SkyGirl5
Cadet
:hi:
a few things:
1. incase you haven't seen my new website: http://overactive-imagination.net
there are going to be lots of updates in the comming weeks including possibly the addition of a chat room and message board (how fun is that?! -yes i am a dork
)
2. as i mentioned Home to Stay (fondly dubbed HaTS by the betas) is one of my fav fics so i hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do. Like usual, i will not be PMing for the chapters, but i will put links to each chapter on this page right below this message
Title: Home To Stay
Genre: S/V AU little angst here and there
Summary: Michael Vaughn and Sydney Bristow dated through college, but then mutually split when Michael went off to Hollywood to try his hand at the acting scene. Five years later, Michael is a successful movie star and he returns home to see Sydney for the since he left.
35 chapters
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 1 & 2 (below) Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10
Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18
Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27
Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 + Epilogue
okay the first chapter is really boring until the very end so to make up for that i'm giving you TWO chapters but just as a one time thing
oh one last thing! This story is completely laced with flashbacks so that's why there are dates within it. Anything 2006 is present time (shouldn't be too hard to remember) so you might want to kinda pay attention to the dates - they help limit some confusion, but if you're confused just ask
Chapter 1
-April, 2006-
Tucking her hair behind her ear and taking a deep breath, Sydney Bristow prepared herself to step off the elevator and enter the crowded, messy world of graphic design. Sure, she loved her office, but the chaos was unavoidable and sometimes drove her nuts. With a soft ding, the doors slid open and Sydney stepped out into the jungle where it was every man (or woman) and idea for himself.
“Morning, Sydney!”
“Morning,” she called back to the man who had nearly rammed into her in his haste to get into the elevator. She made her way back through the office slowly, greeting people with a smile or a brief hello as she went. She was only ten feet from her office door when she was intercepted by Madeline, one of the assistants in the office.
“Sydney, some flowers were delivered for you a few minutes ago. I put them on your desk,” Madeline said before continuing on her way.
“Thanks!” Sydney called out. She turned towards her office, a slight bounce in her step as a grin crossed her face. She loved receiving flowers; it was one of the simple pleasures in life that made her smile.
Entering her office, she saw a bouquet in a glass vase so large that it practically overtook her already cluttered desk. The bouquet consisted of purple and pink tulips, Sydney’s favorite flower in her favorite colors. She shrugged off her coat and hung it on the hook behind her door before walking over to her desk. She peered down into the bunch, looking for a card and found one protruding from a clear plastic clip.
She reached for the card, opened it and found only two words, To Sydney. She gave a quiet ‘hmm’ while putting the card down on her desk, figuring the flowers were an early birthday present. In eight days, she would begin her twenty-sixth year. She struggled with the vase for a few moments, trying to yank important papers out from underneath it without breaking it. Once it was resting firmly on the corner of the desk, she sat down and began to sort through her ever-growing pile of work.
After graduating with a degree in business marketing with a minor in graphic design, she worked freelance for about six months until she realized that working that way got her no where near the income bracket she desired. At that point, she took a job with XYZ as a designer. She created various magazine advertisements, designed billboards and logos for two and a half years, quickly growing to be the most desired and sought after designer in her company.
Three months ago, she had been promoted to graphics editor, meaning she approved other’s designs and did little designing herself. She wasn’t quite sure about her new administrative, less hands-on position, but figured it was too early to judge, because, after all, she was still enjoying her work, just not quite as much as she had before.
Her work continued on, repetitive as usual. Look at proposal sketch, comment, return it. Send approved and finalized creations to their proper destination (the printer, sign manufacturing company, etc.). Call clients, discuss payment methods, and thank them for their business. Find incompetent employee and fire him. The last one, of course, was one of the most unpleasant aspects of her job. At first, she thought firing someone could be sort of fun, in a bad way, of course, but the first time she did it, she nearly cried.
On Wednesday, the day after the arrival of the tulip bouquet, Sydney was sitting in her office working as usual, when Madeline knocked on her door. Sydney told her to come in without looking up from the magazine ad she was scrutinizing. “This just came for you, Sydney,” Madeline said, setting a box down on Sydney’s desk.
