Alright, here it is! This is my first story for fictionpress (not my first story ever written, heh heh.) It's not very complex, but I mainly wanted to "test the water" with my first effort. The whole story will be four chapters long, and I apologize for the incredible longness of this chapter. The next chapter will be fairly shorter, I promise. So, hope you enjoy this story, and please, R & R! :D I'm always open to constructive criticism/praise.

Note: The following story is rated T (13+) for Mild Language and Minor Suggestive Content.

"Wow. You weren't lying when you said it looked like a dump."

"Ellen, wait!" Tom called after the teenage girl's retreating back. He hurried to go after her and managed to almost break his leg on a bag of dirty clothes in the doorway. A growl escaped his throat as he lifted the bag off the floor and moved it to the wall. Wasn't this his lucky day. It was almost nine o'clock at night, his dream girlfriend was walking around his pigsty of an apartment, and, to top it off he was starting to get a headache. Can this possibly get any worse?

He hurriedly gathered used clothes into his arms. He had begun to sweat from sheer anxiety outside in the hall, and now his forehead was beginning to drip. He wiped away the perspiration with his sleeve. "I want to see your apartment," Ellen had said. But he hadn't thought that she was actually serious about it. He let out an exasperated sigh. Of course she has to come over without any warning. Crap, the least she could've done was give me five measly minu—

"Hey, Tom."

Ellen's voice came from the living room. Tom ignored it and picked a dirty sock off the floor of the entrance hall. If you could call it that; it was really just a six-foot claustrophobic space that led into the rest of the apartment. Not much of a hall, really. He kept his eyes locked on the trash at his feet as he irritably replied, "What is it?"

"You didn't seem like that kind of guy to me."

Brushing her comment aside, his focus remained on the mess at his feet. A single stained white T-shirt was putting up quite a fight against his attempts to separate it from the carpet. Wondering if a piece of bubble gum had stuck it to the floor, he attempted to tug the shirt from its stubborn embrace. Then he realized what Ellen had said.

"What?!" He shot straight up and smacked his head on the ceiling. "Ow!" Rubbing his scalp, he staggered into the living room. "What are you talking…"

He trailed off as he caught sight of the living room. Not an inch of the carpet showed through the ocean of dirty clothes and used school supplies, aside from a small path on his right that led to the kitchen area . Crumbs and even half of an ancient sandwich decorated the white couch on the wall opposite him. He swallowed. "Crap, Ellen, I'm really sorry; I forgot how bad this place…"

His words trailed off as he saw her sitting on the coffee table, next to a tray of used coffee cups. She held something in her hands and was staring at it, a single eyebrow raised. "Really. You didn't seem like that kind of guy to me."

His head still throbbing, Tom struggled to clear a passageway through the rubble to the coffee table. "What are you talking about?"

She held up the object in her hands, a slight smile tugging at her lips. "Is this… yours?"

"What?" He studied the item for the first time. A magazine. Yeah, he had several magazines…

Crap. Not that magazine.

He snatched it from her hands, his face burning like an oven. "No! It's, uh, it's not… it's not mine…"

He frantically searched for a place to hide the magazine. Of all his Sports Illustrated issues, why did it have to be the swimsuit edition that he had left out this morning?

He stuffed the magazine underneath a haphazard stack of newspapers. His first reaction was to swear loudly. He stopped himself in time, though. Calm down, Tom. Just pretend it didn't happen. Play it cool.

He took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. His face's temperature returned to a tolerable level. He turned around and gave Ellen an apologetic look. "Listen, Ellen, I really was not expecting you, and it's so messy, especially since I just finished out school, and I really was going to clean it up this week, and well, you just caught me at a bad time."

She chuckled at his remark. Tom watched as she slid across the coffee table and landed flawlessly on the couch behind her. "Aw, come on, Tom. It's not that bad." She picked a dried crust off the couch cushion. "My brother's apartment is twice as bad as this. Of course, he does have a roommate…" She looked him in the eyes and grinned. "There are worse things than being a slob."

"I'm not a slob," he muttered as he set about herding the clothes towards the bathroom, his face still blushing. "I'm just not a very tidy person."

"Yeah, I can see that."

