Drew Rosalind Must Die
by Galbinus

Chapter Five: The Plan Is Carried Out

Dawn stole a giant bottle of her mother's breast-enhancing-estrogen-lowering pills to my house and presents them to us on Sunday, before Monday, when Operation DRMD would begin. Marina spends two hours perusing the instructions and making nasty comments in the side—only now do I realize how fiercely liberal she is, and it really scares me—much to the distaste of Dawn. Misty oversees the entire affair, making sure that Dawn didn't sneak in a few pills and that Marina didn't give up on her rude commentary and rip up the entire manual. Meanwhile, I simply watch from the side.

Why do I have a bad feeling about this? I don't really want to know the answer.

Later; The next day

It turns out that basketball practice is a huge part of a teenaged boy's life. Not only are they allowed to skip classes and homework (with the permission of their coach, no less!) simply to practice shooting a couple of oversized orange balls into nets, but they're apparently revered for it! Me, I personally don't think much of sports, although deep in my heart I harbor a secret desire to compete in global athletic tournaments but I don't intend to share that aspiration with others, so learning this merely adds to my dislike of Drew. I watch from the sidelines—having forgone lunch, which is a huge sacrifice for me—of the basketball court as the 'Wild Cats' practice lay-ups and shooting and whatnot.

But, oh good lord, he looks so hotwhen he leaps into the air like that—as a look of such fierce, intense, passionate concentration crosses his usual stoic features—as he arches gracefully towards his target, muscles rippling as he gathers his strength for the final blow—as time herself seems to stop, simply to allow this unnaturally talented, beautiful, graceful human to deliver his attack—and the grand finale, as Drew slam-dunks the basketball and his crowd of screaming fans erupt into fervent shrieks of absolute joy.

Drew, landing with feline elegance on his tennis shoes, smirks proudly and bows deeply in the direction of his fans, eliciting even more screams. Flicking his bangs out of his deep chartreuse eyes, Drew saunters over to the crowd and, procuring a solitary rose from seemingly thin air, plucked a single scarlet petal from the flower and flicks it daintily into the audience.

The result was absolute chaos as girls (and boys) tackled each other for possession of the flower body part. I watch, my throat feeling rather dry, as the P.E. teacher—a wiry middle-aged man with wild cornflower-blue hair—tries his best to suppress the crazed audience. He ends up being flung painfully-looking into a nearby wall, and doesn't move much after that, though from the sporadic twitching of his feet I can tell that he's not dead.

The green-haired basketball star was busy surveying the disorder he incurred with a proud smirk. I glance over at Dawn, dipping my head ever so slightly to signal for her to carry on the next part of our plan. She acknowledges my signal with a small nod of her own. While the crowd is busy fighting each other over the rose petal, Dawn promenades showily to Drew, flirtatiously draping her thin arms over his muscular shoulders.

An envious feeling envelopes my mind, but I shake it away, my cerulean eyes still trained on Dawn and Drew. I strain my ears and make out their conversation just well enough to distinguish their words against the discordant roar of the crowd.

"Drewsie," Dawn purrs, coating her already naturally sweet voice with another layer of honey, "That was a greatshot."

"Thanks," Drew says off-handedly, waving his arm with casual informality. I wonder how anyone can appear so nonchalant and yet so amorous at the same time.

"But Drew," Dawn says, pouting slightly, "I think you're losing your touch,"—at these words, Drew cocks an eyebrow; something angry instinctively rears up inside of me, insisting that I retort to Dawn's very false words, before I remember that this was part of the plan—"Surely you're still taking the pills Coach Brawly gives you?"

"Of course, Dawn." Drew replies with fluid ease. His eyebrow remains hidden underneath his silky green hair.

"Well, I think you should doubleyour intake," Dawn says, lips curling up in a devious smile. Her ivory arms still wrapped around Drew's shoulders, she surreptitiously maneuvers herself and Drew to idle by the omnipresent refreshment stand, where Drew's water bottle—it is distinctive among the other basketball players' as Drew's water bottle is adorned with myriad pink love notes from his many admirers—was standing. I have to draw closer to hear what they're saying. I note that there is a pill-container very similar to Dawn's mother's standing next to Drew's water bottle, and I presume that this pill-container is also Drew's in that it is likewise decorated with love letters.

A momentous silence later, Drew says, "Very well; I'll do as you bid me," before kissing Dawn fleetingly on her rounded cheekbones—why is it that I am feeling so jealous?—and sprinting off to do a couple more lay-ups. Smooth.