“Thank you –wait. Was there a card?” she asked upon seeing the box of Godiva chocolates but nothing more.
Madeline shook her head, “No, just the box.”
“Oh… thanks,” Sydney repeated. She picked up the box and turned it over, hoping to find a card taped to the bottom, but there was none. The chocolates were still shrink-wrapped in their factory packaging, so the chances of there being a card inside were very slim. Suddenly, the anonymous things she was receiving began to unnerve her.
She was used to receiving small packages containing candy or cookies, flowers, or thank you notes. One time she had even received a ham (which she found very odd), but almost always the gifts came accompanied by some sort of note. Only a few times had a note been absent, and even then she received a phone call asking if she had received the gift. Now with the chocolates, just like the tulips the day before, there was no note and it struck her as odd. She shrugged it off as best she could, blaming her own paranoia, and pushed the chocolates aside; she had work to do.
On Thursday, Sydney stayed late working to finish up a few ads that needed to go out on Friday to the printer, so she didn’t get home until nearly seven o’clock, an hour past her usual time of arrival. She was met immediately by the loud meowing of her three-legged cat, Ophelia.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” she sighed, practically tripping over the black ball of fur weaving its way in between her legs on the way to the kitchen. She had barely set her purse down and was about to pick up Ophelia’s pathetically empty food and water bowls, when there was a knock at the door.
“Oh, you’ll live another second,” she rolled her eyes at her pet, who was feigning death, on the way to the door. She opened it and found a large bouquet of tulips in her face.
“Delivery for Sydney Bristow,” the man carrying the tulips said.
“Uh, yeah that’s me,” Sydney said. She took the tulips cautiously; slightly unnerved was quickly turning into just plain freaky. “Do they have a card?”
“I dunno, ma’am, I just deliver ‘em. Sign here please,” the man said, holding out a clipboard. She juggled the glass vase for a moment before she was able to free her right hand, so she could sign. She scribbled her sloppy signature, which was made even more sloppy by the fact that the clipboard was held at a very odd angle, and then thanked the delivery man before closing the door.
“If these don’t have a card I’m gonna flip out,” she muttered, returning to the kitchen. She put the vase on the counter and fed Ophelia before examining it. Just like the bouquet from two days earlier, this too was a large display of pink and purple tulips. She stood on her toes and peered down into the bunch, searching for a card. “Ah ha!” she said upon finding it. She pulled it out quickly and opened it up. Within a moment, her paranoia had vanished and her face relaxed into a smile.
Sorry, I didn’t call, ~ M, it read. Even with that short message, she knew who ‘M’ was, after all, this was the sort of thing he did. The flowers and the candy were just his style: classic, charming, but just a little bit late. Smiling to herself, she walked slowly over to the refrigerator, searching for something to eat. Her mind wasn’t focused on the slightly rotten fruit and unmarked containers full of mystery substances, though. All she could think about whether or not she’d be seeing him in the next few days. She was very hopeful at this prospect; after all, it had been nearly four years since she had seen him.
The mysterious ‘M’ stood for Michael, this she was sure of. Michael, Michael Vaughn, was her first real boyfriend, the first real love of her life, and one of the few real, true friends she’d had in her twenty-five, almost twenty-six years. He also just happened to be one of the most famous actors in Hollywood.
Chapter 2
-October, 1997-
Jogging down the street, Sydney hummed along to the song flooding into her ears from the earphones attached to her Walkman. The sun was beating down on her from behind causing beads of sweat to pour down her neck and run down into her tank top. A shower would definitely be welcome when she returned to her parent’s house. She was in her zone, completely unaware of the world, only aware of her feet pounding into the ground and the music pouring in her mind, when suddenly there was a face in front of her, smiling. She screamed and jumped back; her heart rate skyrocketing. “You…you scared me,” she panted, bending over at her waist and resting her hands on her thighs, trying to catch her breath.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he said.
