Bring Me Peace Chapter 7: Misfortune, a transformers/beast wars fanfic

1) This one just sorta wrote itself. Some days at high school are just long, and it seems like those long days are the days where your best friend is sick at home. This spins off that. This should be the last one that focuses solely on tex. From here, Optimus is going to become more centered in her life as they adjust to each other.

2) Editted

3) this apparently didn't show for some people, so I took it down and reuploaded it... heres to hoping

7. Misfortune or

Lizabeth's bad day

8,019 words

"I'm home," I announced dismally as I trudged through the front door. I was met with silence, and I gave a little sigh as I strode through the foyer past the stairs to the back living room. Sure enough, mom was sleeping in her chair, a romance novel resting open on her lap. I stared at her blankly for a few seconds, taking in her curly brown hair and pale white skin.

I scowled as I turned around and limped back to the stairs. Of course she wouldn't be awake when I was home. No, that would imply that she cared. Heaven forbid she care that her daughter had come home late from school, sorta severely injured. Then again, I wasn't sure why I wanted her awake. If she saw me, I would only brush her off and tell her I was fine. I didn't need any coddling. I was a legal adult now. I could take care of my own problems.

I resisted the urge to stomp up the stairs in a spiteful attempt to wake her up. That would only make my knees hurt worse, and it probably would attract more attention than I wanted. Instead, I limped quietly up the stairs, muttering Cybertronian curses when the stairs creaked or my leg gave a painful twinge. I reached the top of the stairs and made my way down the hallway to my room at the end.

Man, what a day. I had known the second I rolled out of bed and found Optimus scanning through one of my story spirals that this would be a bad day. I must admit that Optimus had chosen a good spiral to start with. Well, good for me. That spiral held a story about a sparkling mech that was adopted by the Wreckers. No romance, only fluff. Now, if Optimus had grabbed the blue spiral below it… my thoughts would have been completely different. Optimus had immediately apologized, stating that my filing system (or lack thereof) had drawn his attention. He had mentioned something about "old programming offlining difficulties" and "Alpha Trion would have a fit."

Apparently, he had onlined earlier than me and had noticed my effective filing system of stacking multiple spirals and books on top of the other into huge, leaning towers that taunted gravity constantly. Apparently, he thought he would be helpful by alphabetizing the spirals and books and placing them on the empty bookshelf that I had bought for that specific reason but never used. Of course, he had no idea what was inside each spiral. Ever since I started writing my ideas and stories in spiral, I never labeled anything in hopes that my parents would never look through my spirals for my journal back when I had a journal. It had become a habit that I never felt the need to change. After all, I knew what was in each spiral, and I was the only person who needed to know.

"Optimus, I don't mind you reading my stuff, just stay away from any blue spirals, okay?" I requested. "Some organization might actually do me good." Optimus beamed at the approval, then hesitated as he glanced back down at the spiral that was spread open on the ground in front of him.

"I… I must admit I rather enthralled by what you have here… I don't suppose you would allow me to… finish it?" he asked slowly, almost bashfully. I blinked in surprise, then, of course, blushed down to my toes. Optimus Prime was enthralled by my writing. Optimus Prime! It was like… like… There wasn't even a comparison! I resisted the urge to squeal in delight as I smiled at him and nodded.

"Sure. In fact, why don't you stay here today? I don't have any of those stories titled yet, so you'll have to put together a new filing system. And you'll have to read a lot of those spirals."

"But Tex, I have to—"

"Optimus, I can take care of myself for one day. I don't have work today, so the bus will bring me home."

"Yes, however—"

"Optimus, please. You don't want to be at my cheer practice today," I interrupted again. Tuesdays were always "try something new days," something that the squad as a whole actually looked forward to. Sometimes, girls got hurt on these days. Personally, I rarely did, but I didn't think Optimus would respond well to any of the girls getting injured.

Optimus frowned but nodded, trailing after me as I began my morning routine. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was still kind of annoyed that he had looked through some of my stuff. What if he had read the blue spiral? I wouldn't be able to look him in the face again knowing that he had read something I wrote about him. I sighed inwardly, as I shoved the irritation away, chalking it up to my normal morning grumpiness before finishing my morning routine and heading off to school, my shoulder feeling empty, even though I had only taken Optimus with me once: yesterday.

Ah, school. Such a wonderful place of peer-pressure and torture. My morning started off with a pop quiz in Algebra 2. I failed it. Then, as I was leaving the classroom, I tripped over the door jamb, landing hard on the concrete and shaving off a large patch of skin from my left knee. Cue my first trip to the nurse. I was subjected to her tender mercies of peroxide and a huge, uncomfortable bandage before being sent off to Spanish class, where everyone else was turning in the homework that I had accidentally left on my computer desk at home. Fantastic. I managed to convince my teacher that I had simply forgotten it at home ("Of course, Elizabeth. That happens every now and again. Even Billy had those days. Just bring it in tomorrow, and I'll only subtract a few points." "Muchos gracias, Senora."), but she managed to put my brother on his typical pedestal three years after his graduation.

