Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Pull Up For The J! ❯ Cherry Lips (Go Baby Go!) ( Chapter 27 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Middie and Jared are rungs above Omarosa...
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 6.8K | Visits: 229 | Status: Completed
Middie and Jared are rungs above Omarosa...
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 6.8K | Visits: 229 | Status: Completed
Chapter Twenty-Seven:
“Cherry Lips (Go Baby Go!)” Garbage
Max stared at the sign for the Valentine’s Day dance, and gave a thoughtful expression. Shifting his notebook and other texts to his other arm, he wondered if he should be bold and ask someone to go. He really loved dancing–dance clubs had been his thing back in Yuma, and he’d been told he had great style. Plus, it always a nice icebreaker–despite the fact that it made him break out in a cold sweat and rendered his insides heavier than a full Disneyland cruiser. He was determined to go without his usual prescription in a dosage that was lower than recommended, sure that his anxiety was all in his mind. After all, it didn’t seem to be a problem with anybody here...everyone was so broadcast with their emotions and didn’t hide what they felt or thought.
No, he had enough of guys proposing to ‘take care’ of him after he graduated, and for the girls to carry his children despite the fact they were all unable to take care of themselves. Frankly, this school was starting to worry him. Everyone was so...creepy.
Shuddering, he turned away from the sign, just in time to see the hall moving again. Apparently, the sight of him studying the sign had rendered all speechless and hopeful. With a thoughtful frown, he started onto class, wondering who he should ask.
Research into this ‘Felicia’ had yielded him quite scary results–apparently, this seventeen year old was capable of beating up boys, was a superhuman, had no femininity in her body, and was rumored to be twice pregnant with Quatre Winner’s twins....whatever that meant. She was also friends with nearly every male in the school, had been in a ‘serious’ relationship with resident ex-psycho-murderer Hautta James, and currently played basketball for the team, with a rather unimpressive shot record. Oh, and she was Native American, five foot two (having a girl smaller than him was preferable despite her aggressiveness–he wasn’t that big of a pansy–but then again, he didn’t consider himself a pansy), a hundred and twenty-five pounds, and loved anything sweet. She also had a partaking to Jimboy’s, could get drunk off a whole twelve pack, and had a questionable relationship with a Duncan Jones student that was nearly six years her age.
Well...his thoughts about her were still the same. Despite the scariness of her record, he had thought that she was quite...nice. And humorous, entertaining, and interesting. And beautiful. It would have to be up to him to decide whether or not she was still the ‘scary’ student everyone thought she was. He thought about asking her, but then received an image of her punching him after he asked, roaring with displeasure and embarrassment, and dragging him off to the dance by his hair.
Hmm...
Now, research on Quatre Winner–that gave him mixed results as well. There had been a whole majority of rather feminine looking freshmen boys that loved the baller in the worst way–they worshiped his every move and word. Max figured that taking their word on that he was the greatest thing since grease and potatoes was a sort of biased one. But what he’d learned was that Quatre had recently broken up with a boyfriend that had made some sort of sex tape with an international porn star, and was currently knocking boots with a senior named Triton Bloom, a student from Sageville, and was looking to be a step-father to a Stanton player’s son. He was currently five foot nine and a half (yes, having a guy taller than him was a natural want) , a hundred and thirty pounds, and liked chocolate. He was also rumored to be horrendously sexually aggressive, and had a temper that flared whenever someone pushed him too much. He was also a very good ball player (this one he could confirm from the student paper and the city newspaper), quite challenged when it came to academics, had a misogynic attitude, and had an ass that never jiggled. Ahem. Well, he hadn’t looked there, but he should confirm this for himself.
NOW.
He liked them both. He had to admit it. He liked Felicia’s beauty and pugnacity, and had to admit that she was a challenge that he found quite interesting to explore. He liked Quatre’s aggressiveness and handsome looks, and he especially liked the bit about him being sexually aggressive. This was special because he didn’t have any experience in that area, and his reasoning with sex was that if he got with someone who knew what they were doing, he should be fine.
All in all, this was a dilemma for him. One he’d never dream of having...Whoever heard of a new student that developed crushes on both a guy and a girl, and both that were apparently best friends? Quite odd indeed...it was enough for a manga!
He wanted to take both to the dance.
Was that even possible? Could such a thing happen? He scrunched his forehead, thinking about this. It was a pretty big decision, and one based on indecision. Well...and selfishness. It was outrageous for him to think so, but this city and this school–! It made him think rather fantastically of things, and for this idea to pop up in his head...well, it just went to show that the influence was hitting him pretty strongly. After all, it was an awesome idea, but one that didn’t rightly go with common sense and realistic thinking.
But...it was an awesome idea! A great one!
Instead of yearning after one, he could have both. And it wasn’t as if they were both serious about someone...and he had a feeling they had an interest in him...and what better to ask a couple to a dance than a couple that were friends? Yes! The more he thought about it, the better and more exciting the idea was. After all, Felicia had said that ‘anything goes’...and this was an ‘anything’, right? Was the idea really that foreign and unrealistic?
Okay, it couldn’t hurt to try. Maybe he’d just ask them both, at separate times in which he could catch them alone. He’d noticed that they weren’t attached to the hip all the time. Maybe if he asked them both, then gradually introduced the idea that they were all going together...
Wow. He was still reeling over the fact that he was actually considering this idea. It was absolutely outrageous! He couldn’t believe he was doing this!
...It couldn’t hurt. Sure, he’d be embarrassed if either one or both rejected him. But at least he could say that he tried. This new city and this new school sure gave him some new attitude adjustments. Yuma had been a small town, and so rejection was much more stronger in effect than this place would be. It wasn’t as if he were in love with either of them, so...
Ah, hell. He’d just go and try before he lost his nerve.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre was busy gnashing down on a pineapple Danish with Felicia talking about some guy when he heard her choke suddenly. She had been drinking Coke, and in an effort to save herself, she spit what she’d drank all over his face.
“Wow Trowa looks pissed!” she commented as Quatre glared at her, wiping Coke from his face.
Indeed, looking up, he saw that Trowa was streamlining right toward him. He also saw the mad look in the goth’s eyes, and the frustrated expression of his new girlfriend behind him. He raised his eyebrows in question, trying to think of what he’d done to make Trowa so pissed. Usually, when the goth was pissed, he was either sucking a crackpipe or stewing in paint thinner. This was an event. The goth looked sober for once.
“You hypocrite!” Trowa snarled once he reached him.
“Okaaaay...what’d I do?” Quatre asked curiously, peering at him through his bang.
“You were crying around that I was using! I found some shit in your bag yesterday!” Trowa growled, poking his chest.
Quatre gave Trowa a befuddled expression, having no idea what was being implied. And furthermore, what was Trowa doing in his bag? Growing slowly infuriated that Trowa was snooping through his things, he growled back, “What the fuck are you talking about? What the hell were you doing going through my bag?”
“I thought I saw something in there that belonged to me, so I grabbed it without telling you. Seeing as you take all your things without telling me in the first place!” Trowa snarled, ignoring the interested looks that were being shot their way. Since they were in the main hall near the cafeteria, interested spectators looked at them curiously as they passed from the cafeteria to their morning classes.
“First of all, I don’t have anything that belongs to you!” Quatre snapped, unintimidated by the way Trowa was trying to loom over him. Then he frowned. Actually, he did. Now that he thought about it...it was the other way around.
With a sheepish expression, he gave a nervous chuckle, then frowned again when Trowa gave him an exasperated look. Then he realized that Trowa was accusing him of using drugs. Which did not settle with him very much.
