HOWDY !
I apologize for my tardiness. It wasn't my fault—Wait. Yes it was.
Sorry! But acknowledgements accompany this one. So put down the heavy objects. YES, Sing-to-the-stars who sends rabid monkeys after me when I take too long. I AM looking at you!
Thank you to ADDY who reviewed. Here's the update!
Thank you BBLFL for the criticism. I guess Daniels not very British. Possibly because I don't like him much, and I didn't put much time into his dialogue. But whatever.
Thanks to RAVEN'SMYLIFE: I am loving the Gilmore Girls detail. I don't like Jess. Jesse. Whoever. I don't like Dean either. He was hot for a while, but WHAT WERE THE STYLISTS THINKING? Cutting his hair. I now like LOGAN. Do Rory and him get together at all?
SING-TO-THE-STARS: Here's some more recognition! Lol, you and raven'smylife are my only regular reviewers, and I love you for this. Yes, I loved the dance scenes too. I – personally - am in the process of a hip-hop dance skit at school. And I'm currently thinking, walking and tapping out beats. God help my friends.
Y.N.T GABRIELLA: I like your name dude. I wouldn't know what the Y.N.T is for, am I better off this way?
CATTY ROSE: Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You have it sussed. My – wannabe – humor, and distinct love of killing people combine! Hmm, sounds scary when you put it like that.
MOONGODESS0808: update is here! Thanks to a few jabs in the ribs from Kell.
KELL: You Rock. You and all your stories helped me to get a wriggle on. And you being all ' I just started my fourth story. And your chapters are too long. Silly you.' Etc. Go take you battle star galactica fic's elseware! RAH!
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The Final Count down.
"Im home!" I yelled as I let the front door slam shut behind me, "So whatever it is you're doing, for the love of god stop now!"
I walked through to the kitchen with the full intention of picking up my bag - conveniently stashed in the dining room doorway, ready for a quick pickup, but I never got that far on account of meeting with a sight I would have paid GOOD MONEY to have been spared.
"AUUGGHH! Not AGAIN!" I shrieked at them, throwing my hand up over my eyes.
Mom and dad, sucking face on the dining room table. Various items of clothing scattered throughout the room.
"Oh My God!" squealed mom, then I heard scrambling, which was no doubt them retrieving their misplaced shirts.
"Seriously! I gave warning!" I yelled, my eyes were still squeezed tightly shut, "In case you hadn't noticed, PEOPLE – mainly ME – actually EAT off that table!"
"Umm, Melinda?" mom said breathlessly, "We didn't know you were coming home . . . What happened to spending the night at Arabia's?"
"I told you! I TOLD I left my bag here to collect later! I specifically said—! "
"Alright, alright, keep your shirt on." Mom said soothingly.
That's rich.
"Well if YOU would, then there'd be no problem!" I retorted.
I opened my eyes to see mom blushing furiously.
GOOD. I mean, after the FIRST time I caught them, I was lucky to have escaped lifelong psychology sessions. But this time? WHO KNOWS! I am psychologically unstable now. In other words I HAVE LOST MY MARBLES.
THAT'S RIGHT.
I have NO MORE MARBLES.
Just like that youngest lost boy in "Hook." Toodles. He lost his marbles and they were his happy thoughts, and so he was stuck in the real world and couldn't get back to Neverland, and he got OLD, like really OLD. And then Robin Williams found his marbles and he flew out the window! Second star to the right and straight ahead 'till morning!
Although one could argue that Neverland is no longer the safe haven it once was, owing to a certain Jackson.
OH my god, im going to end up just like whacko Jacko!
(Sorry Michael. Love your music.)
Somebody screwed up. I am such a Friday model. 'Lockie Leonard, Scum buster' alerted me to the issue of Friday Models.
You know. Friday. Everyone's tired and lazy and ready to party, so they slack off that day. And consequently their work suffers. AND GODS ARE NO EXCEPTION. In fact, I found out that being a GOD does not guarantee you immunity to such things as Monday-itis and Friday-itis.
Which has to really blow. Where are the perks I ask you?
So really, that fact that I am a screw up can all be traced back to mom and dad.
"You would've HEARD me saying I was coming back to pick up my bags if you weren't too busy—"
"Bags?" Dad said, speaking for the first time. "As in plural? Why would you need more than one bag?"
"Well WHOSE getting all high and mighty now?" I demanded, conveniently ignoring his question. "Just to refresh here, don't you know that when most couples have children, they tend to confine their bed room activities to the BEDROOM."
Now it was Dad's turn to flush.
"You know, in most cultures it's actually considered NORMAL to—"
Wait. Our family is the ANTONYM of normal. . . The ability to converse with the dead . . .
"Oh never MIND." I snapped. "But the table? Please. I avoid your room for a good REASON, are you telling me I can now go NOWHERE in this house now?"
Silence.
"Oh GOD! That is disgusting! Who wants to find their PARENTS Doing It on the dining room table?"
"Melinda!"
"That is," I said, on a roll, "if they don't already hate each other—"
"Why would we hate each other?" dad asked.