After a few deep breaths, she straightened up slowly and pulled the headphones from her ears. “What?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he repeated.
Slowly, Sydney looked up into the eyes of the man in front of her; they were soft and green. She took a step back and took a good look at this green-eyed stranger from head to toe to find that he wasn’t a stranger at all. She knew him, by reputation anyway.
Noting the confusion evident from her furrowed brow, he continued. “Hello. You’re Sydney, right?”
“Yes…,” she said slowly, still confused as to why the most popular guy in her high school class was speaking to her.
“I’m Michael, Michael Vaughn,” he said.
“I know that…”
“Oh, okay. How are you?”
“Sweaty,” she replied. He laughed loudly. “Sorry but, um, why are you talking to me?”
“Did… you not want me to talk to you?” he asked sounding worried.
“No, it’s just… well, you’ve lived down the street from me for ten years and you’ve never talked to me,” she pointed out. This wasn’t exactly true of course; he had spoken to her, but she didn’t exactly count half-smiles, mumbled hellos or asking what time it was to be ‘talking’.
Michael shrugged slightly. “I’m talking to you now. You’re not on the senior class trip,” he pointed out in a factual way. She shook her head. She had thought she was the only person from her class aside from her own friends who declined to go on the special Friday trip to Six-Flags; apparently, she had been incorrect. “Why?” he asked.
Finding his random line of questioning rather rude, she rubbed the sweat from her brow, shrugging slightly. “I don’t like roller coasters,” she told him simply.
“Ah, I see. I couldn’t go because, well, walking for three hours on crutches would suck,” he said, laughing slightly.
Crutches? She wondered. Then, she looked down and for the first time noticed that he was indeed on crutches and his left foot was heavily bandaged. “You alright?” she asked, not really caring.
“Yeah, it’s just a sprain. It’s stupid really, I fell through a trap door on the stage the second day of play practice,” he shook his head as his own stupidity.
“Ouch,” she commented, trying to walk away from him. Not that she hated him; she simply wasn’t in any type of mood to strike up a conversation while sweating profusely and, to her horror, probably smelling.
“So, you wanna hang out?” he asked, grinning.
“Hang….out…,” she said slowly, feeling as confused as ever, questions pouring through her mind. Why did he want to hang out? Did he have ulterior motives that somehow involved her mortal embarrassment in front of the whole student body? Did he have some sort of strange bet with his air-head jock friends that he could nail her? Or was he, in fact, completely and utterly insane?
He shrugged, “Sure, if you wanna. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I’m bored as hell and everyone’s either gone on the trip or in school so why not use our freedom to take advantage of this lovely day?”
“Suuure,” she said very slowly. She was still unsure of his motives, but yet couldn’t ignore the way her heart fluttered slightly at the sight of his smile. So, she rationalized with herself. What could it hurt to talk to him for a few minutes? After all, he was high school royalty and she knew for a fact that over ninety percent of the female population threw themselves at his feet on a daily basis. Thankfully, she was one of the less than ten percent who didn’t, but she also didn’t wish to be killed by that much larger group of people who would inevitably attack her if they found out she turned down such an opportunity they would have… well, killed for. “I’d like to shower first though.”
“I’ll be here all day; take your time,” he said. Then, he turned and hobbled back up his driveway.
She stood there for a moment, staring at his back blankly, trying to figure out if their conversation had just happened. She was a social nobody; he was a social god. In the high school world, conversation between such groups of people simply didn’t happen. Unless, of course, the god wanted something from the nobody, which made her suspicious of what acts she’d have to perform for him by agreeing to their conversation.
Oh well, she thought while walking slowly back to her house. She decided that, when she returned to Michael Vaughn’s she simply wouldn’t go inside if he invited her, thus giving her the ability to flee if necessary.
~
Being one of the seniors not on the trip, Sydney was given the precious gift of a day off from school. She had intended on spending her day free of annoying classmates, parents and her sister by relishing the silence of her house. Homework could wait for the weekend; she had big plans between her, some laundry, and a nice pleasure reading book. As she combed out her hair after her shower, Sydney wondered if that was not a better plan than talking to Michael Vaughn. What exactly could the pretty-boy blonde actor have to say to her that would be remotely interesting? She wasn’t sure, but it was too late to back out.
