Dear Spot,
Look. See. Visualize. Use your retinas and your pupils and your corneas. Except with your brain. Even though you need your brain to see. FORGET IT. Just picture this.
You know that snow you talked about? And that metaphor you used? Haha. Metaphor sounds like meteor. THAT REMINDS ME OF DINOSAURS. I liked the Allosaurus. He was really cool, you know. He was sorta like a T. Rex but I think he was smaller. OH. ANYWHO.
My point is.
There may be snow back in New York, but here in New Mexico it doesn't snow at all.
Just let that sink in.
Sincerely, Jack.

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Dear David,
Go get yourself a Roget's thesaurus and look up "great". All the synonyms for it, that's how Santa Fe is.
Classes start on Tuesday here too.
If you miss everyone so much, ring Skittery. He'll probably go up and visit you since he's going to a local school and doesn't need to be on campus until Thursday. Actually, he probably won't just visit, he'll stay. Blink and Mush are driving him crazy.

Sincerely, Jack.

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"Cowboy-Jack-Francis?"

"Yes, Fettuccini- Alfredo?"

"Sorry about hitting you in the head."

"Oh no, it's alright. It's just, now I feel that I need to do a walk for breast cancer because of this thing on my head. You know, like, now that I have one I should support-"

"Stop trying to be funny."

"I am funny. Stop trying to be…"

"Apologetic?"

"Whatever, Racetrack."

"Loser-face."

"What's that?"

"Loser-face."

"Prick-femur."

"Idiot-clavicle."

"Dork-Pancreas."

"Jerk-Humerus."

"Fatty-Thyroid."

"I AM NOT FAT."

"Pfft. Yes you are. Go eat some stomach parasites and maybe you'll lose weight, Racetrack."

"At least I don't have herpes, Jack."

"WHY DOES EVERYONE THINK I'M GONNA GET HERPES?"

"Because you have it."

"NO I DON'T."

"Spot said you did."

"Spot Conlon?"

"Obviously. I asked about him in that stupid questionnaire I sent you."

"WHY DOES SPOT THINK I HAVE HERPES?"

"Eh."

"DOES SPOT HAVE HERPES?"

"Eh."

"DOES HE?"

"Eh."

"STOP TRYING TO BE CANADIAN AND ANSWER ME."

"Ask Spot."

"But I just sent him a letter and it's sort of mean but only sort of but when he reads it he'll get upset and-"

"Spot was right. You are a drama queen."

"I'm not a queen. I'm a king, a king! A king of New York, as a matter of fact."

"You are not. It's my city, Jack."

"Shut up and go make me a pizza."

"Don't stereotype me!"

"I'll stereotype you all I want!"

"Labels are for soup cans!"

"NO THEY ARE NOT! HOW WOULD YOU LIKE BEING A CAN OF TOMATO AND BEING LABELED AS CHICKEN NOODLE?"

"OH SHUT UP. GO TALK TO THE DIRECTOR OF BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, JACK!"

"…What?"

"You are a gay cowboy, aren't you?"

"No…………who……told you………that?"

"Oh, can't think of a comeback, huh?"

"I've already said everything offensive I can think of."

"You disgust me."

"Your mom disgusts me."

"Stupid-Tibia."

"Freak-Patella."

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Racetrack's Xanga:

Jack is getting on my nerves. He's so…Irritating. He makes even the simplest things so complicated. For example, today, I tried to say sorry for hitting him in the head and he went psycho. It was nuts. Or almonds and walnuts and pistachios, as Jack would say.

That's another thing, he changes perspectives and…I don't know how to describe it. He can't just say something like…um…Okay, I thought of something.

Average person: "Do we have any lemonade left?"

Jack: "Is there any of that crappy beverage made with sodium injected lemon powder still around?"

It is almost like he is trying to be smart. You know, like one of those kids who has to be nerdy and technical. The only exception is that Jack isn't nerdy. He can pull off all this nonsense and no one else on campus has even considered the fact that he is a weirdo.

I just remembered another weird habit. He sniffs all the time. Just, like, casually. It's kind of like hanging around with someone who has a cold. They sniff all the time, but eventually it just becomes…normal. Maybe he just has some mucus production problem. Although, it's really a dry sniff, as if there isn't anything in his nose but air. I don't get him. No one else has noticed that either.

Oh well. He and I are going to a club tonight with some other people from our dormitory. We're going to check out fraternities tomorrow, and this is sort of a way to break the ice with other freshman so we can all figure out who we'll be spending the next four years with.

