while going through these ep rewrites i couldn't figure out how i wanted to include "big time audition" since the masons don't meet the guys until a few episodes later and this finally hit me! and it also has finally spurred me to re-write the fic depicting them first meeting the guys because, well, frankly I can do it so much better now and make sure each girl's personality stands out a bit more. but, in the meantime, you can see what they were like before the guys changed their lives. (again this is less a rewrite and more a long scene addition but, hey, semantics.)
The ping of an email sliding into her inbox set Jazz scrambling off her bed. Finally! Setting aside the half-assembled skateboard deck, trucks, and screws she'd been tinkering with, she landed on the hardwood floor with a heavy thud and grabbed her laptop off her desk. The slam of her fingers on the spacebar cut off the quick lick of a guitar solo slicing through the air. High-stepping over Mel's assorted Nikes scattered on the ground, she approached the pocket door in the nearby wall of her room. Extending her foot, she planted it on the door and slid it open.
It smacked against the interior wall with a heavy thud, revealing Sammi perched on the side of her bed, body curled over her legs where she applied nail-polish to her big toe while bending her head to hold her cell phone in place.
"Jazz!" she shrieked, unfurling from her position. Irritation weighed down her brows as she gazed down at the black line dragging across her toenails. "Do you see what you did! Now i have to start all over!"
"No one's gonna be lookin' at your toes, Sam," Jazz said with a roll of her eyes. "And if they're really getting that close, they have bigger problems."
"You're gonna have big problems! It's taken me two hours to get this design right!" Huffing, Sammi reached over to yank sheets of tissues out a nearby box. "God! if i can't fix this you owe me a new outfit."
"How?"
Sammi uttered a world-weary sigh and spoke slowly. "This design goes with a specific outfit. I can't wear the outfit without the polish and i can't wear the polish without the outfit. It doesn't make sense."
"You don't make sense," Jazz grumbled, resting her laptop on her hip. "Who cares if your toes and your eyebrows match?"
"Just because you dress like Tony Hawk threw up on you doesn't mean everyone wants to walk around looking like a grease stain. Some of us take pride in how we look." Sammi patted her large cloud of curly hair to emphasize her point.
"Yeah, yeah, hope when you swallow that pride you don't choke on it. Blue's not your color—literally." Jazz laughed and danced out of the way of Sammi throwing her large, fluffy pillow at her. "Quit with the dramatics! Look, Aunt Kelly sent us another round of audition videos! From Minnesota this time! —I know." Sammi held the same confused expression on her face Jazz was sure she'd made only a few seconds prior.
Why Aunt Kelly and Uncle Gustavo's last star search stop was in Minnesota of all places, she didn't know. Especially in the middle of winter. Uncle Gustavo didn't do well with the cold. Or people. Or cold people. So this was Hell and Hell freezing over for him at the exact same time. He was not going to be in a good mood.
"Hurry up! I want to see if these people are terrible too."
"Relax, no one can be as bad as Opera Guy," Sammi said with a scoff. "For one, he chose a terrible song for his range. Two, I could have done it better. And three, his shirt was untucked, his tie was too short, and he thought square toed shoes fit this century. He should have called me for help. He would've looked at least half-way presentable, which is the best he could have pulled off."
"Isn't most criticism supposed to come with a compliment somewhere."
"Sure," Sammi said with a shrug. "He'd never be able to afford me."
"Don't break your arm congratulating yourself," Jazz said. "Just hurry up!" Her feet slapped against the ground as she ran out of their connecting rooms, Sammi's phone conversation fading behind her as she jumped down the stairs, slamming to a stop on both landings. Navigating around the corner, she burst through the kitchen and went straight for the connected living room.
A stack of neatly folded blankets sat on the nearby ottoman, the creases so sharp it could cut glass. Just the way their dad liked it. A tray filled with a half empty glass of orange juice, toast two bites away from being finished, a mug with a dredge of dark coffee remaining, scattered silverware, and a balled up napkin balanced on a haphazard scattering of cycling and running magazines on the nearby coffee table.
And Mickey moved about straightening it all: adjusting the dented pillow left on the recliner, tucking the transfer board between the chair and end table, moving the lone navy blue slipper—left foot—to sit just beneath the coffee table, pulled the extended foot rest back in, and rolled up the long cord of the nearby vacuum around her arm.
"Hey." Jazz waved her arm, her voice and movement breaking Mickey out of her productive haze. She paused in the cord rolling, eyebrows lifting in a silent question. Or at least Jazz guessed from her head being pointed in her direction; her long locs hid most of her face. "We got more audition videos from Aunt Kelly. The last stop in Minnesota." Mickey's eyes slowly moved from the tray to the blankets to the recliner and back to the tray. "I'll get Mel so you can finish up," Jazz continued, "But Mick, seriously, Dad's not gonna care if it's not all spic and span by the time they get back."
Her mouth twisted to the side and she was quiet as she placed the wrapped cord around the back of the vacuum. Stepping on the petal that unlocked it, she turned to maneuver it out of the room, stopping only to say, "It matters to me" before passing.
Jazz stepped aside. Mickey preferred to keep everything in the right place to make his life easier. Jazz very much preferred that their dad was still around to have a life.
She made a beeline for the garage, a wall of sound knocking into her once she popped the seal on the door leading off the kitchen. Their dad had made it soundproof the day Mel got her first drum-set for Christmas on year. He re-enforced it every couple of years, for their' mom's sake since she worked most nights he said.
Mel's arms were almost a blur with how fast she hit the drums and symbols in succession. Her shoulders rose and dropped and her body moved along to a groove Jazz couldn't hear, half from the steady drumbeats and half from the large headphones Mel wore over her ears. With a grin, Jazz tiptoed forward until she stood behind Mel, able to see the lines of bright purple weaving into her long, dark braids. It was a recent changeover from her usual cornrows. It made playing goalie in soccer easier without having to fuss about her hair. As captain of the team, she didn't let anything get in her way. Literally.
"Yo!" Jazz snickered when Mel jumped at Jazz's shout after yanking a headphone off her ear. The drumbeat finished off-time due to Mel's flailing. Yanking the other headphone off, Jazz jerked her head backward when Mel whipped around with one drumstick pointed right at her nose. "Easy Jack Sparrow, you'll put an eye out."
"You're mixing up your movies," Mel pointed out, curling in the drumstick to spin it around her fingers. Her chest heaved and Jazz didn't need to check her pulse to know it was high. She swore Mel used drumming as an excuse for exercise as well to keep her skills up. As she liked to point out, you can't have an out-of-shape drummer and Mel needed to work twice as hard to get even some semblance of recognition for her contributions to their school's jam band or percussion section.
"Speaking of movies, we have a new installment of America's Funniest Audition Fails!" Jazz wiggled her laptop around as if displaying a prize on a game show. "Come on!" She started bouncing on her toes. "I want to know if they all sing with those accents."
Mel hummed. "That's assuming they're all able to keep time." That was a sticking point for her from the auditions in Salt Lake City, Philadelphia, and Houston. Most of the auditions, really. That even the well-prepared singers couldn't seem to stay on time with the music they chose. They either rushed or dragged, or worse, changed the arrangement to something so flashy it didn't showcase their voice but rather pointed out the sharp strains, the flat hits, or displayed their flaws rather than their strengths. She went on a rant about each location's auditions for days. (Though that could also be leftover disappointment at not being allowed to audition in D.C., even though they weren't accepting drummers.)
"Well, here's the good part! You can take all the videos of the bad ones, explain why they're so bad, and throw in some of your drum reels and send that to Uncle Gustavo!" Jazz said with a sparkle in her eye, a finger pointed upwards in the air. "All Mom and Dad said was it wasn't a good idea to audition. They never said you couldn't show them your reels by accidentally sending them a link in an email you never meant to send."
Chuckling, Mel grabbed a gray towel with faded Gatorade logos on them and wiped sweat off her brow. "Remind me to hire you as my lawyer."
"Why? They can't get mad at you for that."
"No, but they'll be impressed with how much you can twist their words to fit your needs before they ground you for a month."
Shifting her finger from vertical to horizontal, Jazz wiggled her finger between herself and Mel. "You mean ground us."
Mel laughed and shook her head; her braids swayed as she swung one leg over her stool. "No, I mean you. I'm an innocent bystander."
"Annnd that's exactly where you'll stay if you don't take this chance," Jazz said. Mel's smile immediately dropped to a frown and she scratched at her hairline. "It's an opportunity of a lifetime. You want it bad, so you keep saying, but you're going to let something as small as an email stand in your way? What's that phrase?" She tapped her chin. "Ask for forgiveness rather than permission?"
"Will that still hold up when I shove this down your throat?" Mel asked, waving her drumstick at her.
Jazz grinned, pushing it away. "You know I'm right!"
"No, you're annoying."
"Same thing!"
Laughing, Jazz ran out of the garage, making it to the living room in time for Mel to jump onto her back and the two to slam down to the couch. Jazz managed to move her computer out of the way in time, twisting herself to take the blow of the soft landing. Sammi and Mickey trailed in a few moments later, squeezing themselves onto the couch in their usual order: Sammi on one end, then Mel, Jazz, and Mickey on the other end. Stretching her legs onto the coffee table, crossing the angle with the thin metallic red band over the other, Jazz balanced her laptop on her lap and pressed play on the video.
They laughed, cringed, groaned, and booed through the clipped together reel of auditions. Some people were flat, some were sharp, some didn't even sing, instead choosing to do an interpretive dance about acid rain and a mime act. Unsurprisingly, Gustavo whisked them off the stage fast yelling about how a mime can't have seriously tried to audition for a singing competition. (Plus, he found mimes creepy.)
One girl stood out, someone named Jenny Tinkler, simply because her audition started with her taking in a deep breath and then the shot cut to a firefighter using a fire extinguisher on curtain, some tiles hanging from the ceiling, the recording tilted, a few holes in the wall of the stage, and Jenny running around with security guards chasing after her all the while screaming "But I'm gonna be the next Gwen Stefani!" Kelly could be see in the background, wiping leftover extinguisher
"Whoa," they girls uttered in unison.
