Author's Note: Surprise—here's the real chapter 5! Haha, I would say sorry for trolling you all with a fake chapter, but I'm not—it was too funny and the reactions I got were priceless! The original plan was to post the fake one and then post the real one a day after, but I didn't finish the chapter in time. Lesson learnt: I should never set deadlines. I am so sorry for not updating in a month, but I had a severe case of writer's block. But, I'm back in my game so hopefully I'll update more quickly.
Also, I'm looking for a beta reader—someone who will be able to read my chapters before they are published and critique it. I'm not looking for someone who is great at grammar, but rather, someone who can help with the plot and structure. If interested, then please private message me! I think this site as a section for beta reading, but I don't think I want to go down that road.
And again, the more reviews = the better the story. Enjoy!
It's still light out, but in an hour the sun will begin to set; in fifteen minutes, I'll be home. Sonya and I talked for a few minutes when we had gotten into the car, but since then it's just been the radio breaking the silence. I can tell she's worried about me because she repeatedly tries to discreetly glance my way, her jaw set, trying to hold her tongue. She knows that I won't just be going home—I'll be going to a broken family.
The entire day, I had managed to ignore the burning question festering in my head, keeping it buried deep down. There were times I forgot about it almost completely, and there were times when I was on the verge of thinking about it, but before I let that happen I would quickly move onto something else, but not quick enough for my stomach to not grow uneasy and tie itself into knots. I had a particular dread within me, something I could not shake off the entire day. But no matter how much weight I felt within me, I wouldn't allow myself to think about it.
Not until now.
My heart hammers and time seems to rush forward. I close my eyes but reopen them not even a second later; I want to be detached and as far away as possible, but how is that possible when this concerns the things closest to me? It's my reality being shattered and there is nothing more personal than that. I sigh, and adjust myself on the car seat, fidgeting about what I am about to do. I know that I am just stalling so without any further hesitation, without any further thought, I dive head first into my worries—Dad.
Already, I want to back out; to turn the radio up and sing along to country music, salsa, rap, whatever—anything besides this. I want to jump out of the car and ran away, to scream so loudly that I won't be able to hear inside my head. I want to get drunk and not remember anything from the past two days. I want to do anything but this, and yet—
I have to. If I want the earth to stop trembling, then I have to make sense of it all; I have to confront it. Reluctantly, with my stomach doing back flips and a sour taste in my throat, I push forward. I relive last night, and imagine the scene before me: my mom and dad arguing in front of me, Danielle standing to my left...and then the bomb that was dropped, earth shattering and toxic. It's like an eery echo bouncing off of many walls, going on and on and on..."Only when you stop fucking your co-workers." My stomach instantaneously becomes a heavyweight two ton ball of steel, and falls into my gut, only it's an abyss and the sensation is never ending. I can hear the blood in my head pounding and close my eyes, leaning my head back against the seat. And I let my thoughts fly. First: what did she mean? WHAT did she mean? I ask myself this several times, but soon come to the realization that I am skirting the problem. I don't want to accept that situation but rather, find another reality. I don't want to face it but I have to.
My entire body shifts to the right and without opening my eyes I can sense that we are at the traffic circle, ten minutes from my house. Suddenly and without hesitation, my resolution is resolved—I will face this. Perhaps because the distance between the house and I has shortened, or because I want to stop wallowing in uncertainty and grief. Either way, I open my eyes and lift my head up. My heart is hard and made of stone, and my mind is a machine, mechanically and methodically working through the problem. I won't stop, I won't dwell...I only want resolution.
Step one: confront the problem. The problem? My dad is sleeping with someone else (I can feel my stomach begin to turn but I ignore it.) Step two: what does this mean to me and my family? My dad is cheating on my mom. (I want to halt, to not think about it anymore and to push it out, but again I ignore my internal turmoil and continue.) Step three: what will happen? Divorce. (I cannot help it and shiver.) The last and final step: do I believe this? Do I believe that my dad would (is) cheat on my mom? I let the car rock me as we turn a corner and think. I've never noticed anything unusual with my dad. Nothing that would hint to an affair. All he does is stay home when he can, and only goes out ever so often with his friends. Nothing suspicious...
