Author's note: This is almost stretching the boundraries of fanfiction, unfortunately. Still, it's kind of a fairy tale, at least, I'm hopeing it will me, and so I'm going to put it up here and get readers. Besides, since it's here, it might encourage me to keep it within the boundries of fanfic.
The story of Snow White does not belong to me, and neither does the name Adarius Rathburn. (I stole it from a kid at my brother's Honor Roll. If he is reading this, please note that no disrespect is intended, it's just a really really cool name.)

My Happily Ever After
Part 1: New kids in town

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away, there lived a beautiful girl. This girl's mother had dies when she was only a tiny baby, and her father had married another woman, one who was vain and selfish. The stepmother was jealous of the girl's beauty, and she only became more jealous as the girl grew older. Soon, the stepmother couldn't bear to look upon the girl any longer, and she told her most trusted guard to take the girl into the forest and kill her. The advisor couldn't bear to kill the girl, and so he abandoned her to her fate in the forest and went back to her stepmother to say the girl was dead. The girl wandered through the forest until she found a house. It was empty, and, because she was tired, she went inside and fell asleep. When she woke up, she found herself surrounded by seven dwarves, entranced by her beauty. She quickly became their friend, and they allowed her to live in their house with them. But one day, when she was alone in the house, her stepmother came around disguised as an old crone. She gave the girl a poisoned apple, and the girl fell asleep so deeply she could have been dead. When the dwarves returned, they found her lying asleep on the floor. Thinking she was dead, they built her a coffin of glass and laid her in the forest for all to see. Soon, a handsome prince rode up, and, seeing the beautiful girl lying in the coffin, he fell deeply in love with her. He lifted the lid off the coffin and bent down to kiss her. As his lips touched hers, her eyes opened and she feel in love with him. He carried her back to his kingdom, and they were married and lived happily ever after. The end.

At least, that's how it's supposed to happen. Unfortunately, it doesn't. Trust me. I should know. My name is Adarius Rathburn, and I am not your average Snow White. To begin with, I'm a boy, which causes a few problems right off the bat. Not to mention that I'm an ultra-tan redhead. That about wraps it up for Snow White, doesn't it? Actually, we de have a few things in common. Both of us live with stepmothers who hate us, and both of us are considered eerily beautiful. (Yes, someone actually did say that to me, believe it or not.) Apart from that, though, I am no more a fairy tale princess than you are.

I live in Denver, which, as I'm sure all who live here will agree, isn't exactly a paradise for witches and old stories. (Though we were voted into the top ten most lustful cities in America recently. Go figure.) Not only do I live in Denver, I live just off Broadway in what is possibly the most boring suburb in the world. Hardly an idea setting for a fairy tale, right? Yet, somehow, in the midst of all thus crushing banality, I managed to find what stories might call my happily ever after. The way it happened was like this.

"Hey Rathburn!" I turned to see my friend Claire running towards me. Most of my friends are girls: I tend to make guys feel insecure.

I grinned at her. "What's up Minnie?" Claire is all of 4 feet 9 inches tall, and, when you see her with the rest of us, you'd think she was an Elementary Schooler in disguise. She more than makes up for her size in energy, though. She's like a little kid in that respect too, come to think of it.

"Kiki's sick today," she announced. "And I have to bring her her homework."

I grinned. "Good luck. Do you have to make sure she does it?" Kiki, the oldest of our group, firmly maintains that homework of any kind is against her religion, and she adamantly refuses to do it. Her grades, oddly enough, aren't anything to write home about either. Funny how that works, isn't it?

She shook her head. "Nope. I'm just the messenger."

"Good. I like you better alive."

We made our way towards the front door of our high school, keeping a sharp eye out for the rest of our gang. I spotted Bubble, blond and as empty-headed as her nickname suggests, quickly enough, and reached out to steer her towards her locker, which happens to be right by mine. It was my turn to keep her out of trouble this year, and we'd gotten our schedules fixed accordingly. The councilors know Bubble, after all, and Minnie is the honor student, not me.

We'd almost reached the end of the math hallway when Joe joined us. Joe is only a freshman, but she is without a doubt the most amazing lesbian I have ever met and, trust me, I have met lots. I go to my sister's parties, after all. Minnie turned into the business hall then, while Bubble, Joe, and I opened our respective lockers and grabbed our things for first period: math. Personally, I think having math first thing in the morning should be declared unconstitutional – isn't there something in the Bill of Rights outlawing cruel and unusual punishment? – but I wasn't consulted about this. At least Joe, who likes and is good at math, is in our class, so she can give me answers. I don't even have to bribe her to do it. Well, not much, anyway.

We somehow managed to survive both math and English, which Joe doesn't have with us, and then it was, finally, time for lunch. Classes of ninety minutes long are all very well, but it isn't much fun when you have your two least favorite classes one right after the other.

Bubble and I sat down at our table, waiting for Minnie and Joe to join us. We gossiped as we waited, or, rather, Bubble gossiped and I waited. How Bubble can manage to overhear and commit to memory every detail of every cheerleader's love life when she has to be reminded of her locker combination every morning is beyond me, but she somehow manages it. She was in the middle of recounting in great detail the complexities of Mandy's Johnson's relationship with her current boyfriend when Minnie suddenly appeared in front of me. I jumped, almost upsetting my milk carton. "Don't do that to me!" I exclaimed, glowering at her.

She grinned. "Being a shrimp has its benefits," she crowed, setting her tray down on the table and sliding into her seat next to Bubble.

"Yeah, like giving me a heart attack," I grumbled. The grin only widened.

