Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Misery Muse
This virtual world grows real too fast.
And before I know it, these words start to mean something,
And I've got a whole other hurricane on my hands.
Wide eyes and weary ears open to the truth no one wants to hear.
Young hearts pried and broken open to a love that's sure to sear.
We all know the story.
But, oh, does anybody know the moral?
Because I think it must be pretty important for God keeps smacking me upside the head with it like this.
___________________________________________
That was supposed to be a poem. SUPPOSED to be being the key part of the sentence of course.
Yeah. Been having a lot of writers block lately. Can't even write reports for skewl anymore.'-__-
ARRRRRRRRGH... It's all Danny's fault. He's my muse and he missed school today, so now I got nothing. Argh...'-______-

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Monday, April 28, 2008

Um....
Cookies. Oh, and I almost forget...

RYAN-GASM, BITCHES!!!!!

Oh, and of course:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PATRICK!!!

I MEANT PATRICK STUMP, DUMBASS!!!

Thahhhhhhhhts better.^^


And, just to make sure everybody gets the message, hither doth cometh a video:

And with that, I leave you.
AU REVOIR, HONEY MUFFINS.
P.S.My birthday's on May 2nd. BWAHAHAHAAHHA!!

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Saturday, April 26, 2008

THE CATALYST, CHAPER SOMETHING
This isn’t my first kiss.
No, it‘s definitely not my first kiss. I can tell because my first one tasted like empty promises dying to be broken, and felt like a particularly wet, messy human vacuum was trying to scarf down my entire bottom lip. Whereas, this one… Oh, Mother of Heaven, THIS ONE….!
I can‘t even find the words to describe it.
Of, course, that’s probably only because it’s not real. Probably because it’s way too good to be true. Probably because this is all just a dream, and any second now I’ll wake up, struggling and flailing desperately to regain my grip on this fantasy, this God-send, this moment. This moment, with my oh-so-starving mouth feeding off the taste of his soft, testosterone-and-tequila-flavored lips. This moment, with his black, long, silken eye-lashes sopping up the moisture on my tear-stained face. This moment when every molecule of my being is screaming with elation.
Oh, no, kids: it’s nothing like the movies. It’s much, much better.
Especially when it’s this spontaneous.
Seriously. I have no idea how I ended up here, mouth-to-mouth with C.A.I./Shanty. I honestly can’t say at all what triggered it. (Well, besides, the fact that the boy is drop-dead gorgeous, that is.)
It probably had something to do with the fact that I wasn’t convinced any of it was actually happening at the time. I literally thought C.A.I. was just a dream. A gift from my subconscious to distract me from my addiction to all things heart-breakingly alluring and unattainable. An accidental psychological manifestation of my denied desires, and loneliness. A release of all the pent-up rejection and longing and anxiety from all the dissatisfaction of the past few years.
So, I guess I just figured “What the hell? It’s just a dream,” and went for it.
Hence, me lip-locked with Mr. Only in My Dreams here.