He blushed to an even deeper shade of red. The day had been fine until about thirty minutes ago. He and Ellen had finished their shift at the café and were heading home. As always, Tom offered to drive Ellen home. But no, she wanted to see his apartment. That set off Tom's internal alarm. He whipped out every excuse and discouragement he could think of, but still she wanted to come. Eventually he caved in. She was stubborn; much more stubborn than he was.

Yet he found her stubborn nature attractive. Of course, I find everything about her attractive. Over the past month, he had been steadily working up the courage to ask her out. But this wasn't what he had in mind at all. He was nineteen, she was eighteen; at that age you didn't ask a girl to come over to your apartment for a few minutes. In fact, did Ellen's parents even know that she was here?

He stopped his cleaning as a feeling of utter dread came over him. What if her parents didn't know about this? What would they say when they realized that their teenage daughter had been with an adult male in the same apartment room? Sure they were only a year apart, age-wise… But he was a college student with his own apartment, and she was a fresh high school graduate who still lived at home. Besides, he doubted that her parents even knew how old he was.

A cold chill crept down his spine as he recalled his ex-girlfriend's parents' reactions when he asked to take their daughter to the movie theaters alone. Ugh… I couldn't sleep for a week. And if Ellen's parents were half as strict as they had been…

He looked over at her. She was stretched out on the couch, combing through an older issue of Sports Illustrated. Tom gave a sigh of relief that she had found a normal magazine. But then his thoughts turned back to her parents. "Um… Ellen?"

She glanced up from the magazine. "Yeah?"

"Are you sure your parents are okay with this?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, it is almost nine o'clock. They might get worried."

"Oh, it's fine." She returned her gaze to the magazine. "My parents don't really care what I do these days. They're more worried about my younger sister anyway."

Tom's ears perked up as he scooped several pairs of gym shorts into his arms. Ellen had mentioned problems with her younger sister before, but her remarks hadn't been very detailed. "Oh really? What happened?"

"Well, my sis was always rebellious. She never really liked Mom and Dad much..." Ellen gave a soft sigh. "But then one day she came home with this big tattoo on her arm. Something with a heart and 'Forever Yours' written on it. Mom and Dad aren't exactly tattooist fans. They go on a rant about how she went behind their backs, and then she started screaming some pretty bad things back at them. It was a mess. Now I'm afraid she'll do something stupid and end up in some bad situation. I could see her doing something like that, just to get back at Mom and Dad."

"Wow." Tom paused and thought of his adorable, smiling eight-year-old sister. Could she turn out like that? He made a mental note to talk to his parents about it when he went to visit them next week.

"Yeah, she's a real handful." Ellen ran a hand through her brown hair. "I just... I hope she turns it around soon. She needs to get her act together."

Ellen fell silent. Tom watched as she flipped through the magazine, pausing every now and then to scan one of the pages. He stared at her, transfixed by the movement of her slender hands. Man, she's really cute. He rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe I should... tell her that? Would that make her happy? He almost slapped himself on the forehead. Tom, you idiot. What kind of conversation starter is that? "Hey, you're cute." That would be so stupid. Maybe for once you should treat her as a normal human being instead of the cutest girl at work.

But he couldn't help it. He had been watching Ellen ever since she started working at the café back in January. Sometimes he couldn't even take his eyes off her. But he still had trouble talking to her. It wasn't fair that he always looked like a fool in front of her. He wanted to be someone she could go out with, someone she could possibly date. But instead he acted like a buffoon and made an idiot out of himself whenever she was nearby. And now she had seen his pigsty of an apartment. Man, what does she think of me now?

But, he reminded himself, she is really cute. And she's nice. Not like Sara… He gave a slight shudder at the thought of his ex-girlfriend. I mean, she's polite. That's great. She even makes the café uniform look good. He put a hand to his chin. Or maybe the uniform makes her look good? He glanced over at Ellen again. She was still wearing the green shirt and black pants that the café gave all of its employees. Too bad she's not wearing the apron still, huh? He winced and closed his eyes. Gah, why do I always think like such an old man?

But... He opened his eyes again and stared at her. She is cute. That's a fact. He nodded, grinning. And it's okay even if she is a little flat-chested, right? It makes her face all the more attractive!

He spun around and slapped the wall as hard as he could. How the heck could he think like that? That was so… Sheesh! She doesn't deserve to go out with a guy like me?

"What's wrong?"

