Operation: Destroying Destiny

-1-

It wasn't a big deal. Really!

"This is Destiny," said Henry, not taking his eyes off the gorgeous brunette attached to his right bicep. "Destiny Ross."

She wouldn't even have to change her last initial when it came to changing her surname, since Henry's last name was Rally. Henry and Destiny Rally. It sounded like a charity event that only celebrity-types would be invited to.

Wait, was it weird I was already picturing the wedding invitations, when my best friend had like just met this girl?

Destiny Ross was my height, but three times skinnier than me. She had sleek brown hair about mid-spine length, impossibly huge hazel eyes, and a face that belonged in designer ads in fashion magazines. Thinking of afore-mentioned designers, just the shirt on her back had to cost five times more than what my entire wardrobe was worth.

I flinched at the brightness of her smile as she held out a hand to me.

"Hi," said Destiny Ross, in a voice that inspired thoughts of angels. "You're Riley O'Conner, right? I've heard so much about you."

Yeah. And then there was me, Tomboy Riley. Even my name, said by such a pure voice, sounded so totally opposite of the perfection personified that was Destiny Ross.

I glanced at Henry, which was really more of a glare -- not having to guess what private pieces of our past he chose to share with this trash. But I returned my attention to Destiny with a smile that I carefully kept my less pleasant thoughts from tainting as I took the offered hand.

Squeezing her hand, I had the thought: You're going down, Destiny.

"Yep," I said. "Riley O'Conner is me. Sorry, but I forgot already. Where'd you two meet again?" I just had to hear her say it again. This was just so pathetic.

"Well," Destiny said, dragging out the word as she sent a Look at Henry. "I was at the mall--" I also gave Henry a Look, which he responded to by squinting at me (his form of glaring). "--shopping for these cute new D&G stilettoes that, like, were just released last week. And as I'm bringing them up the the register, there's this big guy standing right in my way--" Destiny flashes an affectionate smile (gag) at Henry, who beams right back (gag twice). "--turning in an application. I totally chewed him out for taking up so much space, and he was so nonchalant about it." She said nonchalant like she was actually French or something, which she definitely was not. "And then he just casually asks for my number. Like I didn't just totally yell at him in front of everyone. I was so caught off-guard, I actually gave it to him!"

I made a big show of laughing very fakely. Henry caught onto it and squinted at me some more, but Destiny laughed right along with me in that loud 'Isn't-that-so-cute?' type of way that all girls are capable of, having inherited it genetically.

Then I stopped, but shot another grin at Henry as I said, "Right. Sounds like something he would do."

"I know, right?"

The grin dropped off my face as I looked back at Destiny.

Shut up, Destiny Ross! No! You don't know anything about Henry Rally!

"Anyway," Destiny said, looking up at Henry. "I should really get going."

"Off to work?" I asked, though the answer was so very obvious.

She laughed, like the thought of hard labor was so very funny. "No," Destiny said. "I don't want to be late for my hair appointment. I'm getting some red highlights." I glanced at Henry again, trying to share my inside joke with him. Except he was staring at Destiny like she had walked right out of one of his fantasties. "I'm a little scared!" Destiny confided in me, stage-whispering, "I've never done something so totally risque!"

"Risque," I repeated seriously, nodding.

I smirked.

"It was nice meeting you, Riley," said Destiny, finally releasing my hand. I had forgotten all about our hands being clasped and all. She stood on tiptoe to kiss Henry's cheek, which flushed pink the moment her lips bruhsed his skin. "See you later, Babe! Wish me luck!"

I scowled.

They had only been dating a month. This was the first time I was meeting Destiny because usually Henry didn't date girls long enough for him to bother introducing them to me. When he did get around to introducing them, he was looking for approval. I rarely (read: never) gave it, so again, he rarely bothered.

She walked off quickly, giving a weird butterfly wave over her shoulder.

Henry and I turned to one another after seeing her get into her car without being mugged or spontaneously bursting into flame.

He snapped, "You don't have to be such a bitch, Ry."