"She should come with a warning label," Mel said.
"So should her outfit," Sammi said. "Bows that big only belong on big presents."
"The dog was cute though," Jazz said. They all voiced their agreement as she fast forwarded through the next clips. It was a blur of color, of scuffles, of someone jumping off the stage, of—
"Wait! Go back!" Mel jabbed at a button on the keyboard, sending the reel backward.
"Hey!"
"Just—look!"
She hit another button and the video started playing again. A boy walked on stage wearing audition number 810, wearing a gray sweater and brown pants. He introduced himself as Logan and, instead of singing, started beatboxing.
"Not bad," Mel said after an approving hum.
Gustavo didn't agree by yelling Logan off the stage like everyone else. Mickey made a noise of sympathy at the zoom-in on Logan's shellshocked expression and robotic walk out of the room.
811 was next, a boy in a blue hoodie named Carlos who swung the microphone around until he farted into it, causing Jazz and Mel to crack up and Sammi to utter a sound of disgust.
James was 812, a tall boy with a confident stride and his chin held high. He took his time before he started, looking at his feet, taking a breath, and positioning the swoop in his hair.
"People say I'm the life of the party... 'cause I tell a joke or two..."
"Wow." Sitting next to her, Jazz caught Mickey's soft uttering of awe. And, out the corner of her eye, she watched Mickey sit up straighter and lean closer to the screen.
"Sam?" Jazz appealed.
Sammi nodded once. "He's good," she stated, running a ring along a chain around her neck. And she'd know, she was born with near perfect pitch. Which she loved to remind them about any chance she got. Which Jazz understood, despite how annoying it could get. Any way for them to be different.
"So Minnesota does have some talent," Mel remarked.
Not that Uncle Gustavo agreed with them. Before their very eyes, he started shouting about how the James guy had no talent (Mickry gasped at that) and how he was wasting his time. Then all hell broke loose when some blond guy sporting some impressive eyebrows came into the shot, yelling about Uncle Gustavo not having any talent and then singing about how he was a "giant turd" which started a brawl with security guards.
"Whoa! And I thought people from Minnesota were supposed to be nice!" Jazz said between her laughter which started up again when an older black woman started beating up the security guards with her cane.
"Uncle Gustavo kind of deserved it," Mel said. Sammi nodded in agreement.
"Let's see it again!" Jazz went backward on the clip only to jerk out of the way when Mickey's arm extended past her face, her cell phone in hand. "What the-?" her cry was cut short at the snort she emitted when spotting the deep disapproving frown on Mickey's face. "Oh, this'll be good."
With a sigh and half smile, Mel took thr phone out of Mickey's hand and held it up to her ear. Jazz leaned closer to listen, the buzz on the other end trilling three times until it was picked up.
"Hey Mel," Aunt Kelly greeted her warmly. "Hey girls. What's up?"
"Mickey's mad at you," Mel singsonged.
"How? What did I do?"
"We saw the auditions. Mickey's mad you didn't pick-"
"The hot guy," Jazz cut in.
"The hot guy," Mel repeated, "812."
"That was Gustavo, not me. You know I don't have much of a say."
"Then how do you call yourself a talent scout?"
They didn't need to see her face to know she rolled her eyes. "Look, Gustavo's looking for a certain thing and he didn't have it. So Mickey can be mad at him."
"She is. You should see her face."
"Send it to me. I'll show him."
Snickering, Mel took out her phone to snap a pic of Mickey's still present frown, now with her arms crossed, and quickly sent it over. "For what it's worth, if he went this far and still didn't find someone, that guy may be his best shot."
"Try telling him that."
"We will! We can spam him!"
"Jazz."
"I said spam him. We won't do anything else. This time. We got grounded hard for signing him up for that toupee of the month thing."
"You. You got grounded," Sammi, Mel, and Mickey said in unison.
"Anyway, he seems to have his mind set. I'll try talking to him. He might not want him after being escourted out by security."
"Or, maybe that's the fire he's looking for!" Jazz said. "Just think about it! He'd have a built-in bad boy type!"
"We'll see. I talk to you girls later. I think he's about to yell at the bellhop. I love you. And stay out of trouble."
"We always do," they chorused before saying goodbye and hanging up.
Jazz drummed her fingers on her laptop, a slow smile pushing onto her face.
"Oh no," Sammi groaned at the sight of it.
Mel sighed. "You gonna order something?"
Jazz nodded.
"You gonna send it to Uncle Gustavo?"
Jazz nodded again.
"Are you gonna send a mime to glare at him?"
"Nah," Jazz said, shaking her head. "I could send Mickey to do that for free." She laughed, leaning out of the way of Mickey's attempts to hit her with a pillow.
"Well whatever it is, I'm not going down for it this time," Mel declared. "...Let's go to the library and use their computers. At least that way the IP can't get directly traced back to us."
"Good idea!"
All at once, the girls lept off the couch and raced each other for the front door.
this isn't one of my favorite episodes but it does have my fav btr song in it! (boyfriend is one of their best, i will die on that hill!) but carlos' plotline always bothered me (james' and logan's plot really bothered me as well but that's another rant post for a different day) so this is what i came up with to make it a little better. enjoy!
@witchofinterest @myloveforhergoeson @raging-violets @partiallypearl
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Red, gold, and white lights spun and flashed from nearby attractions, begging passersby to take their shot at winning the large, stuffed prizes hanging off stalls. Beneath the inky black sky wafts of thick, heavy fried-scented air hovered over the milling crowds, luring in kids begging for treats to hold in their sticky hands. Excited shrieks and screams punched through the mechanical whooshes and grinding from nearby thrill rides and attractions, but Sammi blocked all the background noise out. Her eyes remained focused on the basketball hoop in front of her, the tip of her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth.
She eased out a breath, her fingers gripping the small rubber ball. The bumps and grooves pressed into the pads of her fingers; her pulse jumped faintly in her fingertip. You got this; you can do it! Pulling her tongue back into her mouth, her mouth formed a line, her muscles tensed, and she shot the basketball out of her hands with a little hop. It arced through the air…and bounced off the rim.
“Aw, man!” she groaned, her nose wrinkling and her arms falling to the side.
“Close but no cigar,” the stall attendant said, his mustached mouth stretching into a Cheshire cat grin. Sammi’s lip curled in as she suppressed the urge to rip his sharpie-marker mustache off his face. Really, did he have to say it every time she missed the shot? Twenty times was twenty times too much. And that mustache was so outdated! “Come on, try again. I’m sure you’ll get it this time.” He tossed the ball to her. She caught it and tossed it back, shaking her head.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” Besides, she already dropped thirty-five dollars on the dumb game. She couldn’t justify spending any more, no matter how much she wanted that giant stuffed bunny.
“Just try one more. I hate to see pretty girls walk away empty handed.” He flashed a smile, popping the ball atop his finger. With a push, he spun it along the tip. The colors flashed by in a bright smear against the golden tint of the booth’s bulb lights. “Waddya say?” She wanted to say where he could shove that basketball, and it wasn’t going to be through a netted hoop.
Instead she drew herself up, lifted her chin, and held his gaze. "I hate to see desperate guys." He blinked and she lifted her eyebrows, waiting for his one-track mind to switch gears and catch up. She'd said all she needed to say. When it finally did, she smirked as he jerked upright, fumbling the ball in his hands. Brushing her hair over her shoulder, she turned and sauntered off, pausing to add, "By the way, get used to pretty girls walking away from you! That's the only direction they'll be heading!"
Man, did that feel good. Nothing quite beat the exhilaration and satisfaction of putting guys like that in their place. Honestly. She was pretty, she knew that, she made sure others knew that, but that didn't mean she could fold and roll over just because someone else acknowledged it. Where was the effort in men nowadays? Not that she'd give in a chance otherwise, she was already happily taken.
Carlos, however, looked as if his happiness had been taken away from him, judging by the long look on his face anyway. It was a stark one-eighty from the cloud he'd seemed to be riding on for the past couple days. Hands on her popped hips, Sammi glanced around. Where was that Sasha girl anyway? The two were glued at the hip in the van ride over to the fair. It was almost disgusting how much they giggled and batted their eyes at one another. Where was they mystery? Where was the chase? Where was the effort?
"Okay, what's wrong?" Sammi peered down at Carlos from the other side of the picnic table he slouched over. Two corndogs sat in his hands.
"Me and Sasha broke up," he said.
"Sasha and I," Sammi automatically corrected. She couldn't help it. The world would be better if people were on point at all times. Speech couldn't slip through the cracks; annunciation and word choice went a long way when it came to molding people's perception.
Carlos looked up at her, eyebrows furrowing. "You were dating her too?"
Sammi brought her hand up to the side of her head. This boy. Easing a sigh, she carefully sat on the other bench, scooping her skirt beneath her thighs and crossed one leg over the other. The bright lights nearby illuminated her heels as if she were bathed in a spotlight. She grinned. She knew she picked the right shoes; her sisters didn't know what they were talking about when they tried to talk her out of them. She was a 10 at all times, from her head to her feet. Literally. She couldn't afford anything else.
"Why did you break up?" Sammi asked.
"She doesn't like corndogs. Actually, she hates corndogs."
"....So?"
"I love corndogs. We wouldn't work."
Sammi snorted. "Is that the only reason?"
This made Carlos sit up straight, eyes blazing. "Is a big reason!" She hummed. Why couldn't he apply that energy to his dance rehearsals? Or anything not gross?
"So any girl you want to be with has to like corndogs? No matter what?"
"I can't just give them up!" He took a hearty bite out of one as if to prove her point. Her nose wrinkled at his following sigh, showing a glob of chewed hot dog and cornmeal mush. Plucking a napkin out a canister with two fingers, she held it out to him. The least he could do was cover his mouth.
