.23.

--

.Homecoming.

--

When I finally emerged from the band room, frustrated and exhausted, after the Homecoming football game, I was ready for nothing more than to hop into my bed and sleep until noon the next day. That was before Wes found me on my way to my car, with my keys in hand. He stepped right in front of me, effectively blocking my path, and whenever I tried to go around him, he would move right in front of me again.

"Wes," I whined, half-tempted to stick him with my key and make a mad dash towards my car. Well, maybe not make a mad dash, since I was sure that I was too tired to do anything more than walk.

Instead, I lightly pounded my fist on his chest.

"C'mon, let's go get dinner," he insisted, taking hold of both my hands so I was now virtually helpless.

"I already had dinner. I just wanna go home."

"Please?" He made puppy dog eyes at me, which I was practically helpless to resist. He was just so darn cute when he looked at me like that.

"Wes." I looked away, determined not to be swayed by his impossibly good looks. "Why do you wanna go get dinner? It's ten o'clock at night."

"I dunno. I just want to."

"And I wanna sleep." I cautiously turned my gaze back to him, only to find his puppy dog face still in tact. "Stop looking at me like that!" I yelled.

His face did not change. "Like what?"

I scowled and made one more attempt to go by him. This time, I bumped into him, and he caught me in his arms.

"Why not?" he asked quietly as I squirmed, trying in vain to free myself of his embrace.

"I'm tired!" I snapped. "I wanna sleep!"

"You can sleep in tomorrow." He placed his fingers at the base of my neck and lightly trailed them upwards. Words immediately failed me. Both of his hands slid around to my face, where he then pressed his palms against my cheeks, caressing my face. My eyes automatically snapped close at the touch. Gently, I felt him tilting my face upwards. I tensed in anticipation of the kiss. But after a few minutes, his lips still hadn't touched mine, and my eyes flew open. He was hovering just inches from my face, his eyes locked onto mine.

"C'mon," he whispered, and at that point, it was no longer possible for me to say no. It was also no longer possible for me to speak, so I just nodded my head. At that, he grinned and pressed the desired kiss onto my lips before leading me out to where his own car was parked.

"Wait." I stopped walking. "Let me just go put my stuff in my car."

We walked over to my car, where I dropped off my trumpet and my gym bag, into which I had packed everything I needed for Marching Band. After getting out the purse that I had stuffed into the bag, I shut the door, locked the car, and followed Wes out to his car.

"I don't know why you're so insistent on getting dinner so late," I grumbled.

"'Cause I wanna spend time with you. Is that a crime?"

"No, but I wanna go home and you'll see me tomorrow night at Homecoming."

"So?"

We reached his car, and he opened the door for me. I rolled my eyes and grabbed the door out of his grasp.

"I can open the car door myself, you know."

"I know."

He said nothing more as he made his way over to the other side of the car and hopped into the driver's seat. I took a seat in the passenger's seat and slammed the door shut.

"I'm serious, Wes. I'm not helpless."

"I know. You've only told me a thousand times."

"That's because you never listen."

He looked over at me as he started the engine and shifted the car into reverse. "What about chivalry?"

"Chivalry is dead."

The car zoomed backwards out of the parking spot at an alarming speed. I couldn't help the fact that all the color drained out of my face. Wes wasn't necessarily a reckless driver, but he definitely had his moments.

"It's not dead if I'm still opening car doors for you," he argued, but not seriously.

"Well, it's still stupid."

"Why?" He shifted back into drive and steered us out of the parking lot, towards the busy road off of which the school was located.

"Because I'm not helpless."

He just shook his head and switched on his right turn signal. We sat in silence as he stared up the road, searching for an open spot to pull the car onto the road. One appeared after about thirty seconds, and once he was on the road, we started talking again.

"So where are we going that's open so late?" I asked, setting my elbow on the arm rest and propping up my head in my hand. I closed my eyes, wondering if there was a chance I could sneak in a quick nap before Wes and I arrived at wherever we were going.

"There's this pub I found that's open till twelve," he told me.

"Mmm." I could already feel myself drifting off to sleep.

"Rae?"

"Mmmm?"

