Multi-Purpose Room

[The Phantom of Paris]

Shelby Wright

Was she just imagining the way that he seemed to shrink away from her at her question, or had she subconsciously been looking for a reaction like that? He avoided her gaze more than usual, focusing on the little snacks in his hand as if they were the most fascinating things he'd ever seen. Usually, that was the way he looked at her. "You're going to find a fabulous film school, right? So you can hone your fabulous talents?”

She gave him a blink at that, caught off-guard by his question. You should have known he'd ask you. It's a natural response. And you really don't have a right to be mad or disappointed or whatever in the way he reacted when you asked him...I've been doing the exact same thing, haven't I? I've had the Columbia interview scheduled for weeks. I've had plenty of time to tell him and I didn't. I didn't say one word. And why? Because I'm a coward, that's why. Oh, sure, I pretend and smile and do brave things like kissing boys I barely know outside my tree house and directing stupid little films. But really, I'm still that same scared little girl that Yukito yelled at that one day, too afraid to help her sister even when she was in trouble.

Shelby supposed that she should consider herself lucky that the topic of colleges hadn't come up sooner. But now Preston had asked her, and she had a choice. She could give a vague excuse like he had about still having time, lie and say that she hadn't started thinking about it. She could mention Tulane--a great school and located right in New Orleans--and be done with it. But that would just lead to more complications down the road, wouldn't it? It would be better just to tell him now, instead of waiting until after the interview or, worse, until she had the acceptance letter in her hand and had to tell him that she would be moving to a place about twenty hours away. No, now would be better, less painful for both of them. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

Shyness overtook her then, and she started slowly, not wanting to mention Columbia until she absolutely had to. "I wouldn't say fabulous... And I still have some time yet. I'm only a junior and most people start applying August and September of their junior year. But I'm considering a few places...Tulane would be nice, since it's in the city and still close to home in case they need me to help with the baby or whatever, and I liked the vibe I got when I visited, but I don't know if they have the kind of program I'm looking for. And, um..."

And here it was. She had to tell him. But at the same time, her mind was screaming at her not to. It was so far away, and as much as it embarrassed her to admit it, she definitely didn't want to screw things up with this relationship. She cared too much about him--she might even love him, and the idea of the cliche breakup because of a long-distance relationship looming was enough to make her almost sick to her stomach. But what if that's what happened? What if the thought of being so far away freaked him out and drove him away or something? What would happen to her then? Would she spiral back down to the place she had been where they met--uncaring, a silent shell of a human being that didn't flinch when a car came barreling towards her in a parking lot? Would she laugh and try to move on and channel all her pain into her films? Or would she try to make him jealous, going out with all the guys in her circle of friends? Shelby didn't know the answer.

And that uncertainty terrified her.

Still, she had to tell him now that it was out there in the open. There was no getting out of it, not this time. "I actually have an interview scheduled soon for this other school that has a fantastic film program. I haven't visited it yet, they're coming to meet me, and the interview's just a preliminary thing, to show them some of my work and ask them questions about their program--just let them get to know me a little, you know? It's a really good school, from what I've seen. It's called Columbia College..." she paused, almost wincing before dropping the final bombshell on him. "It's in Chicago."

His face remained completely neutral, no change in expression at all, but that neutrality was enough to scare her. Either he was angry with her or trying to hide it, or upset and trying to hide it, but either way she knew him well enough by now to know he wasn't okay. Her face fell--she would never win any awards for her acting skills, that was for sure.

Now you see why I didn't tell you?

“Hmm?” he said, bringing the can of beer to his lips again. Shelby barely noticed--her mind was frantically trying to come up with something, anything, to say. In a moment of desperation, she tried to think of what Cassie would do in her situation. She would know what to say. She would reassure him, tell him that it can work out if we want it to while I'm gone and there's no guarantee that that's even where I'll be going...she would know what to do. She would say all the right things because she thinks about things like that, how to take care of people. I'm only good at messing people up, apparently.

“It sounds like a really great place for you to be, Shel," he said quietly, once again seeming to avoid her gaze. "And they're coming to see you from Chicago? Wow..that's pretty fantastic! I bet once they see your stuff they'll just be wowed.” Now he smiled, leaning forward to place a kiss on her cheek as Shelby sighed.

"Look, I know that it seems bad, or crazy, or whatever," she said quietly, stepping closer to him. "But it's just an interview. I might hate the guy and not want to apply at all. Or he might hate my stuff. Or even if he likes it, I might not even get in." Reaching up, she took her face in his hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Things could happen between then and now, minds could change. I'm just saying that there's no guarantees about any of this. I'm...I'm not going anywhere yet, okay?"

