I own nothing. All rights go the filmmakers and Warner Brothers inc.

Everyone seems to recognize that there's this...bizarre thing between Spike and Icebox.

Their teammates definitely know about it first. They call it a rivalry, because they're all just kids, so what else are they gonna call it?

Spike and Icebox are always competing over something, and neither of them will back down from the challenge to become the Alpha in charge. Spike still doesn't like losing to a girl, and Icebox gets in a huffy mood whenever she's outshined by the so-called 'big-head.'

They argue over throws and passes. They argue over tackling methods. They argue over the last juice box left in the cooler during break. They argue over the score during practice. They argue over...well, nothing or anything, until her dad and uncle have to step in as their personal referees, and not just their coaches.

And whenever their team wins—which is most of the time nowadays, since they really do have a decent and diverse system going for them—they all go out for a victory meal down at the diner, and Spike and Icebox even start to argue then too. They argue over who gets the most credit for the final touchdown that was made, and they argue over sharing their menus, over drinks, over burgers and fries verses pizza, they argue over flavors of ice-cream they should all get for dessert, they argue over their spots at the table between the other boys. Poor Junior...somehow he always gets stuck in the middle of them now because he likes talking to Icebox the most, but Spike won't leave her alone either unless he gets the last word in.

Their waitress comes over with the bill and glances at Danny and Kevin, muttering that they've got some pretty rowdy kids tonight. Kevin just shrugs it off, believing that boys will be boys, and apart from that, Icebox is an O'Shea by blood, so clearly, she's not just going to roll over and play dead just for an opponent's benefit. But Danny gets the subtle hint and clears his throat loudly over the noise, directing a very pointed look at his daughter, then Spike.

They both cool down, but not before Icebox can whack her hand on the back of his head mockingly, and in reaction, he swiftly kicks at her shoe in defiance.

Junior rolls his eyes.

Even after the Little Giants' Day of Triumph took place a full year ago and the strong bond she's made with Junior as best friends, Debbie still has her eyes set on him, and Becky surely takes notice.

She tries to not let it bother her, tries to ignore it, tries to be accepting of it—though, still—a smaller, petty part of her can't help but to feel territorial. Besides, it's only human, right? Being cautious about what's yours and what could change that?

So while their parents are settled in the dining room, sipping on Kevin's fine wine, and talking over the next big game coming up in one state over and how to get there by bus, Becky plays a round of Monopoly with her cousins at the living room coffee table.

They engage in normal girl-talk...or what Becky assumes must be girl-talk. Aside from borrowing a bit of blush from Patty Floyd for special occasions, she's not that experienced with these sort of conversations yet.

But, Debbie's mouth is on autopilot and she gossips about the rest of her cheerleader squad as if it's completely normal to do and she also throws in comments about Junior; his hair, his smile, his incredible throwing skills.

And, regrettably, that's when a loose wire seems to snap inside of Becky's mind and she curtly interjects with, "He hasn't talked to you in like a year or whatever, Debbie, and you still like him?"

Debbie was about to shake the dice, but she doesn't let them drop. She falters, her golden curled lashes fluttering in surprise back at her. Debbie's little sister, Priscilla, who's sitting next to Becky also stares at her, knowing that statement was a little abrupt and a little too sharp, and the air around them thickens with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Becky...," Debbie adds on, voice slow and yielding. Her gaze flickers over to the grownups across the way, but they're too busy to catch anything wrong. "...I didn't think it was a big deal. Besides, I just thought...well..."

Becky shifts awkwardly. "Though what?"

Now, Debbie's just looking at her like she's stupid or crazy. Or both. Like she's missing out on a big secret and Debbie's surprised Becky hasn't heard it yet. "...I just didn't think Junior was the boy you actually liked."

It's Becky's turn to glare at her like she's all lost and screwy. "What is that s'pposed to mean?"

"You like Junior?" Priscilla chimes in innocently. "That is weird."

"Why is it weird?" Temper boiling, and teeth clenching, Becky struggles to keep these words simply between them so the adults won't overhear them and get involved. "Just because I'm not pretty enough or whatnot?"

"No, no, that's not it," Debbie assures her quickly, hands waving in surrender. "We just thought you liked...Spike."

"Spike?" Becky repeats, totally skeptical. Yeah Right. Sure. "Spike Hammersmith? The one who gets on my nerves twenty-four-seven? That Spike?"

"Well, yeah." Debbie nods expectedly.

Becky shakes her head at them in disbelief. "You two are nuts! I can't stand him!"

