Chapter Four



"Alouette, gentille alouette…" sang Taylor, blowing on his fingers and stamping his feet.

"We're going to England, not France," Zac reminded him dully, glancing up at the Departures display.

"Okay," shrugged Taylor. "Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner, that I love London town…"

Zac raised his eyebrows. "You're a very strange individual, Tay."

"I'm trying to keep warm," explained Taylor. "In case you haven't noticed, Newark airport is not the warmest place in the world, especially not at five thirty in the morning."

"Yeah, I noticed." Zac pulled his fleece tight around his body. "God, I wish Ike would hurry up," he muttered, shivering. "How long can it take to check in four suitcases and get four seats?"

"You'd be surprised." Taylor scanned the crowd. "Oh, here comes Rhia, at least."

"With the coffees?" asked Zac hopefully.

"Well, since that's what she went to get, I'd say it's a safe bet that it's coffee in the polystyrene cups, yep." He squinted peering closely at Rhia's approaching figure. "And I think she's got jelly doughnuts too."

"Good, I'm starving." Zac stood on tiptoe and craned his neck in an attempt to see the front of the check-in line. "God, where's Ike?!"

"Coffee and jelly doughnuts!" sang Rhia, shuffling up to them. She handed them each a steaming, white polystyrene cup and a plastic box containing a sugary doughnut. "God, is he still not back yet?" she asked, gesturing to the check-in line.

"Nope." Taylor bit into his doughnut, raspberry jelly oozing out the other end and all the way down his chin. "Mmm…sugar…"

Rhia laughed. "You're like a big kid," she teased.

"He is a big kid!" chuckled Isaac, seemingly materializing beside her.

"About time!" snorted Zac. "How long can it take you?"

"Well, check in your own suitcase next time," shrugged Isaac, taking his coffee and doughnut from Rhia. "Is nobody else here yet?" he asked, scanning the crowd nervously. "I don't want us to miss our flight."

"We won't, honey." Rhia patted his arm soothingly. "It's only five thirty five."

"The flight's at five fifty," Isaac reminded her. "You're supposed to check in like an hour before."

"We didn't," pointed out Taylor, popping his last morsel of doughnut into his mouth and licking his sugar frosted fingers.

"Only because the line was so long. We were here, though."

"Ike, look." Rhia pointed into the crowd of people. "Isn't that them?"

"Where?" Isaac stared, but he couldn't see anyone he recognized. Then, four girls suddenly emerged from nowhere out of the crowd, running towards them, Jamie Jenkinson, as always, leading them.

"Hey!" Jamie grinned, stopping abruptly in front of them. "We thought you'd be late," she told them, nodding knowingly.

"Us late?" Taylor raised his eyebrows. "What about you?"

"Oh, we've been here for ages," Niamh told him breezily. "We've been hanging out in the bathroom."

"Why?" asked Isaac, looking at the petite Irish girl like she was insane.

"Jennie's sick," explained Rachelle, a little breathlessly.

Jennifer smiled apologetically. "I ate some prawns last night. I don't think they were cooked properly…or maybe they were off…" She trailed off, face paling and eyes widening. "Excuse me!" she gasped, running back in the direction of the bathroom.

"Is she gonna be okay?" spoke up Zac, joining in the conversation for the first time since the girls had arrived. "I don't want her hurling all over me or anything."

"She'll be okay, " Rachelle told him quietly, looking directly at him.

Zac looked away, training his gaze on the floor. He could feel Rachelle's dark eyes boring into him, but he tried his best to ignore it. That girl could touch far too many raw nerves for his liking.

Taylor checked his watch. "We'd better hurry. We'll be boarding soon."

"Where are you guys sitting?" asked Jamie, reapplying her lip gloss as they began to walk towards the Departure Lounge, Jennie having returned from the bathroom.

"Uh, up front," replied Isaac.

"We're in back," Rachelle put in, swinging her bag over her shoulder. "Next to the bathroom," she added, smiling ironically at Jennifer.

"You're saying you've never hurled?" grumbled Jennie, hauling her huge teddy bear bag onto her back.

"Never," Rachelle told her seriously.

"Never?" Jennie's perfectly arched eyebrows drew together.

"No, never. I'm actually a computerized robot. I don't do anything embarrassing. I don't hurl, I don't break wind, I never get food stuck in my teeth, I don't-"

Jennie rolled her eyes. "Oh, very droll, Shell. Hand me the needle till I stitch my sides back up."

Zac trailed along, walking slightly behind Jennifer and Rachelle, listening to the repertoire between them. He smiled, realizing that Rachelle's smart-ass answer had been a typical thing that he would say. Then the smile fell from his face as he remembered that this was the girl that could make him feel like shit within approximately five point two seconds of the conversation starting.

He shook his head, tossing his short blond hair as he followed his brothers on to the airplane. Settling into his window seat, he decided straight away that he wanted his music on. At least that way, he wouldn't have to hold a conversation.

He pulled out his Discman and 'Enema Of The State' by Blink 182 and slid the CD into the player. As he tipped the box up to put it back in his rucksack, a folded up piece of white A4 paper fluttered out. He frowned, stooping over to pick it up. Scrawled across the front in untidy, looping handwriting was Zac - Private.

"Jessica," he muttered, recognizing the script instantly. He looked towards the aisle to see if his brother had noticed Jessica's interpretation of airmail, but, beside him, Taylor was flicking through the British Airways In-flight Magazine. In the two seats in front of them, Isaac and Rhia were intent in conversation. Shrugging, Zac shifted in his seat, turning his back to Taylor and unfolded the letter, beginning to read it.


Dear Zac,

Hey, it's me, Jess. Remember, your sister? I'm the oldest one, you know, the one born just after you. I feel I have to remind you of this, because I guess you've forgotten about us. Were you actually home this Christmas? Oh, wait, I remember now. You were the ass that ruined Christmas Morning for Mackie and Zoë, weren't you?

Okay, I'm sorry. I promised myself I wouldn't get mad at you, but it's hard, Zac. What's up with you right now? Why are you being such an ass? You're not usually like this. What's wrong? Why won't you talk to me about it? Why won't you talk to Ike and Tay? You know Tay. He's beside himself. He's so worried, Zac. I found him wandering around in the garden at like four in the morning last week. He said he'd been thinking about you. It's not fair what you're doing to him. I know, I know, he pisses you off because he's so… How do you describe him? So…Good Samaritan type. And it bugs me sometimes too, but that's just the way he is. All he wants to do is make sure you're okay. He doesn't understand why you're like this.

And, as for Ike, well, I heard him talking to Mom, and he's pretty upset too. He says he doesn't want to kick you out of the business, but if you keep acting like that, he doesn't have any choice. I'm warning you Zac, you're on your last legs here. And I hope you read this before they break.

You hurt us too, when you came home. Avie and I, we were so excited. Our big brothers were coming home! And Zac, I was especially looking forward to seeing you. Don't get me wrong, I love Ike and Tay to bits, but they're getting very responsible now. (i.e. boring!) But they are getting older. So I thought we could have some fun. So did Avie. And Mackie, well, how many times did he ask you to play kickball with him? Or to shoot some hoops? Or to play some baseball? And you blew him off, just like you've blown everyone else off.

