Chapter 1: Where Olivia And Her Friends Talk. A Lot.

"Look Emmy, you and I remember Budapest very differently."

"Liv, it wasn't Budapest. It was the mall."

"I know but—"

"Can you stop quoting the Avengers for two seconds?!"

". . .no."

Emmy threw her arms in the air in exasperation, pleading to the heavens with her blue dramatically huge. "Comic books and superheroes have taken my best friend from me," she pretended to plead. "All I ask is that you give her back!" I laughed, taking another huge sip of my lemonade. Who drinks lemonade in the middle of October? Why me, of course. Who eats shawarma? Me, again. And, apparently, out of all my friends, only me.

"Shawarma is delicious," I had said to Emmy once. She scrunched up her face in the way that means she is totally, utterly disgusted. And I raised my eyebrows at her in the way that meant I totally, utterly, did not care. "Sha. . .shaca. . .shower. . .shama. . ." she struggled with the word, which only made me wiggle my eyebrows at her. Struggling to stay serious, she spat out; "Sham-Wow tastes like dirt, okay? Let's just order pizza and call it a night."

I'm pretty sure Sham-Wow has nothing to do with shawarma.

She and I were dodging the rushing late night traffic of the sideways of Manhattan as we made our way to our best friend's diner. The Jones' owned a small, humble dinner that had somehow ended up smack dab in the middle of Manhattan. Let me just say that they got a lot of business; tourists apparently loved it there. There was nothing rarer than homemade apple pie in the middle of the tourist section of New York City.

Emmy looked kind of like a tourist herself. All she had to do was look up at the buildings, say "Wow!", and thieves would be trying to pickpocket her. I don't know, she just has that out-of-town air. After all, she just moved here two summers ago. Originally from California, Emmy has the tan, wavy dark brown hair with natural highlights and crystal clear blue eyes to prove it. Plus, she, most of the time, still dresses like a total California girl.

But me? I've got 'weird New Yorker' written all over me. Mix-matching clothes is my motto—I usually dress like a colorblind hobo, or so my friend Jonesy says. Geek glasses and beanie hats are as much of a must have as my purse. . .which also usually looks nothing like the rest of my outfit. As soon as my parents allow it, I'm going to die my hair Black Widow red. It's already just about as long as hers, but it's a dark brown, which totally contradicts usual continuity.

When we reached the Apple Diner, I could see that the windows that lined the front were glowing with warm, pale yellow lights. The open sign flashed brightly beside the door. Emmy wasted no time rushing up the flight of stairs to the landing. Well. If that wasn't rude. "Hey!" I called as I hurried to catch up. "Aren't you going to wait for me?" Emmy didn't even bother looking over her shoulder; she just flung open the glass door, and rushed inside. "Not if you're just going to be talking about the Avengers all night!" I barely caught her sentence before the door shut behind her.

I took my time up the stairs, chucking my soda in the trash bin before opening the glass door and reveling at the familiar sound of jiggling bells. Any other time the diner probably would have been full, but it was pretty late right now—plus, it was a Monday night. Lucky for Emmy and I, we were sleeping over at Jonesy's place.

"Ah, there you are," said a voice just as familiar as the bells. "I thought Emmy left you or something." I pretended to be mad, clenching my teeth and hissing; "She did." Our friend Jonesy was behind the counter, a greasy white apron wrapped around her as she paced back and forth in front of the counter, wasting energy. Emmy was already seated in front of the countertop of the diner, blinking at me innocently. "Who, me?" she faked innocence.

Jonesy folded her arms on the countertop, leaning forward with a huge grin of excitement. "Hey, did you guys hear?" she whispered. Emmy, a huge gossip girl, arched an eyebrow in interest. "No," she replied just as quietly. "What?" I'm not usually into gossip, but I know Jonesy a lot better than Emmy does. And, knowing Jonesy, her "gossip" is not what Emmy thinks.

I rush over, sliding into the red stool beside Emmy and depositing my purse on the countertop. "What's up?" I whispered. Jonesy's chocolate eyes switched between Emmy and I excitedly as her grin widened. "News says that a huge storm is coming up off the coast of Florida tomorrow," she whispered. "People say it came from nowhere—they don't even know how the hell it formed. And if you ask me, I think it's because of—"

With a roll of her eyes, Emmy moved back and away from our tight circle. "Oh for the love of God!" she groaned, slamming her hand down on the counter. I threw my head back with a laugh as Emmy glared at Jonesy, who looked just as excited as she was before Emmy had interrupted. "You know what it is," Jonesy whispered before mouthing; Aliens. Emmy pointed at Jonesy accusingly. "Between you and alien storms—" She turned the finger of blame to me. "And you and superheroes, I don't know who's worse."

Jonesy was into aliens as much as I was into Avengers. I think she infatuated with finding out that they actually exist. Me? I'm not sure how I feel about aliens, but I never deter her from her alien search. She almost likes aliens more than she likes sports.

And that girl really loves her sports. As much as Emmy loves the mall.

As far as I know, Jonesy plays basketball, soccer and baseball. Then she has swimming in the summer. She even told me a couple times that she'd sign up for football if she could. All these sports meant that she was naturally fit and had a nice tan, like Emmy, but her blonde hair was just a plain, wavy blonde.

But me? I didn't get tan. My skin just stayed bronze brown all year round, only a few shades darker brown than my eyes. My hair, however, was almost black—something I was grateful for. Before the Avengers took over my life, I had wanted to dye my hair black.

Pfft, not anymore! Hello Black Widow red!

I put my palms in the air in surrender, giving her a shrug. "Look, if the Avengers weren't as awesome as they are, we wouldn't have this problem." Emmy gave me a disapproving look, but Jonesy nodded. "Iron Man is pretty hot," she agreed. Jonesy only saw the movie, and sure she liked it, but she didn't like it as much as I did. Ask her if she knew Iron Man's name, she probably wouldn't have an answer for you.

One time I asked her. She said Robert. I figured it was close enough, so I let it slide. Plus, she reads all my Avengers fan fiction. And yes, it's slash fiction, and unlike Emmy, Jonesy likes it. Emmy set her purse on her lap and began digging through it. "Alright, here's a deal," she began. "Johanna Jones, if you can keep from your alien obsession, and Olivia Wilde, if you can keep from your Avengers obsession . . . you will each receive twenty-five dollars when this sleepover is over."

"DEAL." Jonesy and I chorused in almost the same exact excited tone—even though I wanted to explain that what I had was worse than an obsession, I belonged to a fandom. It wasn't that Emmy was the rich one in the group—we all had a lot of money to spare—it was just that she was the one who never had anything to spend her money on. She loved to shop, yeah, but she was a "sale shopper". She only shopped when there was a huge sale, so that was hardly ever. But when she shopped, she splurged.

Hell, I splurge every time I shop. Which is every weekend. But naturally, Emmy usually had at least a hundred dollars in her purse. I called her Stark a couple times, but I don't think she got the reference. (Ah! Two Avengers references in one sentence! :D)

Emmy grinned excitedly at the both of us. "Alright then," she said excitedly. "Let's get this sleepover started."

(A/N: Emmy and Jonesy. Because we all have that one friend who enjoys the Avengers and the one friend that hates them.)