Rabbit in the Headlights

Summary: Another Kandy-meeting-at-Berkeley story that I've had hanging around since December lol! Finally got my act together and finished it!

Disclaimer: -.-. ... .- .-. .- -.-. - . .-. ... / -. --- - / -- .. -. . --..-- / ... - --- .-. -.-- / .. ... (It's in Morse)

This chapter is for Sunny because of how mean the unis are being to her. hugs

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Because if I wrote my life rather than whatever does, that night would have gone something like this!

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Evidently, Sandy Cohen had re-formed the Headlights.

Kirsten had no idea what that meant but clearly she was destined to find out; her roommate was forcing her out of their cosy dorm-room and out into the cold December night all because some guy named Sandy had revived the Berkeley College Comic Theatre Company, in other words, the Headlights.

She'd never heard of this Sandy person and she didn't particularly relish the idea of sitting in a freezing hall while college kids tried to come up with jokes that wouldn't upset the faculty. But Hannah was obviously bored of the Saturday night ritual they'd been perfecting since they'd both been dumped by their respective boyfriends; fresh margs, self-pity and a soppy romantic movie.

It would do her good to get out, Kirsten reflected. She'd been very anti-social since Jimmy fucking Cooper had kindly phoned to let her know he couldn't make it that weekend, no it wasn't a soccer game; actually he was getting married.

She shook the thoughts from her head as they arrived outside the old hall.

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'It's freezing in here,' Kirsten moaned as they filed into the hall.

'God I hate this type of chair,' she complained, wriggling about on the hard plastic seat.

'Don't you think places like this have a really weird smell? It's so gross.'

Hannah sighed exasperatedly. 'Are you gonna moan all evening?'

'You didn't have to bring me.'

'I was trying to lift you out of the throes of depression. Don't blame me for wanting to do something other than mope.'

'I don't mope, I seethe, there's a difference.'

Her roommate looked highly sceptical. 'Well whatever it is you're certainly not getting over Jimmy.'

'I am over him.'

'Right, that's why you haven't been on a date since he ditched you.'

'We. Broke. Up.'

'Whatever. We should be enjoying being single, going out, getting wasted, seeing how many guys' numbers we can get in one night.'

'But I don't want to be single.'

'Yeah you do Kirsten, we could have a competition. You know Liv King; lives on the floor above? She had five guys in three nights. Think we can beat her?'

'Ew Hannah, please!'

'Come on, live a little.'

'Yeah, live a little, die of syphilis by the time you're twenty-one. Unlike some people I actually want to graduate without an STD.'

'Oh, so you just want to be boring, get another steady boyfriend. That is so lame.'

'What is lame is that they haven't started the show already. I thought it was curtain up at eight?'

'It's only eight ten.'

Kirsten gave an irritated harrumph and shifted in her seat, crossing her legs first one way then the other and folding her arms across her chest.

'You are so impatient,' Hannah observed with a giggle.'

'I just like things to start on time.'

'It's a college show Kirsten, not a military coup. You gotta lighten up, stop being so anally retentive. It can't be doing your blood pressure any good,' her roommate declared in a singsong voice which made Kirsten grit her teeth in annoyance.

'My blood pressure is fine.'

'How about we play I Spy…the hottest guy?'

'Could we get any more high school?'

'Probably. Oooh check out the dude in the front row. Nice biceps! I love California; where else do you get to see upper arm muscles in December?'

Kirsten rolled her eyes, glancing around the hall as Hannah began to rate each of the guys in the vicinity. It was a full house with all the rows full and more students standing at the back and resting against the walls. At the front Kirsten could see a small raised stage, mostly obscured with curtains, an alcove containing several instruments and a door which led backstage. Every so often this door would open and she could see the hive of activity, or rather something more akin to chaos, going on behind it. From what she could see, a guy with an unruly shock of black hair was apparently in charge, rushing about onstage, offstage and backstage, checking set and answering questions, often causing laughter as he responded.

She glanced at her watch; eight fifteen.

Turning to Hannah she found her flirting shamelessly with a group of guys in the row behind. With a sigh she went back to watching the activity around her, or, if she was honest, watching out for someone in particular. A couple of people were now sat in the alcove tuning up their instruments, that was a good sign. The guy in charge was talking to them hurriedly, gesticulating wildly with his arms. Kirsten could see broad black eyebrows moving too and had to smother a smile.

'That's Sandy Cohen,' she heard somebody say as he dashed past her up the aisle. 'He's the director.'

Sandy Cohen. Kirsten wondered if knowing his name was a mixed blessing.

He hurried past again, nodded at the band and disappeared through the door. A moment later the musicians struck up. Kirsten glanced at her watch as the lights cut out rather than dimmed, eight twenty-five. The last ten minutes had disappeared quite enjoyably.

She flushed inwardly at the thought. She didn't even know this guy, the realisation that she kinda liked him catching her by surprise. It felt awkward, foreign; she hadn't fallen for anyone in a very long time and certainly not this fast.

Sandy and another guy appeared at the front of the stage and Kirsten had her first proper look at him. He was wearing a green shirt, a blue suit that looked like it might belong to the guy next to him and a wide smile.

'Good evening Berkeley! Hello and apologies for the wait. I'm Paul Glass and this is Sandy Cohen.' There was a roar of laughter and the guy looked confused for a moment before laughing himself. 'Oh God. I mean, I'm Sandy Cohen and this is Paul Glass! You know I've done that twice now and twice out of three shows is kinda worrying…'

At this point Paul grabbed the mike out of Sandy's hand and began talking. 'I do apologise for him; he has some kind of obsessive talking disorder,'

Sandy leant his head towards the microphone, 'I'm loquacious.' Paul shoved him out of the way.

'Anyway! What I'm really trying to say is that we will be your MCs for this evening as well as popping up on stage every now and then for your entertainment.'

'And what Paul didn't say, because I was meant to say it before he rudely interrupted, is welcome to the first show of the recently re-formed Headlights, otherwise known as the Berkeley College Comic Theatre Company which was just too much of a mouth full for anyone other than myself to say so we had to change the name. Most of us have been part of other theatrical events at Berkeley but we decided we wanted something slightly less camp, a lot less serious and a whole lot more fun. I hope you enjoy the show.'

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I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoy writing it. Thank Em for the fact it's finally being done! It's almost all written – all except the next chapter (typical, I never have chapter 2!) But if you review I will work very hard so you can have it all as soon as possible. How's that?