DISCLAIMER: No, I do not own the song, "I Still Believe," that is sung by Mariah Carey. But it is a great song, and that woman has a wonderful voice. Ditto goes to the No Doubt song and it's lyrics, "New."

A/N: Okay, I know, I know. You groan: another author's note? Yes, another one. But this time, I just want to thank every one who has given me review so far! I really appreciate it. That's all I wanted to mention. That's all. Enjoy this chapter.:-) P.S. – An announcement: I'll have a new chapter up every weekend (or two chapters, if I really get some homework done and out of the way), so you can look for them then.

I STILL BELIEVE
JACKIE

"I think we should celebrate."
"What? The fact that I haven't run away from you for the past three weeks?" I gave Paul a wryly grin, while we were in our history class.

He quirked one of his eyebrows up, and then gave me a smirk, "No, Ms. Act-So-Tough –"

"So you think you got me all figured out, have you?" I retorted.

"Yes, in fact, I do," he said right back at me.

"Oh, that's it! – " I lurched forward and was going to give him a verbal butt-kicking, so to speak, but Paul held up his hands in a "hold up!" sort of way.

"Okay, okay. Listen. Before we go down the path of argument again, let me just finish. I wanted to ask you to dinner to celebrate my Gramps's recovery."

"Why Paul Slater," I said in the teasing fashion. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

He quirked up his eyebrows in that infuriating way again, but only commented, "You said it, not me."

"And this is because…?" I threw the question up in the air.

He gave me the, "are you serious?" look. Then he said, "Um, maybe because you came with me every day to visit my grandpa at the hospital after school, for the past three weeks?"

"Well that's-that's just because you gave me a ride home." I said, hurriedly, trying to give an excuse for my constant presence. "I mean, and if you went to hospital, I should have to come too, am I right?"

"Well…" he said slowly. "That's true… but the fact that you refused to let me drop you off first, and then go to the hospital by myself…" Okay. So he noticed I wanted to come with him to hospital. Did that mean he noticed that I liked him, too? Because that's how I realized I felt. Every day, I just seemed to like him more and more… And I didn't know if I wanted that or not. And I most certainly didn't want to show. Unless …

"Any – any way," I tried to change the subject. "About this date thing –"

"– if that's what you want to call it…" he shrugged casually, as if he wouldn't call it a date.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. But are you sure this… ah, 'celebration,' are you sure it doesn't have any ulterior motives on your behalf, Paul?" I said, suggesting that this wasn't for "celebrating" purposes only. I'd just like to know for a fact exactly what it was, and get it over with. It's better than fidgeting about it all throughout the evening, wondering: "Is this a date?" or "Are we just friends?" – among a number of other painful thoughts.

I was, however, destined for disappointment; Paul, with his bright blue eyes gazing into mine, drawled, "You'll just have to wait and find out."

Fine; so be it. I would accept his answer for now. But it didn't mean I was happy with it. I wanted to know what this whole thing was, in significance to our friendship. What did Paul have in mind? It drove me crazy, in case you were wondering. It was like, you know when you have an itch on your back you couldn't reach, and the fact that you couldn't scratch it made it itch even more, and it drove you nuts until –

"Get down here, Jackie! This boy, Paul Slater, is waiting for you down stairs!" My mother yelled for me to hurry. It was finally Friday, at seven. Paul had come to pick me up.

"It a minute!" I had to shout back.

While trying to slip on my boot, I tripped. I had to hold on to my "vanity" – I use this term loosely for a dresser that has a mirror hanging on the wall directly above it – but I didn't get a good hold, and knocked down all my glosses, eye-shadow, and eyeliner (that Suze helped me pick out for my "date"), which rolled off it and tumbled to the ground.

I said a colorful four-letter word under my breath that sounded like "shoot," and then tried to quickly pick them up, and stuff them in my matching clutch.

Was it just me, or was everything just going wrong so far? It was all because I was nervous about the whole thing. I had tried on at least every outfit in my closet – which was now empty because I had thrown everything I tried on onto my bed. Finally, I settled for a cool blue, silky camisole, with a lacy black buttoning-up blouse over the thing. My skirt was denim, and came knee-high. I was also wearing black high-heeled boots that met my skirt at my knee. A false rose was pinned in my hair, and I officially looked the part of a poster-child from Teen People magazine. But I must admit: I looked good.

