"Yo, yo, Cake-Eater in the house!"
This is what greets Adam Banks, star player of the newly minted Varsity Ducks, as he enters the house of some football player for the Annual End of Summer Blowout, which was really just an excuse for the entirety of Eden Hall's campus to get wasted the final weekend before school starts. Everyone had moved back into the dorms that morning and now it was Saturday night, perfect time to party and recover the next day before school starting up on Monday.
Cheers follow Russ Tyler's exclamation as the Ducks' forward finds himself the center of attention of a rather rambunctious crowd. The blonde sheepishly ducks his head as he ventures further into the elaborate and tastefully designed mansion that belonged to one of his classmates.
In the living room music is blaring through the speakers. The dulcet tones of MC Hammer bouncing off the walls.
'My-my-my-my music makes me so hard makes me say oh my Lord. Thank you for blessing me with a mind to rhyme and two hype feet.'
As Adam saunters through the living room he sees a flash of fellow teammate and friend, Connie Moreau, in the center of the mosh pit on the dance floor, plastered to her boyfriend of the quarter: Dominic Barclay, captain of the water polo team.
Adam continues on his way into the kitchen, twisting and diving past fast moving bodies, where he finds the other female Duck, Julie Gaffney, lounging against the counter, drumming her fingers against the granite in a bored fashion.
A smile splits across her face as soon she spots Adam.
"Hey Banksie," she greets with a teasing grin as Adam rolls his eyes. It seems that nickname is going nowhere anytime soon.
"Cat Lady," he salutes as he overlooks his alcoholic options for the evening. After surveying a wide variety of cheap vodka, wine coolers, and rum, the hockey player grabs a beer from an oversized cooler.
"Can I get you anything?" he calls out to Julie, who shakes her head so quickly her blonde locks end up slapping her cheeks.
"DD," she explains as Adam winces in sympathy. He pops the cap off his bottle effortlessly and takes a generous swig as he settles in against the island in the center of the massive kitchen.
"Welcome to the One Friend Who Owns a Car Club. Parasites who call themselves friends have a way of taking advantage."
Over the summer back in Maine, Julie had inherited her older brother's Saab and had road-tripped it back to Minnesota in time for school. Now Julie had joined the exclusive club of Car Driving Ducks alongside Adam and Guy. Now there was just enough room to shuffle the remaining Ducks around on their various escapades.
Those free-loaders.
Julie laughs soundly, a snort escaping before she slaps her hand over her mouth, cheeks flushing. Adam chuckles in response as he sips his foamy beer.
Once she recovers, Julie lowers her hand and turns towards Adam inquiringly, "What about you? Did you drive?"
Adam nods, thinking dreamily about his cobalt, Jeep Wrangler his dad has gifted him with during the spring of sophomore year.
"Had a hell of a time parking," he laments as Julie nods solemnly in agreement. The street leading up to the suburban estate had been jammed packed with BMWs and Audis making it nearly impossible to find a suitable parking spot. Adam had wiggled in behind a jet black Porsche.
"You're not planning on have too much fun, right?" the goalie inquires as she nods to Adam's nearly empty bottle. Her concern makes Adam smile as he wraps an arm around his friend and hugs her to his side.
"Aww, Gaffney," he coos as she tries to escape his grip, "You care about me."
He can't help but make a funny face at his friend as she elbows him in the side. He oofs and releases the goalie, who dances back to her spot against the counter.
"Watch it, Banks," she warns with her usual steely eyes, "I have a mean punch."
"With three older brothers, I believe it." he mutters to himself as she smirks smugly at him. She opens her mouth but is cut off as Russ and Dwayne Robertson push their way into the kitchen. The two stop short at the sight of Adam and Julie.
The glint in Russ' eyes becomes predatory as he grins toothily.
"Well, well, well," he sing-songs, "If it isn't the Cat and Preppy sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G."
