THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO SHARKFIN.

Lolly has her reasons. Aina? THANK YOU.

And commendations to Gen Ken, who wrote the FUNNIEST review of all time.

- 8 -

'Let me get this straight. You spent all day planning for this thing, and you didn't think to make dinner reservations?'

A light yellow glow cast off by the Golden Arches softened the look of incredulity on CeeCee's face, but not by much.

'It's not like I think about food all day,' Dani whined. She added, throwing a look at Adam, who seemed mesmerized, 'Unlike others.'

'Hey! I have a high metabolism!' was Adam's defense.

'We might as well go in,' Paul said, looking at his watch anxiously. I don't know what his hurry was. The night was young. I guess with each passing moment was one moment longer Paul had to contain his urge to screw Dani stupid or something.

Eww.

'I've never been to a McDonalds in all my life,' Dani whined, 'and I don't plan on starting now, either.'

Yes, you heard right. McDonalds, Mickey D's, The Golden Arches . . . whatever you want to call it, we were there. Dani, not having the foresight to plan dinner, left us to fend for ourselves in the only available dining establishment that provided food. Fast food, no less.

'But we're starving, my queen,' Adam put on his best Monty-Python-ish accent, 'Have mercy on us lowly peasants!'

Dani looked at the Golden Arches that loomed above in pure disgust. Even though the arches stood taller, it seemed as though even they were beneath her.

'It's not like it matters whether you eat it or not,' I sneered. 'You'll end up barfing it up afterward anyway.'

Paul looked irritated. He also still looked disgustingly hot. 'Let's just go in,' he said, brushing past us all and opening the door. We all filed in obediently after Prince Paul and Princess Danielle.

Immediately you could hear the frying of fries, the beeping of timers, and the screaming of little children. This particular McDonalds was no different from the rest, with its bright primary colors all around and a huge mural of Ronald McDonald on the wall. We were so out of place, being all dolled up and everything. I mean, most of the people in there were middle-aged moms in sweat pants and little kids who kept throwing their Happy Meal toys at each other.

We all joined the long line. Adam stared at the menu with such awe that he looked like a little kid at Christmas or something. 'I can just taste the fried greatness,' Adam sighed dreamily.

Dani looked like she was going to hurl. 'And I can just feel my arteries clogging up.'

'Get a plumber,' I said.

The line moved surprisingly fast given how long it was. The cashier, a young guy about nineteen, called for the next customer. Dani pushed her way to the front of the line.

'Welcome to McDonalds, how can I –'

The cashier stopped mid-sentence and blinked a few times, his pale green eyes widening behind the dark rims of his glasses. 'W-wait a minute,' he stuttered, 'aren't you Dani Moore? Supermodel D-Dani M-Moore?'

'Why, yes,' Dani answered flatly. 'I'd like –'

'I'm Steve,' the cashier stammered, ignoring the fact she was about to give her order. 'I've sent you countless fan letters. I'm a big f-fan of your –'

Boobs.

'Oh, yes. Steve. Thank you for your kind words.' Dani hardly seemed interested in what Steve had to say. I doubted she even read a single of his fan letters. It was really a surprise anyone would waste their time writing Dani a letter. Obviously, they don't have the JOY of working with her on a daily basis.

She smiled falsely, and then continued, 'Now, I want a –'

'W-would you take a picture with me?' he asked Dani shyly, his cheeks turning the same shade of red as Ronald McDonald's hair. He fished a small digital camera from his pocket and shoved it in my hands absently and put his arm around Dani.

I thought about shoving that camera of his someplace very unpleasant, but I decided against it. I mean, who am I to crush this guy's disgusting fantasy? And besides, I kind of enjoyed the pained expression on Danielle's face as Steve smelled her hair. I prolonged the picture taking by pretending not to know how to use it, just to see the look on Dani's face. Aaah, priceless.

I snapped the shot and then handed it back to Steve, who looked like he wanted to faint. He held his sleek digital camera in the air and waved it around, proclaiming to the entire establishment, 'I just got a picture with Dani Moore!'

And that's when the shit hit the fan. Quite literally, since Paul tried to swipe the camera away by clawing at poor Steve. He must have been trying to protect his precious Danielle, or else he was insanely jealous. Either way, his attempts were only making the situation worse.

Steve, in his excitement over one lousy picture with Danielle, had made quite a scene. Everyone at Dani's name stood up, dropped their Big Macs, and high-tailed it over to the line to get a good look. They swarmed Dani, asking for her to autograph their napkins of their kids' Happy Meal toys or whatever else they could grab.

For the first time since I had met Dani, I felt sorry for her. I actually felt sorry for her. I mean, she couldn't even go to McDonalds without getting recognized and then hunted down by fans. I wanted to laugh at her condition . . . how helpless she looked with dozens of fans waving the McDonald's place mats in her face. But I couldn't. All I could do was stare.

She was, after all, still a bitch. Famous or not.

A light of hope came as the manager parted the crowd and grabbed us all, ushering us past the screaming fans and into the Play Place, which was now deserted due to Dani's arrival. He locked the door behind him, so no one could get in.

'God, Ms Moore, I'm so sorry,' he said, wiping sweat from his brow. 'My sincerest apologies. This is unacceptable, and it's all my fault –'

Dani ignored the manager and turned to us, her eyes ablaze with fire. She'd actually forsaken the colored contacts for the event and left them their normal piercing amber. 'What a mess!' she yelled, 'Now do you all see why I never come here?'

'I-I'm sorry Ms Moore,' the manager apologized, apparently thinking she was talking to him or something, 'Did our cashier bother you? I assure you, he won't be back to harass you anymore.'

Dani scoffed at us, and then turned back to the manager. She shrugged and said nastily, 'I'll have a salad. No chicken, please. And water.'

'It won't kill you to have a Coke,' CeeCee offered. 'Diet has no calories –'

'Sure, it won't harm my figure. But it'll do something terrible to my face,' Dani hissed at CeeCee for even making the suggestion.

Not much of a change, then. Her face, I mean. Ever since she came into that chapel, I knew I hated her. She didn't even have to open her mouth, and I knew that she was going to be a snobbish bitch.

It might have been that AND she was with Paul.

No. No, it wasn't that. I was glad they were together. Those snooty prima donnas DESERVED each other.

You know what's worse? Dani caused poor Steve to lose his job. She didn't even try to defend him or anything. After all of those fan letters he sent, she just let him get fired. Steve may have gotten his picture taken with Danielle Moore, but he just lost his job.

And who knew? What if Steve was paying his way through college with his earnings at Mickey D's, making shakes and flipping burgers? Then he'd flunk out and then he wouldn't be able to pay rent, and then he'd be out on the STREETS and he'd eat RATS and he'd get RABIES, and he'd DIE.

What? It COULD HAPPEN.

Dani was being way inconsiderate and she showed absolutely no compassion. Further proof that Dani Moore has a black hole where her heart should have been.

Or a Bermuda Triangle.

And then, what's worse, before the manager left to banish poor Steve, he turned and asked, 'What about your entourage? Would they like anything? It's all on the house.'

Entourage. We were Dani's ENTOURAGE. Like we weren't even worthy to be called her friends or something. Not like I'd WANT to be her friend or anything, but to be her freaking ENTOURAGE?!?! AS IF!!

Adam quirked up at the words "on the house". 'In that case, I'll have – '

Only to be brought back by me, who jabbed his toe with my heel sharply. Adam doubled over in pain and went, 'Jesus, Simon. What's your problem?'

What's my problem?

WHAT'S MY PROBLEM?! HELLO??? We're eating dinner in a McDonald's PLAY-PLACE because Dani FORGOT to make reservations at a restaurant even though she had HOURS to do so, and now because of her celebrity we're forced to seek shelter in a place that smells like SWEATY KIDS and HALF-EATEN BIG MACS that reeked in the TRASH CAN. And some innocent guy just lost his JOB because of that evil CHIPMUNK-FACED UBER-BITCH. We got called her ENTOURAGE. Her STAFF?! Oh, and I'm forced to spend the rest of this WONDERFUL evening with her and Paul, and Paul's an ASS who keeps making TERRIBLE JOKES about me and Jesse because he thinks we SLEPT together, when Jesse was really just WATCHING me and its REALLY NOT FAIR because Paul has to look so HOT in black and it's hard for me to STAY MAD at him when he looks so –

'Nothing,' I grumbled bitterly to myself. 'Nothing at all.'

CeeCee turned towards the manager guy, who was staring at her in an and . . . .you-are? way. How rude. 'We'll all just grab Big Macs and fries - '

'I already SPECIFIED that I wanted a salad and water!' Dani snapped bitterly.

'I'm getting a fillet-o-fish, a quarter-pounder with cheese, and a large fries and coke. And a milkshake. Chocolate,' Adam nodded.

CeeCee blinked. 'Pig.'

Paul rolled his eyes boredly. 'I'll have - '

'A Happy Meal. With milk instead of soda. Paulie needs his calcium,' I cut in for him. 'And don't forget the toy.'

