A/N: Yoyo!!!! Long time no see!!! My apologies for the looooooooooooooong gap in chappie updates. I have actually had this chappie ready and waiting for about 2 weeks, but I had some problems with my beta-email-system, and I got real lazy over the hols...
You know how it is. So I'm posting 2 CHAPPIES TONIGHT. And, okay, so maybe Chappie 20 is more of an Interlude, or a random BIT, but who cares? It's still writing, right? My beta hasn't betad it (sorry Anna, but these guys get SCARY when they're angry) so if it's full of faults...
IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!!!
Hahahaha...
Athena884: Oh man, another Paul fan. It's getting harder and harder for me to decide on who shall win... I mean, who'll end up with Suze. Win? What was I talking about? Haha... Um...
SwEeT-sHoRtEy: HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! A posterior is an ass, yes. Posterior derriere, bottom, butt, ass, behind, round swelling attached just below the lower back on a person's body.
Circus Riddle: Finally!!! A name that I can easily type and remember! And it makes sense! You get ONE bonus Brownie point. I'm glad you're enjoying the...ah, lust. Hahaha, tis me speciality, mate! ;)
DancinSweethart: You're not the only one confuzzled on the whole Paul-Suze-Jesse front!!!!!!!
Sandra Rose: Lol, I think I'm making Paul TOO funny and sexy... it's getting hard to decide who should turn out to be the good guy in the end... Doo doo doo doo...
xxreixx: Wow, you sure like Paul doing breast stroke in the air, huh? Who knows? Maybe next I'll make him Tango... or better yet! The Macerena - who DOESN'T love the Macerena??? :D
Alenor: I like sweet chappie endings, makes a change from cliffies, doesn't it? Sometimes the tension just gets TOO MUCH, YA KNOW???? ;)
Mystique Angelique: Can I just say that I lubbed your's and Hayley's latest chappie for Flashy - twas brill!!!! But why is everyone getting one up on Suze??? Everyone's embarrassing her!!! She needs to get one up on Paul, teach the little SOB a thing or two about that "little Dick" inside of us all. Anyhoo. I'm glad you lubbed my kissing scene in my previoso chappie, hahaha. Altho maybe you outta see someone about the whole melting issue...? Could turn into a bit of a drawback later on in life, if ya know what I mean... ;) And don't worry; I have no idea where this story is going either... And you're not fooling anyone, signing off you reviews as "Lolly the Pure One." Pure One my ass! You ain't fooling no one, sistah. Mmmmhmm.
x0SweEtkIssEzx0: Hahaha, okay. England is NOT always rainy. It rains in the winter. And sometimes in the Spring. And occassionally in the Summer. But we do get a lot of hot weather. And a lot of sun. It's just not always hot when there's sun... Hope you ain't too annoyed at the long wait til this update.... SORRY!!!
AmethystHannah: HHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Oh man, you SERIOUSLY cracked me up when you thought I said Paul was stroking Madame Vautour's breasts.... HAHAHAHA, that is just so wrong...HAHHAHAHA
UnangelicHalo: You are soooooooo not the only one confuzzled! I'm in love with both of my main guys!
Anna: Anna!!! Omg, insult me some more, why don't you? That is way harsh. WAY harsh. And you fully didn't make that whole "wrong line in your story" thing clear, okay? And get your email sorted. I NEED TO BE ABLE TO EMAIL/RECEIVE EMAILS from and to you. DARN YOU.
Gen. Kenobi: Haha! "Right betwixt your legs" - that is such a good line. I gotta use it. Lol. Your Dyslexic Disturbances? SO LUB IT! I can't catch up on a lot of Fanfic cos mainly I'm too busy doing crappy stuff online, but when I do I ALWAYS check to see if you've updated. Aw man I lub it so much!! :)
My Divinest: Lol, I'm sooo glad you enjoyed Jesse's VPL, I may hafta do a sequel or something....
Roomate153: You can't love Paul AND Jesse!! That's just... that's... why, that's SCANDALOUS!!!
Oenone: I think Paul is the epitome of Bad boy-good boy complex. Moowahahaa, plus I think it's kinda sexy... So maybe I'm a bit biased when I'm writing this... who cares? Moowahahhaa....
RayHaisa: Omg, you sounded REAL eager for some sacrifices in your review... You don't keep goats, do you?
