And She Kissed Him

The doorbell rang as Angela Fishers put the finishing touches on her petal-pink lip-gloss. It was eight p.m. on a Saturday, and any other night she would be walking up to a party, arms linked with another nameless boy. But tonight was different. She lingered by the mirror a moment longer, silently counting to ten, before making her way to the door. She opened it with a flourish, flashing perfect teeth at her first guest of the night.

“Hey Jess.” She beamed, adding a few more watts to her smile. “Put your sleeping bag upstairs. The others will be here in just a bit!”

Just a bit extended into thirty minutes, but in the end all twelve cheerleaders arrived toting luggage and lavender sleeping bags. Who would refuse one of Angela Fishers’ invitations? All other plans were tossed aside for her annual slumber party, in name, an attempt for the novice cheerleaders to get to know their captain. In actuality, a chance for Angela to demonstrate her authority. This year was no different from the last; the cheerleaders were mostly blondes with a sprinkling of brunettes, all with IQs birds would be ashamed of. All were wearing tiny pajamas in various shades of pink that barely covered more skin than their uniforms. Angela found the predictability monotonous.

But she grinned once again as she handed out pizza bites and chips to her giggling teammates. “So, I was thinking The Notebook tonight, what do you think?” The question was mere courtesy; she already new they would acquiesce to her wishes. They always did.

So she was already opening the box, when Chelsea Adams cut her off. “I’m not really in a movie mood right now, how about a game of truth or dare? If you’re up for it, of course?”

Two perfect eyebrows lifted. She was caught in the awkward position of holding the movie and looking over her shoulder at her challenger. A second passed before Angela recovered, arrogantly tossing the movie to the table. Well . . . interesting, someone wanted to be more than lady-in-waiting. Internally, she shrugged. She could use the challenge, and if the gauntlet was thrown, she knew the rules. No backing down, not ever.

“Oh, that’s a great idea Chels! I haven’t played truth of dare since middle school!” Chelsea, who had begun cringing at the nickname, began to scowl at the implication.

Angela grinned. Darling, don’t you know not to mess with a queen?

0 0 0

In another room at another house, in, well, another life, Jason Andrews typed furiously into his keyboard. This was his usual Saturday night, alternating between youtube videos and homework. There were parties, no pizzazz, and, more importantly, no complications. He shook the brown hair out of his eyes, and focused them back on his computer screen. Two more pages contrasting Macbeth to Hamlet. Only two more pages, and then he could sleep . . .

0 0 0

Despite losing round one, Chelsea was not giving up without a fight. Her subtle jibes permeated the game until she gained enough confidence for another challenge. She turned wide blue eyes to Angela, and asked innocently “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” All the cheerleaders widened their perfectly shadowed eyes, and opened their too-pink mouths. Their shock invigorated Angela. She loved the game, and she was winning.

“Fine.” Taken aback, Chelsea easily recovered. After all, the dare gave her power. “You know that geek who sits in front of you in English. Jarred, Jason something?”

“Sort of, I know the back of his head anyway.” A couple of titters caused the edges of Angela’s lips to twitch upwards. Winning, and still gaining . . .

“I want you to kiss him tomorrow - in front of everyone.”

What? Stripping, embarrassing displays, everything was recoverable. Her image would survive. But kissing Jason Andrews? The gossip wouldn’t die in just a week, or just a month. They would be linked irrevocably. Her smile faltered, and round four went to Chelsea.

She couldn’t lose. No backing down, not ever. “Fine.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Oh and Angela. Let’s make this more interesting. After all, a captain should keep her commitments. It’s important to team spirit and all. If you chicken out, Angie, you turn your captainship over to me.”

Angela cringed inwardly; she hadn’t been called Angie since she was five. But more pressing was that Chelsea was gaining. It couldn’t happen’ it wouldn’t happen. Don’t back down, just up the stakes. “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing the team. But, a leader should also demonstrate . . . equality. If my stakes rise, well, then so do yours. If I kiss Jason, you drop out of the squad and read a love poem to Mr. Connors.”

Mr. Connors was fat and balding, known more for his spit hitting the students in the front row than his English credentials. But Chelsea’s mouth hardened. “Deal.”

