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We Can Work it Out by a case of me
Summary: They’ve hated each other for years, although the reasons may be more significant than meets the eye. She’s an outspoken feminist ready to take senior year head on. He’s an arrogant player there for the ride and parties. With many unresolved disputes, harsh words, interesting feelings, jealousy, and two equally short fuses, their senior year might not go as smoothly as planned. When their best friends start dating, the shit is surely going to hit the fan.
Main Characters:
Frederica (Freddie) Addison- Narrator, swears too much, very clever and cynical. Doesn’t take crap from anyone, or else she’ll kick the person’s ass (or maybe just yell at them). She’s outspoken and tough, but secretly a hopeless romantic. (Tell and die)
Emi Tamaki- Freddie’s best friend, optimistic, flirty, and kind-hearted, laughs a lot. She can be very bossy and strict when she wants to be. She’s more closed off than people realize; trust is important to her and she doesn’t like putting every emotion she’s feeling out in the open.
Erik Carson- Hot is hot, and he’s frigging hot. Add charming heartbreaker, arrogance, popularity, intelligence, and a side he rarely shows, and you’ve got someone in need of a wake-up call. Any takers?
Kevin Lowell- Erik’s best friends, new boyfriend of Emi. A sweet, slightly shy boy with a good sense of humor, he’s the perfect boy-next-door and boyfriend. That’s right: he needs some excitement and challenge, and he’s going to get it, whether welcome or not.
AN Soooooo… this is probably the most memorable moment of my life. It’s the first chapter, of my first story; of the first thing I’ve ever really committed myself to in FREE TIME. So naturally I should be very proud. Right now, I’m sort of winging this, but probably later on I will write chapters before hand, not just off the top of my head, as is happening right now. So making up the beginning as you go along is not necessarily an intelligent thing to do, but I act before I think when it comes to writing.
As for the characters, the one most like me is Freddie (now how original is THAT?). She even looks like me, so when I write, Freddie will behave as I would, which is bound to be interesting. And no, I do not care if I sound full of myself, because I am.
Looking past my confident nature, I am very nervous as to IF PEOPLE WILL LIKE THIS OR NOT. (Because I don’t see a point of writing if only I am the audience.)
This is sort of short, but enjoy.
Ms. Perky: People perceive you as somewhat...
Kat Stratford: Tempestuous?
Ms. Perky: ‘Heinous bitch’ is the term used most often.
-10 Things I Hate About You
“Now honey, we want you to be on your best behavior for your first day of school.”
“I’ll be good if the teacher gives me candy!”
“Well, she might have candy and she might not.”
“If she doesn’t have candy, or maybe some cookies, she’s mean person.”
“Not necessarily, sweetie.”
“Yes necessarily. I don’t even know what that means. It’s a stupid word.”
“…You have fun today, Freddie.”
“Of course I will!”
The little girl stood in the classroom, looking around. There were lots of colors, crafts, and a brown rabbit in a cage in the corner. A slightly chubby girl with black pig-tails walked up to her.
“Hi, I’m Phoebe! What’s your name?”
“Freddie.”
“This place looks like fun, doesn’t it?”
“It looks exactly like my daycare,” Freddie answered with a sniff. “I go there everyday.”
Phoebe looked crestfallen.
“Well, I don’t have a daycare. My mommy stays at home with me and my brother Ian.”
“My mommy leaves home at exactly seven and comes home at exactly six. It’s her job. How come your mom doesn’t have a job?”
“…I don’t know…”
Phoebe wandered off, looking a little hurt. Freddie heaved a sigh and made her way over to an empty table. She was about to sit when someone collided with her, knocking them both over. She was on her feet in an instant.
“Watch where you’re going!” She cried to the boy, who stood up, brushing himself off. He was taller than her.
“You looked like you needed to be knocked over,” he replied, shrugging. He then smiled.
“I’m Erik.” Freddie stamped her foot.
“I don’t care what your name is! You ran in to me on purpose! No one does that!”
“I do. I think you need to be nicer.”
“I do not.”
“You were mean to Phoebe.”
“No I wasn’t. I just asked her why her mom doesn’t have a job.”
“Her mom does have a job.”