I suffered through that class, mildly bored with the language I didn't particularly want to continue after high school, and spent the class wondering what a French class would be like. The bell saved my sanity, and I limped out of the class toward English/Literature, another boring class. Don't get me wrong; I love reading, but nobody could make literature boring like Mrs. Walburts. I slowly read through our assignment – "The Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allen Poe – then stared at her blankly when she moved to the front and attempted to get some sort of feedback about the short story from us. Nobody said anything, knowing that if they offered a response, they would be told to "expound on that idea for the class." There was nothing quite like restating your basic thought in multiple different ways. I'm sure she was just trying to get us to think deeper, but in a class of high school students that didn't particularly want to be lit majors… I personally thought she was expecting too much.

After that class, I went to History class, where I learned of gory battles, various wars, and basically how the Europeans took over the world before America decided to be rebellious. My teacher for that class was Coach Rogers, and he didn't really know much about history aside from who won the first American Revolution and whether the Nazis won the Civil War. According to him, though, Europe basically wiped out everyone else who lived in America, Canada, Australia, and China in the early 1800s. We never questioned him. It was too amusing to watch him butcher American history. And besides, the tests were hilarious.

After that, I headed off to lunch. As luck would have it, Megan, the glitch who spread the rumors about me and Zach, was seated at my table, looking like she actually belonged there. I spared her a glare, silently thanking God for giving me the wisdom to leave Optimus at home, as I walked past, pointedly refusing to limp as I moved to the back of the cafeteria where the non-existent lunch line was. That was the other fantastic thing about Coach Rogers: the guy always let us go early to lunch, mainly because as seniors, we can leave campus to get food, and it normally took extra time to get everyone piled into cars. I always stayed on campus, though, because most of my friends were juniors and therefore not allowed to leave. Sometimes I went with the cheer squad. I kinda wish I had today.

But I didn't. Of course, Megan was completely incapable of leaving me alone, and she stalked after me, grabbing a tray behind me as she stood in line to my left.

"I heard what you said about me," she hissed. I gave her a sideways glance.

"I would hope so. That was the plan when I started saying it. French fries and a salad, please," I requested from the lunch lady, who smiled at me, then gave Megan a look.

"You know, I never figured you for the type to stab someone in the back," Megan stated primly. I gave a single incredulous laugh.

"Are you the kettle or the pot?" I questioned with a scoff. Megan scowled.

"The kettle since pots are fat," she growled. I shrugged.

"I'm more fit than you are," I stated, my accent growing with my ire. In no way was I considered fat. I was rather proud of my 115 pounds. Billy may have gotten momma's blue eyes and blond hair, but I got her hour-glass figure, and I was not afraid to flaunt it.

"Whatever, Marie. I know that you went out with Zach just to make me jealous, and if you think this is it, then you've got another thing coming," she stated. I gave her a condescending look, my lips pursing in a cute pout.

"Oh, bless your heart," I simpered. "I feel for you, Megan, I really do," I told her as I grabbed my lunch from the cafeteria lady with a thankful smile. I got a smile in return before I strode off to the cashier. Megan was quick to catch up with me.

"Then why did you do this? Zach won't even look at me, none of my friends wants me around. How could you do this to me?" she demanded, having the audacity to look hurt. I scowled at her.

"'How could I?' You think I don't know 'bout all the things you've been sayin' 'bout me buhind my back? You think I c'n ignore the lies you been spreadin'? Megan, I used t' be the person tha' that was there for you, and you did this to me? I ain't some victim you c'n bully then come back to. I don' need yer drama, thanks."

"What, you think you're better than me? You proved that we're exactly the same, rumor fer rumor. Nodoby's gonna wanna be yer friend now. You're just like me," she hissed. I snorted and grinned back at her.

"Only prettier!" I chirped. "Le'me know when yer ready fer roun' two."

Thus ended that confrontation. I knew there would be some other sort of retaliation in time, but I didn't care at the moment. I only cared that she felt as much pain as I felt when I found out she betrayed me. You see, I'm that person that's loyal to a fault and will defend my friends and stick by them to the very end. Once you return my friendship, it takes a lot to break my trust. However, once you break that trust, I'll never forgive you and never trust you again because I simply can't stand that kind of pain. I didn't let just anyone into my heart, and nothing hurt as much as someone ripping my heart apart from the inside.

With a dark frown on my face, I grabbed a table across the room from our normal one and sat down, praying Megan didn't move from my normal table to the one I was sitting at. I didn't feel like playing musical tables today. Not with my hurt knee. I ripped my salad dressing packet open and squeezed the ranch dressing onto the salad with a scowl. I hated ranch dressing, but I hated dry salad even more. The world obviously hated me today. With that fact cemented in my mind, I took my fork out of the plastic wrapping and stabbed it violently into the salad leaves.

Dylan appeared at that point, joyfully trotting over to the table and plopping down beside me. He looked me up and down excitedly, then frowned and visibly drooped when he saw that I hadn't brought Optimus with me. I snorted at his behavior and immediately struck up a conversation to take my mind off the frenemy glaring at me from across the cafeteria.