"So, what's going on in Prep land?" she asked, turning to look at Bubble. Bubble launched into a description of Mandy Johnson's boyfriend while I watched for Joe. I saw her before she saw me, and I waved her over. She dropped down next to Bubble, grinning from ear to ear.

"What's up?" I asked, raising my eyebrows at her.

"There's a new chick in my business class," she explained. "And she's hot!"

I laughed. "Good luck. Who is she?"

"Her name's Adele White," Joe answered. "Apparently she's got a twin brother named Eric, but he wasn't in the class."

Bubble broke off her monologue, looking intrigued. "You think he's as hot as she is?"

Joe shrugged. "I didn't see him," she reminded Bubble. "But probably."

Bubble's eyes turned speculative, and I knew instantly that she was plotting to get him for herself. Silently, I wished her luck.

Minnie clearly saw the same thing, and she grinned. "Maybe he'll be in one of your classes." She glanced at me. "Speaking of which, you have art next, right?" I nodded. "Can you get the homework? Kiki's in the class with you, and I don't want to talk to Mr. Clark."

I rolled my eyes. "Why not? He's cool!"

She shuddered. "He's creepy," she insisted. "He's got a unibrow and it's not the same color as his hair, and it's scary!"

I snorted. "You're just shallow," I told her. "He's a good teacher."

She sighed. "Just get me the homework, okay?"

"It would serve you right if I made you do it yourself."

"But you won't, will you?"

"What'll you give me?"

She considered. "I'll write your English essay," she offered.

"Deal," I answered promptly. "It's about time I got a decent grade on one of those."

Joe snorted. "If you have to depend on Minnie to get good grades, then you're in sad shape."

I shrugged. "I do pictures, not words," I reminded her.

She grinned. "We can tell." The bell rang then, and three of us jumped up. Bubble leaned back in her seat, watching us with smug superiority. She is off after lunch: she hates art, and I refuse to give it up.

"Try not to spend all period mooning over a boy you've never met," I advised, scooping my books up and slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

She laughed, a breathy, girlish laugh that didn't reassure me in the slightest. Minnie rolled her eyes. "You know she will," she told me, grinning at Bubble. "That's just how she is."

I grimaced. "Well, at least tell someone else about it this time. I've had to listen to the last four."

"Poor baby," Joe said. "I'm sure someone will rescue you."

"They'd better," I agreed. The bell rang again, telling us that all gossip time had ended. The three of us who had classes sprinted off in three different directions.

I skidded to a stop inside Mr. Clark's classroom moments before the last bell finished ringing. He looked hard at me, but I wasn't quite late, so he couldn't technically yell at me. He glared anyway, and I scurried to my seta and pulled out my sketchbook. The bell stopped ringing, and Mr. Clark walked up to the chalkboard. "We have a new student in the class today," he announced. He nodded at a boy standing in the corner, who I hadn't noticed before. "Eric White moved here from New York City, and I'm sure he will be glad to tell you about his life there." Eric looked around, smiling pleasantly. Looking at him, I could see that he wouldn't get many guy friends either. And they said I made them feel insecure! This dude was prettier than me any day. No wonder Bubble was excited.

My friend Tina, one of those friends you only talk to in one class and never see again when the class is over, poked me. "Looks like you've got some competition," she muttered, watching Eric hungrily.

I shrugged, examining him closely. I knew where Mr. Clark would put him: there was only one empty seat in the room, and it was next to me. Sure enough, Mr. Clark directed him to the empty seat. "Adarius will tell you what we are currently working on." He went back to the front of the room, leaving me to explain in an undertone what we were doing: drawing gemstones. I caught Eric watching me as I explained the project, and I recognized the look in his luminescent blue eyes: it was one I'd often caught Joe using on Bubble. His eyes flicked up and down my torso, clearly checking me out. I hid a grin. I had no competition after all.

The class went by far too quickly. What is it about time that it always goes fastest when you're having fun? I swear, it's all some kind of right-wing conspiracy to make us all hate school. After all, why else make sure we spend as much time as possible in the classes we hate?

Eric didn't talk much, though I could feel his eyes on me for most of the class period. I struggled very hard to not to tell him I wasn't interested, trusting that he would figure it out eventually. He hadn't by the end of the period, and I was having a hard time not telling him to watch someone else's ass. There are other guys in the school, and some of them even swing his way. Why did he have to watch me?

He wasn't in our chem. class, thankfully, and as I joined Bubble outside the classroom, I dismissed him from my mind. He would get the message eventually. Bubble was full of energy and she chatted without stopping as we took our seats. I didn't have the heart to tell her that the guy she was obsessed with would never consider her. After all, she too would eventually get the message. I just hoped that she would find another shoulder to cry on when it finally happened. I might be her designated caretaker, but I'm still a guy and I'm still straight, and hearing about her romance issues still makes me uncomfortable. Ironically, I would be the most qualified to hear about Joe's issues, but she's currently single and planning on staying that way. Apparently her last relationship ended badly, and she's not ready to dive into another one. Though, considering how she'd looked coming out of business, she might just be about to change that.

Chem. passed quickly enough, for once, and we'd actually finished our experiment without blowing anything up by the time the bell rang. Leaving me to clean the material up, Bubble darted away to gather her stuff. I grimaced, but quickly put away the Bunsen burner and blue power we'd been burning. I wouldn't trust Bubble with blue powder anyway. Knowing her, she'd think it was makeup and try to put on her eyelids, and who knows what would happen then. It was better just to do it myself.