[Elda Forever]

Preston Brailsford

"I actually have an interview scheduled soon for this other school that has a fantastic film program. I haven't visited it yet, they're coming to meet me, and the interview's just a preliminary thing, to show them some of my work and ask them questions about their program--just let them get to know me a little, you know? It's a really good school, from what I've seen. It's called Columbia College..." She gave a notable pause, giving him ample time to steel himself for the conclusion, the thing he didn't want to hear. Keeping his expression locked on 'interested', he looked up into her face. "It's in Chicago."

Her words were basically synonymous with that idiotic 'I think we should take some time apart' or the craptastic 'We should be open to seeing other people, you know?' But he couldn't disappoint her like that. And his pride couldn't quite deal with it yet, either. So he took another drink and murmured a neutral “Hmm?” without really giving her any reaction at all. But she knew him better than that, knowing neutral was a universal signal of something that was trying to be indeterminable. Preston's eyes fell away from her, seeing the worried look in her eyes. Worried about what? That I hate the idea of you leaving? You should have known that much, Shel. But I hate to see you worried, either way. You'll see, just give me a few moments, and I'll be strong enough to deal with it. He fell onto reassuring then, happily adding, “It sounds like a really great place for you to be, Shel. And they're coming to see you from Chicago? Wow..that's pretty fantastic! I bet once they see your stuff they'll just be wowed.” Now he smiled, leaning forward to place a kiss on her cheek as Shelby sighed.

"Look, I know that it seems bad, or crazy, or whatever," she said quietly, stepping closer to him. "But it's just an interview. I might hate the guy and not want to apply at all. Or he might hate my stuff. Or even if he likes it, I might not even get in." He didn't buy the lie. If she wasn't totally excited about this place, she wouldn't be applying at all. He expected her to try and smooth things over, but he didn't expect her hands on either of his cheeks, making him look into her face. His lips pressed together in denial, trying to bury his disappointment. Whether she got in or not, it didn't change that much. Preston wasn't a child. He knew she was putting her education first here. She wanted a college degree, she wanted to be a fancy movie director, she wanted to make great things, and go the direction she was pulled. Dating him came after, and that was obvious. Thinking back on it, he had always known that. She'd let him initiate things from the first, hadn't she? And they liked each other. But some things didn't work out. And he wouldn't ask her to put her life aside just for him. He knew she liked him, yeah...but he was directionless at this point. A drifter. Who would want to stay attached to that? So the whole thing made sense, that way.

But it still hurt to meet her eyes. The eyes he had been learning to read. It hurt to see the fear there, now so clearly displayed and no longer evanescent to him. And he couldn't change that. He could only deny it.

"Things could happen between then and now, minds could change. I'm just saying that there's no guarantees about any of this. I'm...I'm not going anywhere yet, okay?"

“Yeah, I know,” he told her, the reassuring tone back. He wasn't going to break from this. It was all just a part of the sequence of events, right? He sent her a smile. “I do. And hey, there's always Skype, right? I've been wanting to learn how to use that. I can Skype you...” He considered that a moment, then grinned. “That sounds so sinister. I Skyped Shelby Wright.” Preston moved until his face was released from her hands, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close in a half-hug. “So, you wanna head into the living room? I think someone got a video of the game and they're replaying it, but there are probably some familiar mugs in there.” He led the way in, lifting his can up again for another sip, imagining it coursing through him and giving him more strength. No one else was gonna give it to him, after all. “Oh, God..are they...?” He snorted as they entered the living room. The speakers weren't playing video, but someone was playing music. “Don't Stop Believin'? Really?”

[The Phantom of Paris]

Shelby Wright

Sometimes she hated that he was so easy to read. She hated that she knew him well enough to know her words had hurt him even as he tried to hide it, and hated that he knew her well enough to tell right away that she wasn't buying the fake enthusiasm. Isn't that what she'd always feared in relationships, being so vulnerable and open around another person? Look how that had worked out for her parents. For Erin and Yukito, the first time. Cassie and Kagayaki. Cassie and Clarence. Weren't those examples enough of a warning to her?

But at the same time, it was what she loved about them, and she hated herself for not knowing more, for not being able to read his face and see what he was really thinking. He wasn't happy with her news, obviously, but why? It couldn't be just that he didn't want her to leave--she was a junior, they had over a year to prepare for it. If she decided to apply. If she got in. If she chose to go. But was there more to it than just the distance? Shelby wanted more than anything to ask, but she couldn't do that to him, could she? Not after she'd already dropped this bombshell on top of him. She couldn't. So instead of asking, she tried to console, knowing deep down that it probably wouldn't do any good. "Look, I know that it seems bad, or crazy, or whatever...But it's just an interview. I might hate the guy and not want to apply at all. Or he might hate my stuff. Or even if he likes it, I might not even get in." She held his face gently, making him look into her eyes instead of avoiding them as he had been doing, but even that didn't seem to help--he still looked wounded, disappointed in her and the reality of her dream. I should have told you sooner.

