Chapter Two: Happy Birthday, Big Mouth

You ever have one of those days, where it feels like the entire universe is conspiring against you? Yeah, that's like my life now. No lie. Doesn't everyone say that your senior year is supposed to be your best year? Well, guess what?

They lie.

The in-school suspension on my second day was bad enough. Besides the fact that it completely marred my record (okay, I had one other in-school suspension and a detention, but both of those were totally not my fault), all my Day Two teachers now think I'm a delinquent. Well, except for Ms. Conway, my Psychology teacher. She taught me in the ninth and tenth grades, so she knows that trouble, I am not. But yeah, her aside, I've now got three other teachers who think I'm trouble with a capital 'T'.

Not the best of ways to start your year, when half your teachers expect to catch you smoking in the girls' room. Yes, Ms. Davalos actually tried to catch me smoking – not that I smoke – when I went to use the bathroom in between classes. Honestly, between trying to make me slip up and making moon eyes at darling David, I'd say that that woman has no life.

But then I'd be just reiterating the obvious, now wouldn't I?

And then, my uniform order got mixed up, so the skirts that arrived were ankle-length. I am five-foot-seven, not seven-foot-five. Try to work with me here, people.

But my most favourite thing happened the first couple of weeks into the school year. It was a Friday, and I was on my Day Two schedule, which meant (yippee) no Ms. Davalos until Monday. It was the best birthday present I could ask for. Or, pre-birthday present, at any rate. My Law and World Issues class had been cancelled for that day, because Mr. Cutter got called away on a family emergency, so I had that period free. I decided to hang out in the cafeteria for the next hour, because it was nice and quiet, since practically everyone was in class. There were only a few freshman who were being all 'bad' and skipping class (losers), and Ms. Conway who was supervising, because she had a spare. I'd pulled on my earphones and gotten into a nice pattern of alternately mouthing the words to the song I was listening to and the words of the book I was re-reading (JK Rowling is a genius), when I was oh-so-kindly brought back to reality.

By a Cheerio, nonetheless.

"David, you ass, leave me alone," I said, picking up the Cheerio that landed on my book and flicking it back at him. I took off my earphones and let them hang around my neck.

"No, sorry, can't." More came my way. One actually hit me in the eye. I turned to David and glared at him. He had this wicked smile and this evil glint in his eyes, and an entire bag of cereal was in his lap.

"Why can't you?" I asked wearily.

"Because this is fun." He threw another handful of cereal at me. I gaped at him, then scooped up some Cheerios and threw them back. Then he threw some more at me, so I threw it back.

Yes, I am quite aware that we were acting more like seven-year-olds, instead of seventeen-year-olds, but since David's never quite matured beyond the age of fourteen, he tends to make me act just as childish as he.

Taking a calculated risk (which is a paradox, isn't it, because if it was calculated, then you're not really risking anything, now are you?), I dove for his bag of Cheerios, shrieking as he caught me around the waist and pinned me to the table. He held my wrists together over my head, the bag of Cheerios held tight in my fist.

"David. Let me go. Please?" I added for good measure.

"Nope," he replied, leaning over me. He smelled vaguely of mint and aftershave; I decided it wasn't a particularly bad scent. "Will you give me back my Cheerios?"

"Will you actually eat them instead of throwing them at me?" I asked.

"Hell no," he laughed.

"Well then, I'm not giving you back your Cheerios."

"Then I'm not letting go of you."

"Well, fine. I can stay here all… okay, well, no, I can't stay here all day, because unlike you, I care about my future, and I refuse to skip class just to be pinned down to a table by you of all people, so here you go, you can have your damn Cheerios." I unclenched my fist, and he took the bag and set it aside.


"See, this is the part where you're supposed to back up off me, and yet, you haven't." He felt really warm. Maybe I was just really cold. At any rate, him being over me like that was making me kind of uncomfortable, in the not-exactly-bad way, but that not-exactly-bad feeling was making me uncomfortable in the bad way, so he needed to get off.

"I've noticed."


"Well I'm generally an observant person, and observant people notice things."

"No, dumbass. I meant, why aren't you letting me go?"

"Because I like you in this position." His eyes sparkled wickedly.

I narrowed my eyes. "David Weston, you're-"

"Brilliant? Devilishly handsome? The star of your nightly erotic dreams?" My mouth hung open, eliciting a laugh from him.

"Hell no," I replied vehemently. "You're the most perverted, sex-crazed person I've ever met, and if you don't let me go right now, I'll-"

"Spade, Weston, detention."

I sighed deeply. I didn't even need to turn around to know who that was. I'd heard my name and the word 'detention' in one sentence too many times in that grating voice from her over-lipsticked lips. David moved off from on top of me and let me back up.

I do not sound disappointed.

"But Ms. D, why?" He asked innocently, draping an arm around my shoulder. I shrugged him off.

