Super duper chapter image of Robyn-the-Wise by emmapotter @tda :D


“You threw up?!?!”

“I THREW UP!” I cried as I dramatically collapsed head-first onto Robyn’s bed (which is very soft by the way but THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT). I buried my face into her comforter hoping that it would engulf me entirely and rid me of this ridiculously pathetic excuse for a life. Because to be quite frank, I was too embarrassed – nay, too distraught to even think about ever showing my face in public again. Hell, I’ll even live with the bloody Mole People if I have to!

I hear they’re very nice.

Neither of us spoke; there was absolute silence. Without even having to look at her for conformation, I knew that Robyn was racking her brain for something comforting to say. Anything to make me feel better, to make me feel less tempted to hang myself with Red Rope licorice from the shower rod in her bathroom. To make me not wish that a man decked in all black would just ninja his way into her room, shoving a whole jar’s worth of extra-sticky peanut butter down my throat, thus clogging my windpipe and suffocating me to death. To make me not want to sink my fingernails into my eyeballs and then jump out the window. Because that would be just crazy. I mean, I can’t even imagine why I would even envision such things; I mean all I did was fucking ralph all over James fucking Potter’s converse. No big sodding deal, right?

In other words: my life is over and I’m currently on a suicide watch.

I know what you’re thinking; that I’m being a little ridiculous here. You’re probably like: Really, Spencer, really? A ninja that forces peanut butter down people’s throats? Well, isn’t that just realistic? Well, you know what? I know it’s not ideal, but it could happen. I’m sure that there are loads of ninjas roaming through London right now just waiting to find the perfect victim to inflict upon their peanut product of doom. And I welcome them with open arms.

And no, I’m not being melodramatic, thank you very much. I’d like to see you empty the contents of your stomach all over a very attractive boy’s shoes and see how you feel.

Not too fun now is it? I bet you wish you had a ninja to put you out of your misery now, don’t you? Don’t you?!?


Me too.

I thought of all this as Robyn scrambled for something suitable to say to me. But the silence was dragging on for too long; a clear sign that there were no comforting words for my predicament. I had really fucked up this time.

You see, Robyn and I go way back. We were kind of forced together by our dads who used to leave us with one another whenever they’d go to nerd conventions hoping that we’d bond or something. And we did; we were eight at the time and we’ve been besties ever since even though my attendance to boarding school only allows us to see each other over the summer and winter holidays. And Robyn’s always been the more mature and perceptive one between the two of us; she’s been giving me advice and getting me out of pickles like this for years. Although, if I recall correctly, this is the first time that I’ve ever barfed on someone, therefore we’re in rather uncharted territory. Hence, the prolonged silence.

Finally Robyn cleared her throat. “Okay, so you threw up, it’s not that bad,” Her inappropriately casual tone caused me to lift my head from her comforter, thus giving her a look that clearly questioned her sanity. She promptly ignored said look (despite its expert execution) and plowed on with whatever crap she had cooked up in order to make me feel better. “I bet loads of people have probably done the same thing, Spence,” Oh dear God, this pep talk is even worse than I thought it would be. “I’m sure somewhere in the world, someone is doing the same thing as we speak.”

I rolled my eyes at this. “Oh, bull shit. If that were even slightly true, the world would be a really fucked up place.”

She looked down at her hands in her lap. “Yeah…” See what I mean? My existence is too cruel to endure for long periods of time. I can only handle suckiness in small doses. Very small. And this is massive. Even Robyn-the-Wise thinks so. Which obviously means it’s true. Duh. Why else would she be called Robyn-the-Wise?

Said smart best friend’s eyes suddenly met mine. “Okay, don’t get mad at me for asking, but-”

My stomach twisted in knots. I didn’t really want to talk about it anymore but I knew it was probably best if I just let it all out to someone. And Robyn was the best person for the job. Because she’s wise. Have I mentioned that? “What?”

Her voice was quiet when she spoke again. “How did James react when you…you know? Puked on his shoes?”