Suddenly, loud heavy metal music blasted through the speakers of the car. I jumped up about as far as the seat belt would allow me too and let out a loud, girly shriek. Once my heart rate slowed down to a relatively normal pace, I turned to Wes with a glare.

"Wes!" I yelled. He was smirking, but his eyes were focused on the road straight ahead. My hand darted out and shut off the radio.

"God, I'm tired," I continued angrily. "I just wanted to rest."

"Sorry," he apologized, but not genuinely since he chuckled as he said it.

"It's not funny, Wes. I don't even wanna be here." I was dead serious, too; I wasn't joking around. I was exhausted, and I wasn't hungry.

"You don't wanna be with your boyfriend?" He was still joking.

"Wes, I'm serious. If you're gonna drag off me to a dinner I don't wanna eat, then at least let me rest."

He glanced over at me and immediately sobered up. "Sorry." This time, he sounded like he meant it. "I didn't know it would annoy you so much."

Of course you didn't, I wanted to say, but I didn't. I was getting better as recognizing apologies and accepting them. Not to mention that may have partly been my fault for going to sleep on him in the first place. So I accepted the apology, and we continued chatting with subdued conversation.

XIXIXIXIXIXIXIX

It was around eleven-fifteen that night when Wes pulled up in front of my house. He parked on the street instead of the driveway, and cut the engine. The headlights and taillights shut off, plunging us into darkness.

"What'd you do that for?" I queried as my eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. I turned to Wes, waiting for his answer, but was instead met with a pair of lips. Guess whose? Wes's hands leapt up to hold either side of my face with a gentle touch. I tried to move closer to him, but when that proved impossible in the car, I stopped. As we were kissing, Wes started shifting around like I had. Next thing I knew, I heard a dull thump, quickly followed by Wes going, "Fuck," right into my mouth. He pulled away from me, and I looked down.

Wes looked really comical, to be honest. He had climbed onto his seat and was presumably making his way over to mine. One of his knees was right by the gearshift, while the other one was still on his seat.

"Wes? What are you doing?" I inquired.

"What does it look like?" he fired back. "I'm trying to get to your seat, but I banged my knee on the gearshift." He shot the aforementioned object a dirty glare.

"Trying to get to my seat?" I repeated, my voice insinuating something else.

He grinned, obviously catching on. But then he looked down at the space between our seats with a scowl. "Hang on. Lemme try this a different way."

He leaned back on his seat and, after about a minute, managed to get himself back in a normal sitting position.

"How are you—?" I began to ask, but before I finished, Wes lifted himself up on his hands and scooted backwards, grunting as he did so. I raised my eyebrows as I saw this.

"You're going to scoot over on your butt?" I asked in clarification.

He didn't answer, just pushed himself backwards again. But this time, when he was about to drop his butt back down, the gearshift was right under him.

"Wes, watch—" I tried to warn, but he sat down before I could complete the warning. His butt landed right on the gearshift, and I winced just watching it.

"Ow!" he shouted. "My ass!"

He moved over to sit down on the cupholders between the two seats and heaved a sigh.

"Wes, just lie back," I ordered him, tugging on the back of his shirt. With another sigh, he complied and his head landed neatly in my lap. I smiled down at him, and then leaned my head against the head rest, shutting my eyes as I did so. While I tried to fall asleep, I carelessly wove my hands through his hair. We stayed like that for a few minutes, until Wes interrupted the peace.

"Rae?"

I summoned energy for a few seconds before answering. "Hm?"

"This isn't what I wanted to do."

"Mmm."

"Rae." He sat up. My hands fell out of his hair onto my lap, but I didn't open my eyes. I stayed completely still, hoping that there was still a chance I could fall asleep. "I told you you should've ordered something with caffeine."

"Mmm."

"Rae."

I could hear Wes scuffling around for a few moments before he landed right on my lap.

"Wes!" I shrieked in surprise as my eyes flew open. "This is backwards. I'm supposed to be on your lap."

"But this," he said, his face moving towards mine, "is what I wanted to do."

And then he kissed me.

XIXIXIXIXIXIXIX

"Holy SHIT!"

