Sleeping was not one of Johnny's favorite things. It ranked somewhere between going to the doctor and doing chores. Sleep, you see, is a massive waste of time. For six to eight hours, you're just laying there doing nothing (except eating spiders, if the factoid is to be believed). Johnny was a can-do kind of kid who was always on the go. You gotta hustle in this life and when you're laid up in bed, drooling on your pillow, you're losing out. Ben Franklin once said something like "Eat to live, not live to eat" and that's how Johnny approached snoozing. He could get by on five and a half hours with an acceptable level of morning time grogginess; any less and he'd have a thumping headache and achy eyes. Every so often, exhaustion overcame him and he went to bed early, but his typical schedule was between five and a half and six hours of slumber per night.

As he wasn't a stan for sleep or the sleep clultre, as it were, the concept of a sleepover struck him as kind of dumb. It's like...hey, guys, let's hang out, but be asleep while we do it.

Hooo boy, exciting. And maybe when we wake up we can all bebop down to the dentist and get a root canal.

He first became aware of the sleepover by way of cultural osmosis. He saw them in movies, TV shows, and elsewhere. Oh, Spongebob, he remembered seeing it in Spongebob. You know, the episode where Pearl has her friends over and Mr. Krabs is tweaking because he's afraid they'll drink all his root beer? To him, sleepovers - or slumber parties - were a chance for teenage girls to giggle, talk about boys, and, idk, pillow fight or something. Johnny was a handsome young man (per his mother), what did he want with a slumber party? Nothing, that's what.

The closest he came to a sleepover was that time last summer he and Lincoln camped out overnight in the woods north of town. They hiked out early in the morning and made camp on a forested ridge-line overlooking town; through the trees, you could see flashes of the Royal River and some of the buildings along River Road and the whoosh of passing cars of Route 29 which ran two miles behind them sounded so close that you'd swear you were about to get run down. It wasn't exactly the wilderness, but to two boys of eleven, it was the epitome of freedom. They pitched a tent, cooked hotdogs and marshmallows over an open fire, and told each other scary stories until they both shook and piddled. They laid their sleeping bags out and slept under the stars, waking just as dawn's first light slipped tentatively through the trees.

Now that was cool because it was rugged and manly. They didn't wear footie pajamas and paint their nails.

Sleepovers...yeah, they were for girls.

Which is why he was kind of confused and more than a little taken aback when Liam, his and Lincoln's bowl-haired friend, invited him to a sleepover at his farm.

It was a bitterly cold afternoon in January and all of the trees were bare and skeletal. Johnny and Lincoln were sitting with their squad at one of the tables in the Royal Woods Elementary lunch room - the tenth finest eatery in Royal Woods after that gas station on Union that sells three day old corndogs and the dumpster behind the medical research center. Soup was on and brother, it was gross. Stella poked her beef patty and grimaced, and Sid regarded her half frozen mashed potatoes with a disgusted little nose crinkle. Liam, on the other hand, chowed down like he was starving. Johnny couldn't help but appreciate the kid's metabolism. He ate like a 300 pound truck driver and never gained an ounce. Johnny was lean himself but if he ate as much as Liam did, he'd look like Poppa Wheelie by Christmas. "I'm havin' me a sleepover," Liam announced, spraying food across the table, "y'all's all invited."

"Sleepover?" Johnny asked, the word foul in his mouth.

"Oh, that sounds like fun," Stella said.

"Sleepovers rock," Sid proclaimed.

Johnny and Lincoln looked at each other. They were vastly different people but they had the exact same thought: Ew.

"I dunno," Johnny said, "I'm, uh, washing my dreads that day."

Liam's brow knitted in confusion. "I didn't even say what day it was."

"What day?" Lincoln asked.

"Why, Saturday, of course."

"Yeah," Johnny said, "that day."

Sid rolled her eyes.

"That's more important than hanging with your crew?" Stella asked. "Wow, you're a bad friend."

Alright, Johnny resented that remark. "I'm not a bad friend, I just have a prior engagement that day."

"No you don't," Sid said, "you're lying."

"He's probably afraid we'll see him sleeping with his teddy bear," Stella said.