"Food fights are not allowed, nor are public displays of affection." Ms. Davalos looked like she wanted to murder someone. "Also, you're both skipping class."

"One, that wasn't a food fight," I began defensively.

"Yeah. Sam just threw Cheerios at me, so I threw some back, and then we started this whole Cheerio War." David filled in. I gave him a look that plainly said, 'You're not helping'. He shrugged and smiled.


"Actually, he threw the first Cheerio. And second, that wasn't a public display of affection."

"Right. More like public display of lust," he supplied, poking me in the side.

"More like public display of revulsion," I corrected, giving him a 'What the hell?' look. All I got was another smile. "And third, I'm not skipping. David is, though. He should be in Visual Arts," I added helpfully.

What? So I have a good memory. Sue me.

"Yeah, her class just got cancelled, so she just came here instead of to the library like all the other kids in her class did."

Again with the not helping, I thought unhappily. Wait, what? How did he know that? Stalker much?

"Detention. Both of you. Tomorrow morning." Her dark green eyes looked more like black with a green tint, and her lips were set in a thin, straight line.

Wow, if looks could kill… my grandchildren would be dead and buried.

"B-but… tomorrow's Saturday," I said, aghast. It's my birthday tomorrow, I added silently. Not that Davalos would care, mind you. She'd probably make me spend the whole day doing something excruciatingly gruelling.


"Good to know you learned something in first grade, Ms. Spade," Ms. Davalos replied icily. "You will both meet me on the football field at five."

"In the morning?" This time, it was David's turn to be outraged.

"Yes, in the morning, Mr. Weston," she replied, seemingly amused.

Yeesh, bipolar much?

She gave him an once-over. "You look like you know the way there, Mr. Weston. Perhaps you can show Ms. Spade the way. She obviously doesn't."

Okay, that was low, even for her. The football field, for those of you who aren't up to speed on your Maple Ridge campus geography, is located behind the Athletics Building. In which the school gym is located.


Excuse me for not shoving my finger down my throat after every meal.

"Wow, I think she's jealous of you," David murmured into my ear, as Ms. Davalos walked away. The light bulb in my head clicked on. And here I was, actually having less-than-murderous-more-than-platonic thoughts about David. Well, about his, um, body, at any rate. And all he wanted to do was use the student his favourite teacher so utterly disliked for no good reason to make said teacher jealous. Ugh.

God, I hate hormones.

"Well then," I began frostily, gathering my things as the bell rang, "mission accomplished then, huh?" I walked off. No way was I letting David get the last word after all of that.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When classes were finally over, I took my time in making it back to my dorm. Madison, to my dismay, was nowhere to be seen. I'd really wanted to bitch about David to her; even she would have to agree that what he did was low. Then again, she'd probably psychoanalyze me and ask me why I cared so much, and I didn't want to get into that with her at that moment, mostly because I myself didn't know why it annoyed the hell out of me. After I took a long bath, I got dressed in my comfy jeans and my old white tank top, which all my friends had signed before I'd left to come to Maple Ridge. There was so much writing on it, but it looked pretty cool, with all the colours and symbols and stuff – unless you decided to stop and actually read the words. Thank God Madison already had her little chuckle over it.

I booted up my laptop and logged on to MSN Messenger, in the hopes of talking to Leah. Surprisingly, she wasn't online. I logged off, and picking up my cell, I decided to call her, instead. The long-distance charge would be sky high on my bill, but I didn't really care at that moment. I had a lot of things I needed to sort out, and I needed the kind of help you could only get by someone who knows you better than you know yourself.

I sighed, disappointed, when I got her voice mail. "Hey, Leah, it's me. Um… yeah. No, don't worry, I'm not running up my phone bill to leave you some stupid prank message. Believe me; I got hell from my mom for it last time. She was all bitching at me, like, 'Oh, you have no sense of responsibilities, blah blah blah', like we can't afford to pay the damn bill, which we so can, and it's not like I make these calls often anyways. And I have no sense of responsibility? Excuse me, but who raised the twins? Exactly. Not that I really care right now if I get yelled at, but-" The loud beep cut me off, and impatient, I dialled her number again.

"Right, where was I? Oh, yeah. So I really need to talk to you. Some stuff happened today, with, um, with Weston, and it's really confusing, because one minute we're throwing Cheerios at each other and the next he's on me and he's pinning me to the table, and he has the nerve to say I have erotic dreams about him! I mean, God, how egotistical can a person get? And a couple of dreams that I had all those months ago means nothing at all whatsoever-" A strangled cry of frustration escaped my lips, and I dialled her number one more time.

