Chapter Four
From Paranormal Geek to Party Kid Chic!
(Heather)
"I'm going to shit myself. No, I'm not even kidding you guys. Hey - hey, don't laugh at me, Heather. I'm not joking, I'm going to shit solid bricks of fear everywhere and it's not going to be pretty."
Maybe it was the sincere panic in the poor guy's voice - maybe it was the freakin' awesome mental image I had of him with no control over his bowels - I wasn't entirely sure. But something about his horrifically, gut-wrenchingly terrible situation struck me as friggin' hilarious. It was with a heavy heart (but not really) and a guilty conscious (well ... no, definitely not) that I laughed my wee ass off at poor (silly), poor (stupid), poor (rather hopeless) Ryan.
"Shut up," he mumbled (which coincidentally, did not at all help my case of the giggles). "I'm so nervous, I think I'm going to die. Yep. That's the end of the ol' Buell-meister. I'm going to die of anxieties. This is my spoken will - Kat, you get Xander. Heather, you get my Magic Bullet and dragon tie."
"How about you keep your tie and blender and just give me all your money?"
"You're not going to die," Katrina said testily. "God, you're a bigger drama queen than freakin' Sergey."
"Drama king," he corrected grumpily. "And I am not."
I tried to cover a snicker - I did, really I did! - but Buellster heard it: I felt a swift, light smack connect with the back of my head.
"HEY!"
"What."
"You can't hit a girl!"
"That was not a hit, that was a gentle, friendly ... tap."
"That was a hit! A blatant smack!"
"It was just a 'you-are-an-ass-for-laughing-at-my-all-consuming-pants-crapping-bout-of-panic' love tap."
"I'm gonna love tap your face with my knuckles."
"I would like to see you try, Taddy."
"Come here, I'll show you right now, sucka!"
"For the love of God, you two, quit it," Katrina snapped.
"She started it," Ryan muttered.
"Did not!" I yelled, punching him in the arm.
As you (likely) may have guessed, we were all just a liiiii-ttle edgy tonight. We were literally fifty steps away from the volleyball party - fiff-freakin-tee! Normally, a party is a party, but tonight? Tonight is very, very, different. I speak on behalf of all three of us when I say that a), not only were we not at all in our element - but b), each one of us was horribly aware of this.
Oh and y'know, by element I mean the whole 'popular kid sport celebration drinking parties' environment we were about to thrust ourselves into. We were;
a), not popular.
b), we chased ghosts and demons, not soccer balls.
c), we only drank with our other fantastically loveably nerdy peers (hey, don't knock on it, you don't even know the hilarity and serious fun that is to be had whilst beer bongin' with some Pagans).
And d), our parties consisted of Mike's Hard Lemonade, Scrabble and 'pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey'. Which is not exactly on the same level as the college "vodka, random sex, 'oh-god-they-caught-WHAT-on-film'" kind of party we were about to attend.
So this, folks, is why on an otherwise ordinary Wednesday night, our nutty and slightly edgy little trio was making its way down to the old, abandoned Science building located about fifteen minutes off of the main campus.
The old science building was a huge, brick structure perched up on a steep hill and surrounded on three sides by a densely wooded area. I'd only walked by a couple of times in my three short years here at Penn State, but from what I'd heard from other students and even from some of the dear old faculty, this place was haunted with a capital 'BOO'.
So really, in a strange way it was appropriate that half of our PRS TV Team was headin' down there! It just wasn't for a paranormal investigation this time - it was for a beer bongin', avoiding-the-likely-date-raped-punch and watching two of the jocks joust with dirty, rancid toilet brushes instead.
This transformation, it was quite amazing, really - a mere two and a half hours ago, Kat, Ryan and I were but normal University students. Crawlin' through haunted attics, researchin' famous demonologists, studyin' pictures of orbs and apparitions.
....
Okay, fine. Maybe not completely normal. But we had pretty basic, boring, somewhat monotonous familiarity in our lives. But it had all changed in a matter of hours - in fact, lets skip ahead to right this very FREAKIN' second:
WE WERE THE COOL KIDS.
Well to be fair, not cool. We were just three ghost huntin' geeks on our way to a cool person party. Big difference there, maybe later on I'll give you a brief overview of the differences between being a loser with cool kids and being a cool kid amongst cool kids. But! On with the story! Got to keep on track.
Here is a very simple, easy to follow timeline I've put a lot of thought and effort into (okay fine, you caught me - I basically just made it up in my head like ten seconds ago) explaining how we went from bottom of the totem pole to top in two hours flat! (Which in all fairness, is thanks to Ryan's apparently alluring 'When I see pretty girls I drool, When I see Harlow my lunch comes back up to visit' sex pot talent.)
Heather Taddy's official "From Paranormal Geek to Party Kid Chic" timeline:
One hundred and fifty minutes ago, we were but ghostie wallflowers, floating from one class to the next, ignored by some, disliked by many, respected by none.
One hundred and twenty minutes ago, we found ourselves face to face with Harlow Vincent, cool kid extraordinaire and Ryan's fantasy wife. Of course, the last one is a secret ... that's not actually all that big of a secret (four years of tripping over garbage cans everytime she walks by is a dead giveaway, sorry to say).
One hundred and ten minutes ago, Kat and I were attempting to soothe a panicking, completely mentally unstable Ryan down as we made our way back to his place (you see, it seems he didn't fully comprehend Harlow's wonderfully friendly little invitation until after her and her athlete ass were out of his face - freak out, commence).
One hundred minutes ago, Katrina was ducked behind the couch and I was cowering behind a bookshelf as we tried to avoid being knocked out cold by Ryan's flailing, excitable body that was now lurching about his and Sergey's modest apartment. It seemed that finally, the freakin' numbnut had understood Harlow's invitation and was just a wee bit excited.
Sixty minutes ago (that's a mere hour ago, folks!), Katrina and I were going over our lesson on the basic how-to's of looking at boobies with subtle chivalry and not professing your deep and undying love to a stranger with our cute but naive little Ryan. Because lets face it, people, I think ol' Buellster needs these lessons bad. (Oh, bee tee dubbs [that's cool kid abbreviation for 'by the way'], look for mine and Katrina's book, it's coming out on an eBay near you sometime in the not so near future - Weid-Taddy's Guide to Landing A Girl and NOT A Restraining Order. Don't worry, Ryan's already reserved his copy).
Fifty minutes ago, we were teaching Buelly how to have a proper conversation with a girl without swallowing his own tongue (this proved to be much more difficult than we originally thought). It seems even at the mention of Harlow, Ryan's tongue swells up to the size of a cows and he becomes this stuttering, slurring mess. It's really quite terrible, and very unattractive.
