3

~ Like a Rolling Stone ~

Thank God it's Friday. Thank God school's over. That Kent guy kept trying to crowd me in the hall or catch me switching out notebooks between classes. I slipped passed him because I'm skilled like that, but he's been staring at me. I haven't made a big deal about Kent because it's stupid and I can take care of my own issues. I have to admit though, the guy's got balls and approached me today at lunch. I solved it by giving my favorite lunch lady, Bambi, a look and she told him to grub or go. She's cool. I guess Hyde woke up early enough to catch a bus because he was in Biology and showed up to lunch. Then Jackie invited me to go swimming at her place. Donna said it's the fanciest three story house in Point Place, that it has a mile long driveway. I told her I'd think about it mainly because I don't want to hear her call me fat or something even though I weigh no more than a buck-twenty.

Sketching random lines in a fresh sketchbook from my bookcase, I aimlessly color the page in wild strands, feathery motions and strokes.

Yeah, coloring's childish but I don't care. It keeps my mind occupied and keeps my hands busy. Fight me about it. I'd read but I can only look at the same Rolling Stones and Time mag so many times. Does this town have a library? It'd be cool to check out Misery. Man, I dig Stephen King. He's a freak and I lo –

"Hey, man."

– ve it. Whoa. Ok, he's the last person I ever expected to see on my doorstep.

"Hey." Gathering the mess of colored pencils and banding them together, I settle on the left side of the hammock to make room for him.

Instead of taking the gesture, Hyde leans on the stone banister winding the front porch. "Foreman tells me you have a hook up who can get you some good stuff. What kinda stuff we talking about?"

I quit fiddling with the silver chain winding my ankle and drop naked legs from a bloused chest. "You want me to show you?"

"You have some? And you didn't share? Didn't your daddy tell you sharing is caring?"

Relishing his irritation but slightly puzzled by the playful nature of the jab, I grab my things and syphon up the stairway in the living room all the way down the hall to the last door. "I have some left over pizza downstairs if you want something."

"No thanks, man. RP got any beer stashed away?"

In answer, I face him before parting my door. "He hasn't touched a beer in years." Cramming the sketchbook in a bookcase neighboring my door, I exchange it for a leather journal bound by a combination lock and pass Hyde the Polaroid of my favorite plant.

"It's big. What'd you call this strain?"

"Cosmic Vision. Now that's some good stuff." Plucking the photo and homing everything in their place, moccasins carry me to straddle my window sill. "Is that all you came for or is there something else?"

Funny enough, Hyde sits in the crotchet chair Jackie favors too; tinted shades arrowing to the band posters, dreamcatchers, and the giant neon eye casting colored light on four walls. "You dig Floyd and Zeppelin?"

Natural light illuminating the darkness of my spacious room through tall glass, I hear Dad's cruiser pull into the driveway. "And Kiss, Beatles, Bob Seger and Dylan, The Stones, Elton John, Judas Priest, Bowie, Black Sabbath, Alice Cooper. Only the legends."

Booted feet kick up on the ottoman as he reclines comfortably. "I never seen a chick hop out a circle that fast. You cool?"

Eric must've told him that he called.

"Totally. You should tell Eric to stop fussing, it's off-putting."

"He's just looking out for you. You're kinda the sister he never had."

I finally shift his direction skeptically, "He has a sister."

"Yeah, but you're not a slut. Wait, are you?"

I scoff, "Please."

This has to be the first and longest conversation we've ever had. Freaky that it's in my fortress, on my land and terms, but I guess that means something. But what?

"Dry spell, huh?"

What is he getting at?

Scanning the curls, shielded eyes, small coy smirk saying a lot but not enough, a Grateful Dead t-shirt I wouldn't mind adding to my wardrobe and noticing the underlying tension in his broad shoulders and clinched abdomen, I blink at his boots and see the unwillingness in his stature to move.

Whatever he came to me for must be big if he's willing to make himself uncomfortable and put himself in enemy lines, uncharted territory. Maybe he's testing the water? If so, I have Eric to chew out for putting me in this awkwardness.

"I don't even know your name."

"Maybe if you're lucky, you'll scream it."

Oh so this is about sex. Why am I not surprised? And wait, is he flirting? It's not like I wouldn't nail him, Hyde's a fox and he's got this vibe about him that gravitates girls like me to guys like him. It's annoying and stereotypical. But ultimately, I don't think I can do that to Donna or Eric. It'd be awkward as hell.

"I don't think I can do that to Eric or Donna, and he's your best friend."

"So?"

"So I don't want to mess with the harmony. And what Eric said about me being bitchy, well I am. Not heartless-Jackie-bitchy, but nonetheless a bitch. How else am I going to protect myself?" Looking to my pillow where I holster the infamous photo my first love, I reach beneath the material and stare at it indecisively for a second or two, my back smartly facing Hyde.

I do, I have to protect myself and this connection that's obsolete and irrelevant with Nicky has to go if I'm going to move forward, at least a little. Nicky's the first step since I doubt he'll take my call or letters anyway and I seriously doubt I'm going near the east coast anytime soon. The last thing I need to leave the state only to come back and find out Chelsea convinced RP to elope. Absolutely not.

I surge to the drawer of my nightstand and tear apart the image of us then take a lighter to singe the memory in a ceramic bowl.

"You using a voodoo curse on Kelso because if you are, that'd be a wicked burn."

"No but if I did, it'd make Red's foot a magnet to his ass."

"I like the way you think." He mirrors my smile.

He has a handsome smile. Reminds me of James Dean. ... Would it totally be wrong to use him to get these teenage hormones out of my system? No, no, I have to run it by Eric first. Or at least Donna.

"You need to go." I grab his arm and lead him to the door.

"Why? Gotta attend a hippie meeting?"

I glare. "No. My dad's home and he'll be on my case if he catches you in here. I'll distract him, just go out the back door by the kitchen." Brown eyes spark as I challenge, "It's not like you don't know what you're doing."

Any sign of amusement swathing Hyde vanishes. A look of offense and frustration sharpens the lines of his stony face.