She deigned to wait for me, at least, and I walked with her to the front hall, where we lounged against the wall to wait for Joe and Minnie. When they finally came, we walked out together into the bright sunlight.

"What do you want to do today?" I asked, squinting into the glare.

Minnie shrugged. "I've got to give Kiki her homework," she said. "Then I'm free."

"I can do anything," Joe volunteered.

We all looked at Bubble. She shook her head. "Grounded."

"Why?" Minnie demanded.

"Mom caught me spying on the neighbors again," she explained. I made a face. Bubble is convinced her neighbors are actually evil foreign spies who are out to get her and take her to an enemy country. In reality, said neighbors are a very nice elderly couple who did their best to be friends with her. After the third time she ran away screaming, they stopped, and when they discovered her watching them through her binoculars, they called her mom to complain. Since then, Bubble has been under strict orders not to bother them in any way, orders which she apparently disobeyed.

"Why?" I demanded, propping my hands on my hips.

"Because they're out to get me!" she said, her voice leaving no room for doubt. "I know they are!"

"And how do you know that?" Minnie demanded, fighting the giggles as hard as she could.

"They were talking about me!" she assured us, her voice earnest. "I heard them!"

"Do they even know your name?" Joe wanted to know.

She shook her head. "No, but they were talking about the 'girl next door,' and the neighbors on the other side don't have any kids. It must have been me!"

I rolled my eyes. "Maybe they were just wishing you'd stop spying on them."

She shook her head. "No! I know what they want!"

"Which is?"

"Me, of course. Why else would they move in next to me?"

Joe snickered. "Let's think logically about this, shall we?" she asked. "Just why would they want you?"

Bubble shrugged helplessly. "I don't know," she said. "But I know they want me!"

Minnie glanced at her watch. "Not that this isn't interesting or anything, but I've gotta skiddadle if I want to get to Kiki's. Where will I meet you?"

"We could go to my house," I suggested. "Marge isn't home until six tonight."

Minnie nodded. "Got it. If Kiki isn't sick anymore, I'll bring her too."

"'Kay," I said, watching as she darted away, weaving expertly through the crowd of taller students.

"I should go too," Bubble said, looking at her own watch. It had Tinkerbell on it. She walked off in the other direction, leaving Joe and I standing on the sidewalk looking after her.

"Shall we?" she asked, nodding towards my house. I shrugged, and we started walking. "So, you met the new chick yet?" she asked as we walked.

I shook my head. "No. I met her brother, though." I grimaced and she raised an eyebrow. "He's a bonafide gay," I informed her. "And Mr. Clark put him next to me."

She uttered a noise somewhere between a giggle and a snort. "Poor you. Did he try anything?"

I shook my head. "Not yet. He just looked. A lot."

She did laugh then, and I scowled at her. "It is Not funny," I informed her hotly. "I don't want to be checked out by guys!"

She looked at me oddly, sobering slightly. "I didn't think you had any particular problem with it," she commented.

"I don't," I assured her. "Just so long as they leave me alone. I like girls. Period. End of story."

"You never know unless you try," she told me.

"Trust me on this one, all right?" I asked, a slightly pained note in my voice. "I'm not gay."

She shrugged. "If you say so. That's no reason to be rude to him, though."

"I wasn't," I objected, stepping over a puddle on the sidewalk. "But I'm not going to encourage him either."

"No, that would be cruel," she agreed. "Just smile at him and tell him you're not interested. And keep him away from Bubble."

I winced. I'd forgotten about that complication. "Good idea. That would be cruel."

She nodded. "Bubble might be a ditz, but she knows how to fight for a guy."

"Tell me about it," I muttered, remembering all of her schemes last year to steal the football players from the pom squad. Needless to say, they had all failed dismally, and Jason Par was still firmly joined at the hip with Crissy Samson. Frankly, I don't know what she saw in him, but, then, as I'd just got through explaining, I am 100 guaranteed straight white guy, so I know nothing about the aesthetic value of various football players.

"Hey, here's a thought. You should encourage your friend to join the GSA. We could use some guys."

I winced. "He's not my friend," I told her.

"What, you're not going to be his friend because he thinks you have a hot ass? Even I know you have a hot ass, and I don't swing your way."

"I don't care what he thinks of my ass," I assured her. "It's what he chooses to do afterwards that bothers me. I'm not going to let him think I might even possibly be interested."

"You don't have to do it that way, you know," she pointed out. "After all, there are ways to be friends with people without leading them on."

"Yeah, but not if they already like you."

"You don't even know if he really likes you. You've been checked out by guys before."

"Not like this. Trust me on this one Joe. He's head over heels, and I have no intention of allowing that to go any farther."

She snorted. "Since when are you such an expert on relationships, anyway?"

"Since I've become the object of a hopeless crush."

She rolled her eyes. "You are being melodramatic," she informed me. "Ten to one he was just enjoying the view."

"You're on," I told her. "What are you betting?"

She considered this for a moment. "I'll do your math homework for a week."

"Two."

"Deal."

We shook on it, and the conversation lagged for a moment. As usual, we were both convinced we'd made the winning bet. I was confident in my assessment: I've seen girls mooning over me before, and the look in Eric's eyes was exactly the same.

The conversation shifted to math class and, by the time we finally reached my house, I almost understood what we were doing. Not enough to do it by myself, by any means, but enough to almost figure out what I was doing wrong. It was an improvement over class, at least.

I found Minnie and Kiki waiting for us at the door. Minnie was scowling at Kiki, who was grinning, a bored expression on her face. Minnie turned when she heard us, her scowl not lightening perceptively. "It's about time," she grumbled. "Do you have any idea how long we've been waiting here?"