With an indignant roar, his Danish went flying. “I AM NOT USING! How DARE you come up to ME and accuse ME of using shit when YOU’RE the one always WHACKED out on your fucking BULLSHIT!”
“I found Double G in your bag, yesterday, you little crackwhore! That’s why you lost so much weight, isn’t it?”
“You BASTARD! You fucking doped up BASTARD! I’ll bet you’re HIGH right now, AREN’T you?”
“I am clean as water, son! And I can’t believe you’d go and throw this shit on my back when you’re doing the bullshit in the fucking closet!”
“BASTARD!”
“LYING BASTARD!”
Felicia snorted as the names continued to fly. So far, from what she understood, Trowa snooped in Quatre’s bag yesterday, found something questionable, and was accusing Quatre, basically, of not sharing. Huh. Typical guy problems–something she’d never understand.
She rolled her eyes to look at Sylvia, who looked infuriated as she watched Trowa yell at Quatre. The girl was obviously agitated that her boyfriend was confronting his ex over something so ridiculous. Of course, this was funny to Felicia, and she loved causing problems. Giving an evil smirk, she curled her arms behind her back and leaned toward her.
“Looks like the Barton’s not over Quat, huh?” she whispered, Sylvia hearing her with a hiss of breath. “It’s soooo obvious the two want to get back together...Just settle down with the tape, Sylvia...that’s about how close you’re gonna get wit’ him.”
Sylvia looked at her with a quelling snarl, brushing her hair from her face. “Fuck off, cunt.”
“I’m just trying to help–!”
“Go get a life of your own!” Sylvia cried, facing her. “Stop interfering with others’!”
“I am NOT interfering with other people’s lives, whore! You’re the one jumping in when neither one was prepared!” Felicia roared, throwing off her bag.
Sylvia pushed her angrily. “You’re always talking shit! Why don’t you back it up, for once?”
An interested crowd gathered in anticipation of a cat fight. Trowa and Quatre realized that the girls were shrieking at each other, and cut themselves off from their next round of insults. They turned away from each other to see Sylvia yanking at Felicia’s hair, and the brunette slamming a fist into the girl’s gut. Sylvia lost her breath, doubling over as Felicia smirked in satisfaction.
But even as Sylvia felt that her insides were smashed flat by the hit, her fingers curled into her blazer pocket, for the pot of chapstick that she kept with her at all times. She made a fist around the pot of chapstick, and swung at the other girl. Felicia snapped her head back to avoid the hit, and Sylvia took the advantage for a tackle that was meant for high school football movies.
The crowd roared with pleasure as Felicia went down.
Trowa snorted, and Quatre looked rather annoyed as he looked up at the other boy.
“You realize your girlfriend’s getting beat up?” he asked.
Trowa shrugged. “She started it. If she can’t handle it, then that’s her problem.”
“Wow. I just love your compassion.”
“Hey...that’s just how things are. Things aren’t serious between us.”
“That’s fucking messed up, Trowa. That’s your girl.”
“So? They’re both girls...they can handle it.”
Someone shrieked, and Sylvia went flying through the crowd, thrown forcefully from a superhuman classmate. Kids cheered as she crawled right back to her feet, and with a animalistic shriek, flung herself back at Felicia, who simply laughed maniacally, not really trying to fight her back.
“Still...” Quatre trailed off, watching the fight for a couple of seconds, then turned back to Trowa. Frowning, he asked, “Why were you looking through my bag, anyway?”
Trowa shrugged again, looking at him. “Yesterday, when you were at the vending machine? It was wide open. I...I saw an envelope inside, and...I don’t know. You know what? I don’t know why I took it.”
Quatre stared up at him, blinking slowly. “You weren’t lying, were you?”
“About what?”
“I...still...still having feelings for me. Because...why would you take something that was addressed to me, unless...?”
Trowa didn’t look at him, frowning as he watched Felicia stand up, Sylvia over her shoulders. He tried to ignore the intent gaze Quatre was giving him as he waited for his answer. Why did he take the envelope? Simply because someone else was interested in his ex? He remembered his vow, of wanting to destroy any chances the blond may have with others, to keep him all to himself, but...had the reaction simply been automatic, especially when Trowa had convinced himself he was moving on?
He shrugged again. “Maybe. I don’t know, Quat. I...it was an impulse, I suppose. Just...something...I don’t know. It doesn’t fit well that you...that I...fuck. I don’t know.”
Quatre shifted his bag to his other shoulder, hands finding themselves in his pockets. Chewing at his bottom lip, he stared at the floor. Standing next to Trowa, feeling the security of his presence...it felt good. Real good. Here, he could just reach out, touch the other...and feel secure once more.
At the confusion of his feelings, he shook his head, shrugging his own shoulders.
Understanding was passed, and the pair faced each other once more.
“Sorry,” Trowa then grumbled. “I didn’t mean to come out like that. You probably had a good explanation as to why I found Double G in your bag...no matter the fact that I took something without your permission, anyway.”
“That’s all right. Sorry I was right about things.” Quatre flicked his hair from his face. Trowa repressed a laugh. That had been said with a straight face. He looked down to smile at the other, Quatre giving him a shit-eating grin. The pair of them were once more comfortable and secure with each other.
“And I’ve never done drugs, Trowa, you have to believe me. I don’t know how that shit got into my bag. Honestly.”
“Well, it looked like it was from an admirer, or something...”
“Really? Why would they give me drugs?” Quatre wondered out loud as the two began walking to their next class, ignoring the fight that was going on in their honor.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Jared watched Middie as the blond carefully upended the small vial of Gin-Gin into one of Quatre’s socks, her face mixed with concentration and glee. She handed him the vial, and shook the sock around to get the powder thoroughly absorbed by the cotton. When she was done with that, she began repeating the actions with another sock.
“You know what this stuff does?” she asked him, casting him a sideways glance.
“Trowa uses it. I mean, I never really know the difference, but...” Jared shrugged. “I thought if I pinched a little here and there, he wouldn’t notice that he’s missing some.”
“He must use a lot,” Middie then grumbled, looking at the vial. “How long did it take for you to get this much?”
“I don’t know. A little over a week. He isn’t using as much, though. He and his girlfriend–”
“‘Girlfriend’?”
&# 8220;Yes. Sylvia Noventa. Didn’t you know?”
“Never mind,” Middie commanded, shaking her head. “Anyway, this stuff absorbs into your skin...if he wears these socks, he should be able to feel it after awhile...then I’ll continue bothering Ramos about doing random drug tests on his athletes...it should work. I mean, the coach does it for the wrestling team, and for the other teams...I’m pretty sure Ramos will do it with his, just to follow guidelines.”
“He’ll have enough in his system to have it detected?” Jared asked curiously.
“Yes. He should. Give me another one. I want to do it to all his socks.”
Jared quickly rummaged through his pockets, withdrawing a vial. Middie exchanged the empty one for this one, and continued her work with the rest of Quatre’s clean socks. Jared smirked in satisfaction, just thinking of the feelings he’d have when Ramos discovered his star player had drugs in his system. Quatre would be booted from the team for sure. Drugs, while plentiful on campus and known by all that it was quite real, weren’t taken very nicely by the school officials. He had to admit, Middie’s plan was rather brilliant. He’d never have thought about that on his own.
Thus, the envelope that he and Middie had guessed would find its way to Quatre, who would open it, spilling it on himself...his skin would absorb it, little by little, but eventually, he’d have it in his system, detectable by drug tests. It was ingenious!
Jared then looked around the messy room, shaking his head.
“Such a fucking pigsty,” he commented, frowning at the mess on his floor, and at the several pairs of Spurs jerseys that hung over the desk chair.
