Caught Like a Fish

"Me and Angus are getting married mum," I tell mum causing her to spit out her orange juice over the morning paper, her gaze darting down to mine as I eye her calmly over my own juice, "we've talked about it, and we've thought it through; the reception will be at eight o'clock tomorrow morning beside the ice cream stand at the park."

Mum clears her throat and starts shaking juice off the paper, giving me a look that means she thinks I'm being 'silly' as she likes to call it. But I'm not. I'm not being silly; I'm a big girl, and I'm ready for this world, ready to face it with Angus with mum's approval, or not.

"Sweetheart are you sure about this? You are only seven years old; you have your whole life ahead of you, there are going to be a million other Angus' out there for you to marry." She tells me and then gets up to get a cloth.

I nearly roll my eyes. I can't believe parents, sometimes. I honestly don't think they know what they're talking about, and I'm talking about true love. That's what Angus and I have; I recognise the symptoms from mum's magazines.

He makes me laugh, and he has the common symptoms of boys in the youthful ages of five to about, I don't know, twelve maybe? He pulls my hair, he punches me in the shoulder and gets really, really mad when all his other boy friends even talk to me.

Grandmother says jealousy is one of the seven deadly sins, but really, where would we be without it? Boys are confusing enough as it is without not being able to tell he likes you by letting some other boy in class – poor Tommy Fields – pull your hair and having the guy you like throwing his crayon box at his face.

It was the most magical moment of our lives, and after he did it, our eyes met across the room like in another one of mum's magazines, and he turned really red and threw his friends crayon box at my head before storming over behind the book shelves.

We're meant to be, obviously.

"I'm sure mum, super sure," I say and wipe my mouth free of orange juice as mum comes back to the table and starts scrubbing at it, "we even set the time for eight so his mum can come because she has work and for the after-party we're going to eat ice-cream and feed the ducks and I really hope you come because money doesn't grow on trees and I can't use up Angus' savings of ten whole dollars on an ICE CREAM!"

"Okay honey, I'll come," she says, but she sounds a little freaked out. I reach across the table as far as I can and tap the spot near mum's hand, looking at her with sympathetic eyes.

"It's okay mum, I know how you feel," I say with a small little nod, "your little girl is growing up, and learning about that thing –"

"You know about that thing?" she nearly tips over what's left of her orange juice and looks at me, bewildered.

"Yes mum," I say with another little nod, smiling softly at her, "but me and Angus don't think we want children yet, and that whole thing sounds very confusing – we don't even know what half of the things it talks about means."

"Oh God," is all she says, biting her fingernails – a habit which is very bad, and which she tells me off for all the time. But I decide to let it slide, this time. She is processing big news after all. "I'm never leaving my magazines around again..."

"That's blasphemy mummy, Grandma won't be happy," I point out. I'm not exactly sure what blasphemy is, but Grandmother says it's when the lords name is used in vain, and I don't know what vain is. But I'm just going to assume it's whenever someone other than Grandmother says his name out of church. "Anyways, I have to go through your jewelery I need a ring."

"..."

I look across the fields, kicking a soccer ball around by myself and looking through my hair at Angus James, who's sitting around on the other side of the field laughing with his friends and kicking not a soccer ball – but a foot ball.

He's changed a lot from when we were seven, when we got married outside the ice cream stand and gave each other our very first kiss. It was only a peck and it lasted for less then a second before we made faces, wiped our mouths and went off to feed the ducks and eat our ice creams.

"Hey guys, look, I'm Mandy Monroe," he struts across the field, swaying his hips and pulling his sunglasses back over his eyes before pulling them down further and looking back so his friends see his eyes, "Oh my God, you did not just say that about my hair."

His friends burst into laughter and Mandy Monroe, who's sitting over on a bench with her friends, rolls her big baby blues at them and mutters something that makes all her friends nod in agreement and send him nasty looks.