They giggled and Johnny's face turned red. "I don't sleep with a teddy bear. And neither does Lincoln."

"Yeah," Lincoln said, "we're manly men."

"Wide side hustles," Johnny added.

Stella's eyes glinted with mischief. She and Sid exchanged a glance, and both smiled in that sadistic way that only adolescent girls can manage. They looked at him, and from the matching expressions on their faces, Johnny knew he was in trouble. "No you're not," Sid said.

"You're little tiny babies," Stella said. "You probably pee on yourselves at night. That's why you don't want to come."

"Yeah," Sid said, "I bet you guys wear Goodnights."

Johnny's hand clenched in a fist of rage and Lincoln's teeth ground together with a gravel-like crunch. Not too long ago, they were dweebs - I know, I know, hard to believe. Kids roasted them all day long and twice on Sunday. There was nothing...nothing...Johnny hated more than being mocked. He did not wear diapers. He did not sleep with a teddy bear. And he most certainly was not afraid of the dark. Sometimes he was afraid of what might be in the dark, but that was just common sense.

"We're not babies," Lincoln said tightly.

"And we don't pee ourselves," Johnny said.

Sid grinned. "Prove it."

"Oh, we will," Lincoln said.

"We're coming to that sleepover and we'll show you," Johnny said. "We'll show you all."

Like a well-oiled machine, Lincoln and Johnny got up and took their leave. In the hall, Johnny growled. Literally growled. "We'll show them."

"Yeah," Lincoln said.

"They think we're fraidy cats," Johnny said, "well we'll see who the fraidy cats really are."

Lincoln stopped him. "How?"

Darkness flickered across Johnny's face like a shadow over the surface of the moon. "I have an idea."

He laughed.

Evilly.

Saturday afternoon, Johnny threw an aged and rotting canvas duffle bag onto his bed and started packing. He had never spent the night at someone's house before (save for his grandparents') and had no idea what to expect. Did Liam's farm have running water? Better bring some moist towelettes. Did he have electricity? Gotta grab a flashlight just in case. Liam was a cool dude and all but Johnny could totally see him living in a shack with dirt floors and shadow puppet theater instead of TV, so he had to be prepared.

Lincoln, always thinking one step ahead, had packed the night before. Johnny had no idea what extras his sour-cream colored brother included and kind of wished he took the time to watch what Lincoln shoved into his bag instead of scrolling through Joe Biden memes on his phone. Oh, well.

Done, he compressed the contents of the bag as best he could and zipped it up. It was originally Dad's gym bag (so it didn't get very much use) and supposedly belonged to Kerry Von Erich, a wrestler from World Class Championship Wrestling, a regional promotion based in Dallas, Texas, but when Dad brought it to a noted wrestling historian, he found out it was a fraud. Some dude literally wrote Carry Van Eric on the side in Sharpie and sold it to him for, like, 400 bucks. Dad was so upset that he threw it across the room. Johnny, you can have it.

Okay. A bag's a bag.

Slinging Carry over his shoulder, Johnny went downstairs. Dad stood in front of the TV, where Hogan battled The Ultimate Warrior, and cheered Warrior on. That would have been all good and well if he wasn't dressed like Warrior. Picture a three hundred pound black man spilling over a tight pair of wrestling trunks and wearing colorful tassels on his arms. Johnny had to stop and really take in his father's markism. Am I really related to him?

In the kitchen, Mom peeled potatoes for dinner and Lincoln came in from the garage. "Put your bag in the car," Mom said.

Because it was a good 100 degrees below outside, Mom insisted on driving them, which was cool with Johnny. Liam's farm was waaaay on the other side of town, and if he and Lincoln took their bikes, they'd probably be dead by the time they got there.

"Is Dad coming with us?" Johnny worried.

"No."

"Whew."

When Mom was done, they piled into the car - a 2000 Dodge Caravan with rust, bad brakes, bad steering, bad tires, bad seats, and a freaking tape deck - and drove over to Liam's.