After throwing on her typical attire of paint splattered jeans and a dark colored t-shirt, she headed back towards Michael Vaughn’s house. She found him sitting in a lawn chair in his driveway, tossing a tennis ball against a garage door, and letting it bounce on the ground once before catching it. She crammed her hands in her pockets as she approached. “So, what’s up, Mr. Popularity?” she asked.
He squinted up at her with a smile, “I see my reputation precedes me. Have a seat,” he gestured towards the empty lawn chair beside him. She flopped down in the seat and looked at him silently. “So, you hate me and are wondering why you’re here, right?” he asked knowingly.
“I don’t hate you,” she told him.
“But you are wondering why you’re here?” he asked. She didn’t exactly respond, so he took that as a ‘yes’. He sighed and threw his ball once more, hating the fact that his reputation always preceded him and, unfortunately, that was almost always a bad thing. “So, you’re an art student, right?” he asked, nodding towards her paint covered pants.
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call myself an ‘art student’. I do take art, though,” she clarified.
“Your friends are art students though, right? I mean, they’ve got that whole Goth thing going on,” he said. He recalled the many times when he passed the group of ‘goth kids’ in the hall, all of them clad in black from head to toe, except Sydney, who was usually with them and wearing dark colors, but not always black.
“Yeah, I guess…,” she sighed, wondering why it mattered and wondering even more what exactly they had to say. For the next few moments, they said nothing until Sydney finally spoke, “Sorry about your ex.” It was common knowledge around the school that Jessica Abernathy, who Michael had been dating since May of that year, had cheated on him with a twenty-two year old frat boy. This caused a very loud and public argument between them and the obvious demise of their relationship.
“Oh,” Michael said with a rather violent toss of the tennis ball, “thanks.”
Again, silence. Sydney sighed and rested her elbow on her knee before placing her chin in her palm. It was going to be a long afternoon.
a few things:
1. incase you haven't seen my new website: http://overactive-imagination.net
there are going to be lots of updates in the comming weeks including possibly the addition of a chat room and message board (how fun is that?! -yes i am a dork
)2. as i mentioned Home to Stay (fondly dubbed HaTS by the betas) is one of my fav fics so i hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do. Like usual, i will not be PMing for the chapters, but i will put links to each chapter on this page right below this message
Title: Home To Stay
Genre: S/V AU little angst here and there
Summary: Michael Vaughn and Sydney Bristow dated through college, but then mutually split when Michael went off to Hollywood to try his hand at the acting scene. Five years later, Michael is a successful movie star and he returns home to see Sydney for the since he left.
35 chapters
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 1 & 2 (below) Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10
Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18
Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27
Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 + Epilogue
okay the first chapter is really boring until the very end so to make up for that i'm giving you TWO chapters
but just as a one time thingoh one last thing! This story is completely laced with flashbacks so that's why there are dates within it. Anything 2006 is present time (shouldn't be too hard to remember) so you might want to kinda pay attention to the dates - they help limit some confusion, but if you're confused just ask
Chapter 1
-April, 2006-
Tucking her hair behind her ear and taking a deep breath, Sydney Bristow prepared herself to step off the elevator and enter the crowded, messy world of graphic design. Sure, she loved her office, but the chaos was unavoidable and sometimes drove her nuts. With a soft ding, the doors slid open and Sydney stepped out into the jungle where it was every man (or woman) and idea for himself.
“Morning, Sydney!”
“Morning,” she called back to the man who had nearly rammed into her in his haste to get into the elevator. She made her way back through the office slowly, greeting people with a smile or a brief hello as she went. She was only ten feet from her office door when she was intercepted by Madeline, one of the assistants in the office.
“Sydney, some flowers were delivered for you a few minutes ago. I put them on your desk,” Madeline said before continuing on her way.
“Thanks!” Sydney called out. She turned towards her office, a slight bounce in her step as a grin crossed her face. She loved receiving flowers; it was one of the simple pleasures in life that made her smile.
