Summary: A story of hate, dislike, frustration, and a little bit of love.
Rating: PG-13
Categories: Short Stories
Characters: JC Chasez, Justin Timberlake
Genres: Drama, Romance, Comedy
Warnings: adult language
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 05/16/04
Updated: 05/17/04
Anti-Logic by Fionnuala
Chapter 1: The Flaw
Author's Notes: Part One
The Flaw
Have you ever fallen for someone that you absolutely hated? I mean hated? I know what you’re saying, “How could I fall for someone if I hated them?” It’s probably very logical of you to ask that question, but it is my personal belief that logic is pointless when it comes to romantic relationships. I mean, come on, since when is it logical to give your heart to someone and trust him (or her, so I don’t leave anyone out) with your feelings when it is a well-known fact that 9.5 out of 10 people will break your heart and completely disregard your feelings at some point during the relationship? You see? Relationships have nothing to do with logic. They’re actually like…anti-logic. Now that I’ve proven that it’s stupid for you to be logical, I will pose my question again: have you ever fallen for someone that you absolutely hated? Right, well, I know maybe one of you is nodding your head fervently and thinking, “Yes! I’m not alone!” So the story I am about to tell is for you. The rest of you can just, you know…go live your perfect little lives or whatever. Or you can listen anyway as long as you don’t try to talk sense into me or anything annoying like that. I believe in sense about as much as I believe in logic.
So it all started when I met this guy named JC Chasez. Before you go being all, “What? You can’t hate JC Chasez!” let me clarify that he is not the one I hate. I actually really liked JC when I first met him, and I still do. Apparently he’s from the same town as I am and he went to high school with my cousin Todd. Does anyone else think Todd is a lame name or is that just me? Just me? All right then. Moving on. Anyway, so yeah, Todd and JC go way back. They’re not best friends or anything, but they’re buds. I actually never knew that until a few years ago. Shows you how well I know Todd, doesn’t it? Anyway, so this one summer night after my sophomore year of college, I was sitting around in my backyard reading some loser magazine my little sister subscribed to (I think it was called Girl’s Life or something equally hilarious) and my mom came outside and said to me, “Hallie, you’ve got a phone call.” I looked up at her with this look like, “A what?” because I hate phones and all of my friends know this. And she just goes, “It’s Todd.” So I was like, okay my cousin is calling me. That’s cool. Except not really because I hate phones and why the hell did he want to talk to me anyway? So I sauntered into the kitchen and grabbed the phone and I greeted him as I would greet any member of my family. “What do you want?”
“Hey, Hallie, my favorite cousin!” his voice replied. Suspicious. Since when was I his favorite cousin? We talked, like, twice a year.
“What do you want?” I repeated, twirling my ugly dirty blonde hair around my finger. He laughed this laugh like, “Haha, my cousin’s so silly pretending it’s weird that I’m calling her.”
“Dude, listen, I’m having a party tonight and I was wondering if you want to come.”
“A party? No.”
“Aw, come on, Hals, it’ll be fun.” Hals? Will someone please kill me now? I forgot I had to tell about this conversation to get to my real point. If I’d remembered I probably wouldn’t be telling this story at all.
“Why do you want me to come? Did we become friends when I wasn’t looking or something? Or is there an ulterior motive?”
“I just figured we should bond and stuff.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my cousin! Why do I have to have another reason?”
“Because you don’t really like me, Todd. I’m the weirdo of the family. Did you miss the memo?” I really was the weirdo too. Everyone in my family was something really prestigious like a doctor or a lawyer or…no, they were all doctors and lawyers. Me? I wasn’t much of anything, really. Maps and countries fascinate me, so I was majoring in geography. I had no clue what I wanted to do with my geography degree when I got it. I couldn’t stand kids, or people in general, so I didn’t want to be a teacher. Cartography didn’t interest me either. Making maps didn’t appeal to me in anyway, I just liked looking at them. So I figured I’d be some weirdo who lived in her parents’ house forever and, like, stared at maps all day. Oh, and I liked to play racquetball. Yes, racquetball. You’d think this would endear me to all the white collars in my family, but somehow they didn’t realize that racquetball is the ultimate snobby sport. For a bunch of smart people, they sure were stupid.