Thirty minutes ago, we were explaining to a very confused and very foreign Sergey why Ryan was standing in front of his mirror repeating "'you look very lovely this evening'. Ah, no. 'Why hello, you look very lovely this evening'. No, fuck. 'HELLO, YOU LOOK VAIRRRY NICE'. No, no, no." (Try as we did to help his poor soul, Ryan still ended up sounding like a very southern Borat with his solicitations. "VAI-REE NYYYCE, HOW MACHHH," Katrina had responded to his initial attempts [this did not improve his self esteem, FYI]).
Fifteen minutes ago, we were seriously contemplating the pros and cons of forcing an anti-anxiety pill down Ryan's throat. We just wanted to calm the poor bum down. We were going to use a horse tranquilizer, but funny as that might have been to us, a combination of Harlow tongue swelling and actual tongue swelling could be a liiiiittle dangerous.
AND NOW, 2 and half hours after our initial unknowness - we were on our way to our first sports kegger. Ever. And when I say ever, I mean ever - all my Keg knowledge I learned from the American Pie movies.
As out of our domain as we might've been, we were still ridiculously excited. I for one, was so freakin' stoked I could've died! Katrina? Well, she lived for parties - she was the queen of all things rowdy. And Ryan?
"I have that awful pants shitting sensation coming on again ... "
Well ... when Harlow was involved, he couldn't really hack it.
"We're almost there, Ryan," Katrina said irritably. "You can't back out now, stop being such a puss."
"I'm not backing out," he said roughly. "I'm just letting ya'll know the thought of being able to even see her, let alone be in the same room as her, is giving me a potentially serious case of IBS. Just wanted to give you a heads up."
"How thankful we are you've shared with us stories of your irritable bowels," I grimaced.
"Friends for evv-err!"
We rounded the last corner and finally, the building was in sight! It was even more magnificent than I remembered - tall, beautiful and old, with spacious grounds surrounding it, a crystal clear pond on the east side and a huge, towering willow on the west. Man, this shit didn't look haunted at all! Faintly, heavy bassed music could be heard coming from inside the great structure - muffled voices, loud and happy. The curtains had been drawn tightly, masking whatever it was that was happening in the giant building.
I looked over at Katrina and Ryan. Katrina's face was bright, happy - illuminated. Ryan's was pale, anxious but determined. I grinned, and threw my arms into the air.
"Sports kegger," I shouted. "HERE COMES THE PARANORMAL NERDS, WATCH OUT!"
"Thank God she did that out here," Katrina said blandly. "Y'know, like we aren't gonna be misfits enough as is."
"Just in case she does it again once we get in there," Ryan said loudly to Katrina. "We came with each other, we don't actually know who she is."
"Assholes," I muttered. "I should've worn my 'I'm with Katrina Weidman and Ryan Buell' shirt."
The two of them laughed and I pouted as Katrina grabbed mine and Ryan's arm and dragged us - rather forcefully, might I add, ow - up the broad, stone steps of the Science building. AND WE WERE OFF.
Nerds? Yes. Ghost geeks? Yes. Cool kids? No. Nerdy ghost geeks hanging out with the cool kids?
Definitely yes, bay-bee!
(Harlow)
"Harlow, I juss ... I juss gotta tell you some-thin, oh kai?"
I sighed, and a ran a hand irritably through my hair. "Of course you do, Meg. You've been saying that to me every five minutes for the last hour."
"Yeah no, I know, but it's serrr-ee-usss this time, okay," she slurred, her beer swaying fiercely along with her.
"Okay," I said, steadying her slightly with my hand - she grabbed onto my arm tightly. "What did you want to tell me? Last chance, Meggy Poo."
"I juss wanted to tell you, and -hic!- and say ... say that," she hiccuped. "You ... are ... -hic!- ... awwwe-summ, Coach."
"That is pretty serious," I agreed, trying to pry her fingers off of my forearm - drunks had literally perfected the 'Grip O' Death', I swear. "Well, thanks Meg - I appreciate it. Now c'mon, I'm gonna take you back to Chris, he's gonna take care of you, alright?"
"Oh why! Whyyyy, aren't we friends 'n stuff?"
"Yeah, Meg, of course we are," I said, patiently as I could. "Unfortunately, I need to mingle with the rest of the people here, and that's proving to be very hard to do with serious drunken dead-weight on my arm."
"Waitwaitwaitwait ... b-before you go - whooo in the holy fuck is Chris," she garbled.
"Your boyfriend of two years."
"Oh, thaaaat Chris."
I laughed and began awkwardly steering a severely drunken Meagan over to the small couch in the front foyer. The old science building had been the perfect spot for one of our post-celebratory parties - it was remote enough for no faculty to disturb it but close and well-known enough for people to actually find it. The building in itself was beautiful, both inside and out - four stories set in red brick, the upper three floors filled with old classrooms and laboratories and the main floor serving as a kind of study hall/house.
When you walked into the main doors, you were in a relatively quant entrance room - dark, dingy but cozy. The moment you stepped out of the front into the main room, you could truly see the building's magnificence. Large, open concept rooms leading from one living area to the next, bookshelves stocked with all types of Bio books, med journals, chem textbooks - everything. Old, rickety chairs and ancient plush couches, cobwebby chandeliers and old, marvelous picture windows. It was a nerd's dream home, and being a nerd myself (loud and proud!), I knew just how terribly it hurt my heart to know that this beautiful building was no longer in use.
Well, you know. Besides the two hundred plus people drunkenly swaying about the main floor right this very moment. Hm. As a matter of fact, nearly three hundred if you counted the bodies that remained invisible to the untrained - er, rather un'gifted' - eye.
Anyways! Poor sweet, lightweight Megan was one of the live, horrifically plastered ones staggering about the rooms - as a last ditch effort, I ended up propping her snugly against my chest and half dragged/half carried her over to her boyfriend, Chris Walters (who, may I just add, was a super nice guy, super smart guy and oh yeah - not exactly hard on the eyes either - mee-oww).
Chris and several of his buddies - some I recognized, others I don't think I'd ever seen before - were seated around an antique, mahogany table littered with old diagrams and lab sheets (the geek in me was in complete anguish at the sight of their beer bottles staining the near mint-condition reports and medical journals - save the books! Save them, save them, save them, oh GOD! [luckily, I pulled myself together, but I will forever be haunted by the image of these wasted, beautiful papers, just FYI]). I dragged the tiny but dead weighted Megan over towards them, huffing and puffing and doing my absolute best to keep myself and Megan from toppling over. Chris peered up, caught a glimpse of the mass that was Megan and I, and burst into laughter.
