Xandra: YES, it has been TWO YEARS since this was updated, but I hauled myself off my ass and finished this chapter. (According to my records, I started this one a little over two years ago. XD Sad, isn’t it?) Whether or not there will be anything after it, I don’t know…because I can’t remember half the plot for this thing. -sigh- If I DO continue, I’ll have to go back and overhaul most of it, because not only did I start it with limited knowledge of the Japanese school-system and culture, but my spelling and grammar were awful, even if my fluency was better, and I don’t think it really had a purpose at all. So, in any case, on with this long-awaited chapter. Hope you enjoy it.

--

Midnight Sun

By Xandra

Chapter Seven: Being ‘In the Area’

--

Maddi climbed out of the expensive sports car and sighed, then turned and looked back at his savior, who leaned over in his seat to look at him. “T-thank you, for everything.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “No trouble at all, really,” he said, simply. “I’m just thankful that, for the most part, you’re unhurt. You might want to get some ice on your cheek, though. It’s bruising.”

The boy nodded, fingering his injured face gingerly. “I will.” He frowned. /I wonder how Mom will react when she sees me like this…/

Stephen scooted into the passenger-side seat, then opened the door and handed him his backpack. Maddi blinked as he recalled dropping it on the locker-room floor and not retrieving it. “I saw it on the way in and decided you might need it,” the upperclassman explained.

The battered boy extended his hand and took it, then quivered lightly as the other’s fingertips brushed the pinky-side of his hand. He blushed. “Th-thank you, Pratt-sempai…”

The blonde man blinked, then chuckled. “Oh heavens no, you needn’t be so formal! Please,” he took Maddi’s free hand, startling him, and gave him a beautifully charming smile, “call me Stephen.”

“Th-th-thank you, S-Stephen…”

“No trouble at all, Madison.”

Maddi felt his legs waver. /No, don’t give out! I’ve fallen down enough today!/ He regained control of himself, though his knees began to shake a bit. He prayed he wouldn’t notice.

If he did, it didn’t show. He released the boy’s captive hand. “Well, it was nice seeing you again--very nice, in fact. Had I not, you might have been in a world of hurt right now.”

He nodded. “Y-yeah, I’m really grateful. Thank you again…” He looked back at his house. The last thing he wanted was for Mom to walk out right about now and bust him with Stephen. What would she think? “I had better get inside now--it looks ready to rain.”

“Indeed it does,” the older man agreed, glancing up at the gray sky. “Get some rest and take care of yourself, all right?”

Maddi nodded, trying to ignore the ever-constant blush on his face. “A-all right…bye…” He turned up the front walk.

“Oh, Madison?”

He paused and looked back slowly. /Stop blushing, stop blushing, stop--/ “Yeah?”

Stephen glanced away for a moment, idly fingering one of his many golden curls, then looked up at him again. “If you find yourself in good condition and lack social plans around the noon hour, perhaps I could persuade you to come to lunch with me tomorrow?”

Maddi’s heart stopped. /…Is he…asking me out? No, he couldn’t—he is. Oh my God, he’s asking me out! I’m being asked out! I’ve never been asked out before in my life, especially not by a man! ESPECIALLY not one like HIM! Oh my God--did I answer yet? He’s staring at me…stupid, open your mouth and say yes!/ “I--” That was the extent.

The upperclassman lifted a golden eyebrow. “You…?”

Considering how much of a chatterbox he was in his head, it was amazing that he couldn’t find a thing to say out-loud.

Stephen sighed. “If you have plans, I understand completely,” he said. “I merely thought it would be a nice gesture on my part.”

“Um, no! Er, yes! Er--” Maddi smacked a hand to his forehead as the other stared at him, trying to hide his amusement quite visibly. /Breathe in…breathe out…and…/ He tried again. “I-I haven’t got any plans, and I’d like to come with you, b-but I don’t have any money…”

The blonde man smiled, beautifully. “Leave that much to me—consider it a formal apology for Mitsuru’s monstrous behavior. After all, he is my friend, and therefore I feel it necessary to take responsibility for his mistakes at times. Certainly, buying you lunch would hardly make up for the damage he caused you, but it might be a good step in the right direction.”

Maddi’s face lit up again. Was this really happening? No, Stephen wasn’t hitting on him. He was being gallant and trying to make up for Mitsuru’s evil. Just like he said.

/‘Flirt, charm, seduce, rape, dump.’/

He flinched. /Flirt…? Is that what he’s--?/ Suddenly, a coldness exploded inside of him. /Oh, forget Beck!/ he thought, bitterly. /Why should I listen to someone like him, anyway? He’s such a jealous person…and besides, Stephen saved me today. I owe him this, at least./ He cleared his throat, lightly, then nodded. “I’d like that.”

Stephen’s smile widened. “Wonderful. I’ll come pick you up around noon, if that’s all right.”

“T-that’s perfect. I’ll be ready.”

“Good.” He scooted back into the driver’s seat, then reached over, grasping the door handle and pausing to look up at him. “Until tomorrow. Rest well until then.” He winked, then closed the door and drove off.

Maddi stood watching the green sport’s car drive off for a long moment until it was out of sight, then looked up at the stormy sky. “I’m going on a date with Stephen Pratt…”

‘-’-’

Throughout the neighborhood, a boy’s voice echoed, startling many of the residents.

“-YESSS!!-”

--

‘-’-’

“Preston?” Theron waited for as long as he could, but his patience, being that he was twelve, was very limited, so after a span of five seconds, he knocked again. “Preston! Ah, answer your door, Manson!”

“Marilyn or Charles?”

The dark-haired boy turned around, blinking up at the blue-haired teenager as he stood adjusting the collar of his black leather jacket. He stared. “What’s the difference?”

