Out In the Open (tags Melodee)

[Bartholomew "Mew" Fischer]

Bartholomew Fischer had, perhaps, gained a bit more confidence since Sloane and Bree had approached him late last week. Not only had they visited him and not his older brother, but they had both made a point of speaking to him at Bree's party. And now, to top it all off, he had been handed an invitation to yet another gathering of Bree's, handed to him by none other than the uber-popular Tyler Durnham himself. He'd hardly spoken with Tyler outside of The Young Republican's Club, and he couldn't quite believe that any of Tyler's friends would be the least bit interested in socializing with him, but apparently they were, and they didn't care that he was an otaku and outcast. This was quite a revelation, after constant rejection by the popular people, but he hadn't seen any of those who mocked him at Bree's shindig: There was no Coco Faulkner to sneer at the mere thought he might be interested in her (he wasn't) and no Jasper Hastings to shudder with disgust at being in close proximity to nerdiness, and no Sarah Brody to look uncomfortable at the cartoon posters plastered over his locker. If it weren't for this recent boost to his ego, he would never have approached Melodee outside of club, but as it was he had almost convinced himself they might have a chance to be friends.

"Umm. Hey, Melodee..." He licked his lips as he cornered the other red-head. He was still nervous, particularly given the topic he was about to broach, but he felt that honesty was necessary. He glanced around quickly; nobody seemed to be listening, which was good. "Do you have a minute. Umm, in private?"

[Melodee Riker]

Words kept following her. It had been a while since they’d been spoken, and Melodee did deserve to hear them, but she doubted the boy who’d murmured them really knew what he had said. He had been, after all, shot. It wasn’t like she wasn’t loveable. Hell, she was almost perfection itself, almost. No one could actually reach that, but damn if the redheaded teen wasn’t trying.

At her locker, the teenaged would-be business owner went through a checklist in a pink leather bound planner.

Send flowers and a card to Philip Lim and his parents. Done.

Send flowers, cards, and GOOD food to Judd in hospital. Done. Visit. Also Done.

More flowers that she’d slotted down to send had been sent, as well as cards, money donated to relief funds and her mother had made a very moving speech on her show a few days ago. Everything was slowly going back to normal, but it was a false front. The shootings were still in the back of everyone’s mind. The signs of it were everywhere. Armed and uniformed officers roamed the halls of the school and there were metal detectors at every entrance/exit.

A voice managed to pull her attention away from her task however tentative it was. Who?

Mousey red hair. Bespeckled. The name escaped her, though she knew he was part of the Young Republicans club that met at her house.

Dennis? No.

James? No. It was something far less common.

Mew? Yes, short for Bartholomew.

“In private?” That was a very strange request, though she had the feeling he was about to proclaim his undying love for her. It seemed to be going around. Studying his face, Mel smiled. No, he didn’t have the look of someone about to tell someone else they loved them.

“Certainly, my car? I can give you a lift home.”

[Bartholomew "Mew" Fischer]

"Sure," Mew accepted this offer, amazed by her generosity. But then, he reminded himself, he shouldn't be surprised; people like Sloane and Bree and Tyler were talking to him. He still hadn't figured out why, but there was no need to question that, right?

He followed her out to her car, trying to come up with the best way to phrase his intended announcement. He had inadverdently learned her secret, and he wanted to sound supportive, not judgemental, but also he wanted her to know that her cover had been blown and maybe she ought to have a more reliable pretend boyfriend. Come to think of it, Magdalena hadn't done very well when she'd tried to pretend she was dating Phil, either; apparently fake relationships did not work very well.

"Umm, so." He began once they were in the privacy of Melodee's intimidatingly expensive vehicle. "You know....Sometimes I wonder if we ought to just change the name of our club to the Log Cabin Republicans." He ventured, and then hurried on with his admission before she could deflect his main point. "I uhhh I was talking with your....with Judd the other day, you know, it's not very effective if he denies he's your boyfriend. I was surprised at first, but it's okay, really, my best friend is gay, so it's not really a big deal, but yeah, you should talk to Judd about that if you don't want people to know."