She tried again. "Things could happen between then and now, minds could change. I'm just saying that there's no guarantees about any of this. I'm...I'm not going anywhere yet, okay?"

“Yeah, I know,” was his only reply. His voice was calm as he sent her a smile, which Shelby struggled to return, only managing her signature upward twitch of the lips. “I do. And hey, there's always Skype, right? I've been wanting to learn how to use that. I can Skype you...” He considered that a moment, then grinned. “That sounds so sinister. I Skyped Shelby Wright.”

Shelby managed a weak chuckle, her chest still feeling as though someone was sitting on it and forcing all the air from her lungs. "Pretty sketchy," she agreed.

Come on, Shelby. What did you want him to say? she told herself angrily. 'Go after your dreams, I'll be here waiting for you?' We don't live in a Hallmark movie. 'I'll go to Chicago with you, there are tons of schools up there with great basketball programs?' Please. 'Don't go, Shelby, because I love you?' I'm pathetic.

He moved away from her then, and for some reason it took everything she had not to throw herself back into his arms, anchor him to her and make him talk about this stuff with her. Wasn't that what he'd wanted all along? When they'd first met, before they'd gotten together, his goal had been to get her to talk, to open up and let him in. Now here she was, ready to do that, but it was Preston putting up a wall now, Preston avoiding the issue by pretending it didn't exist. We're so similar.

Preston's arm came around her then, and she leaned into it, hating Columbia College, hating her vulnerability hating his reaction, this party, the stupid can of beer in his hand which he was now bringing to his lips again. “So, you wanna head into the living room? I think someone got a video of the game and they're replaying it, but there are probably some familiar mugs in there. Oh, God..are they...?” She watched a look of genuine amusement as the familiar Journey chords hit their ears upon entering the living room, which contained more couples drinking, making out in corners, or belting out the overdone tune for all they were worth. Fantastic. You can't bring a real smile to his face tonight to save your life, but a cheesy 80s song can.

“Don't Stop Believin'? Really?”

"It is a classic, I guess," Shelby said quietly, not looking at him at first. "Just don't expect me to sing along. I only sing for you. And for Chloe."

Her eyes flickered back to the can Preston held, and narrowed the longer she kept them there. She still wasn't used to her emotions being out in the open like this, but now she couldn't help them flooding to the surface as she ran over and over the whole situation. He should know better than that--know better not to drink, no better not to try and pretend that everything was okay to her of all people. Her vision blurred and her hands started to shake, and Shelby felt powerless to stop the anger she now felt bubbling up inside her.

You should know better.

"Preston!" she cried without warning, snatching the can away from him almost before she knew what was happening. "Will you stop drinking that?!"

[Elda Forever]

Preston Brailsford

The only way he could deal with this properly was burying it. Later, he would think about it. Maybe call up coach and talk to him – this did kind of involve his college plans, in a strange, uncertain way – he would know what to do, or could at least start Preston on a path to discover it himself. So for now he wanted as far away from the subject as possible, for his and for Shelby's sakes. “Don't Stop Believin'? Really?”

"It is a classic, I guess," Shelby said quietly, looking like she expecting something very different to come from the room, the way she was looking around it and not looking his direction. n”Just don't expect me to sing along. I only sing for you. And for Chloe."

I don't expect you to do a single thing you don't want to do, Shelby Wright. He took another drink from his beer, only to find it suddenly wrenched out of his hand. He stared stupidly at Shelby, seeing the desperate gleam in her eyes.

"Preston! Will you stop drinking that?!"

“What are you talking about?” he snapped back, his brow furrowing with irritation, his shoulders drawn back defensively. “Since when did you become my mother, huh?” He glared down at her, his anger rising up in a heat, leveled by the drop in his voice to a hiss. “Is it because I don't fit into your 'perfect boyfriend' mold? So what if I want to drink a little, Shelby? I'm not gonna die from it or something. And I'll make sure no one from your neighborhood sees it, okay?”

[The Phantom of Paris]

Shelby Wright

"It is a classic, I guess," Shelby admitted, secretly hating each and every insipid, optimistic word that came pouring over those overpriced speakers. She had never loved the song to begin with, but now every note grated on her nerves, making her want to pull her hair out with each chorus. Don't stop believing. Yeah right. Explain to me exactly what good believing is going to do me. What, so if I just believe that me telling him didn't just change our entire relationship, it'll happen? Screw you, Journey.

