A/N: I was going to hold off on posting more of the story (surprise it's not a one shot after all!) until I'd finished it, but the muse demands I share, so where's the next chapter. Enjoy!

2 – Come to a Party

That persistent sense of disappointment was still lingering in his chest when he walked through the school gates Monday morning. It had started Saturday when the Plum girl hadn't turned up at Shorty's like he'd invited her and had stayed with him ever since. He told himself it was just because she was the only person in this god-forsaken town who hadn't immediately screwed their nose up at him upon first sight, but the weight of her absence was something he hadn't been prepared for.

Shrugging it off, he hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder and pushed through the front doors to the school building, a rush of noise and chaos crashing in around him. Instinctively, he took a deep breath, kept his head down and entered the throng of barely deodorised teens. The less attention he drew to himself, the less likely he was to end up back at the principal's office. That's what he'd learned. It had taken him six school in six months to learn it, but by now it was second nature. It didn't matter what the other kids said about him. He just had to make it through to June. Then he'd no doubt be shuffled off to yet another relative and yet another school. The new kid, all over again.

He understood why his parents had made the decisions they'd made. After the car-jacking incident he'd been sent off to military school for a year to 'straighten him out'. Then they felt guilty about forcing that life on him, and had taken him back out, but still worried that he'd just fall back into old habits with the wrong crowd if he ever stepped foot back in his old school in Newark. So, they sent him to stay with his Abuela. A month in, and his friendships were looking less than desirable, so they'd reefed him out of Miami to live with his Tío in New York.

Rinse and repeat for the rest of his freshman year and Carlos's parents were not only at their wit's end, but running out of relatives willing to 'put up with him'. If he couldn't make Trenton work for a full year he'd be sent back to military school to finish off high school. And there was no way in hell he wanted to go back to that kind of oppression.

The plus side of being in Trenton was that it was close enough to his hometown that he could finally see his siblings and cousins on a regular basis again. He'd stayed with a couple of relatives with children in the last year, but none he was close to either in age or relationship. It had felt good to just hang with people who understood the way he was for a change, and he'd been hoping to add the Plum girl to the mix, maybe make a real friend of her.

But she hadn't shown.

Ducking as a football flew past his head – whether by chance, or by aim, he didn't bother to consider – his thoughts strayed to the way her eyes had shone brightly for just a second before taking on a stormy hue when he suggested she meet up with him on the weekend. She'd sited her mother's disapproval as an excuse for why she couldn't go, and maybe he'd been naïve for thinking she was the kind of girl who wouldn't let that stop her, but here he was, pining.

He didn't understand how a girl with the wherewithal to jump straight into the middle of a fight between two testosterone fuelled guys without even batting an eye, could bow down to something as arbitrary as her own mother's wishes. Which, if they were anything like the other mothers in this town, were heinously overbearing and woefully outdated. He'd seen spunk in her, and it had given him hope. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

It was stupid to think that anyone could stray from the strict path this town followed, he told himself as he dragged his history textbook out of his locker.

Still, thoughts of her contradictions badgered him all the way through classes, distracting him and making him look like more of an idiot than he actually was when he was called on. She was the only thing on his mind when he entered the cafeteria and joined the lunch line.

His gaze roved over the groups scattered around the hall, wondering where she might fit in. She didn't seem like the popular kind. And from the way the English teacher had snapped at her after the fight, she had a penchant for getting into trouble, but she didn't strike him as a troublemaker. She was just… He didn't know how to describer her other than the singular person he wanted to see most right now. The tension rolling through him seemed to be calling out for her, demanding her presence, telling him that if he could just see her, just talk to her, everything would be okay.

Carlos walked slowly through the crowded cafeteria, eyes still scanning every face, looking for those bright blue eyes, those rosy cheeks, that cloud of unruly curls. He'd almost reached the doors to the courtyard, just about given up on his search, when he spotted her.

He froze for just a second, eerily reminiscent of the moment the Morelli asshole's fist had connected with her arm as she threw herself in front of him, then he changed course, making a bee line for her. And her friend, he realised as he neared the table in the back and noticed the girl she was laughing with.

