AN: So this is a little morsel of writing to hopefully make up for the lack of update with HRB. Things have been really crazy with school and life in general. So I give you a piece of fluff. This is for all those people who are having a bad day and just need a little pick-me-up.

Bad Day

by Rumor Mills


"Damnit!" I exclaimed, practically falling out of bed. "Stupid alarm clock!" It had decided, today of all days, not to go off. And, thus, I was guaranteed to be late to school. Considering, I had a test first period, being late was not going to be a good thing.

I really need to take a shower, I thought as I caught a glance of myself in the mirror. Another look at the clock assured me that a shower wasn't going to happen this morning. I pulled my slightly greasy hair into a ponytail before moving into my closet to pull out a navy blue polo shirt and a skirt. My eyes racked the remaining clothes, trying to spot a hint of plaid. Nothing.

I glanced down and saw my cat Sebastian, sleeping peacefully on two of my skirts. A noise came out of me that closely resembled a growl. As gently as I could, I pulled one of the skirts from under Sebastian and tried to brush off as much black cat hair as I could. I didn't even bother attempting to look for my other skirt, knowing it could be anywhere. I didn't have time.

I took a moment to brush my teeth, wash my face, and spray on some body spray in an attempt to cover up the fact that I hadn't showered. I stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen where I grabbed my messenger bag, purse and keys. I threw everything into my car before pulling out of the garage into the pouring rain.

"Damnit!" I hit the steering wheel, knowing I'd hit a massive amount of traffic due to the rain. And no sooner had I gotten on the highway did I find myself motionless behind countless numbers of other stopped cars. Slowly, I inched forward, watching my exit come ever closer.

I finally pulled up to my school, fifteen minutes after the bell had rung, to discover that there were no parking spaces left. "Damn juniors," I muttered before driving what seemed a mile down to pull into an empty spot. I moved to open the door but stopped as I saw the still pouring rain. Quickly I looked around my messy car before remembering that I had leant my umbrella to my mom the other day, and she had yet to return it.

So by the time I had hiked the mile to the front doors of my school, I was completely soaked. I made my way into the office to sign in, glancing at the clock as I passed. 8:23. I wrote my name down on the sign-in sheet and noticed the secretary give me a wary look as I wrote down "traffic" as the reason for my late arrival.

The secretary handed me a note to get into class, and I made my way down the hall and to my locker. Of course my locker had decided to develop a case of mistaken identity and became a bank vault, not opening until the seventh try. I grabbed my books for my first three classes before walking to my first period class, knowing there was no way I'd be able to finish my test.

When I told my chemistry teacher this, she merely glared at my dripping wet form, handed me a test, and told me to sit down. I plopped down into my desk and opened my messenger bag to pull out a pencil, my calculator, and my formula sheet. Unfortunately I soon realized that I had left both my calculator and formula sheet at home.

I stared down at my test and almost cried. There was no way I was going to pass it. I started anyway, pushing my way through the problems. I circled my answer for the last problem just as the bell rang. I turned in my test, slightly happy with the fact that I had at least finished the test even if I probably had failed it.

My next period class was just as enjoyable as I got back my calculus test with a nice 87.3 at the top. This meant I'd have to turn in my homework. Unfortunately, or fortunately I wasn't sure, I had left my homework at home in my calc book which I had given up lugging to school sometime last year. Luckily my calc teacher is wonderful and didn't get mad at me.

Instead of going to homeroom after second period, I accidentally went to my third period class. This earned me a lecture from my homeroom adviser when I walked into the room five minutes late. I looked to the spot next to me where my best friend Avery usually sat only to find it empty. Lucky girl. She was at home.

I wished I were sick and at home. With that thought, a sneeze escaped me. It was followed by several others in quick succession. Joy. I walked back to my third period class with a now runny nose, my adrenaline from the morning's rush quickly wearing off.

My pen exploded halfway through third period, leaving black splotches on my hands and arms that wouldn't come out no matter how hard I scrubbed. And my notes were ruined as well.

Fourth period went relatively well, minus the fact that we were forced to watch a movie, involving a woman giving birth. Fifth period passed as slowly as it could, as my stomach rumbled.

Lunch was disastrous. No sooner had I stepped into the cafeteria did I have someone's soda spilled on me, followed shortly after by someone's salad. Now I was sticky and smelled like vinegar and Mountain Dew. Wonderful.

By the end of eighth period, my day had only gotten worse, having failed a pop quiz in French, slammed into by a seventh grader and her laptop, and lost my psychology notebook.

So when I was suddenly jerked into an alcove by someone, I was far from happy. Before I could yell something at whoever it was, I felt lips crashing down on mine. The kiss was short and rough, but I felt shivers run down my spine. He pulled back and my eyes locked with his electric blue eyes.

The side of his mouth quirked up into a half smile before I tangled my hands into his hair and brought his lips crashing back into mine. I let out a moan as his hand played with the bottom of my now untucked shirt, and he nibbled on my bottom lip.

Damn. He had a tongue ring. Had his body and the wall not been holding me up, I would have melted the instant I felt his tongue ring. When he pulled back, we were both panting. His hair was tousled from my fingers knotting themselves in it, and my uniform was far from neat now.

His hand left mine to pull something from his pocket. He handed me something small and wrapped. "Happy birthday, Samantha."

My eyes darted from the gift to his face. "How di–"

"Just open it."

I carefully unwrapped the paper to reveal Anthony Geiger's first album. The album I had been searching for months now. And it was signed.

My eyes snapped to his. "Where di–"

"Open it," he said gently shaking his head.

It was then that I noticed that the CD lacked the plastic covering. I opened it to see two tickets to his upcoming concert. They were front row center. No way.

Again my eyes met his. "But how di–it sold out within three hours! I tried forever to get through!" I exclaimed.

He laughed. "I know some people," he said simply.

I just stared at him in disbelief.

"My cousin's his agent."

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. And then my arms were around him. "Raythe, you're amazing!"

"I know."

"But why today? Why now? Why..." I trailed off.

"You?" he finished what I couldn't.

I nodded as I looked down and fiddled with a piece of wrapping paper.

"Because you look positively ravishing."

I couldn't help but laugh. I looked like crap.

"That's funny, Raythe."

He put his finger under my chin, nudging it up so that our eyes met.

"I'm serious, Samantha. You're gorgeous."

"Funny."

"Bloody hell, Sam," he said as he ran his hand through his hair, messing it up even more. Damn, I loved his British accent. He looked uncomfortable and nervous. "I–it's just–Sam, I–you–you know what I'm trying to say, right?" He looked pleadingly at me.

One of my eyebrows popped up. "Not a clue."

He ran his hand through his hair again before shifting feet. His eyes locked with mine. "I'm so bloody unhinged when I'm near you, Sam."

Warmth spread through me, starting from my chest and making its way to my fingertips.

"You're crazy and insane more often than not, but I love that about you," he continued. "And when you're sitting in French, staring out the window, daydreaming, a smile showing the dimple on your right cheek forms."

Blushing. I'm blushing.

"I love how you bite your lip and play with your ear whenever you're working on something that doesn't seem to be going the way you want. And I know this is kind of out of the blue and you probably don't feel the same, but I–"

"Raythe, just shut up and kiss me already," I said, a huge smile on my face.

And he did just that. His lips crashed back into mine for a mind-blowing kiss.

What seemed like hours later, we pulled back so I could say, "You made my day, Raythe."

"What? Was it bad or something?"

March 2006