"I dare you, Carl."
Carl Foutley may be many things, but he was no coward. Of that, Hoodsey was absolutely sure – with the exception of the whole naked mole rat incident, and a couple other such past scenarios that have momentarily slipped his mind. No, Carl had almost always been the epitome of total, to the point of reckless, even, bravery.
However, even Hoodsey couldn't deny the slight hesitation before Carl opened his mouth to reply, or the way the stubborn redhead's hands, balled tightly into fists at his sides, trembled ever so slightly for a moment.
"Fine. But you'll be regretting this before we're through with you, Gripling, I promise you." Carl spat the words out at the smug-looking blonde boy before him. He turned abruptly away from him to face Hoodsey, who was watching the proceedings silently. "Alright, Hoodsey, I'll need you to keep watch outside the bedroom while I seal our success," he paused and glanced back at the blonde, "and bag Gripling as our personal slave."
The aforementioned blonde boy let out a scornful "Hah!" and stared arrogantly at the back of Carl's head. "If you're really under the impression that you could possibly win this bet, then you're even more daft than I ever suspected." Carl whipped around and closed the distance between himself and Blake Gripling in a few threatening steps.
"We'll see about that, Blakey-boy."
He walked away, jaw set, from a wide-eyed Blake, with Hoodsey trailing behind. Thirteen-year-old Carl had grown quite a bit in the past few years, now standing at the average height of a boy his age, no longer an inch or two shorter. He had a leaner look about him, and his clothes were darker now – brown jacket over a black T-shirt, baggy black jeans. He still wore his orangey hair in the same hairstyle, except it was now longer at the back, and his two front teeth no longer jutted out in the abnormal way they used to, his face having changed enough to make them look more in place.
They walked down the long corridor to the fancy, pastel pink door at the other end – Courtney Gripling's bedroom. It had been four years since Mr. Gripling had been arrested for insider trading, four years since the wealthy Gripling family had been brought down to their knees, four years since something in Carl Foutley had relented, enough to give Blake Gripling the friendship he had always secretly craved. Sometimes, like in the present circumstances, Carl wondered if that decision had been wise.
Sometime the year before, Mr. Gripling had been released due to new evidence brought to light, re-introducing the case to court – and successfully re-instating the Gripling name to good (albeit rather battered) reputation. Although the family was in the process of emotional and psychological recovery, the Gripling fortune seemed to have fared much better – they were able to move back into Protected Pines, to a house on the Foutley's street.
This meant that Blake became a daily visitor at the Foutley's, his friendship with Carl stronger than ever, even if he did regain some of his old refined arrogance. Then again, Blake had never really lost his old elegance and posh habits, although he had been forced into a completely new, modest style of living. He had come a long way in terms of personality; enough to please Carl and appease Hoodsey. The change of circumstances had, however, put a new strain on Carl and Hoodsey's friendship, which was already shaky enough because of Hoodsey's constant irritation at Blake, and his reluctance of spending so much time with the platinum-haired boy.
Tiptoeing into Courtney's dim room, Carl stopped and turned back to make sure Hoodsey was standing guard outside as planned. Then, taking a deep breath, he flipped on the switch of the pink lamp closest to him. One corner of the huge room was now lit up enough for Carl to see where everything basically was. He had been in Blake's room enough times to know where the younger boy kept most of his things, but Carl had hardly ever set foot into Courtney's room. He eyed the number of cabinets and drawers warily – this was going to take some time.
Outside, Hoodsey stood with his arms crossed, mind wandering to his latest encounter with Macie. Robert Joseph Bishop still went by the name of Hoodsey for the same old reason; his purple hooded sweatshirt, although a bigger size now and with a zipper down the front, was still his favourite clothing option. His baggy black jeans and black T-shirt hidden beneath the purple, a trademark of Carl's that he had taken to, was a symbol of how much he still relied on his best friend's approval. His face had grown, toning down the large features a little, and beneath the purple hood and longish, dirty-blonde hair, one ear had been recently pierced, in defiance of his parents, and to assert the control that he lacked and hadn't started to crave before he hit his teens.
Lost in the memory of his latest conversation with Macie, Hoodsey failed to hear the familiar, excitable babble of voices from down the stairway at the other end of the corridor. Blake, who had been leaning against the banister, shot towards the purple figure, hissing as he got closer, "They're coming, Hoodsey, get him out of there!"
Hoodsey started, looking around at Blake, then belatedly heard Courtney's high-pitched giggle from somewhere on the stairs. He pushed open the bedroom door he had been guarding, looking around for Carl. Hearing a noise from inside Courtney's walk-in closet on the opposite side of the room, he groaned before running into the room, swerving around the canopy bed and standing in the doorway of the closet.
