Title:

Better or Worse

Disclaimer:

Does anyone know if Cain's for sale because, unfortunately, I own none of the Tin Man or Wizard of Oz characters. You'll learn more about some of the characters I created in this chapter. It is necessary for the plot line. Hope you like.

General Info:

Rated T

Angst/Romance

Author's Note:

I hope you like the story. PLEASE read and review. I love to hear your opinions. As always, thank you for taking your time to read my story.

Chapter 2


"Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love." – Jane Austin


Determination was written across DG's face. The ten small, white figures in her sights stood ominously at the end of the alley. They wouldn't remain standing if she had anything to say about it. Three steps forward, she hurled the projectile in her hand down the lane. Nine fell with the force of the impact, but one refused to go down. It stood there, mocking her.

"Damn it," DG muttered under her breath. Turning to meet the faces of her friends seated behind her position. "Either I knock one pin down or everything but it!" She stomped to the end of the smooth wooden surface to wait for her ball to reappear. "It's so frustrating," she admitted, lifting the ball from the ledge moving without thought or strategy toward the fault line, tossing it down the lane. Not surprisingly, it missed.

DG heard snickering over her shoulder. Glaring, she turned around to confront the amused expressions of her childhood friends. Del was the first to speak.

"You'd think with all the bowling we did in high school you'd be better than this," he commented, waving his hand idly at the ten pins which had been reset.

"Oh, shut it, Del!" DG never took losing well, no matter what the game.

Grumpily she returned to her seat taking an extra step out of her way to smack Del lightly upside the head. Sitting down heavily on the uncomfortable chair she crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. This was the third game and the worst by far, or rather her worst. Even Fran was performing better than normal.

Her mind wandered, suddenly struck with the extreme mishmash of personalities making up their little clique. Over the years many wondered at the unique makeup of their group, and she honestly had trouble remembering what it was that brought them together in the first place.

DG was the epitome of the tom boy. Competitive to a fault and a sports junky, she spent much of her teenage years swept up in sports and machinery. Never one to wear dresses unless the occasion demanded it, she wore sweats and jeans constantly. The guys could not touch her knowledge of cars and it tended to agitate them. Robbie had gone with her to the motorcycle dealership and was the one to which the salesman directed all his questions. It wasn't until DG chimed in with questions causing him to flounder that he realized she knew what she was talking about and he wouldn't be able to sell her the biggest piece of shit on the lot.

DG watched Fran get up from her seat to take her turn. Graceful with perfect posture, DG was hit with the realization Fran was more suited than she to royalty. Lifting the eight pound ball from the return ledge she placed the long slim fingers of her right hand into the three holes. Cradling it in her other hand she walked up to the foul line. Spreading her feet shoulder width apart, she bent down and swung the ball between her legs, releasing it down the alley. It was still one of the most amusing things to watch. The ball rolled slowly down the lane giving Fran enough time to return to her seat.

"Strike," she stated confidently. "Mark it down."

"It hasn't even reached the pins yet," Del admonished, although given her previous insights during their teenage years, he did mark down the strike.

Sure enough as the ball hit the pins, one, two, four, seven, nine… Strike!

"That's so not fair," DG crooned. "You don't even play right."

"What can I say?" Her hands held palm up as she shrugged her shoulders. "Granny bowling works for me."

There was not a person on the planet who was more the opposite of DG than Fran. The beautiful blonde was the girly girl, in every sense of the word. From her perfect clothing and flawless hair and makeup to her manicured nails she would die if chipped. She went so far as to have pedicures year round, even in the winter when no one ever saw her feet. Tall for a girl, five-nine, curvy figure and long, wavy blonde hair had every guy in the place swooning.

As DG thought back, she supposed Fran became one of her closest friends in the fourth grade when DG picked her for her kickball team first instead of the girl being chosen last, as per usual. After that, the young girl's respect for the tom boy increased ten fold and she played her heart out in the kickball game, sending the winning run home.

It was a Friday, and Fran invited her new friend to her first ever sleepover. DG was happy scarffing down sundaes and watching movies. Even during a moment of insanity she begrudgingly agreed to a makeover and dress-up session. She snickered out loud remembering the horrible pink froufrou monstrosity she wore and the pictures Fran's mother took. If their family ever decided to blackmail her with them they would certainly get a lot of money, she would pay anything to keep those from seeing the light of day.

A palm suddenly encased her head, mussing up her hair. When it finally released its hold she raised her head to face the back of Del who was picking out the heaviest ball on the rack.

"Hey!" DG huffed, not really annoyed, as she tried to fix her wayward locks.

Glancing over his shoulder as he took up position at the end of the wooden step, "You're hair looks better that way." Quickly refocusing his attention to the game at hand he took three large strides, hurling the ball down the aisle with extreme power. They slammed into the offending pins creating a 7 – 10 split. "Shit," he exclaimed loud enough to cause the young girl in the next lane to trip over her feet.

Del was the true athlete of the group, large and in charge. The star linebacker for the town's football team and, if their little community was larger, he would have been a shoe-in for a full scholarship to some division I university. As it was, scouts never really came around.