But, maybe I never noticed. Maybe I never paid enough attention or brushed it aside. Does this make me a terrible person, a terrible daughter? Too absorbed in my own world that—
Stop. Stop it, I tell myself. Step four: yes or no? Would he, could he? I ask myself this as we pull up to the curb, as I walk out of the car, and walk to the front step of my house. Yes...or no?
I don't know. All I am certain of is that my parents had their biggest fight last night, and anger brings out the worst in people. My mom could have been lying, or she could have been telling the truth. The tricky and horrible, gut-wrenching and terrifying thing about this simple question is hope. Do I want to hope, or give it up? If my mom was telling the truth, do I want to feel crushed, or satisfied that I knew that my dad was deceitful. As I reach for my keys and turn the door knob, I make my stance—neutral, uncertain; the safest of the three.
I don't know what to expect when I walk inside, but I stand still, scouting for whatever it was that I had seen earlier this morning. The red, deep red...a dried pool the size of my fist is almost hidden behind the sofa. Without thinking, I walk to it and impassively stare down at the red. It would have had to been a lot of blood for the carpet to absorb, and even then medical attention would have been required. I must still be in "machine" mode, because the next thing I know, I am on my knees, wafting the scent.
Wine, it's wine. And sure enough, I see a fallen wine glass beside it. I am relieved, even though I don't remember being on edge. Is this what being at home is going to be like?
"Are okay?"
"Are you?"
"No..."
"Well, there you go."
Sonya and I are slouched over the counter, applying as much of our weight as we can onto our arms, relieving our aching backs and feet. We had arrived at the Lima Bean five hours ago and now, at noon, we are already tired from training. It's not the manual labor that is tiring us out, but rather, the standing. Not once have we been able to sit down, and knee raises only help so much. I say a silent prayer, hoping Daniel will give let us have a lunch break soon.
When Sonya and I had first arrived at the Lima Bean, we were ecstatic. We were thrilled with the idea of running back and forth to make coffee drinks, or ringing the cash register, taking people's orders. We had spent the car ride over saying things like "can I have a grande cafe latte with a pinch of cinnamon with two drips?", but never had we thought such drinks existed. For the first hour, Daniel had us look over a packet about drinks and their ingredients, but only as an introductory, since we will have to memorize them at home. Some drinks were simple, but others made me think I was in over my head, and to quit while I can. And before we could even wrap our heads around the drinks, Daniel then proceeded to show us the machines. What they were, what they did, how to operate them; health procedures, safety hazards, temperatures, etc, etc. Enough to make me question why I was up on a Saturday morning.
I sigh deeply and am about turn to Sonya, about to complain to her when suddenly I see Daniel out of the corner of my eye, walking towards us. I hastily stand up, and my feet begin to hurt terribly, but I manage a smile, and Sonya follows in pursuit.
"Ready for another five hours," he asks, stopping in front of us. Before Sonya or I can begin to protest (I can feel Sonya's sass from behind me), Daniel laughs. "I'm only joking, stop being so serious!" I know I should make a good impression, but I'm too tired to care. This is only a half-serious job anyways—there's always the library. As if Sonya and I did laugh along with him, Daniel continues, checking his watch on his left wrist. "It's 12:05, usually when everyone changes shifts or goes on lunch break. Thirty minutes and then back to work." He smiles at us as we begin to sag our backs, dully relived and genuinely blessed. "Break," he says, as if he were a football coach, and walks away.
Hallelujah!
My first instinct is to bolt to the door, but I find myself aching all over and hobbling to the nearest table to the counter. Sonya sits down besides me and together we sit in silence, too tired to move a muscle. However, I soon feel a hollowness inside me and my stomach grumbles, and without a word, Sonya goes to retrieve our bags from the back. Curiously, I feel as if I am watching a live-telling of The Tortoise and the Hare, because Sonya is walking at an embarrassingly slow pace. Distantly, I recall a saying; something about humility over dignity.
As I contemplate this, my eyesight goes blurry and I get light-headed. My head feels dizzy and it's as if my head is spinning. No, not my head—the room. Call me a wimp, but I've never had to work hard on an empty stomach in my life, so I am beside myself, unsure of what to do. I try closing my eyes, but I still have some dignity within me, and don't want to look like a weirdo—sprawled across two chairs, half-hallucinating and still in the dirty Lima Bean apron (which I'm sure if I wasn't wearing, would be kicked out). I'm out of it, as if I were on marijuana or...other drugs. Wearily, I start looking around, looking for Sonya in hopes of relieving my growling stomach. The cafe is already busy, though it only had just turned afternoon, with almost all of the tables occupied. The cold air from outside occasionally drafted through, but the Lima Bean's heating conditioner kept the place warm and cozy.