"She's done," I informed him needlessly, as we came to an unsteady halt in front of the couch - Megan let out a loud burp, and her head rolled pathetically to the side.
"No kiddin'," he said with a grin, standing and gently wrapping an arm around her waist. "Didn't take much ... what, she's up to five beers before conkin' out now?"
"You've got too much faith in her. She had four," I said listlessly, carefully letting go of her waist.
"Figures," he said with a sigh, as Megan giggled and smooshed his face lovingly and drunkenly with her shaky hands. "Shnanks, Herrlawww."
"Hey, Harlow," one of Chris' friends called from the couch, a good lookin' Spanish boy I'd seen a couple times before. "You here with anyone tonight?"
"Sophie," I responded, looking warily over my shoulder. "You haven't seen her, have you?"
"Likely passed out somewhere," he said, and I hated to admit it but he was probably correct. "If you need another piece of arm candy, well hey - here I am."
"Sorry bud," I said apologetically. "Sophie's my one and only - I don't really do arm candy."
"Hey, Doll, I'd definitely count her as arm candy," he said.
"More of a bitch anklet, actually," I said blandly. "Thanks for the offer though, but I think I'd prefer to keep myself - and my arms - free tonight."
"Fair enough," he said with a smile. "If I see Soph I'll let her know you're lookin' for her."
I smiled politely, then turned and began to push my way back through the crowd of people. The old building was packed - our volleyball team (the guests of honor, of course!), the Penn State football players (you know how jocks are - they seem to think that a position on the University football team is synonymous with a permanent party invite for every get together ever - and I hate to admit it, but it's sort of true), the boyfriends/girlfriends of the team, the prissy sluts who were lookin' for some serious jock-cock tonight and some other randoms from off campus. Out of the two hundred or so people here, I knew of about twenty five percent of 'em. Talked to only about five percent. Cared about approximately one percent.
I managed to slide my way (amazingly, ungroped) through the crowds of dancing sluts and man whores, and clambered in my horrifically graceless way up the large staircase and away from the swaying, stumbling people below me. I surveyed the scene grumpily - the music was loud and obnoxious, the football players even louder and obnoxious and the only people I really gave even a little bit of a shit about seemed to be MIA. Where Sophie was, I didn't know. Jess, Lindsey - who the fuck knew. All I had was a Corona, a frown and -
"HARLOW I AM SO DRUNK I CAN'T FEEL MY FACE."
Sigh. And Natalie "Cat-Girl" Martins. Fan-fuckin'-tastic.
"You want me to punch it for you," I asked wearily.
"Would that work?" she asked, intrigued.
I blinked, and shook my head in frustration. "I'm tired, Nat. Go mingle or go get more beer or something."
"From the fridge?"
"No from the toilet."
"Why is it in the toilet?"
"That was sarc - fuck. Just go, Nat. Just go."
She smiled lopsidedly and staggered off into the masses. I kicked myself for being so rude, but in all honesty, I was just not in the mood to deal with Natalie right now - not without Sophie, anyways. It takes a lot of patience and endurance to deal with drunks in general, nevermind a Natalie drunk. Right now was not the time for me to even attempt it.
You see, it hadn't even been three hours since we won our first game, but my euphoria and thrill had long worn off. As you may have been able to tell, these big, boisterous house parties? They really were not my thing. The schmoozing, the drinking, the slutty dancing, the loud music - really wasn't my cup of tea. I'd rather be at home in my jammies with a good book than be here, grinding with a bunch of roid ragin' jock dicks.
I swear to you, it's not that I'm an unsociable person. I like meeting new people as much as the next girl! But after three days of two hour lectures, one opinion piece report and three essays on the study of modern Behaviorism and one week straight of volleyball practice - well, I hope you can understand why I was less than thrilled to be here and not in bed.
Oh! Not to mention another teensey little fact that holds some definite and important relevance here - we are in an old, abandoned and rather creepy building. An old, abandoned, rather creepy and haunted building. Did this bother anyone else? Nope. They were faaaaar too drunk to give a shit. Should it bother anyone else? Naw, why would it?
What's that? Then why is it bothering me, you ask?
Why, lemme tell ya!
I. SEE. DEAD PEOPLE.
And I don't mean that in a cute, 'kid-from-the-Sixth-Sense-movie' kind of way, I mean that in an "oh for the love of GOD, this old, miserable asshole of a ghost man has been screaming in my ear for the past thirty minutes" kind of way. No. Actually. Through all the cheering and singing and jock yelling, this was all I could hear:
"MISERABLE BRATS - INCONSIDERATE, SLIMY BASTARDS. I'LL CALL THE HEAD OFFICE, DON'T YOU DOUBT THAT. YOU INSOLENT LITTLE TWITS - GET OUT OF MY BUILDING, GET OUT GET OUT GET OUTTTT!"
Yeah. Parrr-teeee.
I grit my teeth and winced slightly at that terrible, loud and bitter husking voice blaring in my right ear - fantastic, just fuckin' awesome. This was just perfect. Not only was I bestfriendless, dateless and not even a little bit drunk, but a dead seventy something year old caretaker from the 60's was shitting serious bricks in my ear. What a fabulous Wednesday night this had become!
Ignoring those terrible rasping cries of fury that engulfed the entire main floor (for no one except me, of course), I began my descent into the thick crowd of people once more. I had contemplated for a full three seconds and decided that now would be a good time to find my jacket and get the hell out of this mess. Yes, I was Team Captain. Yes, I was supposed to be present. Yes, I was supposed to thank everyone for coming and schmooze and drink and party. But there would be another time for all of that - right now, it was time for a scraggly old shirt, fuzzy bunny slippers and a cold ass pint of Ben and Jerry's. Mmm, I could taste it now.
I concentrated fiercely on the task before me - all I had to do was picture how fabulous a warm fire, a creamy pint of Chunky Monkey ice cream and cozy, oversized t-shirt was, and I could make it out of this complete shit hole without having a break down.
In fact, I was so close to the coat room - so freakin close! - that I could've easily made it in and out and gotten the fuck out of here in maybe two minutes I guess some things just aren't meant to be.
Through the crowd, I caught sight of a familiar but slightly out of place lookin' face across the room. I could almost feel my whole heart swell with happiness and suddenly - inexplicably - my ditch-the-Kegger mission seemed not all that necessary or important. The immanency in my task vanished and before I could help it or control it, my body stopped, turned and beelined straight towards that handsome and terrifically awkward lookin' face.