Naomi: Hahaha, whenever I right I can feel the P/S-or-J/S suspense running through my fingers... IT'S PAINFUL!! :)
Nice Hayley: Oh my God... twenty two kids? Not that I blame you... That Paul is gonna wear you out, sistah! Hahaha, and aaaaaaaaaaaall in a good way, moowahahahaaa. And if you melt when reading about Paul kissing other girls, what are you gonna do when he kisses you? Spontaneouly combust? Hahahaha... yes....
daBecca: Yoyo, da Becca is in da house! Anyhoo... You got a fight if you want Paul all to yourself, hun! I think everyone who reviews wants a slice of Paul... And who can blame them?
GroovyBananas: Hahaha, my story is groovy! That totally kicks ass! And I apologise for making you like the bits with Paul in them... Moowahahhaa...
soin2jesse: Hope you enjoy.............................
Frozen Souls::Free Fire: Hey, a newbie! Just to clarify: I'm pretty sure I haven't gotten my ideas from another site, mainly cos I don't think I've been on any sites that could have inspired me... But usually I use bits and pieces that I've heard or read to help the whole story-writing thing go along, so who knows? My ideas and lines have probably been done before, but that's a hazard when you write anything at all.
Rinoa/Masuki/Yuna: You afan ofFinal Fantasy by anychance? Lol, I'm glad you lub my story!!!
Ahhhh: Updated!
RidgelandHater:'Aw...poor Paul'? What are you, nuts? YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO SYMPATHISE WITH HIM!!!!Then again, he is so adorable...
Sorry this has takenso long to be updated, MYSINCEREST APOLOGIES. And many thanks to those STILL reviewing Jesse's VPL, your reviews are hilarious.
I mightwrite a sequel or sorts...
We were halfway down the path when I remembered a small but vital fact.
"Jesse! I've still got school!"
Jesse stopped walking and it sounded like he sighed. Which must have been wrong, because Jesse loves school more than I do, and he doesn't even go there. Which is probably the reason he loves it so much.
He turned to me and gave me a small but warm smile, the one that always reaches his eyes no matter what; the one that always makes me shiver no matter what.
"I forgot," he said sheepishly, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.
One thing I've always wished for is a photo album. A photo album of Jesse, I mean. One that had a collection of his sisters, his mother, his father, his dog – the one that gave him that alluring scar –, and especially him. I've always wondered what he looked like when he was younger. And it's only fair, really. He's seen photos of me ranging from me naked in a paddling pool (don't worry; I was only four years old – but still…) to me laughing with Gina at some Christmas party we went (before the kids realised I was nutso and not worth their time or attention.).
So it would really even out the scale of humiliation – which at the moment is dangerous heavy on my end – if I saw just a few glimpses of Jesse when he was a young'n.
I bet even when he was in his nappies – or whatever the 19th Century solution to that was – he had women falling all over him. And not just the moms cooing at how adorable he was.
I would place money on the girl toddlers wanting to have a stake in his sandpit.
Unfortunately back then the closest thing they had to cameras was blinking. Not that I mind; people say that when your picture is taken, so is your soul. And no way would I want Jesse's soul snatched away from me.
So instead I had to make do with just having Jesse's image in my memory, which isn't exactly a hardship. That, or I just stare at him. A lot. And, again, that's no hardship.
It's not even that embarrassing because I'm pretty sure Jesse does it too. I mean; stare at me, not himself. Sheesh, he's not that good looking.
Well, he is… but he's not like that. He'd never do something so vain, so arrogant, so…Paul.
But, occasionally, I would get this warm, tingling sensation on the back of my neck, and I'd look up only to see Jesse flushing softly, smiling even more so, and looking away.
Oh, yeah. I had a feeling he preferred the real thing to a couple of photographs too.
"Susannah?" His voice intruded into my thoughts and I blinked dazedly. He was still smiling – if a little quizzically – and had reached out an arm to guide me with his hand applying demonstrative pressure in the small of my back down the rest of the path.
"Are you going to walk me back home after school?" I asked surprising myself with the little girl voice that came out. I coughed and said more huskily and womanly (God I hope so, but I think I sounded more like I'd swallowed Selma or Patty from The Simpsons), "I mean, only if you have nothing better to do," then winced as I realised that Jesse would have nothing better to do.
He was dead, for goodness' sake. What was he going to do, walk the dog?