“Charles Manson was the head of the Manson family in America, the people who killed famous people for fun, butchered them for no reason--anyone; kids, pregnant women, anybody.” The other’s pale brown eyes flickered evilly and Theron withdrew, wincing. Then, his foster brother grinned, shrugging and hiking his loose jeans up, the action rattling the chains draped through his belt-loops. “Marilyn Manson, born Brian Hugh Warner, is the head of a freak American rock/metal band. My idol.” He sighed, whimsically, then turned and headed off down the stairs.

Theron blinked after him, then hurried to follow. “HEY! Where you goin’? Did Ma say you could leave?”

“Diane’s out at her little social-club brunch thing or whatever, and me, I’m outta here.”

“Pop’s here! What if he finds out you’re leaving?”

“Alastor? Oh, come on, he wouldn’t notice a cat up his ass.”

“W-well, what if I tell him?”

Preston froze, his back rigid, then slowly turned on his heels to face him, a look of dour annoyance on his face. “What if, huh?” Just that quick, Theron found himself in the air, pinned to the wall, a long-fingered hand clapped down over his mouth. “What if I strip you down, shave your head, paint you pink, hog-tie you and hang you out your bedroom window?”

The boy jumped, then pulled the hand away from his mouth. “T-that…wouldn’t be nice…”

Dropping him, the teen patted his head, grinning. “Exactly! NOR would it be safe, eh? Same as if you tell Alastor where I’m going. All that’s gonna happen is he’s gonna yell at me, I’ll have to punish you and then I’ll be late for my date. Better to be a good kid and clam up.” He continued down the stairs.

Theron stared after him, long and hard, then scowled. /I’ll just tell Ma when she gets back…/

“I’ll be back before Diane is, by the way,” Preston called up the stairs.

The dark-haired boy gawked.

With another winning grin, he stepped out the door, throwing a hand up in departure. “Ta-ta!” SLAM!

‘-’-’

“Marny, honey, where is your brother?”

“I have a brother?”

Emily looked at her daughter over the rims of her glasses. “Marnica Leann Robertson, I asked you a question.”

Marny sighed. “In his room, going through his closet.”

The older woman removed the pins from her mouth, glancing at her daughter. “Why would he be doing that?”

“I dunno. Ask him.”

She frowned. “Maybe I will. Madison!”

No response.

Frowning, Emily set the dress she was working on aside. “Madison!”

Nothing.

“MADISON PATRICK ROBERTSON!”

Swing--BAM! His door flew open, revealing said teenage boy, half-dressed and dripping with sweat. “Sorry, Mom, I didn’t hear you.”

She blinked. “Maddi, what are you doing?”

He glanced around, then looked down at himself. “Uh…getting dressed?” he offered, weakly.

Emily raised an eyebrow from beneath her mussed hair. She knew her son well enough to know that he usually slept in on Saturdays until noon, but he was up and active, and making a fuss about clothing as well. Odd as he was at times, he usually spent his weekends in his shorts and a T-shirt, in his bed or on the couch. She immediately fell into mother-mode. Symptoms: awake, suspicious, half-dressed (…) and frantic. Diagnosis: up to something. She stuck her needle in the pincushion, then stood and approached him. “Maddi,” she said, slowly, “Are you all right, honey?”

He frowned, then gave a small nod, raking his feathery hair from his eyes. He glanced around a moment before answering. “Yeah, Mom, I’m fine…”

She lowered her glasses, her eyes darted over his slender face. Her son was growing quickly impatient. “You still haven’t explained that bruise to me,” she said, tapping his cheek.

He flew back, cupping his face. “Oww.”

“I’m waiting.”

He looked at his watch. “Mom, I have to get dressed--”

“Why?” she prompted. “Where are you going without asking permission, huh?”

Maddi gulped and she smirked. Bingo. “Uh, well…I…uh, I…you see…it’s…”

She shook her head, waving a dismissive hand. “If you’re going to go hang out with your friends, that’s fine, but why are you freaking out over clothes? Your mother is a seamstress!”

“Uh, I’d rather wear my own clothes…”

She smirked. “I’m not making offers, I was just saying…what’s the occasion, anyway, that you need to fret about your clothes so much?”

“What makes you think I’m fretting, Mom?”

“Honey…” She scratched her nose in attempts to hide her smile, then pointed down. “Your pants are open, your briefs are backwards and there’s a sock on your butt.”

Her son’s face turned crimson. “MOM!” he shrieked.

“Well, you asked!” she giggled. He scowled, then closed his pants and pulled the white tube-sock off his backside.

Marny fell into gales of laughter behind her as she ushered him back into his room.

“I’m just going out to hang out with Milo…” he said, slowly, as she riffled through the mess of clothing on his floor. “Just for lunch, then I’ll be back, I think…i-it’s no big deal…”

/Terrible liar/ she thought, wryly. /He gets that from me./ “Yes, dear.”

Maddi squirmed and fidgeted for a full five minutes while she helped him dress, putting him in a nice pair of khaki cargo-pants and a white polo-shirt. However, when she retrieved an unfamiliar sweater from his bedsheets, he stopped moving all together.

Emily inspected it, finding the expensive company label on the tag, then glanced at him. “Where did you get this?” she asked.

His face flushed. “….A f-friend…?”

“It’s too big for you.”

“I know…”

She looked at the sweater. It was not only huge, but it was cashmere and a designer article, probably from England or America. “It’s expensive.”

“It is?” He knew it was, but he was trying to play stupid. Not effective.

Emily glanced at him. “Why does it smell like cologne, Maddi?”

He turned redder, glancing away. “I-I borrowed it…it was cold yesterday…”

She stared long and hard at him, an act that made him cringe uncomfortably. /He isn’t lying this time/ she thought. /So it must involve the owner of this thing./ Still, she decided to use her own methods of finding out what he was up to. She smiled and he relaxed, but only slightly, as she forked over the sweater. “Then here you are, dear. And be sure you return that to its owner.”