Never surrender.

0 0 0

Jason slammed his locker door closed, then cursed as he realized he’d left his Physics textbook on the shelf. Still muttering obscenities, he turned the combination on the expanse of shiny metal that was out to get him.

“Hey.” A silky voice behind him stopped his ranting mid-word. Blonde hair, blue eyes, short cheerleader uniform – Angela Fishers was there in the flesh. He ran a hand nervously through his brown hair, and then decided to go straight to the point. He knew he looked like he’s slept in his clothes – he had after all. The only reason she’d be talking to him was trouble. Angela was pretty, sure, gorgeous even. But when would these cheerleaders learn, he was not their doormat?

“I’m not doing you homework for you. I don’t care what you the other bloody nerds to do, that’s there problem. I’m not awed by social status, and I - ” She laughed, soft and warm, cutting him off.

“I wasn’t asking for that.”

“Then what the hell . . .” Suddenly her mouth was on his, and he couldn’t speak anymore.

What?

0 0 0

Jason was cute, in a nerdy sort of way. He could stand some style and he looked like he’d slept in his clothes, but, all in all, his face was an improvement to the back of his head. Not that it mattered – she’d have kissed him if he’d been a midget with warts. She would not lose to Chelsea Adams.

He was muttering something. “ . . . The hell . . .” And then her mouth was on his. It was supposed to be quick; she had meant it to be quick. The kind of peck you give an aunt that smells like gin and cigarette smoke. But his kiss was sweet and soft. How long had it been since she had tasted sweet? It was gentle, hesitating, almost asking her permission to continue. Yes, she urged with her mouth, increasing the intensity until he responded. It wasn’t soft anymore, but she didn’t mind. There was electricity tingling through her veins. It was over, the bet was won, and yet she couldn’t tear herself away. It was addicting.

0 0 0

She tasted like vanilla.

“Do you want to go out with me?” It was wrong; he knew it was wrong, like some sort of screwed up Cinderella. He knew it was hopeless, and yet . . . Well, she had kissed him first. And his mouth still tasted of vanilla too much to focus on the implications. Logic disappeared, and all that was left . . . “Friday?”

He ruffled a hand through his hair; she liked his nervousness. How long had it been since the boy asking hadn’t already assumed her answer. And the damage was done; already people were whipping out their phones and texting the latest scandal. She might as well make the most of it. Certainly it would show Chelsea. And, and . . . dang it, she was justifying herself. Why couldn’t she just think?

“Sure.” She smiled. “Seven?”

0 0 0

They lasted one date before popular opinion recovered from its shock, and reared its ugly head. Monday morning came and she dumped him before her friends could laugh at her lapse in sanity. After all, what could possibly come of them?

0 0 0

“Who has the answer? Miss Fishers?” It was two weeks later, and Angela was zoning through English class, staring unblinkingly at the back of Jason’s skull. For some reason she was listing sugary foods through her head and ignoring the lecture, when, balding and in the flesh, Mr. Connors stood in front of her desk. Easily the most hated teacher in school, his presence cut into her exhaustion and jerked her back into reality.

“Mmm . . .?” She muttered unintelligently.

“Was Hamlet sane or insane? We’ve been waiting, Miss Fishers, for your opinion for the last two minutes with bated breath.”

Shame you haven’t suffocated, then. She hesitated, looking desperately around the room for help, any help. “Sane?”

“Wrong, Miss Fishers. Not that I’m surprised. After your last test grade, well I’m surprised you can still show your face in my classroom. If you ever want to advance beyond flipping burgers, I suggest you stop thinking about quarterbacks and idiotic cheers to actual schoolwork. That is, of course, why you go here. If I could just throw out the idiots in this school . . .” Angela’s face burned, as giggles were quickly suppressed throughout the room.

“But sir . . .” she protested, pleading with her eyes for him to stop, but she could see in his too-stiff posture that he would not.

“I . . . Mr. Andrews?” Jason’s hand was thrust solidly in the air.

“Sir, I agree with Angela. Hamlet was definitely sane.”

“That very interesting, Jason, but as I said that opinion is clearly wrong. Now Miss Fishers . . .”

