Sorry this is so short! There is another part to this chapter, I promise! I just wanted to get this out there in case I lost it (cpu problems!). Enjoy!


"20 milliliters."

"I mean, it's not like I've never asked anyone out before."

"20 milliliters, Race."

"I have asked out plenty of people, for your information."

"Terrific. Either measure out 20 milliliters or hand over the beaker."

Race went to slide the beaker across to his lab partner, David, but forgot about the rubberized surface of the countertop they were working on. The beaker tipped over, spilling liquid all over the front of Race.

"Least it wasn't acid," David pointed out weakly.

"Very helpful," Race told him. Their teacher simply pointed to the door and Race threw his safety goggles down on the counter before exiting to the boy's bathroom.

"Son of a bitch," Race muttered as he reached into the paper towel dispenser and found it empty. He spun around to look for another dispenser and saw Sean leaning back on the window ledge and watching Race.

"Chemistry accident," Race explained.

"Likely story," Sean said evenly. It was hard to tell with the light shining through the window behind him but Race had a feeling Sean was laughing at him.

"You're about as helpful as my lab partner," Race said crossly.

Sean stubbed his cigarette out in the corner of the window sill and hopped down to where Race stood. He peeled off the oversized sweatshirt he was wearing and held it out to Race.

"I'm fine, thanks," Race told him. He hated being laughed at, especially by a person he had been considering asking out just moments before.

"It's clean," Sean explained. Race instantly felt ashamed that Sean assumed he had something against the sweatshirt because he'd been to Sean's house and seen the living conditions.

"I'm sorry, I just meant…" Race began as he took the sweatshirt. He pulled the material over his head and felt his heartbeat quicken as he breathed in the intoxicating blend of tobacco and wintergreen that he'd come to associate with Spot.

Spot raised an eyebrow. "Looks better on you, anyway."

"So, um, I was wondering if, maybe, you…I mean, I…" Race stammered as he twisted his hands in the sleeves of the sweatshirt.

"You know that Starbucks over on Greenwood?" Spot asked. He pulled a Sharpie out of the back pocket of his jeans and grabbed Race's hand. Race felt his mouth go dry as Spot sketched an address and time onto the palm of his hand and he wished with all his heart that he wouldn't end up sweating the information off.

"1 a.m.?" Race asked, looking down at the block handwriting. "Why 1 a.m.?"

"That's when my shift is over," Spot explained. He stepped back and looked Race up and down. "Keep the sweatshirt. It really does look better on you."

Race felt the tips of his ears grow red. He glanced down at his palm and back up at Spot. "You know, you still haven't told me why Spot."

Spot grinned wickedly. "I told you, you'll find out."

As he watched Spot disappear down the hallway Race realized he was in way over his head. He wrapped his arms around his chest and hurried back toward chemistry class. He couldn't wait to tell David Jacobs that not only did he have a date for that night, but he didn't even have to go through with asking.