Lyrics to Drop Dead Gorgeous by Aerosmith (2001)

Lincoln sighed and stepped onto the back porch, a warm spring breeze rushing over him and the gentle rays of the sun caressing his skin; flower scent seasoned the air, underlaid by the smell of fresh cut grass; the whine of a mower found his ears, and from somewhere over the back fence, children laughed in the midst of their play.

It was a beautiful scene.

And Lincoln was numb to it.

He crossed to the top step and sat, his hands pressing to the sides of his head and his eyes squeezing closed against a shameful rush of tears. Boys aren't supposed to cry, he knew that, but he hurt so badly it felt like a knife was twisting in his heart, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw Ronnie Anne's face on the backs of his lids, which sharpened his grief.

Less than an hour ago, he stood on the sidewalk and watched as Ronnie Anne was carried away from him in the back of a car; she stared sadly out the window, her palm pressed against the glass and her wet eyes a dark, tempest-tossed sea of pain. Next to him, Lori openly wept as she waved stiffly to Bobby; Lincoln's lips quivered but he wouldn't allow himself to cry, not in front of Ronnie Anne...not until he was alone and no one could see, or hear.

He loved her.

He loved her with everything in his heart and soul; her smile was the light of his life, and her eyes were his starry skies. The sound of her voice was like music, and her laughter made him feel things that he couldn't explain, longing, maybe, or elation. He didn't know; he knew only that Ronnie Anne Santiago was what he wanted most in life...and now she was gone, and with her his heart.

Presently, he fought back tears and hugged his knees to his chest. In the yard, Lola pranced back and forth on a stage that had LANA written all over it - literally, Lana signed the things she built, and her name covered the side of the runway in big, blocky letters. His vision blurred and he blinked; the world came into focus again just as Lola turned and waved at an imaginary crowd, her hand stiff and her smile haughty, a princess suffering the presence of the masses and straining to look happy about it. She saw him, and her smile went from forced to genuine. "Hi, Lincy!"

Lincoln lifted a hand and let it drop limply back to his lap; it weighed a thousand pounds and moving it made him tired.

"Did you come to watch me win?" she asked, drawing the last word cutely out.

"Yeah," Lincoln said. Speaking was just as hard as moving.

Lola reached the end of the walkway, turned, and started back toward the stage, looking this way and that and waving. He noticed something then: Her posture was off, and she slouched forward ever so slightly. "Stand up straighter," he said.

"What?" she asked, apparently not having heard him.

"Stand up straighter," he repeated, "you're slouching."

She threw her shoulders back without complaint. "Better?" she asked.

He studied her for a moment. "You could put a little more...into your smile."

At the end of the runway, she stopped and turned her head, her brows lifting and one hand going to her hip. "What's wrong with my smile?" She stared at him intently, waiting for a response.

"Well," he said haltingly, "it's looks kind of...fake."

She rolled her eyes. "That's because it is fake. My feet hurt, my back hurts, and I'm parading myself around as though I'm a side of beef. I'm not in a smiling mood."

That side of beef comment confused him. Isn't parading around the whole point of a beauty pageant? Sure, there were other aspects, such as the talent portion and the speaking part, where the contestants are asked a question (how would you change the world?), but the centrepiece, the turkey to everything else's trimmings, was displaying one's beauty. Unless he was sorely mistaken. "Isn't that what you're supposed to do?" he asked.

Lola pursed her lips. "Yes," she said, "for the most part."

The most important part, but okay. "Still...you look like you're not happy and it shows. That'll make you look bad."

Lola sighed and put on her biggest, brightest, and toothiest smile. "How's this?" she asked through her teeth. She looked like she just stepped on a nail and was trying to keep from howling in pain.

"Ehhh...better."

"You don't sound convinced," she said, her teeth still bared.

Because he wasn't. "Just...think of the happiest thing you can."

Lola sighed but flicked her eyes to the side in thought. After a moment, she smiled again, softer this time, and warmer too, like the sun breaking through a bank of gray clouds. "There you go," Lincoln said. "Much better. What are you thinking of?"

"Lindsey Sweetwater in tears," Lola piped.