“Yes, ma’am…”

HONK HONK!

Maddi’s hair spiked up and he squeaked, then bolted from the room. “IGottaGoMomBye!”

She blinked. “Madison--!”

Marny cried out as she was bowled over by her speeding brother, and in a blur, he grabbed his shoes and a comb and shot out the door. “MOOOOOOM!” she wailed.

Emily sighed, then hurried into the living room, leaning out the window and catching a glimpse of the expensive green car as it roared away. She managed to catch a look at the license-plate and wrote it down. The statement 2HOT4U made it pretty obvious that Maddi’s ride was definitely not Milo. She frowned. /I’ve never had a reason to doubt my son…/ She scowled. /But half his blood is his father’s, which leaves plenty of room for doubt./ It was decided. “Marnica, darling.”

Her daughter shuffled up, angrily pouting.

“How would you like to spy on your brother for me?”

“I’m listenin’.”

She handed her the piece of paper. “Follow that car--he said he was going to lunch, and there are a few trendy food-spots around here. This place is pretty small, so take your bike, find a green car with this on the plate, and keep an eye on him for me. But don’t be spotted, do you hear me?”

Marny nodded. “I spy on him all the time, Mom. I think I can handle it.” With that said, her daughter strapped on her sneakers and a baseball cap and headed off to get her mountain bike.

Emily watched her go, then glanced out the window. /I hate doing this, Madison/ she thought, worriedly. /But I hate the idea of you getting hurt./

‘-’-’

“Beck!”

“Hey, Cory, what’s up?”

“I thought you were grounded--”

“So did they. All y’all were wrong, then, ne?” Beck dropped into the opposite side of the booth, throwing his boots up onto the table and making his companion snicker. “Ah. I love these Western restaurants that let you keep your shoes on. So great.”

Milo smiled, patiently, but the smile faded back a bit. “It’s a pity Madison couldn’t come with us today.”

“No it ain’t,” the blue-haired teen murmured. However, being Beck, his random attention-focus flew back and he sat upright. “Why couldn’t he come? Not that I care, but, y’know…”

“For one, SOMEONE didn’t want to TALK to him, PRESTON.” Beck frowned, guiltily. Milo frowned himself. “And because he came home ill last night. His mother said he wouldn’t talk to anyone when he came in…”

Being ever the protective friend, Beck’s feet flew off the tabletop and he stood, leaning over it to stare at Milo. “Maddi’s sick?” he asked, struggling to keep the concern from his voice.

“Yes. And Miss Emily also told me that he had a bruise on his cheek…a bad one. He refused to explain it to her.”

“A bruise…?”

“Yes, a bruise. It took up a good amount of that side of his face, she said.”

The grungy teen sighed, tensely, sitting back down. “You…you think he got beat up?”

“No, Beck,” Milo said, coldly, sarcasm dripping from his voice all of a sudden. “I’m quite sure he simply fell at such an angle to make it look that way, then fell several more times to mangle his clothing and scratch himself up.”

Ignoring the bitter tone in his normally passive friend’s voice, Beck went right for the core statement. “Who the hell would DO that to him?” he demanded, riled.

“I honestly don’t know.”

The navy-haired teen looked away, his thoughts flying wildly. Something had happened to Maddi yesterday. Was it because he’d ignored him? Could he have prevented it, had he not been ‘playing the man’? The thought ate at him for the full five minutes he spent thinking about it. /If he got seriously hurt because of me/ Beck thought, sadly, /I’ll never forgive myself./

Suddenly, a pair of hands slammed down on the tabletop, startling both boys, and a shadow cast down over them. “Heeey, boys!”

They both looked up to find none other than the foreign exchange student standing over them. She was quite discernible from anyone else, not only because she was so blatantly foreign, but because she made it obvious. Her trademark pink denim overalls made her visible from anywhere, if the rest of her wasn’t enough.

“Good afternoon, Miss Taylor,” Milo offered, politely.

She waved it off. “Quit the ‘Miss Taylor’ crap. You might as well start calling me Sensei at this rate. I’m not a teacher!”

Beck rolled his eyes, sitting back in his seat. “Afternoon, bitch.”

“See, I like that better.” Liberty Freedom Taylor plopped down next to Milo, pulling off her black baseball cap and tossing her fudge-brown hair back over her shoulders, then smirked. “Afternoon, asshole.”

He snorted.

The English boy smiled, ignoring Beck’s rudeness for once. “Fancy meeting you here, Liberty.” He glanced around. “I suppose you feel more at home in a place like this?”

She nodded, beaming. “Ahhh--it makes me homesick, but it’s better than nothin’!” As if to exhibit the idea, she stretched out in the seat, her arms reaching out above her head and her feet striking out under the table, colliding sharply with either of Beck’s shins with amazing accuracy.

He cried out, then hit his face on the table, pulling his legs up and out of her reach as she started laughing. “You bitch,” he growled.

Milo sighed, shaking his head. “You need to take something, Beck,” he said, scoldingly. “You’re so uptight suddenly.”

“I don’t need pills,” the blue-haired boy spat. “You know what I need?”

“A life?”

“Stay out of it, Freedom,” he spat. She pulled her lower left eyelid down with her middle finger and stuck her tongue out.

The blonde boy sighed. “What do you need, Beck?”

“Ass.”

Liberty laughed as Milo scowled, visibly embarrassed by the statement.

Groaning, Beck sat upright, slamming his fist on the table. The action drew yet more attention to their group. “I’m serious,” he said, resolutely. “What I need is a good piece of ass for about ten minutes and I’ll feel better.”

“Preston, PLEASE.”

“Offerin’, Cory?”

“You lookin’ already, Beck?” Liberty asked, laughingly.

He raised a pierced eyebrow, smirking. “What about you? You put out, bitch?”

