A/N:Having received our first (and hopefully only) scathing review for the last chapter, we would like to remind all of our lovely readers that flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Also, we apologize for such a long time without any updating, but we would also like to state that we gave our early chapters some serious reworking, so you can take a peek if you'd like. :D
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:
Chapter 5: Relationship Hell
OR
In Which Pippin is Considerably Less Observant than in the Previous Chapter
Merry hated math.
"Ugh. I'm sick of factoring. Half of this doesn't even make sense."
"Use the Factor Fish thing they taught us."
"Can I borrow your calculator, Frodo?"
"Sure."
"Use the Factor Fish? Don't you have any pride left?"
"Nope."
"Ahem."
"If pride is going to affect your grades, you better forget it. I promised Rosie I wouldn't let you fail."
"Ahem."
The four boys look guiltily up at Professor Gandalf, who was staring down at them. "I hope you boys are discussing math." The boys hastened to affirm this. Gandalf looked down at Frodo's book. "An excellent choice, but it is rather out of place in a math classroom, don't you think?"
"Oh, there's definitely math in there," Pippin said quickly, "Very relevant."
"Peregrin Took, your excuses never cease to amuse me." Pippin grinned hopefully. "But that does not mean they aren't excuses. Now, if all of you could please pay attention. I'd hate for you to get behind." Merry preformed an impressive faceplant onto the table as Professor Gandalf gave him a pointed look before walking away. Whatever complaints he muttered into the table were inaudible. He could hear Pippin and Frodo's hushed conversation, and the soft squeaking of Sam's mechanical pencil as he attempted to take notes over the din.
"If you didn't read 1,000 page books, they would be so much easier to hide."
"1,137 pages," Frodo muttered as he defiantly resumed reading.
Merry raised his head from his desk. "I can't believe Rosie think that I'm going to fail math. She just assumes that I need Sam's help in order to pass." He doodled along the edges of his paper. "Everything I do is wrong these days. She seems to expect the worst from me." He turned to Pippin for support. "Like that time at the beginning of the year. All I did was try and stand up for that blonde girl, and she starts acting like I've cheated."
"That was just Estella," Pippin reassured him. "She's been like that since, well, ever."
"But why?"
"She hates you," Pippin and Sam said simultaneously, just as Frodo said "She likes you."
Merry scoffed. "That's ridiculous."
"You're right," Frodo recanted dryly, "She hates you with the fires of a thousand suns." A moment later he was immersed in his book.
Merry signed, and stared blankly in the direction of Gandalf and his overhead projector. He couldn't stop thinking about Rosie. "She hates me. That's just it. She actually hates me."
Pippin nodded, not really paying attention. "Yup."
"I'd always assumed she really cared for me; that everything would be okay."
"You're pretty blind then, 'cause it's pretty clear you were wrong."
"I never meant to give her any reason to hate me."
"Yeah?" Pippin leaned back in his chair and started flicking bits of paper at the ceiling. "Well, you act like you hate her."
"I don't mean to, I'm just such an idiot sometimes, I say the wrong thing and don't even realize it I guess, I don't mean to be insensitive or whatever it is that she hates about me. I just want us to be okay."
Pippin leaned back further in his chair. "I don't think you two will ever be okay."
Merry glared at his cousin. "How can you say that? You know she's the only person I wanna be with."
Pippin made a strangled noise of surprise and toppled over backward. His head reappeared over the top of his desk. "What?!"
"I don't think Pippin realized the subject of the conversation had changed, Merry," Frodo said without looking up from his book. Pippin's look of shock faded into one of confusion.
"We're not talking about Estella anymore, are we?"
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"Oh god dammit! Dammit, dammit, dammit…" Eowyn muttered, mantra-style, "You can't do this to me!" I am not going to be late because my-- stupid-- backpack-- won't-- zip!"
She was standing in the hallway by her locker, trying to get the impossibly stuck zipper on her backpack to close. "Dammit!" She jerked the zipper violently and, losing her grip, dropped her backpack. She watched in horror while it--as though in slow motion--tumbled to the ground, spilling textbooks and binders across the hallway.