"Yeah, I saw you. If you wanted to hang you just had to ask, man! And let's get one thing straight," My chest nearly flushes his. "You'd be the lucky one. Now if you'll excuse me, I have shit to d –"

"I wasn't peeping. I was heading back to Foreman's for a ride home after studying with Donna. You were peeling your clothes off, Tease! And yeah, I know you saw me too because you looked right and me and kept peeling your clothes off!"

Arms knit, I roll my eyes. "You didn't see anything I didn't want you to see so chill, Shirley Temple."

"Y'may not act like a Pinciotti but you are one through and through."

Did he insult me? And if he did, he just ragged on Donna too. What an ass.

"Excuse me?" Backing away from the dope head to bask in shock, fire licks my nerves. "I know you didn't just shit on Donna."

The tightness in his jaw ices upon realizing what he's just done. "Whatever. Have fun bitching at someone else, Pinciotti."

What a tool.

Leaning on my sill and hoping he trips over the yard fence, I growl a slew of curses until Dad knocks urgently on the door, asking who the hell was in my room.

Dad ducked out my room after I told him that Hyde's a friend from school I invited over to study, that we have biology together. It's not a lie, we do have second period together.

Blaring Joni Mitchell and filling out a health survey for gym, I change into a camisole and shorts just when a figure appears in the corner of my eye.

WHAT THE FUCK!?

"FEZ?! What the hell?!" I beat him with a pillow until he's cowering on the floor begging me to stop. "The fuck are you doing in my room?! No, how the hell did you get in my house?"

"The back door was unlocked and I – I wanted to surprise you but I didn't want Hyde to punch me s-so I hid in your closet." Heart in his throat and swallowing anxiously, he tries to rebound, "You have lovely taste by the way, Jackie did a good job."

Surprise me?

I discard the pillow. "You surprised me all right. Fuck. Didn't you just hear what I said to Hyde? If you want to hang, ask."

"I was afraid you would say no."

"We're friends, man. It's just hanging. And I swear to whatever higher power runs the world, if I find you in my room again, you'll regret it. Cool?"

He laughs nervously then nods briskly when I don't waver. "Yeah, yeah, never again."

"So what do you want?"

"..."

"Fez, just spit it out. I need to get some sleep, man."

Hesitancy etching his face, the foreigner admits "Hyde is in love with you" then sprints out my room, probably assuming I'm going to pummel him with a pillow.

Through my window I watch a silhouette wearing too tight of pants leap Uncle Bob's fence, misjudge the jump, and kiss the ground. I slap a hand to my mouth to stifle bubbles of laughter.

So he does want to screw. Well, he's going to have to work harder than that if he's "in love with me". I call bullshit but then again, I'm not in his head, which is why I'm not taking it for face value until he fesses up. And I want an apology; I don't care that he called me a bitch, it's true and I don't exactly care enough about our relationship for it to hurt. But he shit on Donna and that's fucked up. Better not read too much into right now. Nap time, Brie.

I pick up a lolling head and smoothing a spiderweb of hair from my field of sight. Something delicious stirs my senses to flatten on my back and stare at twinkling lights opposed to burying myself in the plethora of feathery pillows.

Chamomile, vanilla, and honey. Mmm. Once in a blue moon that smells of bad news, Dad will wake me up by steeping my room with the musk of tea.

I snap open heavy lids, glint around and gasp at Donna's litheness sitting oddly at the foot of my mattress.

For some reason, she isn't looking me in the eye and pointedly stares at an AC/DC poster as I sit up to face her.

Ugh. What'd I do now?

"Um…Brie, look down."

What? Oh shit.

Obeying, I fix the camisole to conceal a free boob and tighten my straps sheepishly. "I'm a wild sleeper."

"For what it's worth, you got a nice set." She passes me a scaling mug.

"It's a Pinciotti thing. What time is it?" I sip and swallow.

"Four-thirty. RP said you're a heavy sleeper, so he made you some tea before he left for the night shift."

He's doing night patrol? On weekends? I bet he expects me to hang at Red and Kitty's meaning he put Hard-Ass Red in charge of me. So not cool.

"Yeah, he's nicer than me like that. Thoughtful and not an ass."

"You're not an ass." A coy look curves her rosy lips. "So what'd you do to Hyde?"

"I knew he'd be stupid and tell everyone I'm a bitch. Go figure."

"What're you talking about? He didn't call you a bitch."

I murmur into the rim of my herbs, "Maybe not in front you guys."

Donna crosses denim legs, thoughtfulness cresting her soft features. "Well, I don't think bitchy is the fight term for you. You're...closed off and mysterious."

Mysterious?

Now it's my turn to laugh.

"The guys have been making up and fantasizing all these different scenarios of you in the big apple. It's unrealistic by all means, but pretty entertaining. And do you really have an accent when you're stoned?"

"A bit. I was born and raised there so of course I'd have an accent. You probably can't hear it now because Dad never picked it up like I did since he grew up here and we traveled different states in the summertime. Accents fade and make encores; they're weird like that." I chug a gulp of hot liquid. Knowing half of them, if not all of the fantasies include me in the nude, I ignore the information. "How's Fez?"

"He's got a black eye and he won't tell anyone how he – Gabriella!" The cerulean of her irises consume her eyes. "Did you punch Fez?!"

Most of the drink gone, I tie on a silk robe detailed with ferocious tigers enveloped in daisies and rub the sleepiness out of my eyes. "I should've since I found the Peeping Tom sneaking out of my closet. I beat him with a pillow."

Donna laughs ridiculously for a solid two minutes, clutching her stomach. "Gabriella Pinciotti, ladies and gentlemen! I've been trying to catch him too but he's a quick little bastard."

"It's the least I could do." I ground out, "I'm positive he saw me change."

"Perv. No seriously, what'd you do to Hyde?"

What's she talking about?

"What do you mean? I hardly talk to the guy."

"Well last night, Eric told us about the hookup you have in New York and Hyde seemed interested. Did he talk to you about it?"

"Among other things." Recognizing her body language expectant of more information, I continue loftily, "He was cool at first, but then he said something stupid and it turned me off so I kicked him out."

"Like what?"

It's rude and shitty what he said and I don't want to create drama, but she has a right to know since it's about her. Fuck, I hate this drama starting shit.

