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.just full of bad ideas.

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chapter two. (beautiful eyes and a missing sword)

. . .

"Seventy-eight percent of human beings have attempted to eat their own feces."

I tore my eyes and fingers away from the duct-taped leather bus seat in front of me and glanced at Izzy's disgusted face curiously. "Really?"

She snorted. "No."

Izzy always started off our boring bus rides with startling demographic statements.

It was a long-standing tradition, tracing back to the first day of kindergarten when she told me that ninety-nine (point nine) percent of people who bit their nails immediately —meaning there was absolutely no time to get saved by a doctor at all—got man-eating worms in their stomach which could slither out of the offender's ears and eat other people, too! "So I really shouldn't be sitting next to you!" she exclaimed, twisting her mouth in fear, like any normal five-year-old would do.

I'm not sure if she was lying about that worms thing, or if her mom or something lied to her, but I haven't bitten 'em since.

"Oh," I said whispering. "I thought for a second there that I wasn't alone."

Izzy laughed childishly, and then asked if she could Please Mackenzie, borrow my English homework?

What. That's why she laughed at my stupid joke? The little con-artist! You can't see, reader, but I'm putting my hands on my hips and shaking my head so much that my neck's crackin'. Well, in my mind at least. Which is why you can't see it. Uhm.

"No," said I, narrowing my eyes, "you may not borrow my homework, and I will not be an accomplice in this filthy plagiaristic crime, so take your scandalous requests elsewhere!"

And ever since kindergarten, not a single person was granted permission to copy—I'm sorry, borrow—my homework. It was an act that went against my moral standards and against the world's dwindling academic integrity which I fought so hard to uphold!

. . . Kay, that wasn't really why. In kindergarten, our teacher told us that if we let someone copy our homework, we were just as bad as the copier, and we would go to jail.

Izzy rolled her eyes, even though she knew what my answer would be before she even asked. So instead of complaining about me, she whined, "Why do teachers assign homework the flippin' second week of school?"

"They assigned it the flippin' first week, too," I pointed out matter-of-factly and quite unnecessarily, as I leaned back in my squeaky seat.

She shrugged, and asked me if I wanted to play Sticks.

Sticks. My body automatically shot up. Sticks. The most brilliant and resourceful game this stupid world has ever created—all you needed were some fingers!

. . . And if you didn't have fingers, you could—um. Uh. Sorry.

So I lost every game of Sticks we played during the half-hour commute. Not my fault, though. I didn't have fingers!

Just kidding.

"You suck," I growled at Izzy half-playfully as we cautiously got off the bus—we both had a history of falling down the steps. She laughed at me, pinching my cheeks.

"You'll win someday, my friend. Someday," she said with tilted-up lips, and her eyes bore into mine ruefully as she faded off into the distance.

Haa. Not. She sort of just stayed there. And talked some more. And then I talked some more, and we told each other jokes and reviewed the homework as we waited for the bell to ring. And then it rang and we walked to first period together.

"Hey, Miss Tennerson," Izzy said, smiling broadly at our English teacher. Whose homework she copied from some dude just before the bell rang. Miss T looked at the both of us and grinned. I smiled softly and nodded stiffly, just to be polite.

Ugh. Sometimes having a suck-up as a best friend was awkward.

. . . She wasn't a suck-up. She was just really nice to everyone. Well, not everyone. But mostly everyone. And she wasn't afraid to say Hi to anyone. Not that I was. Well, maybe a little. I sort of forced myself to say Hi to people—so I wouldn't end up a loner or lose the opportunity to get to know awesome people, like my mom said. Izzy was a natural. And she talked to teachers.

I think maybe I was a little jealous.

Whoops.

But Izzy McCool (yes, that was her real name) was—beautiful. And when I say beautiful, I mean beau-ti-ful. She had bright, bright, bright blue eyes, flowing red hair, and a heart of gold. Well. Her heart was probably red, too, but "heart of red" sounds stupid.

