Okay, here's something that you may or may not be aware of. A hot summer's day in Pallet, when you've got a headache proportional to the size of the Grand Canyon, is pretty much like hell. The only notable difference being that I kind of wish I was in hell, because at least then I'd be dead, so it probably wouldn't get much worse.

Seeing as I'm not in hell, not dead and unfortunately very much alive, I'm pretty sure that things are going to get worse.

It's 8:33 on a Saturday morning. I could be fast asleep. I should be fast asleep, given the night I had last night.

Of course, this all comes full circle. The reason I'm up so ridiculously early is because of the night I had last night.

I feel my face grow hot as thoughts of last night barrage me. I wonder if I'll ever be able to think of Ash's eighteenth without blushing.

I somewhat doubt it.

I tighten my messy ponytail as I shift my weight, wondering whether I should knock or not. It is pretty early. He's probably not even awake yet.

I feel my face grow even hotter. I wonder if I'll spontaneously combust any time soon.

That may actually be an improvement on my current situation.

I turn away from the solid oak door before me, then turn back. I bounce on my toes slightly. I raise my fist to knock, then let it drop back to my side before fist hits wood.

Oh, this pathetic. I hate being indecisive.

I lift my hand to knock again, and let it fall again. My heart is pounding. My skin is prickling. My stomach's an absolute mess and it's got nothing to do with the bottle of Jim Beam I shared with Brock last night.

My face grows hotter yet again, the heat creeping all over my body.

Oh, for Christ's sake. I'm nineteen years old. That's plenty old enough to take charge of my issues, to face responsibilities head on without exploding into a pile of ash before I even knock on the damn door.

A Jeep drives past, kicking up dust. It's been a hot summer, without much rain. I hate summers like that, all dry and dusty. Especially when it's nowhere near the beach.

I always was good at procrastinating.

I glance at the silver bracelet watch encircling my left wrist. It's 8:47. I've been standing on this front step for nearly fifteen minutes.

That is it. No more of standing around like a loser.

In one swift movement, I raise my fist and rap on the door.

It swings open after the first knock. I freeze, out of equal parts shock and anxiety. My stomach screams abuse at me.

Gary looks down at me, smiling broadly. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever knock," he comments languidly, crossing one leg over the other.

A curious mixture of annoyance and embarrassment courses through my veins. He let me stand on his front step for nearly fifteen minutes and didn't do anything?
Jerk.

I swallow the urge to lay into him, and push my hands into the pockets of my slightly too big, tattered bootleg jeans. "I came to talk to you," I tell him, hating the wariness in my voice. As if that isn't obvious. Why else would I be here? To play croquet? "About last night," I add, unnecessarily.

Gary nods, smiles a little. It's almost as if every ounce of my composure is being sucked out of my body and pumped into his. "I gathered that," he responds lightly. "Come in."

I allow him to lead me through the house and out to decked patio. He gestures for me to sit at the redwood table, and I do so, taking the opportunity to look at him for the first time since he opened the door.

At first glance, he appears calm. Collected. Unaffected. Further inspection reveals that his cargos and blue t-shirt are slightly rumpled, and his eyes are boasting the slightest hint of redness.

Knowing that he isn't as composed as he's pretending to be relaxes me somewhat.

"So," he says, shrugging his broad shoulders. "Let's talk."

I swallow, and fiddle with the strap of my white cami, unsure where to begin. How am I supposed to discuss something if I don't even know how or why it happened?

I remain silent and fidgety for awhile; Gary watches this and smiles, amused. "Misty, you're the one who came over here to talk," he reminds me, a touch of condescension to his voice.

"I know that!" I snap irritably, rubbing my right temple. "I'm thinking, okay?"

I want to kill him. I know that sounds drastic, but I do. I've never met someone who grated so much on my nerves in my entire life.

Gary chuckles. It's deep, husky, and even though it's at my expense, I still find myself shivering involuntarily.

Did I mention how much I hate him?

"What's there to think about?" Gary asks me. "We kissed."

I hate the way he says it so off-handedly, like he's talking about the weather. He says 'we kissed' like we kissed, once, accidentally.

I'm pretty sure that everyone who was there last night won't vouch for that.

"All night," I add bluntly.

It's gratifying to see him blush for once.

He recovers quickly, though - but I expected that. "Okay, yeah," he says, nodding. "All night. What do you want me to say about it?"

I roll my eyes and sit back in the redwood railback chair. I smooth the front of my cami for the sole purpose of having something to do. "Okay. . . how about 'why?'"

Gary leans forward and rests his toned forearms on the tabletop. "How's this: I was drunk. You were drunk. The end."