That, I hoped, was an omen that the rest of the evening will turn out okay, at least.

I brushed my fly-away hair with my hands. Then I took a breath. Okay. This is it. Time to prove my worth to Paul Slater. I felt like I was going in front of a firing squad. And the worst part about it was: Paul made it absolutely unclear if this thing was us going "just as friends" or… as more than friends.

I tried to ignore my staggering, drumming pulse, and shallow breathing. I rushed down the stairs, and found Paul sitting comfortably on our couch, waiting. I slowed my walking pace, and then confidently strode in the living room. My mom announced me: "Here she is. Jackie, your boyfriend is here."

My face turned beat red. I mumbled something that when along the lines of, "He's not my boyfriend, mamá."

When I came in, Paul's face turned into a dumbstruck look. As if he was thinking I'd come in fishnets and a Nirvana t-shirt. Hello? I'm wise enough to know you just don't wear those kinds of clothes when you go on a date. Obviously. He then sort of shook his head, as if to get out of the trance with which he was looking at me with.

"Yes, nice meeting you, Mrs. Sonrisa," Paul rose and shook my mother's hand. I didn't make any sign that he noticed my mother called him my boyfriend. Oh my God. I could just die of embarrassment right then and there.

"Likewise, young man. Just have her home by eleven, that's all I ask."

I wanted to get Paul away from my mom as fast as possible, before she embarrassed her "baby" even more.

I groaned. "Mom, we got to get going. Come on, Paul," I tugged him by the crook of his arm, trying to get him – and myself – out of there as fast as I could…

"All right, hija; have fun."

"I will, I will Mom. Let's go, Paul."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Sonrisa," Paul yelled back, as I was dragging him out our front door. "I'll have her home by eleven."

Finally I got him to his silver BMW, which was reflecting the moonlight in the inky evening. I let my self exhale, exasperatedly.

Something must have seemed very amusing to Paul, because I didn't find anything to smile about just then. But he was smiling like that at me, so I guess I was missing the joke.

"All right." I faced him. "Where are we going?"

We had gotten in the car, and Paul was already starting the engine. The stars were out and winking brightly. A cool breeze was rustling through the trees in my neighborhood. It was a very chilly evening, and I was hoping Paul would put the top back on the convertible, because otherwise, I just might end up dying of pneumonia after this "date."

Paul's smile turned to a mischievous grin and said, "How does Karaoke sound?"
I groaned, and punched Paul in the upper arm lightly. I remembered the first day we met, and he was so intent on letting me get a ride home, and I started to sing to No Doubt's song, "New." What a crazy day that was; and now here we are. And I wasn't sure exactly what we were (a couple? Friends? We were certainly not just acquaintances any more. Right? So what were we now?), but whatever we were, I had this strange feeling about him. I actually cared. About a boy. About a boy I knew was so different than me. But still so alike in more ways that I cared to think about.

I looked at him. He was wearing a deep blue dress shirt – blue that matched his blue irises so well, it hurt to look at him directly in the eyes - with the top two buttons undone. The wind disheveled his curly sun-streaked hair. And his pants, which where dressy, too, fit him well, I'm sure, once he stood up, and I had a chance to… um, inspect.

If Paul was every anything, he was hot. But now he wasn't just hot, I knew. He cared a lot about his grandfather and about learning how to shift. He loved tennis, and vanilla and chocolate swirl ice cream, and he bought a No Doubt C.D. for himself – that showed his good taste in music, of course.

And when I talked, he really wanted to hear what I had to say – unlike some other guys I new back in East L.A.

And he dumped Kelly Prescott, which showed that he had really good taste in women too. But did Paul like me in a different sort of way than he let on? I didn't know, but I was hoping this evening would prove me right – okay, prove my hopes right.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked me. "You sure are quiet tonight."

I blushed for, what, the third time this evening? But it was dark enough right now for him not to have noticed. "I-I just was thinking about…" I racked my brains for a topic to possibly be preoccupied with. "I just was thinking about your grandfather. And if he was all right, now."

