"This is weird," Ruthie said in a half whisper, her mouth creating a pleasant, warm buzzing sensation in Elliott's ear as they danced.

It was another slow number, and he was in an almost trance-like state as he held Ruthie in his arms and moved with the music. He shouldn't have been surprised that she'd be so good at dancing, he knew, since she was so into theatre. In fact, he remembered that one of the first things she'd said to him when they'd finally stopped fighting like Kilkenny cats was that she was a triple threat. In theatre parlance, a triple threat was someone who was good at singing, acting, and dancing, and therefore that much more employable in the very competitive theatre world.

Now, she twisted her hips and moved her feet in a complicated, syncopated pattern, without stepping on his feet, and miraculously, without looking down. It was incredibly sexy that she could swivel her body in languorous rhythm to the music without breaking eye contact with him, giving him a smile that was somehow somnolent and sensuous at the same time.

"Hm? What is?" he responded, trying to act like he wasn't aware of how her body felt as it undulated against his to the pulsing beat of the song.

"I haven't dated a whole lot of guys, I'm the first to admit," Ruthie said. "There were a couple of boys, then there was Brett for most of last year, and that's it, and the boys were when I was thirteen, you know?" She smiled and waved to someone over his shoulder.

"Yes, I'm achingly, painfully, aware of how old you are, RBG," Elliott assured her. He looked down at her, realizing that he could see almost straight down her beautiful dress from this angle. The material bunched up and gaped away from her front, giving him a nearly unobstructed and spectacular view of an extremely flimsy and nearly sheer bra that was beautiful in its simplicity. It was gorgeous, because the breasts it covered were gorgeous, it was as simple as that.

Elliott stared, wide-eyed, for an agonizing second that felt like both an eon and a nanosecond; that is to say way too long and not nearly long enough, before he tore his eyes away and lifted them to her face. She was still smiling at the other person, and hadn't noticed his errant gaze.

"Very funny," Ruthie said, finally looking back at him in the dimly lit gym. Her opal eyes seemed to glow. "Anyway, I'm used to guys trying to put moves on me, like constantly, if you know what I mean?" She blinked her eyes, and this innocent action produced the by now familiar tensing in Elliott's abdomen, and the feeling that if he didn't tighten his arms around her and kiss her this instant, he might actually expire on the spot.

"Even the so-called 'nice guys' were always trying to lure me away to quiet corners or unoccupied rooms at parties," she said, again, managing to continue her amazing dancing as she did. "Or, or, if we were dancing like this, just having a nice time, they'd ruin it by letting their hands wander to unauthorized places, or trying to kiss me, even when I'd made it clear I didn't want to kiss them."

Her voice held mild indignation, which Elliott found adorable, though he knew that was not the appropriate response, especially in today's social climate.

"I'm sorry you've experienced those things," he said sincerely. "Even if we hadn't put our, erm, parameters in place, I'd never do those things to you if you'd said you didn't want to, I hope you know that."

Ruthie shook him, laughing. "El, you don't have to say that to me."

The song ended, thankfully, as Elliott's abdomen was starting to ache from being tensed for so long.

Ruthie and Elliott left the dance floor, passing Pepsi and Carlos on their way to the snacks.

"How's it going, Maria?" Ruthie called with a laugh as they walked by.

Pepsi gave her the finger, kissing the tip first, smiling sweetly as she did so.

Carlos grabbed Pepsi's offending hand and pulled it down to her side, eyes widening in horror as he did so. This made Elliott laugh so hard he had to lean against the wall for a minute before he could even look at the food.

When he finally stopped, Ruthie said, "You know, I'm way too hungry for chips and M&Ms, how about we blow this place and go get some real food?"

Elliott looked at her. "Really? You don't want to dance anymore? You're a very good dancer, and I can tell you enjoy it." He put his arms around her. "And I certainly enjoy dancing with you."

"Stop, Elliott, it's not fair, you're going to make me swoon," Ruthie said with a laugh, pushing him away. "And yes, I love to dance, and I love dancing with you, too, but I'm starving, please, let's go get some food."

"Okay," Elliott agreed, holding out his arm. "Now you say it, I'm feeling peckish as well. Let's go get something."

So they headed out, telling Linda and Gordon on the way, and asking if they wanted to go.