Jesse, though, smiled. He was pretty used to my never-ending dorkiness which I never seemed to be able to reign into any form of control.
I was obviously never destined to be cool.
Not that it mattered: the only person whose opinion mattered to me was Jesse, and it's not like he knew what 'cool' was. Come on, he still thinks bustles are the best thing since horse-back riding. Never mind that they make your behind look like it could run its own country.
The bustles, I mean. Horse-back riding just makes you look like you've got a very painful pole shoved the wrong way up your backside. If there is even a right way.
"I will walk you home, querida." With a soft press of his lips against mine he disappeared into the warm California sunshine.
All the rest of the day I was on the lookout for Paul. I was angry at him and myself for the little lip-locking stunt he pulled – I pulled – we pulled – Oh, God. That sounds even worse.
Whatever. Basically I was annoyed. At Paul. And myself. And I happen to like myself… most of the time. So I wasn't too happy at being annoyed at one of my favourite people…me.
Is that sad? It seems sad.
At any rate by the end of the day I was twitchy as a hypochondriac in a hospital. I was anxious to see Jesse; I wasn't anxious to see Jesse. I wanted to cuddle up with Jesse and just lie in his arms basking in that big glow of love; I wanted to drown myself in an acid bath. I needed the loo; I didn't need the loo.
Okay, that was a lie. I really did need the loo; a sure sign I was truly nervous.
Or I shouldn't have drunk Adam's soda at lunch in a bid to prove to him that I could handle all that carbonated drink without belching loudly and obtrusively – or even quietly and absurdly ladylike.
I was wrong and now owed Adam five dollars and my ever-lasting vow to have his children – all 56 of them.
CeeCee had observed the entertainment – immaturity, she had the nerve to call it – with a distinct air of disdain and despair. Mother hen was not happy with her chicks. I shook Adam's hand and met his eyes determinedly, and he winked back at me and made kissy pouts with his lips.
"You just wait, MacTavish. No pocket of gas shall pass through these lips."
"You have courage, young warrior. But what you make up in arrogance, you lack in wisdom."
"Bite me, Maccy-T."
"You lose this bet and I'll be doing more than that, future-mother-of-my-children."
"I win this and you'll be shaving off your eyebrows and taking CeeCee on a real date to Coffee Clutch. After a night of dancing," at CeeCee's look of panic I reiterated, "or just a night at the movies."
CeeCee had blushed prettily – and scarily at the same time – and Adam had nodded his head firmly. "Bring it on, Simon."
And then he'd handed me the can.
As soon as I'd gulped it down – carefully avoiding sucking in more air than necessary – I crunched the empty piece of tin in my hand and plonked it on the table.
We waited in silence until –
–"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp."
"Ha ha!" Adam yelled triumphantly as the melodious belch died down. "Prepare for bearing my godly children, Simon! But first…" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and I turned to CeeCee.
I mouthed a 'sorry' and she smiled wanly back.
Adam was still chattering away, a dazed look making his eyes glow.
I was just about to take a bite of my apple when a light tap-tap-tap made itself known on my shoulder and a small shadow flitted across the table. I turned round and found a nervous looking Doc.
"Hey David," I said, then bit into my apple and gazed at him expectantly.
"Um, hi. Can I – can I speak to you for a sec?"
"What is it you're doing now?" I said around my mouthful of apple.
A fleeting look of disgust at my apparent lack of manners – table and social – flitted over his face, but was quickly repressed by his previous nerves. "I need to speak to you in private," he said, then added an impatient, "please."
I took one last bite of my apple and chewed it thoughtfully, looking at the serious and slightly panicked expression on Doc's face. After severe contemplation – and finishing my mouthful of fruit – I threw the remaining piece into the nearby bin (if I were three foot taller I could totally be a Harlan Globetrotter) and rose from the table. I shook out the cricks in my neck and made a vague 'lead the way' gesture.
Doc trotted off toward the quiet space near the edge of the Mission ground's boundaries.
Now, I know Doc's not one of the most normal people in the world. But it's not entirely his fault. He's just too smart for his own good. And that's not really something you can hold against someone, is it? He notices things, and he remembers things. He just doesn't necessarily think about the circumstances when recounting these things. Which can lead to a whole lotta trouble.
I was just glad he had someone like me; the older sibling to watch his six, and scare the crap out of the bullies for him.
