Story: Diary, oh Diary

Summary: As if being the weird twin sister of the most beautiful woman on the planet wasn't enough; now my lab partner is god's gift to heterosexual females (and he wants to roast me alive). I hate college.

Notes: Why yet another story? Because DoD has a very, very special place in my heart, and I want to showcase it. Plus, I kind of love Jenny.

FAQ: WHY IS THERE NO WARREN?? There is. Trust me. In coming chapters, you're going to be getting Warren coming out of your ears. And he's in the beginning, right?

Disclaimer: No own.

CHAPTER ONE: In which girl (Jenny) meets boy (Peace)

Monday, September 7th, 9 am

My lab partner is God's gift to heterosexual females. I am so screwed.

9:03 am

He is also a reticent jerk who refused to talk to me. I am slightly mollified.

10:59 am

A really, really gorgeous jerk. At risk of sounding like a pedantic broken record: I am so freaking screwed.

5 pm

All things considered, the first day of classes went remarkably well. The lecture in Modern Lit was all introduction and class material – a welcome change from Biology, which was fifty percent introduction and lab processes and five percent major student-bashing.

My lab partner exudes pheromones like most men exude eau de Calvin Klein.

Fuck. Fuck. I knew this would happen.

Of course, I knowing didn't exactly stop me from enrolling, but I think a moderately-to-fully-grown woman should be able to go away to college, regardless of certain biological deficiencies that might prevent her from doing so.

I'm eighteen (almost nineteen), for Christ's sake. I haven't grown from five and a half feet in three years. I think this stupid thing should be under control by now.

It's not fair, honestly it's not. Why couldn't I have gotten some midget nerd who has half of the periodic table memorized? Or an idiotic, thick-necked jock who's only taking the class to fill his GER? No. Of course, in a fit of supreme divine irony, I get him.

We're talking smoldering eyes, rakishly long hair, biceps the size of grapefruits, legs up to here, and an ass to die for. Oh, and when he's not being a close-mouthed jerk, I think he may actually be intelligent.

NOT. FAIR.

Nngh. Only one thing to do, then. God, I hate doing this.

5:37 pm

Missy has agreed to Operation: Lab Partner once I outlined said partner's stunning physique. Really, all I had to say was "ridiculously attractive" and she was falling over herself to help me.

"So, how attractive are we talking?" asked Missy.

"He's your type, trust me," I said. "Ridiculously attractive. His ass is amazing."

"Ooh," cooed Missy, and the noise came through my cell as static. "Are we talking . . .?"

"Byronic," I finished for her. "Moody, too. Has the whole hair-falling-into-hooded-eyes thing down to a T. I definitely saw a copy of Titus Andronicus peeking out of his bag."

"A Shakespearean?" said Missy, snorting. "Lovely. He sounds like—"

"Boy Toy 2.0?" I asked. "Yeah, I thought he might resemble him slightly. But you and BT2 had fun in the sun for a while, before his incessant need for pillaging and death and revenge and whatever got in the way, right?"

Missy thought for a few seconds. "Fine," she agreed. "The ones you set me up with are always absolutely gorgeous. I'll pick you up after your lab on Thursday." She hung up.

I don't know if what I do quite qualifies as setting my sister up. More precisely, whenever I find myself forced into proximity with someone who could give the Dolce & Gabana perfume boy a run for his money, I bring Missy into the equation.

It's not safe to have me around them. So Missy gets a hot piece of man-meat to lug around and I don't have to worry about spontaneously combusting – literally – in the middle of a Biology lab. It's a win-win situation.

By Thursday, Hot Lab Partner will be lusting after my sister in all his Byronic glory, and I can get back to setting the groundwork for my genetics major.

Joy.

Tuesday, September 8th, 10:25 am

FUCK. Hot Lab Partner is also in Microeconomics 201. He sits directly in front of me, so I have a direct view of his stupid red-streaked hair.

He looks like a rejected Hot Topic model.

11:05 am

Perhaps I am moderately bitter, and therefore not the best judge of his attractiveness.