"Two minutes," Kiki added. "Two whole minutes. 120 seconds. Who knows what interesting things could be going on in the world that we missed because we were standing in front of your door waiting for you?"

I rolled my eyes as I moved to unlock the door. "You do realize that the back door is always open, don't you?"

Minnie grimaced. "And be arrested for breaking and entering? I don't think so."

"It's not breaking and entering if you're my friend," I reminded her. "And my dad knows you."

"I am a good person, and good people don't go sneaking into their friends' houses when their friends are out," she insisted, stepping past me into the house.

I snorted. "Sure you are," I agreed, following Kiki and Joe into the living room. "Dad, I'm home!" I hollered, listening for the response. It came in the form of a loud thump followed by a huge grunt. I winced. "He's moving furniture in the basement again," I muttered. "Drinks and snacks are in the kitchen. You can help yourselves. I'll be right there." I didn't wait for them to do as I suggested, only moved to the back door and down the stairs into the basement. I pounded down the stairs, only to be confronted by a stack of almost empty boxes. I shoved them to the side, maneuvering my away around them until I could see my dad clearly. He was working on lifting an armchair, and failing dismally.

Without waiting for prompting, I grabbed the other side of the chair, and together we managed to drag it over to the opposite corner. When we'd unceremoniously let it drop, I stood up, wiping my hands on the chair. "I've got a couple friends over," I informed him. "They'll leave before Marge gets home."

His eyes narrowed. "How many is a couple?" he demanded suspiciously.

"Just three," I assured him.

"Which ones?"

"Minnie, Joe, and Kiki," I told him without thinking.

"Who?"

I grimaced. It's so easy to forget that not everyone knows us only by our nicknames. "Claire, Sarah, and Michiko."

"Oh. Well, get them out before Marge comes home. You know she doesn't like you having friends over." 'Doesn't like' is a bit of an understatement, actually. The proper term would be 'throws a hissy fit whenever she realizes.' As I've said, Marge doesn't like me very much. Sometimes, I think she's jealous. After all, I am the one who gets my ass checked out on a regular basis, even if half the time it's by other guys. Dad began to eye the sofa speculatively, and I fled, not wanting to be pressed once more into service.

Back upstairs, I stopped by the kitchen to grab a can of Coke before joining my friends in my room. Minnie was lounging on my bed, glancing through my CDs, while Kiki and Joe were engaged in an extensive discussion about the pros and cons of where to go for the first date. As far as I could tell, Kiki favored going out to a restaurant and eating something fancy, while Joe was all for the casual movies and pizza approach. Personally, I think the best place to go on a first date is her house, so that you can meet her father right off the bat and assure him that you are not some kind of sex fiend who cares about nothing but taking her virginity at the first chance you get, but that option apparently didn't make either of their lists.

Minnie looked up as I entered, brandishing a CD in my face. "Where did you get this and can I steal it?" she demanded.

I grabbed it out of her hand and examined it. It was one of my favorites. "I bought it at Virgin, and no, you can't."

"Will you at least burn me a copy?"

"Can't you just buy your own?"

She grimaced. "I'm broke," she informed me.

"Why? You're the one who just turned sixteen. Surely you could get a job if you need money."

"I could," she agreed. "Or I could just get my CDs from you and my books from the internet. It's easier."

"It is," I admitted. "When do you want it by?"

She shrugged. "Whenever you can get it done. I don't really care."

"Good. Don't expect it before the end of the week."

She raised her eyebrows. "Busy schedule?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Stepmother."

"Oh, right. She doesn't want you burning CDs, does she?"

"Among other things," I said dryly.

She grimaced. "How can you put up with her?" she demanded.

"I can't, most of the time. Believe me, I'm counting the days until I turn eighteen."

She laughed. "And how many is that?"

"1044 days," I answered promptly. "Counting today."

Joe's eyes widened. "Wow," she said. "You really are counting, aren't you?"

I nodded.

Kiki decided then that we weren't paying nearly enough attention to her, and she leaned forward. "So, what's this I hear about new victims?"

I grimaced. "Stop calling us that, if you please."

"Well, that's what you are," she insisted. "You're all victims of a cruel and oppressive system which cares nothing for you and whose only goal is to work you into such a state of exhaustion that you can do nothing else."

"And I suppose you are enlightened and have escaped from said cruelty?" Minnie demanded, trading eye rolls with me.

"Of course I have," Kiki said. "Why do you think I'm the only one of you who isn't sleep deprived?"

"And why are you the only one of us who systematically fails every class?" Minnie shot back.

"Oh, grades," Kiki scoffed. "They are nothing but tools to make us doubt ourselves and lower our self esteem."

Joe snorted. "Yeah. They're also what my parents use when deciding whether or not to ground me."

Kiki brushed that aside, leaning around Joe to look at me. "So, spill Rathburn. What's this about the new guy being yellow?"

Joe chucked a pillow in her direction, which I intercepted neatly. "Don't throw the furniture around," I said.

Joe rolled her eyes, but took it from me and put it back on my bed.

"Well?" Kiki demanded, not put off by Joe's reaction.

I sighed. "What do you want me to say? Yes, he is indeed gay, and no, I'm not interested."

Kiki rolled her eyes. "And just how do you know? Have you ever tried kissing a guy?"

"How different is it from kissing a girl?"

"Very," Kiki and Joe said instantly. Minnie stared at Joe in astonishment.

"You've kissed a guy?" she demanded.