“Don’t focus on that,” Middie commanded, setting the last sock back within the drawer, and shutting it. She then opened the one below that, making a face as she withdrew a pair of boxers with the tips of her fake nails. “Ugh...Hanes....what a loser.”
Jared scoffed at the cotton material. “Whatever happened to his daddy’s money? I notice that there’s a lot of cheap things in here...”
“You knew about his daddy?”
“I...I have a website that I devote all my rantings and ravings to, and I performed some research on him to back up my theories,” Jared sheepishly confessed, shrugging. “His father’s quite rich, but some of the things in here aren’t...”
Middie gave him a scornful look, then shut the drawer. Looking around the room, she snickered. She spotted Quatre’s cellphone, charging upon his desk, and walked over. Jared looked at the items that were cluttered on top of the dresser, and began to uncap and sniff at the two colognes that were stacked there. He recognized one of them as being a gift from Trowa–he figured Quatre wouldn’t be needing it, and put that into his pocket. The other one he sniffed, and raised his eyebrows in appreciation. He pocketed that one as well.
Middie turned to look at him, flipping through the menus on the cellphone. She read the names out loud as she came to them, frowning with each one. Tossing that aside, she then crouched, looking under his bed. She saw a few things under there that looked interesting, and pulled out the VCR, the fold-up tv, and a box. Putting the electronics away, she made herself comfortable on a patch of clean floor, and opened the box. Jared immediately recognized the contents as gifts from Trowa, and things that had involved the both of them.
“Aw...how sentimental!” he crowed, crouching on the other side of her. He reached in, picking up the puka shell necklace Trowa had given Quatre last year. He also examined wristbands that had never been worn, a pair of silk ties, love notes that Middie snatched from his hand to pocket, and some gothic style rings that Jared imagined to be Trowa’s, for he couldn’t imagine seeing Quatre wearing them.
“This is all the stuff Trowa gave him.”
“How sweet,” Middie muttered, picking up a pile of movie tickets. “And how sickeningly disgusting at the same time.”
“Who knew he was all romantic? And here, I’d thought he’d more rather mock people who keep things like this then actually do it,” Jared commented, dropping the necklace and looking at the plane ticket and ID’s that the boys had used last year to get to Laramie.
“Gross,” Middie muttered, looking at a tube of half used lube, using a shirt to move that up and out of the box. “Oh, look! Pictures!”
She shuffled through them, finding pictures of Quatre with Trowa, all of them either smiling, or making faces. One of them had been taken of the boys while they were walking to class, and Trowa looked good in it. She took that picture, stuffing it into the inside pocket of her blazer.
“Burn them all,” Jared said in disgust.
“You really hate him?”
“Yes. He’s so mean to Trowa. And to everyone else. Like everyone has to bow down to him.” Jared shuddered with revulsion. “I simply detest him.”
“You really want to make his life miserable, huh?” Middie asked, looking up at him with a half smirk on her face. “I mean, I could understand that you’d want to, if he did something to you–”
“He was always so fucking rude to me. Calling me ‘four-eyes’, calling me names, speaking to me as if I were nothing...I just couldn’t believe that Trowa wanted a person like him. I mean, Trowa’s so nice and considerate...you wouldn’t think that he’d pick him to be his lover...”
“I’m sure we’ve all had those kinds of thoughts,” Middie murmured, shifting through the box. She closed it, and tucked it back underneath his bed. Jared rose from his position, and lifted the mattress. There was nothing of interest there, so the pair gathered their school bags and left the room.
Little did they know, security was already on their tail for the intrusion.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
At lunch time, Quatre had just picked up a vegetable burrito and a Pepsi when he saw that an empty table in the food court beckoned him. With a gallant rush to claim the table before anyone else did, he carried his tray over, and looked for someone to come and talk to him. Trowa was off comforting Sylvia, Felicia was serving detention, and his usual gaggle of friends were missing. Either they all had lives, or he was just too cool for them.
He snickered at the last thought, and dipped his burrito in ranch dressing. Hell. The game against Stanton was going to be awesome. He couldn’t wait to play that night! He’d show Jake a thing or two...soon, Michael would look at him as the greatest ball player instead of his own father. Not that he wanted Michael’s admiration, or anything...
He was just not good with kids, and to be an idol to Michael was something scary to think about. He was halfway through his burrito when he noticed the sounds of people crashing into each other, of chairs flying, of food being randomly spit in various directions...
He had prepared himself for this. Reaching into his bag, he brought out a Nike felt hat and slapped that puppy onto his head. A satisfied smile curled his lips when the petals alighted on top rather than assaulted him with their virginal goodness.
“Hi,” Max said, sliding into a chair across from him. But Quatre had not prepared himself for Max’s beauty and ultra-smooth voice. So he promptly choked on his burrito, and had to throw himself over the back of a chair to save himself. “Where’s your friend?”
“W-which one?” Quatre wheezed as he sat back down.
“Felicia...”
“Detention. She got into a fight with some girl,” Quatre explained cautiously, feeling a little disappointed that Max was asking about her.
Really...if one looked at the guy long enough, it was just obvious he had to be a fairy...
Max looked briefly disappointed, frowning as he shifted in his seat. Then he looked at Quatre, and smiled shyly. “So...uh...I hear you’re single?”
“YES,” Quatre muttered, narrowing his eyes as he thought of Trowa. “I am.”
“Well...I know this is a little awkward, but...I was wondering if you would like to go to the dance with me?”
Quatre looked at him in surprise. Did he just say what he thought he did?
Max looked entirely nervous, fiddling with his knuckles as he waited for Quatre to give some sort of sign that he was interested, or even going to answer. Or...or even breathe...
Quatre choked on the air he inhaled, and looked at him again. “Did you just say–?”
Then he trailed off, looking at Max as if he were a creature that needed to be dissected immediately. He looked away from the beauteous creature and searched the full food court for people that were watching them, smirking with devious design. “Did someone set you up with this?”
Max blinked. “What?”
“Did someone pay you to say this to me? Where’s the camera?”
“Huh? W-what camera?”
Quatre rose from his seat, adjusting his hat. Petals fluttered off and away from it as he glared down at the other boy with a disapproving frown. “Someone paid you to say that to me, huh?”
“N-no! No! It’s not...I was just...see, I just wanted to...um...”
“Is this something you set up with Triton?”
“Uh...who’s that?”
“Not everyone wants to go to a dance with Quatre Winner, so he’s a little in shock that someone would want to.”
Both of them looked up at Trowa, who was giving Max a glare that would have frozen the Sahara. Nervously, Max regarded him with an expression reserved for raccoons that had gone mad on rabies. Trowa looked pissed as he gave Quatre a stare, waiting for the answer to Max’s question.
Quatre stared up at Trowa, wondering where the hell he’d come from and why he thought he could butt his makeup wearing face into his business. He really didn’t like that Trowa was trying to control him this way, no matter the fact that he was still stuck in disbelief that Max Sheridan was asking him to the dance. Hell, and what the fuck–? How did Trowa know Max was asking him to the dance? It was like he was stalking his every move–!
Still, to spite the hovering goth that seemed to have gone Stalker on him, he looked back at Max, growling out, “Yes, I’ll go to the dance with you.”
Trowa and Max looked at him, with a mixture of surprise and incredulity.
“Really?” Max asked, delighted in a manly way.
“What?” Trowa asked incredulously, outraged and unable to see Quatre at such a thing.
“You heard me.”
So did half the cafeteria, all of whom were watching ever since Max had sat down. Some people fainted from pure disbelief, others were whispering madly over this new thing. Someone actually wanted Quatre despite all the rumors. Did Max need to be saved and served with the whole truth? Or did he know what he was doing, despite his innocent character?
