A/N: A huge thank-you to my reviewers: sealednectar, Samara-chan, eve-maiden, Intorqueo, 12pinkroses, King of Monsters, rocky19, Sum1Got2, elena, Spazifiedcheerio, Adora Bell, SolisLuna, and Alice.

Quick Summary: Emily has her first conversation with Jason.

Memory Lapse

Chapter Five: Hand Me That Pistol, Betty

I hate being a woman. I swear to fucking God! I really, really…hate periods.

Boys just don’t understand what we girls go through; that’s all; that’s all it is.

They.don’t.understand. I want to rip someone’s head off!

Argh!

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck; Jesus Christ, save me.

Deep breath. Exhale. In, out. Deep breath, exhale. Okay. I’m done.

Ready for a new school day.

…I just hate periods so much.

‘Mom!’ I screamed. ‘I’m about to die!’

I heard a pause in her movement. From what I could remember of her routine, my mom was probably just about to open her closet to get out some new clothes. ‘Is it your period again, honey?’

Grumble, grumble. ‘Yes.’

‘You know, I bought you those extra-strength pads the other day.’ My mom walked into my room to rub my stomach. I sat up, trapping her hand. ‘They’re in the hall closet. Do you want me to get them for you?’ Her hand lifted, undecided.

‘No! Keep on rubbing,’ I instructed. My mom’s hand continued to do just that, making the soothing kind of blood move to my stomach. ‘Oh, that’s nice…’ Then, ‘don’t we have a hot-pack?’ I questioned, remembering what relief our hot, squishy piece of…microwavable material usually offered my poor, suffering uterus. My poor, poor, suffering uterus. Ai, mami! I whimpered. ‘…A hot-pack would be nice.’

‘You know, I think we do,’ my mom said, still rubbing circular motions on my belly. She looked down. ‘Oh, baby, it’s late again, isn’t it? You know if you would just take your multi-vitamins like I told you to…’ my mom went on, and I blocked her voice out as much as I could through the vicious, severe pain that was my insides tying themselves up in knots. Oh Jesus, Jesus, my poor knotty insides. Haha, knotty…naughty. Haha.

‘What? Why are you laughing?’

‘Nothing,’ I told her. ‘Keep rubbing.’

‘…Hmmm. Maybe I should get you that hot-pack now.’

I peered at her. ‘Can you be quick about it?’

‘I’ll be quick,’ my mom promised, gazing at me lovingly. It was times like these that I liked being the center of her universe.

‘How about snappy?’ I questioned almost seriously. ‘Snap, snap. Quick and snappy-snap, snap?’

My mom stared at me. ‘Is the ‘snap, snap’ very important?’

‘The ‘snap, snap’ is very important,’ I said. My mom nodded solemnly, lifting her hand from my belly; I immediately felt the difference in air; in muscle relaxation; in general peace of mind. My mom shuffled to the door, the sash of her robe trailing behind her. ‘Five minutes,’ she told me.

I groaned. ‘Hurry back. I am dying.’

…

So, I’m at school; ready for another day.

In truth, I am actually ready. I spent the majority of last night going over yesterday’s events in my head, and I finally came to the conclusion that it wasn’t worth it-all this thought re-hashing. I should just go with the flow; just be, ya’ know? I’ve come to the conclusion that if I just be than everything will work itself out, and I won’t even have to worry about Jason McFee, or Eric Anderson, or whether or not I’m going to be chicken and run away from a table-full of hot guys at lunch today.

I have now decided that my right to think at all is too risky for my peace of mind to actually continue existing, and therefore, it needs to be eliminated, so I can live and have fun.

I also realize that thinking that is all just a crack-dream, anyway.

…Not think at all??

What utter, utter tripe.

How will I function if my right to thought is eliminated?

It would be absolutely preposterous of me to consider not thinking at all. And I am not really a preposterous person, so…

Do you see? Do you see how difficult it is for me to not think at all?

It is fucking impossible.

I am my only true confidant, of course, I am going to think.

…Deep breath. Yes!

