AN: Hey guys! Two weeks almost exactly. Not much is happening, it's Thanksgiving week here in the US, and I'M HOME... which I am wildly excited about. The twitter account is up and running - twitter. com / aicalasFF (minus all the spaces) I'll be posting about updates and possibly some added stuff that I can't link to on here there, so you should check it out! Lots of love. Byeeee.

Chapter Sixteen
I Get Ideas
When we are dancing, and you're dangerously near me, I get ideas…
(I kind of think you get ideas, too…)

I turned up the music. If I was going to do this, everything needed to be right – empty house, lots of empowering music and zero chance of embarrassment. Less than zero, preferably. Even if that is statistically impossible.

Deep breaths, Katie.

Okay.

I pulled the box out from under my bed. Arriving home, I'd promptly hidden the blasted things in the first shoebox I could find, far away from Oliver's – or anyone else's, for that matter – prying eyes. The last thing I needed was him seeing them. I wasn't sure why, but I wanted to keep them all to myself, for now.

Katie. You're stalling.

I pulled off the top.

The heels really were stunning. They were peep-toe pumps, sparkly, mesh-covered silver and a slightly shinier platform, all of it concentrated into the deadly four-and-a-half inch spike that was mocking me with its slender, pretty shape. They weren't what I'd have chosen as bridesmaid shoes – not by a long shot – but Alicia had always liked the glitzy, and even though they ran the edge between fun and tacky, she'd always managed to pull off such questionable things. I decided to just trust her on this one.

"What is it with you and Hannah?" I mumbled sadly to myself as I slid one on. "Why are you both convinced that I need to be four inches taller than I am normally?" I pulled on the second. "Why am I the only one that recognizes what a terrible idea thi- WHOA-" I stood up and promptly tipped over, grabbing my bed for support. "That is much higher than I was expecting. Okay. Slowly." Using my footboard for support, I slowly stood again, swaying a little but standing straight. "Hello, there," I said conversationally to the ground between my toes, "You're quite far away down there." I gave it a little wave. Okay. Baby steps, right? I'd just walk along the edge of the bed here, nice and slow. The websites I'd looked up – yes, I looked up websites. Look, I don't know if I've quite established this: I am a klutz. And a tripper. The very last thing I need to do is add high-heeled shoes to the mix. Anyways. The sites had encouraged little steps, and lots of shoe inserts. "Okay," I whispered, "here goes…"

Keeping one hand clamped to the bed, I took tiny steps along the edge. I was doing it! I was walking and not falling. My ankles wobbled uncomfortably with each step, and all ten of my toes were voicing individual complaints about the lack of space they were experiencing, but that was okay. I'm pretty tough when it comes to pain – I figured high heels would just be a different sort, but I'd weather it. I giggled giddily. I was walking in heels! What next? I lined my feet up next to each other and slowly pulled my hands from the wood, leaning a little as I balanced myself, standing up straight.

Unsupported, in heels. Look at me. I caught a glimpse of movement in my mirror and turned a little more. Now, sure, rolled-up jeans and an old t-shirt wouldn't necessarily be my clothes of choice for heels, but I couldn't deny that they looked… good. Pretty and girly and, well. Kinda hot. I grinned at my reflection.

"Dayum, girl." I winked at myself.

Oh jeez. Is this what I do when I'm wearing heels? Jesus. Mark 'drastic personality change' as another reason I shouldn't wear them.

"Focus, Katie."

Right. Back to walking.

I walked loops and loops around the bed, hand never leaving something solid. I was proud of my ability to stand unsupported, but I wasn't quite ready to test that balance compounded with movement. I'd take quick little breaks, standing on my own, but whenever I thought about walking on my own, I'd do something stupid like roll my ankle, or catch the heel on the floor and have to grab at the bed for support. Still, so far, it was less disastrous than I was expecting.

My pump-up playlist was both bad and good. Good, because it made me feel awesome. Bad, because most the songs also made me want to dance really badly, like an idiot across my room. Bad, also, because most of the songs were painfully embarrassing, and the playlist was very, very loud. But whatever. Oliver wasn't in, and no one was coming to visit or anything like that. My iPod shuffled to something new and I grinned. I shuffled awkwardly on the spot, waving my hands and dancing in place, trying to move my feet as little as possible.

