Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Stickshifts and Safety Belts ❯ Winners, Losers, and Witnesses ( Chapter 2 )

AN: Well, here's Chapter 2 of Stick Shifts and Safety Belts. I don't own Gundam Wing, nor any of the cars I reference in the story. I don't own Barbie, or anything trademarked excepts the concept of this story. I've really tried to make this in the format of a real novel, I suppose, just to get practice in the novel format in case I ever try my hand at a career in writing. So this is gradual, more gradual than most fan fics. And for that, I have two sentiments: I apologize for the slow developing romance, but I feel proud that I am trying something new.

 

To answer the question I got from my friends, the title is from a song of Cake's Fashion Nugget album. It's a great track, especially for driving. Check out the lyrics! They're so cute.

 

Oh! And finally, before I get started: This is the start of the actual plot of the story. So for those who read the first chapter and liked it, thanks, but for those who haven't, you came at just the right moment. Here it is: The actual story part of the story.

----------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------

 

I pulled up to the school and found Quatre's Rabbit parked at the very back of the parking lot. He was sitting in the driver's seat, fiddling with the radio. I knew, all at once, just what I had to do. I coasted softly, silently into the space next to him. Foot off clutch. Foot on gas.

 

My engine roared so loudly Quatre jumped and hit his head on his sunroof. I nearly fell out of my car laughing. “Way to waste gas and kill the planet, Duo,” he grumbled, getting out of his car.

 

“But remember, you're family is fighting to resolve that problem, so really, it's not even a problem now, is it?” I poked him in the side playfully as we walked to English class together. Quatre poked me back, and I was suddenly flooded with relief. Finally! That poke-able friend I'd been searching for at all my high schools. I thought back to all my non-poke-able friends, the ones who looked at me like I was crazy, the ones who thought I was gay, the ones who thought I was just creepy. Creepy like that glazed over look on Quatre's face. I leaned over to get a better look.

 

His mouth was hanging open, and his eyes look like the look you see in horror movies when the girl realizes that the killer was inside the house. But it wasn't frightened, it was just glazed over, frozen. And his cheeks were as pink as his shirt. I followed his gaze to the human equivalent of a Whippet. He was almost six feet tall, but was skinnier than me, skinnier than Quatre even. He looked like those reeds you see in cartoons, the ones with the brown top and the flimsy bottoms. Look at Quatre. Look at reed boy.

 

“Who's he?” I asked.

 

Quatre snapped out of his dreamy stare. “Oh! That's Trowa. He's a gymnast. *The* gymnast. The star of this school. Everyone in the state knows his name, he's that good.” Quatre sighed. “I wish I was that good at something, anything.”

 

“So do you like him?”

 

“What?”

 

“Do you like the gymnast? It's okay if the answer's yes, I'm not gonna hate you just because you like to swim at the other end of the pool.” Let's face it, I'm a guy with a braid. I really can't be too choosey about the sexuality of my friends. Not even if I wanted to. I gave him my most supportive smile.

 

He blushed even darker, which looked odd next to the light color of his hair. “I used to get asked that all the time,” he practically whispered. “No. I don't like Trowa like that. I just… I admire him. I don't have a talent like that. I think I'd kill to have a talent like that.”

 

“I know what you mean.” How many times had I wished I could get on a stage and wow people? How many times did I wish I could just show how cool I was at something instead of being a little okay at everything? There were too many memories of talent shows I'd never entered, applause I'd never received. AH! Too depressing. Subject change, quick, subject change, any subject. “What the hell is she wearing?”

 

Perfect timing. This was a subject changer if there ever was one. The same girl from yesterday who had been so defensive of Heero was walking past in pink knee-high boots, a pink mini-skirt, and a pink tank top. You could barely recognize her from the pink-clad girl yesterday, since yesterday's pink covered up more than one-third of her body. “When did Mattel release Overcompensation Barbie?”

 

Quatre rolled his eyes. “Every Barbie is Overcompensation Barbie.”