“Not for you, Fraser. Not for you.”

“Ouch.” He pointed to the tip of his pinky finger, pouting exaggeratedly. “That hurt me, right here.”

“Oh, I’m SO sorry,” she sneered.

“Apologize to my finger.”

“I’ll GIVE you a finger.”

“Ooh, talk dirty. You know I love it.”

Milo groaned as the two began to cackle insanely, then buried his face in his hands. “I’m so embarrassed…” he sighed.

Snickering, Liberty patted his head. “Sorry, hun. We’re just playin’.”

“Who’s playin’?” Beck sneered. She kicked him again and he smirked, rubbing his shin. “Okay, okay. We’ll quit, Milo. Don’t have a cow or anything.”

“That’d be pretty uncomfortable,” Liberty agreed. “Don’t do it.”

Sighing, the English boy shooed her away and stood, then stepped from the booth, looking exasperated. “I think I’ll go order lunch.”

“Cheeseburger and onion rings!” Beck cried.

“BACON Cheeseburger!” Liberty chimed in.

“That’s meat on meat, y’know.”

“But I’m all up for yaoi! As long as it’s cute.”

The gangbanger blinked. “…Since you put it THAT way…yeah, I want bacon too.”

“And french fries! And a coke!”

“Make that two!”

Milo huffed. “I’m a waiter suddenly.”

They both batted their eyelashes innocently at him. “Well,” the blue-haired boy pouted, “Since you’re gettin’ UP and everything, we just sorta thought…”

“But you don’t gotta be nice or anything,” the pink-overall-clad girl added, her lower lip quivering. “We can just be…hungry…”

They both began to sniffle in unison and Milo threw up his hands in exasperation. “My God, you two…” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to help quell the building irritation headache. “Stop, I’ll buy your lunches…”

“We love you, Milo!” they cheered.

Exasperated, he headed off, muttering in English.

Liberty giggled. “Watch your mouth, Your Highness!”

Beck smirked, then put his elbows on the table and set his chin in his hands, sighing deeply. As silence set in, his prior thoughts of Maddi floated back to him. /Maybe I should call his house…apologize for being a jerk/ he thought. Hard as it was to fight his ego, it was more urgent in his mind to know the boy was okay. Sure, he’d only just met him, but he grew attached quickly. Though it was exceedingly difficult, the thought of giving Maddi clearance to like Stephen Pratt. That set his blood boiling, but he quickly reminded himself, /Better that he be on speaking terms with me while dealing with Pratt than him dealing with that sneak while upset at me./

Suddenly, he felt a presence lurking near his inner thigh and he blinked, startled, as said presence made itself further obvious by shifting ever so firmly into his lap. At first, the action knocked his senses off-kilter for more than one reason, but then, he managed to drag himself into the real world far enough to recognize the cause. The pink-clad girl sitting across from him was penetrating his skull with her eyes, not really what he’d expected. They flirted by custom this way, just as much as they fought, but her stare wasn’t as playful as it might’ve been.

He sat silently staring at her until she finally spoke.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

He smirked. “Keep the change, there’s nothing in my head.”

“You’re a crappy liar.”

“I’m a champion liar,” he retorted. Then, he choked as the toe of her sneaker moved further into forbidden territory, wincing back against the booth’s seat to relieve the crossed pleasure-pain caused by the gesture.

“Penalty,” she said, flatly. “We’ll try again. What’s wrong?”

“Your shoe’s in my crotch.”

“And I’ll pin your sac to the wall if you don’t tell me what has you brooding.”

Ouch. He winced at the memory of such an experience. She wasn’t one to bluff with that. So, taking a deep breath, he lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, ease off…” Accordingly, her sneaker withdrew, leaving him more space to sit down. “It’s about this guy…”

She sat forward, inadvertently ringing another gag from him. “OH? Does little Becky have a crush?!”

“Not like that,” he managed to gasp. “Back up, back up! Can’t breathe!” She hurriedly pulled back again, smirking, and he coughed, wincing. “Geez, American chicks are rough…”

“TALK!”

“Talking! Talking! Yeesh…but anyway, yeah, there’s this guy Milo and I met. The new kid in school, Madison.”

She blinked. “The cute one with the pretty gray eyes? The one that told Queen Bitch Rosinante she was fucking up Shakespeare?”

Beck managed a small smile. “That’s him.”

“What about him?”

He quickly gave a summarized explanation of his short disagreement with Maddi and the mischief he was certain Stephen was planning. By the end of it, she looked angry. Thankfully, Liberty was a Prep-hater too, though she was generally non-partisan; she picked on and bothered everyone equally.

“Are you gonna drop the male bullshit and apologize?” she asked.

He would have normally taken this as an insult, but he nodded nonetheless. “Yeah, if he’ll speak to me.”

“Not everybody’s as dramatic as you are, Beck.” She patted his hand, supportively. “As long as you stay off the subject of Steffie-boy, you should be fine.”

“Yeah, I know…it just pisses me off.” He scowled. “I don’t want him to hurt Maddi.”

“Then it’s best you stay on good terms with the kid, so you can watch Stephen more closely.”

Sighing, Beck nodded. “Yeah, that’s my plan…now I just gotta get home, survive Diane and Alastor and pray I get a crack at him.”

She beamed. “That’s the spirit.” She was a bitch, and she was annoying, but she had her moments of usefulness.

He moved to get comfortable and wait for Milo to show up with the food, but stopped halfway through the gesture and blinked. “Liberty.”

“Hmm?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

He pointed down. “Kindly remove your foot from my package.”

“But it’s comfy there!”

“Move it.”

Pouting, she folded her arms and pulled her shoe from between his thighs. He slouched, relieved at the lack of threat. “You’re no fun,” she muttered.

“Oh, I’m loads of fun,” he chuckled, “just not for you.”