"Hey," I snapped back. "You're the one dating Miss Red-Streaks-Are-Risque! Hello!" I added, holding up a lock of my bright red hair. "Is she blind? If red streaks are risque, what do you call a blow-out like this? If you don't want me to be such a bitch, tell your brunette-with-risque-red-streaks poodle to quit being so dumb and rude!"

"She didn't mean it like that, Riles!"

"She did, too! But you're a boy, Henry, so I forgive you for not understanding the concept of girls' being two-toned."

"That isn't even what two-toned means!"

"You know what I mean!"

We stopped and huffed at each other for a minute. Then Henry sighed and averted his gaze.

"Okay," he said. "Truce?"

I folded my arms up over my front and sniffed. "I don't know," I spat. "If the terms are that you want me to accept that snob, it's going to be an indefinit wait on your end."

"Just give her a chance, Ry," Henry wheedled, holding up his hands the way street beggars do. "Dez was just nervous, you know? She didn't know what she was saying. She's really shy, and just says whatever comes to mind when she's meeting new people."

"You've only known her a month."

"Rys..."

I hated it when he used that tone of voice. For some reason, it always made me want to do his bidding.

Turning, I started walking back toward the Dairy Queen. "My break's over," I said, putting back on my required baseball cap with respective DQ logo. "I'll talk to you at Ground Zero tonight--"

"I'm not going."

I stopped and spun around, totally bowled over. "What did you just say?" I'm not sure how my mouth was even able to form the words, so startled was I.

Henry stuck his hands in the pockets of his (noteably) unragged (for once) jeans, studying the rounded tips of his new red-on-blue Pumas.

"I can't," he said. "Me and Dez have plans to go out to dinner. I made the reservations before I remembered tonight was a Zero night."

"You made 'the reservations,'" I echoed, making sure to convey at least half of the sarcasm I intended.

Henry's head snapped up, his brown eyes squinted with another glare.

"Don't you think it's kind of immature?" he asked. "A bunch of college kids running around playing laser tag on a Thursday night? We're not ten anymore, Riley. You, me, Tyler, and Vegas could do something better with our time."

I scowled.

"Don't, Hen," I told him coldly. "Don't do this."

"Do what? I'm just saying--"

"Just don't," I cut him off, and went into DQ.

They had only been seeing each other a month. Suddenly he was dressing better, nicer. His jeans no longer had holes, his tee shirts didn't advertise video games or really stupid TV shows, and he had the most ridiculous shoes, thanks to Destiny's platinum credit card. A month! And Destiny had already brainwashed him!

I guess that was the thing about Henry, though. If I didn't keep my eye on him constantly, he went and did things like this. He changed.

So I would just have to keep a closer eye on him so Destiny Ross didn't do any more damage.

--

"I don't get it," Tyler said, reloading his gun (which is to say that he was recharging it by placing it on the stand that plugged in to the wall). "So Hen isn't coming because he's, like, serious about this girl?"

"Pretty much, yeah," I said.

I was sitting on the bench where each team waited for their turn to enter the dark room. Tyler's shift didn't end for another hour, meaning we couldn't play for another hour, despite there being no one in Ground Zero besides Tyler, Vegas, me, and the manager, Dennis, who was usually too stoned to care, but Tyler was a good employee like that.

"What a douche bag," snapped Vegas, snubbing out his cigarette on the wooden bench. It created a small crater.

Tyler kicked him. Vegas shrugged apologetically and brushed the ash off the seat.

"We can't play with only three people," Vegas pointed out after a second. "I mean, we could, but it totally wouldn't be fair to Riles."

"Why only me?" I asked.

Vegas slid me one of his snarky smiles. "Girls against boys," he said. "With the other bitch absent, there's really no point."

It was more of a snipe at Henry than me, so I let it go.

Tyler was wiping down another gun before setting it in its recharging cradle, a thoughtful expression on his face. He said softly, "It's weird, though, you got to admit. We've been having Zero nights since this place was built almost ten years ago. Vegas still managed to show up that one time he had the Nile Virus and was, like, dying."

