It was still light outside, a clear blue sky contrasting against the white of the snow that thickly covered the ground. The air looked to be pleasant, but was actually an ominous, biting wind against the cheeks and noses of outside's occupants. Kelly herself felt the chill, swirling up her skirt and attacking her from all angles. She shifted nervously on her feet, still debating a deed she had been longing to do for the past week. All she had to do was ring the bell.
She pulled back, thudding down the porch steps for the sidewalk.
* * *
The toe of Carmen's hiking boot scuffed at clots of snow on the shoveled sidewalk. Her red backpack was slung on her back, but she still clutched her biology and geography books to her chest. She was returning from the library where she had to get a last minute bibliography done. Her short, choppy hair rustled in the light wind, and her ears stung with the cold.
She had beseeched Timber to accompany her on her task, and her best friend had, of course, agreed, now walking in a comfortable silence beside her. Timber was clad in a pea coat and jeans with a grey wool bucket hat covering her unruly hair. She chomped loudly on a piece of grape bubble gum she had found in her pocket; a gift from Bob.
"So you wanna chill or something?" Carmen finally spoke.
Timber turned to her, still deliberately chewing with her mouth open. "Sure." she replied, winking.
"Oh GOD help me." Carmen grinned. "You've entered the manic phase."
"I am NOT in a manic phase." Timber defended. "I'm feeling very loquacious right now." she continued. "Let's talk about something how about how Bob was all grossed out when I was talking to him about sex ed that was so funny you should have seen his face especially when it got to the part about vaginal discharge whoa mamma was he about to puke it was funny as shit on a drumstick in a wrapper that said 'fudge-cicles, fifty cents' but I guess it wouldn't be as funny as if someone actually bought the 'fudge cicle' and ate it now that would be funny as hell which is the ultimate funny for some unknown reason." she stopped to take a breath.
"Whoa there turbo." Carmen said, astonished. "Damn, can you ever talk a lot."
"I feel like getting naked and rolling in the snow." Timber mentioned casually, beginning to skip. "Good times, huh."
"Do you seriously want to get naked in the snow?" Carmen asked.
"Not during the day, idiot." Timber scolded. "Damn, that was a stupid question."
Carmen just laughed as the two girls reached the edge of the school courtyard. There, surprisingly, were still quite a bit of students loitering the property. As they continued to walk, Timber's talkativeness continuing, but centering around something strange Dave had done a few days back at her house, a guy they did not recognize approached.
As the tall brunette breezed past, Timber rambled on. The brunette suddenly turned around.
"Hey!" he called. "The enormous drinker but not a smoker!" he called.
Timber turned at this. "Excuse me?" she asked, having no clue who the fellow in front of her was.
Carmen too was baffled.
"You don't remember me, do you?" he asked. "You're name's... Timber, right?" he asked, shifting his green backpack on his shoulders. "You're the drunk girl from Ben's party back in November." he reminded her. "I'm Serge."
Timber paused a moment, squinting. "Serge... Serge..." she tried to remember. "OH YEAH!!!!!" she suddenly shouted, running up and giving him a hug. "The Frenchman who doesn't speak his own language. How are you?" she babbled on."
"I'm pretty good. Do you go here?" he asked.
"Yeah." she replied. "Do you? I never see you."
"I'm a senior here." he nodded.
"Well that explains it." she grinned. "I'm a sophomore."
"Cool." he nodded. "I'll keep an eye out for you in school. How's everything going anyway?" he asked pointedly, giving her a look that only she would understand.
Timber paused a moment, hoping he wouldn't say anything. "Okay." she replied. "Better." she restated, with a confident nod. "Thanks for your advice though. It really helped."
"No prob." he shrugged as conversation dwindled down.
"This is Carmen, by the way." Timber added, pointing to her friend.
"Carmen... enchante." he said, winking at Timber.
"Hey." Carmen said, having no clue what he had just said.
"Well, we have to get going." Timber said quickly, noticing that Serge was already checking out Carmen. "So I'll see you around?" she asked.
"Yeah, definitely." Serge nodded. "You too Carmen." he grinned.
"See ya." Timber cut him off, snaking her arm through Carmen's and leading her away.