Today is a block day, and I am ready.

Bring it on, you pussies.

Though, I bet you’re wondering what happened yesterday after I made the break for the bathroom.

This is what happened.

I raced in-plopped my (bare) ass down on the toilet in the stall I had opened-and, after looking down, found out I had not in fact, crapped my pants. I had farted kind of, but there was no…poop to be seen and no poopy-odor to be scented, so I soon came to the conclusion that it was just a giant pseudo-fart that I had released. A butt-queef if you will.

Which was kind of a relief, I guess.

Or, I mean…yay! No pooh in my pants, pretty fantastic!

I would much rather have found it was my period that was the problem, than suffer the ignoble fate of walking around the school with my pants smelling like ass, but…

It was still my period. I mean, come on. It was fucking early and I was not prepared; so I felt kind of cheated, because you know what? My mom had the right of it: my periods are usually late.

Like, late-late. Really late.

My periods are so late in fact, that sometimes they just decide to not come at all-and that is when I worry, because periods-not-coming-at-all is what happens to pregnant girls. And I’ll get very paranoid then, because, I’ll start to think that it has finally come, the day where God has decided that He needs to be a laugh-riot and will me pregnant with the second messiah, the second baby Jesus.

And…okay, even though I want fame, truly, truly want it, I don’t want to get famous through Immaculate Conception.

People would expect way too much of me.

They would expect me to remain sin-free up until my dying day, and I don’t think I’m ready to do that right now. I would feel pressured to do just that (i.e. not lust), and…that’s not a very fun existence.

Because, I want to lust; I do it all the time, and I’m not a nun, so I want to lust.

And, obviously, I want some sex.

And I will also say that I really don’t want a kid without having the sex first. God needs to realize that he cheated Mary big-time with that aspect.

He so should have had sex with her. I mean, she’s having his baby. Seriously. The least you can do is give the chick an orgasm or two. Possibly seven…

Hey, whatever it takes to ease the load is all I’m sayin’. Just give her a memory to look back on.

I mean, he’s God. If anyone has the power to pound you senseless, it’s Him.

…Anyway, on that subject-the conceiving-, I wouldn’t mind, hypothetically, if Jason McFee were to father my children.

I’ve actually been thinking about it lot-restroom stalls are really conducive to thought-and I’ve decided think our kids would be awesome. Jason’s and mine. Especially so, if all we had were boys; because then they would all be super tall and very into music and…fuck, never mind.

Never mind.

Fuck.

What the hell am I thinking?

I’m not on my period.

All this blood and all these cramps is just a warning. My body is sending out mayday signals, because I’m about to step into a very large and unavoidable piece of crap in the middle of the walkway that is my life, and I need to watch out.

That is all.

Seeing Jason is making me bleed out of my female orifice-and this complicates matters, but it will be alright as long as I have toilet paper to wipe my ass with.

…Which…let me just say…

That I do not understand the preoccupation school officials-across America-have with budgeting the tissue that goes in restroom stalls. It is way too thin. And it is way too porous.

And when it is not weighed down with blood and other vaginal excrement (!), it is the stiffest and most uncomfortable paper ever, in this world, to use as a replacement for an Always pad.

‘Cause I had to do that, obviously.

I stuffed about half a roll of that tissue in my underwear and it still did not last me through my next class.

After fourth period, I kept my head down, basically, and trotted through the needed motions; ignoring everyone who cut in my path for the rest of the day.

And it worked. Or almost worked. Only a few people tried to talk to me, and inquire about the state of my health, or why I seemed to be glaring at air.

I was really nervous.

I blushed a lot-Eric was brave enough to venture if I had a skin condition.

…He, uh, needs to shut up in the future.

Intimidating stares to his friends aside, Eric Anderson’s kind of scaring me with his persistence. If my life were even more cliché, he would be involved in a bet with Jason to win my affections. But too bad, life’s not interesting like that.

Even so, I’m here in my classroom now, and even though I’m leaking fluid, at least it’s not going to be patently obvious to anyone who sees the back of me.

