Setting: A quiant New English town in present day. Our RP begins with Kate, Quinn, and Flora, three good friends, at band practice. The rest of the details are up to you...

Characters:

Kate (I will RP her.)

Quinn

Flora

Evan

Milo

More may be added if this gets popular. Hopefully, looking at a story through a character's eyes will get rid of writer's block, if you have it. So, first person to post, just say "I'll be RPing ____" and jump into it. Have fun!

*Rushes off to the library*

O, I mean, uh... Quinn! Because I like that name

((Now is start RPing time?))

(Kate's POV)

Band always seems to last long, but not in the bad way. I just can't get enough of my alto clarinet. "Hey," I said, turning to Quinn, as Miss Jameson searched for her score of the music, "how's Milo doing?" Her little brother had been sick with bronchitis for the past week.

And then the next person continues it in their point of view, I think. Let me know if this is the wrong format or something... or if this is a new idea we could go with.

Reminds me of a round-robin story...

[Quinn's POV]

I absolutely, positively, whole-heartedly and unabashedly despise the flute. With my entire being. "No, sorry Quinn, I can't let you switch instruments," Miss Jameson had said. "I need you to support our woodwinds. Come on, you're good!" It doesn't help that I was the only dumb shmuck dumb enough to let on that I can play a piccolo. Actually, I can play a lot of instruments. Contrabass, alto and concert flutes, piccolo; bass and concert clarinets; oboe, bassoon, bass, tenor and concert saxophone; the list just goes on and on. I can play brass, too- which is the main reason I want to switch instruments. I've been getting a good deal of greif from my non-band friends (yes, I have those) about the feminine reputation of the flute, and the variants I tend to be forced to play. It's not like I want to. Since before I could talk I was making music. I can play trumpet, trombone and susaphone, and the french horn is the next project. And I don't just blow: I play piano, too. But I don't half-** anything. I make real music: this stuff is in my veins, you know? I mean, my parents aren't musicians or anything. My dad's a realtor and my mom's a... I don't even know. But what I mean is, music is my life. I live and breathe the stuff. My headphones are permanently attatched to my neck, and even if there's no music from them, there's music everywhere else, from all the noise and cacaphony of everyday life. I hear it all the time, all around me. I don't think I could ever stand being deaf: I'd shoot myself or go crazy from the silence. Or maybe I just wouldn't notice.

I guess it would really suck to lose a lung, or my hands or something. Yea, that would be pretty bad. On the topic of lungs, my baby brother's been out of school for an entire week now. Okay, so he's not a baby. Him: freshman; me: junior. But still, I'm sixteen and I'm older, so I've got seniority. The claim was bronchitis, but I wouldn't know. I didn't hear it from him, I got that from some of those freshmen he hangs out with all the time. See, our parents are divorced; they don't talk much. I live with my dad, he lives with our mom. Our parents don't talk, and I mean that. My mom, she, um... she doesn't approve of my dad. I guess, after having lived alone with him for ten years and all, I see where she's coming from. But then again, life's always interesting. Dad, on the other hand, can't even stand mention of my mom. I wouldn't know why, since I kind of haven't really spoken much to her since I was six, just shallow phone conversations predominantly comprised of small-talk. I don't ask Milo about her, and he doesn't share.

It was turning out to be another depressing week, my requests for brass section prestige repeatedly turned down. Kate's question only seemed to remind me of that. I rolled my eyes and set the obnoxious alto flute in my lap. 'I don't know and I don't care,' I lied. Purely irritated by the instrument issue, my annoyance had nothing to do with Kate or Milo at all, it was just horribly misdirected. 'Why should I care? He's probably just playing hookie,' I decided, 'and enjoying himself a million times more than I am.' At least we didn't have to listen to his offbeat rendition of the vibe part. What's the use of bells if our players can't even move their hands fast enough for the rhythm, let alone use enough mallets to provide legitimate backup?

I supposed that wasn't quite fair. My brother's actually a pretty honest kid; if he said he had bronchitis, then probably he did. I liked him, so I shouldn't go around doubting him. To save face, I made small-talk. 'Why- who'd you hear that from? I haven't spoken to him all week.'

[[Yea, woa, hope you like it uber long. I guess I'm a writer. ;D]]

[Kate's POV]

Quinn seemed perturbed, to say the least. I assumed Miss Jameson had turned down another of his frequent requests to join the brass section, as usual, and to be honest I wasn't sure why he tried anymore. Can't he just live with the fact that he was an amazing flute player? But that is Quinn, I guess; he's great at a lot of things, but boy is he picky.