This was the exclamation I received from Izza when she opened the door to me the next day, the same Saturday as our school's Homecoming dance. We had booked our manicure and pedicure appointments together, and afterwards, I was going to get ready at her house. Our respective dates would then meet us at her house at six, as well as Caleb and his new girlfriend. From there, we'd head to dinner, and then to the dance.

"What?" I asked self-consciously, drawing my eyebrows together.

"Your neck." She nodded towards the body part in question. At this, my hand instantly flew up to cover the exact spot of which she was speaking. My face turned bright red. Crap. I'd meant to cover that mark up before I came over here, but I'd forgotten.

"Um . . ."

She pried my hand away and stared at the spot. "Is that a hickey?"

"No, it's a UFO," I snapped sarcastically, mainly to hide my mortification. That's right; while recovering from my bout of exhaustion, Wes had managed to give me a hickey. . . .

"God, that thing is dark. Was he trying to suck your neck off or something?"

I covered up the spot with my hand again. "Can we just get some makeup on it and go?"

She grinned. "Sure. Let's go to my room." She turned, and I followed her up to her room—not that I needed to follow her or anything. I could navigate her house with my eyes shut, I'd been here so often.

Once in her room, she pulled out this weird, green stuff in a lipstick tube and dabbed it on my big red mark—my hickey. The green, she explained took out some of the redness. After that, she powdered it with a neutral color. By the time she was done, the hickey was pretty much invisible. I had to admit, the girl had skill. After that accomplishment, we made our way over to the salon to get gussied up for our boyfriends, both of us excited for the night that lay ahead.

XIXIXIXIXIXIXIX

I had a tremendous sense of déjà vu as I descended the stairs in Izza's house while Derrick and Wes stood below, waiting for Izza and me, respectively. It was like the very first date Izza had gone on with Derrick, and that I had gone on with Wes—although that was a blind date turned not-so-blind. I even remembered that, at this point in the evening, I had likened us to characters in The Titanic—I was Rose, stepping down the staircase, and Wes was Jack, waiting for me at the bottom.

Although I looked considerably different from Rose. My dirty blonde hair—hanging about five inches below my shoulders—was stick straight, fanning out gracefully on my back. My dress was nothing fancy—it was a black spaghetti strap dress with white polka dots. There was lace on the very modest v-neck, and on the bottom (which was knee-length), there was a lot of fabric, so it always lifted into the air when I spun. As a matter of fact, it somewhat resembled a flapper dress from the 1920's so I therefore creatively called it my "flapper dress." On my feet where black heels that boosted me up about two inches—Wes was tall enough for me to wear heels. I was wearing just enough makeup to make me look pretty, but not like a birthday cake—extremely powdery.

Okay, I'll say it: I looked hot. It's not something that often comes out of my mouth (or my brain, in this case), but it was true. I was going to knock the socks right off of Wes . . . or something like that.

As I walked down, Wes started staring at me. At first, I was worried that there was something wrong, but then I realized he was just staring because he liked the way I looked at the moment.

"You look beautiful," he whispered once I'd reached him.

I smiled, taking in the black pants, bright blue shirt, and slivery tie that he was wearing. "You're not so bad looking yourself," I commented back, even though I was sure that every girl in the history of double X chromosomes had used a similar line.

Looking up into his face, I wanted to kiss him, but Mrs. Cavanaugh and my father were standing there. Instead, I consented to merely holding his hand and stepping off to his side, noticing that Izza and Derrick had done exactly the same thing.

"Pictures!" cried Mrs. Cavanaugh, waving her ancient camera around in the air. My father inconspicuously stepped up behind her with a disposable camera in his left hand.

"Moooom," Izza whined. "Caleb and Marissa aren't even here yet."

"That's okay. We can just take shots of you guys. Now you two—" she nodded in the direction of Izza and Derrick "—put your arms around each other."