I manage to keep my mouth welded to his for about 10 all-too-short eternities before he finally recovers from the shock of the abruptness with which I had shoved my tongue down his throat, and breaks the kiss. Nobody was on top of each other, but we had both somehow been knocked to the floor, in a sort of kneeling position, so his coppery auburn, inquisitive gaze was completely aligned with mine.
He was blushing more out of embarrassment then affection. But with those blonde, asymmetrically angled bangs flopping over his lift eye, and his pinkish, flesh-colored lips flattened into a “Why’d you just do that…?” line, he still looked ungodly adorable. Seriously. He has simply GOT to be breaking some kind of law by being this beautiful. It’s just not fair to the rest of humanity.
Although, he probably would’ve looked a lot better if he hadn’t kept on staring at me as if I had just grown fangs out of my ears and wings out of my neck for about 50 years.
I’m about to apologize when he gives me an indulgent smile, chuckles, mutters something under his breath, and, as he walks past me, ruffles my hair, as if to say “Nice try, but you’re still just a kid.”
A kid who he doesn’t like enough to take with him when he disappears down the hallway, apparently.
________________________________________________________________
“Guys, it’s been almost 2 years,” said Bob, groaningly.
“I don’t care,” fired back Jay, clutching his copy of the new potential soon-to-be-single protectively. “We CAN’T release it this early. It’ll be another year before the next album comes out, and by the time the C.D.’s out, everybody will already be sick of the song.”
“T-t-th-that’s right!” Andy half-stuttered, half-exclaimed, chuckling nervously, looking guilty. “It’ll, um, spoil the whole marketing strategy! Eheheheeheheheh.”
At his horrendous attempt at trying to convince Bob and the boys to hold off on allowing the song to circulate just yet, Jay shot him a reprimanding frown and a telepathic: “Andy, shut up. Leave the persuasion to me.”
“But, guys,” Bob argued, after sparing a moment to give Andy a questioning look. “If the entire CD goes as well as that song, it definitely won’t be the only hit on there. I’m sure people will have plenty of other reasons for wanting to buy it.”
“Right,” agreed Mikey. “Besides, like Bob said, it’s been over a year since our last album. People are probably already sick of our old material, and starving for something new.”
Jay frowned in approaching despair at the floor.
He knew they were all correct, of course, in wanting to start playing the song on the radio. But if the song went public this early, Yuki was bound to hear it, recognize her lyrics, and realize Jason had stolen them. After all, all Jay had done to edit the lyrics was to add a few extra verses and tweak the chorus a bit. Therefore, Yuki hearing her stolen poem being sung on the radio or anywhere else was sure to result in a disastrous lawsuit, in the very least.
So, in a last, desperate attempt to keep himself and his band mates out of jail by keeping the song off the air-waves, he murmured: “But… The song doesn’t even have a name yet.” It was pathetic, he knew, but it was all he could think of.
“Then let’s name it,” Bob replied. “Right here, right now.”
“Yeah. Then, we can get it played on the radio sometime this weekend,” said Mikey, before going into his meditative What Shall We Call It? state.
Jay began gnawing on his lip bitterly, thinking of which song title would best keep them from getting incarcerated for plagiarism. Um, “We’ll Pay You $100,000 If You Don’t Sue Us for This,” perhaps? Nope. Maybe “Copy Right Infringement Lawsuits are So 10 Years Ago”? Nah. But what about “If You Don’t Let Us Get Away With This, I’ll Cry Hysterically Until There’s No More Water Left In My Body And Die of Dehydration”? Aw, forget it!
It was hopeless. They were all screwed.
“Oh, I know,” said Andy. He was smirking at Jay dubiously, like he was about to tell an inside joke that only they would get. Andy’s eyes did a quick scan of the room to make sure everybody was listening before he pronounced the song’s title: “ ‘You Can’t Spell ‘Sing’ Without ‘Sin.’’”
_____________________________________________________________________
Soon after C.A.I.s disappearance, I am awakened by the end-of-lunch bell and thus forced to sink back into reality. But as I approach my next class, I can’t help but notice Jonah lingering by the stair-well. And at the sight of him, I am reminded of what went down in the cafeteria earlier. Dan dissed me and Jonah defended me.
Wait. Back up…. Can I hear that one more time?
Dan dissed me…. (Okay, that makes sense.)
….. And Jonah defended me. (Um, come again?)
Dan dissed me. And Jonah defended me. Jonah, the heartless, evil, hell-spawned, miscreant, relentless tormenter of eccentrics such as myself defended ME. Ummm, I’m sorry, wasn’t this the same guy who spread countless, vicious rumors about me being bulimic in my sophomore year? Wasn’t this the guy, who just this morning, humiliated me to death in front of the entire bus-riding community? Wasn’t this the same guy who’s been harassing me endlessly for years like some kind of social Nazi? And now, here he is, bitching up Dan for calling me a loser like a freakin’ modern-day knight in shining armor.
Uhhhh, yeah. How did this happen again….?
Unfortunately, before I have time to ponder this madness further, what evidently must be Jonah’s saintly twin catches my eye. His face is as lifeless as a mask and as white as a cadaver.
But, assuming his little act of benevolence earlier meant he FINALLY wants to bury the hatchet--whatever the hell said hatchet was,--I smile at him all the same as I walk by, tossing him a cordial “Hey, Joe. What’s up.”
“Your stupidity when it comes to guys, apparently.” And out comes the hatchet.
Expecting to see his trademark patronizing sneer on his face, I whipped around, my mouth burning with an appropriate come-back. But when I saw him, I was reduced to mere bewilderment. His face was just as dead as before. There was no sneer, no malice, no glint in his eye. In fact, if I didn’t know him, I would’ve expected him to burst into hysterical sobs any second. He clearly derived no pleasure in mocking me, this time. Which was extremely unsettling. It was sort of like your neo Nazi sister-in-law joyfully attending your son’s Bar Mitzvah without so much as a hint of prejudice. It’s a relief, but it‘s just too good to not mean something worse is coming.
When all I did was stare back at him questioningly, Jonah took it upon himself to go on.
“Don’t give me that look. You know what I’m talking about, and I’m ---ing sick of it.”
Blink, blink. Question mark, question mark. “What…?”
“Stop playing dumb. You know perfectly well what.”
“Er, no, I…I really don’t.”
At this, his eyes widen to 2 light blue, desperate ovals of madness, as his face distorts into a psychotic grin, and he gives an equally deranged laugh. But it’s not a gloating, stereo-typical “I’m the insane villain of this story and the whole damn world is about to be mine” type of laugh. No. It sounds more wounded. More desperate. More like he’s only doing it so he doesn’t burst into tears. Then, locking his madman’s eyes on me, he says: “Wow. You really hate me that much? I mean, so much that so that you’re actually going to make me say it? Make me spell out every excruciatingly oh-so-damning thing for you? Make me re-live what I just saw? Well, fine!” As soon as that last word left his mouth, his hands were on my shoulders, clipping me to the wall so I couldn‘t escape. The movement he did this with was so sudden and forceful that I couldn‘t even protest: the breath was already knocked out of me. His unsmiling, murderous face was a mere half foot away from mine, so when he started hissing the following at me, I could hear and feel every whispered word.
“Ritzka Alichino and Dan and Whoever the --- that guy was will NEVER love you! Get it through your big, empty, Gawddamn skull!” he hissed contemptuously. “All your little pretty boys, your bullshit crushes, your Alichinos WILL. NEVER. EVER. EVER. LIKE. YOU. BACK!!! Move the --- on!”
After a few seconds of attempting not to wet myself and sputtering hopelessly for the apparent psycho to release me, I realized something. “Wait,” by some miracle, I managed keep my voice from breaking as I said this. “How do YOU know about the Alichinos…?” Indeed, how did he? The only other people I ever told about them besides Cori was my diary and God. And Jonah was obviously neither one of those.
At my inquiry, he relaxed his death-grip ever-so-slightly on my shoulders and gave me a strange look. Then, before I knew what was what, that mad, psychotic smile was distorting his face once more, and he was grinding me into the wall harder than ever. Matter of fact, I’m sure my shoulder was mere joules of pressure away from getting dislocated. “Oh, no,” he said, shaking his wildly grinning face from side-to-tide insanely, his unblinking, ice-blue gaze still frozen on mine. “Don’t EVEN. Don’t you dare try to turn the tables on me and get out of this by bringing THAT up. Alright, fine, I admit, I shouldn‘t have read it, I was wrong. But how the hell was I supposed to know what the book would--”
“Wh-what the hell are you talking about?! WHAT BOOK?!”
From thence, he gave a huge, exasperated sigh. It was sort of like the kind one would give when summoning the nerve to confess a particularly shameful trangression. And then, sure enough: “Your diary! I READ YOUR GAWDDAMN DIARY, OKAY?!”
Gasp. OH. MY. GAWD! (Hello, ladies and gentlemen! thank you for flying Belinda Sacko’s Worst Nightmare Airlines! Please stow all carry-on baggage in the luggage compartment above your seats. In case of emergency, you will find strangely therapeutic angst-filled scenester songs and copious amounts of happy denial on the trays beside your seats. Thank you and have a nice flight.)
“You… You… WHY…?” I sputtered, crimson with mortification.
“NEVERMIND WHY!! THE POINT IS, YOU ---ING RUINED ME, YOU BITCH!!! EVERYTHING WAS FINE UNTIL YOU CAME ALONG!!!!,” he screeched. “HELL, IF NOT FOR YOU, I’D BE SKIPPING BLISSFULLY ALONG TO MY LAST CLASS BY NOW WITHOUT A ---ING CARE IN THE WORLD!!! THEN, AFTER I GOT HOME, I’D BE ON MY MERRY GYADDAMN WAY TO SOME SEXY, SHALLOW-AS-SHIT SLUTS HOUSE FOR WE-ALL-KNOW-WHAT, AND I’D GO THROUGH WITH IT, BECAUSE I’D KNOW I WOULDN’T HAVE TO FEEL SO GUILTY ABOUT IT AFTERWORDS CAUSE OF YOU; AND EVERY ---ING THING WOULD JUST BE FINE!!! BUT, NO: YOU JUST HAD TO ---ING COMPLICATE EVERYTHING, DIDN‘T YOU?!?!!?” After this, for the next few seconds, he was too out of breath and furious to say anything else, so he just tried to regain his composure and scowled at the floor.
All I could do was bite my lip and try not to cry. As long as he was pinning me to the wall, I couldn’t get away. After all, no way in hell could I fight back. He may be only a few inches taller than me, but years of playing on countless school sports teams have made him strong. Too strong, in this case.
“Go on, say it,” Jonah breathed, still semi-hyper-ventilating, once he noticed the Scared Shitless look on my face. “Tell me you hate me. Say it. Drive a ---ing stake into my heart. Tear me to pieces. Break me down and keep me down. Just SAY IT!”
“Dude…” I gave him a creeped-out look. “I didn’t know you were into that S&M crap.”
“No, I mean finish me off! Put me out of my misery. Don’t leave a shred of false hope. Just ---ing break me heart so I can move on and you can stop torturing me like this!”
WHAT?! Okay, that‘s it. Not even I can take this much pointless drama. “Torture you like what? What the anorexic hamsters on helium are you talking about?!”
He sighed, sounding more exasperated and tormented than this little freak out of his could give him credit for. “That guy. That guy you just kissed. I saw that. Do you have any idea what that did to me? I swear, I…!”
Wait. How could Jonah have seen me and C.A.I./Shanty? C.A.I./Shanty didn’t even exist! As far as I knew, he was only a fantasy. A figment of my imagination. Unless…
“Ya mean… it WASN’T a dream….?”
“What?”
“The kiss. Just now. In the hallway. That was real…?”
“W-well, of course! Why wouldn’t it be?! I saw you myself!”
Wait.
If the kiss was real…
Then Shanty was real. And if Shanty was real…
Then everything that just happened in the hall-way was real. And if that was real…
THEN I HAD JUST BEEN CONSOLED AND KISSED BY SOMEONE WAY OUT OF LEAGUE, FOR REAL!!!
And, on that note: Thank you, God. I will never doubt You again. Amen.
“Hey!” exclaims Jonah, annoyed. “Stop smiling so big! You’re gonna split your face right in half!”
“I don’t carrrrrrre,” I half giggled, half sung.
“Well, I do!”
“Oh, yeah? Why?” I arched my eye-brow at him, giving him a challenging look.
At this, we went red. Bloody scarlet, in fact. “Well… Because… Because…” He stammered, his eyes leaping from here to there, desperately looking for a safe place to settle.
I sneered at him haughtily, absolutely falling in love with watching him falter. “Because why…?” I taunted.
Yeah, I just had to ask.
The next thing I knew, Jonah had flipped me around with the most nauseating, dizzying speed, so my face was pressed against the wall, and my arms were locked painfully behind me. Then, a hushed, breathy, warm something was hovering right over my shoulder, and it told me: “Because, I fucking love you, okay?”
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Friday, April 25, 2008