"No, we're good, I think," Linda answered, looking at Gordon. "We promised Gordon's big sister we'd stop by her dorm and play beer pong Jeopardy with them in a little while. They suck at it, and they really need us."

"They'd probably love to have you guys, too," Gordon added. "Want to come?"

Ruthie shook her head. "I need food now, and I'm so hungry it's going to involve many courses and at least a couple of hours, guys, sorry."

Ruthie and Elliott waved, and Gordon and Linda watched them go.

"Are you cold?" Elliott asked when they got outside. His voice had a weird echo as they walked down the deserted corridors of their school. They had parked in the small, north parking lot, since the big parking lot next to the gym had been full.

Ruthie shook her head. "I probably will be in a bit, but this feels amazing right now," she told him. She ran a few steps, just enjoying the brisk temperature, giving a laugh that carried in the quiet night. "I was so sweaty in there, couldn't you feel it?"

Elliott shrugged. "You felt lovely, as always."

"Oh god, Elliott, you have to stop doing that," Ruthie said, stepping close and putting her arms around him. "Remember what I said about swooning?" They emerged in the parking lot, where the Nicholsons' Mercedes was one of only three or four cars.

"Can't wait to see it, if I'm honest," Elliott responded, rubbing noses with her.

"Shit, really? Please stop, before I barf, right here in the parking lot," a voice said from behind Elliott.

Ruthie and Elliott came apart quickly, startled. They looked toward the sound of the voice.

"Shane?" Ruthie asked, reaching for Elliott's hand. "Is that you? What are you doing? What do you want? Stop hiding and come out, please?"

As she spoke, she pulled Elliott's hand toward the Mercedes, and Elliott could tell she was tense, and trying to make it look like they weren't moving.

"Very good, Ruthie, very good." The owner of the voice stepped out of the shrubbery next to the science building, and Elliott could only assume it was indeed Shane, since he didn't happen to be acquainted with that person.

He was slat-thin, with bad posture, and even in the weak, yellow light of the parking lot, Elliott could tell he had the dulled teeth of someone who used chewing tobacco.

"Come on out, guys, she's made us," Shane called, his voice loud and amused. Elliott realized that he could hear in Shane's voice a slight slurring, a bit of lack of control in volume and cadence.

He was drunk.

As Elliott and Ruthie looked around, three more boys stepped out of the shadows.

Elliott didn't know what was going on, but he knew that it wasn't good.

"So now who else is here?" Ruthie asked rhetorically. She then proceeded to answer her own question. "Leroy Hunt, Andy VanVuren, and Mark Robinson? Right? In addition to Shane Gibson, our original shadow man."

Elliott realized that Ruthie was holding her phone in her hand, and he could see the little red dot from his place next to her.

So this was that serious, then.

But how could it be? This was stupid, insipid little Warren, California, where nothing happened, Warren, whose claim to fame was that Kelsey Carlisle sometimes came to visit because her baby daddy or fiancé or whatever's family lived here.

And why?

This question was answered when Brett Carmichael came from the direction Elliott and Ruthie had come from moments before, when Elliott was enjoying watching Ruthie run in her dress and sandals, and thinking that her laugh sounded like music.

"Where's Barb?" Shane asked.

"Waiting in my truck," Brett responded, as if it should be obvious.

"You should've seen these two, Brett," Leroy interjected. "All kissy face and smoochy, all 'oh, you're gonna make me swoon,' and shit like that."

Elliott had to concentrate on unclenching the hand that wasn't holding Ruthie's, as all he wanted to do was punch the guy who'd said those words and mocked him and his darling girl.

Next to him, Ruthie felt him tense and squeezed his hand in a warning gesture.

Brett walked right up to Elliott, grasped his and Ruthie's arms, and pulled their held hands apart.

"I want to talk to you," he began, his voice a deep rumble. Even though it was very deep, and much rougher than Shane's, Elliott could hear the same slurring and rolling of sibilants in this guy's speech. He must have found some way to sneak some liquor into the dance, because Brett, too, was drunk.

Wonderful.

"If you answer right, talking's all we're gonna do, and you can just go home, okay?" Brett asked.

Ruthie stepped close to Elliott and attempted to take his hand again, and the one she'd called Andy, a stout boy with a shock of blond hair, moved and grabbed her by her arms, holding her elbows behind her.

