Crossing Paths

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Mariah111384
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Postby Mariah111384 » Fri Jan 14, 2005 7:51 pm

<span style='color:blue'>Disclaimer: This is NOT my story this is my friend Christina's and I'm just helping her promote it so just so we're clear once again, I did not write it. I'm just posting it under my name since she's not registered here. Since the fiction site is down and we don't know why that is still, she'd loved to get some feed back from you guys. This is an excellent story and I'm proud to post it here. Please leave her feedback! :)

Summary: Catherine Saunders is different. She's sarcastic, pessimistic, and has an unnatural obsession for Friends. Justin Timberlake is good-looking, could have any girl he wanted and has been called egotistical more than once. What happens when their paths cross?

Prologue

Happy New Year


December 31st 2003

"Come out."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

She crossed the room and threw herself down on the couch beside me. "You'll have a good time."

"No I won't, and I'm not coming, so just give it up, Di."

I knew my monosyllabic answers were pissing her off greatly, but I really didn't see the point in going if all I would end up doing was standing in the corner, tentatively sipping some crap beer. And plus, I don't have anything to wear apart from a Paula Abdul-inspired dress my mom gave me for Christmas which actually had bells on it. I might have considered it, but as my brother kindly told me, the peachy color made me look like a giant blimp, so I guess not.

Diane threw her hands up beside me and groaned in annoyance. "So you're making me go on my own?"

"No," I said, getting up and heading towards the kitchen to refill my cup of hot chocolate. "I'm making you go with your boyfriend."

She followed me into the kitchen and hopped up onto the island, sighing. "But I can't stand the thought of you being on your own at New Years, Cat."

I shrugged and reached for the packet of cookies in the cupboard. "Just go with Joe...the hillbilly," I added quietly, snorting slightly.

Diane shot me a stern look. "His name is JOSEPH, and he is NOT a hillbilly."

"Sure, and I'm not Catherine Saunders."

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, at the moment, you're just a plain b’itch."

I sighed and put down the milk I was holding. "Look, I'm sorry. But I was up 'til like, three, with that pissy article, I'm really tired."

"So you're not coming?" she asked, sighing again.

I shook my head. "No."

Her face softened and I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. "Look, I'm sorry. But you can go on your own, you'll have a great time. I'm probably just gonna hit the sack."

She nods and eyes me I can practically see the battle going on inside her head. "Well, as long as you're sure..."

I snort. "Trust me, I am."

"Okay," she makes a hesitant move towards the door. "But you know where we are if you change your mind."

I nodded and sipped my drink. She leans into give me a quick hug. I hugged her back as best I could with a cup in my hands and felt a twinge of jealousy pass through me, noticing how wonderful she looks. Not that that was anything new of course, Diane always looked great. B’itch.

"I'll see you next year!" I called out as I watched her slender figure walk down the hall.

She turned around and flashed me a grin. "Happy New Year, Cat!"

I smiled and her and gave her a wave before turning back into the apartment, my smile leaving my face instantly. New Years. What a sh**ty holiday. It's merely a time to reflect on how little I've done, how little I do, and how little I'm going to do in my life.

I know what you're thinking. Pessimistic much? I know, I know. But I've always hated New Years and, more often than not, I'll end up in my room, watching Friends, snuggled up in my bunny slippers with a box of chocolates as my only companion. So sad, so sad. I'm fully aware of that, trust me, but that's the way I live my life. Put me in a party situation and I'm lost.

Socializing? Right, there's more chance of the Beatles getting back together. So what do I do? Go and pick a best friend who's gorgeous, funny, kind and could make friends with a pair of socks, that's what I do.

I wish I could hate Diane, I really do. If it was anyone else, I probably would. She's just about perfect and I pale in comparison. We're so different, people wonder how on earth we can be such great friends. When we go to parties, I'm the boring one whilst she flirts her way through the crowd, probably looking magnificent as she does so. Me, on the other hand, look like the ugly duckling that never turned into a swan and my idea of conversation is discussing whether Ross and Rachel really will get together.

Of course, if I even hinted at my feelings of inadequacy around her, she'd go crazy and probably do something really sweet like make a list of all my good points. I've tried to do that before and let's just say, I got stuck on number one.

See what New Years do to me? They make me all depressed and pessimistic and stuff. Not a huge difference from my usual self, but I find it intensifies around these joyful holiday seasons. I just don't do joyful. I do dry, sarcastic, bitter. That's my game.