He smacks a loud kiss as the two blondes roll their eyes. It was a familiar story. Ever since Adam's shining knight moment against Portman during the Junior Goodwill Games, the Ducks had been convinced that the forward carried a torch for their starting goalie.
Apparently the concept of friendship between a boy and girl was a foreign idea to the Ducks.
Even when she dated Scooter during their freshman and sophomore year, Adam had been sent many a sympathetic glance or shoulder pat whenever the two goalies took part in some PDA.
Newsflash: He and Julie were friends. Just friends.
"Cut it out, Russ," Dwayne drawls from next to his friend as he tips his cowboy hat to his fellow Ducks in greeting.
"Howdy, y'all."
Dwayne was looking surprisingly sharp with a pressed, button up shirt tucked into his jeans, and gleaming cowboy boots on display.
"Hi, Dwayne." Adam and Julie parrot back as the four settle in, trading stories and anecdotes about their summers.
Adam was halfway through his second bottle, feeling his skin warm with a good buzz as Russ regaled his audience with a hilarious story involving his street hockey team when a voice cuts through the noise of the party.
"Well," a voice drones from behind the group of four, "If it isn't the Ducks."
The four turn and come face to face with Eden Hall's resident soccer superstar: Sierra Doukas.
Adam feels his mouth pull down into a frown at the sight of the diminutive soccer player. She's decked out in distressed denim shorts and a floral patterned crop top, her strawberry blonde hair a mess atop her head, only held up by a bright, pink scrunchie. Her green eyes flash with mischief as she spies Adam's annoyed frown.
The two had…a history of sort. Adam had known of Sierra all throughout their childhood, the side effects of attending the same schools since elementary. They had never been friends, though Adam had some vague memories of playing in the sandbox as children before being rudely and unceremoniously walloped in the head.
Suffice to say, he's not been a fan of hers since.
Sierra is freshly tan, most likely from another summer spent in Greece with relatives, a fact she loves regaling to anyone who will listen. She's at ease in the contained chaos that is this party and Adam almost envies her poise.
He always finds himself on edge with so many other people, and it's only after a beer or two that his body loosens up so that he isn't quite a bump on a log (to quote Charlie).
"If it isn't the Cleats Queen," Russ retorts, because his mouth has always been quicker than his brain. Sierra's lip-glossed lips turn up in a smile as she ventures into the kitchen, red solo cup in hand.
She beelines for the counter where Adam is leaning and feels no qualm in hip checking the hockey player out of her way as she reaches for the Coke. She pours herself a generous amount before finishing off the cup with some rum. She jumps and lands gracefully on the edge of the counter, kicking her legs lightly as she takes a swig and turns to the group of Ducks contemplatively, her eyebrows arched.
"You know," she begins and Adam braces himself for impact, "I don't even understand the hoopla with you Ducks. You're not that impressive."
While her words may be dismissive and the type of thing the Ducks have been hearing for years as the perpetual underdogs, it's easy to see the teasing glint in her eyes rather than scorn.
Sierra's not the type for cruelty, but there is always a biting undertone to her words, no matter the occasion. Most have learned to ignore it and accept the jibbing for what it is, but Adam has always noted it and tucked it into the recesses of his mind.
"Ah, Doukas," Russ declares mockingly, "Come here to cry because no one cares about women's soccer?"
Adam can't help but snort into his bottle as Dwayne and Julie join in on the laughter.
Sierra remains relaxed as she examines her nails, before looking up and proudly stating, "We've won two state championships. Which is two more than you bozos."
"I'm sorry," Julie interjects from her spot, "Did you forgot we have a professional hockey team named after us?"
"And our gold medals from the Junior Goodwill Games." Dwayne chimes in as he digs through a bag of chips.
"And the fact that we beat Varsity in both JV-Varsity Showdowns." Russ finishes with a flourish. Adam choosing to remain the silent type as he waits for Sierra's reaction.