The bell on the restaurant door rang as it swung open, then, the sound catching Beck’s attention.

His eyes widened.

Stephen Pratt stepped through the doorway, dressed in his weekend best--and immediately on his heels was Madison.

Liberty blinked at him as he watched them enter, his hands fisting on the edge of the table. “Um, your eye just twitched. Twice. Okay, three times.” She blinked. “What the hell are you seeing?!” Jumping up onto her knees, she whirled around and peeked out over the back of her seat. Her curly brown hair spiked up. “Well, would you look at that! Talk about karma!”

Beck watched tensely as the two talked to the waitress that greeted them, noting how very close Maddi was standing to the class president. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were in a date.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were on a date,” the American girl muttered from across the table.

A growl rose up in his chest, and his lips drew slowly back in a vicious snarl. “What is Pratt doing with him?!” he hissed.

Liberty suddenly stiffened, then dropped into her seat. “Easy, Spot, they’re coming this way! Get over here!”

Without questioning it, Beck dropped from his seat and slid under the table, coming to sit against the wall next to her. He could hear Stephen’s voice buzzing ever closer, and Maddi’s nervous giggle was steadily growing louder.

The girl snatched her hat off the tabletop and stuck it on his head, then turned it backward. “Play along!” she commanded. He shrugged, only to be pulled up against her, her arms coming to rest around his shoulders. “Put your hands somewhere, genius…NOT there!”

“What? You told me to--”

“You KNOW what I mean, Beck, hurry up!”

He quickly set his hands on her hips as Maddi and Stephen passed them, leaning back out of sight, and he managed to get a small peek at them. Pratt had the boy by his hand, and he was blushing up a storm as they chatted about something unimportant. /That sneaky sonofabitch, I’ll kill him!/ he thought, furiously.

Liberty shook her head, slightly. “Don’t stare,” she breathed against his cheek, “Don’t wanna get spotted.”

That was true. Maddi might not be happy to see him if he was really on a date with Stephen. In fact, they’d probably leave. That was the last thing Beck wanted…he wanted Maddi right here, where he could see him.

They continued past to another booth and Liberty disengaged, only to lean into the aisle to look after them. “Sorry ‘bout that,” she muttered. “Your buddy doesn’t know me, but if you two are fighting, I was pretty sure he’d take one look at you and head for the hills. Which would be bad, I think.”

He nodded, adjusting the baseball cap and flicking his bangs from his face. “Good thinking. Are we gonna spy?”

“We’re not spying,” she said, simply, “We just happen to be in the area.”

“Good answer.”

The two of them watched covertly as Stephen and Maddi seated themselves further along. The building’s design was elliptical, so from that position, they could lean ever so slightly and see the ‘happy couple’ (Beck was so mad he could have spat). Leaning back would make them invisible, if they did it right. So, they did so.

From over the noise, it was hard to tell what they were talking about, but they were seated across from each other, Maddi sitting on the side that made him more visible than Stephen, who’s back and golden hair could be seen. He was flushed and smiling shyly.

And Beck spotted the mark on his face straight off. /Holy shit/ he thought, his eyes widening to capacity. He’d seen the gray-eyed boy in P.E. yesterday...his face had been fine, if not amazingly red from exhaustion. Now there was a terrible blue bruise on one side of his face. It looked like someone had either punched him or hit him with something. Both possibilities were unsettling.

Liberty nudged him. “What happened to his face?”

How did she always manage to ask the obvious questions in his mind? He shook it off. “I dunno…”

“I can’t hear shit.”

“Me either.” Then, his coppery eyes darted to the table, where several laminated menus lay discarded. Inspiration struck. Snatching one up, he rolled it into a cone shape and set the smaller opening over his ear, scrambling beneath the table to sit on the other side and aiming it toward their prey.

“--should have had a much bigger part, Madison.”

/Score, it works./ He shoved one at his accomplice, who hurriedly followed his example. However, this accomplishment was less gratifying than it would have been, as he spotted Stephen’s flirting tactics in the simple statement. However, the sound of Maddi’s voice quelled his rage, if only slightly.

“Oh, no…I can’t act.” A cute, shy laugh. “I get stage-fright…”

“I think you’d be a fabulous actor. You’ve the manner for it.”

“I really don’t think so. Y-you’re a good actor, though…g-great, really.”

“Well, I do try.”

/Tryin’ your ass off over there, blondie/ Beck thought, venomously. His lips were drawn back in a snarl, and he grappled with the desire to go and end their date already as he sat listening. However, a pink sneaker collided with his toned left calf and he winced, shaking it off.

“Cool off and listen, dumbass,” Liberty hissed, reproachfully. “Can’t spy if you’re stewing.”

Point taken. He adjusted his eavesdropping medium and continued to listen, peeking up every once in a while to see what was going on.

Stephen’s hand had crossed the table to rest on Madison’s, and the boy was as red as he could possibly be, his eyes lowered. Immediately, the upperclassman’s other hand came around to finger his chin, drawing his head back up. “You have the most striking eyes,” he commented, softly, his smooth voice as slick as a greased snake. “So bewitching.”

“I-I…” Maddi gulped, his face burning. “They’re boring…”

“They’re lovely.”

No, NOW he was as red as he could be. “Th-thank you…”

Stephen was making too much progress for comfort! Progress was bad--FAST progress was REAL bad. /I gotta find a way to stop this/ Beck thought, somewhat worried. /But if Maddi sees me, I become the bad-guy…I gotta DO something!/

‘-’-’

There was more than one set of spies surveying the couple. In a booth parallel to theirs, on the other side of the service counter at the center of the building, sat a pair of preps in a similar state.

Mitsuru adjusted his ear piece, grinning viciously at the current chain of events. “How amusing,” he murmured. “Stephen is making quite a bit of progress with that scrawny little pauper.”