A feeling of such tremendous relief swept over me as I lumbered quickly and with extreme difficulty (God, there were drunks everywhere, where in GOD'S name had they come from?!) over towards the small but significant face in the crowd. Finally, he was here! Maybe this night wouldn't be such a dud afterall?
Oh, hey ... I almost forgot! I have something to tell you guys. Lemme fill you in, bring you into the loop. Tell you a little secret, one I haven't told anyone (besides the whole ghost thing, anyways, but that's so secret it doesn't even count as a secret - that's how secret the ghost secret is!).
Anyways! Here it is - ever since my brief encounter with Ryan Buell on Monday, I haven't been able to stop thinking about him.
I mean, obviously my mind was completely distracted and filled with anxiety for the upcoming volleyball match - that was no surprise. But everytime I found one second in my day to relax and ignore the constant libero drills, team placement problems, essay and report writing, scholarship application problems I had running through my mind -
I thought of him.
Why? Well, fuck if I knew. But in complete honesty, it was kinda, sorta, totally the highlight of my day. To forget the mind-numbing daily pains, and think solely of the sweeter things.
Why his face popped into my mind so many times a day, I couldn't even begin to comprehend it (I was supposed to be graduating in two years with a degree in Psychology, and I couldn't even unravel the devastation and chaos that was my own brain, yikes - not a good sign). I mean, I'd just met the guy two days ago! In fact, I don't even remember seeing him walking around the campus all that much, and I'd been here for four years - but for the past forty eight hours, my mind had been nothing but books, Freud, volleyball and Buell.
Was I drawn to him because of his line of work? Possibly. Did I gravitate towards him because subconsciously, I felt like he would understand my secret? Maybe. Maybe I just thought he was really good looking? Definitely a high possibility.
I didn't know how old he was, what he did besides PRS, if he had siblings or a good home life. I didn't know his favorite bands or food, what kind of person he really was or if he liked the same things as me. I didn't know if he had a girlfriend, even wanted a girlfriend - was even attracted to girls? I knew nothing about him. Nothing.
The only thing I did know - and felt confident enough to admit - was that there was something so awfully endearing and earnest and intriguing about this guy, that I wanted - needed - to know more.
But all these questions and all these feelings, they were irrelevant in this moment of time. I didn't need to know all the answers or all the right things to feel. Not right now, anyways.
All I needed and all I wanted right now was to be with him. With one other relatively sane soul in this sea of meandering, overtly horny and immensely aggravating assholes.
When I got closer to him, I saw he was with the two girls from the volleyball game. Katrina, the taller one and beside her the small, skinny one. Her name was Heather Taddy, Jess had told me, and she was stupendously sweet - she had been in Jess' Enrichment French class. Katrina and Heather both seemed heavily immersed in a conversation with a stout, toad-looking girl in front of them. Her name was Tara Chartrand and she was a busybody extraordinare, stupid, worthless twat and constantly-on-my-ass-about-everything bitchface.
This may come as a surprise, but I hate that bitch.
Grudgingly (thanks to friggin' Tara), I approached them and I saw Ryan glance over in my direction. He didn't seem to be involved in that conversation (which just made me like him more; thumbs up to being bored by Tara!) - his face was distant, slightly anxious. His eyes locked onto mine, and he smiled. I waved a hand, timidly and smiled back. He did the same, and I felt - to my complete and utter embarrassment - my stomach flop uncomfortably. I wanted to blame the punch, but deep down, I knew that alcohol had nothin' to do with this. Ah, shit.
"Hi," I said happily, breaking through the thick crowd of winos. "I'm glad you could make it!"
"I'm glad I could make it too," he said, with a grin. "You look lovely tonight!"
I clamped down hard on my tongue to keep from flushing, and rubbed a hand nervously up and down the side of my leg - a habit I really had to break. Lovely? I doubt it - more like a large, awkward, lumbering mess. But, it was sweet of him to ignore the ugly bits. "Oh, thanks! You're looking quite dashing yourself!"
Dashing? OH GOD, the shame. I made a mental note to slap myself when I got home tonight - who besides possibly your grandmother says the word dashing anymore? Oh right. ME.
"Thanks," he said, and I saw a faint pinkish hue appear on his cheeks (which, in an odd sort of way, relieved me - at least I wasn't the only one completely mortified by my own horrific awkwardness). "You athletes sure do throw a pretty decent party."
"Oh, we try," I said bashfully (why was I bashful? Why? I don't know. Because I'm a loser, that's why - God, strike me down now). "It's not too hard, we just gotta find a decent place, big enough for the lot of us."
"Which, by the way, I hope you talked to the faculty about," a voice said loudly, and to my immense irritation saw Tara sneering over at me. "Hello, Harlow."
"Tara," I sighed, trying to control the bitch that was just aching to be released. "Pleasure, as always."
"Likewise," she said, in that god awful voice of hers - UGH, the nasal-ness of it! It was like Fran Drescher, except it's horrific grating amplified by like, a million. "I was just talking to Kathrine and Hannah here, and they said they got the invite from you. Did you check to make sure you were at least under the building capacity?"
"It's a five storey building," I said irritably. "There's less than two hundred people here. I think we're under capacity."
"You don't think you should cut the number down a bit?" she asked condescendingly. "Just in case?"
OH, MAN. BITCH GATES, OPEN.
"You're right, I should," I said, as horribly sweet as I possibly could. "Door's right there. See you!"
I motioned for a grinning Ryan, Heather and Katrina to follow me, and we walked swiftly away from the severely agitated Tara - well, at least Ryan looked amused. I'd be dealing with the repercussions of insulting that twat tomorrow. Great.
Ah, well. I couldn't hide the bitch in me forever. Now they knew.
"Sorry about that," I called back to them, pushing my way rather unsuccessfully through the crowd. "That's Tara, she's a bit of a bitchface."
"Tactfully put," Heather called. "I said my name was Heather, where'd she get Hannah?"
"Don't worry about it," I laughed. "She called me Claudia for two years - you should be flattered, she at least got the first letter in your name right."
The three of them laughed as we drifted back towards the far end of the building, towards the dining area. There were people everywhere, music blaring from every corner and dancing, screaming sluts farther than the eye could see. Fabulous. A sea of loud whores! Where was a harpoon when I needed it.
Luckily, the farther back we went in the building, the more dispersed the drunks and the more peaceful it became. Thank God - one more rap song and I think I would've killed someone. Once we were out of the crowds of people, the three of them had caught up and we'd all begun to chat. I had found Jess was right - Heather was not only the sweetest girl in the world, but she was hilarious. Katrina, who I'd definitely remembered meeting once or twice, was her usual bubbly self. Ryan, quiet but so strangely enticing, walked along silently beside Heather.