The rest of the high school students slowly trickled into the cafeteria as classes let out, and the rest of my gang came in two at a time, each hesitating when they saw Megan at our table, glancing around the cafeteria, then moving in my direction when they spotted me. As they seated themselves around the table, some glancing back at Megan, all attention focused on me, questioning why we were seated at a table that had once been inhabited by freshmen (said freshmen glanced at our table in confusion and irritation before seating themselves at the table beside ours, likely hoping to get in on the gossip).

"Megan decided to have a confrontation. I ended said confrontation. End of story," I explained succinctly. The looks I received told me that it would be wisest to expound, so I heaved a great sigh and regurgitated my conversation with Megan best I could remember. Mostly, I just remembered my snappy comebacks. Now that I thought back, I was rather proud of them, too. Normally, I didn't think of those until that night, when I brooded over the argument until I fell asleep.

"You should've seen that coming. Megan doesn't just give up," Maddie noted. I grimaced.

"I know."

"Why are you two even fighting anyways? You two have been kinda distant from each other for a few months, haven't you?" Cassie asked as she leaned forward on the table. I was about to answer when our straggler walked up.

"What are y'all talking about?" Margaret asked immediately as she took out her "hot pocket." She pulled a chair from a nearby table and pushed it in as much as she could between Maddie and Julianna, both of whom grimaced when they realized where Margie was seating herself.

"Nothing," four of us said at once. Margie blinked at us, then shrugged before she started pulling off chunks of her food and tossing them into her mouth. From there, the conversation moved to what would be coming out during the winter months. The bell rang, and I was off to Physics.

Mr. Charlton was late, as per usual, the difference being that today, he locked his door before lunch. As such, we, the students, were stuck waiting in the hall. I lasted about four minutes before I sat down against the wall, Dylan taking up the spot beside me as he pulled out a DS and started playing Pokémon. I rolled my eyes at him as I waited, my legs stretched out in front of me. I leaned over and rested my head against Dylan's shoulder as we waited, fighting back the urge to sleep as my body digested my fries and salad, and just as my eyes closed, Mr. Charlton arrived with the TV cart. My heart leapt. I could sleep in class! And sleep I did.

I woke up to the sound of the bell and trotted to my next class, unaware of the concerned looks Dylan was sending my way. I was only focused on getting to my next class so that I could sleep there, too. My sixth class was speech, a class that was required for all seniors to take. Next semester, we would switch over to economics, and the current economics class would get their semester of speech. I didn't have anything to worry about, though. My teacher, Mr. Creek, was absent this week, visiting a conference in Dallas. We had a substitute, which meant I could sleep. And sleep I did.

I woke up to Dylan shaking my shoulder and saying my name, and I opened my eyes to gaze at him sleepily.

"Dyl? What're you do'n' 'n my room?" I questioned drowsily. He snorted in amusement as he pulled me into a sitting position, ignoring my groan of protest.

"C'mon, Liz. Ya got cheerleading," Dylan informed me as he pulled me to my feet. I blinked rapidly, taking in my surroundings, and wondered how long I had been asleep as I let Dylan lead me out of the auditorium where our speech class was held.

I don't remember changing my clothes, only that one of the girls asked me if I was feeling okay. I yawned at her, then trotted out of the locker room and into the gymnasium where the cheer underclassmen were rolling out our huge cheer mats. I immediately perked up at that. Cheer mats meant stunting, and stunting was the best part of cheerleading. I started my five lap warmup around the gym, noting that some of the girls were still working on their warmup, too, and forced my mind to wake up. I couldn't stunt half asleep. My knee protested with every jarring step, not happy with my jogging, but I ignored it. A skinned knee was not going to hold me back.

"Hey, Liz! What's the news?" I slowed a little to allow Clarisse, our main flyer, to catch up with me.

"Depends, what news do you wanna know?" I responded. Clarisse grinned and gestured with her head toward Dylan, who had left the boys' locker room and was making his way outside to the football field to help set up practice.

"Heard you two were going out again," she stated. Clarisse was a junior this year and one of the girls that were part of my inter-squad clique. She was that sweet girl that always defends everybody, and she could uphold an intelligent conversation. She was good at her sport and strove to make good grades and stay out of the drama. Really, I think the only bad thing about her was how she tended to meddle in peoples' personal lives. Her current "project" just so happened to be me, and she had apparently decided that Dylan and I were meant to be. I disagreed, but there was no stopping the girl. So I gave up and fed her delusions.

"Well, he took me to work yesterday," I responded slowly, not wanting her to get anything solid that she could form a rumor off of. At the moment, Dylan and I were "off-again," mainly because he had met a girl that he said he liked.

"You two would be so cute together!" Clarisse stated with a squeal. I groaned a little, and was grateful when my coach called us over.

"Okay, ladies," she began, her voice loud, "homecoming's coming up fast, and we need to start preparing. In other words, time to plan a pep-rally." The girls all cheered at that, clapping and bounding on the balls of their feet in excitement. We quieted down as coach drew our attention back to her. "Now, today, we're going to work on something special that we haven't done before: a stunt routine for the rally." More cheers rose from the girls around me, but I stayed silent, a cold feeling rising in my gut. We had done stunt routines before… "This time, we're moving around flyers and bases. I want this at Nationals, too, so we might as well get started now. I want the world to know that our school has an adaptive cheer squad."