Danny seperation anxiety
THANK.GOD.THIS.WEEK.IS.OVER!! I swear, I'm bloody exhausted. It's been the most bipolar week, guys, I swear. I'm getting a migraine just thinking about it.
And yet:
I miss Danny already. ;__;
But, anyway, we watched a modernized film version of Romeo And Juliet yesterday, so, here, watch the first scene and see if you don't get hooked:

Leo Dicapprio is the god of sex in this movie. I swear. ^^
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Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Hello, class. Today's lesson is: All Time Low is a bloody Godsend. How so, you ask? Well, allow me to present exibit A:

Exibit B:

And, just because I can't get enough, exibits C-G





"OH EM GEE! LIKE, MARRY ME, BELINDA!!!"

And with that, I leave you.^^
Au revoir
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Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Um....

Sporks. 0_o Yeah...

Cookies, anyone?

P.S. Dannyko is yummy. He shall be deflowered shortly. (Well, not really, but I can dream, can't I?)
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Sunday, April 20, 2008

I THINK I'M BULIMIC, I JUST KEEP FORGETTING TO PURGE
Well?
I'm open wide.
Come on in, my little spy
Satisfy my hunger, whether it be with lies or actual story-lines.
Why should anyone care which?
It's just gossip.
The kind that I could never bare to share.
So, here:
Let me cuddle up with my jealousy teddy-bear and insecurity blanket, and I'll binge and cling on your every eavesdropped detail.
I can take not knowing him.
But knowledge of his life is my life-line.
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Saturday, April 19, 2008

KSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAhHh!```111!!1111!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111!!
I am not happy.
Wanna know why I'm not happy? Well, so would I.
I suspect it has something to do with my probable ever-lasting obsession with the neighborhood sex muffin across the street, and the fact that my only help with said obsession, Hayley, has only known Sir Sex Muffin for 3 years. Meaning, she's got nothing. Meaning, I'm back to square one.
In other words: Damn it.'''-__-
*sigh* It's times like this when I most wish Shanty was real. That way I could send him to spy on Danny and tell me all about it. Or, better yet, get him to take pictures.^^
Oy... Watashi wa pathetiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiccccccccccccccc!!!!!
Oh, but I did find out what Sir Sex Muffin's band's name is: Stride. If you find anything, WHORE THEM ON YOUTUBE/MYSPACE/HERE OR DIE~!!
Thanks.

5 mins later...
OH MY GAWD. On the game my brother's playing, there's a hockey player named Danny. (That's not how it's spelled but...) YOU SEE, PEOPLE??!!?!!? YOU SEE??!!!!!?!!? I TOLD YOU THAT NAME WAS STALKING ME!!!!! >///< ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I swear.///___-
I'll never get any peace. And, in other news: IT'S DAMN COLD IN HERE!!!!

2 hours later...
Working on The Catalyst. Tis on a roll. Can't talk now. Bai.
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Sunday, April 13, 2008

Arrrrrrrgh.
Back to school tomorrow. I dun wanna goooooo!!! '-__-

Oh, and that reminds me, I'm not going to be in school on Thursday. The Pope's coming to DC, and me and my family are going to go see him.^^ I GET TO MISS MY HUGE-ASS AMERICAN GOV'T TEST!!! HUZZAH!!
THing is, then I have to re-take it on Friday.''-_- Argh.
My first year of highschool hasn't even ended yet and I'm already sick of this standardized test-filled, secular, oh-so-inflexible bullshit.
*sigh* Oh well.
No pain, no fabulous, life-long writing career gained.
And, in other news, I'm in a very attention whoreish mood today, so I'm just going to wing it and write a poem... In the next 5 minutes... with no pior inspiration.XD So yeah, if it sucks, you know why.

Here:
Commit this shit to memory and hope to God it never fades.
Because after tonight, this is all you'll have left of me.
It's not for attention, it's because you captured mine.
It's not compensation, it was all just a distraction.
And, this time it's not paranoia.
It's enlightenment.

Ummm.... Yeah... That made no sense. 0_o
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Saturday, April 12, 2008