"But that's how you knooow a boys really likes a girl," Little Priscilla says, forever so cute and sweet, and actually sounds wiser beyond her short years. "They tease you."

Debbie agrees with her. "Yeah, Beck. See, if a boy always goes out of his way to joke around you...it probably means that he likes you, but it's supposed to be a secret, 'cause he doesn't want the other boys to know. It's like what happened two years ago—when Jimmy Fischer once pulled on my hair in class but the next day he kissed my cheek under the monkey-bars at recess."

"No." Becky states once more, protesting against the notion, and trying her hardest not to giggle at how insane (or funny) that is. "I'm sorry...but I still say you two have to be out of your freaking minds if you think that Spike and I like-like each other!"

Patty has just poured herself a fresh cup of coffee when Danny comes strolling in through the back door with an odd, curious expression. The last time she's seen that look on his face was when the Little Giants were just catching up to Kevin's Cowboys team and he was wondering what play to call next to win.

"What is it Danny?"

"I'm not sure. Beck's been really weird out on the field lately. I mean, she's still playing really great, like usual, but when the team's in the locker room resting or they're just having lunch break, she gets...sorta flustered and jumpy around them. And then she kicked Spike right in the shin today for no apparent reason. And hard. He definitely went home with a bruise after that one. I think...she still has a little crush on Junior yet and she feels like she has to defend him or something. Though, to be honest, I didn't expect that to last forever...especially since you and I are...you know. Closer."

Patty hums through pressed lips insightfully. "Maybe...it's not Junior that's really getting to her."

"Then, what else could it be?" he asked her in a hushed, cautious tone. "Is it because she's the only girl out there still? Is it too much for her now, too weird to hang out with all boys? I really thought she still wanted to play, though—"

"Danny—" Patty interjects, putting a calming hand on his arm, "—As a woman who's been in her place once upon a time, I think it's one of those...girl-things she has to figure out on her own."

"But why?" Danny complains innocently. He doesn't like the sound of that. "We're pals."

"But she's growing up, Danny. And one day, she'll might need her father to be there for her, not her pal. She's about the same age I was when I was...becoming...more of a woman than a girl. And all that stuff."

"Oh. Right." Danny says, following her train of thought. "But I would've known. That hasn't happened yet."

"Maybe not. But that doesn't mean she's not going through a change."

Kevin, unlike the rest of them, certainly knows it's something. It really has to be something, because hey, at the end of every day, Icebox is still a girl and Spike's a boy, and boys and girls don't always mix that well like people might expect them to.

Personal things are already growing more and more complicated for kids that age as it is, and when their teenage hormones start developing on top of that, their lives become a whole raging storm of what-ifs and maybes and other possibilities.

Thus, for all intents and purposes, Kevin doesn't speak out against it, just in case he is wrong. And he hates being wrong. But he's positive that he can see it...whatever it really is. He sees it in the way Spike or Icebox only focus on tackling down each other and no one else during a drill match. He sees it in the way those two debate over stupid stuff constantly and have no concept of personal space. They get louder and louder and step closer and closer together, practically standing chest to chest, and they don't seem to care how it may look to everyone else on the field.

"Spike is always trying to showing off during practice, but I don't get why; it's not like any of us actually like hearing it anyway, right? And he thinks I never quit talking. Yesterday he was bragging about how he can lift his whole refrigerator with his bare hands! I'll believe that when I see it."

Junior sighs for the ninth time within that ten-minute period of walking out to the field, carrying their gear. "Icebox, look—"

"—I mean," she's not even listening, "when is he going to take the hint that he's not some bigshot Football Idol we're all gonna worship and—"

"Icebox—," Junior whirls on her, hand clamping down over her wrist. "Becky!"

She blinks out of her endless tirade. "What?"

"Just stop. Okay? For five minutes, just stop it."

"Stop what?" She's so one-tracked minded right now that she can't even notice what he does.

"Talking about Spike." he emphasizes with another deep breath, "It's all you do now."

"Is not!" She looks appalled.

"Is so."

"Junior," she scoffs then, "I can't stand him. I thought that was clear. So why would I only want to talk about him?"

"I could ask you the same question," he remarks.

Though before she can reopen her mouth to deny it, Spike's walking up to them. And immediately, her attention on him shifts. "Hey, Ice Keg! We should partner up today just so I can scrape your nose into the mud! Huh, what'd'ya say? You could use a good make-over."

Junior frowns.

(Speak of the Devil.)