A moment's hesitation slowed his stride. He didn't have a plan. He'd stopped trying to make friends four schools ago, and before that he'd just accidentally fall in with a group, like they'd recognised the darkness in his soul as matching theirs and decided to adopt him. This was different. He'd seen something in the Plum girl that drew him like a moth to a flame, but it wasn't the usual teenage angst bullshit. There was a literal fire inside her, a barely contained fight of her own. He wanted to get to know her. He wanted to be her friend. How did you make friends with someone who was clearly from a different world to you?

"You didn't come to the party," he found himself saying, plonking himself down directly beside her. He hadn't asked, just sat. He hadn't even waited for a lull in their conversation before he spoke. He was pretty sure the mousy-haired friend had been mid-sentence.

"Excuse you?" the friend said, attitude rolling her head around to face him as she threw eye-daggers his way. "This table is taken. Take your rabbit food and go sit somewhere else."

Blinking, Carlos looked down at the tray he'd collected his food on, and sure enough, the only thing on it was a garden salad. He'd been so preoccupied trying to pick out the Plum girl in the crowd that he hadn't paid any attention to what he was grabbing. There was no way that tiny, limp salad was going to get him through to the end of the day without severe hunger pangs. Just great.

"Mare, it's fine," Plum assured her friend, the words muffled as she worked on chewing what appeared to be a very large mouthful of – he glanced at her tray – tater tots. "This is Carlos."

The friend – Mare – rolled her eyes. "I know who he is, Steph," she said, waving a tot-laden fork around. "He's the only Mexican at the school."

"Cuban," Carlos corrected her evenly. "I'm second-generation Cuban-American. Not Mexican."

"Whatever," she huffed, and popped the tater tot in her mouth. "You can be Finnish for all I care, but you still need to find another table. Because of you and your fists, Steph can't go with me to Point Pleasant next weekend, so –"

"Mare," Steph warned her friend through gritted teeth, drawing Carlos's attention away from the unwelcoming friend. "I said it's fine. It's not his fault. I-"

"Did you really get in trouble just for breaking up a fight?" he asked, interrupting whatever excuse she was going to make to pin the blame on herself. "I told Principal Jenkins you had nothing to do with it. If that Morelli kid-"

Steph held up her hand, staring down at her tots intently. She'd barely spared him a glance when he sat down, or when she introduced him to her friend, he realised. He'd clearly made the wrong decision by sitting down with her. Anger bubbled up inside him, threatening to spill over at how wrong his judgement had been of her. She said she didn't blame him, but if she couldn't even look at him, then she was probably lying. She was just like all the rest.

He picked up his tray to leave, but she reached out, laying a gentle hand on his arm. A hand, he realised, that was bandaged and obviously splinted. He hoped her injury wasn't worse than the nurse had suggested. When he dragged his gaze up to hers, it was like she was staring straight into his soul. Unnerving. He couldn't get a handle on this girl.

"I didn't get detention or anything," she explained. "They believed me that I was just trying to break up the fight. But my mom plays bridge with the school secretary, and she heard about my trip to the principal's office, so for the next two weeks I'm stuck with home, school, and my shifts at the Tasty Pastry. Zero freedom."

"That's not fair," Carlos pointed out, turning in his seat to face her more fully, a frown pulling his brows low over his eyes. "You did nothing wrong."

"That's Helen for you," Mare scoffed, stuffing another tot in her mouth.

"And it doesn't help that I have a bit of a history with being in the wrong place at the wrong time," Steph added almost apologetically.

The table was silent for a few minutes as the girls continued to eat and Carlos tried to digest the information he'd just been given. Steph – was that short for Stephanie? – had a history of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like him. She appeared to be constantly in trouble with her parents – or at least, her mother – just like him. From the small conversation they'd managed to have on the way to the principal's office the previous week, he knew that she felt trapped and isolated under the weight of her mother's expectations.

But the way she'd just jumped in front of him… Him, not Morelli. She'd been facing away from Carlos when she entered the fray, her arms spread to shield him from the older kid. She'd stuck her neck out for him, probably knowing full and well that she'd end up in trouble with her mom. He hadn't been kidding when he'd likened her to a tiger. She didn't fit in this town's mould any better than he did, and that excited him. Everyone he'd met since arriving at this school had been a carbon copy of the person before, prim and proper with that mean slice of judgement for anyone who dared even peak over the edge of the pedestal they all stood on. Steph appeared to be standing with her toes curled over the edge, ready to leap off. The only thing stopping her was her mother's voice in her ear.