Max smiled with a pleased flush, while Trowa stared, open-mouthed, at Quatre. With a sullen expression, he stalked away, Quatre glaring after him. Max looked in the same direction, feeling more than pleased and happy that he was accepted so readily. While it looked like he still had issues with what looked to be his ex, Max wasn’t going to hold it against him. He was just happy that Quatre had agreed to him.
Before Quatre could say anything, though, he said a quick goodbye and left the table, to ask where the students being held in detention were.
Quatre blinked as Max left after that. Weren’t they supposed to discuss things about the dance... and what did he just do?
“Oh my god, what did I just say?” he asked himself aloud, mind frantically wondering why he’d agreed to go to a dance. A dance. He did not do dances. He wouldn’t be caught dead at one! For one, he didn’t dance. For two, dances were plain pathetic. For three, he didn’t dance–there was no possible way anyone could drag him out onto the dance floor to dance.
And would he have to dress up for this? The last time he dressed up was when Trowa took him out on the One Ill-Fated Date. He didn’t want to go to some dance!
“Fuck,” he cursed, throwing his hat off, petals flying everywhere. But he agreed, and Trowa was going... ha. Now that he thought about it, Trowa was going to the dance with Sylvia, he’d heard...ha! Now THAT had to be something he had to see! He couldn’t see Trowa out on the dance floor, shaking his groove thang to LL Cool J or Britney. It’d be rather...gross. And hilarious at the same time.
Yeah.
The more he thought about it that way, the more he grew amused at the thought of attending a dance. Just to see Trowa do his ridiculous Poppin’ and Lockin’ with Sylvia Noventa. Not that he was stalking Trowa or anything, just...
Yeah.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Felicia gave a bored expression at the clock, wondering why Sylvia got away with what happened and she had to be the one thrown in the slammer. The classroom was just a basic room, with average desks and no computer stations. Her bag sat at her feet, and she’d taken a seat in the very back, near the only window. There were four other students serving, all of them boys and all of them silent because the teacher had said so.
Thinking about her unfortunate circumstance, she scowled at the nubs she called nails. It had to be just because she was brown, dammit. This was racial injustice, and it was because Sylvia was white that she got–
Something bounced off her forehead, making her wince. She saw that it was a small, wadded up piece of paper, and she glared at it. Rubbing at the spot, she then looked around for the culprit, locating the trajectory course to the back door of the classroom. Blinking, she glanced at the teacher that was performing babysitting duty to those stuck in this unfortunate circumstance, and then glanced back at the door.
When she saw Max glance around the corner of the doorway to see if the coast was clear, she was very surprised. Especially so when he waved at her, signaling that he was coming in.
‘Coming in’? She stared at him in silent surprise as he walked in smoothly, and took a seat next to her, smiling in a dapper way that rendered her speechless.
“Excuse me?” the teacher called, catching sight of him. The other detention serving baddies glanced back at him, eager for a distraction. “Who are you?”
“Oh, I got sent in because...I...er...swore at my homeroom teacher,” Max explained with a slight flush, trying to think of a legitimate excuse to be here. “Um...Legrets. She’ll...uh...she said she’d be down to tell you in a few minutes.”
“Well...you must have really made her angry, for her to send one student down here on that simple offense,” the teacher muttered, shifting through his papers. “She usually takes things as a compliment. Well! The rules are simple: no talking, no moving, and no talking. Understand?”
Max nodded, then looked back at Felicia, who was staring at him in mute silence. The teacher sighed heavily, and opened up a magazine. Seeing that the adult was occupied, Max looked back at Felicia once more, then signaled for her hand. Felicia stared at him in stunned silence, then slowly reached over to his desk. Taking her hand within his, he then took out a pen from his blazer pocket, and wrote down a question.
She frowned at getting ink on her palm, but read the question when he let go.
The words, “Go to the Dance?” made her eyes widen. She looked at him, then back at her palm. Then she pulled her hand back and gave him a rib jab, a furious expression on her face.
Max gave a surprised yelp, then quickly straightened when the teacher looked up in their direction. Trying hard to compose himself, Max waited until he looked away to look back at her with a startled expression. He rubbed painfully at his side. She’d pulled the jab, obviously, but it was similar to that of a man’s. He had to remember that he was dealing with a superhuman, here. And not a fragile one, either.
She was busy writing on her palm with a pen of her own. She raised her hand to show that she’d crossed out “The” and “Dance?”, and wrote “Hell!!”, pointing at him after his eyes left the words. Her expression was plainly furious, insulted, and quite bothered that he’d asked her.
Frowning, he grabbed her hand, and added a few more words to the ones already written down. She pulled her hand back to read, “Only after dance.”
She glared at him, then added and subtracted a few things to say, “Only after Hell!! freezes over.”
Max frowned, and gestured for her other hand. Reluctantly, and admittedly with some interest, she handed over her other palm. He wrote, “Please?”
She stared at the word, then wrote furiously. He lifted an eyebrow after reading, “Where’s the camera?”
He crossed out two words, and added two more. “No camera. Honestly, please?”
She frowned at him again, then crossed her arms over her chest. She then presented her back to him. Max worked his lower jaw with concentration, then reached over to write on her desk top: “You’re scared, aren’t you?”
She read the words, and then blinked at the desecration of school property, something she wouldn’t even do. Admittedly, it wasn’t much, but...it did cause her interest to rise once more. There hadn’t been a guy that would write on a desk for her. As well as the fact that he thought her scared. That was a challenge. She turned to face him, shaking her head in response to the question. Max shrugged his shoulders in question, plainly asking, “Why?”.
Scowling at him, she thought about the question. Hell...even if it were a trick...but...no one had asked her to anything, for anything. No one had really made the effort to even do this for her–one had to admit, penetrating detention to get to her, just to ask her to the dance...? That was cause for interest. She swallowed, feeling a rise of excitement and uncertainty course through her. Was this a trick? Some sort of cruel hoax from a newbie, willing to impress the other students of the school? Or was he being sincere?
She looked at him, trying to determine the truth in those brilliantly beautiful hazel eyes of his.
Oh, Goddamn, he’s so hot, she thought, feeling a little embarrassed as she studied those pretty features of his. Her face flushed slightly as she stared at him. And he’s asking me to the dance...and I’d always thought that I’d never go to one of those–! But no one ever asked me, before...
Max nodded, trying to encourage her to accept his asking, and Felicia pulled away from him with an uncertain expression, really wanting to believe this wasn’t a joke, that this wasn’t a hoax. Because, even if she did go...but then, she remembered telling Drake and some others at one time, she wouldn’t go to those ‘things’ because they were just mass torture for stupid people. But then again, she was playing basketball for the school, something that she said she’d never do...
And this made it even more frustrating, because she was considering going back on her word. But no guy had ever shown her this sort of interest! Hautta had never taken her out, or even bothered with such outlandish designs in the terms of high school normality. And it was quite nice to think that someone could think of her in this way...
He then reached over, and wrote below the other words: “It’s just one night. If you don’t like it, you can kick my ass.”
She had to snort at that one. Chewing on her fingernail, she studied the words, then looked back at him. He stared back, silently waiting, his eyes searching her features for her answer. She hadn’t said “no” (well, straight out and ten more times), and it was obvious she was hesitating on it. Hope made him rigid and sweat like mad.
Finally, Felicia gave a frustrated sigh, then reluctantly nodded, her eyes piercing his solid stare, looking for any clue that he was playing with her. But his face lit up with unrestrained joy and glee, lips pulling back in a smile, and he nodded firmly with acceptance.
Then he was up and out of the classroom before the teacher could notice he was gone.
