Disclaimer: A lot of stuff isn't mine. The Mighty Ducks just happen to be topping the list right now, along with many things I mentioned in this fic (because product placement is key).

I

Space is one thing. But in a library, everybody can hear you scream.

"Shit, not again!"

The librarian glares at me. That was my official warning. Next time I'd get the boot. I couldn't help it though, my Walkman always chooses the worst possible to time to crap out on me. Right now, I was in the first hour of a five hour study block. Finals were coming up soon and Calculus had never been my thing.

School in general had never been my thing. But overachieving and a perfectionist disposition had screwed me over until I was taking 'honors' this and 'advanced' that. Hey, at least my parents were happy. And if they were content it didn't mattered that I was writhing in perpetual anguish over the fact that my brains were being fried, baked, and broiled. Nervous breakdowns, suicidal thoughts at a moments notice, self-mutilating tendencies: welcome to the world of Kenneth Wu.

My parents were too far away to see that special little side of me. This is what I like to call A Very Good Thing. Example, when the last mid-term grade reports had come out and I'd been doing poorly in a couple of courses they, as my mom so delicately put it, 'cut me off'. See that little plastic Visa Debit card tucked inside my wallet? It's worthless. Wave bye-bye to Kenny's non-existent social life. This boy is staying in for the weekend to study.

So what did I do in a pathetic attempt at revenge? I got careless. Taking three stairs at a time, moping on the roof of the auditorium, and this is the one that nearly broke my arm: running to classes despite that the courtyard was covered in ice. They didn't see that though, my parents just got a phone call from my guidance counselor saying that my grades were improving.

I pull fresh batteries out of my bag and pray these will last longer than a week. Students on scholarships always have the crappiest stuff, go figure. My Walkman needed a rubber-band to hold the batteries in, the display screen was scratch up to the point where I couldn't even read the track time, and don't get me started on the pause/play matrix. This thing was so old, it spat out old batteries like a little kid and broccoli. Adam and his fancy-pants iPod have nothing on me.

"Play, play, play," I quietly pray to the Walkman god, but I doubt that he's listening. "Come on, baby. One more hour. Just one more hour."

There's a clacking noise, then a whirl, and then the music starts up again. The sweet sound of success is Godspeed! You Black Emperor's song Dead Flag Blues.

"The car's on fire and there's no driver at the wheel
and the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides
and a dark wind blows
the government is corrupt
and we're on so many drugs
with the radio on and the curtains drawn."

It's fucking beautiful to my deprived ears. Magic and morphine wrapped up in a neat little package and smartly placed next to my eardrums. Words to live by for the rest of my life. Pathetic? Of course, but look at who you're dealing with. This sort of shit is to be expected.

Someone's tapping on my shoulder. I don't look up from my math book, so my assailant tries a different tactic. She pops her face right into my line of sight and smiles. It's one of those smiles where you know this person should either be on a children's show asking 'how everybody feels today' or heavily medicated. With Julie, I like to think it's somewhere in between.

I let her blab on for a few minutes before I point to my headphones. I give her a smug smile, finalizing the fact that I hadn't heard a word. Tactfully displaying her sadist side, Julie rips them off and gives me another nauseatingly friendly grin. I choose to re-enter the real world with a disgusted sigh.

"Hey Kenny, we need to talk." Julie is a Barbie and the world is her pink-coloured playhouse (accessories sold separately, batteries not included).

I shuffle a few papers around and try to look busy.

"Kenny..." Dot. Dot. Dot. That's a warning. Like with the librarian, I only get one warning. Except this one will end with Law and Order: Crazy, Psychopathic Killing Spree Victims Unit.

Talking with Julie usually means nodding animately while she bitches about the world. I'm up for a little nodding today. "So talk, I'm listening."

"Not now. You have to meet us in the locker room in an hour."

She's always so pushy. "Have to?" Not this time, sister. "I have to study..."

"Please? Will you be there, for me?" As if she means something to me. Then Julie gives me one of her 'sad puppy dog' faces and I know I'll be in that locker room even if the world's ending. Bitch. What'd she mean by 'us', anyway?

"Fine, but only if you help me with this math problem." If math had a face, I'd punch it. Several times. Yeah, I have some issues.

She sits down next to me and for twenty minutes we do anything but math. We talk about drugs, sex, politics, the O.C. How funny it is that most of this stuff seems to be on the O.C. How much the O.C. sucks. How pretty the people are on the O.C. How the O.C. could totally kick Everwood's ass. Our lives are centered around the O.C. but neither of us seem to want to change that. Remember, you're dealing with teenagers. Pathetic, hormone driven, angsty creatures. Seth Cohen is my god.

Finally, Julie remembers that we aren't in California (because that would be too perfect). She checks her watch and makes an excuse to leave.

"Don't forget," she diligently reminds me. "Locker room in forty minutes. And. Don't. Tell. Anybody."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I say back just as seriously, ignoring the creepy look she's giving me.

Julie grabs her bag and leaves me musing over the fact that she's just about as blunt as a pair of scissors today. Meaning if Julie wanted to tell me something, she'd just come out and say it. Secret rendezvous, hidden agendas, and special handshakes were never really her thing. There was someone else behind this little meeting, and the hell if I was going to go in unprepared.

(endpartone)

A/N: Ken's a little wacko, but that's the way I like him. There will be slashy goodness, say next part or so.A beta hunt has commenced. Volunteers more than welcome.

Hyvin kiitoksia!