brow at this, incredulous.

"You mean, you don't want to manage his band?"

"I mean," Summer hissed, "When he asked me on the date. But this is all ridiculous, because it's all been set in motion. There's no use sitting here complaining about it. It doesn't change the fact that it's happening." She sniffed, and Freddy was silent. Her arms were loose about his waist, and she rested her forehead against his chest. He brought a hand up, to trace down her spine. He felt calm in a way he never had before, brushing her hair behind her shoulder and burying his face in her neck, simply breathing her in. It seemed right, being in her arms, as though that were where he belonged. They stood quietly like that for awhile, until Summer spoke again, "The audition is Friday."

"Wouldn't it be great if Kyle's band didn't even make the bill?" Freddy mused, and Summer gave him a reproving glance. "Well, maybe for us."

"They'll make it," she stated firmly, pulling away from him, and he felt the loss of warmth and comfort too quickly, eyes falling to study the ground, "Because…Kyle likes to win."

"You going to go? To the Battle of the Bands, I mean."

"Of course. I have to, don't I? I am the trophy to be won," Summer answered bitterly. Freddy winced, as headlights filled the pathway up to the courtyard, and the yellow cab was clearly in view. He walked slightly behind Summer as she made her way to the car. He crossed over, holding the door shut, as her hand rest on the handle.

"Who are you going to root for?" he asked, a rough whisper in her ear. Her cheeks flushed.

"I can hardly root for anyone, can I?" she replied, "What with being the prize."

"Even in the end, you don't know who you want to manage," he muttered, stepping back. He handed some money over to the cab driver, a little more than was necessary to get Summer home and told the man to keep the change. He watched her slip into the backseat of the yellow car, and turned, heading back up the gravel driveway towards his home as the cab began away.

"Freddy," Summer's voice called after him, and he stopped momentarily, "I broke up with Kyle."

Freddy furrowed his brow, turning abruptly, just in time to see the cab pull off of his street towards the main road. His heart was thudding madly in his chest. She'd broken up with Kyle? Why? And why tell him? And if her and Kyle weren't together anymore, why was this Battle for the Manager thing still on? What was Kyle trying to pull?

END A/N: If you can't tell, I really love this chapter, because it features the much waited for FULL ON MAKE-OUT SCENE between Freddy and Summer. AND, we got a little insight on Katie's homelife, some Zack/Katie interaction, and a little deeper into Freddy's homelife. He's really got a lot more than just what was mentioned in this chapter going on, just so you know. But I might not go into it...ah, I know, dissapointing.

AnD, Summer broke up with Kyle. Fun, fun. Was there anything I needed to go into? Nope...

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. PLEASE REVIEW!

And...THANKS FOR READING!

PEACE...in west philadelphia, born and raised, on the playground is where I spend most of my days...chillin' out, maxin', relaxin' all cool...and all shootin' some b-ball outside of the school... OUT!