I honestly didn't see myself and my fellow trumpeteers in any particular group, woodwind, brass, what's the difference? I think there are too many groups and cliques in the world as it is (don't even get me started on high school alone), and I don't understand why people insist we make more. Call me a punk. A tomboy. A hippie, even, I don't care. I know there are 6 billion little "sections" in the world, one person per group, and my views aren't going to change anytime soon.

I was zoned out, in my own little world, thinking about topics like that when I remembered I'd asked Quinn a question. "...Spoken to him all week," he finished. Slowly I pieced the whole sentence together in my head.

"I... heard it... from Flora," I said gradually, hoping I wasn't horribly off-topic. By Quinn's expression I was right on track. "You know," I added, "his new girlfriend. She follows him around like a puppy dog or something. It's funny, actually."

Quinn nodded. "I heard about it a couple weeks ago. Should've guessed." He shuffled his music around a bit, then turned around towards me again - it must have been torture on his back, having to talk to me behind him. "Sorry, by the way. I'm just irritated at Ms. Jameson."

Apparently he'd been rude while I was in my slight catatonic state.

With impeccable timing Miss Jameson returned, to continue with band practice at last. I smiled and pulled my trusty trumpet to my lips, silently praying I wouldn't mess up.

[Hmm. I think it's okay, I have more I want to reveal about Kate but it always comes out too rushed... your turn!]

[

[Quinn's POV]

Ah, Flora. What a stupid name. Kate's description of a puppy dog suited her perfectly: she had all the charm of a bulldog, and yipped and yapped about as much as any teacup terrier. At least, that was my impression when I'd first met her a couple weeks ago. I'd recieved a special request text, urgent you know, from Milo: "Can u pick me up 4m skool? take me 2 Ben&jeris plz." Ice cream sounded nice at the time- it was early September and the summer heat wave had yet to dissipate- but I pulled into the school parking lot expecting one and getting a handful. They'd sat in the back of my Maverick swapping spit, then clambored out at Ben & Jerry's swearing up and down they hadn't, that they hated each other. I told him to find a ride home with someone else because I didn't want to see Mom; really, I just didn't want to be a third wheel. I was sorry about the ice cream.

My back was hurting from all the twisting, but I managed to turn around just one more time and apologise for being moody. I don't like people to be angry with me, at least not while I'm around them. I swiveled back to face the front of the room again, but I wasn't really paying attention. I fiddled with the keys on my flute, then restacked all my sheet music in backwards order- I didn't need it anyways- then finally gave up on entertaining myself and threw my head backwards to chat with Kate again. 'I want ice cream,' I whined casually, attempting to get her attention and possibly her pity. Poor skinny, starving Quinn.

Conversation proved impossible, however, as she already had her trumpet raised to her lips and, in unision with the rest of the the trumpets, she let out a blast straight into my face. The proximity rendered it tuneless to me, and I scowled, clamping my hands over my ears as I pulled my head back into an upright position. She needed to work on her angle; it would improve both her tone and projection. Still flustered at being caught off guard, I missed my cue and Miss Jameson cut the music when it became evident that I was eight bars late and clearly not planning on joining in any time soon. 'Flutes,' she admonished, 'I can't hear you.' She caught my eye and added, 'any of you.' At least, I thought she was catching my eye. I'm never quite sure. She's one of those pretty, young teachers that you always think is looking at you when in reality they're just glancing over everyone and you happened to look up at just the right moment. Wait- what? You think I have a crush on the band teacher? Bull.

I held my flute to my lips and ghosted the keys: I didn't feel like playing. My eyes were glued to the clock while I prayed fervently to the time gods and music gods and band practise gods that this class be over soon. I had fourth period off, which meant I could either show up at work or go get ice cream the moment the bell rang. I was leaning towards the latter, as I've always felt that my health was the most important aspect of my life and, me being such a stick and all, ice cream would most certainly do me good.

[[I've decided on the schedule for them- sorry if this sounds weird. It's what one of the high schools in my area uses, it's called a block schedule. They take four classes first semester, then switch to four new classes the next semester for a total of eight. So instead of having fifth or sixth off, or switching every other day or some such silliness, students simply take first or fourth off (if they want) during one of the semesters, and have the same class every day.]]

[Kate's POV]

"Ice cream?" I asked Quinn with exaggerated curiosity, "is that why you can't seem to count measures today?" I grinned impishly and fixated my eyes on the clock, waiting as the seconds ticked by. I had taken first period off this morning, in the hopes of some extra shut-eye, so I had English next. Why I had to take a class on my native language I had no idea.

