"You drowned him."

Gordie Lachance looked up at Chris Chambers, who was staring, in open-mouthed dismay, at the floundering chocolate chip cookie in the tall glass of milk. He shrugged, the corners of his mouth lifting in a wry smile. "It's more fun killing the cookies than it is eating them."

Chris scoffed. "You're insane, but do you have anymore cookies?"

"Cookies? I think you ate all of them." Gordie slid his chair back across the black-and-white-tiled kitchen floor, walked over to the pantry and peeked in. "Never mind--Do you want a Fig Newton?"

"Fig Newtons suck."

"What's wrong with them?"

"Don't ask me, I didn't manufacture them," Chris said, glaring at his friend in disgust as he brought the bag of Fig Newtons over to the table and sat down. "They're healthy. Cookies are supposed to be bad for you and that's the way I like my cookies."

"Bad?"

"Yeah."

Gordie laughed as Chris took the bag of cookies from him and peered in cautiously. "Get all your school supplies and shit?"

"I think I have some pencils."

"As of tomorrow, we're gonna be seniors," Gordie said, grinning deviously.

"Ooh, freshmen of the world, beware," Chris muttered.

"We can step on them!" he exclaimed victoriously.

"Gordie, they'll beat you up."

"Yeah, I guess…" He shrugged his still-scrawny shoulders. "No need to be cruel just because I like weird cookies."

"Actually, these aren't bad," Chris admitted, chewing a Fig Newton with tentativeness. "Once you get past the fact that they're mushy like old grandma food. I like my cookies crisp."

"I'm glad we both have Mrs. Pedensky for English this year," Gordie said. "I heard she's like a vulture."

"That can't be good," Chris laughed. "Like she eats dead people?"

"I don't know. That's just what I heard."

There was a light knock on the back door, and Gordie barely looked up. "Come in."

"Dying," the visitor announced, letting the screen door slap shut behind her. "Dyyying."

"Don't care," Gordie replied. "Don't caaare."

"Hey Chris," she said, collapsing at the table, her ash-blond hair splaying across her tanned arms. "Imagine finding you here."

"Hi Anya," he said back, smiling.

"Speaking of people who don't belong here," Gordie giggled. "What the hell do you want, Anya?"

"My family is squabbling. I got pissed. I considered going to Reese's, but then I realized how very far away he lives from me and how very hot it is outside and so I came here because you're closer," she explained. "And you usually have good food."

Anya Berkowitz was the youngest in a large Polish family who lived two blocks away from the Lachance's. Her parents knew little English, and it was somewhat amusing to listen to them argue in a foreign language. But Anya didn't enjoy the environment so much, so she usually came over to Gordie's house. To her, Gordie was like yet another brother, since he had grown up as one of her best friends, and there was no chance of romance between the two, especially since she had been going out with Reese Aarons since eighth grade.

Despite how platonically close Gordie and Anya were, Chris barely knew the girl. They had known each other all their lives and had always been polite, but neither of them would call the other a real friend.

"Get your sweaty body off my kitchen table," Gordie laughed, poking at her.

"Oh, I forgot," she said suddenly, digging into her hand-me-down jeans pocket and pulling out a quarter. She slid the quarter over to Chris. "That's yours. When Reese bumped into you yesterday at the store and you dropped your money, um, he, um, didn't realize that he was stepping on that quarter you couldn't find, so here."

Chris nodded. He disliked Reese Aarons with a passion and was the main reason Chris had never really associated himself with Anya. Gordie and Chris had gone to the corner store the previous day to buy root beers. Just as he was getting out his change to pay for his drink, Reese hit his elbow and caused him to drop the money on the floor. When he had gone to gather the coins, he was short twenty-three cents, even though he had known he'd had the right amount before. He had had to leave the store red-faced.

"Um, thanks," he muttered. He offered the bag of Fig Newtons. "Would you like a cookie, Anya?"

"What kind of cookie, Chris?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Fig Newtons."

"Fig Newtons suck."