Felicia, sitting back in her seat, had to give the guy props for doing something that other guys wouldn’t have done. But she was still racing with anxiety that he was just playing a trick on her. She was already regretting the decision, grumbling as she stared at the words he’d written on the station she sat at.
“Cherry Lips (Go Baby Go!)” Garbage
Max stared at the sign for the Valentine’s Day dance, and gave a thoughtful expression. Shifting his notebook and other texts to his other arm, he wondered if he should be bold and ask someone to go. He really loved dancing–dance clubs had been his thing back in Yuma, and he’d been told he had great style. Plus, it always a nice icebreaker–despite the fact that it made him break out in a cold sweat and rendered his insides heavier than a full Disneyland cruiser. He was determined to go without his usual prescription in a dosage that was lower than recommended, sure that his anxiety was all in his mind. After all, it didn’t seem to be a problem with anybody here...everyone was so broadcast with their emotions and didn’t hide what they felt or thought.
No, he had enough of guys proposing to ‘take care’ of him after he graduated, and for the girls to carry his children despite the fact they were all unable to take care of themselves. Frankly, this school was starting to worry him. Everyone was so...creepy.
Shuddering, he turned away from the sign, just in time to see the hall moving again. Apparently, the sight of him studying the sign had rendered all speechless and hopeful. With a thoughtful frown, he started onto class, wondering who he should ask.
Research into this ‘Felicia’ had yielded him quite scary results–apparently, this seventeen year old was capable of beating up boys, was a superhuman, had no femininity in her body, and was rumored to be twice pregnant with Quatre Winner’s twins....whatever that meant. She was also friends with nearly every male in the school, had been in a ‘serious’ relationship with resident ex-psycho-murderer Hautta James, and currently played basketball for the team, with a rather unimpressive shot record. Oh, and she was Native American, five foot two (having a girl smaller than him was preferable despite her aggressiveness–he wasn’t that big of a pansy–but then again, he didn’t consider himself a pansy), a hundred and twenty-five pounds, and loved anything sweet. She also had a partaking to Jimboy’s, could get drunk off a whole twelve pack, and had a questionable relationship with a Duncan Jones student that was nearly six years her age.
Well...his thoughts about her were still the same. Despite the scariness of her record, he had thought that she was quite...nice. And humorous, entertaining, and interesting. And beautiful. It would have to be up to him to decide whether or not she was still the ‘scary’ student everyone thought she was. He thought about asking her, but then received an image of her punching him after he asked, roaring with displeasure and embarrassment, and dragging him off to the dance by his hair.
Hmm...
Now, research on Quatre Winner–that gave him mixed results as well. There had been a whole majority of rather feminine looking freshmen boys that loved the baller in the worst way–they worshiped his every move and word. Max figured that taking their word on that he was the greatest thing since grease and potatoes was a sort of biased one. But what he’d learned was that Quatre had recently broken up with a boyfriend that had made some sort of sex tape with an international porn star, and was currently knocking boots with a senior named Triton Bloom, a student from Sageville, and was looking to be a step-father to a Stanton player’s son. He was currently five foot nine and a half (yes, having a guy taller than him was a natural want) , a hundred and thirty pounds, and liked chocolate. He was also rumored to be horrendously sexually aggressive, and had a temper that flared whenever someone pushed him too much. He was also a very good ball player (this one he could confirm from the student paper and the city newspaper), quite challenged when it came to academics, had a misogynic attitude, and had an ass that never jiggled. Ahem. Well, he hadn’t looked there, but he should confirm this for himself.
NOW.
He liked them both. He had to admit it. He liked Felicia’s beauty and pugnacity, and had to admit that she was a challenge that he found quite interesting to explore. He liked Quatre’s aggressiveness and handsome looks, and he especially liked the bit about him being sexually aggressive. This was special because he didn’t have any experience in that area, and his reasoning with sex was that if he got with someone who knew what they were doing, he should be fine.
All in all, this was a dilemma for him. One he’d never dream of having...Whoever heard of a new student that developed crushes on both a guy and a girl, and both that were apparently best friends? Quite odd indeed...it was enough for a manga!
He wanted to take both to the dance.
Was that even possible? Could such a thing happen? He scrunched his forehead, thinking about this. It was a pretty big decision, and one based on indecision. Well...and selfishness. It was outrageous for him to think so, but this city and this school–! It made him think rather fantastically of things, and for this idea to pop up in his head...well, it just went to show that the influence was hitting him pretty strongly. After all, it was an awesome idea, but one that didn’t rightly go with common sense and realistic thinking.
But...it was an awesome idea! A great one!
Instead of yearning after one, he could have both. And it wasn’t as if they were both serious about someone...and he had a feeling they had an interest in him...and what better to ask a couple to a dance than a couple that were friends? Yes! The more he thought about it, the better and more exciting the idea was. After all, Felicia had said that ‘anything goes’...and this was an ‘anything’, right? Was the idea really that foreign and unrealistic?
Okay, it couldn’t hurt to try. Maybe he’d just ask them both, at separate times in which he could catch them alone. He’d noticed that they weren’t attached to the hip all the time. Maybe if he asked them both, then gradually introduced the idea that they were all going together...
Wow. He was still reeling over the fact that he was actually considering this idea. It was absolutely outrageous! He couldn’t believe he was doing this!
...It couldn’t hurt. Sure, he’d be embarrassed if either one or both rejected him. But at least he could say that he tried. This new city and this new school sure gave him some new attitude adjustments. Yuma had been a small town, and so rejection was much more stronger in effect than this place would be. It wasn’t as if he were in love with either of them, so...
Ah, hell. He’d just go and try before he lost his nerve.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre was busy gnashing down on a pineapple Danish with Felicia talking about some guy when he heard her choke suddenly. She had been drinking Coke, and in an effort to save herself, she spit what she’d drank all over his face.
“Wow Trowa looks pissed!” she commented as Quatre glared at her, wiping Coke from his face.
Indeed, looking up, he saw that Trowa was streamlining right toward him. He also saw the mad look in the goth’s eyes, and the frustrated expression of his new girlfriend behind him. He raised his eyebrows in question, trying to think of what he’d done to make Trowa so pissed. Usually, when the goth was pissed, he was either sucking a crackpipe or stewing in paint thinner. This was an event. The goth looked sober for once.
“You hypocrite!” Trowa snarled once he reached him.
“Okaaaay...what’d I do?” Quatre asked curiously, peering at him through his bang.
“You were crying around that I was using! I found some shit in your bag yesterday!” Trowa growled, poking his chest.
Quatre gave Trowa a befuddled expression, having no idea what was being implied. And furthermore, what was Trowa doing in his bag? Growing slowly infuriated that Trowa was snooping through his things, he growled back, “What the fuck are you talking about? What the hell were you doing going through my bag?”
“I thought I saw something in there that belonged to me, so I grabbed it without telling you. Seeing as you take all your things without telling me in the first place!” Trowa snarled, ignoring the interested looks that were being shot their way. Since they were in the main hall near the cafeteria, interested spectators looked at them curiously as they passed from the cafeteria to their morning classes.
“First of all, I don’t have anything that belongs to you!” Quatre snapped, unintimidated by the way Trowa was trying to loom over him. Then he frowned. Actually, he did. Now that he thought about it...it was the other way around.
With a sheepish expression, he gave a nervous chuckle, then frowned again when Trowa gave him an exasperated look. Then he realized that Trowa was accusing him of using drugs. Which did not settle with him very much.
With an indignant roar, his Danish went flying. “I AM NOT USING! How DARE you come up to ME and accuse ME of using shit when YOU’RE the one always WHACKED out on your fucking BULLSHIT!”
“I found Double G in your bag, yesterday, you little crackwhore! That’s why you lost so much weight, isn’t it?”