“That’s good,” Yurin commented, unconcerned. He continued to devour the double cheeseburger that had so gallantly absorbed his attention.

The blonde prep sighed, then smacked his lackey upside his head. “Pay attention, idiot,” he spat.

“But Mitsu-kun, they’re just talking. It’s boring.”

“Then I suppose you’d rather just pay Stephen the money you bet without knowing whether or not he actually won?”

Yurin turned this over in his thick head a while, then shrugged. “It’s still boring.”

Mitsuru sighed. “No point in reasoning with a moron, I suppose.”

“Can we leave now?”

“NO.” That was the end of it. The bleach-blonde tapped his ear piece again, an action that helped its reception.

# “You should really try smiling more often, Madison,” # Stephen was saying. # “Your face is so sweet…and your smile lights it up in a most attractive way.” #

One would almost believe him. He was certainly a good actor, but then again, he hadn’t just been HANDED a place in the National Thespian Society. He’d earned it, and rightfully so.

“Mitsuru.”

“WHAT, Yurin?”

“…Can I go get another burger? I get munchies when I’m bored.”

Mitsuru sighed. “I don’t care if you strip down and run off naked--as long as Pratt doesn’t see you.”

“Taking that as a yes. Do you want anything?”

“NO. Just GO already.”

With another shrug, the dark-haired moron stood and strolled off to purchase more junk food.

The blonde prep sighed, then stretched, wincing at the pain that shot up through his neck at the motion. Sgt. Douglas was a woman to be reckoned with. Stephen had wheeled him right into a reverse-trap, and he’d spent the last hour of school doing push-ups for her. Now he was sore, and pissed off. /I’ll get you for that, Pratt/ he thought, bitterly, as he settled back in his seat. He gave his ear piece one more tap, then settled in to continue eavesdropping.

‘-’-’

“So, Madison,” Stephen said over the rim of his soda glass, “Where did you move from?”

He sighed. “Initially, or this time?”

The blonde man raised an eyebrow. “I see.” He set his glass aside. “Either/or. Whichever you feel more comfortable with.”

“We lived in Nagasaki before we came here…” Maddi lowered his eyes, his cheeks flushing. “People didn’t like us there…it was me, mostly. Before that, we lived in America.”

“That explains your features,” Stephen commented. He reached out across the table, taking the younger boy’s chin in his hand and tilting his head back, to gain a better view of his face. “Your hair eyes are pale and round, unlike those of a Japanese child. However, you do seem to have mastered the manner and language of the natives. Were it not for your appearance and occidental family name, I’d easily mistake you for Japanese.”

His face reddened further, and he quickly turned his eyes from those of the beautiful upperclassman. “M-my mother’s father was American,” he stammered, softly, “And my father was, too.”

“Was?”

“My parents are divorced…that’s why we came back to Japan. I was born here, and we moved to America because my father didn’t like it here. When they separated, we came back here--to get away from him.”

Stephen nodded. “It makes sense now why your family name is occidental, then, if the men of your family line have all been American. Is Robertson your mother’s maiden name?”

“Yes.”

“What was your father’s name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Maddi blinked, then frowned. “Charles Newell.”

“Newell?” Stephen repeated. He gagged, making a face like he’d swallowed something dead. “Bleh, what an ugly name!”

The boy smiled. “I thought so too.” Self-consciously, he positioned his glass of ice tea as a barrier between he and the handsome upperclassman. He sipped gingerly from the over-full rim, willing in vain for his blushing to subside. “Where is your family from?” he inquired, softly. “Are you English?”

Stephen raised a graceful eyebrow, pausing in fidgeting with one of his golden ringlets. “Was it this extremely blonde hair of mine that gave me away?” He smirked. “Or is my Japanese to blame?”

“No, no,” Maddi demurred, quickly, lowering his eyes. “Your Japanese is…perfect.”

“Thank you. But?”

“You and Milo have similar accents.”

At this, he smiled more surely. “Ah, I see. Well, you’re half right.”

He blinked. “Half?”

“Yes. I’m actually Anglo-Spaniard.”

“Half Spanish?” Maddi asked. A nod. “I haven’t ever heard of that…amazing…”

Stephen laughed, heartily, waving him off with a shake of his head. “Hardly so. Don’t sound so star-stricken! It’s not all that special.”

“Your parents must be angels…” he sighed in awe.

His senior continued to chuckle at him. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you’re so beautiful.” It came out before he really thought about it, and by the time he realized, it was too late to take it back. He felt a terrible flush creeping down his neck as he struggled for some sort of apology.

However, the expression that crossed Stephen’s face wasn’t one of disgust or of taken offense, but of complete surprise. The blonde man stared at him silently for a long moment, and then, he actually blushed. It was slight, his cheeks dusted a pale pink, but it was there. “…Thank you,” he said, uncertainly, eyes darting every direction. It seemed the statement had left him out of sorts.

Surely he’d been told he was attractive before? It was an undeniable fact! Maddi didn’t question it, proceeding instead to hide behind his glass.

“My mother,” Stephen said at length, by way of continuing the prior conversation, “was the Spanish foreign-minister to England, long before I was born. There, she met my father, and later resigned her position to give birth to me. We lived in England until I was old enough to go to school, at which point they decided to take a chance and immigrated to Japan.”

“Was it hard for you too, in school?” he found himself asking. At the inquiring glance he received, Maddi just sighed, clutching his cup absently between his hands. “I used to get picked on because my looks labeled me as a gaijin. (1)”

“Children can be horrible little creatures,” Stephen agreed, sympathetically. “However, unlike you, I AM gaijin.” Then, he smiled and shook his head. “I might’ve had a hard time at school had we not come straight here. It was a wise decision on their part.”

“You didn’t get picked on here?”

“Not at all.”

He blinked. “Why not?”