There was a brief moment of silence that was broken by the excited chitters of the underclassmen. The juniors and seniors stayed quiet, though, each wondering the sanity of coach's decision. We each had our assigned role, and I had placed my girls in their roles for a reason. Tanya didn't have the strength to lift a girl. Clarisse didn't have the form; she used her back every single time. Chloe didn't have the balance to fly, and Kirsten didn't have the height to be a back spot. This practice would end in disaster.

But I didn't question the coach, and that was another thing I wished I could redo.

And thus, practice began.

"Pick your stunt groups," coach called out generally. This was common practice, mainly because we didn't want any bases or flyers being jealous if they weren't chosen. Me, Clarisse, Erica, and Mallory were the sought-after stunts members. Mallory was the back-man with seriously manly strength, Erica was the front man that was good at taking extra weight during transitions, Clarisse was the flexible flyer that could do pretty much any stunt that was asked of her, and I was the girl that had the strength and finesse to make any stunt stick. Together, we were the dream team that would be winning the Stuntathon at Nationals. However, coach never kept us together, the exception being me and Clarisse in single-base/single-flyer stunts.

As the squad swarmed in the middle of the gym, I felt hands grab onto me, and yells of "Lizzy, over here," "Clare, choose us," and "Mal, we need you" permeated the air. I was eventually yanked out of the swarm, and Tanya cried out, "I got Lizabeth! Need a front, back, and secondary-side!" Girls who hadn't already staked a claim on one of the other elites, as our squad jokingly called us, scurried over to us. I ended up with Tanya as a flyer (not bad, but not very flexible either), Madison as back man (tall, but had very little upper body strength), Anna as front man (pretty good at her job, but not as good as Erica), and Layla as my secondary side base (a first year freshman with strength, but little control or training). It was Layla that scared me, but I told myself that everything would be okay as long as I controlled the stunt. With our groups selected, we all lined up in our usual stunt positions on the mat, then turned out attention to coach.

"Okay, ladies. We'll start simple. Fliers, trade spots with your front men." Tanya and Anna exchanged nervous glances.

"You'll do fine, Anna," I promised. "I'll talk you through everything. Just push off our shoulders hard, straighten your legs, and try to hold your own weight up." Anna nodded, a scared look in her eyes that made me nervous. This would not go well. Strangely enough, the stunt started off well enough. Mallory shouted out the eight counts, and Anna went up easily enough. "Now when we throw you up, keep your legs locked and pull your belly up!' I called up to Anna, who still looked terrified, even in a half-elevator, one of the easiest stunts we knew. She nodded quickly, and Mallory called it out.

"Cradle! 1-2!" Before we could toss her up, Anna yanked her feet from our hands, attempting to jump from our hands instead of let us toss her up ourselves. She flailed a little in the air, and the two of the four bases acted on instinct, stepping forward to catch the falling flyer. Tanya had to step back to keep from getting kicked in the face, and Layla, to my dismay, stepped back for fear of getting hurt. I momentarily saw stars when Anna's knee somehow connected with my right eye socket, and I cried out even as I locked my arms around her shoulders and thighs as I had been taught to do. It's always better for the bases to get hurt than for the flyer to hit the ground. A base's bruises and cuts would heal; a flyer's head injury might not.

"Liz, you okay?" coach called out when she heard my cry, and I ground my teeth against the pain as I set Anna on her feet and pressed my hands to my eye.

"Yeah," I called back as I rubbed around the sore socket, hoping the twinkling black lights would fade from my vision soon enough. "Just another battle wound."

"I'm sorry," Anna whispered. Madison pushed her out of the way.

'Liz, le' me see your eye," the back spot ordered, and I hesitantly pulled my hand back. The collective gasp of horror from my stunt members was not reassuring.

"That bad?" I asked with a grimace. It certainly felt that bad. Was my face already swelling? It felt like it was swelling…

"Lizabeth, do you think-oh, my god!" Coach's exclamation was likewise discouraging. "Tanya, get some ice." The flyer-turned-front-man immediately dashed off to obey. "So what happened?"

"Anna jumped, Layla stepped back, I got a knee to the face," I stated. Man, this really was looking to be the worst day of my life. I hadn't had a cheer injury in months, the last one being the split lip in cheer camp, and that one had been more my fault.

"Well, you didn't let her hit the ground. Go take a breather. Layla, we talked about stepping back." I walked away before I could get into their conversation. Geez, my head hurt. I found myself wishing I had brought Optimus so that someone would coo over my injury.

Okay, well, maybe Optimus wouldn't coo, but he would say something witty to make me feel better. I pouted a little, then perked up when a bag of crushed ice was dropped into my hand. I grinned as I put the bag to my eye, giving a hiss of pain at the coldness then relaxing as it soothed the throbbing warmth that a black eye normally brought.

"Have you seen your eye?" Tanya asked hesitantly, and I shook my head. She grimaced. "You better go look."