He gave me an insufferable look, and went, 'McChicken meal. Lemonade.'

HE LIKES LEMONS, DOES HE? THAT'S GOOD. BECAUSE HE'S SOOOOOOOUR.

. . . Wow. You just beat your own record of lameness, Suze.

Way to go.

'What about you?' the manager asked, regarding me with a slow, cautious expression.

Whoa. I even scared the manager. I mean, this guy looked pretty tough, you know? I guess you kind of have to be when you have to deal with whining customers everyday that demand a refund because you accidentally put mayonnaise on their burger when they said to cut it.

'A cheeseburger sounds good,' I shrugged, quite satisfied with myself. 'Can you hold the onions, please?'

'Sure, sure,' the manager replied, jotting the order down. Then before he left – I'm not even kidding- he asked, 'Would you like fries with that?'

Adam snorted accidentally, meriting a sharp elbowing from CeeCee. Suddenly, I was glad that I used to work at Starbucks instead of the fast-food business. I couldn't imagine having to ask that question day in and day out and having people half-smirk when they answer, all because this was the only job you could do. I mean, it wasn't a very respectable position. It's waaay down there with school janitor.

No offense, you know, if anyone's a school janitor or anything.

. . . Heehee. I swear. I'm keeping a straight face.

Giggle.

'Yeah,' I smiled. 'Fries would be great.'

Anyway. After that, we all sat down awkwardly. Except for Paul who preferred to lean on the wall and attempt to look cool. We'll just ignore the fact that he was doing a mighty good job, in addition to looking eat-me-I'm-still-sizzling hot.

Stupid lawyer.

Dani sniffed in disdain. 'I can't believe I'm here,' she scowled quietly.

'Why is that?' I asked. Okay . . . so I was coming to the defense of Maccy D's. But come ON. I'd come to the defense of ANYTHING that Dani dissed.

Well, except for Paul.

Not that she WOULD diss him. She's too worried that he wouldn't keep giving her lovely fat orgasms.

. . . Stupid model . . .

Dani answered, quite bitchily, 'I have a nutritionist, a personal trainer, and several cooks. Why would I need to go here? I think I've gained ten pounds just being here. It's utterly disgusting!'

'It's your fault we're here in the first place, so shut up about it,' I snapped.

I'm not forgiving her. Not for taking the day off and forcing me to go to Dick Headquarters and actually spend time with her partner-in-annoying, Paul. And especially not for forgetting about one small detail which was the reason we chose to eat here in the first place, causing a huge riot at the counter and the poor manager to take orders for us.

And what about that Steve guy? He lost his JOB because of her.

She can get away with all this guilt-free all because she's a famous model. A model of what, though? Clothes, lingerie, hats . . . stuff that doesn't really matter. It's just a bunch of pictures of her made up to just sit there and look pretty. And yet, people look up to her for that.

Somehow, I knew they wouldn't if they knew about what happened to Steve.

Or, you know, if they knew how she'd look down on the people who WEREN'T asking her to sign contracts for their hot-shot companies.

With a dark look at her, I rolled my eyes, and looked at CeeCee and Adam, who were mumbling to each other under their breath.

I wonder what they were talking about.

. . . Please let it be Dani-decapitating . . .

Or maybe wondering how much money they were going to contribute to the ADMA. You know. Anti-Danielle-Moore-Association, upon admittance. We WERE fundraising to have her offed by the British Mafia, after all.

Well . . . if there even was one.

Maybe the Chinese Mafia will do.

. . . Yeah.

Within a few moments, our food was delivered personally by Joe-the-manager himself, who even gave us free ice cream and loads of coupons on the house like the entire meal. We all ate our meal, except for Dani who took a few small bites and claimed she was full. She even gave her free ice cream to Adam, who took it without objection.

Paul was murmuring to her quietly, looking like he was having a silent argument with her. She insistently claimed, 'I told you. I'm not hungry, Paul. Do get over it!'

Which got me wondering –

. . . Nah.

When we decided to leave, Joe took us through the kitchen so we could exit the back way, just in case anyone wanted to make any more attacks. Everyone filed out, but I stayed behind for a moment.

'I'm sorry for the mess we caused, Joe,' I apologized.

Well, someone had to. Dani never even said more than two words to Joe about it, even though he went completely out of his way. No apology, no thank you, no nothing.

Joe looked surprised, to say the least. I guess another thing about being a manager is that you never get apologized to. It was part of his job to make sure everyone was happy, even if no one showed an ounce of gratitude. 'No problem, ma'am. It's not often celebrities come here, you know. I guess we're not used to dealing with it.'

I grinned to myself suddenly. Oooh! 'Next time, we'll call ahead. This was sort of a last minute plan. You may not believe this, but Dani has a secret soft-spot for Big Macs.'

'Really?' Joe asked, his eyes wide in awe.

'Yeah. I'm sure she'd love to do some advertising. Do you have a pen?' Joe handed me a pen, and I jotted on his hand Dani's cell phone number. 'You can give this number to the marketing advisor. Have him give us a call.'

Satisfied, I put the cap back on the pen, shook Joe's hand, and left. This was going to be great. Sure, it wasn't the Chinese Mafia, but I had a feeling it would be way better. Oh, I couldn't wait to see the look of horror on Dani's face when she finds she has a million voice-messages from McDonalds, looking to her for advertising.

I'm evil. I love it.

I ran back to the cars – we had to take two, Paul and CeeCee's – with a victorious smile. Dani, who was about to get in, asked huffily, 'What were you doing? We're going to be late.'

'Nothing,' I replied again, this time not at all bitterly, 'Nothing at all.'

- 8 -

We arrived at the club right on time. I mean, its not like you can be late for clubbing. You pretty much party all night long, anyway. Not that I would know or anything, but from the stories Adam and CeeCee told of their clubbing adventures, you pretty much don't get home until the wee hours in the morning.

But then again, maybe this was a totally different club. I mean, judging by its location in The-Middle-Of-Nowhere California, I doubted there'd be much to it. And I was right.

I was able to see the club right as we exited the highway. It wasn't hard to spot, especially since it was the ONLY THING out there. I'm serious. A tree or two on the left, Club Peacock, and grass on the other side. NOTHING.

I thought nightclubs were bigger than that, especially one that was frequented by supermodels. From the outside, it looked just looked like an insurance agency or something. The one thing that set this little place aside was the fact that it was more modern than other buildings in Gilroy. It didn't scream small-town-charm like everything else did.

We pulled into the parking lot, which was kind of crowded due to the fact that clubbing was quite possibly the only thing to do in such a small town. Adam, CeeCee, and I all got out of the car and met Paul, who was leaning with his muscular arms folded across his equally muscular chest.

'Where's Dani?' CeeCee asked Paul. I don't know how she did it. Be all casual around Paul, I mean. She was able to maintain eye contact and her eyes never drifted downward to catch a peek at his biceps or anything.

I guess the only immunity to Paul Slater's good looks and overall hotness is true love.

Paul answered, 'She'll be out in a second.'

Right as he said this, the door opened and Dani slipped out in a red tight-fitting fur-lined jacket and these designer sunglasses.

I'm not kidding. Sunglasses. At NIGHT. She scanned the area cautiously, and in her low British accent she said, 'Let's go.'

Who does she think she is? A British Carmen Sandiego or something?

Adam, CeeCee, and I stared. She did, after all, look completely ridiculous, like something out of a bad detective movie.

'What are you looking at?' Dani demanded, hands on hips and tapping her heels.

'What's up with the coat?' Adam asked boldly. 'You going incognito or something?'

Paul glared at us impatiently. 'Let's just go in already,' he said, taking Dani's arm and leading the way to the entrance.

Well, everything was weird. Seriously. I felt weird. CeeCee looked like she was feeling weird. And Dani LOOKED weird.

Weirdness was all around. I felt like I would choke from the oddity.

We made our way to the entrance line and stood to wait. It wasn't such a huge line, but the wait seemed very long. I don't know what was making me more antsy, wondering what the club was like or actually wanting to get this over with quickly. I was looking forward to it, and yet I dreaded it.

The bouncer at the front of the line was huge and very scary looking. He was wearing this black muscle shirt which showcased his mega-biceps that were covered with tattoos. He had this really thick handle-bar mustache and a black bandana on his head. This was SO not the guy you wanted to mess with.

CeeCee and Danielle got in no problem. Obviously, Mr. Big-Mean-Bouncer-Dude had a favoring towards the women. In fact, I noticed that the success rate for making it in this club relied on three things: looks, age, and sex.

Not sex as in SEX, but sex as in, you know, gender. Just clearing that up . . . heehee.

Adam and Paul were a little different. He didn't check their ID or anything, but he looked them up and down at least twice and then grunted, obviously approving of them. They all waited on me, the last person of the group to be checked.

But when I got there, the bouncer said, 'Hold on there, missy, I'm gonna need to see some ID.'

'W-what?' I asked, not really comprehending. Me? ID? I'm twenty-freaking-three years old!

'You heard me little missy, I need to see your ID,' the bouncer replied, this time leaning a huge muscular arm in front of the doorway.

