I Imagine Me and You

by Aurette

Author's Note: Advanced apologies for those of you like Nickelback. It's just that they're so easy to make fun of! Also, Tim is a douche.

Chapter Three: The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Retching

If I hear Beck singing Our God is an Awesome God one more time, I'm throwing her out of the apartment. And it's not because the girl can't keep a tune in a bucket. It's because Beck's twelve-year-old awareness of the fact that I'm going to hell for lusting after the Lord's Songstress is rather obnoxious. It doesn't help that Fee's taken up teasing me about it too.

The women in my life are cold-hearted bitches.

Rehearsals are blessedly sane. Paula finally gave up the ghost and is wearing the crucifix with no qualms. Dave is so relieved that she's not arguing that he doesn't even question the fact that she changed her mind literally overnight.

Beck's somewhere in the auditorium seating, either texting on her cell phone or actually watching. There's not a lot of grand choreography in the Sound of Music, but there's enough that Christine, the choreographer, is needed. Christine's really pretty. In that “Look at me, I'm goddamn fabulous” sort of way that usually only celebrities can pull off. She has a body to rival Megan Fox, and she can dance. Dear God can the woman dance. She's also one of the newest teachers to the dance program of the college, making her roughly twenty-six years old.

Too old for me. I mean, Six years isn't that much of an age difference in the grand scheme of things, but Christine fucking terrifies me.

I glance out into the auditorium, wondering if Fee has shown up yet. Beck, Fee, Tim and I are planning on having a night of it after rehearsal. Beck doesn't have school tomorrow due to some genius kid setting off stink bombs in every hallway in the school. Beck's not complaining. I am. I'd rather sit at home with a twelve-year-old than endure an IHOP night with Tim fucking Moore.

I catch a glimpse of violently red hair, and try to smile when I see the tall, muscular man next to Beck. I guess Tim isn't a total jackhole. There has to be some redeeming quality to the jerk if Fee was willing to throw her entire life away on him. Most of my contact with him has been limited to parties, so I quietly tell myself he's a jerk because he's always drunk when I speak with him.

Christine finishes demonstrating the dance, and Paula, the kids, and I go through it twice to her satisfaction. She proclaims us good to go, and Dave gives his notes and dismisses us. Before I bound off the stage to collect Beck and face the gauntlet, Christine grabs my arm. “James,” she practically purrs. “What are you doing tonight? We're all getting drinks at the Stagger Inn for open mic night. I think Danny's singing something with his band.”

I'm tempted. Dear Lord am I tempted. I love the open mic nights at Stagger Inn. They're usually hilarious, and there are usually some damn talented people who perform. And Danny's band (AKA him on keyboard and his little brother on guitar) is actually decent.

“Can't,” I reply reluctantly. “Beck and I are hanging out with Phoebe Ashen and her fiance Tim Moore.”

“Oh.” Christine looks disappointed, and I shudder. She may be hot, but she's freaking... crazy. It's not one of those things you can pinpoint exactly. It's just a vibe guys get from batshit insane chicks. My own vibe detector happens to be a bit dodgy at times, but Christine just sets my teeth on edge. Before Christine can say anything more, I'm nearly tackled to the floor.

“Jaaaaaamesy!” Paula squealed, tightening her grip around my waist. “Why aren't you coming?” Paula really knows how to whine. She can give Beck a run for her money for how obnoxious she can make my name sound.

“Earlier plans,” I say, and pat Paula on the head. “I really wish I could come, though. Sounds like fun.”

“Next time,” Paula says, and pulls away. She sticks one of her hands in my hair and rubs my scalp. “I'll get you drunk and have my wicked way with you.”

As any normal guy would, I close my eyes at the sensation of Paula's hand in my hair, but snap them open when I realize Christine's still watching us. Theater folk are often an affectionate bunch, as you really get over shyness and modesty when you have a twenty second full costume change and no dressing room in sight. But some people take advantage of that. I eye Christine, whose watching Paula with a peculiar look in her eye. Paula doesn't notice, but she drops her hand, and hugs me around the neck.

“Lame. See you in class!” She bounces off stage, and I stare after her, with a slight smile on my face. Sometimes I still wonder if Paula and I could ever get together. We certainly get along, and if it weren't for the fact that Paula's just about as affectionate with any other guy in the show, I would think she liked me or something.

It isn't until Fee yells up at the stage for me to get my ass down that I snap out of my Paula-hotness induced reverie. I smile weakly at Christine, who's still got that weird look on her face, and head down off the stage. “Bout time,” Fee says, and smacks my shoulder. “We're starving.”

