It Finally Happened: Part XI

Lake Middleton was normally a place of peace, quiet and tranquility. It was a man-made lake created as a reservoir to provide water for the Tri-City area back during the depression. It had been there long enough it was starting to look like any natural lake, except down near the dam. There was actually a bit of controversy about the actual name of the body of water. During construction of the dam, it was just referred to by the name of the creek that had been dammed up, Beaver Creek. There were still some older folk who called it either Beaver Lake or Beaver Creek Reservoir. It actually was officially given the name of some obscure local politician. You would be hard pressed to find anyone who actually knew that name since almost everyone, including local cartographers had come to call it Lake Middleton. The popular name was finally given a sort of tacit recognition when the surrounding area was designated Lake Middleton State Park and Recreation Area.

Yes, normally it was a nice quiet place for a family or a couple to spend a summer day, either on the beach of sand trucked in from the west coast or in one of the many campgrounds. Couples were known to spend hours on one of the many trails crisscrossing the interior of the park. It had a reputation far more romantic than the bluff at the end of Logging Camp Road.

On the first Friday of June, it was neither quite or peaceful. Hundreds of cars bearing a large portion of the one thousand plus students of Middleton High School and some of their families crowded into the place. It was the traditional party celebrating the end of the school year. Even some of new graduates attended, before beating a hasty trail out of the city for a post-graduation break.

The real stars of the party, however, were the former Juniors. They were the new first order social elite, at least those who held their proper place in the 'food chain.' Like it or not, seniors ruled the school and, upon their return, they would hold court, especially at the coveted "Senior Table" in the caf.

It was a great way for the kids to blow off steam. The final week of school was an intense pressure cooker. The week started off with the last study day. No lessons were planned but students were able to meet with their teachers, ask some final questions. Most took the time to either cram or veg out in the class.

Tuesday through Thursday the final exams were administered. The school took on a deathly still air as hundreds of students sweated it out. There was a faint smell of burning rubber in the air as countless erasers were worn down to their metal bands.

Then Friday came. The school was opened up and the students all filed in, waiting their turn to find out their marks. That usually took a couple hours and, once done, the seniors would make their way home to prepare for graduation ceremonies that afternoon. Everyone else, finally freed from the tedium of the school year, made their way out to the party at Lake Middleton.

The music thundered, the bass turned up so high even the water jumped slightly at the beat. Every so often you could hear someone screaming "Let's get this pah-tay stah-ted!" though it had indeed been going on since early that afternoon. The beach, normally home to maybe half a dozen sunbathers and maybe four or five people in the water, now looked more like Fort Lauderdale during spring break. Hundreds of kids were here, all having fun.

All except for a certain blonde haired young man and a particular pretty redhead. They were there, but neither seemed to be having a very good time.

Ron sat on the hood of his mother's car, his head slumped between his shoulders. It had not been a particularly good day for him, and it had begun fairly early. In fact, he was there at the main doors when they were unlocked at seven thirty. His heart was in his throat as he hit the door to his first class, Kim close on his heels. Barkin was already there, his face like stone giving him no indication whether it would all be good or even if the man already knew his aggregate score (that was a word he had become quite familiar with over the last week and a half.)

"Stoppable, you need to relax or you're going to have a coronary. Congratulations, you got a B. Any other time I'd like to sit down and have a real discussion about some of the ideas you expressed in your essay questions, but in the end that's a good thing. It means you're thinking. Now get out of here so everyone else can see their scores."

Kim, of course, got an A.

Ron didn't relax until they got to chem. class. He actually did almost have a coronary when the teacher showed him his grade. It was something that had never happened before except in Home Economics during their sophomore year, and that class was considered pass/fail since it was an elective.

For the first time ever, Ron Stoppable made an A on a final exam. When his heart started beating again he couldn't contain himself any more.

"BOOYAH!" he shouted before launching into a victory dance.

Then the unimaginable happened. The next class was Latin. The dreaded dead language. The class he insisted they take together because he had mistakenly assumed it was about Latin America.

Ron got his second A mark of the day. What made that even more amazing was that Kim actually made a B on the exam (though her grades for the rest of the term still gave her an A.)

"They should give you a plaque for lunch period for bravery beyond the call of duty for the amount of mystery meat you've put away in there." Kim kidded as they passed the shuttered cafeteria. Ron was too jazzed to even come up with a snappy comeback, instead grabbing her waist for an impromptu hug, eliciting a squeal of protest from the mashed occupant of his pocket.

The morning had started so well. He pulled the computer printout of his grades from his pocket again and sighed. He screwed up and screwed up bad and now he was going to have to live with that. He looked at the crowd, finally catching view of auburn red hair. Kim was sitting at one of the picnic tables with Monique. He was thinking that he really should go over there and talk to her, but he just couldn't work up the courage to do it.

He looked at the slip of paper again, remembering the morning as he went to his fifth and sixth period classes. Bs at both. He passed them. There was only one class left, the one where he had to ace it. None of the other grades he got that day would matter if he didn't get an A in the last class of his school day. Geometry would either be his savior or his doom. Kim held his hand as he walked in the door. The teacher smiled wanly at him as she opened the grade book and showed him the score. Kim's hand tightened on his.

His eyes couldn't focus. He could see Kim's grade clearly, her usual A, but further down the page, toward the end of the Ss, he couldn't bring himself to quite make it out. It wasn't until he realized that Kim was squealing in his ear that the seemingly impossible had happened.

Team Possible had pulled off another mission. Ron Stoppable had not only passed the course, he got something that had never appeared on his record before.

A plus.

Junior year was over. He could now go to the office and pick up his final report and, once out the doors, he would cast off the traditional title of eleventh graders. He would be a (rising) Senior. He passed! He passed the whole grade!