Paul balked at me, astonished. 'Wow. Thanks, I mean, for caring about the guy," he informed me, "I do too, but… it makes a guy think you're more interested in his grandfather than in him."

I threw my head back and laughed. Paul gave me a smile; then asked nervously, "You don't, do you? Care about my grandpa more than you care about me, I mean?"

"Of course not!" I said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then instantly wished I kept my mouth shut. What had I just said? "I-I mean," I tried to cover up. "I think you're grandpa's a great man, and everything. And, you're not so bad yourself."

Was it just me, or did Paul seem disappointed. A guy who had everything – anything and everything money could supply, at least, I knew – what did he have to be disappointed about?

"So," Paul cleared his throat. "Anyway, you look really nice tonight."

"Thanks," I said quietly. And I really meant it. "And you look really…" What do you say to a guy? Handsome? Good looking? Certainly not "hot." I knew that, at least. "… good, too." Phew. I found a word I could actually say out-loud to his face.

"Thanks," he beamed.

We pulled up to a club, where music was blaring out so loud I could hear it from way outside. It was techno, I guess, or something like that any way.

Paul came around the car, and opened my door for me. I was way impressed. So they do have gentlemen around here in Carmel.

The club allowed for people under eighteen, which was a relief as I was (under eighteen), and I didn't have to figure out a way to get past the bouncer in the front door. We got inside, and I noticed they said, "Karaoke Nite" up on the front stage.

"You don't have to sing right now if you don't feel like it," Paul yelled over the music, into my ear.

I nodded, numb and nervous. I had never actually performed in front of a huge crowd before, and trust me, the whole club was jam-packed to the max limit.

"Thanks," I finally managed to force my lips to say.

"Come on, let's grab a table," Paul took my hand, and led me to one of the few empty tables. We sat down and Paul asked me if I wanted anything to eat. I shook my head, no.

"Explain to me why we're here, again?" I asked Paul, but he was bending over and getting something out of a bag that he had on the floor. I vaguely remembered him bringing it to the club with us. "Well?"
He didn't pay much heed to my questioning, because he was holding in front of me a wrapped, thin square that seemed to hold the semblance of a C.D. "What's this?" I asked.

He handed it to me. With a nod of his head towards the gift, he said, "Open it and see."

The curiosity got the best of me, and I excitedly tore away the wrapping paper to reveal a – surprise, surprise – a C.D. The cover read, Gwen Stefani: Love. Angel. Music. Baby.

I shrieked with delight, and I saw a glad smile defuse over Paul's face. "Oh my gosh! You did not – did not buy me this C.D.! Thank you! Thank you so much! Oh my gosh!" I wanted to hug him so badly. I flung my arms around his neck. It wasn't the first time I hugged him; that's why it wasn't as much of a big deal. This was, however, the sweetest, sweetest thing a guy has done for me. And that had to be a big deal.

Paul felt so warm, and I don't know if you've noticed this, but hugging a man is way different than hugging a girl. For one, I could feel the breadth of Paul's shoulders, and well-built torso, and he smelled so good with his cologne that he was wearing this evening. And hugging him made me feel so small and fragile, compared to his body-size and guy-strength. It felt nice, like I could go into his arms when I needed somewhere to go, and that he would protect me if I needed protection.

Paul was hugging me back, and it was so perfect. A waitress came up to us, asking if we would like anything, and that broke the mood, so we pulled away from each other.

After we ordered two Pepsis, he asked me, with that smile of his, "I was hoping you didn't have this one yet. You mentioned that you had several No Doubt C.D.s, so I figured… maybe it would be safe to stick to a C.D. that had been just released."

I blushed happily. "Yeah. I mean no, I don't have that one. Thank you, like I said before."

But instead of just staying here, and listening to me gush my "thank yous" for the whole evening, Paul asked, "You want to dance?"

I was taken aback, but I answered, "Sure." Paul helped me up, taking my hand, and led me down to the dance floor.

The evening was filled with dancing, talking, sipping Pepsi, and occasionally holding hands at the table when we were doing none of the above. And there were moments when we slow danced. Yes, I slow-danced with Paul.

"Um, I'm not sure I've done this before," I said, while he wouldn't let me go back to our table.

