Disclaimer:We, the Sisters Elladan and Elrohir, hereby admit to owning absolutely nothing, except Briar Crest High itself, and then just the building, not the people in it. Starbucks is not ours either. Dur.

And now, without further ado, we give you:

A Year at Briar Crest High

Chapter 4: Hands, Happiness and Hypotheticals

OR

In Which Pippin is Unexpectedly Observant

Pippin had never been a very observant person. In fact, oblivious would be closer to the truth. To his credit, he noticed more than most people realized, but then again, no one had very high expectations of Pippin's observational skills. However, even he could not ignore the fact that something was definitely wrong with Merry and Rosie.

Take, for example, the end of Health class:

"Hey! Rosie!" Merry called, turning away from his conversation with Pippin. (It hadn't been much of a conversation anyway, since Pippin was busy making hand shadow puppets on the projector screen of the most recent lame educational video they were supposed to be watching.) The teacher glared reproachfully. Rosie looked over from where she had been chatting quietly with Diamond and Estella.

"Yeah?" she whispered.

"Can you meet me after school?" He asked, languidly tilting his chair onto its back legs.

Rosie look thoughtful. "Well, I--"

"Great!" Merry said, and turned his back on her.

Rosie let out a quiet sigh and pretended she was focusing on the video. Pippin saw Estella lean over towards her and whisper, "Sure woulda been nice of him to ask. What a gentleman."

This, thought Pippin, Is really, really not good.

Or, for example, lunch:

Pippin had walked with Merry to where the rest of the freshmen sat, Merry ranting about math class again. They sat down at the table to a familiar sight; the girls were talking and trading food, and Sam was talking to Frodo, who was reading another angsty teen novel.

Merry slid his lunch tray on the table and turned to face the older boy. "Hey! Frodo! What's up? You seem really morose."

"Mmhmm?"

"So… how've you been lately?"

"Lately?" There was a pause. "I've been morose."

Unenthused by Frodo's laconic behavior, he turned back to Pippin. "So anyway, Professor Gandalf starts reading me the riot act about how I'm not trying my best--"

"You don't try your best."

"--and how my grade sucks--"

"Well, your GPA is pretty much below sea level."

"--and I felt like telling him," Merry continued, swiping the string cheese from Rosie's lunch, "that just because I don't meet his ridiculous standards doesn't mean I'm a bad person. Besides," he said, "If I was such an idiot, how could I have snagged a girl like Rosie?"

Merry continued to entertain some of the other freshmen with the lame anecdote of the day, but Pippin found himself staring at Rosie's face. She looked to be on the verge of tears. Pippin hoped it hadn't been something he said.

Everything that Merry had ever said to Rosie over the previous years had ranged from chivalrous to obliviously rude, but over the last few weeks, most of his comments fell into the category of "chauvinistic." Rosie seemed more sensitive than normal, and was spending more and more time with Diamond and Estella, away from Merry. Yes, something was not right, and for the first time, Pippin was worried that his matchmaking skills weren't quite up to par.

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The school bell ran loudly, signaling the welcome end to another day at Briar Crest High. In Aragorn's opinion the bell was particularly welcome, because it also signaled the start of the weekend; a two day respite from Professor Gandalf's endless lectures on whatever complicated mathematical crap they were supposed to be learning. But math was the least of Aragorn's worries as he walked through the halls and out into the bright sunlight. Something more confusing, more complex than any calculus problem dominated his thoughts. That thing was a girl.

During the last few weeks after his bet with Legolas, Aragorn had heard a non-stop tirade from Faramir about how thoroughly stupid he was to make the bet in the first place, and if he really did like Arwen--and it was obvious that he did--he should cancel the bet. Jokingly, Aragorn had finally told Faramir to lay off the guilt-tripping for once, and Faramir never mentioned the bet again.

It wasn't that Aragorn didn't like Arwen; it was just that he didn't want to totally freak out the girl of his dreams by asking her out on the spur of the moment. It just didn't work that way. (Though even Eowyn--notoriously bad at noticing other peoples' feelings--claimed that Arwen was head over heels for him too). So Aragorn waited. In truth, he hadn't just been waiting the week since the bet; he'd been waiting since the first day of school when he'd first laid eyes on Arwen.

Aragorn came down the front steps of the school to see Arwen sitting on the stairs, deep in conversation with Eowyn. Arwen looked up and waved, a cheery smile playing about her glossed lips.

"Hey, can I talk to you?" asked Aragorn.

"Sure." Arwen got up and moved a little ways away from Eowyn, who rolled her eyes and continued to pick at a hole in her cargo jeans. "What's up?"

"I was wondering if… you wanted to go out sometime. Y'know, just the two of us?"