"—Or are having affairs with respective secretaries—" I continued.
"What are you trying to prove? Is this another one of your little vendettas? Because I remember SPECIFICALLY telling you to—"
"—Or if he doesn't BEAT her—"
"Melinda!" mom admonished me; "Jesse would never lay a finger on me!"
"Oh, if only that were the case." I said; gazing meaningly at the now mussed up dining table.
"What—"
"Oh." Mom said soothingly, "I see." She turned to me. "Bad time at the dance Mel?" she said in a knowing tone of voice.
I sighed. "The worst."
Dad looked as if he wanted to know more, but mom beat him to it, saying, "Don't worry about it." She said to him. "Guy troubles."
Dad shook his head. "Honestly. She gets more and more like you everyday."
"Ok, this has been fun." I said, not really keen on the turn our conversation had taken, and walking to my bags in the corner of the room.
Yes bags, I may only be stating for one night, but a lot can happen in one night. You never know what you may need. I believe in being prepared; 3 King size chocolate bars for any emotional breakdowns, more chocolate for any bouts of insecurity, Comedy movies for recent break-ups, Tragic stories where everyone dies In case of hyperactive bouts due to too much chocolate.
See? I would make the perfect Girl Scout.
Or not.
Girls Scouts don't carry the latest new release do they? I mean, they have cookies, but do they have king size Cadbury blocks?
I THOUGHT not!
"But I have to dash." I continued, "Carry on, but I beg you; at least move to your very own bedroom." I blew them a kiss as I walked out, which mom caught and put in her pocket. Dad just shook his head some more before pulling mom back toward him.
"BEDROOM!" I yelled as I slammed the door once more.
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"And then she was like, 'NO!' and I was like, 'Yeah.' And she was like, 'No!' and I was like, 'Yeah.' And she was like, 'No!' and I was like, 'OH. MY. GAWD.' And she was like, 'I know.' And I was like, 'Totally.' And she was like, 'I know.' And I was like, 'totally.' And she was like, 'I know.' And I was like, 'but she's what, size twelve?' and she was like, 'No!' and I was like, 'Yeah.' And she was like, 'No!' and I was like, 'yeah.'"
Oh my fucking god. The world has been taken over, by BARBIE CLONES! Who all look the same!
Well, maybe not the world, but definitely the living room.
And they crack me up. No really, they're funny.
"So what was up with you and that Daniel guy Melinda? He was HOT."
Giggles.
Great. The conversation was now on ME. Suddenly not so funny.
Yes, I was at one of Arabia's sleepovers. Where else would every single sentence, no matter how unremarkably UN-FUNNY, would be met with high-pitched giggles?
Other than a sci-fi convention.
Im sorry I shouldn't stereotype. I wouldn't want to be called a freak because I can see the dead. Oh wait. That wouldn't be stereotyping, that would be the truth.
Sigh.
How depressing.
I started fiddling with the piece of jade I wore at my throat, a sure sign of nerves.
Jade is a calming stone, it has influential powers and helps me keep my head. It was pretty too, a delicate green, a like the lighter version of my eyes.
Stacy was usually the first to pick up when I was uncomfortable as to how much I was fiddling with my Jade chain. Now, being DEAD, she doesn't have to bother with such trivial things. She has GHOSTLY powers. AND she has a jumpstart on THAT thanks to a certain Slater Senior.
"Oh, he asked me to dance, I gave him my number," I said, forcing a smile, "the usual."
We were all lying in a circle in the living room with a huge bowl of popcorn and copious amounts of chocolate in the centre, in our P.J's. gossiping and eating junk food. Well when I say we, I really mean everyone else, I was sitting outside the circle with Alannah, Arabia was dividing her attention between the group and us, and then there was this junior, who had decided to sit with us.
THIS WAY, I could have front row seats of the "And he was like, 'No.'" scenarios.
Shut up. I was having fun.
. . . until this conversation took a decidedly unpleasant turn.
"Bull." Interrupted Arabia. "You never give out your number, and you very rarely give anyone of the opposite sex a chance. AND he may have asked you to dance, but he certainly didn't ask you to be his escort the entire night." Said Arabia wickedly.
Giggles at the word 'escort.' Truly, half these people I barley even know, they are just – I'm sorry but there's no other word for it – bimbos. Airheads. Barbies. Whatever. You know what I'm driving at.
Anyhow. That was mean. Since when have I ever intentionally been that mean to anyone?
Don't answer that. Escort? She's not Alannah; she knows full well the double meaning.
"Oh well." I took a stab a feigning airiness, "We don't always get what we want now do we?"
Giggles. AGAIN. Teenagers these days.
"And what about Nick?" Some girl enquired breathlessly. I had no more idea as to who she was, than any of the others. But she had an air about her like I was expected to know who she was. And platinum blonde hair so bright and shinny it could only have come from a bottle. And it was so straight I doubt straightening irons hadn't played their part.
I didn't like her.
The fact that she was breathtakingly pretty – in a plastic sort of way – had nothing to do with my instant dislike.