He sat on the hood of the car thinking I should be celebrating. I should be sitting on the beach slathering sun block all over Kim. We should be sneaking off to the nature trails for some serious making out!

Instead he was sitting alone in the parking lot, watching everyone else having fun. Instead he was regretting what may have been the whole reason he had done so well this final semester coming to a screeching halt.

In a fit of anger, he had said something that, some four hours ago he would have found unimaginable. It began innocently enough. Kim wanted to celebrate and she wasn't willing to wait for the party to get started either. The kissing started at the school, little quick kisses repeating over and over, PDA policy be damned. They walked back to Kim's house arm in arm, Kim even daring her image (which did happen to weather Bonnie's spike attempt after the underwear incident) by putting her hand in Ron's back pocket. It may have been rather old-fashioned, but it was an excuse to put her hand on his backside on the way home.

The house was empty. Ron was having images of a very nice, extended make-out session, uninterrupted by nosey little brothers who were simultaneously grossed out and intrigued by all the kissing and such, by a mother who seemed to be quite pleased with their relationship as a whole but who still made him uncomfortable when it came witnessing their more physical demonstrations of their love and by a father who seemed to really like him but still couldn't tolerate much more than chaste kissing.

He started to lead Kim to the family room. His favorite place of all to make out was on the couch, especially when they were sure they had the place to themselves. Kim, on the other hand, had other ideas.

"We've got to get ready for the party." She said, giving him a sly look.

"I don't think we have to be in too much of a hurry to go."

"I know, Ronnie, but I'd really like to be ready to go, you know, get out of these hot clothes and into something more comfortable."

"Sure, KP. I've got my trunks in my pack. I'll just be a few…"

She cut him off by taking his hand and pulling him upstairs, almost actually dragging him up to her room by his arm. Moments later she was pushing him down on her bed, kissing him hard. He lost himself in the moment, enjoying the kiss immensely, responding in kind. He liked the feeling of her body pressing against him. He was discovering one of the great benefits of having a girlfriend with a rather modest chest. More of her body could be molded to his, more surface area coming into direct contact.

The only problem? That kind of contact caused an involuntary response, one that Kim couldn't help but notice. She was the love of his life, but certain things were still awk-weird and embarrassing to him.

Too quickly she got up and went over to her dresser. He rolled onto his side, watching as she crouched at the bottom drawer. He leaned over slightly, hoping to catch a glimpse of what she had on under her capris through the ever-present gap in her loose fitting bottoms. She turned to look at him, catching him in the act, yet, instead of turning red as she normally did, she just smiled at him.

"What do you think?" She held up a new bikini set. It wasn't quite as skimpy as the green string bikini she had worn the week before. In fact it covered up quite a bit more, but there was something about it that said 'bad girl' to Ron. He tried picturing it on her. The top was a wrap-around strapless affair in bright blue. The bottoms were a style called 'boy shorts,' though no self-respecting male would be caught dead in them. They were still so small that certain, muscular parts of her anatomy were still going to be on display.

"Badical." Was all he could mutter.

Then she about gave him a heart attack.

Without so much as another word, she slipped her sneakers off and undid her pants, letting them drop to the floor. Ron couldn't pick his jaw up off the bed if he tried.

"Wh…whu…what are you doing, KP?" His mind was trying to get around the concept of her standing there, wearing only her favorite green tank top and a pair of pink cotton panties. He quite literally had seen more of her in her green bikini, but there was something different about seeing her undress like that, without so much as a move to the privacy screen.

"What does it look like? I'm changing into my suit. You should get changed too." She singsonged the last at him, her smile widening. She hooked her thumbs under her top, about to pull it off.

Ron's brain finally kicked into gear. He knew from having his arms around her for much of the day what she did and didn't have on and, much as he liked the thought of seeing Kim, all of her, Ron's inner modesty finally took over. He shielded his eyes and looked away.

"What's wrong, Ronnie." She let go of the shirt and let it drop again. "I'm not ashamed in front of you."

"Kim…I think something is getting out of control and I hate to say it, but I think it's you."

"What?"

"It's like, I…man. Kim, this isn't you."

"Of course it's me. I've been hiding my feelings for you from everyone including myself. I want to be with you and even if I have to wait for that, I still want to show you how proud I am of you."

"No it's not you, Kim!" Sensing she wasn't about to keep undressing for the moment he risked another look at her. "You've always been the sweetest, most innocent girl but here the last couple weeks, I don't know how to say this, but, it's like you're constantly trying to seduce me and somehow, I…I always thought it would be the other way around. It thought that after a couple months I'd get all flustered and you'd be the one who kept me at bay.

"Instead it feels right now like if I said the word we'd be naked under these covers inside of five seconds and I hate to say it, but it makes you look like somebody else to me, and that scares the hell out of me."

"What are you saying, Ron?"

"Kim, I'm saying, well, quite frankly, you're starting to act all slutty. Being sexy is one thing, but I thought being in love was about romance and caring and all that other stuff, not just some rush to see how fast we can have sex. It's like being caught in a hurricane, or worse, in a big fire where everything is big and bright right now, but it's going to burn out eventually because we have nothing left to burn."

"Honey, I just want to be with you, to celebrate…"

"Can you hear yourself? You're not Kim any more! You sound like…like Bonnie, or worse, like those girls who chase the rest of the jocks. You're not my Kim any more. The Kim I fell in love with was a sweet, caring girl."

Kim grabbed her pants from the floor, shielding her body with them, her face turning red. She turned away from him and said, her voice barely a squeak. "Go."

"Kim, we need…"

"Go! Get out, just go, leave!"

"Kim!"

"GET THE HELL OUT!" she screamed.

He left, all feeling rushing out of him.

Their relationship had lasted all of three weeks.