”Just don't expect me to sing along. I only sing for you. And for Chloe." Her words were softly spoken, but she hoped that he would find the meaning hidden within them. Shelby was shy--she knew that he knew that about her. Did he know what it meant that she would let her guard down enough to sing with him at Christmas? This went beyond Cassie's stage fright and insecurities about her voice--Shelby's reluctance to sing was different, so different she couldn't even fully describe it. She was a musical theatre fan. In musical theatre, singing was everything--music was literally the language of love. Shelby only sang for people she loved--or, at least, that was the rule she had given herself. So in that way, every time she sang to him was her own way of saying that she loved him. Even though she hadn't said the words out loud yet. Even if she hadn't even let herself think them for more than a second before pushing them aside.

Even if she didn't want to admit them to herself.

Her eyes locked back on the can of beer he was now holding as if it were some sort of a lifeline, and something snapped inside of her. All of her fear and guilt and disappointment vanished in favor of what could only be described as rage--at herself, for being an idiot, for not telling him sooner, for thinking those three little words. At him, for pretending that he was fine, for not wanting to talk. At the team, for winning the game and making her hurt Preston that much more when she broke her news to him after such a victory. At Peters, for hosting this party in the first place.

Her hand shot forward almost of its own accord, and before she knew it the cold metal of the can was in her hand, the wet, chilly condensation soaking into her skin. Preston looked at her in shock as her voice rang out through the room, loud enough to cut through some of the song. "Preston! Will you stop drinking that?!"

“What are you talking about?” he snapped back, the first time that Shelby had ever seen him really get angry. Her mind flashed back to the day over the summer when they'd went horseback riding--he'd met her mother for the first time, and she'd put Shelby down and pulled her hair, prompting Preston to stand up for her and take Shelby away. But that anger had faded quickly, and what she now saw in his face was nothing like what she had seen that day. “Since when did you become my mother, huh? Is it because I don't fit into your 'perfect boyfriend' mold?"

"'Perfect boyfriend mold?'" Shelby asked in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?"

"So what if I want to drink a little, Shelby? I'm not gonna die from it or something. And I'll make sure no one from your neighborhood sees it, okay?”

Shelby realized his implications at once, and she flinched back as if he'd slapped her. Suddenly, she was twelve years old again, crying as her friends cornered her to demand to know why she thought she was so much 'better' than everyone else; she was nine, listening to her mother scream at the maid in front of her daughter, who had been brought over to play with Shelby; she was four, trying to pretend that the glares of her friend and their mothers at her birthday party were actually smiles and hiding from her mother as she attempted to shower the small redhead with more gifts; she was sixteen, going through the wreckage of her father's burned house and trying to block out all the whispered conversations between the neighbors about insurance coverage and the cost of rebuilding. He was bringing up her family's money to try to get to her, and that hurt more than nearly anything else he could have done. If it had bothered him before, why was he just bringing it up now? He wouldn't if he'd known the ways it had defined her throughout her entire life--if he knew how the one thing that people seemed to desire so much could actually make him miserable. Little comments flooded back to her--him commenting on her house during the musical, the nickname of Princess he sometimes used. Had it bothered him all this time?

Was I just kidding myself to think that you were different than everybody else?

And am I that selfish that this still bothers me?

Her eyes widened, filling with tears before she could stop them, but she refused to let them fall. Just like always, she held them in, because actually letting them loose would be too painful. The night they had learned about Kristen's affair, Halloween almost two years ago, Shelby had cried herself to sleep. She hadn't cried since.

Because she was afraid that if she let herself, she would never be able to stop.

She held her head high, looking at him defiantly even as the tears swam before her vision and threatened to spill over. They could threaten all they wanted--she knew how to control them by now. "You of all people should know why I don't want you to drink," she hissed, her tone dangerous. "And I can assure you that it has nothing to do with where you live." She looked at the can for a long moment, flickering back up to his with a glare. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it won't kill me," she breathed before impulsively bringing it to her own lips, taking a huge gulp. It burned as it went down, but she bit her lip and forced herself to swallow before shoving the can back at him. "Here. Drink all you want. Knock yourself out. See if I care. Serves me right for thinking you'd understand, right?" With one last angry, tear-filled look, she walked away, briskly weaving her way through the crowd that was now watching them with interest. Let him chase after her if he wanted to talk.

[Elda Forever]

Preston Brailsford

Things just escalated so fast – but wasn't that how it always happened? One second things seemed to be going back to normal, and he began to think they were getting past it, when she snatched his beer can out of his hand and shouted, "Preston! Will you stop drinking that?!"

