a/n: sorry about the crazy-long wait for this chapter, my life has been nuts since new years, seriously. i've been planning a road trip and working my ass off at work and meeting up with weird people i met on new years eve. good news though, i finally got my laptop! which is totally awesome. and i got my acceptance from university, so that's pretty darn good as well. i hope you enjoy this one! thanks massively for all the reviews, unbelievable, it truly is.

oh, and for emery & me readers, awesome news -- it was nominated for TWO Skow Awards! frickin amazing! i can't believe it! thanks everyone who's read and is still reading it, and those who nominated me! it's crazy!

2

— —

Mia Mendez poked me in the arm. Hard. I yelped and flinched away. “What are you doing?” I demanded, narrowing my gaze at her.

She just grinned and shrugged. “Not much,” she said lightly, her dark eyes glittering laughingly.

“Well, ‘not much’ sure does hurt,” I muttered, rubbing my arm.

“Aww,” Mia cooed. “Is poor little Gertrude gonna cry?”

“No,” I said stubbornly, pulling my book to the corner of the table and turning my back on her. “Just going to sulk.”

Her laugh was loud and rich and obnoxious. More than a few of our classmates turned around to stare at us, sitting in the back row of the History room, wondering just what we were doing. Like most days, our teacher, Mr Abernathy, had careened off of the topic and was currently speaking colourfully about a trip he’d taken to Egypt. He was a short man and his height was stifled by the shagginess of his hair and beard, dangling down towards his navel. His fashion consisted of an aged Hawaiian button-up and jeans with torn knees; his shoes were beat-up black and white Converse All Stars, with red laces that were always untied. Everyone called him a loony “hippy” but I thought he was cool.

But that might have been because most people called me “hippy” as well. Mostly because I zoned out of conversations a lot or could sit by myself, out on the seats at lunch or else just around the school, and stared at nothing in particular. Usually that sort of behaviour would earn the title “weirdo” or “freak” but I guess the people in my school were just a little more kind than others.

Plus, my parents weren’t the sanest of parents; my father was a businessman and was hardly ever home and when he was home, he spent most of his time cooking. And my mother was a social studies teacher; the type of teacher that believed in togetherness and group circles and the magic of love. As well as my parents, there was my Uncle Swallow—his real name was Swanson, but generally a member of a bikie gang didn’t have the name Swanson. Uncle Swallow, despite his large, bulky exterior, his tattoos and leather jacket and his sharp black eyes, was actually a gigantic teddy bear. Most of the time he and his bikie mates were around at our place, down at the back of our yard where an old gazebo shaded from the elements, drinking tea and eating home-made carrot cake that Dad baked every week.

Most of the kids at school knew about my relatives; my odd parents and uncle. So I guess that was why they called me “hippy”, not that I minded.

I could have been called worse.

“Oy, spaceball,” Mia jibed, jiggling her pencil in front of my face in her usual annoying fashion. I made a point of ignoring her. She continued waving that pencil, making it dance, making it bend and twist in front of my eyes in that special way I could never master. When that failed, Mia started poking me, once again.

I gave her an unsavoury look. “What do you want?”

Her grin was startlingly white. “The bell rang.”

“Oh,” I said, and Mia had the decency to stifle her, what would have been, loud, highly insulting laughter. The corridors were already packed when we finally exited the room, saluting Mr Abernathy as we left, and I grabbed hold of the back of Mia’s shirt. Despite her slight huff, she remained unspeaking and led me through the sweaty, smelly bodies: girls with too much perfume, boys with too much deodorant, and those unfortunate souls who didn’t have enough of either. I held my breath as my friend led through the masses and I looked over her head, just to make sure she wouldn’t lead me into a wall or a person or a mutant cross of both.

Barry Hollace in my grade, who was over six-and-a-half feet tall and almost as wide—almost, but not quite—made quite a good wall-person. And was just the person I wouldn’t want to run into. He had written me a love note in the fourth grade, girlish love hearts and squiggly flowers included, and since that mortifying experience, I avoided him. I suppose almost eight years was quite a while to avoid someone, but it had been that humiliating to my poor ten year old self. And to Barry, too, I gather, considering his cheeks had turned scarlet and he’d scampered off so fast on his little chubby legs.

We finally escaped to the outside world; all sunshine and clouds and revving engines. Mia dragged me over to where her car was and while I waited for her to unlock the doors, I watched the other students disperse across the parking lot and out the front gates. Most went to the buses that waited by the road, while others were picked up. Those fortunate enough to own a car were either already driving off or else sitting leisurely on the bonnets, watching as I was. Andrea Dawson, a classmate of mine from English, waved to me as she passed by. I looked to where she was walking and found Bronwyn French and Emery Jones waiting at the fence. The couple were standing with their sides touching, bodies tilted towards each other, their faces turned inward as they conversed. Just a few months ago it had been Bronwyn’s sister and Emery, but such was high school, I guess.