"What a creep." Carmen said when she was beyond his earshot. "I mean, he doesn't even consider that I might have a boyfriend whom I love very, very much." she complained, also having noticed the look-over he had given her.
"I know." Timber agreed dryly.
She hated when she was talking to someone and all they did was pay attention to her friends. Though she never said anything, it secretly bothered her that she was never of interest to any members of the opposite gender. They always seemed to base everything on looks and how short a girls skirt was. But she refused to wear an ass-hugging skirt just to be noticed. If she did and was noticed by guys, that would only mean that they were shallow guys whom she would have no interest in.
Her loquacious mood was put on hold as she and Carmen continued home.
* * *
Jeanine's eyes swept over the familiar ceiling of a bedroom she had gotten to know all too well. It was just a pale white expanse that spread across the distance. The smell of evergreen tickled her olfactory. That was a scent she had gotten used to in his presence. She imagined she would always parallel that smell to his home, even after she had recovered from his menacing spell. The all-wood furniture, the deep green comforter... she took all these in, memorizing them for all times.
"Jeanine..." Alan's voice cut into the silence.
She looked up, startled. He sat across the room at his desk.
"It's six o'clock Jeanine. You should go. You don't want your mother to worry about you." he said.
She knew he was right. As time progressed, she felt she needed him more and more. She had to stop depending on him to make her feel good about herself.
"Jeanine?" he called again.
She sat up, feeling for her shoes with her feet. "You're right." she agreed blandly. "My mom's gonna freak out."
"I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked, watching every move she made.
Jeanine nodded, suddenly getting the impression that he really wanted her out of his house. She went to him and gave him a kiss that would stop time before exiting with a sultry smile lingering on her alluring lips.
The evening air was freezing. The wind lapped at her dark waves of hair as she began to run. She was cutting it close. Her mother already suspected, and her late arrivals at home were only fueling her suspicion. A block from her house and she was already thinking about Dave. A block from her house and she already felt empty. A block from her house without her coat. A block from her house, and she would have to go back.
* * *
"Give it to me!!!" Clint shouted, trying to grab the remote control out of a taunting Bob's hands. "NOW!!!"
"Gotta reach it first!!" Bob teased, jumping out of reach and up onto the living room couch. "Nah nah!!! Gotta catch it!!!" he laughed.
"Give it to me!! You little shit! Give it to me NOW!!!" Clint ordered, hands on his hips. "I'm going to beat the crap out of you!"
"Yet again, that would require you to catch me!" Bob pointed out, thoroughly pleased with himself.
Clint dove for his brother with no regards to his safety. He ended of knocking both of them over the back end of the couch and onto the floor.
"Oooof!" Bob gasped, landing on the bottom of the two boys with a thud.
He looked up at a vase that was sitting on one of the end tables, his eyes widening with horror as he watched it wobble.
"SHIT!!!" both boys cried at the same time.
The elaborately decorated vase continued to wobble and soon tumbled from the table. Bob reached out just in time to catch it in his free hand, his knuckles smacking into the floor under the weight.
"See what you almost did?" Clint demanded, snatching the remote control from his brother. "You almost made me miss the beginning of Dawson's Creek."
"BOYS!!!!" Frank bellowed from the kitchen. "DINNER!!!"
"Ooooh." Bob smiled. "Looks like you're going to have to miss your chick flick anyway!!!" he laughed, slinking form the room to the kitchen.
Dave was already seated at the table, tapping his fork annoyingly against his glass. Frank was washing his hands at the sink and Sheila was filling her glass with water. Bob slid into his usual seat, ready to gormandize the spaghetti and meatballs his stepmother had prepared.
"Where's Scott?" Frank asked, seeing Clint enter with a very annoyed look on his face.
Dave and Bob both shrugged.
"I think he's up in his room." the youngest boy suggested.
"Could you go call him please? It's time to eat." his father requested.
"I'll go!" Bob quickly said.
"Yeah, Bob'll go." Dave nodded rapidly.
Bob started to get out of his chair, but was promptly ordered by his father to sit back down.
"I asked Dave to go." Frank said. "Now go call your brother Dave." The father of four knew something was going on between his sons.
