Fic: Sun-Sue and The Art of War (Chapter 2)
Title: Sun-Sue and The Art of War (Chapter 2)
Author: kappamaki33
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairings: Full ensemble (Sue, all Glee kids, Mr. Schue, Emma, Brad and the band, Burt, Carole, Coach Beiste, Blaine, and Jesse); canon pairings as of the end of “Prom Queen”
Spoilers: Through 2.20 (Prom Queen)
Word Count: ~2,100 (this chapter); ~20,000 (complete)
Summary: AU after “Prom Queen”. Sue is running out of time to destroy the Glee Club before Nationals in New York City. She finds guidance in an ancient Chinese treatise on military strategy and tactics. This inspires her to join New Directions on the eleven-hour bus trip from Lima to NYC in an unusual capacity.
Posting Plan: I plan to post new chapters every other day (possibly every day if I get ambitious).
Prologue: All warfare is based on deception.
Chapter 1: Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him.
Chapter 2: We are not fit to lead an army on the march unless we are familiar with the face of the country-its mountains and forests, its pitfalls and precipices, its marshes and swamps.
Chapter 3: If he is taking his ease, give him no rest. If his forces are united, separate them.
Chapter 4: At first, then, exhibit the coyness of a maiden, until the enemy gives you an opening; afterwards emulate the rapidity of a running hare, and it will be too late for the enemy to oppose you.
Chapter 5: Hence the saying: If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.
Chapter 6: Do not interfere with an army that is returning home.
Epilogue: ...There are not more than five musical notes, yet the combinations of these five give rise to more melodies than can ever be heard.
Notes: I placed this story in an AU after “Prom Queen” because it really required Sue to be over-the-top and devious, which I couldn’t make work in my mind post-“Funeral.” The epigrams are all excerpts from the real The Art of War by Sun-Tzu.
Also, two notes on plausibility: Yes, it is absolutely, positively plausible that New Directions would take a bus rather than a plane to the competition. My high school marching band did, for a drive twice as long as Lima to NYC. And yes, I have played “Hey Cow.” The cows are usually not as impressed with me as they apparently are with Brittany. Finally, I am aware of DADT’s repeal, but I had to tell the joke anyway.
Back to Prologue and Chapter 1
Chapter 2
We are not fit to lead an army on the march unless we are familiar with the face of the country-its mountains and forests, its pitfalls and precipices, its marshes and swamps.
Artie had heard the thing about the homeless guy using the out-of-order toilet and cooking rats inside, but the bus really only smelled musty, not...well, poopy. He figured Coach Sylvester must’ve been exaggerating, like she had with the dental torture (he hoped). Though he was happy it looked like they were going to avoid dying of asphyxiation or bacterial infections or something, there was still a good chance they were going to die from boredom.
Three and a half hours into the trip, just as the sun was beginning to set, the batteries in laptops, portable DVD players, and PSP Gos started dying. Everyone on the bus knew each time a screen died, because the death was followed by choruses of moans. When Artie’s laptop died, he and Mike were similarly left bored and perplexed.
“What are we going to do now?” Mike asked. “I suppose we could sleep, but that seems kind of like a waste of time.”
Artie shrugged. “I suppose we could play Angry Birds on our phones.” Mike nodded in agreement, and they both whipped out their iPhones. “Hey, does your phone have no reception out here at all?”
“Yeah. That’s weird. You’d think there would be cell phone towers all around Interstate 80, since it’s such a major road.”
“Yeah,” Artie said uncertainly. He leaned over Mike and looked out the window. “This road doesn’t look like an interstate.”
Mike turned and looked out, too. “All the trees and mountains are probably messing with the reception, too,” Mike said.
If they had been paying attention, Mike and Artie would have seen Sue’s smirk in the rear-view mirror. Instead, they saw something else as they looked out the window.
“Whoa!” Mike yelled, pulling back. “Was that a low-flying vulture?”
“Actually, I think it was a sandwich,” Artie said.