Paul started laughing.

I stared at it with wide eyes. Geez, was this guy on some major steroids or what? He looked like on of those body-builders that are so muscular that their veins pop out when they flex. It was almost disgusting.

But, I felt a little brave. Or maybe it was my stupidity. Whatever it was, I spoke boldly, 'But I'm twenty-three!'

He grunted at me and tilted my chin upwards to look him straight in the eye. 'You don't look twenty-three,' he sneered.

Well . . . I BET YOU'RE BALD UNDER THAT BANDANA. SO HAH.

Reluctantly, I fished out my ID and showed it to him.

Honestly, I was so horrified. ME? NOT TWENTY THREE?

HOW INSULTING.

It's the lack of wrinkles, isn't it?

GAWD.

He scrutinized the ID carefully, murmuring my birthday under his breath. 'Okay,' he said finally. NO APOLOGY.

I was so embarrassed. That I looked, you know, not even eighteen and all. CeeCee and Adam had these HUGE grins on their faces.

'Thanks for jumping to my defense,' I glumly said.

Adam laughed. 'Ha. Nah, if he got nasty, I would have rode in like the knight in shining armour that I am.' He wrapped one arm around CeeCee's waste, and she leaned into him. A slightly mournful feeling depressed my heart for a split second, but I disregarded it. 'I'm sure you would have,' I nodded, 'Sir Prancelot.'

'I resent that!' he cried, as he led me and his girlfriend into Club Peacock.

What a gay name.

Instantly, the stench of alcohol pounded me full on in the fact. I squinted momentarily as neon lights were flashing all around the joint. It wasn't all that big. There was a bar, and a dance floor, and stairs that lead . . . um, upstairs. What are the odds, huh?

That was about it.

However, the music was good enough. Some Destiny's Child hit was belting out as a DJ of some description was bobbing his head – peacock style – to the beat. Beyonce's voice yodeled around the club, and there were a flock of colourful, shimmering bodies dancing. Not like, hundreds. But about fifty, which wasn't all that sucky for this small town disco.

I was still majorly put out about the let-me-see-your-ID-little-missy thing, but with a small thrill and an infectious smile, I followed Adam and CeeCee onto the dance floor, giving a once over at all of the tasteless/tasteful outfits that the seemingly quiet Gilroy-ians donned.

Adam gave a huge grin, and seized CeeCee's hand. 'Woot! Let's dance, Cee!' and he yanked her after him as she let out a squeal of excitement.

I saw that Paul and CeeCee were already dancing.

Well, they were TRYING.

. . . Oh, okay. They were succeeding.

In fact . . . they were both very good. Hmph. Dani's model-ism, and Paul's . . . um . . . I dunno. Maybe his loveable parents had sent him to ball room or something.

Allow me to snigger.

Lets just say that, the way they were dancing – well, um, Father D, had he accompanied us, would have had a coronary on the spot.

It wasn't very Christian.

This, however, left little seventeen-year-old-look-a-like Susie all on her own. Deflated, I moved over to the bar, and took a seat.

Furtively, I tossed my hair, and looked back to where Paul and Dani were practically having vertical intercourse, and threw Dani a dark look. Her, and her impeccably made up face . . .

She looked like such a skank. I am so serious. Like she'd just popped out of Pretty Woman when Richard Gere got lost down town while looking for Beverly Hills, and there were all those prostitutes walking around. ONE OF THEM.

Paul and Dani looked like one person dancing. They mirrored each other, almost.

This was a mistake. I should have stayed with Jesse and Jack, playing a nice game of Bullshit, as opposed to putting up with that that Paul and Dani were likely to fling at me sooner or later.

An old wizened looking guy who worked at the bar slouched over, looking bored. 'What you want?' he asked.

A life.

I was about to order a light beer, when this guy I'd never seen before in my life sidled up next to me, leant over, and whispered, 'It's on me.'

I stared at him. 'Nah, I'm fine – '

'Honest,' he shrugged. He gave me a sneaky little grin, and I blushed. 'Oh, um . . . okay,' I mumbled. The bar guy looked impatient. 'I'll just have a light beer,' I said, and smiled at the stranger.

He wasn't anything spectacular to look at. He looked a little country-ish for my taste. He had pale brown hair, and a nice looking face. Like he was a decent guy.

Heaven knew the only one I knew existed was currently in hospital, strictly under the pledge.

And on Morphine.

'I'll have the same,' he grinned at the bar guy, who rolled his eyes and went off to fetch the order.

Country-ish Guy sat down next to me, still grinning.

He grinned a lot.

Like a Cheshire cat.

'Thank you,' I said shyly. Seriously. I wasn't flirting at all. Well . . . not yet. Again, he just grinned, and was all, 'Oh, it's nothing.'

I detected a very faint Southern quality of his accent. He obviously wasn't from around here.

I hope to God he's not from Alabama . . .

Where cousins make merry –

Nothing.

'So,' he conversed, as two ice-cold bottles were rested on the bench by the grouchy bar guy, 'What would your name be?'

I blinked. 'Suze,' I said. 'Well, Susannah. But not Susie, if don't want a testicle retrieval operation this time tomorrow.'

He laughed. 'Okay, Suze. I'm Benjamin. Ben. And like you, I will not stand to be called Benji. My son does that to annoy me.'

'Son?' I asked, staring at him a little.

He looked awkward. 'Well . . . er, his mother and I, we're . . . er, not together.'

Oh, please don't tell me he was ancient. He didn't look it, but hey, plastic surgery does wonders for some people. 'How old's your son?' I asked, for an indication of his age.

'Five,' he answered. There was a funny look on his face. I suddenly got the impression that this "son" had been conceived in highschool or something.

Great. I'm talking to a man-whore.

But he seemed nice enough. He bought me my beer, right?

Yeah, Suze. And that's not just the oooooooooldest pick-up tactic.

I sipped at the beer. It tasted harsh and cold in my mouth. I relished the blatant shock.

'I'm here for my son's birthday,' he explained. 'Luke. He the greatest little guy a dad could ask for. He just loves dogs. I used to buy him all dog stuff when he was a baby. It was his first word. So, for his birthday, I got him a golden retriever. You should have seen his face. He was so happy.'

Aww. How cute.

'You must be eighteen or something,' he sculled his bottle, so it was over half empty now.

I snorted. 'Eww, no. Bouncer outside asked for my ID too. I'm twenty three.' My cheeks reddened. 'I guess I didn't eat my veggies when I was a kid.'

'So, you're not from Gilroy, right?' Ben asked.

I laughed. 'God, no. I – I mean, not that there's anything wrong with this place, it like, has total old-town charm and all, and the pizza is really great, and the garlic, though really gross, is very interesting, it's just that I'm a materialistic kind of girl and I'd die if I didn't have a mall somewhere near – not that I'm all that into malls, I like, get sensory overload and stuff – '

He was staring at me like I had taken to gnawing the neck of my beer bottle.

I flushed. 'Sorry,' I said, 'Um, I talk a lot when I'm nervous.'

Okay. So maybe I was flirting. Just a little.

Or, you know, to cover up for that display of utter loserism up there.

He went back to the grinning thing. 'That's cool,' he said. 'So, let me guess . . . New York?'

I beamed. 'Uh huh. It's my accent, right?'

He nodded.

'Originally, yeah. I'm a Big Apple gal. But at the moment, I'm here from Massachusetts.'

'What you doing in Gilroy? Family?' he frowned cutely. Really, this guy wasn't all that hot. But he was getting more and more attractive as I spoke to him. Nice guy.

Or maybe it was just the beer.

Apparently, beer makes people 25 percent more good looking.

Ugh.

'No,' I said hesitantly, 'Um . . . business.'

'What do you do?' he asked.

Oh, God.

'If I told you, I'd have to kill you,' I quipped, sipping my lovely alcohol. How original.

Again, he laughed. 'I love a girl with a humour,' he drawled, leaning his upper body a little closer to me.

What he didn't realize was that I was kind of serious.

With the killing thing, I mean.

Well, okay, not so much.

But I would SO not tell him.

'Funny, you think I'm joking,' I smiled. His grin widened. You know, this is what I liked. Just sitting down and having a nice conversation with –

'Want to dance?' he stood up.

. . . RUIN it, why don't you???

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. 'Oh, um – sure.'

He offered his hand, and led me onto the dance floor. There were gyrating bodies everywhere. There was a distinct smell of sweat in the air, now. It was hot. In the center, I noticed that Paul was showing off with Dani. He cast me a look of uncalled annoyance, which turned into a dark grin as his dancing got even more, um, graphic. Then, he disregarded my presence totally.

He was taking Dirty Dancing waaaaaaaay too seriously.

Ben started, you know, doing his thang, which looked a little odd. I too danced about, with stylish twists of my body. I'm a good dancer. I know that. I just, you know, don't club all that much.

As in to say . . . this is my first time.

Really, it's actually majorly sad.

The song was Justin Timberlake's latest disaster. In the half-light, Ben actually looked kind of hot. There were shadows all over him. But you know, he wasn't anything spectacular. Well, goes to show that hotness isn't everything.