"Come on," he said. "It's not too difficult." Paul gave me a little twirl, and then I was found in his arms.

Paul was one smooth dancer, I'll give him that. And he was holding me close, while we swayed slowly. I felt his warm breath on my cheek and ear. A shiver up my spine, and I'm sure my heart was pounding so loud, he could hear it. "Paul, I –" I pulled my head off his chest, and was about to ask him my question again, but the announcer on the stage was louder than me.

"Thank you ladies and gentlemen. Tonight has been a lovely evening full of wonderful and talented people." The audience, I heard, clapped politely. "And we will be closing our "Karaoke Nite" in fifteen minutes, so for the last few of you who would still like to come up here, hurry, or you'll have to wait another two weeks to 'show your stuff.' "

Paul ran his searching gaze over my face, "You don't have to go up there, if you don't want to, you know." He told me.

I took a deep breath. "Would you like me to?" I really had to ask.

"You know I'd love you to."

I stepped out, and gave his hand one final squeeze before heading towards the direction of the stage.

I exhaled. "Okay, is it too late to sing?" I asked the announcer.

"Certainly not," he smiled. "Do you know what song you would like to sing?" He gave me a huge spiral book that said, Karaoke Favorites.

What to sing, what to sing? I racked my brain for any songs that I might remotely know the words to. I might listen to rock, but that didn't mean I wasn't totally out of touch of what was pop music. I occasionally listened to stations that played Britney Spears and Usher on a regular basis.

I found it.

"That one," I pointed out the song to the announcer. He, with a nod of the head, went to put the song on.

I walked nervously to the microphone. "Hello. I'm Jackie, and I'll be singing 'I Still Believe' by Mariah Carey for you tonight."

There were some woops and cheers out in the crowd.

What am I doing? My brain screamed at me. Look at all those people! This is social suicide! You're going to embarrass yourself right off the stage!

Another, larger part of my brain was telling the other side, Shut up! Shut up! Just sing you stupid girl!

My hands shook as I reached for the microphone, so in good judgment, I decided to leave the thing on the stand, and just sing like that.

What am I doing?! Was the last thought that fled in, and then straight out of my brain before the first notes of the song came on. After that, I was lost to the music. My brain just stopped thinking all this strange and ridiculous concepts. I saw the words on the screen.

Finally, it got to chorus part, "I still believe, someday you and me/will find ourselves in love again/I had a dream someday you and me/will find ourselves in love again." I knew this part by heart, so I risked taking a glance, and looked at Paul. He was watching me with a look on this face that I really didn't understand – it was that hard to make out. I then glanced back on the screen and finished the song. The crowd hollered at me, cheering, some people even whistled, and yelled, "Yeah!" I flushed with as much pleasure as with embarrassment. I gave an awkward half-curtsy – really, I didn't know what the heck I was supposed to do in a situation like that – then I hurried of the stage, where I found Paul.

"Oh my gosh, I can't believe I just did that! I never do anything like that. What did I just do?"

"You did great, that's what!" Paul laughed at my flustered state.

"You think so?" I nervously asked.

"Why Ms. Sonrisa? Do I hear self doubt – for the first time ever – from you?" Paul said, in a teasing voice.

I narrowed my eyes, and said, annoyed, "Don't patronize me, Paul."

"I would never dare to, Jackie," he insisted. In fact, he took a strand of my hair, and tucked it behind my ear. My breath backed up in my lungs, and I stopped talking.

The two of us went back to our table. "Listen, I have to ask you a question, Paul."

"And that is…?"

He had been avoiding this question all night. Now I had to corner him with it. "Paul, I want to know, is this a date –"

"– Do you want to step outside for a breath of fresh air Jackie?" I suppressed my desire to groan, loud and hard, but instead gave a swift nod, and grabbed my clutch, and the C.D. present he had bought me. After all… we could still talk outside.

We headed out the door, and were greeted with a blast of the cold night breeze. Paul put his warm arm around me, which I was grateful for.

"Paul?" I shivered, but only a little bit.

"Yeah, Jackie?"

"Why have you been avoiding my question all night?"

He looked down at me, wearing a hint of a frown on his gorgeous face.

"Really? By the way, you did really great out there, did I mention that?"

