Revised version: no dramatic changes.

–Sweeter Than Sour Kisses–
Mae Mackenzie

I swear, if he hated me so purely, then why the hell did he just kiss me so passionately that I would have cried if my mind hadn’t been on other things (like kissing him back with just as much fervor)? Like, this kind of kissing severely exceeds all the fooling around in the world. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw –insert word/s of choice here-. Cherish Massey vs. the allure of a boy with all the charms of a snake: Cale Bennett.

-x-X-x-

CHAPTER ONE – Claws of Steel

There are two ways to start a story.

The first is usually the most obvious, with the bucket of water poured over one’s head at six in the morning, or the alarm clock being thrown out the window, you know, “the usual”. Either way, the protagonist likes to celebrate a dreaded wake-up call.

The second is in the middle of things, even if things haven’t (really) started yet.

My story begins at a party, as you do. So, of course there was loud music thumping, girls wearing little-to-none clothing, people throwing up in bushes, and a massive Greek-style mansion that harnessed the brunt of it all. A sea of cars, from hundred dollar stinkers to hundred-thousand-dollar gleaming machines with paint shining brighter than the sun, surrounded the building like they’re an army about to invade a small castle.

In short, there were more people here than at the Fall Out Boy concert which broke records with how many tickets it sold. Fortunately, I’m beyond the boy band thing.

Gwen tugged on my arm and looked up into my face, her green eyes glittering with glee. Her blonde hair was fashioned around her heart-shaped face in a chin-length bob. Dimples showed as she tried to suppress a grin. (She likes not being beyond the boy band thing.)

Lara sniggered. “You’re always so excited about these things.” (She’s slightly pessimistic, which is why we three get along so well, with me being the realist and Gwen being the optimist.)

“Which one?” I asked, a sarcastic edge to my voice. I’m not being patronizing, as much as I don’t want to be here, I still love parties, so there’s always a major push-pull reaction when the flyers land in my grasp, and I nearly always show.

“Not you, Cher, our little Gweneth.” Lara clapped her hands underneath her chin and made her hazel eyes shine with anticipation.

Gwen smacked her on the arm and Lara resumed a nonchalant air of unmistaken ice. And as to her reply, no, my name is not Cher. That’d be my nickname. The real thing is so much worse. See, my father really loves his mom, and he had dibs on my middle name, while my mother had pulled rank. She gave the ‘I’m the poor woman who’d done the labor of giving birth’ speech, and as a David Cassidy fan, she’d named me after her favorite song by him. And thus we’re left with the full name of Cherish Larissa Massey.

And while I’m on a warpath of informativeness, here’s a quick rundown on myself. I’m five foot seven with mid-length, wavy, dark red hair and wide, dark blue eyes. I hold a certain attachment to black clothing (but I wear all other colors too), which really doesn’t do wonders with my mandatory pale skin, courtesy of being a redhead. I have an affinity for Superman, because he was as much a nerd as he is a ‘hunk’, and I read too much for my grades to drop below a B minus. Oh, and unlike everyone else at West River High, I don’t worship the ground that Cale Bennett walks on, nor do I fantasize about certain rumors regarding his abdominal and back muscles. But I do see him every day because not only is he in all my classes, but he’s my brother’s best friend and he lives next door.

And back to the story.

Gwen grabbed my hand and attached herself to my side as we pushed open the teak door. Someone had spilled lager down its beautifully finished surface, and the liquid ran in sticky rivulets down to the tiled entrance. It made for a not-so-easy entry as we tried to hop over the sticky brown puddle on the floor.

The entrance hall was wide and short, kind of like a 2D tree stump on its side, with various rooms attached to the sides of the hall. It opened out to a large, circular room with a forked staircase running along the far side. The music was even louder, and as we delved deeper, I looked up and saw the main light source: an ornate chandelier the size of a double bed suspended by chains twenty feet up. I marveled at the fact that it was not in ruins yet and surreptitiously brushed my fingers along the nearest wooden object to keep the possible danger at bay (‘cause I’m superstitious like that.)

Lara yelled in my ear that she was going to find a drink, and simultaneously managed to extricate Gwen from my arm.

Suddenly I was alone. I labeled myself ‘Wallflower’ and sank into the folds of my dark hoodie, jamming my hands into the pockets. It’s not like it was cold – quite the contrary really – I just didn’t have enough going for me at that moment to bother striking out. The she-devils that disappeared after refreshments forced me into deep blue tank top that left my arms exposed more than my usual plaid shirt or baggy tee. They’d left me to the black jeans and my much-loved red Converse High-Tops. Even Gwen, Queen of Fashion in our sad little trio, had said there was no Cher without the Converse.

Someone passed by with a tray of red plastic cups containing God-knows-what. I made my decision quickly, and snatched one before it was too late, thinking that I’d find the girls later.

The song switched and I was alarmed that I knew it. I moved through some rooms, not really looking at anything, before two hands reached out to steal my shoulders from me.

“I want those back,” I told the culprit. Realizing that my eyes are shut, I opened them and stare open-mouthed.