I don't know if you think you're too good for us or something right now, but believe me, Zac, you're not. You need us as much as we need you. We're the Hansons. There are nine of us. Not eight. Each of us has our own part to play and you know it. Your part is NOT to be the asshole and to ruin Christmas vacation for everyone. Just learn your lines properly next time! There'll be a time when you'll really need us. I know you don't believe that, but it'll come, as surely as the sun rises each day. (Sorry, couldn't resist it!) And you know what? We'll be here. We love you, Zac. As shitty as you are right now, we all love you very much. I just wanted you to know that. Remember it.

I have to go now. It's almost three a.m. and you're leaving soon. I figure you'll be angry on the plane, so I'll put this in your Blink CD. You'll see it there.

Take care, Zac, and remember - Ike and Tay love you too, so even if you feel like you don't love them back, don't abuse their love for you.

I love you, (even if you don't deserve it)

Jess xxx



Zac sighed, folding up the letter and throwing it into his bag. Was Jessica right? Had he been such an ass during Christmas? He hadn't meant to ruin it for Mackie and Zoë… He'd just been so tired, and getting up at five in the morning to see if some fictional fat guy in a red suit had left presents was dumb. Besides, it wasn't the same. Only the two youngest ones had believed in Santa Claus, and now Mackie didn't either, thanks to him. But he was seven years old. It was about time he knew the truth. Fair enough, Zoë was allowed to believe, but she was four. What difference would it have made to her if he'd had a couple of extra hours to sleep?

He felt bad now, about blowing off his younger siblings, but things had been hectic. He'd spent a lot of time with Libby and Matt. His brothers and sisters weren't dying of a terminal illness; Libby was, and it made him sad, knowing that she might not be there next time he went home.

It was strange, he thought, watching the terminal building whiz past as the plane taxied down the runway. He'd spent the last two years of his life hating Libby with a vengeance, blaming her for his feeling so guilty about Corey's death. Then, the feelings of hatred and contempt had gradually faded, but, simultaneously, so had the importance of Libby's role in his life. He'd gone from loving her, or at least thinking he'd loved her, to hating her, to not caring. God, humans could be fickle.

But seeing her again had brought it all back. Why he'd been so infatuated with Libby Reynolds, why she had been so important to him, and also why she'd made his blood boil with rage. She had been a selfish, selfish person. He closed his eyes, recalling the day, almost exactly two years ago, when they'd last had a proper conversation. It had been just before the new Millennium. Ike and Tay had gone to the party at Neil and Rhia's. He felt a wave of sadness wash over him as he realized just how much things had changed. Neil and Rhia. The Davidson twins. Now Rhia didn't even know where Neil was. He'd gone to live with his dad after he and his mom had a huge fight over the telephone bill, and Rhia hadn't heard from him in a long time. She didn't keep in contact with her dad. He was a drunken bum, she said, and she was better off without him.

Zac smiled, opening his eyes and focusing on Rhia's long, blond ponytail, snaking over the back of the seat. She was a strong person. A little insecure and, at the same time, fragile, especially when it came to Isaac. She seemed certain that he would just dump her one day for a leggy supermodel. Zac snorted. Like Ike could score a leggy supermodel. He had more chance of winning Miss World. But despite her insecurities over their relationship, she was an otherwise fundamentally strong person, and Zac admired her for remaining pretty much sane despite all she'd been through. He knew she missed her twin brother a lot; he'd heard her crying to Isaac about it more than once, but still, she seemed like she was doing great; like she had inner strength.

With a sinking feeling, Zac realized that Rhia's inner strength had probably been a result of that night as well. The night he'd been sick in bed and Libby came to see him for the last time, Ike and Tay had gone to the party at Neil and Rhia's. A party which had not ended happily. He remembered Isaac and Taylor returning home, both a deathly white color, Isaac shaking and crying, Taylor gently smoothing down his hair and hugging him in an attempt to comfort him. Zac had been sitting, wallowing in self-pity over Libby's visit, when she'd told him that there was nothing to stop them forming a relationship now, and replaying every moment of their conversation in his head, reliving over and over again the exact second when they'd said goodbye forever, when his two brothers had slowly shuffled into the room.

It had taken a while for Isaac to tell them everything, speaking had been hard, but eventually, he'd stopped crying and managed to tell them shakily what had happened. Rhia's boyfriend, Jake, had almost raped her, locking her and Isaac in her bedroom and raving on and on at them about all his psychotic fantasies. He'd threatened Isaac with a knife when he'd yelled for help, too. Zac shuddered, remembering how shaken up Isaac and Taylor had been. It hadn't been a great night, although it was probably a very significant one; he knew he'd never forget it as long as he lived.

Seeing Libby again had brought back the memories of the conversation they'd had that night, and consequently, the other events of December 28th, 1999. Comparing the thin, frail Libby he'd spent so much time with over the past week with the Libby he remembered had been a shock. She was so different. Quieter, shyer, not very confident. The old Libby had practically oozed self-confidence, always so sure of herself, so sure of what she wanted, and manipulating other people so she could get it . He found himself strangely drawn to the new Libby though, the one who was nothing like that. When they'd said goodbye, she'd smiled at him, holding him, and then she'd put her lips closed to his ear and whispered something cryptically into it: "Water is water, Zac. It'll always be water, and it'll always be necessary for you to survive. Just make sure that you don't dehydrate, okay? Or, worse still, don't block up your water supply."

He sighed, glancing sidelong at Taylor, whose eyes were tightly shut, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Libby was talking about. The water was his family, or their love for him. He knew, deep down, what she was saying was true, but he couldn't muster up the energy to think about it properly. He was sick of people telling him that he needed his family, that he should be nice to them. It was none of their business. And that was why he'd turned to Libby, smiled, and replied, just as cryptically: "You know the saying though, Lib. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink."

***



"Anyone for a cup of Rosie Lee?" asked Isaac, throwing himself onto the sofa in the large living room of the house in Berkshire, England where they were recording.

"A cup of what?" Rhia looked up from fiddling with the locks on her suitcase, strands of long, blond hair falling across her face.

"Oh, here we go!" jibed Taylor, sinking into a huge armchair. "Every time we come to England, Ike gets up on the Cockney Rhyming Slang."

"The what?" Rhia gave up on the suitcase and sat next to Isaac, leaning back happily against him as he slipped his arm around her.

"It's the way they speak here," Isaac informed her knowledgeably.

"No it isn't," retorted Taylor mildly. "I have not once heard any Londoner tell another to answer the dog and bone, or to climb the apples and pairs, or to wash his boat race." He swung his legs over the arm of the chair. "Or," he added finally, "offer them a cup of Rosie Lee."

"Who's Rosie Lee?" asked Gabbie, wandering into the room with Rachelle and positioning herself on the floor, leaning back against the armchair where Taylor was curled up.

"Oh, here we go!" Taylor threw his arms into the air.

Smiling in amusement at his brother's exasperation, Isaac turned to Gabbie. "Rosie Lee is tea," he explained. "Cockney Rhyming Slang."