Tom composed himself and then turned back around. Ellen stared at him from the couch, her brow furrowed. He shrugged. "It's nothing. Just a fly on the wall."

"I don't think even a fly could survive in this mess." She rose to her feet. Tom felt himself blush a bit as she yawned and stretched. "Is your room like this too?"

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his head. "Nah, it's not as bad. I spend less time in there than in here. Which is probably why it's cleaner, huh?"

He realized that she had already waded over to his bedroom door. A sharp bout of panic seized his mind. Crap, she can't go into my room. He leapt over the filthy floor and inserted himself between her and the door. "No! You can't go in there."

She raised both eyebrows this time. "What? You have more swimsuit editions in there or something?"

His face burned. "That magazine is not mine." Well, it was the half-truth. His father had given him a Sports Illustrated prescription as a birthday present. Tom had just forgotten to call his dad and tell him to cancel the swimsuit edition. At least, that's what he hoped happened.

Searching for something to distract her, he pointed over at the kitchen. "Hey, um, do you want something to drink? Or to eat? I can get you a snack, if you want."

She folded her arms across her chest. "I'll take a glass of water, please. And a trip into your bedroom."

"I..." He struggled for words. I don't want her in my room... but am I being too modest? He held up his hand. "Well... I... I'll think about it. Maybe I should go in there and clean up some first, before you go in."

She cocked her head to the side. "I thought you said it wasn't as bad as the living room."

"It doesn't take much to be better than that, does it?" he replied, attempting to sidestep her question. He nodded at the kitchen. "Come on, grab a seat. I'll get you some water."

"All right."

He slid past her over to the tiled floor of the kitchen. After clearing this morning's breakfast (a half-eaten pop tart) off his square wooden table, he offered her one of the two empty chairs. She took it and then, after shifting a bit to get comfortable, leaned her elbows on the table. "Man. I am pooped."

He dumped the pop tart in the trash can. "Yeah, work was tough today," he replied, placing the dirty plate on the counter next to the sink. A quick glance at the various dishes and cups stacked under the kitchen faucet caused him to wince. Man, I really need to do some dishes. He'd have to get those done once she left.

He moved over to one of the two large upper cabinets in the kitchen area. It was a simple, practical space, consisting of a brown wooden countertop and matching, hanging cabinets. A square black microwave sat on the countertop opposite the cabinets, neighboring an empty salt shaker and a full can of pepper. The cabinets themselves hung down from the ceiling over the counter, separating the kitchen from the living room. Beside the counter rested his refrigerator and connected fridge, a graduation present from his mom. I would have preferred money, really, but they are pretty useful. He gazed up at the pantry. Now, what was I getting? Oh yeah. Water.

The pantry door slid open with a loud creak. Tom surveyed the available cups and grimaced. Only his niece's sippy cup occupied the bottom shelf, while the middle space sat empty. He scratched his head. Speaking of that sippy cup… why did he even still have that? His brother's last visit had been in December. I should bring that back to Mom and Dad's.

Hope came to him as his gaze moved to the very top of the cabinet. His tall, nice glasses were all clean. He put one hand on the smooth countertop and rose up to his tippy-toes to reach the top shelf. With his right hand he hooked a couple of fingers inside two of the glasses. As he carefully lowered them down, he remembered another question he wanted to ask Ellen. "Hey, Ellen."

"Yeah?"

He set the glasses on the counter and then looked at her. She had leaned her head over the table, apparently engrossed in a jelly stain on the placemat in front of her. Considering the circumstances, there probably wouldn't be a better time to ask her his question. I don't think she'll get too mad… right? I'll just ask it lightly. Yeah. That way she won't think it's something it isn't.

He cleared his throat. "Um… I was wondering… Do you have a boyfriend?" He tried to pose the question as if it were small talk, rubbing the back of his neck as he did.

Her head shot up. "Eh?" She leaned back in her chair and then turned to look at him, both eyebrows raised. "Who wants to know?"

He continued to rub the back of his neck. His face began to burn. Is it just me, or do girls always respond that way to that question? "Well, I was just wondering; I mean, I haven't seen you with anyone ever, but since the only time I really see you is at work…"

A smile began to spread over her features. Tom swallowed. He knew that smile. Crap. She's taking this the wrong way.

Her eyebrows went even higher until they became in danger of disappearing under her hair. "Are you… asking me out?"