"Oh my god, Andy, let me go, you asshole, are you crazy?" Ruthie shouted.

"Don't make me have to slap you, little girl," Brett warned.

Elliott's stomach dropped at his slurred and garbled words. He turned to his beautiful girl, who managed to look amazing, even having her arms held behind her by a lout of a high school student in a dark parking lot.

"Please, darling girl, don't," he begged, his voice quiet.

Ruthie looked at him and stopped struggling and shouting.

Brett looked at Elliott, unwilling admiration on his face. "Wow, you English prick, I'm impressed. Nice control." He clapped his hands together once.

"So, back to my questions," he said, smiling at Elliott.

He cocked his fist back, and punched Elliott, hard, in the stomach.

Elliott bent over and went down to his knees.

"Do I have your attention?"

Elliott nodded, and tried to rise to his feet, but had a little trouble, so the boy Ruthie had called Mark, who was tall, thin, and had dark hair came forward and helped him up, continuing to hold him after, both to help him stay up and to make sure he didn't try to pull anything, probably.

"Okay," Brett said, beaming. "First question, maybe only question, depending on how you answer: Have you fucked my little girl Ruthie over there?"

"Oh my fucking god, are you kidding me?" Ruthie shouted. She began to struggle again. "Don't answer him, Elliott. Don't you fucking answer him."

Next she spoke directly to Brett. "That is so none of your fucking business, you walking bag of pus-filled retardation! My sex life has nothing to do with you, you living ad for retro-active abortion!

"Goddammit, Andy, you fucking cockwomble, let go of me right this fucking minute!"

Even under the awful circumstances, and even though his stomach felt like a bag of broken crockery, Elliott smiled.

"Whooee, Brett, your girl's got quite the mouth on her," Shane commented. "You let her suck your dick with that mouth?"

"I never sucked his tiny little dick," Ruthie shouted. "I wouldn't suck it if I were dying of thirst and it ejaculated water!"

Now Elliott did laugh, he couldn't help it. This served the purpose of drawing attention back to him, which was good.

"I'm going to let you and your fucking potty mouth go, little girl," Brett told her, wagging his finger in her direction, "but only because you look so fucking hot in that dress when you're pissed, Jesus H. Christ."

He turned back to Elliott.

"So? You fuck her? Yes or no?"

Elliott shook his head firmly. He knew this would make Ruthie angry, but his only goal was to get her out of there safely. If he could think of a way to make them let her go, let her leave, he'd say anything, he'd do anything.

"No, I haven't fucked her," he said to underscore his point.

Brett leaned back and looked around at his friends, smiling. "Good, England, good, good answer."

He looked back at Elliott. "You touched her, anywhere? Like, you touched her tits, you touched her pussy? With your hands, with your fucking English mouth?"

"Oh-my-god," Ruthie erupted once again, and if their situation hadn't been so dire, Elliott would've simply lain down on the asphalt and had a good laugh. "NO! NO! He's not going to answer that!

"Elliott! You're not going to answer that!" She shouted in Elliott's direction. "Brett, you cretin, it's none of your business, you hear me?"

"Hey, Carmichael, you're busy over there, can I hit her?"

All heads turned to toward the boy who'd spoken.

Leroy Hunt, arguably Brett's third in command, after Shane, was smiling benignly at everyone. He was slight in size, only a bit taller than Ruthie, with a few freckles and sandy brown hair.

"You serious?" Brett asked.

"Mm hm," Leroy answered. "Why not? I'd do it open handed, of course, I wouldn't punch her or anything," he assured Brett.

Brett looked speculatively at Ruthie, who looked back at him, eyes wide, then back at Leroy. Elliott looked carefully at the boy who'd made this crazy request, and, indeed, he saw insanity in his mild and inoffensive face.
Oh dear god.

"Yeah, sure, go ahead," Brett finally said with a shrug. "Open hand, though, like you said. Don't be bruising that face. And nowhere on that bod, you hear me?"

"As if I would, Jesus," Leroy said, shaking his head as he laughed. "I've never seen anything as beautiful as Ruthie Grimaldi's body in all my life," he said as he approached her.

"Okay, Grimaldi, you ready for me?" he asked, as if they were going to share a kiss, or some other intimate act, and not the slap he was going to administer.

She stared back at him in horror, then slowly shook her head.