So screw you Paul. Your personality is dung-worthy.

The song ended. I mean, we'd come up about three quarters into it. I went to turn around and head away, when his hand gently came to my wrist. With a smile, he whispered to me, 'Another song.'

I blushed, and moved back in front of him.

And then, to my horror, She Will Be Loved came on.

Very stiffly, I put my hands around his neck. His found their way on the small of my back, and he stood a LOT closer to me than I would have originally liked. But I realized that this was the slow dance way. The intro of Maroon 5's number was one that like, everyone knew. It's beat pounded eloquently, and then the lead singer began in rich tones that made me cringe.

Just don't listen to the lyrics, Suze.

Gawd.

The flashing lights slowed to slow blues and purples that glided across the floor. One caught on CeeCee's brilliant white hair. Adam and her looked so . . . in love. Her head was rested on his shoulder. Match made in heaven.

Beauty.

Ben's breath was on my cheek. There was a sick feeling in my stomach, and a merciless tugging at my heart.

I've had you so many times but,

Somehow I want more . . .

Oh, man.

With a shuddering breath, I closed my eyes, trying to sink away from the song. Ben's feet were getting a little messed up. He wasn't a brilliant slow-dancer. More than once, I almost tripped. I was grateful, because it drew me away from the song.

Look for the girl with the broken smile,

Ask her if she wants to stay a while.

There was no pounding of my heart that was meant for Ben.

Like I said. He was a cool guy. But I didn't, you know, feel all that attracted.

But he was nice.

It's compromise that moves us along.

That was when Ben's hand lowered.

To my butt.

I gasped, and went to move away, but straight away his arm went stiff, and he shushed me gently. 'Shhh,' he went, and then, showered his head to kiss my neck.

UM, A LITTLE FAST, BUDDY?

'Hey,' I hissed at him, leaning my head back, and shoving a little against his chest, 'What are you doing?'

He just grinned. 'Enjoying your company,' he said simply.

Alone in your car.

Know all of the things that –

'Well, that's great,' I blushed deeply. The damned song was circling darkly in my head, like a cloud of toxic gas. 'But, I'm not into kissing.'

He groaned. 'Come on,' he said, and added as an after thought, 'I like you.'

I swallowed, and just looked down. 'Um, it's just – '

But he took the opportunity to pull me back against him, and keep dancing like he was the Cat's Pajamas.

He really had a high opinion of himself. GOD.

Looked like that Nice Guy thing was just an act.

And once again, I found myself almost completely defenseless.

With a finger that now felt like cold iron, he brushed my hair off my face, and just grinned. Grinned.

'Come on, Suze,' he said again, in a subtly impassioned growl.

Shit.

Another one.

And she will be loved.

And she will be loved.

'Look,' I glared at him, 'You're a nice guy, but I'm not interested – '

This was somehow interrupted by him attempting to kiss my face. SERIOUS. THIS GUY COULD NOT TAKE A HINT.

I turned my head away, desiring most in the world to be able to kick his ass so bad, but being completely incapable –

Ben was jerked away from me suddenly.

'Excuse me, is this guy bothering you?'

Paul had showed up, and was glaring at Ben. I was staring at him – Paul – in slight shock. 'Um,' I said intelligently.

'No, we're fine,' Ben grinned, sounding very slightly defensive. 'This is Suze. Suze is fine – '

'Shut up,' I said bitterly to Ben. 'I came here with this guy. He's my colleague, Ben. And yes, I was fine, Paul. I can handle myself.' I wanted to, you know, keep dancing with Ben just to spite a certain lawyer, but that would have, you know, put me in a certain danger. Just because of the STUPID Cole thing, Paul was acting like I couldn't even tell ONE guy to get a hint.

Which at that previous moment, I couldn't. But I was SO almost about to beat the crap out of him if he'd made any more moves.

. . . Eventually.

Paul gave me a stony look, which again, turned into a sardonic looking smile. 'Oh,' he said. 'My mistake. Proceed, Suze.'

And he left, to go join Dani again, who was glaring acidly at me from across the club.

Ben smirked, right as the song ended. Not grinned, smirked. The lights froze in their places as the last line carried on, resting a gentle blue on everyone in the crown.

Please don't try so hard to say goodbye.

With a vicious look, I spun around, and stalked back to the bar. 'Hey, hey – wait!' he called, but I didn't listen.

NOT INTERESTED.

Once at the booze counter, I had to buy my own drink this time. The first bottle was still there, but it ran the risk of, you know, being spiked or something while I was out. No, I don't mean someone put dearest feline Spike into a blender and then poured him into my beer.

That would be gross.

I'd cough up a fur ball.

It was really embarrassing, actually, how I had to really look in my bag for the money. Seriously. I had no idea how I was surviving with only like, ten dollars in my pocket at each separate time. It really wasn't cool. I, however, found a bill, and shoved it at grouchy-bar-guy, and he went and got me another light.

With a disheartened feeling, I rested my head in my hands heavily. I'd had high hopes for Ben. You know, hoping that he was one of the good ones. The ones that were so rare these days.

Alas – ker-plop.

He was a jerk.

Like the rest of them.

I BET HE WAS GAY, ANYWAY.

My head was starting to pound.

Was there ANY good guys left out there?

I mean, even the dead gentlemen always managed to break your heart. I just didn't understand how I always seemed to attract these complete assholes.

Looks like CeeCee had scooped up the last decent one.

My beer appeared in front of me.

Good. I needed alcohol. Drown my woes.

Maybe I should become alcoholic. I need a hobby, right?

Oh well. I did NOT need another guy at the moment. The Cole thing was getting blown out of proportion. I didn't need to be slapped across the face anymore than the current frequency.

I sighed, and downed the rest of the new bottle I'd bought. A different song began thumping away, making my head get dizzier.

CeeCee came up, bubbling. A different CeeCee from five years ago. Very different.

'There you are! I've been looking for you, and you're here, sucking grog. Jeez. God, this is so much fun,' she beamed. 'I haven't been clubbing in AGES.' The flashing lights were gleaming in her violet eyes, making them dance with a mystic quality.

I forced out a smile. 'Yeah,' I said. 'You look great. I think that Adam wants to eat you. And not in a cannibalistic way,' I wriggled my eyebrows.

She giggled like a Kelly-Prescott-wannabe. 'Hey, who was that guy you were with?'

God. Don't remind me.

'Who cares,' I shrugged.

'Oh, another member of the Suze Fan Club?' she smiled.

'Sure,' I drawled sarcastically. 'I'm handing out badges now . . . want one?'

'Aww, come on,' she laughed. 'He wasn't that bad. I mean, he wasn't exactly what you'd call hot, but . . . you know. He was do-able.'

I blushed. Do-able? How would I know what doable was, when I hadn't DONE anyone?

Susannah Simon still virtuous.

Almost as pathetic as –

Actually, no. I think that's pretty much the epitome of pathetic.

And with CeeCee and Adam obviously doing it like bunnies, well, that just makes me seem even more crappy.

Instead of very tactfully voicing all of this, I muttered, 'Meh. Seen better.'

CeeCee's eyes narrowed in an evil grin, and she focused her look past me. 'I bet you have,' she agreed.

I turned in the direction of her gaze.

What? There was only Dani and Paul –

'PAUL?!" I demanded hotly in complete outrage, 'CeeCee! I'm surprised at you!'

She fanned herself dramatically, rolling her eyes. 'Oh, God, Simon. Get some eyes. He's the hottest thing. It just so happens that I'm hopelessly in love with Adam. So maybe the second hottest thing. We've known that Paul was a god since eleventh grade.'

I scowled at her. 'He's a pig,' I said. 'He . . . snorts.'

She looked like she was getting frustrated with me. 'Come on,' she rolled her eyes again expressively. 'I think you still like him. I've seen how you look at him – '

'Hey,' I said, starting to get mad, 'That's like, not happening. I thought you of all people would respect how much I hate him. Don't you realize what he did to me? To me and Jesse? That's something I'm not going to forgive just because he wears all black to a club and looks really – um . . . SO not the point . . . I hate him. And that won't change.'

She snickered. 'Jeez, no need to get touchy. Okay, okay. You aren't captivated. I get it.' She turned boredly, and waved to Adam as an indication of her, um, location in the very small club.

Adam pranced over, looking very flushed. 'This was such a great idea,' he half-yelled, 'Remind me to give Dani a Christmas card.' He saw me, and then my beer. 'May I?' he asked. 'I'm cootie-free.'

I passed him the bottle, and he finished it off cheerfully. You know . . . Adam perplexed me. I could not imagine where he found so much joy in life. Where did he get the strength to smile all the time? Genuinely smile?

He's happy.

That was is, wasn't it?

Adam McTavish was happy.

He wasn't rich. He wasn't famous. He wasn't drop-dead-gorgeous but he had one thing that I'd probably never have.

He had love.

And I guess it lifted him up.

But it was more than that. He drew out a delight for life that I couldn't begin to understand. The way he told his jokes, his constant goofy look, his affection, his passion in everything . . .