Joe shrugged. "Sure. How else do you think I knew I didn't like it?"

Kiki grinned. I turned to Joe. "So, if you're so experiences, tell me how it's different from kissing a girl?"

Joe considered for a moment. Finally, she said, "When you're kissing a guy, it's harsher. It's like a competition, where both of you are doing your best to kill the other one's mouth with yours. But when you kiss a girl, it's more equal. It's obvious that you respect each other, and there's no fighting."

Kiki shook her head, amused. "No, you've got it all wrong," she said. "When you kiss a guy, it's your chance to prove yourself. It's a power struggle, and if you win, he'll respect you."

"And if you lose?" Minnie asked, fascinated. Minnie has no hormones to speak of, unlike the rest of us, and, to my knowledge, she hasn't kissed anybody, guy or girl.

Kiki shrugged. "If you lose, then you're no more than a sex toy."

"That's harsh," I objected. "Not all guys only think about sex, you know."

"No. The ones that don't are gay," Kiki said instantly. I debated whether or not to throw a pillow at her myself, but decided that it wasn't worth the trouble I would get in. I contented myself with telling her to shut up. She only grinned at me.

"What are you going to do about the new kid?" Minnie asked, clearly changing the subject. She is by far the most modest of all of us, and the talk of sex had left her bright red and looking at the floor. Kiki, not modest by even the loosest of standards, snickered.

I shrugged. "Not much I can do," I pointed out. "He'll get over it eventually."

"Will he?" Joe asked skeptically. "You never know. He might think it's the forever kind of crush."

I winced. "I hope not. That would mean I'd be the one to break his heart. I'd rather not have that on my conscience."

"Adarius Rathburn, heartbreaker, that's you," Minnie said, grinning.

I glowered at her. "It's not a title I'm eager to inherit. Maybe I'll get lucky and he'll find someone else."

"I doubt it," Joe muttered.

"Are you telling me gay guys don't fall in and out of love as fast as straight ones?" I demanded.

She shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I'm not a gay guy, after all. But I do know that they're a hell of a lot carefuller about who they show interest in. They have to be. Most guys would run away kicking and screaming if they thought they were being checked out by another guy."

"Or they'd break his ass," Kiki said. I scowled at her.

"What on Earth have guys done to you?" I demanded. "You seem to have declared war on our entire gender."

"I'm dating a guy, aren't I?" she shot back. "And I'm just painting people the way they really are."

"You're still with Devon?" Joe asked her, leaning back to rest her elbows against my desk.

Kiki nodded. "Yup. Two months as of next Monday."

"Congrats," I said. "What's this, a new record?"

She grinned. "I like him. He's a good kisser, once I showed him I could hold my own."

I rolled my eyes. "Is that your only criteria for choosing guys?"

"Of course not! But you have to admit, it's important."

Joe snorted. Kiki turned to glare at her. "Oh, come on honey. Don't tell me you don't look for chicks who can kiss."

"I look for girls I can connect with," Joe said loftily. "Is it my fault that they end up being good kissers?"

Minnie and I laughed. Kiki returned Joe's snort.

I took a drink of my Coke, glancing at my clock. 4:30. We still had time. "What are you guys doing this weekend?" I asked.

Minnie wrinkled her nose. "Nothing. I've been informed that my weekend will be spent doing homework and cleaning my room."

"Your Dad's out of town again, isn't he?" I asked. Minnie's dad is a flight attendant, and he spends rather a lot of time traveling. She nodded.

"Yup. Until the end of the week at least." She grimaced. "Mom's going insane. She claims she wasn't cut out to be a single mother."

"Why'd she marry a flight attendant, then?" Joe demanded.

Minnie shrugged. "Beats me. Maybe he promised not to leave so much."

"Maybe they just fell in love," I suggested.

Minnie burst out laughing. "Somehow, I doubt my mother's the type to forget everything for love, even in college."

"True," I agreed, remembering the times I'd met Minnie's mom.

Joe looked up at my clock, and her eyes widened. "I've gotta go. My mom'll skin me if I'm late again."

She stood, grabbing the backpack she'd dropped at the door and walking out. I didn't bother walking her to the door: she's been here enough that she knows where it is.

Kiki took a bite of an apple she'd gotten from somewhere, then tossed it up in the air and caught it with one hand, bite side up. "How long until graduation?"

"Too long," Minnie answered automatically. "Incidentally, if you want me to write your college entrance essays for you, you'll have to get cracking."

I raised my eyebrows. "You're planning on going to college?" I demanded. "Somehow, I doubt they'll let you in."

Kiki shrugged. "My scintillating personality will make up for my lack of grades," she said airily.

"Really? They don't get to meet you unless you have good grades, you know."

"If they're only interested in my grades, I'm not interested in going there."

"Good luck," Minnie said dryly. "Come to me if you change your mind."

"Just what are Bubble and I going to do without you to write our essays for us?" I asked her, propping my hands on my hips. "Both of us are hopeless."

She snickered. "You've got that right," she muttered. "Honestly, you might be educated in person, but from your essays, you'd think you were seven years old."

"Is it my fault that I can't do it?" I demanded. "It wasn't my choice, now was it?"

"True," she agreed. "Tell you what, send me the questions, send me cash, and I'll send you an essay."

"Cash?! You're not making Kiki pay cash!"

"Kiki and I have a different arrangement."

"Really? What is it?"

She grinned. "It's a secret," she told me. Kiki laughed. I turned to her, my eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Does it have anything to do with illegal substances?"