Icebox confronts Spike head on, and Junior can't understand what that silly little smirk flashing across her face is for. She punches Spike hard in the shoulder pads and he just sniggers at her, pushing back. The force makes her stumble a little and she's about to fall. And on pure instinct, they're both reaching out before she totally went crashing down. But Spike is a second quicker than Junior and grabs her under the elbow, setting her straight. She just stares at him afterwards, unblinking, and Spike still seems amused, and that short moment between them grows quiet.

For some confusing reason, Junior doesn't like it. And, maybe, he's out of line here. She's supposed to be his best friend, the one he can really count on—and now, via their parents dating each other, he's her surrogate family too basically. At least, that's what he thinks this feeling is: a protective instinct a brother would have over a sister. Then again, there could be possessiveness festering beneath that too, a kind of deeper envy that's only being triggered because the opponent here happens to be Spike Hammersmith—and no one likes losing to him.

But it's Spike who actually ends up moving first, breaking the odd tension that's making Junior's gut churn, and he rotates Becky towards him again, saying, "On second thought...she's all yours, Pretty Boy. She's too much trouble."

"Ha-ha, Spike, you're so funny," she snips. "It sounds like you're just afraid to take me on again."

"Oh, yeah?"

Becky points her chin up. "Yeah!"

"Don't bother, airheads," Junior cuts in, surprising them both by how serious his tone is set. They make weird faces at him. But what for? Have they forgotten he's right there? Is he invisible? "Save your energy for the field."

With that, he shoves his helmet on and stalks off, approaching the bench where Uncle Kevin was shouting orders and suggestions to those who were already running their laps. Becky and Spike start to trail behind him, their footsteps sounding perfectly even with each other.

It's almost a paradox, since it shouldn't really matter. There are other things in life to worry about rather than how Becky and Spike act; there are more important things like war and famine in foreign countries to focus on instead. However, their...obsession-thing with each other doesn't cease. If it was just a phase they were in, then it's a drawn-out phase that won't go away.

It carries on through the end of Pee Wee Football, and stays with them till now, in high school.

And the one key fact about living in Urbania is that it's not really big enough to be called a city, or even the Suburbs. It's one of those old small-town places where there's a real tightly-knit, homey feel to it. But that also means information travels quickly family to family and everyone knows everybody else by first and last names and they know all the latest gossip. So, of course, they have all long figured out by now that Becky and Spike really are friends who hang out sometimes after class, along with the rest of the boys she's friends with; they just don't care to admit it out loud to them.

And, really, it's just ridiculous for them to keep acknowledging each other as 'worst enemies' in front of the group when Spike was actually invited over tonight to watch sports with them while her dad and Patty are gone for the evening to celebrate their couples' anniversary.

The room is dark and Nubie is over on the end chair, Tad and Jake are lying on beanbags on the floor in front of the television screen, slowly chewing on their pizza, and Junior is next to Becky, who's sandwiched between him and Spike on the sofa.

And when the current football team they're cheering for shoots everything straight to hell, Spike gets all upset and starts growling things in third-person again, demanding that they turn the channel to something else for a while before he has to get up and smash the TV set to bits.

"Relax, Bigfoot," Becky deadpans, "It's only half time."

Unsurprisingly, Spike doesn't let that comment slide, and it only turns into a one-on-one battle to win custody of the remote.

And in the middle of their scuffle, they slide over the cushions, their limbs linking together—Junior falls off the sofa with a grunt, and Spike hisses in discomfort too and pulls back, glowering down at his hand. He's bleeding. It's just little cut branded into his palm from Becky's nails accidently scraping him there—because even girls like her still have nails that come naturally sharp—but he feels the sting, and its red, and oozing.

The other boys gape up at them, unsure what to do and they're sort of scared to test Icebox's patience any further at that point.

Becky huffs in contempt, and stands up again when Junior does as well, scolding them. She ignores him and merely extends a hand, tugging Spike towards the doorway and aims for the kitchen. "Come on. There're bandages under the sink."

They disappear around the corner, and that's when Nubie suggests that someone should go supervise those two so they can't finish murdering each other for good. Tad and Jake automatically vote for Junior, and in response, Junior just rolls his eyes and follows them out, stopping at the archway that faces into the kitchen.

Becky and Spike are both hovering slightly over the running faucet as she reminds him to rinse off the cut first.

"You really need to start wearing a Bio-Hazard sign around your neck in public, Ice Nails...," Spike grumbles down at her while she bends over to rip open a Band-Aid strip from the cupboard below, "...You know, so people can just know to stay clear of you. This might get all infected now."