“How can an opinion be wrong? Shouldn’t a good English teacher know the difference between a fact and an opinion?” Titters echoed throughout the classroom, even more than those that had mocked Angela.

Mr. Connors glared, and decided to end the debate quickly. “He saw a ghost, Mr. Andrews. I think that’s a degree of insanity.” He turned to walk to the front of his class, satisfied at having the last word and putting the cheerleading captain thoroughly in her place.

So the question caught him in midstep and caused him to stumble, “You think, Mr. Connors. Isn’t that also an opinion?”

How dare he? No one spoke to him like that. “He challenged the king’s authority, Mr. Andrews. That is ill-advised.”

“Maybe the authority needed to be challenged, Mr. Connors.”

“Prove it, Mr. Andrews.” There was a nasty smirk playing on the teacher’s face, and victory in his eyes. He would have order. He would have control. Guts were one thing, but knowledge was power. The snippy little upstart should know that.

Jason only smiled. “Many experts define insanity as the inability to tell right from wrong. Hamlet refused to kill Claudius while he was praying; this shows he knew what was morally right.”

“Again very interesting, Mr. Andrews, but . . .”

“I’m not finished, Mr. Connors. Hamlet was also able to construct an elaborate plot to tell if the ghost was telling the truth. Can the trap with the play, really be the work of an insane man? Did you not see this in your, no doubt, thorough perusal of the play?”

Mr. Connors was turning red. Knowledge. Intimidation. Power. The boy was challenging all three. “Detention, Mr. Andrews.”

“For what, sir?”

“Disrespect.”

“I didn’t realize it was disrespectful to tell the truth, sir.”

“This is insolence. You will be quiet.”

“Mr. Connors, this is a public classroom, you don’t own it. I am entitled to state my own view whether it disagrees with yours or not. As you did with Angela, if I’m not mistaken.”

Mr. Connors’ face changed into a brilliant shade of fuchsia. “Mr. Andrews, I have never been spoken to in such a tone before.”

“Maybe it’s about time then, sir.”

“Detention!”

“Mr. Connors, do you really want me to explain my detention to the principal? That you were threatened by a seventeen–year–old who had actually read the play?”

“Get . . . out . . .” Mr. Connors gasped, pointing at the door. His face had moved past fuchsia into an almost indigo.

“With pleasure, sir.”

And he left . . . Angela watched him go.

0 0 0

“Thank you.” She found him in the library, cramming for his biology test, once again forsaking the cafeteria’s push of bodies. “Thank you for standing up for me.”

“No problem.” He smiled, and touched his hair in an all-too-familiar gesture. “Mr. Connors has had it coming for a long time. I mean after he misquoted As You Like It . . . I’m babbling aren’t I?”

At her smile, he blushed scarlet. “Yes.” And she kissed him.

0 0 0

He caught her copying his answers to the English homework, and his friends assured him she was only using him to boost her grades. After all what could possibly attract them together? He confronted her, she lied, and he dumped her.

0 0 0

Eighteen days later, not that Angela was counting, she saw him creep into the school parking lot after cheerleading practice. His lip was split, and his nose was bleeding. Her first though was that he deserved it – no one dumped Angela Fishers! But not a second later, she was regretting the thought. This was Jason, and bitter didn’t mix with sweet.

“What happened?” But he didn’t answer, only turned sad green eyes to her.

Inadvertently, she started forward, only to be distracted by a chorus of laughs behind her. Football practice had ended as well, and its members were gathering behind her. Jackson Matthews, her newest king, flung a careless arm around her shoulders. “Hey babe.”

He leaned in for a kiss, but she waved a distracted hand towards Jason instead, trying to pretend she didn’t care. “What happened to the geek?”

“Well, babe, this here Jarred, James . . . “

“Jason.” The word came out cold and clipped.

“Yeah, that’s him. Well, he stepped out of place, babe. He tried to date you, and while I don’t go blaming you, gorgeous, he needed to learn the rules. His arm moved lower to encircle her waist, but she pushed him off.

“I didn’t realize that you were so weak, that you needed to beat up someone to make you feel important.”