"Just the flu, man," Vegas said, picking up one of the guns Tyler had just set down.

He sighted it along his arm, closing one eye. I looked where he was looking, trying to figure out what he was aiming at. There was only graffiti on the wall we sat across from, manufactured by companies trying to look hip for the middle school kids who usually ruled Ground Zero on weekend nights. It mostly targeted the skateboarders and the rare surfer who might forsake the waves on a stormy day for a little game of tag.

"Nile Virus is no joke, dude. They got issues over in Africa with it, you know? People die from it."

Saying this, Vegas then apparently found his target, for he made a gunshot noise that sounded like a gun spitting tobacco. Tyler and I exchanged looks, rolling our eyes.

"What about stupidity?" Tyler muttered. "Can people die from that?"

Vegas narrowed his eyes on him, setting the gun aside.

"Back to Henry's douche-ness," Vegas said, deciding to ignore Tyler for now. The big gray eyes focused on me. "Is the girl even worth it? What's she look like?"

Suddenly the subliminal messages colorfully painted on the wall before me were that much more interesting. I hesitated, not sure why I didn't want to tell them that Destiny was actually drop-dead-gorgeous, with model looks and a pretty friendly attitude -- if you didn't count the whole redhead snipe from our one and only meeting earlier.

"Dude," Vegas said when it took me too long, his black caterpillar eyebrows crawling up his sunburned forehead toward his bleached blond hairline. "That's got to mean she's hideous."

"Is she?" Tyler pressed, also paying more attention to me than before.

"She isn't ugly," I said at last, studying the DC logo on the opposite wall. "I mean, I'm a girl, so I don't really know what you'd define as not-ugly. She's kind of pretty, I guess... if you're into totally artificial girls."

"Art-ah-fish-al," echoed Vegas, making the one word into four with the way he pronounced it. "Meaning...?"

Feeling penned-in, I threw up my hands. "What?" I snapped, sending a glare from one boy to the other. "What do you want me to say? She's hott, all right? With two 't's and everything. She's tall, got big eyes, a great smile. She's looks like a hybrid between Beyonce and Angelina Jolie back in the Lara Croft days."

Literally translated, this actually made sense to guys like Tyler and Vegas.

They exchanged looks that conveyed just how hott they imagined this hybrid to be. Proving my point.

Vegas shook his hand out like having burned it. "Woo," he said. "Ouch, man. Sounds like our Hen's got his feathers full. I might've ditched a Zero night for her, too."

"Ditto," Tyler said, looking dreamy.

I stood up to snap my fingers in front of his face. Surprisingly, it actually got his attention.

Suddenly Tyler seemed to see me in a new light. His look became pitying.

"Oh, sorry, Riley," he said softly. "It's probably kind of hard on you--"

Vegas nudged him with his knee so that Tyler trailed off. I glanced at Vegas in time to see him shake his head from side to side once, making his blond curls bounce. Tyler looked back at me and then tried to play off the whole thing.

"You know," he said, "because Henry and you have always been... like... connected at the hip."

I got the feeling he had meant it another way before Vegas's too-obvious nudge.

-

A/N: So this is one of my shorter stories. Like, 5 chapters. I wrote it for a college course and just got back my grade for it, so now I'm free to do with it as I please. And I decided I'd like to share it with all of you. I kind of cut off the chapters in awkward places (on purpose) because the actual story was turned in as, like, a 50-page project without chapters (only dividers). I could have posted it on here as a very long one-shot, but decided with one-shots it's harder to relate to the characters -- you don't really get a chance to connect with them before the story ends, you know? Anyway. I know my other stories are on hiatus right now, but this one is already finished off-site. I'll update once a week (for about a month). Just a fun little summer story. The promise has been documented here, in public view. Anyway, yeah. It's short, like I said, so the chapters are short and trail off in places that look weird to you now but will make sense at the end. Anywho, hope you'll continue reading. Thanks! Reviews are returned.