AN: Thank you for clicking on this word vomit. It's been in my docs for years. :))) Smiling on the outside, but crying on the inside.

This was actually an experiment in kinetic first-person point-of-view. I wanted it to feel like a conversation. I tried my best to make the paragraphs and dialogue ebb and flow and tried to type it out how it would be said. It isn't perfect, but I think I've played around enough. I'm over it, frankly. Now you can have it.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, just this crappy idea that I smile at whenever I read it.

INDEX: Beast Boy=Garf(ield), Jericho=Joseph/any variant of that name, Hot Spot=Isaiah/Ize

Back in town just in time to graduate. It's my senior year. Most of my friends and used-to-be-friends are graduating too. My formal schooling happened in a village in Africa, although I remember preschool and kindergarten right here in the USA. I barely recognize my old playmates Rachel Roth or Mildred Moth, who goes by Kitten now. They look so different! I feel like the new kid again, this time with whiplash from memories that I forgot I remembered.

One sweet memory is when the kids in first grade finally adopted my nickname: Garf.

I'm Garf Logan, BT Dubs.

"Hey, Barf!"

No, no. Garf. As in Garfield!

"Barf! Look at me when I'm talking to you, runt!"

Someone grabs me by my shirt collar. My feet aren't touching the floor, which means...

Crud. It's the Private. Six-foot-six and always ready to fight. Where's Joey Wilson when I need him?

Yeah, I'm afraid of the Private. He bullies everyone at this school.

But I can handle this!

"Nyeh! Nyeh!"

That's my kicking noise. I'm missing completely- curse you, short legs!- but I'm not done yet!

*CHOMP*

"Ow! Don't make me hurt you, greenie!"

"Aaaaaahhhh!"

I'm outta here! Just have to get to the classroom, and I'm home-!

"Gotcha!"

Just my luck!

Joey Wilson rounds the corner.

Just my luck! I wave him over. Use your sweet skills, man!

Joey edges closer to me and the guy currently trying to dislocate my elbow.

He almost whispers, "Good morning, Garfield. Is Private bothering you?"

The Private answers for us both, yelling, "No! No, sir!"

He wraps my head in a chokehold and drags his knuckles through my hair.

"Just two guys celebrating their last year of school!"

I look up and see a single bead of sweat run down the Private's face. Yeah, he's a force to be reckoned with. Sure. But we lucky few who have watched him cower before our doe-eyed little friend Joey know to really fear Joseph W. Wilson. For his shadow and for the power he holds in his eyes.

I don't know what Joey did to him. I don't think I want to know what Joey did to him. His shadow, that dark thing that peeks out at me when his eyes blaze, will curl the hair on the back of your neck.

His green eyes dissect me.

Joey asks, "Is he hurting you?"

I don't want to see what Joey did to the Private first-hand.

"Nope."

Seizing the moment, I elbow the Private right in the stomach. That's for bullying me, buttmunch!

"Just two dudes monkeying about! Until next time, Private!"

Take the hint. Take the hint. Take the hint. Take the-

The Private is red-faced furious.

Joey watches him like a hawk.

Instead of taking his yellow-gloved hands and smushing my brain, the Private clasps his hands together and swings like he's holding a sledgehammer. His target is a steel locker. It caves in once his knuckles make contact. The screech of metal-on-metal friction is straight out of a horror film.

This brick house is afraid of Joey, who waters his flower beds every Thursday. He's in band for crying out loud. He's new. That's prime bully material! But whatever happened between them has forever made the Private afraid of him.

Joey is my friend. I'll keep it that way.

"Til next time, runt."

He spits on my shoe.

Aw. Gross.

Private tries to glare at Joey, but Joey glares more intensely. The Private has to look away.

"Later, freak."

"Go join the circus, clown!" I yell, but he's already rounded the corner.

The circus is too good for him anyway. My friend Dick is from the circus, and he's super cool.

I think of a sneaky way to ask the question, "So... um. Whatever happened between you two?"

Flawless.

Forehead creasing, Joey must be thinking of a delicate way to tell me. That or a clever way to dodge my question.

Isaiah comes barreling down the hallway. I hope he'll pass us, but I know he won't. He takes on the duties of Hall Monitor with a passion and fire that the job does not deserve. What a tool.