"Paul," I said through my gritting teeth. "You're doing it again."

He sighed wearily. "Okay, I know, Jackie…"

"But then why won't you answer my question?" I demanded him. It suddenly hit me like a full-force blow to the stomach – something I have previously experienced. "You're trying to tell me something, aren't you?" I asked, dazed, and hurt by my epiphany. I couldn't – wouldn't – look at him. I forced my face to look ahead. "You, you don't like me, in that way, do you?" I managed to squeeze out the words which were stuck in my throat and refused to come out. Sort of the way you try to squeeze the last bit of toothpaste in the toothpaste tube before throwing it away.

Tears were starting to sting in the back of my eyes, and I managed to suppress a sob that was hurtling at a hundred miles an hour from deep inside of me.

"Jackie," he said slowly. Too slowly, in my opinion. But I deftly took his arm of my shoulder, and pushed him away from me. The sob that I was trying to keep suppressed, escaped out of my throat mercilessly, and I started to run – I didn't know where, but somewhere; away from Paul, and the broken remains of my heart.

I couldn't see anything. I couldn't feel anything.

Then I realized that I didn't have any direction to run to.

"Jackie!" Paul's voice reverberated through the silent night, and it stopped me in my tracks. He had ran, and finally caught up with me. He was breathing hard from running after me.

"Jackie, you've got it all wrong," he said quickly, as if it was very important that I understand what he was saying. He had to get it out there, and get it out there fast. However he seemed to be at a loss of words.

Then, as if he was seized with his own little inspiration, he starting singing to me quietly, "Don't let it go away/this feeling has got to stay/Don't let it go away/New, you're so new/And I've never had this taste in my past/New, you're so new…"

I started giggling from behind my tears. Then my giggling erupted into a full-blown out laugh. And then Paul started laughing along with me.

"Oh, hell no," I said in between the giggling and the laughing. Finally I just had to ask him, "What was that all about?"

"You still don't know?" Paul said, perplexedly.

I shook my head no, in all honesty. "Oh, it just meant this," and then he swooped down, and kissed me right on the lips. Every bubble of laughter popped, and I stopped my giggling. Paul kissed, and kissed me. I got so caught up in the kiss I felt like I was walking on air. And I had been so sure he didn't like me.

I ran my fingers through his hair, and with this encouragement, Paul pressed me closer to him, and that was even closer than when we were dancing. So close that I could feel his heart racing, like mine, through his blue shirt.

He was kissing me with every fiber of his being; it was so intensely staggering, so fierce and flaming, and so thorough and melting, I almost collapsed on the spot.

I managed to wrench my unwilling lips from his, "Paul –" I got out, before his relentless lips covered mine once more. This time, I didn't protest and give any interruptions.

Eventually, the kiss stopped, and Paul looked at his watch. "Shit!" He ran his hands through his hair.

"Paul, um," I sheepishly said. "I wanted to tell you before. We're late."

It was eleven-thirty. Paul rushed me over to my house, and with tires squealing on the pavement, dropped me off. "Thanks for tonight," I said, not looking him in the eye, and I couldn't believe how elementary I was being about this whole thing. Just call me Bashful, one of the seven dwarfs, and get it over with.

"No problem. Just-I hope I didn't get you into trouble."

"I don't think so." I looked at the windows at our house, and no light was on. I was hoping my mother had gone to bed by now, so she wouldn't notice me sneaking into the house half-an-hour later than I said I would.

Besides, it's not like I came home at three in the morning. It was only half-an-hour!

"Okay then, I guess a better get going."

"All right… well see you on Monday."
"Right, Monday."

We stood in awkward silence. I knew if I started kissing him again, who knew how long I'd stay like that? I just didn't have it within me to wrench away from Paul's spellbinding kisses.

"Good-night."

" 'Night."

I got out of the BMW, and whipped out my house-key, and crept softly to my room. When I had gotten into my P.J.s, and put away my brand new C.D., I did what I was dying to do all night: I flopped on my bed and sighed out loud, happily and blissfully.

A/N: If you think that this is the end of the story, you've got another thing coming! We still don't know who Jackie's father is, and what exactly happened to him. Stay tuned, to discover about the hidden past, Jackie finally learns about the truth of her family.