Maybe this year will be the start of something new. Maybe it will be the start to something new for me. Maybe I'll lose those 15 pounds that have somehow nestled on my hips over the holidays. Okay, okay, they were there before, but I would not be surprised if I really had gained another 15 pounds. Maybe this year will be different.
Nah.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another day another dollar. Another day another party. Another day another girl.

God, no wonder the papers call me a p rick. Trust me, I wasn't always like this. I wasn't always so...male. But I guess after, what is it, eight years of partying? Yeah, eight years. Well, I guess after eight years of partying, it gets a little old. The past year has just all meshed into one collective memory, and that memory is of me with a pounding headache from the night before trying to understand the German reporter who's asking me questions in terrible English.
I glance over to where Trace is sitting. He's scanning the group of girls that have magically decided to dance right in front of us. He's got a slightly bored look on his face and he keeps on looking at his watch. Sh'it, did I even ask him if he wanted to come with me tonight? No, but this is Trace, right? He never turns down a party.

Actually, I'm not so sure anymore. Wasn't it just the other day he sort of muttered how old this whole club scene was getting? Can't say I disagree with him. It is a bit tiresome. I've gotten so used to girls spilling out of their dresses, nothing they do surprises me anymore. I've gotten so used to drinking myself into an oblivion every night, I can't wake up without taking a pain killer. I've gotten so used to seeing people conspicuously snort something in the corner of my eye and if they're not, I wonder why. This is screwed up. Really screwed up. Sh'it, what the hell happened to me?

It's probably just New Year. Doesn't everyone get depressed around New Year? Well, technically, no. I mean, last year I was celebrating the release of my album and I was deliriously happy. Before I can dwell on the sudden change, I hear a high-pitched squeal behind my.

"Justin!" I mentally cursed God for making voices like screeching tires and turned to the direction the sound is coming from.

"Hey girls," I said, sending them a little grin that I hate doing but everyone else seems to like.

"Havin' a good time?"

They giggle for reasons unknown to me. "Great Justin, just great. You?"

I shrug and smile again. Do I even know these girls? I vaguely recognize one from a photo shoot, but the other one is just standing there, looking excited as she tugs on the other girls bare arm.

"Well, Happy New Year, Justy!"

I assume they're trying to be funny by using the name, 'Justy', and turn away from them, scowling as I hear the sound of their heels become fainter as they walk away. I shouldn't have anything against those girls, they haven't done anything wrong to me. But for some reason, just seeing them pisses me off. Why did I even come tonight? All these stupid VIP areas are so hyped up. Really, they're basically just a few extra couches and a few crappy tables that have marks on them were people, obviously drunk out of their minds, got up on them to dance.

When was the last time I did that? I dunno, it's the kinda thing I did when I was 17 and just thought I was the sh'it because I was allowed to drink at such a young age. My mom subtly hinted over Christmas I should take some time off, relax, bring my head out of the clouds for a while. She does that every now and then, basically when I'm being an a'ss and she thinks I need to quit the celebrity thing for a while, just to bring my ego down a little. Maybe she's right. I know a thousand guys would kill to be in my position right now, but quite frankly I think if I see another girl with hair extensions who is wearing a barely-there outfit, my head will explode. That's not healthy, right? A girl is clearly eyeing me from her spot on the dance floor. She's quite pretty, and man, even I can't deny that body's hot, but she looks like all the others. No, I won't bother her. I think I'm a little sick of the one night stand thing anyway.

Woah, I really need some time off.</span>

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Mariah111384
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Postby Mariah111384 » Mon Jan 17, 2005 2:22 pm

<span style='color:blue'>Chapter 1

Just Another Day


Have you ever noticed how much you can tell about a person from their grocery shopping? Who’s on a diet, who’s having a party, who’s budgeting. It’s always fun at the beginning of a new year, because everyone is sticking to their resolutions and drinking wheat grass juice with sticks of celery so they don’t break the inevitable “No Chocolateâ€￾ pledge. The only reason I care is because I have to work at, “Shelby Forest General Store-Where kind hearts and quality food can be found in the same aisle!â€￾ and it's my job to stare at other peoples’ shopping.

