Chapter Five: In which Nick gets very cheeky.

Entry 15: 5/31/08
5:26 am, my room.

He fell asleep (again) while we watched March of the Penguins and now I'm hiding in my room. God, that was embarrassing. Even more embarrassing than that little fantasy I cooked up about brushing the curl out of his eyes. Which, by the way, I found out that I was actually reaching toward it with my left hand. :O How embarrassing is that? I could just die. I must have been staring into his open eyes for a full minute or more—how creepy is that? Poor Nick tries to help me out and what do I do? I act all creepy and weird, that's what I do!

I almost feel like crying now. Is that really how pathetic I am? That I get all weepy over the smallest—okay, maybe it's not so pathetic. There's just—

I hear something. It's someone on the stairs.

SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT.

He just has to come look for me, doesn't he? He can't just accept the fact that I'm gone and go back to sleep. Nooooo, he just has to get worried and come looking for me like a kind, responsible person would. :P

Damnit, I need to stop complaining and look for a place to hide.

Muhaha! I have hidden under the bed. He will never find me here. :D Now, while I'm waiting for him to give up and leave, I can finally discuss what happened the other day that caused me to pitch such an almighty fit. You see, we all decided to

Wait! Bedroom door opening. Footsteps.

"Macy? Macy, c'mon. Stop messing around." Is there a bit of panic there? Methinks so. Why would Nick be panicky about me? :/

More footsteps.

"Macy, I've looked all over the house. You've got to be in here." Now desperation. He's sure acting odd tonight.

Closet door: open, shut.

Silence.

"Mace, I can hear your pencil scratching."

DAMN! Diary, you have betrayed me.

"Where are you, Mace?" Exasperation now. I think he's upset with me. Sadness. But I cannot reveal my location. Thinking of that, I should really stop writing. I'm going to give myself away before too long. Philip, why does writing in your neatly lined and bound body have to be so addictive?

"Are you… are you under the bed?" He sounds… amused.

Footsteps… oh, hi, Nick's feet!

Hi, Nick's face! (Yes, I sent him a tight smile and waved. I'm weird. Get used to it.)

"What are you doing down here?" he asks, sneezing on a dust bunny.

Like it isn't obvious. "Hiding," I reply shortly.

"Why?" he persists. He squeezes his head and one arm under the bed, but he's just too big to follow me down here. I knew it was a good hiding spot. "I can—maybe —understand abandoning me during March of the Penguins. But hiding under your bed?"

"I'm embarrassed!" I say. "You caught me staring at you—that's more than just mildly creepy. And even after you caught me, I continued to stare, and even though I hadn't quite realized that you were awake, it's still really, really weird. I mean, for all you know, I could have been plotting to murder you and then roast your heart in some weird, demonic ritual."

He looks a little scared now. Shit! "Uh… were you?"

"NO!" I exclaim, blushing madly. "I was… well, I mean… I just—"

"Then there's obviously no reason for me to worry, is there?" he asks, smiling slightly. My heart is pounding. I can't remember how many smiles that makes. He pulls himself out from under my bed, but keeps himself low to the ground. He offers me a hand. "C'mon. Stop scribbling in your journal and we can go for an early morning jog."

()

:) Bonus Entry 2: 5/31/08
6:35 pm. Your bedroom.

You are SO INCREDIBLY DIFFICULT, you know that? Like, I can't even believe how difficult it was to keep you out of this thing. If you aren't writing in it, you're re-reading what you've written. You've had this thing for a week. And, no offense, but your life can't be this exciting. My week didn't warrant… TWENTY-SEVEN PAGES? Holy mother of Mike! If I weren't afraid that you'd beat me with a volleyball, I would be obligated to find out what you've been writing about.

Of course, unlike certain people with sideburns that I saw you canoodling with in the early hours of the morning, I have some self-control. And what was that all about, anyway? The early-morning wake-up call? I'm used to Kevin-the-Early-Riser, but he usually doesn't try to get any of us up to join him. So what happened? And why'd you go back to sleep? I would think that the prospect of spending the morning with a JONAS would be enough to keep you awake. I mean, you stayed up all that time with me. Not that that was fan-behavior or… damnit, why'd I pick a pen to write in this thing?

That's another thing. HOW MANY PENS DO YOU NEED? You've got, like, EIGHTY in this desk of yours. And none of them are blue or black. NONE. They're all orange or red or green or purple or pink… Do you have, like, a thing for unusually-colored pens?

Oh, and sorry that I'm doing this again, by the way. I refuse to leave you along now that you're allowed to sleep (I know, I'm so evil, right? :P) and I've got nothing to do until you wake up. Yeah, and I'm not leaving the room after what happened last time I let you out of my sight (under the bed?); besides, I'd probably be scared if I woke up and I was all on my own. I kind of was yesterday, but that's completely different. I was afraid that something had happened to you… something terrible… I can't even begin to tell you how relieved I was when I found you under the bed.

While I'm talking about it, what was with that? I mean, I guess I can understand that you were embarrassed, but to go so far as to hide under the bed? There are dust bunnies and… it's just not nice. How did you fit under there, too? You must be tiny. Like… I'm not sure Frankie would fit under there. Just saying.

…

I've been trying for the past fifteen minutes to think of something interesting to say, but all I can think about is how you managed to fill TWENTY-SEVEN pages over a week. You don't even have any games to do play-by-play accounts of and practices for most of your teams are over. Even if you wrote down a word-for-word account of the other day, you shouldn't have twenty-seven pages of things to talk about.

:/ Hum.

Well, I'd better get out of this thing before you decide that death isn't punishment enough for writing in your diary again.

…oh, and I'm having a hard time not watching you sleep, too. You make the cutest faces when you're dreaming! :)

Love,
Nicholas Jerry Lucas.

PS—It is now exactly 7:05 pm. :)

a/n: So, this chapter is shorter than usual because it's technically the rest of chapter four. xD I split it up because it was getting really long. Don't worry, chapter six should be longer. But the story is winding down to a close. The next chapter reopens on June the first--the day before Macy's birthday. What could possibly happen between now and then? :O

Rainbows, love, and Nacy hugs. :)
Beth.