And I envied it all.

He saw my less than thrilled expression. 'So, Susie babe. Want to dance? I mean, CeeCee's cute and all, but she hasn't got the whole "short skirt" thing going on. That's the only thing that attracts me to your bloody women,' he complained jokily. I smiled at him for a few seconds, and his faded a little. 'What?' he asked.

'Nothing,' I said. 'Only if Cee comes too though.'

CeeCee beamed at me.

Adam did also.

'Sure,' he grinned. 'Hey, Suze, maybe Cee doesn't mind if you join us tonight in our adventures. I've never done two – '

Before he could finish that sentence, CeeCee elbowed him, hard.

I laughed anyway.

A song that I'd never heard of came on. But it was funky, and had the best beat. Me, Adam and Cee started acting like psychopaths. Well, I doubted that Adam was acting. But whatever.

We weren't in the center of the floor. We were to the side, where there were couches and stuff with a lot of people sitting down. Mostly girls. They were all looking at Adam up and down, since he was the closest male and all. A lot of them didn't look too turned on, but whatever.

I continued dancing, and laughing at stupid things that Adam was doing. CeeCee was looking both embarrassed and in love. The beat was vibrating beneath our feet, pumping right through our bodies as sound tends to do.

When we kind of rotated again, I noticed that Ben was now sitting in front of me. However, he wasn't looking at me. He probably didn't notice that I was there. No, he was just, oh, I dunno, cracking on to this poopsie blond who looked like she was solely here to get laid.

I heard him say something that made me scowl very, very deeply.

'I mean, "dog" was his first word. So I got him a beautiful golden retriever for his birthday – '

I muttered to Adam and CeeCee to excuse myself, and I then went and planted myself next to the blondie. Her hair was glistening against the coloured lights. 'Hi,' I said brightly. 'I see you've met Benji.'

I then whispered something very quietly into her ear, and left.

When I turned around again, Ben was trying to lean over the blondie, who looked utterly disgusted.

Oh, goodie.

CeeCee and Adam were watching, looking highly amused. 'What was that all about?' CeeCee asked dryly.

I shrugged. 'I don't like the guy.'

'That's apparent,' she raised her eyebrows. 'What did you say to the bimbo?'

I sniggered. 'Just a friendly warning.'

'Which was . . . ?'

'That Benji could not only not get it up, but that he also had a little problem with premature ejaculation. Oh, and bedwetting.'

'HA!' Adam exploded with laughter. 'You're not as dumb as you look, Suze.'

'As opposed to you,' I smiled. 'Dumber than you look.'

CeeCee giggled. 'Eww,' she wrinkled her nose. 'Oh my God, he's giving you the most filthy look. And the bimbo's sitting with her friend, pointing at him. She looks grossed out. Wow, Simon. That was good.'

I shrugged again. 'I do what I can, your majesty.'

When we were dancing again, I saw Paul starting to come over. Instantly, my cheeks blew up, crimson. I rotated us all subtly so I wasn't looking at him.

But he came anyway.

'Excuse me, Tarzan,' he grinned at Adam, 'May I cut in?'

'Why of course, Sir Gothika!' Adam cried, and spun around, dancing away.

I just stared at him nervously. CeeCee stared me with a grin, and went to walk away, but he grabbed her wrist with a snake-like movement.

Paul raised an eyebrow. 'Suze, would you mind moving?' He stepped closer to Cee, who looked stunned.

. . . Oh.

He wanted to dance with CeeCee.

. . . I'm such a loser.

'Right, um . . . sorry,' I stuttered quickly, and got the hell out of there. Paul's smug grin burnt on the back of my neck. I felt like I'd suddenly lost a lot of energy.

With heart hammering heavy with humiliation – wow, alliteration – I was off the dance floor.

Stupid, stupid, stupid . . .

He did that on purpose.

He knew I'd react like that.

That asshole.

The intense coloured lights were flashing across my irises, feeling as if they were creating permanent colour spots in my mind. I squinted against them, feeling my head get very, very dizzy. I guess the light beer was taking its toll. I should have laid off.

Parting through the thickening crowd, I made my way to the door. Instantly, I was gusted with cool night air that both stung and soothed my face, and the pong of alcohol left me, leaving me to think that little bit clearer. I smoothed down my skirt needlessly, and tossed my hair.

The bouncer guy leered at me as I walked out. Yeah, now he knew that I wasn't under-aged, and all. Ugh. How embarrassing. I mean, getting into the movies as a student is pretty cool. But not getting into a night club easily? That's just damned shameful.

So, due to the bouncer guy's hairy eyeballs, I wandered a little further down the street, and sat on the curb. It really was a quiet, town, this Gilroy. The garlic smell still lingered in the cool night air like a bad after taste. A club seemed very random, in fact. Out of place for such quietness. It was like totally typical of Dani to find it though. Hmph. I was worried when I first stepped in. It seemed to small for her and her bazonka boobs.

But whatever.

. . . I hope SHE gets stuck in a dumb waiter one day.

AND NEVER GETS FOUND.

Muahaha.

I hope SHE knows what it's like to get swiped brutally across the face, and knocked into a brick wall –

Wait, no I don't.

Of course I don't.

What the hell am I saying?

. . . That's a fate that no one deserves.

Not even PAUL, if he ever, you know, got a sex-change.

And you know, that's saying something. That what Cole had done to me was wrong in every possible way. Domestic violence. Abuse. Girl-beater.

I couldn't bare to accept the fact that I'd sunk this low . . .

And that Paul Slater knew about it.

I couldn't understand whether that was a good or a bad thing. I mean . . . now someone knew. Maybe I wouldn't be so scared . . .

But then, the way that Paul was making me feel about it – holding it against me and all – I don't think that it was worth him – anyone – knowing.

But maybe Paul was right.

Maybe I didn't deserve it.

I mean . . . I know that God is a complete and utter jerk-off. But surely he wouldn't think that THIS was justice, right?

Sending Cole to beat the crap out of me, I mean.

Constantly.

And all the other guys, too. Using me like I was some temporary thing. Some object.

Maybe I needed to start dating nerds.

That would totally solve this problem, right?

Wow. How weird. Maybe I should just stick with Brad.

I mean, Dopey.

Ha. Eww.

"HEY, SUZE, MY VIVACIOUS VIXEN? GUESS WHAT. BEING DOPEY, I AM SO DUMB THAT I ONLY JUST FIGURED OUT SOMETHING. WE'RE NOT BLOOD RELATED!!! SO LETS GET IT ON, MY JUICY JELLY-BEAN. LETS MAKE BABIES."

. . . Damn, I need therapy.

God. I'm so unloveable.

I am cursed. Seriously. My love is cursed. Madame Zara was a fraud. That one-love-for-all-eternity was bullshit.

Unless she meant chocolate. Then she was pretty okay.

But seriously.

I don't think that I CAN be loved. Not my heart, anyway.

Maybe, I was. But that was the past. Something that I clung onto with every fibre of my being, at the same time as I yearned to just forgive and forget.

I couldn't forget, though.

And I could certainly never forgive.

My life. My disaster.

I released an exhale of breath, and brushed the strands of hair behind my ears. The hair was wasn't up in my high ponytail. One that I actually liked.

I used to hate ponytails.

Hate them.

Things change.

For better of for worse . . .

Music was thumping from the club, loud and constant. It was so much quieter out here, though. I could think. A good and a horrible thing.

So my hearing was heightened when I heard footsteps.

Turning my head slightly, I noticed the large shadow of a man across the pavement, cast by the blue neon light behind him.

Pau –

'Hey, hey! Why the gorgeously glum face?' Adam asked, as he plopped down next to me. Relieved, I turned back to face ahead.

'Gorgeous . . . ha,' I mumbled quietly.

Quiet haunted my mind. I turned my head, and noticed that Adam was giving me an are-you-insane? look.

He's one to talk, the madman.

Poke.

'Sorry,' I sighed breathily, 'I'm not at my perkiest.'

'Noticed,' he commented. 'Why not, Sour-Susie?' He sucked in his cheeks, lemon-style.

I made that horse-noise that sometimes people do when they're frustrated. You know? Brrrrrrr . . . 'Nothin',' I shrugged. 'Go back inside and tell Cee I'm fine. I know she sent you out here.' I shot him a small smile, and then traced my index finger along the bitumen of the road, with the shards of broken glass dropped from previous drunken party-goers, no doubt.

As No Doubt as Gwen Stefani.

'You bet she did. Right after she gave Paul the verbal beating of his life,' Adam beamed. I stared at him, and then grinned a little too brightly. 'Really?'

'Oh sure. CeeCee's a fiery thing,' he told me gustily. 'And at the most . . . appropriate times too,' he added with the suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

'What did she say to him?'

'Well, just that he wasn't to do that anymore. You know . . . taunt you and everything. She knew exactly what he was doing. Doesn't miss a trick, Cee. Should have been a detective.' I caught him smiling rather longingly, which heightened my mood that little bit. 'So, Suze. Come back inside.'

