Once upon a time, I was very happy with my life.

I'm not quite sure when once upon a time ended. Maybe it was a gradual thing. You know, maybe one thing led to another thing, and that thing led to another, and then BAM! Unhappily ever after. Or maybe it wasn't a gradual thing. Maybe it was people.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Exhibit A.

Matt Bauer. Quarterback extraordinaire, most popular guy in school; party animal, druggie, and alcoholic.

Yes folks, my boyfriend.

Exhibit A is really quite handsome, even if he's a little bit of a moron. Maybe more than just a little bit.

In our freshman year, he'd decided that I was hot enough to be his girlfriend. At the time, I was that girl everybody likes, but isn't necessarily good friends with. You know the kind I mean. He'd asked me out, and I'd been delighted.

I started hanging out with the popular crowd.

And that brings me to Exhibit B. My best friends, Tiffany, Brittany, and Stephie,

They're lovely girls, really.

Spending time with them is always interesting, and a little explicit when it comes to talking about boys, but they were my friends, and I loved them, even if I didn't love who I became around them.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you Exhibit C.

Myself.

"Hey babe," Matt muttered into the phone.

"Hello, dearest," I replied. Oh joy. He sounded stoned. Or drunk. Or both.

"How are you?" he asked, his voice thick and gravelly. I could practically hear his eyelids drooping over his lovely blue eyes.

"I'm fine," I said.

"Cool. So hey babe, was wondering…mm. Hey, you busy?"

If watching Just Like Heaven and eating Ben and Jerry's Phish Food was busy, then yes, I was.

"Do you need me to come pick you up?" I asked.

"Naw. Was wondering if…you hungry?"

"No. Matt, are you okay?" I glanced longingly at the TV. His calls were always so badly timed.

"Yeah, babe, I'm great. How're you?"

Again with the babes. Last time I checked, I've never been a prizewinning pig. And that's one of the few things in my life I've ever been sure of.

"I'm fine, Matt. You already asked me that." I shoveled some ice cream into my mouth. "So why'd you call?"

"Can't I talk to my girlfriend? Gawd." You could totally hear the "w" in there.

"Hmm, I suppose so."

"C'mon, babe, you know I love you. Right now I just really wanna see your pretty blue eyes."

He did that every time. He just couldn't remember.

"My eyes are brown, Matt."

"Oh. Really?"

"Yep."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Matt, it says so on my birth certificate." I could forgive his mistake. The only time he ever felt romantic enough to want to stare into my eyes was when he was stoned and/or drunk. So naturally, he wouldn't really know my eye color.

It didn't bother me too much.

"Mm…Linny?"

"Yeah," I said.

"You wanna go to a party?"

"No, Matt. And I don't think you need to be going to another party tonight. You don't sound too good."

"'M fine," he mumbled.

"Do you want me to come get you?" I sighed.

"Naaaaw…I'm at m' house."

"Matt, it's past midnight. Why are you calling me?"

"Wanted to hear your voice…wanted some pizza."

Ah. He lumped me in there with pizza. Although pizza did sound really good.

"Are your parents home?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"So don't you think maybe you'll wake them up?"

"Naw. Mm, Linny, what're you wearing?"

Oh dear god.

"I am wearing my very frumpiest pajamas and my hair is all frizzy and gross," I informed him.

"Mm. Tired, Linny. Bye." He hung up.

I stared at my phone, shrugged, and then hit "Play." Ah. The wonders of movies. And, more importantly, Ben and Jerry's.

"Oh. My. God!" Tiffany shrieked.

"Oh my god what?" I cried back. Even after three years of it, I still had fun mocking them. The best part was, they never noticed, so I was able to keep up the teasing as long as I wanted.

"You should totally have come to the party on Saturday. Oh my god, it was off the hizzouse."

I blinked. How did she take herself seriously? I mean, really. Hizzouse?

"How so?" I asked.

"Like, Andy was there and he's like, so hot you know, and oh my god Linny, he asked me to dance and it was so great!" She waggled her eyebrows at me and I wondered what kind of dance she meant. Because she looked pretty darn suggestive of…things.

"That's great, Tiff."

"And, like, Brittany got sooo drunk and it was sooo funny I almost peed myself."

Like, as far as I'm concerned, a conversation with, like, like every other word is like, not even cool. Really, people. Read a book.

"She got up on a table and started stripping and did you know she has a tattoo on her boob?"

Well, okay.

"Dear god, Tiff, why would you watch that?" I asked. "And how would I know that? And more importantly, that's stupid. I mean, that's gotta have some impact on her ability to feed her future children."

And she was my best friend. Wow. I was so proud.

"Well, it was like, funny, you know? I mean, if you had been there, you would know what I mean."

Funny wasn't the word for it.

"Whatever," I muttered.

"Linny!" Stephie's high pitched voice squealed.

"Stephie!" I squeaked as she attacked me. Despite the awful name, Stephie was my favorite. She had always been friends with the other girls, ever since preschool, and I think the only reason she hung out with them was because of the history.

