Date: Tue, 14 Jan 2003 21:03:32 -0600 From: Karla Schulz Subject: Carrots and Celery Chapter Seven Yes, chapter seven, like the deadly sins, except, less biblical. Or, for those of you who only saw the movie, less Brat Pitt. Anyway, that made no sense, and though I can't make any promises the chaper will either, why don't you read it and see. And don't forget, I love e-mail, so send me some sometime maybe. Many thanks to all those who have. You're stars. Also, hugs and kisses to Nick, for being my editor and for being cool. Monday. Just another ordinary day. Hanging out with the boys at lunch, hiding from Cherrie and Meghan in the boys bathroom (same stall of course) during breaks, losing all interest in our mutual classes (there aren't too many of those, so it's really not that bad). Yep, perfectly ordinary, except it's the end of the day and Celery's not waiting for me at my locker, and he's ALWAYS waiting for me at my locker at the end of the day. I start to panic immediately, but only the beginning, mostly sane stages. In no time at all though, I've reached full throttle panic. It hadn't seemed important at the time, in fact I'd so much as forgotten about it, but now the image of Cherrie talking with Brendan comes rushing back at me. I didn't pay much attention mostly because Brendan is sort of like in love with her or whatever. He wants her for his trophy girlfriend. Personally, I think they're perfect for each other and give the potential union my total blessing. Of course now, my evil memory is playing it back and her giggling, closeness and cajoling tone is all to clear in my mind. What was she talking to him about? Naturally, being insane, I've already jumped to the possibly fantastical conclusion that she was encouraging him to do some work for the dark side -- not that he'd need much prompting. Brendan's never been much of a threat, because his ego and massive misjudgement of personal strength has always led him to challenge both of us at the same time, without the help of his cronies. But now that we've come out who knows how things have changed. I'd also bet he'd be willing to part with his (cough) 'honour' for the mere chance at a piece of Cherrie. It's a shame dumb people are so easy to manipulate. Even in my panicked state, I remember that we have rules for situations like this. It's never happened before, but in theory at least, the idea has always been that if either of us failed to show up at an agreed upon location, we'd wait 15 minutes and then go to my house. I spend a miserable 15 minutes trying to look everywhere at once, listening for his walk, trying to spot the orange dot in the crowd, but see and hear nothing. Having gone from panic to misery and rabid worry, I start trudging home staring dispiritedly at the sidewalk all the way, abandoning that only to check behind me every once in awhile. The house is empty when I get there, adding to my foul mood, as I consider how much fun Celery and I could be having right now with the house all to ourselves if only he were here. I occupy myself by trying to think of things I could do to make the time pass faster, rejecting them one after another until I run out of suggestions for myself and settle on staring dejectedly at the blank screen of the TV. I've already gone bleary eyed and am slumped down on my side when I hear the doorbell ring. Panic again, worse than before. Celery never rings the doorbell. We're way past that. He always just lets himself in. I'm thinking over and over, 'he's in the hospital', the whole 30 seconds it takes me to reach the door. Yanking it open, Celery stands before me, not in the hospital after all, but looking like he should be. "Fuck," I say looking him up and down. No need to ask why he didn't just let himself in with his key, his knuckles are cut and bloodied, along with the rest of him. I move out of the way so he can come inside, not sure what do to. I'd hug him, but I don't know where under his clothes he hurts. I'd speak but I don't know what to say. I'd cry, but I don't want to upset him (not more than he already must be anyway). "Do you want something to drink?" I say, choosing to start with something safe (like the coward I am) as he's easing himself down onto the couch. He nods. I scurry off to the kitchen and come back with a huge class of water. Celery doesn't like pop or juice or milk or anything. Just water. He doesn't even like flavoured water, normal tap water is all he likes. You'll notice I like to blurt out random facts when I'm nervous. After I've handed him his glass I leave again, going to the bathroom and getting a basin of water, disinfectant, a bunch of gauze and bandages plus a handful of washcloths. I don't even say anything (and neither does he) as I start dabbing at his wounds with a cool washcloth, careful to press very gently. I'm patching the final cuts up before he says, "Okay," which is my go-ahead to start the questioning. "I don't suppose you were just trying to kick-flip that 