Oh. Whatever works, I guess. "Well...you look happier, and that's going to endear you to the judges and to the audience. People automatically like someone they see as happy and nice. If you're happy and nice, the judges will like you, and if they like you, they will be inclined to go easier on you if you mess up."

She considered for a moment, then hummed. "I guess." Her face brightened, and she donned a smile that he knew all too well. I just had a brilliant idea, it said. "How about you be my coach? You're good at planning and stuff, you'd be perfect."

Lincoln faltered. Coach? He didn't know the first thing about beauty pageants. Well...maybe the first thing, but that was it. "I-I don't think I'd make a good coach. I don't know anything about beauty pageants. I'd bomb."

"No, you wouldn't," Lola said.

He opened his mouth to protest further, but reconsidered. He did need something to occupy his time, because if he had nothing, he'd dwell on Ronnie Anne, he knew it as surely as he knew his own name. He didn't want to do that, to think about her until his stomach was in knots, to miss her so badly he ached, to pull his covers over his head and go methodically through every happy moment they shared, torturing himself with what once was and what could have been.

"I-I could try, I guess," he said noncommittally.

One year and three months later, Lincoln stood on that very same stage with Lola by his side. It was a sweltering late July afternoon and the air was so humid you'd drown if you took a deep breath...provided the pounding sun didn't get you first. Lincoln uncrossed his arms and dragged the back of his hand across his sweaty brow. "You sure you're ready for this?"

It had been less than forty-eight hours since her accident, and though she was full of spite and vinegar, the moment they came into the yard and she saw the stage, Lola's eyes widened in apprehension and a shiver of dread went through her like icy water. She took a step back and nearly tripped over her own feet, but Lincoln shot out an arm and caught her. He expected her to be intimidated at first, but she was determined, and that morning over breakfast she scoffed at the idea of waiting a few more days. I need to start training now. I want to blow Lindsey out of the water and make her look like the hack she is.

"Yes," she said now. Her voice was steady and resolute. Her body was stiff, though, as if frozen, and she did not move. Lincoln laid his hand on her shoulder, and the memory of yesterday in her room, kissing her hand and almost kissing her elsewhere, came flooding back; he pulled shamefully away.

"It's alright," he said awkwardly. "It's just you and me here."

She didn't immediately reply, instead taking a deep, calming breath. "I know." With that, she started down the runway with mincing baby steps, her shoulders square and her head held high and proud. She was halfway when the memory of of what happened the other night hit her like an open palm, and for a moment she was there again, tripping, heart leaping into her throat, arms flailing, the floor coming closer, closer, red pain exploding inside her skull as her face connected and her nose crunched. She froze and began to shake. Behind her, Lincoln frowned.

Lindsey Sweetwater's hateful laughter echoed in her head, and humiliation burned across her face and the back of her neck.

"You can do this, Lola," Lincoln said, "you've done it a million times."

The runway seemed to stretch into forever, a hundred feet, a thousand, the surface uneven, all the better to trip you, my dear. Her heart slammed painfully and she swallowed around a lump in her throat. He was right, she'd done this a million times before, a billion; walking down a runway was for her what breathing was for other people. Even so, her muscles were locked and she was certain that the moment she went to take a step, she would fall.

Lincoln watched for a long moment. When she made no sign that she was going to continue, he went over and put his hand on her shoulder. Her body tensed and she turned her head up to him, her brown eyes pooled with anxiety and her bottom lip sucked into her mouth. "I-I just need a minute," she stammered.

"Take as much time as you need," Lincoln said, "don't push yourself."

She looked down the runway and drew a heavy breath. "What if I fall again?" she worried; her voice sounded small and afraid, and Lincoln's heart twinged. The urge to take her in his arms and pepper her face with soft kisses came upon him like a tidal wave, and his stomach clutched. It was wrong, it was disgusting, but he didn't care, and that scared him.

"You won't fall," he said, and took her hand, his fingers weaving through hers. Their gazes locked and a beautiful pink blush touched her cheeks. Lincoln's heartbeat sped up and he started to tremble with the effort it took to keep from kissing her lips. "I-I'll walk with you."