I sigh and give my ball another big kick, looking away once more. No, actually, he hasn't changed at all – apart from the fact that he doesn't like me, not one little bit, and hasn't since grade five when he decided 'cool grown ups like him' couldn't hang out with 'dorky little girls like you, Olivia'.

Or so his friends told me.

I, of course, being a self-respecting girl, ran to him and punched him in the nose and then ran off. I'm not going to lie; I did cry a whole heap. I mean, I loved him as much as any ten-nearly-eleven year old girl could love a boy, and he broke my heart.

He never even apologised for it either.

"Hey, Olivia," he calls out for me and I nearly trip over the soccer ball when I look over to him instead of watching where I'm walking. I stare at him with a blank expression, eyeing him suspiciously. "Would you like to play?"

All his friends let out cat calls and he adds, looking at them with a slight smile before looking back to me expectantly, "I mean, football of course..." he looks to the soccer ball in front of my feet, "...or soccer if you want, we could play soccer, like old times."

I kick my soccer ball up and catch it with my hands. I clutch it to my chest, looking at him weirdly. I mean, he's had how many years to strike up a conversation and he decides to talk to me now? Forget it.

"No thanks," I say and drop my soccer ball onto my knee and bouncing it up back to my hands, feeling his gaze boring into me. I turn away from him and pick up my soccer ball, pulling a face when I obviously start to imagine foot steps towards me.

I turn my head a little to see Angus walking across the field to me, his friends watching him curiously, their brows furrowed and arms crossed. Angus as he's walking catches my eye, and offers a small smile, holding up a hand and mouthing wait.

I roll my eyes and turn back to him, taking a couple of steps back and leaning on a tree, eyebrows raised and lips pursed. His smile goes a little bigger, and his eyes a little shinier like when we have that substitute teacher he likes so much. Question is; why is he giving me that little look?

I shift my feet, looking down at the fallen leaves. It's autumn at St Anne high, and the rest of the country maybe – the leaves paint pretty pictures of oranges and reds, and I like autumn. I like autumn a lot.

"Pretty leaves, huh?" I look up from where I'm smiling at the leaves, and my smile drops because Angus is standing but a metre away, smiling at me like we hadn't parted in grade three – and like we were still friends.

"Yeah, pretty leaves," I look up at him, raising my eyebrows once more. I look to the sky and brush a hand through my hair, "and look, the sky is blue," I nod towards the field with a small, fake smile, "the grass is green. There's but one thing amiss in this boring old school yard, can you guess?"

I look at him pointedly, allowing my fake smile to drop as I look away once more. I hear him sigh, and run a hand through his hair – something he's always so fond of doing – before he utters one word; my name.

"Olive, please," he says, trying to appeal to me.

Or atleast, an abbreviation of my name. I look to him, sharply, and say with a tight smile, "What? What do you want Popeye?"

"Point taken. I won't call you Olive like I used to..." he says in what he obviously thinks is a soothing voice, stepping closer to me. I eye his feet and press my lips together, looking up at him and shaking my head, opening my mouth to speak – but he holds up a hand for me to stop.

I close my mouth and cross my arms, letting the soccer ball drop, waiting as he so wishes it.

"Okay, I know it's been a while," he says, his eyes not moving from mine as he says it, completely seriously, "but I just really want to talk."

I can't help but let my lips twitch up in mirth, "It's been a while?"

I look away again, sliding down the tree a little and picking at the bark with my hands in feigned boredom. I say feigned because I'm not really all that bored, in fact I'm not bored at all – I'm kind of scared.

"That is what I said..." he says before clearing his throat and crossing his arms over his chest, looking over his shoulders to his friends, and when they shrug, looking back to me. "Can you just look at me for more than a couple of seconds?"

Scared that he'll find out about the way I still feel about him.

"I'm looking," I say, impatiently, looking as I say it and tapping my arms, "and I'm also thinking; I'm hungry, so he better keep it short," I slide back up the tree and lean over to him slightly, "so keep it short."

I lean back and he smiles at me for some reason, digging around in his pockets and, looking nervous, pulling out an envelope and holding it towards me. When I just look at it, he shakes it a little and smiles a little harder.