So, taking into account that dear old David isn't the smoothest pebble on the shore, I was still feeling a penchant to call the local doc. My own little red-headed Doc was busy shooting glances left and right, and I could all but see his large ears – strangely similar to those of Dopey, one of those infamous Seven Dwarves – twitching with anticipation.
Or maybe he just has some sort of woodland creature's DNA mixed into his own.
Who knows, maybe all that Boy Scout stuff has gone too far into his head. I personally have always been wary of them ever since learning about their 'woggles.'
I was sorry I ever asked Doc about that one.
Finally, though, he drew to a halt, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet and hands curling round each other restlessly, eyes sliding over the landscape.
My eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Are you high?"
"What?" His eyes snapped to mine – but only for a second. Then they were back to whatever they were doing, bouncing their gaze from place to place.
"Have you taken something?" I reiterated, enunciating clearly.
This time he didn't even bother to look at me, just snorted softly, which sounded absurd calm coming from such a jumpy thing.
"Are you sure? No crack, no E? Nobody sneaking any white powder into your taco? You didn't hang around the big boys smoking tangy-smelling smokes in the loos? You didn't inhale a glue stick? Paint varnish? Oh man, you didn't take one of Brad's high-energy drinks, did you? Cos you know as well as I do that you can't handle your sugar. You tried to fly last time you had a full-fat coke, remember? Like Superman, you said."
I shook my head fondly at that particular memory.
"Suze, would you shut up jabbering for just a second?" he snapped, and this time his eyes were clear and sharp as lasers, the earlier ambiguity gone.
I frowned and put my hand to his forehead. "You don't have a temperature."
"Of course I don't have a temperature!" he all but yelled. "Neither have I consumed any illegal substances nor any high-sugar, energy-boosting, sports drinks." He blinked at me. "And when smoked, weed – or cannabis, marijuana, grass as it's also known – has a sweet, heavy perfume, as opposed to tangy. Not that a smell can even be tangy." His brow creased in thought.
Then he shook his head irritably, as if there were some annoying bug flying at it repeatedly.
"But that's not the point!" His eyes took on that wary look again and he glanced around our surroundings apprehensively. Seriously, who did he think he was – James Bond? Next he'd be pulling out a pen and stabbing me with its poison-filled nib.
He reached into his shirt pocket – inclusive of pocket-protector, bless his heart, filled with its nerdy goodness – and whipped out a pen.
So sue me if I jumped and omitted a slight yell of alarm. I put my hands in a "Don't shoot" position. "Whoa, there; Mr Shaken-not-stirred!"
Then he pulled out a notepad with a map of the stars as its cover and gave me an odd look.
I lowered my hands sheepishly, but eyed the pen. Who knew with geeks? They were unpredictable. Only yesterday Doc had asked me a question about guns – and, okay, so maybe he was only asking my opinion on a what water gun to ask for in regards of his birthday, but still. That's how it all starts, isn't it?
Old Jimmy B was probably a chubby toddler splashing about in his paddling pool in sunny England when he pulled out a water pistol, squirted the cat with it, then turned to his female toddler friend who was flashing him wearing only a water-proof nappy, akin to his.
I blinked myself out of these random – not to mention disturbing and mentally damaging – thoughts only to discover Doc writing furiously on his notepad, bottom lip sucked between his two Bugs-Bunny front teeth.
He shoved the pad into my face and I took it, shooting him a look of incredulity before turning my attention to the curly writing.
Is Paul here?
"No," I answered somewhat bewilderedly. Then added a little belatedly, hopefully in an 'as if' tone, "Unless he's turned invisible or something. I mean; do you see him?" Doc nodded, grabbed the notepad, and began scribbling away again.
Now…this was odd. And it was weirding me out. Fast.
Has he turned invisible? Is he dead?
I read the note and when I looked up David's eyes were wide. "Yes…" A said, stunned. "Well, sort of. He's semi-alive, semi-dead." I made a dismissive gesture with my hand, "It's complicated."
When is it ever not, in my life?
I frowned at him. "How did you know?" Doc made to retrieve the notebook but I stopped him. "You might as well speak to me, you know. If anyone hears, we'll tell them it's genetic; we're both nutso."
Doc raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Ignoring the fact that we're both from separate gene pools, you mean?"
"Yes."