“Get in loser,” said Mia from the open door.

I blinked and did as I was told. “Sorry, space—”

“—spaced out? Yeah, I know,” she rolled her eyes good naturedly and hit the car into reverse. “You, Rudey,” she said as she drove, giving me a laughing sort of look, “are an alien.”

“What?”

Mia snickered as she said, “You’re always in space, spaced-out… An alien!”

I shook my head and smiled. I didn’t think an answer was necessary.

-

-

“Danny wants a party for his birthday,” I commented. We were in my kitchen, picking idly at last nights leftovers.

“Really?” Mia looked up thoughtfully. “What do the parentals say?”

“They won’t be here.”

“Oh.” Her grin turned wicked. “So you’re the acting guardian, huh?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Unfortunately.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What do you think I should do?”

Mia took the time to lick each of her fingers clean and dried them on her skirt before meeting my eyes. “I think you should let him.”

“What? Let him have a party when I wasn’t allowed one?”

“You didn’t want one, nerd. And you didn’t even ask; I bet your parents would have said yes, anyway.”

“I don’t think so…”

“Well, I think you should do it, anyway.” Her eyes were glittering madly. “I’ll even help you chaperone.”

I frowned. “You chaperoning would include you being very drunk.”

She shrugged casually. “If the shoe fits.”

I sighed and started kneading the edge of the table, staring at my pinked chipped nails and mulling over the idea. Danny had never thrown a party before so I had no past experiences to base my answer on. What if more people than expected showed up? What if the house got trashed? What if the police were called? I got chills at that thought, an illogical reaction that I couldn’t stifle. Mia gave me a curious look. I bit my lip. “I don’t know…

“Aw, don’t be a spoilsport. Let the kid have a party. Hell! Let me have a party while you’re at it!”

“You always have parties.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never had one at your place. You’ve got a good party house, nice and big with a huge lounge room for dancing. Your mum’s not one of those collect-a-crap mum’s, so there’s nothing to get filched or broken. And you’ve got plenty of rooms for the ‘you-know-what’.” She wiggled her eyebrows and I felt slightly queasy.

“No,” I said, “no party.”

“Prude,” laughed Mia, leaning back on her chair and throwing her head back. “Live a little, Rudey! Get your head out of the clouds and put it someplace nice, like against that Chandler guy’s, the one you totally love—”

“Shh!” My insides quivered and I glanced quickly at the kitchen windows, making sure they were shut. “Mia!” I scolded.

“Shit, Rudey,” she laughed again, “he couldn’t have heard!”

“You never know,” I murmured, biting my lip. “And I don’t love him, just…”

Her dark eyes sparkled as she smirked. “Lust after him?”

I flushed hotly. “No! Of course not! I just—”

“Dream about him?”

The answer was yes, I had on occasion dreamt of Chandler, but I said, “No! I don’t! I—”

“Am totally infatuated with Chandler Harris!” announced Mia, throwing her arms wide. Her smile was wide and white and devilish as she started to sing: “Rudey loves Chandler, Rudey loves Chandler, Rudey—”

“Mia! Stop it! He could hear!”

She started clicking her fingers in rhythm. “Rudey loves Chandler! Rudey lusts for Chandler! Rudey dreams—”

My mouth was open in preparation to denounce and decline and pretty much refuse until I was out of breath, but there was a sudden rat-a-tat-tat at the door that made my insides liquefy. Mia stopped singing and stared at me blankly. “That’s him!” I squeaked.

Mia frowned. “How do you know?”

As the knock came again, I chewed my bottom lip furiously. “Because that’s his knock! He always uses that knock! Always! Oh, god, Mia, he heard you! He’s come because he heard you! Oh god, oh god, Mia! Look what you’ve done!”

There as a peculiar twitch to Mia’s lips that informed me she was struggling not to laugh. She swallowed as she said with a silly smile, “Rudey, you’re overreacting. He couldn’t have heard me, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why’d he come then?” I found myself on my feet without having conscious effort to move. I gripped the hem of my shirt so tightly my knuckles were pink and white.

“Probably to talk to Danny,” she reasoned.

“But Danny’s not here!” There was another knock at the door, louder and heavier, and I flinched automatically.

Mia gave me a pointed look. “Then go tell him that.”

My eyes widened. “What? Why? I can’t do that!”