"That'd be great." Arwen smiled. Aragorn grinned back, as Arwen's hand found its way into his. She gave his hand a quick squeeze before standing on tip-toes to give his cheek a shy kiss. Aragorn watched in a slight daze as Arwen ran back over to Eowyn, who was sniggering like mad.

"Great," he repeated to himself quietly. It was great. Everything was perfect. Aragorn smiled wider, and headed off to soccer practice.

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"Honestly, Rosie, I don't see why you don't just dump him."

Rosie ran her hand agitatedly through her auburn curls and sighed, glaring at her outspoken friend. "Because there's no reason to dump him, Estee. Besides, it's not that easy," she explained, "You can't just, y'know, dump someone on the spur of the moment…. It doesn't work that way…"

"Why the hell not?" Estella challenged, before her best-friend instinct kicked in and her voice lowered. "Look, if he makes you this unhappy, why not just dump his sorry ass?"

"He doesn't make my unhappy," Rosie protested weakly.

Estella gave her an 'Oh, Please' look. "Just because he knows you like popcorn and cotton candy and sitting by the fountain at Seattle Center doesn't mean he's the right guy for you."

Rosie mumbled noncommittally, and turned away. Of course she was happy with Merry! Standing outside on the grounds of Briar Crest High, on what might be the last sunny day of the year, with the whole weekend to look forward to, how could anyone not be happy? Ok, so maybe she was a little less than joyous, but that wasn't Merry's fault. It was her fault, for antagonizing endlessly over some non-existent problem. Nobody else seemed to think there was a problem, except for Estella, and she was being, well, Estella. Maybe something wasn't right, but she just couldn't put her finger on it…

"Rosie? Hello?" Estella waved a hand in front of Rosie's face.

"Huh?"

"You totally spaced out. What's up?"

"Nothing," Rosie replied quietly, shaking her head, "Just thinking…"

"Right," said Estella brusquely, "Are you--"

"Hey Estee!" It was Diamond, who had gone ahead and was now waiting by the buses, absentmindedly bouncing up and down to whatever song was currently stuck in her head. "You're gonna miss your bus!!"

"Are you waiting for him then?" Estella finished. Rosie nodded. "I guess I'll see you on Monday." Rosie gave her a half-hearted smile, and she ran off toward Diamond and the buses. Turning back toward the school, Rosie sighed, running her hand through her hair again. Nothing's wrong, she thought. Maybe if she thought it enough times it'd turn out to be true.

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Boromir was a man of very little patience--and he knew it--but at this particular moment he felt as tolerant as, well, a very tolerant person. To start with, the lovely, sunny weather was long gone, replaced with a lovely freak downpour. He had been standing in said rain for over an hour, been hit in the head by soccer balls at least ten times, (two of which he was sure were intentional), and had been yelled at multiple times by Coach Beregond. He had slipped innumerable times and fallen into the mud, had endured the stress and pressure of being the Bandits' only goalie, and he still hadn't killed anyone.

Yet.

He thought he might have to though, if the Bandits didn't shape up. This year's team was a mess; the offense all seemed to be aiming for the goalie instead of the goal, and the defense left him unprotected. Neither Coach Beregond nor Aragorn, the team's new captain, seemed to be able to instruct them otherwise. It didn't help that anyone with glasses--namely Faramir--was practically blind because of the rain. Not even the fast-like-a-freak newcomer Dernhelm had scored during the scrimmage. Of course, that was only due to the fact that the damn idiot, on the brink of scoring, had paused to hold his hat on his head and had lost control of the ball. Even though Dernhelm was one of the best forwards on the team, Boromir concluded that if he pulled a stunt like that at the game, he might not be able to control his homicidal tendencies.

Luckily for the team members looking to live, soccer practice was almost over. After the last soccer ball was violently kicked in the direction of the net bag in which they should have been stowed neatly, the players were finally dismissed.

"Can I ask you a purely hypothetical question?" a voice queried from somewhere near Boromir's ear. Boromir turned to see his younger brother, who was looking awkward and more than a little stressed out.

"Sure," he answered, opening a tattered umbrella and handing it to Faramir. Then, by way of explanation, "Car's in the shop, we're walking."

"Oh," said Faramir. Clearly this was a routine occurrence. "Anyway, back to that question. So let's say--hypothetically--I like this girl… and, hypothetically, she might not think too badly of me… Then what do I do?"

"Well," said Boromir, with an air of someone who's been made to walk in the rain with a clearly oblivious brother, "Hypothetically, you ask her out."

"But I don't-- nobody has-- people just don't have that kind of courage!" He paused. "And I'm referring here to people…"

Boromir gave his brother his patented 'You're Being an Idiot' look. "You can't let one little thing get in the way."

"Like you and Arwen?" Faramir teased, "Hypocrite."

Boromir frowned. He just had to bring that up. His temper almost go the better of him, until he saw the look on Faramir's face; a mix of apprehension, regret, and terror at his brother's wrath.