“C’mon Baby . . .”

“Don’t call me baby. If you are threatened by a nerd, I want nothing more to do with you.”

He reached for her again. “Baby . . .”

“My name is Angela.” She said, moving away from his grasping hand.

“Honestly, take a joke, babe.” Her eyes closed to almost slits. He dared her to challenge her? Did he think she was weak? She would have laughed if she weren’t so furious. Oh, Jackson, don’t you know not to challenge a queen?

“We’re over, Jackson, ended, done, fin. Maybe if you hadn’t beaten up Jason, you could ask him what those words mean.” She glared at the congregating crowd watching the scene. “I don’t date the pathetic.”

She marched deliberately over to Jason, who’d been watching just as avidly as the rest. “Enjoying the show?”

“Absolutely, and I think I owe you a thank you.” There was laughter in his beautiful emerald eyes.

“Hmm . . . I think you owe me a lot more.” She murmured, and she kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I think you owe me Saturday night.”

“Should we give us another try?”

“It might be fun.”

0 0 0

“Oh, and try on this shirt. The green will really bring out your eyes.” Months had passed, and winter found them walking through men’s clothing racks at the mall. Angela gazed at the displays critically, while he heaved a long-suffering sigh.

He gazed down at the pile that filled his arms. “More clothes?”

“Absolutely. You need some shirts without obscure bands, movie quotes, or tears.”

He snorted, and clutched at his heart. “The horror! The horror!”

“Do not go Joseph Conrad on me, Jason.”

His eyes widened. “Dear God, was that a literary reference?”

“I am dating an English nerd, had to happen sometime.”

He grinned until she thrust two more shirts into his pile. “How many is this? You’d think my girlfriend didn’t like my wardrobe.”

“Well, I’m sure Star Wars and Monty Python t-shirts are great for comic-con conventions, but not for Jess’s party. We need something perfect.”

He spun around so suddenly, she almost bumped into him. “Party?”

“Yeah, Jess’ snowflake thing. It’s been on the social calendar for, like, ages. I know you’re a bit behind, but honestly . . . it’s the event.”

“Watching inebriated teenagers grind against each other to bad music? I’ll pass.”

“That was never an option, Jason.”

He flung his pile of clothes to her. “Look, I’ve been to enough of these parties, and it always ends up with me being punched or having beer thrown on me. I’m not going to another of those things.”

“Jason, I know you don’t understand this. But it is the social event.”

“To you maybe, it’s just not my scene.”

“Well, it’s my scene, and you’re going. I have to be there, and as my boyfriend, you’re coming.”

“I’m sorry, Angela. I’m not going.”

She smiled poisonously. “Then you’re not my boyfriend.”

They stood there for a moment, both too stubborn to yield, and then he nodded once and turned away. After all, why yield? What could possibly come of them?

0 0 0

“So Angela, are you over your geek?” Chelsea approached her in the girl’s bathroom, smiling nastily.

“Of course.” She snapped, rubbing baby blue eye shadow onto her lids.

“Good then. You won’t mind if I start dating him.” Chelsea flicked a strand of perfect blonde hair from her shoulder, and then casually applied lip-gloss. “You’ve made him socially interesting. And I’ll bet I can keep him longer than you. Boys tend to like a little, well . . . more.”

Angela carefully applied the last of her make-up, smiled sweetly at Chelsea, and practically ran to the library. He looked up at her approach, but by that time Angela was already venting. “Chelsea Adams? Don’t you dare date her! She’s just using you to get to me. She’s a mean-spirited, back-stabbing . . .”

“Angela.” It was strange how that one word from his lips broke her defenses, brought her choked tears to her eyes.

“ . . . Devious, nasty . . .”

“Angela, I don’t like Chelsea.”

“What?’

“I agree with you. She’s a back-stabbing bitch with her own agenda.”

“Well, that’s . . .that’s great. Fantastic. Perfect.” Did she sound as much like an idiot to him as she did to herself?

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I mean, just not her. I don’t want her to get the idea that . . .”

“That what?”

“Just the idea. That’s it.”