She got to her feet and nudged me towards the doorway before I knew what was happening. “Go on,” she demanded, pushing at my back. I went to turn but Mia grabbed my upper-arms from behind and frog-marched me down the hall. From the other side of the blurred glass by the door I could see a figure, waiting. Go away, I thought desperately, just as Mia hissed, “Go on!”

Before I knew it the brass handle was in my palm, slippery with sweat, and I swore I could feel my heartbeat vibrating in my fingers. I took a breath, counted, and forgot to release it as I opened the door. Chandler leaned back in surprise, eyebrows arched, a hand still out to knock again. “Gerti,” he said with a smile. He casually lowered his arm and tucked it into his jeans pockets.

“Hi,” I said and the air rushed out of me in a great sigh, like I was swooning dramatically. Heat prickled at my cheeks and neck.

Chandler grinned. “I didn’t think you were going to answer.”

“How’d you know I was home?” I asked a bit more sharply than intended. I bit my lip, wincing internally, while he just shrugged a single shoulder. It felt like my heart was attached to it with a string, and when his shoulder rose, my heart jerked up towards my throat.

He nudged his head back, golden hair catching the light, so it was with distracted eyes that I looked at Mia’s car, parked up close to the garage. It took a moment for the meaning to sink in. Chandler said, “I figured you had to be here.” His following smile was lopsided, almost cheeky. “Plus I saw you and your friend pull up.”

I swallowed and searched for an appropriate response. Unable to find one, I just went, “Oh,” like an illiterate blockhead. Chandler always made me feel like an illiterate blockhead, unintentionally, of course. Just being around him made my senses fizzle out of every pore of my skin, leaving me with just his image, his scent, his voice. Plus an assortment of awkward words and feelings that made me all the more blockheaded.

“So…how was school?”

I hated how he said it, like my mother did sometimes or my father when he was home, bent over the stove or with his head stuck in the oven. “Oh,” I said again, and added, “Good,” to make it seem more like an answer. I gave him a weak smile, wondering what he was doing here, making small talk with me when he could be out with Abby.

“I hope you’re staying out of trouble,” he teased, his eyes crinkling up.

I managed to laugh softly. “Of course,” I said, trying to act my usual self as I added, “What kind of trouble could little ol’ me get into, anyway?”

Chandler rocked towards me on his toes, smiling as he said in a low, toe-curling voice: “With a face like that, all kinds of trouble.”

I laughed to disguise my confusion. What could he possibly mean by that? Was it a compliment or an insult? Just what kind of face did I have?

I shuffled my feet, my heels bare on the prickly welcome mat, and I bit my lip once again. I glanced at Chandler and he smiled a little wider. “So,” he said, dimpling his cheeks, “I heard about Danny’s birthday request.”

My stomach bumped for no reason at all. “Um, what request?”

“He wants a party, doesn’t he?”

“Oh.” I nodded, and twisted my lips as I frowned. “I don’t know if he can have one, though. Mum and dad are going to be away.”

“All the more reason,” said Chandler, winking.

It felt as though my stomach had winked back. I put a hand on my navel to settle the squirming as I said, “I don’t know. I’d be stuck with chaperoning and probably with cleaning up in the morning, too. I’d have to set it up as well.” I shook my head. “Too much hassle.”

“Hey,” said Chandler, reaching out to pat me on the shoulder, “I’d help set up and chaperone. And I’d come back to help clean in the morning. If you want, that is.” As soon as his hand had touched my shoulder, tingles had exploded down my spine. His words were just a murmur of noise outside of my buzzing mind, so preoccupied was I on concentrating on his touch; Chandler was touching me, his hand was just a thin piece of clothing away from my bare skin. Bare skin. My face was suddenly hot and I struggled to act nonchalant as I refocused on his face. Chandler was frowning. “You OK, Gerti? You look a little…”

“Just hot,” I blurted, and could’ve died right on the spot. I flashed a quick grin and plucked at my school shirt, adding hastily, “These school clothes are so uncomfortable in summer.”

“Oh.” He cocked his head to the side. “I thought they were pretty good, when I went to Hudson. Thin and light.”

“You were there ages ago,” I rushed, “They must’ve changed the design or something.”

Chandler’s quick frown was replaced by a smile and an easy nod. “Yeah, they must have. Anyway, what I came to say was that if you did give Danny the party, I’ll be here for you. To help out with setting up and looking after things.” His grin pushed dimples up in both cheeks and I struggled not to stare at them. “If you want me, Gerti, I’m here.”

“What?” I murmured dreamily before blinking and coming back to my senses. My neck was burning and soon it would be my face, so I said, “Oh, OK, Chandler, thanks. I-I’ll think about it.”

“Make sure you do,” he said, keeping my gaze.

“OK,” I said and half-turned to go back inside.