Boromir sighed, smiling slightly. "I though we were being hypothetical."

Faramir gave a shaky smile. "Right. Hypothetical."

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Sam had been sitting under the lone pine outside the school ever since the bell rang. It was cold, windy, and practically pouring down rain, but he still hadn't left. Why? Her.

It would be so easy to just stand up, walk over to where she stood, shivering in her summer clothes, and say, Hi. It should be easy; right? After all, they'd known each other since elementary; they were neighbors even.

So why couldn't he talk to her?

Of course I can talk to her, Sam thought. He put his book back in his schoolbag, and stood up, before promptly sitting back down again at top speed.

Cursing his own cowardice, he stood up once more and wandered over to where she stood under the awning.

"Uh…. Hey, Rosie."

Rosie looked up, a genuine smile shining from her freckled face for the first time since she'd walked out of Briar Crest High. "Hey Sam."

"What are you doing out here in the rain all by yourself?"

"Same thing you are," she answered, and then, by way of explanation, "Waiting for someone."

Sam panicked for a second, wondering if she knew. Then, just as quickly, he realize that anyone who sits under a tree in the rain is obviously waiting for someone.

"So, uh…. Who're you waiting for?" he asked, after a few more minutes had passed.

"Oh, I'm waiting for Merry. He wanted to walk me home." Rosie looked suddenly distant.

"Oh." Sam tried not to think of all the times he had walked her home. "Well, Merry's got detention. Glued someone to a chair or something. Didn't he tell you?"

Rosie shook her head, looking hurt. "No."

"You mean he told you to wait for him and then just neglected to tell you he wouldn't be meeting you?" It sounded harsher than Sam had intended, and he groaned inwardly.

Rosie, on the other hand, looked angry. "It's not like that!" she snapped. "He probably just forgot!" She looked almost tearful, and Sam absently wondered if Merry was often this inconsiderate. "Who are you waiting for, anyway?" she asked, trying her best to regain composure.

"I was… uh…. Sorta waiting for you…" he mumbled, "Just to make sure you got home safely and… and everything." Then, struck by a sudden inspiration, "I could walk you home."

Rosie looked like she was about to cry again, and Sam winced, knowing he had said something wrong. But then, to his surprise, Rosie smiled. "I would really, really like to walk home with you," she said, and then added, "For old time's sake."

Sam grinned. "I'll just get my stuff then."

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When Arwen invited Eowyn over to her house for a "girl's night," she knew she wouldn't be able to skip soccer practice, and she wouldn't want to. But the prospect of having a sleepover at her best friend's (supposedly) huge house was equally appealing. So Eowyn lied. Twice.

First, she told Arwen that she was going to go watch soccer practice. Arwen didn't question her, and was actually pleased by the fact that she would have time to do the weekend's homework before she picked Eowyn up.

Then, she told Arwen that soccer practice ended fifteen minutes later than it actually did, which would give Eowyn time to change into her own clothes, and save her the problem of awkward questions when "Eowyn" showed up right after "Dernhelm" left. Arwen didn't even notice the time was different, or if she did, she didn't let on. Eowyn figured she was still too happy about her recent acquisition of a boyfriend to notice much of anything.

So when Arwen drove up in her pink Mercedes, all of the soccer team members had already dispersed. Arwen apologized for being late and Eowyn sat down in the passenger seat.

"You really have a thing for pink," Eowyn said, one eyebrow raised, as she gestured to the outside of the car.

"It's my brother's," Arwen replied with a perfect laugh.

When they arrived at Arwen's house, Eowyn realized that all the rumors were, in fact, true. Arwen's house was huge. It was white, with a wrap-around porch, and looked like it would be right at home on a plantation in the south. Still staring in awe at the size of the house, Eowyn grabbed her overnight things and followed Arwen inside.

The second she entered the house, Eowyn could smell something burning. The aforementioned burning item turned out to be a piece of toast, which was being removed from the toaster in the kitchen with a chopstick, by a boy who could easily be an older, male, jock version of Arwen.

"Hey, how's my favorite little sister?" he asked when he noticed Arwen, turning away from the toast catastrophe. "Have a good day at school?"

"Yep. Is Daddy home yet?"

"Nope, still at work."

"Oh." Then Arwen remembered introductions and added, "Elladan, this is my friend Eowyn. Eowyn, this is my brother Elladan."

Who apparently can't even make toast, Eowyn thought, but instead she just said "Hi."

Walking up the staircase to Arwen's room, which matched the rest of the house in its size and grandeur, Eowyn was having trouble fathoming the fact that the toast-burning jock in the kitchen owned a pink car. She was about to voice these opinions, when they reached the top of the stairs and Eowyn's thoughts were interrupted by the opening strains of RENT's Seasons of Love coming from the door at the end of the hallway.