She just rolls her eyes good-naturedly but has no counter offense as she sips her beverage passively, as much a win as they are ever going to get. After stuffing his face with chips, Dwayne turns to the soccer player.
"Hey Sierra, is Rebekah hiding anywhere around here?"
The Rebekah in question was Rebekah Brown, Dwayne's quiet and shy girlfriend since last year. Who knew Dwayne would be one of the few Ducks in a strong, committed relationship. Adam didn't know much about her other that she was a generally good person. The only point against her was that she was friends with Sierra.
The strawberry blonde's face momentarily softens as she regards the Duck's resident Texan.
"Sorry, Cowboy," she apologizes, "I tried getting her here, but you know how she is. She had a date with a good book that she couldn't put down."
Speaking of books, Dwayne, who has always been an open book himself, nearly collapses in on himself with disappointment at the thought of not getting to see his girlfriend. He had dressed up and everything. Russ pats his shoulder consolingly as Sierra looks for the quickest way to exit this conversation.
Public displays of emotion have never been her thing.
'I get knocked down, but I get up again, you are never gonna keep me down. I get knocked down, but I get up again, you are never gonna keep me down.'
"Ah, that's my cue," Sierra announces with relief as she pushes herself off from the counter.
"As enjoyable as our verbal sparring has been, the dance floor is calling my name. Catch ya later, losers."
She takes a few steps before pivoting back around, eyeing Adam speculatively. He can feel his body tensing in response to the jab he knows is coming his way.
"Nice polo, Banks," she begins before her grin turns sinister, "What did you do? Raid your dad's closet?"
"Oh snap!" Russ hoots from beside him as Julie and Dwayne break out into raucous laughter. Adam just stands there, shaking his head and hoping the floor will open up and swallow him whole.
He doesn't even think he looks that bad. He's outfitted in a navy polo, khaki shorts and a battered pair of flip flops.
Pretty casual, at least for him.
Sierra sends a wink his way, turning on her heel and walking away with a purposeful sway of her hips.
"Damn," Russ enthuses watching her leave, "She may be a piece of work, but you gotta love when she walks away."
Julie was quick to slap him across the back of his head.
"Pigs," she murmurs to herself. During the impending argument, Adam takes the opportunity to sneak out and rejoin the larger party.
More people have crammed themselves into the manor as impossible as it seems. The air's thick with so many bodies surging against one another and Adam feels his cheeks heat up from something other than the alcohol.
He can feel the telltale tingle under his skin that means he soon won't be able to take the party for much longer, unless he wants to get rip roarin' drunk. And believe him, part of him does.
However, he drove here and he's leaving in his jeep. He's capping himself after this beer.
He scopes out the scene, spying Connie once again grinding up against Barclay. Goldberg, Averman, and Ken are involved in a high stakes poker game off in the corner. Portman and Fulton are dominating at beer pong, their cheers even louder than the pounding music. Luis has his flavor of the week wrapped up in his arms as he plays with her hair, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as she giggles.
He can't see Charlie, but Adam's sure his best friend is making a fool of himself somewhere on the premises. A mess he'll likely have to clean up himself. Sighing to himself, Adam spots an empty space of wall open in the den and makes his way there.
What can he say? He's a true wallflower. Literally.
Across the way Connie Moreau is letting her hair down and letting loose as she dances erratically with her boyfriend. The two have been hot and heavy all summer. Dominic is ludicrously rich, has muscles on top of muscles and is completely aware of the fact that he's a preppy styling douchebag.
While not traditionally Connie's type, she hasn't minded his short comings because, well, abs.
He has such pretty abs. She just wants to run her tongue over them.
She feels sweat on her body as she throws back her head, her fair falling in thick waves down her back. She twists and turns to the beat of the music, her denim skirt scrunching up as Dominic pulls her into his arms.
She giggles as he buries his head in her neck, teeth nipping the skin as his hands wander down her back and towards her ass.