"Oh, you mean like, 'bloody hell!'? Or 'bugger off!'? Or 'fancy a shag, baby?'" suggested Rachelle, perching herself on the empty two-seater sofa, speaking in a voice that, to Taylor, seemed like a cross between Austin Powers and Hugh Grant.

Isaac laughed. "Umm, kinda, I guess. Although I think if you go up to someone and say 'fancy a shag, baby', you'll get a punch in the face."

Rachelle shrugged. "It's okay. I wasn't planning on it. I don't fancy a shag, anyway, I'm-"

"Details!" yelled Taylor, holding up both hands and making the four other people in the room laugh.

"What's so funny?" Jamie, Jennie and Niamh wandered into the room, Jamie squeezing herself in next to Isaac, much to Rhia's annoyance, Jennie taking a seat in another armchair and Niamh settling down on the floor next to Gabbie.

"No, no, no!" Taylor hopped to his feet, startling Gabbie as he leapt over her. "I'm not going to sit and listen to you explain this whole thing for a third time!" He stalked across the room, towards the door, turning back briefly to say, "I'm going to find Zac."

He closed the door behind him, muffling the giggles and the laughter as Isaac began to explain Cockney Rhyming Slang for what seemed like the millionth time. Shaking his head, Taylor padded slowly down the luxuriously carpeted hallway, ascending the spiraling staircase, coming to a stop outside the room that he presumed was Zac's, judging by the blare of the music from inside. He paused briefly outside, his gaze sweeping up and down the long corridor, the military lines of white painted doors shut tightly, standing to attention.

There had to be at least fifteen bedrooms in this place, Taylor realized, estimating the number of doors. Enough for them to all have a room each. Despite that, Jamie and Rachelle had chosen to share, as had Jennifer and Niamh. Their rooms, along with Gabbie's, were a little separated from the rest of the rooms, by a small flight of five or six stairs, but Taylor could still see the ornate white doors glaring at him. Himself, Isaac, Zac and Rhia occupied the rooms on the lower level of the first floor, as would his father when he joined them later. On the first floor alone, that left at least seven spare bedrooms, not to mention the huge number of rooms upstairs, where Taylor hadn't been since the fall of 97, when they'd recorded 'Snowed In'.

He blinked, realizing that he'd come up here for a reason. He rapped on the door. "Zac?" he called, waiting for an answer. But none came. "Zac?" He poked his head around the door, then stepped inside.

Zac's clothes were scattered all over the bed, the top two dresser drawers were splayed wide open, underwear and T-shirts spilling out of them. Taylor frowned, wondering why his brother insisted on being such a pig. "Zac?" he repeated, circling the room slowly, turning down the volume emitting from the stereo.

He sighed. This was hopeless. When was Zac going to quit with the disappearing acts? He left the room, climbing the next spiraling staircase, shivering as he reached the top. The central heating in this house had never seemed to reach the top floor. He dreaded to think how cold it was on the third floor.

So, where was Zac? This house was so huge, he could spend all night looking and still never find his brother. "Zac?" he shouted, jumping as his voice vibrated against all the surfaces, a loud echo swimming around him eerily.

He shuddered, remembering just how creepy this house could be. Back in 97, he and Zac had been sure they'd seen a ghost in one of the third floor rooms. They'd spent a lot of time in that room. It was a little room, overlooking the quiet street below, a soft cushioned window-seat providing the perfect viewpoint in the dormered window. Of course. Zac would probably be up there, if he was anywhere.

He slowly made his way up the rickety wooden staircase that led to the third floor, which was much smaller than either the first or the second floor. Much colder too, he noted, rubbing his arms briskly through his shirt. He crept slowly along the creaky floorboards, wincing as they protested under his weight. Stopping outside the small room, he pushed the door open very slowly, stepping lightly just inside the room.

His hunch had been right. Zac sat in the window-seat, hugging his knees to his chest, forehead pressed against the glass of the window as he stared out into the distance of the deep blue, star-studded night sky. It was clear out, and the frost was already glittering on the ground, like salt on an encrusted pretzel.

Taylor walked slowly and deliberately across the room, perching on the window-seat beside his younger brother. "Hey, Zac."

"Hey." Zac didn't turn to look at him; just kept gazing out of the window at nothing at all.

"What's up?"

"Not much."

"See anything interesting out there?" queried Taylor, desperate for something other than an answer consisting of very few monosyllabic words.

"Nope."

Taylor rolled his eyes, wishing Zac would help him out here. "Are you hungry?"

Zac turned to look at him, nodding slightly. "Yeah. Yes, I am."

"Me too. What do you think? Chinese or pizza?"

"Either." Zac turned back to look out of the window, watching as a boy of about his age disappeared into the passage at the side of the house, carrying a bundle. He frowned, wondering where he was going, then realized that the passage probably led to other places. He couldn't really remember his way about here.

"Zac?"

"Huh?" Zac's head snapped up; he hadn't even realized that Taylor was still speaking. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Taylor sighed exasperatedly. "I said that I thought we should maybe send out for Chinese."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever."

"Why don't you come down and join us?" suggested Taylor. "Isaac and Rachelle seem to be having a competition to see who knows the most English phrases." He shrugged, knowing how completely lame it sounded, but what else could he say?

"Oh, sounds like party city," replied Zac sarcastically. "What was I thinking, missing out on that one!"

Taylor smiled. "Yeah, well, they've probably stopped now. Come and join us, Zac. Please."

Zac smirked slightly, then shook his head. "No, thanks."

"Zac, come on!"

"I said no."

Taylor bit on his lip, trying to control his irritation towards his brother, telling himself that he couldn't lose it with him. "Look, you can't sit up here feeling sorry for yourself like some pathetic little horse turd! Get down there and make conversation!" He cursed himself inside. Way to play it cool, Tay, he admonished himself, his heart sinking as he watched Zac's eyebrows sink into that all-too-familiar expression of anger.

"I said no!" he repeated, only louder this time. "If I want to come down and sit and make polite conversation with stupid, dull, boring people, then I will. But I don't want to. So just get off my back, okay?" He jumped to his feet and stormed out of the room, leaving Taylor sitting on the window-seat, burying his face in his hands in hopelessness.

He thundered down first the rickety wooden stairs, then the two flights of spiral stairs, running down the hall, past the living room, the laughter from inside floating around in his head. He pushed open the door to the kitchen, then out through the thick, wooden door and down the little flight of stone stairs into the dark, chilly cellar. He didn't know why, but he felt like being in a dark and cold place right now. A dark and cold place for a dark and cold person.

He sat on the second-bottom step, sighing in exasperation as he thought of Taylor sitting on the window-seat, way, way up at the top of the house, his face buried in his hands. Let him sit there like that. It was his own fault, anyway. If Zac wanted to be alone, he was perfectly entitled to do so. As far as he was aware, there were no laws against solitariness.

He shivered, crossing his arms across his stomach and rocking backwards and forwards on the stairs, trying to heat himself up a little. England was such a cold, gray country, but right now, it seemed to suit his mood. The dreary, cloudy, cold weather seemed the perfect complement to the way he was feeling.

