Summary: It's the-ultimate-cliché-of-them-all all over again. Jamie is the stereotypical golden boy of Belleview High, while Sarah is the not-so-stereotypical nerd. But it doesn’t matter: Sarah and Jamie are best friends (literally) since birth. Jamie just loves irritating Sarah, all because he was appointed her “protector” when she was born. Sarah has sworn off any relationships, “not” because of her parents’ divorce when she was one. There’s no chance in hell they’ll fall for each other… So, what’s their chance on earth? 100%, of course. Duh.

Chapter 1: My "Protector"

“Aarghh! GIVE IT TO ME!”

“Na na na na na, no can do, kiddo!”

“JUST GIVE IT BACK, YOU ASSHOLE!”

“Such language…”

I almost growled in annoyance as I watched the skirt hanging precariously above my head. Pretending to sober up for a moment I lunged for it but, true to his athletic instincts, Jamie pulled it away out of my reach just in time.

I won’t be surprised if he comes out of the closet one of these days (haha, what a joke.). I mean, why else would he want to fool around with my clothes? Well, alright, he does it only to annoy, aggravate and antagonize me, but still.

Maybe I should just get to the introductions, yeah?

…………

WHAT? Oh…

My name is Sarah Evelyn Xavier.

Don’t laugh. Just don’t. I think it’s perfectly normal to have parents who were so in love with their love life that they needed their one and only daughter’s initials to remind them of it.

No wonder they’ve been divorced for almost as long as my name’s age.

No, I’m not bitter about it. Nor am scarred for life because of it. Nope, my swearing off relationships had nothing to do with my parents’ dysfunctional marriage. Nothing at all.

ANYWAY, let’s not get distracted from the matter at hand. God, Jamie can be so annoying sometimes. Why do I even put up with him? I asked myself, as always, which eventually brought up a familiar conversation (argument) with my brain first (Yep, I’m a li’l crazy. Just a little) and then Jamie (GOD…):

Me: Maybe it’s because he’s your best friend.

Mind: Maybe it’s because he’s your only friend?

Me: Shut up. I didn’t ask you.

Mind: Crazy, much?

“SHUT UP!” I yelled.

“Crazy, much?” Jamie grinned at me.

“Ughh. Why do I even put up with you?” I cried, pouting.

Jamie just looked at me with a devilish grin. I hate that look; it makes me feel uneasy and it’s usually all the warning I get before Jamie decides the world has gone too long without his antics. I know I act like he’s this evil five year old whom I’m babysitting but, trust me, that’s all he acts like sometimes.

“Maybe it’s because I am your best friend, the key words being I and best”, I said, deciding on a different approach. After all, the previous one didn’t go so well with my brain.

“Maybe it’s because I am your only friend, the key words being I and only”, Jamie stressed on the two words particularly, his smirk wider than ever. Cheater. He knew I was going to say that. I say it every time this topic comes up.

Yeah, I’m pretty predictable.

I looked at the dumb specimen of the male species standing in front of me and sighed dramatically. Jamie sniggered away like he had never before heard anything funnier (I hadn’t even said anything), before turning around and exiting my room with the aforementioned skirt.

I took a deep breath and sighed again wearily. How can he look like a god and act like a moron?

At six feet two inches with hazel eyes, golden-brown hair, a well tanned skin tone and a lean, athletic body, Jamie is everything the teenaged, hormonal girls of Belleview High could ever ask for. The fact that he also is our school’s Student Body Vice-President (having lost the only higher post by exactly 7 votes) and star athlete (he’s the football, basketball and tennis captain… yeah, I know) and the only other person in senior year with a GPA over 4.5 (the first being me of course!!) makes him everything every one else could ever ask for… Okay, that last part didn’t make much sense, but what I meant is that it doesn’t exactly harm his reputation. James Noah Carter has been the most popular guy in school for as long as anyone can remember.

Unfortunately, he has also been my best friend for as long as I can remember.

“You will never get away with that, you BASTARD!!” I shouted at my, now closed, bedroom door.

“Oh, but I am getting away with it right now”, he announced in a sing-song voice as he went downstairs, still sniggering. Did I mention that he sings as well and is a part of an awesome band? Now you see what I’ve to put up with.

Why DO I even put up with him, anyway?

