The Lace Masquerade

October 12, 2010
9:20 AM
Location- MI Lab
Feeling: Spontaneous

“Everyone’s talking about you.” That was the first thing Alli said to me when I walked into home room this morning.

“About me?” I asked, surprised.

“Well, you and Fitz.” She laughed, and I set my bag two computers away from hers and then sat on Clare’s exercise ball. “It’s the latest news on the Anti-Grapevine.” I gave her a confused look, and she nodded, clicking the mouse on her computer a few times and then turning the monitor towards me. It was a blog. On the side was a small picture of Chantay, who I assumed was the author…and then the homepage was a picture of me. Straddling Fitz.

Oh. Shit. I copied the article here for you…

It’s About Time

The latest is in-Degrassi got the gift of stardom yesterday with the arrival of a new student. But on her first day here at our (not so) fine school, what does she get? Rude gestures and sexual harassment. Luckily, she knows just how to deal with teenage boys, just like the ones in her novels :)

I can’t freakin believe it. Thanks, so much Chantay. No, really. Now that pic is gonna be all over the web, and who would get a hold of it? Everyone. Wonderful.

5:45 PM
Location- Bedroom
Feeling: Creative

I think my room needs an update. Seriously. I was thinking of maybe inviting everyone over (everyone being Clare, Eli and Adam, as I don’t think Fiona or Declan would be much help with painting) to re-do it this weekend. Like, have a giant sleepover or something and just paint. It’s not like Mom would care that I had guys over. It’s happened before (not that way, but Nathan Cress had stayed over once with Miranda-yeah, Cosgrove-after I’d guest starred on iCarly). Plus, my money is what paid for the house.

Lunch today went well. Declan, Fiona and I walked down the street to this modern looking place called The Dot, which I realized is only about five blocks down from the entrance to my neighborhood. Fi and I caught up, while Declan sat quietly chomping on fries and a sandwich. He’s actually really cute…for someone who’s three years older than me and totally out of my league. Everything was pretty uneventful. English was pretty amusing though, cause Clare and Eli finally got around to “talking.” Only after my prodding, though.

“So, anyone you like?” I asked Clare really bluntly, and a little loud, when we were working on our next English assignments. I saw Eli, whose desk was turned around and connected with ours, glance up, and then look back down at his papers.

“As in…?”

“Clare, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, Clare.” Eli surprised both of us by talking, not looking up. “Who do you like?”

“Uh.” She stuttered, and then looked at me, a death glare in her eyes. “No one, at the moment.”

“You sure about that?” Eli asked. “Cause it sure seemed like you did Saturday.”

“Eli, we aren’t talking about this now,” Clare cut him down, giving him a pointed look when his head came up. I pulled my earphones out, put them in my ears, and started to bob along to imaginary music-I know, genius. What can I say? Eli isn’t the only evil genius here.

“Now can we talk about it?” I heard Eli ask. And Clare looked at him, a glare in her eyes.

“What’s there to talk about?”

“You know, that bit on Saturday where we almost kissed?” He put his pencil down and crossed his arms on his desk. “What would you call it?”

“I don’t know…an accident?” His eyes flashed hurt, and I wanted to reach out and hug him, and then hit Clare. WTF, Clare.

“So you would call that an accident? There wasn’t any reason behind it? Just an accident.”

“What would you call it, Eli?”

“I would call it something other than an accident!” He looked frustrated, and his hands splayed out across the desk with a huff. “Clare, you can’t tell me there isn’t a reason we were this close to kissing.” He held his forefinger and thumb less than an inch apart, and Clare looked up from her paper.

“I don’t want to talk about this, Eli.” She closed her eyes, scrunching her face up, and resting in her hand on her forehead. “If we talk about this, it means it happened. It means it was real. And it means….” She looked at him, and then glanced at me, making sure I wasn’t listening. I smiled, and then started humming a random verse from a Selena Gomez song that I knew was on my iPhone. “It means we aren’t just friends.” This seamed to satisfy Eli, but I knew from the determined look on his face that he wasn’t done talking about this-not by a long shot.

I wanted to grab Clare and throttle her. Seriously. They were too…perfect. I’d known them for two days, and I could already see that they were meant to be together. They’d known each other for months, and yet they hadn’t seen it.

Oh, hold on. There’s someone at the door.

9:28 PM

I can’t believe it. I seriously can’t believe I just did that.

