Twilight is not mine. Much like an Iphone and Taylor Lautner are not. Life is so unfair.

Reviews are much appreciated.

Chapter 2 is in progress.

Quil and Claire are freaking adorable.

Enough said.

I hate when she's mad at me.

"Claire," Quil looks at me with those big chocolate eyes of his. "Calm down."

I raise my eyebrows. "'Calm down'. I'm seventeen years old, I do not need a ruddy babysitter!" I do not understand why my parents thought I couldn't handle myself. As much as I love Quil, parents and PMS are not a winning combination. And lately, Quil was acting all too much like a parent.

"Claire Bear-"

"Don't call me that, I'm mad at you."

"Fine. Claire, we'll have a great time. I got all those rubbishy rom-coms you love so much. And triple chocolate ice cream." Yeah, and he's also wearing a T-shirt today. Cheers Q. Ruin my day why don't you?

"Unimpressed is the word that comes to mind," I huff, starting to stomp up the stairs. I wish we didn't have cream carpet, my stomping would be so much more effective if anyone could actually hear it.

"Why're you so grumpy?" Quil whines, following me down our cream corridor. "We've got all weekend together!"

"Joy," I mumble, turning into my room. Finally, some colour other than cream.

"Wait a second," he catches my arms and whirls me around to face him. "You don't already have plans do you? A date?" I can hear from his tone he's teasing me. I hate being teased. He's always teasing me, about my outfit, about my room, about who I'm talking to, about my friends.

I pull away from him, into my room, attempting to slam the door, but Quil sticks his foot in the way. I ignore him and collapse onto the bed. "Go away," I snap into the pillow.

"You do have a date!"

"It's none of your business, so leave me alone!"

"Who's the lucky guy?"

"Right now, you're lucky I haven't thrown my laptop at you. So leave."

"I'm real scared now Claire Bear. But, seriously, about this date..."

"Shut up. Go away. Leave me alone." I do not have the time or patience for Quil's antics. Unfortunately for me, he doesn't seem to care, and comes to sit on my bed. I feel the matress sink. "Oh, that's fine, come in if you like. Invade my personal space why don't you?"

He chuckles. "When's the date?"

"I am not having this conversation with you." Q and me are practically siblings. Except I wouldn't love a brother in quite the same way. Apparently I've known him since I was two, when we came to visit Aunt Em, though it feels like so much longer. I have no idea why Quil decided to hang out with me, I was only two. And I don't understand how he can remember so much when he must've only been a few years older than me. I have no idea how old Q is. He's always so vague about it whenever I ask. All I know is that he's been with me since I can remember. Not that I'm complaining. Q's the best thing that ever happened to me.

"Well, since your parents are out of town, I think you need someone to be responsible."

"I am being responsible!" I yell, sitting up, "God, I get one freaking date and it's like I've just told you I'm about to run off to Vegas to get married! Will you please just go away!"

He nods his head. "So, there is a date, huh?"

"I hate you." I lie back down, covering my head with the cushion.

"When's the date?" He repeats.

"I'm leaving in half an hour," I fume into the pillow.

"I don't know if-"

"Do not say I can't go. Because if you do, I will not talk to you for a month, and I'll tell all the guys about how you cried in Camp Rock. OK? Now will you get out so I can get ready?"

I feel his weight lifting off of the bed. It feels colder now his body heat is no longer radiating within such close proximity. "Well, take your cell," his voice sounds strained, like every word is a struggle. "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

I hear the creaks of the floorboards as he walks over them, and then the entire house shuddering as he continues down the stairs. As soon as I hear the 'Firefly' theme tune I jump up, to the dressing table.

Mascara. Where did I put my... Oh. There it is.

Eyeliner.

Blusher.

Straightners... or curlers?

Lip gloss. Well, every girl needs lip gloss. Lip action is always welcome.

All I need now is some killer heels. Which I can't find.

Closet. Not there.

Floor. Not there either.

Shoved in a drawer? Nope.

"Quil!" I yell, standing at the top of the stairs. "Have you seen my black patent heels?"

"No," I hear him grunt in reply. I roll my eyes and pad down the stairs, searching for the shoes in between glancing at the clock. Damn, only fifteen minutes. I check everywhere, under the stairs, in my parents room, under the sofa, until I finally find them in my sister's room. Like she would ever use them.

I haul arse back to my room, and grab a bag, shoving in my phone and wallet. I'm struggling to do up my shoes as the doorbell rings. I stagger downstairs, to find Quil waiting. The door remains closed.

"Claire, I don't know if this is such a good idea-"

"Don't care," I reply, shrugging past him.

"Be careful, I-"

"Go away."

"Claire, stop-"

"Leave me alone," I say, fetching my keys from the counter.

"If he tries to-"

"Shut up." I know I'm being unreasonable, but blame the hormones, not me.

"Seriously now, is he even-"

"I hate you."

He grins mischievously. "I hate you more."

"I sincerely doubt that."

"I know I hate you more."

I sigh. "Have you always been this annoying?"

He laughs, a deep throaty chuckle. "Yup. It's just you've got grumpier."

"Have not!"

He raises his eyebrows.

"No, you're just irritating," I insist.

"Have a nice time on your date Claire," he laughs, folding his arms. Which reveals just enough of his tremendously muscly arms to cause me to blush.

"I am not grumpy!" I cry.

"Give me a smile Claire Bear," he leans in the kiss me on the forehead.

"Only for a laugh, Q ," I reply. Our catchphrase. Really, mega cheesy, I know. But we've been doing it since forever.

Forever. Almost as long as I've known Quil.

Quil does exactly that, chuckling at me. I smile reluctantly. Damn Quil, always making me love him.

I head for the door, knowing the boy I'm about to spend the evening with isn't half as perfect as the one I just left behind.

I just let her leave, hating myself for being such a coward.