1,884Nadine's Point of View
He's the one I call in the middle of the night, he makes everything alright, he holds me when i cry,
makes me smile, shares my dreams, wipes away my tears, loves me
with no regret. I just haven't found him yet...
-Unknown
Ways to Seek Revenge on the Matchmaker:
1. Sabotage all the relationships that she's started. It's easier to get back at an artist by destruction of their work and seeing as her medium is love….
2. Soap her house, no, TP her house, that would teach her! Of course, she wouldn't know why her house was attacked…which wouldn't really help my master plan of getting back at the bringer of love. Perhaps if I wrote Love Sucks?
3. Go after her boyfriend, perhaps if he felt what her meddling did to the community of Rose Water Creek, she would stop. Only one glitch with this plan; I don't want to hurt Kale Daniels—he's just too nice!
4. Perhaps if I specialize my sabotage strictly to her "special" pairing, and go after Milo Walker and Mariah Baxter? But then again, I don't want to mess with love in the works. Although I think the two might hate each other right now…. Well…now I'm just stalling.
5. I have no other idea what to do. Crap! Cupid outsmarted me once again! This can not stand! My revenge will be felt! I will destroy the Matchmaker! I just don't know how….yet….
I sighed and set my pen down. I couldn't think of anything else to write, and I was pretty sure that Mrs. Clarington was shooting me evil looks. I love history as much as the next person, but today was just not her day. She was making the 1920s seem boring. I LOVE the 20s!
"Psst!"
I turned around to see Luke trying to get my attention; he motioned towards Angie, and then tossed a note on my desk. I sighed again and then unfolded it; I had the feeling that it wasn't exactly going to say anything nice.
Why'd you hang up on me yesterday? Are you feeling okay? Are you really that upset over someone wanting to date you? You've never really had a boyfriend before, you know; maybe you should look at this as a positive experience.
Is she kidding me? She got paired off with Mr. Excellent; Meghan paired me off with the legendary bad boy of Rose Water Creek! Where she got a tall, blond, track star; I got pair off with….I don't exactly know his nationality, just that it's not Caucasian, not that it matters in the first place. I mean, I'm African-American, it's not like I'm going to hate him because he's not, although he looks like he might have a little….Why am I off subject?!
What I was trying to say is; she got an upstanding citizen, while Meghan thinks that I'm the perfect damsel in distress for a guy that cuts classes to smoke. A guy that doesn't seem to know that there is another color in the world besides black, and talks back to teachers! Did I mention that he smokes? Okay, I know I did, but come on, that's a big one! I could die off of the second hand smoke!
Good Lord, Meghan's trying to kill me.
"Mrs. Clarington?"
I looked up to see one of our school's principal, Principal Barkley standing in the doorway of Mrs. Clarington's classroom. He looked kind of angry or he might have been enthusiastic, it's kind of hard to tell with him.
"Yes?"
"I have a student that I found out by the gymnasium, he said that he was supposed to be in this class." The principal whispered in an angry tone. I guess whoever he found had managed to really get under his skin.
"Is that so?" Mrs. Clarington went on, setting down her chalk, "And who might he be?"
Principal Barkley stepped into the classroom, but whoever he had been escorting to Mrs. C's class, stayed in the hallway. The principal turned around and glared at him and if looks could kill, the guy would be dead by now. "Get in here!" He growled, and pointed towards a spot near his shoe. I guess that was his version of 'heel boy'.
The guy leisurely strolled into the classroom and smirked at Principal Barkley. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his black leather jacket and the little silver chain that he had looped from his back pocket to his front one jingled when he walked. His straight black hair fell messily into his eyes, which were filled with icy cold mirth, a kind of mirth that the guy is very well known for.
Thatcher Wood.
"Would you like me to do a trick as well, Principal Barks-A-Lot?" He asked calmly and coolly, using the nickname that the students call Principal Barkley behind his back. No one would ever dare say it to his face though. "Or is the general 'come and stay' going suffice?"
A vein seemed to be popping out of the side of Principal Barkley's head and he looked about ready to throw something at Thatcher—and being him, it was probably a desk that was on the mind. "What was that?" He growled.
Thatcher smiled, and started towards his desk, "Nothing sir, just thanking you for escorting me all the way across campus to my class." He turned around, and gave the principal a stony look. "By the way sir, you owe me about a pack of cigarettes, and they don't come cheap."
Principal Barkley's eyes narrowed ever further, so that his eyebrows came together and formed a dark, bushy V, "That's it—detention Mr. Wood."
Thatcher slid into his seat and shrugged a shoulder. "Okay Principal, my afternoons were getting boring anyway."