“Sorry, was talking to Paula,” I say, and ruffle Beck's hair. “You weren't too bored, kiddo?” Before she can answer, I nod at Tim. “Hey man.”

Tim, like Christine, has a peculiar look in his eye, but it's more like he's trying to figure something out. “Theater chicks are really touchy feely with guys when they know they won't expect anything, aren't they?”

I blink a few times before I realize what he's talking about. I resist the urge to ninja kick Tim in the teeth. “Not all of them,” I answer. “And some of them are touchy feely with everybody.” I let him consider that for awhile. Beck snickers. “Shall we?” I gesture towards the door, and Fee smirks.

“I'm driving,” she announces, and flounces towards the doors. Her hair is tame, for once. Brushed down, framing her face. Her clothes are dressed down as well. Tim's own style is typical guy, as Beck calls it. He's tall, jock-physique, and pretty handsome (I say in a totally-secure-in-my-sexuality type of way). He's got the looks, if not the personality. Actually, our styles are pretty similar. Jeans and pants and button down t-shirts and the like.

I wonder, not for the first time, how a guy like Tim caught a girl like Fee. He looked and acted more at home in some frat house than with a punk chick with red hair and an obsession with plaid. But who am I to judge? I go after anything halfway pretty.

We make our way to the car, Fee chatting away about her classes. Tim already graduated, with a degree in Biology, and was going to graduate school to get his masters specialization in Microbiology. Not only was he a jackhole, he was a very smart jackhole. Too bad his brains didn't equal tact.

I sit in the back with Beck. Tim keeps trying to grab Fee's hand while she's driving. I feel awkward as she pulls away to keep both hands on the steering wheel. Fe's not really against PDA or anything, so watching the play between them is really weird.

We don't make conversation the entire way. Beck is her oblivious twelve-year-old self, and is texting one of her little friends like crazy. We finally arrive, and I'm the first out and I barrel through the door of the IHOP. Words cannot express the awkwardness. Beck comes in, and the hostess approaches us. We give the number in our party, and Tim and Fee come in. Fee gives me a knowing look, but thankfully says nothing.

Once we're seated, I stick my nose in my menu. It's totally unnecessary. I pretty much have it memorized, and I already know what I'm getting.

“Want to go up to Chicago this weekend?” Tim asks. “My parents have been bugging for us to come up.”

Fee is about to answer when our waitress comes to take our drink order. She must be new, because I don't recognize her from my many after-rehearsal visits with my theatre friends. She's tall, leggy, and her eyes are bright blue.

I'm totally sold. I turn on my patented James Reed Charm. Well, I call it charm. I'm not entirely sure other people look at it the same way. “Hey there,” I glance at her name tag, “Lori.”

“Hi,” she chirps. Literally chirps. “I'll be your waitress this evening. Can I get your drink order?”

We all order and I go last. “Water please.” I don't know if it's just my circle, but it seems to me that whenever theatre people go out, they either order alcohol or water. The lot of them. I flash Lori a smile. I sense a blush and feel a bit of triumph. She swishes off to get our drink, and Fee launches into her plans for the Chicago weekend. Her enthusiasm is kind of sickening, but Tim looks happy.

“James and Lori, sitting in a tree,” Beck taunts in a sing-song voice. “What about Victooooooria?” She draws out the name, adding a little trill on the 'r'.

“Shut up, child.”

Lori returns with our drinks. She gives me a flirty little smile. Whoa. It's been awhile sine someone's been that receptive to me. I'm kind of flabbergasted. We give our orders, Tim getting enough for 3 people. I'm just looking forward to my pancakes and sausage. Who wouldn't?

“Looks like the waitress thinks your a hottie,” Fee pipes up when Lori is out of earshot. She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“Won't she be in for a surprise?” Time says with a bark of laughter.

Beck, Fee, and I all stare at him blankly. Sometimes, I wonder if he honestly thinks he's being funny, or accepting. I mean, I joke with my gay friends all the time about crap like this. But then, I knew for sure their predilection for the same sex. Not just assumptions.

“What?” he asks. “James is-”

“Not happy where this conversation is going,” I burst out before he can say anything more. Tim and I stare at each other intensely.

Beck, bless her little heart, breaks the tension. In the most horrifying way possible.

“So we started sex ed today in health class. Is it true that you should use two types of contraception so you don't make babies?”

Suddenly, there's another kind of tension around the table. Awkward City, I'm moving there in the spring.

“You'd ask three college students if a trained professional is telling the truth?” Fee asks, actually putting faith in the Junior High administration to hire a professional instead of having a bored P.E. teacher tell the kids the facts of life.