I train my eye on the door besides the counter, leading into the back. Before I am about to pass out (not sure if I really am or just being a drama queen), I see a tall guy push open the door, with a chipper brown girl walking behind him. It takes me a while to process, to connect the ragged and disheveled girl only moments ago as the smiling and beaming girl walking towards me with brown bags in her hand as Sonya.
Unable to process immense confusion and hunger at the same time, I promptly bang my head on the table. It hurts, but I don't know what else to do with myself. I close my eyes and feel my forehead start to throb, and listen to the blood rushing in my head. The hunger is more acute with my vision deprived, and so are my other senses, which is why I can hear a clear, distinct, not-Sonya's laugh. I suppose I stripped myself of all dignity once I dropped onto the table, because my face promptly turns red with embarrassment when I look up and blow strands of hair from my face, only to find myself looking up at a cute boy with large eyebrows.
OH GOD. My face starts to burn up but I don't move, too sluggish to do anything. In an act of mercy, Sonya interjects and breaks the awkward (well, to me) silence (if I didn't pay attention to the laughing).
"Uh, um, Rutherford, this is my friend Anne, Anne this is Rutherford. He works here and..." She trails off, no doubt looking at me in equal embarrassment and wary.
With quite some effort, I pull myself up and lean against the back of the chair. I try looking him in the eyes, but I can't without turning red, so instead I look at the table. "Hi."
"Are you okay?" I'm still staring down at the table, but he sounds genuinely amused. Great. And with that, all of my allure goes down the drain.
"She's just tired, tired and all because training was hard and all," Sonya gives a tiny rushed laugh, "Here you go Anne, your lunch, you'll feel better in no time." Sonya quickly shoves my brown bag to me, but not quick enough for me to miss her death glare. Yup, got it.
Now that I've had two ham and cheese sandwiches, I feel "normal" again. I don't feel loopy, on the verge of death, or dizzy...and fuck me, because I wish I was. Rutherford, the guy Sonya had introduced to me earlier, is like a godsend, and even though it's been twenty minutes since the "ordeal", I'm still feeling embarrassed, even more so because I did it in front of him. I could take him to the Sun and freeze it because he's that hot, a genuine sight for the sore eyes, a total fine piece of ass, eye candy...Maybe I'm over-exaggerating and idolizing him but, hot damn. I don't realize I'm ogling at him until he looks back at me, and smiles.
Damnit, not again...I haven't talked since our "introduction", and have been listening to him and Sonya throughout the whole time. But now that he's caught me looking at him, I realize I have to break the awkward, or be forever known to him as "the freak". "Uh, so...Rutherford. That's—that's an...interesting name." Oh fuck, do I want to seem like a bitch?
He starts laughing, his whole lean frame shaking. I start feeling stupid, but am surprised when he answers, "Yes, it is. That's what preps do, guilty as charged." He raises his eyebrows, which are actually strong rather than large, and tilts his chin up to the right, smiling. Stupid, cute motherfucker.
"Um, prep? As in too good to go to public schools?" Rutherford tilts his head down and looks at me from under his eyebrows, and I start to feel red again. I feel...nervous, with his undivided attention. I'm suddenly aware of the loose strands of hair coming out from my bun, or my past-due unplucked eyebrows...Losing confidence, I stare back down at the table, fawning interest in my napkin. "Why are you working here then?" I gulp, and keep playing with my napkin.
But I can't help but snap my head back up when he starts talking. It's true, he does go to private school—Dalton Academy, but his family's wealth is declining. Neither of his parents have jobs that make so much money—in actuality, his family is living off of inheritance, which is quickly depleting. Normally, his parents would donate money to an Ivy league school, which would "liken the chances" of his college acceptance. However, since that is clearly not an option anymore, Rutherford is trying to gain some business and financial experience, to boost his application like "everyone else", which is why he works as a bookkeeper for the Lima Bean.