“One-fourth of a sandwich,” Brittany whispered from the seat in front of them. “I’m leaving a crumb trail, like Hansel and Gretel did, only since Coach Sylvester is kidnapping, like, twenty-five of us instead of two, we need bigger crumbs.”
Artie grimaced, “Brittany, Coach Sylvester-”
“Shh! She has ears in the back of her head! She showed me once,” Brittany hissed.
“Fine,” Artie whispered. “Coach Sylvester is not kidnapping us,”
Brittany rolled her eyes. “If you don’t have anything better to do, we could play ‘Hey Cow.’”
“What’s ‘Hey Cow’?” Mike asked.
“You open up a window, and every time you pass a pasture or a farm with cows in it, you yell ‘Hey Cow!’ and make other noises that cows like. You get a point for every cow you get to turn her head and look at you.”
Just as Artie was about to roll his eyes and find a relatively nice way to say how stupid that game sounded, Mike perked up and said, “Okay, sounds good. Your turn first, then mine, then Tina's, then Artie’s?”
“I'm still not speaking to you,” Tina said from the other seat in front of them, though she didn't turn around. “But Brittany, I agree with the arrangement the boy whom I am not speaking to just proposed.”
Brittany opened a snack-sized bag of potato chips and sprinkled it out the window.
“Hey, is that our group snack sack and cooler you’re throwing food out of?” Artie asked.
Brittany ignored his anger and replied coolly, “You’ll thank me for this. Sounds good, Mike. Ooh, up in that clearing, there’s four Holsteins!” She hung her head out the window, long blond hair whipping in the wind. “Heeeey Coooow! Mooo to yooou!”
It was going to be a long night, Artie thought to himself.
~*~
It was Carole’s turn to drive, but Burt didn’t dare pull over to switch drivers, or he’d lose the bus. That wouldn’t have been a problem on the interstate, but it looked like Coach Sylvester was taking some kind of shortcut-and bumping along at pretty high speed for a bus on a poorly maintained county blacktop.
Carole stretched out her legs, happy to have the middle bench all to herself. Jesse was in the back seat with his headphones on, silently but soulfully singing along and dancing in his seat. Blaine was sitting shotgun, his phone in his lap, trying to fold himself into the corner farthest from Burt.
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and text Kurt, ask him to tell Coach Sylvester that we’re ready to take a little break when we come to the next town,” Burt said to Blaine. He added in a somewhat accusatory voice, “Because you are texting Kurt right now, and have been the whole trip anyway, right?”
Carole watched the exchange in the rear-view mirror. Burt’s eyes were narrowed. Blaine’s were wide, and he gulped nervously.
“Yes, sir. Uh, I mean, yes sir, I have been texting Kurt, but I can’t ask him that because my cell phone isn’t getting any reception out here, I’m afraid.” He added even more meekly, “I’m sorry.”
Burt grunted noncommittally in response. “So, Blaine,” he said.
Blaine flinched. “Yes, sir?”
“We haven’t really had a chance to chat since you and my son started dating.” There was nothing objectively threatening about Burt’s voice or demeanor, but Carole could tell what he was up to anyway.
Blaine swallowed. “No, sir.”
“We did have that little chat at the shop a couple weeks before you started dating him, though,” Burt said. “When you told me I should talk to him so he’d be safe if he ever hooked up with a guy at a boozy party.”
“Sir, I know what that must look like in retrospect, but I swear, it was just excessive concern for a friend and really, really bad timing,” Blaine almost pleaded. Carole believed him, mostly because telling a kid’s dad to have The Talk with them was such a stupid attempt at seduction that not even a teenager would try it.
“Well, that’s good to know,” Burt said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. “We didn’t get much of a chance to chat after I found you drunk in my son’s bed that one time, though.”
Blaine looked about ready to melt into his seat in embarrassment. Carole promised herself she’d bail him out if Burt took it too far, but hey, she understood wanting to make a child’s significant other squirm. It was one of the few perks of parenting a teenager.