"Right. Of course." He rolled his yes. "I guessed Paul was…you know, when he didn't turn up for another week of school and both you and Father Dominic seemed a tad more stressed than usual."
Now it was my time to raise an eyebrow. "And you deduced all this from that?"
Doc's ears burned red and his freckles faded into a sea of blush that suffused his face. "I always overhead you talking in your bedroom."
I took a predatory step toward him. Who cared if he was my baby step-brother? It was my God-given right to intimidate him. "You were eavesdropping?"
"I wouldn't really call it…" He stammered but I cut him off.
"You were snooping? Snooping?"
"You mean snooping like you do on Brad's phone calls? Yeah, I guess you could say that…"
"Don't try and make me feel guilty! I have no scruples. So don't even think about turning the tables on me. Won't work, buster! I have no heart, no soul, no sense of remorse."
"In other words you're a bitc– "
"Don't swear in front of me, young man. Unless you want a cuff round the head."
"Yes, ma," he grouched. I scowled. I did not sound like my mother.
The only time I sounded like my mother was when I was singing. Of course, then I also sounded like an alley of cats being murdered simultaneously.
"I was wondering if you wanted my help?"
"In cuffing you round the head? Nah, I think I can handle that. Let me just practise first."
"Suze! I'm serious, here. Do you want my help in helping Paul…return to his full form?"
My mind involuntarily drifted back to mine and Paul's moment up against the wall…nope, don't think he needed any returning to full form. He got any fuller and…
And I'm not even going to finish that thought if I don't want the top of my head to blow off.
Was it just me, or was it hot out here all of a sudden?
I cleared my throat and said, "Um, how about I call you if I need any research done?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Sure. Just…don't do anything stupid, okay?"
Too late, I couldn't help thinking. Instead of saying that, I smiled reassuringly. "No problemo. Trouble equals no no. Trouble: bad. Got it. No trouble. Trouble is so not my middle name. No way. Huh-uh. Nope. Certainly not."
"I don't know what God was thinking when He gave you this gift."
"I like to think He was drunk, and wasn't thinking."
"That sounds about right…I'd better go back to my friends…don't want them thinking I'm instigating your aid in protecting me from some mindless bullies."
I let loose a chuckle then abruptly stopped. "You're being bullied?"
Doc smiled mysteriously. "See you at the end of the day, Suze." And he skipped off. Maybe I should talk to him about the skipping…?
I wandered back to my table where CeeCee was trying to convince Adam that it was impossible to train a Great White shark to be your helper-monkey.
"Hey guys, miss me–"
"Sharks can't process scent, sight or feel with memory! In other words; they can't be trained as pets or as helper monkeys!"
"But, Cee! What if we got a really big cattle prod and–"
"You know what, Adam? Why don't you swim out far, far into the ocean and find a shark. Then, swim up to it and tell him you want to be his friend. Maybe – hopefully – he'll rip you into tiny shreds with his multi-rows of teeth and then I can laugh in your face and tell you I told you so!"
CeeCee jumped up from the table and grabbed her book bag, shooting one last glare at Adam. "Do me a favour, MacTavish. Hurry up and grow up. Maybe then you'll be able to look back and realise why you haven't got – and have no chance of getting – a girlfriend."
And then she stormed off like JLo in the midst of a diva tantrum.
Adam and I turned to each other in identical shock. "Well, she sure told you," I finally said.
"Was it something I said?"
I truly felt bad for him because he looked so lost and befuddled. Like a budgie who just got sucked up the vacuum cleaner.
"Adam, it's everything you didn't say." I got up slowly from the table while smiling sympathetically at Adam, and left to go find CeeCee.
Even from the breezeway I could see this defeatist slump of his shoulders and the nervous jiggling of his leg.
I jogged through the breezeway looking left and right for that shock of pearly-white hair that probably glowed in the dark. I was about to head back the direction I'd just come from when I heard it. CeeCee's normal voice of quiet authority was raised and shaking, screeching erratically up and down the octave scales.
"I'm sorry; did your computer suck out your brain cells along with this piece of crap? What, did you really think I was going to print this atrocity and bore our scattered readers to the brink of death?"
I tentatively opened the classroom door that was muffling CeeCee's incredulous voice and saw her shadowing a cowering fellow journalist.
"I'm-I'm sorry…I thought it was appropriate…" she stammered.