"I was going to talk first, but please, look inside the envelope," he says and eyeing him warily I take it in my hand, turning it over and opening it up in my hands.

It has been kind of hard forgetting him, as he's kind of a lot interested in the same stuff I am, and has ironically ended up in most, if not all, of my classes throughout the years. I pull out of the envelope two movie tickets for Yes Man, and look up at him.

"Who's the lucky girl?" I want to know, automatically assuming they're not for me – because why, really, would he give them to me? He blinks at me and pulls the envelope out of my hands, turning it over and leaving the tickets in my hands, he taps on the front.

Olivia he's written.

"They're for you of course and I'll just go right out and ask – will you go out with me? Because I'd really, really like you to." He says, reaching out and putting the envelope back in my hands, and I take hold of it, wordlessly, staring at him like he's insane.

I can't believe it. He really just asked me out to the movies with him, after all these years, after the first year in year five – all I went through, sitting alone by myself, I'm still sitting alone by myself. All because of him.

I can never go to the movies with him. He hurt me, and he hasn't even said sorry, not then, not ever has he spoken one word of apology and right now – I just can't go with him. Even though my heart is beating, and my eyes are widening, and all of me feels like it's on fire because of how much I still want him –

But I can't.

"No," I shove the tickets and envelope back towards him, "no I don't want to go with you," you broke my heart, "I'm going with my friend Katherine sometime next week and we're going to have so much fun and we're going to laugh and eat popcorn and I don't think –" I swallow and shrug at him, " – I don't think it'd be fun to go with you."

I shove the tickets and envelope back in his hands. Picking up the soccer ball once more I start to walk off with it, eyes still wide, and heart still pounding. God, I wish all my feelings would all go away, instead; I still feel it.

Every time we've been assigned a project together, every time he's sat across from me on a table, every time we've played sport and are either against each other, or have to talk strategy with one another – every time we have to interact, it just keeps building more and more tension.

"Olivia, wait," he calls out for me, and after a pause he adds, "are you scared Olivia?"

I whip around and look at him, narrowing my eyes, lips twisted into a scowl. His face is kind of red and he blinks, before clearing his throat and continuing, "Are you scared that if you go out on a date with me you'll actually like it?" he wants to know, and then looks a little bewildered after saying it before crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows in question.

"No, because that would never happen." I say coldly ignoring his weirdness.

"Then meet me there on Saturday, 7:15, and we'll see about it." he says, challenging me and waving a ticket around before shoving them both back in his pocket. "I'll be the one buying the drinks and popcorn."

I press my lips together and narrow my eyes to slits, "and I'll be the one who won't be having fun at all." I turn around and storm across the field. He's not going to make a liar out of me; just you see. I'm going to have the most miserable time, and I'll make sure of it.

But right now I'm hungry. I'm going to go get something from the canteen. I walk past his friends, who are lounging around on a bench now, looking at me. One of them, the most annoying of them all – smiles at me.

"Why don't you two just do it already?" he asks with a little chuckle. "Just looking at you both gives me sexual tension."

I make a face at him, and shake my head before looking away. What a jerk. I can see how one's friends can reflect one's personality. In fact, I'm glad he did what I did in year five, who knows what people would think of me now if he didn't.

I stand at the front of the theatre, leaning on the walls and bouncing my bag off a knee, looking around and frowning; he's late. It's twenty past seven, and if he's any later I doubt we'll have time to get drinks and food before the movie starts.

I exhale in annoyance, bringing up my sleeve to look at my watch again, and then looking away impatiently.

"I-I'm so sorry I'm late," I look to the side to see Angus slowing from a jog, puffing and sweaty, "I know my sister was only six last time you saw her; but now she tends to take up quite a bit of time in the bathroom, with that darned straightener of hers."

He smiles at me and I shrug, "Okay, I guess that I can forgive, if you meet the following conditions," I add and send him a wicked grin, "I want a big bag of maltesers, large popcorn, large drink and after you have to take me out for ice cream."