"Why would you have to?" she asked calmly.
"I mean...isn't that the point? To have a girlfriend that likes what I like?"
"The point of a girlfriend is to have someone you like around and to spend time with." Well, there was more to it than that but he was just dipping his toes into the dating water. He'd splash and flail too much if he dove in headfirst. "They don't need to like everything you like." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Jo doesn't like hockey but Kendall's still into her. In fact, I remember all of you clamoring over each other like idiots when Jo moved into the Palm Woods. Would you have dumped her if she chose you because of that?"
Carlos blinked. "I guess."
"Wow," Sammi said following a scoff. "Rude much?"
"I mean...wouldn't it be easier if we liked the same thing?"
"Maybe. But then you wouldn't have anything to talk about. Too much of the same is boring." Carlos made a noise. "Take it from me. My boyfriend's a farmhand. Literally. His family works on a cattle farm, provides meat and produce and stuff. He's very into agriculture and the environment. I'm...not so into it." The mud, the sweat, the smell, the mud? Not her idea of a good time, thank you very much. "But Jay? He puts his heart and soul into it. And he has so much passion for it. He wants to make the world better, more sustainable. I don't get it but I get that it's him and I like him. Warts and all." She paused. Did he have warts? Her mind reeled back, remembering all the expanses of his skin she'd been able to touch. His nice, tanned, strong, smooth skin... She frowned, whipped out her phone, and quickly sent a text. If he had any blemishes she needed him to take care of it right away. "My point is, differences are okay. It makes things fun."
"Yeah but..."
"But what?"
"They make it all look...so easy." He motioned with the bite-size of his corndog to the others nearby. Kendall trying to win Jo a stuffed animal from a skeeball game, Camille dragging Logan by the hand towards some dance game, and James.... Sammi blinked, leaning forward. Why was James carrying a plant? But then she pushed the thought away. She didn't want to touch that one. "They've had girlfriends. Or at least girls interested in them. Especially James. I just don't get it. It's like they know some...some secret code or something."
Sammi's head tipped back as she laughed, good and hard. "Carlos, c'mon, the rest of them aren't that perfect! Kendall's clearly got jealousy issues; honestly, I don't get how Jo's just fine with that but whatever." She waved her hand, batting them away. "And James kissed Logan's girlfriend so he's not winning points there. And Logan's kinda possessive. They don't know what they're doin' either and from my point of view, you're the one comin' out great."
"What do you mean?"
"I saw you runnin' around the Palm Woods with that girl"—she didn't earn the right to be called her name anymore—"she may have been set up by Uncle Gustavo—which I will have a conversation with him about—but you were very sweet and kind and were willing to make a lot of compromises for her happiness. Any girl who actually ends up your girlfriend would be very lucky. Don't sell yourself short."
"Really?" His dark puppy dog eyes almost made her coo at him.
"Yeah." Her shoulders bounced in a light shrug. When he wasn't being so...uncouth, he had some good qualities the right person would appreciate. That Girl certainly wasn't one of them if she could willingly go along with Uncle Gustavo's stupid boy-brained plan.
"Thanks. You know, your boyfriends very lucky."
"I know," she said with a smirk. Then her eyes dropped to the uneaten corndog in his other hand and she took it from him, teeth sinking into the cornmeal in a satisfying bite. "What?" she asked when he gaped at her. "I love corndogs." Holding her hand in front of her mouth as she chewed, she continued, "You should try the korean kind though. Some have cheese in them and some have cereal coating. They're super good. "
He snapped his jaw shut and twisted the stick of his corndog around in his fingers. "Do you...um...I mean, if you weren't dating him...do you think we...would you have—?"
Reaching across the table, Sammi patted his hand. "You wouldn't be able to handle me, Carlos," she said.
i don't really have anything to say about this one. just that this is one of my all time favorite btr eps. i wish they did more bottle episodes, or rather more episodes where everyone was all in one place with intertwining plots. also, jett was the best part of this episode hands down! i loved all his scenes!
Mickey heaved a sigh of relief when the broom closet door closed. She rested her back against it, eyes darting from side to side. The last thing she wanted was to get caught; she’d lose her job over this! Not that she really needed the job, being in a band tended to help with a lot of expenses but she wanted to keep it.
She loved picking up shifts at Chez Fancee when she wasn’t busy. Being in the thick of a dinner rush, creating delectable French cuisine, and providing a great experience and lasting memories for the guests gave her a rush nothing could touch. Performing onstage in front of thousands of people came close. And yet here she was putting it all on the line to make sure her friend had a great date.
They can’t say I don’t do anythin’ for ‘em!
“Katie, I love your style, but knocking him out was a little much I think,” Mickey commented when Katie rushed around the corner. A tree hat sat atop of her head, accompanied by leaves and fronds hanging off her clothes. If she stood still long enough people could mistake her for a plant.
“It’s just a dinner roll, he’ll be fine,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“If that knocked Henri out, I don’t think he will be,” Mickey said, glancing over her shoulder at the closed door. She didn’t have much time to think about Henri and his apparently compromised health or balance due to a hissing by her ear. Katie and Mickey both looked in the direction of the sound. A second later James popped his head around the corner, his short hair slicked to his head.
“Pssssssst!” he hissed again, louder.
“Keep a look out,” she told Katie. Katie gave her a thumbs up sign and Mickey rushed around the corner, glancing back to ensure the manager didn’t catch her. He was a nice guy, especially for giving her a shot with her unpredictable schedule. She didn’t want to ruin that. But then again, on the flipside, she didn’t want Carlos to have a bad date with Jennifer 3. Jennifer 3 was very nice once you got to know her. And Mickey had total hair envy when it came to Jennifer 3.
“Help!” James hissed once Mickey got within reach of her.
Mickey came to a stop, blinking rapidly while looking him up and down. “With…with what?” She asked because, well, it couldn’t be with how he looked. He looked good. James always looked good, but he looked good. She actively had to remind herself to keep her jaw from dropping. Her momma always said to never underestimate the power of a guy in a suit, and she was not kidding. With James’ slicked hair and his nice clothes, he looked as if he were ready to film scenes in an old Hollywood movie. The only thing missing was a cigar nestled between two fingers.
“The guys are here!” he replied, tugging the bottom of his tuxedo jacket.
Mickey made a face, shifting the tracks of her mind from James on the glossy pages of GQ to the issue at hand. God, she hoped he didn’t notice the heat pooling in her cheeks. “Which guys?”
“All of them! Kendall and Jazz are here with Kelly and…some guy—”
“Oh, that’s Owen!” Perking up, Mickey breathed easier. This was a safe topic. “He’s our UPS guy. They were supposed to be going somewhere el—”
“And Logan’s here with some girl who looks like him and Camille’s here with Jett!” James continued, his voice kicking up a notch.
“Okay, that’s not too bad. …I gotta ask her about that later but that’s not too bad.” Honestly, she could do better than Jett. And weren’t she and Logan just together that morning? Mickey made a mental note to ask Camille about this whole situation later. Her dramatics would certainly make the story interesting, and something told her she’d need a good story after a long night. But damn they were more topsy-turvy than a see-saw!
“Gustavo’s here too!”
Mickey gasped. “Oooh, that’s bad!”
“I know!” James cried out, fiddling with the untied bowtie hanging around his neck.
“He’s supposed to be watching his blood pressure,” Mickey continued.
“…That’s kind of not the point—gah!” The end of his sentence chopped off due to him tightening the bowtie loop around his neck. His eyes bulged and his tongue stuck out, his fingers scrambling for the loop knot he’d made. Seconds passed and red grew in his cheeks. “Mickey…Mickey, help!”
“Oh my god! Stop, stop, let me do it!” Mickey slapped his hands away and stepped closer, yanking the knot away from his neck. His chest heaved with his deep breath and she swallowed the lump rising, watching the fabric stretch across it. Focus! Gathering her wits, she pulled the bowtie apart, letting the two ends lie parallel to his neck. Smoothing the ends between her fingers, she took in a Cuda-scented breath through her nose and began to let her fingers fly in practiced ease. Doing her best to ignore the rise and fall of his chest, Mickey clicked her tongue. “You can tie a necktie, but you can’t tie a bowtie?”
“Mama Knight usually does it for me.”
The simple sincerity in his answer made her take pause, her fingers fumbling before they stilled. Nose wrinkling, she pulled the half-knot apart and started again. “That’s nice of her.”
“Yeah, she’s really cool.”
She gave the finished bowtie a few tugs making sure it held tight and smoothed her hands down his chest. His heart beat hard beneath her fingers. Her eyes flew open wide and her lips parted and pushed out a squeak before backing away, directing her eyes to the floor, dropping her arms to her sides. “Sorrysorrysorry!” Her apology slammed together, falling off her tongue faster than she could form the words. If James said anything she didn’t hear it, didn’t want to hear it. The further away she kept him, the better. In fact, she managed to form some semblance of a sentence, telling him she’d be right back, before rushing off. She ducked behind the host stand when her manager and a few servers walked by, carrying large trays. It was where she wanted to go anyway. She tugged the box of items that had been left behind by patrons, rummaging through it until she found what she needed. With a triumphant grin, she hurried back to James. Along the way she grabbed an extra apron from the entryway to the kitchen; it fluttered behind her like a cape.
“Okay, tie this around your waist,” she said, a little breathless, once she reached him. “Keep a booklet in your pocket to take orders.”
“I can’t take orders!” James said, doing as he was told. A few quick twists of his fingers and the apron lay against his waist. “I’m not an actual server!”
“I know, but you’re going to take Carlos and Jennifer’s orders. And by that, I mean it’s already written. I picked out the best dishes for them. Pretend to take their orders and bring the paper to me. I’ll make sure the food is perfect and out on time.”
“Oh.” James took the notebook out of the pocket and opened it up. “You have nice handwriting.”