After I got off, I went to check the door. I thought it might be a package or something (I ordered a new down comforter and a few dresses online), and didn’t even bother to check how I looked. When I’d gotten home from school, I’d changed out of my skirt and black cami and into a plain black tee shirt and some sweatpants, and thrown my hair up into a messy, curly bun. When I opened it though, it wasn’t a delivery man.

It was Fitz. Holding a tray of cookies.

“Hey, I’m from down the street, my mom told me to…” And then he looked up, and his eyes widened. “Oh, it’s you.” My first reaction should have been outrage. Oh, it’s you isn’t exactly a phrase anyone wants to hear. But It wasn’t. My first reaction was surprise. He lived down the street? I’m not trying to sound bitchy or anything. I’m really not. But the neighborhood I moved into wasn’t exactly…cheep. From what I’d learned, most of the people on my street were CEO’s and business people. And from what I’d seen of Fitz…it didn’t really seem like he’d been brought up by a top Business Man.

“Yeah, it’s me.” I crossed my arms. “Can I help you?”

“I live down the street.” He pointed to his left, and I stepped out on the porch. “My mom sent me with these to give to you guys. As a welcome to the neighborhood type of thing.” He held the tray out to me, and I took it. “I’ll just be…” He pointed back towards his house, looking almost…embarrassed? It was a cute look on him, I’ll give him that. Before I could answer, he started walking down the street. I shook my head, and then turned around to go back in the house, but I heard him say “Hey, Hollie?” My heart jumped. He knew my name

Of course he knew my name. It was a stupid thought, but still.

“Yeah.” I turned around, and he was stopped on the sidewalk, one hand in his sweatshirt pocket, the other on the back of his neck, rubbing back and forth. I knew that look. Logan used to do that all the time. It was one of those “I don’t want to say/do this, but I know I have to” kind of looks that guys do.

“For what it’s worth,” he started. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I was…out of line.” I raised my eyebrows, and held the tray in one hand, the other going to my hip.

“What, did your mommy tell you to come apologize?” He let out a little laugh, and then smiled.

“No, actually. I felt bad…believe it or not. And you did kinda kicked my ass. Literally.” I smirked. “You left a bruise!” He laughed again, turning around. “Wanna see?” I let out a little laugh then, and he laughed right along with me, turning back around. It got quiet for a minute, and his hand went back to the back of his neck. “You didn’t actually call that bodyguard, did you?” I laughed and shook my head. “Good. Well, I better…” He started walking away, and I stood there for a second, watching. I could just let this guy walk away. I mean, yeah, he was kinda a dick. But he apologized! Without prodding from his parents! And…I was alone. So who else was going to help me eat these cookies?

“Fitz!” The word jumped out of my mouth before I had time to properly think about what I was going to say. He turned around, his hands deep in the pockets of his zip-front, smiling.

“Yeah?”

“Listen,” I started, my hand that was on my hip coming to my face to push my bangs off my forehead. “I was gonna put some pasta on the stove, but my mom left for a meeting…it’s servings for two, and I’m the only one here, so…” I shrugged. “Take is as a peace offering?” His smile widened, and he looked almost…shy.

“You want me to go grab some milk for those cookies?” I laughed and nodded.

“Just let yourself in when you come back.” I turn to go back in the house, and when I do, I throw the tray of cookies on the kitchen cabinet. I couldn’t believe I’d just done that. Seriously. Asked Fitz into my house. And now…I was making dinner for us. It was irrational, stupid, and I was probably asking to get hit on again. But I didn’t care.

By the time he got back and walked in the door with a small container of milk, I was standing at the stove. I didn’t hear the door open, nor did I hear when he managed to find his way to the kitchen. I was turning some garlic and thyme in the skillet, trying to toast the garlic, and singing along to the music blaring from my phone on the counter.

‘bout boots and boys
Boots and Boys
They bring me so much joy
Bring me Joy
I wear ‘em both so pretty
As I’m walkin the-

“Nice moves,” I heard someone say from behind me. I stopped, frozen like I had the day before, and felt color rushing to my cheeks. I turned slowly, and Fitz was standing in the doorway with a pint of milk in his hand, his shoulders shaking. “Oh, please, don’t stop on account of me. I get the feeling things might get Youtube worthy in a second.” I laughed and paused the music, going back to the stove.

“You don’t have a problem with garlic, do you?” I asked. He walked to the fridge and put the milk in, and then closed it and leaned against the door.