'Never,' I said in a whispered cry if defiance, still feeling quite exhausted, for no good reason.

'But her majesty told me not to come back until you brought your royal ass back in. And if you don't come in, I'll have to drag you. Sorry, Queens orders,' he informed me officially.

'You couldn't take me, Adam. Go tell Eve that my ass gained 300 pounds, and you couldn't fit me through the door or something.'

He considered it for a minute. 'It might work,' he winced his forehead in mock-intense thought, 'But . . . oh, Suzie dearest, I don't think she'd go for it.' He then flexed his muscles, slightly reminiscent to how Paul had done the other day, but with a lot less arrogance. Well, not REAL arrogance. 'And besides, m'lady. You obviously have not been fortunate enough to see these babies in action. Go on, poke it. It's rock.'

I gave him a lazy smile, and prodded his upper arm.

'Hmm. Squishy,' I said.

He looked HIGHLY affronted. Well, in a jokey way. 'Ahem! Take that BACK. These guns are HUGE.'

'They're inflatable,' I humoured him. 'Times like this I wish I had a pin on me.'

With a look of alarm, he hissed, 'How did you know?!'

Teehee. Aww, man, I love this guy.

'Please, don't tell the Queen. She'll behead me. Like Henry the VIII.'

'Whatever,' I snorted at him. 'She'd never find someone like you, Adam.'

It took him a moment that I'd taken his joke to a level of such sincerity, that he couldn't even reply.

I gave him a very warm smile, and rested my head on his shoulder. 'I'm glad you've opened your eyes, Adam. She's a very, very lucky girl to have you. And you're a lucky guy.'

He pondered for a second. 'Yeah. Yeah, I am.' Another silence. I could feel that he was smiling. 'Aww, cut it out Simon,' he said suddenly, and gave an almighty, pathetic pseudo-sniff, 'You're making me tear up.'

'Bull,' I said. I doubt he'd ever cried. Not since he'd found CeeCee. I mean, really found her.

Me? Well, I'm like your basic leaky tap. I so need to get a plumber sicced on me. Or a psychiatrist.

His hand came around my shoulders affectionately, with my head now shifting a little to his chest. And we just sat there.

Friends.

I suddenly remembered how good friendships could feel.

It felt really nice.

'You're an okay kid yourself, Simon,' he murmured thoughtfully.

About thirty seconds past in complete, comfortable silence. With a sigh, I lifted my head up. 'We'd better go back inside.'

He just sat there, looking like he was thinking harder than I'd ever seen him think.

Because let's face it. Adam isn't exactly deep.

But this contemplation looked really deep.

'You're right,' he said, 'I am a lucky guy. Really lucky . . . '

I should have guessed, there and then. I didn't.

But I suppose that my own feelings were clouding my ability to detect a guy's tone when he's thinking about the girl he loves. And his plans for said girl.

Whatever. He too, joined me on his feet, and grinned down at me. 'Shit,' he said. 'We didn't just have a moment, did we? I'm too manly and rugged for moments.'

'Sucker,' I said. 'Okay. Let's not keep Her Highness waiting. And in such terrible company, too.'

'Right you are. I shall escort you, fair lady Susannah. To the castle!' he cried in what he thought must have looked swashbuckling, throwing out his arm in a weird Buzz Lightyear impression.

The bouncer, who was staring at us with raised eyebrows, numbly muttered into his walkie talkie for his boss to check if the beer had been spiked.

'Castle. With the . . . flashing lights. And the booze. Dude, I'm liking this castle,' I giggled girlishly.

'Yes, one fantastic medieval orgy,' he beamed.

Okay . . . a little too far there.

'Um . . . sorry,' he mumbled in apology.

I slipped my arm into his, smiling.

God. What a magnificent freak.

Maybe I could buy an Adam McTavish remake on eBay.

As we again, entered the world of dancing, judgment, alcohol, pick-ups, and a possibility of fun, CeeCee stormed over to us. In a slightly intoxicated bliss, though. 'What kept you?' she demanded in an effort to look irritated, as opposed to drunk.

'We had a moment,' I informed her in an exaggerated whisper. 'Careful, he's a bit sensitive about it.'

'Loser,' she smirked at Adam.

'Lady Susannah has been delivered, my beautiful cherry pop tart. NOW can we bust some moves?'

'Duh,' she sang. 'Come on.'

And we were all back on the dance floor, boogying to some gay Michael Jackson song that seemed determined to get popular again. Personally, I still think that he's a little-boy toucher. But that's just me.

Adam's rendition of the moonwalk was very, VERY scary. And the little cupping-his-hand-over-his-guy-bits-and-doing-a-pelvic-thrust-with-one-hand-behind-his-head-thing, too.

If I needed therapy before, I DEFINITELY needed it now.

I wasn't getting over that in a hurry. Me and CeeCee just laughed helplessly at him. It was so freakishly funny.

'He's trashed,' I shook my head solemnly.

CeeCee laughed. 'Tell me about it.'

Adam demanded, 'Are you two going to dance with me, or spend all night lusting after my desirable physique?'

Snort.

'We'd better detox you with some dignified moves, Fabio,' I mocked, 'Come on Cee. Lets show him how it's done.'

CeeCee grabbed my hand, and we proceeded to do so.

I laughed happily as CeeCee twirled under my arm. We twisted up on tip-toes, then squatted down slowly, and came back up, doing a weird little hip thing, and then just bopping a long. It was actually pretty cool. Adam was pissing himself laughing. Jealously, I'm certain of it.

I was actually a good dancer. Good moves, and stuff.

Michael Jackson's Gay Song ended. Me and Cee high-fived each other, and giggled hysterically.

I couldn't understand it . . . why was this so fun?

I mean, it was something DANIELLE MOORE organized for us. I wasn't ALLOWED to have fun. And not to mention, I was Suze Simon. I didn't have fun, period.

. . . Then I realized.

CeeCee and Adam. This friendship. One that I'd postponed for five years.

I didn't feel alone. And it was great.

Love was one thing.

But friends lasted a lifetime.

I had to stop prizing relationships higher than friendship.

It was hard, though.

Love just seemed like something I needed.

. . . Well, maybe it wasn't. Maybe I just needed platonic love, at the moment, to be happy.

Maybe.

Still giggling, we turned to look at Adam. He looked kind of . . . um, aroused, actually. Staring at CeeCee and all. 'Impressive,' he clapped. 'A little girl-on-girl action there . . . '

CeeCee shoved him cheerfully. 'Eww, Adam. Keep it in your jocks, okay?'

'They say that men are very turned on by girls acting like lesbians, is this true? If so, I have lost all respect for the male half of our sad, sad human race,' I scowled.

'Suze,' he said bluntly, 'We're men. We're turned on by anything. Doorknobs. Victoria's Secret catalogues, you name it.'

'Kelly Prescott?' I demanded.

He gagged. 'Okay, not everything.'

Hushed, I asked, 'Dani?'

It took him a moment to reply with a very indignant, 'NO.'

. . . Aww, man.

'Adam!' CeeCee elbowed him, as the next song got into swing, 'You're KIDDING me.' In fact, she looked actually kind of alarmed. Threatened.

I knew how she felt, to a tee.

I felt a little bad for putting up on the spot. 'It's okay, we know she's pretty.'

And grossly busted.

Adam groaned. 'I'm in the dog house, aren't I, Cee?'

'You bet on it,' she penalized. 'No sexual favours tonight. None.'

. . . Okay, eww.

I sighed discretely. It was only natural for Adam to be all over Dani. Well, as much as a taken man could be.

Hmph. He was banned from the ADMA for life!

Dani was prettier than me. Dani was better than me. Dani was everything compared to me.

You win some, you lose some, right?

. . . I just continued to lose.

'Well . . . she is a bit of a bitch,' he tried redeeming himself.

'Good thing you're in the doghouse then,' CeeCee said, with a dash of unpleasantness. 'Puppy love all round.'

'Well, she cannot measure up to the natural beauty of you stunners,' he grinned goofily.

'Yeah, there are a couple of things that certainly AREN'T natural,' CeeCee added.

'I need more alcohol,' I informed them. 'You're getting weird, Adam.'

CeeCee, however, accompanied me loyally. Yay. We could get smashed together.

However, as I had just ordered ANOTHER light beer, along with CeeCee, who ordered something with a gross name that made me cough up my saliva, something like Monkey's Testicles, Paul and Dani stumbled over, laughing and looking superior and haughty and evil and demonic and kinky and anorexic (Dani) and windswept and too perfect and too rich and too condescending for my own good. Paul promptly ordered some pricey margaritas. Dani still looked like a slutty pop stick with marshmallows taped to it.

'Hey, Cee, Suze,' he nodded, still looking smug. Cee gave him a very small warning look, almost as if to say, Be nice, chump. 'Just cooling off . . . been dancing, and all.'

'Noticed,' I replied with a long sip of my beverage, 'Some guy over there was wondering, Dani, how much do you charge by the hour? And if you were available tonight. It's his birthday, you see,' I nodded at her.