"He said, 'I may not act like a Pinciotti but I am one through and through'." I mimic his brooding angst voice as close as I can, finger quotes included. "It's not what he said, it's how he said it. I mean, if you, him and Eric are so tight, why'd he shit on you and me like that?"

Disbelief cloaks her tone, "I don't think he meant it to be a jerk. Hyde's well...Hyde. He doesn't filter his feelings very well. Gosh, Brie, you really have to be under his skin to get him in a tizzy. He keeps brooding at the TV and hasn't talked to anyone all last night or this morning, not even to Eric! What did you do?" The redhead clad in a t-shirt, jeans, and a bandana covering her reddish-brown locks to combat the wind eyes me carefully.

Nothing. We talked about the weed, music, screwing, and – oh.

"I think he asked me if I have a guy in the circle yesterday. I don't. Today I declined his 'offer'."

"You turned down Hyde?" Donna's eyes widen, stunned that he'd even propose the invitation.

Heading to my dresser vanity against the same wall as my angled bed, I twist organically pin-straight hair up in a banana clip. "You sound surprised, Donna."

"It's just, you're a lot alike. The distrust of the government, your taste in music, how you dress, sometimes even the way you talk. You both like beer and pot and you lack basic trust in people."

I don't think we're that similar and thanks for selling out my individuality, Donna.

I reply lazily, "Growing up in the city when you're Dad's a decent cop surrounded by assholes will force you to grow up fast. And I didn't live in the 'big apple' wealthy part of Manhattan. RP only made a third of what an apartment cost a month in the city, but yeah, the Brooklyn ghetto was New York."

Her neck cranes around my room processing and intricate as she skims my tastes. "Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want too."

Resting my back on the dresser counter and occupying a leopard print stool, I shrug universally.

"Where's your mom? Obviously Chelsea isn't your mother, you don't look alike at all. I mean, beside the point that you two aren't ever in the same room for five minutes and when you do, it's all glares and snarky commentary."

I shrug again, this time blanking my expression to be unreadable.

The sadness of her realization and overall pity reveals itself in her thin brows drawing together. Fingers fidgeting uncomfortably, her voice bare audits, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not."

This is so fucking rad! I can't wait to tell the gang!

Standing outside the Hub, denim backpack on and bike parked against brick exterior, I glint through the glass to see everyone but Fez surrounding a dinky basket of fries sitting at an even dinkier table. Entering and paying for a cup of hot water from the guy in the window of the concession stand, I drag a seat from an empty table to join them and rummage through a zipper in my backpack until I discover a metal tea box. Dunking the bag, I fight the excitement stirring my stomach, cuing the urge to smirk so I bite my lip instead.

If I look at them, especially Donna, I'll smile and I can't be weak like tha –

"Why hello, Brie. 'What's up, Eric?' Oh nothing much, just wondering where you were at lunch. Donna, would you happen to know anything about Ms. Skippity Do-Da's lunching whereabouts?"

I bite the inside of my cheek to contain the giddiness. A plastic fork stirs the bag before I pop a fry in the feeding hole.

"Gabriella, stop smiling." Kelso cozies up to Jackie for protection. "I'll have nightmares of The Shining again."

"Here's Brie!" Hyde adds to the jab, making it much worse.

I send him a terse glare across the table.

"I believe she was with a boy." Donna taps her chin playfully, taking a swig of Coke.

"A boy! OH BOY! Brie, our sweet little rebel Gabriella, you're growing up!"

Everyone chuckles or smiles.

I kick Eric's shin below the table, satisfied to see him wince and glare back.

Wimp.

"I let Trinkie have a minute to get whatever he wants of his chest. One thing turned into another and," Pulling the tickets out of a zipper pocket, I fan myself cheekily. "Scored two tickets to the Rolling Stones in Chicago, baby!"

Kelso hops to his feet, pumping his fist skyward. "ALL RIGHT!"

I swear Hyde's shoulders tense.

"What makes you think you're goin'?"

Kelso blunts to the burn out, "Cuz she's gotta pick me. I'd look beautiful on her arm, not that you're not smokin' already, Gabriella." He winks at me.

I roll my eyes dejectedly.

Jackie swats Kelso for adding that last bit.

Hyde nods negatively, ashamed of his shallow friend.

"Brie, have I ever told you how much I'm so glad you're here? That I love you? Because I am," The Star Wars nerd fits a hand over his heart, a loving look morphing pubescent features. "And I do."

"Don't be a kiss-ass, Eric. She won't play favorites, will you? We're blood, remember that." Donna draws her arms together across her chest.

"Then I guess it's a good thing I don't have a favorite." I openly grin and sip my drink. "And what makes this deal sweeter? I didn't even have to touch the guy."

"Then why'd he give you free tickets? They're probably fake."

Raising thin brows in consideration, I nod negative at Hyde. "I don't think so, man. All I did was agree to go with him to some lame homecoming dance that's in like two months." I grimace at the idea of painful heels, a puffy dress, my hair pulled up in an absurd fashion, and painted in ridiculous amounts of makeup.

I hate wearing makeup. Great skin care, mascara, clean brows, and tinted balm are a girl's best friend.

Jackie claps and flails polished hands excitedly. "Oh my god! We can curl each other's hair!"

I massage my eardrum at the shrill exerting her. "Jackie, don't take this the wrong way," Blinking to her dead on, my voice warns darkly, "But if you keep doing that, I'll replace your wardrobe with Donna's."

"Hey!" Donna interjects.

Eric holds the redhead back, motioning her to enjoy the show.

"You wouldn't!" Jackie's eyes burn angrily yet a sheen of worry glazes her, proving so when she latches to Kelso's arm which happens to be the same one she smacked a minute ago.

"Yeah, because telling you I'd do something and then not doing it makes total sense."

I hear Eric chime proudly at my sarcasm, "Burn, Burkhart."

Everyone but Jackie bobs in agreement.

"We're so going dress shopping because of that. I just hope they have 'bitchy and emotionally unavailable' in stock. Donna, what color do you think that'd come in?"

"Purple?" Kelso genuinely wonders, then snaps back and eyes the dueling girls. "Oh, and sweet burn, Jackie."