 

“Own a lot of them, do you?” I poked him. YAY! I felt so happy every time I poked him.

 

“I have a lot of sisters.”

 

I was just about to ask if any of them were cute, as was standard procedure when I heard about female family members, but someone ran into me. I was about to yell at the punk when I saw who it was. Heero was walking away from me without so much as an apology. I whistled and stuck my hands in my pockets. “That Heero is some kid,” I thought out loud. And that's when I noticed. I pulled it out of my pocket.

 

There in my hand was a fiver, with a note wrapped around it. In small, precise handwriting, he'd written the words, “Gas money.”

 

“Well,” I mused aloud, “It seems I have made a crack in the icy exterior of Heero Yuy.”

 

“That's impressive,” Quatre admitted. “I've only seen that happen with Trowa.”

 

“Well, mark my words, Quatre man, pretty soon I'll be chatting with Heero like old buddies.”

 

Quatre laughed out loud. “I can't picture him just chatting with anyone.” Suddenly we were both embraced. My foster father pulled us together, smiling huge and clapping us both on the shoulders.

 

He was beaming with pride as he said, “Well, Duo, I'm glad to see you with such a good friend, and a Winner at that! I'll see you around, Quatre.”

 

I looked at my friend, puzzled. “What did you win?”

 

“Not a winner,” Quatre muttered. “A *Winner*.” He shook his head and frowned. “My dad, he's the head of Winner Biological Enterprises. His company pioneered earth friendly oil drilling, and we made some money off of it. But… I don't really like to talk about it, you know?”

 

Overcompensation Barbie apparently felt that this was the appropriate time to come busting in to our conversation. She was giggling happily as she spilled all the dirt and gossip she knew about Quatre. “Didn't you know? Quatre's the only heir to the Winner family fortune. Sure, he's got twenty-nine sisters, but he's the only heir. What a great family, huh?”

 

“My sisters are well taken care of, Relena,” he snarled under his breath. The boy was touchy about his family. I got the feeling that in this town, that wasn't uncommon.

 

I cleared my throat, about to intercede on my friend's behalf, when Heero grabbed her by the shoulder. He pulled her backwards and said simply, “That's enough.” Then he turned around and walked away. She stuck out her tongue at us, and then ran to catch up with Heero. I raised my eyebrow.

 

Quatre let out a small, breathed laugh, as if he didn't find it funny, just ironic. “The only person Relena listens to is Heero, even though Heero doesn't really ever speak to her. The only thing he really ever does is ignore her and bark the occaisional order, you know? But, for some reason, since Junior High, she follows him around like some sort of horrid pink puppy. She tries to get his attention, tries to be the girl of his dreams. But Heero, he won't give her the time of day, just the go away.” Quatre started heading back towards English class. “Don't worry though. It could be worse. Like Trowa's bouncer.”

 

“Trowa is a nightclub now?”

 

“Technically, she's Catherine Bloom, his gymnastics coach. But if you want to so much as breath the same air, you've got to go through her, and she won't make it easy on you. I'd rather be stuck in a dark closet with a hundred Relena's than to be next to one pissed off Catherine.”

 

And so, it began. Pretty soon I was describing in detail the armies of Catherines storming the beaches at Normandy, while the Relena armies fired down on them from the hillsides, a neverending flood of horrible, PMSing soldiers. Or even worse, Quatre's twenty-nine sisters all PMSing at the same time. Quatre shuddered at this one; apparently, it hit a little too close to home.

 

Now let me tell you something about English class: it's completely boring and impossible to pay attention to the class when Miss Briggs, cool twenty-four year old teacher though she may be, is going on about subordinate clauses. So, rather than just listening to this meaningless crap, I fell back on an old classic. Yes, Duo, you are so sneaky. And so clever. You are the first person to ever get away with this every single time, you know. I tore myself a sheet of paper casually, and wrote on the first line in my messy scrawl of handwriting:

 

-- So. I noticed you've got control of the raging psychophant.