"What about him?' I said a little too quickly.
Botox bitches one and two giggled.
"I told you not to mention the 'N' word!" Arabia hissed at them.
"Oh great so you've all been having a good chat about me? Thanks a lot guys! And what about Nick?" I snapped viciously.
They were not deterred. En el contrary mi amigo, they still giggled.
"Well, he couldn't keep his eyes off you could he—?"
"Oh yes," I snapped, "because he had a lot of spare time in between playing tonsil hockey with Cindy, no?"
She ignored me, but the rest of them didn't. I clearly heard someone mutter: " . . . Dancing . . . "
"—And I think the way you two were—"
Oh please don't say Dancing; please don't say Dancing,
"—Dancing was—"
Damn it! But I suppose I shouldn't really be surprised. Fortune never favours me. She never even favours the Brave. She just a B—
"—Quite self explanatory really."
"Yeah, well who asked you any way?" I said snappily.
Collective gasps this time. The loudest from the girl who was grouped with us. She was pretty really, in a shy, timid sort of way. She had huge eyes, filled with emotion, and pretty brown hair. She might have looked plain at first glance, but she wasn't really, she was quite pretty.
"By the way, who are you anyway?" I said getting to my feet. Alannah slowly got to hers looking wary, and Arabia froze looking between blondie and me.
The shy girl with blue eyes stood too.
It was kinda cool. I wonder if I hopped on one foot would they all follow suit? Its like Simon says! Only its Simon does! Or Simon de Silva does!
You follow my drift?
Ha ha . . . wood . . .
"Hey," said Arabia brightly, trying to deflate the tension in the room. "Why don't we—" it wasn't working. "—tell ghost stories!"
I couldn't help it. I snorted.
Blondie ignored her. "ha ha." she said dryly. "You know who I am Melinda. We only, like, went to primary together.'
"Yeah, and I only, like," I said, mimicking her, "Never cared. And let me tell you," I furrowed my brow in mock concern, "Not much has changed!"
More stupid gasps.
"Oh sure, some of us are a little prettier, some a little uglier," I looked hard at her, Blondie, "But essentially things are the same!"
This time I got collective whistles. Well that's something I guess. Progress. Etc. Bimbos are getting smarter.
I suppose it was silly. Me take some of my anger out on Blondie by being snappish and petty. But hey, it was working, ok?
"Cindy was right about you, she SAID you were an unfeeling, cold—"
"Wow! I was sure Cindy was still working on single syllable words! Now that is great news. Unfeeling is 3! Wow, she's really moving up in the world! When did this amazing occurrence take place?"
The blue-eyed girl jabbed me. I turned to see what was the matter, and she pointed at the doorway.
Where Cindy stood. Not that that was a problem. No, the problem was standing a little to the left of her.
Three guesses who it was!
. . . Hitler!
No.
. . . George Michael!
No.
. . . Kanye West!
Nick.
Suddenly I was very aware of the fact that I was standing there wearing only red Pyjama bottoms and a black Singlet top.
I grabbed a pillow.
A decision acted upon by many others in the room I noticed. Well, excluding Blondie of course.
"Hey ladies!" Cindy chirped and progressed to exchange air kisses with Blondie and a few of the other peroxide heads in the room.
Nick nodded to the rest of the girls, and proceeded to head towards me.
And I was like 'uh oh' I mean, what was up with that? I knew he was trying to suss out my feelings, but couldn't he do that from the other side of the room?
But what the hell?
It was like that chicken game. How close I could stand him being to me, before I chickened out and backed away. He got to about 2 meters away from the door before I stepped back. Well, stepped back may have been a bit of an exaggeration. It was sort of a jump / leap.
He smiled coolly and kept walking forward. But he only stepped forward when I stepped back. It was like his way of showing that this was my entire fault, and the situation was what I chose to make it.
SLATERS! WHO NEEDS THEM!
The only fly in the ointment was that he covered more ground than me. How unfair and rude of him is THAT? Don't get me wrong; this was a big room. Just not big enough.
Fate chose that moment to put a wall in my path.
Told you she was a bitch.
"Cogida." I breathed. I think Nick recognised that word owing to the fact that I most commonly use it in his presence, BECAUSE of his presence maybe. He smirked lazily. I started going sideways.
That worked. That was great.
Until I met a corner. Next to a cream expensive looking chair. I had the feeling that my life would be in immediate danger if I climbed that.
So I stoped moving. I had no choice. He did have a choice however. And he didn't stop. His step was slow, calculated, giving me time to fret with each movement.
Darn him.
This pathetic sort of whine escaped me. Hadn't ANYONE noticed that my life was in the balance here? God people. Call yourselves friends!
"Getting hot and bothered Melinda?" he asked coyly. But it wasn't quite his old tone. I kind of got the feeling that he wanted me to confirm what had happened. Like he was going to force me to acknowledge it.
It's not my fault I didn't like his plan.
All eyes were on us. Which wasn't adding to my comfort. Well, except Cindy, she was topping up her glass.
"N-n-no. Ha! Whatever gave you that I—never mind. So, uh, what brings you to town?"