“You BASTARD! You fucking doped up BASTARD! I’ll bet you’re HIGH right now, AREN’T you?”
“I am clean as water, son! And I can’t believe you’d go and throw this shit on my back when you’re doing the bullshit in the fucking closet!”
“BASTARD!”
“LYING BASTARD!”
Felicia snorted as the names continued to fly. So far, from what she understood, Trowa snooped in Quatre’s bag yesterday, found something questionable, and was accusing Quatre, basically, of not sharing. Huh. Typical guy problems–something she’d never understand.
She rolled her eyes to look at Sylvia, who looked infuriated as she watched Trowa yell at Quatre. The girl was obviously agitated that her boyfriend was confronting his ex over something so ridiculous. Of course, this was funny to Felicia, and she loved causing problems. Giving an evil smirk, she curled her arms behind her back and leaned toward her.
“Looks like the Barton’s not over Quat, huh?” she whispered, Sylvia hearing her with a hiss of breath. “It’s soooo obvious the two want to get back together...Just settle down with the tape, Sylvia...that’s about how close you’re gonna get wit’ him.”
Sylvia looked at her with a quelling snarl, brushing her hair from her face. “Fuck off, cunt.”
“I’m just trying to help–!”
“Go get a life of your own!” Sylvia cried, facing her. “Stop interfering with others’!”
“I am NOT interfering with other people’s lives, whore! You’re the one jumping in when neither one was prepared!” Felicia roared, throwing off her bag.
Sylvia pushed her angrily. “You’re always talking shit! Why don’t you back it up, for once?”
An interested crowd gathered in anticipation of a cat fight. Trowa and Quatre realized that the girls were shrieking at each other, and cut themselves off from their next round of insults. They turned away from each other to see Sylvia yanking at Felicia’s hair, and the brunette slamming a fist into the girl’s gut. Sylvia lost her breath, doubling over as Felicia smirked in satisfaction.
But even as Sylvia felt that her insides were smashed flat by the hit, her fingers curled into her blazer pocket, for the pot of chapstick that she kept with her at all times. She made a fist around the pot of chapstick, and swung at the other girl. Felicia snapped her head back to avoid the hit, and Sylvia took the advantage for a tackle that was meant for high school football movies.
The crowd roared with pleasure as Felicia went down.
Trowa snorted, and Quatre looked rather annoyed as he looked up at the other boy.
“You realize your girlfriend’s getting beat up?” he asked.
Trowa shrugged. “She started it. If she can’t handle it, then that’s her problem.”
“Wow. I just love your compassion.”
“Hey...that’s just how things are. Things aren’t serious between us.”
“That’s fucking messed up, Trowa. That’s your girl.”
“So? They’re both girls...they can handle it.”
Someone shrieked, and Sylvia went flying through the crowd, thrown forcefully from a superhuman classmate. Kids cheered as she crawled right back to her feet, and with a animalistic shriek, flung herself back at Felicia, who simply laughed maniacally, not really trying to fight her back.
“Still...” Quatre trailed off, watching the fight for a couple of seconds, then turned back to Trowa. Frowning, he asked, “Why were you looking through my bag, anyway?”
Trowa shrugged again, looking at him. “Yesterday, when you were at the vending machine? It was wide open. I...I saw an envelope inside, and...I don’t know. You know what? I don’t know why I took it.”
Quatre stared up at him, blinking slowly. “You weren’t lying, were you?”
“About what?”
“I...still...still having feelings for me. Because...why would you take something that was addressed to me, unless...?”
Trowa didn’t look at him, frowning as he watched Felicia stand up, Sylvia over her shoulders. He tried to ignore the intent gaze Quatre was giving him as he waited for his answer. Why did he take the envelope? Simply because someone else was interested in his ex? He remembered his vow, of wanting to destroy any chances the blond may have with others, to keep him all to himself, but...had the reaction simply been automatic, especially when Trowa had convinced himself he was moving on?
He shrugged again. “Maybe. I don’t know, Quat. I...it was an impulse, I suppose. Just...something...I don’t know. It doesn’t fit well that you...that I...fuck. I don’t know.”
Quatre shifted his bag to his other shoulder, hands finding themselves in his pockets. Chewing at his bottom lip, he stared at the floor. Standing next to Trowa, feeling the security of his presence...it felt good. Real good. Here, he could just reach out, touch the other...and feel secure once more.
At the confusion of his feelings, he shook his head, shrugging his own shoulders.
Understanding was passed, and the pair faced each other once more.
“Sorry,” Trowa then grumbled. “I didn’t mean to come out like that. You probably had a good explanation as to why I found Double G in your bag...no matter the fact that I took something without your permission, anyway.”
“That’s all right. Sorry I was right about things.” Quatre flicked his hair from his face. Trowa repressed a laugh. That had been said with a straight face. He looked down to smile at the other, Quatre giving him a shit-eating grin. The pair of them were once more comfortable and secure with each other.
“And I’ve never done drugs, Trowa, you have to believe me. I don’t know how that shit got into my bag. Honestly.”
“Well, it looked like it was from an admirer, or something...”
“Really? Why would they give me drugs?” Quatre wondered out loud as the two began walking to their next class, ignoring the fight that was going on in their honor.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Jared watched Middie as the blond carefully upended the small vial of Gin-Gin into one of Quatre’s socks, her face mixed with concentration and glee. She handed him the vial, and shook the sock around to get the powder thoroughly absorbed by the cotton. When she was done with that, she began repeating the actions with another sock.
“You know what this stuff does?” she asked him, casting him a sideways glance.
“Trowa uses it. I mean, I never really know the difference, but...” Jared shrugged. “I thought if I pinched a little here and there, he wouldn’t notice that he’s missing some.”
“He must use a lot,” Middie then grumbled, looking at the vial. “How long did it take for you to get this much?”
“I don’t know. A little over a week. He isn’t using as much, though. He and his girlfriend–”
“‘Girlfriend’?”
&# 8220;Yes. Sylvia Noventa. Didn’t you know?”
“Never mind,” Middie commanded, shaking her head. “Anyway, this stuff absorbs into your skin...if he wears these socks, he should be able to feel it after awhile...then I’ll continue bothering Ramos about doing random drug tests on his athletes...it should work. I mean, the coach does it for the wrestling team, and for the other teams...I’m pretty sure Ramos will do it with his, just to follow guidelines.”
“He’ll have enough in his system to have it detected?” Jared asked curiously.
“Yes. He should. Give me another one. I want to do it to all his socks.”
Jared quickly rummaged through his pockets, withdrawing a vial. Middie exchanged the empty one for this one, and continued her work with the rest of Quatre’s clean socks. Jared smirked in satisfaction, just thinking of the feelings he’d have when Ramos discovered his star player had drugs in his system. Quatre would be booted from the team for sure. Drugs, while plentiful on campus and known by all that it was quite real, weren’t taken very nicely by the school officials. He had to admit, Middie’s plan was rather brilliant. He’d never have thought about that on his own.
Thus, the envelope that he and Middie had guessed would find its way to Quatre, who would open it, spilling it on himself...his skin would absorb it, little by little, but eventually, he’d have it in his system, detectable by drug tests. It was ingenious!
Jared then looked around the messy room, shaking his head.
“Such a fucking pigsty,” he commented, frowning at the mess on his floor, and at the several pairs of Spurs jerseys that hung over the desk chair.
“Don’t focus on that,” Middie commanded, setting the last sock back within the drawer, and shutting it. She then opened the one below that, making a face as she withdrew a pair of boxers with the tips of her fake nails. “Ugh...Hanes....what a loser.”