THE CATALYST, CHAPT 21
As the last few notes of the cherubic, heart-achingly sweet melody finally finished fading into the air molecules and it‘s listeners hearts, Bob Sparroth only had one thing to say about the song: “Beautiful.” His eyes were widened in a mixture of awe and hungry supplication that screamed: “GIVE ME MORE.” “Just beautiful.”
However, Bob’s practically orgasmic reaction to the just-play-backed, newly recorded soon-to-be hit was nothing compared to the coy, sly, practically glowing-with-mirth grin brightening Jason’s face.
The kid had definitely delivered. Definitely. And the best part was, she hadn’t even been trying. Jason could only imagine how good she would be once she actually officially become the band’s co-lyricist. And it wasn’t just because of her poems, either. She also had inadvertently worked as a sort of good luck charm for the band. The most notable difference had probably been that, for whatever reason, Mikey had been more easily able to compose an especially radiant, fitting melody for Yuki’s song. And the recording process had somehow gone more smoothly than usual as well.
“Yeah, I gotta admit, Jay,” said Mikey, smiling, obviously pleased with the new potential single. “Your girl definitely came through. I mean, I had my doubts, but…” But everybody knew how that sentence ended. Sure, the entire band had been a bit reluctant to give Jason’s rather unorthodox choice of a candidate for co-lyricist a chance due to her being so young, but whatever doubts anyone had at first were entirely scrapped now. It didn’t even matter that no one besides Jay had met her yet. Everyone had seen the difference. It was clear that, no matter what Jay‘s, Mike‘s, Brent‘s, Andy’s, and Bob’s beliefs might be, at some level, Yuki was simply meant to be part of the band.
However, although their doubts had been quelled, the same could not be said for their curiosity. In fact, the next words--said by Brent--to shatter the silence were: “Yeah, but, so, like, when do we get to meet this child prodigy of yours, Jay?”
“That’s right,” Bob agreed. “I mean, if she’s going to be working with us on entire album, I’d at least like to have actually seen her in person before giving her a cut of the CD‘s profits.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” assured Jason. “You’ll have plenty of time to get to know her-she’s going to be coming with us to Asia.”
“Really?” Bob frowned, the twinkling of blissful awe giving way to mildly alarmed concern in his hazel gaze. “Is she going to be, like, with us for the WHOLE TOUR? The WHOLE YEAR?”
“Well, almost. She’s probably going to be leaving a few months early. Why?”
Mikey and Bob exchanged nervous glances. Andy, who was the only one in the room besides Jay that knew Yuki was actually 15 and not 19, had, upon hearing that she’d be joining them on the tour, spastically snapped to attention and shot a gaping, speechless-with-scandalized-shock, “ARE YOU COMPLETELY OUT OF YOUR MIND?!!?!?!?!” look at Jason.
“Well….” Bob stammered, still obviously worried for his oh-so-nervous-makingly under-age potential tour-mate. “Isn’t she a bit, um, young to travel half-way around the world with a bunch of random rocker dudes she doesn‘t even know? I mean, she’s only, like, what 18, 19-years-old? Jay, she’s barely out of high school!”
Well, actually, as Andy and Jason happened to know, she was really still IN high school. 11th grade, as a matter of fact. Somewhere in the back of Jason’s mind, he couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at the coincidence that Yuki was a junior in high school and she was also the junior, by at least 10 years, of everyone in the band. In fact, even Andy, who was the youngest member of the quartet at about 27-years-old, had been a solid 9 years older than Yuki currently was when he had first toured. This of course meant that once Yuki joined the band, Andy would no longer be the baby of the group. Maybe it was this that kept his mouth shut about the girl’s actual age. Or maybe it was that he was rather curious to see how she’d fair in the hectic, often frustrating, almost impossible life of rocker tour life. But, well, for whatever the reason, Andy stayed silent on the matter.
Too bad everyone else didn’t.
“Yeah, man, I gotta admit,” Brent chimed in. “It’s kind of unsettling. Besides, won’t her parents be worried?”
Jason was about to reply that Relax, Guys, He Was Handling This when his front pants-pocket broke out in chorus of obscure ‘80s rock. He retrieved the actual perpetrator of the ‘80s karaoke, a black cell-phone, from his pants and peered into the glowing screen. The caller ID informed him that it was “S.T. Wen.” Shanty.
“Um… Hang on a minute, guys,” he threw over his shoulder, before answering the onyx I-Phone.