“Well, yeah. You all have sex, right?” Beck flutters her eyelashes. I smirk at her, not buying it. She totally knows what she's doing. Beck isn't an airhead. Being exposed to college students does something to your brain, I swear.

There is silence.

“Right? Like that's what you do at your drunken beer pong parties and sneaking into dorms and-”

“Oh god, really Beck? Really?” Fee laughs. “One of these days you're going to embarrass your poor uncle to death.”

“That's what I live for.”

Tim, trying to join in on the hilarity, utter fails. “And it's not like James has to worry about babies.”

I also sometimes wonder if Tim thinks he even has the ability to be as hilarious as Fee and I. Noob.

“Oh my god, douchebag!” Fee exclaims, and stalks out of the restaurant before anyone can stop her. Tim jumps up, realizing he kind of fucked up big time, and goes after her looking stricken. At least he understands he's a douchebag.

“Why is she going to marry him, James? He says such mean things to you.”

I fumble with my napkin and look away from the scene unfolding out the window. Beck is wrinkling her nose unhappily. “Fee's not an idiot. And as much as I hate to admit it, Tim really does love her. He's only a douchebag when it comes to me, and I don't think he even realizes how offensive he is half the time.” I sip at my water, feeling my throat get all dry and gross-like. I'm not nervous or anxious or anything. Of course not.

“I don't think he's worth it if he can't be nice to her friends.”

I agree, but say nothing. It's mostly my bias being Fee's best friend and all. Lori comes with our food. I guess the cook is really bored to make it all so fast, as there's no one else in IHOP. I just realized that the manager, hostess, and waitress all probably heard that awkward little conversation, including Beck's loud questions on safe sex.

Suddenly things just got more awkward.

Awkward City? I'm moving to fucking Awkward Kingdom over her. Lori doesn't seem to be bothered, though, as she sets our plates down. “Where are your friends?” she asks, though I can tell she really doesn't care as she's staring unabashedly at me. Seriously, when has a girl ever stared unabashedly at me? I kinda dig it.

“Arguing most likely.” I look out the window, and see Fee's bright red hair. Tim tucks a strand of it behind her ear. It's a gentle gesture, reinforcing the idea that Tim really does love her. Fee hugs him tightly before kissing him. Gross. Tim cooties.

“Looks like they mad up,” Lori says with a sunny smile. I return it, trying to get my mind off the gross tableau outside. I twirl my fork in my hand, showing off. Off course, I epically fail when it goes flying into Beck's face.

“Bitch,” she says, and throws it back to me. I duck, and it hits the window, startling Tim and Fee. Fee gives me the finger, and Tim just looks confused. Lori is cracking up. She fetches me a new fork, and Tim and Fee are on their way back inside.

“The trials and tribulations of being in love, eh?” I ask her with my smarmy smile. “I personally don't have that lady I love to argue with.”

I can just hear Beck rolling her eyes.

Tim and Fee come back in as Lori says, “Neither do I.” She smiles furtively to go wait on a couple that just came in.

“Everything alright in Tim and Fee land?” I ask, my smarmy smile still playing at my lips.

“Everything's alright,” Fee answers, holding Tim's hand. I fight the urge to barf. I am a ten year old boy.

“Good,” Beck says, though her tone implies that it's not. That's my little niece, following in the ways of her uncle. She is halfway through her strawberry Belgian waffle. I guess she learned the “eat quickly in the wilds because someone might steal your meal and then where would you be?” from me. I probably shouldn't have stolen her pancakes every morning for three weeks when she first came to live with me. I was kind of a bitch. These are skills you got to learn if you want to survive in a college apartment building, though. True facts.

The dinner goes smoothly, with Tim actually acting like a human being, as crazy as that sounds. He relaxes, doesn't make any jokes about my supposed sexuality, and we have a nice, superficial conversation about cats, the suckitude of Nickelback (I mean, really, Canada, really? Couldn't you just keep them?!), and my musical.

It's delightfully weird.

But hey, I get Lori's phone number out of the deal. She writes it on my receipt, with a little smiley face over the 'i' in her name, and a heart dotting an exclamation point after her phone number. I hide it before Tim can see it, but not before Beck. Because Beck's a nosy little wench. She makes kissy faces at me all the way home.

That weekend, Fee isn't around to bug me. Stupid Tim. I call Lori to see if she'd go out with me, out of desperation. I only get her voice mail, a perky little voice telling me that Lori Redston is unavailable, so please with a cherry on top leave a message after the beep.