Isaiah Crockett is a Richie Rich-Rich from the upscale suburbs on the North Side. He acts rich too. Well, unless you are old-fashioned and expect good manners from rich people. I don't subscribe to that baloney. Rich snobs have the worst social skills. I don't care which fork you use if you treat me like trash.

"Passes, please!" should be a request, but it's a demand. "Passes, please," Isaiah growls after a while.

"This is dumb! What even is the point of this thing! I never use it!"

Except to pick my teeth after lunch. Of course, I don't say that.

"You're using it now."

"Yeah."

I smooth it against my pant leg before letting him have it.

"This whole system is stupid! Do they think that one 2-inch piece of paper is gonna keep people from-"

"This is a coupon for Benny's."

I sputter, and Joey laughs softly.

"Can't you let it slide just once, Ize?" he whispers in his weak voice.

That's another thing. Joey's voice is paper-thin, yo! Every word sounds like the dying breath of a stab-wound victim... if that victim had been stabbed in both lungs and forced to eat the knife. Maybe he was born with it. But he does wear turtlenecks year-round, maybe to hide some gnarly scar. So then maybe he wasn't born with it.

And another thing! Why does he call me Garfield, my full name, but Isaiah is just "Ize" in the eyes of Joey Wilson? I saw the poor dude struggling to make friends and I took him under my wing. I love the guy, really, but he still holds me at arm's length. Do Joey and Ize (that's what I'm calling him now too) have a secret bromance?

Ize finally answers Joe, tone light and strangely playful. He wants Joey to owe him one.

"I'll let it slide if you tell me what you did to the Private."

Frowning, Joey nods seriously.

"Not here," is Joey's only condition.

I would kill to be a fly on that wall.

"School is the only place we can hang, J. If not here, where? Why not right now? You know this guy! Right?"

He gestures to me with an open hand.

Joey has been watching me for an uncomfortably long time. I'm being weighed, measured, and tested. Oh man, I see it in his eyes!

"I can trust Garfield. I was thinking..."

A series of nasty coughs kept him from speaking for a few seconds.

Recovering, he kept going, "Since you love horror movies, Ize, would you like to attend Garfield's Halloween Horror Gore-Gore-fest?"

Joey choked on the word gore, but it was a mouthful.

He doesn't, maybe can't, say too much too fast. Part of me wanted to witness blood spew from his mouth just to confirm something, good or bad, about why his voice sounds so jacked up. But I would hate to know he's injured and may be scarred for life.

Joey wipes his mouth on his white shirt sleeve, and I'm downright giddy there's no blood.

Ize's gaze flicks from that same sleeve to my eyes. Did we just have a moment? Like... a bro moment?

"Love to! Except Garfield never invited me. People like him don't like people like me, and I'm really okay with that. Look, because you're friends with him I will sweep this hall pass business under the rug. We'll talk later about you and the Private. The bell is about to ring."

With that friendly reminder, Ize sprints off.

I never invited him because I don't like him. He's super serious and I am not. And when he says stuff like, "People like him," it really bugs me. What does he mean by that and should I be offended? 'Cuz right now I am.

"Should I be offended or...?"

The bell rings. Joey sighs through his nose and just smiles.

"Hey, how can you be friends with me and friends with that guy at the same time? Huh? I know you're desperate, but the snobby rich kid? Really."

The shock on Joey's face shocks me. Isaiah is not a good person and anyone with two brain cells to rub together can see that.

Joey opens his mouth but can't seem to get the words out. His face is beet red. His eyes are pinched shut with pain. Is he choking? Should I run and get someone? What am I gonna do if he can't breathe? What if he dies trying to tell me something?

"Wait."

"For what?"

He shakes his head and makes the timeout symbol with his hands. He jams his hands into his pockets and bolts for class. I know his schedule. My friend is rushing to math class just to get away from me.

And now I feel like crap.

AN: I don't... know... what this is! XD

Why does Joe have powers (kinda, sorta)? Why can he talk? Why did I make Isaiah a rich kid (it's my personal headcanon, ok)? WHERE IS THE JERIKOLE?!

I offer no answers and take my leave, goodbye.