Entering her office, she saw a bouquet in a glass vase so large that it practically overtook her already cluttered desk. The bouquet consisted of purple and pink tulips, Sydney’s favorite flower in her favorite colors. She shrugged off her coat and hung it on the hook behind her door before walking over to her desk. She peered down into the bunch, looking for a card and found one protruding from a clear plastic clip.
She reached for the card, opened it and found only two words, To Sydney. She gave a quiet ‘hmm’ while putting the card down on her desk, figuring the flowers were an early birthday present. In eight days, she would begin her twenty-sixth year. She struggled with the vase for a few moments, trying to yank important papers out from underneath it without breaking it. Once it was resting firmly on the corner of the desk, she sat down and began to sort through her ever-growing pile of work.
After graduating with a degree in business marketing with a minor in graphic design, she worked freelance for about six months until she realized that working that way got her no where near the income bracket she desired. At that point, she took a job with XYZ as a designer. She created various magazine advertisements, designed billboards and logos for two and a half years, quickly growing to be the most desired and sought after designer in her company.
Three months ago, she had been promoted to graphics editor, meaning she approved other’s designs and did little designing herself. She wasn’t quite sure about her new administrative, less hands-on position, but figured it was too early to judge, because, after all, she was still enjoying her work, just not quite as much as she had before.
Her work continued on, repetitive as usual. Look at proposal sketch, comment, return it. Send approved and finalized creations to their proper destination (the printer, sign manufacturing company, etc.). Call clients, discuss payment methods, and thank them for their business. Find incompetent employee and fire him. The last one, of course, was one of the most unpleasant aspects of her job. At first, she thought firing someone could be sort of fun, in a bad way, of course, but the first time she did it, she nearly cried.
On Wednesday, the day after the arrival of the tulip bouquet, Sydney was sitting in her office working as usual, when Madeline knocked on her door. Sydney told her to come in without looking up from the magazine ad she was scrutinizing. “This just came for you, Sydney,” Madeline said, setting a box down on Sydney’s desk.
“Thank you –wait. Was there a card?” she asked upon seeing the box of Godiva chocolates but nothing more.
Madeline shook her head, “No, just the box.”
“Oh… thanks,” Sydney repeated. She picked up the box and turned it over, hoping to find a card taped to the bottom, but there was none. The chocolates were still shrink-wrapped in their factory packaging, so the chances of there being a card inside were very slim. Suddenly, the anonymous things she was receiving began to unnerve her.
She was used to receiving small packages containing candy or cookies, flowers, or thank you notes. One time she had even received a ham (which she found very odd), but almost always the gifts came accompanied by some sort of note. Only a few times had a note been absent, and even then she received a phone call asking if she had received the gift. Now with the chocolates, just like the tulips the day before, there was no note and it struck her as odd. She shrugged it off as best she could, blaming her own paranoia, and pushed the chocolates aside; she had work to do.
On Thursday, Sydney stayed late working to finish up a few ads that needed to go out on Friday to the printer, so she didn’t get home until nearly seven o’clock, an hour past her usual time of arrival. She was met immediately by the loud meowing of her three-legged cat, Ophelia.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” she sighed, practically tripping over the black ball of fur weaving its way in between her legs on the way to the kitchen. She had barely set her purse down and was about to pick up Ophelia’s pathetically empty food and water bowls, when there was a knock at the door.
“Oh, you’ll live another second,” she rolled her eyes at her pet, who was feigning death, on the way to the door. She opened it and found a large bouquet of tulips in her face.
“Delivery for Sydney Bristow,” the man carrying the tulips said.
“Uh, yeah that’s me,” Sydney said. She took the tulips cautiously; slightly unnerved was quickly turning into just plain freaky. “Do they have a card?”
“I dunno, ma’am, I just deliver ‘em. Sign here please,” the man said, holding out a clipboard. She juggled the glass vase for a moment before she was able to free her right hand, so she could sign. She scribbled her sloppy signature, which was made even more sloppy by the fact that the clipboard was held at a very odd angle, and then thanked the delivery man before closing the door.