“That isn’t true, Hals,” Todd lied through his teeth. For the love of sauerkraut! Stop it with the “Hals” already! What is this, band camp? Yes, I know that comparison made no sense, but what have I told you about me and sense? That’s right. Not friends. It was so obvious he had some other reason for wanting me at this party.
“Todd. Dear. As much as I’m enjoying this little chat of ours, could you cut the crap and tell me why you really want me at this party? I’m not buying the ‘let’s bond’ bit.” I heard him sigh. I could only hope it was a sigh of defeat. Girl’s Life was calling my name. It was all, “Hallie! Hallie! Come read about 12-year-olds' problems! Come read about the hottest celebrity crushes! Come kill some brain cells! Come, Hallie!” Oh, stop looking at me like that. It isn’t like I’m the only one who hears inanimate objects talking to her (or him, to continue with my fairness).
“Look, Hallie, I just want you to come, okay? I’m having a bunch of friends over and I know you don’t get out much, so I thought it would be good for you.” Ah, so that was it. He felt sorry for me.
“Have you been talking to my mother again?”
“I never talk to your mother. She lectures me about not eating red meat.” Okay, that I had to laugh at. That was Todd being real, because my mother definitely lectured about red meat. I actually sort of liked Todd when he was being real.
“She does that to everyone,” I confided. Whoa, this is sounding like I was being nice. I am not nice, people. If there’s anything I am not it is nice. And logical. And possessing common sense. “So why the pity invite?”
“Hallie, it isn’t a pity invite,” Todd insisted, sounding rather exasperated. Is it weird that I find pleasure in frustrating people? Yes? Okay. I’m cool with that. “I just want you to come, okay? You’re the only cousin who’s sort of close to my age.” That was true. We seemed to have a young cousin epidemic in our family and besides Todd and I, they were all ten years old or younger.
“Okay, fine, I guess I’ll come. Do you want me to bring anything?” Hey, look! I’m polite! Score one for Hallie Evans!
“Nah, it’s okay. It’s BYOB, but I’ll make an exception for you.”
“Oh, thank you, my dear cousin.” It wasn’t like I drank that much anyway. I’d have a few drinks, but I wasn’t about to get wasted. I’m not about losing my inhibitions. Inhibitions and I have a very, very close relationship. Inhibitions rock. Remember that. Todd laughed.
“No prob. See you tonight?”
“Yeah, sure.” I hung up the phone and returned to my backyard and my brainless magazine.
The party thing wasn’t that big of a deal to me. I figured I’d go, have a few drinks, do the running man a few times, and be done with it. But as it turned out the real reason Todd had invited me was JC. JC was on a break from touring and recording with that little group he’s in, N Sync. I like to write it, “In Sink,” but for some reason no one else finds that as funny as I do. What is up with the lack of decent humor in the world today? Sorry, I keep getting sidetracked. As I was saying, JC was on a break from touring and recording with In Sink and he was coming to the party to hang out with the old crowd. But JC’s old girlfriend was going to be there, so he and Todd wanted me to pretend that I was JC’s girlfriend. I really hope that you’re all staring at me like, “The hell?” right now, because you should be. First of all, Todd and JC were both about 23-years-old and I think we can all agree that by that time, a man should be beyond making up fake girlfriends to make himself look good, am I right? And second of all, do I seem to you like the type of person who wants to participate in such a scheme? “No,” you say? Good. But I was bored and JC wasn’t bad looking, so I figured it wasn’t a bad gig. Which reminds me that I forgot to tell you I was also a theatre minor. I loved to act. Funny, I don’t seem the least bit dramatic, do I? Please don’t make me punch you.