“Thank you.” Mickey sucked in a breath, blinked, and got her mind back on the topic at hand. “Katie will be running interference. Check on them every now and then. If you need anything, I’ll be right behind those doors. Now, how’s your French?”
“Huh?”
“French. Do you know any French?”
James’s eyes lifted to the ceiling as he thought for a moment. When he looked back down, a light had ignited behind his eyes. “Voulez vous couch—”
“Stop it.” Mickey squeezed her eyes shut as she thrust out her palm, blocking his words.
James’s shoulders rounded. “Sorry.”
“Forever.”
“Got it.”
Honestly, why was that always someone’s first answer? They needed to get more material. Whatever. She had more things to worry about. Waving her hands in front of her, she wiped his slate clean. “Forget it. How’s your French accent?”
“Oui oui, hon hon, try ze baguette.”
Her eye twitched. “…Close enough. Just keep that up and keep your face hidden and we should be fine. Just, one more thing…” She reached upwards and he obediently leaned forward, moving in sync. She pressed a large, fake mustache against his top lip, keeping a firm hold for a few seconds. Once secure she slipped a pair of glasses over his nose and took a step back, looking at him with new eyes. It was so unfair he looked good in glasses too. Her big reading glasses probably would look good on him too, on her they made her look like a nerd. Well, she was a nerd to a degree, but the glasses didn’t help. She clapped her hands together, the sharp sound making James jump. “Okay, team, we’re all set! Remember, we’re doing this for Carlos.”
“Friendship powers, activate!” James announced, pointing a triumphant finger in the air.
“I’m not doing it this time,” Katie said with a shake of her head, making James pout. Mickey jumped in, easily executing the odd handshake James had come up with, doing her best to ignore the spark at her fingertips upon their hands touching. He’d been working on it for weeks, mostly with Carlos and sometimes with her, noting it’d only be brought out when they really needed it. And Carlos really needed them.
The group split up with James holding his arm up to his face, looking much like Batman with his cape draped up to his face. With a few quick flicks of her wrist, Mickey cuffed the sleeves of her dress shirt, only catching the smirk on Katie’s face at the last second. “You two looked cozy,” Katie all but sang.
“Shut up, Katie,” Mickey grumbled. “You’re the one who didn’t want to do the handshake.”
“Because it’s dumb. I don’t know why you encourage those idiots.”
“I’m beginning to wonder that myself.” Deep down Mickey knew. It was because they were fun, and they were her friends. Back home she only really had her sisters as friends. And, yeah, maybe they all came along just because of their connection to Kelly but she loved the guys. They made her life interesting. She wouldn’t have fun like this back on the East Coast. She and her sisters had their own kinds of adventures but the adventures she’d been having out here with them were on another level.
“Do you really think Jennifer 3 could be the girl for him?” Katie spoke up after a moment of silence.
“I think he’s trying hard,” Mickey said slowly, “and he shouldn’t have to try hard. So, as long as we get him relaxed, anything could happen.” She bit her lip, peering past Katie to see Carlos’ and Jennifer’s table nearby. “He’s very sweet. Any girl would be lucky to have someone like him. They just have to notice.”
Shrugging, Katie went to blend in with the plants. Mickey ran her hands over her hair, smoothing down any stray kinky curls, blowing out a breath. She caught James’ eye from across the room. He grinned and held up his hand, wiggling the shaka sign. Their secret way of communicating, checking if everything was okay. She smiled and waved the sign back.
If there was one thing she learned about being around them, everything would work out the way it needed to.
this is a rewrite in the true sense that i'd re-write the ending of the episode to fit a different plot since the masons are included. it involves the palm woods potentially getting bad press for a "murder" that takes place on reality cameras that forces the reality show to shut down. anyway, here's the scene that leads to that plan!
@partiallypearl @raging-violets @witchofinterest
-----
The door swung open with so much force it slammed against the trashcan on the other side. The clamor elicited a loud shriek from Carlos, catapulting him off the floor and into James’ arms. James caught him in midair, holding onto his friend with little effort as if he weighed the same as a sack of feathers. All their heads swiveled to Mickey’s still form. The door eased shut behind her, contrasting the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the red tinge to her cheeks, the malice in her eyes, and the sparks dripping from her nose.
“Where…is he?” she demanded, her question coming out as a guttural growl. Everyone’s eyes widened, her question hanging in the following silence. It broke at the low pop sound coming from Jazz’s mouth as she pulled out the lollipop she’d been sucking on. A smirk of approval sat on her lips as she surveyed her sister.
“…I think this is the most I’ve ever heard her talk,” Kendall said, words tinged in awe. Jazz laughed at him taking a step back when a growl sounded in Mickey’s chest. He couldn’t go far, not with Logan near him and the paper towel dispenser hanging on the wall.
“I…have no idea if I should be terrified or intrigued right now,” Logan commented, inching his way behind Kendall.
“I’m both,” James and Carlos said in unison. They both flinched when Mickey’s arm shot up, her finger jabbing in their direction, eyes wide and wild.
“Don’t! You two are the reason we’re in this mess!” Her finger alternated between pointing at James’ face and Carlos’s face so fast she could have created a draft. “You and your stupid fighting!”
“Calm down, Mick,” Jazz said, crossing her arms. “They’re just as innocent as you are.”
“Calm down? Calm down? Do you know what Snake did? Besides mess up my reputation?”
“What?”
“He ruined my vanilla beans!”
Jazz closed her eyes in a slow blink. “…Come again?”
“My vanilla beans!” Mickey’s voice bounced around the tight quarters of the women’s bathroom. “I was going to make a dessert after recording today and, lo and behold, what do I find? An empty jar and my beans burnt to a crisp in the kitchen.”
“Relax,” Sammi said. She sat atop the counter, leaning back against the mirror, one glossy leg crossed over the other. The buffing scrape of her nailfile against her mint green acrylics sawed into the space between their words. “They’re just vanilla beans.”
Sammi’s eyes flicked upwards, nose wrinkling. “…Does that make them warmer or something?”
Mickey’s heaving breath could’ve knocked down one of the Three Little Pigs’ houses. “No. They’re the most expensive vanilla beans in the world and I was saving them to use for a special dessert.”
“How expensive are these beans?” Mel asked. She twirled a drumstick around her fingers as she spoke, elbows resting on the counter behind her. Her relaxed posture made her appear as if she were having a normal conversation by the watercooler rather than them all being stuffed in the women’s bathroom at Rocque Records.
Mickey’s eyes turned to the ceiling as she began to rock back and forth on her feet. “Like, $400.”
Kendall, Logan, and Carlos appeared indifferent compared to Sammi, Mel, and Jazz who all spluttered, “You spent four hundered dollars on beans!?” James, on the other hand, looked offended, as if they’d pushed their incredulous outburst in his direction.
“…They’re Tahitian!” Mickey repeated, as if more emphasis would help them understand.
“That’s still stupid!” Jazz said back, wiggling her lollipop in Mickey’s direction.
“Oh that’s not that bad,” Kendall cut in. “James once called emergency services because he ran out of hairspray.”
“Hey!” James’ exclamation was almost drowned out by Carlo’s yelp at falling to the floor when James let him go. James didn’t bother looking at him as he continued, “That was my good hairspray.”
“It was $50 for a 5oz bottle,” Logan supplied.
Mel wheeled around to look at James, her braids whipping around her head like the ribbons on a maypole. “Seriously?” she asked, deadpan, eyelids drooping.
“The price means it’s worth it!” Mickey and James all but shouted in unison, simultaneously throwing their arms in the air and rolling their eyes.
“How’d you know it was Snake?” Logan asked Mickey.
“It had to be him! Earlier, Snake and his camera crew popped out of nowhere giving me a note from ‘Carlos’ suggesting that he was ‘jealous’ that I played foosball with James and was ‘making eyes at him’.” Her finger quotes could’ve clawed holes in reality with the ferocity behind the gesture.
“You kind of were,” James said.
“No I wasn’t,” Mickey replied. James lifted his hand, holding his finger and thumb a few inches apart while mouthing “little bit”. She closed her eyes in a slow blink, pushing a few fingers against the side of her head. “Look, it’s one thing to mess with me. I can take that, but you don’t mess with my friends, you don’t mess with my family, and you don’t mess with my food!”
“Regardless of that insanity”—Sammi used her nailfile to motion in Mickey’s and James’ direction—“they have a point. This Snake guy is barkin’ up the wrong tree. He tried to mess with my relationship and I don’t play that.”
“Yeah, that’s why we’re here. For your help,” Kendall said.
“Wait. Kendall Knight doesn’t have a plan?” Mel asked.
Kendall shoveled a hand through his hair. “I’m all out of ideas. And if we don’t do something soon, the whole world is going to get a shot of my butt!”
“Ooh, that’s gotta suck.”
“Thank you!”
“I mean I’d be embarrassed too if that was shown.” Mel gestured at him with her drumstrick. “It’s flat as a pancake.”
“What?” Kendall recoiled, face swiftly switching between bewilderment to offense. Exchanging quick looks, Sammi, Mickey, and Jazz all leaned over, head tilting to look past Kendall. Holding his arms behind him, he backed up against the wall, cheeks blazing. “Not the point! Katie hasn’t come up with anything either so you’re our last hope.”
“Hmm. I’m almost insulted,” Jazz said. She slowly pulled the bright red lollipop out of her mouth and spun it between her fingers. Her lips pursed, red and shiny, as her wrist fell limp, tilting her lollipop backwards. “They’re just going to keep filming everything right?”
“Yeah.”
“So, why don’t you just give them something to film?”
“Look, I’m getting really tired of fighting with James all the time,” Carlos whined. They whipped around to see Carlos lounging on the couch by the door, hands clasped beneath his helmet. “My bruises are getting bruises.”
“Yeah, and my lips are getting really chapped,” Logan added, rubbing his fingers against his mouth. Sammi dug into the pocket on her romper and handed over a stick of lipbalm.