Swinging to Donna with a tight jaw, I blink off her apologizing expression and serve to Hyde's chest oddly exhale a stressed sigh.

He sits in his chair with one leg crossed over the other's knee, unlike me straddling my seat, and stacks muscular arms across his chest, tinted lenses void.

They talked shit about me. What kind of friends do that? What kind of warped group of people does Donna hang with? Man, and I though the crowd I was with in New York was disloyal.

Deadpanning, I nod. "Cool. So that leaves Kelso since he's so much of a dumbass it's endearing or Fez because he's probably never heard of a concert. Or no, maybe I'll go with Kent. Yeah, he might be an arrogant jock but at least the guy's consistent, meaning he's loyal and makes an effort. It's so rad talking to my friends."

I don't need this bullshit.

Grabbing my pack, hammering my tea, and stalking out, I lean on textured brick. A cigarette lights and I allow the nicotine to steel brash nerves.

Stupid. So damn stupid.

Making sure everything's in my pack and killing the cig after a puff or two, I straddle my bike and zip a cropped leather jacket; white knuckles grip curved handles for takeoff.

Ding, ding.

The Hub's bell. I really don't want to talk.

"Hey, man. You goin' home?"

Ignoring the Curly Q and rummaging through a metal basket between the handles, I'm suddenly trapped in place on the sidewalk and unable to pedal due to Hyde's weight baring on steel turquoise bars. "I was willing to be nice for Donna but it's too hard, man. We're never going to be cool so let's quit playing ourselves, we're too much alike. So go on, just admit that you can't stand me so I can go home."

"Why're you crying?"

Oh. Looks like I have feeling after all. Could've fooled me.

I thumb the tear aside. "I don't know. Here," The tickets fit snugly to his chest. "I don't want to go anymore. Take a slut, sell them. I don't care."

I can never tell what he's thinking because of those freaking aviators.

Frustrated with the fact I can't study his reaction, I slowly reach up and remove the glasses, proceeding to hook them on his collar.

He isn't looking at me, too busy staring at the cement like it's the most interesting thing in the world –

"Were you serious about goin' with Trinke?"

"Honestly?"

His jaw nods slightly, still looking down.

"I don't know. I hate government funded gatherings but...It'd give me an excuse to wear fishnets. I'm sure you wouldn't be interested in something like that." The air thick with heat – or maybe it's just me – I glance down curiously to see what he's observing; I involuntarily widen caramel orbs to see and feel his hands overlap mine on the handles.

Holy shit. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

"I don't hate you."

Oh. Well, that's comforting. Not really.

"And for the record, I didn't mean to call you a bitch or a Pinciotti the way I said it. I get it, man. You're just looking after Donna and she's doing the same for you, which is why she threatened to kick my ass if I hurt you. So c'mon, don't cry."

Did he seriously do what I think he's saying he did? He got Donna's permission to ask me out? And yeah, there's no way Hyde would last against my cousin.

I scoff, "I can't believe I cried."

"You're secret's safe with me. Unless we fight, then I'll use it to burn you later."

"Thanks for the warning." Realizing my hand's roamed on his chest alongside the tickets, I tuck them in his front pocket and finally meet gray thunderous hues clouding silver with a rare earnestness. "Wow."

His eyes are gorgeous.

Dancing warm hues of my own over the dimple in his chin and the thick sideburns framing his prominent jaw, Old Spice's clean scent and fittingly, old cigarettes empower my senses.

"Wow yourself." After a solid minute of us just visually appreciating one another, he take a step back and disappointedly disperses his hands from mine. "Careful, Pinciotti."

"Sure thing, Hyde."

Thanks to some shortcuts Fez told me about, pedaling five miles home takes twenty minutes.

Gathering a couple textbooks from the bike's basket and readying a keyring from my pack, I head inside and twist open a cream soda from the fridge.

Dad's home but he'll be heading out in the evening for night shift. That blows because it's Monday, the worst day of the week. Fucking homework, man. It's not that I don't get any of it, because I do, it's that I don't want to waste my time with it.

Trudging upstairs to my room, I quicken my pace when weird-ass animal grunts and feminine moans vibrate from Dad's room.

That's just plain nasty.

To distract my lizard brain, I skim through homework in my fortress and push a hardcover to the floor when it doesn't appeal to my pallet. On my stomach splaying a quilted queen, I hope 'Bohemian Rhapsody' will pull me out of this funk as I sing along.

I'm not sure how to handle this Hyde thing. Yeah, he's a fox but I don't know if I even like him. Aesthetics aren't everything, sometimes I wish they were.

A loud, repetitive beeping shrill jolts me in place.

Great. I'm having Jackie PTSD.

When it doesn't stop and I'm relieved it isn't truly Jackie bursting into my room, I reach lazily for the chirping phone and carelessly hold it to my ear, propping an arm below my skull. "What's up?"

"Gabriella? It's Kent Trinke."

Alert and sitting up, I tone suspiciously, "How'd you get this number?"

"There's a, uh, list of every students number and home address in the phonebook at school."

I'm so burning that damn thing.

"Just so you know, I don't think I like you just because I agreed to that deal. I gave away the tickets."

A long pause happens on his side.

For a minute, I would think he hangs up if not for a dial tone.

"They're yours to do with what you want. And you may not like me now, but you will."

I snort, "Is that the only reason why you called? To tell me how much I'll 'like' you?"

Narcissistic prick.

"No. I was going to ask if you wanted to see a movie tonight. Have seen Taxi Driver yet?"

I glimpse to the movie poster of a shirtless Robert De Niro aiming a gun above my desk. "Only a dozen times."

He's nice to look at too.

"What about that new Clint Eastwood movie?"

"Saw it." My back flops comfortably in a sea of blankets.

"Well, I assume it's safe to say you like movies."

"Yeah, the good ones."

Kent chuckles at that.

I negotiate, "How about when something interesting pops up, I'll give you a call?"

"Sounds like a plan. You want my number?"

How else am I supposed to get a hold of you, man? Burst into song and expect you to finish the chorus by swinging through my window wearing a figure-flattering outfit? That's Jackie's bullshit Mickey Mouse fantasy, not mine.