10-stair by the Ukrainian Orthodox Church?" He makes an amused sound out of his nose. "No," "Were you fighting, or defending?" "Does it matter?" "I don't know, I mean, who threw the first punch?" His attempt at a chuckle turns quickly into a cough. "Sorry," I say, offering him more water. He takes a sip and then smiles. It's all screwed up cause of the black eye and multiple marks and bruises, but it's still a beautiful smile. "I wasn't fighting -- I was barely defending. Two of Brendan's goons grabbed me from behind and then him and another two came around in front. First it was a bunch of lame shit talk, but I was putting up a decent enough fight for Brendan to start wanting to get his sucker punches in while he could. Kidney shots are a bitch my friend," He says with a wheeze. "Somehow I slipped out of one of their holds and got free of the other one by kicking him, after that is was a brawl. Almost funny, you know, like they were punching each other too, trying to get to me. I'd love to say I took them all, but they kicked my ass. Can you tell?" I snort. He gives me another wonked out smile. "I did okay, there were five of them, and I'm not dead, plus mostly I was trying to get away, not take anyone down, so that's okay in my books. They let up, cause they got tired of accidentally hitting each other I guess, and I stumbled over here. That's basically it, all the gory details included," I don't understand his tone, it's all jokey and flippant like this is all no big deal. "Are you okay, I mean, really okay? Cutting all the macho, protecting Carrots from the brutal realities of life, shit?" "I feel like I'm on fire or dying or something, but my mind's okay. It's not like I feel like I'm a wimp or some shit. I did the best I could, so what if I got trounced," ever since we saw 'Fight Club', 'trounced' has been a favourite word, "I was outnumbered. As for worrying about this happening again in the future, and being worried about you, I'm bugging, but I am going to so totally narc on all their asses, and they'll probably get suspended." "They'll still be back in eight days," yes, that means a fighting suspension is eight days. Let me be the first to congratulate you on your brilliance. "Pissed off more than ever, I know. Which is why we have to take care of it." "How exactly are we going to do that?" I say with a gulp. "Relax baby. Nothing violent. I know it would be an affront to your pacifist nature. All we have to do is make sure we don't travel alone much or ever, and also we need to have a little talk with Cherrie." "I knew it!" He smiles. "Sometimes in your insane conclusion jumping you come up with the right stuff. I knew you'd have it figured it out five minutes into the fun. That's why you're the brains of this operation," "And you're what, the brawn?" I scoff. He smiles weakly. "Let's hope your brain's a little better than my brawn," "Ha! I knew that was an act, all that I don't feel like a wimp stuff. You liar." He tries to laugh, which again results in a coughing fit. "I don't mind, really. Not much. I would have liked to have my ass kicked by someone with a brain at least," "But a bunch of someones without brains isn't anything to be ashamed of either really is it?" He leans forward slightly and catching on I quickly move over, brushing my lips softly over his split one. "You're medical skills might be trash, but the bedside manner is world class," "It's the patient. You inspire excellent care," "How freaked out are you?" He asks, going all serious on me again, just when I was starting to loosen up. "You could have died," I whisper, feeling myself going back into my scared black hole. "Hey," He says, reaching over with a bandaged hand and touching my cheek. "Death cannot stop true love -- all it can do is delay it for awhile." I start to cry and smile at the same time. Do I even have to tell you to rent A Princess Bride? Why don't you just do it already! Jeez. "It's just, just... how can you not be, I don't know! In shock, scared, angry, something?!" Gingerly, he takes me in his arms. I resist the urge to plaster myself to him, trying to be content with his loose hold. "Baby, I am. I'm all those things, and I'm not not showing it cause I'm trying to protect you. I'm just trying to make them not matter. This was a crappy thing that happened but if I get all scared and freaked and uptight because of it, it could hurt us, and they're not worth that. No one is. You said so yourself that day when we were talking about Cherrie and Meghan. All I want is to deal and then get over it, not dwell. I need that from you too, okay?" It's a struggle, but I nod. "As you wish," He kisses me with as much passion as his damaged lips will allow. Since you're a complete idiot, and don't listen to anything I ever say, you probably still haven't rented 'A Princess Bride'. I'm going to explain this one to you though, because it's sort of important. In the movie, Wesley (the hero) is always saying 'as you wish' to Buttercup (the heroine) when she's asking him to do shit for her (which she does a lot, cause she's kind of a bitch to him at the beginning). To Wesley, 'as you wish' also means 'I love you'. There. Not that you deserved it. "It's not just you I'm not going to let them get to baby, it's US. They won't ever touch us." "Not if we have anything to say about it," He grins (which looks even more pathetic than his attempts at smiles) knowing he's won me over to confidence. "And that, baby, is something we have everything to say about." Oh. By the way, when Celery calls me 'baby', it doesn't mean the same thing it means when other people call each other baby. It's an extra special nickname that's always been kept between us and it's short for something. Baby Carrots. The kind he had in his lunch that first time. If you knew that, you will not believe the gold stars you'll be getting in the mail. He uses it rarely, only when he knows I'm freaking out hard core. When he knows I need an extra boost, reminder, promise. Since he's been doing it since we were like 7, it has sort of a different connotation, but it still comforts me like nobody's business. I allow myself to bask in his confidence for about half an hour before I voice another one of my lingering concerns. "What are we going to do about Cherrie and Meghan? You said talk to them, okay, but what do we say?" "Funny, charming things," Huh? "Not threatening, angry things?" He laughs, and I wince as he coughs all over again. "No." "Why not?" "Because we don't want them to be mad at us," "Why not?" "Because we're going to date them," "WHAT?!" He turns to me hands and fingers stretched out, his 'calm down, and let me explain' gesture. "One date. That's all it'll take, I'm sure of it. Care, all we have to do is let them think they've won, that we've seen the error of our ways, all that, and then go on a double date with them." "This will help us HOW?" "They'll get sick of us so fast, man, no question. They don't LIKE us, we're not their types, they just wanted a challenge, and as long as the challenge is there they won't leave us alone. Plus they need to like win, so they can brag about how they saved us from gayness. Do you see?" "I'm beginning to. But still, what if they get all bitchy and stuff when we spurn them?" "We're not going to spurn them. We're just going to be ourselves." "Including the making out with each other-ness?" "Well no," He says looking amused. "Not that part, but only cause they're supposed to think we WANT their help. We romance the pants off them Carrots and Celery style, and Cherrie and Meghan will be out of our lives before you can say 'good riddance to bad rubbish'." I sigh. "What?" "Aren't I supposed to be the brains of this operation?" He pulls off a cough free laugh. "I'm rethinking that. I think you might just be the pretty face," "Oh well, that's something at least," "And let's face it, the ass isn't bad either," I laugh, shocked. "I can't believe you just told me you like my ass." "Why not?" "I don't know, because it's you, and sometimes you're still my best friend, the one who I played 4-square and watched cartoons with, so it's hard to process." "Would it make you feel better to know that the 11 year old you played 4-square with also thought you had a very hot ass?" "No!" I shriek, past embarrassment, covering my face. "Baby," he says, drawing my hands away, placing his there instead. "This is good remember, this is what we want." It's all I need. "I know," "Better?" "Much." "Good," "But one more thing," "What?" "If this plan about Cherrie and Meghan backfires, I'm going to kick your ass," "If the plan backfires, I'll help." --- "Shit," I blurt about 20 minutes later, causing Celery to tense and half sit-up. "What?" "Where are you going to go?" I ask, looking him over and shaking my head helplessly. "Huh?" "My parents are going to be home in a couple of hours, and if they see you like this we know they're going to totally freak - mom will probably try to organize a rally or something, dad will want to find Brendan and his buddies dads and beat them up," I know. My parents get more insane by the minute. Welcome to my fucking world people. "But you can't really go home either," I can't bear the idea of him going back to Their house, having Them see him and not even care. They probably wouldn't even ask what happened, They wouldn't care if they did. That's not where I want him any day of the week, but especially not right now. "Sure I can," "No, if you do--" He shakes his head. "Love, they're just people. They don't matter. They're not my family -- not my real one -- and it's okay. So what if a bunch of strangers don't care that I got the hell kicked out of me? It's not important, because I know the people who I care about caring about me do. You've done a very good job of that, I promise. No sweat?" "You can be pretty scary sometimes, you know that? Brilliant -- but scary." That one's not from A Princess Bride! I know! It's unbelievable! It's