We came to a stop in the kitchen on the main floor - it was one of those utility kitchens, stainless steel everything. Just with a quick glance around, I could count at least ten prep tables, four ovens, three refrigerators - countless pots and pans hanging everywhere. There were only a few people in here - by few, I mean eleven or twelve - but it was wonderfully, strangely, relaxing.
"There's a crapload of drinks in the fridge," I informed them, motioning to the fridge with my own drink. "You're welcome to all of them, if you guys drink, that is?"
"I don't, but Katrina here loves her booze," Heather said cheerfully.
"I swear, I'm not a drunk," Katrina said, rolling her eyes. "Taddy, you're not coming to parties with me anymore. People always end up thinking I'm a closeted alcoholic."
I laughed. "I believe you, don't worry. Besides, at these kind of parties, everyone looks like an alcoholic."
"That's what I like about 'em," Katrina said, looking around the room happily.
"Have you guys ever been to a sports kegger before?"
"Never," Heather said thoughtfully. "I think it's because we're paranormal investigators. Not exactly on the same 'cool' level as football or volleyball players."
Ryan and Katrina exchanged mortified grimaces, but I couldn't help laughing - this girl was absolutely adorable! I loved her bluntness. It reminded me so very fondly of my own dear Sophie - my own dear, drunk, totally-fuckin'-ditched-me Sophie. But no matter. Heather was hilarious, not drunk and still here. Fabulous!
"Paranormal investigating is definitely not the lowest spot on the totem pole," I assured them. "I think it's pretty cool, actually. Even if no one else does, I mean .. it's not like you're Chairmen for the 'Rebuilding the Death Star' committee. That would likely warrant more bullying than your line of work."
They laughed, and I couldn't help but peek up at Ryan - that boy had a fantastically smooth, happy laugh. I wanted to sexually assault his chuckle. That's how fantastic it was. Is that wrong of me? Yeah .. whatever. I guess I'm a sucker for a man with a smoldering laugh. Ow owwww.
Heather opened her mouth to speak, but I saw Katrina's hand whip out and grab her arm excitedly - she was wide-eyed and beaming over at the far corner of the kitchen. Confused, Heather followed her gaze over to the opposite end of the room - and a huge smile strikingly similar to Katrina's crossed her face as well.
"David?" Katrina called, looking at a dark-skinned man near the back door. "David Sacranie?"
"Katrina Weidman! Jesus, I haven't seen you guys in forever!"
"Hi David!" squealed Heather excitedly. "It's me! Heather!"
"Taddy!" the man boomed. "For God's sake, it's like a high school reunion all over again!"
"Oh man," Heather beamed, as Katrina pulled her arm excitedly towards the David boy. "We'll be back in a bit, guys!"
I saw her give a subtle little wink to Ryan, as she and Katrina flew across the kitchen over to their long lost pal. What this little twitch meant, I had no idea - but it made my stomach flop uneasily.
Do you know what this meant, though? Do any of you realize what just happened?
Because before either one of us could really react and before either of us actually realized it - Ryan and I were alone.
Completely. Indefinitely. Inexplicably, alone. Which, I don't know about him - but this was perfectly fine with me.
I don't know if it was the Corona's getting the better of me, or if I finally actually grew a pair, but something inside let go - the knot in my stomach eased, my anxiety ceased and I felt altogether more comfortable. I blinked, and my vision fuzzed.
Ah hah! So it was the alcohol. Thank you, Captain Morgan shots. It's about time you kicked in - I was dyin' over here!
Feeling much more at ease, I leaned back against the counter and studied Ryan closely. His eyes were still turned towards the fleeing Katrina and Heather, and his brow was furrowed in the slightest. Which definitely was not a bad thing - he looked disgustingly handsome from this angle and from this level of buzzed-ness.
I smiled in spite of myself, biting my lip thoughtfully. God, did no one else realize how completely friggin' gorgeous this guy was? He had big, beautiful brown eyes and beautiful tanned skin - thick hair, great teeth, perfect height. A bit on the thin side, but I could handle that. He looked back down at me and smiled. Hot, hot, hot damn. Someone's bones were going to be jumped.
"Do you know him too?" I asked casually, trying to act as if I was not just staring stupidly at his ridiculously good-looking face.
Ryan shook his head and took a glance back over at the guy. "Naw .. probably someone from their Lit class. Or an ex-boyfriend or somethin'? Never seen him before."
"Ex-boyfriend?" I said slyly, with feigned interest. "That doesn't make you uncomfortable?"
He shook his head. "No, why would it?"
"Oh, I just thought you and Katrina were together, actually," I said simply. "That's all."
Ryan laughed. "No, those two are some of the best friends I've ever had - but definitely not girlfriends. I'm single."
Perfect.
I smiled. "Cheers to singledom! Oh shit, I'm such a terrible host - you want somethin' to drink?"
"You're a fantastic host," he reassured me, with a very shy but very adorable little glance down at his feet. "But yeah, sure I'll have one."
I fought a smile, and opened the fridge to my left. I rifled around through the half empty shelves. "There's a couple of two sixes of vodka in here, a bit of Coke, if you're willing to risk the potential date raped alcohol. Lets see ... well, I brought Corona's, I don't know if you like 'em ... there's some Labatt in here too and some Mike's Hard, in case you're not a beer type."
"Corona, please," he said, eyes brightening. "My favorite kind of drink."
"Mine too!" I said excitedly, waving my half empty bottle. "Seriously, does it get better than a Corona and lime?"
"I can't think of anything that would make life better," he said, with such sincere honesty I couldn't help but laugh.
Single and his favorite drink was Corona's. This night was only getting better!
I grabbed a cold one from the fridge, and popped the top off on the scratched, warped counter of a nearby prep table. "No limes, bud, I'm sorry."
"This will suffice," he said glumly.
I giggled, and took a sip of my own drink. "I'm really glad you came, Ryan."
"I am too," he said, taking a small sip. "In complete honesty, this is my first sports kegger."
"That surprises me," I said, picking at the label on my bottle habitually. "You seem like the sporty type."
He laughed and shook his head. "I chase ghosts for a living, because they scare me less than catching a football does."
He and I both laughed, and continued to take our awkward little sips and quick little glances at one another. God, it felt like a cheesy high school movie.
I loved it.
"It's not for everyone," I said fairly, sliding up onto the counter. "I love volleyball, but if I had to sit through a game of football, I think I'd die of boredom."
"Really?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "You're not even a PSU fan?"
"I've tried!" I said earnestly. "I'm always rootin' for them. But sitting through an entire game? Maybe if someone had me sedated."