"Sure." After hanging up, I immediately spin the dial for Donna. Canting up when Dad's familiar deep octave asks to enter, I home the receiver and knot my legs. "Hey, Dad."

"Hey, buttercup. I'm just letting you know that the captain at the station put me on the nightshift until further notice since the shmuck I've been covering for is transferring to the station in Kenosha." He rolls brown eyes identical to mine. "But I think that's good because I'll have time to drop you off at school in the morning and I can take care of some stuff around the house. Chelsea will be happy, I can finally treat her to that Italian restaurant in town." His content happiness warming to my heart, Dad knits his arms together as he leans on my doorjamb.

Unfortunately, he sees me physically gag at the mention of her name in the corner of his eye.

He channels my deadpan perfectly, leaning on the doorjamb. "She's not that bad, Brie."

Yeah, not that bad at wrapping her legs around some other guy and taking a pounding like a champ.

"Let's just agree to disagree."

"Right...I'm trying that hibachi place for dinner your Uncle suggested." He extends a colorful menu.

I rest the plastic receiver on my neck to skim over the oriental cuisine, keenly aware of his studying eyes as he hovers subtly around my room.

"Everything ok at school? You've been spending a lot of time at Red's."

I skip to the spicy section and decide a veggie low mien with beef and an eggroll sounds fantastic as I glint upward. "If you're implying that I like them, then I guess they're ok. Red hasn't called me a dumbass yet, so that's something. Right?"

RP, my father, smiles faintly and leans his burly frame on the edge of my Cherrywood desk littered with textbooks, notebooks, and a particular journal full of artwork. "You're not fighting with anyone?"

"Don't jinx it." I smile back, conditioned his cop-like parenting techniques.

"Who're you calling?" He further interrogates, unrelenting gaze flashing to the phone sitting on my bed opposed to its regular spot on my nightstand.

"Donna. I'm going to see if she's doing anything later."

"I always liked her. She's got her head on straight."

Yeah, probably the most goody two shoes of us all besides Eric. It make senses why they dig each other, they're so similar.

"But that foreign kid?" Dad sours. "He stinks. Keep him out of my house."

"I'll tell him you have guns. That usually works."

"Sure does." He grins. "All right, I'll get out of your hair." Dad pecks my crown and dwindles in the doorway. His voice turns stern, "Just so you know, if I bust you, I'll have to lock you up overnight. Do we understand each other, Gabriella?"

"Yeah, RP."

Ha! Yeah right.

Satisfied, he confirms our conversation with a single firm nod and dwindles in the hallway. "Good. I'll call in your order, be back in a half-hour."

The next day is a Saturday.

I head to Donna's like I promised. Only instead of knocking on her backdoor, I meander past the green hedge to find Hyde, Kelso, Fez, and Eric shooting hoops.

Donna's sitting at the breakfast bar within the Foreman kitchen sipping from a mug, talking to Kitty about something or another as Jackie pouts in a lawn chair by the sliding glass door, sulking and watching the boys.

I don't care why she's upset, serves her spoiled ass right. The princess of Point Place gets whatever she wants on her daddy's dime. Please. At one point I had to shoplift half my wardrobe because they cut Dad's hours. Hell, he taught me how to steal inconspicuously. It was the only option we had and he wasn't going to send me half-clothed to school. I mean, he didn't have to make me go at all but he didn't want me to flunk out. Shoplifting was a last resort.

"Think fast!"

Catching Kelso's toss, I whip the basketball back at him and pocket jewel-banded hands in denim.

"Aw you caught it! I was hoping to hit you in the face to see if your head spins around." Kelso dribbles the ball. "Next time, don't be so on edge that way your head can spin easier."

Eric grins and steals the ball, dribbles, and shoots. "Have some respect, Kelso. She's prettier than the exorcist."

Ignoring their commentary, I squat on the Vista Cruiser's hood to unintentionally find myself watching the way Hyde's body move in action.

He's a different kind of cute than Kent. Sure, Kent's a blonde and like Kelso, tall and chiseled as hell minus the stupid, but he's also a jock. A linebacker I think, whatever that is. Dad would know; Dad would prefer him over Hyde. Every girl in school knows of Kent's existence and gawks when he walks by in that godawful cheesy letter jacket. Just because he wears a piece of fabric with a letter, the guy thinks he's something special. Society is ridiculous.

Shifting glances back and forth between Donna who's snacking on a cookie Kitty offers from a stacked plate and Eric yanking on his collar to circulate air on his sweaty skin, I ask aloofly, "Hey, Eric, what do you like about Donna?"

"What?" His nimble torso shifts to the garage, bewildered look etching a baby face he has yet to grow out of.

Encouragingly, I cross my legs and tone, "C'mon, don't be a prude. Humor me."

"Well, she's female," He cocks wisely, bouncing the textured ball between his fingers. "She's probably the only girl in town that'll willingly go out with me. And then there's the fact that she lives next door. And also she's hot."

That's logical, but mediocrely shallow.

"And, well, she's been my best friend since we're kids. No offense, guys."

That's more like it.

"Not to mention you've had a hard-on for her since you were five."

Eric blushes profusely but remains falsely calm in his panic, frozen as if we won't see him if he doesn't move. Blandly, he dials to his childhood confidant, "Thanks for that, Hyde."

Hyde slaps the ball from Eric and banks it easily in the hoop. "No problem, Foreman."

"I too have had a hard-on." A smiley Fez announces.

I square a warning brow when I spot his wandering eye loiter my chest. "Hey, man. Remember what happened when I caught you in my closet?"

Hands on the hips of burgundy bell bottoms, he nods wryly and immediately stares downward at his shiny boots. "Yes. I remember." He mumbles sadly.

"So Gabriella, you taking Trinke to the Stones? Maybe rent a room and have some hot drunk concert sex?" A sneaky grin carves Kelso's chiseled features, reminding me of a panting dog in heat. "You like to be on top, dontcha? Yeah, you seem like an in control kinda gal."

Does he want to be punched?

Scowling and ready to launch a prepared burn his direction, I part thinly glossed li –

"No, no. Are you blind? Do you not see how calm and laid back she is? She likes to be serviced. Correct?"

I can't believe they're seriously talking about this right in front of me.

