January 1, New Year's Day
"Come on, Dodger! The ball is about to drop!" Les exclaimed, excitedly. Smiling, The Artful Dodger, rightfully named Aimee Kingery, picked up her mug of hot chocolate, and curled up on the couch, snuggled in between her two step-brothers, Davvy, who was the same age as her, and Les, who was seven years younger. Her mother had married Davvy and Les's father last June and Dodger and her mom had moved in in August. Davvy and Les had an older sister, Sarah, but she was very popular at school, and therefore had been invited to a party thrown by her boyfriend, and the quarterback of the football team, Jack Kelly, or Cowboy, for those who were on less friendly terms.
The five of them sat on the couch, watching the TV intently as the large glittering ball slowly made its way down in Times Square, counting off, loudly, "Ten...nine...eight..." until...
"ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!" Almost immediately, the phone rang, and Dodger grabbed it.
"Hello?"
"HAPPY NEW YEAR, DODGY!" Dodger jumped and held the phone a foot away from her ear, until Dutchy stopped yelling.
"Don't. Call. Me. Dodgy," she said, sternly. Then she broke into a grin. "Happy New Year, Dutchy. Is Specs over?"
"Yeah. His parents are on a cruise."
"Figures," she said with an eye roll. "Lemme talk to him."
"Hey, Dodgy."
"Okay, the Dodgy thing has GOT to stop! Happy New Year, Specs! So, what have you been up to?" she asked, coyly, a smirk in her voice.
"We've been drinking hot chocolate and eating those massive marshmallows!" Specs answered, not catching her drift. Specs and Dutchy were in denial.
"Hot chocolate, huh? With whipped cream?" Dodger said, her grin getting wider. The rest of the family was occupied, but Davvy was "Hot chocolate, huh? With whipped cream?" Dodger said, her grin getting wider. The rest of the family was occupied, but Davvy was watching her, a smile creeping across his face.
"...Yes..."
"HAH! I KNEW IT!" she shrieked in jubilation, leaping onto the counter, swinging her legs, triumphantly. Davvy stood up, his curiosity getting the better of him. He hurried over to Dodger and pressed his ear against the phone, trying desperately to hear.
"What? Knew what?" Specs demanded. Davvy snickered.
"Specsy, could you be any more oblivious? Did you eat strawberries, too?"
"Yes...How did you—"
"Never mind that. Okay, Specs listen to me. Listen very closely," she said, slowly, as if speaking to someone who had the mind capacity of a two-year-old. "You are alone in a big house with Dutchy."
"Yeah...?"
"You have strawberries."
"Yeah...?"
"And whipped cream."
"Dodger, what are you getting—oh. Oh! You think that—Whoa! Hold up! No, no, no, no, no! It's not like that!" Specs exclaimed, and, though Dodger couldn't see (for which Specs was very thankful), he was blushing, furiously.
"Yeah, uh huh," she said, obviously unconvinced. "Well, anyways, the cookies are beeping at me, so I'll see you later. You two have fun! Oh, and Specs? Keep it PG," Dodger said, smirking. Before Specs could say anything, she hung up.
"Well?" Davvy demanded. She sighed and shook her head.
"Denial." Rolling his eyes, Davvy and Dodger raced upstairs to get the cookies.
January 1, New Year's Day
Specs set the receiver down, staring at it. He turned away from it, and left the room, heading into the kitchen, where Dutchy was. Dutchy sat on the counter, Indian-style, sucking, subconsciously on two fingers. He looked up and smiled.
"Had a nice chat with Dodger?"
"Um...yeah," Specs muttered. He reddened, further, when he realized that Dutchy was holding a can of whipped cream, and was proceeding to fill his open mouth with the white fluff. Specs's stomach did a flip. "Let's, uh, watch a movie, or something," Specs said, desperate for a distraction.
"Sure. What d'you wanna watch?" he said, leading Specs into the living room. Specs collapsed on the sofa, then shrugged.
"I dunno. Don't really care. Just pick whatever you want," Specs said. Dutchy began perusing his collection of DVD's.
"How 'bout...a musical! This one is my sister's favorite. She says it's really good." Specs nodded, and Dutchy put it in. He sat down on the couch next to Specs, and they began to watch a musical called CAMP.
It took a moment before they realized that Michael was gay. Once Specs realized this, he turned beet red. Dutchy noticed this, and gave him a funny look, his head cocked to one side.
"Specs, are you okay? You're flushed!"
"I'm...just...uh...warm, I guess," Specs muttered. Dutchy tugged at the jacket wrapped around Specs's shoulders, and pulled it off, leaving Specs in a thin tee shirt. He pressed a hand to Specs's forehead and whistled.
"You're burning up! I'll go get a thermometer, and turn the heat down," he said, pausing the movie and jumping up.
Specs sat in silence, his legs tucked up under him, staring at the frozen screen of the TV. He rocked back and forth, slightly, shaking. What was wrong with him? He'd been best friends with Dutchy since he was in the first grade, sitting on the playground.
Specs wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, drawing away sweat. He quickly realized this wasn't just emotion.
"Here, open your mouth," Dutchy ordered, coming back in, a thermometer in hand. Specs obliged, and Dutchy stuck the glass tube underneath his tongue before tapping his chin up.