The class laughed lightly at his reply, everyone except Principal Barkley and Thatcher. (Yes, even Mrs. Clarington was laughing behind her hand.) Principal Barkley looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel, his face was completely red. And Thatcher….Thatcher looked like he was void of all emotions to tell the truth.
"That's it Mr. Wood, detention for the rest of the month."
Once again he shrugged a shoulder, his dark eyes never leaving the principal's face. "It'll give me something to do in those few hours between school and my community service."
Principal Barks-A-Lot walked over to Thatcher and gripped the sides of his desk so hard that his knuckles were white. "Come with me to my office now." He growled, Thatcher didn't even flinch.
Slowly he blinked and then stretched out in his seat. "Can't you just issue my detentions from right here?"
Barkley grunted, "What if it's not another month's worth of detention? What if I finally suspend you?" I'd swear that a brief look of emotion flashed across Thatcher's eyes. I'd almost say that it was horror or worry, but…well this is Thatcher Wood we're talking about here. Barkley laughed into his face, "That worries you, doesn't it?"
If it did, other than that little flash, he didn't let it show. Instead he smirked, and leaned up close to Barkley's face. "If you're going to suspend me, could you do it now—because I'm dying for a smoke."
Uh oh.
Thatcher's Point of View (Finally)
The way I feel is not always how I seem...
- MxPx
"Why do you think you say things like that?" Mrs. Wilkes asked, making sure to keep eye contact with me. I could tell that she was waiting for some heartfelt admission to a sad and lonely childhood. Then I would start crying and she could feel like she'd accomplished something in her many plus years of being a high school counselor.
I think she's been watching one too many episodes of Seventh Heaven.
I stared straight back into her eyes, keeping a stony face, and making sure that I didn't appear the least bit interested in what she had to say. She frowned, and then fiddled with the Winnie the Pooh paperweight on her desk. "Do you feel the need to disregard all rules in general, or is it just Mr. Barkley's rules that you feel the need to object to?" She asked, changing her approach, something that I wanted to laugh at, but I held back. She must be taking a page out of the book of every other person that's dealt with me. Next she was probably going to try and act like she was on my side, and try to get me to open up that way.
It's pathetic really.
She leaned across the desk towards me, looking as though she was sharing a secret with me. "You know, not very many people like him—I don't even like him all that much."
Right on cue.
I smirked,and she smiled, probably congratulating herself for her originality. Copying her, I leaned forward and pretended that I had something that I wanted to share with her, she actually leaned forward in excitement of finally cracking me. I slowly blinked, "Should you really be telling me that? I'm sure that if your statement got out, it couldn't exactly help your job any."
Her smiled faded, and she quickly sat back in her chair. I leaned back in my chair leisurely and glanced at the clock. She caught my action and smiled weakly, "Ready to be out of here, Thatcher?" I looked at her stonily and then shrugged my shoulders.
"Generally you don't enjoy your punishment, besides, I have detention at four." And community service after that. Two more hours off of the eighty that I need to complete to become an "upstanding citizen".
It's as though they think that by forcing me to waste a few hours by the side of the highway picking up trash in an orange vest is going to change me all that drastically. It's only going to make me wonder how underwear could get on the side of the road. And even then, I'm not all that interested in an answer.
"So you consider it a punishment to talk openly about your emotions?" Mrs. Wilkes asked, perking up at the sound of my apparent anguish.
There must be something wrong with her.
Sighing, I sat up straight, "Let's say that that is the case." She grinned and I rolled my eyes. If I'm going to throw the crazed lunatic a bone, I might as well toy with her mind. "My parents used to beat me when I cried." She looked at me in earnest, happy with my revelation of my bloody past. God she's a psycho. "And it's something that's been carried around with me throughout my adolescence."
Her grin broadened and she was practically bouncing up in giddiness, "Well Thatcher, than I guess we'll have to make this a weekly thing."
I raised an eyebrow, "Beg pardon?"
She was already writing something down on a piece of paper and then she tacked it onto her calendar. Then she turned around, looking like a four-year-old that had just woken up on Christmas day to realize Santa had been good to her. "We'll be having a session every week from now on—we'll meet on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays."
How did I just lose control of the situation?
"I'll see you on Friday then, Mr. Wood. Be there, or be a two-by-four." Mrs. Wilkes chirped, swatting me on the shoulder.
"Psicopatico…" I muttered beneath my breath.
"What was that?" She asked, looking up from drawing little trees on the days that we would meet in her date book.
I got out of my chair and walked to the door. "Nothing ma'am."
"Where are you going?"
Sighing, I turned around, "Detention—remember?"
"Oh….yup! Have fun!"
I rolled my eyes and jerked open the door and walked out of her office. I nodded at the secretary and then made my way to the front of the building. I was going to go to the detention room, but first I needed a cigarette. I felt in my pocket for one and then squeezed my eyes shut.