He looks at me, opens his mouth, but then pauses, looking at me.

"...Ice cream?" he says a smile coming across his face and I blink, and realise the implications of the smile. The last time we had ice cream together it'd been at our 'wedding'. I look away and clutch my bag to my chest.

"Nevermind about the ice cream let's just –" I start to take it back but he holds up a hand, still smiling at me.

"No, I'll take you out for ice cream...I have no qualms about that, shall we go inside?" He wants to know and I shrug, swinging my bag over my shoulder and raising my eyebrows at him.

He looks at me and smiles, walking around me to open the door and stepping back from it, "Ladies first," he says looking over his shoulder.

I stare at him, "Chivalry's dead." I say, but I nonetheless go through the door ahead of him, and it closes behind me as he reaches forward. I look behind me as a hand touches my own, and then noting his extended arm, watch as his hand clasps around mine and tingles spread up my arm and down my spine.

"Date protocol," he says with a sigh as I look down at a hands, like it's some big drag for him, "I have to hold your hand."

I look back up and shrug. Let him hold my hand. Just let him. I can stand the tingles and the shivers, and the sudden eagerness to indulge in all my wildest fantasies – which trust me, aren't very wild. But they're wild for me.

I can stand it all. I know I can.

"If you want to hold my hand like a primary schooler on a zoo trip, so be it." I look away and he doesn't comment, only squeezing my hand and increasing my heart rate tenfold. I swallow and resist the urge to rip my hand from his. "Come on, hurry up, we're late enough already."

He looks down and eyes me sweetly, and squeezes my hand again, "Okay, well I'll go get us something to eat, and you go find our seats; here's your ticket."

He opens the hand his is around and places my ticket in it before closing my fingers around it and walking off, advising me as he does, "Go to the one on the left, thanks."

"Go to the one on the left, thanks." I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest as I storm round the corner past fake little trees and cream coloured walls, a scowl on my face. "Who does he think he is? Casanova?"

I turn the next corner, passing posters for past and upcoming movies, and walk into the theatre, looking around and wondering where to sit. I spot empty seats at my favourite place in the theatre; close enough so the screens right in your face, but far enough so that you don't have to look up to see it.

I smile and someone bumps into me from behind, spilling soft drink down the back of my shirt. I freeze, and my mouth twists in annoyance as I look up and spot Angus looking down at me, wide-eyed, "Sorry," he mutters and I roll my eyes at him.

"You're just lucky I didn't dress up," I tell him and walk forward towards my seats of choice, only to spot Mandy Monroe and her friends heading towards them, giggling to themselves. "Damn."

"You wanted those seats?" he wants to know and I shrug, about to say I don't really mind as I'm not going to be having much of a fun time anyway so I might as well have crappy seats – but he steps around me and hands me a bunch of popcorn and drinks, sticking my maltesers in his jumper pocket before heading over to them.

I blink, "Hey, come back, I don't really care –"

"Can we please have these seats?" he says, tapping Mandy on the shoulder. She looks up at him and rolls her eyes.

"Whatever," she says and motions to her friends, "come on girls," she looks behind him and raises her eyes up at me, smiling a little smugly, "it's Angus' lucky night and I don't want to spoil it for him. Have fun, you crazy kids."

She laughs into a hand and I'm glad for the lighting; my face is turning quite an interesting shade of pink at the moment, which has nothing to do with being caught on a date Angus. Nothing at all.

As she walks past me she nudges me with her elbow and giggles, going to a couple seats back instead, all her friends sending me looks as they follow after her.

I suck in my breath as Angus comes back and takes all the stuff in his own hands again, smiling, "Just my way of saying 'sorry I spilt soft drink down your nice top' he says," and pats my shoulders, "did I say it was really nice before?"

"It's not really nice," I tell him, spoiling the moods he's trying to create and, walking around him, sitting in the middle of the seats, hugging myself. I hear his chuckles and ignore him as he goes and sits by me, setting up our food around us. "It isn't."