So I spent the rest of the night pretending to be JC’s girlfriend and I actually had a pretty good time. He was good company. Funny, kind of crazy, and surprisingly intelligent for someone with ten pounds of mousse in his hair. We talked all night long about anything and everything and even danced a bit. Word has it that his ex-girlfriend was incredibly jealous of me. Also pretty stupid, I suppose, if she couldn’t figure out what was really going on. Funnily enough, she and JC are back together now. Aren’t relationships dumb?
“So what does JC have to do with anything?” I hear you ask. Have patience, my friends. I will tell you. JC Chasez and I, oddly enough, became really good friends after that night. We e-mailed each other a lot (I hate phones, remember?) and he’d hang out with me when he was in town. I found myself relating to him in an odd way that I’d never been able to with most people, and he confided almost everything to me. I say “almost” because whenever he started talking about his sex life, I punched him. No, really. I did.
…
Okay, not really, but it sounded good, didn’t it? Yes, JC and I were tight. Bizarrely matched, but tight. So tight in fact that the very next summer, he called me up the day after I’d gotten home from my junior year of college. “Yo, Hallie, it’s me!” he said.
“JC, I hate phones,” I replied. Normally I’d pretend that I didn’t whine it, but hell, I’m being truthful here, so yeah…I whined. Sue me.
“I know, I know,” he assured me immediately. “But I have a proposal and I wanted to tell you immediately.”
“Okay, but hurry up. The Independent Film Channel is calling my name.” It was, too! It was all, “Hallie! Hallie! Come watch independent films!” Okay, never mind. We don’t need to get into that.
“You want to come on tour with me?” The boy really took me seriously when I told him to hurry up. It’s one of the things I’ve always liked about him. I nearly choked on the peach I was eating.
“Ew, why?”
“Because I think it’ll be fun. Say, ‘yes.’”
“Yeah, okay.” What can I say? I wasn’t exactly a hard sell. Being from a fairly wealthy family, I didn’t really have to work, and besides JC, I didn’t have that many friends at home, so what was I going to be doing with myself all summer? That’s right. Nothing. Touring could be fun.
“Awesome! You rock, Hallie!”
“Thanks. Can I go now?” I was missing Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas on IFC. It was not a good time to talk.
“Sure thing. I’ll call you later with the details.”
“’Kay. Talk to you later.”
“Bye, Hallie.”
So we made the arrangements, blah blah blah, I flew out to wherever the heck JC was (you can’t expect me to remember such trivial information) and voila! I was on tour with In Sink! How exciting. Except not really. People think it’s exciting but it isn’t. It’s actually very boring and oddly tiring.
The first night I got there, JC and I stayed up way too late talking about my life, his life, and what I’d learned in “Geography of South America” that semester and it was good. I was glad I was there, we had fun, yay for me and JC! I know you’re anticipating there being a flaw in this situation and good for you, because there is one! I met the flaw the very next day at sound check. Yes. The flaw was a he. Are you surprised? You shouldn’t be. I’d like to think you’re not.
I had come to sound check a little late because I was busy taking a shower when JC had told me it was time to leave. What? I may not be all vain and make up wearing, but I don’t like to smell. Plus I got up late. So one of their assistants, a girl by the name of Heather, who was exceptionally nice for a human being, stayed behind and drove in late with me.
Heather and I strolled into the venue all late and everything, and she was telling me something about her favorite lipstick (the girl was my complete opposite. Nice and cared about her appearance) and that’s when I saw him. The flaw. His name was Justin. Justin Timberlake. And his hair was very large. I disliked him immediately, not because he had big hair (although that would have been reason enough for me) but because he had this air about him that I didn’t like. This really arrogant air, you know? Like, “Oh, look at me, I’m Justin Timberlake and I am beautiful! Please kiss my feet.” Which, by the way, I would not recommend, because I have it on good authority that they smell. And anyway, I knew that he was famous and the most popular member of the band and everything, but I could already tell that he’d let it get to his head way too much. Granted, JC had only ever told me nice things about him, but I knew his type. I’d gone to high school with his type. They thought they were above everyone and that they could say and do whatever they wanted and get away with it. They thought they could kick people like me in the shins and steal our lunch money and goddammit, I was going to keep my lunch money around Justin Timberlake if it was the last thing I did!