“I don’t mean that.” Jazz waved away their concerns. “If they want to film something good, make sure they film something good. But I mean something bigger.” A spark caught in her eye and she briefly bit down on her tongue out the side of her mouth. “Something that will put their name in the headlines, but maybe not for the most ethical reasons.”
“I’m not showing them the front,” Kendall insisted, eyebrows furrowing.
“We want them to change their minds, not be scarred for life,” Mel said. Kendall shot her a look and she wiggled her eyebrows.
“No one has to drop trou…any more than you already have, anyway,” Jazz said to him. “But we will need to get a little sneaky. Sam.” Sammi lifted her head, the large hoops in her ears swinging beneath her nestle of curls. “Do you have any makeup on you?”
Sammi placed a hand to her chest, affronted. “Of course! You can’t leave home without your makeup!”
“Great. I need you to get in touch with Camille. Tell her we need some of her prosthetics.” Sammi nodded. “Mel. How about you? Still got those frequency jammers?”
“I think so. Should be with my other surveillance stuff.”
“Great. Call Katie, we’re gonna need her to wiggle into some tight spaces. Mick, what about that fake blood recipe?”
Mickey shrugged. “I can whip up as much as you need.”
“Can you do enough to make it look like a crime scene?” Jazz asked, grin getting bigger if possible.
“You got it. But I will need some help carrying the pots.”
“Well, you got two boyfriends now, just put them to work,” Sammi said with a teasing grin,
Mickey glared. “Still not funny.”
“As for you,” Jazz said, addressing the boys, “for now just keep doing what you’re doing. We don’t want Snake thinking anything’s up. We’ll let you know when we’re moving onto part two of the plan.”
“We don’t get to know anything else?” James asked.
Sucking air in through her teeth, Jazz reached out and slapped her hand down on James’ shoulder, giving it a little shake. “You just stay pretty and leave the rest to us. The less you know, the better.”
“And yet he doesn’t know much and things aren’t that much better,” Logan commented.
“Don’t make me punch you!” James threatened.
“Save that energy for the cameras, Diamond. We still need to put on a good show.” Jazz tossed her lollipop into the trashcan and let out a long sigh. “All this goes to show, never let a man do a woman’s job.”
in which Gustavo would actually let them go camping.
@partiallypearl @raging-violets @witchofinterest
-----
“Ew ew ew ew ew! I can’t do it! I can’t do it! I can’t do it!”
Chuckling, James took the fishing pole from Mickey’s flailing hands. Her voice carried over the placid lake, echoing off in the distance, briefly blanketing the small slosh of water against the side of their boat. It rocked from side to side, a motion so gentle if it weren’t for the excitement shooting through his veins he would’ve been put to sleep.
“You can rock out on stage every night, but you can’t hook a worm?” James asked.
The disgust written all over Mickey’s face became erased, swiftly replaced with irk.
“That’s different! Playing shows is at least fun. Worms and bugs are wiggly and crawly and slimy and gross!” Her tongue shot out her mouth, propelling a gagging sound from the back of her throat.
He shook his head, running his fingers down the line, keeping the line taught. “You’re such a city girl.”
Her irk shifted to chagrin. Reaching out, she pushed at his shoulder. His smile grew a bit wider at the feeble push. “Excuse you! You’re from Duluth!”
James’ shoulders bounced in a shrug. “Yeah, but it’s right off the lake so if we’re not playing hockey we’re fishing.”
Mickey’s head bobbed from side to side as she repeated his words beneath her breath, taking on a mocking tone. With deft fingers, James grabbed the wiggling worm from the tip of the hook and readjusted it. “The trick is to have a little dirt on your hands. Adds grit so its easier to hold the worm.” See? He could compromise his ideals and comforts for a good reason. (It helped he had a bottle of hand sanitizer on him.)
Holding the pole between his knees, he drew the hook closer to his face and pierced the wiggling worm with the tip of the hook. He pulled the worm further along the hook, lifted its wiggling body, and pierced another section of it. He repeated the process once more and tilted the pole back at her, hook swinging. “There you go.”
She reached out for the pole, her sparkly black fingertips the only part of her hand uncovered from her long sleeves. Her fingers wrapped around the pole, brushing against his, briefly overlapping in her hold. Sparks popped at his fingertips, a crisp zing shooting straight up his arm and nestled deep in his chest. Their eyes locked, and hers, so dark, pulled him in, his heart lurching an extra hard thump. Three pulsating seconds passed, broken by Mickey clearing her throat and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Um, thanks.” She offered up a small smile and turned on her bench, shifting away from their previous knee-to-knee position. A rush of cool wind swooped in, bringing attention to the space between them in such a small boat.
“No problem.” James twisted at the waist, grabbing his own pole to worm the hook. Years of practice allowed him to move through the process without looking, allowing him to take in the picturesque expanse around him: the red, golds, and greens of the changing leaves, the expanse of the old docks, reaching out into the water like greedy hands, the tall trees scraping the underside of the sky saturated in early dawn, of Mickey’s profile as she looked across the vast expanse of water, the natural curl of her lashes, the soft slope of her nose, the seeping into the curve of her cheeks. Uttering a long sigh, he swung his legs around, shifting his sitting position so he straddled the seat. Drawing his arms back, he cast his line in one fluid motion, watching in satisfaction as the hook dipped beneath the surface with barely a drop.
“So you fish a lot?”
Her question nearly made him jump out his skin. He lifted a hand, ready to push it through his hair, only to stop halfway through the motion, remembering the dirt and worm juice clinging to his skin. He never put anything in his hair that wasn’t a Cuda product or something chemical-free he whipped up especially for his fussy locks. Curling his fingers into his palm, he set his fist on his knee, drumming his knuckles.
“Yeah. Back home, it’s some of the only quiet you can get. Being out in the middle of the woods.” He gestured around the scenery, dropping his hand back onto his leg.
“That’s funny.” Her words were still directed to the opposite shoreline; the still heard her loud and clear, the still surface carrying her voice in all direction. “You guys and quiet tend not to go together.”
“Well, no, you’re totally right. But the acoustics out there are amazing; nothing beats being able to hear myself and get instant feedback.”
Mickey faced him, her hair hanging to one side. “You went camping just to practice your singing?”
James nodded. “Papa Garcia used to let me tag along with him and Carlos, so it got me away from shuttling back and forth between my parents. Gave me more time. And the noise also kept the bears away. Not that that stopped Carlos from trying to attract them.”
“Wait, he purposely tried to attract bears?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to be able to say he fought a bear and lived.” At the widening to Mickey’s eyes James gave a nonchalant shrug. “It was on his bucket list.”
She snorted. “His list can’t be that long.”
“It’s not. The only other thing on it is eat his weight in beans.” Her eyes closed in a slow blink. He laughed and continued, “He wants to see if he can fart hard enough to power himself through the water like a speedboat.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“I know! It’s, like, the best idea ever!”
“But wouldn’t that scare the fish away?”
“I think it’d make fishing easier because then we only have to scoop the ones that float up to the surface.”
“Gross!” Her admonishment didn’t carry the weight he guessed it was supposed to thanks to the laughter wrapping around the word. Her smile softened as the seconds eased by, expression becoming wistful. She turned her attention back to the horizon before she spoke again, words soft, “My dad used to take us fishing. He told us we were his good luck charm because our noise would scare fish away from the other fishermen, so we could get all the fish. In hindsight he was just getting us out of the house so my mom could sleep after an overnight shift. It took me a while to get into fishing, though. The first few times I went I cried my eyes out.”
“Why? Did you get caught by the hook?”
The gold cuffs and loops in her hair clicked with each turn of her shaking head. “No, because I felt bad for the fish.” Her mouth briefly twisted to the side, and she sniffed. “After that, we’d go out a few times a year. We haven’t been fishing in a while, though. So this is…” Her tongue darted out from between her lips, swiping the bottom one as she nodded her head. “This is nice,” she continued, her words so quiet he wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or to herself. He didn’t push.
Silence settled over them, like the fog hovering over the dewy grass on the opposite shore. James closed his eyes, taking in the light breeze on his cheeks, the way it ruffled his hair, filled his lungs, carried the crisp and heady scent of leaves and dirt and past rain around his nose. And, for a second, he was transported back to his younger days, eyes bright, cheeks stained red as he and Carlos trailed behind Papa Garcia, swinging sticks from side-to-side, mimicking the older man as he charged ahead with a machete in one hand and a can of bear spray in the other. Back to a time where he could sing his heart out as he watched the sunrise, trying to harmonize with the emerging loons, safe from being reprimanded for interrupting one of his mother’s constant phone calls or for waking up his father’s girlfriend.
He loved singing in his band. He loved traveling the world. But there was something about being out in the middle of nature, away from everything, that called to him and filled him up in a way nothing else could touch. When nature reverberated and pulsed on his same wavelength, it invigorated him and charged him up gave him a good, hard reset, setting him back on track.
A steady, thrumming buzz reached his ears, making his eyes flutter open. His gaze first landed on Mickey, expecting to see her dragging her dog tags against the beaded chain of her necklace only to instead be socked in the stomach by her gaze pinning him, so open and earnest, eyes lit up, like silvery strands of a moonbeam hung suspended in the dark depths. He gulped down the lump that had formed in his throat, all sound rushing back to him when his eyes finally trailed down her extended arm, finger pointing to his side. To his bending fishing pole.
Oh, right. They were fishing.
He grabbed the pole, grasping the rapidly turning handle on the reel. It jerked to a stop, the top of his pole bending beneath the strain of the fish pulling against him. James blew out a breath, relaxed his shoulders, set his jaw, and got to work reeling the fish in. it had no chance against him; all the time he spent in the gym wasn’t just to make himself look good. (Okay, not completely.) The fish swam and tugged but James held on tight, pulling back, dragging the fish beneath the water. He knew the right time to pull back and the right time to turn the handle, reeling the fish in. Within moments he spotted it thrashing just beneath the surface, its scales reflecting the growing morning light.