The bell rang and the hall emptied, leaving Eowyn alone to curse her stupidity. Resigned to her tardy fate, she turned to slam her locker shut, no longer caring about the time it would take to gather up al her school supplies. It's not like it matters that much, she thought, absentmindedly spinning the dial on her lock, it's only my… third tardy. That only means… dammit! That means lunch detention to make it up. Lost in thoughts of excuses and explanations, Eowyn turned to find someone's face inches from her own.
She jumped backwards, slamming her elbow into the handle of her locker and fighting the urge to gasp in pain.
"Jesus Christ! Sneak up much?" she asked angrily, rubbing her elbow as she assessed the boy who stood before her.
He would have been taller than Eowyn, if he hadn't been slouching so much. He had dark, watchful eyes deep-set in a pallid face framed by equally dark hair. He stood for a moment, silent, before speaking.
"You dropped your books."
"Uh, yeah… I noticed," Eowyn answered, still trying to catch her breath.
"I picked them up for you," he said, and indeed he had. Sufficiently creeped out, she snatched them back.
"That's really nice of you and all, and I'm sure that on whatever planet you come from stalking makes all the girls feel special, but I really have to get to class now." With that, she hurried off. Never had she been so glad to go to science.
Behind her, she heard him say, "See you around, Eowyn."
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Arwen had never bought school lunch in her entire life. Every morning she had packer her own lunch in a paper bag; one juice box, two string cheeses, a container of yogurt, and an apple. Sometime she packed a homemade chocolate chip cookie, if her brothers hadn't eaten them already.
In any case, Arwen felt considerably out-of-place standing in line with a dollar fifty (in nickels and dimes) held in her hand. She had no idea why anyone would want to spend their money--even sub-couch cushion change--to get biohazardous waste in a pre-wrapped Styrofoam tray. They're probably breaking a million health regulations, she thought, not to mention the money they're dishing out to meat companies who probably misuse and mistreat their animals, keeping them in pens where they can barely--
"Hey."
Arwen turned to face Legolas, who had suddenly appeared in line behind her. He grinned at her, his characteristic smirk bleeding into his brilliant smile.
"What's a classy girl like you doing in line for this crap?" he asked, poking one of the rolls to emphasize his point. The roll seemed to deflate sadly.
"I'm buying lunch," she said patiently, "for a friend who hasn't realized that tardies lead to detention." Why was he talking to her? It didn't make sense. He hated her and her friends, that was clear enough, so why was he suddenly being all smarmy? It was totally illogical.
Arwen hated illogical.
She moved forward, but Legolas slid in front of her.
"Going so soon?" he asked. His smirk was back with a vengeance.
"We're holding up the line," Arwen murmured. He didn't move. "Look, I have to pay, alright? Just… move."
Legolas opened his wallet slowly, handing the woman at the cash register three dollars.
"Lunch is only a-- oh." This was just too weird.
"You're welcome?"
Arwen sighed and picked up her tray. "You didn't have to do that."
"Maybe I did it because I wanted to."
Arwen just walked away, head held high. She didn't have to talk to him, not after all the years he had spent tormenting Faramir.
Without warning, she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"I have a proposition for you."
Arwen revolved slowly, resigned to her fate. Legolas' thin nose was just inches from her own.
"Go to the Christmas Formal with me."
Arwen's breath caught in her throat. This was full on Midsummer Night's Dream madness.
"I know, I know," he said, feigning humility, "Someone as intelligent as yourself probably would want to go to a stupid dance and listed to bad music, but…"
Arwen shrugged off his hand, taking a step backwards. "It's the Winter Formal," she corrected acerbically, "And I hope it won't be too 'stupid,' considering that I'm organizing it. Besides," Arwen stumbled for an excuse, "It's months away."
Legolas inched closer. "Come on."
"I-- I already have a date." Well, it was almost true.
"Who, Aragorn?" Legolas gave a derisive laugh. "He's asked you?"
"Well, not yet," she said, trying to sound confident, "But I'm sure he will." She smiled half-heartedly, avoiding his eyes.
"Arwen," Legolas said, and whatever thoughts Arwen had entertained about leaving vanished at the tone of his voice; quiet, confidential--he seemed serious. "I think you should know…"
Worry filled her. "Know what?"