“Angela, I’m still hoping someone will get the right idea.” Angela blushed; she ran her hands thorough her hair nervously. “I’m not part of that scene, but . . .”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, that was stupid. I shouldn’t have . . .”

“I’d still like to be part of your scene... “

“ . . . And if you still like me . . .”

“Still like you? Angela, you’re . . . you’re my drug . . .. Like nicotine, morphine, heroin . . .”

She kissed him, and when they broke apart for breath, she smiled. “You talk entirely too much.”

0 0 0

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“So you thought I’d be fine with the cheating?”

“I’m sorry.”

“A quarterback, Angela?”

“It was only a kiss. It’s done all the time.”

“I don’t want part of those games, Angela.” He broke up with her.

0 0 0

Angela floated on a cloud, held up above the world on alcohol and adrenaline. Her hips moved to the rhythm of the song, and she barely noticed the drunken hand on her back. She let him lead her through the gyrating couples, until her back connected with the wall. His body held her there, and suddenly her dance partner was kissing her. His kisses were hard and fast, never stopping, never hesitating. She shook him off, trying to move away.

“Angel girl.” He slurred. “Play nice.” His hands were back on her, and he was too strong. He was much too strong . . . She couldn’t move.

“I don’t want to. Please, I don’t want this.” She said, her feet were stumbling, and the world tilted as she struggled.

“But I want to.” The boy’s mouth was on her again, hard, and his hands were exploring more than her back. She tried to move to the side, but he wouldn’t let her go. He was just too strong.

Then just as suddenly, he was gone, and a pair of familiar green eyes was glaring at him.

“She said she didn’t want to kiss you.”

“Who are you?” the boy asked, ridiculously trying to look insolent while drunk.

“That doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that I’m her knight in shining armor right now, and that you’re pathetic waste of space.”

The boy clenched his hands into fists, but Jason simply raised an eyebrow. “You think after six after-school beatings, I haven’t taken self-defense classes? Fight me when you’re sober.” Ignoring the words, the boy swung. But Jason was already gone, and the fist hit air. While the boy was still off-balance, a fist connected with his stomach. He doubled over, drunkenly diving for Jason’s feet when they appeared. The two tumbled into a table of drinks, arms flailing wildly.

Angela swayed, too much, too much. They were fighting, fists pounding, and the sound of glass breaking filled Angela’s ears. The scene was dancing crazily in her eyes, and just as it all became unbearable, Jason was there again. He dusted his hands on his jeans, barely looking at his bloody opponent. What had happened to the boy with the split lip and bloody nose?

“C’mon Angela. I’m taking you home now.” He handed her his coat, and they walked out of the door, past the drunken hands reaching, and the wild music playing. She took his hand, and they interlaced their fingers.

“Hey.” She slurred. “You came to a party.”

He grinned. “I still don’t like them.”

Silence stretched between them, until she broke it. “Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t leave me.”

0 0 0

She woke up, in a strange house on a strange couch, with a headache throbbing in her temples. The smell of coffee lingered in the air, and she followed the scent to the kitchen. He was there, smiling at her. Aspirin was one the table, along with a feast of pancakes and scrambled eggs. And there was coffee; she reached for it with shaking fingers.

He shifted on one foot awkwardly, and ran a hand through that brown hair. “I’m sorry. I would have taken you home, but you wouldn’t let go of my hand, and well you were really out of it. I didn’t think you wanted your parents to see you like that. I called your friend Jess, so they think you’re over at her house. And, well my parents won’t be home until tomorrow, but I found some food, and well, I thought you might be hungry, and . . .”

“You’re amazing,” She said, breaking his stream of rambling thoughts, and she kissed him.

0 0 0

“I love you.” Angela murmured at graduation, as they threw their caps up high into the air. Her sapphire eyes met his green.

“I know.” And this time he kissed her.

A/N: REVISED! A couple of years ago, my computer died a cruel death, and deleted everything I'd ever written. I have not been on fictionpress since, but recently some wonderful person reviewed this story. I remembered it actually existed, reread it, and decided to make it better. HopefuIlly I succeeded :) (If not, and you are a fan of the original draft please tell me and I can put it back up). As always, feel free to point out grammatical and spelling mistakes. Love all of you!