The bell rang slowly, its old technology failing. Within a moment, the once organized band room became a flurry of sheet music and instrument cases, and, of course, the less glamorous part of band - the brass section emptying their spit valves.

I managed to eventually get my alto clarinet and my trumpet to my locker, grab my books, and head to the English room (oh so conveniently located on the other side of the building) being only 15 minutes late. I managed to give Mr. Patterson my usual excuse and find my seat with minimal embarrassment.

It's not like I care, I mean.

There was one lingering thought in my mind, and that was Quinn, and his probable ice cream run. I knew I'd heard that earlier today; I just couldn't put my finger on it. Was it Claudia, I thought, Mr. Patterson's lecture too boring to stand, or maybe it was Dan? Someone in homeroom said they were going out to Ben and Jerry's later...

Of course. Evan.

I couldn't figure out why I even cared about that rat anymore, not after what he'd done to me. Tortured me for half grade school, and, to make things worse, he decided to go to the same high school as me? That wasn't the tip of the iceburg, oh no, not even close. The leech had... had...

Get a grip, Kate, I silently told myself. Don't let this guy control your life. Besides, what are the chances that Quinn will run into Evan at a Ben and Jerry's anyway?

[I think I get their schedule - they have four periods, 7 days a week, but they can have 1st or 4th off? Correct me if I'm wrong, please.)

[Quinn's POV]

'Ice cream? Is that why you can't seem to count measures today?' I scowled at Kate's comment but subverted my annoyance into tootling the first half of the woodwind section. I think it was all the way from C to D, but I lost track somewhere along the way and my mind wandered back to the delicious cream of ice... I mean ice cream. And Ben & Jerry's. I was so totally getting some rainbow sherbert today, no way around it. Who cared if the breeze today made everything a little chilly? Not me, that's for sure.

The metallic clang of the bell, about a minute late, shook me out of my reverie. All around me, bandies were packing up- some eager clarinets were actually headed out the door already. Probably they were trying to beat the tubas, who insisted on leaving their cases right next to it. Then again, there really wasn't any place for them anywhere else. With a few listless motions I shuffled my own music into a stack, then dumped it into the ratty sack of cloth I called a backpack. As it sat on the floor next to my chair, I decided it looked lonely and weather-beaten. No surprise- it was older than me. My dad's terrible teal-thing. At least, I had thought it was teal when I first got it. That was so long ago I really can't remember, and it was so completely covered with patches of randomly patterned and coloured cloth that the true colour was almost indiscernable. Maybe the mud and dirt and unknown stains added a bit to that. With a groan, I slung it up onto my shoulders and broke up my flute. I felt like throwing it and the whole d**n case away, but that would not be good. Also, I couldn't afford a new one yet.

I was halfway across the parking lot when I made up my mind. Ben & Jerry's it was. Who'd have guessed it? Still, I had to cross the entire lot, then the street, and finally walk down to the corner before my Maverick was close enough to throw a stone at. Yea, I park all the way out there. I tell myself it's because I don't want my Maverick to get dinged. After all, it is a '74 model. Pretty sweet. Tippety-top condition. I keep him all nice and tuned up. Yes, that's right. My car's a guy. Come on, his name's Maverick for heaven's sake! Haven't you ever seen Top Gun? Yea, well I have— so that's why it can't possibly be a girl. Sometimes, though, I feel like renaming him Goose; on the other hand, Goose is nowhere near as cool-sounding as Maverick. He was just a cooler guy.

Five minutes later I swung into the school's back parking lot. At first I wasn't sure what the h**l I was doing, but when I found myself pacing outside the new building, I started to get it. I just didn't want to be alone. I can be so needy and I don't even realise it. That's about the farthest thing from uncool. Still, I took a guess and poked my head into the closest door. I knew Kate's English classroom was on the outside of the building, so there was a one in five possibility of getting the right room. Unfortunately, I didn't.

'Can I help you?' It looked like I'd interrupted a physics lesson. Clearly not Kate's class.

I shrugged. 'Nah, sorry. Later.' The door shut behind me and I tried the next. To my releif, it was the right room. I fished in my pocket for a piece of paper and found a yellow post it that looked vaguely like a counselor call-slip. I waved it at the teacher from my spot in the doorway. 'Hey man, Mr. Schulte wants to see, uh...' Feigning ignorance, I glanced at the paper, squinting as if I couldn't read the handwriting. Actually, I couldn't, but I knew it was a class release my own English teacher had given me to go to the library earlier that morning. It probably just said "Quinn to library. L. Briggs." 'Um, Kate, uh... I can't read this. Is there a Kate in here?'