And she was a vegetarian. A vegetarian. I know it was a growing, like, movement now, but I seriously had no idea how she kept herself from eating steak, or turkey on Thanksgiving, but she did, and I had so much respect (and pity, like all good friends are required to feel) for her because of it.

So she may copy people's homework, but really, who had time for homework when they were busy making the world a better place? That's why Izzy couldn't do her work sometimes. Or at least that's what she said. My theory was that she was busy painting her nails the exact same shade as her shirt.

Teehee. Hee.

Okay, that was the jealousy rearing its ugly head. Well, not ugly. It looked a lot like Izzy. Whose eyes were criminally blue. Which was totally unfair.

Especially when I—and you must know by now that everything revolves around me—had peanut-butter eyes. Cashew eyes. Either way, they were nuts. Nuts, for Pete's sake! Nuts were gross!

Except pistachios. They didn't count, stupid. They had green in them.

Um. Sorry for being rude. See, that's what happens, kids, when you compare yourself to others! Especially when that "other" is your best friend of a kazillion years, Izzy! Which is why you should stop! And eat your veggies!

Now!

. . . But you know what else, reader? When I looked around during our family reunions, with Mom's sisters and parents and aunts and cousins surrounding me, I always looked at their eyes, and they were always so—colorful. They were either blue, or green, or — my brother's eyes were practically violet, for Pete's sake!

And I had walnut eyes. A dull and frankly uncaptivating shade of light brown (unless you were a nut freak, but that's a little weird) but not hazel. Never hazel. That would be cool, though—I mean, it's got to be the only eye color with a Z in it.

Just sayin'. It's not like I was still comparing my eye color to Izzy's. Or my family members'. Seriously. I mean, who cares about that stuff, right?

Right. Not me. That's for darn sure.

Dang, I was a whiny dork.

. . .

"Yo, Kretchell!" I called as I eased my way—stumbled, eased; really, same thing, right?—through the crowded hallway. The boy whose hair was so blonde it was white turned around, eyes skimming past the many unfamiliar faces until they landed on me. I was waving my hand like a psycho, so it totally shouldn't have taken him so long. It certainly didn't take everyone else so long to look at my frantically moving arm and turn their little noses up. Time, time. They just needed some ti—oh, heck, I wasn't about to befriend anybody who crushed my feet with their high-heeled boots anyway.

I walked up to Lester with a grumble and a slight limp.

"Hey, Mack," he said, absently, ruffling my hair with a detached sort of grin, emerald (Emerald! Jeez!) eyes meeting mine without their usual brightness.

"Hey," I said, softer than he had, reaching up to tug on one of his platinum curls. "What's up?"

His face flushed and he murmured something I couldn't quite catch. Shoot. I hated asking people to repeat themselves, especially when they were already uncomfortable.

Too bad, so sad. "What was that?" I prodded him gently, poking him right in the abs. Defined abs. Insert giggle.

Lester gurgled out another unintelligible string of words, and I smiled sheepishly. "One more time?" I asked unsurely.

"I said Donatello bit me, okay?" His voice rose in frustration and he turned his face away from mine. Good thing, too, because he would've seen me grinning if he hadn't. Almost laughing.

When I composed myself enough to look him in the eye, I tugged at his hair again. "Aww, don't be sad, my dearest lad," I said, and flicked his cheek. He almost smiled and I almost sighed in relief.

Donatello was the most loyal turtle I ever did know. For him to bite Lester—what had gotten in to that guy?

"I think it's 'cause I gave his Ninja Turtle toy to Ravvy, but it's not like Don was doing anything with it, anyway! I mean, sheesh, ya know?" he asked, eyes penetrating my own in earnest.

Ravvy was his dog. I thought he was a lot cuter, but Don had been in the family longer than I could remember. So had that stupid toy.

Therefore, Lester was stupid for trying to give it to Rav. I mean, had Don ever played with the stupid plushie? No. So why did Lester start caring all of a sudden? Guys were so . . . stupid!