"But Dad..." Dave began to object.
"Go." Frank said sternly.
Dave sucked in a sigh, slightly annoyed. He didn't want to speak to Scott. He didn't even want to see Scott. The fact that his eldest was back together with Angela only weighed heavily on his already drooping heart. Secretly, he had all along had a fantasy of ending up with her. He wanted to win her over, but how could he when it was so obvious that she loved Scott? Had he done what was right? By talking to her and convincing her to take his brother back, had he done the noble thing? He had. But then why did he feel as if he had only made things worse?
His knuckles rapped gently on Scott's closed door.
"What?" Scott asked from inside, shutting off the loud tunes of Radiohead.
"Dinner." Dave barked, stomping back down the hall for the steps.
Scott poked his head out his door. "Huh?" he asked.
"DINNER!" Dave shouted angrily, thumping back down to the kitchen.
Scott shut off his light and followed. "What's your problem anyway?" he mumbled to himself, taking the steps two at a time.
"Mmmm. Smells good." he commented, sliding into his seat between Clint and his stepmother.
"What were you up to all afternoon?" Frank asked, beginning to pass the large dish of spaghetti around the table. He noticed that Scott was holed up in his room the whole day.
"Oh the usual." Scott replied. "Smoking weed, snorting crack... having promiscuous sex with strange and older women."
"Are you sure you didn't just take them in the bathroom and fool around with them for two hours?" Dave quipped under his breath.
The others raised an eyebrow at him.
"What?" Dave demanded, scooping a small amount of spaghetti onto his plate with a scowl on his face.
"I was kidding." Scott pointed out the obvious. He redirected his attention to his father. "I was just listening to music."
"Okay, what's going on." Frank demanded.
"What's going on with what?" Bob asked, twirling his fork in the pasta and trying his best to evade the argument that was inevitably coming.
"With you boys." Frank replied. "Particularly Dave and Scott."
"Nothing." the four boys said in unison.
"No." Frank said defiantly. "I've kept my mouth shut for long enough. I want some answers and I want them now."
"Wow Bob. Dawson's Creek's on." Clint mentioned, taking his plate. "Why don't we go eat dinner in the living room?"
"Good idea!" Bob smiled. "Hey Sheila, you like D.C., come watch with us!"
"I'd love to!" Sheila played along, taking her plate and following them out into the living room.
"Now spill it." Frank directed once the other three were gone.
"There's nothing to spill." Scott insisted.
Frank directed his blue eyes at his youngest son.
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." Dave agreed.
"Fine then." Frank smiled, taking his dish. "You two are going to sit here until you've sorted things out. I don't care if it takes you all night. You won't leave this table, even to go to the bathroom. I will not live in a house where two people can't be civil and loving like they should be. Now if you'll excuse me, Dawson's Creek's on."
* * *
She was panting, out of breath, and freezing cold by the time she reached his door again. Assuming he was still home, Jeanine reached out to ring the bell, but paused. A grin spread on her lips. She wanted to surprise him. She could only imagine the look on his face, sitting at his desk and grading papers, and suddenly, she slips her hands over his eyes and blows ever so gently in his ear... Her smile grew as she tried the handle, seeing that it was open.
Entering the house, she shut the door silently behind her. The clock in the hall read six twenty-two. She would only have time for a quick kiss before she grabbed her coat and left. Her mother was going to go postal if she wasn't home before dinner was over.
Creeping up the steps, Jeanine attempted to make her footsteps as quiet as possible. As she neared the upstairs, she heard strains of Frank Sinatra pouring from the other side of his closed bedroom door. Maybe if she just busted in and shouted 'surprise'... All these scenarios seemed tempting, creeping down the dark hallway. She stopped slowly in her tracks, hearing a new sound however. Now quite able to distinguish the noise however, she continued on, her curiosity growing.
The big door was open only a crack. She smiled, her heart thudding with excitement, not able to picture the look that would be on his face. However, bursting into his bedroom, he wasn't the only who was caught off guard. Jeanine's jaw dropped.
"Jeanine!" Alan exclaimed, struggling to cover himself in such a compromising position.
Her eyes filled with tears and she tried to back away, only succeeding in backing into the door. She had caught him having sex. With another woman.