Sighing, Izza complied, as did Derrick. I had to admit, they looked good together. As a result of the heels Izza was wearing, the top of her head came up to Derrick's chin, as opposed to his shoulders like it ordinarily did. After snapping about a million photos of those two, Mrs. Cavanaugh—and my father, though he'd only snapped two, and even then merely because Izza had been blinking in the first one—turned on Wes and me. We stood together with our arms around each other, in the same pose as Izza and Derrick, though the top of my head was currently level with Wes's lips. My father took three, but Mrs. Cavanaugh just kept on taking pictures, as if we were striking different poses in each one (which we weren't). Just as she finished—and both Wes and I were seeing spots—the doorbell rang. Izza gracefully walked over, as opposed to clomping like I did in heels, and swung the door open, revealing Caleb with his girlfriend, Marissa. The very same girl who I knew had liked him for a while. Apparently, he asked her to Homecoming about three weeks ago, and then, somehow, they became a couple from there.

Only about five minutes later, the limo finally arrived to take us to dinner. There were some definite perks in having your best friend dating a rich guy, and this absolutely free limo ride was one of them. Derrick's parents had insisted on paying for the limo themselves. God knows why, but hey, I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Once we were all comfortably settled in our seats, Wes pressed a three second long, PG (meaning our mouths remained closed) kiss to my mouth. When he pulled away, we were both smiling, and everyone was watching us like they'd never seen two people kiss before.

A look of contemplation developed on Wes's face as he began licking his lips. "Mmm," he remarked. "Your lip gloss tastes good."

"It's watermelon," I told him, licking my own lips, which effectively eliminated any lip gloss that was left on them.

Unexpectedly, Izza and Derrick burst into laughter. Marissa, who didn't know us all that well, merely grinned, and Caleb chuckled. Wes and I exchanged looks and then began grinning, as well. I reached for my purse on the floor of the limo and fished out the lip gloss that I had been wearing. I reapplied it to my own lips, then held it out to Wes.

"You can use some if you like," I offered teasingly, giving the tube a little shake. "I bet it'll look good on you."

"You think?" he asked with mock-seriousness, actually taking the tub out of my hand. He began to unscrew the cap, and for one hilarious second, I thought he really was about to apply it to his lips. But instead, he brought it up to his noise and inhaled noisily.

"You should wear this more often," he said, screwing the cap back on.

"Why? So you can kiss it off?"

He grinned. "Of course."

"Okay, guys," Izza interrupted in a dry voice. "It's nice that you're flirting and all, but there are other people in the car."

"Sorry," we apologized simultaneously as he slipped his hand into mine. That was one of the best parts of finally dating him—the touching. And not just the big, great moments like when we hugged or when he put his arm over my shoulders. Even the small, simple touches—like our hands colliding before we went our separate ways in school, or his hand gently brushing across my face as he tucked nonexistent hair behind my ear. I mean, obviously, the kissing was nice, but nothing held quite the same thrill of his mere skin lightly grazing across mine.

From there, conversation took off. Caleb and Marissa were a little uncomfortable at first, I could tell, but eventually, they warmed up and became active participants in the conversations we held. It was nice, having only three couples there—and therefore, six people. Last year, I'd gone with Trevor (yuck) in a humungous group of people, and I'd hated every minute of it. Well, almost every minute, because I actually liked Trevor back then (just what I was on, I'm not sure—although I only say that because of my hindsight bias). Not to mention that it had been shortly after the incident where I'd unintentionally mooned the majority of our grade as a result of the skirt I'd been wearing, so I was still being teased about that.

Having dinner with only five other people made the matter a more inclusive event. Everyone had a chance to talk, no one was screaming at each other across the dinner table, and certainly nobody mocked me about some recently humiliating incident—not that there was one, but still. It made everything that much more pleasant.

Surprisingly, dinner was a fairly short affair—well, short for the amount of people in the restaurant and people in our party. We all hopped back into the limo around eight o'clock, which was when the dance started, and the chauffer drove us towards school. It was only once we were waiting in line to get into the dance, with the limo long gone, that I realized what I was missing.

"Oh crap!" I cried. "My jacket!"

Seeing how it was the middle of October and I was wearing a mere dress with extremely thin straps, I was cold. Freezing, in fact. Upon my exclamation, everyone in my party, and even a few people who weren't, looked over at me with alarm.

