What kinda Perfect Chemistry fanfiction would this be if the characters didn't play pranks on each other, am I right? You know what's funny, I'm no where NEAR as bad ass as I make my characters. Anyway, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease review. It'd make me love you so much more. Pretty, pretty, pretty please?

Riley

So, Paco came waltzing – or stumbling, as it were – back into the cabin at 1 o'clock in the morning. Not only was I dead asleep, but I was all ready pissed at him for not coming back earlier. It wasn't like a told him what time all cabin's get checked so he could miss curfew. I may have a guy's name, but my voice is far from it. So, when that councilor guy came in I had to run to the bathroom and call my friend, Josh, who exercised his "Freedom of Speech" rights to the max.

I dunno how the dude didn't run in and punch me in the face. And it's not like I could tell him to shut up because than my cover would be blown. This would get ME – the person who wants to be here more than anything – in trouble. So, while I was stressing out big time, Paco was clearly having the time of his life. He just came back, swearing with every misstep – which happened a lot – and threw the lights on so he could get dressed. But then he decided the lights hurt his eyes and turned them off again, causing another round of curses.

It was as amusing as it was annoying. Who knew Mr. Perfection would be such a sloppy drunk? And although it was probably the most I've laughed in a while, I'm not gonna let him get off that easy. In a stroke of luck, the cafeteria was serving goopy eggs on a greasy sandwich. So, here I am, sitting on Paco's stomach waiting for him to wake up.

His jewel-like blue eyes turn on me. I wave the sandwich at him. Grease globs onto his shirt. "Mierda," He groans. His usually dark skin is as pale as mine. "What are you doin'?"

"Well, you slept past breakfast, silly." I say innocently. "What kind of cabin buddy would I be if I let you miss the most important meal of the day?"

I take a big bite from my breakfast. The juices dribble down my chin. Paco pinches the bridge of his nose. He shuts his eyes and leans back against the pillow, face turning green. "¡Tú eres el Diablo!"

I don't know that much Spanish, but I know enough to understand that. Instead of having me be insulted, I laugh. This is so much fun. "What? Are you upset that I didn't get you the thick, juicy, greasy sausage? You'd probably like it. Smothered in butter and the oils on these bagels – Mmmm – it's to die for." I wave the sandwich in his face. "Isn't this one good enough for you?"

As soon as he gets a whiff of it, he bolts from the bed and into the bathroom. Paco barely makes it before he pukes into the toilet. Guilt rocks through me. I didn't mean to make him puke, just get uncomfortable. Still, I'm smiling. Not because of nerves, but a little victory smile. Payback's a bitch and so am I.

Once he's done throwing up, I go over to him. After wringing a wash cloth, I wipe his clammy pale face. Paco's too weak to do anything but sit there. "Maybe you shouldn't go out and drink all the time." I shrug.

He glares. "This is my first hang over."

I blink. I knew he wasn't a crack head because, well, obviously he doesn't look like one. But I never thought that he wouldn't be out getting trashed every chance he got. Not to judge him, but all of his friends are a little – well – a LOT into illegal activities. From the stories I hear, its party every night until you forget everything else with his friends. I just assumed he was one of those guys.

My face must say it all because he rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I party, but yo no soy tonto. I'm not a fuckin' retard. See, there's this thing called control."

"Which you lost last night." I remind. He groans again, remembering, and leans his head on the toilet. I want to reach out and comfort him, but I can't. A touch could mean everything to a guy like Paco. And while I find him undeniably hot, I don't want him getting the wrong impression.

"You know," He pants, weakly glaring at me, "you coulda warned me you'd be such a pain in the ass."

"Aw, but where's the fun in that?" I pout. I don't mention that he's the one who's being a major pain in the ass. I pat his back and stand up. "I'll tell Ms. Crippen that you're sick. Or do you want me to say hung over? Or I could say you got food poisoning from all the greasy, oil-filled fries you ate last night."

Paco's moan turns into reflex gagging. "Pare, por favor!"

"Don't wake me up at two o'clock in the morning again."

Something flickers in the back of those blue eyes. Something harmless and conflicting against his mouth –which is tight with annoyance. "Yeah, yeah, sure," He says. "Just let me finish pukin' in peace, will yah?"

I shrug, dumping the sandwich. "See you in art, Paco."