"What do you say we get out of here?" Dominic breathes hotly in her ear as she squirms out of his grip.
"I wanna dance!" she cries, her head feeling all kinds of dizzy after the last round of shots she had partaken in. They had been pink and she couldn't resist them. Dominic hoists her back to him, a tall, dark and handsome vision right before Connie's eyes.
"C'mon, let's go."
She vehemently shakes her head and once more dances out of his grip.
"I'm not leaving!"
Dominic makes to grab for her, but catches the glowers being sent his way by the Bash Brothers and backs off. He releases Connie, but not before hissing at her.
"Fine, I'll find someone else then."
"Fine!" she retorts back and turns her back on him as he slouches off, in pursuit of greener pastures and looser women. When he's finally gone, Connie finds herself alone on the makeshift dance floor and stumbles away to drop onto once of the couches.
She fans herself and stares out into the crowd and can't help but be immediately drawn to one Guy Germaine.
Her first love. Her ex-boyfriend. The beginning and the end.
They had been off since freshman year and claimed to be friends, but can anyone really be friends with their first love?
Guy was as eclectic as usual, with his vibrantly patterned vest, stringy scarf and curls hidden under a beret. He was near the kitchen talking animatedly with a junior girl. He was all grins and hand gestures as he spoke and Connie sighs as she watches him.
He shouldn't be talking to her, he should be talking to me she muses silently before wrinkling her nose in confusion.
She and Guy? That ship had sailed ages ago.
She glances at him again and he looks near angelic amid the riff raff of the party. She sighs and pouts, suddenly itching for some alcohol.
"Shots," she babbles to herself as she struggles to stand, "I need shots."
Back on the corner wall, Adam was feeling no less claustrophobic as he leans against the wall, sipping at the last of his beer. His buzz had begun creeping back in and he finds himself absentmindedly nodding along to the beat of the music. He's zoning out when a flash of golden hair catches his eye.
He blinks and pushes himself off the wall, seeing a golden haired goddess in a lilac dress demurely making her way through the crowd.
He doesn't recognize her.
Who is that girl? Why doesn't he know her?
What's her name?
Is she an angel?
The amount of alcohol he has consumed has cut through enough of his insecurities, and he feels no qualms in investigating who that heavenly being could be. He takes a step forward and is immediately intercepted by head cheerleader and president of his fan club: Abby Michaels.
"Adam," she giggles with rosy cheeks, effectively blocking his path to freedom.
He wearily blinks and the haze that the girl in lilac had put him in melts away, leaving him in a cesspool of people as music blared and heat consumed all of them.
"Oh, Abby, hi." He greets lukewarmly, but she doesn't notice at all as she bats her eyes at the hockey player. He looks across the crowd but the girl in lilac is gone.
Disappeared.
As if she had never been there in the first place.
He forces himself to be polite as Abby yammers on about her summer spent in the Hamptons, yachting and sunbathing at the beach. The constant talking only stops when TLC's Waterfalls begins playing and Abby squeals, nearly spilling her drink on the hardwood.
"Oh my God! I love this song! Don't you love this song?"
Adam shrugs and wishes he hadn't finished his beer as a weak grin appears on his face.
"Yeah…it's a good song."
He hates this song.
"We should dance," she announces and grabs his hand, making to pull him to the dancefloor. He plants his feet and uses his height and weight to keep him in place, even as she continues tugging on him.
"I don't really dance," he insipidly explains and hopes that will be enough, but with the way Abby is pouting at him, he doubts it.
"Oh, everyone can dance, silly," she cajoles as Adam shakes his head.
"Trust me, I can't."
Seeing that he will not be moved, the cheerleader drops his hand sulkily.
"Oh boo. You're such a party pooper, Adam."
All the blonde can do is shrug as she hurries off to join the dancing, leaving him in peace. He knows, subjectively, that most guys would kill to be in his shoes. He's the star player in the sport that is revered as religion at his school. He has never had a shortage of beautiful girls vying for his attention. He's moderately good looking if the gushing is anything to go by.