With an inward sigh at the knowledge that I was not going to like what I saw, I rose to my feet and shuffled toward the bathroom. Once inside, I took the ice off my eye and groaned in dismay. I leaned forward over the sinks as I stared into the mirror, moving my head around as if seeing the damage from a different angle would make it look better. It didn't. My eye socket was completely black and blue, the eyelids swollen shut, and there was a deep red knot just to the right of my eye that was the size of a golf ball. Fantastic. Even if I wore makeup, there was no hiding that. Optimus was going to have a fit.

I sat out the next twenty minutes with Tanya by my side as we waited for the swelling to go down enough that I could open my eye. Coach came by once or twice, checked my eye, then walked away. We were about to start our last stunting attempt when coach came back over, examined my eye, and gave a loud sigh.

"You need to go home, Campbell," she stated, using my last name. "Go to the nurse and call your parents. I don't want you walking like this." As she said this, the bell rang, making my head pound loudly. Even better! Now I have a migraine to go with my black eye. Nice. I stood from the bleachers and made my way slowly toward the locker room, not really liking how fuzzy my thinking was getting, how hard it was to balance. I silently thanked God that this was my day off. I would probably have to call in the rest of the week, too. No need to have an injured glamour girl scaring all the little ones away.

By the time I grabbed my bag and backpack, Dylan was waiting for me outside the bathroom, his face openly showing his concern. I smiled weakly at him and trotted forward into his arms.

"Dang, Lizzy, you've had one heck of a day," Dylan informed me sympathetically. I nodded into his shirt. He was sweaty and gross, but I didn't really care. I really needed a hug.

"Emphasis on the heck part," I mumbled. Dylan rubbed his hand up and down my back as he pulled away from me, using his free hand to shift my head to get a better look at my shiner.

"Tanya told me what happened. I told coach I'd take you home," he told me. I nodded. "So, here's Carlisle's keys. Go put your stuff up, and get the AC started. I'll be out in a few."

I took Carlisle's keys gratefully and started making my way through the crowded gymnasium toward Dylan's Camaro. I made it to the car easily enough. I didn't trip, didn't get shoved, and didn't randomly pass out from my cheer injury. I cautiously opened Carlisle's trunk and started loading my bags up. I shut the trunk, making sure the keys were in my hand, and started toward the passenger door. I opened the door and slid into the seat, happy that I had made the rest of the school day accident-free. Man, what a day. I stuck the keys in the ignition and turned over the engine, pointedly ignoring the heat that started shooting out of the AC units. The one thing I loved about Carlisle was that it didn't take long for him to cool down. I closed my door and relaxed back against the seat.

Carlisle had just cooled down when Dylan's door opened, and the dark-skinned boy slid into the driver's seat beside me. He peered over at me, but didn't speak, only tossed his bags in the small backseat. He put the car into gear and backed out before driving away.

The car ride was silent, something I thanked God for. I knew that the second Dylan asked me about my day, I would go off on a rampage, one that would probably start with the words "Well, Megan was…" Megan wasn't the true source of my bad day; in fact, she was only a small blurb on the disaster that was my Tuesday. Negative happenstance after negative happenstance simply piled up until I felt completely bogged down.

"You want me to drop you by your house?" Dylan questioned. When Dylan drove me home on my days off, he generally took me most of the way home, then dropped me off at the Walmart two miles away so that he could turn around in the parking lot and head back toward the dojo where he worked part-time. I normally enjoyed walking the final two miles, taking in vitamin D and working out any remaining stress in my muscles from cheerleading. Today, though, I had a shiner, a splitting headache, and a skinned knee. I didn't particularly want to walk, but on that same note, the silence was growing stifling in the small blue Camaro.

"No. God gave me legs, and I can use them."

"Yeah, well, one a' those legs is beat up to he-eck. Heck," Dylan quickly amended his final word. He sighed as he pulled into the parking lot. "Just… stay safe. I know this ain't a bad neighborhood, but I don't wan'cha ta get hurt anymore th'n ya already are."

"I'll be fine, Dyl. No stress."

"Yeah," Dylan responded in a deadpan voice as he pulled into a parking space. "No stress." I rolled my eyes at him as I opened the car door and rose from the seat. I closed the door behind me and strode to the back of the car. I lifted the trunk that Dylan had already popped for me and lifted out my bags, pointedly ignoring how the weights mildly threw off my balance. Man, my head hurt. I closed the trunk, and with a wave, I abandoned the car, heading west.

The first half of my walk was eventless, the biggest thing being old Mrs. Hofferson calling to me from her front porch. She wondered if I had seen her cat recently, as I often walked this way. I gave her a negative answer and continued on my walk. I heaved a great sigh as I mulled over the events of the day. I had failed a quiz, something I never, ever do. I couldn't remember what questions I got wrong, but I knew I'd have to work harder to make the other next two quizzes high A's to keep my 92 in the class.

Then my trip just after first period. How the heck had that even happened? I wasn't exactly a graceful person, but I was good at keeping balance and recovering my step before I fell. I babysat fifty-plus girls in high heels! I ran after little girls in five inch stilettos on Tuesdays! How the heck had I managed to trip over a door jamb that I had had the intelligence to step over every other day of the year? How—

Life was unfair, I decided as I ate concrete for the second time that day. The slab I had tripped over this time had been raised about an inch, and I had stepped just perfectly so that my foot got caught on it and sent me sprawling. My gym bag hit my right arm of the way down, preventing me from using that hand to catch myself, and I landed painfully on my elbows and knees. I groaned heavily as I rolled over, sitting on my rear as I surveyed the damage.

