Oh boy, I have some more ideas to add on to my main idea, which I swear will be a huge huge HUGE surprise to every one of you who are reading this story :) Muahahahahahahahah!!!!!!!
OK, ANYWAY... Thank you for reading and to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate the support. : )
WARNING: ANGGGGGGSSSSTTTTTYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!
DISCLAIMER: I hate writing long disclaimers. You already KNOW I don't own anything except my ideas. So, I mean, cut me some slack here!
How dare she! Trixie was fuming. It was all she could do to sit on the cot as the nurse dabbed at each and every tiny little cut with medication. It stung. And those were just the small cuts. But she didn't care. It was nothing compared to the pain that'd been inflicted upon her. Yes, she'd fought back. She'd fought the good fight. But she'd lost. How? She was a Tang. A Tang was successful at anything --anything--they set out to do. How was it she'd failed?
As she winced in pain, she felt her cheeks burn in fury at the bitter thought: Why was she sucessful in everything except the one thing that mattered? Even she had enough common sense to know that excaping a fight with her health intact was more important than wearing and saying the right things. What was even the point of wearing all the right things? Where did it get her? Where did saying all the right insults lead her? Why did they seem so necessary? For once, Veronica, not her, had succeeded. In more ways than one.
And as if her ego hadn't already suffered a great blow, Taylor chose that moment to tell her they wouldn't be attending prom, together at least. Her fists balled as anger rekindled within her like a paper in hot embers. She tensed her arms to push herself up and go find Veronica. To take out her anger. It was her turn. But Nurse Hoosier had different plans for her. She pressed a cloth drenched in medication against a long, jagged cut on her cheek. Trixie yelled out in pain, her arms giving out, and her rear falling the two inches back to the cot she'd been attempting to escape. She attempted to pull away but the nurse held her firm. "No, dear," she said, "This will clean out the cut. You don't want a nasty infection on that pretty little face, now do you?"
Trixie almost snorted. What pretty face? It wasn't pretty and she knew it. A black eye, and multiple cuts marred the beauty. "It burns." she said irrately.
"Then next time, don't get in a fight." the nurse replied simply.
And something in Trixie snapped.
She stood up spun to face the nurse. "SHE started with ME! I wasn't trying to fight!" She stared down the poor woman, who was a good foot shorter than her. "And stay out of my business or else I swear by everything I know that's still true---" Trixie's voice cracked. How was it she was being hurt by her own words now? She ignored it and finished out her threat, strong and true, "--I'll have you fired, and I'll find some way to get your ass in prison!" She snatched the cloth out of the woman's hand, pressed it to her face and stormed out of the room.
When she was a good distance from the office, she collapsed. She didn't care about all the germs and dirt that were no doubt there with her. She lay in the corner, her face on the floor, sobbing. The medicated cloth was cold on her wound. But she didn't care. Like that mattered anymore. She sobbed, and cried into the floor like it was her pillow.
She wished she had a friend with her. They'd hold her, and comfort her, and let her cry into their shoulder, soothing her. Telling her things would be fine. That even though she no longer had her dignity, or her best friend, things would be fine. That time would heal her emotional wounds and her physical wounds together. But a quake of fear mixed sickenly with her anger as it finally clicked in her mind. She had no friend who would do that.
Her friends would scoff and tell her how ridiculous she was being. Her friends would simply purse their lips in embarrassment of her, and whisper for her to stop crying, or to at least get in a stall in the bathroom. Her friends would push her off their shoulder, complaining about how their shirts would be ruined because of a few little teardrops. No, she didn't have true friends. She had a brand of friends. That was the path she'd chosen.
So for now, the cold blue and white tiling would have to be her shoulder.
What she wouldn't have given to get out of this mess. She shut her eyes tightly as more tears spilled out like unorganized clockwork. And another wave of anger flushed through her. She was angry at herself. Why am I crying? I need to stop! she thought angrily. She forced herself to sit up, choking as she held back a sob. She threw the cloth to the ground and wiped her face viciously with her hand. In her mind,she had no reason to cry.