“What are you talking about?” he snapped back, furious with her and her controlling tactics. Why couldn't she just let it well enough alone? He felt like he was towering over her, his jawline visibly tensing and his eyes flashing as he hissed, “Since when did you become my mother, huh? Is it because I don't fit into your 'perfect boyfriend' mold?"

"Perfect boyfriend mold?” Shelby, sounding exasperated, "Are you kidding me?"

"So what if I want to drink a little, Shelby? I'm not gonna die from it or something. And I'll make sure no one from your neighborhood sees it, okay?” The instant he said it, he knew he regretted it. Shelby visibly flinched, and he felt like he had just slapped her across the face with his words. His anger fizzled down, and his expression broke. More quietly, he added, “Shel...”

But Shelby Wright wasn't one to whimper or moan like most girls did. She glared up at him, a picture of defiance, though he could still see the pain etched across her face, buried mostly in her sparkling eyes, and the pull of her cheeks as she tried to strengthen herself and fight back. "You of all people should know why I don't want you to drink," she seethed, her tone dangerous. "And I can assure you that it has nothing to do with where you live."

His lips pressed together. He knew he shouldn't have said it. Shelby had done nothing to merit his accusation – not directly, anyway. He'd tried to bury the feeling of guilt... of shame, when he was reminded how different their worlds were. He tried to tell himself that they went to the same school, that they did similar things, that everyone was more alike than they realized. But it was hard when she was given so much and seemed to take it for granted. Like having a maid or growing up in a huge house with multiple Christmas trees that never seemed to be below twelve feet tall, when she didn't have to ever even consider getting a part-time job to pay for camera equipment or to pay off her car. When she didn't even seem to notice. If it was just so normal to have those things...then how did she look at him? What did she think of his beat-up second-hand car, his broken watch, his tiny home, and the fact that he didn't ever expect to have it easy when it came to money? What did a girl like that think of a penny-pincher? Sure, he wasn't poor, but his life was just so...different. He felt like he had somehow failed her.

Preston realized that the anger he felt was half for her, and half for himself. He shouldn't have said it that way, he shouldn't have blown it so out of proportion and attacked her with it. But shouldn't she have thought about his end of the deal, too? Shouldn't she have ever considered it from his shoes?

She looked at the can for a long moment, flickering back up to his with a glare. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it won't kill me," she breathed, then took a large drink of the beer before he could stop her. She bit her lip, reacting to the violent stuff, then shoved the can back at him. Shelby..stop..you're being ridiculous. Please. What are you trying to prove?

"Here. Drink all you want. Knock yourself out. See if I care. Serves me right for thinking you'd understand, right?" And she turned on her heel as soon as she had sent him one heart-shredding look, vanishing from the room and taking the volatile aura with her. Preston stood there, the can in his hand and a thunderstruck expression. If this was a movie, it would be the point where someone I know comes up and offers me some sagely advice, sending me off to go find her and make it right. But of course, no such Rafiki appeared, all eyes avoiding him while at the same time watching him, casting conjectures as to whether or not this was the end of Preston and Shelby being together, if it was officially over or just a 'open to options' sort of thing. In his clenching fist, the can easily succumbed, the little bit that remained now trapped in the irreparable bends of the aluminum. Preston's eyes stung, and he wondered if they were like that, too. Were they so easily bent out of shape, but so hard to put back together?

No, they were both too stubborn for that. As clearly as he could see the crushed can in his hand, he had seen the look in her eyes and known that she wanted him to follow. That she needed him to. Tossing the can onto a nearby table, he raced out of the room, calling out her name, and following the path of confused looks trying to find her. “Have you seen Shelby? I need to find her.” Nobody was much help, but at last he spotted her, in the dark and out of the way, and he took hold of her arm, as though afraid she would vanish.

“I'm sorry, Shel. I am so sorry, you don't even know. I shouldn't have said that, and I should've talked to you about it sooner. You don't deserve that. It's just...” his words caught in his throat, the enormous lump there feeling like he had just swallowed a plate. “It's like Superman. Don't you ever wonder how small Lois Lane felt, once she realized that she would always be watching from the ground, or-or...or being picked up and carried by Superman? It's kinda like that. You've got all this talent and opportunity and direction, Shel. And I know...” he smiled, though his eyes were sad as he fought the tears choking his throat. He inhaled sharply, feeling those tears starting to creep into his eyes. So many hours trying to manually bring on tears hadn't prepared him to stop them in the least, as he took hold of Shelby's arms and looked straight at her. “I know you are gonna do so many great things. Amazing things. But it sucks, being stuck on the ground all the time, Shel. How am I supposed to feel when you're off changing the world and I'm stuck here on the ground? Does that make any sense?” Another sharp inhale, then, “I'm sorry...”