"Carl! She's coming, Carl, we have to get out of here. Now!"
From the midst of hanging furry coats, Carl emerged, looking panicky and irritated at the same time. "But I haven't found her stupid red bikini! I'm gonna lose that bet to Blake… no way!" He turned back around but Hoodsey grabbed his arm.
"Forget it, Carl, I'm pretty sure I heard Miranda with her."
Carl froze. Dealing with an angry Courtney Gripling was one thing, but facing the wrath of Miranda Killgallen, fresh out of her break-up with on-again-off-again boyfriend Ian Richton, was another ordeal altogether. Four years ago, he may have taken Miranda's irritation over a week as Blake's slave, but many things had changed since then – the enmity between the two boys had turned into a competitive-type friendship, and Carl had seen enough of Miranda over at the Gripling's to know not to get on her bad side on a bad day.
"Hoodsey," he stared at his best friend. "Run."
Carl and Hoodsey speedily exited the room; now as dark as when Carl had first entered it, and shut the door just as Courtney and Miranda were halfway down the corridor. Thankfully, the girls looked up just as the boys had moved away, towards the door further down on the opposite wall.
Courtney was now a sixteen-year-old babe, taller and skinny, her shoulder-length blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She was more prone to pretty dresses these days, and was wearing a short beige number, showing off her nice legs. She was still the same bubbly, enigmatic girl as before, still materialistic, but more modest and aware of who her real friends were – Ginger, and surprisingly to anyone except Courtney, Miranda. Miranda had stuck it out with her even through the horrible times of "poverty" that her family had been forced to endure, and Courtney hadn't really expected otherwise, but when she heard about how surprised other people were that Miranda hadn't taken off, she saw that there was much more worth to the friendship than she had ever realized.
"Carl? What are you boys doing over here? You know where Blake's room is," Courtney said in her posh way, jabbing a perfectly manicured thumb over her shoulder towards the way she had just come. She had gotten a bit more used to Ginger's gross little brother, seeing as Blake positively had him over at the Gripling's every time that they weren't over at the Foutley's. She knew that the purple-clad one was more prone to hanging around Ginger's house than the Gripling's, though, and she always seemed to forget his name.
Miranda eyed the boys warily, especially Carl. She had gotten taller too, adding to her already intimidating height. Her black hair was shorter, shoulder-length like Courtney's, but her favourite colours of purple and black were now more to the bright side; at the moment she was wearing a teal jacket over a cream, fitting dress. Miranda had toned down her selfish, cutting attitude over the years – even towards Ginger. Once it became obvious that Courtney would never replace her with Ginger, or anyone else, Miranda learnt to relax a bit more around them, and Courtney's whole "poverty" ordeal had really brought them closer as friends. However, she was still not too fond of Carl Foutley. She crossed her arms as Carl let out a little, nervous laugh.
"Oh, we know, ladies. We just went to the bathroom here," he indicated the blue door he and Hoodsey stood in front of. "Blake was using the other one."
"You went to the bathroom… together?" Miranda asked suspiciously, just as Carl was silently congratulating himself on his quick thinking. Courtney wrinkled her nose in distaste at the thought.
"Of course not… Hoodsey here… ah, was just coming to tell me to hurry up, is all. Real impatient man, Hoodsey," Carl nudged him in the side.
"Oh! Y-yeah," Hoodsey stuttered. "He just took so long!"
"Riiight." Miranda drawled, but Courtney impatiently dismissed them with a wave of her hand.
"Come on, Miranda, we don't have time for this! Let's get back to our new mission!" She grabbed the darker girl's hand and soon the two had disappeared into Courtney's room, door closing behind them with a snap.
Carl and Hoodsey breathed out a sigh of relief as one, but soon Carl let out a resigned groan. Now he would have to face a very smug Blake – and the consequences of not stealing that stupid bikini in time. One week as Blake's personal servant! How would he stand it?
"Come on, Carl, let's get out of here," Hoodsey stated, having noted that Blake wasn't anywhere in sight. "I got to get home, anyways. Maybe if we make a run for it, he won't get you until tomorrow!"
Carl's back straightened and he made a face. "I am not running from Gripling, Hoodsey." He sighed. "Besides, he wouldn't dare embarrass me too much about it… he just wanted to win. How bad could it be?"
They walked down the corridor, past the staircase, as Hoodsey shook his head. "Whatever you say, Carl." Carl stopped and placed a hand on Hoodsey's shoulder.
"But you can go home if you want, Hoods. I do remember that Jojo went crazy on you the last time you missed your grounded curfew." Hoodsey made a face at the mention of his mother – and Carl's weird nickname for her. "I can handle Blakey-boy by myself, don't worry."