“JACK!” I screeched, but only we know that I was trying for some volume – most of the yell was drowned in the music. He pinched the cup from my hands in my moment of weakness.

“You know teen drinking is illegal,” he pointed out, steering me by my shoulders throughout the house. It took us some time before we get outside, but then we were there, and I was staring at Jack like he’d sprouted a second head.

“Why’s your hair purple?” I blurted out.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Because brown is so overrated.”

“Duh.” I fondly patted my hair, which has always been as vivid as blood, though not quite so bitter-looking.

So, now the description of my brother changes. He has the same dark blue eyes as me, though he’s a dead-set several inches taller, and his now-purple hair is overgrown though not hippy-length. But if you want to know his best and worst features: best would be the wide smile superglued to his face, worst is most definitely the fact that he is best friends with Cale Bennett, thus making him second most popular guy in school – the neutral point because it’s an equal combination of good and bad.

And, as you would probably guess, we’re going to meet him right now. God, just because I went to the trouble to mention his stupid friendship with my brother he thinks he has to actually show?

“Dude!” they yelled in unison, and did that clasp hands/slap-each-other-on-the-back boys’ hug combo.

“Sup?” Cale asked, ignoring me.

I roll my eyes strenuously. It’s the purple hair you douche bag. Notice it, dammit! Then I can leave.

Seriously, what is keeping me here?

“Good party,” Jack said, tipping my repossessed cup at the people in the backyard.

My eyes vaguely took in what he was talking about. A group of girls are giggling hysterically by the enormous pool. They were staring at a boy stripping for a dare about ten feet from them. When he was in his birthday suit, he took the plunge and the girls were sprayed very thoroughly with his splash back.

Ten seconds later, I stared at the spot between my brother and Cale, while the latter struggled to notice the difference in his best friend’s appearance. Okay, so I knew he was (“adorably”) thick, but seriously, how slow can you be?

Just then he got it. (Of course.) “Dude . . .” he drew the word out long and loud before his tone changed immensely. “Purple?” he asked, confused.

“Rebellion . . . against the ‘rents,” Jack said. Huh, so that was the story. True they had been cracking down on the kid for the past month. Fortunately he’d been avoiding them to the point of leaving a room whenever one of them walked in, just so they couldn’t ground him. I’ll admit, I still don’t really know what he’s done that’s got them so down on his ass.

But I got picked up by my friends before I could ask. Let the tension build while I am pulled away by the now-tipsy Gwen and her guardian Lara.

“Where have you been?” Gwen’s voice slid around the words, stumbling over them as her pitch rose and her face turned pink. Cale had just given her the light of day with his most awe-inspiring half-smile. His blonde hair threw spiky shadows across his amazingly brown eyes. You know, it’s kind of strange how a guy can actually look that great with such girly features, what with the long dark eyelashes and dark eyebrows, and great cheek bones. I suppose it’s the jaw or something, ‘cause no girl could pull that off and still look as gorgeous as he did right now.

And as for the giggly Gweneth, I could see her insides had morphed into a pile of girly mush and her thoughts must have been screaming “I love you! Kiss me, I’m yours!” over and over and over and- well, you get my point.

Lara was made of sterner stuff, for lack of a less-used phrase. She carefully picked Gwen’s hands out of their unnecessary grip in my hair and half-dragged the girl away from the girly-mush-creator.

As I took my first backwards steps in their direction, Cale turned his gaze on mine for the first time that night. The organs inside me that would have made great girly mush tightened. I was so used to his face that I’d be willing to bet that any and all of his mirror-perfected looks had basically no effect on me. Well, not like they used to, but let’s put the past behind us, where it belongs, eh?

“See you around, Cherish Massey,” he said. My names rolled off his tongue like an insult. Well sor-ry my mom’s a David Cassidy fan. I bet you my name’s more original than yours, biyatch.

“Yeah, see ya, Bennett,” I replied, crouching a little and wiggling my fingers in an immensely sarcastic, girly wave. I straightened up and turned my back on them in one motion, not bothering to look back because, hey, Jacky-dear has my cell number. If he wants to talk to me, he can give me a call. Seeing his face right now would just remind me of how much I hate his best friend.

I could barely see the girls, but just as I was about to give up looking for them, the light bounced of Gwen’s hair, sending a bit of pale gold straight into my eyes and temporarily blinding me. Okay, where they hell did they get that kind of brightness from? It’s, like, nighttime. Be realistic please.

Unfortunately, they disappeared too quickly for me to catch up, but I didn’t feel like familiar company anyway. I wandered around the side of the mansion, running my hand along the rough, pale wall and staring at the stars overhead.

By now I’ve managed to block out the hideous playlist of techno/hip-hop songs that’s thumping this poor place to pieces. Occasionally I can turn on my hearing because there’s a Boys Like Girls song going, or something by The All-American Rejects. (Okay, maybe I’m not so past the boy band thing, but seriously, Fall Out Boy? Yuck! Past is the past, is the past, period. Forget it.) But of course, there’s the sporadically occurring slow song! I dawdled to a halt and slid down the wall so I could catch a break and listen to the Oasis hit Wonderwall, trying to ignore the moans coming through the window above me.