[The Phantom of Paris]

Shelby Wright

She could see his resolve break as her eyes filled with tears, but she couldn't stop the cruel words from coming to her tongue, couldn't stop from reminding him just why he of all people, who should have known her better than anyone, should know why she was upset. A saner Shelby would have reminded herself that she hadn't really spoken about her mother's arrest with Preston that much, but Shelby wasn't sane right now. She was angry, and surprised, and hurt. "You of all people should know why I don't want you to drink. And I can assure you that it has nothing to do with where you live."

The can caught her attention again, the shiny metal glinting at her and daring her to do it. Daring her to go ahead and take a sip, just to prove whatever crazy point she was trying to make. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it won't kill me," she said, hearing similar statements that she'd been told in the past echoing through her head. She wasn't sure just who she was spiting here--Preston? Her mother? Herself?--and she realized her mistake immediately. She bit her lip, fighting to keep herself from gagging. It stung and burned her mouth, it tasted the way she'd always imagined gasoline would. But she managed it, glaring up at him defiantly as she shoved the tiny object that had started this whole thing towards him again. "Here. Drink all you want. Knock yourself out. See if I care. Serves me right for thinking you'd understand, right?"

Serves me right for thinking you could read me the way I wanted you to.

She shot him one last look before turning on her heel, moving through the crowd as if she couldn't get away from him fast enough. Snickers and speculation followed her footsteps, but no one spoke to her directly, as she'd known they would. Did he know what she had to go through every day, just for loving him? For dating him, you moron, she corrected herself. Had he ever heard the catty whispered remarks from the cheerleaders, wondering what he saw in her? Or the looks her friends would sometimes get, half anger and half disbelief, as if they thought Shelby was slipping away from them? Did he know that half the team probably didn't even know her name, or that her own sister had expressed her disbelief that the relationship would last? You say that I'm the lucky one, with my money and my connections, but did you ever stop to think about what you have? You've got your talent that everyone can see, but no one knows mine yet. You've got that smile that draws people to you. You can win anyone over in an instant, whereas I'm the girl who always feels out of place at the party, no matter what. Don't you see that I'm just a shadow around here?

Shelby wanted nothing more than to leave this nightmare of a party and never come back, but Preston was her ride home and she was smart enough to risk walking home alone at night. Instead, she wandered the house until she found a suitable corner to hide in, slipping into the shadows behind a large, fake house plant that had clearly been left with the apartment when Peters moved in. There she sat, her arms crossed in front of her body as if she was trying to make herself smaller, glaring at the tops of her purple Converse. There she stayed for several minutes, wondering if he would follow her, if this was really the end, what everyone would say at school on Monday...whether they could get through this.

As it turned out, he had followed her, and she didn't flinch as he came up and grabbed her arm so she wouldn't run away from him again, his voice desperate. “I'm sorry, Shel. I am so sorry, you don't even know."

The tears were back--she couldn't meet his eyes. "I shouldn't have said that, and I should've talked to you about it sooner. You don't deserve that. It's just...” She heard Preston's breath catch there, and she looked up, frightened that she could have actually made him cry. “It's like Superman. Don't you ever wonder how small Lois Lane felt, once she realized that she would always be watching from the ground, or-or...or being picked up and carried by Superman? It's kinda like that. You've got all this talent and opportunity and direction, Shel. And I know...” A ghost of a smile came over his face as he took hold of both of her arms, his hold firm enough to let her know that he wanted to keep her there but still gentle enough not to hurt. “I know you are gonna do so many great things. Amazing things. But it sucks, being stuck on the ground all the time, Shel. How am I supposed to feel when you're off changing the world and I'm stuck here on the ground? Does that make any sense? I'm sorry...”

Her expression softened, and slowly she reached out one hand to rest on his cheek. "Do you honestly think you're going to be on the ground forever?" she whispered. "I mean...have you heard yourself sing? Or seen yourself act, or play? You've got more talents than I could dream of and everyone knows it, and everyone loves you for it! Why would you think I'm gonna go off and do great things and just leave you behind? You're going to be right there up in the sky with me, don't you know that?"

She inhaled sharply then, breaking eye contact. "And I don't care how much money you make, or about any of that. Don't you know that? How could you even think that? You never said anything before..." A tear threatened to slip down, and she brushed it away so harshly she almost scratched her skin. "You have to know that that doesn't matter to me, because--"

But she couldn't finish her sentence. Not here, not right after their first and very public fight--she couldn't let the first time she said those three words to be at a party!