"Please?" she asked needily.

He nodded, and she took a deep breath. She put one foot in front of the other, and they began to walk.

They sat together on the top step, purple dusk pooling around them as the last light of day filtered from the sky. Lincoln's forearms rested on his knees and his eyes studied his shoes; Lola's hands were folded in her lap and she stared straight ahead at the stockade fence separating their yard from the next one over.

She and Lincoln had been practicing for the upcoming Little Miss Cute and Mean Pageant all week, and she was having trouble with the talent portion - she wanted to do a magic act (thanks for the suggestion, Luan), but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get the hang of it; she flubbed every trick until she was shaking with frustration. Lincoln suggested trying something else, but she was set on seeing it through. Ten minutes ago, she tried a card trick for the umpteenth time, and wound up spraying them across the stage. For a moment she stood among them like a woman in the ruins of her tornado-devastated home...then she broke down crying, much to Lincoln's surprise.

Now, she sat stock still, tears drying on her cheeks and shimmering in her eyes; her breaths were short, watery, and hands quivered lightly.

"It'll help if you talk about it," Lincoln said.

Lola sighed but didn't speak for a long time. "Everyone has their thing, and I have nothing." Her voice was heavy and dull.

"What are you talking about?" Lincoln asked, confused. "You're Lola Loud, the pageant queen."

She bowed her head. "I know - my thing is to look pretty. That's not a talent, Lincoln. Luna has music, Luan has comedy, Lynn has sports, Lucy has poetry, Lisa has science...those are all things they did on their own." She lifted her hands and gestured at her face. "I didn't do this. Mom and Dad did. Everything I try to do for myself I mess up." Her voice broke on the last word and she started to cry again. "I'm a failure."

"No you're not," he said instantly. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and drew her close. She resisted at first, but gave in and allowed it. "You're not a failure. You just have to work hard. Luna didn't get good at playing over night, and Lynn didn't become the sports star she is in a single day - they both had to practice."

"They both have natural talent, though," she said, "I don't."

"Yes you do," he said and held her tight - she felt small in his arms, in need of love and protection, and he was ready to give it wholeheartedly and without question. "You have to work at it, that's all, and don't give up. If you want to get better, you have to go out and do it. Sitting around and feeling sorry for yourself won't get you anywhere."

They lapsed into silence, neither speaking, both enjoying the closeness of the other. Lola rolled Lincoln's words over and over in her mind, examining them from every angle and finding them true left, right, front, and back. She looked up at him, and in the final light of day, his face glowed. A slow, loving smile spread across his lips, and for the very first time, Lola felt the strange, sickly butterfly wings flutter in her stomach.

She practiced her magic act again and again, and as Lincoln watched her slowly getting better, and her overjoyed delight at improving, her smile, the light in her eyes, her gleeful laughs...he started to feel it too.

Hand-in-hand, they reached the end of the runway and turned, then started back toward the stage. Lincoln watched her face as they went; at first her eyes were shut tightly as if in expectation of a blow, but now they were open and her breathing was regular. She was calming down, he thought with a smile. At the stage, he let go and turned to her. "Do you think you can do it alone now?"

Anxiety rippled across her face, but she nodded in determination. He took a step back, and, with a sigh, she went down the runway, her steps slow and unsure. Lincoln's heart pounded in anticipation - could she make it or did she need him? - but she reached the end without disaster, and paused for a moment. When she turned, she was smiling weakly….which was better than nothing.

She came back, then turned and went down the runway again, her steps becoming more certain and her confidence rising with every pass. On the fourth, she started to wave, and by the sixth she was positively radiant, and Lincoln's heart swelled with love. Lynn and Lana drifted by and stopped to watch, Lynn with a bat resting in the crook of her neck and Lana holding a baseball in a mit. "Yes, yes, I am the Lola Loud," Lola said playfully as she passed them, "take a picture, it lasts longer...but is nowhere near as beautiful as the real thing."

No, it's not, Lincoln thought.

No it's not.

"How's this, Lincy?" she asked over her shoulder, her eyes half-lidding in a way that made his heartbeat speed up.