“I know I’ve screwed up a lot, but nothing happened, honest. I still had my shoes on!” Blaine said. “I know you have every reason to hate me-”
“Eh, I don’t hate you,” Burt said dismissively. “I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you, but I don’t hate you. And I’ve got a slipped disc in my back, so I couldn’t throw you very far.”
They sat in silence for a few miles. The tableau Carole viewed in the rear-view mirror was pretty entertaining: Burt looking satisfied, Blaine wide-eyed and distressed, and Jesse bopping along to music only he could hear, using a pocket comb as a stand-in for a microphone as he lip synced.
“This is a pretty isolated road we’re taking,” Burt commented fake-casually, breaking the silence. “Isn’t it, Blaine?”
Blaine jumped in his seat again. “Yes, sir, it is.”
“Bet there’s hardly any traffic at all, let alone police.”
“True, sir.” Blaine was pale.
Burt absently beat a little rhythm out on the steering wheel. “Yep. I bet people dump things out here they want to get rid of all the time. Drugs, guns, bodies...”
“Burt!” Carole finally cut in. “Play nice.”
“I was just saying,” Burt protested, though Carole could tell from his expression he’d known exactly what he was doing.
Carole considered chastising Burt further for picking on Blaine, but she ultimately decided against it. Instead, she determined the best course of action would be to take notes. After all, there was always the possibility they could get Quinn in the SUV for the drive back to Lima.
~*~
“Whew!” Emma said as she plopped down on the bar stool beside Shannon. She was still breathing heavily, and she couldn't have stopped smiling if she wanted to. “That was fun! Too bad my childhood encounter with a pigpen ruined farms for me forever, because I think I could’ve been a cowgirl.” She broke into song, singing along to the jukebox, “I shoulda been a cowgirl! I shoulda learned to rope and ride! Wearin’ my...something something riding my pony on a cattle drive.”
Shannon chuckled at her enthusiasm and pushed the drink she’d ordered for Emma in her direction. She laid a straw in its paper wrapping beside it. “I gotta admit, when I found you crying in the bathroom at school and invited you out here to Rosalita’s to cheer you up, I never guessed you’d take such a shine to mechanical bull riding.”
“Mmm, me neither.” Emma stuck her straw in her drink and sipped at it like a milkshake. “I think it’s the buzz from the ride over here, and the leather gloves you bought me for it.” She was still wearing them, in fact. Emma had decided leather driving gloves were leaps and bounds better than rubber gloves. She wondered if anyone would notice if she wore them at school. “But I think it's mostly the vodka.”
“Uh, Emma? I hate to break it to you, but we’re not drunk,” Shannon said.
Emma’s eyes widened. She knew she probably looked like a bush baby, but she didn't feel the need to edit her expressions around Shannon at all. “How can that be? This is my fourth drink! You’ve had several rum and cokes yourself.”
“Sweetie, it’s four-thirty. On a school night. We can’t get sloshed. We have to go to work tomorrow,” Shannon said.
“So what have we been drinking?”
“I’ve been having Diet Coke, and you’ve been sucking down Virgin Sex on the Beaches like a rattlesnake in a watermelon patch.”
Though she didn’t understand the part about the rattlesnake at all, the rest of it was downright depressing. “I’m virginal even with sex on the beach? It’s like the whole ‘Afternoon Delight’ debacle all over again.”
Shannon patted her on the shoulder. “Aw, buck up, hon. Besides, I drove you out here on my Hog, and we have to both leave sober to drive back home on it.”
Emma conceded the point, then smiled again. “I guess that means it’s the gloves and the Harley that’s got me all...riled up,” she said, wiggling her shoulders in what she figured was a pretty lame attempt at acting out ‘riled up.’ On further reflection, she figured the true source of her enthusiasm shouldn’t have surprised her. The second most attractive thing about Carl after his dedication to dental hygiene had been him in a leather jacket, straddling a motorcycle.