"Denise... how could you?" Jeanine spat, sliding along the wall and groping for the door. She couldn't stand to be in that room one moment more.
"Jen... it's..." Denise sputtered, sitting up with the sheets wrapped around her body.
Jeanine still desperately felt for the doorknob, not able to take her eyes away. "I thought we were friends!" she screamed, the tears spilling over. "And you!" she stabbed her free hand at Alan. "I wasn't enough! I wasn't enough for you because I wasn't having sex with you! That's all you ever wanted!"
"Well what did you think I wanted?" Alan demanded, grabbing his underwear off the lamp and trying to pull them on under the covers. "I thought that's what you wanted too."
Jeanine shook her head trying to clear her mind. The tears continued to fall. That sad thing was that she didn't know what she wanted. She had never thought of her trysts with Alan as strictly sexually oriented. She had always turned to him because emotionally, she was confused. And now she realized that this whole situation was one big bad idea. It was a nightmare.
"Jeanine, please..." Denise began.
"No." Jeanine whispered. "NO! You slut! How could you do this to me? I thought we were friends!"
Denise struggled to get on her shirt, untucking her mass of hair from her collar. "We are!"
"No, we aren't! You knew all along! You knew how much he meant to me!"
"He meant nothing to you!" Denise exclaimed, growing angry herself. "You only went after him because that Dave kid you're obsessed with didn't want you! And you know what? I don't blame Dave at all! You're just a little bitch who whores herself out when she can't get what she wants!"
"That's not true!" Jeanine shouted.
Alan just watched the two ex-friends argue as Denise got dressed. Jeanine began to sob, finally finding the way out and using it.
"Good riddance to bad rubbish!" Denise shouted through the door.
Jeanine's tears blinded her vision as she stole away from the house and into the cold. She had forgotten her jacket again, but this time she didn't care. She just had to get away from there. This time, she wouldn't be going back.
* * *
"Dawson's such a fool!" Clint shouted at the television through a mouthful of spaghetti. He swallowed. "I mean hello??? Katie Holmes is hot as all hell! I wouldn't waste any time jumping..." he passed a sideways glance to his stepmother. "into my books and studying in the diligent manner she does." he covered, simpering brightly.
"Dude, I totally know." Bob agreed, equally as into the show as his twin.
The ending credits rolled and the two boys were finishing what was left on their plates.
"What's next on the agenda?" Frank asked, setting his empty plate on the coffee table.
"Umm... I don't know." Bob replied. "Let's watch a movie or something." he suggested.
"Awwww... family bonding time." Clint grinned cheekily. "How cute. We should go get Dave and Scott to make it complete."
"Nope." Frank said, shaking his head. "Dave and Scott are doing some bonding of their own in the kitchen."
"Oh no!" Bob exclaimed. "One of them could be dead by now!"
"I haven't heard anything!" Clint agreed. "Maybe we should go check."
"Well take the dishes with you while you're at it." Sheila suggested.
Clint rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay. Come on Bob, help me out." he directed, eager to see what was transpiring in the kitchen.
Upon entering the next room, he found Dave and Scott sitting where they had been at the table. Dave was sitting back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, and Scott was fiddling with his silverware. Neither of them had touched their food.
"Are you guys going to at least try to work things out?" Clint asked curiously.
Neither responded.
"You should probably take that as a no." Bob advised, in too good of a mood to be affected by his siblings' rivalry.
He set the dishes in the sink and headed for the cabinet to make some popcorn. Minutes later, the identical Moffatt brothers were back in the living room preparing to watch Jurassic Park with their parents, while Scott and Dave continued to sit in silence.
After the movie, Frank came in and put the spaghetti away in their refrigerator, turning off all the lights except for the one directly above the table. His two sons still sat in a menacing silence, refusing to be the first one to speak. Just before he headed out of the room to go to bed, he addressed the two of them.
"You know, you two are only cheating yourselves." he informed them.
No response.
Frank finally gave up and said goodnight, heading for bed.