“Not at all. Why? D’you think I was a character from one of your vampire books? And Jesus, why the heck is it so hot in here?” My shoulders shook as I added the tomatos to the pan, and the grabbed a spoon and stirred the spiral pasta that was boiling. So, he’d read my books, eh? Or at least knew the context of one of them. I glanced around just in time to see him stripping off his hoodie to reveal a relatively tight brown tee shirt. I could just see a bit of muscle stressing underneath it, and the bulges on his arms were definitely an added bonus. Dear Lord.

“Well, you did seem somewhat rabid yesterday, making those sex noises and, oh, god, the pelvic thrusts!” I shook my head, and heard him laugh.

“Yeah…sorry about that.” I turned to look at him, and caught his cheeks color. “My friends…Owen and Tyler. They’re kind of, well…”

“Your typical teenage boy?” The smells rising from the pan were making my stomach rumble. I heard Fitz let out a little laugh, and then he took a few steps towards me, and retreated to lean against the sink on my left, where I could see him.

“I guess so. And they were the ones who started the…pelvic thrusts. But I did it too. And I probably looked just as bad as them...if not worse yesterday.”

“Eh, I’ve seen worse.” And I had. LA is pretty crazy when you strip away all the glitz and glamour, and get out of West Hollywood, where everyone is colorful and flirtatious and sweet. “But you were still kinda an ass.”

“Again, sorry about that.”

“It’s not a problem.” I turned, and held the wooden spoon I was using in the pan out at him, shaking it like a mother scolding her child. “But don’t let it happen again.” His hands flew up, and he grinned.

“I won’t, I promise!” I smiled and lowered my weapon, and then turned back to the pan. “I still don’t get why you’re being so nice to me, though.” I placed one hand on the countertop, leaning into it. “Most girls wouldn’t have kicked my ass and then made me dinner.”

“I’m not making you dinner,” I corrected. “I’m sharing mine with you.” He laughed, and I sighed lightly. “And I don’t really know why I’m doing it.” I turned back around, and leaned against the counter next to the stove, my bare feet inches from his own (I’m so glad I painted my nails again last night!). “But you seem genuinely sorry. You had the decency to apologize, which is something I don’t think your friends would have done.” I gave him a pointed look, and then pushed my bangs out of my face again. “Plus, you seem like a sweet guy. And I wouldn’t deprive anyone-especially a guy-of my cooking.”

“Someone’s cocky!” He said the exact same thing to me that I had as Eli. I let out a little giggle, and turned back to the stove, realizing that the stuff in the pan was done and ready for the fresh tomatoes, which were chopped in a bowl on the counter, and add the pasta. “Could you do me a favor?” He got up off the sink and took a step towards me. “In that cabinet over there,” I pointed to my left. “There’s a strainer. Could you grab it and strain the pasta for me?” He did as I asked, pulling the strainer out of the cupboard and then pulling the pot off of the stove. I turned the heat down just as he turned around, and his hip made slight contact with my own sweat pant clad one. I smiled to myself, adding the fresh tomatoes just as Fitz started pouring the water into the strainer.

“Ouch!” he suddenly called. I left the spoon in the pan and went over to where he stood by the sink. The pot was dropped bottom down in the strainer, but the pasta and some of the water was still in it. And Fitz was clutching his hand.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice was tight, like he was trying to be all manly. “Just some hot water splashed back on my hand.”

“That’s why you do it slowly.” After a seconds pause, we both spoke at the same time.

“That’s what she said!” I looked at Fitz, surprised that we’d both had the same thought at the same time. It was one of those odd, I want to laugh but I’m not sure if I should moments. He let out a little snort, and I finally let out my own unladylike laugh, grabbing at his arm. “Here,” I started. “Let me see.” He unclutched his hand, and I instantly saw the spots where the water had splashed. There were red splotches covering the side and back of his hand. I glanced at Fitz over his hand, and he was looking at me. More like…studying me. My face, at least. “Let me…” I turned to switch the faucet on, still holding his hand, and then placed it under the water. But when I made a move to let go, his own hand grabbed mine. It wasn’t a fast gesture; it wasn’t aggressive. But I was surprised, and almost jumped. For a minute, I let it stay there, the water running over both out joined hands, before looking at him. He gave me a small smile, and I did the same back. It was…sweet. And then I remembered. “Crap!” I let go, and went back to the pan just as smoke started to rise from the side, where I’d left the wooden spoon leaning against the hot metal.

