Mako's Message: Yeah, so. No Bio. Sorry. I just...need something better than what I have up. I want to make sure they're worth reading and not just a toss out.

I don't really have much of anything to say about this chapter, it just deals with a bit of the fallout from the last one. Enjoy.


So...

I haven't talked to Dave in a couple days. I haven't called him, he hasn't called me. Which of course means we haven't gone out either. I guess he's still trying to shake off the embarrassment from the, "Hey Dave, look at my boobs" incident too.

I'm...okay with that though. I'm still sore and even my usual workout has been painful. I wouldn't want to have to fight anybody in this condition.

I need to call him today though. Because, seriously, we sucked fucking BALLS that night. There were a dozen of those guys, (maybe a couple more, but Chris said a dozen too so we'll just stick with that) which comes out to six each. SIX. That should be nothing. We should be able to eat six guys for breakfast. We should be able to face six guys and go, "That's all you got?" I mean seriously! What kind of superhero can't take out six goons? Fucking hell. We're really going to have to step up our training.

Ugh.

Maybe since we don't have school now we can get a morning work out in, before Katie and or work kidnaps him, and he'll keep up with it when school starts. At least I'll be able to spend more time with him. Yeah, Katie lightened up but it's still hard to see him when we're not "working".

Anyway, I thought about asking Marcus about the bra thing, but I remembered the whole period debacle so I decide to just skip it and ask Angela.

That could have gone better.

I called her and she said I could come over and she'd take my measurements if I wanted. So I went over and she looked at me and said, "No offense, but I'm gonna go ahead and say you have no need for a bra, but if you want I can still measure you."

I know it sounds stupid, but I'd come over there to get measured, and I'm tired of being flat and I just wanted some, solid, NUMERICAL proof that I had something worth looking at.

And then she said, "Alright, take it off then."

Did not see that coming.

I refused of course. But she insisted that if I wanted a proper measurement I'd need to take my shirt off.

I really didn't want to considering the bruises on my chest hadn't faded yet and I hadn't thought to cover them up. But she got kind of insistent. The more I refused the more determined she was to get me out of my shirt. When it got to the point that she actually tried to take my shirt off me and I flipped her onto her bed(which she bounced off and fell onto the other side of.) she wanted to know what I was hiding. Her exact words, I believe, were, "Okay, seriously, what are you hiding? It's just us girls and you of all people can't be THIS shy."

For some reason, that did it. I guess I just didn't want her to think I was hiding anything, so I pulled my shirt off.

She just kind of stared at me for a second and said, "Ya know, one of these day's your going to have to tell me how you keep getting these."

I reminded her that I practice martial arts, but she just snorted an said, "I'd like to see the school that let's their students get that rough with each other,"

Anyway, she pulled a tape measure out of one of her drawers and told me to hold my arms up. She was done in like, five seconds. I guessed that she'd done this before and she just sort of giggled said, "Yeah" quickly wrapped the tape around her own chest and said, "I'd throw myself a little party every time I went up a cup size."

And for some reason that just sent us both into a fit of giggles. I am ashamed of myself.

So when we pulled ourselves together I asked her what my size was, and she said I'm a triple-A. Which basically means I'm still flat and don't need a bra( "Unless you want to if you're worried about people seeing your nipples through your shirt or something.")

Yay.

I was actually hoping that I had something worth noticing, but I'm not even an A-cup. I didn't even know that was possible but apparently it is. I guess that's kind of stupid, I mean, boobs just don't appear out of thin air. And how could I think that it'd be that easy to get Dave's attention? He doesn't even want to look at me.

Why can't he just look at me the way I look at him? Does he really see me as a little girl, after everything we've been through?

I know I was embarrassed the other night. But I just caught myself by surprise. I wasn't ready. I'm going to have to make him see that I'm not just a 12-year-old girl. I'll make him want to look at me. I'll find a way to make myself all he thinks about. And when he does look at me, I'll be ready and waiting.