I roll my eyes. "Good luck finding out." Curious and confused, I tips towards the guy clad in an Allman Brother's tee rapidly spinning the ball from one finger seamlessly to the next.

Why didn't Hyde tell them I gave them to him?

"Don't you think of anything other than sex?"

"Dogs. Sometimes fire. Maybe pop-rocks or dynamite. Anything that goes boom and sex goes boom."

Typical Kelso.

"Michael! It's almost time for the movie, I want to pick a good seat. Let's go!"

"Damn, Jackie!" He grumps at the tiny brunette standing halfway down the driveway, but her tapping foot calls him like a whistle does a dog and eventually submits. "All right. I'll see you guys later and Gabriella you gotta pick me – urk!"

Stealthily and lightning fast, Jackie somehow grips his collar despite their difference in height and drags poor Kelso to the street curb where her blue Beetle is parked.

Well, we definitely know who likes to be on top and serviced in that relationship.

"Now that Simon and Garfunkel are gone, who wants to do something illegal?"

Hyde instantly shoves the ball in Eric's abdomen hard enough to make him double over and his pale eyes to bugout. Leaning coolly on the hood, his unguarded sight openly devours the mischievous purse of my shiny plush lips. "What do you got in mind?"

"Oh, just breaking and entering. Maybe some vandalism," I remove a lighter from my pocket, light it, and blow it out after a couple counts of watching the flame dance. "Possibly watching something burn."

"Um, not to interrupt your anarchy criminal love-fest," Eric's abruptly in front of us with the basketball tucked under a skinny arm, clearly recovered and snacking on a cookie from the same plate Fez's holding that Kitty shared with Donna. "But as much as I'd love to join the heist, I can't. I have to get an A on that Econ paper or Red'll stick an A grade foot in my ass."

I smile. "I like Red."

"That's because you've never been on his bad side." Eric grunts, looking a tad envious.

"Yeah, because I'm not a dumbass and I leave him be." Keyring hanging on his index finger, I reach to swipe them but he wretches back quicker than I expected and nearly kiss the cement form losing my balance but luckily, a strong arm winds my waist, catching me, and smoothly retracts off me as if nothing happened. I glare avidly at Eric and am pleased to see him turn a little pallor, but he's still smiling from the victory of sleekness.

Holy shit he's warm and solid.

"Holy crap," Fez stops mid-chew on probably his fourth cookie and cycles a look of surprise and shock through the three of us. "She's gonna kick your ass. Run, Eric! Save yourself, Hyde!" And just like that, the sugar addict bolts down the driveway to god knows where with a plate of a dozen or so freshly baked goods clutched tight and ruining his too-tight shirt.

I don't think I'll ever get used to his weirdness.

"Way to go, dillhole. Now we're out of cookies and a Fez." Hyde reprimands.

To my eternal gratitude and elation, Eric's cheeky look disappears as Hyde slugs him in the arm, giving me the chance to snag the keys from his pant pocket and hop in the Vista Cruiser.

I chuck him the keys over the roof of the vehicle, trusting he can drive.

I'd drive if I knew how. There was no need for it in New York; buses and taxis are cheap, everywhere, and just a phone call or wave away.

Driver's window cranked down, I lean a bit onto the driver's seat – and thus invade Hyde's space – to duck and see Eric's sourpuss. I chime, "Don't worry, man. I'll give him back."

A frowning Eric waves a half-assed dismissal and banks a shot in the hoop.

Sliding down to the opposite end of the bench to cozy against the window, common Wisconsin suburbs lazily drifting by, I start prodding with the radio instead of dealing with the A Track simply out of laziness until something decent comes on.

BOC 'Don't Fear the Reaper'. Rad tune.

"Cool song."

He's making conversation first? And here I assumed I'd have to break the ice.

"Yeah." Resting moccasins on the dash and freeing my hair of its Dutch braid, I tuck a pin on the collar of a scarlet V-neck. "Head to school."

"You wanna vandalize the gym? The library?" He cuts off a truck to excel the speed limit.

"Maybe. The reason I want to is because there's this phonebook that has everyone's phone number and home address in it."

"Seriously? I never gave them permission to stalk me." He slows at a red light, sounding personally offended but grateful for the information.

"Exactly. It's unsettling. I want to destroy it but I need help. A lookout." That curly head whirls so fast to me, I can't hide the smile itching my mouth.

"You're making me the lookout?"

I sigh, relenting, "Fine, you're promoted to 'getaway driver'."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"As you should. No great crime can be done without a getaway driver." It isn't long before we pull into a spot on the edge of the lot in the back of the school close to where we usually sit at lunch. I hop out, gripping the bobby pin, and go to work on the steel utility door.

It takes me a hot sec to feel the spot I need to hit to unlatch the door.

It's really damn difficult to focus when Hyde's leaning on the cement exterior looking fine as hell with the moonlight waxing his pale face, accentuating the angles and definition of his jaw. It's so not fair, but I manage. Hey, his shades are off.

Peeling the door open, I dart inside first but stop mid-stride in the dark. "Any ideas, Mr. Getaway Driver?" Already feeling the warmth venting off his chest like a heatwave due to his closeness, I reach for my lighter but cease when a ray of light suddenly torches between our chests.

The light purposely aimed down and reflecting on scuffed checkered floors, Hyde's faintly alight features smile unhindered and unashamed in the black of our environment. Gray orbs scorch the heart-shape of my face and the gentleness of his touch on my chin burns as he gathers brown hues his direction. "It'd be totally cliché to kiss you..."

Whoa. Holy shit, his voice. Oh – what do I do? Do I lean in or does he do that? Fucksake, Gabriella. STOP BEING SHY. Why're you acting like a virgin? You're not so just grow some balls and kiss the guy or draw a line in the sand for the harmony of the group. If I do this, I'm potentially breaking the trust of Donna or Eric, the two people of the gang I'd lay my life down for if the circumstances deemed it a necessity.

Instead of kissing him or replying, I glide a hand down a muscular arm to meet his hand; I squeeze back when he takes the initiative to laces our fingers.

Hyde lights our path as we venture long corridors, take shortcuts through familiar locker rows, bypass empty and locked classrooms, and dash through the cafeteria to reach the front of the high school were the main offices are kept. "Where'd you see the stalker book?"

