MIKE NEWTON, THE KING OF EMBARRASSMENT

I don't own anything. All copyrights go to Stephenie Meyer ©

Name: Concussed

Rating: More than ten swear words here. Good enough for you?

Summary: Tiffany and Robbie take Mike biking. Sadly, Mike manages to turn a perfectly normal day to a disastrous one.

-8-8-

When the spirits are low, when the day appears dark, when work becomes monotonous, when hope hardly seems worth having, just mount a bicycle and go out for a spin down the road, without thought on anything but the ride you are taking.
-Arthur Conan Doyle

-8-8-

Character Point of View: Mike Newton

Time/day: Sunday

Setting: Newton residence

I was standing outside the washroom, where Tiffany was helping Mom fold sheets and clothes. In other words, she was fishing around for blackmail.

"Mom!"

I groaned, and buried my face in my hands. Tiffany and her whines. Fuck!

"Yes, Tiffie?" Mom asked kindly. "Something wrong? Did Mike put his sock in the microwave again?"

I thought we made a deal not to tell that witch, Mom! I thought viciously. How could you?

"Mike put his sock in the microwave?" Tiffany sounded interested. "When?"

Mom laughed. "Oh, you should have been here, Tiffany. Mike apparently thought it would be quicker to dry his wet sock in the microwave one day. You were in Malibu that day, right?"

"Aw, dang it," sighed Tiffany. "I missed a fine show, Mom. What happened to the sock by the way?"

"It burned itself and the microwave to death," said Mom. "John had to drive in the middle of the night to fetch another one."

"That must have been so…stressful," Tiffany said in a sugary tone. Clearly, she was playing the teacher's pet. Or, in this case, mother's pet.

She must be up to something. I know she is.

"Oh, Mom!" exclaimed Tiffany after a short period of silence. "I had the gorgeous idea ev-uh!"

"Ev-uh?" Mom asked, confused.

"It means 'ever," said Tiffany, bluntly. "Something from university. Anyhoo, I had this idea that Robbie and I go biking in La Push this morning. It's lovely, right?"

Not really.

"That's a good idea," answered Mom brightly. "You need to get out more, since you're looking paler than usual. Oh, and could you take Mike along too? I need to pop up over at Susan Yorkie's house –she's having some problems dealing with the divorce- and on the way, I have to go to the supermarket. You know how Mike is like, right? He seems to find trouble, even in the supermarket! I'm sure nothing will happen in the midst of trees and dirt roads, so it looks like Mike will be safe with you and Robbie."

"Of course," chirped Tiffany. She obviously planned this, didn't she?

I heard footsteps, and I jumped up, before stumbling into my bedroom. I grabbed the first book I could find.

Tiffany, meanwhile, barged into my room, smirking like Elizabeth Banks. Come to think of it, she does look uncannily like a younger Elizabeth Banks. Whateva.

"Michael!" Tiffany screeched. "I know you heard me there. Put down that book, and get your ass over here."

I ignored her, and turned back to the magazine, despite the glaring fact that it was upside down. Oh, well. Suddenly, it was ripped out of my hands.

"Excuse me!" I exclaimed. "What was that for?"

"Your insolence," said Tiffany curtly, as she glanced at the magazine. "Well, well. What do we have here, baby Mikey? A porn magazine. I so should show this to Mom."

"That's not mine," I yelled. "It belongs to Eric."

"Eric, Eric, Eric," chanted Tiffany. "Do I remember him? Yeah, he was that weaselly runt behind your back in your second grade yearbook photo. Oh, how cute you looked in oversized glasses, and two rabbitty buck teeth."

"Shut the fuck up, Tiffany," I growled.

"Using the 'fuck' word are we, Mikey?" she sneered, and promptly hurled the magazine out of the window. "Now get dressed, shit-face."

-8-8-

I stomped down towards the door, fuming like hell. Mom was on the sofa in the living room, nursing a terrible headache, while Tiffany and her pimple man, Robbie were waiting outside. When I reached the couple, I saw that Tiffany was sitting on a magnificent, navy-blue dirt-bike. How I envied her, the bitch. Meanwhile, Robbie was beside her, on a ratty, old street bicycle –which, no doubt, belonged to Dad; and he was smirking like he got a colony of ants up his ass. His bicycle, on the other hand, looked like it was gonna fall into a heap of rusted metal at any minute.

My bicycle was a sickly green, gifted to me by Dad last year, and it was sitting in the middle of the road. Tiffany had, without doubt, kept it there so that it would get run over. I hope it does. I'm really sick of the colour puke-green right now.

"Mom," I declared to the air. "I am not fucking going."

"Oh, Mike," chided Mom, from the living room. "Don't use bad words, dear. You have to go, honey."

"But-"

"Oh, don't worry," Tiffany twittered. "Michael's just a bit annoyed that he won't get to read his porn magazine now."

