The Intricacies of a Valentines Mission

Author: Quinette

Summary: Sawyer Clancy is clueless, awkward, and more concerned with getting headshots on COD than putting the moves on me, his one and only girlfriend. But it was Valentines Day and I'll be damned if I don't get my first kiss by sundown.

Part One: Cadee -

I was a girl on a mission; status: badass; James Bond without the manly-parts—the whole enchilada.

And my mission? Sawyer Clancy. Or, more specifically, his lips. God, those luscious, sinful lips. It's such a shame they've never been put to good use before, but a little routine smooching should whip them into shape. Too bad Sawyer's so uncooperative. Sometimes, I get confused as to who's actually in the relationship: me and Sawyer, or Sawyer and his PS3.

He's attached to the damn thing. I swear, if PS3s were given human forms, I would be back to square one: pining my life away, blissfully unaware of all the better, more reality-based guys. Unlike Sawyer, who practically lives in his little cyber-world filled with gaming tags and AK-47s.

It's sad, isn't it? That I'm in love with a guy whose interests lies in snipers and bombs. If anything, I should be a little weary of Sawyer. But unfortunately, I'm not, and consequently, my trouble begins.

The problem: Sawyer Clancy is more concerned with getting headshots on COD than putting the moves on me, his one and only girlfriend. It was a fact that I was well aware of when I entered the relationship. But I figured he would grow out of it. He would mature.

But that was three months ago.

This is now.

And the 'now' in 'right now' predicts a future of purity And not the virgin kind of purity either. I'm talking the kissing-purity, the hand-holding purity, the goddamned 'I like you, too' purity.

Opportunities came and went and not once did Sawyer seize the chance to rid me of these purities.

He couldn't even oblige me when I marched up to him one day after school and declared loudly, "I like you. Please go out with me."

Instead of the four simple words, he just merely nodded.

And not even the bashful kind of nod, either. It was the kind of nod you gave when someone asked you to do something you didn't want to do but you nodded anyway because it was the polite thing to do. That kind of nod.

Our relationship is rather lousy.

But I don't have the heart to let him go.

And if my first kiss isn't going to come naturally, then I'm going to have to resort to desperate measures to obtain what I want.

7:05 AM

The hallways of Claymore High School are littered with couples. Not that I'm surprised. It's Valentines Day, after all.

I scan the masses for Sawyer, who shouldn't be hard to spot considering he's tall, blonde and gorgeous. Plus, I've developed a sort of built-in radar when it comes to Sawyer's whereabouts (which, now that I think about it, is usually limited to school, his house, and Game Stop; pathetic right?)

In a matter of minutes, I spot Sawyer Clancy.

He is standing beside Emily's locker, of which the owner is giggling frivolously to his right.

Let me get one thing straight: I abhor Emily Straightener. She's Sawyer's childhood best friend, or something along those lines. And while I'm forever stuck in the neutral zone with Sawyer, Emily is lavished in his smiles and hugs. She's super pretty, too, which makes me hate her even more. Long brown hair, big green eyes, and a small, petite stature. And by petite, I mean she's short as fuck. "Barely 5'1," I remember Sawyer saying. I never comment when he talks about Emily, even when he asks me a question. I had hoped that he would take a hint and drop the subject, but he never does. Sawyer's kind of dumb like that.

In any case, I approach the two smiling but, at the same time, repressing a frown. (I probably look challenged.) Emily is the first to spot me and she gives me a wave.

"Hey Cadee, you look pretty today."

I assume she's being sarcastic, partly because I'm biased and want her to be a bitch. Plus no one looks good in jeans and a sweatshirt.

Well, unless their name is Emily Straightener.

Whore.

"Thank you," I say flatly before looking up at Sawyer. In contrast to Emily, he's a towering giant. I barely reach his shoulder blades.

"So do you know what today is?" I ask Sawyer brightly.

A confused expression crosses his face. "Monday?" he guesses.

I feel the oncoming need to punch him.

Emily interjects with a dramatic sigh, "No, you boob, it's Valentines Day."

Why are you still here? I ask Emily mentally. She doesn't seem to receive my message if her continuous presence beside Sawyer is any indication.

Ignoring her, I ask, "So what do you want to do today?"

A small part of me hopes the words "make out" escapes his lips, but reality comes crashing down when he replies with an indifferent, "I think my mom's making meatloaf tonight. Do you want to come over?"

My only thought: Fuck. My. Life.

12:15 PM

"Meatloaf?" Vanessa repeats incredulously. "Sawyer's idea of a date on Valentines Day is inviting you over for meatloaf?"