from Harry Potter. "It's all you Care, you make me feel this way, this happy, this confidant. And if you don't like it, tough." "Maybe with time I'll grow to like it," He grins. Not exactly, but that's sort of from 'A Princess Bride' too. It would be hopeless to tell you go rent the thing already, wouldn't it? "That would be nice." "So you're definitely going home then?" He tries to scrunch up his face, but doesn't, cause it hurt too much I guess. "I don't know. I think so," I spy the problem behind his lack of commitment. Brave as he is, he was just attacked, violated. Who'd want to sleep alone after something like that? "Stay. Mom and dad will find out eventually anyway, maybe if they find out now it'll save us the 'why didn't you let us know right away' heat." "Stay?" He still looks a little short of totally convinced. "Stay. For me," "You don't have to pretend that's why," I smile. "But I'm going to anyway." Cuts and bruises or not, I can see he's grateful. As soon as I hear mom's key in the lock I rush to the door, heading her off, hoping to be able to prepare her before she sees him so she doesn't get so upset. I know that short of me, the last person in the world Celery could bear causing pain to would be my mom. "Mom," I say the second she's stepped into the house. "Something's happened to Celery, but he's here and he's okay. I want you to brace yourself though, it'll be kind of a shock when you see him." She tries to push past me, but I hold her off. "No, mom. Please. Take a minute, breathe, calm down. It'll only make things worse if he sees you get all upset. I already blew it, but if you can act okay I really think it would help him. Brave face?" She smiles, the troubled mother sort of smile. You know that smile. "Of course. Where is he?" "In the living room, probably wondering why I ran off," I say scrunching my lips. Walking slowly, mom returns to the living room with me, gripping my hand. When she sees him she squeezes down hard, but I do my best not to let it show on my face. Celery looks up at her meekly, very much like a little boy. He's afraid she's going to be disappointed in him, that's what it is, I'm sure of it. Not disappointed that he didn't win the fight, but that he was fighting. Mom's not big on violence, I get my pacifism from her. I can't believe he'd fear her disapproval about something like this, but it's obviously what's bothering him. Mom gets it, opening up her arms, saying, "Come here son," Celery does and she hugs him. "Don't worry your head about a thing, we all love you here." She's pretty sharp, that mom of mine. She gets it from me. It's not just mom I have to worry about though. Kyle will be furious, and along with the twins will probably want to hunt the guys who hurt Celery down and beat them to a pulp. Once dad gets over his initial beat-up-their-fathers rage, he'll most likely want to get them expelled and generally ruin their futures. Kara's going to cry. I can't really stop that, it doesn't matter if I prepare her or not, when she gets home there will be tears, but I can maybe do something about dad and the guys. At least try to get them to vent their rage somewhere else, as in, not in Celery's presence. Because I don't want to upset him, and also because I don't want to risk them stirring him up for blood. --- In the end, it works out okay. The twins are home first, and I meet them at the door like mom. I give them a few minutes to fume, swear, and punch their palms before letting them check on Celery. When they see him, what happens surprises me. They start to cry. I don't why, but I didn't expect that. Really though, they're just 14, that's not so old, and he's exactly like another older brother to them. You know, they really look up to him. I think it scares them to see him like this, all battered. He gives them hugs, and it helps. Next is Kyle, and his anger is a physical thing. You can feel it. This angry heat he's giving off. He surprises me too though. "Bro, I've got to go for a run. If I see C2 when I'm feeling like this I'm liable to go completely postal. So give me about an hour to cool down, okay?" I smile. "Sure. Thanks Kyle." "It doesn't happen often, but sometimes I know my limits." I give him a quick pat on the shoulder and he heads back out of the house. When Sue's mom drops Kara off, ours handles it. She takes Kara gently by the shoulders and they go have a mother-daughter talk in Kara's room. They come out about the same time Kyle's getting back from his run, and the three of them enter the living room together. Celery obviously knows what I've been up to, but as much for me as for himself he's been letting me keep it up without comment. He hugs Kara as she's bravely trying not to cry and keeps her on his lap even though it's probably hurting, while he smiles wonkily at Kyle. "You should see the other guy bro," He says. Kyle's laugh is almost genuine. "Did you get checked out by a doctor or something?" He asks, sticking with a less emotional