Barkley had screwed me again.
First he stole my cigarettes, then he made a huge deal of escorting me to my class, and then he practically tried to amputate my arm when he took me out of said class to go to Mrs. Wilkes' office. He really needs to learn how to control his anger.
I grinned smugly and then sighed. Trying to calculate how long it would take to head down to the nearest Marathon and back. At least twenty-five minutes if I include the carding process, that generally takes ten minutes alone while they accuse me of having a fake id. I guess I should be happy; it took twice as long when I did have a fake id.
Hmmm….I need to be in room 1828 for detention in five minutes….Which essentially means; I've got enough time.
I had just started to head down the sidewalk, when there was a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and sighed. "What do you want?" I asked in a bored tone as I continued on my way down to the gas station.
Meghan Fairfield kept up with me—Meghan, the most tiring girl on the planet, also known in this little town as the "Matchmaker". I don't have anytime for her. However, she apparently has all the time in the world for me.
"Hello Thatcher," she smiled impishly, "I found you a girlfriend."
I rolled my eyes, and kept walking. "Is that right?" I muttered, "Well you can go tell her that I don't want her."
"But she's perfect for you!"
"Lasciar stare le cose."
She tilted her head to the side, "What?"
I turned to stare at her, stony-eyed. "It means 'leave things as they are'." I translated and then picked up my pace. "I don't want a girlfriend Fairfield, so you can move onto your next poor victim, because I'm not going to have any part of it. Besides, I refuse to let you make me one of your victims, in the first place."
When I transferred here at the end of my sophomore year, I didn't know the school came with a girl like Meghan. Where everyone had gotten used to her by her freshman year, I had had no idea what was coming to me. That doesn't mean I let her get to me once, though. Not only has she not been able to get me to agree to one solitary date, blind or otherwise, she has yet to even have a civil conversation with me. I don't put up with her like the rest of the school does.
"Perhaps they need to be messed with."
I stopped walking, and glared at her, "Meghan, I'm sure there's some freshman that you're just waiting to torture right now; and I suggest that you go spend your time with them."
She looked up at me and then smiled haughtily, "Where are you heading, Thatcher? I heard that you once again got detention."
I heaved a heavy sigh, "I'm heading down to the nearest gas station."
"For cancer sticks?" She asked; her eyes trained on me.
"If that's what you want to call them." I muttered, itching to start walking again. I wanted a cigarette, or cancer stick, badly by now.
"Quick question Thatcher; do your grandparents' know about your little habit?"
I froze and stared down steadily at her. "What are you implying?" I asked coldly.
"Just that it would be awful for you if all your little secrets got out, now wouldn't it?" She looked up at me innocently.
"Are you threatening me, Meghan?"
She finally let a smile cover her face, "For love, I'd be willing to do a lot worse." She crossed her arms, her dark green eyes ablaze, "I wonder what would happen if they found out that you aren't doing community service for the fun of it? Or that you aren't what you'd call the most-liked student in Rose Water Creek High? What other things have you been keeping from them, Thatcher?"
I swallowed hard and my eyes narrowed to slits. "You're going to blackmail me into dating someone?" I growled.
She sighed, "I didn't want it to have to go this far, but yes, I am blackmailing you into dating her. But only because I know that she's perfect for you." She grinned, "So…do you see things my way now?" She asked.
My jaw clenched and I took a deep, calming breath, "Of course I do."
A/N: Hehehe….don't you love him? I do already. I do already. I'm sorry that it took so long to update, my computer was acting screwy, and I was trying to work out some kinks. Namely, Thatcher. I'm pretty sure I've got his personality down pat, and what he looks like. (Lord he is yummy looking .) Oh, I love his attitude, but I hate his smoking. It's gross, but…well…you know how it is, characters come with their own quirks, and smoking is one of his.
Oh, and the language that he keeps spouting out in is Italian. Yup, Thatcher is Italian. How, you ask, can Thatcher Wood be Italian? Simple, his full name is Thatcher Matteo Giovanni Wood; his mother was Italian and his father was African-American. (Not was, they're still alive.) Have I mentioned that he's hot? I think I did….
Okay, anyways, Meghan's blackmailing him into going out with Nadine. . You gotta love it. I hope this isn't too much like the Matchmaker's Best Friend, I'm trying to keep them separate! 6.6 Anyways, I've got to go now, but before I forget, there'll will be a lot of Italian words sprinkled within this story. And if I don't give the definitions above in said story, I'll define them down here. .
Psicopatico: Psychopath
Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! Ciao! (Oh, and AVision: You betcha .)
-:Riservato (Secretive):-