Summery: Suze is on the pathway to destruction, and she doesn't seem to care. Or does she? A meeting with a stranger may cause her to rethink it her priorities. AU, overall pairings undecided. Currently P/S, but hey, it could change.

Disclaimer: I am no Meg Cabot, therefore not the lucky chick who owns the Mediator… and of course Jesse.

Fast Lane

Chapter One

Trees were whipping past as we drove down the dirt rode, making them green and brown blurs, like colours in a blender. But all this did was make me put the pedal down even harder.

"Suze…" a drunken laugh erupted from the back seat, "where are you going?"

What can I say? I have a need for speed.

Kelly jumped into the front passenger seat. "You're like, sorta going a little fast right?" she slurred.

Fast? Not fast enough. I couldn't answer her really. I mean, it was hard enough trying to make out the road when everything is really dizzy and lop-sided. And she expected me to answer her?

Not even.

You see, this is what my life had become. When I had first moved to Carmel from my town in New York, I already hated the place. The sunshine, the happiness, the chipper "how are you's" when they really couldn't give a shit. I had to move from my home, and my best – lets face it, only – friend I had, and give up pizza, subways and everything I had ever known for sunshine, the beach and a bikini. Okay, so it wasn't that bad, I had met some interesting people since moving here.

Not that it really mattered. I was a freak of nature anyway.

But one thing I had noticed was that Carmel, California, housed many more freaks exactly like myself. 3, to be exact. Father "be good, please god" Dominic and the Slater brothers Jack, a whiny little shit I was forced to babysit over the summer, and his hotter-than-lava brother Paul, my boyfriend. All Mediators, all freaks.

Just like me.

I had always been misunderstood in New York, and instantly filed away into the 'hopeless cases' pile. Mainly of course, just because I can see the dead, does not mean everyone else can too. So on more than regular occasions, I'm seen talking to myself, or in pretty compromising situations where I'm bought home by the police. But this hasn't stopped the ghosts though. They come, flocking me like seagulls around a French fry (another lesson I had learnt since arriving in Carmel – don't feed the seagulls, unless you want to be mauled by them and Sister Ernestine alike) causing me to become, in the eyes of my peers and family, a fully-fledged crazy-ass chick in need of a dire reality check.

I know that my mom had hoped by coming to California I'd be able to make a fresh start. But that had gone on deaf ears, to be swept away by the salty air. Put it simply, I now did not care. I didn't care about my future, my lovely job of being a liaison between the living and the dead, school… nothing. And my friends – the 'in' crowd at Junipero Serra Mission Academy – seemed to like life that way. So I fit in instantly.

Doesn't mean I really overly liked them. To be totally honest, I didn't really like anyone much anymore.

But anyway, back to the car. I knew, somewhere in my mind, that it's wrong to drink and drive. Not to mention speed. But my other friends were way more smashed up than I was. I was mostly sober. All though, sober isn't exactly what you would call me right about now.

Okay, I admit I was pretty smashed up to. A typical Friday night. So sue me.

My mum would chuck a fit, probably rip a few hairs out of her skull, but she was too involved with my new-step brothers, Doc, Sleepy and Dopey, not to mention my step-father Andy and her new job at the news station, to really give a rats ass about me. She'd get over it.

She always does.

I know, I know. I'm selfish, I'm stupid. I've heard it all. I've seen it all. I'm a person void of practically any emotion now, with not a care in the world. I don't need emotion. I've seen what it does to people, and I don't need it. Don't ask me how I got this way, I guess just on the way over to California, while I was looking at the palm trees and crystal sea, I decided I wouldn't bother anymore. I wasn't going to try and fit in, do my best, be the best I could possibly be. I think this was because I had left my old self in New York. What did my old self used to be?

Who cares? I forgot, I guess.

But even though I hadn't bothered trying to fit in, I had anyway. The first day at school, I'd worn practically all black, and sat next to one of the Abercrombie-and-Fitch clones that populated most of my class. But they seemed to take an instant liking to me, probably because I was halfway more interesting than their French manicures, and who had the best tan. I guess you could call that a compliment, most definitely if Kelly Prescott found you interesting, mainly because aside from a few magazine clippings and dust bunnies, I doubt there is all that much in her head. Granted, she probably had more on her head than there was in it. But she was one of my best friends now. Well, more or less.

"Geez, Suze… 125?" Paul laughed hysterically as he eyed the dashboard. 125 … not bad Suze.

My boyfriend was so out of it. And so were the remaining people in my car.

This is the last time I'm letting them anywhere near the sauce. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black, you didn't exactly restrain either did you?

They kept talking to me, either claiming that 125m/h was pretty fast, or generally making a comment about how fast we were barrelling down that road. Not that Kelly and Debbie really talked about anything with much more substance – or intelligence – than this, but I tried to block them out. I just felt like the faster we were going, the faster I could get away from this life… my new life. I just wanted to let go.

Debbie leaned forward, trying to steady herself with the remaining hand that wasn't clutching a Cruiser, and switched radio stations. "Ride" by the Vines blurred to life, and she squealed, spilling some of her Pineapple drink sloshing onto the back seat. Paul and Debbie began singing at the top of their lungs, while Kelly next to me drummed her hands on the dashboard. Don't get me wrong, I like the song too, but not even I'm that drunk to go totally loco.

