Author's Note: Whoa, I'm really sorry about the (more than a) month long wait. I kept reminding myself to get on with it and finish this chapter, but things kept getting in the way. I promise I'll try to update regularly from now on. You can hold me to that. I hope.

Disclaimer: Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own.

Twilight Sharing: Chase
Friday, November 18th, 2006 ( 8:19 pm)

Lying on my cobalt blue duvet cover, I stare up at the black metal bars supporting Logan's mattress that are, in turn, staring back at me. Unfortunately, when I stare at them I'm feeling a million different emotions. When they're looking at me, they're not really looking at me, they're thinking "Wouldn't it be funny to fall on this kid and crush him?"

It's reminding me of Zoey; then again, what doesn't these days?

The reason for this comparison is that it's always like this with Zoey: I look at her, she looks back at me, but there's never any significance. At least, not in her gazes. Every glance I've ever stolen at her has only made me more depressed. It's also made me love her more.

On the other hand, all this signifies that nothing's changed with us, even with the whole Rebecca thing behind us. In some respects, I should be grateful for this. Change scares the heck out of me. I tried to explain this theory to Mike once, and he told me I was the weirdest boy in the world. Easy enough for him to say, he's got a girlfriend; he doesn't need to impress anybody anymore.

The door opens and slams shut as somebody flounces into my room and collapses on Michael's bed. Said person lies there for a few moments and I wait quietly for an explanation, startled out of my thoughts.

"You haven't told her yet?" demands an inquisitive voice, breaking the mutual silence. I listen to the sound of the box springs squeaking as she turns on her side, probably to face me.

"Why do you think it's so easy, Dana?" I ask her, rubbing my hands over my forehead, my eyes, my lips.

"Because it's not, you know."

The room is silent, save for the quiet chatter of birds outside the window. Though it isn't an awkward silence (it never has been with Dana), I'm starting to feel uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because I can feel her gaze penetrating my body, uncomfortable because she wants answers. I sigh deeply.

"She'll never look at me the way I look at her."

Her continuous silence confirms to my paranoiac mind what I've been dreading; that I was right all along. Zoey doesn't love me, or even like me slightly more than a friend. She doesn't want me, doesn't need me, doesn't yearn for me. I honestly believe that girls are blowing their emotions way out of proportion. Guys are the ones with all the problems.

"Chase…"

"You know what I think?" I ask her, interrupting. "I think that girls blow their emotions way out of proportion. Guys are the ones with all the issues about understanding when it comes to relationships. Girls are so damn complicated, with all their mixed messages and their wily female antics. It's ridiculous."

I continue to stare upward, not breaking my gaze with the metallic bars, crisscrossed to support the weight of it's burden. I know Dana's waiting for me to turn and face her so she can tell me something important and chockfull of priceless advice, but I'm not really in the mood.

However, my determination to ignore her expected disapproving words is met only by more silence. I flip over and shove my face into my ivory white pillow, inhaling the aroma of laundry detergent.

"Say something, will you?" I mutter indistinctly, allowing her a chance to speak. I know that if I continue on my little speech, I'll start babbling incoherently like a drunken man, which she'll so kindly point out. And then I'd start saying sappy things, like I'm drunk with forsaken love and all that fun stuff.

She inhales sharply and I hear a small thump.

"I think you've got a point," she says slowly, choosing her words carefully. She's probably assuming that one wrong move could set me off. She's wrong, though, I wouldn't blow up at her; I'm not that frustrated. At her agreement, I smile into the pillowcase with gratitude.

"But," Oh. There's more. "I also think that girls have trouble too. The only reason you think guy's are less complex is because you are a guy. You're inside your own head and unfortunately for us, we can't get there."

"And you can use the same reasoning for why you think girls aren't really as complicated as I'm saying they are." I finish her sentence for her, turning my head so I'm facing her. She's lying on her back, her arm dangling over the side of the bed. The thump I heard was probably her hand hitting the sideboard.

"No, I never said that girls aren't complicated. They are. They're all too busy playing mind games to just live; too busy putting on a façade for the benefit of their latest prey. It's a scary world out there, when you think about it," she says, staring up at our ceiling.

It's covered in different sized glow-in-the-dark stars, the larger stars representing different constellations. Logan, Michael and I are all visual learners, so we put them up there to remind us of the stars positions for our astronomy test next week.

"Out where?" I ask her, sliding onto the floor. I lean against my bed frame, arms resting on my knees.

"The girls lounge," she replies, looking at me and giving me a small smile. She adds, in a smaller voice, "Don't worry about Zoey, Chase. She'll come around, I promise."

I smile in gratitude. "I'm holding you to that. Anyway, so now that I've had my ramble, where's yours?"

