Author(s)' Note: Yes, the story you've been waiting for is finally here! From the fantabulous fingertips of Honour Society and Dernier Cri (brownie points if you can guess who this is right now) come this new, utterly fabulous story... As it usually is with us, this story is AU.

Disclaimer: Neither of us own The Clique or any brands, people, companies, et cetera, mentioned.

DUSK AND SUMMER,

-A Dernier Cri/Honour Society Clique collaboration-

Prologue

"Derrick, no!"

Papers scattered as the wooden door of a classroom burst open, out of which two boys tumbled out into the recently-waxed marble hallways of Octavian Academy. Whooping, jeering, screaming, wafts of musky perfumes and manly scents followed, either cheering them on, or begging them to stop.

At first glance, you'd never tell that the tall, strong-built blonde sitting on top of the other dark-haired boy's chest, aiming vicious fists at the dark-haired boy's face was the generically popular, occasionally cocky, Mr. Nice Spice Derrick "Derrington" Harrington. It would come as a shock, if you knew Derrick, that he was punching his own best friend, Cameron Fisher, without holding back at all.

How was Cam holding out, you ask? Very well, surprisingly. Cam, usually the tall, silent type, the one nobody knew, was placing well-rounded bruises on Derrick's face as well as trying to block out Derrick's blows, but wasn't succeeding very well, as Derrick has the unfair advantage of pinning Cam to the floor.

But maybe it wouldn't be so shocking if you had known the true story behind the source of the pandemonium in the hallway. Cameron and Derrick were polar opposites; different as night and day.

Derrick was well-liked, popular, captain of the soccer team, Student Body President, Spring Fling King for two years running, had decent grades and still managed to snag girl after girl.

Cam was... a loner. Broody, often seen reading poetry in the courtyard under his favorite oak tree, the omnipresent earphones in his ears always seeming to blast morbid, metal-y rock songs. In fact, the only reason people knew him was because of his position on the soccer team, in which everyone knew was Derrick's attempt to try and get Cam to be more social. It didn't work.

The two, quite toxic pairing indeed. But they surprisingly went well together. They had met each other in kindergarten, liked each other well enough to share a box of crayons in first grade, split ham sandwiches in the third grade when one of them forgot their lunch, and had stayed that way, all the way to where they are now, in eleventh grade.

And now, they were still mercilessly beating the shit out of each other. But everyone knows we mustn't focus on the result itself, but the method as well. So we shall now go back, before the wrongs were said, before the words were misunderstood, before the calm scent of pine washed away the burn of the coldest Summer they had ever experienced.

Before they both saw, and truly saw Massie Block.

Cam still remembered the first time he saw her. She was standing under his tree in his spot, studying the scratched letters on the trunk of the tree--C. G. F., and thus claiming the tree as his--her eyes dancing yellow and hints of oranges, it reminded him of the element he both feared and was fascinated by: fire. And fire was the word that most suited Massie Block.

"That's my spot," he had stated to her, gripping his notebook so tight in his hands, his knuckles had turned white. Massie raised an eyebrow at him and smirked.

"I gathered as much," Massie said, tapping the rough bark of the tree with a thin index finger. "I assume this is how you spend your lunch hours, huh? Sitting alone under this tree, spying on people?" The smirk was long gone now, replaced by a rather smug smile.

Cam shooed Massie away from his spot and plunked down on the grass, placing his notebook next to him. "You should never assume, you know," he said easily. "I'd tell you why, but you seem smart enough to figure it out yourself."

"Seem smart enough?" And that was when Cameron Grayer Fisher experienced it firsthand--the flash of her eyes, an explosion behind the glassy amber. "Well, obviously I'm feeling a bit off today, because I'm talking to you right now."

"If I were you, I'd consider myself lucky," Cam had replied smoothly, discreetly surprising the Queen Bee. No one had ever talked to her like that, and she had damned well made sure no one got the chance to. Her retort forgotten, she stared long and hard into his blue-and-green eyes, into the eyes of the person that (unbeknownst to her) she knew she would most probably hate one day.