“What’s up?”
“Hey. You know that attack on Yuki’s school that happened on Monday?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I got bad news: Those black-robed, assassin guys that helped Vash infiltrate the place? I found out they’re servants of some weird cult-driven mafia family: the Knolles clan. And here‘s the worst part: their leader goes to Yuki‘s school.”
“Okay. And how do you know this mafia stuff is legit?”
“I heard one of the black-robe guys talking on Monday. He mentioned something about a ‘Master Jonah’ and the ‘honor of the great and powerful Knolles clan.‘ When I found out that Yuki went to school with a guy named Jonah Knolles, I was curious, so I googled ‘Knolles,’ and got a crap-load of old, digitized newspaper articles about a bunch of crimes the ‘infamous Knolles family’ committed. And, it turns out, every single head of the family, since 1922, was named Jonah.”
“Well, okay, but why did this Jonah dude lend some of his goons to Vash? Like, what‘s their connection.”
“Vash is Jonah’s uncle-in-law. I found out when I went to, um, ‘investigate’ his house last night. Meaning…”
“Meaning, now, Vash has mob connections. Great,” Jason muttered, sardonically. He knew what this meant: He was no longer the only one with connections to Yuki. Vashou had his little spy implanted in the girl’s life too. And not only that, but even Vashoutoh’s connection had connections: he was the uncle of a damn mafia boss, for crying out loud! Yes, there was no doubt about it. Vashoutoh could definitely cause some serious damage with this one. “Hell,” Jay thought, remembering the Monday massacre, “he already did!”
“Get rid of him, Shan-Shannnn,” Jason sang through his teeth, trying to appear mildly irritated instead of vastly troubled, for the sake of his already suspicious band-mates.
“How?!” Shanty half-exclaimed, half-asked, from the other side of the line. “Uncle Jay, Jonah’s only 16 and no one except his family knows about his mob connections. There’s no way I can get rid of him without getting the cops involved.”
Jason sighed. Shanty was right. After all, what was he supposed to do, sneak a sack of marijuana into Jonah’s locker, tell one of the school officials, and hope the kid got expelled?
That kind of crap only worked in the movies.
The troubled prince of emo rock paused. He thought. He paced. He hesitated. He knew. There was no other half-reasonable way. This was the only other option.
The next words he said were in a hushed whisper. “Alright, then. New plan: Shan, you’re gonna have to bring her HERE. Like, soon. REALLY SOON.”
“WHAT?!?!”
“It’s no longer safe there for her! It never was! Hell, I should’ve had her moved right after the attack.” Jason paused again, this time to examine the rest of the room’s occupants. Bob, Mikey, and Brent were staring at him. Andy was frowning at him disapprovingly, knowing full well what was being discussed. Another sigh. He hated to do this, but what he was to instruct Shanty to do next could not be heard. Could not be heard, could not be witnessed, could not be seen. It was to remain utterly and completely secret. Therefore, he exited the room and limited himself to the confines of the bath-room, making sure to turn on the sink full blast and lock the door before he said another word.
“Uncle Jay, that’s kidnapping! That’s abduction! I can’t do that, it’s, like, the worst degree of stealing! Besides, what if she gets away and calls the cops? Do you have any idea how long I could go to jail for?!”
Jason chuckled. “Hon, with a face like yours, you could probably get her to walk through a goddamn volcano without a single complaint.”
There was a short, surprised pause as Jay sensed Shanty blush. Yet, the next words he said were a humorless, acid “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“Oh, alright, fine! I’ll do it FOR you, okay? Look, I’ll even get some of my bodyguards to help. All you have to do is lure her to the car, okay? Then, once she’s in, Mecha, [Wenterz bodyguard no.1], will hold her down while Seres, [Wenterz bodyguard no.2], will give her some sort of sedative that should knock her out for at least 3 and a half hours. Then, I’ll drive her over here. In short, you won‘t even have to touch her. So, there. Happy?”
“No-It’s STILL abduction, whether I participate or not!”
Jay sighed. Shanty could be so annoyingly naïve sometimes. “Look, it’s not abduction. It’s not kidnapping, it’s not stealing- it’s BORROWING. I’m planning on having her back safe and sound in 11 months and a week. A year, tops. Besides: We’re not endangering her, we’re SAVING her from Vash and the Knolles.”
There was another pause as Shanty considered this.
“Well… Okay.” He still sounded reluctant to perpetrate the plan, but he definitely seemed a lot more comfortable with the concept than he initially had. Still, something kept bothering him: “But what about the parents?”
“I dunno, what about ‘em?”
“UNCLE!!” Shanty was appalled. How on earth could Jason expect him to randomly walk up to some Maryland native minor, tempt her into his car, and then allow her to be driven all the way to Chicago to be flown to the other side of the earth without even so much as a note for her parents? That was completely and utterly wrong. Not only would he be taking away their little girl, he would probably indirectly kill them by having them worry to death!
“Oh, alright, alright,” Jay conceded. “Write them--no, TYPE them a note or something. But make sure nobody can tell it’s you. I don’t want you to go to jail anymore than you do, Shanty.”
“But…What do I say to them? In the note I mean?” Guilt and hesitance were still seeping through his voice.
“Oh, I don’t know! To be honest, I’d prefer if you didn’t leave them any--”
“Uncle, we’re taking away their DAUGHTER! Writing them a note to insure her safe return and welfare is the least we could do.”
“Now, Shan, you and I both know that’s just the guilt talking again: relax! I just told you: We‘re doing her a favor. I mean, she doesn‘t know what kinda danger she‘s in! Besides, it‘s not really such a bad life I‘m going to provide her with, is it? I mean, she‘s going to have a job that feels like play, she‘s going to get to go all over Asia with us, AND we‘re giving her a cut of the CD‘s profits. It like getting paid to take a vacation. Most kids her age would KILL for a deal like that!”
Shanty sighed. This was just too much. “Uncle Jay… You‘re out of your ---ing mind.”
“Don’t state the obvious, Shanty.”
“Hey!” came Andy’s voice from beyond the bath-room door. “Jay what’re you doing in there?! You’re talking to Shanty about Yuki, aren’t you?! DAMMIT, STOP KEEPING STUFF FROM ME, YOU’RE MAKING ME PARANOID!!”
Sigh. “Alright, I’ll be out in a sec!” he hollered back, then tossed Shanty a quick: “Alright, kid, I gotta go now. Guys are getting suspicious.”
“Wait! What about--”
“Shanty, don’t worry about a thing. You’ll be fine. I promise. But I’ve seriously gotta go now. Bye.”
Click. And thus the call was terminated. Along with another fraction of Shanty‘s patience. He sighed, muttered a couple Spanish cusses, and placed the phone back into his jacket pocket. This wasn’t the first time his madmen of an uncle had gotten him mixed up in ridiculous situations like this, but this was definitely the most ludicrous. Definitely the most ludicrous and definitely the most illegal. Seriously.
Resuming his position as a stealth master stalker was one thing, but KID-NAPPING? At this point, Shanty wouldn’t be surprised if his uncle asked him to rob Buckingham Palace. Bet let’s concentrate on one scandal at a time, shall we? The potential victim of the current one could be heard automatically droning out hushed Glory Be’s, Our Father’s, and Hail Mary’s in a monotone from the hall-way adjacent to the momentarily abandoned tech. Ed classroom guess-which-scene-stalker was currently hiding in. What was wrong, you ask? He had no idea. No shadow of a chance of a clue of an idea. This was, of course, the school official‘s faults: Due to the many teachers chaperoning the bath-rooms out-side of the cafeteria to make sure no students who weren’t enrolled in the current lunch snuck into the lavatories without a pass, Shanty hadn’t been able to get close enough to get a clear view. But something had obviously happened. Something tragic, evidently.