I listen to this with growing respect and admiration for him. What was minutes ago an infatuation is turning into something more...heart-wrenching. "That's nice to know," I say lightly, but when I look at Rutherford, I know that it may have come across as rude or mean. Hastily, I say, "I mean, that's good—great! It's because you know...," I put my hands in front of me, grasping nothing but thin air, "Umm...I want to get into Colombia and Yale," I know I've said more than but I just keep babbling out of desperation, "So, that's why I'm in Newspaper, Debate Club, Model United Nations, Glee—"
Rutherford interrupts, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Glee?"
Sonya and I look at each other. We both know that Glee is far below the popularity scale at McKinley, and it might be the same at Dalton. "Yeah...," I say, unsure of myself. I'm also mad, because if Glee is just as lame at Dalton, then my never-apparent chances with Rutherford are now even more never apparent.
But God must be on my side, because Rutherford perks up and smiles broadly. "No way—that's great! You?" He looks at me expectantly, but I'm frozen from shock and surprise. It doesn't matter anyways, since he keeps talking. "I would never have guessed you as the singing type...Wow, though...We have a Glee club at our school—the Warblers—and God, they are amazing, the best!"
I can't help but smile, seeing him gushing about the Warblers, but some part inside me wants to put a smudge on it as well. I am from New Directions, after all. "I wouldn't say the best. New Directions did beat them at Regionals last year," I say mockingly. Sonya stifles a laugh and Rutherford raises his eyebrows, leaning in towards me, crossing his hands in front of him.
"Say that again, I dare you..."
I copy him and lean in, so close that if I closed my eyes and moved a little more forward, I could kiss him. This could be considered flirting, or mock-rivalry—I'll take either. "New Directions...is better."
For a moment, my heart skips a beat, as Rutherford looks down (at my lips?[am I reading too much into this?]), his eyelashes just barely touching the skin underneath his eyes, sparkling light brown in the light. And when he looks back up, ice stabs my heart and I do all that I can to not jolt backwards. His eyes aren't a piercing color—just a normal green, but his gaze...I could stare all day long and I wouldn't regret anything. Before I do anything stupid (like lean in to kiss him), I reluctantly pull back and sit down with my arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.
He's still on the table and as he talks, I feel a pang inside of me, imaging myself still there with him, kissing him, brushing against his lips. "Alright...then come to Dalton. Watch them, and then eat your words."
It takes me a moment to realize his infliction and shake away my daze, but I'm on it. "You're on."
And true to my word, I suddenly myself at Dalton Academy. It's a Monday, and Sonya and I skipped seventh period, and even as I'm walking through the halls I still cannot believe I got caught up in this. What the hell am I doing here? I didn't actually intend on coming here when I made the"deal" on Saturday—I thought it was just a friendly, flirtatious joke.
But the fact of the matter is that I am here, and I can't help but notice the grandeur of the school. Carpeted floors with intricate designs, paneled wooden walls, genuine portraits from the artists themselves, chandeliers, beautifully carved balustrades...and such an academic and posh feel to it. I run my hands along the walls, and timidly touch the brush strokes on the paintings, still incapable of taking it all in. No way a place like this can exist fifteen minutes from Lima. I hear footsteps behind me and watch as two boys in Dalton uniform walk by us, a quizzical expression on their faces. Of course, an all boys schools—I doubt they get many female visitors.
I turn around, but not soon enough to miss the boys craning their necks around as they walk away, their faces animated and smiling. I take offense and turn around to talk to Sonya—only she's not there. She's across the hall, in a corner, looking at me with a devious smile, dark shadows playing on her face ominously—or maybe it's just my eyes.
"What," I ask.
She half runs, half walks to me and smiles. "I told you so."
"Told me what?"
"About the shirt," she says impatiently, and as I look down and realization strikes me, she smirks.
Under threat, I was forced to wear my white v-neck top today, along with my push-up bra. I admit, it makes my figure look really good, but I also feel exposed, especially in a school full of boys. Especially since Sonya told me to wear it for Rutherford.
"I told you, he doesn't like me—"
"Right, so that's why he keeps talking to you?"
"Oh my God, not to me, to us! Why do you always have to take things out of proportion?"
"I see him checking you out. Why would he check you out and not the other girls?"
"Because..." I feel rosy in my cheeks, and though I still don't believe in Sonya, I'm wishing it's true. I've never had a boyfriend before, nor a first kiss...and I'm almost near the end of high school, and to do it with someone like Rutherford...