Actually, the food barely scrapes mediocre and everyone who works or shops here looks suicidal. Me included, of course. I’m one of the ashamed employees who spends half her time hiding behind the soup tins, making sure people don’t recognize me. Terrible, I know. I should be proud of my job, right? Well, I am…of my other job, that is. I’m a part time journalist for this crappy local paper called, “The Daily Buzzâ€￾, but due to the unreliability of that job, I was forced, literally forced, to start working at this crappy little store to pay my rent. And when I say part time, I mean they call me every now and then to record some fascinating event, such as the local pie competition, and then don’t call me for months at a time.

I guess this job isn’t too bad. It sure as hell has his perks. For instance if someone looks like they’re in a rush and needs you to hurry up, it’s always fun to spend as long as you can counting out change and if they complain, burst into tears and claim you’re boyfriend just left you and you’re just trying to do something right for once, making them begin to gush apologies left right and center. Or if they’re buying anything that could cause embarrassment, like an old New Kids on the Block poster or something, you can spend as long as you can looking for a price tag, before finally screaming across the shop to a co-worker, claiming you need the price as the rest of the shoppers turn to see the crimson person who would buy such a terrible thing. And obviously, one of the best things is the constant b'itching and gossiping going on between us employees; you’d be amazed how much we know. Did you know Mrs Sanders actually had an affair with her sister’s fiancé a few years back? No, I didn’t either, but Denise whispered it into my ear the second I came in this morning. Oh, and apparently some popstar is back in town, taking some time to himself and making sure his priorities are straight. Yeah, there’s another word for that - Rehab.

Oh woah, what’s up with this dude? He’s just slammed a six-pack and some frozen pizzas onto the counter as though his life depends on it and is now staring at me with a bored look on his face, waiting for me to scan them. What an a**hole.

“Hi,â€￾ I say as brightly as I can, just to piss him off.

His half-closed eyes center on me. “Hey,â€￾ he mutters.

I take my time, pretending I don’t know where the barcodes are on the products before slowly scanning them through. I look up at him to see whether it’s bothering him, but he looks completely indifferent to the situation. He’s obviously in no hurry.

“That’ll be $15 and twenty two cents, please,â€￾ I say chirpily, still trying to provoke a reaction out of him. Come on, man, help me out here. Give me a sigh, or a roll of the eyes, anything.

He pulls out a wad of cash from his back pocket and my eyes widen as I see how much money he has. Since when did guys in their twenties casually carry around about $100 dollars in their back pockets?

He hands me a twenty. “There you go.â€￾

I take a slight intake of breath. Is that…no, it couldn’t be. God, I think it is. It’s Justin Timberlake. The popstar everyones talking about because he’s taking a year off or something. Well that explains why he's here, and it really shouldn't effect me but damn, if I was five years younger I would have melted into a puddle of mush right about now. Luckily I’m not and I haven’t, but he’s still mildly attractive, with light brown, curly hair that is more styled than mine, wearing a pair of loose jeans with a T-shirt. He looks cute and casual, but he’s nothing special, especially now that I see him up close. Oh well, who cares. I hand him his change and send him a courteous smile, seeing no point in trying to irritate him now I know he impenetrable. The man has had to put up with screaming teenagers girls his whole life for Christ sake; he’s as hard as nails.

“Thanks for coming, have a nice day,â€￾ I murmur unenthusiastically.

“You too, bye,â€￾ he replies, and with that, my excitement of the day picked up his bag and strode out of the shop, turning heads as he went.

I was more of a Backstreet fan anyway.

---------------------------------------

F'ucking TV, why won’t it f'ucking work? The first time in eight years I actually get the chance to watch TV, and the God damn thing won’t turn on. Figures.

“You might wanna try switching that on, J.â€￾

Trace. I turn to look at him, only to see his smirking face and his hands dug deep in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe. Arrogant prick. “Don’t you think I’ve tried that, Trace?â€￾

He shrugs and his short figure saunters over to me. “I dunno, seems like the kinda stupid thing you’d do.â€￾

Thanks Trace, thanks a lot. I love having you as a friend.

“And anyway,â€￾ he carries on, “You don’t have time to watch TV when there’s a million and one missed calls from Johnny on the machine.â€￾

“What does he want?â€￾

“To make sure you haven’t changed your mind, bla bla,â€￾ he rolls his eyes. “Same old thing he’s been saying all month. I just stopped answering the phone because I knew it would be him.â€￾

I roll my eyes. “Christ, it’s not a life altering decision. I’m just taking some time off.â€￾

Trace shrugs again. “Anyway, you need to return his calls, otherwise he’ll never leave you alone.â€￾

“When did he call?â€￾ I ask, tiredly.