And at least I’m here. I didn’t switch schools overnight, or anything.

And...wow…second period is my Jason McFee class. I am agog with excitement.

‘Hey, aren’t you the new girl?’

‘Um, yes,’ I responded, preoccupied, unloading the materials I carried with me out of my book bag.

‘You look really familiar.’

‘Do I?’ I choked, finally looking up. I went back to unloading, wishing I could find some reason to ignore the person talking to me. ‘That’s, uh…very interesting.’

‘No, I’m serious.’ Jason paused, and I could feel him looking me over. ‘…Your name isn’t Emily, is it?’

I slammed my planner on the desk. ‘Of course it is, you fucker.’

‘…’

‘I’m sorry,’ I blurted, horrified. My hand flapped, trying to explain. ‘My mouth is just…and it’s early, I’m not awake…’

‘It’s okay,’ Jason interrupted.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘Right…’

‘So, Emily,’ Jason began again, taking a seat. ‘How old are you?’

‘I’m fifteen,’ I stated nervously. ‘…How, uh…how old are you?’

‘Eighteen.’

‘…Very cool.’

‘Aren’t you a little young to be in this class?’

‘Well, I like Spanish,’ I started.

‘Really?’

‘Yea, it’s my favorite class…’ There was more I could say to that, but I was afraid what would happen should I voice the fact that I had gone to his elementary school.

‘I like it a lot, too,’ Jason nodded. ‘But it’s hard, keeping up with the other credits I need, to take this class.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, I’m graduating this year, and I still need two requirements filled.’

‘Well, that’s just two classes, right?’ I leaned in, confused.

‘No, it’s more than two. I need eight credits total, and each class is two credits. So that makes it four classes. I really shouldn’t even be taking Spanish, since I have all the language credits I need…but I didn’t want to drop it.’

‘So, what other classes…’ Our conversation was cut short by the bell ringing. Jason shrugged at me.

‘Mr. McFee,’ the deep voice belonging to our teacher said, making me jump, ‘I know it goes against your better instincts, but could you please refrain from corrupting the only sophomore I have in this class?’ Jason negligently swiveled around to face Mr. Schutz, raising an eyebrow.

‘I’m sor-,’ he began.

‘En Español, por favór,’ Mr. Schutz interrupted.

‘Lo siento.’

Mr. Schutz nodded at him. ‘Bien hecho.’

‘I remember you from somewhere...’ Jason said, once our teacher had turned away, and I had suppressed my nervous giggles. ‘I can’t remember from where, though.’

‘…Well, if it helps…’ Stupid mouth, shut up. ‘…You look very familiar too.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Miss Bennett-.’

‘Lo siento,’ I apologized, turning around.

‘…See that it doesn’t happen again.’

‘No,’ I agreed.

‘Class,’ Mr. Schutz addressed everyone in a louder voice, making me listen up. ‘I hope you have your homework done, because I’m going to collect it now.’

‘Did you do the homework?’ Jason asked from behind me.

‘Yea,’ I blushed. ‘Do you, uh…need to see it?’

‘No, that’s okay,’ he said quickly.

‘Okay, um…’

‘I just want to keep you talking for when Mr. Schutz comes around.’

‘Excuse me?’

Jason snickered. Mr. Schutz had come up behind me.

‘Miss Bennett, I realize it’s hard to help what you feel, but if you could turn yourself away from Mr. McFee for just one second to hand me your homework, I would feel most obliged.’

‘Fuck, I’m sorry.’

‘Miss Bennett!’

‘I mean…‘lo siento!’ ¡¡Lo siento!!’

The class laughed, and I cringed, not understanding.

‘Yes, ‘lo siento.’ Mr. Schutz gazed at me oddly. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Bien…ahora, dame su tarea.’ He held out a hand with a pile of neatly stacked papers in it.

‘I, uh...’

‘¿Lo tienes?’

‘I do have it,’ I assured him. ‘I just have to find it.’

Mr. Schutz sighed and turned to Jason. ‘Mr. McFee, then.’