Unfortunately, telling him so would only further dismay him, so I only told him that Hey, Rav Deserved A Little Lovin', Too—You Took One For The Team, My Man.

He thanked me by kissing me. On the temple, of course, but my cheeks still burned up like a pie in December.

Um.

Yeah. Anyways. It wasn't like I liked him or anything; I just still wasn't used to his touchy-touchiness. I mean the hair thing was fine, and I'd already picked up some of his contagious touchy-genes (um, yes, these things were hereditary, but they flew out of his DNA and infected me), but lips should always stay at least fifty thousand yards away.

"So how's school, fool?" he asked, flinging an arm around my shoulders. I shrugged it off without a thought and answered my other best friend—you can have two, kids—

"Eh."

"Good to hear it, love, good to hear it."

Then he went off to flirt with some girl; all I heard was "We should get jerseys—'cause we make a good team" and the resulting giggle and arm-slap (or maybe she slapped his face) before I laughed and walked away.

Everything was perfect-o.

. . .

Not.

When I was thinking that, I hadn't yet stepped into my last period class—where Pwalker/Chandler/Bing/Chandler Bing resided like the loser he was.

"'Sup, my main man," I punched him on the shoulder carelessly, forgetting he wasn't anything like the guy I was just talking to.

Bing stared up at me lazily. "Does this thing ever take a hint?" he asked, more to himself than me.

I was not a thing. "I am not a thing," I choked out, offended.

He ignored me, tossing his shaggy raven-colored hair back carelessly. "No, this thing obviously doesn't. Things, things, things," he tsk-ed with another shake of his head as he spared a dramatic glance skyward.

"Shut up!" I said, incensed.

"But this thing is pretty entertaining when it's upset. Maybe I'll keep it. What do you say to that, thing?" he drawled, finally meeting my eyes.

I kind of just squinted my eyes so I looked angry but really I just didn't want him to see the confusion in them.

What a weirdo. He was so — weird! I mean, really, you can't be insulting and then playful the next minute. That's stupid. And you cannot just call a perfectly respectable person a thing—

"Josiah, quit messing with the girl's head," Blondie Gray-Eyes AKA Noland smacked Bing at the back of his skull with a roll of his eyes.

Josiah?

Who the —Josiah!

I grinned gleefully at Noland and rushed up out of my seat to pet his head, laughing all the way. I would've kissed him, but . . . uh, no way?

Noland just looked confused with his pale brows drawn together and all, but I think he liked being pet. I almost snickered at the way he smiled in satisfaction and let his eyes gently flutter closed. Come to think of it, he did sort of look like a puppy . . . wonder what would happen if I scratched behind his ears. Deciding that it was kind of weird that I was seriously debating doing so, I looked up.

"Hi, Josiah," I said, and I smiled sweetly at Bing.

Josiah. Josiah. Josiah. Jos—

He slowly got up out of his seat and walked over to where I was standing over Noland, looked straight into my eyes — hazel! His eyes were hazel! — and smiled sarcastically. He reached an arm around me — got so close I could smell his sharp cologne — and smacked Noland like he had been smacked earlier.

"Idiot," he said tiredly, "remember how I never told this chick my name—how I kept that up for almost two weeks even though she pestered me like a freaking fly? Yeah, you sort of just ruined all of my hard work—" he paused to look at his watch, "twenty-five seconds ago. So I just came over here to say thanks man, good lookin' out."

Noland's mouth dropped in realization—and flies were entering for a good half-minute. Then he grinned sheepishly. "My bad," he said, and then paused. "Well, you were just being stupid anyway. I mean why didn't you want her to find out your name in the first place?"

Yeah!

Josiah looked honestly bewildered. "I—I don't know," he said, and then shrugged like it didn't even matter. What a moron.

But I just grinned at him as I took my seat and he took his next to me. "J-O-S! I-A-H! My name's Josiah and I smell like an ape!"

Heh. That was pretty good.

Pwalker took one long look at me and then glanced over my shoulder at Noland. "I think that's why," he said flatly.