11:07 am

I really want to jump his bones. I've already shifted in my seat enough to draw the attention of most of the surrounding students. This cannot go on for much longer. I feel bad enough about asking Missy for this favor that I won't ask her to sleep with him on the first date, but I really, really hope she doesn't decide to play Sister Melissa with this one.

Sometimes I wonder if I should be more disgusted with myself – you know, for all intensive purposes pimping my twin out to hot guys so I won't spontaneously combust. Admittedly, Missy, being a future Hero of America, is big on Sacrificing Herself for the Common Good of the People (especially when the Common Good of the People require that she go out on long romantic dates with guys who wouldn't be amiss on the cover of GQ).

But still. I am her older sister, even if only by seven minutes. I should be talking care of her.

And it's not like Missy can't find dates for herself. That is perfectly evinced by the series of Boy Toys (Original through 5.0), who were all felled during their impressionable high school years by my sister's stunning beauty. I know everything about the six Boy Toys – with the single exception of their names – and for a while they all sounded perfect, not to mention perfectly in love with Missy.

Admittedly, when I set Missy up myself, the relationships tend to both last longer and end more amicably . . . but still. I am essentially having my sister sleep with guys to deplete their pheromones.

Nngh. There's something severely wrong with me.

11:23 am

Well, of course there's something wrong with me. My genetic code, for one thing.

11:47 am

Who am I kidding? I've never taken care of Missy. She's spent her whole life taking care of me, poor little Jenny with her deficiency and her crazy talk and her inability to go out in public.

I am a failure as a sister.

Wednesday, September 9th, 12 noon

Thank god, my Wednesdays appear to be thus far unscathed. No sight of Hot Lab Partner or the distinctive black cloud that thunders over his head. The guy is more emo than anyone I've met before. He no doubt plays electric bass.

6 pm

Can I get no relief?

Apparently not – because, you see, when I met Olivia, James, and Audrey in the student union at two for the infamous campus apple cider (but when everyone talks about it, they mean The Infamous Campus Apple Cider, capitals and everything) and a violent ping-pong tournament, who should be there giving my roommate monosyllabic responses but the Hot Lab Partner?

"Wanna play ping-pong?" asked Olivia.

"No," said Hot Lab Partner.

"You sure?" asked Olivia, batting eyelashes. She was being overtly flirtatious, much to the amusement of James, Audrey, and our fellow ping-pong tournament members, but Hot Lab Partner has obviously never heard of a sense of humor.

"Yes," said Hot Lab Partner.

"Liv, let's go," said I, and snagged her elbow. Hot Lab Partner barely spared me a glance. While attempting to remove Olivia from the scene of the crime, I noticed a flyer peeking out of his man-purse, along with the copy of Titus Andronicus. It was for a band playing downtown in a few nights.

Um, who totally called him being in an emo rock band?

I looked up from his bag, at least moderately smug, to find that he was looking at me more closely. His eyebrows twitched together minutely. No doubt this implied an intense degree of thought going on inside his lovely head.

I could feel the sweat begin to collect at the base of my spine.

"Hey, do you know—" began Olivia.

"Yes," said I. "He's my Bio lab partner. Off we go, Liv."

Olivia consented to being dragged off while elaborately miming for him to call her. I didn't see how he responded because I was too distracted by the knowledge that my knees would've turned into Jell-O if I had spent another two minutes in his presence.

James and Audrey were clapping slowly when Olivia and I joined them at the ping-pong table. "That was beautiful," said Audrey.

"Just about the most embarrassing thing I've ever witnessed in my life," added James. "I bow to your superiority, Olivia."

My roommate gave a few exaggerated curtsies, and blew loud kisses. Apparently a keg of the cider had already been gathered by the time I arrived, because everyone had a cup. A smirking girl with purple streaked hair handed me a glass, and introduced herself as Magenta, Audrey's roommate.

She looked familiar, in a same-corner-grocery-store-for-twelve-years kind of way. It wasn't enough grounds for uncomfortable questions about her past, so I accepted the apple cider and thanked her. She shrugged and vanished back into the group.