Dawn shoots me a successful look before quickly pulling out her mother's breast-enhancing pill-case from her dandelion jellyroll bag and dumping out a bunch of smooth white tablets into a ready cupped hand, emptying the entire bottle. Then, with professional speed, she uses her free hand to twist off the cap of Drew's pill-bottle and pours all of its contents into her mother's empty pill-bottle. Now that Drew's pill-bottle has been vacated, Dawn dumps her mother's breast-enhancing pills into the bottle and secures the cap.

Finishing the swap of steroids and breast-enhancers, Dawn raises her right thumb in a triumphant gesture and winks at me before scooting off to blend herself in with the crowd, who seem to have gotten over their brief rose frenzy.

Drew saunters back to the table, not noticing that Dawn was gone—the arrogant bastard he was—and idly picked up the testerone-estrogen-bottle-thing (that is getting hard to think, to be honest). He eyeballs it circumspectly for a moment, and my breath catches in my throat—would he not drink it? But my worried cake is dough. Drew flipped open the bottle and began gulping down the contents.

I watch as his Adam's apple oscillated, before he finished his intake of the T.E.B.T. and, 'ahh'-ing satisfactorily, screwed the cap of the bottle on again.

Though I know it is impervious of chastise of me to note such mundane things, I marvel at how fastidiously Drew completes each action. It's as if he's an actor, making his movements with almost practiced ease. I wonder what he hides beneath that impassive mask of his. How could he be so cool yet passionate at the same time? Surely, it was zeal I saw flash across his celadon eyes with every fleeting kiss he gave Dawn, Misty, or Marina, was it not?

"Ooh, Mary, you like Drew too, don't you?" Turquoise says suddenly in her usual flighty voice, bumbling up to my side out of nowhere. Her voice is barely audible above the incongruous roar of the crowd.

"W-what?" I stutter indignantly, a furious flush rising to my cheekbones. "Don't be crazy, Turquoise, I don't like Drew! He is a pompous—ass with—"

"Go on," Silver says. I am thrown off track for a little moment. Mute Silver? Speaking?

Glancing at the arms he is wrapping lovingly around Turquoise's neck, I figure out that it is probably Turquoise's presence that is influencing him into speech. Something twists in my stomach at the amorous looks the two exchange.

"No, seriously, go on," Turquoise says, laughing slightly, "I really want to hear what you think about Drew. Personally I think that he's quite"—Turquoise giggles—"hot,"—Silver frowns—"but you seem to think different so I want to know exactly what you have to say about him."

"Fine," I say, gearing myself up for a full-blown rant, "First of all, I hate the way that he swaggers around the school, looking like he owns the place; and I don't get why all those girls swoon over him, I've seen farmore attractive men in my life."

Somewhere in Tokyo, I am sure that Ruby is having a seizure.

"Secondly, it really pisses me off that he simply doesn't talk to anyone besides from exchanging a few words with his entourage. It's like he thinks he'sjustsooomuch better than everyone else, he won't even 'degrade' himself to conversation! I've seen some girls try to talk to him, and he's

either snapped rudely at them or ignored them. And thirdly, no, I, uh, I really don't think that Drew is all that h—"

The bell rings for fifth period.

Later

When I arrive home, I discover to my horror that Mom has bought Max a guitar.

A guitar.

A freaking electricguitar.

A freaking electric guitar!

Screaming insanely, I run up to my room, forget to shut my door, and dig around in a recently opened cardboard box for earmuffs. Finding my usual red ones, I grab a bottle of Super glue and glue the earmuffs to my two ears. Any later physical pain will be worth the tragedy I am safeguarding myself against. Just as I am thinking these very words, Max begins strumming the first few notes to whatever classical guitar music he was learning.

It puzzles me where Mom got the extra money to pay for the guitar, but Mom's fiscal worries are not mine, and I don't like math anyway.

Waking up my computer from 'sleep' mode with a few randomized keystrokes, I watch as the ancient screen shimmers into light and open up Internet Explorer (which I still have despite Ruby's many implorations of me to switch to FireFox, but as I am mortally afraid of anything with a flame I decided against it on all twenty-seven occasions). Checking my Gmail account, I note that the aforementioned teenager has replied to my email.

Dear Sapphire, I read.

I am truly beginning to question your sanity.

Well, that doesn't sound very supportive.

However this does not mean that I do not condone your behavior.

This Drew fellow, who I will fondly nickname 'Grass Ass', does seem to be a bastard, and you know that I do not engage in plebeian profanities so easily. He is a sexist, dissolute playboy, from what you have told me and what you have implied.

