Hey guys! Finally got this updated. Huehue, I'm so happy.

As some of you may know, school has already started in my country, so there is a very high probability that I will not go online or update as much and as quickly as I used to. Anyway, I wanna express my gratitude for the support you guys are showing! It really means a lot. :) Reading your comments and opinions on how the fic is going so far... they pull me back on track, so thank you for taking the time to review/PM/inquire about certain details that I sometimes fail to further look into. I hope this chapter satisfies your cravings for updates! :D

Enjoy your summer, guys!

Disclaimer: I do not own DP, or anything familiar, below.

Thirty Days Is Not An Option

"Chapter 4"

Monday, July 08, 2013

Day Four: Fourth of March

07:16

"Manson."

The mentioned Goth looked to her right, a somewhat lanky, yellow-clothed shoulder peeking out from the side of her swung-open locker door. She looked further down, taking note of the dark-toned palm that limply hung at a sideward angle, green cargo pants that stopped a few inches above the man's ankle with a pocket at each side, and brown sneaker boots that seemed to be trudged heavily upon the ground to no end. She could easily recognize him, therefore, letting him wait all he want for an acknowledgement she was not going to give.

Grabbing the last of her books and balancing them on her right arm, she shut the compartment closed.

"I really don't wanna hear it."

She walked past his somewhat tensed up figure, amethyst eyes half-lidded in genuine annoyance at Fenton for sending Foley over just to talk to her. No, she did not need that, especially if it was coming from an actual friend of his. Although Foley was on her neutral side, it still didn't change the fact that he was close to Fenton―knowing his secrets, plotting teenage acts of stupidity and a whole lot more. She actually had this respect for Tucker for retaining his dorky side up until now. Even if Dash and Kwan wanted him to drop it, he never did, and she saluted him for that, whatever his reason for making that decision was, may it have been pride or the likes of it. But letting him claim the opposing opinion truthful, based off of something she clearly witnessed for almost two years now, was completely out of the question.

She deadpanned at the crowded halls in her inability to find Valerie or Mia, but found herself alarmed at the sudden―and tightening―grasp on her heaving limb.

The girl turned with a stern shove, Tucker having this unusual feel of seriousness.

"Let go," Sam commanded in a low tone even the boy found frightening, "Or you'll regret it for what I'm about to do."

"Fine, fine." He did as she ordered and raised his palms up in surrender, mouth straightening into a thin slit and eyes rolling, which she returned with a cold hard glare, at her intimidating bluff. "Just let me say what I need to say, and I'll be out of your hair."

"If it's a sermon about forgiving Fenton because he has these pure intentions that are, by the way, utterly impossible for me to imagine, then forget it."

Tucker muttered something she couldn't make out, Sam thinking it was a probable defeat. "Whatever. He likes you. Okay? Now you two get together and do 'couple-y' stuff."

'Wait,'

"He likes you."

He likes you.

Sam couldn't believe what she heard, lest, any of her assumptions anymore. The world was going mad, she was sure, and it would start with her as a victim. But if what Foley said was true, which she very highly doubted, it would explain all these weird signs Fenton was demonstrating: the being clingy, high toleration, everything.

"What?"

Although she knew all of this was wrong, there was this weird feeling in her stomach―a feeling that wasn't supposed to be there. She could easily tell the difference between a sudden flutter in her abdomen and feeling sick. Problem is: it most definitely wasn't aversion. Who cares if it was just flattery? Fenton caused it.

Fenton―that sad excuse for a guy―caused it.

For a moment there, she lost herself, no words able to form in her conscience. Everything was blocked out by her astonishment for Fenton at how far he's gone to try and do whatever it was he was planning, to her.

"When will you guys ever learn? Stop playing with me. Stop making fun of me! Of all your attempts, this has got to be the stupidest one!" She attempted voicing out in a serene manner, practicing in her mind seconds before she said it aloud, but wasn't exactly successful in execution with a voice close to cracking.

"Manson, I mean, Sam, I'm serious!"

She snickered at the irony, then quickly shifted to a frown. "Tell him I said hi, okay? He'll be thrilled to know that I'm aware of his existence and that he's pissing. Me. Off."

"Sam no, you don't understand. Just… just, please promise you'll give him a chance."

The girl vigorously shook her head, ivory black tail motioning in timid sways. Her jaw clenched, chin tensing up and hardening as it pressed against the tough bone. She never believed in second chances. People don't change; they can't. Second chances were playing, deceitful―getting your hopes up and shoving you into the solid hard ground.

"No, no. Second chances are a damn waste." Sam chewed on the thin layer of the inside of her bottom lip, hiding the thought and doubt in her own words. It was true; she never believed anything good would ever come out of second chances, so why did this time feel off? Was it because of infatuation; the fact he did seem convincing; a result of being twitterpated? Probably.

And as her eyes wandered away, failing to take the African-American boy seriously, she spied Fenton in the distance, hurriedly walking in her direction, a mask of pure worry ghosting over his face.

"Tell that to your friend over there."

His agitated feet came to a halt. His brows furrowed. "Tell me, what?" Fenton slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans, clueless as of inquiring and how to react, concerning anything related to Sam. His cobalt pair hovered over Tucker, who was obviously intimidated at his arrival, giving the taller man a hard stare.

Foley forced a lump down his throat, tempted to run as fast as he could at the looks given to him by both Sam and Fenton.

"Your oh-so huge crush on me." She placed a free hand on her hip.