I hoped she'd play along; probably ice cream sounded better to her than an hour and twenty minutes of droll lecturing. Hopefully. Maybe she was some weird English buff, but I was pretty sure she was a die-hard band geek, so that almost ruled out any other obsessions. The teacher smoothed some whisps of hair over his broad, shining forehead and stared meaningfully at Kate. 'He said for her to bring her stuff. It's college counseling.' To make myself seem more convincing, I flashed a grin and added, 'Just got out of mine.'

With a grunt and a shrug, the teacher dismissed me with his eyes and turned to the white board. '...page eighty-three. Let's start the discussion now, um... Why do you think Finny was so eager to dismiss Gene's confession?' I caught Kate's eye and waved the little post-it note at her. How I hate English. I never pay any attention- I already speak English. Why do I need to analyze how other people manipulate the language? Stupid book studies or whatever... I think I missed all the discussions on this book, too; I didn't recognise it. Actually, I miss a lot of school. It has nothing to do bronchitis, though.

When we got outside we were laughing hysterically - at least I was. Quinn asked me if I wanted to go out and get some cream of ice, er, ice cream with him at Ben and Jerry's. Of course I wanted to; global warming was evident that day, even with a breeze here and there. And yet, the thought of Evan repulsed me.

"Sure." There was no way in hell I was going to let Evan control me.

We hopped into his '74 Maverick, which he loves, though I always wonder why he doesn't just get a new car. They're not that expensive. If he could afford maintinence on that thing, why not get a newer model altogether?

Old car or not, it got us there. He ran up and ordered rainbow sherbert, I vanilla pecan ice cream. Yum, I thought happily, this is one hundred times better than Mr. Patterson's class. I was about 75% sure we were talking about A Seperate Piece, but I still wasn't completely sure. Oh well. I'd get the book from the library later and actually read it.

"Well," someone behind me said mockingly, "looks like there are some lovebirds over there." I scowled. Can't a girl hang out with a boy anymore without it looking like something else? I ignored them.

"Just like us?" a girl's voice asked hopefully.

"You got it, Babe." Gag. This couple's conversation was a romantic comedy gone wrong.

I decided then to turn around, tell the guy and his girl to shut up and let me eat my ice cream, and feel pretty content in the end. So I leaned back to face them.

Evan was sitting at a table behind me, right next to Claudia Brown, his newest girlfriend. He waved.

"Who is that?" Claudia asked quietly. Not quiet enough, as I could hear.

"Nobody," Evan said casually, "just my ex-girlfriend."

[DUN DUN DUUUN!!! Haha. ;) Okay, I think I get the schedule now. Thanks!]

[Oh yeah - I thought this was interesting: I was writing a story, (I always write them in notebooks before I type them) when I noticed that one of my minor characters, Miles, sounded familiar. It turns out he's a weird hybrid of Ford Prefect from HG2G and Quinn from... here. It's kinda weird. But Miles's a well rounded fictional character, I'll give him that. :)]

Kate was giggling like a madman as we crossed the blacktop to the back gate. She kind of freaked me out but you know me, I keep my cool: I just brushed it off. 'Oh my gosh, thank you. Patterson just goes on and on and on- I don't even know what we were talking about...' She didn't sound like herself as she rambled, but she seemed to calm down when we got into Maverick and I floored it. I'd removed the glove box (not gotten rid of, just removed- I could put it back if I wanted to) and installed a shiny new powered subwoofer on the passenger side, so I think she was probably just trying to stomach the megabass tones it emitted. That thing gives off sounds she's probably never even heard before- even I was amazed by the range when I first got it. I just love my Maverick.

I was pretty stoked for ice cream, no joke. 'Hey Jenna,' I grinned, bounding to the front of the line the moment I walked in the door. I leaned over the counter- I knew Jenna, she lived down the street from me, in probably the only big house in the neighborhood. 'I wanna REALLY BIG cup of rainbow sherbert, please,' I drawled, 'with extra rainbow sprinkles.'

'Quinn, are you trying to tell me something?' She smirked at me and grabbed one of the flimsy paper cups that every Ben & Jerry's stocks.

