(Untitled)

[q_in_training]

Dog Beach is twice as crowded now that the summer's almost over, everybody trying to get in their last hurrah before school starts up again. Her mom and dad had all but shoved Mac out the door when they found her curled up with her PowerBook for the tenth day straight -- no change from the past few summers, but they'd convinced themselves that the

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[trustmeimdick]

Dick stumbles over --already a little drunk-- with two red cups in his hands. "Hey, Ghost World!" He calls to her. Very loudly.

[q_in_training]

Oh, God.

The left-hand pages bunch up as Mac's fingers clamp down on the book. In her headphones, the melody jumps back to the saxophone section.

She hadn't even seen him.

Very, very slowly, she raises her head to look at Cassidy's brother.

(Tharn, Richard Adams calls it. The deer-in-the-headlights effect: when you become so overwhelmed by panic that it hypnotizes you into motionless.)

[trustmeimdick]

"Dude, are you, like, okay? You look like you just saw some old dude's junk."

[q_in_training]

...Trust Dick to not give a rat's ass.

Mac snorts in spite of herself, the spell broken, even if she's still holding onto the book like a life preserver.

"I'm fine," she answers shortly, and it's followed by a long, uncertain pause. She takes one of her earphones out. "...Are you?"