It was like a giant flashing neon sign: 'DISTRACT, DISTRACT.'
"I live here Melinda."
"No!" I said nervously. "In Arabia's house? Since when?"
Then again, Arabia has an odd taste in houseguests.
Nevermind. Why does my mind keep wandering? I have to concentrate on finding a way out. There is always a way out. I just have to find it.
"No, I live in Carmel." He slowly, and in a voice that clearly told me to cut the crap already.
"Oh! What a coincidence! So do I!" I said stupidly. And I could still see no way out. I really did not want to bring it to actual physical combat. Forget not wanting to, I doubt I even could. Besides. Nick had a lot more force behind his shots. I've seen. Even if I did manage to get away from him, what of the peroxide flunkies? Im sure they'd GRAB me with their taloned claws, and FROGMARCH me back.
WHAT? Never underestimate the strength of half crazed Barbie dolls. It could be your undoing.
He was but a few steps away from me now. I could reach out pull him to me from here. Not that I was going to. Definitely not. That would defeat the purpose of escape plans. Although . . . it would come under the heading of 'DISTRACT' quite nicely. But the personnel sacrifice was just too high.
I think.
He looked at me and deliberately took another step. I winced. And he took another step. My eyes widened. And he took another step. We were now so close I could've counted his eyelashes. Not that that ever crossed my mind . . .
Jesus! Why wouldn't someone help me! Instead of just standing there staring with open mouths! And by the way, the whole jaw on the ground thing? So not cool. And Cindy! Shouldn't she be getting jealous by now? This sucks. Of course, Blondie looked like she'd like to throw something at me, possibly the wine glass held in her bony hand, but I don't think she had any particular claim to Nick . . . wait. Who knew with Nick? He'd probably managed to get at least three quarters of the girls in this room.
So why wouldn't one of them DO something!
One more step and he would actually be squishing me - and my pillow that I was still clutching to my chest - up against the wall. Not good. I didn't think.
"I am warning you Nick! One more step and I'll—"
"You'll what? Huff and puff and blow my house down?"
Giggles at the word 'blow.'
"Oh shut up!" I screeched at them, turning my head thankfully away from Nick and his hypnotic eyes. "Get your minds out of the GUTTER!"
"Melinda." He—well its true HE was the only HE in the room. GIRLS PARTY YOU KNOW! We could have been naked! Or – or – DRESSING! —Said.
Nick put a hand on my chin and pushed my head towards him once more, so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. It was then that I decide life sucked. And the way he moved, and the way he was looking at me, his whole demeanour was 'no bullshit this time Melinda.' It told me this was not a situation I would be able to get out of by clicking my red heels and muttering about home. Not that that escape plan hadn't crossed my mind.
"10 feet away from me at all times Nicholas."
He scoffed. And slowly and precisely took another step. That one step. The one all my hopes were pinned on. I suppose it was a bit unlikely that he was going to trip and break his leg in the distance of that one step, but I was getting desperate.
Ok. Lets just run through my situation once more shall we? Room full of girls and their pyjamas. About half a dozen I don't like, several I do like, a ton I don't know, and several I do. That was fine. That I could handle.
But then lets chuck in a guy who I believe to be Spawn of Satan's spawn. And that particular individual had my pillow pressed against a wall, and behind that pillow was little old ME, and I could see no way out of this.
"Hey Nick! Look! Something shiny!"
He didn't tear his gaze from mine. Cindy did though. Snigger. MELINDA! Stay focused you NERD!
I was getting squished too. My pillow wasn't doing a very good job I could feel his body through the pillow. And if I could feel him, then I'm guessing it was something that went two ways. But I really didn't need to add that to my list of things to panic about.
Nick had things easy. If he HAD to do this, couldn't HE be the one squashed against the wall? I mentioned this to him.
"You would run away—"
Point.
"—So it's your fault your pressed up against a your friend's living room wall."
Yeah, like I didn't know.
Thank you for that.
But I did notice, as much as I was practically hyperventilating, His breathing wasn't all that even either. HA! He's scared too!
Wait. I don't think that makes sense . . .
Well who cares? Im going to die eventually right? RIGHT?
So I climbed the expensive looking chair that I was pretty sure was going to be my downfall, and shot out of that room, before the henchmen with French manicures could do anything about it, and tore down the hallway and locked myself in the bathroom.
Yes. Of all the rooms I could have randomly chosen, I choose a room with a toilet.
Go me.
But it was still an ESCAPE! Beat that Houdini.
I Kissed my pillow and said; "thanks."
I could hear people looking for me. Alannah would know where I was, so I'm hoping she had the guts to lead them on a false hunt. I heard hammering on the kitchen door.
Ha, nope.
The dining room door.
Nope.
The closet.
Nope.
The bathroom,
Yes! But I'm not telling!
. . . I am so childish.
Then I heard Arabia say "Melinda it's me."
I went to the door and made to unlock it, but not before I heard her say "Told you it would work." And then a masculine voice said grudgingly, "Thanks."