My right knee was now just as skinned as my left, and three thick lines of blood started rolling down my right leg. I could feel a similar sting in my elbows, but the blood only pooled on the cuts, covering the open skin with an uncomfortable mix of blood and some sort of clear liquid.

As I sat there, I seriously debated crying. My day had sucked, my best friend had stabbed me in the back last weekend, and now, I had to bleed all the way home. How was this fair? As it was, a whimpering sob rose to my throat, and my eyes filled with tears. Maybe if I cried, some good Samaritan would come and give me a hug. As soon as that thought sifted through my mind, though, it was rejected. I had a strange tendency to attract creepy people…

Besides, crying was pointless. It was illogical. Crying would not get me home; crying would not heal my wounds. My best bet would be to suck it up and limp home. Optimus would be there, and he always knew what to say.

So I began my trek back home, limping heavily as blood trailed down the front of my leg. I glanced up at the clear, sunny sky, noting thankfully that it wasn't going to suddenly start raining on me. Then again, it might decide to rain on me just for the fun of it, stupid rain. Maybe a raincloud would form over my head like in a cartoon and just follow me around. The mental picture brought a smile to my face, however small. Yep, that would be my luck.

My home was finally in sight, and I resisted the urge to limp-sprint all the way down the street to it. It would not do to trip again, not when I was so close to my goal, to my safety. I wondered idly if Optimus would be waiting at the window for me. I hadn't been able to give him a specific time when I would be home, but I knew for a fact that I was at least ten minutes late. I had spent a lot of time sitting on that sidewalk, pondering my next move. I wondered if mom had called the police in a panic, assuming I'd been kidnapped.

And thus we've come full circle. I opened my bedroom door without any fanfare and limped inside.

"Tex! I was concerned when – good Primus!" Optimus cut himself off when he got a good look at me, and he immediately dropped the red spiral he had been reading to dash to my side. "Come to the bathroom, femme, and I will tend to your wounds."

I obeyed, dropping my bags at the door and shuffling into my bathroom. The first Saturday I had Optimus, he had informed me that he wanted the first aid kit on the bottom shelf of the bathroom cabinet in case I was knocked out for some reason. Optimus immediately went to the designated cabinet and pulled open the door with all the strength in his little body, and he pulled out the 10X10 inch first aid kit, dragging it behind him like a giant suitcase. I walked to the sink and sat down, leaning against the sink cupboard that held extra shampoo and cream rinse, Raid, and other such items. I stared rather blankly at Optimus as he neared my left leg.

"I must take a moment to remind you that I did warn you that you would chance injury if I was not around," Optimus began. I blinked. Had Optimus just given me a formal version of "I told you so?" For the first time today, I giggled. Optimus Prime had just said, "I told you so." For some reason, that was hilarious. I giggled, then that giggle turned into a laugh, then, before long, I was sobbing.

If Optimus was shocked or intimidated by my whimpering sobs, he didn't show it. I heard him sigh a little, but I didn't see him move as my eyes were covered by my palms. Crying in front of Optimus was so embarrassing! Primus, I wasn't a child, and I liked to think I could keep my emotions in check. Like Prowl. I bet Prowl never cried. To my frustration, my tears seemed to increase as my personal irritation did.

"Tex," a gentle voice called out directly to my right. I sniffled and pulled my blurry eyes away from my hands to look down at the 14-inch robot beside me. His optics narrowed at my black eye, but he quickly forced the expression off his face. He stepped onto my hip, holding his balance with a single hand on my t-shirt, and stood nearly eye-to-optic with me. He rested his free right hand on my cheek and gave me a sympathetic look. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

And just like that, I was bawling again. I blubbered out my story, telling him about my terrible day as he listened patiently, probably not even able to understand half of my wet words. When I was finished, I mopped at my eyes with the back of my hand and waited for my Personal to say something.

"You said yesterday… that words didn't hurt you…" Optimus gazed into my eyes seriously. "Megan hurt you very deeply when she spread those lies about you, didn't she?" I immediately looked away, averting my eyes to stare down at the light blue tile on my left as I debated how much to tell this little robot, how much I trusted him. "Hiding information will not help you." At my shocked look, he continued with a wry light to his optics. "I have ruled a planet and commanded an army. Above that, I was mated once. I know what the subtle actions of a femme mean, and I know when one of my soldiers is trying to figure out how to keep something hidden from me. I cannot help you if you do not tell me the truth." I stared at him for a few minutes, thinking about how different my life would be if I had gotten the Personal: Avengers – Captain America. I bet he wouldn't be so bold asking questions. Then again, wasn't this why I bought Optimus: to have someone to talk to, to share my pain with?

