The story of Al becoming Alistaire was such a big hit, I decided to go ahead and write a sequel series with all the seeds I planted but never germinated in the original. These tales will be a little more disjointed, and jumbled up chronologically. Please understand that while a few things in the early parts of each entry in this second series may overlap each other, the endings are arranged chronologically.
I'd like to make a special shout out to the readers and commenters who responded so wonderfully to Alistaire's first cycle. His further adventures are dedicated to you.
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THE ONE WITH POPPY
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I didn't know when it was going to happen, or where. But I knew it was going to happen. Turns out it took all of two hours. I was sitting in the Tuck with Bridget, Petra, and Beth. They all, or at least Bridget and Beth, knew I was upset. Beth was actively probing to get me to talk. Bridget was passively trying to screen me from Beth's questions. She knew I'd have already told them if I thought I could.
Suddenly, an ice cold voice spoke over my shoulder. "You!"
I just winced.
"Hi, Poppy," Bridget said, momentarily missing the tone of voice.
Poppy ignored Bridget. "You," she hissed again at me. "Get up. We need to talk," she growled, no one missing the hostility in her voice now.
The three girls I sat with all shrank back. "See you later, Alistaire," said Beth.
"Maybe," added Petra darkly.
"Don't trust this shithead," Poppy growled at them, angry that they had simply sat with me.
I dutifully got up and muttered, "Later, guys." I kind of hung my head and let Poppy lead me out of the Tuck.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the three sharing wide-eyed gazes.
Poppy led me out of the basement level and outside. It was full on dark out, and we wandered around a corner into the open. It was not private, but it was at least out of people's direct vision.
She rounded on me. "You fucked my mother!"
I had no answer. There was no answer. The evidence had been abundantly clear.
"What the fuck were you trying to do, you cocksucker?" Poppy went on, angrily but quietly. Even in her rage, she knew that Mr. Phelps's apartment was only two stories above us and his windows were always open.
"I..." I started to say, though I had no idea what words were going to follow 'I'. Turns out I needn't have worried. Poppy ran right over me.
"I can't even go
home
now, you asshole. Not after what I saw. How am I supposed to make my mother's bed ever again? I'll have PTSD!" She balled up her fists and glared at me. "She has texted me like a hundred times since that God-awful moment. I've had to block her."
"You should talk to her," I started to say in alarm. I could handle any consequence other than coming between Poppy and her mom.
"I am not at home to you handing out advice!" Poppy spat. She stamped her foot. "Here I thought it was kind of cute that you were following me around. I thought maybe you were maybe going to try to ask me out or something. But no! You were macking on my mom?"
"Poppy..."
"Do. Not. Talk. To. Me."
*
Less than a minute after Poppy had stalked off and I had swung in the opposite direction to walk through the night outside around a couple of buildings to the stairs of my dorm, my phone dinged. More or less automatically, I looked at the text. I was not in conversational mood.
It was a new text group, Beth, Petra, Bridget, and of course me. Wait, those three together in this conversation? Apparently the compartmentalization of my life was breaking down here at the end of school.
BETH
: Is she done with you?
I sighed.
ME
: I don't know. Hope so, I think.
PETRA
: Where are you?
ME
: I'm going to my dorm to sulk. ALONE
I shoved my phone in my pocket and climbed the stairs.
Less than two minutes after I was in and flopped down on my bed in the dark, the room lit only by nighttime ambient light from the window, my door swung open and all three girls slid in.
"In the dark? Really?" was all Bridget said, sitting quietly on the other end of my bed.
"We knew you were interested in her," Petra said. "Did you get a little too aggressive too soon?"
Before I could object to that idea, Beth cut in. "Alistaire? Not a fucking chance."
I shot Beth a look of gratitude at her somewhat misplaced faith me, but said nothing.
Beth perched on the edge of my desk chair. Petra leaned against the far wall.
Bridget slid a little closer and patted my thigh. "Come on dude. You look traumatized. You know you can talk. I know you worry about secrets 'that aren't yours to tell', but you need to talk about whatever happened. And you know we can all keep it quiet."
I looked back and forth significantly from Beth to Petra, whom I had certainly not told about each other.
Bridget shrugged. "Sometimes people guess, dude. When Petra got close to the truth, we thought it was better to tell than to lie. And it is all in the family."
I sighed and nodded.
"But you pissed that girl
off
, man!" Bridget went on. "This is a case where you need some outside advice. I don't think I've ever seen you piss anybody off for any reason, much less a girl you like. Fess up."
I took a deep breath.
"Did you fuck her finally, and it got all tangled?" Beth guessed.
I shook my head. "I didn't fuck Poppy. I fucked Sloane."
They all looked at me.
"Who the fuck is Sloane?" Petra asked.
I looked up. "Poppy's mom."
Now, that bought me a few moments of blessed silence. A few moments.
"You fucked Miss Manning?" Bridget gasped. I thought my days of shocking Bridget had passed.
After another hesitation, Beth asked. "When the hell did you decide to do that?"
"About ten minutes before I did," I sighed again. "We had been flirting harmlessly, then all of a sudden... whoosh!"
"You don't flirt harmlessly, Alistaire," Bridget said. "You flirt like a hurricane."