"I'm trouble yeah, I'm trouble now-"

Why was I singing under my breath? No one was here. Who cares?

"I GOT TROUBLE IN MY TOWN-" I belted out, bouncing from foot to foot. I could walk across my room. I could do that. It was only a few feet. I was a total badass, I could manage a couple of feet. Listen to this song, of course I'm a badass. One step, then the next – I was doing it! I was walking! YES.

I danced on the spot, unabashedly. Yes. Pink, you are my best friend. I can walk in heels. Of course I can walk in heels. Because I'm sexy. Sexy and coordinated and badass. Totally. I wiggled on the spot, grinning at the seductive parts of the song. I belted it out at my mirror, dancing while watching my reflection. I guess the music was so loud that I couldn't hear anything outside my room, because quite suddenly, several things happened very fast.

"Katie, that is really freaking loud. What are you listening to?" My head snapped towards the door. No-

My door banged open. Oliver stood framed there, totally bemused. I lunged for my iPod, desperate to turn off the music, totally and suddenly forgetting my 4-inch spikes. I couldn't handle the movement. Immediately, I was tripping, and falling

"SHI-"

"Katie!"

Arms caught me before I hit the floor, hoisting me up to Oliver's chest. I stared up at him, feeling myself already blushing.

"What are you doing?" He was grinning, clearly fighting back laughter.

Hah. Trouble indeed.

"Um. Can I just- turn that- uh-" Keeping one arm wrapped around my waist, Oliver reached out a languorous arm and clicked my iPod off. "Oh. Thanks." Damn boys and their long arms. Dammit, dammit dammit. And damn Alicia, and damn these heels. At that rate, you know what? Damn P!nk and damn my clumsiness and damn my complete inability to ever, ever be attractive and suave and sexy and just normal around Oliver. Ughhh.

"Well, hello there." Oliver grinned down at me.

"Don't say anything."

"What's there to say?" He smiled ever more innocently, and then, rather suddenly, swept me up and carried me over to the bed.

"Oliver!"

"I don't trust you walking, Kat."

"I can…" I started to protest, before rethinking it. "Okay, you know what? That's fair." He let go of me and sat down next to me, picking up one bejeweled foot and plunking it on his lap.

"No- don't-" I tried to snatch my foot away, but he held it fast. Oliver's eyes widened, traveling up my leg.

"What are you wearing, Katie?"

"They're heels."

"I can see that. Why are you wearing heels?"

"They're for Alicia's wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing them, and she wants me to be able to walk down the aisle without faceplanting and taking out the rest of the bridal party-"

"So, you were practicing?" He glanced up at me, his face working furiously to keep from laughing.

"Oh, just laugh, you bastard."

"And how was that. Um. Working for you?" his voice was choked with giggles.

I was not amused.

"I think you know," I said, coldly, raising one eyebrow.

Oliver broke out laughing. "I'm sorry, Katie – but you looked so," he gasped "serious, and it's just….ahahaha…" I tugged my foot out of his grasp, and swatted his arm for good measure.

"Well, forgive me for thinking that I could for just once be a little bit sexy and hot and just a girl. Forgive me for doing what my best friend asked me-"

Oliver was still laughing.

"Like you need heels to be sexy," he snorted. I froze.

Oliver suddenly realized what he'd just said. "I mean, y'know. Heels aren't, um, necessary. For girls. In general."

Oliver? Did Oliver just say I'm sexy?

"Heels just help if they can. Um. Walk in them." He added. I blinked. Never mind.

"I'll just… take them off, then, and forget this whole-"

"Aw, don't, no."

I shook my head, frustrated. "I mean, I not only have to walk in these things, I have to dance in them."

"Oh, well, that's not a problem." I frowned up at him.

"What? Of course it's a problem. I can barely walk unsupported in them."

"Not if you're doing the right dancing- here, come on." He stood up and held out a hand to me, grinning again. "Keep the heels on."

"Oliver, what are you-" I took his outstretched hand and he pulled me forcibly up. "Woah-" I immediately overbalanced, falling into his chest. He grunted.