We're sitting in a booth on the secluded side of the lunch room.

"And not only that," I cry, "he invited Emily over, too!"

"You mean the midget dwarf in our English class?"

I nod dejectedly, sighing.

"Woah! Hoe alert! Did she say yes?"

"She said no, thank God. But seriously, meatloaf?"

Vanessa snorts, spearing a mushroom with her fork. "I told you this kind of thing would happen if you started dating Sawyer."

"Yeah, yeah," I quip half-heartedly, rolling my eyes. "I should listen to you more often."

"Damn straight."

If there's one thing you needed to know about Vanessa Gorbani, it is that she's one hundred percent a bitch. She tells it like it is and doesn't hold back.

Vanessa's also a lot prettier than me, with sleek, black hair and an olive complexion. She's half Asian, so she's got her mother's almond-shaped eyes. She's gorgeous, and she knows it. This, in turn, explains why she's Public Enemy Number One to the majority of Claymore's female population—partly because she's a bitch, but mostly because she's probably slept with their boyfriend at one point in time. Vanessa's a super slut, not that I mind. I love her regardless because she always has my back.

For example, in the second grade, when Carl Fisher knocked down my sandcastle one day at recess. Vanessa stomped up to him, kicked him in the nuts, and then pulled on his hair until he apologized.

We've been best friends ever since.

"So how exactly are you going to get Mr. Oblivious to kiss you tonight?" Vanessa asks curiously, raising an eyebrow.

I groan, leaning back in my seat. "I don't even know, okay? I had been hoping he'd invite me to some place romantic, you know? Like a restaurant or the carnival."

"If he hasn't asked you out in the three months you've been dating, then he obviously isn't going to do so now."

"That's not true," I reply hotly. "We've been on plenty of dates!"

Vanessa looks at me skeptically. "Sweetheart, going over to his house after school and watching him play video games does not constitute as a date. It constitutes as a reason to dump his ass and become a whore, like me."

"I'd rather not."

"Fine," she smirks. "Suit yourself. But while I'm getting loads of action tonight, I hope you'll have fun eating meatloaf and hanging out with his kid sister, Shelly, because we all know what Sawyer's going to be doing for the rest of the night."

Call of Duty was the unspoken answer.

2:35 PM

Algebra 2 is my last class of the day and one of the only classes I share with Sawyer. In fact, the only reason I'm passing the damn course is because Sawyer helps me study and lets me copy his homework from time to time. Another thing that really bugs me about my boyfriend is how perfect he is in just about everything. For someone who never studies, he gets in As in all his subjects.

It annoys me to no end, but at least he's volunteers to tutor me. In fact, our longest conversations occur during tutoring sessions. It's the one time of day when Sawyer's focused solely on me and not his PS3.

Sometimes, when we lapse into a silence because I'm working on a problem, Sawyer will start telling me about his day, something someone said to him, or something that he loves. He'll just go on and on, never noticing when I stop working on my problem because I'm too focused on his voice.

I honestly love the sound of his voice.

I learn a lot about Sawyer during these talks. That's how I know he hates the smell of onions, or how his favorite color's blue, or how he wants to be a doctor, or how he loves the sound of my laugh.

I remember that particular monologue of his. It happened on a Saturday, a few weeks after I confessed to him.

We had been in my bedroom for a tutoring session. Sawyer had been laying on top my bed, tracing the pattern of stars I had drawn on my ceiling. I was a few feet away, trying to finish up a worksheet before we went out to lunch. There was a silence between us before Sawyer started talking.

"I was telling Grady a joke today, and it was a pretty crappy one, too. But Genevieve (this bitch that's always flirting with him but has never come close to succeeding) just butted in and started laughing as if it were the funniest thing she's heard all day. I really hate Genevieve's laugh. It's really high-pitched and annoying. I like your laugh, though, Cadee. It's really kind of pretty and reminds me of—"

At this point, I've already dropped my pencil and have swiveled around in my chair to face him.

I never got to know what my laugh reminded him of because Sawyer stopped mid-sentence abruptly, as if acutely aware of what he had just said without thinking. There was a light blush on his cheek.

I opened my mouth to comment, but Sawyer cut me off. "Are you done with those problems? I'm really hungry right now."

And that was the end of that.

5:57 PM

As it turns out, Mr. and Mrs. Clancy are going out for a special Valentines Day dinner tonight while Shelly is over at Mrs. Rodger's house next door. So basically, it was me and Sawyer alone in a house, with no one else but us; where anything could happen, but probably won't because Sawyer Clancy is lacking balls and therefore refuses to kiss me.