The disappointment that had been hanging over him like a cloud all weekend suddenly parted, bright rays of sunshine shining down. But not on him. No, they were bathing Stephanie Plum, caged tiger, woman burning from the inside out, in a pure, enticing light.

He wanted to be her friend so bad.

*o*

Over the next few days, Carlos kept an eye out for Stephanie in the halls between classes. He told himself he was just looking out for her safety, a kind of repayment for her interference in the fight, making sure she didn't get hurt or in any more unnecessary trouble since she hadn't been able to come to the gathering at Shorty's. But really, he was trying to figure her out.

He could sense how similar they were on a deep level, but whereas he'd rebelled against the pressures enforced on him – and paid dearly for it – she seemed to be stifling her own personality to fit into the cookie-cutter shape of the Perfect Burg Girl. What an oxymoron. The disappointment he'd felt that first weekend hand quickly morphed into a desire to liberate her from the chains holding her back. But first he had to figure out how to get her to trust him. How to make friends.

A week after he discovered her un-warranted grounding, he found himself walking twelve steps behind her on the way down the street after school. She was alone, for the first time since their jaunt to the principal's office, and he knew this was as good an opportunity as any to try to strengthen that bond he could feel stretching across the space between them.

"Hey," he said, bumping her shoulder as he jogged up beside her. He immediately regretted the action, of course, when she let out a shriek and managed to trip over her own feet. It was only the quick reflexes he'd gained from always being on edge that prevented her from falling flat on her ass. He gripped her arms, careful to avoid her injured wrist, until she regained her balance and pulled away from him, pressing a hand to her chest.

"Jesus, Carlos," she said, suddenly out of breath. "You scared the crap out of me."

His brows drew together in confusion. He hadn't exactly been quiet in his approach. "I though you heard me," he said by way of apology.

She just shook her head. "I must have spaced out." A glance at her watch made her grimace. "I have to go, if I'm not home by three-twenty-five Mom will have my head."

"I'll walk with you," Carlos offered, easily falling into step beside her as she hurried off. "I've been meaning to talk to you anyway."

Stephanie sent him a tight smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Thanks for the offer, but if she sees you anywhere near our house, it'll only make it ten times worse," she said. Her eyes were trained straight ahead, avoiding looking at him, probably so that she wouldn't see the hurt in his eyes, but what she didn't realise was that Carlos had long ago mastered the art of masking his true feelings. And her statement didn't hurt anyway. It wasn't Stephanie that had a problem with him, it was her mother, a woman who'd never met him. He didn't give a rat's ass what Helen Plum thought of him. He just hoped Stephanie had the same viewpoint.

"Just give me three blocks," he requested. "Then I promise I'll leave you to your fate."

She shook her head. "My doom."

That made him smile. "Well, I wasn't going to say anything," he said jokingly. "But you do appear to have that dead-girl-walking aura about you."

A musical laugh floated from Stephanie's lips, shimmering in the air and fairly blinding Carlos to the words that he'd had ready and lined up to come out. He only had three blocks to hopefully plant the seed of their friendship, but he wasted a good half a block being dazzled by that now familiar ray of sunshine, beckoning him to her. How could she still find it within herself to look and sound so happy when she was clearly buckling under the weight of expectations?

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" she asked when he'd been silent far too long.

"Oh." Carlos quickly shoved his wayward thoughts into one of the many compartments inside his brain and grabbed up the questions that had been playing on his mind. "I was wondering, if you hadn't been grounded, would you have come to the party with me?"

Her button nose scrunched, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness as they came out from under a line of shady trees. "Mmm," she hummed thoughtfully, drawing out the sound as her head tilted side to side. "Probably not."

"Why not?"

She turned around to face him, walking backwards in front of him. "Stranger Danger, Carlos. Maybe you've heard of it." She made a gesture that seemed to encompass his entire being and brought all that disappointment rushing back full force. Of course, she wasn't different. She'd grown up being brainwashed by this robot town. No way was she capable of accepting an outsider. Why did he even bother trying?