Now it was Legolas who was avoiding her eyes. "Just… never mind. You guys have got a great thing going, I wouldn't want to ruin that." He started to walk away.
"What should I know?" Arwen asked, grabbing his wrist. Her grey eyes met his blue ones, and she let go as though she'd been burned. Wiping her hands nervously on her jeans, she asked again, quietly, "What?… What should I know?"
Legolas looked resigned. "Just that… he doesn't care about you. He doesn't even really like you."
Arwen felt like she had been doused with icy water. "Wh-what?"
"It was a bet," he continued solemnly, "You. Him. It was all a stupid bet."
Arwen's heart sank. Her feet carried her back toward they science classroom, but her thoughts were far removed. And as she walked away, she didn't see Legolas' expression change. No longer sad. No longer serious.
He smirked.
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The rain poured down. Puddles formed on the soccer field, slick mud and grass, a fall waiting to happen. Faramir didn't mind the rain so much, but it made it almost impossible to see through his glasses. He made a solemn vow to invest in contacts.
They were scrimmaging. The game wore on and nobody was winning. 0 to 0. No one had even scored. Playing goalie, Faramir soon found himself facing the team's best forward. Faramir couldn't remember his name; it might have started with a D, he thought.
All thoughts of names were soon replaced by thoughts of impending death or pain or something, riding quickly toward him on D-boy's sure-footed feet.
Faramir hated playing goalie. His pseudo-manliness wouldn't let him admit it, but he was just a teensy bit afraid of getting whacked in the face by a soccer ball flying at the speed of light. He just hoped that the boy--Dernhelm, that was his name--didn't follow precedent and aim for Faramir, not the goal.
Hope wasn't enough. There was a horrible smack that cause ever member of the Bandits to stare in awe as Faramir was knocked backwards by a soccer ball to the head, glasses flying off his face. With painful slowness, the ball inched across the white line and into the goal.
Everyone on the other team cheered; everyone except Dernhelm. His whispered "Yes!" and his self-satisfied smile (that Faramir could barely see without his glasses) was so much worse than the cheers of the other team.
Faramir was surprised then, to see Dernhelm reach out a slender hand to help him up.
"Are you all right?" He asked, concern seeping into his voice.
"Yeah, I-- uh, I just can't find my glasses."
A smile spread across Dernhelm's blurry face, and strangely enough…
"Y'know, it's funny, but for a second there you looked like someone I know… This is gonna sound really stupid, but you looked like this girl in my homeroom class."
There was an awkward pause, as if Dernhelm didn't know quite what to say. Then: "Gee, thanks, I look like a girl. You really do need glasses."
"I didn't mean… Look, I'm-- never mind."
Dernhelm looked, if possible, even more awkward and then turned away. The whistle blew. Practice was over.
"I-- I have to go," he said, still with his back toward Faramir. "I'll see you at the game on Saturday." He walked away, head bowed against the torrential rain, leaving a confused Faramir to scramble for his glasses.
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The phone in Diamond's hand rang three times before she heard a voice on the other end.
"Hello?" Rosie answered. She sounded out of breath, and Diamond knew it was from the rather strenuous run down the stairs to get the phone.
"Hi Rosie, it's me."
On the opposite side of the bedroom, Estella grabbed the other handset off the bedside table and said, "You're home early."
"Yeah, Daisy and May gave me a ride because of the rain"
"How come--"
"Same here," Diamond cut in quickly, hoping that by plunging onward in the conversation, Estella would forget the small detail Rosie had just mentioned. "Fatty drove us home."
"Di, you're house's six blocks from here," Estella reminded her with an exasperated grin, "You're at my house."
"You guys," Rosie said, the concern in her voice lessened by the fact that she was making one of those hopeless points that are always ignored, "You really shouldn't call Fredegar 'Fatty'."
"Hey, Pippin came up with it in 2nd grade, and my brother really doesn't care," Estella said, dismissing Rosie's complaint. Then, changing the subject with the speed of light: "How come Sam's family drove you home?" Diamond groaned inwardly, her hopes for a nice, Merry-free conversation completely dashed.