Its tail broke through the water, sending water droplets cascading through the air, splashing to and fro. He glanced at Mickey over his shoulder. He knew he didn’t need to check on her, she already had the net in her hands, ready and prepared. She always seemed to be on his wavelength, or he on hers. Grounding his feet in the boat, James pulled on the line, leaning backwards. The fish leapt into the air, a final chance at escape, only to land in the net Mickey thrust out over to the side. Shifting hand over hand, she pulled the pole closer until the net sat secure in the boat.
“You got it! Way to go!” Mickey cheered. She held out her hand and James reached out to strike her palm, the two quickly going through the motions of their secret handshake which involved slapping the back of their hands, exploding wiggling fingers, and what could look like to outsiders their hands doing a mini wave. But it wasn’t the feeling of her soft hands brushing against his but the look of pride in her eye that had him sitting taller. If he were a peacock he’d be strutting around, showing off his feathers, preening from where they sat in their boat all the way back to the shore. “I’ve never caught one this big.”
James scoffed, resting a forearm on his knee as he leaned forward and, with his voice dropping an octave, said, “You’re fishing with James Diamond; I don’t do anything small.”
Mickey lips twitched and she made a show of looking around them. “’Cept for this boat, huh?” She sucked air in through her teeth and said in a singsong, “Seems kinda small to me…”
“Hey!” James protested, voice jumping back up a view notches. “I had no control over this! If it were up to me, I’d get a yacht!”
“Now you’re just overcompensating.”
“No…I’m not…because I totally know what that means,” James spluttered. Quickly recovering, he continued, “Besides, I figured you’d like it on a yacht. There’s a lot of space and you can be alone.”
She blinked. “Who said anything about me wanting to be alone?”
Quickly baiting another hook, he drew back his arm and cast his line. It landed against the water with a small plop! “Uhhh…your entire personality?”
Her eyes tightened in a squint, and she clicked her tongue. Gaze shifting off to the side, back over to the water, her smile slowly faded like the dew burning off as the sun rose. James let out a quiet breath. Leave it to him to contort himself enough to stick his feet in his mouth. He could talk to girls and knew all the right things to say to them and yet, somehow, with Mickey, he tended to say the wrong thing. The worst part was he knew why: Mickey wasn’t just a girl, she was the girl. The rest of them, it didn’t matter what he said because they didn’t matter. Not really. Not like her. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her, but then it was still part of the list wasn’t it? “James, just because I want to be alone sometimes doesn’t mean I want to be alone.”
His eyebrows pinched and he titled his head, studying the side of her face. “I don’t get it.”
A splash gulped against the water. Flurried wings flapped overhead. Leaves shuffled and danced on the wind. Her southern accent came back soft, like the fuzz on a peach. “I like the quiet, but only when it’s my choice.” She looked at him again, cheek squished against her laced fists, elbows propped up on her knees. “I don’ wanna sit in the quiet ‘cause people put me there.”
“Oh.” He was a total jerkface. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for? You didn’t do anything.”
“I mean, just from what I said. Before.”
Sitting up straight, she slowly shook her head. “I didn’t take that personally. Not from you. I never do.”
“Oh.” Geeze, he was really loving that word today. “Well, then sorry for disturbing your peace,” he said with a bouncing shrug of his shoulders. At the unasked question settling in her eyes, he continued with a little laugh, “Me and the guys. We kinda crashed into your quiet.”
She scoffed, dragging a hand through her hair, shifting it from one side to the other in a pinched clump. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She curled in on herself again, fingers caging around her mouth, one arm holding across her stomach.
“Well, I mean, we wouldn’t have dragged you out here otherwise.”
“Okay, for one”—she removed her hand from her mouth to lift a finger, “the only reason I’m out here is because I didn’t wanna deal with Carlos crying because Gustavo would only let you guys go camping if we came too. And two!”—she extended a second finger; the sunlight caught the thin silver band wrapped around it—“this…hasn’t…been…entirely…terrible.” Elation swelled his chest and fed his smile, making her quickly amend, “I still don’t like that I’m sleeping on the ground and I still don’t like a bear can eat me at any minute and I still don’t like all the sweating and the bugs and the gross. But…camping isn’t all bad with the right company.” Leaning over, she pressed her finger into his bicep; a firework bloomed under his skin at her touch. “Present company included.”
“So…you’d come camping with us again?”
She shrugged. “Any fin is possible.” Her eyes lit up and her tongue poked out between her teeth that spread in a smile so fast he was surprised her face didn’t crack. Laughing, she flashed finger guns his way and, a couple seconds later, it dropped.
His jaw slacked. “Oh my god.”
“What’s the matter?” she asked with a teasing wiggle of her head. “Can’t do any betta?”
“Stop it.”
“Are you trying to gill-t me?”
His shoulders shook in a suppressed laugh. God, she was adorable. “Mickey…”
“I’m so sorry, I can’t pass up the oppor-tuna-ty.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I can’t help that they’re kraken me up!”
He pushed up his sleeves, bunching them up by his elbows. “Okay, we’re going back to shore before I throw you in.”
“I’d just call for kelp.”
His head lolled backwards, and he rolled his eyes beneath her proud, gleeful cackle. Grasping their poles, they reeled their empty lines back in. They didn’t need much more fish anyway, the last one he managed to catch brought the morning total up to six. And there were still a few left over from the day before they could add for breakfast. The portions may be a bit smaller but Carlos and his black hole for a stomach would get over it. Gripping the handles of the oars, James gave a strong pull, directing the boat back to shore in even, fluid strokes. All his time at the gym paid off; his form was perfect and, in no time, he had the boat grounded back on the shore.
James jumped off the bow, boots landing with a crunch against the soft bed of shells, rocks, and sand. Turning on his heel, he flexed his fingers. Immediately, Mickey tossed over the poles which he stabbed the handles into the sand and then caught the old coffee can of worms she’d launched the minute she picked it up, chuckling all the while. Next, she passed over the tackle box, first aid kit, the net with their fish, and the bag of clippers, pliers, and cutters. He set the bag aside and held out his hand. “Okay, your turn.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not throwing myself at you.”
He grinned. “Not yet,” he replied, throwing a wink in for good measure. He couldn’t help it, it just came out and it was so worth the force behind her heaving sigh. Still, she moved from the stern to the bow, stepping over the thick plank seats with high steps due to her boots, the lip of which dusted her knees with each step. She rose to step on the bow, only to pitch forward when her boot caught the lip. James lunged forward, reaching out his arms, grasping her around the waist and pulled her close to him, uttering a soft oof at their collision. He swung her around, legs slicing through the air until he set her against the ground, hands shifting to her sides, steadying her. Her grip slid from his neck to his shoulders to his upper arms on her descent, fingers digging through the fabric of his sleeves.
They stopped all at once, heads and bodies close together, so close her shaky breath dance across his lips and every heaving, surprised breath squeezed out the miniscule space between them, push and pull, like the water reaching and retreating by her heels. And they stood, locked together, looking at each other, wrapped in fog and sunshine.
“Told you so,” he whispered, their faces so close he saw the twitch of every little muscle in her face, his reflection in her eyes, the tremble to her mouth. His chance was right there, he just had to take it. He was close. So close.
All he had to do was inch forward a little…just a little more…
“Hey guys!”
James was gonna murder Carlos.
The threat flashing in his eyes and the clench to his jaw did nothing to deter Carlos’s jaunty approach, nor the large smile on his face, not even when Mickey jerked away from James, putting space between them so fast James was surprised she hadn’t set the ground on fire. “You should’ve seen it!” Carlos continued, “we went searching for more firewood—"
“—And you got lost?” James filled in for him, not caring a bit that his voice had taken on an unrestrained shrill. Maybe if he widened his eyes Carlos would get the hint. But of course he wouldn’t, it was Carlos; a hint to him would have to be a brick to the head to normal person.
“No. Duh, or else I wouldn’t be talking to you.” Carlos made a face. “We found out there’s treasure near here! Well, Sammi says its something called geo-catching. Whatever that is. But it’s treasure! We’re gonna go find it later. Wanna come with?”
“Sounds fun.” James saw the tight smile on Mickey’s face, the stiff way she held her head. “But you have to help me make breakfast first.”
“Deal!” Carlos slipped between them, aiming for the net of flopping fish. “James, wanna help?”
“Nope.” James pressed his lips together, his fingers curling to fists at his side briefly before letting out the breath building in him. “I’m gonna go for a run.”
“Again?” Carlos scoffed. The word had barely left Carlos’ mouth when James took off, his steps a little stuttered due to the soft dirt and the boots on his feet. Maybe he should have changed out of them. Oh well, he was committed at this point, and they’d be a good challenge. Plus, he could imagine stepping on Carlos’ face a few times for blocking him and ruining the moment and breaking bro code. “So how was fishing?”
He hadn’t run far enough; he still heard her answer: “It was…interesting.”
going a little bit different with this one. the guys are involved peripherally but i wanted to give a better insight to their relationship with one of the girls on the show.
@partiallypearl @raging-violets
---------
Big Time Rush’s and Camille’s shouting faded down the hallway once they streamed out of Lucy’s apartment. Lucy and the Mason girls stared at the open doorway; bewilderment written all over their faces. Save for Jazz, who snickered while pulling the bowl of popcorn onto her lap.
“So…you knew they were figure skating the whole time?” Lucy asked, head slowly turning to face the giddy girl.
Jazz snorted, stuffing popcorn into her mouth. “Of course I knew.” She tossed a piece into the air and caught it with a triumphant smile.
“Why didn’t you say anything? Because of you, I had to deal with an axe-wielding maniac all day!”
“Because Knight asked me not to and I prefer that my boyfriend can trust me.” She tossed more popcorn into her mouth. A second later an explosion of popcorn flew around the room due to the pillow Lucy threw at her knocking the bowl out her hands. Unperturbed, Jazz’s smirk, if possible, got wider.