Of course, this was to be expected, her downfall. She'd always stepped on everyone, Veronica most of all. Because Veronica was the closest thing she'd ever had to a friend. She'd been a true friend. She'd always been there for her, always been kind to her...heck, the girl wanted to be her. She was a real friend. So why couldn't Trixie ever reciprocate those feelings? Instead, she saw the chance, and stepped all over her. She'd walked all over Veronica. But then, she remembered that she had reciprocated the feelings and shown that she cared. Because after she'd turned Veronica into nothing more than a pile of nothing, she remolded her in her own ideals of perfection. So that when she rose, they could rise together. After all, a carbon copy is just a good as the original, right? She shook her head. Not anymore.
Veronica was lucky. She'd always known it was wrong, everything they did...it was all wrong. And she'd wanted to break free and make it right. And she had. Trixie knew that after today, Veronica wouldn't have to worry about changing to maintain friends. About buying all the latest things. About failing tests and not doing homework because "being smart is uncool". About saying all the "right" things, even if it was wrong. About doing all the cool things. About being who the world didn't even want you to be, but expected you to be, because you've made such strong justifications for the behavior. She was free. The heavy burden was lifted. And now it was all on Trixie. She'd now be alone in struggling to carry the burden. She wanted to do as Veronica did. So badly. But she knew that this was the way it had to be. If her "best friend" wasn't there to bask in the "joy" of popularity with her, she'd have to do it alone. Because she was the Queen Bee. She was the captain of her own sinking ship. And even if everyone else abandoned early, she had to stay on until the end. It was no longer a choice. But it was. And she wanted out.
But she knew that even though popularity was nothing more than a black hole, there was a tiny light in the center that attracted her, made her lusty for power, the forbidden fruit that would always tempt her to stay. And she'd never be able to leave it. And as a consequence, she'd stay where she was. With a sigh, she forced herself to put on her usual face: non-caring, calm, and vain. But this time, a hint of her inner-misery shone through; the glitter in her eyes was gone. Even a small detail like that would let people know she was upset. But nobody would every try to get close enough to find out why, or even act like they cared. No, they'd all ignore it and pretend it wasn't there. They'd ignore it and worship her as usual. Because to everyone, she was nothing more than a walking standard that everyone wanted to reach, so that they could be happy. Because she was popular. And if they dared get close, they'd end up in a hospital. But Trixie wanted someone to try. So that she'd have an excuse to escape the bullsh-t. And if it didn't, she'd wish she had enough courage to escape by herself, like Veronica. Maybe pick up the tiny shards of their friendship and start over. But it'd never happen, because even if 99.9 percent of her wanted out, that .1 percent would never let her leave. Misery needed company. And now that company was gone, she'd always be in need.
TWO WEEKS LATER...
Two whole weeks. Tootie sighed. It had been two whole weeks since the big fight between Veronica and Trixie. She didn't really care. They could settle whatever scores they needed to. IT wasn't any concern of hers. But she couldn't help but keep it on her mind. The whole school's mentality had changed. No longer was it the happy Dimmsdale High School, home to the beutiful people, full of wannabe popular people. Actually it was. But at the same time, it wasn't. Everyone had become more subdued. Deep down, most people except a few still desired to be popular. But all you had to do was walk through a hallway to feel the amped up tension. People were quieter in the hallways. They still attempted to impress the Elite Ones, but more subtley. It could be called nothing more than ironic that the only people who acted as if nothing had happened were the Elitists themselves.