“It’s a fun way to travel, isn’t it?” Shannon said wistfully. “The freedom, the wind whippin’ past you, the roar and rumble of the engine under you-”
“Being covered from head to toe, with a helmet and leather,” Emma said equally wistfully, jumping a little bit at Shannon’s expression of surprise. “What?”
“If you really like it that much-and I could tell you sure did enjoy the ride over here-you should definitely consider getting yourself a bike,” Shannon said.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. I wouldn’t have pegged you for it, but if anybody knows appearances can be deceiving, it’s me.” Shannon knocked back the last of her Diet Coke and added, “Yeah. You could even join the club I belong to. It’s for Western Ohio Hog enthusiasts who’re also school teachers. We call ourselves the Bad Apples.”
“The Bad Apples,” Emma repeated to herself, a little in awe. Then her spirits sank again. “That sounds too much like the Big Apple, which reminds me of where I should be, and how I failed the kids today.”
“It's not your fault,” Shannon reassured her, slinging her arm over her shoulder. “There’s a difference between letting compulsions take over your life and a healthy sense of self-preservation. Hell, the way you described it, there’s no way I would’ve got on that bus, either. Though considering my background with Sue, I think her driving alone would’ve been a deal-breaker for me.”
Shannon sat up, like a thought had just occurred to her. “Wait a sec. You said you thought you’d be okay once you actually got to New York, right?”
Emma nodded. “My therapist and I discussed it, and we both thought I was ready for a normal trip to a hotel and a performance venue.”
“So it’s really just a matter of getting there in the proper style, right?” Shannon said with a sly grin and a gleam in her eye. “Maybe it’s a really good thing we didn’t drink tonight. Should I call Figgins and let him know we're taking tomorrow off?”
That was when Emma caught on, too. She was practically vibrating with excitement. She knew it was clear from her expression what her answer was, so instead of bothering to reply to Shannon, she said, “Barkeep! Two more virgins for the road!”
She paused for a moment. “Oh, I mean two more virgin drinks.” She turned back to Shannon. “That was a really, really bad double entendre, wasn’t it?”
On to Chapter 3...
Author: kappamaki33
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairings: Full ensemble (Sue, all Glee kids, Mr. Schue, Emma, Brad and the band, Burt, Carole, Coach Beiste, Blaine, and Jesse); canon pairings as of the end of “Prom Queen”
Spoilers: Through 2.20 (Prom Queen)
Word Count: ~2,100 (this chapter); ~20,000 (complete)
Summary: AU after “Prom Queen”. Sue is running out of time to destroy the Glee Club before Nationals in New York City. She finds guidance in an ancient Chinese treatise on military strategy and tactics. This inspires her to join New Directions on the eleven-hour bus trip from Lima to NYC in an unusual capacity.
Posting Plan: I plan to post new chapters every other day (possibly every day if I get ambitious).
Prologue: All warfare is based on deception.
Chapter 1: Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him.
Chapter 2: We are not fit to lead an army on the march unless we are familiar with the face of the country-its mountains and forests, its pitfalls and precipices, its marshes and swamps.
Chapter 3: If he is taking his ease, give him no rest. If his forces are united, separate them.
Chapter 4: At first, then, exhibit the coyness of a maiden, until the enemy gives you an opening; afterwards emulate the rapidity of a running hare, and it will be too late for the enemy to oppose you.
Chapter 5: Hence the saying: If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.
Chapter 6: Do not interfere with an army that is returning home.
Epilogue: ...There are not more than five musical notes, yet the combinations of these five give rise to more melodies than can ever be heard.
Notes: I placed this story in an AU after “Prom Queen” because it really required Sue to be over-the-top and devious, which I couldn’t make work in my mind post-“Funeral.” The epigrams are all excerpts from the real The Art of War by Sun-Tzu.
Also, two notes on plausibility: Yes, it is absolutely, positively plausible that New Directions would take a bus rather than a plane to the competition. My high school marching band did, for a drive twice as long as Lima to NYC. And yes, I have played “Hey Cow.” The cows are usually not as impressed with me as they apparently are with Brittany. Finally, I am aware of DADT’s repeal, but I had to tell the joke anyway.