“That was close.” Fitz turned the water off, and carefully shook his hand off of excess water. Then, he picked the pot up and drained the pasta out, before setting it on the counter. “Where’re the towels?” I pointed to a drawer next to the sink, and he pulled one out before going to the freezer and pulling some ice out of the drawer.

“Make yourself right at home!” He laughed, and put the ice in the towel, wrapping it up and holding it to his hand as I grabbed the strainer from the sink, and added the pasta to the pan, turning the heat down to low. I took the block of fresh parmasean laying on the counter and the grater, and grated a hunk of cheese on top of the pasta, before putting it back down and tossing it all together in the pan. Fitz watched me the entire time, still holding the ice to his hand. In a few minutes, it was done, and I turned the heat off, and then walked around him to get a couple of bowls out of the cabinet behind him. “’Scuse me.” He smiled and moved, and I went back and poured half the pasta in the bowls.

“Bread?”

“Always.” I giggled and grabbed a loaf of rosemary garlic bread off of the counter, pulling two slices off and putting them in the bowls.

“Extra cheese?”

“Yes, please.” I rolled my eyes at his on-purpose rhyme, and pulled the block and grater off the counter, putting a little more cheese on each of our bowls, and then pulled forks out of the drawer. “Are we eating…?” He gestured to the table in the next room, and I shrugged.

“We could just go sit on the couch.” He nodded, and put the ice down on the counter, and I handed him one bowl as we walked towards the living room. We both settled down on the couch, and we sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes as we ate. Finally, when I was half way through my bowl, Fitz said something.

“Where’d you learn to cook stuff like this?” I smiled and took another bite.

“Taught myself.” He looked surprised, which pleased me. “I copied the ingredients for this, though, off of a pasta from one of my favorite restaurants back home.”

“In LA?” he asked. “Where?”

“California Pizza Kitchen.”

“Oh, I’ve been there!” He takes another bite, and I give him a confused glance.

“They don’t have them here. Trust me, I checked.” He laughed and shook his head.

“You underestimate me. Most people never get out of here, yeah. But I grew up in the states.” I look at him, shocked. “My mom and I used to live in LA. She’s a designer-small time, but she does stuff for some big people. She’d been seeing this guy off and on since she and my dad split up, and he got a job out here in TO. They had a short engagement, and then got married a few summers ago. We moved here before my Freshman year.” I gave him an appraising look. He didn’t seem very Canadian, but then again, the only difference (to me) between your average Canadian and American was overuse of the word “eh” and mispronunciation of “about” and “sorry.”

“Doesn’t sound like you had much choice in the matter,” I said. He shook his head, shrugged, and then shoveled a huge bite of pasta into his mouth. I let out a little laugh, and he swallowed after a minute.

“I didn’t, really. But it made my mom happy.” He smiled, and looked down at his bowl. My heart melted. Any guy who cares that much about their mom has to be decent somewhere inside, no matter how deep down it may be.

“I’m guessing she doesn’t know about how you…act at school?” He shook his head again, and then leaned back on the pillows behind him. We sat facing each other on either side of the two cushions, him with his legs criss crossed, mine tucked underneath me.

“It’s not just at school.” He sighed. “Owen and Tyler…they were the first people I met at Degrassi. They just seemed so…cool and in charge. Last year it was a little different; we had Riley and Blue in the group, and things were a little different. But now, Riley’s trying to focus on school and football, and Blue moved back to Regina, so it’s just us.” He took another bite, and waited a minute before continuing. “They’re assholes, I know. But they help run the school. And when we’re all hanging out, I feel so cool.”

“But you’re bullies.” The words spill out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I instantly regret saying them. Fitz looked shocked.

“I am not a bully.” I looked down at my bowl, blushing, and then back up.

“That’s not what I’ve heard. Eli? Adam? Those names ringing a bell?” He gave me a stressed look, and then crossed his arms. “Fitz, they told me what happened.” He looked at his bowl, like I did, and then sighed again, long and hard.

“I’m not exactly proud of what I did. To either of them.” He looked at me then, and he seemed to study my face like before, trying to figure something out. “Being friends with Owen and Tyler…it comes with certain…responsibilities.”

“That include kicking a guy in the nuts?”

“Sadly, yeah. Hollie, I did those things, yeah. But that doesn’t me I hate Eli or Adam. The guys…they look up to me now. And if I don’t keep up appearances-

I cut him off with a scoff. He was a chickenshit. Great. Just great. “Fitz, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. And if they really look up to you the way you think they do, then they’ll probably follow your lead whatever you do, and that includes maybe being nice to someone for a change.”