Fenton surveyed her warily, gaze hovering over her entire figure. At the back of his head, all he could hope for was an obvious sign of sarcasm, not wanting to know what would happen after this exchange if Sam did happen to know about their little scheme.

He laughed to relieve the tension. "And what makes you think that's real?"

"Well, there's," She flicked out her pinkie, "the actual conversations we have," then her ring finger, "the indulgence for me and my distaste for you," followed by her middle finger, "and the fact that you aren't with Paulina, which is a total coincidence." before coming to a stop, as if an idea just struck her. "Are you sure this has nothing to do with her?"

"Of course not," he waved her off, an insignificant hint of worry glazing his eyes. "But we," He stated, emphasizing the last word. He awkwardly walked over to Tucker, keeping in mind that it was impossible for him to turn around and take in, even a single-second glance at the fuming Goth.

Fenton hooked a finger into Tucker's collar, only for his arm to be swatted away forcefully by the concerned subject. He continued, "Should really get going."

Sam watched them leave, hasty steps trailing down the pathway. She could clearly see Fenton in an effort to spot, from the corner of his eyes, her following actions. She frowned, and he turned away before returning her farewell with a grimace of his own.

She continued down the hall, her Thursday routine still intact. There were still ten minutes left before the bell, and her room for first period was practically right around the corner, so she could take her time, right? This whole flurry left her completely flabbergasted; she needed all the free time she could get to think about how she would be handling the situation.

Dragging her boots along the corridor's tiled-floors, each shift of movement from one leg to another was unwillingly taken. All she wanted was to be free of school-related issues: from being on the bottom of the social chain to her current problem with a hopeless idiot by the name of Fenton and his inevitable―one way or another―plans of publicly shaming her. But if they ever did get together, even if it was fake―which disgusted her all the more―she could straighten him up, put him together, reshape him in the likeness of how an educated teenage boy should be.

And there was still a plus side to it: she still had the option to use this as a way to get over him. She could do to Fenton whatever it was she wished to do as if it were actually Harris portraying the character in this little stage play; ask him to do the impossible, command him to get her the most expensive stuff that wouldn't even put a dent on her fortune, or anything that provides hardships for him.

Maybe… just maybe, God actually planned for this to happen.

Nothing he was planning could ever leave a scratch on her tough individual, anyway, so of course she was willing to go head to head with the A-list crowd. They couldn't intimidate her, not one bit.

Sam would be lying if she said not a single fraction of this temporary arrangement was tempting. Mia, she wasn't helping either.

"F-f...―"

The night she exhaled―

"Forget it."

―exclaiming rejection as she rubbed at her temples was not as satisfying as she thought them to be.

The girl was seventy percent confident of her, admittedly, unfinished blueprints, but she was sure her brain would eventually come up with something when the time she was supposedly done with Fenton, came.

That is, if she doesn't give up halfway through the plan.

She was definitely not letting this golden opportunity to fix Fenton and herself, which suddenly popped out of the water, pass. No. She was going to reel it in, no matter how contradicting, strong and convincing her doubts for a positive outcome were.

Because screw this, screw everything.

16:03

"Fenton, I, uh, need to talk to you." She slung a strap over her squaring shoulders, still uncertain about the words actually making its way out her throat.

He shot up from the contents of his backpack and gawked at the unusually responsive being, raising a single brow in an endeavor to hide an obvious narrowing of his eyes.

"What about?"

"About awhile ago." He took a sideways glance while Sam's serious stare never left him, focusing on the task at hand and would rather not blow him off even more. "Look, I'm sorry. I was rude and-and I couldn't think straight, okay? You just… you had my mind in scrambles there."

She stuttered. She never stutters.

A tip of his mouth tugged upward, and as soon as he did that popular, lopsided grin of his, Sam knew exactly why every shallow girl fell for such an angelic act. It all made sense, considering the fact they only judged from the outer perspective of things.

"Don't even think of it."

"And for the record, thanks. I know you only said that to make me feel better." A smile crept its way past her lips.

She was about to run out and leave for detention when he popped a single question that, even though she knew it was coming, would haunt her for the rest of high school, and her following college years, in the least.

"Can I start courting you then?"

A brunette stood up with a loud grate of her armchair. "Oh my God! Did you guys hear that?" she screeched, squinting her bulging orbs.

"Shut up! It's about to get good!" another screamed out.

Sam nervously looked around, receiving envy-filled and stricken gazes as her amethyst irises met with others' greens, blues, browns and blacks. "Uh… yeah." She brought Fenton back in her line of vision, and from behind, screeches and frustrated groans resounded throughout the room. "You should really thank Tucker, y'know."

"Let me walk you to the classroom, milady." He joked and enthusiastically jumped out of his chair. Offering her an awaiting hand, he lowered his head and mouthed a 'sorry for everything'.

She took it hesitantly at first, feeling the callused skin of his palm.

It would still take some getting used to, but hopefully, it would be quicker than her original thought.

He casually pulled her out of the room, drawing attention to their too-close-for-comfort distances and holding hands.

"So, I guess it's time we get to know each other, huh?"

"Guess it is."

I have no idea when the next update will be released, but I have this strong feeling it'll be next month. Sorry guys. :c LOL, you know, tomorrow's Monday and I still have an unfinished paper I have to submit by then. And I still have to do research. Lots and lots of research.

Thanks for reading!

Ratings, reviews and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!