“Madison, have you really taken the time to look around, since you moved here?” When he didn’t answer, Stephen’s smile widened, and he laughed a little. “Many of the people living here are foreign. Milo Corinthian is full-blooded English, and Preston Fraser, to the best of my knowledge, is part Irish. You’re no doubt familiar with Liberty Freedom Taylor, our American foreign-exchange student. The list goes on. Midnight Sun is one of few places in this land--so built on strict rules and black-and-white judgments of right or wrong--where people who are different congregate. I suppose it’s easier to come here than to try and deal with being different anywhere else in this country. We’re not even on most maps. I suppose the Japanese culture as a whole is ashamed of us, but can’t do much about it. It’s the town of the wandering misfit.”

Misfit. He frowned at the word. No wonder his mother had brought them here…what better place for a half-blood Japanese-American boy, who looked more like a girl than a boy at all?

But Stephen had brought to his attention the diversity of the town itself. He’d hardly taken notice of the supreme lack of Japanese natives in the area. Surnames such as Fraser, Corinthian, Pratt, Ishizu, Taylor, Keys and so many others weren’t at all oriental. As a matter of fact, even his teachers had occidental names, such as Sgt. Douglas, and Miss Calendar. One of the only people he’d come across here bearing a Japanese name was Mitsuru Hayashi.

He winced.

“So no one here is Japanese?”

“Oh, quite the contrary,” Stephen said, patiently. “While a great number of the people here are gaijin, like Milo and myself, the mass of them are part or full. Some of the partials are concealed by their foreign surnames, and some of the full-bloods hide their race, in defiance of their birth.”

Maddi blinked. “Like who?”

“Gabriel Angel, for one.”

“Milo’s boyfriend?” he blurted. He paused then and blushed, palming his forehead in exasperation. /I keep thinking out loud!/

Surprisingly, the man didn’t seem at all surprised by this statement. “Exactly. His real name is Haruhiko Tenjou. Not to gossip, but I’ve heard his parents were strict and very loyally Japanese in almost every way, to the point that he changed his name to spite them when he came of age. He came here shortly after that, and very few people know why.”

“How do YOU know?”

“I have my sources,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Still, even my own acquaintances are mingled gaijin. Yurin is half Arab, stemming from his father’s blood--I believe his full name is Yurineko Ishizu. The only full Japanese I know personally is Mitsuru, and only because the Hayashi family is old and in good social standing. His mother is so sickeningly proud of him…his actual first name is Mitsurugi, and I’d be damned if he ever knew I spoke it.”

Maddi blinked at this. “…‘Beautiful sword’?”

“If that isn’t the most arrogant name,” Stephen laughed. “He despises it. He once threatened my life for calling him by it. I do it just to bother him sometimes, to take him down off that high-horse he walks around on.”

The small brunette smiled himself, then shrugged. “At least his name has a meaning.” He sighed. “Almost anything’s better than ‘Madison’.”

A long-fingered hand slid across the table, coming to rest once again over his own, and he looked up into its owner’s brilliant green eyes. “I like your name. It suits you.”

Blushing, he diverted his gaze. “You’re too kind…”

“I’m not being kind!” Stephen laughed, and the action lit up his already glowing features. He patted his hand. “It’s a fine name, you should be proud of it. After all--” His smile turned suddenly wry. “Better Madison than Esteban.”

Maddi blinked. “Esteban?”

He nodded, rolling his eyes. “My mother’s fault, of course. It’s my Spanish name. Though my legal name is Stephen, she refuses to call me by it. To her, and to half of my family, my name is Esteban. I think my father is the only person not enrolled in Zi High who calls me Stephen.”

“I think they’re both nice names,” he offered, meekly.

“I can deal with having two names, but when one of them is too long to fit on any business document, it tends to grate on my nerves.” Before Maddi could even ask, Stephen cleared his throat. “Esteban James Miguél Benton Ángel Marquez-Pratt is my full birth-name. That’s hard enough to write out in English.”

He whistled, silently. “They couldn’t make up their minds?”

“My mother wanted Miguél after her father, Ángel after her brother, or Julio after some ex-boyfriend of hers, and my father wanted James after himself, Benton after his father, or Stephen. They compromised, and I have to deal with it.”

Suddenly, he was grateful for his name, which seemed rather short in comparison.

A comfortable peace set in around them and lasted for a few minutes, during which Maddi sipped gingerly at his tea, peering out the window at the street beyond. The people passing by looked busy, but content, and he realized that he’d never really taken the time to appreciate little things like that. He’d spent most of his young life hiding from bullies, because he was different, and yet here, everything was…normal. More normal than any other place he’d lived. Maybe it was because most of the people living there were as Stephen had said--different, just like him.

Maybe he could really be happy here. That thought made him smile.

“I can’t apologize enough for yesterday,” Stephen said, abruptly, his honey-smooth voice cutting cleanly through the silence and bringing him back to reality. There was a tense edge to his tone, one that sounded a lot like guilt.

He blinked, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. The statement made enough sense, but where had it come from?

As he opened his mouth to ask, Stephen’s hand abandoned its place atop his knuckles, rising slowly to cup his injured cheek. His fingertips brushed feather-light over the bruise, earning a wince from its bearer, and the upperclassman’s frown deepened. “For what he nearly did to you,” he murmured. He lowered his voice further, as if to spare Maddi the shame of anyone overhearing. “There’s no excuse for him at all.”

“I-it wasn’t your fault,” the boy objected, quietly, staring firmly into his eyes. “You saved me…you shouldn’t feel bad.”

Stephen sighed, removing his hand from Maddi’s face (much to his dismay). “Even so, as his so-called friend, I feel obligated to take responsibility for him. He’s so spoiled, and his fundamentalist’s way of thinking makes him a bother at times. Until now, he’s been treating you harshly, I’m certain, because he’s of the belief that an outsider is an outsider, no matter the place. He’s lived here all his life, so for new people to just show up out of the blue…I suppose he finds it threatening. I came here at such a young age that one could assume he ‘pardoned’ me for moving in and not being born here. But, I digress…I spent the better part of last night thinking, and I just couldn’t figure out what would drive him to attack you the way he did.”