Her eyes widened in mock-horror. "Me? Sell something illegal? Just what kind of person do you think I am, anyway?" Her voice was far too full of fake innocence to make me comfortable. What is and isn't illegal is another thing that Kiki tends to ignore most of the time. She only follows the law when it suits her.

"More to the point," Minnie interrupted. "What kind of person do you think I am, hmm? Do I look like the kind of person who would indulge in illegal substances?"

"No," I admitted. "You're far too much of a goody-goody to do that."

"There you go."

"Then what is it?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Still not telling."

"You do realize that that makes me think only the worst, don't you?"

She shrugged. "That's not my problem."

Before I could answer, the phone rang shrilly. I dashed out of the room and down the stairs, grabbing it just before it could finish its last ring. "Hello?" I gasped, fighting to catch my breath. My stepmother's harsh voice barked through the receiver at me.

"Oh, it's you."

I fought the anger that instinctively filled me at the sound of her voice. "What do you want, Marge?"

"Tell your father that I'll be home early."

My stomach dropped. "How early?"

"In ten minutes." Oh, shit!

"Okay."

The line went dead, and I sprinted back up to my room. "Sorry guys, she's coming home early."

Minnie grimaced. "When?"

"Really soon."

They both stood. They knew what it meant when I said really soon. Minnie grinned sympathetically at me. "See you tomorrow."

"See you," I said glumly. Assuming I survived until then, of course.

"Cuss her out good for me, 'kay?" Kiki asked, grinning.

I shuddered in response to the very idea of cussing Marge out. "Sorry, no can do. I'd rather survive to get to college, thanks all the same."

She shrugged. "If you say so. I still think she deserves it."

"It's not a question of whether she deserves it or not, it's whether I'll survive the experience."

Minnie sighed and grabbed Kiki's sleeve, which was all she could reach. I had to grin, watching Minnie tow the older girl out the door. Kiki was 5'7, and, next to Minnie, she looked like some kind of giant. Of course, Minnie looked slightly like a dwarf, and that only added to the amusement. They pounded down the stairs and out the door, vanishing around the corner moments before Marge's car zoomed around the opposite end of the street. I scanned my room, picking up the trash they'd left and stuffing it into my trashcan. Everything looked fine. I hoped.

The door crashed open and I winced, already sensing that she was in a bad mood. It's not hard to put Marge into a bad mood, and, most of the time, it's because of me. I tend to being out the worst in her, for some reason. Actually, I know the reason quite well: I'm prettier than she is, and she doesn't like it. I don't blame her for it either. After all, when your fifteen year old stepson is prettier than you are, you know you have some serious issues. The thing is, though, that Marge is really pretty. She's not model gorgeous or anything, but she could still win some small town beauty contests. She refuses to see that, though, and she takes her temper out on me.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like she hits me. That's child abuse, and Dad's technically a cop. He doesn't actually do much of anything, but he's got the badge and the gun, so that makes him technically part of the police force, and he wouldn't hesitate to turn her in if she started beating me. So she only yells at me and blames me for all the little things that go wrong. Nothing extreme, just enough to make it quite clear that she doesn't like me.

Sure enough, I heard her pounding up the stairs to my room. Quickly, I darted in and grabbed the first textbook that came to my hand, flopped down onto my bed, and tried to look like I'd been studying. Just my luck, I'd landed on the math book, which is the one subject I really should spend more time studying.

She burst through my door, glowering. "Why is the dishwasher full?" she demanded, her voice icy.

Oops, I'd forgotten about that. I held up my math book. "Homework."

"It's 5 o'clock, Adarius," she informed me. "If you have that much homework, maybe you should drop some classes."

Great, now she thought I was stupid as well as useless. Nothing like a little love, is there?

"I don't need to drop my classes, Marge. I just have a lot of homework tonight."

"Really? You weren't just staying out with your little friends?"

She couldn't know… could she? I shook my head.

"And whose is that?" She nodded at an empty Coke can. Damn, I must have missed that one.

"Mine."

"Why were you drinking soda at this time of day?"

I sighed, closing my book and sitting up. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry about the dishwasher, all right? It won't happen again."

"No, it won't," she agreed.

I frowned. What was she talking about?

"Because next time you forget, you are out of this house."

My mouth dropped open. She couldn't be saying what I thought she was saying… could she?

She was. "This is your last warning. I'm sure your real mother would be glad to have you." She emphasized the word real, making me remember that she'd overheard me telling Dad that I didn't have to listen to her because she wasn't my real mom. I'd come to regret that.

"Probably not." Mom's on welfare right now, juggling a recurring drug addiction and what might possibly be cancer. She has no time for anyone but herself, and she certainly can't be expected to take me in.

"She's your mother. She has a duty to look after you."

"So does Dad," I muttered.

She glowered. "Your father does not have time to be constantly watching you. You should be old enough by now to be able to balance your own responsibilities."

I was suddenly tired of this conversation, tired of her, tired of just being in this house. I stood. "I'm going out," I announced. "I'll empty the dishwasher and be home before dark."

"And the homework?" she demanded.

"It's not due tomorrow."

She glared more, but I ducked past her and thundered down the stairs. I put the dishes away in record time, hollered down the stairs to Dad, who grunted a response, and dashed out the door, heroically resisting the urge to slam it behind me.

Once outside, I sagged against the wall, limp with relief. I honestly could not take any more of Marge today, and I was not looking forward to returning at dark. The wind picked up, and I shivered, realizing that, in my haste, I'd forgotten to grab a coat. Oh well, I wasn't going back inside to get one. I pushed myself away from the wall and started walking, not really caring where I was going. It didn't matter, in the end.