"Exactly," says Sonya, and steers me away from the wall and we walk through the halls to find the common area—where the Warblers practice. We stand outside the room for ten minutes, waiting for classes to end, and when they do, my heart suddenly begins running a marathon. What if Sonya wasn't delusional and Rutherford...
No, that can't be true, not in a hundred years. I am a normal girl, with average looks, with an average personality. I can be funny sometimes, but who really cares? And if guys like Rutherford have such high standards about a girl, what would make him like someone like me, someone far below his standards? I think about this as classes let out, and only look up when Sonya elbows me in the ribs.
Rutherford is walking towards us, like a Dead Poet's Society kink fantasy come true. He breaks into a smile and calls out to us. "Hey!"
"Hi," Sonya yells, as I wave.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see people walking into the common room, no doubt the Warblers getting ready to practice. In the corner of my mind, I curiously feel something ominous, like I had something dreadful associated with the Warblers, but that I was forgetting. When Rutherford walks up to us, he says "Hey" again, but instead looks down. Sonya elbows me in the ribs again and has that same, creepy smile on her face. So...I guess he's looking at my breasts?
I feel naked, and uncomfortable, like I shouldn't be wearing the shirt but once Rutherford looks up again, taking in a deep breath and looks me in the eyes, I feel better. Not that he's looking at breasts, but that I had an effect on him...that maybe Sonya was onto something. And that maybe, I'll finally have a boyfriend.
But before I can get in over my head, the three of us start talking. We being by talking about how confusing his texts were about where the room was and then find ourselves listening to him go on about soccer and Manchester United, Liverpool sucks, blah blah blah...For a cute guy, he could talk a lot.
So thank God when he gets distracted, and calls out to a boy about to walk into the common room. "Sebastian!"
I take that back.
My hearts skips a beat and I cannot take my eyes off of him as he walks towards us, his hands in his pockets, a smirk on his face. I look from Rutherford to Sebastian, back and forth, really trying to see if my eyes were playing a trick on me. Of course, they weren't. Perfect.
"Rutherford," he says, nodding his head up in the douchiest way possible. And then he turns to Sonya and I, his eyes only on me. "Vivian...I didn't know you knew Rutherford." His cool eyes look into mine, but he doesn't faze me.
Rutherford is about to speak, probably to ask why Sebastian called me Vivian, but I cut him off my placing my hand on his stomach. "Yeah, well, I didn't know he was friends with douches."
"You genuinely offend me, because I care so much about your opinion," he says, placing a hand over his heart.
"Enough to want to know how to break up a couple."
"Only because you can't stop me." Before either I or Sonya can retort, he turns his head to Rutherford. "Are you going to Evan's party on Saturday?"
Rutherford, who I assume has been gaping the entire time, says, "Um, yeah...yeah totally! It's going to be crazy. Are you?"
"Of course. In fact, you should bring your girlfriend with you." Sebastian turns to face me, and all at once, I feel like my stomach has dropped into an abyss. Girlfriend? I take a deep breath, and mentally shake my head. Of course, of course he has a girlfriend. I feel stupid and begin to cross my arms, too aware that my hand was still on Rutherford's stomach.
He looks up, startled. "Girlfriend?"
"You two are going out, aren't you," asks Sebastian, pointing his finger back and forth from Rutherford and...me. I snap my head to Sonya, who is as equally surprised, and snap back to look up at Rutherford. He's only just processing it, and before he can say anything, without thinking, I grab Sebastian's shoulder and pull him in towards me with an iron grip.
"Actually, why don't you and Rutherford go inside, I have to talk to Sebastian about something." My heart is beating and I'm staring widely at Sonya, to get her to lead Rutherford away. Quickly, she gets the cue and pushes Rutherford nonchalantly away, talking about Manchester United. I watch them walk into the common room and only realize that I am alone with Sebastian when I feel my arms drop to the side.
I snap to my left and there we are, once again face to face. Sebastian's left eyebrow is raised as he snobbishly dusts his right shoulder, his face a mixture of curiosity and irritation.
Before he can speak, I try my best not to yell. "What the hell are you doing?"
Like a fucking douche, he pulls on the lapels of his blazer and begins to tuck the ends of his sleeves, completely ignoring me, trying to make me feel insignificant, or not worth his while. "What do you mean?"