The thing is, about nineteen years ago, the Carters and the Xaviers moved into adjacent houses, in the most stuck-up neighborhood ever in all of America, on the same day. And, when they realized they weren’t getting any welcome from their other neighbors (who are, till today, all pompous idiots), they decided to give it to each other by buying each other dinner that night. Bill Carter and Jude Xavier hit it off immediately (dinner was their idea), even more so when they discovered that both their wives were pregnant, the former’s one month further along than the latter’s.

Then again, when the Carters became proud parents of the most handsome baby boy six months later in a Belleview Hospital maternity ward, the Xaviers were busy blaming each other for causing Mary Carter’s complicated delivery and fighting about infidelity in the hospital lobby.

See, Bill had been in an important meeting, when my mom Aldys had called him and told him that his wife had gone into labor. He’d asked her to bring Mary to the hospital where he would come directly from work. As my mom was seven and a half month along her pregnancy, she was in no condition to drive then and had called my dad. My dad had yelled back that he’d be there soon and hung up on her, only to arrive an hour later, much less with mark near his shirt collar that looked suspiciously like cherry lipstick.

It was all my mom could do to keep fuming to herself until they reached the hospital.

Once they reached the hospital and Mary had been admitted, however, it was a different story: the shouting match between my parents led to my dad getting thrown out of the hospital, my mom going into labor too soon and my parents getting divorced one year later.

I was born about three hours after Jamie. As my father couldn’t be there, Bill, who was an elder brother figure to my mother, had held her hand and comforted her during the process. And as soon he had seen the tiny little girl that was taking up all of his two palms and some space between them, he had turned to my mother and admonished her for not eating well enough before looking down at me and saying, “It doesn’t matter though: my Jamie is here to protect her now.” He had cuddled me slightly before adding, “He’ll protect her from now until forever, and after that too.” My mom had looked at us with tears in her eyes.

Of course, I don’t remember all that. Duh. My eyes weren’t even open then.

No, when I turned sixteen two years ago along with Jamie, Bill (who’d adopted himself as my father) bought us a Mustang on our birthday. When he refused to give us the keys until we promised that I would never drive the car under any circumstances, I refused to promise until he told me why. Bill ended up telling me the whole story, before adding, “He’s your protector. He should take care of you. Promise you’ll never touch the steering”, with tears in his eyes. Grumbling at my soft spot for the waterworks and flushing at the concept of Jamie being my “protector”, I grumpily promised Bill that I would never drive the beautiful blue beast.

Apparently, though, Lady Luck wasn’t done with me yet. That evening, I had my first period. Yeah, I was a late bloomer. But this lateness kinda drove the memory of learning about menstruation at school completely to the other side of the moon from my mind. So instead of having fun with Jamie and the guests, throughout the party I sat in my bathroom, crying and thinking that I was dying until my mom, who had realized I’d gone missing, found me and reminded me of my Health Science classes.

And I haven’t finished my rant yet. In the next few months, my body started developing. I’d always been short and fragile-looking until then, but in about two months I found that I’d grown taller, my hips had considerably widened and my chest had blown out. Well, it didn’t exactly “blow out” but when my breasts almost suddenly became nearer to a C cup from a being concave, I didn’t know whether I was supposed to feel pleased or fat. So, there I was, “transformed”, three months after my birthday, from 4’ 10” 80lbs lanky frame to a 5’ 3” 120lbs fat frame (yeah, I decided to go with 'fat'. And I know I said taller, I meant taller than what I used to be. I won’t deny that I’m still a midget).

Anyway, after this, people around me started noticing me. I'm not saying I got popular overnight and became the school’s head cheerleader or anything: after all, I am a nerd, a geek, a dork, take your pick. No, what I meant was I got asked out more (by my fellow-geeks, of course) and the number of party invitations I got increased from negative to about 1 a month. Not that I consented to either of them.