Well, Massie Block was right about one thing--she was a bit off that day, for her prediction didn't go as well as she might have hoped.

But then the moment was ruined.

"Hey, Cam!"

Massie turned, glad for the destraction, and found herself staring into caramel now.

--

The sun, though high in the sky, was cloaked by dark clouds. Massie tucked her fingers under her arms and blew her outgrown bangs out of her eyes. It was still spring, and there was still a month of so left of school. That would mean summer was near. Glaring up at the gloomy Westchester sky, it certainly didn't feel that way. Wasn't spring supposed to be filled with warm sunshine, twittering birds and flowers carrying their sweet scents with grace and pride?

Not in Westchester.

Her return was something of a surprise to all. She hadn't called, she hadn't emailed, and he hadn't even typed up as much as a text. People assumed she had left, for good. But here she was, standing in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by dumbfounded teens, shocked to silence at her plead. Massie blinked and took a deep intake of breath, she refused to let the thought This wasn't how I wanted my first week of school to be like fill the recesses of her mind, or the painful memory of eighth grade would attack her insides once again. Instead, she focused on the all out brawl happening right in front of her. And she refused to acknowledge the fact that maybe she herself was the cause of it all.

They were idiots, both of them. Massie choked back the rest of her words, forcing herself to silence.But even as her cry slipped out of her lips, she knew it was useless. They were too far gone, and even though she wouldn't admit it, part of her wanted to join that fight; wanted to punch Cam square in the chest and pull at the blonde hair on Derrington's head. Another part of her wanted to shove the two boys apart. A complete other part of her, which was currently the most dominant part, simply wanted to breeze by them, without a care in the world.

Massie closed her eyes as she coolly surveyed the two assailants in front of her. When had friend become foe? What had she missed while she spent the summer preparing for the arrival of Kendra's little bundle of joy? How could one little baby occupy so much time, keep her away from all her friends? Italy. Kendra Block thought that, as with her first daughter, Massie, her new baby should have a chic place of birth to scrawl on her legal papers. Massie had been born in Holland, during one of Kendra's business trips. William Block had lagged behind, missing the birth of his only child.

He died eight weeks after Massie's birth.

Cam.

The letter.

Air slipped through her pursed lips. Her eyes, as amber as they'd been the day she had met the two boys, darted around the room in search of something to occupy her mind. Where the hell are the teachers?

Thoughts flipped through her brain. A rabid procession of pictures. Words. Nothing connected. Disjointed lines on a college-ruled leaf of paper. Cam. Sorry. Time.

"Damnit, Derrick, just stop!"

Startled, the two boys pulled apart. Rage and hatred flowed eagerly through their eyes; but the lithe brunette could tell something was bubbling under the surface.

Blood dripped from Derrick's mouth; bruises lined Cam's forehead like a circle of lipstick kisses.

"Massie?" A question? A statement? An exclamation? Massie couldn't tell. All she knew is that, as Derrick moved towards her, Cam stayed behind. As if she was a wild animal who had the ability to hurt him. I think I already did.

Massie stayed completely silent; she used a chipped, once-ruby-painted fingernail to sweep her bangs out of her eyes. It occurred to her that when your nails where long enough to style your hair, a good clipping was in order.

Blood. Bruises. Massie reached into her brown messenger bag (which she'd taken to using as a diaper bag for Mia Avery Block, the newest addition to the Block family, born via in vitro, but we'll get to that later) and produced an ice pack, a handful of tissues, and a cloth. Massie was in the business of love, of matchmaking; you'd be surprised at how many times items such as these were needed.

Love is a messy profession.

"Here." She placed the cloth on Derrick's forehead, covering up an impression that looked startlingly like the spirals on Cam's poetry notebook, and used the tissues to dab around his bloody mouth.

Whispers went up around her like wildfire. Massie's back.