Author's Note: So I wrote this about two months ago, and left it to rot on my computer. Oops. Sorry for the wait, but unfortunately there will probably be more long waits to come. I'm swamped right now, and my creativity's running low, so don't expect a new chapter any time soon. Do keep your eyes peeled, though, because you never know.

Disclaimer: Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own. Neither are the mentioned bands, songs or computer programs.

Expect The Unexpected: Lola
Tuesday, November 21st, 2006 (3:35 pm)

"..one, two three, BABY YOU AND ME!"

Stop, rewind, coasssssst.

"Buh-buh-buh…"

La-la-love the Jackson 5. Ever since that whole Michael Jackson fiasco, a lot of people have decided that they're untouchable. I think that's just a little bit stupid; people still listen to Nirvana, and look at the mystery surrounding Kurt Cobain's death. A scandal isn't enough to sacrifice good music, and good music is definitely the Jackson 5.

In my opinion, anyways. Logan has never been one to agree with me on that little issue. He deleted all of their songs I had on iTunes when everyone was hanging out in our dorm room one night. Needless to say, I didn't even need to call upon my fabulous acting skills to show him how angry that had me. I spent weeks perfecting and organizing those songs into albums and order of single release dates, and he went and deleted it all in two sneaky minutes.

Crafty, really.

Luckily for me, I had all the songs on backup. So I'll be thanking him for this little incident at our English meeting today with some extra loud, tone deaf singing. I really wish there wasn't a meeting today; the role I'm trying out for in Chase's newest play is a girl of a very dark complexion, so I need to use all my extra time sun tanning. Meetings scheduled at 4 in the afternoon don't really help me there.

"Lola!"

Speaking of pointless English meetings… good thing I have my headphones in; I'll just pretend I didn't hear him. Might as well throw in some finger snapping to add to the effect.

"Lola… Lola?"

Alright then: finger snapping AND foot tapping. Kind of hard to do when you're walking (quickly) but hey, I'm sure I can manage it. Snap, snap, tap, snap, snap, tumble (damn), snap, trip (double damn), snap –

"Sheesh, walk fast enough?" A nasal voice directly behind me accompanied by a tap on my shoulder startles me, causing me to jump. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself for a long speech before turning around to face my follower: Anthony Halstead. Joy unbounded.

"Heeey Anthony, what's up?" I ask cheerily, a bright smile plastered on my face. I pluck the headphone out of my left ear and watch him fidget, grin never faltering.

"Well, actually, I need you to do me a favour. See, Logan hasn't responded to the e-mail I sent everyone yet about our little group get together. Needless to say, I've been getting a little frantic." He snorts and rolls his eyes; I nod along as though I understand completely why he's frantic about not getting a reply.

"So anyways, since I haven't received an answer, I was wondering if you could swing by his dorm room and pick him up. I mean, since you guys are friends and everything, it might be a little less awkward than if I showed up at his door, even though we're pretty tight, if you may." Once again, a snorting chortle.

The sun's shining down brightly; excellent day to have worn a tank top. I bask in the heat quietly for a moment, pretending to consider the request. Changing positions so the sun will hit both of my shoulders equally, I look at Anthony again; he recoils slightly. Hmph. Lovely confidence boost, being treated like a swamp monster.

"Yeaah, I guess I could do that. What time is it now?" I ask, tilting my head to better tan the left side of my face. He pulls back his sleeve (long sleeves in this glorious sunlight, I ask you) and checks the black band wrapped around his rather pallid wrist.

"It's three thirty eight on the dot. Now, the meeting is scheduled to start at four, but I'll excuse you and Logan for a few minutes, since you have to find him and all that," he explains, tapping his watch pointedly about fifty times.

"Sounds like a pl—wait, what do you mean I have to 'find him and all that'?" I demand, hand on hip. I rotate my head slightly and tilt it back so as to avoid a burn on my scalp. "I thought he was in his dorm."

Anthony blanches and clears his throat, rolling down his sleeve and rubbing his forearm.

