Jake settled into the Flannery's kitchen and drew his legs up on the table, munching on a chocolate chip cookie dough Slim Fast meal bar which was all Linda Flannery allowed anyone—visiting or not—to eat in the mornings. He knew that they were probably going to be late for school but they had driver's ed (a vital class in Manhattan) first period so he figured that Coach Wiesel wouldn't care. He knew that he should be contemplating his boner in the bed but he was certain that it was one-time-really-have-to-pee thing. He in no way harbored lust towards his best, not to mention male, friend.

Snoddy strolled into the kitchen, finally emerging from his boiling shower. He had a Cher t-shirt on and one of the smuggest smiles Jake had ever seen.

"Hey, buddy," he smiled. "Hangover arrived yet?"

He held up a cup of coffee to answer his question before plopping down at the table.

"Why do we drink alcohol if we know it's going to make our heads hurt the next day?" Snoddy bemoaned. "Doesn't it also, like dehydrate your brain or something? Like, who would want that? And, like, you're downing Coronas, knowing you have school tomorrow and knowing that it'll give you a ginormous headache, which'll make you all dumb in school and you just keep chugging."

Jake wanted to point out that Snoddy already was dumb in school but he decided to cut him a break.

"I think alcohol deadens what alcohol does when you wake up the next morning," he said instead.

He went to continue when he noticed that Snoddy still wore that smirky smile.

"What gives?" he nudged him with the toe of his sneaker. "Aren't you supposed to be lamenting about never drinking again and then down seven cups of coffee and being a hummingbird for the rest of the day until you hit a window thinking it's a doorway? You're acting like you just got to bang Heath Ledger."

He named Snoddy's number one dream. Why he liked the Joker-faced actor was beyond him.

"It's nothing," he said, still smiling and making Jake positive that it was definitely something.

"Spill," Jake pressed. "Or I'll…tell everyone that your real name is Shawnee because your mother wanted to name you after the actress from the Kevin Dillon version of The Blob!"

Even after that, he was still ODing on smug pills. Jake decided that action was necessary. With the agile reflexes of a ninja, Jake leapt up and grabbed him around the waist before upending him the best he could—Snoddy was a very solid boy despite his tall, willowy appearance.

"I'll tickle you," he threatened, wiggling his fingers. "Or drop you!"

Snoddy thrashed. "No! Don't!"

Dropping Snoddy would be too cruel—and possibly knock out his remaining brain cells—so Jake decided to leave that threat empty. Instead, he righted him and kept his hands firmly at his waist since, being shorter, Jake couldn't hold them above his head to add for more tickling threat.

"Ha!" Snoddy shouted.

"Ha?"

Jake wasn't on the clue train. What was his damage?

"Give it up, Jake. I know you want me or else you wouldn't have woken up in my bed with a boner!"

Jake realized that his hands were still hovering above Snoddy's, ahem, area in such a way that could be entirely misconstrued by someone like the dark-haired, insane boy in front of him. He yanked his ski cap down further on his head so he wouldn't grab a knife from the knife block and jam it in his head.

"Oh my God! Are you on monkey crack? How many times do we have to go over this? I'm straight, Snoddy, straight. Straight, straight, straight!" he screamed before storming out of the apartment. "Find your own ride, you psychopath!"

"Jake!" he mewled after him. "Jake! But I love you Jake!"

He whipped around at the door. "No, Snoddy. You love Heath Ledger and I love girls."

And then he was gone, slamming the door behind him.

--

Spot leaned against the locker, kneading his fingers over the face of Michael Palin on his Python t-shirt, trying to slow down his heart. He managed to remain cool and nonchalant on the outside but inside, his organs roiled and twisted horribly.

"Jeez, Spot," Race remarked. "What's wrong?"

Spot blinked. How could Race figure out that he was freaking out? He looked completely normal on the outside save for the whole kneading thing. He had to do it. It was now or never. He grabbed Race roughly by Gwen Stefani on his shirt and brought their mouths together. There was the rough-clink of teeth and the soft touch of lips and Spot felt all of these feelings bubble up to his brain, leaving him dizzy and lightheaded.

"Hey, Spot!" Tina Hooper, a girl in his fifth period psychology class who he happened to hate, chirped. "Are you two, like, going out now?"

Spot broke the kiss with Race and glared at her. He really hated that little ditz. But whatever, she was going to gossip anyway so he might as well give her the truth.

"Yeah," he put an arm around Race's shoulders. "We are."

Race looked at him. "We are?"

"We are," Spot repeated.

With an annoying squeal that made Spot want to chop off her equally annoying high ponytail, Tina skirted away.

"I fucking hate her," he remarked.

"Spot, what was that?"

"That was me asking you out," he leaned in for another kiss.

"What about Jack? I thought you liked him."

Spot sighed and leaned against the bay of lockers next to him. They were a mere three minutes from having to go to fourth period. He wanted to spend that time making out with Race. Now he was bringing up Jack.