Departing from him to visit the payphone at the front entrance, I reply, "I didn't actually. Kent made a surprise house call, said he got my number from that damn phonebook."

I hear him make an unimpressed slash annoyed grunt, something like a "hrmpf" and syphons ahead to the glass of an office where he tests the door handle for entry. "Find it?"

"Really?" I frown rhetorically, saying certainly, "If I did, we'd be burning this fucker right now." Joining him at the main office's mouth, I watch him shine the beam of light through hazy glass.

Hyde stops short, cursing the blinds.

It's a phonebook, it has to be in an office. Shit. I bet it's in the attendance office.

"Let me see that." Holding the long handle flashlight overhand and treading beyond the main office, further into the front hall, I stop at the attendance counter-window a few feet away. The blinds ajar, I maneuver the beam to alight a bleak room.

"That thought crossed my mind." He points a dimpled chin to the locked main office. "Problem is that's the only way in."

I retort, "Not the only way." With a universal gesture of "be my guest" or "go ahead", I let him have the first crack at the lock.

Unsurprisingly but no less impressively, Hyde takes less time than I did to hack the lock in ten seconds flat, obviously from plenty of practice; he holds the door for me as I enter, repeating my gesture cockily, and once over the desks' documents with the torch.

Light parked beam-up on a desk to dimly brighten the room, I pause my rummaging through the principal assistant's desk and grin broadly. "Hey."

He raises scanning eyes from a manila folder and smirks approvingly at the premium joints wrapped in plastic I rattle happily. "Nice job sniffing 'em out, Pinciotti. You'd make a decent search dog."

I'm going to take that as a compliment.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just call me a dog." Crinkling the bag in my cropped leather jacket, I position myself close enough to smell the clean musk of his clothes. My sight wanders the file he's so entranced with. "What's this?"

"Your file," He flips a page. "You're definitely not a dumbass."

Pleased, I breathe on the shell of his ear, "Told you."

"Gabriella Marian Pinciotti-Wrona. What a mouthful. Wrona. That your ma?"

So much for having a good time, damn it.

Snatching the file and stuffing it somewhere near the P's, I explain briefly, "I don't claim Wrona. I've asked PR to change it, he refuses so I'm screwed with a name I never wanted."

He shuts the filing cabinet with a soft click. "Make sense why y'don't act like Donna. Or Midge for that matter."

"Yeah." Unable to say anything else, I quip the flashlight and trail to the cubical known as the attendance office. Searching nooks and binders for several minutes, I finally find a thick leather bound book engraved "STUDENT INVENTORY". I speak up, "Jackpot. C'mon, let's get out of here." On the out the way we came, I slow at the sight of Principal Franklin's office.

Hyde immediately goes to work on unlocking it via bobby pin. "How much y'wanna bet Franklin turns into Free-Wheelin' Frankie on his lunch break?"

"You think so?" I lean on the doorjamb of the wide room as he scours the immaculate desk, closet, and wooden hutch for anything conspicuous for drugs.

"He's dry. Man, I was hoping his eyes bugged outta his head for a reason, not just because he's ugly."

I wince a bit at the imagery of the stocky, oily haired Principal Franklin. "Hey, you ever see Cinderella?"

"What?" He pays me a quizzical glint over his shoulder.

"You know, the poor girl who meets some fairy godmother that gives her one night to look pretty and live for once in her damn life?"

Crouching to fumble through a low cabinet in the hutch, Hyde shines the torch on a half-drank glass bottle of tinted liquor. "What about it?"

"The prince she digs has this old, stocky, annoying duke servant guy crawling up his ass all the time about his duties or whatever. Anyway, I have this theory that pesky guy is Point Place High's very own Principal Geoffrey Franklin."

"Nice story, man. Y'gotta point?" Hyde uncaps the alcohol, sniffs, and nearly regurgitates. "Peach Shnops. He likes the fruity shit, go figure."

"Franklin's the governments servant, always enforcing rules and orders to the people who are the prince, like the next generation of society. Basically us."

Silence presses for many counts until he ponders, "What about Cinderella? How's she fit into your theory?"

I reply thoughtfully, "Cinderella's everything the prince's ever wanted. She represents the one chance he has to experience everything: his goals, dreams, and euphoria. She's his future. He just has to be brave enough to take a chance and ask her to dance."

Man, I read waayyy too much poetry and conspiracies.

"You write that down or just come up with it on the top of your head?"

I shrug sheepishly.

Outside by the fences of the baseball field, I tear a couple pages for Hyde to light as the book itself sits at the bottom of a tin barrel meant for garbage.

He douses the leather with Franklin's Shnops and releases the bottle to shatter unceremoniously.

I have the honor of igniting the strands of paper we hold; unplanned, we dunk flames inside the barrel simultaneously, our hands brushing. I flinch when the fire gusts high due to the alcohol and inadvertently collide into Hyde's chest behind me. "Sorry."

"It's cool." Habitually, his hands grip the buckle of his belt. "It's a good thing Foreman didn't come."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Brie."

Looking at him, I can tell he's anxious due to the tightness in his shoulders, that whatever he's going to say must be big for him.

"...I've never met anyone who gets me like you do."

Shit. Donna's so going rub the "I told you so" in my face tomorrow.

"I was on the fence before whether to tell you or not, but that Franklin conspiracy made it official. You're fucking hot as hell too."

Oh shit. I can't believe he admitted that.

Heat involuntarily pinching the apples of my cheeks, I tuck clammy fists in my jacket and prod a patch of grass with a moccasined foot. "I guess Donna said it was cool if you're going for it, right?"

"She came around. Foreman was the one that gave me the run-around."

What? Hyde is Eric's best friend, their practically brothers. Why would Eric care who I date so much anyway? I don't bark about his love life and he's with my cousin. What the hell's going on that I don't know about?

Glinting at Hyde, I crack an easy smirk flaunting pearls and bop our shoulders since we're side by side now. I walk around a bit, feeling a steady pair of eyes studying me before I settle against the chain fence encapsulating the baseball diamond. "You're not so bad yourself, man. So, this may be a stupid question, but how'd you get the name Hyde?"