"The only place this would be appropriate is in a furnace coated with gasoline. Get out of my face and don't even think about returning to the newsroom until you have something that isn't worthy of being used as a bed for flea-bitten strays, who consequently could probably write better news than this." CeeCee slapped the offending papers onto the desk. "Well?" she demanded in a sickly-sweet tone. "Go!" This time her voice was more like a snake bite.
The poor, unsuspecting journalist fled from the room and in the glimpse I saw of her face, I could spot her round eyes glimmering with tears.
I slowly walked into the room, mentally and physically preparing myself for a barrage of CeeCee insults.
That girl had one sharp tongue, let me tell you.
CeeCee turned wide, violet eyes to me as she stared at me in shock. "Oh my God, Suze. I think I just ruined that girl's confidence for life. I've just ruined somebody's life." She collapsed onto a chair and plunged her hands into her hair resting her elbows on her thighs.
"Nah," I said, "she'll be fine. She'll eat some chocolate, cry to her friends…maybe even her parents – who, subsequently, might hunt you down and rip you to pieces limb by limb – and then she'll get over it and just bitch about you behind your back. The end."
CeeCee groaned.
"You want me to go talk to her?" I offered. "Because Kelly Prescott fully gave me this lecture on how I'm supposed to be 'available' to those who might need someone to talk to. Which makes sense, I mean; someone needs to be open for the girls to talk to when she's busy being way more 'available' than necessary for the guys. I do so not think Mr Walden intended 'being available' to mean 'letting every guy stick his tongue down your throat.'"
CeeCee snorted softly. "Hey, at least she's being a good sport for charity."
"The guys in our year are way past charity cases, Cee. They're hopeless cases."
"Tell me about it," she whispered somewhat wistfully.
"Here's an idea: how about you tell me about it?" I asked gently and pulled a chair up opposite her. I had never seen CeeCee lose her temper before, and suddenly here she was: losing it twice!
It could only mean one thing: guy trouble.
"I'm just… fed up, Suze."
"Yeah? Of what?"
She raised her eyes and pinned me with a gaze that breathed prefect clarity, and simultaneously we said in exasperated voices, "Adam."
CeeCee nodded and looked down again. "Yeah. Adam. I feel like I'm trying and trying for an endless goal. Like there's nothing at the end of this tunnel. Sometimes he acts so friendly and wonderful and I think, 'This is it.' But then, just as I open my mouth to maybe ask him out on a date or something, he goes and says something like, 'Do you think that girl's boobs are real?' or 'Cee, do you think Suze might secretly be interested in harvesting my future children?'"
I winced in guilt and, to be perfectly honest, disgust – harvest Adam's children? Ew – "I'm sorry, Cee. I thought I'd made it clear that he doesn't stand a chance; maybe I should just tell him 'Not in this lifetime, bud?"
Although CeeCee chuckled she still looked desperately sad. "I don't blame you, Suze. Adam's an idiot. And he's obviously just not interested in me. And trust me; there are times when I've been as subtle as he is about you. But he gives me this look in return like he's confused and then changes the subject."
I chewed my tongue in thought and said slowly, "Maybe…maybe it's a sign."
"That Adam has no brain? Yeah, I'd say that."
I smiled tightly. "True. But I was thinking more along the lines of maybe it's a sign to get over him. Move on. Cee – you are an amazing person. And, no offence to Adam, but you could do so much better" – mentally I prayed for God not to strike me down with lightning or a big truck – "and you deserve better. Again, no offence to Adam."
"I know I deserve better," she said and sighed in exasperation. "But I want Adam. I love him, Suze. Like you love Jesse."
"True…but sometimes love isn't meant to be. You know the phrase, 'True love's course never runs smooth.' Well, that may be because that true love isn't meant to be."
"But why? Why can't he love me? What's so wrong with me?" She laughed bitterly. "Is it cos I is white?"
Okay, I admit it, in this time of serious contemplation and dark heartbreak, I laughed. Loudly. She did a really good impression of Ali G. (AN: okay, I don't know if you guys even get Ali G, but he has this thing where he always says, "Is it cos I is black?" Except he's not black. He's really not funny but it popped into my head and I had to write. Again; my apologies. )
"You know as well as I do that you're gorgeous. White is the new black. You're the latest accessory that everyone has to have. People worship Albinos. I fully saw this report on CNN." I heard it was okay to lie as long as no one found you out and it was for a good cause. "It has nothing to do with your looks, Cee. You might not be destined for each other, and you've got to accept that."