"Sorry," I mumbled, shyly.

"Nah, I knew it was coming." He took one of my hands in his, and wrapped the other around my waist. "Okay. Step on my feet."

"What? In these shoes?" Hang on, people say that in real life? Point to the heels. "No!"

"Really! You don't weigh anything Katie. Go on."

"You're going to regret this."

"No I won't. Come on."

I shook my head, wonderingly. "Okay…" and gingerly lifted my feet, one at a time, onto his. "Are you sure?"

"Very. Okay, now, other hand – on my shoulder. Hold tight." I gripped his shoulder, feeling bad thinking about all the different points at which I could be causing him pain.

"Oliver, what are we-?"

"And we dance!" He laughed and started to dance, swinging me around on the tops of his shoes. I grabbed his shoulder more tightly, burying my face in his chest. It was the weirdest feeling. I giggled.

"Ah, Oliver! This is so strange. Are you sure I'm not crushing your feet?"

"My dad used to dance with my ma like this all the time." I could hear the smile in his voice. "'Course, she's a wee little person too."

"I am not wee!" I answered crossly, quickly realizing that my voice being muffled by his chest wasn't really helping my cause.

I felt him shake with laughter.

"Yes, you are. Look at you, you're tiny."

"I am not that short!" I pulled my head out of his chest, looking up at him. "You're just stupidly tall!"

"Stupidly, eh?" He bent his head towards me. I really am not that short. In fact, with these heels, I think we both forgot how much taller I'd be. His face was much closer than I'd expected.

"Uh, yes. Stupidly tall…" His eyes were very close, and very deep. I felt his hand twitch in mine.

We'd stopped moving entirely, staring at eachother, the silence thick with… something. I realized, rather suddenly, that this was the closest I'd been to Oliver since that unfortunate outburst of his.

"Uh," he started, breaking the silence. Right. Oliver couldn't let go of me, or I'd fall over. Right. That was it.

"Right," I stepped back off his feet, one hand still steadying myself on his shoulder.

"Oh," his hand was still at my back. His eyes were wide in some adorably lost confusion. As always, the responsibility to make things less awkward fell on me.

"Um, well." Good start, Katie. "Thanks for the dance, Ollie." Dear god, woman.

"Yeah…" his hand slowly fell from my back.

I carefully pulled my hand out of his and sat down on the bed to take off my shoes, casting around desperately for some topic of conversation. "But, you know, shouldn't your mum be some big, tough Scottish woman? His mother? Dear lord. Katie, did you just call his mother fat? "I mean, not… wee? I mean, you're freaking tall."

He blinked down at me for a moment, then a grin cracked his face.

"My mum's Irish. I mean, not like your comment isn't still ridiculous, but-"

"You're mum's Irish? Really? Huh. I thought you were all pureblood Scot, highland-obbsessed-"

Oliver started laughing.

"Stop laughing at me! Listen to your bloody brogue! You're sound like you just wandered out of Braveheart!"

"God, Katie, you're the best."

I smiled.

"Even if I'm not tall or Scottish or Irish and also happen to be extraordinarily uncoordinated? I mean, my people have subjugated your whole family, on both sides."

Oliver laughed delightedly.

"Even then, you short little clumsy subjugator."

I wagged a heel at him warningly.

"That's not a term of endearment and don't let me ever catch you try to use it like it is. Or I'll start calling you… my giant, coordinated… inferior."

"Not very catchy."

"Not at all." I burst out laughing.

"C'mon, subjugator. You've got your first game in a week, and that means more workouts, and less heels." He grinned and walked towards the door.

I dropped the heel. I'd been avoiding thinking about our upcoming match, busying myself instead with Alicia's wedding.

"Hey! You can't just say that and leave! Come back here!" I shouted at his retreating back. "I will subjugate you! Don't try me!"

All Oliver did was laugh over his shoulder. Cheeky Scot. Cheeky… scotch-irish. Ugh, how much less fun to say. I yelled after him.

"You'll always be a cheeky Scot to me!"

"And you'll always be a clumsy Brit!"

Touché.

I Get Ideas - Louis Armstrong

Trouble - P!nk