Back to Prologue and Chapter 1
Chapter 2
We are not fit to lead an army on the march unless we are familiar with the face of the country-its mountains and forests, its pitfalls and precipices, its marshes and swamps.
Artie had heard the thing about the homeless guy using the out-of-order toilet and cooking rats inside, but the bus really only smelled musty, not...well, poopy. He figured Coach Sylvester must’ve been exaggerating, like she had with the dental torture (he hoped). Though he was happy it looked like they were going to avoid dying of asphyxiation or bacterial infections or something, there was still a good chance they were going to die from boredom.
Three and a half hours into the trip, just as the sun was beginning to set, the batteries in laptops, portable DVD players, and PSP Gos started dying. Everyone on the bus knew each time a screen died, because the death was followed by choruses of moans. When Artie’s laptop died, he and Mike were similarly left bored and perplexed.
“What are we going to do now?” Mike asked. “I suppose we could sleep, but that seems kind of like a waste of time.”
Artie shrugged. “I suppose we could play Angry Birds on our phones.” Mike nodded in agreement, and they both whipped out their iPhones. “Hey, does your phone have no reception out here at all?”
“Yeah. That’s weird. You’d think there would be cell phone towers all around Interstate 80, since it’s such a major road.”
“Yeah,” Artie said uncertainly. He leaned over Mike and looked out the window. “This road doesn’t look like an interstate.”
Mike turned and looked out, too. “All the trees and mountains are probably messing with the reception, too,” Mike said.
If they had been paying attention, Mike and Artie would have seen Sue’s smirk in the rear-view mirror. Instead, they saw something else as they looked out the window.
“Whoa!” Mike yelled, pulling back. “Was that a low-flying vulture?”
“Actually, I think it was a sandwich,” Artie said.
“One-fourth of a sandwich,” Brittany whispered from the seat in front of them. “I’m leaving a crumb trail, like Hansel and Gretel did, only since Coach Sylvester is kidnapping, like, twenty-five of us instead of two, we need bigger crumbs.”
Artie grimaced, “Brittany, Coach Sylvester-”
“Shh! She has ears in the back of her head! She showed me once,” Brittany hissed.
“Fine,” Artie whispered. “Coach Sylvester is not kidnapping us,”
Brittany rolled her eyes. “If you don’t have anything better to do, we could play ‘Hey Cow.’”
“What’s ‘Hey Cow’?” Mike asked.
“You open up a window, and every time you pass a pasture or a farm with cows in it, you yell ‘Hey Cow!’ and make other noises that cows like. You get a point for every cow you get to turn her head and look at you.”
Just as Artie was about to roll his eyes and find a relatively nice way to say how stupid that game sounded, Mike perked up and said, “Okay, sounds good. Your turn first, then mine, then Tina's, then Artie’s?”
“I'm still not speaking to you,” Tina said from the other seat in front of them, though she didn't turn around. “But Brittany, I agree with the arrangement the boy whom I am not speaking to just proposed.”
Brittany opened a snack-sized bag of potato chips and sprinkled it out the window.
“Hey, is that our group snack sack and cooler you’re throwing food out of?” Artie asked.
Brittany ignored his anger and replied coolly, “You’ll thank me for this. Sounds good, Mike. Ooh, up in that clearing, there’s four Holsteins!” She hung her head out the window, long blond hair whipping in the wind. “Heeeey Coooow! Mooo to yooou!”
It was going to be a long night, Artie thought to himself.
~*~
It was Carole’s turn to drive, but Burt didn’t dare pull over to switch drivers, or he’d lose the bus. That wouldn’t have been a problem on the interstate, but it looked like Coach Sylvester was taking some kind of shortcut-and bumping along at pretty high speed for a bus on a poorly maintained county blacktop.