Noland just grinned his adorably crooked grin. "Aww, ain't she the greatest?" Oh, I wouldn't say that—

"No."

I sneered at Bing and reached over to high-five Noland because I liked him better. "Where's Hannah?" I asked, only just noticing the absence of the brown-haired cool person.

"Dentist," they answered simultaneously, and I wondered how close the three were, wondering at the same time why they—well, with the exception of Josiah—accepted me like it was natural. I thought tight-knit groups were supposed to block off all newcomers with a flaming sword!

They probably didn't have one. And I was kind of ridiculously glad about that.

Okay, even my thoughts were getting corny. Need. A. Distraction!

"Bing," I called tentatively.

He exhaled exaggeratedly, and then said, "Mmm?" with a look my way.

"Uhh…wanna play Sticks?" I asked, shrugging my shoulders.

He rolled his eyes, but sat up anyway. "Of course." And he held out his two index fingers, prompting me to do the same.

He had piano fingers — pale, long, elegant piano fingers.

HA. I put those beautiful fingers to shame. I beat him three straight times!

"You're pretty good," he admitted grudgingly, making me beam in accomplishment. "You must take lessons or something."

I grinned widely and looked over to Noland as if to say,"hey, this kid's kinda funny!"

Noland just smiled and when I looked back at Bing, he was blushing a little. And then I was reminded of my seventh grade algebra teacher who put up this I'm So Strict So You Better Be Scared 'Cause I'm So Strict Yeah I'm So Strict front, but everyone could tell he was just a born comedian under all of that. Every time he let his funny side peek through, he would get so red and hand out a quiz for us or something.

"You should be a math teacher," I said, finally, before I even knew I opened my mouth.

Josiah stared at me, rolled his eyes, and went back to sleep.

Aw, tartar sauce.

. . .

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end chapter two

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ermm…hi guys? (-crawls under a rock-) i am soossosososososos sorry that i haven't updated since, well, last year. tehe. sorry for the almost two-month wait, hope you don't hate me—but i come bearing gifts! i've got character pictures up!

WHOO! yeah! only for josiah (BWAHA nobody guessed the name! ahhaa…but cookies for all who tried because wake of beauty (kid, you're cool) said so) and mack, but still. gimme some credit.

anyways i've been on a sort of ficpress-break ever since school started and i just — i don't know, it feels almost wrong to write now, because i always feel like i should be doing school-work or something. i know. what a loser. but seriously, i told myself that if i didn't get at least one chapter of this up before Christmas break was over, i'd—i never did finish the threat, but whatever. i go back to school on monday, so . . . eh. (WHO ASSIGNS A PROJECT OVER BREAK?! MY GOVERNMENT TEACHER, THAT'S WHO!)

hope you liked the chapter; i know it was sort of — i dunno, i'm juggling a lot of characters around so it's kind of tough right now.

ANYWAYS OMGEEZUMS HOW AWESOME ARE YOU GUYS?! To my reviewers: THANK YOU! omg i swear sometimes i just go back to re-read your reviews just to cheer myself up.

Trishcbury, xxmoonstarxx, InnocenceFallen, The-Ghost-of-Christmas-Goth, savvydarling, Tragic and Devastated, Venus Smurf1 (omg I know I already replied to you but your review was like the best thing EVER xD it always makes me feel awesome- YOU are awesome), . (doll! it feels like we haven't talked in ages! that's my fault though. whenever I try to send you a PM or something I just feel guilty because I haven't even reviewed all your stuff yet, and it's like I can't talk to you because I just feel bad / but…I can't not talk to you now xD I miss you kid and I read that e-mail you sent around during national friendship week, made me cry. you are the best friend a kid could have, ya know. and now this reply is long and you're making everyone jealous! -you strike a pose-) wake of beauty (here's another cookie! 'cause you love J names, too! xD)

erm.

love you all. sorry for the long a.n., once again.

-becky.

P.S. I was listening to Relient K the whole time I was writing this. Whoever can spot the evidence of this and tells me gets . . . umm! Something!