* * *
Jeanine splashed her face with cold water from her bathroom sink. Her hands were shaking with the raw emotions she felt. She had never been so cast aside. She had never felt more rejected. Now the truth was as palpable as the misery of the face staring back at her in the mirror: she was unwanted. Dave didn't want her and neither had Mr. Richards. No one wanted her. And her ways of throwing herself at guys never made her feel better like she thought it would have.
She dabbed her face with her pale purple towel. Her cheeks were tender from the tears. After hanging it back up, she headed back into her room. She didn't want to think about Mr. Richards right then. She didn't want to think about anything. She just wanted to fall asleep, sweeping all of that days problems under the rug until she awoke the next day.
Jeanine curled up on her bed, flicking out the lamp on her night table. Moments passed and she was still awake. The image of Mr. Richards in bed with Denise kept replaying itself, re-introducing her to the pain she had felt at that moment. How long had their relationship been going on? Denise was supposed to be her friend, yet she had never told her. She had gone behind her back, taking the one thing that Jeanine was positive she had to herself. Taking her one piece of mind.
Then there was Dave.
Jeanine shook her head, even against her pillow, loathing the memories that kept flooding her mind. She loved Dave so much, but he couldn't stand her. She needed to vent all of her feelings of misery to someone. She had to let it all out. She couldn't stand the thoughts that kept haunting her. Thoughts of Dave and his beautiful, smiling face. Thoughts of Mr. Richards, begging her for more of the love she supplied him with. Thoughts of her father...
The telephone on her night table rang. Though everything inside her told her to ignore it, she picked it up on the fourth ring.
"Hello?" she said, trying to keep the lump of emotion down in her throat. Her voice was hoarse.
"Jen?" Timber's voice asked from the other end of the line.
"Timber? What's... what's up?" Jeanine asked, trying to act natural while inside she was bawling.
"I don't know." Timber replied. "I just had this feeling you needed me."
* * *
The glowing green digits on the microwave read two-o-nine. Dave counted in his head, trying to determine when the minutes would change. He refused to be the first one to speak. Both boys were so stubborn, they had been sitting at the table in silence for the past few hours.
Dave was angry. Though he knew Angela was rightfully Scott's, he was still scornful. He wanted Angela and he couldn't help his feelings of love towards her. He adamant about not believing that his first true love could possibly end in a heartbreak. But what had he thought when he told Angela he loved her? He most certainly didn't imagine her abandoning Scott for him; but at the same time, he always had that glimmer of hope that she would perhaps entertain the idea of loving him in return. He was not about to deny himself the memory of the sparks he felt when kissing her. It wasn't fair that he didn't get his happy ending.
Scott, on the other hand, felt he had every right to be angry at his brother. At the same time, he could only stay angry for so long. What was done was in the past and he wanted to move on. He now had his girlfriend back and he wanted to be happy again. He wanted to be as happy as he was in the first stages of their relationship. But he could not be happy with Dave still angry at him. Things were swiftly becoming unbearable at home. The conflict was making it nearly impossible to step out of his bedroom with a smile on his face. Part of him did sympathize with Dave, while the other part of him was still stuck on the idea of ringing his younger brother's neck. As the dichotomy of his mind further infiltrated his thought process, he realized that some things just weren't worth the drama. If things were going to change, he would have to make a difference because it was quite apparent that Dave was willing to bare his grudge for as long as he had to.
"I think Dad has a bottle of Absolut in the dining room." Scott spoke. "You wanna drink it?" he asked.
"Sure." Dave gave in.
At that moment, he decided that he didn't want to be mad anymore. He wanted to talk it out.
Scott disappeared into the dining room for a few moments, returning with the bottle of vodka in hand. He grinned cheekily, unscrewing the still-sealed cap. Taking a sniff of the liquid inside, he grinned.
"Ahhh, the rancid scent of liqueur. Gotta love it."
Dave just grinned weakly as Scott filled his glass with the clear fluid, then his own. The youngest sibling put the glass to his lips and sipped delicately, wincing at the strong taste. Scott wasted no time taking a big gulp.
"Hmmm. Maybe we should add some orange juice." The older boy suggested, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
"I'll get it." Dave said, getting up and going to the refrigerator. His backside burned as the muscles finally got to stretch.