Stephie was actually nice.

"Did you go to any parties this weekend?" she asked, her weirdly deer-like eyes widening.

"Nope. Stayed home."

"Oh, me too. Yeah, my parents wanted me to concentrating on my homework." She rolled her eyes at me and smiled. "Tiff, where's Brittany?"

"Probably still hung over. Did you know she has a tattoo on her—"

"Okay," I interrupted. "How about we stop with that, hmm? As long as Matt didn't show an interest, I don't care."

"Um, he totally did. But he wasn't the only guy looking, you know. God, if my boobs were that big I'd never wear a shirt," Tiff said, glaring at her flat chest.

"Then I would officially not know you," I said. "And by the way, not so much with the boobs. Seriously, guys, let's stop."

"I am so confused," Stephie said. "But I don't think I want to know."

Tiff grinned randomly. The reason for her grin became apparent when I was seized from behind and hoisted into the air.

"Matt, put me down or so help me, I will nail your hands to the football and everyone will hate you for not passing the ball," I yelled. I was promptly dropped.

"Jeez, Lin, I was just playing," he said, making a puppy dog face.

"Really? I wasn't." As far as I'm concerned, the ground is a really nice place to be. Not, you know, being picked up by your rather loutish—but adorable—boyfriend.

"Babe, you should have come to the parties. Dude, it was so funny, Brittany was like, stripping." He chuckled.

"So I've heard," I muttered. The look on my face must have been fairly poisonous, because he immediately assumed an innocent expression.

"Jeez, Linny, I didn't look or anything."

"Sure," I said.

The first bell rang, and we started off to class. I didn't have my first class with any of them, but their first class was right next to mine.

"See you guys later," I said as I opened the door to AP English.

"I couldn't see what the boob tattoo was," I heard Tiff say.

"A butterfly," Matt's reply was.

Great. Just great.

I stamped over to my desk and flopped into my chair. After a few minutes of rummaging in my packed binder, I pulled my paper out and slapped it on my desk. Ah. The effects Shakespeare has on modern day romance novels. It had been fun to research for.

I sighed and cracked my knuckles.

"Whoa there," a familiar voice said.

"Patrick," I muttered.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I turned in my desk to look at him. "My boyfriend watched my best friend strip this weekend," I said conversationally. "It kind of sucks."

"Want me to beat him up for you?" His dark eyebrows disappeared into his shaggy brown hair. "You know I'd take any excuse to do it."

"No. I like my boys whole and relatively unscathed. I'm more likely to have more free time because I won't be required to take care of him."

"You don't have to take care of him." His brilliantly blue eyes narrowed as he frowned at me. "Does the phrase 'male chauvinist pig' ring a bell?"

"Hmm. Now that you mention it…"

The bantering was normal for us. Patrick was fun to talk to, because he didn't use the word "like" to connect everything, he made intelligent conversation, and we were pretty much on the same level with everything.

"Roslin, my dear little chicken, he's a big boy. He can take care of himself." His lips quirked up on one side.

"Why do you call me that?"

"What, Roslin?"

"Yeah."

"It's your name."

I smiled.

Well, he was right. Everyone else called me Lin or Linny because they thought Roslin sounded too old-fashioned and stuffy. That didn't mean I didn't like my name. It was nice to be called by my real name. I mean, really. Linny? Makes me sound like a pet terrier or something. One of those yippy ones that chases squirrels, cats, and small children. Like the one that made me change vets, because so help me God, my precious Marmalade shouldn't be subjected to things like that.

Poor baby. He wouldn't come out of his kitty condo for a few days after the terrier incident.

"Roslin?"

"Yeah," I said, snapping out of my terrier-induced reverie.

"What are you thinking about?" His freakishly blue eyes stared into my run-of-the-mill brown ones. I'm not kidding. I swear his mom went and stole the ocean on a sunny day and put some of the color in her baby's eyes.

"Roslin?"

"Hi," I said. "Yeah. I was thinking about how Linny sounds like a terrier and how one time a terrier traumatized my poor baby and he wouldn't come out of his room for a while."

"…Are you talking about your cat again?"

I tried to look affronted.

"He's so much more than a cat!" I cried.

"Yeah."

"Really. He may not have much going on in his head, but you won't find a sweeter cat anywhere." I whipped out my cell phone and showed him the screen. My fluffy cat Marmalade had been gazing adoringly at my phone when I took the picture.

"Adorable." He took my phone and began to scroll through some menu, hitting buttons every once in a while. "Nine out of ten pictures are of your cat."

"He enjoys having his picture taken," I replied, snatching my phone back as the teacher breezed in through the door.

"Miss Carrigan, was that a phone?"

"No, Mrs. Adams," I replied.

She looked suspiciously at me.

"Very well," she said at last. Patrick grinned. "Is something funny, Mr. Harvey?"

"No, Mrs. Adams."