Because, about 15 minutes earlier, the girl had come staggering out of the cafeteria in a heart-sick, almost-careless-enough-to-be-suicidal-despair-induced daze, like a Southern girl groupie stereo-type who‘d just been misinformed that Bon Jovi had been assassinated. As soon as she had reached a part of the hall-way that could be considered isolated and chapel-like enough, she had promptly practically collapsed unto the floor, leaning against the wall, and had extracted a rosary from her jeans pocket. She had been praying ever since, scouring all of Heaven for a sense of solace amidst the misery of Whatever Had Just Occurred in The Cafeteria.
Concerned, Shanty poked his head out of the door and glanced at the still-sighing mass of prayer and pessimism, still disconsolately slumped against the foam green wall.
“What happened?” he asked, approaching the girl, opting to not even bother with the whole Are You Okay? Yeah I’m Fine, No You’re Not routine.
At this, the girl raised her sullen eyes from the wretched nebula of dust particles gathering on the floor and attempted to fake a convincing smile.
No such luck.
“Oh. Hey, C.A.I.”
“Hey,” he supplied, then repeated in a slightly more firm, “I demand an answer!” voice: “What’s wrong?” Yeah. No way in hell was he going to allow her to distract him with the formalities while she danced around the issue, pretending everything was just fine and dandy. He’d made the mistake of letting his oh-so-angst-filled uncle convince him with that lie way too many times. And the results had always been regrettable.
In reply, Yuki sighed. Yuki shrugged. Yuki said: “Nothing… Everything. I dunno.”
“Yes you do,” He said, plopping down beside her. “I saw what those little jackasses did to you at the bus-stop. Sorry there was nothing I could do. Sadly my, er, contract prevents me from intervening in anything that isn‘t a psychotic body-builder about to bash your brains out with a crowbar, or the like.”
Again, she shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” she said, sounding perfectly calm and collected. But despite these attempts at trying to either cool her heard or simply appear cool-headed, the demons blissfully wallowing in her precariously unstable mood were evidently just enjoying her misery far too much to let her go. Because that’s when the sighing morphed into seething, and the sorrow drowned itself in rage.
“No,” she half muttered, half-hissed at the wall she had suddenly began to stare vehemently at. “You had nothing to do with it… And neither did I. Gawddamn it, I’m sick of always blaming myself when I know it’s all Jonah‘s fault. All Jonah‘s and all Dan‘s.” That was the last profanity-free sentence she said. After that, it was all one, big, hissed, incoherent, vicious string of too-intense-to-be-clearly-expressed-in-words garble such as: “Thathypocriticalintolerantlittlepieceofshit… HowthefuhckisithisbusinessifImakeafoolouttamyselfbecauseofhim?! Doesn’thehavealifeofhisown?!?! Asifallthosemotherfuckingbulimiarumorlastyearweren’tshittyenough!! AndIknowhedoesn’tfuckinglikemebackbutwhydoesDanhavetobesuchadickabout it?!?!?!?! I swear…”
This went on for 5 more minutes or so, with poor Shanty all the while trying to help the situation, despite having no clue as to what the situation was, until Yuki finally paused. And groaned. And, threw her hands up in submission, yelling: “OH, SCREW THIS SHIT!!!” Her purposely dropped, formerly up-thrown hands hit the concrete floor with a “THWAK!” Ignoring the pain, she tossed a bitter chuckle into the air molecules, contorting her reddened-with-approaching-tears face into a sarcastic, cynical grin to conceal the conflict and contain the crying. “Forget him. Forget Jonah. No.. It IS all my fault. All mine…” At this, all Shanty could do was stammer, incoherently. How ironic. Now HE was the one garbling.
But, hey, who could blame him? He had no idea what was going on. So far, all he could infer was that there was a Dan and a Jonah involved, it was evidently somebody‘s fault, and… Well, that was it. So what was he supposed to say, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade”…? “Every cloud has a silver lining”…? “Don’t eat the yellow snow”…?
HOW THE HELL WERE ANY OF THOSE SUPPOSED TO HELP?! (Well, except for that last one, of course.)
Not that it really mattered at this point. The girl was talking more to herself now than to Shanty.
“Yeah, I should’ve known better by this point,” she murmured tentatively, gazing off pensively, reflectively into nowhere. “I shouldn’t have even dared to dream. I shouldn’t have even breathed in his general direction. I, I….” Her voice trailed off. Her words broke. So did the surface-tension on the tears prickling along the out-skirts of her eyes.
At this, Shanty just couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to know what was going on. He needed to help. He needed to not just be watching from the side-lines as Yuki broke down like this. “Okay,” he sighed, trying to relax. “Let’s try this again: Yuki, what is wrong? And be clear this time. I can’t help if I don’t know what happened. And, honestly, I really can’t take not helping when you’re doing this badly, so…”
“Oh, just your typical, every-day unrequited love/teen angst bullshit,” she shrugged cavalierly, despite the tears freely trickling down her face now. “You know: the usual.”
“Oh…” He gave a solemn nod of sincere understanding. Indeed, he did know. Being an ex-stalker of 10 years, he could more than relate to Yuki in this aspect. He knew exactly what it was like to practically worship someone who probably couldn’t even remember your last name. The next thing she knew, Yuki was being gathered into a hug by her fellow neglected obsessive. “I’m so sorry, honey. I know exactly what that’s like…”
“I-I just don’t get it, you know?” she sniffled. “I’ve got no right to say I love him because I barely even know him, and yet for these past 2 and a half years…” She ended in a choke and a shiver.
“I know, hon. But it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay…”
“But, why? Why do I like him when I know he’s not even worth it? Why do I even bother when I’ve known all along there’s no point? And why, oh, why do I only ever want to be where I’m not wanted?” Again, she choked, allowed her head to wilt against Shanty’s chest, then crackled: “I… Am… SO sick of this!”
There was a solemn pause, during which Yuki’s gaze went dead and she got lost in the oh-so-welcome warmth of Shanty’s hand stroking her back, up and down. Down and up.
After this, the next thing she felt was something soft and slightly chapped being tapped against her fore-head. Then, the very same something--it turned out to be Shanty’s mouth--told her: “Yeah, I know it hurts like Hell. And, honestly, you’ve got every right to cry. But hang in there, kid. Be strong.” Then, remembering that he had been commanded to help spirit the girl away some time this week, he added: “It’s only for a little while longer. I promise. Then, you’ll never have to deal with Mr. Tall Scene and Handsome for a long, lonnnng time.”
As Shanty was giving the girl one last encouraging squeeze, then stood up to exit the hallway once the end-of-lunch-bell sounded, she gave him a suspicious look and inquired: “Wait. How do YOU know he’s tall and scene and handsome?”
He smiled at her over his shoulder. “I was watching you at the bus-stop, remember? I saw him.” Then, turning around to face her completely and stooping down so his gaze was level with hers, added: “And, honestly, if that gangly, chick-haired madre-juada doesn’t like you back, he ain’t worth your time. You’re probably more than that ignorant little bitch could ever hope for. I mean, judging by his T-shirt, we’re talking about a kid who listens to ELECTRIC BANANA, for God’s sake! Anyone who likes THAT group of miserable old has-beens who couldn’t write a single decent lyric to save their lives has got to be, in the very least, deranged. So, trust me, honey, you can do SO much bet-” But Shanty never got to finish that sentence. He never had to.
Because, judging by the abrupt placement of Yuki’s mouth on Shanty’s, she appeared to be already convinced.

TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER…
(The following is based on an entry from the diary of Jonah Knolle CXX)
4/11/09, Thursday
OH. MY. GAWD…
I’m going to kill him. I’m seriously going to get a blowtorch one day, break into his house, get one of my families servants to hold him down while I pour oil all over him, and ---ing kill him. I swear. Dan is so excruciatingly stupid!
I HATE HIM, I HATE HIM, I HATE HIM!!!!!
I mean, I could almost understand if he was an evil, torturous bastard like Vash and tormented Belinda on purpose, but he’s too much of an idiot to even realize it’s all his fault that she just left the cafeteria, probably to bawl her eyes out in private, looking like she’d just been punched in the stomach! And as if that wasn’t infuriating enough, he just HAD to include me in it, too.
Seriously. There I was, just innocently eating my lunch in the cafeteria listening to Gus and Chris exchange random Adam Sandler jokes, discreetly training my eyes on her, who had just walked past my table to get a drink at the near-by water-fountain, when someone appears out of nowhere and plops down next to me.
Only, I didn’t notice the plopping down of the someone, because at the moment, I was too busy being tantalized by her. Drinking from the water fountain. Bent over. Like, right in front of me.
Plopped Down Someone: [leans into me, whispering in my ear, insidiously] “Stalking the stalker, are we?
Me: “GAH!!” [whips around to see Dan half-sneering, half-snickering at my surprised reaction. Glares slightly.] “Oh. Hey, Dan. Wassup.”
Dan: “Well, if you’re referring to what’s up Amy, It’s going to be ME, in about 3 and a half hours and counting.” [wink, wink. Hint, hint.]

