semi-charmed kind of life

This sucks. Epically.

It is six o'clock and I am outside my high school because I just got out of detention. DETENTION. I am an honors student. I don't drink, I don't do drugs, I've never been arrested, I respect my parents and I brush my teeth. And yet I was stuck in detention for two hours today. I could have been doing so much more productive stuff with my time.

…

Okay, so given the chance I would have gone home and chilled (being the totally chill person that I am, ahahaha—THIS IS SO NOT THE TIME) in my room. But that is entirely beside the point. Really. The point is that I could have done something productive. And do you want to know why I was in detention, thus hindering my opportunity to be productive?

Funny story, really. (Not really.) Sasuke-kun (who was in detention with me, which means there IS some justice in the world) and I were passing notes in Chemistry class today. It's not like we swore in them or anything—basically, he asked me if I remembered when our history reports were due, I said I didn't know, he got snarky, and Kakashi-sensei caught us. Because Kakashi-sensei only notices what you don't want him to.

Anyway. I'm standing outside the school, and I desperately need a sugary, caffeinated drink. So I head for the soda machine that's near the exit closest to the parking lot. I turn a corner and see it, sitting there in all its vending perfection. Ah, salvation.

I scrounge around in the pocket of my jeans and come up with a crumpled dollar-bill. It'll do. Straightening out the wrinkles as best I can, I slide it into the slot.

It gets spit right back out.

Damn machine is so picky. I retrieve the bill, smooth it again, and have a second go at it.

Again, my dollar is returned to me, as it is a third time. Then a fourth. Finally a fifth.

I shall now proceed to take this personally.

Frustrated, I glare at the machine, and, being the sleep-deprived, stressed-out high school girl that I am, I start ranting at it while shaking my fist. "You stupid machine! You can't just spit it back out just because it has creases! That's discrimination! It's worth the same as any other non-wrinkled dollar bill! Why can't you just accept it? All dollars were created equal! You—"

I whirl around when I hear a low chuckle from behind me.

Oh.

Ohhhhh my god.

Sasuke-kun is standing behind me (looking thoroughly hot in dark jeans and a black T-shirt, yum), smirking. Did he hear all that?

"How long have you been standing there?" I demand. Stupid guy is so quiet. He must have been a ninja or something in a past life.

His smirk grows more pronounced, giving me all the answer that I need.

Mortified, I turn back around to face the soda machine, my new arch-nemesis. Oh, it is ON. I shove my dollar in, only to have it rejected once again. I hiss.

Sasuke-kun sighs dramatically. I turn to glare at him and he holds out a crisp dollar-bill to me. "Here, use this so I can get on with my life."

Asshole. (In the back of my mind I wonder why he is here, because I know he doesn't drink soda.)

I resist the urge to spit on the proffered money. "No thanks," I seethe. "I am going to get this stupid machine to accept my dollar if it's the last thing I ever do."

Five minutes later I turn back to him, my head hung in despair. "Um, I'd appreciate that dollar, now," I mumble sheepishly.

He holds it out to me, his face smug, and I grab it and push it forcefully into the slot. It slides in easily and does not come back out. Oh, sure, it accepts his money. Stupid machine fails at life.

Glad that this nightmare is finally over, I select a cola.

Nothing happens.

I press the button again, harder.

No response.

That is the last straw. I start kicking the machine with all of my strength, releasing every pent-up emotion that churned inside of me. All I want is a soda and why is that so hard and it's so stupid that I had detention and how am I going to explain it to my parents and I got a B on my Calculus test when I should have gotten an A because perfect grades pave the way into a Good College which ensures a Good Job which guarantees a Good Life and my forehead is too big and Sasuke-kun doesn't like me the way I like him and—

I kick it extra hard and hear a sickening crack. Searing pain shoots up my leg from my foot. Gasping, I grab at my foot, which causes me to lose my balance and topple over, scraping my cheek on the harsh, unforgiving pavement.

I lie there for a moment, disoriented and upset and in pain, and I think, This is not cool. I am not okay with this.

But then Sasuke-kun is crouching over me, and he almost looks concerned, and I think, "Pretty." Uh, whoops. I think I actually said that. Like, out loud. Meaning Sasuke-kun heard it. Alsdfkjasdfj—SHIT.

Fortunately, Sasuke-kun pretends not to hear. He slides his arm under my back and assists me in sitting up. He was either never concerned or he isn't anymore, because he's smirking, the jerk. He is definitely not getting a birthday present this year. I am determined to hold a grudge. And possibly become bitter in the process. You know.

