"i crumble completely

when you cry"

cl;

Todd is crying again. Food is everywhere. "Todd, calm down, please," I beg him, picking up the bowl that's on the kitchen floor and setting it on the counter. "Do you want mashed potatoes?" I push the bowl towards him.

He cries louder and swipes his fork dangerously near my face. I back away.

"Mom," I call. "Come on, Todd, you need to eat."

He waves the fork again, and this time it actually hits my cheek this time. I groan. There's probably mashed potatoes all over my face now. I run upstairs, anger bubbling up inside me when I see Rick sitting on the couch in the living room, and wash it off, then walk back downstairs.

I hear two voices talking. I slow down.

"I want to, Rick. I do want to go away with you. I just can't."

"Is it Claire?"

"Yes. I need to make sure she stays on track for the rest of the school year. She's already starting to get a bit rebellious."

"What about Todd?"

"Well, Todd doesn't really matter, Rick."

I freeze. Then, the that has already been brewing inside of me explodes. I storm down the stairs and stand in front of the couch, not saying anything. My mother, who's holding a glass of champagne, sets it down on the table. "Claire," she says. Her voice sounds completely neutral.

I press my lips together. Tears form in my eyes.

"What happened to your cheek, darling?" Rick asks, standing up and walking over.

I back away. "Nothing," I snap.

"Claire!" My mother exclaims. "Apologize to Mr. Abott right now!" And she's acting like she hadn't just been talking about moving out with Rick. She's acting like she normally would. "I'm sorry, she's not normally like this."

"Mom, how could you?" I ask quietly, my voice cracking a bit.

"How could I what?" She asks, still playing dumb.

"Cheat on Dad?" I yell, throwing my hands up in the air. "Say that Todd doesn't matter? Todd matters. How can he not matter? He's your son!"

She stares at me, then picks up the champagne flute and downs the rest of it. "Claire, you don't know what you're talking about. Go study."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I scream. "I just heard everything you said! Don't act like I didn't! I was on the stairwell, and by the way, I think it's really fucking stupid to conduct a love affair in your own living room-"

"Claire, darling, your cheek looks really bad," Rick says.

"Screw you," I sneer.

"Claire," my mom says, her voice deadly calm.

But I'm done. I'm sick and tired. I turn on my heel, storm out of the house, grabbing my bag and jacket lying by the door. I'm not even crying, I'm just pissed. Pissed. At my mother - did I even want to call her that? - at Rick, at my life.

I shove the key into the ignition of my car and zoom out, not really caring where I'm going until I feel like stopping.

"oh what a world that we both come in

i said hold it to the rock and let it in"

dh;

The doorbell rings, and I yell at my sister to go get it, then resume to flipping through the channels on my TV. Food Network. Lifetime. E!. Disney Channel. I stop and watch for a few moments, until I hear a familiar voice.

"Oh, are you Derrick's sister?" Claire asks. She sounds chipper as per usual but it sounds... more one edge. I freeze. Maybe I'm hallucinating, hearing things. "Um, where is he?"

And you can hear your sister's gum snapping. "Upstairs," she says, her voice sounding bored. "Tell him that he owes me twenty bucks, while you're there, okay?"

There are footsteps on the chair. I start flicking through channels quicker, trying to find something better than Hannah Montana to watch. I end up stopping at a war-looking movie when Claire knocks on the open door to my room.

"You owe your sister twenty dollars," she says, now simply sounding depressed. I look at her. She looks flushed. Then she looks at the TV screen. "Why are you watching The Notebook?" She asks.

"That's The Note-" I stare at the screen. And groan. Then flip the channel again, to a game show. "Um, so what's up? Because you told me we should split up the project, and I can't think of any other reason you'd be standing in my bedroom" -except to fuck me, but obviously we're not getting anywhere near that zone yet- "on a Saturday."

