"Your feet reek, Conway, please put your sneakers back on before the smoke alarms start to go off or something." Connie Moreau crinkled her slightly upturned nose, casting a look up from her homework to give her life long friend, Charlie Conway a disgusted look.
Charlie fixed his face up in a phony pout and placed his head over his heart dramatically. "Is this the thanks I get, for giving up my first Saturday of the school year to grace you with my presence?"
Connie just shook her head, getting up to open her bedroom window, hoping some fresh air would chase away the rancid odor assaulting her nostrils. "You know Charlie, I just thought of the perfect career for you."
"Oh yeah? Whatcha got," He laughed popping his collar poshly "aside from male model, or gigolo?"
Connie blinked at him pursing her lips as she flopped back onto her bed, landing on her back with her head dangling over the edge right by her friends shoulder. She made a gagging noise and rolled her eyes. "Gigolo?"
"Sorry I was channeling Luis there for a minute. What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking you should be a pilot."
Charlie knit his eyebrows at her and took a sip from the Dr. Pepper can in his hand. "A pilot?"
"Yup, because you sling so much bullshit you have to pile it over here and pile it over there."
"Why Connie Moreau, I am offended by that."
"Deal with it Spazzy, you're the biggest bull artist I know."
"As much as I'd like to be number one Cons, I must admit that my bullshit mastery is second only to yours."
A wide smile spread across Connie's pretty face as she rolled onto her stomach and bowed her head. "Why thank you, I am quite gifted aren't I?"
"You're the best."
"I am, I know."
The room fell back in a comfortable silence as Charlie turned his attention back to the math homework he was suppose to be working on. Math had always been his best subject but recently he had been struggling in class. In fact he'd been struggling in all his classes. Something was obviously distracting him, but no matter how many times his friends and teammates asked, he always told them there was nothing on his mind. The only time he seemed to be completely relaxed was on the ice.
Even as he sat there on the floor next to Connie's bed, his shoulders were slumping slightly and he kept running his fingers through his hair agitatedly. After the forth or fifth heavy sigh and feverish erasing he dropped the pencil all together and rubbed at his eyes. They had been slightly bagged earlier in the week, but now seemed as though the dark circles were getting worse with each passing minute. The mischievous luster they normally held, lacking.
Leaning over the edge of the bed, Connie rested her chin on his shoulder. "How's it coming?"
With a frown and a shrug her team captain sighed. "Alright, I guess."
"No." She shook her head and pointed to a problem. "Look here, you multiplied when you should've divided."
Captain Conway scowled at his notebook for a moment before nodding and fixing the answer. "Thanks Cons, I owe you."
"Now will you put your shoes back on?"
There was a brief ruffling before Connie unexpectedly felt something big and soft pelt across her cheek. The great pillow fight battle of 97 was on. It wasn't long before the entire room was covered in a soft snow of feathers and both teens found themselves laughing until their sides hurt. Charlie hadn't heard himself laugh in weeks.
A sudden throat clearing caused the pair to drop their weapons and turn their attention to the doorway where Connie's father stood, though their giggles didn't stop. Mr. Moreau looked at them with a smirk on his face, shaking his head at the mess. "Charlie your mother just called. She'd like you to come home."
And as swiftly as his laughter had begun Charlie went quiet, his face falling almost instantly. He nodded and stood up, gathering his things up off the floor, without so much as bothering to knock the feathers off them. "I'll see you tomorrow Cons." Was all he said before disappearing out of the door, with his head down.