"Well, hehe, I may have given the impression that he was there, butinfactheisn't," he splutters, looking in all directions except mine. "I called his dorm room and his friend Michael answered and said that he hadn't seen Logan since third period."

I roll my eyes. It's not so much that I mind having to wander around in the sun looking for Logan; it's the fact that Anthony's wasting my valuable wandering around in the sun looking for Logan time. If he had just told me in the first place, I could have a) found Logan sooner, snagging some one-on-one time and b) started tanning the back of my neck by starting my search in the opposite direction of the sun.

Mine is such a hard life to live.

"Okay, whatever. Calm down I'll find him. I have a few ideas of where he might be, so we won't be too long," I say, checking my nails while in fact tanning the underside of my forearm. Ha ha, I am spectacular!

"Alright, well then," Anthony pauses to check his watch and appears startled by the time. "Oh my, well I should be off so Michelle and Isaac don't worry about me."

I scoff quietly; I'm sure they're positively overcome with worry.

"Okay, well, I'll find Reese. See you in a few," I say, giving him a wave and turning off toward the tennis courts. I rack my brain for places that he could be; you just never know with Logan Reese.

Okay: tennis courts, pool, boys lounge, Sushi Rox and even the drama room. Logan Reese is nooowhere. Might as well just give up. I sit down on the ledge overlooking the eating spot thing. Patio, that's the one. Taking a sip of my water I survey the grounds, shading my eyes from the bright glare of the sun. I pause with the bottle only inches from my lips as an idea pops into my mind. I don't know how I didn't think of it earlier, it's so simple.

He's down at the basketball courts, obviously. Where else? Honestly, I can be so Nicole sometimes. I skip down the curving stairway and make my way to the courts. I flash a grin at a girl from my science class as I pass by her… a girl with the same hoodie as Dana.

Dana Cruz… I don't mind her; it's her past relationships with everyone that I dislike. Well, not everyone. I'm over that part. I actually genuinely like Dana. But, well, the whole Logan thing…

My mind wanders to my previous conversations with Zoey.

the boy versus girl basketball game
"So it all started then?"
"Yeah, you could say that. He brushed her arm and they exchanged this weird look."
the arguments
"Wow. Sounds like he egged her on constantly."
"Shamelessly."
the pick-up lines
"I think every girl's heard that one."
"Yeah, but the funny thing is, I think he actually meant it that time."
the rejections
"I don't believe that."
"It's true. He almost looked crushed."

I learned a lot about the deeper side of eighth grade from that conversation. After we had it, I decided to give Dana a chance; I had discovered some aspects of her personality that I liked. I offered to buy her a smoothie, and we got to talking; we have more in common than I thought. Since then, we've become pretty good friends. Well, about as close as you can get after two or so weeks.

I almost pass right by the basketball courts, caught up in the events since Dana came back. Walking by the entrance, I hear a familiar voice speaking. I pause at the same moment that a pause occurs in the conversation. Then a voice that makes my heart flutter responds, tone equally low.

Deciding against interrupting the conversation, I slip between the two rows of shrubbery bordering the left side of the pathway which leads up to the court's gates. I wouldn't want to be rude, now would I? I listen more intently, crouching so that I'm hidden by the tall, dense plants. Leaning towards the fence, I catch snippets of sentences.

"...mumble mumble mumble we do now?" That's definitely Logan.

"I don't know, I guess we mumble mumble."

Hmm, thrilling conversation. So this is what's more important than a project meeting, huh? More importantly, who's this mystery girl?

"Well I'm sorry I can't mumble mumble." I'm guessing he rolled his eyes or something; she sounds a little exasperated. My super sleuth skills are starting to set in; the voice almost sounds like Cheyenne. I lean even closer, so much so that I'm propping myself up on the branches of one of the bushes.

"Whatever. So, do you want to give it a go then or not?" Logan asks – I can only imagine the stance he's in right now. But wait; give what a… oh. Give that a go. There's a silence. I can only imagine what's happening right now. I swallow, defiantly holding back any sound.