Liam's farm was spread out across a series of lumpy hillsides south of town. The pasture out back was filled with cows and cocky chickens strutted around the muddy dooryard like they had something to prove. It was your typical farm. White house, red barn, grain silo, other farm type stuff.

Mom navigated the van to the house and stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the porch. "Have fun," she said into the rearview mirror. "If you need me, call."

Lincoln pulled the door open and jumped out, reaching behind the seat for his bag. Johnny got out, slung Carry over his shoulder, and stepped back from the van. Mom drove off and Johnny watched until she was gone. He walked over to Lincoln and looked up at the house. The white clapboard siding was grimy with decades of dirt and the green shudders flanking the windows looked like they were one stiff breeze from falling down. Wind chimes, potted plants, canned rockers, and other bric-a-brac cluttered the porch like junk at a second rate tag sale. A cold wind blew over them, and the most awful smell Johnny had ever experienced assaulted his nose. Lincoln smelled it too: He crinkled his nose and let out a breathy "Ugh".

"What's that reek?" Johnny asked.

As if in response, a cow mooed.

"I hope it smells better inside," Lincoln said.

They went up the steps, treads creaking underfoot. At the top, Johnny opened the screen door and knocked. Muffled footsteps approached and Liam appeared. When Johnny saw what he was wearing, he did a double take. "Howdy, y'all," Liam said brightly.

Footie pajamas.

The man was literally wearing footie pajamas.

And they were pink.

"Uh...hey," Lincoln said. He sounded as knocked-off-balance as Johnny felt.

"Come on in, it's colder than a witch's toe out there."

He stepped aside, and Johnny went in ahead of Lincoln. The first thing he noticed was the haze of bluish smoke hanging in the air. The second was the decor. Talk about old school. It looked like 1974. Shag carpet, plaid furniture, knick knacks - it couldn't be more seventies if it put on a leisure suit and dirty danced with John Travolta. A short, stocky woman with brown hair sat on the couch, a smoldering Chesterfield in one hand and a can of Budweiser in the other. She wore a sleeveless yellow blouse tucked into a pair of jeans, white high heels, and gaudy pink earrings. Above her, three velvet portraits hung upon the wall: Elvis, Jesus Christ, and Donald Trump.

Liam's Mee Maw.

When Liam was, like, five, his parents died and he came to live with his Mee Maw, a hard drinking, hard smoking farmer with calloused hands, thick forearm muscles, and a love for rockabilly and Americana.

She took a puff of her cigarette and suddenly thrust her fist into the air. "KICK HIS BUTT!"

Johnny followed her line of sight and -

Oh no.

OH NO.

She was watching…

...wrestling.

"She's a mark too?" he asked.

Liam tilted his head to one said. "A what?"

"A wrestling fan."

The befuddlement in his eyes disappeared. "Oh, yeah, she loves her 'rasslin'."

They were on the stairs now. Framed family photos, many of them black and white, looked down on them, their eyes seeming to track Johnny's every movement. On the second floor, shadows wrapped themselves around him and his step faltered. "Don't you have a light up here?" he asked.

"We don't need no light," Liam said dismissively, "I done lived in this house most my whole life. I know it like the back of my own hand."

Lincoln stumbled. "We don't."

At the end of the hall, a crack of light shone under a door. "Sid and Stella are already here," Liam said. "We was gettin' everything ready. This sleepover's gon' be a real barn burner."

Uh...was that a good thing? Usually when you use an analogy where something goes up in flames, it means bad things.

Liam opened the door.

Sid and Stella knelt in the middle of the floor, both in lounge pants and T-shirts. Between them was a...Johnny rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing this right...a pig. Both girls giggled and the pig let out a happy snort, its curly little tail wagging back and forth. "Lincoln and Johnny are here," Liam said.

The girls and the pig all looked up. Lipstick and eyeshadow covered the animal's face and its chin hair was rolled up in a single plastic curler. "Hey," Sid said.

"We were just giving Virginia a makeover," Stella said.

Johnny sighed. He knew this was going to be girly and dumb.

"Boy howdy," Liam said and put his hands on his hips, "she looks like a regular movie star. Don't she, Linc?"

"Sure does," Lincoln replied.