"Jack…he's…insane," he said finally. "I mean, I thought I did and all that but I guess I just had to face that it was never going to happen. And that it's not what I want…"

"And you want…me?" Race quirked a brow. "I hate to break it to ya but you're passing up Batman and going for Robin. Hell, I'm not even Robin. I'm Robin's understudy."

Spot slung an arm around his shoulders. "Well you're my understudy you little son of a bitch. Besides, Jack's with Jacobs."

"Not anymore," a voice next to him said.

They turned to see a girl with wavy brown hair spinning the combination lock to her locker. She looked like a leper with all the marks on her neck.

"How do you know?" Spot asked harshly.

She sighed and turned. "Because David's my brother."

"And he interrupted us again last night," another voice added.

"Riveting," Spot said, glaring that fucking ape DeLancey down. He never liked him. Granted, Spot liked a select few but he just never had. However, he was a bit perturbed that Jack hadn't told them that he and David broke up. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Jack all day.

But before he could press the matter further, the first bell shrilly rang, ushering juniors to fourth period and the two seniors they were standing with to, well, make out on the locker, as it was their free period.

--

Dutchy pressed his back against the nook between the lockers and the door to his French classroom. Right from third period to the end of lunch, he had been getting high at the bleachers. Now he was still woozy and trying to make it into French inconspicuously. Had he been sober, he would've known that this was to no avail. Madam Bouvier had eyes like a hawk. But he wasn't sober so he tried to sneak in.

"Ah, Jansen Palanski," she cooed in her fake French accent. "So good of you to join us."

His frazzled mind tried to think up an excuse but all he came out with was. "It's Perry. Perry Palanski."

"That's not what my roster says, Jansen," she raised her penciled, thin eyebrows. "And I believe we've gone over this."

"Yeah," he said. "But you still call me Jansen. I told you, it's Perry. My middle name."

The rest of the class chortled at him.

"Jansen, sit down," she commanded tiredly.

Dutchy slid into his seat next to Snitch. The shorter boy shook his head, laughing silently. He stuck his tongue out at him.

--

Jack rolled onto his stomach on the couch and tossed what appeared to be his umpteenth Snickers wrapper into the small wastebasket he had brought with him as he camped out on the couch. This wasn't his thing. This…moping thing where he sat around, feeling sorry for himself and wondering how to get David to take him back. He didn't do that. Period. Jack Kelly didn't stew. Period. Luckily, he was alone. Daddy dearest was at work and his future stepmumsy was out planning the wedding. She would need him eventually but Jack knew that Erin secretly wished that he were a girl so she could tear into her and force her into a hideous bridesmaid dress. Thankfully, Jack was all man. It didn't improve his mood in the least. Why did David break up with him? What had he done wrong? He remembered what David had said in the van on the way back from Chester. He had pretended not to hear. David loved him. David was in love with him. And, he knew, that he was in love with David. So, really, he didn't see the problem. Maybe David was going through some bizarre male PMS that only Jewish boys got. Although that didn't make any sense even to his glazed, sleep deprived mind.

"Jesus, Frankie, are you still moping around?"

And cue Maleficent. Jack peeked up from the couch and dropped back down, groaning. He felt sick—probably due to the sheer amount of empty Snickers wrappers in the wastebin—and tired. Too sick and tired, in fact, to remind Bitchy McBitchbitch that he went by Jack now. Erin loomed over the couch and glared down her Jennifer Tilly nose at him.

"You know, Frankie," she stated matter-of-factly. "You'll bet pudgy if you keep doing this."

Jack glared at her, unable to muster a succinct reply. Well, maybe not unable.

"Fuck you," he spat.

--

Skittery slid into fifth period home ec., feeling exhausted.

"Hey," Jake greeted blithely. He seemed preoccupied. "You look tired."

Yeah, he was. He had had a late night. From the looks of it, so had Jake.

"I am," Skittery yawned.

Jake peered at his throat and mustered a small laugh. "I can see why."

Skittery blushed and put his hand over his throat where several, raisin-like purple marks were. For someone who wanted to remain in secret, Oscar would leave marks on his neck after sucking on them almost vampirically.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "But what's your excuse?"

Jake just shrugged and tugged on his ski cap. "Stuff."

"Specific," he said dryly.

At that moment, Snoddy strode into the room…and right past Jake. He plopped in the free seat next to David's sister Sarah.

"What was that about? Are you two fighting?"

Jake turned away and pretended to fill out the rest of his conversions homework. Skittery didn't press him. Obviously, something had happened.

"Hey fucker," Oscar slid into his seat next to him.

"Hey yourself, asshole," Skittery retorted.

Oscar punched him in the arm, he smacked him lightly back. Only lightly as to not draw attention. Anyone who touched Oscar threateningly got punched or, at the very least, gotten yelled it with the word 'fuck' employed many a time.

"Fuck you,"

"Wouldn't on a bet."

That was how they did the affection thing in public.