The song was about to wrap up when I noticed the flashing lights. Freaking hell. Not again.

I was presented with two options to say the least. Pull over like a good little girl, or press the metal faster and make a run for it. I was contemplating the latter when the singular police car overtook me. So flight, I knew, was no longer an option.

I was sober enough to realise that, at least.

So I pulled over, shut off the engine, and awaited the fate that had come so regularly in the months I had been in California. A old ride in the police car, either home or to the station so my parentals could pick me up.

Joy. Can't you see why I hate it here?

"Oh nooooo!" Debbie began squealing. "My Dad's soooo gonna ground me for this!"

This seemed to grab a reaction from both Paul and Kelly, who had before Debbie seemed completely oblivious, tuning into the next song that was blaring full bore.

"Oh shit!" Paul exclaimed. Before I could even blink, he grabbed Debbie's bottle and flung it out of the open window into the woods. "I would rather he not find that in here," he said.

I placed my hands on the steering wheel, 10 o'clock and 2 o'clock, while I waited for what was going to happen next. I watched the police officer, a beefy large man who could probably use a few months on Jenny Craig if the coke in his hand was any indication, walk over. My driver's licence, which I had only had for a few weeks, would probably be suspended, in the scenario he would check that I was drinking.

Go me.

He bent down and shined a torch into the car through the open window. "Hello ma'am,"

"Officer," I replied cooly. I may as well act the part. I mean, I had fraternised with police officers enough. I knew only Kelly and Debbie had a few times, if not at all. Oh well, they need to toughen up.

"Do you know how fast you were going?"

I shrugged. Last time I had checked I had clocked 125. Who knows how fast it was a few minutes after that?

"About 126. And do you know what the speed limit through this region is ma'am?"

Shaking my head, I said calmly, "No I don't officer,"

"120. You were at least 6 miles and hour over the speed limit. Does this register?"

I nodded again. Oh well. At least it was only 6 miles. The continuation of me holding onto a licence may be still hanging in there.

He kept rambling on, but I wasn't paying attention? Why should I? I knew what was coming.

"… therefore being alone out here, with no parental guardian,I think you should take a little ride downtown with me,"

Aww, what did I tell you? Give that girl a prize.

So that's how I ended up sitting on a plastic chair, watching the same officer who had brought me here talking to my mother. She had plastered on her face the same look she wore when she talked about bombings and mass murders. Although I knew what was on her mind.

The minute I stepped home, I was going to be the one murdered.

A person sat down next to me and I barely noticed. I was too busy thinking of what my punishment was. Grounding? Nah, that never stopped me. No phone, tv? Doesn't matter, I needed to practice on my kickboxing more than anything, and I didn't need those things for that. Allowance cut? I'd just get a job. Confined to my room? Yes please. An excuse to not have to talk to my step-brothers. Or step-father either.

"What have you done this time?" The guy asked. Oh yeah, him. The one who had been sitting next to me. Just goes to show how 'aware' I am around here. Not.

I shot a look sideways, and did a double-take. I recognised him from somewhere, I knew I did… but where?

"Speeding," I said simply, taking a better look at him. On a second full glance, I would say he'd probably be a little older than I was, 3 years give or take. And did I mention that he was really hot? Not in the pretty-boy kind of way, but in the dangerous, mysterious way. He was probably in here for something too. Drugs? Stealing? Neither would surprise me.

"Can you go 2 months without this?"

I fully turned to look at him, and took in his jet black hair, eyes so brown they seemed almost black, tanned skin… and Spanish, by the sound of his voice. "How would you know? Or care, for that matter?" I asked rudely.

He just smiled, revealing white, even teeth. Major hottie material. Hotter, than, I'm sorry to say, my boyfriend Paul.

"Because I work here,"

Oh yeah. No wonder why I recognised him. He'd been working here every time I had been dragged in by the police. Go figure.

"Uh-huh. So you're not in trouble, unlike myself?"

"No," he shook his head slowly. "My father makes me work here, filing things. You're Susannah Simon, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Suze," I corrected, "And you probably know coz you've dealt with my mug shot right?" I half-joked. No, don't get carried away. I don't have a mug-shot. Yet.

I'm just what you would call a juvenile delinquent. I haven't done too much bad shit.

Just stuff that annoy the crap out of the police, and apparently my parents too.

"No, not because of that. I recognised you, that's all,"

I looked up at him, and then wished I didn't. Did I also tell you that his eyes are really warm and caring? No, wait a second Suze… it's all in your head. You don't care. You don't care.

"How?"

"Your brother, Jake? I go to his college,"

Of course. But what really surprised me was that Jake even had friends. All I thought he had was a Pizza job and a goal to save up for a camaro. He wasn't awake to think about much else.

I eyed my mother who had obviously finished talking to the officer. "Oh well," I said softly, trying to determine wether I would get totally killed or just skinned, "Nice talking to ya. See you round," I stood up, and waited.

"Bye, querida,"

I didn't even get the chance to tell him that if he called me any Spanish shit he could stick it where the sun don't shine before mom scooped me up and shipped me out of the police department.

I was so dead.