Start a Revolution

Drew was trying as hard as she could to be quiet, her footsteps making minuscule noises as she tip-toed down the stairs. But she should know by now that her mom has 100/100 hearing. She can hear everything in her house.

"Drew?" her mother calls. Drew freezes on the stairs, her eyes squeezing shut as she curses softly to herself. "Drew is that you? Come help me with dinner!"

The younger girl sighs, appearing at the bottom of the stairs moments later. Mrs. Hemingway looks over at her daughter, her eyebrows raising when she sees Drew dressed in jeans and her jacket instead of the sweatpants she would usually have on by now. She drops the strainer, putting a hand on her hip. That was never a good sign.

"Where are you going?" Drew's mother asks, clearing her throat.

Drew swallows, hitching her bag higher up on her shoulder. "To the library. Me and, uh, Lisa are doing a project for English. We need to start on it."

"Why didn't you ask if you could go?"

"I asked Dad."

Mrs. Hemingway pinches her lips. She knew her husband said yes to anything Drew asked for, so there wasn't much she could do. And anyway, at least it was for school.

"Fine," her mother says, clearing her throat for a second time. "Just be home by ten o'clock, all right? I don't want you staying out too late. It's a school night." Drew nods, kissing her mother on the cheek as a goodbye.

She exited the house quickly, blowing out a breath. Drew was bad at lying, and never did she think she would be able to lie to her mother about going to meet the son of the man she hates. She shakes her head, unlocking her car and sliding inside. She still didn't understand this whole family feud thing; kind of ironic how the play she was reading in school also had a family feud. Small world.

Drew was pulling into the parking lot of the library ten minutes later, biting her bottom lip as she spotted John's car at the front of the lot. She takes a deep breath.

He was sitting at a table in the back, his head angled as he looked out a window.

Her presence was noted as she drops her book bag onto the table, his head snapping over to gaze at her. He gives a small smile, but drops it once he realizes who he was smiling at.

"Well," Drew remarks, plopping into a chair, "I think we should start by gathering as much information as possible about Juliet, writing it down in a list, in columns and bullet points, and then pinpoint the specific events that led to her death - "

"What's your favorite color?"

Drew's jaw drops in mid-sentence as she connects eyes with John. "Uhm, I don't see what that has to do with our project. John, please take this seriou - "

"Drew, answer the question. What's your favorite color?"

She opens her mouth to make an excuse, but finally exhales, giving in. If this is what it would take to get him to work, then she would do it. "Yellow," she tells him, pushing her bangs out of her face. "Now, back to that list. We should put the events in chronological order, or maybe even from most important to least important. Then we should discuss how her father mistreated her - "

"Are you always this anal about things?"

Her throat gives out a growl as she drops the notebook she had been holding. "Seriously? What is this, twenty questions?" Her eyes were wide as she glared at him, and he noticed just how hazel her orbs really were.

"If you want to give it a name," he smirks, "then yes. It is twenty questions."

"We can either play a stupid game or get this project done and over with," Drew groans, shaking her head as she flips her notebook open to a clean page. "Honestly, I would like to go with the latter. The less time I have to spend with you," she murmurs, writing the title of the play at the top of her paper, "the better."

"Oooh," he inhales sharply, "that comment was equivalent to a kick in the balls." His smirk widens, his composure dwindling until he was back to his usual self. "Nice one, Drew."

She rolls her eyes. "Can we get back to this please?"

"Not until you answer my twenty questions," he tsks, wagging his finger in her face like he was a fucking cartoon. Her eyes narrow. "Then we can start the project." He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

Drew sighs, defeated. She would have to do this or else face another bad grade in her English class. "Fine. You've already asked one. You have nineteen left."

He grins, his face stretching. "Awesome. Favorite movie?"

"A Bug's Life. Watch it all the time."

He nods, waiting. When she didn't say anything, he raises his eyebrows. "It's your turn to ask a question, Hemingway," he says mockingly. "Don't just leave me hanging here." His scoff pierced her, almost like he slapped her.

Drew rolls her eyes again. "Fine. Favorite TV show?"

"How I Met Your Mother. Favorite food?"

"Ice cream," Drew tells him, suddenly craving the sight of a chocolate cone in front of her right now. "How many girls have you dated?"

"Oooh," he grins, "getting sketchy, are we?" He knew she wouldn't be able to resist. John was not only dying to know more about the shorter girl in front of him, but she was dying to know just as much. "I don't think this is your business, is it?" She gives him a glance, blinking slowly.

"It's twenty questions, you have to answer it," Drew retaliates, her own smile creeping onto her lips. "Answer the fucking question, John. Don't be a pussy."

He rolls his eyes, but it was playful. "I've dated thirteen girls since freshman year. How many boys have you dated?"

"Since freshman year?" Drew clarifies. "One."

At this, John's brows shoot up on his forehead. "You've dated one guy in all four years of your high school career?" Drew nods, confirming. "Who was it?"

"Joey."

"Joey Rhimes?"

Drew nods again, leaning back in her own chair. The library was quiet, only a few stragglers here in there. It was about seven o'clock, the big hand ticking as it got closer to the large number. "I dated him the first semester of Junior year. We broke up at Winter Formal."

"Was he too scared to get it in?" John smirks, his white teeth blinding.

"No, asshole!" Drew groans, shaking her head. "It was mutual. There was no attraction."

The older boy leans forward suddenly, looking her in the eye. He reaches out and touches her hand, his own gaze softening. "If it makes you feel better," he says, a genuine tone to his voice, "I think we have an attraction."

The younger girl slaps his hand away, not able to help but giggle a little at his statement. "Don't be dumb. Now, I know we didn't ask all twenty questions, but can we work now?"

John stares at her for another moment, a little disappointed that she hadn't played along. "Sure," he sighs. "I guess."

"Good," she smiles. "Now, open that book and find the important events."