We ended up ordering 5 boxes of pizza while I crashed on the couch. Sawyer started up his PS3 because apparently, a few of his friends had nothing better to do than to come over to his house and play COD. But I wasn't mad at them. I was mad at Sawyer, who did have a girlfriend to spend Valentines with but chose not to anyway.

Sawyer makes the dating gods yell blasphemy.

He is currently decked out in blue pajama bottoms—completely unromantic. I, on the other hand, have dressed up: a cardigan atop a pink, floral dress. I had blown nearly 150 dollars on the outfit but I had figured it was worth it as long as Sawyer thought I was pretty.

My ignorant boyfriend did not spare me a glance.

His friends arrive around the same time the pizza does. Unfortunately, so does Emily. If Vanessa was present, she would have commented with a less than polite, "Whore." But seeing as how she was off having sex, no one dares to point out the obvious: the fact that Emily is dressed like a slut. It is -10 degrees outside and she's dressed in jean shorts and a tank top.

I feel a moment of confusion because, despite my bias, I know for a fact that Emily is a very modest girl. Although she dresses to impress, she always stays classy. So why did she decide today of all days to show up on Sawyer's doorstep, looking like a hoe?

It is clear to me now—Emily Straightener is after my man. But while I see a man-stealing bitch, Sawyer and his friends see lean legs and a pair of honking Double Ds.

I look down at my modest B cup and frown.

"Hey Emily," Sawyer greets, resting his hand against the small of Emily's back as he leads her to the living room. She beams up at him as if she's his girlfriend and not me.

It's not as if she's invalid, I think viciously to myself. She knows perfectly well where the living room is.

But I don't comment because I'm not Vanessa and know better than to start a scene.

The living room is crowded with boys and the smell of pizza is in the air. I grab a slice and shove half of it in my mouth, not caring what anyone thinks because I'm hungry as fuck and eat when I'm depressed. Emily sits down next to me, biting daintily into her pizza and allowing Sawyer a clear view of the distinction between us.

God, I hate this bitch.

Sawyer's friend, Grady, is present. He's rather handsome, but painfully awkward—especially around girls. But I like him. He's nice. Then there's Kumar, who is an asshole. And last but not least, there's Daisuke, who I don't know very well but Vanessa described as "hot and great in bed." I had to agree, at least with the first part. He is really good looking: dark, spiked hair and a dimpled grin.

Grady gives me a sympathetic smile, glancing between me, Sawyer, and Emily as an indication that he knew the source of my depressive eating. I give him an exaggerated pout and he laughs heartily. Sawyer glances over at the two of us curiously.

"You look hot," Kumar says, referring to Emily. He looks at me briefly but deigns not to comment. He doesn't dare to outright insult me in front of Sawyer (not that my boyfriend would say anything) so this is his passive-aggressive way of doing so. I roll my eyes and discreetly flick him off. Daisuke catches this action and gives me a grin. I like him immediately.

"Thanks Kumar." Emily flips her hair over her shoulder, turning toward Sawyer. She bats her big green eyes at him and asks, in a sugar-sweet voice, "Sawyer, can you teach me how to play?" to which my dumbass boyfriend responds, "Yes."

My frown deepens.

"I want to learn, too," I mumble pathetically.

Sawyer doesn't hear me, but Daisuke does.

"Come here," he instructs, patting the carpet to his right. Embarrassedly, I do as he says, finding myself sandwiched between him and Grady, who scoots over peaceably to give me some room.

Daisuke hands me the controller. "X is to jump, square is to reload, R1 is to shoot, L1 is to aim, and the left joystick is to move. Got it? Cool. The game's starting now." He gives me a hearty slap on the back. "Good luck, Cadee."

Twenty minutes later, my kill to death ratio is 1:25.

Perfect Emily was 12:3.

"Go easy on me," I whine as Grady headshots me once again. I slap him playfully on the arm.

"No, you newb. It's your fault for sucking."

"Yeah," Daisuke chimes. "We gave you a goddamned grenade launcher and you still fail epicly."

"That's not true! I killed Kumar that one time, remember?"

From the couch, Kumar retorts, "That's 'cause I was using the damn bathroom and no one was playing for me."

"Details," I dismiss.

Next to Kumar on the couch, I can hear Sawyer comment, "Emily, you're pretty good at this game. Are you sure you've never played before?"

The bitch teeters bitchily. "Stop lying. I suck."

She's fishing for compliments and Sawyer obliges her. "No, you're really good. You might even be able to get a kill off of me."

Irately, I mimic him under my breath. Daisuke and Grady burst out into laughter.

I can sense Emily's glare boring into the back of my head. "What's so funny you guys?"