So I slammed the door again and said, "Um, I'll be out in a minute!"
Pity I have this little lying problem.
Yes I am a pathological liar. Deal with it.
I forced open the window above the bath, put the Aloe Vera plant on the sink, and jumped. Taking my pillow with me of course.
Stop being all 'Oh my gaaawwwd, bail on the sexy guy by jumping out the window, how juvenile,' because I don't think there's anything wrong with liking the nice guys. Which Nick ISN'T. Its not my fault the nice guys who are attracted to me are gay.
Wow. That's depressing.
But whatever. I hid in the garden. That was cool. It didn't take too long before I heard Nicks car pull away. Then I sauntered through the front door and asked a bewildered Alannah and a frustrated Arabia what I had missed.
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And so that was how it went.
I didn't deal with anything between Nick and Daniel. I talked to Daniel once. To tell him I had a new phone (lie) and gave him its number (Lie) it was Alannah's number, (true) and she was to say that I wasn't there, (lie) and that could she take a message?
There were reasons for this.
A) I think Alannah had the hots for him.
B) I think her and Daniel would make a perfect match.
C) Im pretty sure once he realises what a bitch I am, he'll like Alannah even more. She is way more is type than me.
D) I really did not want to talk to him.
But whatever. I told Alannah all this of course, I may be a lying manipulative bitch, but the girls' my friend.
And I got kicks out of seeing how red she could turn when I mentioned her little crush on Daniel.
By the way, very Red. Very, VERY red. Believe me, Alannah turned every shade there was. Crimson, scarlet, ruby, garnet, cherry, RED, you name it! She ALMOST surpassed Cee Cee. Who is the champion of turning colours. Cee Cee handles pinks and reds like a pro.
Stacy didn't exactly approve, but who cares what she thinks. She's dead. She forfeited the right of having her 10 cents valued when she lost the ability to turn Oxygen into carbon dioxide.
NOT that she's figured that out yet. I think she fancies herself as my nanny. 'Melinda, don't do that. THINK about it.' 'Melinda, don't eat that, you'll get fat.' 'Melinda, you cant just ignore your problems, they won't go away.' 'Melinda, THINK before opening your mouth. That woman was NOT pregnant. She just ate too much fast food. That will happen to you.' 'Melinda, you cant just ignore me.' 'Melinda.' 'Melinda.' 'MELINDA!'
And I have reached a conclusion. I DON'T LIKE DEAD PEOPLE.
Hell, I don't even like living ones.
But whatever. Hopefully her stupid murderer will rear his ugly head, and Ill be able to kick his stupid, innocent girl-killing ass down to Hades. Or Satan. Or WHEREVER THE HELL ASSHOLES LIKE HIM GO.
Until then, I was to sit pretty.
We were in social studies, and I, never the most attentive student, didn't really care what Winston Churchill's political policies were. Don't get me wrong, its not that I don't WANT to care, I just can't BRING myself to care.
There is a difference.
But I do remember the funny things the Presidents did. I did know exactly what Winston Churchill said to the woman who said to him 'if I were you wife sir, I would poison your tea.' He said, 'If you were my wife I would drink it.'
And Bush! He said in one of his speeches "Never in my life have I relied on intelligence."
Im sure Monica Lewinsky could attest to that. Of course, he was REFERRING to the Agency people, but you know. Im easily entertained. Small things amuse small minds and all that Jazz.
And Robert Muldune! He announced a snap election on live television when he was so drunk he couldn't stand up for more than thirty seconds without falling on the reporter.
Ok, I wasn't really paying too much attention to the actual class. Just one of the days, you know? Where you're just like, 'I cannot be fucked.' And it wasn't even a Friday day.
SCARY.
I was interrupted from my peaceful dreaming by A loud, "Cinderella! Pay attention!"
I jumped about a foot off my seat and scanned the room for the source. And Cinderella? Who the hell was Cinderella?
"But its not my FAULT." Came a whiney voice from the back.
I should have known. Cindy's always at the—OH. MY. GOD.
"Cinderella," said Sister Ernestine angrily, "Can you repeat what I just said?"
"Pfft. Sure she can sister." Muttered Arabia. "Except half the words are too big for her."
Cinderella.
Cinderella.
CINDY'S FULL NAME IS CINDERELLA!
Oh My Fucking God, her mother was so STONED.
I couldn't help it. A giggle escaped me. And by the looks of things, I wasn't the only one furiously trying to prevent giggles. I was just the first one to crack.
The tall one with the crucifix turned to me. Aka, The Nun.
"Cinderella?" I said incredulously. "Your name is CINDERELLA?"
Cindy blinked. "Yeah. Isn't it sweet? Cinderella had all those sweet little mouse as friends."
"Mice." Said Alannah quietly.
"What?" Cinderella said in a baffled tone of voice.
"The proper grammar for that sentence would have been: "Cinderella had all those sweet little mice as friends."
"Oh. Ok."
"You're missing the point." I told her,
"Yeah." Chimed in Arabia. "What the hell was your mother on?"
"ARABIA!" choked out a shocked nun.