topic. Saves you from getting choked up. It mostly works. "No, but I think I'm alright." I hold up a hand to mom, who's getting a 'rush to the hospital emergency room' look. "We'll get him taken care of tomorrow after school," "But he may have ruptured something! There could be serious internal bleeding," She protests. I give her a hard, 'drop it' look and she does. Don't get all self-righteous and alarmed. Do you actually think I'd bandage Celery myself instead of dragging his ass to the hospital - with nothing but my own hands if necessary - if I didn't have a good reason? Making Celery go to the hospital right now would harm him more than help. He had to spend three weeks in one when he was 7 for a wicked case of pneumonia, and it really traumatised him. Hospitals bother him so much I took a first aid course a few years back, just so I could take care of all his war wounds from skating. And yes, in case you're wondering, that means it's serious. It's too soon after being freaked out over one thing to get him all distraught over something else. It's late, and getting dark, by the time dad gets home, which works to our advantage. In the dim, Cel looks less scary. Dad chooses to bottle up his anger, and be deceivingly calm. He'll probably take it out on the bread dough tomorrow morning. I swear dad's half a baker just for the stress relief that comes from beating a couple pounds of dough into submission. Dad does his part, which is to get the more factual information out of Celery, names and numbers. More than I was willing to ask of him myself earlier. There's some talk of going to the police, but due to Celery's staunch and somewhat peculiar opposition to the idea, it gets dropped. With the Young Offenders Act, because they were all underage, his like assailants probably wouldn't have anything done to them anyway. Maybe like community service or something, and that's if we were lucky. That night in bed, Celery holds me especially close, ignoring his injuries. I'm crap at it, but I actually sing to him. It's this really beautiful song, called "Lullabye" by Ben Folds Five. My voice doesn't do it justice, but I'm pretty sure it helps Celery just the same. He falls asleep easily, nose in my neck. I'm not going to give you the lyrics, because that always annoys me, and I know most people probably don't even read them, but if you really want to see them, you can look them up at their website (www.benfoldsfive.com). In fact, I recommend it. Now, I'm a pretty deep sleeper. With 6 other people and parents who get up at insane hours, I need to be. Sometimes when I'm thinking about things, if there's a lot on my mind, it'll take me a long time to fall asleep, but once I have, it's lights out. It's basically a survival thing. In my house, there's pretty much always noise of some kind. If noise bothered me, I'd never get any sleep. The problem with it is that if Celery wakes up in the night for some reason, I probably won't hear him. I mean, chances are, if he has like a nightmare or whatever, I'm not going to wake up and be able to comfort him. Which is kind of lousy. When we wake up the next day, some of the swelling and stuff's gone down, and his bruises have started to turn yellow. He looks pretty terrible, but not as bad as last night. Of course, it's possible I'm just getting used to it now. "How'd you sleep?" I ask, still feeling sort of on the guilty side for personally having slept like a baby. "Okay," "No nightmares?" "None that I can remember." I check to see if he's telling the truth, and can see that he is. I peck his forehead. "Good." On the way to school I say, "I think we may need to rethink the Cherrie and Meghan plan," "You do?" "Yeah. Like, we didn't come out at school so we could pretend to let a pair of bitches convert us to the straight team. We came out so we could be open about our feelings, so we could hug and hold hands and do whatever came naturally," "That's true, but we didn't come out at school so we could get beat up either," "I know, which is why we need Cherrie and Meghan on our side. Or at least, not on the like other side. I'd be happy to see them as indifferent neutral parties. But anyway, assuming Cherrie's the one pulling Brendan's strings and Meghan and her are in cahoots, if we want Brendan and his thugs to leave us alone, we still need Cherrie and Meghan. The problem with your plan is, after they go on a date with us and get tired of us, we'd want to go back to normal - but if we did that, they'd know we tricked them," "Okay, I'm with you so far, what's your plan?" I shrug. "I don't really have one yet," Celery smiles, 'thought not'. "Well okay, how bout this - we talk to them, convince them that we're happy together, that we don't need their saving," Celery looks at me like 'do you want to take a minute to think about what you just said'. I sigh, "Yeah, that's not going to work." We walk in thought for awhile. "Alright! Try this, we use your plan, but rework it a little. We go to