“I don’t see what’s so funny about it! They ruined my choreography!” Sammi said with a huff. Perched on the arm of the couch, she crossed her arms, thin bangles slid down to mid forearm. “Do you know how many hours I wasted for that showing? Camille at least kept her lines clean but Kendall; I swear, he forgot everything I taught him! I can’t put my name on that! No ma’am! Samantha Mason Does. Not. Lose!” The bangles on her arms and the hoops in her ears shook with the force of her ensuing clapping.
“And you thought Logan was bad?” Jazz asked, giving Sammi a look. Jerking her thumb in Sammi’s direction, she added, “Try having to deal with that every day for the last two weeks.” It all came out afterward that Sammi had Kendall and Camille’s skating instructor. While she was more adept at roller skating, she had figure skating for a few years in her youth before switching over. James, Logan, and Carlos didn’t take it too well when learning that both Sammi and Jazz kept the secret from them, yelling about breaking a “No Secrets Between Friend Groups” code.
Jazz threatened to break something of theirs in return and it wasn’t related to a code.
“Besides, this is kind of your fault,” Mel pointed out from where she was tucked in the corner of the couch. She dug her elbow into Sammi’s leg only to flinch when Sammi reached out and flicked her behind the ear.
“How’s this my fault?” Lucy asked.
“If you hadn’t brought up that game of secrets in the first place none of this would’ve happened,” she said. “Then I wouldn’t have had to deal with Gustavo and Aunt Kelly, the cookie monsters. Emphasis on monsters.” She patted her arms as she spoke, plumes of flour bursting and curling into the air. “We could’ve been writing The Guys’ last song but noooo, they needed to get more of those cookies. I was in the zone, too.”
“You really should’ve seen that coming though,” Sammi said from where she sat poised on the arm of the couch, one leg over the other, ankles crossed. “Remember Christmas ’00?” At Lucy’s raised eyebrow she explained, “She straight up stepped on Jazz and knocked Mel into a chair to get first dibs for our Christmas cookie swap.”
“Yeahhh, I got my first set of stitches that year,” Mel said, lifting the hem of her jeans. A crescent-moon like scar webbed around the curve of her kneecap. “Who knew a Barcalounger had so many sharp parts. I think Jazz still has her shoe print on her back, too.”
“Wow. And I thought the guys were crazy,” Lucy muttered beneath her breath, tucking her hair behind her ear. Then she shrugged in nonchalance. “But the cookie insanity thing wasn’t my fault. Besides, why didn’t you just ask Mickey to make them? It would’ve saved you the time.”
“Because she was busy going to camp,” Mel said. With a swing of her head, she turned an accusatory glance the silent sister’s way.
Sitting on the floor, Mickey’s head bent over a popsicle stick bird house. But with a tall ceiling and thin walls, it resembled more a little pavilion than a bird house. Silence stretching, she slowly looked up only to jump at the four pairs of eyes set on her. “What?” she asked.
“Well, unlike the rest of us, sounds like you had a fun day,” Lucy said.
Frowning, Mickey eyed the gleam in her eye. “It was okay.”
“Easy for you to say when you roasted marshmallows and had sack races and did arts and crafts,” Jazz said. She idly pulled a kernel out of her thick hair and popped it into her mouth.
“All you did all day was sit back and watch all this blow up. With popcorn,” Mickey pointed out.
“But I didn’t get marshmallows out of it.” Pressing her finger into Mickey’s forehead, she pushed her sister’s head backward with a poke. “Besides, you and James looked awfully cozy cuddled up on the floor.”
Lucy, Sammi, and Mel reacted all at once: “What!?” “Excuse me?” “Say what?”
“Back up.” Sammi held her hand in the air, as if pressing a large pause button. “I need context.”
Huffing, Mickey relayed the story: how James talked her into making gourmet corn dogs for an apology to Carlos, how he talked her into pretending to be Heather Fox’s agent on the phone to figure out where she was in town, and how he talked her into helping him and Carlos turn the Palm Woods into Camp Wonky Donkey and to play games with them in an effort to get Carlos and his camp crush back together. All because she had to abide by the “Don’t Break Carlos” Heart’ code.
Mel shook her head. “That’s crazy.”
“I know,” Mickey said.
“No, I meant that they went to a camp that’s actually named Camp Wonky Donkey,” Mel said with a snort. “Was Camp Lame taken?” She and Jazz snickered, reaching over the table to slap a high five.
“Anyway, in the end Heather ended up writing a note to tell James she liked him and not Carlos which was…eh.” She made a face and waved her hand, batting away the thought and the returning annoyance of reliving witnessing the moment. “And then Lucy ran up and you know what happened.”
“Which reminds me…” Lucy’s words stretched out as a sly smile came to her face. “You never told us what your secret is.”
Mickey blinked. “Huh?”
“Everyone’s been spilling or keeping or trying to crack secrets all day. The ice skating, the cookies, the camp thing, sneaking around. You’re the only one who hasn’t said anything. So out with it.” Leaning forward, she sat nearly nose to nose with Mickey while wiggling her eyebrows. “What’s your secret?”
“I don’t…” Mickey gulped, forcing the lump in her throat down. “I don’t have one.” How did this suddenly become about her? She’d been doing nothing but minding her own business.
Leaning back, Lucy rolled her eyes. “Everybody has one.”
“What’s yours?” Mickey asked, irritating sparking inside her. That felt too familiar.
Lucy laughed. “Oh, I don’t keep secrets. There’s no point. Besides, everything you need to know about me you’ll find in my music.” Her head tilted to the music equipment spread around the room, from the piano, to the various microphones, to the range of acoustic and electric guitars leaning against one another.
“That’s a bit of a cop out don’t you think?”
“Don’t change the subject. C’mon, Mick, what’s your secret?”
Thundering footsteps and thumps on the wall grew. Mickey sighed. Saved by the bell! Shouts and grunts accompanied the rolling thunder, with a loud whooping leading the way. One wouldn’t be wrong for assuming a train had somehow made its way through the halls of the Palm Woods but it, in fact, was just the boys and Camille running along the floor for another lap chasing Carlos around. They looked worse for wear this time around, with Logan having to carry Kendall along on his back instead of letting him hop around on his foot. He used one of his crutches as an extension to poke at Carlos. James looked as if he’d been through a shredder, his clothes hanging off him in tatters, and Camille came up last, dragging her leg behind her with her once free hand stuffed in a vase.
Lucy pointed at the empty doorway. “How…?”
“It’s best not to ask,” Sammi said with a wave of her hand. “You’ll never get a good answer.” Releasing a long sigh, she slapped her hands on her knees and got off the couch. “Let’s go help them.”
“Why?” Jazz and Mel wore identical confused expressions, noses wrinkled. Mickey suspected half of it was due to, for once, not being involved in their issues and the other half was due to Sammi being the one to suggest helping them. She tended to stay away from their “white boy shenanigans” as much as possible. Unless she found a way to get something out of it, anyway.
“Yeah, I really don’t want to be dragged into anything else today,” Lucy added.
“You can’t be dragged into something you set in motion. And it’s the ‘I Will Take Responsibility for My Actions’ code,” Sammi shot back.
“Oh my gooodddd!” Lucy’s head tilted back at her exasperated exclamation. “Fine! But after this, I’m making my own code. It’s the ‘No One Makes Binding Codes Ever Again’ code!”
“Orrrr!” Jazz popped out of the chair, eyes lighting. “We can make a bet with Mr. Bitters that he’s the one who has to clean up everything they destroy.”
“I like that one better,” Mel said with a wicked grin.
Their bundle of friends moved past the door again, this time with Carlos struggling to run with Camille grabbing his ankle and James holding him in a headlock. Logan, now running much slower and panting, pulled up the rear with Kendall still on his back. Sammi, Mel, and Jazz hurried out the room after them. Mickey started to follow but Lucy stopped her, standing in the doorway.
“You don’t exactly like me, do you?” Lucy crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side, scrutinizing Mickey through squinted eyes. “That’s your secret, right?”
Figures Lucy wouldn’t let her off the hook. Still, the accusation had her heart drop and all the saliva get sucked out her mouth. Her eyes darted around, looking for an exit, but Lucy had her cornered on her own turf. “It’s not…that. Well, not exactly…” She fiddled with the hem of her bright yellow Camp Wonky Donkey t-shirt.
“Thennnn what?” An elongated squeaking sound came out of Mickey’s mouth as she struggled to find the words. Lucy, despite looking amused, rolled her eyes. “Don’t act all innocent now. I can handle it.”
She probably could. Very little seemed to faze her and maybe that was the problem. That her choices and actions didn’t seem to bother her, no matter how much they messed with someone else. Did she not care? Mickey looked just past Lucy’s head when she spoke, voice quiet but firm, “I don’t particularly like that you mess with my friends’ feelings.” Lucy moved to reply but Mickey kept on, her words building atop of one another, nearly colliding in her haste. “None of this would’ve gone on if you didn’t purposely bring up a game that would cause…this.” She gesticulated wildly around the room.
“I didn’t know it would cause this.” Lucy mimicked her gesticulation. “Trust me. You didn’t deal with Logan. No one would willingly want to.”
“It’s the guys,” Mickey said, exasperated, as if the two words held all the explanation in the world. (Which they did.) “They can’t play a video game without getting into some sort of death match. Getting them to spill secrets about the horrible things they’ve done to one another? That’s not opening a can of worms, that’s throwing a grenade on it. And you pulled the pin.”
“It was just a game.”
“It’s…it’s not fair to others to have them messed with for the sake of someone else’s entertainment. Feelings aren’t a game.” Not to me.
The longer Lucy stared at her, the more Mickey’s skin prickled and itched. Right when she felt ready to jump out of it, or form some sort of apology for something she probably didn’t need to apologize for, Lucy slowly nodded her head. “Alright. Fine. I get it. You may have a point. For the record, I was just—”
“Trying to make things interesting?” Mickey asked wryly.