A man people gave a wide berth. Six foot three, 225 lbs of pure muscle, he invoked fear into many a child. However, the best part, he was actually a gentle giant. Whatever happened on the field stayed on the field and he would often help fallen rivals to their feet after he laid them out. Del was the sweetest and kindest man you would ever hope to meet.

He waited at the machine for the ball return to spit out his weapon, running a hand over the buzzed brown hair on his head. When he had the ball in hand he moved as far left as possible and attempted to knock the ten pin so that it took out the seven. However, Del put too much spin on the ball and it missed both as it traveled between the two.

"And it's good!" DG yelled, holding her arms up like field goal posts.

Del grumbled something unintelligible as he shuffled back to the sitting area.

Their friendship started in the sixth grade when they became partners for a history project. Each group was given a Native American culture to study, theirs was the Incas. Their project was graded on accuracy, design and creativity. So, since their empire was difficult to establish because of the Andes mountains and the hard rocky terrain they decided to make a model of an Incan village.

Incorporating the mountainous country (steppes), an extensive road system and rope bridges into the scenery, they left the majority of the model for farm land. Then there were the homes and other buildings. Rectangular wooden structures without any dividers on the inside, they thatched all but one of the roofs so that the inside could be seen.

When she recalled sculpting llama's out of clay, since they were the primary pack "mule" of the culture, she was taken back even further to the clay figure she made for her father. At the time she wondered at how easily the clay worked under her fingers, forming the exact shape she pictured. Now she knew it was not the first time she had used such a medium.

The Incan village model earned them an "A" which Del took to display on the table in the foyer of his home. He was so proud of the grade since it was the first "A" he received in anything since elementary school. Following their partnership he joined DG and Fran on many of their outings, studying with them for tests or quizzes and started earning the highest grade on his own.

DG felt the person in the next chair shift toward her, breath hot on her ear. "You're beating Del by one point," he whispered in her ear and she smiled. She wasn't losing anymore. Not that she thought it would last for long, but she rub it in a bit. Reaching out she squeezed Robbie's hand in her own before he made his way to the front lines.

Quiet, introverted Robbie was a musician who ran to the beat of his own drum. It seemed possible for him to pick up an instrument for the first time and play flawlessly, though he preferred the keyboard and trumpet above all others. Jazz band totally fit his personality and even as a lowly freshman in high school he beat out the upperclassmen for the coveted solos. He still played to this day, having gone to college to pursue the musical arts, and joined a locally famous cover band. She knew he would be discovered someday.

The relaxed fit jeans and simple long sleeved shirt showed off his muscular build, even if he was on the skinny side. His light brown hair was styled in a way that made it look like he just woke up. It wasn't real long but long enough to appear wild and crazy, and she loved the way it looked on him. And his butt was almost as good as Cain's.

Damn. Nearly ten minutes without thinking about him. That had to be a record. She was determined to get her thoughts off the man.

"Hey, Del?" DG said in an offhand manner. When he turned to regard her with his stony stare her lips curled into a smirk. "What's the score?"

"We still have three more frames," he retorted hotly, not mentioning the actual points. "I won't be losing for long."

"We'll see about that," she laughed and returned her attention to the man with the bowling ball. His movements were almost as graceful as Fran's and she couldn't help but be impressed with the fluid arc of his arm. The ball flew down the polished lane, pushing through the pins at the end. All but one fell down.

Robbie became her friend in seventh grade. She was riding her bike home from Fran's house when it started to rain. She had just past his farm house when the moisture on the gravel made the front wheel spin out, landing her unceremoniously on her side. Scraped from knee to ankle, her right leg screamed in pain and her elbows were a bloody mess. Two hands grabbing hold of her under her arms lifted her to her feet. Robbie latched an arm around her waist, helping her through the gate to the house.

His mom washed and bandaged her leg and elbows, offering to give her a ride home once dinner was finished cooking. In the meantime the two classmates got acquainted playing Nintendo and listening to music. When he helped her to her door she told him she'd be turning around in English more often to talk to him. Robbie gave her the first of his smiles and she felt herself melt inside. The next day in school he sat with them at lunch, and every day after.

The art work adorning the slanted walls of her attic bedroom were only ever seen by her parents, and Robbie. When she was young they were of the five most important people in her life, but as she grew her dreams took over and the visions had to be drawn. Robbie never criticized her fantasy land, instead complimenting her creativity and encouraging her to make a story out of the jumble of scenes covering her room. She never headed that advice.

"Wow, déjà vu!"

Robbie twisted around to make eye contact with her blue orbs. "Yeah," he responded, eyes twinkling in mischief. "But I'll knock the last one down."

DG scoffed at his comment. "Oh, really? Think you're all that, do ya?" She stood, feet apart and hands on her hips. "Wanna bet?"

"What do you have in mind?" he asked, feigning insult at her lack of faith in his abilities.

"How about if you miss the pin you buy the ice cream?" she posed. "For all of us."

"Then I assume you buy if I make the spare?"

"You betcha!" DG stated, taking her seat. "But I'm not all that concerned."

A few moments later DG was eating her words and knew she'd soon be paying for everyone else to eat them, too.

Well, at least these people managed to get her mind off her unrequited love. She couldn't begrudge them some dessert for all they do for her with just being present.


AN: A little click, a few words, and you'll make my day!