I raise my eyebrows incredulously. "Cut the bullshit! You purposely called me his girlfriend—"
"An honest mistake—"
"Knowing you? I don't think so." I cross my arms, and grit my teeth. I'm tired of his bullshit and his stupid, conniving ways. Why does he always have to play dirty? Can't he leave me alone and face the fact I don't want to help him breakup Blaine and Kurt? Such a brat!
Sebastian smiles and turns his nose up, looking around the hallway. I'm about to yell at him again when he looks at me from underneath his eyes. "Does it matter? You wouldn't last even a day as Rutherford's girlfriend." I open my mouth but he levels his eyes with mine and says with contempt, "You have as much sexual allure as a slug."
Oh, hell no! I'm about to swing my arm around and punch him in the jaw or something but before I can get a swing in, he tilts his head to the side and mocks concern. "Oh, did I offend you?" And suddenly, he leans his head in and growls, "Because it's true."
I step back and am speechless. I don't know what concerns me more—that he's calling me ugly or his sudden, menacing presence. His eyebrows are creased and he no longer has a smile on his face—just a grimace. I'm suddenly scared, that he'll start attacking me or go on a rampage—I honestly don't know what to expect.
His nostrils are flaring as he says, "Have you ever had sex? Do you even know what a kiss feels like? Because Vivian I can assure you, once Rutherford finds out, he won't want you. Do you really think he wants to play with a girl when he can just as easily find an experienced, mature one? You're a loser and always will be." He laughs and nods his head to my v-neck, raising his eyebrows in amusement. "You really think that can make you sexy?" The corners of his mouth and nose twitch, "A boy's never even touched your breasts. And why would they...they're so petite," he says softly, putting his hands back into his pockets.
And just like that, he's not menacing anymore.
His face is composed, as if he were waiting for a train to arrive. I am only faintly freaked out, more attentive on his "comments". I lack sexual allure, Rutherford thinks I'm a joke, my breasts are small. What Sebastian did was look into my heart and bring it all out into the light. I begin to feel weak, hopeless, hurt...I begin to cover my breasts by crossing my hands but as I look up, I remember: it's Sebastian. I don't give a shit about him or anything he has to say. Why should I take to heart his opinions when I don't even respect him? As I look at his smug face, I want to punch him. Punch him in the jaw, in the chest, in the groin so he can never have gay sex again! I want to set his house on fire. Not because he insulted me, but because he think he's mightier than me...stronger than me.
With a plan in my head, I fill in the gap between us and look him in the eye. I stare at him cold and hard. I can smell his cologne and hear him breath. "You think you're so much better than me," I say in a low voice, "but in actuality, you're the pathetic one." He begins to stir but before he can have a chance to say anything, I cut him off. "And you're wrong," then with a deep breath, I swiftly grab both of his hands and place them on my breasts. My hands are on top of his, so I push onto them, forcing him to cup my breasts, his thumbs and forefingers touching the skin. It sends prickles down my spine, both good and bad. Good, because a guy is cupping my breasts, and actually even touching parts of them. It feels great, to feel them in the hands of someone else. It feels...so fucking good. I stifle a soft moan and look up at Sebastian, and immediately, smile like a maniac. His eyebrows are raised and his mouth is slightly agape, unsure of what to do with himself. His fingers are twitching and I throw his hands off. He stares down at his hands and then at me, and for the first time, I see him unsure of himself.
I smile, and roughly rip a button of off his blazer and walk away. Without looking back, I say, "2 for Vivian, 0 for Sebastian."
As I walk into the common room, I meet Sonya's eyes. I try explaining to her in one glance how great I feel; how fierce and strong. I showed up Sebastian, for the second time. I showed up that little piece of shit that I cannot be brought down by him, that he cannot faze me or bully me. I'm better than him, and it's about time he learns it.
Author's Note: I don't know whether to be anxious or wary of your reactions. I know, so far you're only getting a bit of Sebastian but just wait...I have something special planned for the next chapter that will really get things going. As far as your concerns for Anne/Rutherford...don't sweat it, it's still going to be Anne/Sebastian...eventually (hahahaha). I also pay attention to your usernames, so when I mentioned Manchester United, you know who you are... And remember, please leave a review, whether sweet or sour!