‘Here.’ Jason handed him a rolled up piece of lined paper. Mr. Schutz receiving it like he would a bomb slowly started to unravel it.

‘¿Qué es eso?’

Jason shrugged at him.

Mr. Schutz coughed and began reading. ‘I see, lady…’ He stopped abruptly, glancing at Jason, then continued in a wary voice, ‘I see, lady…the gentleman is not in your books…’ I looked up sharply seeing Jason mouth the next line at me. ‘…No…no. An’ he were, I would burn my study…’…what is this?’

‘You don’t read Shakespeare, Mr. Schutz?’ Jason asked in a casual voice, winking at me.

I recoiled.

‘Oh, I do, but why did you hand me a piece of paper with his quote on it?’

‘I thought you would enjoy it.’

Mr. Schutz laughed, surprising the class. He clapped a hand on Jason’s shoulder, squeezing hard. ‘Thank you. But, I would enjoy it more if you would hand me the correct assignment, Jason. We all know this isn’t an English class. Shakespeare doesn’t belong.’

‘Lo siento.’ Jason fished in his pocket, and dug out an equally scrunched up sheet of paper to hand to him. ‘Aquí.’

‘It’s the right one this time,’ Mr. Schutz said rhetorically. ‘Because, if it’s not-.’

‘It’s the worksheet,’ Jason promised him.

‘You are my favorite student,’ Mr. Schutz informed him; then turned once more to me.

I smiled nervously, handing him my sheet. ‘I found it, thanks for waiting.’

‘You are welcome.’ Mr. Schutz moved along to the next row.

I turned to sit properly, hating myself.

‘So, about you looking familiar…’

‘Can you leave me alone?’ I questioned. ‘I want to be able to hear everything Mr. Schutz is saying.’

‘…Why?’

‘Because, I like this class,’ I hissed, looking straight ahead.

‘Well, I need to talk to you.’

‘I’m sure it can-.’

‘You look really familiar,’ he interrupted.

‘I get that a lot,’ I promised him.

Jason laughed. ‘Are you an actor, or something?’

‘…I…I want to be,’ I said, confused.

‘But you’re not now.’

‘No.’

Jason was silent. ‘You know, this is gonna’ kill me ‘til I figure it out,’ he mumbled.

‘Oh, please die.’

‘What?’

‘You’re making me cry,’ I told him. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘You know...Emily…you are a very sarcastic person.’

‘Really.’

‘...It’s kinda’ hot…’ Jason continued. ‘What’s even hotter is that you refuse to even look at me, but I can see your ears are turning red.’

‘Um…’

‘Miss Bennett.’

‘Yes!’ Thank God. I switched my attention to Mr. Schutz. ‘What is it?’ What? What do you need me to do? Teach the class? I’ll do it.

‘…I was wondering if you would read this sentence.’ Mr. Schutz pointed to the board. On it, in a tidy scroll was the line, ‘de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme.’ I commenced reading enthusiastically. ‘You have a very good accent,’ Mr. Schutz said, when I was done. I thanked him. ‘Do you know where that line is from?’

I nodded. ‘Don Quixote de la Mancha.’

‘Muy bien. Now, who wrote it?’

‘Miguel de Cervantes.’ Mr. Schutz smiled, and then, fluidly, like he had planned it all along, widened his eyes comically. ‘Jason!’

‘What?’

‘Stop playing with Miss Bennett’s hair!’

‘I totally w-.’

‘What!’ I turned around, almost breaking my neck. Jason’s hand had been touching me, and I didn’t even know it. ‘What are you doing?’

‘What are you talking about? Mr. Schutz, I...’ Jason gestured over my shoulder. ‘I was not touching her. At all.’

Mr. Schutz tsked at him. ‘Mr. McFee, I saw you.’

‘...I might have been touching her,’ Jason allowed, grimacing. Grimacing? ‘But it was only to remove this.’ He held up a tiny piece of torn off paper. ‘Someone apparently put it in her hair.’

‘Oh, you liar!’ Jason shrugged at me. ‘Mr. Schutz-.’