"What?! No!" Tom fell back toward the counter. He managed to catch himself before he went too far. His legs were having trouble holding him up. She's definitely taking this the wrong way! "That's not what I'm asking at all!"

"Oh…" Her eyes drooped and her smile vanished, replaced by a frown. "So you don't want to ask me out?"

"No! Of course not!" he blurted out before he could stop himself. As soon as he said the words he spun around and slammed his head into the countertop. "Gah. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. That was actually kind of cute."

He raised his head, ignoring the bruise forming on his forehead, and looked back at her. She was smiling wider than he had ever seen her before. He swallowed and tugged at his shirt's neck. Did someone turn off the AC? "Ellen, um, maybe you should go. I think I made a big enough fool out of myself already."

Her smile reverted back to a frown. "But I wanted some water…"

He sighed. "Fine. I'll get you some water." He grabbed the glass and clutched it so hard that he could've sworn he heard a crack. Ignoring the rising temperature of his face, he placed the glass underneath the faucet and then pushed the faucet handle to the right. As cold water poured into the glass, he realized that Ellen had never answered his question. Well, I can't make myself look like a bigger fool. He composed himself by taking a deep breath. "So… is it a yes or a no?"

"To what?"

"Don't play dumb with me." He switched the faucet off and then set the glass on the counter. "Do you have a boyfriend or don't you?"

"Oh, that." She let out a soft laugh, causing him to grimace. "No, I don't have a boyfriend." He heard her sigh. "I'm sorry about… embarrassing you like that. From now on I'll just answer the questions you ask me."

"Thank you," he replied with relief. He picked up the glass and turned around. Once he had caught her eye again, he nodded at the freezer. "Do you want ice?"

She smiled. "I am free on Saturday night, though, in case you were wondering." She had ignored his question entirely.

"Ellen…" He almost stated that he would love to go out on Saturday but stopped himself in the nick of time. Trying to keep his eyes away from her, he distracted himself by kneeling down and opening up the freezer. "Listen, you took that question the wrong way. I wasn't trying to ask you out."

"But you said you wanted to ask me out."

"No, I said I didn't not want to ask you out." He paused, two ice cubes melting in his hand. "That came out wrong."

"Yeah, I think it did. And are you really going to give me those ice cubes? After you've already touched them? I think that qualifies in some countries as a sign of matrimony."

"Oh, shut up." He dropped the ice cubes in her glass and then slammed the freezer door shut. "Why do you always have to talk like that?"

"Because you're so paranoid. You always act like any contact between us will be an unholy offense to God. Like when I asked to come here."

He almost shot up for the second time tonight, but remembering the bump of his noggin, he decided to rise a little more slowly this time. "I was not overreacting. I'm nineteen, you're eighteen, it's night; I just—"

"So you don't trust yourself?"

He turned to her. "It's not that," he replied as he handed her the glass of water. "I just…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't think I'm mature enough for this."

She sipped at the water, shrugging. "Well, I think you are."

His ears perked up. "You do?"

"Yeah." She rested the glass of water on the table and then leaned back again. "I mean, compared to the other guys at work, you're like a saint."

A saint... Recalling his earlier train of thought, he shook his head. "No, I'm not…"

"You are." She looked him in the eyes. "Sure, you're human. And yeah, I noticed you staring earlier."

He blushed. "Um, well, I was just…"

"You don't have to make excuses." She looked away, a frown playing on her lips. "I'm used to it. You're not as bad as some of the guys at school."

School… Tom had heard Ellen mention school before, though only in passing. Her remarks about the place had never been very positive. Intrigued, he moved over to the free chair and plopped down. "Why, what do they do at your school?"

She rested her chin on her elbow, avoiding his eyes as she did. "It's nothing. They're just… jerks. Not like it matters anyway, right?" she added with a humorless laugh. "I'll be going to college this fall. But still… They just…" Her body tensed. "Sometimes they just creep me out."

"Guys can be like that sometimes." He placed his right hand on the table, palm up. "Well, actually, most of the time. I mean, it's hard, you know?"

She frowned, still looking away from him. "No. Not really."

He stared at the lamp on the ceiling, searching for the right words. Come on, Tom, think! You could really impress her right now. Just don't screw up… He held up his left hand as an idea came to mind. "Um, well… You like guys, right?"