I winced and rolled over onto my back, blowing at the hair that had fallen into my eyes. “Mixed emotions, I guess. I can’t really think of any other way to describe it. I mean, when it first happened, he seemed really…torn. Like part of him wanted to be really grossed out and disgusted but at the same time he also didn’t want to make me feel even worse than I already did, you know? So then he got really awkward and started making really bad jokes and nervously running his fingers through his hair because he didn’t know what else to do. It was painfully awkward, Robyn, just awful.” I rolled my head to the side to pleadingly look Robyn, who was sitting on the floor, in the eyes. I was ichin’ for some sympathy.

“Well, at least he was nice about it,” she suggested as if it made the situation any better. WHICH IT DIDN’T. “If you think about it, he could have been a real git and flipped out on you.”

“Yeah, he was nice and all, but he was really grossed out; I could totally tell.” I threw my hands up in the air in frustration. “Even Danny was disgusted! Danny! Of all people, Danny! My own stalker didn’t even want me.”

Robyn snorted. “Really? That’s kind of surprising, actually. I thought that he would have at least collected a sample or something-”

“Oi! Not helping Robyn.”


I’m starting to question the credibility of her wiseness. Is that even a real word?

But deadass mofos; last night was the worst night ever. After I did the walk of shame to my father’s flat, I was greeted by the man himself who was rather cheesed at me. Apparently I had forgotten about our little ice cream date…whoops. He ranted for, like, ten billion hours until I was so fed up that I pretty much shouted “Well if it makes you feel any better, old man, my date sucked, okay? I threw up on his shoes!” At first he didn’t say anything; his eyes probed my face to see if there was any truth to my words. Once he realized that I was dead serious, he laughed. The little twat actually fucking laughed at me. Can you comprehend how bloody huge and insanely pathetic that is my part? You don’t? Let me put it this way: I WAS LAUGHED AT BY A GROWN MAN WHO DRESSES UP AS CAPTAIN HOOK FOR HALLOWEEN EVERY YEAR.

As you can see, ‘twas not my best moment. I’ve come to realize what rock bottom feels like. Not a fun place, my friends, not fun at all.

“So,” Robyn said in a rather upbeat voice as she stood up from her position on the floor. “What are you going to do when he stops by again?”

I gaped at her, standing up as well. “Are you mental, woman? He’s not gonna want to see me-”

“Why not?” She held up her hand to stop the retort that was forming on my lips. “From what you’ve told me, you both had a great time last night…before you threw up, that is.”

I put on my thinking face and stared at Robyn’s purple walls as if the answer to her question was embedded in the paint. What would I do if he came to see me? I mean, I doubted that he would; it would certainly be a miracle if he did. And I mean a major one; like a water-to-wine type miracle.

“Well, if he does show up at my door, and I totally mean this in a hypothetical-type situation because he is most certainly not,” I began, bringing my attention back to the brunette standing before me. “I will not be there to see because I will be at my mother’s house before my presence is due by the request I will soon propose to my dad.”

“So you’re gonna run away,” she stated flatly.

I thought about it for a minute. “Yep. Pretty much.”

She rolled her eyes at me and crossed her arms. “Spencer, you can’t do that-”

“I can and I will!” I declared, thrusting my fist into the air.

“Now you’re just being ridiculous. Do you hear yourself speaking? You sound like a-”

But I didn’t get to hear the rest because I stuck my fingers in my ears and started wandering aimlessly around the room like the five year old I truly am. “Lalalala I’m not listening.”

“Spencer come on-”


“You’re being really immature-”


“Would you stop that-?”


Still pacing the room, my childish antics were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a ferocious (and wonderfully executed) warrior cry generating from the other side of the room. Rather startled and impressed, I turned just in time to see Robyn lunge in my direction and tackle me to the ground, me shrieking all the way down. We kind of fell in, like, slow motion; the room unexpectedly held still as we flew downwards through the air. Robyn’s eyes were all wide and twitchy and all around bugging out on me which was really freaky but totally added to the dramatics of the slow motion. I have to admit, it was a really nice touch. And then out of nowhere (and to my disappointment) time sped up again and I landed hard on my back with a loud “Oomph.” Instantly there was a lot of hair pulling and struggling between the two of us (I even bit her hand which earned me a whack on the head) until my arms were neatly pinned to my sides. I was never known for my strength.