At least, Tootie noticed, Veronica had the courage to return to school to next day. She didn't get a pity party, nor did she ask for one. She went about as if it were any other day. But she was different. Happier. She apologized sincerely to anyone she'd hurt. "Hi. Can I talk to you in private, please?" She was free to be herself. She came dressed in nothing more than green cargo pants, black and white Converse shoes, and a white baby-tee shirt. Her hair was not held back in it's ponytail by a gold encrusted bauble, or a scrunchy full of sequins and glamour, but a rubber band. And when the time came that she had to encounter the Elites, the ones whom she still belonged to, much to everybody's shock, she gave them a polite hello, smiled, and kept moving. You don't own my soul... She'd treated them like normal people. By lunch time, she was chatting happily with Elise Vickerson Band geek... Grey Smith Nerd... and Lionel Baratucci Emo freak... and she like them. And they liked her. In fact, she'd made sure that everyone saw that they didn't live up to their stereotypes. Elise was a normal person. As a matter of fact, nobody could tell she was in band. She didn't look it. But then, how do you look like you're in band? Grey certainly didn't dress like a nerd. Jeans and sports jerseys were all he wore. And just because he was intelligent didn't mean he was a nerd. As a matter of fact, there wasn't even a steady definition for the word. And Lionel certainly wan't emo. Black just happened to be his favorite color. He thought it was poetic. But he was the happiest person she'd ever known .Comedy was his forte. And even if he had been emo, who cared? Emo's weren't freaks. In her opinion, they were people who were real.
And Tootie couldn't deny she was proud of her.
Trixie, on the other hand, hadn't been at school since the fight. Nobody knew where she was. But Trixie and Veronica's affairs were the least of her concern.
Tootie could hardly contain her excitement. Prom was only a day away. She chucled. Only a day away. As if a day isn't forever. Well, in her mind. She plopped down on her bed and looked at her green walls. She grinned again as she thought back to when she was ten. Every wall had been covered with so many pictures of Timmy that she'd been surprised to see color on the walls when she finally took them down. She'd been so insane back then. And now that a few years passed, her hyperactive-stalker manner died, and the pictures came down, she'd finally gotten what she wanted. To be with Timmy.
She wouldn't've cared if she was going to be with him on different standards. She'd be perfectly content just talking to him on the phone. So going to Prom with him was very thrilling! And just as she thought that, the phone rang. She forced herself up and answered it. Speak of the devil...
"Hey, Tootie!"
"Timmy! What's up? Why do you sound so excited?" Tootie couldn't help but smile as she stared out her window at the cherry-blossom tree in her yard.
"Oh, no reason. Nothing too important, except that I happened to get us reservations at Chez Amore!"
"WHAT?!" Tootie leapt to her feet. "You--Chez---No way! Timmy, I--Wow!"
"Yeap..." he drawled proudly, and Tootie could just see him now, stretching as if it were no big deal, a mixture of pride, smugness, and thrill on his face.
"But Timmy, that restaurant is so expensive." Tootie grinned, "You really didn't have to do it."
"Ok, first off, I have a job, so I've got it covered," he stated firmly, trying to sound annoyed, but she could hear the amusement in his voice, "Second of all, I'm the one paying, so don't worry about it. And third, just shut up, ok?" and he laughed.
"Don't make me come over there." Tootie threatened, chuckling herself.
"Oh?" the smirk was nearly visible in his tone, "Yeah, right, like you can even hurt a fly."
"Is that a challenge?"
"What did it sound like, Tootie?" he muffled a laugh and Tootie laughed.
"Ok,ok. But seriously, Chez Amore is very expensive. You don't have to use your whole paycheck for our dinner."
"Of course not, because you're going to want a limo, a doorman, and perhaps a professional singer to serenade you too, right?" he joked.
"Oh, shut up!" Tootie grinned, "But yeah, that sounds nice. I can only imagine it."
"You're right. You can only imagine it. Because it's not happening." he laughed and Tootie rolled her eyes and surpressed a giggle.
"But Chez Amore is famous for it's fancy food, and really good service and---" she hesitated. She didn't want to point out that a lot of people went there when planning to propose for marrige.
"So what? What's wrong with good food and service?" Timmy sounded truly confused. And why not? Tootie hesitated before speaking gingerly. "Um...Timmy, you do know that Amore means love...right?"
A pause. Apparently not.