I resist the urge to smack him right in the middle of his smug face. "Okay, so you were drunk. I was drunk. So was Annabelle Perreo. Why didn't you kiss her?"

Gary rolls his dark eyes and slumps, regarding me with one eyebrow raised. "What do you want me to do, Misty?" he asks. "Drop to my knees, confess that I've been lusting after you since we were kids?"

A small smile tugs at my lips. "Have you?" I ask.

"Christ, Misty!" Gary stands up abruptly, the chair screeching its protest along the decking. He stabs a finger at me. "You're really annoying - you know that?"

"Right back at ya," I respond less than poetically.

Gary paces across the decking, then spins to face me. "Well, what about you, princess?" he asks shortly. "Brock had been drinking last night. So had Ash. Why didn't you kiss one of them?"

Slowly, I stand, not liking the way he's standing so far above me. "Don't think for a second that I'm going to confess some childhood crush," I tell him calmly.

Gary smirks. "You sure?"

I reach behind me to touch my ponytail, which has half fallen out. I pull the elastic from it, and gather my hair up viciously. "Oh, sure, Oak," I retort, rolling my eyes. "I want you. I need you. Oh baby, oh baby." I wind the elastic around my ponytail and let my arms fall back to my sides. "Please."

Gary doesn't look at all touched by my words, but merely leans against the railing of the decking and grins, looking way too smug for my liking. "Why'd you come here, then?" he asks.

Any smart comeback or comment I'd had prepared escaped me at that moment, and I was left standing there, lost for words. Gary's grin broadens into one of someone who knows they've won.

"You know what?" I say sharply. "I don't even know why I came here, but I'm glad I did. Because I know now that last night was a mistake, because it's pretty damn clear that you're nothing but an egotistical, narcissistic jerk with a head the size of Mount Rushmore."

Gary's grin falters slightly.

"So just forget about it," I continue, quite aware that I'm ranting like some bitter, twisted, spurned girl, but unable to stop myself. "And if I ever come close to doing anything even remotely as stupid as this ever again, I hope someone has the decency to smack me over the head."

Gary's grin is completely gone now. He pushes off the railing and moves towards me. "Stupid, huh?" he asks, his voice low, husky. "You didn't seem to think so last night."

I flush and immediately hate him for having the effect on me. "You're such a jerk," I tell him.

He looks at me, solemn. "You didn't seem to think that last night, either."

I inhale, trying to calm myself. "Things changed since last night, Oak," I point out.

The tiniest of smiles tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Things have changed," he agrees slowly. He looks at me, his eyes travelling the entire length of my body. "And yet so much stays the same."

I step back from him and shake my head resolutely. "And I don't care. I'm not sticking around and letting you play mind games with me," I tell him, each word coming out sharper than the last. I turn and walk towards the door, but he calls out to me.

"Wait."

Exasperated, I turn to face him. "What?" I ask wearily.

"I want to see how much has stayed the same." Before I can even figure out what the hell he means, he moves forward, lowers his head and touches his lips to mine in a soft kiss.

One of his hands rests on my hip, the other on the back of my neck and even though I know he's a jerk I kiss him back with a fervor that surprises me.

The kiss changes, though, to a silent, intense war, in which neither of us is willing to break first. Finally, I do, and I shove him away. My cheeks are burning, my heart is pounding and I can't recall being more flustered.

"Yep," Gary breathes, trying to regain his composure. "Some things do stay the same."

I narrow my eyes in a glare and cross my arms. "I hate you," I say forcefully but less than honestly, my chest heaving.

Gary takes this in, grins and steps towards me. He rests both hands on my hips. "Yeah, I know," he responds with a shrug. His grin widens as he smiles down at me. "Think we can work something out?"

I stare at him, taken aback, for what feels like an eternity. Then I shove him in the chest again, causing him to stumble backwards. "I really, really hate you," I say as he recovers. "You know that, right?"

Gary grabs my hand and pulls me to him. "Yeah, I hate you too," he says fondly.

"That's not what you said last night," I tell him, smirking.

Gary rolls his eyes. "Shut up."

I do - not out of choice, but because his lips are on mine, kissing me ardently. He winds an arm around my waist, holding me close, his other hand toying with the silver chain around my neck.

For an egotistical, narcissistic jerk with a head the size of Mount Rushmore, the boy sure as hell can kiss.

We break, and I look up at him, at his flushed cheeks, his thick lashes, the flecks of gold in his eyes. "I still hate you," I remind him, slightly breathless.

Gary chuckles and brushes his lips against my forehead. "Who said hate was such a bad thing?"