Cherrie and Meghan, and say stuff like we're pretty sure we're gay, but since naturally we don't WANT to be gay if we can help it, we'd really like their help. We'll say that if there's anyone who we think might help us become straight, it's them - the hottest girls in the school." Celery grins. "I think you may have something there," "Now who's the brains," I say smugly. "Was there ever a doubt?" "There was, and it saved Agrabah," Don't ask. It's from Aladdin the TV show. You don't want to know. "So we're going to give it a try?" Still me. "Yeah, I think we should. How do you want to go about it?" "We're going to need a couple days. It's Wednesday, we'll plan for Friday." "What do we do until then?" "Hesitant response to their overtures. No more running away from them and hiding in the bathroom," He sticks out his split bottom lip. "I like hiding in the bathroom," I rap his stomach quickly with my back fingers, though lightly, in case I accidentally hit a bruise. "You like what we DO when we're hiding in the bathroom," He raises his eyebrows. Well, sort of anyway. The best he could. "You don't?" "Moving right along. We have to let them think we're responding to them, that they're winning. That also means no touching for the next couple of days," "That's going to get tough," He says. After all, we're all over each other right now, like always. "I know. But we can do it. Think of the reward," He nods. "I need a kiss now if I'm not going to get one all day," I'm happy to oblige. We're heading towards the cafeteria, struggling to be good and not touch, when Mrs. Bartin rushes over to me out of nowhere. "Vasskez! Where have you been?!" She's like the staff advisor for the yearbook. She pretty much lives in the yearbook room. Oh shit. The yearbook room. Where I should be right now, working on the yearbook. "Look man, I've gotta go! Sorry," He sighs, and nods. "Sure, see you later." As much as I love Celery and as glad as I obviously am he finally opened up to me -- in dream form or not -- his timing kind of sucks. Like, this is our new to each other time, the time we should be revelling in each other the most, but I'm just about to start running seriously low on free time. The problem is, yes, you guessed it, the yearbook. It's yearbook season. I didn't realize it, but starting today, we've got exactly two weeks before the final layouts have to be sent in. Two weeks and about two months of work. I've got no time to be thinking about fake dates with Cherrie and Meghan or whatever else. Mrs. Bartin (our faculty advisor slash insane leader) has just proclaimed we now have forced daily afternoon sessions and she's threatening to take away lunch hours too. Never mind the lunch hour, the closer we get to the deadline, the fewer hours of sleep I'll be getting. Having been on staff (though always to lesser extents) since grade 7, I know something of what to expect from the final crunch days. Sleeping and eating will become luxuries following yearbook and normal school in terms of priority. Having been along for the ride with me all these years, Celery also knows the score, but knowing never makes him any happier about it when it happens. Since grade 9 (when my load started to get heavy) he's always gotten this sad look in his eyes days in advance of the 2-weeks left marker, which is when the insanity really kicks into high gear. A week before the deadline -- when I'm lucky if I see my bed for more than 6 hours a night -- he's been known to go all puppy dog pathetic giving me the biggest eyes imaginable every time he sees me (which usually ends up being when I'm leaving a room in a big hurry, or when I'm apologising for not having time to talk or for having to ditch him like in the hall just then). In all our discovery and craziness, I guess we both sort of forgot what was coming. Too caught up in each other, as usual. It's here now though, and the fun's just beginning. I spend the morning recovering from what I swear was Mrs. Bartin's most insane 'we're running out of time here people' rant ever, and am still somewhat in shaken daze mode at lunch. I'm distracted from thoughts of page layouts and grad quotes only by my hen-like worry over Celery. "How did your morning go? Could you write okay? Feeling any fatigue or dizziness? Anything like that? I still can't believe you talked me into letting you come to school. You should be in bed or something," or possibly in the hospital I add in my head, looking guiltily at what I'm beginning to suspect is his broken nose. 