“No. well, yeah, but no. I was just…trying to make…friends? Small talk and all that stuff…” She made a retching noise and Mickey nodded. Boy, did she understand that. She and small talk were mortal enemies. The accompanying awkwardness could kick rocks as well. “I’m still new and the guys are…well, the guys. And Camille’s great but kind of…all over the place? So I thought if we could get to, well, the good stuff first it’d make being new…easier.” Mickey stared. Lucy Stone was…unsure? She’d come in with such an aura around her, shaking up the guys’ worlds so bad, it was hard to grasp that even she had been worried about something as normal as making new friends. Mickey bit her lip. Maybe she’d been too hard on her? With a loose shrug, Lucy went to leave only to stop and lean back in the doorway. “Oh, and don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me!”
Even with the smile Lucy flashed at her, Mickey’s stomach turned at the following wink.
That secret was easy to keep and, maybe it wouldn’t be true after some time.
But if Lucy ever found out her real one, the one she was just coming to grips that existed, she wasn’t so sure that one could be kept quiet.
while this wasn't my favorite ep of the first season i still like how it highlights the leaps the boys' logic gets to sometimes so it was easy to write the mason's into this. i think i'll post BTRides next. i'm really quickly catching up to all my pre-written stuff.
@partiallypearl @raging-violets @witchofinterest
-------
“Hey guys…why are you hanging out with a garbage can?” Jazz asked, jerking her thumb in its direction. Behind her, her sisters exchanged confused glances as the boys in question all spoke over each other, mumbling something about air ducts, wifi cables, and biscuits.
“Better question!” Kendall’s pointer finger jerked into the air, accompanying the wide-eyed look he shot the guys. It made them all stop talking at once, clasping their hands together in front of them. “Why is Sammi carrying a tray of waffles?”
Mickey and Sammi glanced at each other and then at Kendall, Mickey with an unamused expression on her face to go along with Sammi’s huff and eye roll. “That’s Mickey,” Sammi corrected him, pointing over to her. Kendall let out a small chuckle, an apologetic smile popping a dimple into his cheek. Mickey, in turn, picked up a waffle and tossed it at him. It bounced harmlessly off his chest. “And Uncle Gustavo posted a Scuttlebutt about not liking Belgium.” They stared at her, expressions blank. Heaving a sigh, accompanied with a roll of her eyes, she continued. “The media thinks he hates Belgium so he tried to post another Scuttlebutt with a picture of him with waffles but they weren’t Belgian waffles so he asked—”
“—Yelled at—” Jazz cut in.
“—yelled at her to make Belgian waffles. The studio’s kitchen is too small, so we made a bet with Bitters to use the Palm Wood’s kitchen to make them.”
“According to Katie he’s been making bets all day,” Mel added.
“What’d you bet?” Logan asked.
Jazz shrugged. “That I could guess the number he was thinking between one and ten.”
“What was he thinking?” Carlos asked.
“Seven, duh!” Mel and Jazz said in unison, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.
“You always go with seven,” Mel added.
The boys nodded and made noises of agreement. It was cut short with Carlos’ loud and prolonged “Mmmm!” causing them all to look at him. His dimpled smile quickly vanished, and his chewing stopped when he noticed them all looking at him. Clutched in his hands was a half-eaten waffle.
“Please tell me you didn’t pick that off the ground,” Logan said, eyes closing in pained dawning.
“Yeah! And it’s so good!” Carlos gushed. He took another large bite of the waffle, his eyes rolling in his head. Mickey’s face lit up and she bounced on her toes, the stacks of waffles wobbling slightly. “Oh my god! Can you make these for us?”
“Wait, I want to try one,” James said. He reached out for the one in Carlos’s hand only to jump and pout when Carlos slapped his hand away. Undeterred, he shrugged and turned to Mickey, reaching out for the stacks she carried. She, too, reached out and slapped his hand away, making him rub the back of his hand and pout even more. “I can’t handle anyone else being mean to me today.”
“You might want to stop rolling around with a garbage can, then,” Mel said. “Y’all’re weird but this is even weird for you.”
“We just…didn’t want to have to carry our towels and sunglasses and flip flops to the pool,” Kendall said with a wave of his hand. When the blue container started to rock from side to side, he rested his elbow on it and his chin upon his fist. “The sunscreen’s not great under pressure.”
Mel squinted. “Since when do you pale-ass boys wear sunscreen?”
“…Since we’re worried about…wrinkling.”
“Uh-huh.” Mel crossed her arms over her chest; her tongue poked at her cheek. “I’d believe that if he said it,” she said, lifting her chin in James’ direction.
“And why are you all dressed like…that?” Sammi didn’t bother to hide the disgust in her face or in her voice as she took a step away, as if their fashion choices were going to come to life and attack her. “Did your closets spit up on you?”
“Hey, I think we look good!” James protested.
“You do.” All their eyes swung over to Mickey whose own eyes, wide and round, bounced from face to face before pointing downward as she swayed from side to side, the tip of one doc marten digging and twisting at the concrete around the Palm Woods pool.
James grinned, standing up taller and grasping the lapels of his leather sports-coat. “Thanks for noticing," he said with a wink.
“Did anyone else notice there aren’t any airholes in here?”
The girls all jumped back at the voice, huddling together. Mickey pushed Jazz forward by a shoulder, earning a glare from her older sister. Huffing, Jazz shuffled back to the trash can and gave it a swift kick, jumping back again when a sound of pain came from it.
“Okay, start talking!” Jazz demanded.
The boys all spoke at once, talking over one another as they explained how Deke was going to write a blog post about spending the day with them, how it would make or break their careers, and how they needed a good endorsement for their album coming out. By the time they finished talking the girls looked as if they’d just been told clouds were made of spaghetti.
“You locked him in a closet!?” Jazz asked, incredulous cracking her voice.
“I’m stuck on chasing him through the air ducts,” Mel said, dragging a hand down her face.
“It’s the trash can for me,” Sammi said, pressing a finger to her temple.
“Look! We can’t let him out or anywhere near wifi or he’ll put the blog post online or we’re done! We got desperate!” Carlos cried out. Little bits of chewed up food fell out of his mouth, landing in a wet heap by his feet.
“You’re way past desperate, honey.”
“Can you guys help us out?” Kendall asked.
Sammi scoffed. “So we can get more than you for aiding and abetting?” Shaking her head, her curls bounced from side-to-side. “Nuh-uh, no way! I aint goin’ down like that.” She crossed her arms and muttered “white boy nonsense” beneath her breath.
“Just think, you’d be the prettiest one in jail,” Jazz commented.
Sammi scoffed, fluffing her hair. “I’m the prettiest one in general, but thanks.”
“I guess we’re your ugly stepsisters then?”
Sammi blinked. “We’re not stepsisters.”
“Well!”
“Guys! Focus!” Mel said, waving her hands. “Okay, let’s get the guy out of the trash can and—”
“No!” the guys all yelled.
“At least let us try to talk to him! We’ll tell him how you guys are just…anxious getting your music out and how you just want all your efforts to be worth it,” Jazz said. “You just want everything to go perfectly and…for the world to see what you’re capable of and how much you put your hearts into it.”
“I think that’s the first honest thing I’ve heard any of you say!” Deke’s muffled voice seeped through the thick blue plastic.
Kendall spared the garbage can a glance. “And if that doesn’t work?” he asked.
Jazz hummed, looking around, until her eyes zeroed in on the tray in Mickey’s hands. “Well…we can bribe him with waffles.”
“…Waffles?” Deke repeated, curiosity seeping into his voice.
“Yeah!” Jazz leaned over the garbage can, speaking directly to the lid. “We’ll let you out and give you a waffle as long as you promise not to take off. Got it?”
“…Got it.”
“Okay, let him out.”
Mouth twisting to the side, Kendall unlocked the latch on the garbage can. The lid flung open in a smooth arc and out popped Deke, cheeks red, hair mussed, and a deep frown on his face. He cast a suspicious look around at all of them and uttered, “Okay, where’s my waffle?”
Jazz grabbed one off the top of the pile and all but shoved it into Deke’s mouth. He took a large bite and chewed then he shrugged. “Eh…I’ve had better.”
The corner of Mickey’s lips twitched upwards, mimicking the twitch in one of her eyes. Her fingers gripped the tray, her tan skin turning a light beige in at the efforts. With one hand, she removed the plate from the tray and held it out to Sammi, completing the smooth motion without once taking her eyes off Deke. Her chest puffed up with the force of her inhale and she let it out slowly, her smile then turning eerily pleasant. And the smile, still so pleasant, remained on her face as she reared her arms back and charged forward.
“No no no no no!”
James lunged forward, looping his arms around her waist, easily lifting her kicking form off the ground amidst the screaming of protest from their friends. Her head jerked from side to side in an effort to get her dreads out of her face, spitting a loc away from her mouth every now and then.
“Everybody just…calm! Down!” Kendall yelled, waving his hands in the air, green eyes wide and wild. All commotion ceased, even around the rest of the Palm Woods pool. Even one guy at the edge, having frozen himself in a half-squatting, half-leaping position, looking very much like a stick figure on a crosswalk sign. “Heh…sorry!” Kendall called out. “We’re rehearsing for a play!”
“Okay dude—” Jazz said.
“Deke,” Deke corrected her.
“Bless you. You got your waffle, now you get to talkin’. Capiche?”
“Threatening. Great.” Logan let out a very strained laugh, his grin tight. “Might as well add that to the list of this horrible day.”
“it’s not entirely horrible,” James said.
“Yeah? How do you figure?”
“Well, I still look good.” James motioned to himself and winked Logan’s way. As Logan rolled his eyes, James adjusted Mickey who hung dangling over his shoulder, her mouth drawn up into an angry pout then he took a bite of a waffle and said out the corner of his mouth, “And these are great.”