As if psychically attuned to Arwen's arrival, another boy appeared from around the doorframe. Eowyn would have sworn it was the same boy from the kitchen--except now dressed in a purple button up shirt and flare jeans, with a pair of scholarly yet fashionable glasses perched upon his nose--if Arwen hadn't previously told Eowyn that her brothers were twins.

"Elrohir, this is Eowyn. Eowyn, this is Elrohir." Elrohir gave Eowyn a friendly hug, and she discovered that he smelled better than she did.

Yes, there was no longer a doubt in Eowyn's mind as to who owned the pink car.

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Arwen was a bit of a paradox. Her personality was a mix of straitlaced, straight-A honor student, and boy-crazy, cheerleading mall girl, and her room reflected that. The masses of pink and girly frills were buried beneath neat stacks of books and SAT prep materials. Hints of her brothers' influences were scattered about the room as well; a tennis racket was set neatly on a shelf, and her CD collection supported a few Broadway soundtracks. Awards of various natures and delicate watercolors hung on the walls, and the carpet looked like it had bee vacuumed that very morning. The only part of the room that wasn't obsessively "just-so" was the bed. It sat in the far corner of the room, queen-sized and canopied, with the covers un-tucked and askew. A few books lay open among the blankets, along with a notebook, some loose papers and an impressive assortment of stuffed animals. The pastel, flowered pillowcase was ink-stained from late night homework that had migrated from the desk to the bed.

It was Arwen's haven.

She immediately gravitated toward it upon entering the room, followed by Eowyn. It was after dinner. The two of them had made their own pizza, Arwen's brothers having disappeared to wherever college boys hang out). The girls hadn't talked much--about anything important, anyway; Arwen seemed distracted. She nearly burned the pizza at one point, but brushed it off with a genuine smile, as though she regularly failed at things.

Now she sat cross-legged on her bed, facing Eowyn, who was checking out Arwen's room. Arwen watched as she stopped in front of a movie poster on the wall near the door. Arwen looked at it too, and noticed a name at the bottom that she had never paid attention to before: "Directed by Arathorn Dunedin." Dunedin. That was Aragorn's last name. Were they related? What were the chances that she had a poster with one of Aragorn's relatives on it? Was it fate? Was it--

"Were you, at any point in your life, blonde?

Arwen blinked. "What? No."

"So this isn't you?" Eowyn pointed to a blonde beauty in the background of the poster, who could have been Arwen if you gave her a couple of years and a few bottle of peroxide.

"My mom. It was her only real movie. She's in New York now, working in live theater. I always wanted to move there and…" She paused, looking awkward. "…model. I know, lame huh?"

"No, it's," Eowyn struggled for the right word, "…a perfectly valid lifestyle choice okay that's the lamest thing I've ever heard. I mean, do you want to spend the rest of your life being exploited? I'll shut up now…"

Arwen laughed, and her friend moved on to looking at the numerous photos on the desk in the corner. Arwen--being the efficient person that she was--already had a few of her newest friends. She smiled as Eowyn picked up her favorite. It was the four of them--Faramir, Aragorn, Eowyn and Arwen--sitting one the picnic table outside of school, all scrabbling to be ready for when the timer on the camera went off. Faramir was looking confusedly up from his book, as though just realizing what was going on. Eowyn had purposefully nudged Arwen so she tipped into Aragorn, and was looking smugly at the camera. Aragorn and Arwen were still attempting to straighten up; their eyes had met, and they were both blushing slightly. It had been a blustery day, and Aragorn's hair was all windswept and adorable and--

"Hey Arwen?"

"Mmm-hmm?" The spaced-out smile disappeared form Arwen's features as she was nudged back to reality.

"Are you okay? You seem… distracted."

"Oh. It's nothing…" Arwen blushed like in the picture, a little embarrassed that she was so preoccupied.

"No way!" Eowyn moved to sit next to her friend on the bed. "You're still star-struck over the whole--" she did a high pitched and highly inaccurate imitation of Arwen's voice, "'OMG Aragorn asked me out!' thing?"

Arwen laughed. "What, I only get like, four hours to adjust the fact that I have a new boyfriend?"

"Well, no. I just assumed that you were the kind of girl that guys are always chasing. Y'know, the girl who gets asked out a frillion times for every dance, and gets followed around by those weird stalker guys who sneak up behind girls in the hall, and already know their names, and phone numbers, and where they live--"

"Okay, stop it. That's just creepy."

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A/N: Sorry for the recent complete and utter lack of updates. Been lazy. So, here's Chapter 4, hopefully with Chapter 5 close on its heels. R&R and all.

NEXT:Our girls and their guys. Dates, stalkers, bad pick-up lines and (no way!) romantic tension. See you next time!