"It was raining and--"
"I thought you were going to hang out with Merry after school?" she asked accusatorily.
Diamond covered the mouthpiece of her phone. "Not again, Estee!" she said, trying to stop Estella before she got on a roll. Diamond hated it when her friends argued.
"Merry got detention again," Rosie murmured. Diamond sighed inwardly; Rosie had said exactly what Estella wanted to hear.
"Did he tell you that?"
Rosie didn't say anything.
"Oh, of course he didn't," Estella said, and Diamond could see the gleam of triumph in her eyes, "If you already knew he had detention, you would've called you parents for a ride before school got out, but you had to bum a ride off Sam's family. Which means he just neglected to tell you, again. I hope whatever he did to get detention was worth it."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Diamond knew what was next; the first of Rosie's excuses and Estella's attempts to prove that Merry was lower than pond scum in the grand scheme of things.
"He's just forgetful, you can't blame him for that."
"But he's done this before!"
"That was last week, and--"
"What about the fact that he's more likely to get all chivalry-happy for some other blonde girl that he doesn't even know, than take one second out of his miserable life to tell you not to wait for him!"
"Estee, that was at the beginning of the year…"
"He stole your string cheese that one time!" Estella said factually, as if this settled the debate.
"What?"
Diamond finally interjected. "Estee's only coming up with lame excuses because she doesn't even know why she hates Merry… unless there's some secret reason she's not telling us…" There was an uncharacteristic silence in Estella's corner. Diamond didn't wait for a response. "I knew it!" she said emphatically, "He murdered you in a previous life!"
Estella's response to what must have been the 127th (and most ridiculous yet) of Diamond's 'Why Estee Hates Merry' theories was to fling a pillow at her head. Diamond just giggled.
"Seriously, Rosie," Estella asked, much more sincerely this time, "Why are you still going out with him?" Rosie didn't answer. "Well?"
The was a prolonged pause, during which a look of triumph spread over Estella's face, but then Rosie spoke up. "Look, I know he's not perfect, and he's sometimes kind of…"
"An ass?" Estella interrupted.
"Well, yes," Rosie continued, plunging onward, "But he's also nice, and funny, and chivalrous, and really likes me, and I really, really, want to try and make things work."
Estella didn't seem to have an answer for this. Eventually she fell back on her default, "That doesn't really excuse anything, y'know," but she said it with much less conviction than usual.
"Rosie," Diamond said quietly, "If you still like Merry and want to go out with him, I think the real question is, why aren't you happy?"
There was silence on the other end, and then Rosie spoke. "I am happy, mostly. Anyway, I just… don't like when things are complicated and-- Maybe I make things more complicated than they actually are and-- I don't know, I'm talking like an idiot. What do you think?"
"I think there really are aliens with big elbows, not matter what Scully says to the contrary."
The absurdity of this statement sent all three girls into fits of giggles, and the conversation turned to school and Halloween costumes, and Diamond smiled, thinking that that might be the last Merry-related argument for a long time.
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Aragorn had planned the entire date out in his head. What time to pick Arwen up, where to take her; even what to say. He had tried so hard to make sure it would be perfect. Only a few minutes ago he was confident.
Now, standing on the doorstep of Arwen's impressive white house, at precisely 6:59 PM, he felt as though he would rather let himself become drenched by the drizzling rain than reach out and ring the doorbell. All his careful planning, his witticisms and complements, had emptied form his mind as soon as he had set foot on the porch, leaving him with only a deepening dread that he was going to do something wrong.
As if somehow aware of his arrival, the door swung open to reveal Arwen, who looked--if possible--more beautiful than ever. She was wearing a slender, shimmering dress in a shade of silver grey that matched her eyes perfectly. The flared skirt barely brushed her knees, leading up to a beribboned empire waist and a gathered top. Thin spaghetti straps accentuated her slim shoulders, and a star-shaped jewel rested on her delicate collarbone. A scarf of dark grey silk was draped over her arms.
Aragorn smiled at her, but she took one look at his jeans and tennis shoes and her face fell. "Oh, I knew I'd overdressed!" she cried, looking distraught. She made as if to run back into the house, but Aragorn took her arm, gently turning her back around.