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Jack hesitantly stepped into the club, uncertain about how to act. He'd been to plenty of parties in high school, but this was his first experience without one of the newsies by his side. He peered around, a bit dazed by the seizure inducing lighting and smoky air, searching for a familiar face. Irrationally disappointed by the absence of Spot or Blink, Jack felt the urge to approach the exit. He turned around, preparing an excuse for why he was leaving to the other freshmen, but instead found himself face to face with Racetrack.

"Where are you going?" Racetrack inquired, aggravation muffling any gram of concern he might have felt.

"Crazy," Jack responded dryly as he made an attempt to get past him.

"You can't," Race said.

"Who says?" Jack growled.

"Here's your option. You either go back to the dorm…"

"Or what?"

Race placed his hands on Jack's shoulders and turned him around.

"…Or you get laid," he suggested, pointing to a blonde girl in front of them who was participating in a body shots session with sophomore from their dorm. She was obviously at least five years older than both of them, although Race didn't see this as an obstacle. She made eye contact with Jack and smiled flirtatiously, but Jack didn't return the grin.

"Antonio-Mozzarella-Papa John…" Jack whined. "I can't…do that."

"Sure you can, Roy Rogers-Jake Gyllenhaal," Race encouraged, giving Jack a push towards the girl. She shoved the sophomore away from her and put her drink down, now interested in Jack Kelly's handsome features. Jack looked pleadingly back at his roommate, but before he could pout, the girl had wrapped her arms around his neck seductively.

"I'm Jack," he said quickly, suddenly reminded of Spot, David, and Sarah back in New York. He lifted her fingers off his neck, but she simply put them back.

"I'm Keira," she replied. Her voice was sharp, almost cutting off Jack's introduction, which got him thinking that all she really cared about was sex. As if to answer his thoughts, Keira dragged Jack to the back of the club, with the intention of privacy, although there truly wasn't any. Jack coughed awkwardly when Keira reached for his zipper.

"What's the matter?" she hissed, frustrated at this freshman's reluctant behavior.

"I don't know. Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome, maybe?"

"…Acquired what?" Keira asked.

"Oh God. You don't happen to have a sister who was on a plane a few days ago coming from New York, do you?"

"Huh? Uh…yeah…Her name is Natalie…Do you know her?"

"Um…Sort of."

"Oh well…she's a slut. Come here."

"Look who's talking."

"Are you calling me a slut?"

"I don't know. Let's see…You must not be, because sluts don't drag boys to the back of clubs and try to pull their jeans off and-"

Before Jack could finish his statement, Keira's hand connected with his cheek, her fingernails raking the flesh of his face.

"Did you just slap me?" Jack muttered in disbelief.

"Jerk!"

Jack walked weakly over to Racetrack, who shook his head disapprovingly at him.

"Smooth. If you'd just played it cool, you'd be waking up her in bed tomorrow."

"Who says I want to wake up in her bed, Race?"

"The bulge in your pants does, idiot."

"I don't have a…OH SHIT."

"Haha, Jack. I don't think that-"

"No. Nononononononono!"

"What?"

"This doesn't make sense!"

"What doesn't?" Race leaned forward, curious to hear what his roommate had to say.

"None of this!"

"Elaborate."

"I swear, I fucking swear, I am going to rip out my pituitary gland. My hormones are jacked up like…something that's…jacked…up…"

"Explain."

"Well, I mean, I was straight for like…ever. And then I wasn't, and then I was, and then I don't even know what the deal was, and then…I just…I thought I'd made up my mind…And…Why am I telling you this?"

"Because you've been needing to talk to someone for the past few months and no one has been there to listen?"

"No. You're wrong. You are wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong. I don't need your help. No. I'm fine."

"Sure you are."

"I am."

"Whatever."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah. I believe you. You're fine, and that's why Spot and that other kid and his sister are heartbroken. Because you are just fine."

"You better shut your mouth before I smash your mandible with a loaf of garlic bread," Jack threatened.

"Oh, I'm so terrified. Garlic bread. Maybe if I was a vampire, that would work," Racetrack sneered as walked out of the club. Jack followed, determined to save his dignity.

"Why do you care?" he asked. "Why do you care about my problems?"

"Spot is my best friend. And you know what, Jack? You changed him. Every time we talked, it was about 'what am I gonna do about Jack?' or 'Does Jack like me?' Now look. I'm not a queer like you, but I care about my friend."

"So," Jack said slowly. "You're…what…trying to set me up with girls…"

"So you don't hurt another guy like you hurt Spot…" Race finished for him.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

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A/N: Sorry for the lack of updating. I had a big project for Civglish and yeah. I've been busy. So um, obviously, this chapter was more serious than funny. But it had to be. So um. Yes. Read. It is good for…school…and…life? Whatever. OH ALSO. Did anyone else ever notice that Jack is always sniffing in a bunch a scenes. He just like 'snort'. Heh. Well. Yeah.