Out of sheer luck, I found myself headed towards the rec center. I like the rec center: it has not only sport type stuff, but creative clubs and classes. I've done a lot of the art things, and the councilors know me well. I could almost certainly get in without paying, if I promised to pay double next time. I didn't have my wallet with me either.

Sure enough, a grin and an explanation got me into the main complex. I made my way over to the art room and stepped inside, pausing momentarily to shake off the residual fury from my encounter with Marge. When I opened them, Rick, the head councilor, was grinning at me.

"Hard day?" he asked sympathetically.

"You have no idea," I agreed.

"Well, we have stuff you can work on, if you're interested."

I shook my head. "Not now. I will, but not right now."

He nodded. "There's paper over there."

I grinned. "You read my mind. Any chance of charcoal?"

His eyebrows lifted. "In that kind of mood, are you?"

I nodded. "Unfortunately."

He thought for a moment, then jerked his head at a nearby cabinet. "In there. Don't use it all, okay?"

"'Kay." I moved over to the cabinet and surveyed the selection. Finally, I grabbed some and collected several pieces of paper. Making myself comfortable in one of the plastic chairs at the long table, I bent over the paper and began to draw, angrily at first, with the bold slashing lines gradually fading into gentle strokes as I worked my frustration away.

I didn't know how long I'd been there when a soft voice said, "You're very talented."

I whirled, knocked out of my intense conversation. My eyes widened as I realized who it was. "Um…" I said dumbly.

Eric leaned over to examine my drawing. I was acutely aware that he was almost touching me, and I scooted over as much as I could without being obvious about it. "It's very unique," he murmured, almost to himself. He turned to look at me, and I was caught off balance by the intensity of his eyes. "You didn't plan to draw this, did you?"

It was only then that I realized what I'd drawn. I winced as I took in the desolate landscape, drawn in the muted shades of gray that were all charcoal could produce, yet somehow managing to convey anger and pain all at the same time. Sometimes, I wish my psyche wasn't quite as fervent with its brain dumps.

"No," I muttered, moving to take the picture.

"Wait," he said, still examining it. Unwillingly, I receded, wondering just when he would tell me what he was doing here. Finally, he stepped away, allowing me to grab my drawing and glower at it. I debated tearing it up, but decided that I actually kind of liked it. I would tack it up in my bedroom, and maybe Marge would bet the message. Not that she would care, but it would make me feel slightly better.

He sat down across from me and, after getting a nod of permission, took one of the sheets. He pulled out a pencil and began to sketch his own picture, apparently not interested in talking again. Relieved, I picked up the charcoal again and began to doodle one the remaining piece of paper. After a while, my doodles began to take a more determined shape, and I realized with a start that I was drawing him. I stared at the partially completed portrait in horror, then turned it over quickly, hoping against hope he hadn't notice. All I needed was for him to think I was falling for him.

I stood, determined to find Rick and beg for something productive to do. Unfortunately, before I could go more than a few steps, he shifted, and I caught sight of what he'd been drawing. The breath left my body as thoroughly as though someone had punched me in the stomach. And he called me talented! This guy could go pro no problem!

"That's amazing," I said without thinking.

"What, this? It's nothing." It was said casually, without any of the false modesty I would expect with such a statement. He really did think it wasn't anything. The thought of what he created that he was actually proud of made my self esteem plummet. Gorgeous and talented. How lucky could a guy get?

'He could fall in love with someone who loves him back,' I reminded myself.

"No, really, that's awesome. I wish I could draw that well!"

He looked surprised. "You can," he said. "You're just as good as I am, if not better,"

I snorted. He really was delusional if he thought I was as good as he was. "No I'm not," I said firmly. "I'm nowhere near that good."

He reached over and turned my half done drawing over so that he could look at it. I winced, and I saw his eyebrows shoot up as he realized what I'd drawn. "Sorry about that," I muttered, taking it back from him. "My subconscious doesn't follow orders." 'Oh, really great, Rathburn,' I told myself bitterly as his eyes met mine, clearly searching. 'Give him hope, will you? How cruel can you be?' I was aware that I was slowly turning a shade of red that any tomato would envy, and I knew I had to get out of here soon.

He didn't answer, giving me time to take a deep breath and work on returning to a color normal. I turned and moved off, my two drawing clutched tight in one hand. I knew that there was no way I could draw anything normal today. My subconscious truly had too much to say, and I was afraid to give it free reign. Movement. That was what I needed. I didn't care how much more that meant I would have to pay next time I came. Some things are worth paying for.

Another grin got me a tennis ball and a racket, and I stepped into the indoor court, folding the two stupid pictures up and stuffing them into my pocket. I swore to myself that I would shred the picture of Eric first chance I got.

Now, let's get one things quite clear: I am not a jock. I have never been, nor will I ever will be, athletically inclined. But there are times when a guy's just got to hit something hard and repeatedly, and there's nothing better for that kind of thing than a tennis ball… unless maybe it's a person you hate. But since I'm not allowed to kill her any more than she's allowed to hit me, I would have to make do with a tennis ball.

I'd almost gotten good enough to hit it back every time it came to me when the door to the court opened and another figure stepped in. I winced, sure that he was stalking me, and turned to yell at him to leave me alone. My angry words died on my lips as I realized that it wasn't Eric after all. I grinned. "Dom! Where have you been lately?"

Dominic, my best friend, grinned back, walking farther into the court and letting the door slam shut behind me. I reached out, and we embraced each other, both grinning widely. "My Mom went off to China," he said. "I went with her."