He raised his eyes heavenwards, wondering why he felt so isolated at that moment. Why didn't he want to go and join in with everyone? Okay, so what they were doing might have been lame, but he could tell that everyone else was having fun, judging by the hysterical laughter he'd heard as he'd ran past the room. He just felt suffocated by everyone. He needed time alone, to think, to figure out what was going on.

He knew he was lucky that Isaac and Taylor had even allowed him to come to England with them. If he'd been left in Tulsa, it would have made things a million times worse. Even so, he still felt like he wasn't included in this thing. It was Ike and Tay; the dynamic duo, and, oh yeah, Zac the third wheel. It had been a long, long time since he'd felt like he wasn't wanted, but he could feel it now. Maybe he should have just stayed in Tulsa. If anything, it would have saved his mom and dad on the plane fare.

His eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and he scanned the room. It was dusty and cobwebbed; Zac shuddered to think how many spiders and bugs were lurking about in the darkness. Then something caught his eye. A bright red blanket, puddled in the corner, along with a pillow, also red, with some sort of yellow emblem on it. Frowning, he got to his feet and walked across to the bedding. He picked up the pillow, reading Manchester United Football Club from the emblem. Why was there a pillow belonging to a Manchester United fan lying in there cellar?

Just then, the door swung open and a skinny, brown-haired boy shuffled in, dropping a couple of candy bars and bags of potato chips on his bed.

Zac cleared his throat.

The boy jumped, startled, and stumbled backwards, steadying himself against the cold, bare brick wall. "What are you doing here?" he hissed, panting as he tried to catch his breath.

"What am I doing here?" Zac repeated. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," replied the boy. "Now it's your turn."

Zac stared at him, realizing that it was the same boy he had spied from the upstairs window, running his hand through his hair. "I live here too. We weren't told of a family pet in the basement."

"Oh, yeah, funny," sneered the boy, sitting down on his blankets. "Nobody lives here. The owners sold it to some business people ages ago."

"Yeah, and those business people happen to use it as a recording studio," Zac told him. "I work for a record company, and we're recording an album here with a band."

"You don't work for a record company." The boy stared at him in disbelief, ripping open a bag of Golden Wonder potato chips and stuffing them hungrily into his mouth.

"How would you know?" retorted Zac, wondering where this guy got off, telling him what he did and didn't do.

"You're too young."

"I'm sixteen."

"As I said, you're too young," replied the boy.

"It's a family thing. My brothers do most of the work. I'm just the tag along."

"Your brother is gay."

Zac choked. "Excuse me?"

"Well, you're Zac Hanson, aren't you? Your brother, the middle one, he's gay."

"No, he isn't."

"He looks gay."

Zac felt the familiar dull anger raging inside of him, as it always did when someone made a comment about his or his brothers' sexuality. "What would you know?!" he snapped. "You're just some freak who, for some reason, is living in our cellar!"

"Oh, so now it's your cellar?" challenged the boy.

"My God!" Zac breathed the words out in a long, heavy sigh. He rested his head against the cool stone wall, feeling the hot hammers pounding inside his skull diminish a little. He rocked back on his heels slowly, turning to face the boy once again, taking a deep breath. "Please, just tell me, who are you and what are you doing here?"

The boy sighed. "Why should I tell you?"

Zac stared at him for a full minute before replying. "Because, if you don’t," he began in a reasonable tone, "I'll tell my brothers what's going on and you'll be out of here, and back to wherever you came from, so fast you won't know what's hit you."

"You like blackmail, don't you, mate?" noted the boy resignedly.

Zac smiled, feeling a little sorry for him. "Not particularly. I just want to know what you're doing here."

"I told you, I live here," explained the boy.

"Are you homeless?" Zac asked bluntly, kneeling down on the boy's blanket.

"No, I just live in cold, dark, damp cellars for fun," retorted the boy sarcastically. "What do you think, you ninny?"

Zac suppressed a smile. If this guy hadn't been sneaking in and out of their house, Zac would've quite liked him. "What happened?" he pressed, wondering when this boy was going to tell him why he was here.

The boy sighed again, concentrating on staring at the wall opposite. "I was fed up," he started. "I did my A-levels at my sixth-form college, but I didn't do so great. I failed them all. But I didn't care. I had all these dreams. I was in a band. Nothing like your one, like," he added quickly. "We played real music."

Zac snorted. "Thanks."

"No offence." The boy held up his hands. "I really wanted to make it in the music business. So, me and my band - we were called the Tin Cans - came to London. If you're gonna make it big anywhere in the UK, it's in London, right?" He looked to Zac for confirmation.

Zac nodded. "I guess so, yeah."

"So we came, and for a few months, you know, it was great. Living in all these cheap Bed And Breakfasts, just playing anywhere, busking on the street and everything. We were physically removed from the pavements outside Harvey Nicks!" he told him, laughing briefly.

"You tried to play outside Harvey Nicholls?" asked Zac in disbelief. He shook his head. "Man, you've got some guts!" He'd been to Harvey Nicholls only once. He and his family had walked in, and, ten seconds later, had walked straight back out again. It was a very classy, very up-market store; he'd found it far too snooty. He could only imagine the reaction of the highly-polished doormen to find a band of street entertainers playing outside.

The boy laughed, raking his hand through his lank brown hair. "Yeah, it was quite an experience. But then things went wrong. We started to argue between us, and a couple of weeks ago, I left. I was fed up of having to do everything their way, you know, I couldn't be myself. They were always making me do things I didn't want to, but, at the same time, I never, ever felt included anymore. I felt like I didn't belong." He shook his head. "It's hard to describe. I mean, I guess you don't have a clue what I mean."

"Oh, I do," Zac assured him. "More than you'd know," he added under his breath. "So, how'd you end up in Berkshire?"

The boy smiled sadly. "I just got on a bus one day and it took me here. Somehow, I found this place. A local told me that it had been deserted for ages, so I just decided to squat in the cellar. Now I'm sprung though."

"Doesn't it get cold?" Zac shifted his weight, trying to regain some feeling in his left leg.

"Yeah. I freeze nearly every night. It's worse when it rains. The roof's leaky." He smiled. "I'd kill for a shower, you know. I don't suppose you could…?" He trailed off, gazing at Zac hopefully.

Zac nodded. "Maybe," he agreed. He was beginning to like this boy. He reminded him a little of Corey Price, his best friend, who'd been killed in 1999, and he was also a lot like Zac himself. An idea was forming in his mind, as he recalled a conversation he'd overheard between Taylor and Isaac - yet another one he'd been left out of, he noted bitterly - but he didn't want to say anything just yet. "What's your name?"

The boy extended his hand. "I'm Oliver Jones, but call me Ollie. Everyone does."

Zac shook his hand. "I'm Zachary Hanson," he echoed, "but call me Zac. Everyone does."


***



"Ike, will you LISTEN to me!" yelled Zac.

Everything in the kitchen stopped. Taylor froze, cereal spoon halfway to his mouth, milk and soggy cornflakes dripping everywhere; Jamie dropped her fork with a clatter, her red mouth forming an 'O' of surprise; Rachelle's eyebrows rose at least three inches as she flicked through the lifestyles section of The Guardian; Rhia's knife slipped, slicing the block cheese she was cutting into two huge blocks; Jennie jumped, spilling coffee down her white sweatshirt. Slowly, Isaac put down the recording itinerary he'd been engrossed in and turned to his little brother. "Zac, what is it?" he asked. "And was it really necessary to scream like that?"