“Ow, Robyn,” I whined. “What the fuck?”

“Listen, Up-Chuck,” Robyn snapped, her voice fiercer than I had ever heard it. “You are gonna grow a pair of fucking balls, quit feeling sorry for yourself, and march your fucking stubborn arse back to your dad’s place when you leave here. And you’re gonna fucking stay there until James whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is comes knocking on your fucking door begging to bloody take you out again. Because he fucking will. Otherwise he’s just a fucking stuck-up fuckwit who you shouldn’t have even wasted your fucking time on in the fucking first place! You fucking got it?”

I stared at her in complete shock, my jaw dropped, absolutely stunned into silence. After about three minutes I finally found my voice and cleared my throat. “Did you just call me ‘Up-Chuck’?”

Robyn let out a groan of frustration. “Were you even listening to anything I just said-?”

“And how many times did you say various forms of ‘fuck?’ I mean, there had to be at least ten; I have to say, it was rather impressive.”

Robyn grinned, instantly distracted. “Thank you! I-” Her eyes suddenly darkened. “Oi! Quit sidetracking me! You’re completely missing the bloody point here! Were you or were you not listening?”

“Oi! I was listening! I’m not a complete idiot you know!” I retorted, rather offended. Summoning up strength that I didn’t know I possessed (because frankly, I am a bleeding wimp), I wiggled out of Robyn’s vice grip and shoved her off of me.

“Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I know you’re not an idiot,” she said, holding her hands up. “Since you were in fact listening to me and not just mesmerized by my excessive swearing, you will think about and consider what I said.”

In all honesty, I had been listening and I thought about what she had said. And she was right; she really was wise. Like she said, running away wouldn’t solve anything and if he doesn’t come, then oh well; his loss. Because I ooze out awesome…never mind, that actually sounds really gross. Anyway, if he does come, then that just proves that he’s a decent bloke and that we can put this whole mishap behind us. If it’s meant to be, everything will work itself out.


Which is why, my friends, I found myself later that day standing at the end of my mother’s driveway waving farewell to my male parental unit.

Robyn is gonna kick my arse when she finds out.

Surprisingly, my dad didn’t really have much of a problem with me leaving early; actually he seemed pretty jazzed about the whole thing. You see, to my most displeasure, I had been given specific instructions to report back to him with any information on my mum’s new bloke that I just so happen to “stumble upon.” Since the manfriend’s identity was being craftily concealed from the psychopath (with good reason I’d like to add), he couldn’t stalk the guy properly via the internet therefore the creeping job was passed along to me. Do you see what I have been reduced to? Stalking a most likely harmless bloke for my dad’s own personal gain! It just feels so wrong to partake in such sketchy extracurricular activities. And with my dad’s parting words of “Make me proud,” he made this shit sound like it was some sort of family business. Which I wasn’t comfortable with. At all. In all honesty, I do not aspire to be a professional stalker. Besides, I think that job description would include the mandatory requirement of having a facebook and I would never stoop so low.

Anyway, my mum wasn’t exactly expecting my arrival until later that night but I knew she wouldn’t mind if I came early. I just needed to get out of my dad’s place and far, far away from Danny and any unwanted visitors; particularly one whose first name begins with a “J” and last with a “P” and rhymes with Zames Yotter. (Yeah, I decided a few hours ago that his name must not be spoken; I know what you’re thinking: I’m mad cool.)

So after my dad was well on his way, I skipped my way up the driveway and little stone path that led to the red front door. I was minding my own business, innocently humming the tune of an Iggy Pop and the Stooges song when I clasped the doorknob and let myself inside. After taking my shoes off, a rule of my mother’s, I made my way down the hallway and into the living room-the area where she was most likely to be found.