She was like; "What?" Then, obviously remembering, she said "oops."
But really, 'Hell.' not a good idea in a catholic school, you know?
Lucky for her, the bell rang.
Thank God. Saved by the bell. Maybe I haven't been giving the holy one in the sky enough credit. Then AGAIN, he DID make me a freak that could interact with the dead. So we're even, no?
Check.
None of the class waited for dismissal. No, we all shot out of the class beholding the angry Nun.
Thank you Sister Ernestine. And thank you dad. Thank you so much. It's his entire fault I'm in a catholic school. Then again, mom wanted me here too. Probably so all her dead-psychologist groupies could keep an eye on me.
Teehee. Father Dom as a groupie. GOLD.
"OH MY GOD!" Arabia screeched. "How CLOSE were we?"
"Hey. For once, I am completely blamed free."
She stopped and gave me 'A Look.'
"Ok, Ok." I said. But she wasn't listening, over my shoulder; her eyes were wide at some other scene. She grabbed my arm and went to steer me back inside the building.
"What? Arabia, WHAT IS IT?" Far out, Her nails HURT. Think I'm being a wuss? YOU try being stuck in her – Orange – death grip.
'I just – uhh – wanted to show you something."
"What?" I said suspiciously.
"Uhh, my new . . . FRIEND!"
"Oh? What's her name?"
"Umm . . ."
"I thought so. Now what is it you don't want me to see?" I turned to scan the courtyard, and saw them. On one of the benches was Brian. And his friend. Touching. Each other.
Not there, you sick things, but it was very apparent that they couldn't keep their hands off one another.
And this is an A-M-E-R-I-C-A-N, HIGH SCHOOL ladies and gentlemen.
And . . . Ouch.
The thing that hurt most was that Brian didn't even have the decency to pick someone better looking than me. I mean, Brian himself wasn't that fashion challenged. He was wearing a bright blue polo, which was fine. But his 'mate' was wearing a – get this – CARDIGAN. A KNITTED cardigan. On a GUY. And it was orange.
Excuse me, but EW!
And it was a hot, CALIFORNIAN day.
Cardigans are only cool when worn by me. Or people like me. They MUST be accessorised with hoop earrings and jeans. Preferably supertube. If jeans are not an option, then slacks are acceptable. (Black.)
CARGO pants, are not.
And orange is fine. But who WEARS Orange that looks like baby puke? Other than Brian's friend.
So he wasn't hot. That we have established. He OBVIOUSLY had a real problem with outfit co-ordination, AND he was vertically challenged.
Sigh.
That bites.
But what can you do?
So I pasted a smile on my face and made my way over there to congratulate them.
Pretty good of me really, when what I actually wanted to do was break his nose.
Who says Im not considerate?
"So, Brian." I said cheerfully when I reached the bench he and the Brokeback Mountain wannabe were perched on. "When were you going to introduce me?"
Brian jumped guiltily to his feet. "Uhh, Melinda! Hi! Melinda this is Gary! Gary this is Melinda! Hey look at that Melinda! it's a—"
"If you say bird I will hit you."
His smile turned weak.
"Hey what the deal anyway." Said Gary rudely. "I could take the little B—"
"Watch your mouth Gary." Cut off a deep voice from beside me.
"Please." Gary said, disdainful. "She can't even defend herself without him, the little slu—"
I made towards him, intending to remind the whole courtyard who were watching with wide eyes, just how hard I could hit, and just how much reconstructive surgery would benefit Gary.
But I was stopped. By my: "knight in Shining Armor". HA. "Night in Shining Armor". Try "Demonic pain in the ass."
It's all the same really.
Gary didn't look as brave as he had a minute ago. In fact he was behind Brian.
"What the hell are you doing?' I demanded furiously. "Let me hit the little punk!"
"Just as I thought." Said Gary vindictively, coming out of his hiding place. "She's too cowardly to do anything. They probably planned the whole thing." He nodded in a way that I guess he thought made him look wise and dignified, in my humble opinion, it just made him look foolish. "I told you didn't have to worry about her, she's too busy screwing Slater to worry about anything—"
Once again Gary was cut off. Nick had let go of me and punched him in the gut.
I won't lie. It was good hit. Sharp and to the point. And its not like Gary hadn't deserved it. Thing is, I had met Gary before, and he really was a wiener.
Then I saw Brian.
He really didn't do anything wrong. Who cares if he's gay? All he's guilty of is picking a shitty boyfriend. We've all been there, and I felt I owed it to Brian, to stop Nick from actually maiming said shitty Boyfriend.
"NICK!" I yelled, "Nick, Stop it!" He looked up, and I didn't waste time in pulling him off Gary, I figured hurry up before he started to protest.
"Melinda, what are you on? Can you hear him—"
"Look at Brian. He doesn't deserve to have his partner smushed into the asphalt." I said calmly. "Let it be."
"The guys a jerk." Nick muttered, brushing himself off.
"So are you," I said with a smile, "But you don't notice me on top of you."
. . . wait.