"Last name." He weaves a casual hand in the chain link fence high behind me to prop himself comfortably before me.

"And your given name?" Tilting up at him, I can feel the weight of his body as leans on the fence even though we're a solid foot from contact.

Anticipation radiates thickening carnal as colorless eyes glint over the angles of my face, measuring me coolly for a reaction to his lingering closeness. "Steven." His nose brushes mine.

"Steven Hyde. Ever go by Steve?"

"Nah. I don't care if you do, it's not like I don't know you, Gabriella Marian."

Gabriella Marian? Gross. He sounds like RP when I'm in deep shit.

"Do yourself a favor and cut off Marian. She's reserved for RP's parental lectures."

"Sure, Brie." He pecks my lips, short and sweet before he nervously moistens his lips to seemingly sample the moment.

All of the playful looks, the bonding conversations, the slowly building closeness for THAT? C'mon, man! That's an old-middle aged-married couple-kiss. We're young and hot. I don't think so.

I laugh disbelief, "Are you kidding me? No, no. Kiss me, Steve." Branching our lips together softly, I cradle the sides of his face gingerly, thumb those gorgeous sideburns to add depth, and nip his lip for more which triggers a tender groan I'd never expect from him and instantly taste faded cigarettes and the faint tang of Red's barbeque flavoring his dominate tongue. Delicious.

He retreats during the third tongue twister and smirks, but with an underlying stunned expression.

"Not what you expected?"

He totally dug it. His eyes are lit silver and gawking plus those broad shoulders are lax. Not to mention the stick in his shorts is up.

"Understatement." Hand in hand, he guides us toward the parking lot.

"What about the fire?" I cock behind us to the induced flames thrashing contently in the tin.

"It's five hours till school," He glimpses at the leather watch binding his wrist. "It'll all burn by then, the fire'll be out."

"Good thing Kelso wasn't here. Donna told me about all the fires he's started." I nestle in shotgun and rub friction between my cold hands.

"That's Kelso, explosive specialist." Steve roars the ignition to life and curves to me, unexpectedly tangling one of my hands in his only to cup them together and warm me up with exhaling bursts of warm breaths. "What do y'wanna do?"

That was actually kind of him. Steve Hyde, kind? What other parts of himself has he never shown to others? Did he even think about it or was it automatic? Wow. He hides in plain sight…all the time.

"Your folks care if you're past curfew?"

"Edna hardly cares if I'm home at all." He tones aloofly. "Why?"

Edna must be his mother? I'll have to prod a bit at Eric.

"Head for Red's. I have an idea."

He nods and barrels the family wagon down the road.

When Steve ditched Eric's ride in Red's driveway, I volunteered to sneak inside via Eric's house key and hang the keyring on its usual spot in the kitchen. The plan succeeded. I hopped Uncle Bob's fence and unlocked my backdoor. I didn't get caught because I'm smooth as silk; gotta be with a cop for a father.

Currently sneaking upstairs because Chelsea's snoring like a freight train in a dark living room, Love Boat blaring from the TV, I stop him deep in the hall to twine our fingers together, enjoying the way they mesh. Caressing his cheek with his hands contouring hips, I feel his tongue drag over my lip; my mouth opens to deepen the interaction.

Holy hell, he's a radical kisser.

Shutting my entrance behind us, I empty all my pockets and hang my jacket on the back of the closet door. On second thought, I lock my door, telling Hyde, "She's the last person I want in my fortress. So, you game to try this guy out?"

"Looks like we're skipping."

Lighting the tightly rolled blunt between exercised, pink-flushed lips, I suck in a deep breath and pass it to him. "Definitely. I have a thing in math tomorrow that goes against my moral beliefs. Whoever thought it was a good idea to put the alphabet with numbers was a sadistic dumbass."

He nods in agreement, leaning on my desk. "Y'hear about a car that runs on water, man?"

What?

I push up my window and lock it in place then double check the removable screen. Exhaling smoke out the window as I lean on the wall, I eyeball alphabetical records longer than I usually do and finally pluck a good one from the bookcase. "On water? That's less pollution in the air to soften our brains; we'll be harder to brainwash. Now we can be like Cinderella. Ha! Take that y'government sons a bitches." For some reason, I laugh at the imagery of Cinderella shouting that last part.

It's fuckin' hilarious.

"CCR is a go. I love these boys, they tell a story." Straddling the wicker chair at my desk, I huff in two drags after Hyde passes the blunt to me.

He moves around my room a little, scanning trinkets here and there and eyeing tapestry posters before inviting himself to flatten spread-eagle on my bed. "This stash is a lot better than ours, Brie."

"It's a step up. Cosmic Vision blows it outta the water though."

"So it's like a one hit deal?"

"Depends on y'tolerance. Either way, it sticks with ya." I tap the ashes in a ceramic dish. "Y'high?"

The muscles of abdomen rises and falls, flexing steadily beneath a denim jacket rung with wool. "Yeah. Less pissed off at the world."

"I feel like we accomplished somethin'. Most of us don't even know Franklin had a lil' black book of victims full of our private information." Stubbing the expertly rolled blunt and wrapping the rest in a hiding spot I switch up twice a week so Dad can't find anything, I sprawl with my head on his stomach to lay horizontally, us both staring wondrously at the ceiling. "We re-gifted the youth of society the right to their privacy, Steve. Whoa," I giggle for a minute and descend the clouds back to earth when I realize he's been caressing my hair in no much manner that further calms me. "I'm so feelin' that weed."

"I seriously like you."

I glide up the bed to lay on my side directly against him where he closes his eyes and inhales deeply as booted feet touch the floor below the plush mattress; his hand unlaces my braid on its own accord and lazily fans out pale strands here and there.

Nonchalantly weaving my digits through his own incredibly soft curls and savoring the beginning of a comfortable silence, I pluck the aviators off his face and slide them on to see his world.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A huge thanks 2 all the visits, reads, favorites and follows 4 this 1, guys! This is a looong 1 2 keep y'all satisfied 4 a while. No Face Claims this time around due 2 no new characters & all actors of T7S are their portrayed actor unless specified otherwise. CC in R&R is welcome! Enjoy!