A/N: Some of you might be going, "Dammit, where the hell is the HOCKEY?!" And to that I say, "I'm the authoress! I can do what I want!" No, seriously, my stories are a hell of a lot more character-driven than anything. I like making only passing references to the game, because I want to keep the focus on the characters involved. (Total 180 from Disney's approach, yes?)

For those worried about the Bashes' friendship/relationship, I'll dispel the fears now. There will be some tension, but no major misery. And the fight that they'll eventually have will end up...happy. Happyhappy, if you know what I mean. ^_^ (Aaron Lohr fans! Look for "Newsies" and especially "Daydream Believer" references in upcoming parts! Elden Henson maniacs, I tried, but there are less "The Mighty" and "Idle Hands" stuff than I'd like.)

****

"Might as Well, Part Seven"

["You got a fast car/ But is it fast enough so we can fly away/ We gotta make a decision/ We leave tonight or live and die this way/

I remember we were driving driving in your car/ The speed so fast I felt like I was drunk/ City lights lay out before us/ And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder/ And I had a feeling that I belonged/ And I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone..."

--from "Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman']

It had been a month since Les and Fulton skipped their special hockey practice. After proving themselves at the Ducks v. Hawks game, they escaped Coach Orion's evil grasp and left poor Luis--who kept regressing back to his 'unstoppable speed-demon' days--to his fate. Or, as Luis himself had said the day after his first special practice, "I've been thrown to the non-existentent mercy of Coach Orion."

Dean had kept silent about his feelings for Fulton. Fulton, feeling closed off from his best friend, continued to spend more time with Jesse, Guy (when /he/ wasn't with Connie), and Averman. Deciding that Fulton was going to keep leaving him out, Dean started buddying around with Goldberg.

This bothered Fulton. One day, he asked Dean, "Why do you hang out with Greg so much?"

Dean looked up from his English paper and shrugged. "We connect on a very deep philosophical basis," he smirked. Fulton looked incredelous.

"Goldberg? Philosophical?"

"Nah..." Dean grinned teasingly. "The deepest conversation we ever had was about what exactly constitutes the cream filling in a Twinkie, and whether that same recipe was used in the cream filling for Oreos." Flicking his pencil and watching it roll back down his desk, Dean muttered, "I guess I hang with him 'cause you're always off with other people now."

'Thank you, master of the guilt trip,' Fulton thought. How did Dean know the exact thing to say that made him feel like dirt for the way he'd been treating his friend?

****

"Hey, Portman, I gotta question." Goldberg said as they walked to the Drill Team's practice later that day.

Dean narrowed his eyes and warned, "If it's about if I ever wear tights in dance class..."

"Oh, no, no!" Goldberg cried, lifting his hands in a defensive gesture. "Nothing like that." A curious look flickered over his face, and he inquired, "Do you?"

"It was a leotard, and only once!" Dean yelled. Goldberg flinched.

"Okay, okay. Sheesh, man." Goldberg waited a minute, to be safe, and then asked, "Why do you keep asking me to hang out, Portman?"

"Dunno," Dean replied.

"Are you and Fulton fighting or something?" Goldberg persisted. Dean stared at him in surprise,

"Why would you think that?"

"The Ducks kinda noticed that you guys are seen apart a lot more. I thought you two were like this," Goldberg held up crossed fingers, "but suddenly the both of you act like something's wrong."

'Something is wrong,' Dean said to himself, 'I think I've fallen in love with my best friend, and he'll totally hate me if I tell him so.' But he remained silent, and Goldberg didn't pursue the topic further.

After a few minutes though, the defenseman wondered aloud, "If you ever /did/ wear tights, would they have to be control-top?"

"Goldberg!" Dean shouted in exasperation.

****

"What's up, Fult?" Jesse asked, holding out a fist. Fulton's lips twitched into a little half-smile as he lightly hit Jesse's fist with his own, then Jesse tapped down on his fist, and he repeated the motion. "You look down about somethin'."

"I guess." Fulton said, avoiding Jesse's eyes. Jesse offered,

"You wanna go over to my place? We can talk there if you want."

Fulton smiled with relief. "I'd like that."

****

Jesse popped the tab on his can of RC Cola and flopped down on the couch. Fulton sat on the loveseat, wincing as the old springs shrieked a mettalic protest to his weight. They sipped their drinks in silence.

Finally, Fulton said, "Can I ask you a question, Jess?"

"Shoot, man."

"How come you didn't come to Eden Hall with the rest of us?"

Jesse didn't respond right away, and Fulton started to say he was sorry for the question. Holding up a hand to stall the apology, Jesse explained, "It's okay, I'll tell you. You can tell the rest of the Ducks if you want; it's not a big secret." He sighed. "My mom, my dad, and I all have sickle cell trait. But Terry wasn't so lucky. He has the disease, sickle cell anemia."

"Oh, man," Fulton gasped. Jesse nodded and continued,

"We've known since he was a baby. He seemed okay, though, most of the time. Sometimes he'd complain of pain, and he'd get more infections than I did. But nothing big or terrible. Still, Mom wouldn't let him go to the Goodwill Games. And afterward, he started to get even sicker. So, instead of going to Eden Hall, I decided to stay with the neighborhood high school so I could help take care of him more." Jesse drank deeply from his can of soda. "My little brother's more important than some hockey scholarship to a private school any day."

"Yeah, I understand. I'm sorry, Jess."

"/I'm/ okay." Jesse insisted, even though he didn't quite look it. "Terry's at a check-up right now..."

"Dude, now my problem seems all petty and stupid." Fulton drained the can he held and began playing with the tab, flipping it back and forth, weakening the little ring fastening it to the top of the can. "It's just...I feel like Dean and I aren't as good of friends as I thought we were."

"He's important to you," Jesse observed. When Fulton looked at him, dark eyes apprehensive, Jesse said, "I mean, I remember when you first joined the Ducks. The only time I remember you smiling is when you made that awesome shot and we all mobbed you on the ice."

"That /was/ great," Fulton admitted.

"But I always thought you were the odd one out until Portman came along. You and him are really alike, really good together." Jesse smiled, "So what's changed?"

Fulton shrugged, snapping the tab off and dropping it in the litttle hole. "We don't spend time together. I help him with his homework, but Drill an' Dance takes up a lot of his after-school time, so I hang with the others. And then, on the weekends, he does stuff with me, but only if Goldberg or anyone else isn't free." Fulton sighed deeply, "I guess...I guess that I miss him."

****

Fulton unlocked the door to the room and poked his head inside. "Dean? You here?"

He wasn't. 'Probably out with Greg or Julie,' Fulton thought bitterly. He lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling for a long time. The silence started to get to him, and to counteract it, he flipped on Dean's stereo. He recognized the first notes of one of his favorite songs and returned to his spot on the bed, letting the sound and emotion wash over him.

He was so lost in the song that he didn't realize that he was softly singing along: "You've got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere. Maybe we can make a deal; maybe together we can get somewhere. Any place is better; starting from zero we've got nothing to lose. Maybe we'll make something, but me myself I've got nothing to prove..."

~~Para ser continuado...~~

A/N: Sorry about the suspense. This is the last thing I'm gonna do today, my drugs-and-notebook sabbatical is today. Much love guys, hope you liked this chapter! ~~Schiz