He laughed again, that absolutely fantastic throaty chuckle. I swear, it was my new mission in life to make and hear this boy laugh - it warmed my entire soul, I could feel it.
"So you must be a football fan, then," I said, with a grin. "Do you go to all the games?"
"I try to," he said, nodding shyly. "My job keeps me away from the campus a lot though, and it's nothing I can really plan ahead of time."
"No kiddin," I said. "How often are you off on an investigation?"
"It varies," he said thoughtfully, running a finger absentmindedly against the bottle's neck. "Ever since - "
I nodded, trying harder than you can even imagine to listen to his story, but failing miserably. It wasn't my fault, though! - from the hallway came loud, angry banging and furious yelling. I took a quick glance around at the people lingering in the kitchen, but no one else seemed to care - no, care's not the right word. Notice, is more like it.
Great, I thought irritably. It's nothing living that's making that noise.
"Imbeciles!" the grouchy, wavering old voice yelled. "I cleaned these floors, I cleaned them! Where's the fire alarm ... stupid brats, see who'll be laughing when the firefighters show up ... kick 'em all out. Send em to jail .. yeah, give'm what they deserve! INSOLENT, INSUFFERABLE SWINES!"
" - so it's about a bi-weekly occurrence now," Ryan finished, with a little sigh.
"You must be exhausted," I said sympathetically, the old man's piercing howls loud and angry in my ears.
"It's worth it," he said simply.
"PILES OF SHIT, DISGUSTING BRATS," the voice roared. "GONE, BUT I WON'T BE FORGOTTEN. We'll see who has the last laugh when the firefighters crash your little shin-dig. SLAMMER FOR YOU IGNORANT ASS, AND YOU SNOTTY BITCH, AND YOU - "
Fantastic. This son of a bitch was going to pull the fire alarm. Fucking great. Well, I didn't plan on waitin' for shit to hit the fan. I'm a deal-with-it-right-away kinda person.
"I know you're probably really sick of having to explain what you do a million and a half times, but I really would love to hear more about PRS," I said softly, amidst the screaming and roaring in my ears. "Your friends have kinda disappeared, too ... do you uhm .. do you wanna come walk with me?"
In his own irritating way, this old ghost had completely turned things around in my favor: not only could I get out of this party (like I had so desperately been attempting to do ten minutes ago), but I could get out of here with Ryan.
"Sure," Ryan said, in a voice of horribly unsubtle forced calm (I loved it - his nervousness tugged at my heartstrings, awwwe!). "Yeah - I'd love to."
"Awesome," I said joyfully, sliding off the counter and taking his arm lightly in my hand. His body was warm and secure against my side. Slightly stiff, but I imagine any guy that's grabbed by some random girl gets a little stiff (I literally bit my tongue to keep from laughing at the potential of that fantastic 'that's what she said' joke - God, what an absolutely golden one that would've been!).
I pulled him gently along beside me towards the back doors of the building, the faint smell of his body wash and a sharp, minty scent hazing up my brain. I sniffed, subtly as I could (go ahead, call me a creep - you can honestly say you've never sniffed a really cute guy before?). Oh jeeze louise. I think he used old spice.
Ladies love Old Spice. Got that, men? Slather yourself in old spice and we will slather ourselves on you.
... Well. I will, anyways.
"You're not supposed to be here or anything?" he asked me, with slight amusement in that smooth voice. "You don't have to do anymore press or keep an eye on your team, do you?"
I laughed and shook my head. "Definitely not. I'm not their babysitter, thank God. In fact, I'd rather not be near any of them right now. Drink too much for their own good, the whole lot of them .. but trust me on this one, I don't think we're gonna wanna be in here much longer."
"I trust you," he said, so softly I could hardly hear him. Walking with his lean self right next to my own body, I could barely hide a smile -
what a cutie patutie he was, that Ryan Buell.
(Ryan)
So, let me bring you up to speed here.
Right now, at 11:30PM on this beautiful Wednesday evening, I am walking through the eastern state campus gardens with none other than Harlow Vincent. My crush, the apple of my eye, my obsession, my future wife. All true. Well. Except maybe not the last one. Ahem, yet.
Ten minutes ago, she'd found me in a crowd of people. Two hundred people, and she had found me. Chose me to talk to. A sea of people, mostly jocks and the popular students. And she had found good ol' nerdy ghost hunter, me. I know. I'm as confused as you are.
Eight minutes ago, she offered me a beer. Not just any beer, oh no. A Corona. This was my favorite beer. This, apparently, was her favorite beer. This was yet another reason (reason number 132 on my list, to be exact) why I knew she and I were meant to be together for forever and ever and ever. Why we were meant to knock some serious boots, enjoy some spectacular wedded bliss and then make some horrifically adorable babies. It was a sign from God, people. From God.
Somewhere in the house, we had lost Katrina and Heather (and if I knew them as well as I thought I did, than I'm preeeeetty sure their "random meeting" with their "old friend" [I'm doing air quotes right now, FYI] was not, infact, so random after all). So they were gone, disappeared only moments after I began my conversation with this fantastically beautiful, darling girl. Now, I was terrifically, wonderfully and utterly alone with Harlow.
In a garden.
Alone.
At night.
All alone.
Oh thank you, sweet Jesus.
We were alone.
"So the Paranormal Research Society," Harlow said thoughtfully, her slight frame bobbing happily along beside me as we walked through the beautiful park. "That's a pretty unique organization, huh?"
"Sadly," I said, nodding in agreement. "Such a fascinating, misunderstood topic."
She nodded. "You can say that again. I think it's just wonderful what you do, Ryan."
I blushed, that horrific but all too familiar feeling of embarrassment rising up in my chest, up to my cheeks. "Thanks .. it's important to me, I just .. well, I just want to help people."
A small smile flickered across that beautiful face. "You know, some people just go the easy way and become doctors or somethin' when they wanna help people."
"Why spend eight years learning to cut up a heart when I could go record the voice of some entity that passed two hundred years ago," I said with a shrug. "Textbooks or EVP's - I know which I'd prefer."
She laughed, that wonderful, tinkling giggle that made my heart skip a beat. It really was a wonderful little sound - lemme put just how fantastic it was into perspective for ya'll: if that laugh had been a person, I would have made sweet sweet love to it. That is how fantastic it is.
"Well hey, it's probably a lot less gory," she said fairly. "You must really love it though, you've put in so much time and effort. How many students are in your class now? Last time I walked by, the classroom was nearly full!"
I nodded, trying to fight a smug grin. "Fifty people, now."
She looked over at me wondrously, with a small, perplexed smile. "Did you ever think it'd get that big?"