Even though our AP English teacher was strict, she really knew what she was doing. She had a policy of no fun; however, all of us agreed that no class was more fun than Mrs. Adams'.

The bell rang, and we turned in our papers as the announcements were read.

"Roslin," Patrick hissed.

"Patrick," I replied.

"Will you go out with me?"

I rolled my eyes at him.

"Dear, you know I can't. I am still quite—well, sort of—enamored with Matt."

He rolled his eyes.

"We could have an affair," he whispered.

"What kind of girl do you take me for?"

"I don't know. It seemed the proper thing to say."

"No dear, we can't have an affair."

"Well, dang it." He grinned and began tapping his fingers on his desk in a seemingly random pattern. That was something he did all the time; he would sit back in his chair and tap on his desk. One time I'd even caught him swaying with his eyes closed while tapping.

"Pat," I said.

"Don't call me that." He stopped his moving fingers and glared at me. "I am no bunny."

"What?"

"You know. Pat the Bunny."

I stared.

"Do you mean the baby book?"

"Yeah."

"Um, the bunny isn't named Pat. Little kids are supposed to pat the bunny, because the bunny is freaking adorable." I giggled as he blushed.

"I knew that."

"Sure. I'm surprised you even know about that book."

"The baby section is on the way to the fiction books," he muttered.

"Okay."

One time I actually went and read Pat the Bunny. It was so cute. I totally want one of those little bunnies that come with the book. They're just so little and adorable and I would put it on my desk and be happy.

"Roslin."

"What?" As far as I knew, there was no official Interrupt Roslin's Thoughts Day. But I could have been wrong, and maybe no one had thought to tell me about it. Maybe.

"Are you thinking about how much you want one of the bunnies?"

"No. Are you?" My eyes narrowed.

"Of course not. I just thought that the bunny was something you would think was cute, since you seem to like small furry animals." His left hand was doing some pinky-middle-thumb-middle thing at high speed.

"Oh. I guess." I watched his long knuckly fingers as they danced halfway across his desk. The veins and tendons in the back of his hands rose and lowered with the motion of his fingers.

"So how was your weekend?" he asked.

"Did you already ask me that?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, I stayed home all weekend and watched chick flicks, cuddled up with Marmalade and two of my favorite men on earth."

"And yet you won't have an affair with me," he sighed. "Do I know them?"

"Most people do."

"Who are they?"

"Ben and Jerry," I said.

"Oh, they're great," he said.

"Don't I know it."

"Mr. Harvey and Miss Carrigan," Mrs. Adams said. Our heads swiveled to face front, twin pictures of guilt. "Would you care to share with the class?"

I shook my head, but Patrick didn't share my sentiment.

"Roslin wants a Pat the Bunny bunny," he said.

"I do not!" I cried.

"Regardless of Miss Carrigan's childlike desires, if you must discuss them, please refrain from doing so in my class." She glared and went back to writing on the board. Patrick and I stared at what she was writing. However, I wasn't really paying attention to the words because I was contemplating things. Things such as why I was only "sort of enamored" with my boyfriend; why I preferred staying home to going to parties with him; what significance the number 42 had in the grand scheme of things; and whether mice would someday really rule the world.

Patrick, in his strange manner, went back to his fluid finger movements. Strange boy.

"And thusly," Mrs. Adams said, "it can be concluded that, although I'm sure you hate writing précis, they actually are useful in that the entire gist of the story is squeezed into four sentences."

I blinked. Hmm. Précis.

"Oh dear," I murmured.

"What?" Patrick whispered.

"I've completely forgotten how to write précis."

"Oh crap, is that what we're doing?"

I nodded.

"I thought you were paying attention," he hissed.

"I thought you were."

"I wasn't!"

"Me neither!"

"Carrigan and Harvey!" Mrs. Adams barked.

"Sorry!" we both squeaked. Okay, I squeaked. Patrick sounded all calm and manly, like it was an everyday occurrence. Which it was.

"Don't make me separate you," she threatened.

A threat like that made me shut up because I enjoyed sitting next to Patrick. Our conversations were sometimes silly and sometimes deep, but always enjoyable. Her threat seemed to work on him too. We were both silent until after class had finished; Patrick grabbed my hand and we skipped into the hallway like a pair of kindergarteners. Together, we bounced over to the water fountain.

"Roslin," he said as he swung my hand back and forth.

"Yes, Patrick."

"Are you sure you don't want to go out with me?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Why do you always ask me?"

"Just want you to know that your options are open." He let go of my hand and tapped his finger on my nose before turning. "In case," he called over his shoulder.

"In case what?" I muttered to myself.

A/N: Hello to all who haven't read my stuff before, and hello again who read Old Books! I shall say this now and no more during the story, except maybe to complain: Fictionpress hates me. There are random breaks all over the place and I'm not sure why and sometimes the breaks I actually put in get taken out...Basically, it isn't very cool. I'm not sure yet how long this story will be...depends on how much I can get into it. Thanks so much for reading!