"You look beautiful!" he said with great sincerity, and then mentally hit himself. I probably sound fake, he thought, or obsessive, or freakishly enthusiastic, or…
"Thanks!" she said, and she smiled brilliantly at him. It was then that he noticed a strange, sad look in her eyes, which was in direct contrast to her cheery demeanor. Aragorn was about to ask what was wrong, when she said quickly, (as if to head off any objections), "But I'm leaving the scarf. It's too dressy." She tossed the shiny length of fabric back into the house, where, judging by the subsequent outburst, it had landed on one of her brothers.
"I'm Elladan!" an exasperated male voice called pointedly, "Not Elrohir! I don't wear this sh--" Arwen shut the door, effectively silencing him. "Are we leaving now?" she asked, and the emotion Aragorn had noticed in her eyes seemed to bleed into her voice momentarily. He had never been good at reading people, and this sudden change baffled him. Trying to shrug it off, he draped his jacket around Arwen's shoulders and they set off into the rain.
Aragorn had badgered Faramir incessantly about what kind of food Arwen liked, and after being assured and reassured that she did indeed like Thai food, he had chosen accordingly. Now, sitting in the dimly lit restaurant, with the smells of incense and curry drifting tantalizingly throughout the air, he watched as she ate her favorite dish with disinterest, seeming distracted and pensive. She had seemed unusually quiet on the drive there as well, forcing Aragorn to initiate conversations that she seemed indifferent to, although she participated with perfect cordiality.
Though he didn't know what, he knew something was wrong. With a horrible sinking feeling, he realized it was probably his fault. Something he had done had ruined the supposedly perfect date, and he was determined to fix it.
"Arwen?" he asked.
She look up from her Phad See Iew and said brightly "I'm fine."
Then, just as he realized that this meant that she was not at all fine, she put down her fork, took a deep breath and said, "Legolas told me that… well, it's probably not, like true or anything… and please don't be mad, but… are you really just going out with me because of a bet?" She said the last part extremely quickly, as if she simultaneously wanted to get it over with and not say it at all.
Aragorn was enough of a movie buff to know what scene he was in: this was the point where everything went to hell. Where Arwen, just like in that stupid movie where they give the geeky, artistic girl a makeover, would hate him forever for just one stupid mistake. Excuses ran rampant through his brain, but he couldn't say anything.
"Well?" asked Arwen, and Aragorn was finally able to put a name on that emotion: disappointment.
"I was really stupid," he started, "And I was gonna ask you out anyway, but then Legolas… well, I didn't wanna do it, but I couldn't back down, I mean, it was Legolas. But I really do like you, and I have since the first day of school, which seems kinda creepy now that I'm saying it, but you're not just a bet to me, and I'm really, really sorry." To Aragorn's critical ears, it sounded completely and unbelievably lame. But Arwen looked at him with a considering look on her face, and then said,
"I believe you."
Aragorn was lost. "You mean.. you don't hate me?"
Arwen laughed for the first time that evening, and all of Aragorn's doubts melted away at the sound.
The rest of the date was a happy blur. Everything returned to comfortable normalcy (as comfortable as first dates could be). All throughout the drive home, Arwen was chatty and animated, and the glow of contentment that seemed to surround her was contagious.
When they arrived at Arwen's house, Aragorn dashed around the car to open her door and help her out. Hand in hand, they walked along the path and up to the extravagant porch. Finally reaching the door, Aragorn turned to face her, and his blue eyes met her grey ones. Neither of them spoke, as if afraid that anything they said would mean the night was really over. Slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, Aragorn reached out a hand to rest beneath Arwen's chin, tilting her face towards his. Instinctively, she moved closer to him, and he could see every raindrop in her hair, resting on the dark waves like a cap of tiny stars. He was afraid to breathe, afraid to move.
And with a flood of light, the door opened to reveal an irate looking Elrond, who in an instant had whisked his daughter back inside, leaving a bewildered Aragorn to stand with his arm still outstretched, as sheets of endless rain fell down around him.
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A/N: Again, we apologize for the total lack of updating. XD
NEXT: Tension, angst, and a coffee shop brawl. (Well, sort of).