She nods. "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry, I was really tired on Monday," she mumbles. "Um, it's just..." she trails off. "My mother. She..." she trails off again. "I'm sorry, this was really... not a good idea." She thinks to herself for a few moments. I flick off the TV and roll off of my bed, facing her.

"Your cheek," I say.

She puts a hand up to her face. "It's nothing." She runs a hand through her hair. "Todd was upset. It's fine." She shakes her head.

I walk up to her and examine it closer. It's like a huge, red mark. It's not bleeding or anything, but it looks bad. "Are you sure?" I ask, raising a hand to her cheek, looking at her, making sure she isn't going to pull away.

She seems frozen in her place. Quickly, I put my hand in my pocket. "Um, so your mom," I say.

She nods. "Yeah. She – she... I can't believe her."

"What happened?" I ask.

Claire sighs. "Well, she told Rick she'd run away with him, said Todd didn't matter, and acted like she didn't," she lists off.

"That's... pretty bad," I say, knowing that's kind of painfully obvious and wishing I have something better to tell her.

"Oh, and it all took place in our living room," Claire mutters. "I just can't believe her. Who would do that? I mean, Todd's her son, and my dad loves her, and she doesn't want me to be friends with Massie, I – I don't know what to do -"

"Do you do any sports?" I suddenly ask her.

She quits her rant. "What?"

I lick my lips, knowing I'm about to sound like the epitome of stupid jock. "Or, you know, work out or anything?"

"I um, used to play tennis," she says.

I smile. "I mean, like a real sport."

She smiles back. "Tennis is a real sport. Why?" She asks, biting her lip. "I mean, why do you want to know?"

I rub the back of my neck. This was kind of outside of my boundaries – the shit that I buried deep. "Um, whenever my mother would, um, pull shit like this, I would go to the gym and benchpress the hell out myself," I say. "Or I would play a sport for five hours straight. Just as a way to sort of, I dunno, burn out emotion. Just, exercise, in general." Exercise like running. Like soccer. And like, well, sex. But I wasn't going to tell her that. "But, a real sport, of course," I add on.

Claire rolls her eyes. "Tennis is a real sport," she insists.

"You wear a skirt, it's automatically not a real sport," I argue.

"That is an extremely sexist comment and I can't believe you just said it," Claire sniffs. "And what would your idea of a real sport be, anyway? Soccer?"

"Well, yeah," I reply. She gives me an incredulous look. "You run in soccer. Your heart rate speeds up. You kick. You sweat. It's a real sport."

"You do that in tennis," Claire points out. "Well, not the kicking part." I open my mouth to protest, but she laughs and stands up. "You know what, that actually sounds like a good idea. I'm going to go to the country club, and I'm going to-"

"Not. A real. Sport."

She shrugs. "Sorry, but not all of us are the next Cristiano Ronaldo," she says, grinning. "I don't know how to play soccer. I guess I'm stuck with tennis." She makes an apologetic face.

"I'll teach you," I suggest.

She's momentarily speechless, just sort of standing there and blinking. "Okay," she agrees. I'm surprised. I thought she'd be more like, 'No way, you're less evolved than me' or whatever her insult of the week is. "Teach me soccer."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Yeah."

"Okay."

She leaves and comes back in three seconds. "Um, what time?"

"Saturday at four thirty?" I say a random time. She nods and leaves again.

Then she comes back and actually enters my room this time. "And, thanks, a lot," she says. "I mean, for listening. It's... it feels good telling someone about these things. And that sounded a lot less lame in my head." She nods and turns to leave, but doesn't.

She turns around, presses her lips against mine for a millisecond, then runs out the door.

"take your skin off

when you're talkin' to me"

A/N: err, i don't know what to say. but i promised myself i wouldn't ramble anymore so... yeah. can i say something really quickly, though? when i re-read the chapter before posting, i cringed, and i realized i should stop writing at three AM in the morning.

(first lyrics are form the arctic monkeys, second&third are from the killers - i know the third one doesn't fit, BUT THOSE LYRICS ARE INGENIOUS)