 

I used a paper clip I carried for just such a note-passing occasion and clipped it to the back of Heero's sleeve. He felt the movement and grabbed at it. He was a bit surprised to see the note (clearly, he underestimated my supreme sneakiness). He read it over, and without even thinking, he clicked his pen and wrote in that same small, precise writing:

 

-- That's a big word for you, isn't it?

 

I grinned.

 

-- I learned it last week. Aren't you proud?

 

I clip, he pulls, he reads, he writes, and he reaches under my desk to place it on my knee. I read.

 

-- No. Especially since it's spelled “sycophant”. And I don't control her.

 

--You could tell her to jump off a bridge, to swim through a pool of acid, or to take a bath with a toaster. That's control.

 

--And yet, the words “Leave me alone” have absolutely no effect.

 

--She probably just ignores those words.

 

--I was talking about you.

 

--No, you weren't.

 

--Confident.

 

--And I'm egotistical. I'm just a big ball of narcissism.

 

--So many big words for you today. I'm waiting for you to say the word, “antithesis”.

 

--As in, Relena is the antithesis of all things holy?

 

--More like, “Duo is the antithesis of peace and quiet.”

 

--But then I'd be skeaking in third person.

 

I was about to clip it to Heero's sleeve when Miss Briggs grabbed my wrist. Ah! The black spot on my record! Busted like a 1983 Nissan Maxima. Caught like rat in a cage. The shame! The agony! I hit my head against the desk and waited for the inevitable. “Mr. Yuy, Mr. Maxwell, please see me after class.”

 

That half hour nearly killed me. I walked down the halls with Quatre and Heero, praising my good fortune. “I never thought I'd get extra credit for passing notes in class.” I grinned at my own brilliance once again.

 

“For your use of vocabulary and point-of-view? Really?” Quatre was just as shocked as I was. I just didn't show it as much as he did. Because I was cool. Act cool. Stay cool. I giggled.

 

“Yeah, well, I'm glad for the extra credit, but don't try to relive the experience,” Heero stated plainly, staring at the floor and walking blindly down the hallway. It was amazing how people got out of his way. At my last school, he'd be on the ground and trampled by the masses trying to get away from their homerooms.

 

“I'm amazed Heero Yuy passes notes in class,” Quatre laughs.

 

“Hey, what's up with that?” I demand suddenly.

 

I got blank looks from both of them. “I'm just sayin', there aren't a lot of blue eyed brunettes with names like `Yuy' out there.”

 

“Yes, well, I imagine there aren't a lot of half-Japanese half-Italians out there.” Heero ran a hand through his thick brown hair as if that answered the question.

 

“Ah, yes,” I sang in a dreamy voice, “the vast blue-eyed Japanese-Italians. I see them every day. Throw a rock in the hall you hit a dozen, at least, those blue eyed Italians.”

 

Heero rolled his eyes. “We're from Northern Italy. Near the Alps. My uncle is a blond Italian. My cousin has green eyes. When you're that close to Switzerland, the features start to bleed over.” A set of green eyes settled to rest on him. Heero turned to see Trowa standing there, holding in his hands a key ring with a familiar die-cast model as a keychain. Chevy Malibu, older model. Nice.

 

He held up the keys and jingled them in question. Heero pulled a tie out of his bag, tucked in his shirt, and began to walk away. “See you later, Duo.”

 

“First period just ended,” I said to Quatre. “Where is he going now that's so important he has to dress up?”

 

“Duh,” Quatre stated, as if everyone knew. “He has to go to the court house.”

 

----------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------

 

AN: My ending Author's Notes: Thanks to my reviewer! You ROCK, SnowDragon! I award you ten cool points. If you save them up, you can exchange them for cool prizes like applause, praise, and cyber cookies.

 

Um, so it wasn't an exciting chapter, but it lays a foundation. No point in picking out paint colors when you've got no pistons, right? So there ya go. I hope you enjoy and I promise to post the next chapter soon, as soon as get around to forming my outline into actual story format. Thank you all, and please review!