“When you were at the grocery store.â€￾

“But I was only there for half an hour.â€￾

“Yeah, and he still managed to call five times,â€￾ he says, throwing the phone towards me.

I catch it and groan. I don’t want to deal with Johnny right now; the guy can be such a woman with all that whining he does.

Suddenly, the phone began to ring violently in my hands. I wearily pick it up.

“Hello?â€￾

“Justin, it’s Johnny.â€￾

Crap. I really should change my number. </span>

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Postby xoinnocentjrtgrl » Mon Jan 17, 2005 4:47 pm

Im liking it so far :nod:

More soon, please?

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Postby whatchagot4meMRJT » Mon Jan 17, 2005 7:29 pm

Oooh, I really like this. Another good story for me to enjoy. I see that the international popstar role has really taken it's toll on Justin. I think it's good that he's home and able to relax. If only Johnny would ease up on the calling ... damn, man! :no: :lol:

I like how Cat entertains herself at the store. :rofl: Maybe Justin will buy condoms and she can do a price check over the loud speaker. :rofl: Oh, boy! :lol:

Can't wait to read some more. :nod:

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Postby xoinnocentjrtgrl » Mon Jan 17, 2005 9:54 pm

NO! Like, what ive Elisha(trace's gf) needed tampons.. and J had to go get them! :rofl: Comedy

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Postby whatchagot4meMRJT » Mon Jan 17, 2005 10:06 pm

We need a price check on the Tampax Pearls. :rofl:

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Postby xoinnocentjrtgrl » Mon Jan 17, 2005 10:40 pm

Can someone go get an extra large pack of Tampax Pearls? Bring it to Isle 4! Thank you!

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Postby Mariah111384 » Thu Jan 20, 2005 4:44 pm

<span style='color:blue'>Chapter 2

The Condom Incident

You know how they say a watched pot never boils? Well, I’m beginning to think that may be right. I’ve been put on nightshift because Andy couldn’t come in today and I’m literally counting the seconds until I get to leave. I hate nightshifts, they tend to be full of psychos who wait until the dead of the night to come out and get their shopping done.

One of the said psychos comes up to me. His pale skin only highlights the bags under his eyes and his eyes seem sunken in his head. His cheeks look so gaunt I wouldn’t be surprised if he said he hadn’t eaten in days.

“Hi,â€￾ he growls at me.

“Hi,â€￾ I reply, my smile faltering slightly.

He puts a bottle of whisky on the table and I fight back the temptation to roll my eyes. He’s probably some crazy alcoholic who only crawls out of his dumpster at night to get his poisoned liquid to fuel his addiction. Or maybe I’m just dramatic and have had too much time to think about it.

He dumps a twenty on the counter and rushes off before I can even give him change. I shrug and put it in the till, wondering how much the clock had moved now.

A coughing throat causes me to look up. “Hi, welcome to Shelby Forest General Store, what can I do for you?â€￾

The teenage boy coughs again and looks at his hands. “Hi, I’m just looking for…um….â€￾

Oh, here we go. Every Saturday night, like clockwork, this happens. How stupid does this juvenile think I am? He obviously wants some condoms. Why else would there be a nervous and dishevelled teen standing in front of me at almost one in the morning? Give me a break kid, I’m smarter than you think.

“What can I do for you, sir?â€￾ I ask as sweetly as I can. I think I’ll let him sweat it out for a bit.

“Um…I was looking for um…toothpaste,â€￾ he finishes lamely.

I grin. “You’ll find that in aisle three, sir.â€￾

He glances out of the door, presumably to his girlfriend who is waiting in the car for him to get back. By the looks of things, it’ll be a little while longer. “And also, er…â€￾

Urgh. All his “oohingâ€￾ and “erringâ€￾ is beginning to annoy me and I see another man join the queue. “I hate to rush you, but you’re holding up the line.â€￾

“Condoms,â€￾ he whispers.

“Sorry?â€￾ I ask, leaning forward, feigning ignorance.

“Condoms,â€￾ he repeats louder, his spotted cheeks turning a crimson red.

