Author's Note:

From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 6: "You can't die. Please don't die."; prompt 7: "You did what?!"; prompt 8: "Were you ever going to tell me?"; and prompt 9: "Don't ask me that."

F.P. was twiddling the joystick as fast as he could, but the stupid yellow circle-swallower was even less maneuverable than his neighbour's shitty old motorbike (which F.P., being a fourteen-year-old boy, was still irrationally jealous of). He'd played this level poorly, that was for damn sure, but even with a quarter of the dots left glowing on the screen, spaced inconveniently in each of the four corners of the maze, he was hoping for Pac-Man to smarten the fuck up and start trying to help himself. Frantic changes of direction were doing him no good. The ghosts were closing in.

"You can't die. Please don't die," F.P. pleaded, leaning his forehead into the screen. It made a hollow thunk like throwing a rock at an empty milk jug.

"Aren't you too old for this game?" Alice asked from behind him. She'd been sitting on that table a good 15 minutes watching him battle the ghosts and it was irritating the hell out of him.

"It's Pac-Man," he argued, frowning while that very creature dissolved into a 'Game Over' message.

"Which means what?" she persisted, additionally annoying him by swinging her foot into the back of his knee so that his leg nearly buckled.

"Which means…" F.P. sighed, deciding to abandon the game for now. How to defend something so simple and yet so… addictive? Maybe he was getting a little old for it. "Don't ask me that," he said, hoping to end the conversation there. He pushed away from the game, shoving his fingers through his hair.

Alice was in the middle of swinging her foot again and F.P. caught it by the ankle right before it connected with his crotch. He gave her a look. She grinned.

"You wanna go somewhere?" she asked.

Exhaling tensely through his teeth, F.P. released her; smooth skin skimmed through his fingers. She'd asked innocently, as innocently as Alice was capable of doing anything, but it still inspired… certain thoughts.

"Are you finally sick of this place?" He smirked and crossed his arms, backing into the wall next to the Pac-Man machine. Alice snorted.

"No. You're the one who's always trying to get me out of here." She sprung from the table, bare feet smacking the floor before she put her shoes back on. "You wanna go get a slushie or something?"

F.P. ignored the question, narrowing his eyes at her. It was hard not to move with her, not to get swept up in Alice's whirlwind. She might have been born a Northsider, but the girl was a force of nature, with the bangs she'd cut herself and the dark eyeliner he knew she wasn't allowed to wear at home. She made his heart race, even if he wasn't ready to show it.

"So, you're giving up the Wyrm?"

Alice groaned, wanting to speed him up, he knew.

"If it's between the Wyrm and a popsicle or something, then yes! Goodbye, Wyrm!" she shouted. A few old guys sitting at the bar spared her a confused drunken glance.

"That's too bad," F.P. said casually, running his hand through his hair again to help him stay nonchalant, "'cause last night I asked if you could join the Serpents."

That stopped her in her tracks. Alice straightened up to school picture posture, drawing her chin in incredulously. She began shaking her head. F.P., smile spreading, nodded back at her just as insistently.

"You did what?!" she exclaimed and grabbed him by the arms, energy coming out of her like a rocket. F.P.'s mouth twitched as Alice held him to the wall. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

He tried to brush her off, but her grip only tightened. F.P. laughed, deciding to relax into it.

"I just told you," he pointed out.

"Yeah, after I sat around watching you lose at Pac-Man!"

"Hey!" His temper rose up like a threatened snake as she pushed away from him. Suddenly, she was back, leaning in with a huge smile on her face, pressing until his shoulders bumped the wall.

"I could kiss you!"

Not knowing if this was a genuine offer, F.P. begged his thoughts to quiet down and line up nicely like the dots in the game. Too late, wild Alice―his pet Serpent―was onto her next idea.

"Come on," she told him, grabbing his forearm. "You're buying me an ice cream."

He rolled his eyes, but let her drag him towards the door.

"Yeah right, you're buying me one. I'm getting you into the gang."

"So you buy mine and I'll buy yours and we'll be even." Alice shrugged and took his hand.

"Ok," F.P. agreed, knowing full well that he would end up buying both.