"Good," he said, "you're doing great."

"Thank you, Lincy,"

Lynn and Lana got bored after a while and went across the yard to play; Lincoln crossed his arms and watched Lola make the trip from the stage to the end of the catwalk again and again. I could do this all day, he thought with a dreamy sigh. Shame began to creep in and he did his best to push it away. I know it's wrong, but I can't help it. I-I'm…

He shut that thought off before it could form. No, he couldn't think those four words...that would be going too far.

She was his little sister, he had to remember that. What he felt was obviously misplaced, transferred from Ronnie Anne onto Lola - he decided to put his energy into coaching Lola the very same day Ronnie Anne left, and somewhere along the way, he put something else into her, something that he' known about for a long time but never before admitted to himself. He wasn't an expert on love or women, but he knew enough to recognize what he was feeling, and that it wasn't right. He tried to ignore it, but that wouldn't work, it never does. The only option, as he saw it, was to let it run its course. The thing was: He couldn't act on it...wouldn't dare...and not acting on it was getting harder all the time.

Time apart...that's what they needed…

But…

He was weak, and he couldn't be away from her - from her voice, her eyes, her lips, her warm, fragrant smell.

Plus, she needed him...needed him to be a good coach and big brother.

"I think that's enough of that," Lola said, bringing him out of his thoughts. She stood before him with her hands on her hips and a sly smile on her face. "Now I need to work on a talent. I was thinking gymnastics."

She took a gymnastics class last year to help with poise and flexibility; three nights a week, she and Lincoln walked to The Studio on Main Street, where she quickly became proficient in everything from balancing to hand springs. "That's a great idea," he said.

"Lindsey Sweetwater won't know what hit her," Lola grinned.

Autumn and cashmere all orange and green

She's naturally drop dead gorgeous

Creme' de gardenia and black Vaseline

She's naturally drop dead gorgeous

Lola gripped the rings dangling from the platform and pulled herself up, her legs jutting straight out in front of her; her arms quivered and she gritted her teeth against the pain. Lincoln stood between Lynn and Lucy, his arms crossed and his face a mask of worry. She flipped back, heels over head, and almost lost her grasp but saved herself. "Alright," Lynn said appreciatively. "I still say you should do a football routine." She lifted her hand and threw an imaginary ball down the field.

"I think she should read poetry," Lucy said in a flat monotone. "The dark kind."

Lola sighed. "Can you be quiet, please? This requires concentration." She tucked her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth, then, with a gasp, she started to fall. Heart in throat, Lincoln sprang forward and caught her in his arms. Her eyes, squeezed closed, slowly opened, and lit up when she saw his face.

She was beautiful, and Lincoln turned away with a blush; he did not see her do the same. "T-Thank you, Lincy," she said.

"You're welcome," he replied and swallowed thickly. She was warm and soft in his arms and he could smell the sweet scent of her perfume. Lavender. "You're doing good," he added reassuringly.

Neither spoke for a moment.

"Lincy?"

"Yes?"

"You can put me down now."

Oh. Right. With a nervous laugh, he sat her down, and both glanced away from the other. Lucy and Lynn exchanged a quizzical look, then shrugged.

It's so not fair...completely inside my head

Imagine pretending she's the book that I've read

With a beautiful ending

It really drives me mad I can't leave her alone

'Cuz I won't let me forget her

Lola stuck a backflip, wobbled, her eyes going wide, then fell hard on her butt, a puff of dust rising into the stagnant air. Leni, sitting on the back step with her knees pressed together, clapped wildly; next to her, Lori rolled her eyes. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

They'd been out here for three hours, and in that time Lola had landed on her rear more times than her feet, and you could see the frustration beginning to gather in her eyes like dark storm clouds. Lincoln went over, knelt down, and put his hand on her shoulder. She jerked her head around and pressed her lips tightly together as if to keep from crying. "You're doing great," Lincoln said. It wasn't much, but encouragement was all he had, and he would give it if it meant he didn't have to see her cry. "Just keep at it. I believe in you."