I shrugged nonchalantly and backed away from the counter, conscious of the fierce stares from the man and his daughter whom I'd cut in front of. 'Possibly. Or maybe I just like being colourful. Can't a boy have a thing for rainbows?' She laughed and rung up my order while the man and his daughter were being helped by someone I didn't know. I realised that Kate had waited her turn at the back of the line and I realised that I probably should wait for her. Jenna held out her hand and I fished through my wallet while she passed me my ice cream. 'Ah, o no, look, I'm short a dollar...'

She rolled her eyes. 'You're always short a dollar, Quinn.'

'But this time I really am!' Removing two ones and placing them on the counter, I showed her the tragically empty inside of my wallet.

'Fine, take from Austin's tips, but don't tell him I told you to. Hey, your dad told me you're having a party Friday-'

I cut her off. 'I didn't hear about it.' Her face fell, and I felt guilty, so I added, 'Yet. But when and if I hear something, I'll let you know.' She smiled again and I sat down. Within minutes, Kate joined me. I supressed a grimace at her flavor choice- vanilla pecan? Ew. Who would want ice cream in the flavor of nuts? It's like asking for asparagus or turkey flavored ice cream, it's just wrong. But I made no comment and instead intently attacked my frozen treat. It was delicious and basically heaven on earth. I just love rainbow sherbert.

Then the drama started. 'Well, looks like there are some lovebirds over there.'

'Just like us?'

'You got it, babe.'

Ah, Evan and Claudia. What a perfect match. They were both from my lowclass neighborhood, and they were both white trash. See, I consider myself a better sort of trash because it's not my fault and I don't plan to follow in my father's footsteps. And besides- at least he has a respectable "career" and we've never had our electricity shut off. (The water was, though, once.) But they're the kind of ignorant bigots who spend their money on crack, corona lite and big screen teevees while their moms are still pumping out babies with the neighbors and getting well-fare checks that they spend on- who'd've guessed it?- Ben & Jerry's. Okay, so maybe I'm just a little bitter with my living situation. But life is good. And Evan and Claudia are total scum buckets.

However, I had no desire to get involved in Kate's mini-drama. The moment Evan waved at her, I pretended my phone had rung. I pushed my chair back, stood and fished in my pocket for my phone. I glanced at the screen, made a surprised face and flipped open the cover, pressing the phone to my face. 'Hello? Hey, hi.' Commending myself silently on my acting skills, I held a finger out to Kate, who had turned to look at me. She looked a little stressed. 'I gotta take this, just a sec, 'kay? Sorry.' And as all proper eavesdroppers would, I moved just far enough away that I could still observe the situation. Then the phone vibrated on my face. I pulled away to stare at the screen: my dad was calling. I had to answer that. Damn it. 'Yea?'

'Is that how you answer the phone for your father?'

'No, I just- no... um, anyways, what's up?' I tilted away from Kate. I get a little anxious about my dad. I talk about him lightly sometimes, as if I don't really care about him, but in reality, I don't want people to know about him. Maybe I'm ashamed of him. That must be it. But he's cool. Really, he is.

'O, well, you better be proud of me, 'cause I just closed a deal for a $600,000 house, and my commission's %13.' Obviously, he was proud enough for the both of us.

'Wow, Dad, that's great,' I enthused. 'So when are you going to the bank?'

Dodging, he made a humming sound that was supposed to mean he was unsure, but he'd think about it. 'Mmmm, I don't know. Soon.' I wanted to be there so I could make sure he deposited, not cashed. Then again, it wasn't my money. But then again, I'm sick of his outings and parties and whatnot. 'Hey, son- I have a favor to ask of you.'

O, so now he was using the "son" technique. Probably he was going to mention that party of Jenna's. 'You need a DD?'

'You're a great kid- best son I could have ever hoped for. Friday night, it's a tail gate at the lake, but I don't know how many people will be able to make it home...'

'I'll find you someone.' I hung up and turned back to Kate. Sometimes I get sick of babysitting my dad. I wish he'd take some responsibility every once in a while. Maybe let me party a little bit. I like being a kid.

[Sorry. Lengthy character development. ;)]

[o__O I have to read that when and if you type it, if only to read about this Miles character. xD I'm having a hard time imagining a combo of Ford and Quinn- probably because I'm basing Quinn off of a kid I actually know. (Coincidentally named... Zach Quinn. =D)]

[Kate's POV]

Evan sauntered over to me, in a very haughty fashion. Thinking he's some cool punk.

Just looking at his face reminded me of how far back - unfortunately - we go. I'd been the little shy kid in grade school, he'd been the bully, the works. And the creep had the nerve to go to the same high school as me.