At last she stopped staring at the wall and moved his gaze to him. "Yeah, I guess."

"Well…" He rubbed the back of his neck. The thought had sounded great when it first popped into his head, but now he was starting to lose faith. "Guys are more aggressive that girls, right? Normally," he added hurriedly, hoping that she didn't see him as some kind of male chauvinist. "I mean, yeah, girls can be tough, but guys are usually more over-the-top and aggressive, right? Well, I think that when it comes to their feelings, guys have trouble expressing themselves. I know I do. So, you know, instead of just talking like girls might, they express themselves in different ways. Not always the right ways… But it's the only way they know how to express themselves."

He paused a moment to take a deep breath, and then he continued. "Guys are more action-oriented than girls. They use actions to speak for themselves instead of words. So, when a guy does something really stupid, like… um… whistle while you walk by, or, um, poke you in places he probably shouldn't…" He cleared his throat. This wasn't going where he wanted it to. "When they do things like that, they're not really intending to act like that. It's just the only way they know how to express their feelings. People have different ways of expressing their feelings. Like how when some people get angry, they hit things, while others might start yelling, and then there are those that just sit and pout. Girls talk a lot, right? It helps give them an outlet for their feelings. But guys… they don't talk as much. So they don't have that outlet."

"Hmmm…" She returned to staring at the wall. "I guess that makes sense."

"Yeah." He scratched his head, searching for more words. He seemed to be losing her interest. "I know it sounds like I'm making excuses, and I guess I am. But I think that what guys really need is a girl that will listen to what they have to say. Guys need another outlet to let out their feelings. They just don't usually get that outlet."

She glanced at him, her eyebrows raised. "Did you just make that up?"

"Well…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, mostly."

"That's… interesting." She wrapped her fingers around her water glass and nodded. "I think that makes sense. So, you think that if guys had another outlet for their emotions, they wouldn't act like pigs half the time?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I think so. It sounds a little stupid, I know…"

"Hmmm." She slurped down another sip of water and then set the glass back down. "Makes sense to me."

"Really?" He controlled his urge to pump his fist. He might have actually done it! He might have actually sounded smart while in front of her! And he hadn't even said it like an idiot, either!

She nodded again. "Yeah, I agree with that. So…" She looked him in the eyes. "Do you need an outlet?"

He fought against the enormous urge to blush as he stared back at her. "Well… maybe…"

"Well…" She broke eye contact and looked down at the table. "I could be an outlet for you, if you wanted that."

"I… um, I…" Butterflies fluttered around his stomach. He swallowed. "I don't know if I could… um…"

He realized that her hand was slowly sliding across the table. His own hand had stayed on the table all the time that he had talked. His first instinct was to withdraw his hand, but he kept it on the table, transfixed by the movement of her hand towards his. He quickly glanced up at her. She was staring at his hand, a neutral expression on her face. "You know, if you want to talk, I would listen to you." She looked up at him, her face still expressionless. He hurriedly glanced back down to avoid her eyes."If you wanted to, that is. I don't want to… push anything on you, you know."

He nodded, gazing at her cleanly-cut, unpainted fingernails as they neared his open palm. "Uh-huh."

"I mean… I haven't had many conversations with guys before. Maybe you could teach me a few things." Her fingertips were brushing his thumb now. "Maybe help me out some, you know?"

He swallowed a second time. A strange feeling spread down from his chest to his toes as her hand slowly covered his. The feeling was odd; it was like he was floating three feet above the ground, or he had just won some important game, or he was floating in an ocean without any water.

He liked the feeling.

Her hand now completely covered his. He stared at her tiny knuckles as she squeezed his hand. Sweat had started to form on his forehead again, but he didn't bother to wipe it away.

"So… is there something you want to talk about?"

He gradually raised his gaze from her hand to her face. She was staring at him now, a soft smile on his lips. He stared back, lost for words. Come on, Tom, do it. Ask her. It's no coincidence that she came to your apartment tonight. You were meant to ask her.

He blinked and rubbed the back of his neck. "Ellen, I was… I was wondering… Would you…"

He composed himself. He had to ask her outright, here and now. This was the perfect opportunity. He had to seize it. "Ellen, will you—"

Then the lights went out, and they were plunged into total darkness.