Zac glared at him, anger fuming away inside of him. He'd been talking to Isaac for the past two or three minutes, dropping subtle hints about hiring a sort of 'odd job' guy for the recording process. He'd heard him discussing it with Taylor the day before, and had remembered it when he'd met Ollie that night. It would be perfect for Ollie. He wanted to break into the music business, it would give him somewhere to live for the next few months, and Zac thought he looked like a pretty cool guy. He hadn't mentioned the job to Ollie yet; he'd planned on sorting it out with Isaac over breakfast. But Isaac had been fobbing him off with vague, 'Mmm-hmm's and 'oh, I see's, and Zac was sick of it. Now though, he obviously had Isaac's attention, along with everyone else's in the house, save Gabbie and Niamh, who had gone out to buy some groceries.

"Zac?" prompted Isaac.

"Uh, yeah," he stumbled, feeling very conspicuous. "I was thinking, you know, what if we hired like a kind of odd job guy, you know, umm… Like to help us carry the equipment around and stuff, and to help with things in the recording process and everything."

Isaac nodded. "Yeah, me and Tay were thinking that." He sat down at the table, sipping his coffee. "Why bring it up?"

Zac squeezed his eyes tightly shut, then opened them again. "I think I have someone for the job."

"Who?" asked Taylor around a mouthful of cereal.

"Just a friend I have here. He used to be in a band, and they were halfway through recording an indie demo, so he knows what he's doing-"

"How do you have a friend here?" interrupted Taylor, frowning.

"I just do."

"How old is he?" Isaac stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"Seventeen. His name is Ollie." Zac sat down opposite Isaac. "Come on, Ike. I mean, he could move in here; there're plenty of rooms, and he really does know what he's doing. Besides, he'll come cheap."

"Can I meet him?" Isaac looked Zac straight in the eye.

"Sure."

"When?"

"Tonight?"

"Well, I'll meet him, and we'll see where it goes, okay?"

"Thanks." Zac got to his feet, then left the room. His footsteps could be heard thundering upstairs, moving further and further into the distance.

"Ike, what are you doing?" demanded Taylor, pushing back his chair and heading over to the sink with his empty bowl.

"Huh?"

"You don't know this guy! How can Zac even know this guy?" He kicked the cupboard in frustration, ignoring the looks everyone was giving him. "Are you like totally insane?!"

Isaac blinked. "Tay, come here," he ordered, turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

Sighing, Taylor shrugged and followed him, grunting at Gabbie as she walked past him, shooting him a questioning look. "What?" he asked exasperatedly, perching on the arm of the sofa as his brother closed the door to the living room. "I'm almost nineteen. Don't you think I'm a little old for you to be lecturing me?"

"Don't you think you're a little old for scenes like that?" countered Isaac gently, sitting down next to him.

"Well!"

"Well what, Taylor?" Isaac spread his hands.

"That's just dumb, Ike. You don't know the guy from Adam! Anyway, who died and made you boss? You can't hire him without my approval."

"Actually, I can. This Ollie guy obviously has Zac's approval, and if he gets mine, it's a two - one majority. Sorry, buddy."

Taylor shook his head. "But why, Ike? Why are you so keen? Why the hell would you be willing to hire some stranger?"

Isaac smiled. "Look, this is something Zac wants. It shows that he's finally taking an interest in the business."

"Oh, yeah." Taylor smiled sheepishly. "I didn't think of it like that."

"And besides, what's the harm in meeting him, Tay?"

"Nothing," relented Taylor. "I guess I'm just mad, because… I dunno. Just Zac. He's getting to me."

Isaac put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Don't let him."

"I just wish there was some way to get through to him, Ike." He pressed the palm of his left hand against his forehead, closing his eyes. "I want to get him back."

Squeezing his shoulder, Isaac shook his head. "He'll come around. But, right now, we have a great new album to work on. Forget Zac. He'll be okay." He stood up. "Okay, today, I'll be working with the band, sorting out what songs are on the album, seeing if we can come up with any more, that sort of thing."

"What about me?"

Isaac took a deep breath. "How would you feel about working with Gabbie? Sorting out the admin, the publicity, that sort of thing? The marketing angle?"

Taylor raised his eyebrows. "Um, okay, I guess. We're both professionals. As long as I keep telling myself that, and as long as you guys aren't too far away and you can hear the screams, I'll be fine."

Isaac laughed. "I promise, we'll just be in the next room."

"As long as you are," warned Taylor, pointing his finger at Isaac, then leaving the room.

***



"Okay, yes, thank you for your time, Mr Johanssen. Yes, yes, I will do. Okay, okay. Goodbye, then." Taylor hung up the phone, groaning loudly as he crossed off yet another name on the list of advertisers. He buried his face in his arms, closing his eyes in the sudden darkness.

"No luck?" asked Gabbie sympathetically, standing behind him.

"None at all," he replied, his voice muffled in his arms. "What are we gonna do, Gabbie?" He sat up, gazing at her so hopelessly that Gabbie had to laugh.

"Oh, Tay," she chuckled, placing both hands on his shoulders. "It's okay. We just have to target our market properly."

He moaned again, resting his head back on his folded arms.

"It's not that bad," Gabbie soothed, drumming lightly on his shoulders with her fingers. "Come on, sit up."

"No. I'm going to sit with my head in my arms until I starve to death and rot away to nothing," Taylor mumbled. "At least that way I won't have to give a shit about pompous businessmen."

Gabbie chuckled, walking round to the other side of the desk in the house's small, cozy office, easing herself into a leather chair. "I see you're still one for dramatics," she teased, smiling as she looked down at her colleague, his tousled blond hair and his blue-shirted arms the only visible parts of him.

"Yeah. One day, I'm gonna play Hamlet."

"Why Hamlet?"

"Because Romeo's a wuss?" suggested Taylor, sitting up and grinning sheepishly. He ran his hand through his hair, sighing and tapping his pen rhythmically off the desk. "Man, this sucks. Ike's doing all the real stuff, Zac's slacking off somewhere and I get stuck-"

"In a room with me?" interrupted Gabbie sharply, blue eyes flashing.

Taylor exhaled slowly. "Noooo… Having to call all these dumb people."

"Yeah, well, someone's got to do the hard graft. Might as well be us." Gabbie looked at her watch. "And it's getting late. It's nearly five; all the businesses will be closing soon. We can't do too much more."

"I wonder what Ike's doing?"

"Probably arguing with Jamie."

Taylor smiled. "Yeah, Jamie's quite…"

"Bossy?" supplied Gabbie. "Dominating? A control freak? Opinionated?"

"E: All of the above," joked Taylor, smiling as Gabbie shook her head.