That was not my magazine, you pathological liar.

"What porn magazine?" squawked Mom, in a horrified voice.

"Don't you bother, Mom," hollered Tiffany. "I threw it away, and told Mikey not to be so naughty. Didn't I, Mikey-poo?"

"Shut the fuck up," I replied shortly.

"Sweet" was all she said, before I felt a sharp pinch on my butt.

"Ow!" I yelped, and turned around to see Tiffany smirking coldly. She gave me another pinch, this time on my cheek.

"Come on, runt," she barked.

-8-8-

The road loomed up in front of us, like some mirage. Tiffany was way ahead of us, pedalling like crazy. Robbie was far behind Tiffany and me, struggling to keep up with us on his tricycle. Poor dude. It looked like some race, not a biking trip.

"Move out of the way, numbskull!" yelled Robbie.

In reply, I flipped the finger at him. Ha –take that, you crazed cycle-maniac.

I felt something my cycle slow down, and my head swivelled around to see Robbie holding onto the seat of my bike, grinning sadistically. What the hell?

I pinched his hand till he let out a howl of pain, and promptly let go of my seat. I was about to let out a cheer, when I heard a loud hissing noise, and I looked down to see my bicycle veering dangerously off the road. In the middle of the hop-ride down the slope, I caught sight of Robbie roaring past me on his rickety bike as he tried to catch up with Tiffany. His bike was jumping up and down like a drunken horse, emitting puffs of smoke occasionally.

My bike, meanwhile, was punctured. I got out, and realized that the entire slope was full of pine needles, thanks to the pine trees around us. Robbie must purposefully made my bike veer off, and get pinged out by the needles. Quite the fox-headed dog, he is.

I went down on one knee, and surveyed the mess.

This certainly was gonna take a long time.

-8-8-

I pedalled as hard as I could, all the while, trying to keep my balance on the unsteady bicycle. At last, I managed to catch a glimpse of Tiffany and Robbie.

Did I mention that they were making out like rabbits under an unfortunate pine tree?

Shit.

Today is one of the worst-ever days.

Ever.

"Fuck!" I exclaimed, getting off my bike. "Fuck! Fuck!"

Tiffany let out a little squeal, and jumped off Robbie, who was looking a bit woozy.

"Mike?" she shrieked. "What are you doing here?"

"You brought me along," I sneered back at her, while trying to restrain the urge to walk up to Robbie, and socking him in the Johnson.

"Why did you guys leave me behind?" I fumed viciously.

"Did we?" said Tiffany, contemptuously. "Oh, Mikey, I am soooo sorry. Yeah, right."

Robbie just guffawed loudly. Son of a gun.

"Get your bike," snarled Tiffany, as she smacked my head hard. "We're going now."

-8-8-

"Mike!" Mom said. "Get up. It's dinnertime now."

"Five more minutes," I whispered.

"Come on, honey," Mom pleaded. "You have to eat."

My head felt ice-cold. I wondered why, and I reached up to feel my headache. My fingers found an ice-pack instead.

"What the hell!" I bellowed, jumping up. "What the hell!"

"Hush, Mike!" shushed Mom. "Robbie is studying upstairs."

Studying? Yeah, right. He's probably on Facebook with his weirdo friends.

"Mom," I yelled. "Tiffany put ice on my head!"

Mom looked concerned. "Of course, she did. You had a concussion after all."

"How the fucking hell did I get a fucking concussion?"

"Language, Michael! You crashed your bike into a tree, and hit your head pretty hard," said Mom, tears springing up in her eyes. "My goodness, if Robbie and Tiffie weren't there, we would never have found you."

"I didn't hit any tree!" I growled.

"See?" Tiffany said, from her place at the door. "I told you the concussion was pretty bad. He doesn't even remember it."

"What happened?"

"Well," Tiffany began in a bored voice. "Robbie and I were riding. You were lagging behind because you told me that you wanted to. Just then, we heard a crash and a scream. We stopped our bikes, and you were lying on the road, with your bike lying upside down. We ran over to you, and helped you up. I saw a big bump on your head, and realized you had a concussion. Robbie was kind enough to carry your sorry ass on his bike." Tiffany smirked, and added, "And Dr. White is here, to see you."

Fuck.

-8-8-

"I didn't hit any tree," I protested, as Dr. White pressed around on my head, checking for any more signs.

"Of course you didn't," he said absently.

"I did not," I said loudly.

"That's nice to know," he replied in the same tone, and looked up from his clipboard. "Karen, there's nothing wrong I can find with Mike now, but I think it would be wise to take a dose of medicine now, and visit me after three days for another check-up."

Mom heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, Larry. If there's anything I could do for you…" Here, I zoned out.

Did I mention I'm gonna kick Eric's ass over Africa for leaving that porn magazine behind?

-8-8-