She turns on her side and looks above my head for a moment before lowering her gaze to meet my eyes. I'm almost used to her new appearance, though the hair still throws me off. It's not that I don't like it; it's just that I hate change. Always have.

"Don't have one," answers Dana. Suddenly enthralled by her fingernails, she turns her attention to them, biting at their tips. Something she always does when she's bluffing.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," I sing softly, resting my chin in my hand.

"Am not," she says moodily. "Besides, I'm not wearing pants."

My eyebrows shoot up at this comment and I fix her with an amused expression. She merely scoffs and rolls her eyes, looking into my eyes once again.

"I'm wearing shorts, idiot."

"I know." I grin, glad to have gotten her attention. "Now then; if you don't have a ramble that must mean you had a pretty uneventful day. Am I right? Unless… all those churches in Paris turned you into a reincarnation of Mother Theresa?"

Her silence tells me everything I need to know. I don't lead her on anymore than I have to; I know that she'll tell me when she's ready. Even though we're close, that doesn't mean that I've got her all figured out. The one thing that is predictable about Dana, however, is that she doesn't respond to constant nagging. All it does it cause her to retreat further into her mind and soon you have no chance in hell of finding anything out.

"I woke up late, I went to class, I went to another class, I had lunch," she lists off the entirety of the day's events on her fingers. "I went to some more classes, I got a slice of pizza, I played basketball, I came here, and I threw a pillow at you for being so nosey."

"What? You never threw a pi-" A cushy, orange and white striped monstrosity of a pillow whacks me square in the face, putting a stop to any confusion I had. Ouch. Well, I guess I deserve that.

"The pizza must have been pretty good then, if you have nothing bad to say," I tease, watching as her expression changes to one of exasperation. "What about basketball? Played by yourself?"

"No," she mutters thickly, burying her face in Michael's bedspread. Coincidentally, the duvet cover matches the pillow I've just been introduced to. I listen quietly, intently, avoiding looking at her though I know she can't see me. The droning buzz of a bumblebee hovers outside of our window. With a glance outside, I see a miniscule, furry, yellow and black patterned bee land on a begonia, the last rays of sunlight illuminating his silhouette. The plump little insect buzzes happily, withdrawing his prize of pollen.

Dana sits up slowly and folds her hands in her lap, fingers fidgeting. I continue to watch my new friend outside, deciding against scrutinizing her face. She breathes in, and then exhales before explaining.

"I met Logan there," she answers simply. I turn to face her and find her eyes gazing into mine. I don't need much more explanation than that; their, uh, "relationship" was common knowledge back in eighth grade. Couple that with my knowledge of how Logan feels about Dana and my assumptions about how she feels about him and I can only imagine what an interesting (not to mention awkward) event that must have been. Of course, I won't ask for details, I'm bigger than that.

Okay, I'm lying. Despite how feminine it makes me sound, I want details. Unfortunately, she doesn't share the same interest in discussing the subject. I sigh. I guess I can understand that; it's probably a touchy area.

We sit in silence for a few minutes before she glances at the clock, slapping her hands on her thighs.

"Well, I've gotta go. The teachers decided it's best to treat me like just another student, so I've got piles of homework to do," she explains, excusing herself.

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow," I say. Then, rather viciously, I add, "Or are you gonna leave again?"

She pauses at the door and turns to face me. She looks taken aback, and I can't say that I really blame her. I don't know why I've saved this little explosion until now, but I can honestly say that I didn't feel it coming. The whole time she was here, I never once thought about how she was absent all last year when I really needed her. I should probably apologize.

"Chase, what are you talking about?" she asks me, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. Oh right, like you don't know. She doesn't expect me to be that stupid, does she?

"I applaud you Dana, I really do. Thank you so much for taking a chunk out of my comfortable life. Do you know how much stress your little move caused me? It wasn't so much the change, really; it was the abrupt change."

I fume silently for a few moments, pretending to be unaware of her amused expression. After calming down considerably I look again into her chocolate eyes.

"Done ranting now?" she asks me, allowing a small smile to seep across her face.

I shrug. "Guess so."

"Good," she replies, drawing me into a bear hug. Can you say uncharacteristic? Disregarding my little outburst I relax, pulling her to me tightly.

"I missed you, Dana," I mumble in her ear.

"You better have," is all she says.

Yep, Paris didn't change her one bit.


Author's Note: I think the reason I enjoy writing about Dana so much is because we never really got a feel for her character's depth, which makes it easy to interpret her personality anyway I want to. So if you're not a big fan of how I'm portraying her, I'd be happy to hear how you perceive her. Who knows, maybe it'll give me a new direction for this story. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.