He turned back to his legal pad, scribbling in the margin, filling in the spaces on all Isaac's letter 'o's and 'a's. He was painfully aware of Gabriella Young, sitting at the other side of the desk. It had to be some mean trick of fate, bringing them back together again. It just wasn't right. Not after all she'd put him through before. He'd thought she loved him. Then again, he'd thought that he loved her. Pining after her for days - weeks, even - after she'd told him about this Mike guy in Ohio. Seeing her again in New York City two years ago. Her storming into his office back in NYC, slapping him, yelling at him. He sighed, adding a top-hat to the cartoon snail he'd drawn. Gabbie was volatile; unpredictable. You never, ever knew what she was going to do and when. Or even why. He still, to this day, didn't know why she'd led him on. Made him believe that he was something special; that they were meant to be together.

He toyed with the idea of bringing it up, but wisely decided against it. With all the tension between Rhia and Jamie, and between Zac and…well, between Zac and everybody, Taylor thought wryly, more tension certainly wasn't needed here. Things were going okay between himself and his ex-lover. A little awkward, a little strained, but still, not too bad, considering their reactions when they'd first been reunited.

"Taylor?"

He looked up, his breath catching, just a little in his throat as he saw Gabbie. Undeniably, she was drop dead gorgeous. Her long, brown curly hair tumbled to just below her shoulders; her azure blue eyes, almost exactly the same shade as his own, sparkled, highlighted with a light dusting of rose-colored eyeshadow; her even, white teeth seemed even brighter in contrast to the toffee-colored lipstick painted onto her lips. She was wearing tight jeans and a green fitted T-shirt with the words 'If you can read this, you're standing far too close to me' printed in tiny, tiny letters across her chest. It was hardly an outfit that Versace would have added to his spring collection, but on Gabbie, it looked perfect.

"Taylor?"

Realizing that he was staring, Taylor shook his head, sitting up straight and trying to will the deepening blush that was settling in his cheeks to disappear. "Sorry, I was miles away." He grinned broadly, trying to seem calm and collected.

She smiled back. "Miles away? You looked like you were in Darkest Peru or something!"

Taylor blinked. Darkest Peru? What, exactly, was everyone's obsession with Darkest Peru right now? "Uh, yeah. I was. Meeting the love of my life."

"What?" Gabbie looked just as confused as Isaac had, Taylor noted, smiling inwardly.

"Never mind." He stretched his arms behind his head, yawning. "What was it you wanted?"

"Umm…" Gabbie looked at him, toying with a curly lock of hair - something she did when she was nervous or uncomfortable. "You do know that Mike's coming here."

Taylor felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. He was going to have to live with his ex and her fiancé? Now, that won't be at all awkward or anything, he thought bitterly, raking his hand through his hair. "Here as in here? Mike as in your fiancé Mike?"

"No, here as in there and Mike as in Mike And The Mechanics," she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Sorry," she mumbled, seeing Taylor's eyebrows fall into a frown. "Yes, Mike as in my fiancé. I just thought I should check in and see if it was okay with you."

"And does it matter if it's not?" demanded Taylor.

"No," Gabbie admitted. She sighed, pushing herself easily up out of the chair and walking over to him. She crouched in front of him, balancing herself by leaning her bare forearms on his knees. "But, Tay, listen." She looked up at him, her eyes staring straight into his.

Taylor felt like someone was playing a Jamaican drumbeat on his heart, and that soon, the drum skins would burst. The way she was gazing at him, the way her eyes connected with his, the way he felt he could reach right into her soul through those eyes… "I'm listening," he told her, a little hoarsely.

"I want you to be okay with this," she began. "I love Mike. We're in love, Taylor." She sighed. "Look, when we were…you know…"

"Sleeping together?" supplied Taylor, his voice sharp and cold.

"Well, for want of a better term, yes. When we were, Mike and I, we'd been having troubles. I was at school in Tulsa, I met Rhia, we became friends and then I met you at that party. You were so sweet, Taylor. I fell for you," she confessed. "Big time. But what we had… It wasn't love. You were sixteen, Tay. You can't be in love at sixteen."

"I don't see why not."

"Okay, well, maybe you can," she relented. "But still, we weren't. We had so much fun. You made me feel like I was young again, still in High School. And there was something about you… God, you must have some idea how sexy you are."

Taylor's eyebrows raised, but he didn't say a thing.

"I loved what we had. It was exciting, and you made me feel like I was someone. Mike didn't. At that moment in time, he couldn't have cared less. Then he called. Talking to him, I realized how much I wanted things to work with him. That's when I went back to Ohio."

"And stayed there forever."

She smiled sadly. "Well, I didn't go back to Tulsa, if that's what you mean." She shifted her weight until she was sitting on the floor in front of him. "It's not like I didn't think about you."

"Oh, you thought about me alright," agreed Taylor coolly. "You thought about me enough to send me that letter."

Gabbie bit on her lower lips, closing her eyes slowly. "I felt so horrible about that. Really, Tay, I felt like such a mean person."

"It was a mean thing to do," he conceded shortly.

"Mike kept asking where I got the cross from. You know, the welfare charm you gave me that day in the coffee shop after you ran out on your gig?"

Taylor nodded. The day when she'd told him she had no family. Yet, somehow, she had a cousin in this band…

"So I did what I had to. I had to end things between us. For me to move on. And for you. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

Taylor looked at the floor, feeling the drumbeat inside his heart fade away. The song had ended. "You did hurt me," he said finally. "You have no idea how messed up I was. I think that if you’d collected all my tears from that year, you could have solved at least half of the world's drought problems." He smiled wryly. "But I guess the letter kind of did end it for me. It gave me a reason to really, really hate you. And I did, for a long, long time."

"And now?"

Taylor sighed. "I don't hate you now. I don't know what I feel now."

She sat up again, folding her arms on his lap. "I really, really want you to be okay with this, Taylor. I don't want you to be hurting or mad every time you see Mike. Will you be okay with it?"

"Maybe okay with it is a little too much. But I can try my best not to stab him with the Kitchen Devil."

Gabbie stared at him for a second, then laughed. "Well, I guess it's a fair compromise," she joked.

"When is he coming?"

"Not for a few weeks yet. And he won't be staying long, Tay, I promise."

Taylor shrugged. "Nothing to do with me."

Gabbie stared up at him, her blue eyes sad. She got to her feet. "Stand up," she commanded, her voice quiet.

Slowly, Taylor got to his feet.

She walked the few steps towards him, wrapping her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek as she settled into the hug. "Thank you, Taylor."

He held her, smelling her perfume, her scent, just feeling her in his arms, aching for this to go on forever. He closed his eyes, trapping a tear behind his eyelid. She didn't need to know how badly he felt. "It's no problem, Gabbie," he lied. "It's not problem at all."


***



Zac lowered his copy of Romeo and Juliet, peering into the recording booth. Isaac was in there, along with the band, his arms waving about madly in the air. Zac smiled to himself; Isaac looked like he was some insane orchestral conductor.

He couldn't hear what was going on in the booth; they weren't ready to record for a while, and they were just trying some things out, and so the booth was still soundproofed, as it was until they chose it not to be. But he could guess. Isaac was yelling about something, that was obvious. It looked like the vein in his neck was ready to pop. Jamie appeared to be yelling back, just as heatedly, her hands gesturing wildly. Jennie and Niamh were merely standing, watching the action and Rachelle - ever the peacekeeper, he noted bitterly - was holding Jamie by the shoulders, blatantly trying to calm her cousin down. Finally, Isaac appeared to give in, the tell-tale sings being the spreading of his hands and the shrugging of his shoulders. Zac shook his head. Isaac was such a pushover.