"I think it's nice, with the black and white lace-y material, and the cap sleeves...I must be special if I'm cap sleeve material. I heard a rumour you keep the cap sleeves for special occasions." He says and takes a swig out of my drink, and when I snatch it off him he makes a face. "Hey, I was only having a sip –"

"That's my drink you're having a 'sip' out of," I remind him, and put the drink in the cup holder with a frown, taking a sip out of it myself for demonstration and then hugging my arms back around myself, "and now it has your icky germs all over it."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, so, so sorry, let me apologise," he says with a little bit of a laugh as the ads roll on in front of our eyes, telling about us about some upcoming movies, upcoming movies that do actually seem pretty cool – but one's I'm not paying much attention to, because he's getting on my nerves like I'm not supposed to let him.

"You just did." I remind him, narrowing my eyes to slits and he looks at me again and shrugs smiling, laughing to himself, leaning towards me, his face coming very close to mine – too close if you ask me.

"Well I'll say it again," he puffs out a my-soft-drink-smelling bit of air in my face, "I'm so sorry."

I lean back, away from him, and turning my head. "This is ridiculous, stop acting like such a child – look, the movie's starting." I point to the screen and shove my hand in the popcorn box, pushing popcorn in my mouth and making it so I can't reply to him if he says anything more.

"Oh look, the movies starting," he mocks me, shoving a handful of popcorn in his own mouth, but talking whilst chewing unlike myself, "and you know, it's a little rich of you to tell me I'm acting like a child, when you don't want my 'icky germs' all over your drink as you said."

The people behind us hiss for us to quiet. But Angus, true to his nature, doesn't even listen to them. "Come on, get angry, answer me, no matter how hard you ram that childish side down your throat it's just begging to come out," he says and then, still with popcorn in his mouth, reaches over and takes another big swig out of my drink, "come on, Olive, let it all out."

I eye him, my lips agape as he takes another huge, loud slurp out of my drink; the people behind us hissing even more, telling us to take our problems elsewhere. I turn my eyes resolutely to the screen, annoyed and thinking they're not my problems while muttering in a whisper, "Will you just grow up already?"

He keeps on slurping and I grit my teeth, my anger boiling, and boiling as the sound of his slurping grates on my nerves and everyone else's in the theatre.

"Ooh, grow up, ooh, she says, because she's so big and grown up just because she says she is, and look, I'm so great, I'm –" he says in a childish tone, mimicking something that sounds nothing like me but annoys me so much I turn my head, grab what's left of my drink and tip it over his head.

I breathe heavily, like I've run a mile, but really I'm just that annoyed, "God, what is wrong with you?" I want to know, getting up from my seat and bumping past his knees, sending everyone an apologetic look, a little embarrassed by his actions, but more angry than embarrassed. "Sorry, everyone, Angus obviously hasn't taken his meds."

I keep on walking and then walk down the isle, trying to ignore the now even more smug gaze coming from Mandy's direction, as she sucks quietly through her straw, winking at me and looking back to the screen.

I exhale, as if trying to let all the anger out of me; but it doesn't work.

I push through the doors and walk quickly down past the cream coloured walls for the second time that night, planning on getting myself out of there before Angus makes me go mental either with desire or annoyance.

But I'm too late.

Just as I'm rounding the corner I side glance to see Angus burst through the doors, Lift dripping from his hair and down his face as he stalks towards me, his expression a mixture of mirth and something else.

I stop walking and turn towards him, crossing my arms and eyeing him guardedly, waiting to see what he has to say for himself. He just laughs and walks right up to me, leaning down, his face centimetres from mine, hands on his hips.

"That felt good, didn't it? That 'childish' outburst?" he says with quotation marks.

"No, it didn't," I lie. Because it had felt kind of good, despite it's childishness. It had felt kind of really good. So does his closeness to me right now. "And I think I'm going to go home now, thanks for proving me right; I didn't like going out with you tonight."