However, after my family lost Ellie, I started to feel just a tad bit lighter towards him. I figured it was just the past, and at the time I wanted things to return the way the had been back then. My mom had a tough time getting over Ellie, and I had too, for that matter, although unlike her I began working hard to get things back to normal.

Evan was the only boy from my middle school who went to my new high school. I immediatly clung to him, and, surprisingly, he didn't seem to mind. I couldn't understand how he could be fine with it; I wanted him to get mad, insult me, something like he used to. I figured that maybe then it would be just like when Ellie was alive.

Over time, we just started going out. I can't really place an exact date on it. Just as vaguely, though, we drifted apart. I had finally achieved the status quo; I didn't need him anymore.

I was back to having contempt for him.

I think it's the easiest thing for me. Now, in the ice cream shop, I saw him with his new prize, that Claudia. He pulled up a seat and sat across from me.

"Hey, Katie," he said, smirking.

"I just go by Kate now."

"Tomboy?"

"Don't you have anything better to do than categorizing people?" I was beginning to get irritated. Where was Quinn, when I needed someone to interrupt a conversation? Call me dependant on other people, but I seriously doubted he actually had a phone call. Though he was talking - maybe he'd gotten a text and decided to call the person back.

Evan combed through his hair like a Grease reject and continued making small talk with me. Right in front of Claudia.

Come on, I thought silently, just wrap up the conversation, Quinn.

I frowned, thinking it over. No, I figured, it's my problem, after all. I pushed aside my ice cream. "What do you really want to talk about, Evan?" I asked, trying not to let my rigor and confusion show.

He shrugged. "Just wanted to say hi. What, do you think I planned being here? What do you think I am? A stalker?"

"Claudia feels left out," I muttered, averting my gaze, and ignoring the last comment.

He smiled wryly and stood. "See ya, Katie, and don't worry, I won't tell anyone about you and Quinn." He winked.

"Shut up." Best comeback ever, right there. "You're an idiot."

"What? You skipped fourth - what'd you think I meant?" I watched as Evan and Claudia dumped their bowls into the trash and made their way out to Evan's '94 Buick.

What an **.

[Okay, a little long, and probably not that well-written. But I always wanna practice and get better!!! :D]

[By the way, a little random, but do you happen to play any instruments? I play bass clarinet, flute, and bassoon. I was just wondering how you knew so much about music.]

[[Quinn's POV]]

As our conversation drew to a close, I glanced sideways at Kate, who was now being harassed by Evan in even closer quarters- he'd pulled a chair up to our table. I didn't get the point of it, except to that he could look cool and sit backwards, since I'd just neatly vacated mine for him. Truth be told, Kate's a little clingy. I didn't really wanna help her out, so I kept the phone pressed to my ear until the dial tone clicked on. Reminded me of when I was little.

Good thing for me: guess Kate was too acidic for even Evan, 'cause he got up and laughed. He dragged his prize chick out the door and into his crap car. There's nothing stylish or interesting or neat about it, I don't see why anyone would like that dumb old Buick anyways. Dumb brand names.

I smiled at Kate and took my seat again. The empty chair was bothering me, like a third-wheel- not that we were on a date. Trust me, I wouldn't date Kate. She's head over heels crazy in love with that Evan kid, though she'd bite me if I said so out loud. We're just friends. I kicked the chair away and leaned over the table toward her with my ice cream, licking the spoon thoughtfully. Sometimes I pretend to think about what I'm going to say, even when I've got a whole conversation all planned out- like I did just then.

'Hey, so, Kate. I know that creep really stresses you out, so I got a great idea just now.' She looked a bit leery, so I grinned at her encouragingly.

'Don't worry,' I said, 'It's not like my other great ideas.'

She laughed. 'Better not be, last time, egg yolk dried in my brand new shirt and it was completely ruined.'

'Yea, sorry 'bout that.' I shrugged and shoveled more sherbert into my face. 'Anyways. If you're not busy, how's about you come with me and some of my friends for some down time?' She looked skeptical. 'Not today, on Friday. We can just take it easy and chill- kick off the weekend.'

I guess that got her. 'Yea all right. I don't think I'm busy. Now quit talking at me so I can enjoy the ice cream you dragged me out for.' Basically, I scored- got my dad his driver and I got my party time. In my pocket, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen. "Monica Hill." 'Hang on, just a sec, 'kay? I gotta take this on, too.' I didn't get up to take it, though. Usually, these calls where mostly small-talk. Still, I had to wonder...

'Yea?'

'Is that how you answer the phone to your mother?'

'Yea.'

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