"It's just a cut, you overgrown baby," she snaps back, straightening herself, and she flips her hair back behind her shoulder. She shuts the faucet off and coaxes Spike to expose his wound to her so she can press the bandage down on his skin just at the right angle. "God. Why are boys so okay with climbing trees, and hopping fences, and getting thrown down on the field every day...or, wrestling for the remote...but one tiny scrape makes you cry death?"

"If you'd just changed the channel, this wouldn't've happened..."

She laughs, semi-bitterly. "Oh, no you don't. If you'd just learn to not spin outta control over the littlest of things, then we wouldn't have—"

"Beck," Junior has to say quickly, before she starts screaming at Spike all over again. "Cool off. You're fine. He's fine. Let's just go back in and watch the rest of the quarter." (And by their mildly humiliated expressions they both share, he can tell they had forgotten that other people are there with them. Again. That happens a lot now, actually.)

The weather's bad and it's holding people up, so her dad's going to be late. Spike overhears their phone call at the front desk at school and mumbles out an offer to drive her home today.

"No, it's fine."

"It's a twenty-seven minute walk back on foot, Ice Pick, and the storm's just about to pick up."

So half-reluctantly, she finally agrees, sprinting outside after him. They climb up into his old rusted pickup truck, and she shakes out her wet hair, slamming the passenger's door shut.

The sky turns all dark and grey as they drive off, the pouring rain hits the windshield like falling nails and Spike stares ahead.

"Thanks," she suddenly feels obligated to say.

"Sure."

She bends her knees to her chest over her seat. The rain, it makes her...it makes feel lonely and on edge. A scowl slowly forms behind her eyes. (It was storming like this when her mother had left Urbania.)

"...You okay o'er there?"

She's actually surprised that he even notices the subtle change in her posture, or that he's considerate enough to spare her a simple glance-over and ask.

"I just don't like storms," she replies. "Who does really?"

Shortly after that, they pull into her driveway with a heavy sloshy sound beneath the tires and the ground's all slick with mud now.

Spike shifts into park. "Well, we're here."

"Yeah, I see can that, you oaf..." There's a thick pause in conversation as she gathers up her bag and throws her sweatshirt back on with its hood up. Then, she leans back in thought and looks directly towards him. "...The rain's getting worse right now," she begins, tentatively, "you wanna wait inside until the coast is clear? It'd be safer than driving anywhere else."

He's somewhat suspicious. "...Are you afraid to be alone in your own house right now?"

"No," she objects, hoping she doesn't sound overly-defensive. "I just...I told you I just don't like storms. Things get wet. And boring. And my dad's gonna be late tonight anyhow, so, bugging you until he gets home will at least give me something to do."

Spike caves, letting the real issue hidden beneath that excuse go unsaid. "Alright, alright. Let's go in."

For their senior class, tonight's supposed to be big, the biggest night Urbania High has ever seen yet. It's the party (emphasis on the 'e' in the), the party of the year, the party everyone wants to go to despite whether their parents like it or not. And even though it is actually hosted at Murphy's house no less, they all do show up to have a part in it.

The stereo is blasting on full volume, and their fellow classmates are everywhere, dancing and whooping to the beat, flooding through the garage—to the living room—to the bedrooms upstairs. They're all basically cramped inside, constantly touching shoulders with someone else.

But all the excitement somehow makes up for discomforts like that.

Junior is given a can of beer by Murphy. He takes it, and opens it, though he really has no intention of drinking until he literally vomits like a few of his ex-teammates are evidently trying to do. Becky soon appears before him, with her dark waves loose and wild, her eyes are lined with black, and she's even wearing a short leather skirt and black heeled boots for the occasion. She actually receives a couple of catcalls as she weaves her way through the crowd, coming straight towards him. She smells like Debbie's signature perfume (lavender-vanilla) once she squeezes closer to allow the people stringing behind her to pass by them.

"Hey, pal," she beams at him, calling over the music. Her hand naturally lands on the nape of his neck to keep herself upright when they get bumped aside by another wild couple. Her current nail polish is a deep dark purple.

"Hey," he shouts back.

"Why aren't you dancing?"

He shrugs. "Don't have anyone to dance with!"

"Well, come on then!" Her fingers slip down to take his hand in a rather casual manner, leading him into the wave of animated people.

Spike walks into the room too just as they started swaying and laughing along with those moving around them.

Junior notices how Hammersmith's eyes are skimming the room until they focus on them—and on Becky.