Sorry. That should been “Not that I was allowed to consent to either of them”. Because, Jamie, who’d (and I quote) “heard Bill ‘appointing’ him as my ‘protector'”, had started stalking me and watching over me like a hawk at both situations. If I decided to go to a party, he would tell my mom that there was going to be alcohol in the party, which would make my mom forbid me from going. If I agreed to go out with some guy, he would threaten the guy so much that the guy would usually make up some excuse and cancel the date (not that I’d have said yes; I’ve sworn off relationships, remember? No, usually I’d have said something like ‘I’ll think about it and let you know later’. But, it didn't matter anyway). Soon, my status quo went back to square one. Thanks to my BFF, I had absolutely no friends other than him and my social life had ended before it could even begin. When I’d told him that, he’d just smirked before telling me that he was “just protecting” me and that he didn't want anyone "corrupting" me.

Yeah, right.

Remember when I told you how Jamie is everything the teenaged, hormonal girls of Belleview High could ever ask for? I forgot to tell you that it’s also because he gives whatever they ask for. And, when I say whatever, I mean whatever. As in a date, a kiss, a make-out session, a hickey, an autograph (wherever they want), a whole night… You get the idea. Jamie is what you would call a playboy. Only, he isn’t just a playboy, he’s the definition of ‘playboy’, you know what I mean?

So when he gave me his “reason” for torturing me, it was all I could do to walk away without killing him.

Even so, every time my mom asks me about the whole loner-with-no-friends thing, I manipulate the idea of blaming him only for a fraction of a second. After all he is a boy, and boys are allowed to be obnoxious sometimes, right?

Besides, Jamie’s not my best friend for no reason. Because, even with all his nausea-inducing, irritating tendencies, I guess he is my protector.

Like that time at the sandbox. We were six years old then, and Julian Thomas was laughing at my neon yellow dress (mom had just gotten a promotion letter and the alimony check at the same time; she was going through post-divorce stress disorder) and pulling at my pigtails. I was just sitting there, crying silently. I say ‘was’ not only to imply past tense, but also the shortness of the whole ordeal. Because, Jamie saw this exchange five minutes after it started. And once Jamie had joined it, Julian’s eyes, nose and mouth were running faster than him. That was the first of the few times I’ve seen guys cry. And, that was the first time Jamie got grounded, for picking up a fight. For me. I don’t think Bill knows that even today. If he had, maybe he wouldn't have grounded Jamie.

Or, that time at Katie Wells’ birthday party. I’d only been invited because I was with Jamie when he was being invited. And, I was reminded of this by Katie and her minions every minute into the party (along with some other stuff which I didn’t have anything to do with, but had received the blame), until I ran from there crying. I still dunno how I reached home that night, but all I remember was Jamie leaving the party and running after me and holding me and consoling me. I’d shouted at him for giving me cooties at first and then bawled all over his shoulder after that. Jamie had ignored Katie at school until she came and apologized to me (through clenched teeth; I’d run to the teacher saying Katie was “having an epileptic attack”. Yeah, I was a nerd even then).

Or, the time in the cafeteria, a week before our sixteenth birthday. Katie and her minions (I’d taken to calling them that after the birthday incident) had spilt their diet coke all over my white Linkin Park t-shirt (my favourite band and t-shirt: that rock band owns). Then they’d sneered at me, saying how pathetic a loser I was and how I hung around Jamie, trying to “climb up the social ladder”. They hadn’t known that Jamie was standing right behind them.

But I had, so when he’d just stared at me after listening to the whole thing with a blank face, I’d run out of there, (as usual) crying. Jamie had (again, as usual) run after me, dragged me back to the cafeteria and then had made a great show of telling the entire school population, staring back silently, that I was his best friend and anyone who didn’t like me, needn’t bother with him. Then, he’d pulled me to sit next to him, awkwardly offered me a tissue and, pointedly ignoring everyone else (even his jock friends), had spent the rest of the lunch hour talking only to me.

Katie had “apologized” after school that day (wow, what a surprise) in front of Jamie, before leaning in and whispering an venomous “You’d better watch your back” in my ear, but that was beside the point. The point was that Jamie was my best friend and, when he showed me that day that he wouldn’t allow anyone or anything to change that, I knew he would be my best for quite a long time. No, I wouldn’t even think of blaming him.

Okay, maybe I did think of it for a fraction of a second, but the fraction was so small that it's negligible. And, again, that's beside the point.