He knows guys like Goldberg and Averman would kill to swap lives.
But the attention he has always received from others has always been…overwhelming.
He doesn't play hockey because he thinks it will make him a star.
He does it because it's the only thing he can ever imagine doing with his life.
He isn't given any more time to ponder his morose thoughts when someone comes barreling through the crowd right towards him.
"Banksie!" Charlie cries out joyously and very drunk as he stumbles towards his best friend. True to his clumsy nature, his foot gets tripped up in an Oriental rug and sends Charlie hurtling towards the ground.
Adam thanks his quick reflexes as he saves his captain from fact planting. He grunts as he shoulders all of Charlie's weight as he struggles to keep them afloat.
"Such a spazz," he mutters under his breath as Charlie flails around in his grip. Charlie proves completely useless as Adam tries to right them against the wall. He finally succeeds and keeps Charlie on his feet as his best friend throws his arm around Adam's shoulder, bringing him in close. Adam cringes as the strong reeking of booze coming off in waves from Charlie.
"Adam, Adam, Adam," Charlie hums, trying to get his friend's attention by poking him in the cheek. Adam bats him away and he wearily regards his best friend.
"What do you want, Conway?"
Charlie beams as he gestures to the party, "We're Varsity now! We're gonna rule the school!"
"Yeah, we are." Adam supplies, humoring his captain as Charlie continues jabbering enthusiastically.
"This is gonna be the best year ever," Charlie slurs, rocking in place. "You, me, the Ducks. We're gonna…gonna be kings! Gonna have castles and shit."
"Don't forget Connie and Julie," Adam reminds him matter-of-factly.
Charlie looks aghast as he stares as Adam with wide eyes, "I'd never forget Connie and Julie!"
Adam can't stop from chuckling at Charlie's antics as he soothingly pats Charlie on the shoulder. Charlie immediately launches back into conversation.
"Adam…I don't tell you enough, but you…you my best friend."
Adam sighs as he closes his eyes. They have officially reached the portion of the evening when Charlie dissolves into a puddle of emotions.
He starts crying on anyone closest to him, showering them in compliments.
Unfortunately for Adam he is the victim tonight.
"Thanks, Charlie. You're my best friend too."
Charlie goes slack at Adam's words, as if it came completely out of left field that Adam would consider Captain Duck his best friend. As if Charlie wasn't the first person to try to welcome Adam into the fold that fateful day in the Ducks' locker room years ago when he had, for all intents and purposes, still been a Hawk. As if Charlie hadn't given Adam his spot in the final game against Iceland. Someone would have to be blind, deaf and stupid not to see that Charlie was Adam's best friend.
Charlie sniffles and wipes his nose on his the sleeve of his flannel. Tears are pooling in the corners of his eyes as Adam internally laments.
He knows what's coming.
"I…I love you, man!"
Adam groans as Charlie wraps his arms around him, tight and as unforgiving as an octopus. Adam tries stepping away, but Charlie's grip is iron clad as he refuses to let go of the forward.
"Alright, Charlie." Adam says awkwardly as people around them snicker, "This is nice."
Charlie just snuggles in further, "You smell good."
A crashing sound interrupts their…moment as Adam uses his 6'1" frame to see over the heads of the partygoers. Near the sliding doors that lead to the patio a fight is brewing between the Bash Brothers and the entirety of the football team.
Adam grumbles to himself. He can see where this is going.
Sure enough, yelling and brawling ensues and the next thing he knows, someone is crashing through the closed patio door, wood and screen splintering. Charlie is still dead weight in his arms and now people are fighting out by the pool as the crowd cheers it on like barbarians, music blasting all the while.
"That's it," he announces to himself, "Time to go."
As he lugs Charlie out of the house he can hear the laughter of Portman and Fulton as they pummel their way through the football team.
Just another day as a Duck.