Carole stretched out her legs, happy to have the middle bench all to herself. Jesse was in the back seat with his headphones on, silently but soulfully singing along and dancing in his seat. Blaine was sitting shotgun, his phone in his lap, trying to fold himself into the corner farthest from Burt.
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and text Kurt, ask him to tell Coach Sylvester that we’re ready to take a little break when we come to the next town,” Burt said to Blaine. He added in a somewhat accusatory voice, “Because you are texting Kurt right now, and have been the whole trip anyway, right?”
Carole watched the exchange in the rear-view mirror. Burt’s eyes were narrowed. Blaine’s were wide, and he gulped nervously.
“Yes, sir. Uh, I mean, yes sir, I have been texting Kurt, but I can’t ask him that because my cell phone isn’t getting any reception out here, I’m afraid.” He added even more meekly, “I’m sorry.”
Burt grunted noncommittally in response. “So, Blaine,” he said.
Blaine flinched. “Yes, sir?”
“We haven’t really had a chance to chat since you and my son started dating.” There was nothing objectively threatening about Burt’s voice or demeanor, but Carole could tell what he was up to anyway.
Blaine swallowed. “No, sir.”
“We did have that little chat at the shop a couple weeks before you started dating him, though,” Burt said. “When you told me I should talk to him so he’d be safe if he ever hooked up with a guy at a boozy party.”
“Sir, I know what that must look like in retrospect, but I swear, it was just excessive concern for a friend and really, really bad timing,” Blaine almost pleaded. Carole believed him, mostly because telling a kid’s dad to have The Talk with them was such a stupid attempt at seduction that not even a teenager would try it.
“Well, that’s good to know,” Burt said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. “We didn’t get much of a chance to chat after I found you drunk in my son’s bed that one time, though.”
Blaine looked about ready to melt into his seat in embarrassment. Carole promised herself she’d bail him out if Burt took it too far, but hey, she understood wanting to make a child’s significant other squirm. It was one of the few perks of parenting a teenager.
“I know I’ve screwed up a lot, but nothing happened, honest. I still had my shoes on!” Blaine said. “I know you have every reason to hate me-”
“Eh, I don’t hate you,” Burt said dismissively. “I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you, but I don’t hate you. And I’ve got a slipped disc in my back, so I couldn’t throw you very far.”
They sat in silence for a few miles. The tableau Carole viewed in the rear-view mirror was pretty entertaining: Burt looking satisfied, Blaine wide-eyed and distressed, and Jesse bopping along to music only he could hear, using a pocket comb as a stand-in for a microphone as he lip synced.
“This is a pretty isolated road we’re taking,” Burt commented fake-casually, breaking the silence. “Isn’t it, Blaine?”
Blaine jumped in his seat again. “Yes, sir, it is.”
“Bet there’s hardly any traffic at all, let alone police.”
“True, sir.” Blaine was pale.
Burt absently beat a little rhythm out on the steering wheel. “Yep. I bet people dump things out here they want to get rid of all the time. Drugs, guns, bodies...”
“Burt!” Carole finally cut in. “Play nice.”
“I was just saying,” Burt protested, though Carole could tell from his expression he’d known exactly what he was doing.
Carole considered chastising Burt further for picking on Blaine, but she ultimately decided against it. Instead, she determined the best course of action would be to take notes. After all, there was always the possibility they could get Quinn in the SUV for the drive back to Lima.
~*~
“Whew!” Emma said as she plopped down on the bar stool beside Shannon. She was still breathing heavily, and she couldn't have stopped smiling if she wanted to. “That was fun! Too bad my childhood encounter with a pigpen ruined farms for me forever, because I think I could’ve been a cowgirl.” She broke into song, singing along to the jukebox, “I shoulda been a cowgirl! I shoulda learned to rope and ride! Wearin’ my...something something riding my pony on a cattle drive.”
Shannon chuckled at her enthusiasm and pushed the drink she’d ordered for Emma in her direction. She laid a straw in its paper wrapping beside it. “I gotta admit, when I found you crying in the bathroom at school and invited you out here to Rosalita’s to cheer you up, I never guessed you’d take such a shine to mechanical bull riding.”