"And I had the first dream only after that weird chocolate sauce fight me and him had in the kitchen that night, which, granted, was a little erotic, so there were circumstances, you know? And the second kind happened only after Scott broke into Adam's liquor cabinet and passed off the beer as apple juice, and you and me and Mads got drunk after one glass, and you guys promised me you wouldn't mention anything to anyone. I mean, was it my fault he walked around my house without his shirt on after the three of us watched The Notebook? No, it damn well wasn't! And, okay, him and Ian were in their swimming shorts, and I didn't have any dreams about Ian, but that means nothing, do you hear me? Nothing! And God, Leah, just call me back or message me or something, because I'm going out of my mind here!" I finished hurriedly, throwing the small silver cell onto my bed in frustration.

"Sam, you were out of your mind a long time ago," a voice dripping with laughter drawled.

Oh – fucking – hell.

I stopped pacing around the room and looked towards the open window near my bed, through which David was leaning. Speechless for a moment, I said the first words that popped into my head: "Damn, we really need to get a lock for that thing."

"You already have a lock for it. I just picked it."

I stared at him, then closed my eyes and willed him to leave.

Would it surprise you to know that he didn't?

"It… would be too much to hope for that you only heard that last sentence, wouldn't it?" I asked quietly, putting a hand to my forehead. I felt warm. I wondered if I was running a fever. It felt like I was running a fever. I mean, I felt hot all over and the room was starting to spin a little.

"Samantha, it would be too much to hope for that the entire floor didn't hear you, with your big mouth," he smirked, hoisting the rest of his body through the window.

"What I said… what you heard me say… that does not leave this room." God, I hated how my voice sounded, like I was pleading with him or something.

"Aw, Sam, don't worry. I won't tell anyone that you dream about me screwing you till you're too hoarse to scream my name anymore." I gaped at him. It was starting to become something of a habit with me when I was in his presence. "It'll be our little secret," he assured me, laughing at the look on my face.

"You – you – you-" I stuttered, unable to form a coherent thought.

"You know, Sam, dreams can become reality." He looked from me to my bed, and then back to me. "Well, what do you think? Want me to make this the best birthday you've ever had?"

"I – I – I-" I stuttered, making him chuckle. "Tomorrow is my birthday," I managed to spit out, sinking down onto the floor. Yeah, I had to be running a fever; my body felt warm enough. The room was definitely starting to spin now.

"You make it sound like we'd actually be stopping anytime in the next twenty-four hours. Well, maybe a break now and then for you. I wouldn't want to hurt you… too much. But you'd be begging me not to stop, and I wouldn't want to disappoint."

Normally, I'd come back with some witty retort like, 'Yeah? That's not what every other girl you screwed said. In fact, 'disappointment' would be an understatement to your performance.'

But alas, I was tongue-tied. David laughed again, and picked up my phone, taking a seat on my bed.

"Put that down," I ordered; my voice sounded weak even to my own ears.

"Make me," was his oh-so-mature response.

"Who are you calling?" I asked, as he went through my phone book.

"Hmmm… oh, I am in here." He grinned, punched in a number, then put my cell on speakerphone.

"Sam, what's up?" It might have been my imagination, but Scott's cheeriness sounded kind of… forced.

"Scott, man, it's me."

He had something planned. Oh God, I wanted to kill him.

"David? What are you doing with Sam's phone?"

"Oh, it rang before and it was your number. She asked me to call you back, on account of she went to take a shower. I'm actually supposed to join her in a few."

I looked up at him in horror, the words catching in my throat.

Scott laughed. "You know she's going to kick your ass if she even heard you say that." Damn right I was.

"I don't think it'd be much of a problem, considering she just had the best sex of her life." David disconnected the line and stared at me expectantly.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Weston, you jerk!" I shrieked, throwing the tennis ball lying on my desk at him in frustration.

"Gotta go," he winked, then crossed the room and ran out the door. I was frozen for a few seconds, until sense snapped into me. I pulled on a pair of black flats and slid out the window, running around to the other side of the building. Sure enough, David came sprinting out the front door seconds later.

"David, I'm going to kill you!" I yelled, chasing after him. "There won't even be enough of you left for them to identify! You are dead, you hear me? Dead!" Most of the people we passed didn't even bother to look our way; Samantha Spade chasing down a laughing David Weston and screaming death threats at him was nothing new.

"That all depends on if you can catch me," he called over his shoulder.

See, if I was thinking clearly, I would have realized something. I was only a few steps behind him, and David did track, meaning he could run much faster than that. So why did he only have a slight lead on me?

But, like I said, I wasn't thinking clearly, so the thought of David leading me somewhere didn't really occur to me.

Silly, silly me.

David led me to one of the main campus buildings – in the dark, I couldn't really tell which building it was – and he barrelled through a pair of swinging doors. Again, I didn't give much thought as to why the doors were unlocked, or even how David knew that they would be.

"Weston, you are so fucking dead," I muttered, wondering where he could have disappeared to in the darkness. A light flicked on and I froze in my tracks, temporarily blinded by the light. "Wh-what?"