So, when my mom asked me about my lack of end-the-hols.-with-a-blast plans, I’d decided that my wardrobe needed a change and voiced that thought to my mother (you’d have to be crazy if you thought I’d bring up my nostalgic childhood memories anywhere close to my mom). I’d borrowed her credit card (she owed me: I’d kinda helped her with her office files. what do ya know? I’M A NERD) and gone shopping a week ago, to return with clothes that I hadn’t ever dreamed I would think of buying: three pairs of (really) low-waist jeans, seven skirts (each of which was about an inch longer than mini-skirts) and lots of new t-shirts which fit me perfectly, in contrast to the two-sizes-too-large shirts I already owned.

When I’d returned from the mall, I’d shown my buys to my mom and Jamie, who had been sitting in the living room watching TV. On seeing the clothes, Jamie had gone red with rage before almost yelling at me that I couldn’t wear them. I’d retorted, saying something like, “I can wear what-fucking-ever the hell I want to and you can do no shit to stop me” (censored, so as to not corrupt virgin eyes), and turned to my mom for support. Her face all red and looking like she needed to laugh badly, she’d almost grounded me (puppy dog eyes: works every time) for swearing, before pointing out to Jamie that I was, however, correct. I’d scowled at both of them, especially at Jamie for acting like he was the boss of me. He’d scowled back fiercely for some time until suddenly something crossed his features and he was grinning. I could almost see the bulb ominously lighting up in his head.

I’d looked at my mom with a mixed expression on my face: spooked-out + incredulous + indignant. My mom had just replied with a knowing grin and glided off to the kitchen. When I’d tuned back to him, “Okay then, catch you later” was all he’d said, backing away to the door. He went back home.

I’d known then that he was up to something.

Relax, he won’t, like, burn up your closet or anything…Right?

I’d panicked then, realizing that he was capable of it.

Now, however, I was too busy being angry. Panic was hibernating on the other side of the moon. Of course, I should have known Jamie wouldn’t go for fire. Not when he had an easier way of getting what he wanted. Besides, he has a phobia of fire.

You want to know his brilliant plan? He stole my clothes...

Exactly.

There’s a wooden frame with crisscrossing bars just outside my window. Mum put it there to grow some plants, so as to improve the house’s look. But all it’s used is by me for sneaking into my room whenever I’ve crossed my curfew (12 o’clock? I feel eight years old, not eighteen), because no plants grow on it and it tends to make my house look like Freddy Krueger’s. I wonder why I convinced my mom to not get rid of it. I guess I was thankful for it. Until that night.

Because, that night, when everyone was sleeping, Jamie climbed up the frame into my room and stole all my clothes. All the new ones, that is. Yeah, he left behind the old (boring) ones, so I would be forced to wear them. I knew it was him because, when I woke up the next day and almost flew downstairs into the kitchen yelling about my missing clothes, he was already there, smirking in all his glory. I swear, if I wasn’t scared about marring his perfect little face, I would have beaten him up long time ago. Yet, I found myself smiling back at him.

Looking slightly disarmed and agitated, he’d asked me what was funny about my clothes being stolen. Thinking along the lines of “Lady luck must be with me today”, I’d shaken my head and mumbled something about some lame joke.

Then again, I guess I jinxed myself with my thoughts, because my mom had to open her (big) mouth and say, “Oh, I expect she’s just happy she has something to wear tomorrow for her first day, senior year. You see, she tried out some of those clothes before dinner yesterday but dropped a bit of gravy on the last skirt that she decided to wear through dinner. She washed it after dinner for the fear of staining it and hung it in her bathroom to dry.” Her eyes twinkling, she added, “Guess all of her new stuff wasn’t in the closet after all.” Why do I feel like she’s in the whole thing with Jamie?

Anyway, I excused myself briefly (which was dumb, as both of them became very suspicious and looked it: I never ever excused myself), went upstairs to my room and then my bedroom. Thankfully, the skirt was dry, so I folded it before it could get wrinkled and hid it in my underwear drawer (I knew Jamie would never look there).

But then, yet again, I underestimated Jamie. He didn’t even bother to do anything that day. No, the next day, which is today and the first day of senior year, he just came into my room when I was in the shower, and tried to take away the clothes. Well, the skirt, mainly. I heard him, and immediately rushed out in my full-length robe. And then commenced the dialogue that I oh-so–graciously narrated at the beginning.