“If these don’t have a card I’m gonna flip out,” she muttered, returning to the kitchen. She put the vase on the counter and fed Ophelia before examining it. Just like the bouquet from two days earlier, this too was a large display of pink and purple tulips. She stood on her toes and peered down into the bunch, searching for a card. “Ah ha!” she said upon finding it. She pulled it out quickly and opened it up. Within a moment, her paranoia had vanished and her face relaxed into a smile.
Sorry, I didn’t call, ~ M, it read. Even with that short message, she knew who ‘M’ was, after all, this was the sort of thing he did. The flowers and the candy were just his style: classic, charming, but just a little bit late. Smiling to herself, she walked slowly over to the refrigerator, searching for something to eat. Her mind wasn’t focused on the slightly rotten fruit and unmarked containers full of mystery substances, though. All she could think about whether or not she’d be seeing him in the next few days. She was very hopeful at this prospect; after all, it had been nearly four years since she had seen him.
The mysterious ‘M’ stood for Michael, this she was sure of. Michael, Michael Vaughn, was her first real boyfriend, the first real love of her life, and one of the few real, true friends she’d had in her twenty-five, almost twenty-six years. He also just happened to be one of the most famous actors in Hollywood.
Chapter 2
-October, 1997-
Jogging down the street, Sydney hummed along to the song flooding into her ears from the earphones attached to her Walkman. The sun was beating down on her from behind causing beads of sweat to pour down her neck and run down into her tank top. A shower would definitely be welcome when she returned to her parent’s house. She was in her zone, completely unaware of the world, only aware of her feet pounding into the ground and the music pouring in her mind, when suddenly there was a face in front of her, smiling. She screamed and jumped back; her heart rate skyrocketing. “You…you scared me,” she panted, bending over at her waist and resting her hands on her thighs, trying to catch her breath.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he said.
After a few deep breaths, she straightened up slowly and pulled the headphones from her ears. “What?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he repeated.
Slowly, Sydney looked up into the eyes of the man in front of her; they were soft and green. She took a step back and took a good look at this green-eyed stranger from head to toe to find that he wasn’t a stranger at all. She knew him, by reputation anyway.
Noting the confusion evident from her furrowed brow, he continued. “Hello. You’re Sydney, right?”
“Yes…,” she said slowly, still confused as to why the most popular guy in her high school class was speaking to her.
“I’m Michael, Michael Vaughn,” he said.
“I know that…”
“Oh, okay. How are you?”
“Sweaty,” she replied. He laughed loudly. “Sorry but, um, why are you talking to me?”
“Did… you not want me to talk to you?” he asked sounding worried.
“No, it’s just… well, you’ve lived down the street from me for ten years and you’ve never talked to me,” she pointed out. This wasn’t exactly true of course; he had spoken to her, but she didn’t exactly count half-smiles, mumbled hellos or asking what time it was to be ‘talking’.
Michael shrugged slightly. “I’m talking to you now. You’re not on the senior class trip,” he pointed out in a factual way. She shook her head. She had thought she was the only person from her class aside from her own friends who declined to go on the special Friday trip to Six-Flags; apparently, she had been incorrect. “Why?” he asked.
Finding his random line of questioning rather rude, she rubbed the sweat from her brow, shrugging slightly. “I don’t like roller coasters,” she told him simply.
“Ah, I see. I couldn’t go because, well, walking for three hours on crutches would suck,” he said, laughing slightly.
Crutches? She wondered. Then, she looked down and for the first time noticed that he was indeed on crutches and his left foot was heavily bandaged. “You alright?” she asked, not really caring.
“Yeah, it’s just a sprain. It’s stupid really, I fell through a trap door on the stage the second day of play practice,” he shook his head as his own stupidity.
“Ouch,” she commented, trying to walk away from him. Not that she hated him; she simply wasn’t in any type of mood to strike up a conversation while sweating profusely and, to her horror, probably smelling.