The kitsch is just too much, but I leave one anyway. Screw dating. I fail at it, hardcore.

I find myself watching bad reality TV with Beck for lack of anything else to do. I could have asked for more work hours, I suppose. But what's selling books to watching girls be bitchy to boost ratings?

I swear to god that's how bored I am.

Beck is making popcorn in the microwave, and my phone is sitting on the coffee table, just waiting for a phone call. Two bleached blonds are fighting over a man. Or shampoo. It's kind of sad that I can't tell which.

“Don't you have rehearsal tonight?” Beck calls from the kitchen.

“Dave had some emergency. I think box tickets to tonight's performance of Starlight Express at the Fox were made available. I mean, Jesus Christ Superstar, or Evita, I'd get. But motherfucking Starlight Express? I mean, what the hell?”

Beck is used to my weird rambling by now. She doesn't answer.

It isn't until the smell of burnt popcorn reaches my nostrils that I realize why.

And then the fire alarm went off.

Yeah. So much for a boring weekend.

“I didn't mean to!” Beck's wail is plaintive. We're standing on the lawn, with dozens of other residents staring at us with no little annoyance.

Have I mentioned that it's raining?

And not just raining, oh no. It's one of those monsoons where you get soaked three seconds after stepping out the door. Though the fire trucks did look kinda cool with their lights cutting through the rain, just like in a movie. That's the only upshot I can find.

“It's okay, Beck,” I assure her. “Last year Jordan Atherton somehow made the stove in his apartment explode when he tried to hard boil an egg. In an ice storm. This isn't nearly so bad.”

It doesn't cheer her up. Her blond hair is dark in the rain and she shivers in her pajama pants and tank top. I feel bad for her, really, and fight the urge to tease further. It's moments like these that I'm reminded that she is just a little girl underneath the sarcasm and precocity.

“No one will be mad at you, Beck,” I continue. “And if they give you a hard time I'll kick their asses, Captain von Trapp style.”

Beck isn't amused. “What if the building supervisor kicks me out? I'm not even supposed to be here.”

“Then I'll move to Grandma's and Grandpa's with you. Stop worrying, chicka. And it's not like they have to know it was you in particular.”

She just frowns. I wonder how she manged to burn popcorn in the first place. She's a good cook. I'm the one who would be expected to set fire to a bag of popcorn. Seriously.

The firemen finally clear us to re-enter the building, after two hours. Beck claims the bathroom to dry off and cry or whatever it is preteens do when they're upset. I stand on the linoleum in the kitchen, waiting for my turn. I had grabbed my phone on the way in, and I'm checking it at the same time I'm rummaging in the cupboards for food. The firemen thoughtfully left my windows open to air out the rooms. I can hear the rain pounding away outside in a lulling litany.

I have two text messages. Fee sent one, asking if I was bored enough without her to watch UPN. Smart ass. And a correct smart ass. I text her back, saying as much. The second text is from Lori.

Sry im workin all wkend MB nxt wkend?

It takes me several moments to decipher her message. People still abbreviate like that? Sheesh. I shake my head and reply.

Awesomesauce. There's a group going to Milligan's Pub after my play rehearsal.

I find a granola bar and much away as I'm waiting for a reply from either girl. Lori is first.

Been there. Sounds g8 CU there or u pik up?

I blink a few times, and text back that I'd pick her up. I feel kind of weird as I stand shivering in my kitchen. I'm not a picky soul, but I really don't go for the type who ha the inability to spell correctly, even in texts.

Fee interrupts my thoughts with her reply.

Lameass. What's this about you nearly burning down the apt. building?

I swear to God, Fee's roommates are douches. Of course they'd text her telling her it was my apartment that the wonderful stench of burnt popcorn is from. It's going to take forever for the smell to fade. I resolve to buy some air fresheners tomorrow.

Heaven knows we need them.

I go to church again on Sunday. I kind of enjoy the whole getting dressed up thing. Which is weird for me, but whatever. Beck drags us back up to the choir balcony. Sure enough, Victoria Emerson is sitting in the same spot as before. She acknowledges us this time, with a smile and a wave.

Lori, my diversion from pretty much everything, flits out of my head. Victoria is wearing a blue dress and sits with perfect posture. She's far too lovely to be sitting by herself.

My cell phone rings during the invocation prayer, sending Marvin Gaye's “Let's Get it On” throughout the Sanctuary. Victoria starts giggling, her whole body shaking with the force. Beck lets out a loud groan.

Fee is so dead.

You know, I'm going to hell anyway. What's one little premeditated murder?