“Oh,â€￾ I say, as though I hadn’t expected this at all. “What size?â€￾

He looks at me in surprise. “Well, I guess…how big is a medium? Like, how many inches?â€￾

My brows furrow and I try my best to look appalled. “Sir, I meant size of packet.â€￾
“Oh,â€￾ he says, his cheeks turning even darker and he bites his lip. I should ask what flavor, just to really get to him, but I think the poor kid’s gone through enough, especially when I can see he’s about to dart out of the shop and never return. And plus, I’m clearly about to burst out laughing as is the person behind him and that would just ruin the illusion.

“You’ll find them in that corner over there,â€￾ I point towards a far corner of the shop, which he and his friends probably talked about as the corner that held the key to them becoming men.

I’m still giggling to myself when the next customer puts his stuff down. “That was mean,â€￾ he says, spreading out his items on the counter as a broad grin adorned his face. “He’s going to have deep-rooted sexual problems because of that.â€￾

I look up, smiling and almost stop when I see the popstar staring back at me. I shrug. “At least the therapist will have something to work with.â€￾

The popstar laughs. “Oh, so you’re actually doing him a favor?â€￾

I smile back at him. “In my book, yes.â€￾

“Interesting book,â€￾ he replies, nodding before flashing me his enviably white teeth.

I shrug nonchalantly before chuckling and beginning to scan his items. “So what brings you here in the dead of the night? Kinda a strange time to be picking up vegetables, don’t you think?â€￾

“I guess,â€￾ he says, beginning to pack his shopping. “But it’s easier this way, less people around.â€￾

I nod. “Ah, I see. Very Mission Impossible of you.â€￾

He looks up at me and grins. Well, that’s refreshing. Someone actually thinks I’m funny. Most of the people in this town take the phrase “Sarcasm is the lowest form of witâ€￾ very seriously, and to appreciate my humor, it’s important to be open-minded and preferably hard to insult, otherwise I can reduce someone to tears without even meaning to.

I accept his ten dollars and fifteen cents and slip them into the machine and when I turn back, his eyes are on my chest. Woah, buddy boy, don’t think so. If he thinks just because he’s rich, famous and good-looking I’m going to let him stare freely at my breasts, then he is unfortunately mistaken.

“Cat,â€￾ he says.

Ah, I see. He was looking at my nametag, that’s okay. I should have guessed really, I doubt I’m his “typeâ€￾. His type being anorexic blondes of course and no, I’m not bitter.

I look down at the piece of plastic with ‘Cat Saunders’ imprinted on it. “Yep, that’s my name.â€￾

“Is that your name?â€￾

I roll my eyes. “No, I just said it was for fun.â€￾ What a stupid question.

He shakes his head. “No, I meant, is that an abbreviation for Catherine or Katy or something?â€￾

I nod, not seeing why it matters. “Catherine. That’s my full name, but no one uses it.â€￾

“So you’re Catherine Saunders?â€￾

“Yes,â€￾ I answer slowly, trying to figure out why I’m suddenly talking to someone with the mental capacity of a four year old.

A smile spreads across his face. “As in Catherine, “The mayor is actually using the rise in taxes as a façade to hide his prostitute habitâ€￾, Saunders?â€￾

Oh god. That was the article I had spent hours on before New Year. It had turned out causing quite a stir, which I found hilarious. It was no secret the mayor was a wannabe Hugh Hefner but apparently to say this aloud in this tiny town was like saying Elvis wasn’t really the King. I almost lost my job for that one.

But it was a political piece, what the hell was this ignorant, my-favorite-color-is-baby-blue popstar doing reading it? “You read that?â€￾

He nods. “I sure did. I thought it was pretty ballsy of you, for sure.â€￾

“Should I take that as a twisted compliment?â€￾

“It was a great article.â€￾

Oh god, why do I have to start blushing now? “Thanks.â€￾

“I especially liked the way you compared his speeches to being very slowly burned alive,â€￾ he raises his eyebrows and gives me a stern look.

I giggle and shrug. “I only speak the truth.â€￾

He laughs along with me until a timid cough interrupts us. Oh great, it’s Condom Boy, back with his little stash deviously hidden by a packet of tissues. The popstar glances over his shoulder at him before turning back to me.

“Looks like you’ve got more pressing issues on your hand.â€￾

Getting a little boy laid faster? Not what I would consider a pressing issue, but I simply raise an eyebrow at him and turn to the poor guy who’s now looking at the door as though he’s expecting his mother to burst in.