“So, you wanna hang out?” he asked, grinning.
“Hang….out…,” she said slowly, feeling as confused as ever, questions pouring through her mind. Why did he want to hang out? Did he have ulterior motives that somehow involved her mortal embarrassment in front of the whole student body? Did he have some sort of strange bet with his air-head jock friends that he could nail her? Or was he, in fact, completely and utterly insane?
He shrugged, “Sure, if you wanna. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I’m bored as hell and everyone’s either gone on the trip or in school so why not use our freedom to take advantage of this lovely day?”
“Suuure,” she said very slowly. She was still unsure of his motives, but yet couldn’t ignore the way her heart fluttered slightly at the sight of his smile. So, she rationalized with herself. What could it hurt to talk to him for a few minutes? After all, he was high school royalty and she knew for a fact that over ninety percent of the female population threw themselves at his feet on a daily basis. Thankfully, she was one of the less than ten percent who didn’t, but she also didn’t wish to be killed by that much larger group of people who would inevitably attack her if they found out she turned down such an opportunity they would have… well, killed for. “I’d like to shower first though.”
“I’ll be here all day; take your time,” he said. Then, he turned and hobbled back up his driveway.
She stood there for a moment, staring at his back blankly, trying to figure out if their conversation had just happened. She was a social nobody; he was a social god. In the high school world, conversation between such groups of people simply didn’t happen. Unless, of course, the god wanted something from the nobody, which made her suspicious of what acts she’d have to perform for him by agreeing to their conversation.
Oh well, she thought while walking slowly back to her house. She decided that, when she returned to Michael Vaughn’s she simply wouldn’t go inside if he invited her, thus giving her the ability to flee if necessary.
~
Being one of the seniors not on the trip, Sydney was given the precious gift of a day off from school. She had intended on spending her day free of annoying classmates, parents and her sister by relishing the silence of her house. Homework could wait for the weekend; she had big plans between her, some laundry, and a nice pleasure reading book. As she combed out her hair after her shower, Sydney wondered if that was not a better plan than talking to Michael Vaughn. What exactly could the pretty-boy blonde actor have to say to her that would be remotely interesting? She wasn’t sure, but it was too late to back out.
After throwing on her typical attire of paint splattered jeans and a dark colored t-shirt, she headed back towards Michael Vaughn’s house. She found him sitting in a lawn chair in his driveway, tossing a tennis ball against a garage door, and letting it bounce on the ground once before catching it. She crammed her hands in her pockets as she approached. “So, what’s up, Mr. Popularity?” she asked.
He squinted up at her with a smile, “I see my reputation precedes me. Have a seat,” he gestured towards the empty lawn chair beside him. She flopped down in the seat and looked at him silently. “So, you hate me and are wondering why you’re here, right?” he asked knowingly.
“I don’t hate you,” she told him.
“But you are wondering why you’re here?” he asked. She didn’t exactly respond, so he took that as a ‘yes’. He sighed and threw his ball once more, hating the fact that his reputation always preceded him and, unfortunately, that was almost always a bad thing. “So, you’re an art student, right?” he asked, nodding towards her paint covered pants.
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call myself an ‘art student’. I do take art, though,” she clarified.
“Your friends are art students though, right? I mean, they’ve got that whole Goth thing going on,” he said. He recalled the many times when he passed the group of ‘goth kids’ in the hall, all of them clad in black from head to toe, except Sydney, who was usually with them and wearing dark colors, but not always black.
“Yeah, I guess…,” she sighed, wondering why it mattered and wondering even more what exactly they had to say. For the next few moments, they said nothing until Sydney finally spoke, “Sorry about your ex.” It was common knowledge around the school that Jessica Abernathy, who Michael had been dating since May of that year, had cheated on him with a twenty-two year old frat boy. This caused a very loud and public argument between them and the obvious demise of their relationship.
“Oh,” Michael said with a rather violent toss of the tennis ball, “thanks.”
Again, silence. Sydney sighed and rested her elbow on her knee before placing her chin in her palm. It was going to be a long afternoon.