She and Spike essentially end up circling each other the whole night afterwards, engaging in yet another battle of wits, serving snide comments and teasing comebacks back and forth and back and forth, and Junior's ears are ringing with their nonstop dialogue and just not the music.

He looks over and he even now, he's not sure how he feels. Or should feel. But he does know watching Icebox standing over at the fence, bantering with Spike makes it harder to swallow.

"Junior?" Debbie approaches him gently, her pompoms hanging down by her hips, brushing up against her short cotton skirt. "Is everything alright?"

He turns away from Becky, gazing right into Debbie's bright blue eyes covered in glitter and he smiles apologetically. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Debbie nods back politely in return, though something in his instincts tell him that she knows better than that.

Because, when the whole truth comes crashing in, it hits hard, with no forgiveness.

And for some reason, he's worried about what's going to happen when it will finally hit Becky.

Two weeks before graduation, she willingly goes to the arcade with Spike, and they play several rounds of darts while drinking cola from the old-fashioned glass bottles.

Her red-tailed dart sticks really close to the bullseye, Spike's blue-tailed dart hits just a tad closer above hers.

"So are you ready for the final Lit Exam Samson's gonna give us?"

She's not trying to mock him. In truth, she's just curious. They're both all set and good in Gym class obviously, and surprisingly Social Studies and Biology aren't so difficult if the books are actually cracked open—although when it comes to hard-core poetry and other classic English works loaded with symbolism and allusions and hidden tones and reoccurring themes—she and Spike are equally hopeless. She knows that like her, he's hoping to overcome the upcoming Lit Exam with a basic C+ at best to pass.

Shrugging, Spike flings his last dart. It's a perfect bullseye shot. "...You know that one Rover Freeze poem? The one with fire and ice?"

"It's Robert Frost...," she corrects him, and throws her last dart as well. It hits the red spot right beside his. Not a perfect bullseye, but it's a mille-inch away from being one, so she thinks it counts. "...But, yeah, what about it?"

"Where do you fall? Fire or Ice?"

"Ice," she says, not that serious about it, since she doesn't exactly understand what Frost was getting at in that poem anyhow. "It is in my name, after all. You?"

"I'd choose fire."

She snorts. "You would."

The first month of the summer before college is not as hectic as it was originally hyped out to be.

Because, really, the gang still finds the right amount of down time to relax by the motel pool every weekend, surrounded by the long-awaited blistering heat.

Icebox happens to glance down from her lazy perch on the low diving board, sitting next to Debbie and Junior, and spots Spike wading in the pool below, gazing up at her, nearly smirking and nothing else. Silently, she dares to let her eyes fall to his matured shoulders, falling further to his bare fit torso, (and maybe just a few more mille-inches below that to where the hem of his shorts rest) then right when it feels like they're getting sucked into some private moment or whatever, she mercilessly kicks water right in his face.

No one knows how, when, or why exactly. But in spite of it being the last day of high-school-like freedom, Junior and Spike are tumbling across the fresh-cut grass, fighting. Physically fighting, like two drunken, grumbling apes.

Outraged and just so mentally exhausted with the entire male race today, Icebox pushes through the other boys who are yelling at them...some are even cheering, and she manages to insert her body in between them, one hand per chest, pressing down and pushing them apart.

"What the hell was that for?" she shrieks at them both, her glare steely and passionate. "Are you really gonna ruin everybody's last day home by doing this?!"

"Hey, don't point fingers at me," Spike bites back, licking at his cracked lip. "Pretty Boy here threw the first hit."

And though this causes her to focus solely on Junior, she's still asking Spike the questions. "Why?"

"Stop messing around!" Junior orders them, and all the boys present in that instant gape towards him inquiringly. "Stop putting us in the middle of it!" Becky holds in a breath, stunned. He's never sounded so angry and frustrated before. Especially not at Icebox. "Stop wasting all your time playing these games and just, please, make up your minds!"

The whole group watches him storm off into the house, slamming the screen door behind him.

And the others start to whisper softly amongst them now. They're not too certain of what Junior had meant by that, or what made him blow up, but Becky has a hunch. Perhaps all the hidden things about her weren't so hidden or that secretive. It just depends on the observer apparently, and Junior, one way or another, caught sight of those things first.

She breathes out slowly, hands lifting to her hips, head bowed. With another breath drawn in, she ultimately forces herself to look over at Spike, who is already staring back at her carefully, knowingly.

She bites her lip. He must have the same hunch she does.

It's obvious to them too, now.

They need to talk. They need to decide, to explain, and figure it all out before they'd leave town and regret it later.

And they only have the remaining twenty-two hours to do so.