"I'm sorry." Another tear threatened to breach the defenses that had been in place for years, and she couldn't let that happen. She couldn't let him see, so she launched herself into his arms, burying her face in his shirt. "You're going to make me cry, Mustang," she said weakly. "And I can't cry, because what if I never stop? I haven't cried in two years."

A few moments passed before she felt stable enough to leave the haven of his embrace, the tears pushed so far down she was sure they wouldn't be making another appearance for at least a few minutes. "I'm sorry," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked into his eyes. "Can we--can we get out of here? I want to talk to you. I want to tell you about...about my mother, and about Columbia, and about why I don't like talking about the money thing and how I understand even though it seems like I shouldn't, that I can't. And I'd really like to be able to do that without having "Like a G6" as background music." She gave a weak chuckle as the idea struck her. "Can we go to my tree house?"

[Elda Forever]

Preston Brailsford

She was huddled in the corner, staring at her shoes like they were conversing with her. Conversing Converse...heheh.. But the moment felt dark, solemn and clammy. Like the weary breaking after a fever, and he fell next to her and stared down into her little round face, regret in his eyes. She didn't move, and he took hold of her arms, wanting to see her move, afraid he had sent her back into the depression she'd been lost in on the day he had met her. You've come too far for that, Shel. Don't do this to yourself! “I'm sorry, Shel. I am so sorry, you don't even know. I shouldn't have said that, and I should've talked to you about it sooner. You don't deserve that. It's just...It's like Superman. Don't you ever wonder how small Lois Lane felt, once she realized that she would always be watching from the ground, or-or...or being picked up and carried by Superman? It's kinda like that. You've got all this talent and opportunity and direction, Shel. And I know...” A ghost of a smile came over his face as he took hold of both of her arms, “I know you are gonna do so many great things. Amazing things. But it sucks, being stuck on the ground all the time, Shel. How am I supposed to feel when you're off changing the world and I'm stuck here on the ground? Does that make any sense? I'm sorry...”

Her expression softened, and slowly she reached out one hand to rest on his cheek. Preston let out a sigh then. Maybe she hadn't forgiven him, but she wanted to. He could tell. "Do you honestly think you're going to be on the ground forever?" she whispered. "I mean...have you heard yourself sing? Or seen yourself act, or play? You've got more talents than I could dream of and everyone knows it, and everyone loves you for it! Why would you think I'm gonna go off and do great things and just leave you behind? You're going to be right there up in the sky with me, don't you know that?" The instant she broke eye contact, his voice seemed to return.

"I wouldn't blame you if you left, Shel," he breathed, "But it doesn't mean I wouldn't miss you like hell." And it isn't the same for me as it is for you. Sure, I could have talent. But it doesn't mean I can get into the right schools. Dad wants me to go pursue basketball, get a scholarship and make it big.

But I don't know if that's what I want. What do I want?

"And I don't care how much money you make, or about any of that. Don't you know that? How could you even think that? You never said anything before..." She brushed at something on her cheek, a harshness to the movement like she was berating her own instincts. "You have to know that that doesn't matter to me, because--"

There was an empty pause then,and he cupped her cheek in his hand and whispered, "I know. I know..." I know that's not what you think. I think I just said that to hurt you, to let you know I was hurting. How lame is that of me?

"I'm sorry." Suddenly she flung herself into his arms, her hands desperate for comfort and her face buried in his shirt, making her words muffled and harder to understand. "You're going to make me cry, Mustang," she said weakly. "And I can't cry, because what if I never stop? I haven't cried in two years."

Preston's arms instantly wrapped around her. "I wouldn't let you cry forever. I'd make you smile." He swallowed hard at that persistent lump in his throat, the words wanting to come out but something in his mind stopping him, "It's okay to cry, Shelby.." They drew back a little then, him hoping to see her smile as he gave a weak chuckle and a swipe at his own eyes. "I mean, I'm a veritable cry-baby, to be honest. I cry at everything. I even cry at baby showers. I'm practically a weeping machine. So much I think I may cry enough for both of us."

"I'm sorry," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked into his eyes. He nodded, solemn again for the moment.

"Me too," he added. Really. No jokes this time.

"Can we--can we get out of here? I want to talk to you. I want to tell you about...about my mother, and about Columbia, and about why I don't like talking about the money thing and how I understand even though it seems like I shouldn't, that I can't. And I'd really like to be able to do that without having "Like a G6" as background music." Smiles returned to their faces, and Preston felt like that lump in his throat was finally giving up the ghost.

"Yeah, Peters' music tastes suck like a Hoover."

"Can we go to my tree house?" The question would have seemed so innocent, if they hadn't been teenagers, not little kids. If they had been playing, not just making up after a fight. The strange, unexpected question caught him off guard as if he'd just walked up to an intersection and found a purple light there. Sure, it meant something... but what?