'I'm fine Care. I promise." I sigh, still looking at his nose. "No gym today at least, okay? Have some sense," He smiles, which still looks quite off. "Sure love. No sweating and running for me. No walking fast even," "Don't make fun of me. I'm worried about you," I say in a little boy pout. "I know you are," Celery's voice is filled with kindness, patience and reassurance. "I'm just trying to show you that you don't have to be," "Just promise me you're going to take it easy, and I promise I'll stop nagging so much," "Deal." We can't kiss (come on, you remember the plan) so we shake hands instead. "What's up with the lack of touching?" Jonas inquires. "Not that I'm complaining. I for one find the lack of gay love at this table a refreshing change," His cheeky grin saves him from an ass kicking, and the plan prevents us from starting to make out to get his goat. Don't even bother to make fun of me for using such a lame expression, I feel bad enough about it all by myself. "You don't really deserve a serious answer after a comment like that, but we'll tell you anyway," I say, proceeding to explain operation 'Hey, maybe we don't want to be gay' to them. "You're the masters of disaster," Jonas says dryly, shaking his head. "What, you don't think it'll work?" "Oh it'll probably work. I just think it's funny, you guys plotting about something like that. Less funny of course, is why you had to do it. That sucks big time. By the way Celery, have I mentioned you look like shit?" Celery laughs. "No -- but thanks." "You feel as bad as you look?" "No, like I said to Care, I'm okay." I assume that Cel already gave them details this morning when they saw each other in caf, and that's why no one asks any more. I weasel my way out of the afternoon's yearbook cram session by explaining to Mrs. Bartin that I need to take Cel to the hospital and then darting out of the room before she has a chance to say no. Celery may be terrified of hospitals, but I'm not exactly the hugest fan of them myself. The worst thing about them has gotta be the smell. It's not like death exactly, but it sure isn't life. It's that sterilised thing I guess. Whenever I'm in a hospital all I want to do is run outside and take huge greedy breaths of fresh, wonderful, deliciously bacteria-filled air. Add that to my general worry about Celery and the fact that he squeezed my hand so hard I thought it was going to fall off pretty much the whole time we were waiting, and my hospital experience leaves something to be desired. Leaving is better though -- just seeing Celery come back alive as we're walking out the doors -- and hearing the doctors declare him to have a 'badly bruised but otherwise clean bill of health' is better still. No broken bones or anything. They offered him something for the pain, but Mr. Macho turned it down. When he declined he smiled sweetly at me, said he already had something that worked great and proceeded to retake my hand. The doctor was almost as shocked as me, but neither of us said anything. "Thank-you for doing this Ellen," he jokes as we're strolling home. Another movie quote that's not from A Princess Bride! Let's hear it for diversity. Points for anyone who can guess where that one's from! No? Okay. It's from 'Dave'. That's a great movie by the way, you should rent it sometime. I can't remember the line following that so I just say, "Anything for you love." We crash for the rest of the day. Celery is forced into power resting by yours truly and I do some of the schoolwork I'm bound to fall behind in during the coming mania of yearbook completion. We talk lots though, which is nice. At one point, we're sitting on the couch, classic us, Celery's sitting on the end, I'm stretched out, my head and arms in his lap and Celery asks, "Do you wanna know a secret?" He's playing with my hair, making twirls of it around his fingertips. "ANOTHER one?" I fake gasp. "Yep. I'm a man of mystery," "Of course you are." "So, do you wanna know?" "Sure," I say reaching up to catch one of his hands, moving it gently down to my chest so I can hold it. "I started packing my own lunch like a week into grade one," "You did?" "Yeah," "But you always still had carrots in there," "That's because that's what I packed," "You hate carrots," "I liked trading with you though," Damn. "You're like the sweetest person alive." "I thought it might freak you out a little," I sigh. "Not EVERYTHING freaks me out, especially not the really sweet, adorable stuff." "I was so crazy for you back then," "You're not crazy about me now?" I pout. He laughs. He doesn't wheeze or cough when he does it anymore. That's like a good sign, right? "Fool. Of course I am. It's just weird, thinking about myself at that age, so hung up on you. I was such a little kid. I didn't even understand it, but being with you made me feel so alive, so right, so whole. I was starved for you, I spent the early years just trying to suck you dry." "Sure, and now you're full. I understand. You've had enough. Fine," I'm starting to get up, but laughing, he holds me down. "Don't even think about it." I turn over, lying sideways in the space between Celery and the back of the couch, head just above his heart. "Sorry I fucked with the serious moment," "It's okay. I know what you meant," "Those mind reading classes finally starting to pay off eh?" "That's right." He kisses my head, I sigh happily. "Teach me to know me as well as you do?" He does it again. "Of course."