"I…" I sighed before I plowed into my story. "When I was a sophomore, a girl came to our school. She was nice at first, and Megan's group of friends immediately took her in. Eventually, the girl, Lexie, announced to her group of friends, Megan's friends, that she was doing meth and drank alcohol, and she invited them over to smoke and drink some with her. The group of friends turned her down, of course, but they still wanted to be friends with her. Megan decided she didn't need to have that sort of influence, so she left that group of friends." I grimaced little as my right knee twitched, sending a bit of pain down my leg. I gently lifted Optimus into my arms and rose to my feet, setting him carefully on the countertop as I reached for a wash rag and wetted it with the sink. I hopped up onto the sink ledge beside him and swung my legs up so that I could start cleaning my knee wound.

"She was alone for a few days, and I couldn't stand that. You see, at that time, my group only had Savannah, Julianna, and Mikaela. Dylan didn't go to school there yet – he wouldn't get there until the second semester. Those three girls made up my group of friends, but each of them was a freshman, a grade below me, and I only saw them at lunch. I was the girl that everyone teased, the one with no social standing, and I hated it. So I decided to reach out to Megan." I smiled at the memories I had with her. We had been best friends, talking on the phone for hours at a time.

"We became best friends. When she got a boyfriend, I was the first to hear about it. I sympathized with her over her deadbeat dad, and her mom became my mom. I can remember her mom writing me a thank you letter for giving Megan a friend when she had none…

"Then Dylan arrived. I became best friends with him, but he didn't like Megan too much, mainly because she liked him. Well, she liked any boy that'd give her the time of day. Dylan wasn't interested, though, and that annoyed her. He put up with her for me, though…" I paused to hiss in pain when I got too close to the wound, which was now sluggishly oozing blood.

"Allow me," Optimus requested, holding a hand out for the bloody rag. I shook my head.

"No, I got it. You can put the bandaid on," I responded. Optimus nodded.

"Very well. Continue with your story." I shrugged.

"That's pretty much it. The rest of my group showed up last year when I was a junior, we became our clique, Megan went back to hang out with her old friends when Lexie got expelled, and Megan and I remained friends, just not as close."

There was silence as I continued cleaning the blood from my leg, taking a moment every now and again to rinse the rag out in the sink. I wondered what Optimus was thinking as he absently watched me tend to my own wounds. Was he feeling pity for me? Was he thinking back to when his best friend, Megatron, betrayed him and tried to kill him? Maybe he was simply trying to think of something to say to me. Maybe he was internally critiquing my wound-cleaning technique. I smiled a little at that last one. I was getting Optimus and Ratchet mixed up. When he finally spoke, it made me jolt a little in surprise.

"Will you ever forgive her?" he asked softly, his optics distant. I grimaced a little.

"I don't know if I can. To forgive her would be to give her the chance to hurt me again. Trust takes years to build up, seconds to shatter, and a lifetime to rebuild." Optimus nodded at that, a deep frown in his optics. I matched his frown. "Optimus, am I being petty?" I asked honestly. The Autobot commander blinked, then looked up at me with a smile.

"The things Megan said about you were cruel, and you are right not to trust her. I would suggest you forgive her, though," Optimus responded. "A grudge will turn to hate, which will become bitterness. You need not become a bitter person, Private Tex." I nodded at him as I slid off the counter and grabbed the first aid kit off the floor. I presented it to my commander with a smile, which turned into a grin when he pulled out a patch bandaid the size of his arm.

"Fraggin' material mesh," Optimus mumbled as he opened the plastic around the bandaid and began fighting with the sticky parts that seemed determined to attach themselves to his frame. I watched in amusement as the bandaid stuck to his arms and wondered idly if I should help him. I knew that if I offered, he'd say something about being a commander and having dealt with tougher things than this, but I still felt compelled to offer my assistance.

"There is no need," Optimus responded immediately. "I can manage on my own. I have dealt with far worse things than this sticky mesh, and I can assure you that I am perfectly capable of bandaging your injury." So I allowed him to fight his own battle. The bandaid ended up on my knee at some point, and I thanked him earnestly. He smiled up at me.

"It is no problem. Now, let's get started on your elbows, and we can get you some ice for your eye," Optimus directed. I nodded and rinsed out the bloody cloth again before going to work on my elbows in silence. As I worked, my mind mused at the correlation between Optimus and the bandage he had fought so valiantly against. He was my metaphorical bandaid, I decided. My heart hurt right now, but Optimus covered the wound, keeping out the hurtful words that were symbolized as bacteria. With time and care, my heart wound would heal, but until then, Optimus would hold me together.

"By the way, I have managed to put together a rudimentary filing system for your spirals, and after reading through quite a few of them, I must ask you something." He gazed up at me with a largely teasing expression. "Just how much do you love Jazz?"

I was never letting him touch any of my spirals again.

Miko873: Thank you for the compliment! I'm glad to entertain! (What I'm here for ;])

Ask-xeta: Lol. Chloe the Sorceress/Kidnapper will show up in a later chapter. In fact you met her (sorta) in this chapter. She's a flyer on Tex's cheer squad. Liz got her a job at Glam & Glamour shortly after she started there. We'll have a chapter detailing Optimus' day at G&G soon enough. I think that's in two chapters or so.