‘I really am tempted to remove you both from my classroom,’ the teacher interrupted. ‘You’re distracting everyone.’

‘I’m sorry.’ I breathed out, frustrated. ‘It won’t happen again.’

‘You keep saying that.’

‘It’s not all her fault.’

‘Wh-!’

‘I am aware of that, Mr. McFee,’ Mr. Schutz said, looking back at Jason. A tingle of apprehension shot down my spine, even though I was no longer the one being reprimanded. ‘See me after class,’ he advised. ‘There are things we need to talk about.’

…

We were halfway through the period, when I felt a tickle against my neck. It was something I’d been waiting for, but just to be sure, I scratched at it suspiciously. Feeling the sensation disappear, I prepared myself. About ten seconds later, I felt it again.

‘Alright,’ I snapped, turning around. I glared at Jason. ‘I know what you’re doing and I want you to stop it.’

‘Stop what?’ Jason blinked innocently. Both of his hands were resting palm-down on his desk, not near my hair at all. ‘I’ve just been sitting here.’

‘Are you twelve?’ I demanded. ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘I swear I haven’t been doing anything,’ Jason promised me.

‘…I just want to learn,’ I said, after a moment, finding everything about him to be very, very odd. What would happen next, I did not know. Ritual sacrifice, maybe.

This was all starting to feel a bit deja-vu-ish.

‘…As long as I can talk to you after class.’

‘What?’ I shook my head. ‘You have to stay after class to talk with Mr. Schutz,’ I reminded him.

‘Will you wait for me?’

I stalled. ‘…Will I wait for you?’

Jason nodded.

‘Um…’

‘Cause I have something to ask you.’

‘Al-alright.’

‘Cool.’

I stared for another moment then turned back around to hear the lesson.

The period tinges were becoming particularly awful and I realized that I needed to use the bathroom; interrupting the lesson, however, was not something I planned on doing. Mr. Schutz would probably string me up along with Jason, if I spoke out of turn again. Of course it didn’t help me feel calm when I continuously felt Jason’s eyes on me. Or maybe I wanted to feel his eyes on me.

Maybe he wasn’t staring at all.

‘Miss Bennett, I’d like to see you after class.’

‘Okay,’ I squeaked to Mr. Schutz, only half-surprised. ‘…What about?’

‘It has to do with the assignment you handed me.’

‘Oh.’ Yea, right. Nervously, I re-hacked my brain for a mistake I could have made. I doubted Mr. Schutz wanted to praise me for my grasp on the past tense. Spanish came easy, but it was still just a homework assignment. More probable was the chance that he wanted to continue lecturing me on talking to Jason. I was another female succumbing, obviously. I needed to see the light.

Jason laughed behind me. Oh, how I hate you.

‘Okay,’ I told Mr. Schutz.

I was not looking forward to the ending of this class.

…

‘I’m going to be giving you a detention.’

I stared. Jason had already had his talk with Mr. Schutz, and had left the room. Hopefully, he wasn’t waiting for me outside. ‘I’m sorry?’ I asked.

‘I’m giving you a detention,’ Mr. Schutz repeated. ‘It’s only the second day of the new semester, and yes, Miss Bennett, you’re new to this school, but that still doesn’t excuse your behavior. Common courtesy should expect you to stay silent while a teacher is giving a lesson, new to Detroit or not.’

‘I’m not new to Detroit,’ I told him. ‘I was actually born here.’

‘…I’m sorry; I don’t see your point.’

‘I don’t think I had one,’ I admitted. ‘Or one that makes sense with what you’re trying to say, you know what? I’ll just stop talking. Did Jason get a detention?’

‘Thank you, and yes he did.’

‘...Good.’ I blushed, embarrassed. ‘…I mean it’s only fair…’

‘I understand. You may go.’ He made the shoo-ing motion. ‘But please inform Mr. McFee, when you see him, that I will be expecting him in class tomorrow.’

‘You have class with Jason tomorrow?’ Mr. Schutz nodded. ‘What else do you teach?’