I turn around and start walking towards the door, my heart beating so fast I'm afraid I'm going to have a coronary early in life because he's so close to me, and even more so when his hands whip out and grab hold of my wrists, pulling me back against him.

My breathe goes out in a whoosh and I nearly choke on my next words, quickly bursting out with a, "You let me go Angus Fitzgerald James," and squirming around, nearly fainting due to the exposure to the dissimilar molecules like Mia has problems with in the last princess diaries; it's obvious that's what's going on.

He's making me tingle in all kinds of places and I'm kind of not liking it, in the way that I don't like it because I'm liking it too much.

He lets me go, but only so when I whip around he can cup my cheeks with his hands, smiling daringly, "What's wrong? You're all...flustered..."

I step out of his hands, "Shut up, Angus," I chastise him, breathing in and out, counting to ten, big fat hen – trying everything, everything to get my heart rate back to normal, but it's not working. "Oh screw this."

I not so gently grab his face and bring his lips down on mine, kissing him. And I know; I know what you're thinking. I shouldn't have done that if I didn't like him, but I DO like him. In a completely chemical and physical and...non emotional way of course. I don't know what I was thinking –

Okay. I do. I do know what I was thinking at that time, I was thinking; I can see his jeans behind my jeans, and they're almost the same colours, and he likes my top, and he's flirting with me and even though he was being childish I completely want to grab his face and kiss him. So I acted on impulse and that's what ended up happening, and is happening.

Stupid, stupid me and my impulses.

He grabs me up in his arms and brings me up to a wall, kicking over one of the fake plastic trees as he does and pressing himself all against me so close I'm sure he can feel and hear how erratically my heart is beating.

Kissing him was a very bad idea. It doesn't ease me of anything going on inside of me; in fact it pretty makes it all worse then ever. My eyes are rolling back inside my closed lids, I can hear my heart pounding in my head, and all of my senses, my skin, everything, is on fire.

But the thing that snaps me out of my state, scaring me most of all, more than the heart pounding, and all the fire – is the fact I'm running out of breath, which pretty much means we're going to stop sometime soon, which means...I'll have to talk to him about this...this whatever has gone on between us.

And that scares the crap out of me. Because I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to say.

I have to literally drag my hands away from where they're implanted at the back of his head, knotted through his short light brown hair. I push my hands against his chest, shoving him away and landing on my feet, breathing pretty damn hard.

"You're the best kisser I've ever kissed," he says, breathing hard, arms loose at his sides as he looks at me with his lust-filled eyes, as well as some other emotion; one I really don't want to even think about identifying.

"Shut up, Angus," I choke on my words, and then I turn, and I run.

"No offence," Mandy Monroe says, raising her eyebrows up at me as I hold a sandwich to my chest, purposefully not looking backwards to Angus and his friends, heart pumping, "it's not like I don't like you, but you don't normally sit here – so why?"

"Um..." I look over my shoulder, catch Angus' narrowed eyes and look back, quick as I can to Mandy, "...no...reason. I just want to have some girl talk, you know, talk other than with my soccer talk."

"Okay," Mandy says and pats the table accommodatingly, all her friends smiling warmly at me. But as I'm about to sit down they all exchange glances and Mandy says, stressing some of her words, "Let's have some girl talk."

I smile bemusedly and unwrap my glad-wrapped sandwich, "I'm all for it," I confirm before biting into my salad sandwich and nearly spitting it out when she starts with the girl talk.

"Here's some girl talk for you; why are you avoiding Angus over there?" she says and watches with faint amusement when I start coughing over the top of my sandwich, cheeks flaring up red and shoulders hunching in defence mode.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I murmur and she rolls her eyes.

"Listen, you've been running away from him for how many years now? Soon it's all going to catch up to you, he's going to catch up to you – and he's not going to let you run away anymore, so buck up, stop being such a coward and get off my table and face the music."