'Ouch,' CeeCee mouthed at me, choking on her Monkey's Testicles.

(A/N: HAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

. . . Sorry. I got a very bad visual Of Adam in a gorilla suit with – actually, you don't want to know.)

Dani's jawbone tightened. Paul went very stiff, too. They both looked stony.

OR STONED. MUAHAHA.

Okay . . . not so much, maybe.

'As opposed to you dancing,' Dani sniffed. 'I'm surprised you didn't knock people over with the aftershocks of your flab.'

HEY.

BITCH!

I refused to show my hurt. 'Did you lose a bet or something?' I asked Paul. 'I mean . . . you didn't pick her up willingly, right?'

He rolled his eyes. 'Excuse us, CeeCee. Dani and myself are going somewhere more . . . private.'

Oh, please.

'Oh, Paul, you animal!' Dani cackled, as turned to he steer her away to the door that obviously lead upstairs.

ENJOY YOUR QUICKIE.

'What's your mating call, Dani? "I'm so drunk"?' I snapped.

Dani faltered on a retort, and just glared.

'Come on, Dani, let's leave her to wallow in her depression,' Paul shrugged in disdain. 'Suze, I'd suggest Zoloft.'

My evil grin was wiped swiftly on my face, and I turned away, feeling pale. Insultathon was over.

Paul, seemingly satisfied, left for the wonders of upstairs with Danielle Moore, his supermodel.

CeeCee, I noticed after a moment, was gawking on me. 'What?' I asked quietly.

'What was THAT about?' she demanded.

A little fire flared back up. 'Oh, nothing. I'm the resident bitch, she's on my turf,' I said simply. 'It helps that I'm the only one with brain cells.'

'Okay,' she said slowly. 'But Paul. Zoloft? Depression? That was cold, Suze.'

I gave her a grim smile, finishing my beer. It tasted more like urine, now. 'Paul is cold.'

Generally a side-effect of hating me.

Or a symptom.

CeeCee stared at my sympathetically. 'Sorry for saying you liked him, before. I didn't realize things were that bad,' she apologized, clearly embarrassed and regretful.

With a hollow laugh, I replied, 'Don't worry about it.'

Oh my God . . . I needed to pee.

The bartender guy was hovering about two feet (IN THE AIR!) away. No, he could not fly. Loser.

'Hey,' I said. He ignored me. 'Hey,' I said again. Looking annoyed, he asked, 'Yes?'

'Where's the ladies'?

He pointed to the door that led upstairs.

'Oh,' I said. 'Isn't there like, one down here?'

'Staff toilet. You're not allowed in there,' he sniffed, wiping a beer jug with a damp looking towel.

'Please?' I asked politely. 'I mean, I have a bladder problem and everything, and I don't know if I can hold it – '

'No,' he glared.

'Fine,' I snapped. 'Your beer was SALTY.'

And I left CeeCee there, and stalked upstairs. Hopefully I wouldn't catch Paul screwing Dani against away, or something. The little neon light proclaiming "TOILET" with a small woman symbol – you know, the cross with the circle on the top – told me I'd triumphantly reached my destination. I ducked into the girls', did my stuff, and was out of there pretty quickly.

That was when I noticed Paul AND Dani stepping out of the men's.

. . . Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

Okay, I was just KIDDING about that quickie thing. I didn't think they'd actually – you know . . . DO IT.

. . . LITERALLY!

Dani's hair was slightly messed up. Paul was fixing his belt buckle, breathing that little harder than usual.

Oh, God. I just lost my innocence. This world is so CRUEL.

'Well, I hope you enjoyed that very lovely game of Monopoly,' I nodded. 'Very, quick.'

. . . ie.

Oh God, oh God. I'm so scarred for life . . .

The buckle thing was TOO MUCH.

Dani was about to bite back when this black guy came up the stairs. For an insane second, I thought it was Charles. You know. The ghost. The African American Misfortunate. But it wasn't. This guy, for one, was older. And thinner. And his shoulders weren't as broad. And he didn't look dangerous, so much as snooty.

'Dan!' he sang out, in a voice that instantly delivered the information that he was very British, and very gay.

I mean, the hot pink silken shirt and leather pants were a pretty good indicator, too.

Paul blinked in slight alarm.

'Miles! Darling, I didn't think you were coming tonight!' she tittered, and gave him a hug when he ran over to her.

Paul still stared.

'Oh, Paulie! This was my friend. The one who frequents this dear club! We did a big Gucci thing back a while ago,' she said with such gusto, I felt vomit coming up.

'I now do underwear,' Miles rolled his eyes, and did this poofy little hand thing. Oh my God, I didn't realize that gays actually DID that.

Paul shook his hand warily. 'Paul Slater,' he said. Miles gave him a lookover, and nodded in approval to "Dan". 'You picked up a sexy one, Dan,' he grinned. 'Nice.'

Paul took his hand back very quickly, and Dani laughed, 'Oh, you!'

I just stood there.

"Miles" – what a gay name – turned and looked at me curiously. 'And who's this little cutie?' he asked.

'Susannah Si –' I began, but was beaten by the cackle of Dani's witchy, 'Who cares?'

My polite smile faded.

He turned away from me, having learnt that I was not upper class. 'Danielle, want to go dance downstairs?' he asked. Paul didn't seem to sense so much of a threat, having realized that the guy was indeed, very homosexual. Dani flew over to him, and they both went down the stairs looking like two slutty peas in a pod.

Paul and I kind of stared.

'Whoa,' I said in awe. 'You got dumped for a gay underwear model. That's gotta be tough.'

Oh, yeah. Dude with a 'tude. That's me.

(A/N: Lolly: I loooooove szechwan. Yum.)

I was still furious about that Zoloft crack. Suggesting that I should go binge on anti-depressants was actually really cruel. Like I said. Abusing his knowledge that I was a girl who got hit by her ex. Abusing it BADLY.

Paul gave me a bored looking glare. I actually occurred to me that he might not have been all that sober, at that moment. Oh well. I was still thoroughly grossed. I mean, come ON. The BUCKLE, people!

A darkly amused smile made his lips curl at the corners. It was crooked. 'What brings you up here, Suze?' he asked in a quiet, and almost seductive voice. It kind of . . . I dunno.

Purred.

Like a cat.

No.

Jungle cat.

A very large predator.

Don't stay up here, Suze. Go back downstairs. GO.

'Toilet, much?' I raised my eyebrows at him in annoyance, clamping my hands bitchily on my hips. I went to go back downstairs, listening to the perfectly sane voice in my head, but he subtly moved into the doorway to block me, still smiling.

Bloodlust.

'What are you doing?' I asked him coldly, in a kind of strained voice.

He tossed his head superciliously, like I'd seen Nathaniel do. You know, another of the Misforts.

'Well, actually, I was trying to ask you to dance,' his eyes refused to leave my own. He was penetrating my mind with skewers of ice.

I swallowed. Hard.

P–Paul wanted to dance.

Um . . . oh, God.

Ignorant of the dark flush that suddenly conquered my cheeks, I snapped, 'You insulted me down there. You still have the nerve?'

A very small step.

Very small.

It was enough to make my heart go KAH-THUNK in its beating pattern, like it was a heavy piece of machinery had just got a cog jammed in it, but had crunched it, so it had continued to function.

But rustily.

'Sure,' he said, smiling down at me like he had a very dark secret, and that only dancing with him would make him tempted to reveal it to me. His hand came to my arm, making my nervous system momentarily implode in paralyzing shivers that raced up my arm, across my shoulder, and into my chest.

Far out.

I wasn't as good a dancer as the Disco Bitch. God knew that's who Paul would compare me to. I mumbled something inarticulate, but Paul overrode my attempted speech.

'So, you wanna dance, or not?' he asked again, a little louder this time. He wasn't smiling so much anymore.

His voice echoed in my head . . .

'Or we can, you know, stand here and discuss who's dissing who.'

That was when the most EMBARRASSING SONG IN THE WORLD came on from downstairs. Believe me, we could still hear it. VERY clearly.

I was not dancing to this.

No, no.

I mean, it was a funny song. But . . . oh, shit.

The Bad Touch.

Oh. My. God.

Paul looked HIGHLY amused, at that. My eyes must have widened to the size of tennis balls, and suddenly, I was VERY FREAKED.

This was NOT A GOOD SONG TO DANCE TO WITH PAUL. NO, NO, NO. IT WAS A VERY BAD SONG TO DANCE TO WITH PAUL. IT MENTIONED NUTS. AND PANTS. AND THE WORD HORNY. AND A LOT OF VERY GROSS INNUENDO. WHEN I FIRST HEARD IT WHEN I WAS YOUNGER, MUM TURNED IT THE RADIO OFF VERY QUICKLY AFTER THE LINE, "So put your hands down my pants and I'll bet you'll feel nuts."

AAAAAAAAAAAH!!!! SEE?!

'You like this song,' Paul stated. He didn't ask me. He told me that I liked it.

