AN: Ooh, this took me a really long time to write. (Yeah, five pages. Heh.) I’m having second thoughts about it, but I hope you like it anyway..?

Oh, dear God, how did I get myself involved this scheme of my brother’s? (Hah, yeah, so they are doing this for me, and… okay, shut up.)

I’m here. In school. Earlier than I should be. With Roscoe. And a camera that Mason stole from the A/V room. With Roscoe.

Did I mention that already?

…Did I also mention how I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do because Mason was overly hyperactive last night because he was really excited that I was willing to do something that had to do with vengeance? Yes, me, Sylvie, the “good” twin. Please. Like Mason’s the bad one! He really isn’t. He’s just… a guy. And, sometimes, just sometimes, I feel that I can understand him and his guy mannerisms. I wish I could say the same about Roscoe.

Holy Toledo- It’s all about Roscoe Harris isn’t it? Roscoe, Roscoe, Roscoe…I wonder what I’ll be like if I ever ask him out. Or vice versa? Hey, a girl can dream, right?

Did I also mention that I’ve been standing all alone in a very small classroom with Roscoe, with a video camera, waiting to take my vengeance on Chester?

Oh, boy.

Awkward.

Wait. Wait, wait, WAITTTT! Did Molly just walk by… with Chester? What the feck is going on here?! Does she have her own plan of vengeance that she didn’t tell me about? (Hmm. Molly’s purple tracksuit -which is very similar to what Sarah’s wearing right now, except hers is pink, of course- makes her look a little like Barney. You know. He’s the dinosaur from our imagination? Anyway.)

Oh my god. She gave me a Look. What?! How did she know that I was standing at the door?

“Roscoe, why are you turning on the camera?” I whisper as quietly as I can. This, I must say, is really hard.

He just shushes me, looking very, very, very handsome with that brooding, serious stare on his face.

As I’m sulking- I hate not being “in the know”- I hear Chester say, “I knew you’d see things my way, Molly.”

“Yeah, I, unlike Sylvie, happen to have the brains.”

OHMYGODOHMYGOD, that conniving, back-stabbing, dim-witted little wench!

“Dude, just calm down, okay? Trust me.” Roscoe says soothingly, concentrating on the camera work.

“So, we’re agreed that you’ll-“ Here, Chester pauses to push the glasses up the bridge of his bulbous, snot-filled nose that I’d very much like to break with my fist- “drop out of the race, support my candidacy, and help me sabotage Sylvie’s campaign?”

“Only if you promise to do my science, Spanish and social studies homework!” Molly sings as they walk away. Ew. Skank.

Then, it finally dawns on me. Our plan is going even better than I thought! I shouldn’t be getting angry! With Molly and Chester’s rendezvous caught on tape, I should win by default! Right? Right?!

“Ah, so you get it now?” Roscoe whispers, seeing a really big smile appear on my face.

I nod happily. “Did you two plan this?”

He smirks. (Argh, he’s so cute when he looks all devious and cunning!) “No. Apparently, Molly saw him in the A/V room and told him about her little thing with Chester. She wants him to get caught also.”

My jaw drops. “You’re kidding me!” I yell, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?!”

“Uh... Okay, don’t kill me, Syl. Mason really wanted to get you pissed off. Some weird sibling thing, I guess?”

“Oh, my god, he’s gonna get it. I’m so showing Sarah some of his more flattering pictures from our childhood,” I sigh. I notice a weird expression crossing Roscoe’s face.

“Yeah, that sounds good...” he says, trailing off, not really looking at me anymore. “Maybe I’ll come along.” He chuckles quietly, running a hand through his untidy black hair.

Must resist urge to fix hair in eyes... must...resist...!

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask as casually as I can, trying to search his face for, I don’t know, something. Some kind of clue to the whole Roscoe Harris mystery... Not that he’s such a secretive person, but... Does the boy like me or NOT?! I lean against the corner between the wall and the door and wait for his answer.

“N- Oh, I dunno,” he says, shrugging, finally setting the camera on a nearby desk. Roscoe sighs deeply, giving me that whole searching look also. I try my hardest to meet his gaze, but it’s so damn hard to stare into those intense eyes of his. “I’m just confused that’s all.”

“Er... about what?”

“Life, girls, me.” He paused. “You.”

“Uh. Me?” I squeak, blinking up at him as he rests on the door.

“Yeah, you. And us, actually.”

My heart skips a beat. “Us?” I repeat. “What about...us?”

“Well, first order of business—Sylvie, you’re not like any of the other girls I’ve me. And, no, I’m not trying to sound like some eighties’ movie stud. I really do mean it. You’re not obsessed with your looks or what other people think of you—“

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Harris,” I interrupt. “I’m just as self-conscious as any other girl here, I’ll admit.”

He smirks. “Indeed, but with you... I have talked face to face with a vigorous and expanded mind.” ... I can’t believe he just quoted Jane Eyre: The Musical...!! “In all seriousness, You’re just not like other girls. What I mean is... Sylvie, I like you.” He runs a hand through his hair, probably waiting for a response from me.

My response:

But, it’s virtually impossible to say a bunch of exclamation points out loud, so...

“I like you too, Roscoe,” I manage, my face breaking out into the biggest, stupidest smile ever. I, of course, add on, “I guess that’s why I’m always a bumbling fool around you. I’m not usually such a spaz. Really.” We both chuckle nervously. Then, some sort of weird feeling comes over me and I find myself reaching for his hand.

So, we’re standing there, hand in hand, grinning like mad idiots, in the middle of a classroom.

“So,” I cough, “What now?”

Roscoe smiles. “Well, according to every cliché teen movie, this is the part where we’re supposed to kiss. But, seeing that you, Sylvie, aren’t the cliché type...”

“Screw not being cliché for now,” I say, surprising both him and me.

He says nothing and leans in, closing the space between our lips. So, I didn’t see fireworks or hear a pretty ballad play in the background, but, hell, it was probably one of the most awesome sensations I’ve ever felt.

HOLY TOLEDO I’M KISSING ROSCOE HARRIS.

As we’re kissing, he lets go of my hand and wraps his arms around my waist, and, like a freak, I pull back, nearly jumping five feet in the air. “Er... sorry,” he mutters, turning red.

I kind of grin and put my hands on his shoulders. “Nah, it’s fine with me. Now...where were we?” I ask, a little more than eager to continue what we started. It really isn’t as awkward as I thought, finally kissing Roscoe. It’s nice. Heck, it’s more than nice, it’s amazing.

He kisses me again, and just as I lean into it, a squeal is heard from outside the door. “OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS!”

“Er... hey, Sarah,” we both say, redder than tomatoes.

Mason has a hand clamped over Sarah’s mouth to keep her from squealing her ass off. He looks embarrassed and a little weirded. Then, I catch his eyes and he shoots me a grin, giving a “well, if you must” shrug.

“Thanks,” I mouth as Roscoe opens the door, taking my hand and leading me outside.

“So, are you, like, boyfriend-girlfriend now?” Mason asks, imitating his girlfriend while making the most bizarre Valley-girl accent.

Roscoe and I share a look, and we both nod.

“Just... Never do that again, Mason,” he adds.

“Agreed.”

He releases Sarah and she immediately pounces on me, screaming, “OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODSYLVIESYLVIEICAN’TBELIEVEITI’MSOOOOOOHAPPPPPPYYYY!!”