"Y'all can drop your bags over there." Liam nodded to the bed, where Sid and Stella's bags sat side by side.

Lincoln and Johnny went over, put their things down, and sat with Sid and Stella. Virginia the pig oinked and snorted as Stella painted its lips ruby red. "Hold still," she laughed.

"Y'all stay right here," Liam said, "I'm gon' get some refreshments."

He left, and Johnny turned to Sid, who was busy applying rouge to Virginia's cheeks. "I didn't know you guys were into makeup."

"We're not," Stella said, "as you can tell."

True. Virginia's face looked like a clown threw up on it; clearly the work of amateurs.

A few minutes later, Liam came back bearing a tray full of snacks and juice boxes. "I raided my Mee Maw's secret stash for the good stuff," Liam said. He sat the tray on the floor. "Pork rinds."

Virginia shot him a dirty look, and he flashed an anxious smile. "It's not really -"

Whipping its head away, the pig marched out of the room, its tail sticking straight up like a middle finger. Liam sighed dejectedly...then dropped to his butt and started shoving pork rinds into his mouth. "I've never had those," Sid said. "Are they good?"

"Laws yes," Liam said.

Sid took one, sniffed it, then nibbled it like Squidward proving to Spongebob that he didn't like Krabby Patties. "Hey," she said, "it is good."

Johnny had never had pork rinds but he was down for anything. It tasted kind of bland and the texture was garbage, but, hey, beggars can't be choosers. "Y'all wanna tell scary stories?" Liam asked. "I know a real scary one."

"Sure," Stella shrugged.

Sid hesitated. "Um...I don't know. I'm not really -"

"Chicken," Lincoln said and jabbed his finger at her.

Ha, payback's a witch, isn't it? "Yeah," Johnny jumped, "Sid's too chicken for scary stories."

The color drained from Sid's face and she jerked her head from side to side. "No I'm not. I just don't like bloody stuff. That's all."

"Oh, this ain't bloody," Liam said and waved his hands. "Johnny, get them there lights."

Getting up, Johnny flipped the lights off and took his place next to Lincoln while Liam clicked on a flashlight and held it under his chin, casting sinister shadows across his face. Sid scooted closer to Stella and Lincoln propped his chin in his upturned palm. Sid looked like she was going to poop herself and Liam hadn't even started. LOL. Who's the scaredy-cat now, Sid?

An idea struck him, and a shark-like grin spread across his lips.

This was going to be good.

"Once upon a time," Liam said, "my Mee Maw went to play poker with her friends and I was all by my lonesome. It was dark and stormy and the wind was blowin' somethin' fierce. We done lost power and I had to use my flashlight like I am now. I was layin' in my bed and readin' the tractor supply catalogue when I heard someone knockin' on the door. Knock. Knock. Knock.

Sid clutched the front of Stella's shirt. Stella was too transfixed to notice.

"So I got up and went to the door. I almost opened it but I heard this scratchin' and I stopped. I pressed my ear to the wood and listened. Under the wind, I heard someone whisperin'. Liiiiam. Liiiiiiiaaaaaaam…"

Shaking now, Sid chewed her fingernails.

"Well, I just about jumped out of my skin. I started to run away but the door burst open and -"

Liam's bedroom door flew open. Johnny's heart jumped into his throat and everyone screamed in terror.

The light came on and Liam's Mee Maw came in carrying a pizza box. "Y'all's food is here."

Johnny realized that he was hugging Lincoln fearfully to his chest, and shoved him away. Sid panted for air, chest rising and falling, and Stella's face was frozen in horror. Liam's Mee Maw dropped the box onto the bed, looked around, and put her hands on her hips. "What was y'all doin' in here with the lights off? Y'all ain't playin' doctor, is you?"

"We was telling scary stories," Liam said. "And you don scared the willies out of us."

The old woman chuckled. "Y'all gon' nightmares if you keep it up."

"We're not telling anymore," Sid said quickly. "Ever."

After Liam's Mee Maw was gone, Johnny grabbed a slice of pizza and took a big, hungry bite. "Watching Sid pee herself was the most fun I've had in months," he said.