He inspects my foot. My cute, open-toed sandals (which are not ideal footwear for kicking a soda machine, I realize now) display my foot, which is already swelling to mind-staggering proportions and turning a lovely shade of purplish-blech. Well, there went my plans for ice-skating this winter…why does this stuff only happen to me?

"What am I going to do with you?" Sasuke-kun murmurs, mostly to himself, I think. What a drama queen. There he is acting all martyred, when I'M THE ONE SITTING HERE WITH A BROKEN FOOT. You can tell he cares ever-so-much.

I scowl at him and wince when the scrape on my cheek starts throbbing. Well, at least it helps to take my mind off the pain in my foot…? (Yeah, so obviously positivism is not my strong point.)

His attention is brought to my cheek. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulls out a neatly folded handkerchief. If anyone else my age carried a handkerchief, I would think they were lame and middle-aged, but Sasuke-kun just makes it sexy.

He presses the linen to my cheek. It's very soft. "There's a good chance that will scar, you know," he points out mildly. Of course I know. I'm the one going to medical school (hopefully).

"Kiss it and make it better?" I try meekly, knowing fully well that he will do no such thing, mostly because he is Uchiha Sasuke and that just says it all, really.

But then an oddly thoughtful look plays out across his normally indifferent features, and I can see him hesitate before he bends down and brushes his lukewarm lips to my temple, just above the abrasion, in a ghost of a kiss.

…

Still breathing? Check. Well, that's something, considering the fact that I'm now blushing a shade of red that would put Hinata to shame and my heart is thrumming erratically. Bada-bum, badabada-bum. (I wonder what Sasuke-kun's heartbeat sounds like.)

Suddenly Sasuke-kun will not meet my eyes. He takes my hand and puts it on the handkerchief pressed to my cheek, slipping his own out from under so that I am holding it there instead of him. He shifts me around so that he can fold his arm under my knees, keeping the other around my back, and lifts me up into his arms.

The process takes all of two seconds, and I squeak in surprise.

Sasuke-kun misinterprets my yelp. "Don't worry," he mutters. "I've got you." I think it might be the sweetest thing he's ever said for me. (Although it's competing with "You're annoying" and "You look stupid like that," so it's not like that's saying much.)

I nestle my head in the crook of his neck (wholly taking advantage of the situation, I know) and whisper "Yeah" against his neck, so quietly that I don't think he hears me.

He starts walking, and I am amazed that I'm hardly jostled at all. I get the feeling that he's being very careful.

I take the opportunity to press my ear against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum. It is steady and monotonous, just like Sasuke-kun. But I find it oddly comforting. Just like Sasuke-kun.

I remember something as he carries me to his car. "Sasuke-kun, why were you over by the soda machine?" I ask, confused. "You hate soda." Personally, I think the carbonation freaks him out, but I don't tell him that, mostly out of self-preservation.

It is a long time before he answers. "I was going to drive you home."

"And now you have to drive me to the ER," I say, trying to feign glumness while secretly thrilled that a) he had wanted to drive me home and b) he was going to drive me to the Emergency Room anyway. "I'm sorry, Sasuke-kun."

"Don't go around harassing harmless inanimate objects, then," he mutters, and I do believe he has made his first semi-joke. I'm so proud of him.

We are almost to his car when I ask, "Sasuke-kun, if my cheek does scar, will you still think I'm pretty?"

He waits until he has set me in the passenger seat and gotten into the car himself before he replies. "Maybe," he says, and I know that I will not get more out of him if I press him, because he has used up his affection quotient for the day, so I stare out the window and muse about silver linings and how a romantic trip to the ER clearly leads to marriage.

(Also, I realized something today: kicking a soda machine can actually allow you to have a great emotional catharsis. Just, uh, use caution. You know.)

Uh. You're not the only person who's confused. I have no idea what I was prattling on about here, either, I swear I don't. Also, I think Sasuke is OOC. Because he, like, cares? And he made a joke--I think. (nods)

Just pretend that they use dollars in Japan. You're much more more imaginative than I am, I'm sure. And, because I am imaginatively bankrupt, the title of this is, hey guess what, the song "Semi-Charmed Kind of Life" by Third Eye Blind. THIS IS SO SAD. (cries) I fail at titles, I really do.

Disclaimer: If I can't even come up with a title by myself, what makes you think I could come up with an entire ninja!verse?

But you should still review. Because if you made it this far, there's no going back. Or something.