"S-Sure.." he said, his tone at least having some measure of confidence. He stood up, offering her his hand to lift her to her feet easily. The feel of her hand in his carried a meaning that was a little different this time. Perhaps a little older. Whatever his fears were about her looking down on him, her words had reassured him that wasn't the case. His anger at her leaving hadn't fully gone away, but it sounded like she wanted to talk about it.

And he did, too.

Preston is done here, we should move it to the treehouse thread, imho. =3

[The Phantom of Paris]

Shelby Wright

"Do you honestly think you're going to be on the ground forever?" she whispered. Her words echoed the shock she felt to hear him admit that he thought he wasn't good enough, but her tone of voice sounded defeated, not surprised as it trembled in and out, Shelby still struggling to keep the tears from falling. You can't cry right now. Not here, not in front of him like this, and definitely not in front of all these people. "I mean...have you heard yourself sing? Or seen yourself act, or play? You've got more talents than I could dream of and everyone knows it, and everyone loves you for it! Why would you think I'm gonna go off and do great things and just leave you behind? You're going to be right there up in the sky with me, don't you know that?"

She didn't know how he couldn't. The fact that he'd been hiding all these insecurities from her made her chest ache with a pain she couldn't name and certainly didn't like, but at the same time she couldn't blame him. Think of all the things you've hidden from him, even though you didn't want to. I can't keep doing this all the time! I have to let him in, because if I don't now I never will.

"I wouldn't blame you if you left, Shel," he breathed, "But it doesn't mean I wouldn't miss you like hell."

Her eyes widened and her voice broke again. "You think I wouldn't? Why do you think I kept it from you for this long? I don't want to leave! I don't want to grow up or graduate or any of it, because it scares me, okay? And at the same time, I want to so bad...I want to get out of high school, I want to start that real life everyone's always talking about. But I don't, because how can I leave everyone behind? And I don't care how much money you make, or about any of that. Don't you know that? How could you even think that? You never said anything before...You have to know that that doesn't matter to me, because--"

"I know. I know..." Preston whispered to her, gently cupping her cheek in his hand as he looked at her.

But did he? How could he, when she'd never told him?

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling the unmistakable sensation of a tear beginning to slip down her cheek. No! Not now, not ever!She couldn't let him see, and the only place to hide from the tears and to hide from him was in plain sight. She threw herself without warning into his embrace, the need to be held and the need to hide fighting for dominance in her head as she tried to take comfort in the feeling of his arms closing in around her, in his warmth and closeness. "You're going to make me cry, Mustang...And I can't cry, because what if I never stop? I haven't cried in two years."

"I wouldn't let you cry forever. I'd make you smile."

You always do.

"It's okay to cry, Shelby.." His voice sounded choked again, unsure, and Shelby just shook her head. She spent another minute trying to compose herself again before pulling away. "I mean, I'm a veritable cry-baby, to be honest. I cry at everything. I even cry at baby showers. I'm practically a weeping machine. So much I think I may cry enough for both of us." He brushed at his eyes, which were still shining with tears that he hadn't let fall either. Even so, with the evidence right there before her, Shelby couldn't be sure whether he was being serious or not, whether he was just trying to make her smile like he'd promised he would. There would be a time and place to ask that, but it wasn't now. So instead, she just said the only words she could think of to say: Another apology.

"Me too." She wanted so badly to kiss him just then, but something inside of her made her stop--the realization that this time, a kiss wouldn't be enough to solve everything. They'd been through too much and said too much tonight to expect that to be the magical fix. They needed to talk, and to Shelby's astonishment, she wanted to.

"Can we--can we get out of here? I want to talk to you. I want to tell you about...about my mother, and about Columbia, and about why I don't like talking about the money thing and how I understand even though it seems like I shouldn't, that I can't. And I'd really like to be able to do that without having "Like a G6" as background music."

That brought a smile to both their faces, albeit weak. "Yeah, Peters' music tastes suck like a Hoover."

He looked taken aback, and she ammended her request. "Or just my mom's house if you want. Just some place where we can really talk." He obviously didn't understand why she'd chosen that place, but to her it mattered. The tree house had always been a haven for her when she was upset as a child, but it was more than that. It was their tree house. It was where they'd had their first fight, and first kiss--although admittedly both of those had been extremely one-sided on Shelby's part. And in that same way, it felt fitting for a talk like this.

"S-Sure.." he said, offering her a hand which she readily took. They made their way through the party and out to the car, Shelby steadfastly avoiding the whispers and stares that followed them. Whatever they were speculating about, she was sure that somehow, they could fix this.

They just had to talk first.

Shelby is done here.