I could still hear him prowling around in the kitchen and, I was about to yell at him to “just FUCK OFF”, when I remembered who it was that gave me to and back from school. Obviously Jamie. Duh.

I dressed up in my drab t-shirt (Nirvana: nowhere as good as LP) and baggy cargoes (he’d stolen jeans that were even just one size bigger) and went downstairs. When I walked into the kitchen, I was wearing the fiercest scowl ever and grumbling under my breath. And, when I saw my mother’s shoulders shaking silently, it just became a hundred times worse. Then, I felt Jamie standing behind me. I knew it was him; it’s because every time he’s near, I get this strange feeling in my stomach, like a hundred butterflies. I guess it’s just my body’s method of warning me.

I turned around to look at him, my expression becoming as much uglier as possible during the 180 degree turn. But, when I looked at him, the expression wiped off of my face. His eyes looked so tender, and when he spoke, I just about melted at the tone of his voice (sigh…… Wait, WHAT??? O-KAY, call the asylum, I’ve officially gone insane).

“You don’t need those clothes to grab attention for you, kiddo. You’re doing well enough without them. Trust me.”

“Stop calling me that. I’m younger than you by three hours, not three-fuckin’-hundred years. And, what do you mean ‘without them’? How can I do well enough without clothes?”

“WHAT? I just meant… Oh, GOD,” and with that he started stammering and spluttering, at a complete loss of words. And… Wait, was that a blush? Shit, I never thought I’d live to see this day.

Mind: Well, duh, you implied that he implied that you were better off without clothes. I bet he’s thinking of you naked right now.

Me: Shut up, you lame-ass excuse of a brain. And, I didn’t imply anything, I SAID it. Because, again, he didn’t imply anything, he SAID it. When he didn’t blush as he said it, why should he when I asked him about it? And I wasn’t even accusing him of anything; I was just asking him what he meant when he said that...

Mind: Sure you were. More like you wanted to 'melt at the tone of his voice'… Why don’t you flash him? Just once? To see his reaction…

“GOD, JUST SHUT UP, WILL YOU? PLEASE, JUST SHUT UP!”

“Kiddo?”

I looked at Jamie.

“WHAT?”

“You okay?”

I looked at my mom. She looked like she’d die of suffocation if she didn’t laugh within the next nanosecond.

“GOD, WHAT IS WITH YOU ALL TODAY? FIRST MY BEST FRIEND TURNS AGAINST ME, THEN MY OWN MOM AND NOW MY MIND TOO! GREAT! JUST PURR-FUCKING-FECT!”

“Hey, kiddo…” He touched my arm. I snatched it away from him.

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME, CONTINUE WITH YOUR FUCKING MOCKING-AT-SARAH DAY. I’M ALRIGHT, EVERYTHING’S FUCKING ALRIGHT. JUST DAN-FUCKING-DY.”

“Kiddo, what’s wrong?” His soft voice and tender (crap, I have to stop using that word) eyes calmed me down more than anything. He took my elbow in his hand, making me look at him right in the eye.

“Umm… Nothing, it’s just… I’m scared… and nervous… first day back... you know..." Great, now I'm babbling. "Let’s go before I lose it and decide to skip my first day back, okay?” I grabbed a piece of toast off the kitchen and went outside. Jamie followed me. We headed towards the mustang, and got in. When we reached the school and Jamie had parked, he turned to look at me. He had the same look on his face as he had back home.

“Don’t worry, I’ll always protect you.”

Surprised, I tried to smile as I nodded at him. His expression turned a tad-bit curious.

“Why did you get so worked up, anyway?”

I shrugged, but I could feel a frown unconsciously replace my smile. Why had I got so worked up? So what if he blushed at the implication of nudity? So what if he blushed at the implication of my nudity? I didn’t care… right? So, why had I got so worked up?

A/N: Hey!!! So, I'm writing this story. I have a general idea of what it's gonna be like, but I haven''t actually put it down yet; hopefully, I'll be able to do it soon. This chapter is all I've written for this story so far, and I've edited it about fifteen times till now. I knew I would editing it again and again if I left it down, so I decided to put it up.

Anyways, this is my first story on FP, so I'm not sure if it's up to the mark. I've done the best I can (I think) and, if you guys could be kind enough to read and review, it would really pay off. Thanks.