Disclaimer: I do not own any Higher Ground characters. I made up the plot, and several characters (Toby, Jenny, Sarah, and Styner). I also don't own the song "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" by the Beatles. But it is a groovy song and one of my favorites.

Jenny and Scott sat across a booth from each other in a small diner, a milkshake with two straws between them. The radio played the greatest hits from 1968. Jenny's hands fumbled with her straw wrapper. "I have to talk to you, Scott."

"Sure."

"Why didn't you come to my party last night? Or to Toby's house the night before? And the night before that?"

"Dunno."

"You always 'dunno!'" Jenny's voice rose, then she checked herself and lowered it. "Where have you been?"

"At home."

"Home, huh?" Jenny tore the wrapper in half. "What's so great about home? Watching old family movies with daddy? Getting the birds and the bees lecture from your mom?"

"Leave it alone, Jenny," Scott warned, feeling his heartbeat quicken.

"Ohh," she said. "It's mommy, isn't it? What, she won't let you come out and play?"

"Shut up."

"Scott, this is crazy. I don't know what's up with you." She sounded so upset. "What kind of boyfriend are you if you don't ever seem to want to see me? You're always at home doing whatever, and you— Look, Scott, this isn't working."

"So you wanna break it off." He said it as a statement, not a question.

"Yeah." Was that sadness in her face? "It's just not gonna work. You don't care."

"Fine." She was right. Scott didn't care, and this extreme lack of feeling scared him. "Whatever."

"I thought so," Jenny said quietly. She stood up and dropped the pieces of her straw wrapper on the table. Without another word, she walked away. Scott stared at the bits of paper wrapper on the table in silence.

"Remember, we're playing the greatest hits of 1968 today. That was 'Judy in Disguise' by Fred, John, and His Playboy Band. Next up is 'Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da' by the greatest band of all time…the Beatles!"

The chords began. Scott listened calmly to the song, really listening to it for the first time. Desmond had a barrow—whatever the heck a 'barrow' was—and liked Molly for her face. So Molly told him life goes on.

Life goes on.

How could life go on if it sucked so much? Scott stood up and watched as his own fist flew across the table of the booth, connecting with the milkshake. It soared off the edge of the table and broke on the floor; pieces of glass and lumps of milkshake bounced up, spattering the air.

As a waitress hurried over, Scott pulled himself away from the booth, away from the mess, and ran for the door. He didn't need to pay the bill. Life would go on. He didn't need to apologize. Life would go on.

He walked along the streets for a long time. People and cars passed by, but Scott didn't notice. He walked listlessly, boredly. A car honked at him, and he ignored it.

"Hey, Scott!" Toby. He turned. Toby pulled over to the curb, leaning out of the convertible. "What's up, man? Your dad called my place looking for you. You okay?"

"I'm okay."

"Something's wrong, isn't it?" Toby asked. "Come on, we'll go to a party. Get high. Have fun. Forget the rest of the crap."

"Jenny and I broke up." Scott stared at Toby without seeing him.

"We won't go to her party," Toby promised. "A different one. Come on, Scott. Get in the car."

Scott felt an overwhelming urge to cry. He shrank away from the convertible. "I don't wanna go home."

"We aren't going home." Toby looked confused. "A party, man." He studied Scott. "Are you high?"

Scott didn't know. He might have been. He got into the passenger's side of the car, and Toby pulled away from the curb. "Life goes on, Tobe."

"Sure it does, Scott."

"Ob-la-di, ob-la-da," Scott added.

"Beatles, eh?" Toby laughed. "Knew I'd make a fan of you yet."

Scott pretended to laugh too, although it really wasn't funny. He stared out at the streetlights as they drove by. They would come on when it got dark, but it wasn't dark yet. It wouldn't get dark for a few more hours.

They went to the party. It wasn't much of a party—more of a small, select gathering. Scott remembered little of it afterward, but he had vague recollections of watching static on an ancient television set with Toby and a few other people.

When they left, two other guys asked for rides home. Toby assented, and they set out in his convertible, Scott messing around with the radio until he found his favorite heavy metal station.

It was just starting to get dark. Toby turned on his headlights, even though he didn't need them yet. Scott watched them make patterns on the street ahead while the two guys in the backseat zoned and Toby concentrated on driving. They got to Scott's house in a matter of minutes.

He climbed out of the car, one of the others immediately taking the front seat and shutting the door behind him. As he walked toward his front door, he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and tossed them to Toby. Toby caught them, looking confused, and pulled away.

Not quite sure why he had done that, Scott spat on the ground and entered his house quietly, pulling his jacket off and dropping it on the floor.

A noise to the side startled him, and he turned to see Martin and Elaine rise from the couch, where they had been sitting and waiting. He looked to the ground. Packed bags.

A big, black guy came up from behind Martin and Elaine. No. Scott stared at him. The man stared back, advancing slowly. Crap! Scott ran for the stairs. The man tackled him from behind. Like football. It was just a game. His hands were cuffed behind his back.

"Get off me!" It wasn't a game. It was life. The man hauled him down the stairs, on hand on his wrists and the other at the back of his neck. Hauled him past Martin and Elaine. Out to the car, shoving him in the backseat.

It wasn't a game; it was life, and it scared Scott deeply.

Glancing over at the big, black man sitting beside him in the backseat, Scott wriggled his hands in their plastic cuffs. Nobody spoke, and he knew, without knowing the destination, that it would be a long car ride.

In the front seat, Martin reached over and flipped on the radio. Elaine fixed her flawless hair again and reapplied her lipstick again. She was watching him, Scott could tell, out of the corner of her eye.

It would be different, he knew. He'd figured out that they were sending him away. Probably to some reform school. Try to straighten him out. But there would be no Elaine there. No Elaine. They'd confiscate his stash, he was sure, but he'd become resourceful. He could find more drugs. He could escape.

He heard the opening chords to "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da," and it comforted him. Life goes on, he told himself. Fa-la-la, how the life goes on.