‘Along with this class, and year two Spanish, I teach two Honors Calculus courses.’

Oh…Christ. ‘…That’s you? You’re that Mr. Schutz.’

Mr. Schutz chuckled, not sounding offended. ‘Yes, were you supposed to have me yesterday?’

I nodded, dazed.

‘I had a meeting I could not miss, so I had Mr. Lawson fill in for me. But I will be in tomorrow. Surely, you knew…’

‘I did know,’ I told him. ‘I just didn’t really place it, since you weren’t there and uh…since Jason wasn’t there…’

‘Oh, you poor girl, Jason’s in your class?’ Mr. Schutz shook his head. ‘One is enough, but two? That really is too bad…still,’ his lips twitched under his bushy mustache, ‘don’t expect me to be as lenient with you there as I was this morning.’

‘I…no, of course not.’

‘I hope you’ve learned your lesson, Miss Bennett.’ Mr. Schutz glanced at his watch. ‘But you should go! Lunch started ten minutes ago.’

‘Right…bye.’

‘Good day.’

Jason caught up with me as I rushed out the door. ‘You said we could talk, remember?’

I stopped and shifted the bag over my shoulder, peering at him. ‘I did say that,’ I admitted slowly. ‘What…did you want to tell me?’

‘Well, walk to lunch with me.’

‘I can’t,’ I told him. ‘I’m supposed to meet someone.’

‘Well, I just want to talk with you for a minute. It won’t take long, I promise.’

‘Okay,’ I said.

‘Okay…’ Jason began walking.

‘Um…okay...so.’ I trotted behind him, unsure.

‘So, you’re Emily Bennett,’ Jason said.

‘That’s right.’ I looked at him weirdly.

Come on, now.

‘And…so, you’re Emily Bennett?’

‘…Yes.’

‘Emily!’

‘Eric!’ I halfway turned.

Yes!

I never thought I would be glad to see this boy.

But I am.

Yes!

‘Emily, I was looking for you.’

‘He was,’ I informed Jason, who had turned his back stiffly the second Eric called down the hall.

‘Oh, jaysus, not Anderson,’ Jason mumbled. ‘I’ll see you later,’ Jason said to me, walking quickly down the hall in the other direction.

…Weird.

‘Emily…’ Eric panted, running up to me.

‘What’s…up, Eric?’ I greeted.

‘I’ve been looking for you,’ Eric said. He nodded over my shoulder, at presumably the running Jason. ‘Who was that?’

‘Right, I know…no one.’ I smiled. ‘…Did you want something from me?’

Eric stepped closer. ‘Well, I didn’t see you where-.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I began, just remembering that Eric had told me to meet him outside his class, and I hadn’t. ‘Mr. Schutz made me stay after class to talk about homework with him…and then he gave me a detention.’

‘What?’

‘I know!’

‘Tell me everything,’ Eric demanded, grabbing my elbow and intertwining it with his. I was forced to keep up with him and his long stride as he sped us towards the cafeteria. Seeing a restroom sign, I remembered my full bladder.

‘Just as soon as I go to the bathroom,’ I promised, disengaging myself. ‘One minute.’

I opened the door.

Isolation. Thank Goodness.

Walking up to the mirror, I screamed silently, feeling the extra urge to punch in the glass. I then stomped my foot like a child. Awful, I wailed. Awful, awful, awful.

‘Emily…what are you doing?’

‘Eric, get out!’ I rushed at him, trying to force Eric out the door but not really getting him to move any. ‘This is a female facility.’

‘Well, you were taking too long.’

‘I swear I will kill you.’ I pushed at his head. ‘I am on my period, get out.’ Eric didn’t move. ‘Do you want to die?’ I questioned.

‘So, I see you’re no longer shy,’ He muttered, backtracking and letting the door swing behind him.

Arghh!

Die! Die! Die!

I changed my pad, zipped up, and took another minute for myself; gazing at nothing.

‘I’m alright,’ I told Eric, when I came back outside. ‘I just had a small episode.’

Eric shrugged. ‘It happens.’