…
I’m not making any sense, am I? This is one time in my life that I would really like to make sense, because I want people to see why I hate Justin Timberlake and not just view me as some weirdo who projected her childhood insecurities onto a poor, innocent pop star. That’s what JC thinks. To this day he still says to me, “Hallie, I know Justin can be slightly egotistical sometimes, but he isn’t what you think. Just because he looks like other jerks you’ve known doesn’t mean he is a jerk.” Like hell it doesn’t.
Anyway, as I said, Heather and I were walking down the aisle of this huge stadium and talking when I first saw Justin. He was yelling to some stagehand and saying something about how if they didn’t turn his mic up higher people wouldn’t be able to hear him and sweet mother of Abraham Lincoln, what a travesty that would be. Because, you know, life would be over if the teenyboppers of the world couldn’t hear Justin’s nasally voice over some way too loud sound system. Okay, I’m not saying he has a bad voice, so don’t hurt me. I’m just saying…something else, and I’m not sure what it is, so when I figure it out I’ll get back to you.
“Hallie!” JC called out when he saw me, waving manically. I grinned and waved back at him.
“Joshua!” I replied. He kind of hated it when I called him that, but I hated people who had initials for their actual names. What’s that about? And I usually called him “JC” so I think I went way above and beyond my duty as a friend.
“Come on up here!” I reluctantly followed his instructions and trotted up onto the stage to join him. Okay, I changed my mind, I didn’t trot because now that I’ve said it, it sounds weird. I…did something really boring, like walk up to the stage. Yeah. So I got up there and JC gave me a hug and was like, “It’s about time! How long does it take to take a shower?”
“Not that long, traffic was bad,” I replied, leaving an arm around his waist as I pulled away from his embrace. He nodded.
“I bet. Hey, guys, come here, I want you to meet Hallie!” he called to his friends and bandmates. They all headed over. Well, all of them except for Justin, who was still talking with the stagehand. “Hallie, this is Chris, Lance, and Joey. Guys, this is Hallie.” I gave them an awkward smile and a wave and they all greeted me warmly.
“We’ve heard a lot about you, Hallie,” Lance informed me. Oh, Lord. JC had been talking about me? I could only imagine the things he’d said. I was going to kill him.
“All good things, of course,” JC added hastily, as if reading my mind. I was doubtful.
“Sure, Joshua. Sure,” I replied with the most annoying smile I could muster. Before he could complain about the fact that I’d just called him “Joshua” again, the asshole, or Justin as the naïve like to call him, approached us with a highly irritated expression on his face.
“You guys are totally holding up sound check. We need to get this done!” he exclaimed. Not much for making good first impressions, that Justin Timberlake. Normally I would admire that in a person, but I wasn’t about to admire him.
“No we’re not, you were too busy talking for us to do anything else,” Chris pointed out a lot more kindly than I would have had I been in his position.
“Still. We need to stop standing around and get some work done. Come on.” And with that he walked back over to the other side of the stage. All of the other guys told me how nice it was to have met me and left to join him as I retreated to the audience.
Now, as we have established, I am not the nicest person in the world. But I at least have common courtesy from time to time, which is more than I can say for Justin. I mean, seriously, who comes up to a group of people who obviously have a new person in their midst and doesn’t even ask said new person’s name? Talk about rude. Aren't southern people supposed to be all polite and shit? Clearly Justin didn’t get the memo.
I am well aware that everyone who is listening to this story probably thinks that I am being petty and weird and that I’m just looking for reasons to hate Justin, but you’re wrong. You are oh so wrong. And I will tell you why. Just you wait, my friends. Just you wait.
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