Scott took a few more sips of the pure vodka, watching his youngest brother over the rim of his glass. He felt bad for Dave. He genuinely did.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Scott asked, breaking the silence once and for all.
"Tell you what?" Dave demanded, setting the bottle of orange juice on the table.
"That you... loved Angela." Scott replied, watching Dave pour some juice into his glass.
"Would that have changed anything?"
"No."
"Then why did I just need to give you another reason to hate me?" Dave asked, his brown eyes finally connecting with Scott's blue ones.
Scott felt a pang of guilt in his heart. Dave's eyes were so innocent, so sad.
"Hate you?" Scott asked, filling his own glass with orange juice.
"You know you do." Dave said softly.
"No I don't Dave. You're my brother."
"And that's the only thing that keeps you from hating me." Dave clarified, chugging his glass then pouring another. He needed to get drunk. He needed to get drunk fast. That seemed to be the only way he'd ever be able to deal with what was going on in his head. "You were always looking for ways to spite me. You had to have her didn't you Scott. You had to have my piece of heaven on earth. You always get what you want don't you."
"What? Where's all this coming from?" Scott asked, starting on his second glass as well. The liqueur seemed to be disappearing fast without the two brothers knowing it.
"You're so Goddamned perfect!" Dave exclaimed. "You get all the girls, you get everything! And the one thing I ever wanted... I can't have because you got her too."
"I saw her first Dave!" Scott reasoned then shook his head. "She's not some prize to be won." he corrected himself.
"But I wanted her!" Dave said stubbornly. "She would have made me so... happy."
There was a brief silence where Scott just stared at his brother. "Oh, and you think she doesn't make me happy too? Are you saying I don't deserve to be happy?"
"You don't act like it." Dave muttered, lowering his head.
"What?"
"You cheated on her Scott!" Dave pointed out. "If you loved her so much, you wouldn't have! You don't even know her! You're just using her for sex aren't you?"
"I am not!" Scott was outraged. He poured another glass and gulped it without the orange juice. Thumping it down on the table top, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I love that girl. I love that girl more than anything. And you said it yourself, she belongs with me. So quit trying to make up shit."
"I'm not making up anything! Do you ever know what her favorite color is?" Dave spat, already tipsy.
"Periwinkle." Scott replied.
"Favorite singer?"
"Mariah Carey."
"Favorite song?"
"Hero, by Mariah Carey." Scott replied. "What about you? You know nothing about her."
"Well if I had a chance to learn..." Dave muttered, toning down his drinking and taking to just sipping from his glass.
"And have you ever seen her cry?" Scott asked intensely. "Do you know what makes her cry? Would you be there to comfort her?"
"You know I would be." Dave said firmly.
"Well I'm sorry Dave." Scott continued. "That's my job. Angela needs love. She gets that love from me."
The younger of the two was silent as the truth sank in. He felt the angry tears of defeat begin to rise in his throat. Scott had mercy on his lachrymose brother.
"I'm sorry Dave. But I can't give in on this one. I need her."
The tears steadily rolled down his brother's cheeks.
"You know... sometimes... I wish we got along better." Scott said, reaching across the table to touch Dave's arm. "I mean, we fight a lot... and that never really bothered me, but I never realized that you... you thought I hated you."
Dave didn't say a word, continuing to cry silently.
"I mean, you're my brother Dave. But not only that, you're my best friend." the older boy said. "And I'm sorry you didn't know that. But no matter how much we fight, you'll always be my best friend."
Scott's blue eyes looked introspectively at his morose brother. Dave finally met those eyes after a few moments.
"This doesn't mean we're going to hug now... does it?"
Sweet comic relief.
Scott laughed. "Sorry, I'm still not drunk enough for that." he smirked. "But seriously. It sucks that a girl had to come between us. I mean, of all the ways we could possibly hate each other, it had to be a girl."
"Well..." Dave shrugged. "Just the luck of the draw."
"I suppose so." Scott said, taking his hand back and pouring another glass. "But there's a girl out there for you Dave. One that happens not to be your brother's girlfriend."
"Yeah right." Dave rolled his eyes.
"No, I'm serious." Scott pressed. "I bet she's sitting right under your nose and you just don't know it..."
* * *