I open my mouth, my heart making a protest – or maybe crying out and agreeing with her, I don't know, the thing's broken; obviously. But she just waves a hand in my face, like she's annoyed with me or something, which she probably is, "Get off right now, get off my table."

I open my mouth again but she looks at me in such a way that it makes me gulp; and so I get off and walk away, sacrificing myself to Angus' mercy. That comes in the form of a flying football, knocking me right on my butt.

I groan and hear his foot steps coming towards me, also hearing him pick up the ball and kick it back to his friends before his tan hands come in my vision and pull me to my feet. He stands me up, and I wobble around, holding a hand to my head, not sure whether my head is pounding more than my heart is.

"Sorry," he seems to say sincerely before asking the question he's been following me around all day to ask, and is finally getting his chance to while I'm disorientated, "why did you kiss me and run off?"

I look away and then I look back, defiantly, "Angus," I say coolly, "I'm attracted to you I'll give you that, but attraction is nothing. You broke my heart, loathe as I am to admit it, in year five, and I'm not sure whether to trust you with it ever again."

"Oh?" he says with a laugh, and holds up his arms in the air, "I'm so sorry about that – so sorry about something I didn't even do. My friends told you about my 'being too cool' and 'not wanting to hang around you' but did you ever stop to think, maybe, maybe I should listen to Angus first? See what he thinks before listening to his friends – which by the way, you didn't, and still don't even like?"

I open my mouth, a little bemused by the way of him talking about himself in the third person, and it actually hitting home, touching a nerve so to speak. But I don't admit it.

"W-what was I supposed to think?" I want to know, saying the only thing that comes to mind in my own defence. My heart is beating even faster now, and now my lips are quivering, trying to come up with something smarter, something that will put me in the right.

"That's just the thing; you didn't." he spits out, laughing again, just as humourlessly as before. "All you did was run, and run and so I decided you needed a little space, and then after a time I thought I'd given you too much space and then I just kept getting more nervous, and more nervous – I couldn't stand you looking at me and rejecting me the way that you did when you punched me in the nose."

But I can't come up with anything. Because there's nothing that can. Put me in the right, I mean, and I almost start weeping. But I owe him more than that. I stop my quivering lips and straighten my shoulders, preparing to take what comes to me.

"And after all these years I've finally been able to get over it and face it; because I want you more than that. So much so that I think I'll be able to stand it." He says a little more quietly, not laughing, and looking deadly serious for someone who's usually not so. "So are you going to run again, Olivia? Or are you going to answer me this; will. You. Go. Out. With. Me. Tonight?

He looks at me, and I look at him, flushing all over the place, heart flipping over in my chest, tinglies going all over my body. I speak, taking a nervous breathe, "Okay," I accept and nod my head, "I'd love to, really. For ice cream. You owe me ice cream."

My heart is beating really fast as I wait for his reaction; really it's like I think I'm the one that asked. But he doesn't answer, not in words, and as I eye him, blinking nervously, he gently cups my face in his hands and I step up on my tip toes, closing my eyes – and he kisses me, long and lingering, this time.

"You betcha," he says pulling his lips away just a little after a while, looking into my eyes and doing things to me without barely touching me, sending fluttery feelings all around my stomach with his gaze. I blush and he smiles, bringing me up into his arms and embracing me tightly. "You can't hide, and you can't run, Olivia; I caught you."

Finally I think with contentment, snuggling into his chest and inhaling his scent, finally indeed.

ooOoOoOoOoo

Hope you liked! I haven't read it over for another hundredth time. Can't be bothered. I think it's okay.

Didn't you just love Lily in that last episode? Chuck Bass can come save me from rape, anytime. I do think Blair shouldn't have done what she did, but hey – she felt bad for it. It's in her nature, and she did apologise. That teacher should have acted mature, even though Blair did what she did, she should have given her another chance.

Blair deserved that spot in the first place!

'Sides teachers' shouldn't be social with students. It's like a rule, unless they knew you before you taught and/or are a family friend. Shouldn't have agreed.

You know you love me,

Xoxo.