Logan's ringtone slices through the silence and he answers with his customary "eighth wonder of the world speaking". Today, it's a pretty joyful "eighth wonder of the world speaking", though he's obviously trying to hold back; it's so typically Logan that it makes me cringe. I'm supposing Cheyenne said yes…

The perfect end to my (sincerely) almost perfect day.

Logan has a brief convo with whoever is on the other line before excusing himself. He mutters something to the girl, causing her to scoff. I hear footsteps heading off towards the other side of the court, presumably the east exit, so I wait patiently until I'm sure they're both long gone.

I'm about to stand up and brush the dirt off my knees when I hear a set of footsteps approaching my gate. I shrink back among the foliage. I was wrong; the girl hasn't left yet, she's just been standing in the court. Probably to catch me in the act. Oh no, I'm going to get caught. If I know anything, it's that getting on the bad side of Cheyenne Elderton is not a good idea. Oh no, not a good idea at all.

I guess I deserve it; if I was a real super sleuth, I wouldn't have hidden in between two rows of foliage. Also, I would have noticed that I only heard one person walk away.

Damn.

I hold my breath and watch through the dense, leafy barrier hiding me from the world. I watch as a pair of apple green Vans slip-ons come around the green fence corner. I watch as a pair of legs, clad in white leggings and a jean skirt, come into my line of vision (very nice touch with the white studded belt).

I watch as Dana Cruz walks along the path, a small smirk playing on her lips.

I stare with wide eyes as she strolls off down the concrete pathway, continuing to gaze until she turns the corner some fifty feet off. Well, this was certainly unexpected. Though I expect it was to be expected. Maybe.

Detaching myself from the leafy clutch of the shrubs, I tumble out onto the sun-warmed concrete pathway. I stand and wipe the dirt from my knees and palms, regaining some dignity. I stroll into the basketball court, sitting on the shady steel bench.

First row, front and center. Too bad I hadn't been sitting here when it had all happened, to get a better view of exactly what happened. Too bad I hadn't been standing where she was. I lean back, propping myself up on the bench behind me and stare up at the afternoon sky. White puffs of cotton dot the vast blanket of cerulean, too cheery for my liking at this particular moment.

But wait a second; I didn't hear the entire conversation. Maybe I'm over-analyzing this whole situation. Maybe he really likes me, and he's asking her if she wants to help give his plan to woo me a go. Maybe I'm just super paranoid and am becoming a pessimist.

Or maybe… maybe I should go with my first instinct. Too many pieces of the puzzle are adding up.

I draw my knees to my chest, hugging them tightly. It's all so stupid; it should have been me. Sure they have their 'history', and yeah, I'll admit they do have a lot in common. But that's not enough.

A short buzz in my pocket informs me that I have a text message. I slowly slide my cell phone from its denim enclosure and note the time on the front panel: four nineteen. Desperately hoping the message isn't from Logan or Dana, I flip the top and press accept. A text message pops up on the screen: where are you??? did you find logan???

I roll my eyes and delete the message, blocking the number in the process. I have no tolerance for Anthony right now. I have no tolerance for the project right now. Project means seeing Logan and pretending I don't know anything about what happened. I hope they don't plan on keeping it a secret, I'm not sure if I can keep my mouth shut for that long.

I examine the keypad of my phone for a few seconds, swiftly pressing 3 and holding it to my ear. After four, long rings, there's a small click and a voice comes through.

"Hello?"

The sound of another voice causes the full impact of what I have just witnessed to hit me. I choke back a small sob. A few tears are coming now; I can't hold it all back for much longer. I know it's stupid, I know they won't last forever, I know I'm being a drama queen.

I know I don't care.

"Hello?" the voice ventures again, layered with a tone of worry. "Is anybody there?"

I inhale deeply and open my mouth, responding shakily.

"Zoey? It's Lola."


Author's Note: Drama at PCA? I think it's about time. I'll give you one preminition of what's to happen: betrayal, confessions, and a whole lot of regret. Curious yet?