"Ever heard of email?"

"No service."

"You left me to think something horribly drastic had happened to you."

He snorted. "Like you didn't know I would be back." Dom's mother is an archeologist, and she tends to travel a lot. Since Dom wants to be one when he grows up, she takes him on some of the more interesting trips. Clearly this one made the grade.

"So, what'd you dig up? More clay soldiers?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Merchant ships."

I raised my eyebrows. "Underwater?"

He nodded.

"Branching out?"

He shrugged. "Mom wanted to try it, and I wanted to try it, and so we tried it. I think I'll stick with actual digging, thanks all the same."

I snickered. "You don't like diving?"

He shuddered. "Have you ever jumped into an ocean full of sharks and prayed that they won't kill you?"

"Nope. Don't want to, either. You can keep your sharks and your boats to yourself."

"Someone else can have them," he assured me. "I'll stick with clay soldiers."

"Why don't you just dig up the stuff around here?" I complained, bending down to scoop up the tennis ball.

He grimaced. "Not interested. I didn't know you liked tennis."

"And why not? Indians are cool. And I don't."

"Indians are overdone and boring. So why are you playing if you don't like it?"

It was my turn to grimace. "I needed to vent, and my subconscious hates me."

His eyebrows shot up. "Come again?"

"I can't draw anything but shit right now," I said bitterly. "And half of it's bad shit."

He snorted. "I doubt that. Anything you draw can't be that bad. Let's see?"

I shook my head. "No way. I'm not showing them to anyone."

He rolled his eyes. "Why not?"

"Because Kiki and Joe will kill me."

Dom doesn't go to school with us, but he knows the rest of them. He laughed. "That bad, is it?"

I nodded.

"I promise I won't tell them."

"Yeah, like that'll work. You know how they are."

"I can keep my mouth shut."

"That's not the issue."

He sighed. "You have so little faith in me," he complained.

I shrugged. "I'm not suicidal yet."

His eyebrows shot up. "Yet?"

I sighed. Might as well spill. "Marge threatened to kick me out of the house today."

He whistled softly. "Damn," he said slowly. "Where would you go?"

"Dunno. She says I should go to Mom, but, well, you know."

He nodded. "Yeah. Well, you can crash at our place for a while if you need to, but…"

I understood. Dom's dad died when he was just a kid, and his mom travels a lot. I knew I'd be welcome for as long as they were in the country, but I couldn't travel with them. They couldn't afford it. "Thanks. It hasn't gone that far yet."

"But you think it will." It wasn't a question.

I sighed again. "She hates me, Dom. She really does."

He put a comforting hand on my arm. "Yeah, I know she does."

"I don't even know why she hates me!" I complained, suddenly needing to let all the poison out. "I mean, it's not like I've ever done anything to her. She's just always hated me."

"I know," he said again. We were both silent for a moment, and then I threw the tennis ball up in the air. I hit it viciously against the wall, watching as it bounced back at me. Dom intercepted it, sending it flying back at the wall. We continued like that for a while, not talking.

"You know, sometimes I really envy you," I said after a moment, hitting the ball against the wall again.

"Me?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. At least you've got a family who actually cares about you."

"Doesn't your Dad care?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. He doesn't really care enough. I think he's afraid of Marge."

"That's not hard," he muttered, hitting the ball up and over the net so that it almost flew above my head. I managed to catch it just in time, and I sent it ricocheting back at the wall.

"When I see you and your mom," I continued, watching as he chucked the ball especially hard, "I can just feel how much you guys care about each other."

He sighed. "We do care about each other," he admitted, narrowing his eyes as the neon-colored ball zoomed towards him. "But I'm all she has. You have your friends, at least."

"So do you," I pointed out.

"I have you. No one else is willing to make the commitment to long distance friendships," he said, more than a little bitterly.

My eyes widened. "Why not?" I demanded.

He shrugged. "Why does Marge hate you? People are just like that."

I nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right." The tennis ball flew past my outstretched racket and struck the opposite wall, bouncing off and rolling into the corner. I moved over to retrieve it. "People are idiots most of the time."

"Yeah," he agreed softly. I held the tennis ball in one hand, idly tossing it up and down. A glance at my watch told me that almost two hours had passed, and my eyes widened. "Fuck," I muttered. "Now she really is going to kill me. I promised I'd be home by dark."

"You want to stay at our place?" he asked, looking at his own watch. "My mom can call Marge."

Tempting as the idea was, I shook my head. "No, better just go and face the music once and for all. If she really does kick me out, I might be over."

"We'll keep something for you," he promised.

"You leaving yet?"

He shook his head. "Tennis isn't the kind of thing you get on digs in China. I'll stay for a while."

I tossed him the ball. "Here. Knock yourself out." I moved towards the door, my steps slow and my heart heavy.

"Will you be all right?" he asked worriedly.

I nodded. "Yeah. She's not going to kill me. At least, I don't think she will."

"Listen, Adarius."

"Yeah?"

He paused, then sighed. "Look, if you need to talk to anyone, you know you can talk to me, right?"

I nodded, unable to speak for a moment. "Yeah," I said softly. "Thanks."

He hugged me then, a tight hug that transmitted all the reassurance I craved. I clung to him momentarily, then stepped back. He let me go, his dark eyes worried. I forced a smile onto my face, knowing that he wouldn't buy it.

The door to the court closed behind me, and I walked back to the main desk, my steps echoing too loudly in the deserted hallway. Wait, not quite deserted. As I turned the corner, I saw Eric standing half concealed in the shadows, an expression of utter despair on his face.