Jared scoffed at the cotton material. “Whatever happened to his daddy’s money? I notice that there’s a lot of cheap things in here...”
“You knew about his daddy?”
“I...I have a website that I devote all my rantings and ravings to, and I performed some research on him to back up my theories,” Jared sheepishly confessed, shrugging. “His father’s quite rich, but some of the things in here aren’t...”
Middie gave him a scornful look, then shut the drawer. Looking around the room, she snickered. She spotted Quatre’s cellphone, charging upon his desk, and walked over. Jared looked at the items that were cluttered on top of the dresser, and began to uncap and sniff at the two colognes that were stacked there. He recognized one of them as being a gift from Trowa–he figured Quatre wouldn’t be needing it, and put that into his pocket. The other one he sniffed, and raised his eyebrows in appreciation. He pocketed that one as well.
Middie turned to look at him, flipping through the menus on the cellphone. She read the names out loud as she came to them, frowning with each one. Tossing that aside, she then crouched, looking under his bed. She saw a few things under there that looked interesting, and pulled out the VCR, the fold-up tv, and a box. Putting the electronics away, she made herself comfortable on a patch of clean floor, and opened the box. Jared immediately recognized the contents as gifts from Trowa, and things that had involved the both of them.
“Aw...how sentimental!” he crowed, crouching on the other side of her. He reached in, picking up the puka shell necklace Trowa had given Quatre last year. He also examined wristbands that had never been worn, a pair of silk ties, love notes that Middie snatched from his hand to pocket, and some gothic style rings that Jared imagined to be Trowa’s, for he couldn’t imagine seeing Quatre wearing them.
“This is all the stuff Trowa gave him.”
“How sweet,” Middie muttered, picking up a pile of movie tickets. “And how sickeningly disgusting at the same time.”
“Who knew he was all romantic? And here, I’d thought he’d more rather mock people who keep things like this then actually do it,” Jared commented, dropping the necklace and looking at the plane ticket and ID’s that the boys had used last year to get to Laramie.
“Gross,” Middie muttered, looking at a tube of half used lube, using a shirt to move that up and out of the box. “Oh, look! Pictures!”
She shuffled through them, finding pictures of Quatre with Trowa, all of them either smiling, or making faces. One of them had been taken of the boys while they were walking to class, and Trowa looked good in it. She took that picture, stuffing it into the inside pocket of her blazer.
“Burn them all,” Jared said in disgust.
“You really hate him?”
“Yes. He’s so mean to Trowa. And to everyone else. Like everyone has to bow down to him.” Jared shuddered with revulsion. “I simply detest him.”
“You really want to make his life miserable, huh?” Middie asked, looking up at him with a half smirk on her face. “I mean, I could understand that you’d want to, if he did something to you–”
“He was always so fucking rude to me. Calling me ‘four-eyes’, calling me names, speaking to me as if I were nothing...I just couldn’t believe that Trowa wanted a person like him. I mean, Trowa’s so nice and considerate...you wouldn’t think that he’d pick him to be his lover...”
“I’m sure we’ve all had those kinds of thoughts,” Middie murmured, shifting through the box. She closed it, and tucked it back underneath his bed. Jared rose from his position, and lifted the mattress. There was nothing of interest there, so the pair gathered their school bags and left the room.
Little did they know, security was already on their tail for the intrusion.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
At lunch time, Quatre had just picked up a vegetable burrito and a Pepsi when he saw that an empty table in the food court beckoned him. With a gallant rush to claim the table before anyone else did, he carried his tray over, and looked for someone to come and talk to him. Trowa was off comforting Sylvia, Felicia was serving detention, and his usual gaggle of friends were missing. Either they all had lives, or he was just too cool for them.
He snickered at the last thought, and dipped his burrito in ranch dressing. Hell. The game against Stanton was going to be awesome. He couldn’t wait to play that night! He’d show Jake a thing or two...soon, Michael would look at him as the greatest ball player instead of his own father. Not that he wanted Michael’s admiration, or anything...
He was just not good with kids, and to be an idol to Michael was something scary to think about. He was halfway through his burrito when he noticed the sounds of people crashing into each other, of chairs flying, of food being randomly spit in various directions...
He had prepared himself for this. Reaching into his bag, he brought out a Nike felt hat and slapped that puppy onto his head. A satisfied smile curled his lips when the petals alighted on top rather than assaulted him with their virginal goodness.
“Hi,” Max said, sliding into a chair across from him. But Quatre had not prepared himself for Max’s beauty and ultra-smooth voice. So he promptly choked on his burrito, and had to throw himself over the back of a chair to save himself. “Where’s your friend?”
“W-which one?” Quatre wheezed as he sat back down.
“Felicia...”
“Detention. She got into a fight with some girl,” Quatre explained cautiously, feeling a little disappointed that Max was asking about her.
Really...if one looked at the guy long enough, it was just obvious he had to be a fairy...
Max looked briefly disappointed, frowning as he shifted in his seat. Then he looked at Quatre, and smiled shyly. “So...uh...I hear you’re single?”
“YES,” Quatre muttered, narrowing his eyes as he thought of Trowa. “I am.”
“Well...I know this is a little awkward, but...I was wondering if you would like to go to the dance with me?”
Quatre looked at him in surprise. Did he just say what he thought he did?
Max looked entirely nervous, fiddling with his knuckles as he waited for Quatre to give some sort of sign that he was interested, or even going to answer. Or...or even breathe...
Quatre choked on the air he inhaled, and looked at him again. “Did you just say–?”
Then he trailed off, looking at Max as if he were a creature that needed to be dissected immediately. He looked away from the beauteous creature and searched the full food court for people that were watching them, smirking with devious design. “Did someone set you up with this?”
Max blinked. “What?”
“Did someone pay you to say this to me? Where’s the camera?”
“Huh? W-what camera?”
Quatre rose from his seat, adjusting his hat. Petals fluttered off and away from it as he glared down at the other boy with a disapproving frown. “Someone paid you to say that to me, huh?”
“N-no! No! It’s not...I was just...see, I just wanted to...um...”
“Is this something you set up with Triton?”
“Uh...who’s that?”
“Not everyone wants to go to a dance with Quatre Winner, so he’s a little in shock that someone would want to.”
Both of them looked up at Trowa, who was giving Max a glare that would have frozen the Sahara. Nervously, Max regarded him with an expression reserved for raccoons that had gone mad on rabies. Trowa looked pissed as he gave Quatre a stare, waiting for the answer to Max’s question.
Quatre stared up at Trowa, wondering where the hell he’d come from and why he thought he could butt his makeup wearing face into his business. He really didn’t like that Trowa was trying to control him this way, no matter the fact that he was still stuck in disbelief that Max Sheridan was asking him to the dance. Hell, and what the fuck–? How did Trowa know Max was asking him to the dance? It was like he was stalking his every move–!
Still, to spite the hovering goth that seemed to have gone Stalker on him, he looked back at Max, growling out, “Yes, I’ll go to the dance with you.”
Trowa and Max looked at him, with a mixture of surprise and incredulity.
“Really?” Max asked, delighted in a manly way.
“What?” Trowa asked incredulously, outraged and unable to see Quatre at such a thing.
“You heard me.”
So did half the cafeteria, all of whom were watching ever since Max had sat down. Some people fainted from pure disbelief, others were whispering madly over this new thing. Someone actually wanted Quatre despite all the rumors. Did Max need to be saved and served with the whole truth? Or did he know what he was doing, despite his innocent character?
Max smiled with a pleased flush, while Trowa stared, open-mouthed, at Quatre. With a sullen expression, he stalked away, Quatre glaring after him. Max looked in the same direction, feeling more than pleased and happy that he was accepted so readily. While it looked like he still had issues with what looked to be his ex, Max wasn’t going to hold it against him. He was just happy that Quatre had agreed to him.