Okay, totally ruining the song for me, not that Noel Gallagher has got much of an affinity for singing, but it’s a great tune all the same.

I think I sat there and meditated on meaningless for well over an hour, before my brother dragged me inside. Of course, that’s when Emma Hayford had to make her exceptionally late entrance.

West River High doesn’t do popularity ranks the usual way. There is no girl at our school that looks like she walked off the runway to come to class. Not that the school is filled with “Uglies”, there’s a fair share of “Hotties” that attend my prestigious (my ass) public school. But if there’s someone who’s more wanted than any other girl, it’d probably be Miss Hayford. Miss Hayford, who has a firm leash on her virginity, and runs through her steady going boyfriends about once every six to eight months. She has chestnut colored hair, simple grey eyes and her mind set on the future. And yet, as non-slut, non-head-in-the-clouds, non-anything commonly related to Boy Magnet material, she’s the epitome of magnetic to all things testosterone-infested.

So, as I say, normally the typical goody-goody wouldn’t stream in late, only, punctuality seems to be her weakness.

I turned away because I really didn’t want to see the PDA between her and Cale. I really didn’t want to figure out why he’d picked her, and she him, since their relationship values were so obviously opposed by the other’s. It’s a mental discussion I could afford not to waste the brain power on.

Apparently my brother felt differently. “I don’t know why he’s with her,” he muttered loudly enough that it was clear he wanted to talk it out.

“Why are you complaining? She could be good for him,” I pointed out, violently trying not to think on what we were talking about.

“That’s not my point.” Jack wrung his hands before slipping one in the pocket of his jeans and the other through my arm. “I never would have seen it coming. And not in the good Surprise Relationship kind of way either.”

“You really don’t like it, do you?”

“Not particularly. No.” He gave me a look and I poked out my tongue. “Okay, this is just too dark for party talk,” Jack pointed out, his tone flipping switchboard-like.

“So, what qualifies as party talk then?”

“You’re way too chirpy. And you don’t even like parties that much.”

“I do too like parties that much.” I frown at him. “Okay, that didn’t make any sense.”

“You’re finally seeing my point of view.” Smack. “Ow!”

“Shut your face, stupid kid.”

Jack raised both hands, empty palms facing me in a peace gesture. “Leaving.” He hurried off into the crowd and left me to wonder whether that conversation had actually transpired or was I in the weirdest alcohol-induced hallucination ever mentally possible? I’m still not making any sense, am I?

So yeah, was I still hallucinating when Cale walked slow-mo through the crowd towards me and backed me into a corner that I didn’t even know was there. His gaze never wavered from mine as he bit his lip ever so subtly. I was still under the impression that I was hallucinating, and vaguely considering the notion that there had been a little more to that drink than met the eye. But I thought, Screw the past, I’m just going to play along with this. It is a hallucination after all.

“What are you doing, Cale?” I asked, glaring at him.

“Mmm?” He licked his lips. “Ohh, nothing.” Dammit, he was still staring at me, I broke eye contact with him. My skin felt hot and I fidgeted with the zipper of my hoodie, trying to distract myself.

He still wasn’t speaking and I was sure that some time had passed. I looked up and his face was right up close to mine. Not kidding you, I was going cross-eyed just looking at him.

It took me a few seconds to catch on.

“Don’t you fucking kiss me or I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Have me arrested? Kissing isn’t illegal. Not to normal people.”

“Most people are lizards, Cale. I’m sorry you’re a snake. Now, get out of my fucking nest before I scratch your eyes out with my claws of steel.”

“Sorry, Cher, you’re just as much of a li-zard as the rest of them. In for the long haul and your camouflage is useless.”

I’m a bird, Goddammit. A bird!

And in my split second of distraction, I was vulnerable and we were kissing. Fuck me, we were kissing. I didn’t know it could taste that good. His mouth should have been drenched in alcohol but all I could find was sweetness and coffee. (Yeah, I have a penchant for coffee, which means war on the mornings that Cale stays at our house because it’s the most annoying thing to have in common with your arch nemesis.)

One of Cale’s hands was cupping the back of my head, pulling my face closer to him. The other was sitting on my hip, thumb holding the hoodie’s fringe in place while his fingers slipped underneath it. I don’t even want to think about what that skin-to-skin contact was doing to the nerves in the area, they might as well have been a power station undergoing an extremely unhealthy electrical surge.

I clutched at his shirt, grabbing fists of material and holding them there. All I wanted was to explore the sweetness, find out exactly what it was, while enjoying the coffee.

But all too soon the taste was gone and Cale was pulling away from me. I look down and away, and in doing so, caught the briefest flash of an annoyed face, as Emma Hayford rounded a corner.

Oh shit.

I looked up, just to notice the gloating look on his face as he watched her flailing retreat.

“You bastard,” I gritted out. I felt myself grow a little taller with my rage, then used the height to slap the smirking asswipe across the face. A second later I watched with a satisfied smile as my hand print glowed red on his cheek. “You were going out with her!”

-x-X-x-