“I’m nice!” He sits up.

“To me, yeah. Now. And to Owen and Tyler, maybe. I just met you yesterday, and my first impression was asshole.” Not completely true. My first impression was “Holy shit, who the hell is this guy?” but I wasn’t exactly about to tell him that, now was I?

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Quit apologizing!” I put my bowl down on the floor, and folded my hands in my lap. “I swear, if you do it one more time you’re gonna get slapped!”

“I wouldn’t be entirely opposed to rough housing.” He gave me a little grin, and I knew he was kidding, so I just rolled my eyes.

“Fitz, you’re a great guy from what I’ve seen. You’re humanly capable of being nice. Even if it is only to me.” His hands, which were in his lap like mine, twisted. I grabbed them in my own, holding them out. “Maybe you can try it with someone else for a change.”

Ten minutes later, we were back in the kitchen, and he was helping me out with the dishes.

“So you’re really [friends with Adam and Eli?” He was scrubbing the pan, and I was washing off the bowls.

“Yeah, I’m i]really friends with them.”

“Adam seems a bit off.” I looked at him, confused. “I mean, he’s a guy, but half the time I’ve ever seen or talked to him, he talks like a girl. And acts like one.” I shrugged.

“Maybe he’s just going through one of those awkward stages.” He gave me a look, and I laughed. “What? I went through one last year! I practically lived in suspenders for like, a month, completely convinced that they made my boobs look smaller.” Okay, Hollie, little TMI. He laughed, though, and continued.

“And Eli just seems so…weird. I mean, yeah, it was cool of him to give us the fake ID’s…until I got arrested.” I let out a little snort, and he smiled at me.

“Eli is a little weird. But then again, we all are in our own little ways.” I put one of the bowls in the dishwasher, and then went to the other one. “Take you, for instance. You act like one person in private, and another in public. And you wove your mommy.” He laughs, and flicks a little bit of bubbles from the pan at me.

“Says the girl wearing sweatpants with Goofy on the ass!”

“Uh!” I grabbed some of the bubbles and threw it at him. “So you’ve been looking at my ass?”

“Maybe I have,” he started. “And maybe I haven’t.” And then the war started. We were flicking bubbles at each other for a solid three minutes, laughing, and he even got the water sprayer from the sink, which I then promptly grabbed from him and stuck down his shirt.

“Hollie!?” I heard the door open just as I was trying to stuff bubbles down the back of Fitz’s shirt, and ripped my hand away just as my mom walked in the door. She was dressed in a blue skirt and black top, and her dark blonde hair (which I definitely did not get from her, as mine is almost black it’s so dark) was spilling out of her messy bun, much like my own. “Oh. Hello.”

“Uh, hey Mom.” I turned the water off and pulled my shirt down. “We were just…cleaning up.”

“And who is this?” She gestured to Fitz. Before I got a chance to answer, though, he stepped forward, holding out his hand.

“I’m Mark, ma’am. Mark Fitzgerald. I live up the street.” Mom shook his hand, looking suspsiciously at him. “I brought over cookies.” He gestured to the plate on the table, smiling. She gave me a cursory glance, and then a tight smile to Fitz. I wanted to giggle. I know that Mark is Fitz’s real name, but he totally doesn’t seem like a Mark. To me, at least.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mark.” She looked past him, at me, and continued. “I’m gonna head upstairs. I’m pretty tired…it’s been a long day. You two pick up in here; we’ll talk later.” She smiled, still tightly, before leaving, and then walked out. Fitz turned around, looking like he was about to laugh.

“Well, that was awkward.”

It took about ten minutes for us to clean all the bubbles up. Fitz left after another twenty, once we were completely full on cookies and milk. I have to admit; his attitude towards everything only made him that much more likable. But part of me is still wondering if he’ll ever actually change, or if my words just fell on deaf ears. Because it’s going to take some serious action before I ever look at Fitz as anything more than just someone who I think is likable. If he’s beating on my friends…there’s no way that’ll work.

About ten minutes after he left, I went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and realized he’d left not only his jacket sitting on the back of one of our chairs, but a little slip of paper under the plate on the table. I picked it up, reading it over.

Hollie-hope to see you around.
Fitz
416-531-9618

I smiled to myself as I slipped the paper in my pocket and grabbed the jacket, hanging it up in the closet. I get the feeling he’ll be by to get it some time soon. Very soon, I hope.