"I don't know anything about you," she went on, turning forward again as she stumbled over a rock. "Where did you come from? What's your favourite colour? Who are your parents? When's your birthday. What's you're middle name? Who's your favourite superhero? How many tattoos do you have? Have you ever kissed a girl? Do you have any siblings?"

Carlos blinked and almost forgot how to walk. It was such an eclectic list of things she wanted to know about him. Some of it made sense, especially given this town, but… superheroes? If anything, his desire to get to know her only increased. "Well," he said, jogging a couple steps to catch up again as she picked a stick up off the ground. "You already know my middle name," he pointed out. "Carlos."

"Good point," she agreed, twirling the stick in mesmerising patterns. "It's a little weird that you go by your middle name, though."

"Not in my culture. It's common. And when your dad has the same name as you, it makes it much easier to know who you're talking about."

"Huh," she said, glancing over at him. She dropped snapped the stick in half and dropped the bits beside the path, the actions so natural that she didn't even appear to be aware that she was doing them. "Your father's name is Ricardo Carlos Manoso, too?"

He nodded. "Everyone calls him Ricardo, though." She nodded as well, and another short silence passed between them as they continued to walk. "My mama's name is Maria," he added, at a loss of what else to say. She wanted to know who his parents were, after all, so this answered one of her questions. Of course, it didn't tell her that he was currently staying with his Tía, but he didn't have time to flesh out his whole back story right now. Especially since they'd just reached the end of the third block.

"Time's up," Stephanie sighed, pausing at the curb. If Carlos wasn't mistaken, she didn't want their time together to end any more than he did. It was different with just the two of them. Sitting with her and her friend at lunch the other day had been okay, but it didn't give him the same sense of wonder and admiration he'd gotten in their first meeting. Stephanie was more reserved in front of Mare. She tempered her words and seemed to easily hand over control to the other girl. It was like she forgot that she was her own person and allowed to have different opinions to those around her.

"You better get going so you don't get in any more trouble," Carlos said, taking a step back away from her. He could easily reach his Tía's house by continuing the same route Stephanie appeared to be on, but he didn't want to be the reason her punishment was extended. As much as it made his skin crawl and his fists clench, he'd bow to the rules she was currently bound to until he could figure out a way to help her shrug them off and become who she's meant to be.

Stephanie nodded again. "I'll see you around, I guess?" she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

Tucking his hands into his pockets, he rocked back on his heels. "Babe."

"That's not an answer," she accused, hands on hips as she turned to face him again.

"I'll be around," he confirmed, and before she could delay their parting any further and inadvertently make him the reason she was late home, he dashed off down a side street, unable to contain the grin spreading on his face. Maybe Trenton wouldn't be so bad after all.

*o*

It's not stalking, he told himself as he entered the Tasty Pastry the following Saturday morning. His Tía had sent him to pick up something from the bakery to take to the gathering she was going to later that day. Just because he'd walked to the wrong bakery on purpose just to see if Stephanie was working, and maybe sneak in a conversation, didn't mean anything. Word on the street was that the Tasty Pastry was far superior to any other bakery in town, anyway, so he was doing Tía a favour. Yeah, that made sense.

He joined the cue and cast his gaze around, cataloguing the goods on offer in the cases, the typical Burg folk in line ahead of him and- There she was, that fluffy ponytail sticking out from under a brimless cap. Just the sight of her made him want to smile.

Every afternoon after school, Carlos walked three blocks with her, and shared as much about himself as he could fit into that short time. He'd also taken to meeting her there in the morning to carve out additional time alone with her once he realised that Mary-Lou invariably took the bus to and from school. He'd come to think of them as the building blocks of their eventual friendship, though she still seemed hesitant to commit to such a thing. Especially at lunch time, when Mary-Lou was always right there, a constant reminder of the 'proper' way to act toward outsiders.

On those three-block talks, he'd gotten a glimpse of the Stephanie that she kept bottled up inside, and he wanted more. Did she even realise she was suppressing her true self? Their backgrounds were so similar, both loved by their parents, but not unconditionally. There was a lack of understanding that drove them to be the way they were. Him: rebellious and defiant. Her: stifled and adrift. Neither lifestyle was particularly healthy if he was being honest, but he couldn't stand the fact that she was letting that gorgeous spark of life be snuffed out on a daily basis.