“Well, I’ll see you later, Cat.â€￾ I like how he says my name, all throaty and casual, as though we’ve known each other for years.

“Bye,â€￾ I reply softly as I greet the boy with a small smile.

“And by the way!â€￾ I leave my customer hanging to turn to where the popstar is standing. “I’m Justin.â€￾

Psht, yeah, as if I didn’t know. “Is that your full name?â€￾ I tease, grinning at him.

He winks at me and leaves the shop. Woah, hold up. He winked at me? As in actually winked at me? Not only that, but he actually looked mildly cute whilst doing it. Only he could pull something like that off without looking like he had conjunctivitis.

I think I’ll do nightshift more often.

-------------------------------------------------

“Where the hell have you been?â€￾

“Trace, you sound more like my mother every day,â€￾ I say, pinching his cheek as though he was a five year old.

“Quit it,â€￾ he replies, slapping my hand away. “You were away for ages.â€￾

I roll my eyes. “I was at the store, Trace. And just to remind you, we live on the mean streets of Tennessee. Nothing could happen to me even if I wanted it to.â€￾

“Well then what took you so long?â€￾ he asks, helping himself to an apple from one of the bags.

“I got to talkin’ with the girl at the counter and I guess I was there longer then I thought.â€￾

Trace raises an eyebrow. “Oh, the girl at the counter, eh?â€￾

Trace is so narrow-minded. “Yeah the girl at the counter, Trace.â€￾

“Did you get her number?â€￾

“It wasn’t like that. We were just talking.â€￾

“Woah,â€￾ Trace holds up his hands in shock. “You actually talked to a girl without hitting on her? What’s wrong with you, man?â€￾ he asks, grabbing my arms and shaking me.

Trace is such an ass, even more so when he’s trying to be funny, which he is now. Is it so impossible for me to just talk to a girl without thinking about getting into her pants? Well, yeah, maybe, but that’s only because all the girls I’ve been surrounded with in the past year have been amazingly gorgeous, which Cat wasn’t. It would be a little harsh to call her ugly, so I’ll settle on average. Yeah, she’s average. She had plain brown hair that went down to just past her shoulders. Let’s see, oh yeah, her eyes were quite nice, blue, when you would have expected brown. She was pretty, but in a completely standard way, nothing about her stood out. And she wasn’t exactly fat, she’s more…dumpy. Not obese, but a few months in the gym wouldn’t hurt.

God, I should just stop before I reach the brinks of a new level of asshole-ness. I really should be thinking about what a nice conversation we had instead of reasons for not sleeping with her, right?

“Hey Trace, did you read that article in the paper I told you about?â€￾

“Which one?â€￾ asks Trace from in the fridge, where he’s putting stuff away.

“The one about local politics.â€￾

Trace snorts and re-emerges. “No.â€￾

“Oh. ‘Cause it was the girl that wrote that.â€￾

“Really?â€￾ replies Trace, in a voice telling me exactly how UNexcited he is to hear this.

“Yeah, we had quite a nice chat,â€￾ I say as I scrunch up our bags.

“Did you just say chat?â€￾

“Shut up,â€￾ I say, punching him in the stomach as I head over to the living room and throw myself down on the couch, suddenly feeling incredibly tired.

That article of Cat’s is still lying on the table, where I left it a few days ago. She’s kinda cool, and it wouldn’t exactly hurt to have someone other than Trace to hang around with whilst I’m home. Maybe I’ll go round to the store tomorrow to see her. But I don’t know…lately every female friendship I have has pretty much bitten the dust because I’ve ended up doing something really stupid, like falling in love with them.

Nah, I'm safe. Nothing like that would never happen with someone like Cat.

Please leave her feedback.</span> :D

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Postby whatchagot4meMRJT » Thu Jan 20, 2005 6:33 pm

Very interesting ... Justin is a lot more intelligent than he is usually perceived to be. Intelligence in a man is a good thing. Cat should find that aspect of his personality refreshing.

Loved the teen buying the condom. :P I would've done a price check just to freak him out even more. :rofl: Make him regret the day he decided to be sexually active. :lol:

Justin's got to get over the fact that a pretty face doesn't guarantee a happy relationship. :nod: I could see he and Cat working well together as a couple ... time will tell.


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