“See you soon.”

I chanced a glance at him and almost flinched when our eyes clashed. I gave a small smile. “Bye,” I said and stepped into the doorway. I had my hand on the door and was about to shut it when he called my name. I looked back at him, standing partway down the path, hands in pockets, head dipped so his blue eyes peered through his fair fringe. My navel squeezed dangerously.

“I’m not that much older than you,” he said, giving me a smile that was quirked on a single side.

I stared at him strangely. “OK…”

Chandler laughed breathily. “Just thought I’d remind you.” He stepped around but looked at me over his shoulder. “Think about the party, Gerti. And remember I’m here.” With one last smile, he turned and started down the path.

How could I not remember you’re here? I thought with a sigh as I went back inside. Mia was leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed and an unimpressed look on her face. “How are you my friend?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

She suddenly snorted and shook her head. “I could hear how much you liked him by just standing here. It was pathetic. How that boy can’t tell is fucking crazy. He must be either extremely dumb—which is likely, being a blonde and all—or he’s an extremely good actor. I’m not betting on that one, though.”

I groaned and rubbed at my face in irritation. It was burning again. “Am I that bad?”

“Bad, babe?” Mia started laughing. “You were downright terrible.”

I decided to ignore Chandler Harris from then on. He would become the new Barry Hollace; I just hoped it wouldn’t last eight years.

-

-

Danny got home late. I could hear him from the kitchen, kicking his shoes off so they hit the wall by the door, and I knew he was coming towards me by the tapping of his fingers on the walls. He was like a little kid still, touching everything he could, making as many noises as possible. When he walked into the kitchen, he hollered a hello, and smirked when I just lifted a hand in greeting. “You’re home late,” I commented idly, turning back to my microwave meal and wondering, not for the first time, if the chicken I was eating was even chicken. It wouldn’t surprise me if it wasn’t.

“Yeah, me and the boys went to Hungry Jacks,” he said, sitting up on the counter and swinging his legs. His dark eyes glittered much like Mia’s would when I gaped at him.

“You went to Hungry Jacks and didn’t think to get me some?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d want any.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” I pushed my meal away and sighed. “Why would I ever refuse oily, possibly spat-on, juicy chicken burgers and over-salted fries?”

Danny’s eyebrows went up slowly and he gave me a little pointed nod. “You said it all, sis. Why would you?”

“I wouldn’t, you loser. Next time, remember about poor me, OK? Sitting at home, all alone, eating Tandoori-something from a box.” I gave him a sideways look and added, purposefully vague, “Other wise I might just have to call off any party-plans that may or may not have been in the cards…”

Danny, equally careful in his appraisal of me, said, “Party-plans you say?”

“Hmm,” I smiled, “Party-plans. But I don’t know now. You didn’t bring me Hungry Jacks, I don’t know if I have the energy now to plan—”

“Well isn’t it lucky, then?” said Danny, suddenly producing a crinkled paper bag and holding it up. His grin was wide and happy as he finished, “That I didn’t forget you after all.”

I was on my feet in a second, the bag in my hands. I could already smell the fattening scent of fast food. “You’re a saviour!” I gasped.

“And you’re throwing me a party.”

“Yes, yes I am,” I said with a grin, sitting down at the kitchen table, not even glancing at my barely eaten microwave meal that had been pushed, unwanted, to the opposite end of the bench.

“Yes!” Danny sprang up, punching the air. “You’re the best!”

“Oh, I know,” I said before biting into my burger.

“And I knew Chandler could do it!”

I stopped chewing to stare at him. “‘ot?”

My brother glanced at me, saw my frozen face, and concealed his full-blown grin. “Nothing.”

“‘ot?” I repeated even though things were starting to become clearer. Why Chandler had come over, telling me he was there if I needed him, he’d help with the planning, the cleaning-up, the chaperoning… It wasn’t because he thought I’d really need it, or wanted it; it was because Danny had asked him to.

“Don’t worry,” my brother insisted. “But thanks, Rudey! I can’t wait to tell Zach and Ben…”

He left the room with a cocky spring in his step and I heard him practically gallop up the stairs. The food had turned cold in my mouth. I had been manipulated. Danny knew I’d listen to Chandler and Chandler had gone along with it, either unknowing I’d be more willing to agree when he asked or else fully aware that I was attracted to him, and he’d used that against me…

Suddenly ill, I swallowed thickly, and stared miserably down at my soggy, cooling fries.

Not even Hungry Jacks could bring back my appetite now.

chapter soundtrack: 'hard to be you' by the 88; 'cute without the E' by taking back sunday; 'apple tree' by wolfmother; '/dearly beloved/' by green day.