He watched as Isaac counted the girls in, and then they began to sing, snapping their fingers in time to the music. He tossed his head again, deciding that it was probably more interesting to find out if Mercutio would fight Tybalt in fair Verona. Zac wasn't into all this Shakespeare stuff. He'd seen the movie of the play, with Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes, and he'd even hated that. They should have either modernized it completely, language and all, or just left it the way it was. Nobody wearing a Hawaiian shirt pulled up at a gas station and started to threaten his enemies with a gun, yelling, "Thou dost be mine foe!"

"How goeth it?"

Zac snapped his head up. "Say what?"

Rhia smiled, perching herself on top on an amplifier. "How goeth thine readingeth of the Shakespeareth?"

Zac grinned. "Oh… It goeth not too welleth. I cannoteth understandeth all thiseth crappeth languageth."

"That's a shameth. I loveth Shakespeareth."

"I knoweth thou dost." He smiled up at his brothers girlfriend. "Thou art a freaketh!"

"Ah, welleth, screweth thou, then!"

Zac laughed. "Man, we’re good."

"Damn right, buddy." Rhia put her arm around him. "So, what’s up with you? I've hardly spoken to you lately."

Zac froze under Rhia's arm, then told himself not to be dumb. Rhia wasn't spying for Ike. She genuinely liked him, and they got on well. "Yeah… I'm okay. You?"

"Not too bad."

"Screwed Ike yet?" he asked, grinning cheekily up at her.

She swatted him round the head, pretending to be shocked. "Zac Hanson! You take that back!"

He chuckled, leaning back against the wall. "How do you keep yourself amused, Ree?" he wondered. "I'm so bored."

"Why aren't you in there helping Ike?"

"He doesn't need my help. There's enough tension between him and Jamie without me as well."

"What's up with him and Jamie?" Rhia's face darkened, a frown forming.

"I don't know," Zac admitted. "But they keep yelling at each other."

"Zac, do you think Ike likes Jamie?"

Zac pursed his lips, pondering the question for a minute. "Yeah, sure. I mean, they fight, but I think he thinks that she's pretty funny, being so hot-headed and everything."

Rhia stared at him. "No, no, I mean LIKES him. You know, like a girlfriend?"

Zac's face softened and he squeezed Rhia's shoulder. "No way. I know my brother, Rhia, and he loves you. I know that you find it hard to believe, but he does. More than anything. You mean so much to him, and he doesn't give a monkey's ass about Jamie Jenkinson. Sure, they're working partners, and I think that they'll be good friends once they solve this whole control power thing, but he's not interested. He loves you, Ree. And he's got it bad. I don't think you have to worry."

Rhia looked at him for a second, then her face broke into a huge grin. She turned around, pulling Zac close to her. "Thanks, Zac."

Zac patted her on the back, then pulled away awkwardly. "It's true."

"So, what's your story?"

"Huh?"

"What's with the whole anti-Ike-and-Tay thing."

"I'm not against Ike and Tay."

She looked at him. "Zac, you know what you just said to me about Ike?"

"Yeah."

"Apply it to yourself."

And with that, she slid down from her seat and pushed open the door to the studio, wandering over to Isaac and wrapping her arms around him, planting a huge kiss on his cheek, gazing meaningfully over his shoulder at Zac, sitting all alone in the control room, perched solitary on top of another huge amplifier.


***



Isaac massaged his temples, bashing his head off the wall as Jamie yelled "STOP!" for the millionth time that evening.

"What is it now?" he asked wearily, pushing the button to stop the recording process.

Inside the booth, Jamie stomped over to the drumkit grabbing the drumsticks from her cousin's hands. "Call yourself a drummer!" she yelled, bashing one stick down on the cymbal, the harsh sound reverberating around the recording booth and the control room. "For God's sake, Shell, it's a rock song, not a fucking lament!" She thrust the drumsticks back at her stunned cousin. "Play it right, or it WILL be a lament. For YOU!"

"Jamie, that's enough!" yelled Gabbie, rapping on the plastic wall of the booth, holding the microphone up to her mouth so the girls could hear what she was saying.

"She's not doing it right!" insisted Jamie, clenching her fists.

Taylor took the microphone from Gabbie. "Look, it's ten-twenty. It's late. It's been a long, long day. Why don't we just wrap it up there?"

"No!" protested Jamie. "We can do this!"

"I think that if we keep going, then-"

"Nobody cares what you think!" yelled Jamie. "We're doing this now!"

"But-"

"Taylor, I don't give a toss! We're doing this!"

"Jamie, I-"

Isaac stood, rubbing at his headache, trying to block out his brother's weak, pathetic voice that was trying desperately to be heard over Jamie's commanding, high-pitched squeals. He was tired. Really tired. After rehearsing in the afternoon, where he'd had a fight with Jamie over something as stupid as whether or not she could shout "Yeah!" as in intro to the chorus of the bands' first single, "What Kind Of Fool", and a quick bite to eat, they'd decided that they should try to record at least the instrumental part to the single. But Jamie wasn't easy to please. Everything had to be perfect. She'd snapped at everyone, and the hostility between the band was evident. Isaac thought that Taylor was right. They should just quit while they were only this far behind, and pick it up again in the morning, after a good night's sleep. Jamie, though, was screeching bloody murder about being able to get the take done, and he felt like strangling her.

All he wanted to do right now was go upstairs, find Rhia, who was working on a psych assignment, take her down to the living room, light the fire and curl up on the couch with her. He closed his eyes, imagining the picture, the two of them cuddled up together, sipping glasses of wine… Okay, so neither he nor Rhia actually liked wine, but it looked good in the mental image. He shook his head. He was going even more soppy and romantic in his old age. But sitting snuggled up with Rhia, talking together in low voices, was certainly a hell of a lot more appealing than listening to Jamie Jenkinson's grating voice mingling with his younger brother's pleading one.

"Ike? LISTEN, you jerk!" Isaac felt his sleeve being tugged, and he brought himself quickly back down to earth, finding Zac looking down at him from his couple of inches of extra height, an angry look on his face.

"What, Zac?"

"Ollie!"

"What?" repeated Isaac exasperatedly.

"Ollie! You were supposed to come see him about that job!" Zac's voice was dangerously angry.

Isaac brought his hands to his face. "Oh…my…GOD! I'm so sorry, Zac. I totally forgot!"

"We waited in the study for three hours!" yelled Zac, his face turning red in anger.

"Zac, look, I'm really, really sorry." Isaac sighed. "Things are just so mad here, as you can see."

"Ike, this was important!" Zac hissed.

"I've said I'm sorry! I'll see this Ollie guy tomorrow, okay?"

"I really can't believe you!" Zac screamed.

Jamie stopped, mid-Taylor-insult and stared at the younger boy, his face flushed, his fists clenched, yelling at his older brother. With her quiet, the room was silent.

"Zac, I-"

Zac didn't give him the chance to answer. "Thanks, Ike! Thanks a whole lot!" he snorted, spinning abruptly on his heel and running out of the room.