I shook my head, ignoring the terrible urge to throw in one of my 'that's what she said' jokes. "Not in a million years. The television series doesn't hurt, though .. a lot of people seem more open to it now than two years ago. It's weird, I don't know why ..."
"It's probably because it's presented on a more global scale," she said thoughtfully, big eyes round and curiously insightful. "Mainstream media pushes something like PRS - ghost shows, paranormal series, stuff like that - people respond positively, and the topic that was once so forbidden and mysterious becomes less taboo. More generally accepted, y'know?"
I blinked and looked at her in surprise. "Yeah ... yeah, that sounds about right. You're one smart cookie, huh?"
She flushed, looking horribly awkward. An expression which on her, made my whole heart melt.
"Media fascinates me," she said simply, with an embarrassed little grin. "I seriously nerd out whenever I get to talk about it ... it's the psychology geek in me."
I laughed and shook my head. "It sounded more smart than nerdy, believe me."
"I'm glad you think so," she said cheerfully. "Now, ignoring my horribly embarrassing nerd attack and back to the sudden fluctuation of students in your class - you think they're all in it because they're interested in the paranormal?"
"Hm," I said with a frown, thinking hard. "I .. I don't know. Some of them I think have a very sincere interest in it. Some of them - well, some of them I'm well aware could not give a flying fuck about it. They just want to be on TV. But who am I to turn any willing student away?"
Harlow nodded sadly. "The pros and cons of fame, huh?"
I blushed (sigh - yet again.) and she put a small hand gently on my arm, giggling - how I wish she knew that just made the redness worse. "Oh, I don't know, I would hardly call it fame ... it's gotten the word out though, that's for sure and we're helping more and more people all the time. It feels great. I think we're making a difference. Slowly but surely."
"I think it's just fantastic," she said softly, her feet now in sync with mine as we trudged up the hill. "It's great you've brought light to it, Ryan. It's definitely something that needs to be known and recognized and universally acknowledged. In my humble opinion, anyways. So many people have been affected by hauntings and possessions and the paranormal - an increasing number everyday. You're helping so many people overcome it, and come to terms with it. I swear, you're gonna turn all the non-believers into paranormal enthusiasts in no time."
I laughed, my hand accidentally brushing lightly against hers - I felt a very gnarly case of the willies comin' on. "Something tells me you're a bit of a believer as well?"
She didn't look at me, but as I turned to peek at her, I saw something deep in those shining mossy green eyes - a burning. I didn't know what it was, couldn't pinpoint it. But I saw the blaze beneath the stoney calm. It was subtle, so far beneath the surface, hidden from almost all prying eyes. But I had watched Harlow, studied her, lusted after her for far too long. The change was drastic for me. No longer bright and content, but hazy and fierce.
"Oh boy. You've got no idea," she said finally, her soft and cool voice making a liar of the intensity that raged so fiercely in those peepers. She glanced up at me, curious but with a small, friendly smile.
"I'd like to," I said quietly, trying to not shit bricks at the potential of having an actual, meaningful conversation with Miss Vincent (you know, contrary to the 'me stuttering and falling and accidentally grabbing her bosom for support' kind of exchange I originally thought I'd be doomed to have). "You don't have to tell me, though, if you don't want to. Your beliefs are your beliefs."
She stared at me speculatively. "What are yours?"
"Well," I said. "I believe they exist, and I believe in the paranormal."
She looked at me thoughtfully, long brown hair blowing softly behind her. "Why?"
"Well," I said slowly and carefully. "I believe in it because I had an experience when I was young. It stemmed from that, I suppose. When I was young, no one really believed me, believed that my experience was legitimate. By the time I hit my teens, I was intrigued with the whole concept of the paranormal. And I wanted answers."
She looked consciously ahead, stepping with easy grace along next to me. "So you started the Paranormal Research Society to get them? Answers, I mean. Get answers for the questions you had when you were young."
I nodded. "That was a big part of the reason, definitely."
"Tell me," she said softly. "Did you get them?"
The air grew still between us, as I pondered the question. Had I? The questions I had asked myself over and over again when I was growing up, the things I'd wondered and wished I had known. The unknown that I was desperate to figure out - had I found what I was looking for?
"I think that's more than just a yes or no question," I said finally. "I've found peace and I've found meaning. But as for the answers myself and every other person in this line of work are looking for, it's still a mystery. There are some questions I'll never have answered, and I know that."
"But you've found peace," she repeated with due consideration, eyes wandering up to my own. "With the hectic schedule you have and all of the responsibilities, you can honestly say you're at peace?"
"Within myself," I said confidently.
We came to a slow stop at the top of the hill, and I turned to look at her - she was staring me hard in the face, green eyes set and pensive. I saw it still, the fire burning in those emeralds, and I was entranced by it. They swallowed you whole, those eyes - they had no end. But as suddenly as it had appeared, the fire ceased and the bright pupils looked back up at me, satisfied.
"Are you at peace?" I said rather stupidly, trying desperately to find a topic - I think I was going cross-eyed from staring at her.
Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at me inquisitively. "What do you mean?"
I blinked, and tried to clear my murky, dreamy mind. "I mean ... I had so many questions when I was young and I was so restless and agitated about everything ... but I found a place and a time in my life when things made sense, and I came to peace with it all. I don't know much about your family and your childhood or even your current situation, really, but everyone in the world is searching for the same kind of thing. Have you found what you're looking for? Meaning, direction .. peace?"
She bit her lip, and looked worriedly out over the flowery gardens.
She looked so pretty there, and I could feel my heart flutter. Her hair blew so softly, so subtly in the breeze, and I could still get a whiff of that vanilla bean perfume. Her eyes were round as saucers, bright as the sun and serious as I'd ever seen them. I could feel my hand rise slowly, awkwardly, but then fall back to my side - I was not going to ruin this moment by accidentally fondling her boobie.
"Peace," she said, very softly. "I don't think I even know what that is."
"You've never felt at peace?" I asked incredulously. "Not even for a minute?"
"I don't know," she said quietly. She turned and looked at me serenely and smiled a very sad, very shy smile. "My life has been anything but."
"You seem very focused," I said, disbelieving. "Good direction, a pretty happy existence. On the outside, anyways, that's what I always thought. You always seem so content, satisfied with life, y'know? You look at ease."
She laughed quietly, an indefinite bitterness in it. "Well that's the idea."
There was a silence between us for a moment, as I watched an overwhelming sadness pass through her face. It was there for only a split second, but I saw it and I think she knew I did too. She turned her head slightly, away from me and towards the forest.
"So you're not, really?" I asked.