A few moments' silence, and then Dutchy took it out again. He yelped. "Geeziz, Specs! You're at 100.2! Oh, god. I'll be right back!" He jumped up and rushed into the kitchen. He came back with some medicine. "This stuff is supposedly fever reducing."
"What's the matter with me, Dutchy?" Specs asked, sounding worried. Dutchy shrugged.
"You've got a fever, that's all." He cocked his head to one side. "Haven't you ever had a fever before?" Specs shook his head. "Oh, great. Okay, when are your parents getting back?"
"Not for another week." Dutchy whistled.
"Great. And mom's in Quebec until the fourth. Lovely. Okay, well, looks like Dutchy's playing doctor for a while."
"Should I be worried?" Specs asked, his voice wavering slightly. Dutchy smiled, then pushed back the brown hair that was sticking to Specs's sweaty forehead. He shivered, and began blushing.
"Naw, Specs. It'll go away. In the meantime, we have to keep you cool." He leaned over Specs and grabbed the phone.
Specs's breath caught in his throat. He stared at Dutchy, who was mere inches away from him, and began blushing. Dutchy grinned, sheepishly, drawing back and punching in numbers.
"I don't exactly have a PhD. I'm gonna call Racetrack. See if he can tell me what to do. His sister's a nurse, you know?"
"Who, Lea?"
"No. Claire. She just graduated from medical school."
January 1, New Year's Day
Ring...Ring...Rin-
"Hello?" Racetrack said, sleepily. It was two o'clock in the morning, and Racetrack had a nine-hour sleep policy.
"Hi, Race. It's Dutchy." He sounded nervous. "Listen, Specs is over at my house. He's got a fever. 100.2. My mom is out of town until Wednesday, so I'm stuck playing doctor. What should I do?"
"Oh, I dunno," Race said around a yawn. "Keep him cool, and give him some Ibuprofen, or something. Something that says it reduces fever. I'll be over when it's light outside. I'll come around ten, but right now, I need to sleep..."
"Okay, thanks, Race. I'll see you then.
January 1, New Year's Day
"Hey, Dutchster," Race greeted when Dutchy opened the door.
"Hey, Race. Glad you could make it."
"How's he doing?" Racetrack asked, getting down to business.
"He's asleep upstairs. I gave him a hell of a lot of Ibuprofen, but no reduction yet." Race hurried up the stairs. "My room," Dutchy replied to the questioning gaze. Racetrack grinned.
"Ah, the bedroom. So, what were you two up to before he got the fever?" Race asked, mischievously. Dutchy glowered at him.
"We were watching a movie."
"Aw, too bad. Wake up, Specs! C'mon, Dr. Racetrack is here to inspect!" Race called, cheerily, entering the bedroom. Specs was lying on the bed, on top of the comforter, in his boxers and a tee shirt. Race glanced back at Dutchy and wiggled his eyebrows.
"Where's the thermometer?" Dutchy handed it to him. He stuck it in Specs's mouth and they waited in silence. "101.9," Race announced.
"So, it went up!" Dutchy said, slightly despairingly.
"Yeah. It needs to be at 98.6 and until then, it's going to rise and fall randomly. It'll be a few days before he's normal, and he'll feel like shit till then."
"So, what's the diagnosis, Doc?" Dutchy joked. Race shrugged.
"Give him about four Ibuprofen a day, two in the morning, two at night. Keep him nice and cool. Don't give him any solid food; he might upchuck it. And refrain from snogging his brains out—you might catch it yourself," Race added in a whispered snicker. Dutchy flipped him off.
"Yeah, that'll be hard."
"In the meantime, I think he should stay at your house. I think you'd be best for taking care of him."
"Yeah, sure thing."
January 1, New Year's Day
"So, what's the diagnosis, Doc?" Dodger asked, as Racetrack slid into the booth of Waffle House across from her and Davvy. Race raised an eyebrow at her.
"How often, exactly, do you and Dutchy hang out?" Dodger shrugged.
"Almost all week. Why?"
"He said the same thing to me. Anyway, his fever went up. It'll be doing that for a few days, until it goes down and stays down. We're just going to have to wait and let Mother Nature take her course." Dodger smirked.
"Which course?" Race smiled innocently.
"Why, what ever do you mean?" he said, sweetly. Davvy snorted.
"Race, you're not very good at being innocent," Davvy teased.
"Yeah, but I'm good with pretty much everything else!" Race shot back. Dodger and Racetrack cracked up, but Davvy didn't find it quite as amusing.
"You two are so perverted," he said with his traditional eye roll. Race and Dodger grinned at him.
"What would we do without your innocence?" Dodger sighed.
"Probably make the world's most perverted movie," Davvy said, offhandedly.
"They already did that. A billion times over, actually," Dodger pointed out.
"Besides, without us, you'd have no fun whatsoever," Racetrack added. It was true, though. Davvy was the goodie-two-shoes of their little gang. He kept the others in line, but without them, he'd be socially retarded.
"True. Let's eat," Davvy said as the waitress set a plate of syrupy waffles in front of him.
"I hear that!" Dodger crowed.
"And then we can plot how to hook up Davvy with his secret lover," Race added. Davvy blushed.
"Fat chance."