Ugh. At the mention of his oh-so-unbearably insecure, fascist, pretentious, Hell-spawned girl-friend, Amy Lia, I couldn’t help but cringe a little. I mean, sure, she’s hot,--a bloody super model, in fact!-- but she’s SUCH a bitch! Seriously.
But, then again, it’s been about 2 weeks since Dan and Amy hooked up, and since then he hasn’t even considered so much as suggesting she stop with all that fake tan crap before her skin turns permanently orange, so I suppose the sex must be pretty fantastic.
But anyway…

Me: “Awesome. So, uh, why aren’t you with Amy, then?”

Dan: “Oh, I will be. I just wanted to thank you first. You know, for what you did earlier. On the Bus. To Bionca.”

Me: [soundlessly moans in guilt-filled anguish at mention of this morning’s events] “It’s BELINDA, Dan.”
Dan: “Whatever. Point is, Amy would still be bitching at me because of her if you hadn’t…. Well, you know.”

Indeed, I did know.
What I didn’t know, however, was how Amy could’ve been so stupid and insecure enough to get all pissy with Dan because of Belinda in the first place. I mean, so what if Belinda used to sexually harass him on a daily basis almost 3 years ago? So what if she still liked him? So what if she was half a calorie skinner than Amy? Seriously. Was Amy REALLY that insecure? Did she REALLY have that much of a jealousy complex?

Me: [takes another bite of sandwich so I can have an excuse not to talk.] “Mm-hm.”

Dan: [ignores my discomfort and goes right on talking.] “To be honest, I really didn’t think it would work, though. I thought Belinda’d be over me by now. I mean, it’s been almost 3 years! But, I guess she’s still hooked. [Shrug.] Who knew?” I did. I also knew it wasn’t fair. I also knew Dan should be slapped upside-the-head for treating her like shit when she was so much better than him and liked him so much. Especially when God knows he never deserved her and he never would. But then, neither will I.

Dan: [chuckles.] “But, Gawd, she’s such an obsessive little freak, isn’t she? And she’s so whiney! Man, I dunno how Cori put up with it. Every time she came over our house, she was always like: ‘Cori, Mr. Whoever’s gonna fail me!’ ‘Cori, I lost my 25 cents!’ ‘Cori, I totally forgot yesterday’s homework!’ Wah, wah, wah. [rolls eyes.] Seriously, man! I cannot even begin to imagine who would be desperate enough to want HER. Matter of fact, she’d be lucky if some serial rapist would--”

Alright. That’s the last straw. Me: “Dan, shut the --- up!!”

Dan: [stares at me, obviously perplexed and surprised]

Me: “Alright, fine, I get it, you don’t like her! You don’t have to be such a dick about it! And if you do, then find somebody else to bitch to! Cause I sure as --- don’t wanna hear it!”

Soft, wounded-sounding voice from behind me: “Yeah. Neither do I.”

Me: [turns around to see Belinda, standing miserable and hurt a mere 5 feet behind me, in perfect earshot; having obviously just heard every word Dan said]

In conclusion: Dan Bennett must die.
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