I was freaking. I really was. I couldn't dance to – not THIS song – FUCK. 'I – um, it's – '

'Shame not to dance to a song that you like,' Paul grinned down at me, now slyly backing me into the middle of the empty room. It wasn't lit well. Just the neon green lights that indicated the toilets.

I wanted to leave. I really did. But I was so freaked out, that I could barely move. I felt like hot malleable plastic. Poke me, and I'd dent.

Paul, taking every advantage of that, slid his hands up to my hips, and pulled me a little closer to him. I was short of breath. I really was. This guy had just called me depressive. And now he wanted to dance with me, to a song that SCREAMED kinkiness.

NOT GOOD, GIRLIES.

He started swaying his lower body to the thumping beat of the music.

And I realized.

Paul was a VERY good dancer.

I too, started dancing, not very confidently. I was freaked. I would forever BE freaked.

Probably something to do with the fact that I AM one. A freak, I mean.

When the lyrics started, I blanched. A lot.

Ha-Ha! Well now we call this the act of mating.
But there are several other very important differences ,
Between human beings and animals that you should know about.

OH MY GOD.

I think that Paul noticed me squirming. And he was relishing it. This couldn't have been worse. I could smell alcohol on his breath, alarmingly evocative to Cole on his worst days.

I tried not to focus on the lyrics, or the fact that Paul's hands were practically on my butt. I tried to focus on . . . I dunno. But whatever it was, it wasn't working.

Wasn't working in a BIG way.

Accidentally, I looked up at Paul's eyes. And there was something there that scared me. It was animalistic. For a fleeting moment, it reminded me of something I'd seen in his eyes a long time ago. But then the look was gone. I wasn't sure if it had been there. How he was staring down at me, though, was scary enough.

His eyes always seemed to hold me prisoner in a very dark, cold place. Dark memorization. So much was happening. Suggestive music pumping fast, beer, dim lights, proximity to a man I loathed . . . it swam around in my head like water across an electric panel board, electrocuting everything.

And now, kindly add haunting, icy eyes to that mix, and you get a recipe for destruction.

. . . That's when I stopped being scared, and started competing.

Another competition. I had to win something.

And I began to increase in confidence. My movements were more intentional, and stronger. I played to him more. I saw him smirk in – what, approval? Something . . . else? I was proving that I WASN'T as pathetic as I seemed. I COULD beat him. I COULD dance.

Mr heart pounded dreadfully.

I glared back at him, misreading his look. Totally. But then, I didn't notice. I thought he was just trying to win. Right? That's what he always tried to do. Why would he be smirking down at me like that if he didn't like the competition?

I totally disregarded the possibility that he might have been turned on.

Do it now.
You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals,
So let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel.

Did I mention how EMBARRASSING that song was?

But it would NOT make me lose.

I circled my hips definitely. So definitely that I looked a little TOO comfortable dancing with him. But you know what? It was for the sake of WINNING. So I didn't care.

'You know what you're doing,' he said down to me breathily, another flash of something in his eyes.

I foolishly took that as a compliment. Foolish, because, of what he was going to say very soon.

He pulled me just a little bit closer, his smirk getting wider. Then he chuckled very softly. I could feel it through his body, we were that close.

So if I capsize on your thighs high tide B-5 you sunk my battleship,
Please turn me on I'm Mister Coffee with an automatic drip.

. . . That close.

He was practically rubbing up against me. In a dancing way, but still, I felt VERY uncomfortable. An awkwardness that I defiantly concealed. However, the acidic chemical reactions in my body were devastating.

That was when he sharply spun me around, and pulled me back against him, so I was now not facing him. He held my stomach very forcefully, and it was all I could do to not release the sharp gasp that was cutting the skin of my throat. My hands moved back to his hips, which were right behind my own, and I turned my head to the side, so my neck was exposed. My powerful movements were only matched by his. But . . . this wasn't dancing.

This was something a lot bigger than dancing.

I just didn't know what.

Now struggling for breath, I turned back to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck, and taking more of a lead, stealing back my victory. His smirk was getting more and more sinister. Like he'd won something of his own.

Do it now.
You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals,
So let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel .
Do it again now.
You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals,
So let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel.

I'm going to seek out Bloodhound Gang, and I'm going to feet them all to piranhas.

SLOWLY.

The exotic beat came to a climax in the song, and Paul was dancing faster. His strong, dominant hands arched my back into him. My heart was fit to burst from the pumping, hot blood flowing painfully through my body. For someone who had an effect of immobilizing ice, he was NOT supposed to be making me feel hot.

Oh, GOD.

And then the song was over.

Just like that.

Paul, however, held me very close to him for just a second longer. In fact, he actually pulled me closer when the last beat ended. I stared up him, a look of involuntary fear suddenly clouding my eyes. I wasn't dancing. I wasn't competing.

I was back to being pathetic, and most recently, FRIGHTENED of how me was making me feel, with his body against mine like that. His arms were VERY hard beneath his tee. I knew. My hands had slipped down from his neck, and were resting on them. He was breathing hard, like me. But something had changed. He wasn't smirking anymore. His eyes were unreadable. Like Jesse's had a tendency to be. But Paul's eyes were . . . I dunno.

No, I won't even contemplate that.

Ugh.

Well . . . he looked poised to . . .

SUZE. DON'T BE A LOSER.

. . . Kiss me.

But he didn't. The moment I started getting VERY red again, he released me slowly, and the smirk returned. Now, it wasn't a highly amused smirk. It was angry. Like he was angry at me. I could tell. His lips were quirked, but his eyes GLARED. I didn't know why. I didn't know what I'd done to make him angry. Maybe because I hadn't like, told him the song was over, and he'd had to hold onto me for a few seconds longer than necessary. Yeah. Maybe it was that.

Whatever it was, he looked really mad. But . . . he still smirked.

I went to say something, I didn't know what. Something that would stop him from being angry at me like that. I took a very nervous step back, my feet feeling like they were still moving after that continuous dancing. My back felt stiff. And my head was very painful, now that I remembered that I'D JUST DANCED WITH PAUL.

Not just dancing.

Dirty dancing.

That was when Ben decided now to take a dump. He climbed up the stairs, and saw me there. 'Hi, Suzie,' he said bitterly.

'Oh,' Paul gave me a furious, sarcastic look. 'One of your many men, Suze?'

I gave him an outraged look. 'What?'

He shrugged. 'You just seem to have worked your way around the guys in this club.'

I HAD NOT. BEN WAS THE ONLY GUY I DANCED WITH, BESIDES PAUL.

His smirk deepened, and Ben just stared.

'You're – ha, as if – No, I just danced with – WORK AROUND?' I gasped, appalled.

My body was cooling down a lot. So much so that it was turning cold. Cold as stone, in fact, because I felt my joints adapting lead-like qualities on the spot.

Paul took a step back. 'So sorry,' he nodded rudely to Ben, 'I'll leave you to screw her senseless, shall I?'

Oh my God.

That was when Dani and "Miles" also came back up the stairs, laughing. 'Deary me,' she tutted, 'What's going on here?'

Paul just glared at me.

I didn't UNDERSTAND. What did I DO?

Ben took a hesitant step toward me, and I backed away instinctively, with wide eyes.

'I was just leaving her with her newest lover, Dani,' Paul snapped.

MY GOD. HE WAS POSTAL.

That was when, to my utmost horror, he marched right in front of me, freezing me with a gaze, moving his face so it was right beside my ear, and hissing something so hurtful, something that he meant SO much, that instantly, a very, very sick feeling developed in my stomach. My mouth fell open, and I looked away, and I got really dizzy, and my hands started shaking a little, and I jerked right away from him, and he was smiling in victory, and resentment, and dark amusement, and I was stumbling away from everyone there, and Dani cackled, 'Mind the cockroaches,' and I didn't care if there WERE cockroaches, and I somehow made it down those stairs, and I mumbled an apology to Cee, saying I needed her car to get back to the school, and she called and asked me what was wrong.

What was wrong . . .

I told her nothing. Adam grabbed my shoulders as I tried pushing past him, and I shoved him away, and he looked shocked, but I made it out that DAMNED CLUB, and to CeeCee's car, where I SHOVED the keys into the ignition, and drove back to Fortunaschwein.

I felt numb. Angry. Like I was delaying something.

I didn't know how, but I ended back up in that school. The darkness was engulfing.

Darkness . . .

And I was running. Down the first hallway, to the right. Blindly. I didn't know where. I was running. And then I was falling. And running again.

Then I was in a room, in the corner, having slammed myself against the wall so hard that I'd fallen to my knees, and I was crying.

Hard.

Crying out anguished pain.

Pain, unbearable, that had been trapped for a LONG time.

Pain, excruciating, that had just been triggered, all over again.

By Paul.

Someone who wasn't even worth tears, and yet . . . his words had provoked the tears of not only what he'd said, but tears that were destined for ALL of the wrongs in my life . . . the men, the mistakes, Cole, the sadness, all of it.

And my newly known status.

His words had sliced something deep in my soul. The WORST thing he could have said to me.

"You're a stupid whore, Suze. You're Jesse's whore."

- 8 -

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