That, he told himself, is why I'm here. To help her cut loose. And maybe let her add some restraint to his rebellious streak at the same time. Maybe there was a happy medium where they could co-exist on the same plain.

"Next?" her voice cut through his thoughts, making him realise he'd reached the front of the line. "Carlos?"

"August twelfth," he said automatically, stepping up to the counter.

She opened her mouth, a confused wrinkle between her eyebrows, then snapped it shut, glanced at the cases and shook her head. "Sorry, I'm afraid we're already out of August twelfths. Can I interest you in a Boston Cream instead?"

He smiled. That was the Stephanie he liked to see. "I realised I hadn't told you my birthday yet," he explained, leaning a hip on the counter. "But now I have. August twelfth."

Her lips twitched (in surprise? In amusement? He wasn't sure). "Did you line up for ten minutes just to tell me your birthday?" she asked.

Had he? It was entirely possible at this point. He was a stalker after all, no doubt about it. All those excuses about her mom were probably just to fend off his creepy ass. This is what you get for distancing yourself from your peers, he told himself. But then he remembered Tía's errand, justifying his presence in her workplace. "I need a cake," he said, a little too hastily. "Or a pie. Anything but donuts, really."

She nodded and gestured over to the case that held a variety of cakes and pies. "Okay, what kind?"

Carlos just shrugged. "What kind do adults like to eat while complaining about their kids?"

Stephanie bit her lip to keep from laughing and gave him a knowing look as she pulled a coffee cake from one of the shelves. "This'll do the trick," she explained, boxing it up and sliding it across the counter to him. "Anything else?"

This was his chance. "Come to a party with me?" he requested.

By his calculations, her two weeks of grounding would have finished yesterday, so she should be free to do as she pleased, and it just so happened that his cousins and siblings were once again getting together a Shorty's that afternoon. It had become a sort of fortnightly ritual. Their parents and caregivers would thrust them out of their respective houses so they could gather on their own to, as he'd already mentioned, complain about their children. The cousins had decided that if their parents were going to complain about them, then they may as well gather to complain about their parents. Ten minutes into their first assembly, though, the purpose of the meeting was lost and they just enjoyed the time spent not under the watchful gaze of the adults. Carlos was hoping that by joining them, Stephanie would learn to shrug off the opinions and rules of the Burg just a little bit and learn to relax into who she really was.

"I have work," she finally said, accepting the cash he handed over for the cake. "I don't get off 'til midday. And what will I tell my mom to explain why I'm home later than expected? She's not just gonna accept that I went to a party with the Cuban kid and his cousins. And Shorty's isn't the most respectable place in town. Good girls don't go to Shorty's."

"So don't be a good girl," he encouraged. "Be Stephanie Plum. The real Stephanie Plum. And if your mom asks where you've been, just tell her the truth: that you were hanging out with friends."

She rolled her eyes at him, his changed clasped in her fist. "It's not that simple, Carlos."

He gave her a look. "But it could be."

Slowly, he watched the cogs turning in her head, trying to figure out if she could actually meet up with him outside of their three-block sanctuary. Her hand reached out, dropping the coins into his hand, and he realised his time was up. He'd drawn the interaction out as much as he could. Their metaphoric three blocks were up and it was time for them to part ways before the natives behind him started to get restless. "Okay," he said, stuffing the change into his pocket and picking up the cake box. "We'll be there till three if you change your mind."

She nodded her understanding and he turned to leave, making it all the way to the door before she heard her calling her name. He paused, glancing over his shoulder to find her hurrying around the counter, a small paper bag held out toward him. "You forgot your donut," she said cryptically, placing the bag in his spare hand, and giving his bicep a gentle squeeze before she was gone again, back behind the cases to serve the next customer.

He stared after her for several seconds, confused by what had just happened. He hadn't asked for a donut. In fact, he'd specifically asked for anything but a donut. Not only that, while the bag held a shape that made it appear that there was a donut inside, it was clear to him that it was empty, weighing almost nothing in his hand.

A woman and her two young sons bustled in through the door, to stand at the end of the line, blocking his view of the counter and Stephanie. He shook his head and stepped back outside, pausing to balance the cake on his knee and investigate the phantom donut. Inside the bag he found a slip of receipt paper with a single word scrawled hastily on it: Okay. And a smiley face.