"Right?" Lincoln asked. "And I'm pretty sure Stella pooed herself."

"Hey," Sid and Stella cried in unison. "We didn't do any of that stuff," Stella continued.

"Yeah," Sid added. "At least we didn't hug each other like little babies."

Getting to her knees, Stella turned around, hugged herself, and ran her hands up and down her back. "They weren't hugging, they were making out."

Liam laughed so hard a piece of pepperoni shot out of his nose. To make matters grosser, Virginia popped out of nowhere and scarfed it up.

"Ew," Sid said and stuck out her tongue.

"Don't eat that," Stella gasped, "it has boogers on it."

After dinner, Liam busted out his Nintendo 64 and Johnny's jaw dropped. "I haven't seen one of these since the sixties," he said. That wasn't exactly true. Dad had one hooked up in the attic and he and Sergio occasionally played old WCW and WWF games on it. He and Lincoln occasionally played it but the graphics were so primitive that it wasn't fun.

"Y'all 'bout to see a lot," Liam said. He jammed a cartridge in and 007 Goldeneye started. "I'm a beast at this game."

They played a four player deathmatch, Lincoln and Johnny vs Sid and Stella. Stella, to everyone's surprise, cleaned house...until Johnny got the Golden Gun, which kills in one hit. They ran through a maze of corridors looking for each other. The tension was high and Johnny's heart pounded. "Go! Go! Gp!" Lincoln chanted.

Johnny rounded a corner and came face to face with Stella. Lincoln screamed and Johnny jumped to his feet, mashing buttons and shaking the controller. He fired and Stella's character went down, dead as a doornail. Johnny jumped up and down in celebration and Stella fumed. "My turn," Sid said and plucked the controller from her hands.

No one who knew him - especially Lincoln - would say that Johnny was a merciful guy. He played to win and he always brought his A game. After killing Sid fifteen times in a row, however, he felt bad and let her kill him back. Have you ever seen that meme where the guy in third place is celebrating like he brought home the gold? That's what Sid did: She jumped up, thrusted her hips, and spiked the controller to the floor. "Boooyah! Who's your mama, loser? Who's your mama?"

"You are," Johnny said, already regretting his decision.

Following games, they watched a movie and then laid out their sleeping bags. "I got somethin' real fun in mind," Liam said, "we just gotta wait for Mee Maw to go to bed."

An hour later, after the house had been dark and silent for a while, they sneaked downstairs, being as quiet as possible, and went out the back door. Liam led them to the pasture behind the farm, where cows slept standing up. The cold air soaked into Johnny's bone marrow and his breath plumed before him like smoke. "This is a mighty good time," Liam said. He crept over to one of the cows...then shoved it. Its eyes flew open and it mooed as it toppled to the ground. Sid and Stella gaped. "That was mean!" Sid said.

"Yeah," Stella agreed, "but it does look kind of fun."

There were fifteen cows in the field. Sid and Stella tipped most of them, running from one to the next and giggling like madwomen. Lincoln tipped one that almost fell onto Johnny, and Johnny stepped in a pile of cow dung and fell over. Why the time it was all said and done, fallen cows littered the pasture and everyone was sweaty, tired, and grimy.

Back inside, they washed off the best they could and slipped into their sleeping bags. Johnny's knees hurt from falling on the cold, hard ground and his lungs burned from running back and forth (it was a biiiiig field), but you know what? He had fun. Going into this, he thought sleepovers were lame and only for girls, but now he realized something: Sleepovers rule. He got to eat pizza, play video games, almost crap himself in fear, and knock over a bunch of cows. The cow part was especially cool.

"This was a great idea," he said.

Everyone agreed.

"Now y'all best get to sleep," Liam said, "we gotta be up at 4am to feed them chickens."

Johnny closed his eyes...then snapped them open again. Wait, did he say they had to be up at 4 in the freaking morning?

He did.

Sleepovers were fun and Johnny would definitely do more in the future, but never, ever, ever on a farm where you have to be up three hours before sunrise to feed animals and clean poop out of stalls.

The next time this happened, he decided, Liam was coming to his house.

THE END.