“Mmm, me neither.” Emma stuck her straw in her drink and sipped at it like a milkshake. “I think it’s the buzz from the ride over here, and the leather gloves you bought me for it.” She was still wearing them, in fact. Emma had decided leather driving gloves were leaps and bounds better than rubber gloves. She wondered if anyone would notice if she wore them at school. “But I think it's mostly the vodka.”
“Uh, Emma? I hate to break it to you, but we’re not drunk,” Shannon said.
Emma’s eyes widened. She knew she probably looked like a bush baby, but she didn't feel the need to edit her expressions around Shannon at all. “How can that be? This is my fourth drink! You’ve had several rum and cokes yourself.”
“Sweetie, it’s four-thirty. On a school night. We can’t get sloshed. We have to go to work tomorrow,” Shannon said.
“So what have we been drinking?”
“I’ve been having Diet Coke, and you’ve been sucking down Virgin Sex on the Beaches like a rattlesnake in a watermelon patch.”
Though she didn’t understand the part about the rattlesnake at all, the rest of it was downright depressing. “I’m virginal even with sex on the beach? It’s like the whole ‘Afternoon Delight’ debacle all over again.”
Shannon patted her on the shoulder. “Aw, buck up, hon. Besides, I drove you out here on my Hog, and we have to both leave sober to drive back home on it.”
Emma conceded the point, then smiled again. “I guess that means it’s the gloves and the Harley that’s got me all...riled up,” she said, wiggling her shoulders in what she figured was a pretty lame attempt at acting out ‘riled up.’ On further reflection, she figured the true source of her enthusiasm shouldn’t have surprised her. The second most attractive thing about Carl after his dedication to dental hygiene had been him in a leather jacket, straddling a motorcycle.
“It’s a fun way to travel, isn’t it?” Shannon said wistfully. “The freedom, the wind whippin’ past you, the roar and rumble of the engine under you-”
“Being covered from head to toe, with a helmet and leather,” Emma said equally wistfully, jumping a little bit at Shannon’s expression of surprise. “What?”
“If you really like it that much-and I could tell you sure did enjoy the ride over here-you should definitely consider getting yourself a bike,” Shannon said.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. I wouldn’t have pegged you for it, but if anybody knows appearances can be deceiving, it’s me.” Shannon knocked back the last of her Diet Coke and added, “Yeah. You could even join the club I belong to. It’s for Western Ohio Hog enthusiasts who’re also school teachers. We call ourselves the Bad Apples.”
“The Bad Apples,” Emma repeated to herself, a little in awe. Then her spirits sank again. “That sounds too much like the Big Apple, which reminds me of where I should be, and how I failed the kids today.”
“It's not your fault,” Shannon reassured her, slinging her arm over her shoulder. “There’s a difference between letting compulsions take over your life and a healthy sense of self-preservation. Hell, the way you described it, there’s no way I would’ve got on that bus, either. Though considering my background with Sue, I think her driving alone would’ve been a deal-breaker for me.”
Shannon sat up, like a thought had just occurred to her. “Wait a sec. You said you thought you’d be okay once you actually got to New York, right?”
Emma nodded. “My therapist and I discussed it, and we both thought I was ready for a normal trip to a hotel and a performance venue.”
“So it’s really just a matter of getting there in the proper style, right?” Shannon said with a sly grin and a gleam in her eye. “Maybe it’s a really good thing we didn’t drink tonight. Should I call Figgins and let him know we're taking tomorrow off?”
That was when Emma caught on, too. She was practically vibrating with excitement. She knew it was clear from her expression what her answer was, so instead of bothering to reply to Shannon, she said, “Barkeep! Two more virgins for the road!”
She paused for a moment. “Oh, I mean two more virgin drinks.” She turned back to Shannon. “That was a really, really bad double entendre, wasn’t it?”
On to Chapter 3...