"But I'm so sure we are!" she objected, "We've known each other for years, and we've always been such good friends!"
"Perhaps that's all you're meant to be, then! I don't know. You know how we can find out, though?"
CeeCee looked at me in hope and suddenly I was very, very regretful of even thinking this thought. "How?" she asked.
I bit my lip then said, "Ask him."
CeeCee frowned in confusion. "Ask him what?"
"Ask him out. On a date. To a wedding – your wedding. I don't know. Ask him if he wants to take that one small step for man, that one giant leap for Adam-and-CeeCee's-relationship."
CeeCee looked horrified and petrified. "I couldn't do that!"
"Sure you could," I said in a falsely bright voice. Then I turned serious. "Cee, it's either this or let go. You can't go on like" – I waved my hand ambiguously – "this."
She thunked her head on the nearest desk. "I know. I hate being so smart. I hate knowing I have to do something."
I nodded in empathy. "I know the feeling. Being smart is such a burden. Never having to stay behind after school for tutoring? Never having to ask your younger stepbrother for help? God, it's so demanding."
CeeCee thwacked my arm playfully. "Shut up."
I mimed zipping my mouth and throwing away the key.
The Mission bell tolled and we looked at the door guiltily. "Time to face the music," I said and stood up from my seat.
CeeCee rose with me. "Can you… can you not mention any of this to Adam? I'm gonna…I'm probably going to need some time before I can actually confront him."
"You're not confronting him, Cee. You're asking him, you're finding out the truth. No confronting necessary."
CeeCee exhaled gustily. "Sure, Suze." She walked over the door, gave me one last sad smile, and left.
I blew out a breath and shook my head. "Adam is such a dumbass," I whispered. And then I left the classroom.
And bumped straight into Adam.
Seriously. I toppled him right over. Like I was Goliath and he was some measly little gawking sheep. A little gawking sheep I was playing soccer with.
"Jeez, Suze. You been packing on the pounds? I told you; doughnuts aren't the way to go. I've seen you stuffing those crullers into your bag."
I raised an eyebrow and stuck out my hand to help him up. He brushed himself off and looked at me nervously.
"Is Cee stressed with me?"
I wondered how I could sugar-coat my reply and make it as sensitive as possible. "Yes." Ah, well. Who needs sugar-coating?
"Why?" he whinged, eyes widening and brow puckering.
"Because you're an idiot."
"I've been an idiot for the past seventeen years! What's changed in one week?"
"CeeCee's grown up, Adam. Now she's waiting for you to do the same," I said – and who cares if it was somewhat enigmatic? – and walked off to my locker.
I heard some faint clapping to my left and Jim popped into view. "You should totally think about counselling for a career."
Seeing as I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, I replied with a carefully neutral tone and phrase: "Bite me."
He gave a shrug and popped away again.
Wow, I thought. Someone who obviously has a bigger lack of life than me. I frowned. Did that even make sense?
"No," whispered a voice and I yelped.
"You can read my mind?" I squeaked.
"Duh. I'm your guardian angel. I have to know what stupid thing you're going to do next in order to be able to save your round ass from being swept off its mortal coil."
I stopped walking. "My butt is not fat. And please don't read my mind. I don't want to scare you, but most of my thoughts are disturbing."
I'm pretty sure I heard him mutter, "No kidding," but I couldn't be sure.
"And for your information," Jim said, "I do have a life. I just wanted to pop in and see how you were doing. I'd forgotten how complicated teenage life was. You should tell that Albino chick to rock on, she's a cool dude."
And then I heard a distinct pop that signalled Jim's exit.
I stood in the middle of the breezeway mystified and a little freaked out.
This day was possibly one of the weirdest ones I'd ever experienced; and I was only at school! I realised Jim had called CeeCee a chick and a dude in one sentence, but before I could work up any indignation on hers and the female population's in general part, Sister Ernestine came striding down the breezeway and I shot off in the opposite direction, still feeling as though my body had somehow been transplanted into a parallel universe.
To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised. It seemed in the story of Suze anything and everything could and would happen, just as long as it sufficiently threw my life and thoughts off course and ended up with me getting into trouble.
One day, I fervently wished. One day I will be normal. And couldn't help but thinking, Whatever the heck that was.