“Hey, mum, sorry I came a little early but figured you wouldn’t mi-” I stopped dead in my tracks. I froze. My mum froze. The barely dressed bloke she was heavy snogging in her lacey bra and scanty knickers froze.

My face instantly burned tomato red due to my mortification at such a sight and I even think my heart stopped beating all together. This is what a cardiac arrest feels like, isn’t it? A scarring event indeed! I mean, did I seriously just walk in on my mum and some bloke on the verge of shagging? Only me; this would only happen to me. Wanna trade lives? If not, I’m contemplating selling it on the black market; some poor, unsuspecting idiot’s bound to buy it at some point.

The silence was painfully uncomfortable and I was hoping that someone would kindly break it, but instead the three of us stared at one another, jaws dropped, completely unsure of what to do.

Well isn’t this just awkward?

Every fiber of my being told me to back out of the room and run up the stairs to my room, leaving them to continue what I had obviously interrupted. But I couldn’t move. I just couldn’t. I was paralyzed and my eyes were glued to my mum’s shag buddy.

From his tanned skin to his black hair (which strangely reminded me of a tamer version of Zames Yotter) and defined abs, the bloke was insanely fit.

But that wasn’t the (main) cause for my staring. The bloke on the sofa with my mum, clad in only boxers, had to be no more than twenty years old. Twenty. Years. Old. And he was on the sofa, with my mum, wearing nothing but his boxers.

And I had just witnessed him eating my mum’s face off. Ew. Would someone like to gauge my eyes out with a spoon for me or should I do the honors?

Am I the only person who sees something wrong with this image? I mean, not only is that practically pedophiliac behavior, but my mum who’s in her early forties has more game than I do! When she’s with a gorgy guy, she shags him. When I’m with a gorgy guy, I heave on his shoes. What the fuck? I have, like, the sex appeal of a dirty tissue and here she is, sleeping around with young men twenty years her junior! Not. Fair.

And speaking of his age, no wonder my mum didn’t tag him in her relationship status on facebook; he doesn’t have a facebook. He, like me, was not part of that generation.

Daddy is not going to be happy when he hears about this.

My mother was comically opening and closing her mouth, oddly resembling a fish and I waited patiently for her to get the courage to say something, thus breaking the silence that fallen upon us. I mean, I certainly wasn’t going to. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the expression of Mr. Super-Mega-Foxy-Hunk-of-a-Man-Sex-God; he was clearly amused by the situation at hand. Hmm, inappropriately amused by others’ discomfort…who does that remind you of?


My mini internal battle was soon interrupted by the sound of my mum’s noticeably mortified and flustered voice. “Spencer, dear, I wasn’t expecting you until later…” Clearly. Silence ensued once more as she struggled to find something suitable to fill it with. “…This-this is Freddy. Freddy Weasley.”

My eyes immediately darted to Freddy who nodded his head towards me in a way I assumed he thought to be attractive. “Sup.”

I raised an eyebrow. Really? That’s how you address me? Sup? What the hell are you? A fucking American Frat Boy? “Hi,” I hesitated, still taken aback and rather unimpressed by his greeting. “…Freddy.” I popped my lips together. “I think I’m going to go upstairs now…bye.”

I grabbed my luggage by the handle and turned on my heels to make my way over to the stairs. My mum called out after me from behind. “Are you hungry for dinner, Spencer?”

“Not anymore I’m not.” I didn’t even turn to look at her when I spoke; I simply focused on putting one foot in front of the other and making slow progress up the steps. When I finally reached the top, I heard the deep voice of the one they call Freddy speak to my mother. “Your daughter’s pretty hot.”

Well isn’t he just a keeper?


A/N Thanks for reading! I don't own anything you recognize (unfortunately). Sorry there wasn't any Zames/Spencer moments in this chapter but I hoped you liked it regardless! What did you think of Robyn-the-Wise? Freddy/Spencer's Mom? Let me know please! I love reading your reviews; they get me so excited!!! :D

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