Isaac sank into a seat, burying his face in his hands, feeling the pounding inside of his head increasing.

Taylor patted him on the shoulder. "Please," he begged, turning to stare into the recording booth. "We're all tired, Jamie. Can we quit?"

Jamie looked at Taylor, his face pleading, his hand on his older brother's shoulder as Isaac rocked backwards and forwards on his chair, massaging his forehead. "Yeah," she relented quietly. "I think that's a good idea."

"Finally!" snapped Rachelle, throwing down her drumsticks. Raking her hand through her long, dyed-black hair, she ran out of the studio and upstairs, stopping outside Zac's bedroom door. Without knocking, she barged in, anger controlling her actions.

"Hey!" yelled Zac indignantly. "What the hell are you doing? I'm half-naked here!"

Rachelle looked him up and down. "Oh, yeah, like I haven't seen a guy's chest before. Although I have seen much nicer ones."

Zac frowned, pulling his shirt back on over his head. "Did you want something?"

"Yeah, I did."

"And what's that?" he sneered.

"I want to ask you just what the hell your deal is!"

"What, again?" Zac asked, feigning surprise. "Can't you think of another, more original question? They always used to ask me if my brothers and sisters would join the band. Now they all want to know what my deal is!"

"And doesn't that tell you something?" hissed Rachelle, pushing the door closed and sitting down on his bed.

"Oh, yeah, sit down," smirked Zac. "Make yourself comfortable, why don't you?"

"Thank you." Rachelle smiled sweetly at him. "Since you're being so polite, why don't you answer my question?"

"I don't have a deal."

Rachelle sighed, exhaling slowly and deflating her anger. "Why did you do that to Isaac?"

"Do what to Isaac?" muttered Zac irritably.

"That. He feels terrible."

"Good!"

"You don't mean that."

Zac rolled his eyes. "Oh, sorry, I forgot. You can read my mind, can't you?"

"Don't be like this."

"Why the hell not? I'm sick and tired of all this interrogating. You barely even know me, and you judge me, you question me, you tell me what I think…" Zac trailed off, burying his face in his hands.

Rachelle sighed again. "I'm sorry. I guess it makes me mad, Zac."

"Why? Why does it matter to you what I do?"

"Because I see you hurting your brothers, I see you isolating yourself from everyone, and I don't want you to do it."

"Why do you even care?" pressed Zac, not looking up.

"I don't want you to make the same mistake as I did!" snapped Rachelle. "You don't even realize how lucky you are, Zac. Those guys downstairs… Man, Zac, they love you. And all you do is hurt them. Isaac looks totally shattered down there; he feels so guilty about forgetting."

"Well, he should've remembered then, shouldn't he?"

"He couldn't help it. Things were crazy in that studio. Jamie was on a control freak mission, making everything perfect, yelling at everyone and everything. Ike was trying to calm her down, trying to get the single recorded. It was totally mad. Then the recording equipment broke, and he had to try to fix that, then finally it was fixed, and Jamie started up again. It wouldn't have killed you to come in and remind him nicely."

Zac bit his lip. Rachelle was right. He could have just gone in and told Isaac that Ollie was waiting. But the way he'd seen it, it gave him a reason to be mad at his brother. Proof that his brother wasn't perfect, could forget. And he could use that to hurt him. He'd wanted to hurt him. Why? He didn't know.

"I guess. But still, if he did care, like you say, he'd have remembered. I hate him. I wish he were dead."

Rachelle's hand made contact with the side of his face. Hard.

"Hey!" he yelled, wincing in pain.

"You bastard!" she screamed. "You deserve to rot in hell, Zachary Hanson!" She turned away from him, staring hard at the wall.

All Zac could see of her was her pink top, covered in her long, flowing black hair. She was shaking, trembling. "Rachelle?" he asked, his voice sounding pathetically weak and shaky.

She ignored him, continuing to fix her gaze on the blue wall. She didn't want him to see her like this. She didn't want his pity.

"Shell?" he repeated. When, still, she ignored him, he got up and sat himself in front of her. "Hey, what's up?"

She was crying, tears streaming thick and fast down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking. She looked thoroughly miserable. "You're such an ass, Zac. How can you…"

"How can I what?" he pressed, feeling mildly irritated at her.

"You wished your brother dead."

"I didn't really mean it."

"Well, you shouldn't say it."

Zac was confused. It was just a passing remark, made in contempt towards his brother. He couldn't understand why she was crying over it. "I don't get it."

She looked at him, hate burning in her watery eyes. She slid her hand into her jeans pocket and pulled out her wallet. She ripped it open and thrust it to him.

He looked down, seeing the picture of he and his brothers. Beside it, there was a picture of a dark-haired boy of about fifteen, smiling at the camera. "Who's this?" he asked gently.

"My brother. His name is Joshua. Was Joshua," she corrected herself, more tears spilling from her red eyes.

"What happened?" he prompted carefully, scared of upsetting her.

"I used to be like you. I hated him. I hated everybody. But I hated Joshua the most. I thought he didn't care. He was always getting at me, you know, don't do this, do that, act like his." She choked down a sob. "I used to be such an ass to him. Then, two years ago, we had a huge fight. I mean, a really huge fight. I made him cry, Zac. My brother never cried. He stormed out of the house, and he took my mom's car. He was only fifteen; he couldn't drive. He crashed and he died instantly. He died thinking I hated him."

Zac put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"It's why you make me so mad," she explained. "You have it all, Zac. And your brothers, your family, they DO love you. Just don't do what I did."

"It won't happen to me."

Rachelle wiped away her tears, the anger welling up again. "You can't be sure!"

"Look, I'm sorry about your brother, Shell, I really, really am. But it's just not the same thing here!"

"Oh, it is and you know it," she spat, her sadness gone completely.

"It is not! And my life, and my relationship with my brother is none of your business!"

"I want to be your friend, Zac!"

"Well, maybe I don’t want you to be!" Zac hissed, glaring at her. Briefly, he had felt sorry for her, even decided that maybe she wasn't such a bad person. But, now, she'd just proved herself to be the nosy, judgmental busybody that he'd thought she was.

"But now I'm not so sure." She narrowed her eyes at him, sending him a look that could kill. "Why would I want to be friends with such an arrogant self-absorbed jerk?"

"You tell me," shrugged Zac. "I sure don't want to be friends with some psycho Goth chick!"

She leaned closer to him, so close he could feel her breath on his face as she spoke. "Well, the psycho Goth chick doesn't want to be friends with you any more!"

Zac edged himself closer to her. "Good. I just hope she takes it all the way and gets out of my room and out of my life forever."

Rachelle inched even nearer to him so that their noses were almost touching. "Oh, don't worry. She will."

"Well, she'd better do it soon."

"She will," she assured him, jumping to her feet. "In fact, she'll do it right now."

Sighing, Zac slumped on the bed, the sound of her light footsteps bounding down the stairs ringing around in his head. Why did that girl assume it was her God-given right to make his like hell? As far as he knew, she wasn't such a bitch to anyone else.

He heaved a huge sigh again, gazing out the window into the dark, English countryside. Maybe he just brought out the worst in people.

Chapter Five
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