“Well, she could have said that.”
They sat down at the table. Freddie crossed her arms and glowered at Erik, who said, “You should say sorry.”
“Maybe, if I feel like it.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“Fine! I’ll say sorry to the little pansy.”
“You’re kind of pretty; can I be your friend?”
“Gross! Stop it!”
“What?”
“Don’t tell me that I’m kind of pretty. Tell me I’m stunningly beautiful.”
“You’re stunningly beautiful.”
“You can be my friend. Got any cookies?”
……Twelve Years Later
I am a hot air balloon.
You wouldn’t really think that, seeing a face and hair on top of my head, but it’s true: I am a hot air balloon through and through. My mother is a calculator and my father a matador. That was his profession, you know, until he realized calculators were beautiful and the stock market was the best place in the world. Mom just keeps spitting out numbers like a gas station and Dad treats it like poetry. I have a little sister whose future is still uncertain, but I’m thinking that if I’m a hot air balloon, she’s a vending machine. It’s just a hunch.
To formally introduce myself, I am Frederica Scarlet-May Addison, but you can call me Freddie.
All right, let’s get some things perfectly clear.
I am not an agreeable person. I laugh a lot, but it’s often at the disbursement of some poor soul embarrassing his or herself. I believe in world peace, but only because it’s obvious, not because I want to be Miss America. I’m a liberal and proud of it.
And I’m a man-hater. Because I hate guys. Which is frustrating, because they’re attractive sometimes.
You’re a nosy parker, so you want to know my social status. I’m not an idiot; I know when people are considered losers and when they’re popular. It’s a stupid system and I fall right in the middle, which is just fine with me.
But now that you mention it…Popular people. How I simply adore laughing at them and envisioning a bucket of bleach and spaghetti falling right on top of Ashley Radford’s head. Still, I can be social, and I really hate awkward silences. So if I find myself in the company of really anyone, I need to have conversation.
Kind of a stupid thing to do, since now the dumbass cheerleaders think I am their best friend. But what to do?
The closest person to me in the ENTIRE world is Emi Tamaki, my very-proud-of-her-Japanese-heritage best friend. I’m part of this dorky sisterly friendship hexagon of girls (that totally rocks anyway), and she’s the one that knows me best.
Except right now? I sort of doubt her intelligence, since she has finally gone totally and completely insane, and started dating a very popular, very hot, soccer player. I’m not mad at her, just concerned for her health. I hope she knows what a mess she’s gotten herself in to.
However, Emi is seventeen years old, like me, and I trust her judgment. But if anything happens to her, if he so much as touches her by force, look out, asshole, ‘cause I have a nasty right hook, and excellent aim in the happy place.
Kevin Lowell really is a nice boy, but I don’t trust easily, especially when it comes to my friends’ hearts.
The main reason for my displeasure?
This idiot had to be best friends with my least favorite person in the entire universe: Erik I-have-a-big-head-and-I-have-slept-with-half-the-female-population Carson. (At least, I think that’s his middle name)
I hate his guts.
As you can see, there is quite an amount of contempt in my feelings. Why? When we were in 5th grade, he pantsed me in front of the ENTIRE school. For no fucking reason! I was beyond mortified, and could have killed him. I almost did, but the principal pulled me away before the damage went beyond a bloody nose and several nasty bruises.
As the years went by, the loathing did not decrease. Quite the opposite. Some more memorable occasions were me emptying the pepper on his food before he ate, and him stealing my clothes in gym when it was a swimming day. Childish, yes, but when it comes to Erik Carson, serious warfare is in order.
I would be appreciating the help of the rest of the female population in plotting out a plan to make his life miserable, but they’re all busy worshipping him.
Maybe they just need some time?
I just decided to keep my original author’s note in, because, well, it was my very first author’s note at the end of a chapter. Anyways, this is slightly altered. I read the original and gagged, so I quirked it. It’s not spectacular, but still, an improvement.
The introduction style with the hot air balloon thing actually isn’t my own; I found it in an awesome book and added a few things of my own. It’s kind of depressing that I used someone else’s thing, but I thought I’d mention that, just so no one thinks I’m trying to steal ideas as my own or anything.
heart, a case of me