I don't reply, but Daisuke covers for me. "Cadee just really sucks, is all," he says, giving me a wink. He ruffles my dark brown hair, messing it up. I slap his hand away childishly.

"I'm thirsty," I declare, handing Daisuke the controller.

"I want five cans of Sprite," Kumar demands bossily. No 'please', no 'thank you'.

"Why do you need five cans of goddamned Sprite?" I ask testily.

"I'm thirsty, too."

Grady asks politely for a Coke.

Daisuke stands. "I'll help you with the drinks."

"No, it's fine. I'll do it," Sawyer interjects. I look at him with wide, doe-eyes, completely surprised but happy nonetheless.

I give him a smile and reply, "Thanks."

Emily looks nonplussed and a touch annoyed at the sudden turn of events, but says nothing, watching as Sawyer leads me into the kitchen.

"I'll grab the Sprites," Sawyer says, heading for the fridge. "The Coke is in the cupboard over there, on the very top shelf."

I didn't stop to think that maybe I was too short to reach the Coke.

Stretch and jump and extend as I might, I just couldn't reach. I hear Sawyer chuckle in the background and turn around to face him with a pout.

"Shut up. I'm short."

He chuckles again.

"At least help me!" I cry.

And that's when it happens.

Deliberately, slowly, he presses himself against me until my face is smothered lightly by his chest. He smells of vanilla and aftershave and I practically melt. He grabs hold of the Coke with no effort at all, took a step back, and surveys my face. I am blushing beet-red, my heart pounding at a mile a minute. I cannot look him in the eye. I cannot string together a sentence to speak. I cannot even form a single, coherent thought.

Sawyer Clancy is short-circuiting my brain.

"Cadee," he asks, concerned, "are you okay?"

I shake my head, refusing to meet his steady gaze. Eventually, I manage to sputter out a, "No, I'm fine."

I half-expect him to shrug if off and head back to the living room, but surprisingly he doesn't. So instead (of leaving), he stays put in the kitchen, continuing to stare at me with an indiscernible expression.

"I think Daisuke likes you," he comments off-handedly, setting down the five cans of Sprite on the counter behind him. Once again, I am surprised. Sawyer hates conversation, at least the ones with me, and goes out of his way to avoid initiating it.

"N-no," I stutter eloquently. "He's just being nice."

Deep breaths, Cadee. Deep breaths.

But it does nothing to help.

I can still feel Sawyer's chest against my cheek and the quiet warmth he exuded. I can still smell the vanilla and the aftershave, mixed together to form a scent that can only be described as Sawyer Clancy. I can still hear the steady beating of his heart, contrasting greatly to the wild pounding of my own. I remember everything and anything and yet forget how to breathe.

It is silent for a minute before Sawyer steps closer, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. I am blushing at the contact. "Why won't you look at me?"

I think back to my mission—my mission to kiss him. I think it's too soon, twenty years too soon. If standing this close to him sends my body into frenzy, perhaps it's not medically safe for me to kiss him just yet.

His eyes—his deep brown eyes. I feel as if they're drugging me; sending me into a lull. Subconsciously, I lean closer, and subconsciously, he does the same.

That is the moment that our lips finally meet.

My own eyes flutter close and I can feel bliss. Bliss is painful, but in a pleasurable way. It feels as if your hearts about to explode from the happiness within you, wanting desperately to engulf you and the surrounding world around you.

His kiss is soft and slow, like a melancholic lullaby, and in the blink of an eye, it is over and there is silence.

We do nothing but stare at each other for what seems like eternity.

And before I know what I'm saying or the consequences that would follow, the words "I really, really like you" slip out from my lips. And Sawyer, doing what Sawyer does best, surprises me.

"I really like you, too."

This is how we re-enter the living room: hand in hand and intoxicatingly in love. The drinks are left behind, absent-mindedly forgotten.

Grady and Daisuke set aside the game, whooping delightedly with pride. Emily smiles (Sawyer later explains that she was just using him to make Daisuke jealous) and Kumar remains an asshole (as if I actually care).

When I check the clock, it is 6:35. The sun is setting, sinking low behind the horizon.

And the only thought in my head for the rest of the night?

Mission Complete.

Author's Note: Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ.

After nearly a year of a posting hiatus, this is my big comeback. It's kind of pathetic, really, considering I threw this together in six hours and sort-of edited it in one. I'm pressed for time seeing as how V-Day is tomorrow and I have ten pages of History notes awaiting me in my room. Sawyer's part should be written (and hopefully posted) tomorrow, but I make no promises. High School is murdering me maaaan.

PS. Review! It's good for the soul!