"Yeas, Tootie. I know that." he said slowly. "What's you're point.
"Nearly everyone who goes in there comes out married!" she blurted out, and felt her face get warm.
"So you don't want to marry me? I'm hurt..."
"Timmy!" Tootie groaned.
"Sorry. But yes, Tootie, I did know. And yes, it's good place to make marrige proposals, but so what? We're not going there so that I can propose to you. We're going so that we can eat before Prom. And we're not going to be alone. So don't worry."
Tootie blushed. She'd forgotten that Chester and A.J. would be accompanying with their dates. "Oh...right. Sorry."
"Are you nervous or something?" he asked, and again, she blushed.
"No. I was just getting a bit too logical about things for my own good. Sorry."
"Ok, fine. Well, I've got to go, so I'll see you at school, ok?"
"Bye." she said, and hung up the phone. She was nervous. It was her first time going out with Timmy anywhere. And even though it was on mutual, non-romantic terms, her head was spinning.
Taylor stared out his window and sighed. Things still felt odd. He could still remember every word Veronica had said to him in the bathroom last week. It had stuck with him. And somehow, it placed a burden on him. But it was a good burden. Because it was that burden that kept telling him that he could be truly close to his friends only if he was completely honest. And he hadn't been. That burden told him that he should be. And he would. And he'd thank Veronica for it too.
He'd also thank her for confiding in him. It'd been a long time since someone had confided in him like that. It felt nice, knowing he could still be trusted.
HE picked up the phone.
Veronica stared at her reflection in the mirror. She had to admit that she looked a lot different from how she used to look. The few small cuts she had were healing well. The bruise on her left cheek was now a faded gray rather than a bold purple. But the truly drastic change was that finally, after eight years, she was able to smile again.
And not because she had to.
But now, she stood by her closet, holding her prom dress, staring at it with a certain disgust. She'd been questioning whether or not to go. But she now knew. She yanked it off the hanger and began to pull, ready to rip the 5,000 dollar dress right at the seams. There was too much lace on it for her tastes anyway. And then the phone rang. With sigh, Veronica dropped the unripped dress and it landed on the floor with a soft fluttering of fabric. She grabbed the phone and managed to relax a bit.
"Yeah?"
"Hey, Veronica!" a chipper voice on the other line sang out.
Veronica blushed. "Taylor?" she stammered, "How --how'd you get my number? I mean--"
"It's called a phonebook." she heard him laugh on the other end of the phone. She grinned.
"So anyway, what are you doing?" he asked. Veronica looked over at her dress, crumpled on the floor.
"Nothing."
"Well, what are you doing tomorrow?"
Veronica found herself blushing again. "Uh...why?"
"Well, I wanted to know if you wanted to go to Prom with me."
"Me?" she blurted in disbelief, "I thought you were going with Trixie?" she felt her hands curl into tight fists as she said the name. She shut her eyes and shook her head.
"Yeah, well, she and I have a lot less in common than I once thought."
Veronica smiled, "Then in that case, yes. I'd love to."
"Great!" he said.
"Great." she repeated, equally as enthusiastic, but trying to sound calm. There was an awkward silence that followed.
"Well, I'll see you tomorrow. Be ready by seven, ok? Bye."
"Wait!" Veronica exclaimed, "Aren't we going to make plans? I mean, what's going to happen? Should I meet you there, are you going to pick me up, what's going on?"
"Veronica, you trust me, right?"
Veronica sighed. She'd poured out her soul to him, just as she could formerly only do with Tad. But when Tad left her life, Taylor showed up, and --as much as it killed her inside to say-- replaced him. Tad had become a stranger. Taylor had become her confidante in those few moments. And she'd even admitted it herself before the whole situation: he was cute, and she had a slight interest in him. How could she not trust him?
"Yeah, I trust you."
"Then trust me on this."
"But--"
"Bye," he said in a teasing voice before hanging up. Veronica hung up the phone with a sigh before hanging up the dress again. "Lucky you. I guess you'll be spared after all."