"Brett? Tell him not to, please," she said, looking back at her ex-boyfriend.

"Carmichael, come on," Elliott added. "There's no need, is there? I've answered all your questions. The answer to that lot is also no, I swear. All we've ever done is kiss, I swear to god. Tell him, Ruthie." He turned to Ruthie, who nodded.

"Oh, look who's all obedient all of a sudden," Brett said with a chuckle, leaning back and crossing his arms. "Go on, Hunt, this is fun."

Leroy nodded, still smiling, pulled his hand back, and slapped Ruthie, hard, the crack as his palm connected echoing in the stillness of the parking lot.

Her head turned to the side, so she was suddenly looking at the door to her chem class, where she'd broken Chad's heart. She wondered if this was karma.

"Jesus, Carmichael, stop this," Elliott begged. "You got the information you wanted, no need to be an arsehole."

"An asshole?" Brett repeated. "No, wait, I'm 'an arsehole,'" he mimicked, doing a passable job of Elliott's London accent.

He quickly hit Elliott in the face, his closed fist making a very different sound than Leroy's slap had.

"Brett! Stop!" Ruthie's voice held nothing but despair.

"Dude! Can I hit her next?" Mark spoke up.

"Why?" Brett asked. He didn't seem offended, only curious.

"Are you kidding? This bitch has turned me down and cut me off more times than I want to remember," Mark answered, lifting Ruthie painfully by her elbows.

"What the fuck, go ahead," Brett said.

"Yeah!" Mark said. "Hunt, I held her for you, you hold her for me, kay?"

"Sure," Leroy answered, moving behind Ruthie. "Might feel her tits while I'm here."

"Hey, no," Brett said, getting serious. "She's mine, dude, we talked about that."

"Right, sorry," Leroy answered, chastened.

While everyone was talking, Andy had stopped paying attention to holding Elliott's arms, and Elliott could feel his grip had loosened quite a bit.

He yanked his arms out, turned around, and delivered a roundhouse punch that started nearly from the ground to the boy who had been holding him, knocking him out with one blow.

Next, he turned to Leroy, the horrible boy who had hit his Ruthie, and who was now holding her so another person who could do the same thing. This was also the loathsome person who'd casually mentioned wanting to fondle Ruthie, to sexually assault her because he felt like it.

Elliott wanted to kill him.

Before anyone knew what was happening, Elliott had turned Leroy to face him, told Ruthie to duck, and split his already bruised knuckle to the bone punching Leroy as hard as he'd ever punched anyone in his life.

Like Andy, Leroy, who'd never really fought with anyone before, was cleanly knocked unconscious with that one punch, and went down, nearly taking Ruthie down with him because she was so close.

All of this had happened in about eight or nine seconds, and all of the alcohol they'd imbibed made everyone's reactions slow, so they didn't start to do anything until both boys were on the ground.

And at about the time that Shane, Brett, and Mark were starting to realize that things had gone terribly wrong and they'd better do something, Gordon and Linda arrived.

"Oh my god, what's going on?" Gordon asked, confused by the noise and carnage.

Linda, who was quicker on her feet, was already calling 911.

"Are you kidding me?" Brett asked, distracted by the two new arrivals. "You think your girlfriend and your faggot boy friend are going to be any help?"

He turned to Elliott, who's route to Ruthie was being blocked by Mark.

"You're dead," he intoned, pointing.

"You should all know," Linda called out, her voice surprisingly strong, "that the police are on their way. I called 911, and they said their ETA is approximately three minutes. So if you don't want to meet the police, you'd better go." She nodded for emphasis at Brett, Mark, and Shane, who'd all turned to look at her.

Again, the humor of the situation was getting to Elliott.

The three thugs looked at each other, and wordlessly began moving at a brisk trot toward their various vehicles.

As soon as they were out of the way, Elliott ran toward Ruthie and led her to the curb so he could set her down. His heart was breaking at the red abrasion on her face, and he swore to himself that he'd get revenge for it someday.

Gordon and Linda hovered, knowing that this wasn't the time for questions.

Ruthie looked up at Elliott, and she was still so beautiful, even under these horrible circumstances, that Elliott felt like his heart was flying away.

"Boy," she said, pulling him down to sit next to her so she could lean on his shoulder, "you really know how to show a girl a good time, don't you?"