She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I think ... I think I'm slowly figuring it out. The whole peace thing, y'know?"
"It seems so perfect," I said, the words coming out before I really thought them through - before I could stop them. "You do, I mean. Your life, it seems .. ideal."
She looked at me, brow furrowed. Not angrily, I didn't sense any irritation - all I could see was thoughtfulness in her expression. Slight surprise. A little pinch of relief.
"Really?" she said, softly. "That's what you see when you look at me?"
"I think it's what everyone sees," I said, slowly and hesitantly but honestly - this whole word vomit thing was really going to end up biting me in the ass.
She blinked, and a small smile appeared faintly on her lips. "Good. That's good. I like that."
"But it's not true, is it," I said softly, searching that face intently. "It - life - your life. It's not perfect. It looks it, but it's not ..."
"It's nowhere near," she agreed quietly. "But it is what it is."
"Does it bother you?" I asked her. "People having that picture of you, that idea ... I'm sorry if I offended you at all."
"No, no, you didn't offend me," she said simply, resting a hand lightly on my arm. "The way I see it ... is if people look at me and think I've got it all, well that's alright with me. I'd rather them see that than the person I feel like I look like most of the time. Sometimes it's better that way. Nobody is perfect, and if you see a person who looks it, they're probably more flawed than anyone else. Nobody wants to be perfect."
"But that's what so many of us strive for," I said, more thinking outloud than really asking a question. "Perfection."
"And it's a tragic waste of an all too short life," she said quietly. "The fact is, being somebody doesn't make you anybody anyways. This is life, not heaven. You don't have to be perfect, and no one really is. Not even me. Especially not me."
I looked at her, and she looked back, the two of us alone under the moonlight. For the first time in all the years I'd been near Harlow, I wasn't nervous. I didn't feel my dinner creeping back up my throat. Didn't feel my mind swelling and my heart thudding. I saw her for once, as a very beautiful, very misunderstood, very brilliant - albeit, a very flawed - woman.
"I saw you everyday for the past four years," I said, my mouth moving without any assistance from my brain - yet again. "And everyday, I thought how wonderful you were. How you had everything going for you. How any guy on campus - in the world, really - would be lucky to be with you. Be near you. Be anything to you. I saw everything they saw, maybe even more - you were perfection, in the form of one girl."
"Tell me - do you still see that?" she asked quietly.
"I see the outside as perfection - I still do," I said slowly, this time my brain forbidding my mouth to work without it's help. "And you can try all you'd like, I'll always see you like that. As for the inside ... I see you as a person I would like to get to know. Much better than I do now."
"Do you think you can help me?" she asked evenly. "You think you can try and understand the complete disaster zone that is my mind?"
I smiled. "I can try to understand."
She looked at me intensely, eyes boring holes into my skin. "There's not much to understand here. I'm simple enough. Not perfect, regardless of what you might see. I'm flawed."
"Everyone is."
"I'm damaged."
"There's damage in all of us."
"But I'm not broken."
"I see nothing to fix."
The corners of her mouth twitched, and a moment later a bright smile broke across her face. "I like you, Ryan Buell. I like you a lot."
I opened and closed my mouth three or four times, completely speechless - I imagine I looked like a fish that got stuck on land or somethin'. She laughed, loudly and happily, and put a hand on my leg.
"You know, I don't think anyone in the world can slide from topic to topic like we do," she said cheerfully, patting my hip. "But I'm glad we did."
I opened my mouth to speak (or perhaps puke all over her, I could've shit myself in excitement at that point), when a long, loud wailing came from far behind us. The science building seemed perfectly fine, in good condition, but inside the roaring of the alarm continued.
"Fire alarm," I stuttered, barely getting the words out. "Oh Jesus, you don't think - "
"No," she said simply, without even a glance back at the building. "It's fine. Someone probably just pulled it."
I looked at her, and she looked back at me, face bright and mischievous.
"Do you know who pulled it?" I asked. "It's like you knew it was gonna happen - before, when you said we should get out of there."
She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Lucky guess, I suppose."
For some bizarre reason, there was a part of me - a rather big one - that didn't actually believe her. But before I could even call her on it, she turned on her heel and motioned to the science center with her head.
"We should head back," she said, hair blowing softly behind her. "See if Heather and Katrina are alright - just in case."
I nodded. "That's a good idea."
We walked in silence down the steep hill and began to walk back through the gardens. I could hear her light breathing next to me, and feel her warmth. I took a side glance at her and saw to some degree of astonishment, a cheerful little smile on her tanned face. She caught me looking, but only laughed as I blushed.
"C'mon, bud, don't worry," she said, eyes sparkling. "I don't bite."
And just as the awesome mental image of Harlow friggin' Vincent biting me popped into my obscenely dirty mind, I felt a light squeeze on the palm of my hand and felt her thin, small fingers intertwine with my own.
Oh my stars, there really was a God.
AUTHORS NOTE:
*cowers behind computer desk* Hi guys! Don't hate me, I know the update took about 28472935 years (give or a take a few), but the truth is (no really, it's the honest truth!):
I. HAD. SWINE FLU.
Yup. H1N1. Dear ol' Ella was hit with the piggy cold. Did it suck? Yes, hard. Did I think I was going to die? Oh absolutely. DID I DIE? No freakin' way! I couldn't do that to you guys. So I present to you, chapter four! The chapter I am not all that thrilled with but in all honesty, I was terrified to edit into the weekend in fear of Surri's wrath. ANYWAYS. I've got some serious thank you's to get around to!
SurriB, ashleymaria, kcollins, Snape's Gurl and voll3yg1rl - WOWZAS, I AM IN LOVE WITH ALL OF YOU! Two new reviewers, fabulous! And my three long timers, EVEN BETTA!! You guys have actually made my week. Reviews give me a bigger boost than steroids do to a weightlifter, or cocaine does to a disco dancer. WOO WOOO.
ashleymaria, i adore you more and YOU WILL HAVE TO WAIT AND SEE.
kcollins, well YOU are quickly turning into one of MY favorites. so HAH.
snape's gurl, you're on to something! love that keen and insightful brain of yours!
voll3y, i am DIGGIN' your name! i write about volleyball and you ARE volleyball. love it love it!
AND SURRIB. This chapter is dedicated to you. For without your threats, and angry message, I think this chapter would still be half finished sittin' on my computer.
ANYWAYS, again, really you guys I love your reviews and I appreciate them more than you will ever know. They are fabulous! Hope you enjoyed this very freakin' long chapter. I am off to collapse in a swiney pile of exhaustion on the bathroom floor. UNTIL NEXT TIME.
LOVE: Ellah!