Olson woke up, glanced around for Baker, and frowned. He was on the floor, surrounded by empty cans of pop and pieces of pizza. Barkovitch was on his bed, sleeping on his stomach, one arm draped over the edge. Baker was nowhere to be found.

Olson stood up and stretched, back popping. He picked over video game cases and jabbed Barkovitch in the side. "Hey. Wake up."

Barkovitch turned on his side and curled up as small as he could, which was, admittedly, almost admiringly small. Olson grabbed onto the blanket and pulled, sending Barkovitch to the floor, one elbow sinking into the pizza and head cracking against the floor. He swore, rubbed the back of his head, and scowled.

"Where's Baker?" Olson asked. Barkovitch thought about it, glanced around, and shrugged. "Well, you're useless."

"Shut up, I was sleeping," Barkovitch snapped. He studied Olson's face and snorted. "You look like shit."

"You are shit," Olson snapped back. He headed out, wondering if he could grab a shower before he left or if he should go home first. Then he remembered that they hadn't actually really cleaned Jon's car out and stopped. He swore for a solid thirty seconds, before Barkovitch's mother looked at him funny. Then he flushed and swallowed. "You, uh, do you have some Clorox wipes or something?"

"Yes…" Mrs. Barkovitch said. "Why?"

"I spilled pizza in my brother's car and I think I'll probably die if I don't get the smell out," Olson said. His face hurt too much for him to lie about anything. Mrs. Barkovitch nodded and stood up. She dug through a few cabinets, and then handed him a container of Clorox wipes. "Thanks."

Mrs. Barkovitch nodded again, slowly, like she wasn't quite sure what to make of him. Olson stood there for an awkward thirty seconds, then headed out to the car. He took a deep breath and opened up the driver's side door and winced. There was sauce crusted in the driver's seat where he'd missed with his t-shirt, there was a glob of cheese in the cupholder, and Baker had apparently dropped a bit of sauce, too, because there was some on the passenger-side door. \

Olson swore again and got to work, scrubbing as well as he could with the Clorox wipes. He'd stopped trying to get it to stop smelling like pizza; Jon couldn't prove anything if there wasn't anything actually on the car.

Once this job was done, he gave the Clorox wipes back to Mrs. Barkovitch, grabbed his bag, and headed home. It was Sunday, so maybe his family would be at church. Sure, he'd get chewed out when he got home about not being there, but that would distract from the pizza smell in Jon's car. He'd take that.

Jon was waiting outside when he got home and Olson swore again. Then he nearly hit their mailbox. Jon jumped to his feet, most definitely more concerned with his car than his little brother, but Olson managed to straighten out the car and get it into their driveway without hitting anyone.

As soon as he got out Jon stuck his head in the car and looked around to make sure that Olson hadn't ruined anything. Olson tried to slink away, but Jon reached out and caught his arm. "You weren't eating in here, right?" he asked.

Olson swallowed. "No," he said. His voice was three octaves higher than usual. Jon didn't look away from the interior of the car as he spoke.

"Why does it smell like pizza?"

"We, uh, transported food but it stayed in the box. And Baker held it, so it wouldn't spill everywhere-"

"Uh-huh," Jon said. "Sure."

Olson couldn't really manage anything other than a helpless shrug.

"Not to mention it smells like Clorox."

"I, uh, Baker likes cleaning. See, look now nice the driver's seat is."

This was probably the wrong thing to say, as Jon inspected the driver's seat and came across some pizza sauce that Olson had accidentally overlooked. Jon's hand dropped from Olson's arm as probably more of a reflex than anything, and Olson made a break for the house.

…

Baker was having brunch with Collie Parker and Abraham – who had, in fact, insisted on calling it brunch, and that they should 'acknowledge the brunch, because who the fuck hates breakfast food and mid-morning snacks' – when his phone rang.

Olson.

"Hello," Baker said.

"Baker! Where are you? Who are you with? I need help."

"What's going on?" Baker asked.

"I locked myself in the bathroom because I didn't clean the car out well enough," Olson said. "And- shit- I'm kind of starving, so if you could come over and get some food through the window, or something, I can live in here forever, I have water and a toilet- shit shit shit he's breaking down the door-"

Baker held the phone away from his ear as Olson shrieked. He heard the sound of a shower being turned on, more screaming, and then he decided to hang up.

Both Abraham and Parker were staring at him.

"Olson's brother is mad at him for spilling pizza sauce in his car," Baker said. He slowly turned off his phone and put it back in his pocket. "I'm not quite sure what happened."

"I don't think I want to know," Parker said, face screwing up in a strange expression. "What in the goddam hell was going on there?"

Abraham looked like he was about to say something, but then the waitress came back with their food and the matter was forgotten. Abraham had offered to pay for Baker, as a sort of 'I'm sorry my best friend smashed you in the temple yesterday', and Baker had responded by stretching Abraham's wallet as much as he could. He figured that it was justified. Either way, Abraham or Parker would probably end up finishing it anyway, because Baker felt slightly ill from last night's pizza and Mountain Dew binge.

…

Davidson was walking home when he saw Hank Olson sitting outside his house, soaking wet and shivering.

Naturally, Davidson stopped to laugh. Olson glared at him through dripping wet bangs. "What happened to you?" Davidson asked, one eyebrow raising. Olson muttered something about his brother. "Huh?"

"My brother got pissed about me eating in his car," Olson said. "So he threw me in the shower on cold. And then he locked me out. and my parents aren't going to be back from church and their brunch afterward until at least noon."

He shivered again, and Davidson couldn't help himself from laughing again. Olson glared and wiped water out of his face. He shivered again.

"Okay, do you want to come over and dry off?" Davidson asked. The wind began to pick up. Olson shivered violently for a few seconds and then gave up and nodded. The two of them headed back, Davidson surrendering his jacket so that Olson wouldn't get pneumonia, and they walked off into the mid-morning sun.

And we are back!