Before Quatre could say anything, though, he said a quick goodbye and left the table, to ask where the students being held in detention were.
Quatre blinked as Max left after that. Weren’t they supposed to discuss things about the dance... and what did he just do?
“Oh my god, what did I just say?” he asked himself aloud, mind frantically wondering why he’d agreed to go to a dance. A dance. He did not do dances. He wouldn’t be caught dead at one! For one, he didn’t dance. For two, dances were plain pathetic. For three, he didn’t dance–there was no possible way anyone could drag him out onto the dance floor to dance.
And would he have to dress up for this? The last time he dressed up was when Trowa took him out on the One Ill-Fated Date. He didn’t want to go to some dance!
“Fuck,” he cursed, throwing his hat off, petals flying everywhere. But he agreed, and Trowa was going... ha. Now that he thought about it, Trowa was going to the dance with Sylvia, he’d heard...ha! Now THAT had to be something he had to see! He couldn’t see Trowa out on the dance floor, shaking his groove thang to LL Cool J or Britney. It’d be rather...gross. And hilarious at the same time.
Yeah.
The more he thought about it that way, the more he grew amused at the thought of attending a dance. Just to see Trowa do his ridiculous Poppin’ and Lockin’ with Sylvia Noventa. Not that he was stalking Trowa or anything, just...
Yeah.
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Felicia gave a bored expression at the clock, wondering why Sylvia got away with what happened and she had to be the one thrown in the slammer. The classroom was just a basic room, with average desks and no computer stations. Her bag sat at her feet, and she’d taken a seat in the very back, near the only window. There were four other students serving, all of them boys and all of them silent because the teacher had said so.
Thinking about her unfortunate circumstance, she scowled at the nubs she called nails. It had to be just because she was brown, dammit. This was racial injustice, and it was because Sylvia was white that she got–
Something bounced off her forehead, making her wince. She saw that it was a small, wadded up piece of paper, and she glared at it. Rubbing at the spot, she then looked around for the culprit, locating the trajectory course to the back door of the classroom. Blinking, she glanced at the teacher that was performing babysitting duty to those stuck in this unfortunate circumstance, and then glanced back at the door.
When she saw Max glance around the corner of the doorway to see if the coast was clear, she was very surprised. Especially so when he waved at her, signaling that he was coming in.
‘Coming in’? She stared at him in silent surprise as he walked in smoothly, and took a seat next to her, smiling in a dapper way that rendered her speechless.
“Excuse me?” the teacher called, catching sight of him. The other detention serving baddies glanced back at him, eager for a distraction. “Who are you?”
“Oh, I got sent in because...I...er...swore at my homeroom teacher,” Max explained with a slight flush, trying to think of a legitimate excuse to be here. “Um...Legrets. She’ll...uh...she said she’d be down to tell you in a few minutes.”
“Well...you must have really made her angry, for her to send one student down here on that simple offense,” the teacher muttered, shifting through his papers. “She usually takes things as a compliment. Well! The rules are simple: no talking, no moving, and no talking. Understand?”
Max nodded, then looked back at Felicia, who was staring at him in mute silence. The teacher sighed heavily, and opened up a magazine. Seeing that the adult was occupied, Max looked back at Felicia once more, then signaled for her hand. Felicia stared at him in stunned silence, then slowly reached over to his desk. Taking her hand within his, he then took out a pen from his blazer pocket, and wrote down a question.
She frowned at getting ink on her palm, but read the question when he let go.
The words, “Go to the Dance?” made her eyes widen. She looked at him, then back at her palm. Then she pulled her hand back and gave him a rib jab, a furious expression on her face.
Max gave a surprised yelp, then quickly straightened when the teacher looked up in their direction. Trying hard to compose himself, Max waited until he looked away to look back at her with a startled expression. He rubbed painfully at his side. She’d pulled the jab, obviously, but it was similar to that of a man’s. He had to remember that he was dealing with a superhuman, here. And not a fragile one, either.
She was busy writing on her palm with a pen of her own. She raised her hand to show that she’d crossed out “The” and “Dance?”, and wrote “Hell!!”, pointing at him after his eyes left the words. Her expression was plainly furious, insulted, and quite bothered that he’d asked her.
Frowning, he grabbed her hand, and added a few more words to the ones already written down. She pulled her hand back to read, “Only after dance.”
She glared at him, then added and subtracted a few things to say, “Only after Hell!! freezes over.”
Max frowned, and gestured for her other hand. Reluctantly, and admittedly with some interest, she handed over her other palm. He wrote, “Please?”
She stared at the word, then wrote furiously. He lifted an eyebrow after reading, “Where’s the camera?”
He crossed out two words, and added two more. “No camera. Honestly, please?”
She frowned at him again, then crossed her arms over her chest. She then presented her back to him. Max worked his lower jaw with concentration, then reached over to write on her desk top: “You’re scared, aren’t you?”
She read the words, and then blinked at the desecration of school property, something she wouldn’t even do. Admittedly, it wasn’t much, but...it did cause her interest to rise once more. There hadn’t been a guy that would write on a desk for her. As well as the fact that he thought her scared. That was a challenge. She turned to face him, shaking her head in response to the question. Max shrugged his shoulders in question, plainly asking, “Why?”.
Scowling at him, she thought about the question. Hell...even if it were a trick...but...no one had asked her to anything, for anything. No one had really made the effort to even do this for her–one had to admit, penetrating detention to get to her, just to ask her to the dance...? That was cause for interest. She swallowed, feeling a rise of excitement and uncertainty course through her. Was this a trick? Some sort of cruel hoax from a newbie, willing to impress the other students of the school? Or was he being sincere?
She looked at him, trying to determine the truth in those brilliantly beautiful hazel eyes of his.
Oh, Goddamn, he’s so hot, she thought, feeling a little embarrassed as she studied those pretty features of his. Her face flushed slightly as she stared at him. And he’s asking me to the dance...and I’d always thought that I’d never go to one of those–! But no one ever asked me, before...
Max nodded, trying to encourage her to accept his asking, and Felicia pulled away from him with an uncertain expression, really wanting to believe this wasn’t a joke, that this wasn’t a hoax. Because, even if she did go...but then, she remembered telling Drake and some others at one time, she wouldn’t go to those ‘things’ because they were just mass torture for stupid people. But then again, she was playing basketball for the school, something that she said she’d never do...
And this made it even more frustrating, because she was considering going back on her word. But no guy had ever shown her this sort of interest! Hautta had never taken her out, or even bothered with such outlandish designs in the terms of high school normality. And it was quite nice to think that someone could think of her in this way...
He then reached over, and wrote below the other words: “It’s just one night. If you don’t like it, you can kick my ass.”
She had to snort at that one. Chewing on her fingernail, she studied the words, then looked back at him. He stared back, silently waiting, his eyes searching her features for her answer. She hadn’t said “no” (well, straight out and ten more times), and it was obvious she was hesitating on it. Hope made him rigid and sweat like mad.
Finally, Felicia gave a frustrated sigh, then reluctantly nodded, her eyes piercing his solid stare, looking for any clue that he was playing with her. But his face lit up with unrestrained joy and glee, lips pulling back in a smile, and he nodded firmly with acceptance.
Then he was up and out of the classroom before the teacher could notice he was gone.
Felicia, sitting back in her seat, had to give the guy props for doing something that other guys wouldn’t have done. But she was still racing with anxiety that he was just playing a trick on her. She was already regretting the decision, grumbling as she stared at the words he’d written on the station she sat at.