"Please don't turn that into anything dirty." I begged.
He laughed. Grudgingly, but it was better than nothing.
"Go." I said firmly.
"But—"
"Go."
He looked at me, and I could feel him wanting to say something. "Go." I said once more, urging him with my eyes. "Whatever it is, can wait."
He looked like he wanted to argue, but I pushed him off and turned to Brian.
"Sorry."
"Um, that's ok. Im sorry too about – everything."
I smiled. A real smile.
"So we're good?" he asked.
"Yeah. We're good."
He sighed. "Im good we're good. Hey I meant to ask you—" he broke off, staring at something over my shoulder.
"What?" I said and turned.
"Oh dear." I muttered under my breath.
A very large chest was in front of me, wearing a very formidable looking woman.
"Come with me." She beckoned.
Well what was I to do? I couldn't exactly say; 'no.' it just wasn't my style, you know?
Well, ok, it was, but in all honesty, sister Ernestine was really scary.
You try putting yourself in my Manilo blaniks.
I meekly followed, ignoring the jeers of "oooooooh, um um um um!" coming from the junior side of the courtyard.
"So, uh, sorry to be impertinent sister, but what am I doing?"
If all else fails . . . play dumb.
"It is Father Dominic's wish you be brought to see him." She said stiffly.
Hey cool. Priests have minions. Who knew?
"Father? Melinda de Silva to see you." Sister Ernestine said opening the office door.
"Melinda. Come in, come in." the Father said agreeably.
I cautiously stepped in, and Sister Ernestine closed the door firmly. I noticed she firmly shut it. Like, slammed it. All of you who thought Nuns were sweet and nice, say hello to Sister Ernestine.
'Hello'? thank you.
I looked at father D, behind a huge Mahogany desk, in his black robes, and looking no worse for wear. I've known Father Dom since I was a young child, and somehow he seems to have mastered a slow aging process. He's getting on, for sure, but not so much that you start whispering in his presence.
Thank god. What would every one do without father Dominic?
"And how are you?" he said pleasantly.
"Depends." I said dryly, "What's the life expectancy of a shifter?"
"Ah."
"What? I didn't see any point in—I, er, prefer to cut to the chase Father."
"You are, extraordinarily alike to your mother. You have no idea how much. You even have her eyes. Jesse's colouring, and her eyes."
Duh. I knew that. I always thought it looked a little weird, you know, Black hair, tanned skin, and then these startling green eyes. It wasn't until recently that I actually discovered I was quite pretty.
And that was WITHOUT Nick's innuendo's thanks.
I managed a strained smile. Don't get me wrong, I like Father D. I was just having a bit of a bad day.
"So you're wondering why you weren't told earlier?"
"Nope." I said. "I already know. They didn't want to make me suffer, Yadda Yadda. Can I enquire as to why Im here Father?"
"Quite. Apart from wanting to finally clear the air, I wanted to check on your mental well being."
Leave it to the Father D. Ignore the trouble I cause, ask me if I'm OK.
Swell.
Doesn't change the fact that I can talk to the dead, am currently lying to one of 'The Nice Guys.' Stopped Satan's Spawn's spawn from pummelling my Ex's replacement Girlfriend, have the ghost of my murdered best friend currently staying in my room, said best friends murderer on the loose, and I have no clue who he is, or what he's doing.
And I really don't like being left in the dark. (Well, figuratively I don't. Literally, I actually kind of like it.)
I think I have to work on hiding my emotions, because I think Father Dominic pretty much gathered more or less what I was thinking.
Bummer.
The priest can read my mind.
That cant be good.
"I see. I take it Stacy didn't commit suicide." He spoke gravely. I suppose, suicide is still a sin and whatnot.
"No. She was murdered. I don't know who BY, I don't know WHY, I don't know their WHEREABOUTS, I don't know what they plan to do NEXT, I just – I just . . . don't know."
Father D nodded sympathetically. "I realise this is hard Melinda. Your mother, Jesse, myself would all love to take the strain. But Stacy has come to you. If a ghost picks you, there's not much another mediator can do.
"Can I exorcise her?"
"Absolutely Not." He said firmly. "No. No way. I must make it clear there will be NO exorcisms—"
"None?"
"—Without warrant of EXTREME circumstances. I cant say how important this is Melinda. You MUST NOT—"
"Ok, OK, I get it. Moving along . . ."
"Nick Slater."
I flushed. As father D's gaze continued to focus on me – his eyes remarkably clear and bright blue– I forced myself to bring myself back under control.
"What about him Father?" I said, my fight to keep my raging emotions under control making me sound cold, but I hardly cared.
"I believe you've met Paul Slater? What did you think of him?"
"Well," I said slowly "I didn't like him much, But – but I think dads wrong. I don't think he's the devil."
Father D smiled in acknowledgment.
"Possibly the devils spawn . . . " I continued, "but not the devil himself."
Father D groaned.
What, did he think I was the mature one or something? Not I, my friend.
"Give Nick a chance Melinda—"
"Aren't you a priest? Shouldn't you frown on sex before marriage? Because, I swear, that's all Nick wants from me."