[Melodee Riker]

If she hadn’t already been at a red light, Melodee might well have slammed on her brakes. As it was, she didn’t have to find out if her reaction would have been so sudden. Arching perfectly manicured eyebrows (threading was a wonderful thing, it hurt like hell, but it was far more precise and accurate than waxing, and faster than plucking if you got someone who knew what they were doing.) Mel studdied Mew through peripheral vision. He seemed so Ernest, but she hadn’t quite followed him. Or she didn’t want to think she had understood him correctly.

“What is it, exactly, that you think I don’t want people to know?” And what had Judd said that made the strange boy riding shotgun think whatever it was he was thinking. So much for declaring his undying love for her. It seemed he was more confused about her than anyone should be. At least any male.

The light turned green, and the Phantom moved forward with a smoothness that a car of a lower price class could only dream of. The Rolls Royce might be intimidating expensive, but it was one of the best, and safest cars out there. One did, after all, get what they paid for and Melodee deserved nothing but the best.

She waited, barely patiently, for the boy’s answer to her rather simple question.

[Bartholomew "Mew" Fischer]

Melodee's deflection wasn't entirely unexpected; that seemed to be very much par for the course with those in the closet. Not outright denying, but pretending not to understand the, for lack of a better word, accusations, though that wasn't an entirely accurate word; he wasn't accusing, accusing made it out to be negative. But he couldn't come up with a less offensive word, so mentally left it at accusation.

"Well, it's just that I saw Judd the other day, in the park," He explained, since she had asked, "And he said he wasn't your boyfriend. I thought he was but....it makes sense, you don't really seem to be that into him, but you hang around him more than other guys, and you're not into guys other than him, either. You know, I don't think anyone'd really care," He added diffidently. He had told Phil the same thing, but the biggest problem there was that Phil cared. He wondered if Melodee were the same way, and all her confidence and poise was only a front. "But if you're gonna have a beard you should be more....you know, convincing about it. And he probably shouldn't tell people that he isn't going out with you. It just doesn't work very well."

He locked his fingers together nervously, silent for a moment before adding, in a very tiny voice, "I'm sorry for assuming you were straight. Heteronormativity is pretty lame and I know I shouldn't do it but it's kind of hard not to follow the culture at large sometimes but I should still know better."

[Melodee Riker]

So he’d talked to Judd, she’d gathered that already, but what had the boy said, or not said. That he wasn’t her boyfriend? That was true enough, but what on earth did that… oh.

Resisting the urge to close her eyes, Melodee turned left and took a deep breath. Only to have it expelled from her lungs in an involuntary laugh. He was apologizing for assuming she was straight? He should have known better, he’d said, why? Because his best friend was gay? Mulling over the conversation, a tight smile playing on her painted lips, Melodee put two and two together.

Philip Lim.

It made sense, and certainly explained a great deal, but why on earth would Mew expect her to be a lesbian? Was she not perfectly manicured? Well if she were a lesbian, she’d certainly be a lipstick, rather than a butch. Regardless, she wasn’t.

“It’s all right that you assumed,” turning her head slightly so that he could see that she was indeed smiling, Mel turned her eyes back to the road and continued. “Though you’re wrong. I simply don’t have time to date. I’ve been hanging out with Judd not because he’s my, what did you call it? Beard? What an odd term, you’ll have to expound on that later. I hang out with Judd, because he needs someone to give him some positive feed back. It’s psychology. He acts the way he does because it’s the only way he knows how to get attention. I’m trying to show him another way.” And he would be useful to her in the future. She was building her, for lack of a better term, army.

Like both of her parents, Melodee had very strong ideas of what her future would be like. She would be taking over her late father’s publishing firm very shortly. She DID run her mother’s businesses and would be one of the most successful women in any market. It was in her blood. She had the taste for it.

Being called a lesbian, wasn’t a terrible thing, but it was untrue.

“I spend time with you, and Tyler as well. As for dating, I have far too much on my plate and there will be plenty of time for that later.”