"I forgot it . . . somewhere," I continued, racking my brain for the last place I had been with the jacket and failing to drag up any memories. Izza rolled her eyes at me, since I was always forgetting any article of clothing that I wasn't wearing, but everyone else frowned in concern at my plight. Wes instantly shrugged off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders—the shiver he gave once the jacket was off, however, failed to escape my eyes.

"Wes, you stupid, chivalrous male. Now you'll be cold."

To prevent my taking it off, he clamped the jacket down by putting his hands on my shoulders—and if I said I wasn't grateful, I'd be lying. "I'll still be warmer than you," he argued logically, since he was wearing long sleeves.

"Do you remember where you left it, Rae?" Caleb inquired, getting straight to the point.

I frowned in thought. "I'm pretty sure I had it in the restaurant. . . . Wait, no, maybe I didn't. . . . I can't remember now. I remember tying it around my waist, though . . . or no, maybe I didn't. . . . Ah, who am I kidding? I have no clue where I left it."

There was a collective rolling of the eyes from Wes and Izza. Marissa looked somewhat amused, and Caleb appeared kind of annoyed. I shrugged off Wes's hands and slipped my arms through the sleeves of the jacket. It was much too large, but at the moment, all I cared about was that it kept me warm.

"You probably left it at my house," Izza said, whipping out her cell phone and speed-dialing her house. We all watched her as she conversed with her mother, which led to the conclusion that I had indeed forgotten my jacket at Izza's house—I'd left it right on her bed, apparently.

"That is so typical," Izza muttered as she stuffed the phone back in her pocket, shooting a smirk in my direction. I gave her a sheepish smile and shrugged.

Discussion on that particular topic, however, dispelled quickly as the topic of conversation between the six of us changed gradually—as any sort of topic, if left uncurbed, is wont to do. We were only about one group away from the front of the line—the group ahead of us had about ten people—talking about airplanes and flying in them, when I suddenly turned to Wes and asked, "If another girl asked you to dance, what would you say?"

Everyone's head snapped towards me, a bewildered expression on his or her face. Izza's expression, however, quickly morphed into one of warning.

"If another guy asked you to dance," Wes began, "what would you say?"

I scowled deeply. "You know I hate it when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Answer my question with another question."

He paused for a moment, seeming slightly confused. ". . . That was my answer, Rae."

"How was that an answer?"

"Rae . . . I'm your boyfriend and not anybody else's boyfriend. Why would I even want to dance with another girl?"

"I dunno. If she was prettier than me?"

"Rae, I'm not dating you because you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

There was an uncomfortable silence following that as everyone—Wes included—realized that he had actually just insulted me.

"Uh, that's not what I meant. I mean, it is, but I didn't mean—"

"Forget it, Wes."

"What?"

"Just forget it. I know you didn't mean anything."

Relieved, Wes sighed and then smiled at me. I was getting better at forgiving people, not only for saying something they didn't mean, but just in general. Maybe I would've been pissed at him for saying that a few months ago, but honestly, I wasn't the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, and I knew he hadn't meant it as an insult.

With that brief spat out of the way, conversation resumed. At least, it did between the other two couples. However, I turned to Wes again and said, quietly enough so that the others couldn't hear me, "You can dance with other girls if you want."

His brow creased; he was probably thinking it was some sort of trap. "Why would I wanna do that?"

"I already told you, Wes: I can't dance. At all."

"And I already told you: I don't care."

"How can you not care? All we'll be doing is standing there."

A mischievous smile crossed his face. "I'll figure out something."

XIXIXIXIXIXIXIX

What Wes had "figured out" so that we could dance and not stand around like idiots was to dance for me. Literally. He started using me as a puppet, moving my hands for me and nudging my legs when he wanted me to move them. It was insulting to my intelligence, not to mention really annoying, so after ten minutes, I stepped out of his reach, shaking my head.

"No more," I tried to tell him, but he just squinted at me as if it might help his hearing and shouted, "WHAT?"

