watching_you | Neptune High Graduation

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Neptune High Graduation

Graduation at Neptune High is an event. Always has been. Neptune's rich and famous love to see their children all done up, and this event is no exception.

The auditorium is decked out in Pirate colours, green and yellow, and everything matches - the banners, the balloons, the gowns. There's an air of excitment, of pride, of anxiety.

Up on stage, Van Clemmons starts calling names.

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Logan can't even come up with a smartass remark, he's so pleased.

"Thanks," he says, grinning. "Glad to be done."

He gives her a long look. "And you decided to show up when?"

"You think I'd miss your graduation? I'm hurt, Logan."

It's light, but she actually might be, a little. Not that she'd ever admit it.

"You look very green. And sort of polyestery."

"You didn't call..." he says, then lets it go. It's as close to an apology as he can get, and he's not in the picking-a-fight mood.

"Yeah, I'm thinking it's not my color," he says. "If only we could have been clad in gold with green trim, right?"

Or orange. Or argyle. Because those are other overused colors and patterns on this show.

It would be a pity to spoil one of their few fight-free conversations quite this quickly.

"Honestly, I think any polyester dress-like thing is kind of a lost cause."

Even in argyle.

"But hey, you don't have to wear one again for at least four years."

"Aren't we optimistic?" Logan says, laughing. "So you're not relegating me to loserville or trade school like everyone else I know?"

"See, trade school would require you to actually like, take up a trade, and as for the loserville thing, well, maybe, but you'd still be able to find a college or ten that'll put up with you for the tuition."

Logan makes a face. "Thanks, sis," he says. "I knew I could count on you to have faith in me."

There is, surprisingly, no rancor in his voice. "So are you taking me out to a celebratory lunch, or am I going to have to scavenge on my own?"

"I think a celebratory lunch could be arranged," she says, with no reference to his people, her people, her day planner, or how busy she is.

"Hell, if you've got your fake ID on you, I'll even buy you a celebratory drink."

"When was the last time I was without?" he asks, pulling it out and twirling said ID in his hands. "It's like American Express, only better. You feeling up to someplace swank?"

"Sure. Your call, little brother."

She's in a generous mood.

"I'm kinda surprised Dad's not here," she adds, as casually as she can.

Logan suggests a place that doesn't suck, to say the least, and they head out to the parking lot, pushing past the many green-robed grads as they go.

He slows a bit at her last comment. "Uh, yeah, well, I don't think he's too happy with me right now," he says. "Given my choosing to testify and all."

"Yeah, which is why his turning up here would be an even better photo op than usual.

"You talked to him? Outside the courtroom, I mean?"

"No," he says shortly. "I was busy hurling in the bushes. You?"

"Yeah. I called him."

It's only mildly defensive.

"He's our father, Logan."

"Yeah," Logan says, and he's trying to sound angry, but all he can manage is sad and somehow defeated. "Too bad he never acted like it."

Too bad he wanted to kill two of my girlfriends goes unspoken.

No, what's too bad is that he only acted like their father.

But all Trina says is, "Maybe things'll be different."

She doesn't really believe it, though.

An important distinction, and one Logan would do well to remember.

"I don't - " Logan stops, not knowing if he's going to say, "I don't think so," or "I don't want them to."

He settles on "I don't know." It seems the only thing he knows for sure.

"I know you don't. I don't either. I mean, God knows as a family we're screwed up enough to be the most popular episode of Tinseltown Diaries ever.

"And I don't think I can continue this conversation completely sober. You want me to drive?"

Logan nods. "Please."

He can always come back and pick up the ~~offensively yellow~~ XTerra later.

He wants to say something nice, a compliment, because she's right and being smart and kind and he appreciates it, but he doesn't know what, exactly. Anything he says will come out wrong, either patronizing or smug or just idiotic.

So he says nothing, just gets in the car.

She wouldn't believe any compliment he paid her, or know how to respond anyway, so it's just as well. But, hey, it means a lot that he didn't insult her.

"I think this is the first time I've driven you away from this school when you weren't drunk since . . . did I drive you home from my play junior year?"

He'd been eight, she'd been sixteen, and something (she hadn't known or cared what) had happened with Logan and Dad on their way to the play.

It's something, anyway. Not much, but something.

"Yeah," he says, remembering the night. "And then you didn't make me go to dinner with them, which I thought was the best thing ever."

Logan had been whining about the play - he didn't want to go AT ALL, to watch stupid high school kids in their stupid play he wouldn't understand. He wanted to stay home and play video games.

Aaron dragged Logan to the car and physically restrained him with seatbelts. As in, using the center one to tie him to the others.

Logan really appreciated Trina's license then.

"Well, you know, I hated your mother's taste in restraunts."

Logan and Trina don't give each other a whole lot of credit, but then, they're not take it for themselves, either.

As for the play, well, Logan was probably a little too young then to properly appreciate the vision of his tone deaf older sister with the endless parade of boyfriends warbling about being a girl who "cain't say no."

"We went to McDonalds. All you wanted was chocolate milkshakes. I bought you four of them and you were so sick that night."

Trina pulls ouf of the parking lot, keeping her eyes carefully on the road ahead.

"I was good older sister occasionally, wasn't I? I mean, not all the time or most of it, or even close to half, but I got it right once or twice, right?"

It's easier to ask when she has an excuse not to look at him. Traffic is handy for that.

"It was awesome," he says, grinning. "I ruined mom's favorite rug. It was even more hideous than her taste in restaurants."

But Lynn never told Aaron what happened to it, not really, a fact he's also grateful for.

Logan's quiet for a long moment. They stop at a red light, and when it changes, and Trina's eyes are on the road again, he says, "Yeah."

Another pause.

"More than once or twice, really."

"A whole three or four times, then," she says, looking over at him for just a second.

And then, because this isn't something they do, she changes the subject.

"I'd forgotten about that rug. The first time I stayed with them, after they got married, before you were born, I was like, terrified of that rug. I refused to walk on it. I made Dad carry me across."

"Really?" he says, laughing. "I never heard that story."

Which is odd, because Lynn kind of loved telling those kinds of Trina stories in just the tone of voice that told everyone how dumb her adopted step-daughter was.

"I can't blame you, really. It was terrifying. I'm impressed we didn't go blind looking at it."

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