She gazed into his eyes for a moment, then broke out in a sunny grin that he couldn't help but return. His fingers brushed the side of her face and she leaned into his touch like an affectionate cat. His heart sputtered, and when her eyes met his, something passed between them, and in that moment, Lincoln was powerless to stop those four words from blaring across his mind in bold type like a screaming headline.

...in love with her.

And controlling himself was becoming not hard, but impossible.

She's naturally drop dead gorgeous

Her sweet molass' is all mine pasque frez

She's naturally drop dead gorgeous

Lola balanced on the beam with her arms out at her sides like wings, put one bare foot in front of the other, then took a trembling step forward. Lincoln followed worriedly beside, ready to catch her if she fell; Lynn and Luan followed on the other side for the same reason, but Lincoln didn't trust them. If she had to fall, he hoped to God she fell in his direction. Hey, you can't blame a guy for being protective over something that's precious to him, can you?

His fear was for naught, though; she wobbled here and there, but made it to the end, turned, and went back the way she came, swaying sloppily from side to side but keeping her feet under her. At one point, she looked down on him like a queen from a carriage, and her lips turned up in a sly smile. Lincoln's heart skipped a beat and his stomach tightened.

When on a balancing beam, the golden rule is to never lose your focus and to never, ever look anywhere but right in front of you. Lola broke that rule and she paid the price by falling. But it was okay, because Lincoln caught her.

And this time, instead of asking him to put her down, she gazed into his eyes.

Totally out of control she owns me

Sweet almond eyes just to see and be seen

She's naturally drop dead gorgeous

She's tasting like cherries sweet love's grenadine

She's naturally drop dead gorgeous

Lola stuck another perfect backflip, and all of her siblings, gathered on the back steps, clapped, Lincoln loudest of all. As far as she was concerned, the others might as well have not been there at all; she had eyes only for him, and over the past three weeks of training for the Little Miss High and Mighty Pageant, she'd come to realize that she was doing this not to beat Lindsey Sweetwater, or to prove to herself that she was talented like her sisters, she was doing it for Lincoln. The pride she saw on his face and the soft words of motivation he spoke as he stared into her eyes were addictive, the sweetest drug and the most beautiful feeling she had ever known.

Being pretty, pink, and girly doesn't necessarily make one stupid...she knew her emotions now, knew them completely and intimately...she was hopelessly head-over-heels in love with him, brother or not.

They say you can't choose who you fall in love with, and they're right. Cupid's arrow is just that, an arrow of wood and flint flying blindly through the air, not a laser guided missile you can aim and adjust at will. It hits where it hits, and sometimes the wind shifts and it hits where it's not supposed to.

That didn't change anything.

She loved Lincoln, and as the Little Miss High and Mighty Pageant drew inexorably closer, he became the only thing that mattered.

She's naturally drop dead gorgeous

A ten with a smile like a young Norma Jean

She's naturally drop dead gorgeous

Lola reached the end of the beam, spun, and went easily back the way she came, her feet quick and steady, her shoulders thrown back, and her arms out. She did not shake, did not wobble; her back was ramrod straight and she walked, foot in front of foot, with a hard won grace. Lincoln watched with a proud smile as she about-faced and started toward the other end. In the middle, she did a backflip and landed on her hands, then cartwheeled onto one foot, her body leaning forward and her arms out, reminding Lincoln of a crane. She turned, then, with a deep, fortifying breath, she did a backflip, and twirled in midair, landing on the ground and throwing out her arms with nary a misstep. On the back porch, everyone clapped and cheered.

Lincoln went over and put his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, red faced and winded, and her eyes sparkled. "I think I'm ready," she said.

"I think you are too," Lincoln said.

She threw her arms around his waist and hugged; he stiffened - don't, I have strange feelings for you - then he relaxed and hugged her back, his fingers running through her silky hair. Maybe it was wrong, but he couldn't help himself, he loved her.

Pulling back, she looked up at him. "Thank you for helping me," she said. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Lincoln smiled. "Yes you could have." He caressed her cheek, and they gazed deeply into each other's eyes.

It might be wrong...but unless he was sorely mistaken, she felt it too. And being wrong isn't so bad when you have someone to be wrong with.