"NO MORE!" I screamed back, fighting to be heard over the music that I didn't even like. Izza frowned at me from her place in front of Derrick—the two were freak dancing, which was exactly the kind of thing I couldn't do. I know, I know. How could I not be capable of freak dancing? It was quite simple, really: I just couldn't shake my butt without looking like I was having a seizure.

Wes frowned at me, too, and pushed through a few people to stand next to me. "What, then?" he asked close to my ear so he could be heard.

"I warned you!" I reminded him, slightly agitated. "Go dance with that girl, or something." I pointed towards some random girl, who looked lost among all the people, dancing by herself among a group where everyone else was freak dancing with someone else. She had a pleasant face but didn't look so happy at her dancing circumstances.

"Rae." He sounded tired. "I'm not dancing with another girl."

"C'mon, Wes. Look how lonely she is. You'd be doing her a favor."

He shot me a look. "Why do you want me to go dance with another girl?"

"It's better than just standing around with me."

"You don't know what I think is better."

"Okay, then. What do you think is better?"

"Rae, you're my girlfriend. Do you honestly need me to tell you my answer?"

I just looked at him. "Wes, don't let me ruin the dance for you."

"Rae, you're not ruining it for me." He moved closer to me and took my hand. "I just wanna be with you."

"But—"

"Stop." He covered my mouth with his hand—the one not holding my own hand—preventing me from saying any more. I scowled and licked his hand to get him to take it away, but he only looked down at me with surprise.

"Did you just lick my hand?"

I glared up at him and tried to speak. "Yuh, I wah tying to get yo had off by bouth."

Even with my gibberish, he still didn't remove his hand, so I pried it off myself.

"You could suffocate me like that," I complained, stepping away from him and ripping my hand from his.

"I wasn't even covering your nose, Rae," he shot back, moving closer to cover the distance that I'd created. Then, without missing a beat he suggested, "Let's go get some drinks."

Before I had a chance to agree, even though I would have in the first place, he seized my hand again and led us out of the gym, where there were tables to sit at and drinks being served along a wall. After Wes and I both grabbed cups of water, we sat down at an empty table. We merely sat in silence for a few minutes before I finally said something.

"I'm sorry I'm not dancing," I apologized, running my finger over the rim of my plastic cup.

"Rae, how many times do I have to tell you that I don't care?" He stood up, took my hand, and hauled me to my feet. "Let's go dance again."

"Wes," I whined, but I was helpless to resist against his strength as he dragged me towards the gym, and then the dance floor.

And then . . . well, you guessed it. As we were making our way towards where Izza and Derrick and Caleb and Marissa were dancing, I tripped. One of my legs managed to get tangled in that of another girl who was dancing, and I flew face first onto the ground, the hem of my dress hiking up so it just barely covered my butt. Laugher rang out from all around me. Embarrassed, I immediately hopped back up into standing position. A decently sized crowd had gathered around me.

"I'm okay!" I called out over the music.

"Smooth move, Rae," Wes joked, putting an arm around my waist. "Real smooth."

"Like in the bookstore when we first met."

"Yeah, but it was different back then."

"Well, duh. I mean, that time, it was in a bookstore, I hadn't nearly mooned a whole crowd of people, I was just lying on the ground like a loser—"

"No," he interrupted, "that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"Back then, I didn't love you."

I rolled my eyes at the cheesiness of the line but smiled anyway. I'd always thought of my clumsiness as a curse, never a blessing. All it had ever done was humiliate me, and occasionally, humiliate me and other people, like when I'd pulled down the pants of the sophomore saxophonist. Before Wes and I ever became friends, all I'd ever done was embarrass myself in front of him. But maybe, just maybe, my clumsiness was just a weird sort of blessing. If I hadn't been so clumsy, would Wes have been as comfortable around me? Would we have been as close as this? I know I would still have met him on that not-so-blind date, but what if I hadn't fallen at the bookstore beforehand? Maybe I was just being melodramatic, but I'd never thought of it this way.

"Wes?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

He looked surprised at the randomness of that statement. "I love you, too." Then he bent down and planted a nice smooch on my lips.

I may not have believed in happily ever afters, but this sure did come close.