After scanning it, I quickly discovered that, Olivia, James, and Audrey excluded, I knew just about no one. When I mentioned this to Olivia, she told be to stop acting like an extra from Little House on the Prarie and turned around to begin ordering people into teams.

We halved the group first by playing roommate doubles. Olivia and I trounced a pair of giggly future sorority pledges quickly, and we settled back with our cider to watch Audrey and Magenta kill James and his platinum blonde roomie. After a particularly scarring volley, James and his Day-Glo friend capitulated eagerly to the girls. Audrey gave James a conciliatory kiss, and Magenta laughingly smacked Day-Glo (Zach, I later learned) in the head, which I took to have the same romantic implications as Audrey and James's kiss.

After watching a handful of less painful games, the remaining players drew straws and settled in for the long haul. With years of practice under my belt, I made it to the semi-finals with little injury. Magenta and I were tied at the end of our game, and we were setting up for a sudden death round when Olivia realized that most of the participants had a Philosophy seminar across campus in three minutes. They grabbed their purses and backpacks and disappeared.

I was left behind with Zach.

"I hate Philosophy," he told me. "So does Mag. But she hates Psych more."

I was having trouble seeing what this had to do with anything, but I nodded anyway. "How long have you two known each other?" I asked, fetching ping-pong balls from the far reaches of the room.

"Freshman year of high school," he said, more fidgeting with the paddles than putting them away. "We both came here from Maxville."

"Oh," I said, figuring out why Magenta's face had looked familiar. "Me too."

There was a pause as we looked at each other. He was obviously considering whether or not he had seen me during high school, and I was trying to decide whether or not to lie and pretend that I had gone to Maxville High along with all the other good little kiddies.

"I didn't go to Maxville High," I offered. "Home-schooled."

"Ah," said Zach, looking a little relieved. "Eh, I went to a, ah, magnet school."

Personally, I didn't think the guy could string a sentence together. But hey, whatever.

"Cool," I said politely, and crawled under the ping-pong table to gather a handful of missing rubber balls. I was half-heartedly juggling them when I reemerged to Zach saying something. "Sorry, what?" I asked, and rubbed a cobweb from my forehead.

I realized that Zach hadn't been talking to me, but rather a startlingly tall brunet who had appeared out of midair. "Erm," said I. "Hi."

The brunet grinned, and his handsome face spread. I waited for the sweat, for the Jell-O knees, for the pull on my navel.

Nada.

Hallelujah, the guy had a girlfriend.

"Hey," he said. "I'm Will."

"Hi Will," I said, smiling brightly. "I'm Jenny."

I dropped my collection of ping-pong balls onto the table and dusted off my hands. Zach was fidgeting again, shooting me painfully obvious glances.

"You can go, Zach," I told him, taking pity on him and his self-induced awkward silence. "I can finish up here."

"Oh," he replied, relieved. "Sure, thanks. Cool. Will, let's go."

"Are you sure about not needing help?" asked Will, looking concerned. He had on a Look, one that resembled Missy's Must Protect the Unsuspecting Populace one.

"Do you know Zach from high school, too?" I asked, trying not to sound as suspicious as I felt.

"Yeah," he said, giving Zach an accusatory look.

"Just wondering," I trilled nervously, suspicions confirmed. "And I'm really fine, you guys can go." Even after I gave them all the permission needed by impolite teenage boys, Will stood there, giving me a different look. This one clearly declared that he was just as suspicious of me as I had been of him two seconds ago. Of course, my curiosity had been appeased, and he was still in the dark.

"See you," said Will, voice laden with meaning.

God, he sounded exactly like Missy.

"Sure, of course," I said, not meaning a word.

Erm. No excuse. I know I keep on saying that, but this time it's true. I've already written - I kid you not - over sixty pages of this. Yes. I'm officially pathetic.

Trust me: there will be Warren. There will be shirtless Warren. Gratuitous, since this thing is basically entirely about sex.

God, my obsession with ruining the morals of children's movies is weird.

Anyway - thoughts, anyone?