I must, though, caution you against taking such drastic measures. Though steroids are in all senses illegal to use, especially when participating in athletics that hold some sort of significance beyond the Little League, swapping someone's medication for another that could be potentially dangerous is very. . . inhumane.

I frown, feeling embarrassed.

But hilarious. Send me photos.

I smile.

If you were caring, I have been doing all right in Tokyo. Father is out on a researching trip while Mother is at a yoga lesson (I wanted to go but I feel that completing this email is of higher importance). Aunt Winona is to come in a week with Aunt Flannery. I am not sure how Father will feel about this as he is slightly homophobic, but if he offends the two Mother will have him in a headlock before you can say 'Birch.'

I hope that you are finding life in the Big Apple pleasant. I believe they have a Nintendo World of sorts somewhere in the city, which you may enjoy.

From,
Ruby

P.S. I finally got my black belt from Bruno. I would give you a blow-by-blow account of the karate match, but you probably don't care and Mom has just phoned, telling me that she signed me up for extra ballet lessons!

After reading the email, I am considerably happier. I feel really glad for Ruby, since I know how long he's been waiting to pursue his dancing career, and with those extra ballet lessons, who knows? He could be a. . . like a. . . dancing karate person.

It is then that I am aware of a horrible screeching noise searing up the stairwell and through the threshold of my room's door which I have so stupidly forgotten to shut.

Mom has apparently arrived home, as I can hear her praising Max with vocabulary that I'd thought was beyond her capability.

"May! May! Come hear your brother sing! Aww, he's such a talented little kid!" Mom shouts from the living room. I think I hear her clapping along with Max's song.

Groaning, my happy mood bubble bursts, and I flag the email and grab two wads of cotton.

Later; The next day

"Oh-Em-Gee, Mary!"

My ears flinch at the high-pitched coquettish voice of Dawn Ikari. With much trepidation, I turn around in my seat, taking my time. After all, school had just ended, and Dawn has actually sounded out the syllables of the popular Internet acronym.

"Mary! You deaf? School's outTime to see if our plan has worked!" Dawn says in her usual sing-song voice. I wish I had brought more cotton to school. People have told me that I am preppy, (read: Ruby) but my 'cheeriness' is dwarfed when compared to Dawn's incredibly irritable vociferousness.

Groaning, I say, "Dawn, my name is—"

"Mary!" Misty interjects. Both Dawn and I look to the doorway of the classroom, where the last of the kids, who were mostly math nerds and composed entirely of Lucas, were leaving. Misty, though not an exceptionally tall person, looks particularly imposing today and seems to cover the entire doorway, positively radiating formidability.

Though I am daunted by Misty's semblance to Hillary Clinton (even though, you know, I don't mind a woman president since I am a closet feminist), Dawn is not, and the first thing that the blue-haired girl says to the orange-haired girl was, "Oh, hey, bitch."

Wait, I thought Dawn and Misty were on good terms?

"Shut up, blueberry," Misty says unflinchingly, and before Dawn's hamsters could run fast enough for her to churn out a coherent response, Misty steamrollers on, "Mary, are you notaware that today is the first big game of the basketball season?"

Realizing that Misty is addressing me, I jerk involuntarily but reply hurriedly, "Uh, no. . .?"

Misty looks at me, absolutely deadpan. "Whatever. Get inside the car, now."

And that is how, before I know it, I am being whisked off to the first real basketball game of my life.

Author's Notes:

LOL SORRY FOR THE LATE LATE LATE UPDATE AND THE SHORTNESS

But I have this really bad writer's block and IT'S NOT GOING AWAY NOOOO

I am really worried about the in-characterness of my characters. . . PLEASE provide critique on how I can improve in this field. :c I tried to keep May the hesitant, bubbly girl that she is, but I sort of neglected the latter part of her personality. Dawn is too much of an airhead in this fic, a flaw which I will try to tone down later on through character development, but I am probably beyond help anyway. Misty. . . I don't care about her so that's why she's so OOC, LOL. Marina. . . How the heckam I supposed to write her, anyway? Most of her personality is derived from the movie character and the lame-ass summary on Bulbapedia that I read.

. . . I don't think that Dawn and Misty would get along together very well though. Two fiery but otherwise polar-opposite personalities equal absolutely anarchy in my opinion.

I'm really sorry for this incredibly long author's notes rant thing, but I posted this chapter with the beta-ation of my awesome-supreme-deluxe beta Arc Knight, so yeah.

Please review?

ON THE NEXT GALBINUS UPDATE, expect NATURAL DISTURBANCES!