THE END

((Super long A/N ahead, so beware. I'd recommend reading, if not all of it, at least the part concerning any of my future stories. If you're interested in my future stories, that is. I won't be so egotistical as to assume that you are.))

I just have one question that I'd really appreciate it if you answered: What did/do you find to be the weakest aspect of this story? I'm always looking to improve, so it'd be nice if you answered that as truthfully as possible for me.

And don't forget to vote for me at SKoW:)

Did You Know? The average human eats eight spiders in their lifetime at night. GROSS, I know.

Answer to last week's TQ: BREATH! I know, funny, right? Congrats to: sleepiedreamer, Mardy-Bum-Barrel-Of-A-Gun, Kahlua, -Box.Of.Chocolates-, and Dark Star at Night

Moving right along, this is where I'm going to start talking about my future stories. Currently, I have two stories that I've already started that I'm interested in continuing. One of them is actually the same one that I mentioned at the end of Fateful Friday (if you read it), and the other was inspired in me while I was thinking about Sarah Dessen's books (with which I am freaking in love). However, they are both VERY similar in plot. They are both, in essence, about someone who is screwed up, and someone else who is intrigued and wants to "fix" them. One is from the POV of the screwed up person, and the other is from the POV of the "fixer." (They are both from the POV of a girl, though.) I'm just tired of all the brainless fluff that I usually write, and I want to try my hand at something deeper. One that actually shows growth of character. You know. (If, for some reason, you are interested in seeing the respective summaries I have for these stories—the short ones that go in the little summary box—then just let me know. And be warned, they are subject to change even after I sent them to you.)

On that note, it is very likely that I will not post either of these stories. Yes, you read that right. I may halfway disappear. I'm going into my senior year of high school, and so far, I'm looking to have very little time to myself. I have a very rigorous schedule; I will have a bunch of college applications to complete (holy freaking COW, I'm going to COLLEGE next year); I am the leader of this program at school, and apparently being a leader of it is pretty time consuming all on its own; I will be doing Marching Band until mid-November, when the football season ends, and then Pep Band (for the basketball team); and I also have to get forty community service hours at the same place probably by around May 16 in order to graduate.

Yeah, it's going to be a party.

Not.

Anyway, my point in telling you all that is that I don't know if I'll have time to write. I don't want to post a story, only to update it, like, once every three months or something. The only things you may see coming from me during the next school year are one-shots, because those are updated once and only once. So it's easy.

Last but not least, thank you SO, SO, SO, SO much to all the people who reviewed me last chapter. I got more reviews for the last chapter than I've ever gotten for one in my life. Also, only two more reviews till I hit the big one-oh-oh-oh (that sounded stupid)! I am SO excited and euphoric and all those adjectives! And you all know you want to be special number one thousand, right:D So thanks to the following people:

wandless, mia5081, lilylupin7, Erisah Mae, White Rabbit Tale, egglette, diamondewdrops, Antiquary, xSecretRainx, sleepiedreamer, Kiss and Cry, Mardy-Bum-Barrel-Of-A-Gun, yourharbor, aznxdragonxluv, aiman29t, .divided-dreams., dimethylmercury, Venus Smurf1, sanzo-reload, s-pecial-lee-me, Evenstar1389, Pieces of the sun, hubbabubba, swoas, RoseofFlame, angels and effects, xonea, Trmpetplaya1, wh00t, Fleeting Moment, Megan-TheWriter, iwishillwilluponyou, InSaNeBaBe, fictitious facades, HelloLonely, kelyn, x.dynamite, woodstock1969, Wicca Girl, Alora The Sleepy, shadowgirl618, Liviania, Gigi, Kahlua, Sunni Bunni, x3Mishna, the.social.pariah, -Box.of.Chocolates-, britty-sum41, xX i.am.an.outlaw.NGP, Twirl, Essevera, Make Love Not War, cherrypiesizzle, bitterdeath, Dark Star at Night, loki's fire, xlyrical-liesx, noriepie, ashes00, You'll.Never.Know, Kaede Kitsurani, hm…, Jessica Renee, SarcasticallyRomantic, catnik, awww..

Thank you EVERYONE for all your support, kind words, and constructive criticism! And for reading:D