"—And you might even find - Melinda!" the holy one sounded shocked. "Nick is a nice young man with a good head on his shoulders!" he chided.
"Yeah. And my names Garfield."
He chose to ignore this.
"Melinda, I can her the bell. You're free to go, but I want it understood that you came to me if you need help and whatnot."
He said no more, but understood, and was grateful.
"I understand Father."
"Do you?" he asked. "I know your mother will always be willing to throw in her 10 cents, but sometimes it might be better to – er – get a second opinion."
Hey Man—! Let it slide Melinda. Let it slide.
"Thank you father. I can see myself out."
"I don't doubt it. Good afternoon Melinda."
Well that was interesting. I thought, as I made my way through the corridors. I mean, I kind of got the idea that there weren't many Mediators throught the world. Otherwise you'd hear more about them, right? Like, there would be PROOF.
Apparently not. Carmel's just a freak Central.
As I stepped out into the courtyard, intending on dropping off my books at my locker, rather than lug them around, a colour out of place caught my eye. It was like a bright, vivid light blue colour.
Weird.
Oh My God, it's a person.
And . . . What the hell. A PERSON is lying face down in the grass over by the hibiscus.
Um, OK, that's a little . . . weird.
HA, It was probably one of those weird butterfly collectors, thinking they'd discovered a new type of butterfly, I went over to go and see what the hell the were on, a butterfly is – essentially – just a butterfly.
I jabbed the person with my stiletto toe, and . . . No response.
I frowned and tried again. Nothing.
Ok so they were asleep.
But may I ask, WHO GOES TO SLEEP IN THE SCHOOL GARDEN?
At least I hoped they were asleep. Well, they could hardly be dead. I mean – No. They couldn't be dead. Not in – not in the MISSION COURTYARDS.
Then some horrible realisation dawned on me. That light blue polo looked Familiar. THIS PERSON WAS SLEEPING IN BRIAN'S CLOTHES! WHAT THE--?
Hey, um, sleeping people tend to breath don't they? Suddenly I was the one having trouble drawing air.
I shivered slightly, feeling something was odd. But that's silly. So is falling asleep in the gardens really, so, whatever.
I rolled the person over, and it WAS Brian,
I noticed Brians middle. It was all floppy . . . no one would fall asleep like that would they?
Then I noticed his Neck. Ha, people's necks don't usually bend like that do they? Not unless—
Oh my god.
I didn't realise the screaming I could hear was me until I tripped, still screaming, I just kept pulling myself away from Brians body.
His body.
His LIFELESS body.
I continued to scream. Loud and long. I kept moving away, terrified. His Neck was BROKEN. He was DEAD, how could he be DEAD? I was talking to him under an hour ago! And yet it's his body here, the neck all twisted and odd, no skin broken, and no blood, but DEAD!
I screamed and screamed until someone came.
"What?" Said a voice loudly. "Who screamed?" he noticed me. 'Hey are you ok? Why'd you scream?"
I could only point, a hand now clamped over my mouth to stop me from throwing up.
The guy went over to Brian's body and felt his pulse. Why didn't I think of that? Except the thought of touching – touching THAT made me want to throw up. I didn't though. That's probably the one thing I was proud of.
People were starting to crowd around, I got up and tried to run, only to bang straight into the wall, I just sank against it, my legs too wobbly to support me. I just lent there and tried to gather myself.
Father D came over to me later, and looking more sombre than I would have thought possible, asked me what I thought.
"A ghost could do that?" I said shakily.
"I see we are of the same mind then." He said gravely. "Yes a ghost could do that. I don't know exactly how, but im sure they could."
"He got the wrong guy.' I muttered bitterly.
"Pardon me?" Even at a time like – at a time like THIS Father d wasted time on manners.
"He got the wrong guy!" I almost shouted. "Why didn't he kill Gary? Gary deserves to die!"
"Hush Melinda. Think very carefully about what you choose to shout to the courtyard." His voice sounded empty and hollow. "Do you want the whole Mission to think you had something to do with this? Its bad enough you found him."
He was right. The priest was thinking clearer than me.
I had sort of a brain freeze. All I could think of was how much I was going to hurt this ghost.
And so the count down is on.
Stacy.
Brian.
Who was next on the list?
8888888
YAY! Another chapter done. Do you love or hate me for killing Brian? Just to refresh, he was the Ex. The one who dumped Melinda at the funeral.
Yeah. Just in case I muddled y'all up.
Note the lack of author notes Char? I did have one, but for your sake I deleted it. It was in reference to Melinda personifying her pillow.
Do not look at me like that. I would have named the pillow, but I couldn't think of a name. YES, I am one of those weird people who name inanimate objects. For example, my cell phones name is Dianna. (feminine.) My Saxophone's name is Daffy. (Masculine.) Except when I first started playing the saxophone I had to practice blowing Daffy. I thought this was funny. My saxophone teacher disagreed.
Whatever.
REVIEW FOR ME PLEASE?
Love and kisses,
Mariah.
xxooxxoo