Esperanza Hyde the Vamp Queen: Eh. Working with other kids is different than working with your sibling. Personally, I like babysitting the two demons more than I enjoyed babysitting my little sister. It's just different. Besides, I really like kids. I understand them, and they've got the best imagination, meaning they come up with fun games and can go along with any plot twist you throw at them. You'll see that in a few chapters. Maybe I can get you to like little kids through G&G chapters. ;)

Squidlydoo: You know what's even funnier? I could picture him being super serious with the party, treating it like a battle or something. I wrote a ficlet where Optimus babysits, so I can see him being really good with kids, too.

Link's Rose: Nothing is ambitious, just like nothing is impossible. If you wanna do it, you should go for it. I'm a firm believer in doing anything you put your mind to, and I don't think there's a limit to that. Just be yourself, and no matter how famous you become, never lose yourself. And thank you. I remember a time when I used to be proud over the fact that I knew how to ruin someone's reputation, but looking back, I only feel shame for the things that I've done to people. Hindsight 20/20, right? Might as well impart my knowledge on anyone on here that thought my ideas were hardcore and wanted to try them for themselves…

NIghtbird1001: Thank you very much! I hope this chapter kept you entertained. :D

Angel897: That's my goal! Good to know I've still got it. :)

I Am The Silver Lining: Well, remember that his mind isn't geared toward romance, but toward companionship, the programming that Tex activated. He's happy as long as his charge is happy. And no, G&G does not exist, but if I had the money, I would create it. It sounds so fun, and both my parents say it'd be a good idea if we had the cash. But, alas, we don't. :(

Autobot Princess Arcee: Thank you! I'm glad you like it. I didn't expect you guys to love G&G so much, but I really wish it existed. Kids really are the funnest creatures to be around. My little cousin loves coming over to my house because I'm the only cousin who doesn't mind playing pretend with her. Everyone else is too close-minded, but we have some hardcore fairy battles and mermaid/shark fights at my house.

And sadly, Optimus will never get his Elita. Persobots Inc. is busy with Marvel, DC, and Mattel. The next Personal: Transformers won't come out until Jan of 2014, two years from this story's first chapter, and that will be Autobot Bumblebee. Seeing as Persobots Incorporated is actually a pretty small company that makes every part and develops its own technology, they have to take a lot of time coming up with designs, technology, and pre-made robots to sell as demand grows. Elita-One is low on the priority list, especially when they can sell Optimus, Bumblebee, Ironhide, and other such popular Autobots. :(

A Wiccan: Really? What did they sell? It sounds kind of like a little girl's store, doesn't it? Kinda like Limited Two and Justice. Heh. I am too. It's hard to find well-written romance nowadays, though. The Sues have taken over. T^T

PandaGirlPlaysTheTuba: Okay, I've never asked you this, and my curiosity's about to explode. Don't take this rudely, because I don't mean it so; I'm just curious. Do you actually play the tuba? Do you love pandas like I love turtles and owls? If not, where did your username come from? No offense meant. Just genuine curiosity.

Lol, I was a pageant girl from 6 months old to sixteen. I learned how to walk in high heels at a pretty young age. I have high arches, too, so I prefer heels over flats because flats hurt my feet. It's all about where your center of balance is. And practice. Lots and lots of practice. And thank you. The details are what you guys always point out. I never even notice it when I put it in. I just like to keep everything covered. No loose ends to pick at, ya know?

SunnySides: XD You're such a fangirl! I must admit I'd love that job, too. Well, maybe not. I haven't seen the current movie, but I was under the impression all NEST personnel were fired or arrested… I don't think I'd wanna be in Bayverse. I kinda hate it right now. I'm boycotting it, in fact… Still a good dream, though. *Dreamy sigh* Daily private meetings with Optimus to hash out various situations that occur on the NEST base. I can only imagine his deep voice calling my name, asking if I was even paying attention as I stared into his dreamy optics, his dreamy, irritated optics… Okay, maybe I would like having the job more than he would like me having it. I would fangirl too much. ^^;

I figured out what was wrong, too. FF . net wanted me to moderate the reviews. I've never had to do that… But I figured it all out. There shouldn't be any problem from here on out. :D

Guest that is CodeRed73: Taco Bueno for me. 80's rock, like Journey and Foreigner. Spiders. *nod nod*

Eh heh, I think you got Marge mixed up with Megan. Margaret's kinda rude, cold, and overemotional sometimes, but she's basically harmless. Megan… well, you got her story on here. G&G is not an actual place, but I have no idea what an American Girl store is…

Bluefeather4299: thank you so much. I hope you liked this one as much as the last. :D

Leonixon: Lol. I guess knight!Optimus Prime combined with babysitter!Optimus Prime is kind of an overloader. I'm mean to you guys with my fluff sometimes. XD

"old programming offlining difficulties" Can anybody guess what that means? It's a common phrase (in Texas, at least, but I'm pretty sure it's nation-wide...)

So anybody ever have that extremely bad day where everything goes wrong, and once someone asks you about it, you just start bawling? Those are the worst, but Liz was lucky enough to have her commander nearby to help her feel better.

And yes, I had a history teacher like that. i wasn't writing incorrect history facts on accident. My history teacher in high school was kinda... out there.