‘-’-’

Beck’s waning attention was immediately dragged back to the conversation. Clearing his ear with one finger, he turned to his partner in crime. “What did he say about something and Maddi?”

“Somebody attacked him,” Liberty said, uncertainly. “Stef dropped his voice at the last second. Didn’t catch a name.”

The blue-haired punk stared cautiously over the back of the seat at the boy, his eyes returning again to the ugly bruise marring his sweet features. He frowned. “Pratt knows about that?”

“Your boy probably told him.”

“…” A frown dragged at the corners of his mouth, but he didn’t make a sound. He couldn’t. /I don’t like it./

“…Becky, what’s with that face?”

Ignoring her, he lifted the menu again to his ear.

‘-’-’

Stephen shook his head. “I’ve known him well over ten years and I still don’t understand his motives. However, excuses aside, he had no right to…” He trailed off, shifting uncomfortably, then frowned again. “He had no right to treat you that way. None at all.”

In the sight of the other’s shame, Maddi found that he felt much less intimidated by his social rank, age and looks, to the point that he disregarded them all completely for that moment. “Stephen,” he said, firmly, reaching out himself to grasp the man’s graceful hand in both of his own, “He tried to hurt me, but that’s not your fault, and you shouldn’t have to defend him. What’s important to me is that he didn’t hurt me--because of you. And I’m more grateful than I could ever say. I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened…” He winced as the prior day’s nightmare flashed through his mind.

Stephen gave a weak smile, inclining his head in a small nod. “I suppose being blonde came in handy for once. I shudder to think what would’ve happened had I not forgotten my keys.” It was amazing how different he looked then, how very unlike the proud and flirtatious class president he’d found himself developing feelings toward. Though his features were just the same, something about the calm humility he displayed made him shine unlike before. “I wish I’d’ve arrived sooner, however, to spare you such brutality.”

“I’ve been through worse,” he muttered, darkly. “As weak as I am, I can take a lot more than you’d think.”

“You shouldn’t have to. Someone like you should never be mistreated.”

Heat blazed up in his face at this, and he looked up from their clasped hands to see Stephen smiling at him again, not with amusement, but something else. It reminded him once more that this was his senior, a Preppy, and a man. “S-someone like me?” he sputtered, shyly.

“You should be taken care of, cherished,” Stephen said, “Not faced with such heartless savagery. You aren’t made to stand against it--you’re made to be loved.”

His eyes widened, his cheeks burning. “L-loved…?” Damn his stutter.

The man moved to answer, but paused as his eyes shifted to dawdle somewhere else in the restaurant. His eyebrows arched in askance. “My, my, what a small world.”

Maddi blinked, stupidly. “Huh?”

“Look back that way.” He gestured.

Curiously, he turned his head around and craned his neck, then jumped. “Milo? What’s he doing here?”

“Eating, it appears,” Stephen chuckled. “Why not call him over?”

Maddi smiled, nodding, then turned and gave a small wave. “Milo! Hey!”

The platinum-haired youth turned abruptly, nearly dumping his cluttered tray on the floor in surprise, and then his cherubic face split into a dazzling smile. Balancing the tray carefully in his hands, he traversed the place, coming to stand next to their table. “Why, hello, Madison!” he said, cheerfully, grinning down at them. His dark eyes darted to the second person at the table, and his smile only grew. “And Stephen as well? What are you two up to this afternoon?” His tone took on a strange lilt with this inquiry.

It was then that Maddi realized he was still clutching Stephen’s hand, and his face reddened impossibly. Lightning-fast, he pulled his hands into his lap, laughing out of sheer embarrassment. “Um, nothing?” he offered, weakly.

“So it seems!”

“Indeed,” Stephen agreed, propping his chin up on his fist with a smile. “We’re just getting to know each other a little better, that’s all. I think we’re getting along wonderfully, don’t you agree, Madison?”

He nodded, bashfully.

Milo’s smile was making him feel very uncomfortable. “I see.” After walking up to find them holding hands, he no doubt had the wrong idea. /Or, Maddi amended silently, /at least I think that’s the wrong idea…/ His face flushed even further. /I hope it’s not the wrong idea!/

“So, what brings you here, ordering so much food?” Stephen asked, indicating the laden tray.

Milo rolled his eyes. “Babysitting, I suppose you could say.”

“Might your charges run off while you dawdle with us?”

“I doubt I’m so lucky,” he sighed, smiling tiredly. “Now that you’ve reminded me, though, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay and chat with you. Although…” Another strange grin claimed his lips. “I really should be moving along. I wouldn’t want to intrude any further on your bonding.”

Maddi gawked. “Bonding? Milo!”

“I meant nothing by it!” the smaller boy laughed. Stephen chuckled, but Maddi found it less amusing and more embarrassing. With a sigh, Milo gave a small bow over his tray. “It’s been nice running into you.”

As he strolled away, Maddi couldn’t help but wonder what Milo meant when he said he was babysitting.

But he had a sneaking suspicion as to the meaning.

--

To Be Continued

(1) Gaijin: Japanese term for ‘foreigner’, or anyone that doesn’t seem Japanese.

A random note on Stephen’s full name: Ángel isn’t pronounced like ‘angel’, it’s pronounced ‘AHN-hay-ell’, as it’s Spanish.

Xandra: I didn’t proofread this, as I think it’s been postponed long enough. Hope it’s not too bad. (Though anything’s better than the earlier chapters…I really have to go back and fix those.)

I won’t make promises of an update, because we all know how bad I am at that. Just review, please. XD Hope you enjoyed.