He stood in the middle of the hotel lobby to take it all in.

            The costumes were mostly awesome.  Klingons and X-Men and something he was pretty sure was from Farscape, which he'd never really gotten in to.  He'd have plenty of time when he got home, if he wanted to get in to it.  He could maybe download some episodes...

            It just seemed awfully pointless all of a sudden.

            Everything seemed so pointless.  Didn't matter that he'd spent half his summer sailing income on this trip.  He didn't want to go to the convention center.  He didn't want to be in the hotel.  He didn't want to leave his hotel room.  He didn't want to stay in his hotel room.

            Two kids dressed as Spiderman and the Hulk ran past him, chasing each other, scrambling to race for the elevator.  Spiderman tripped and managed to somehow upset the potted plant in the corner on his way down to the floor.  Dirt, roots and stones spilled across the immaculate carpet.  The Hulk came to a screeching halt and turned around, dashing to his friend's side to help him correct the damage.

            Seth watched as the two kids finished a very unsatisfactory tidying job and ran yelping for the elevator.

            He felt awfully old.  For all of this.  Old and tired and bored.  In fact, it was probably time to leave San Diego.  He could be home in time for dinner.

*

            "So.  You're sure you don't need a ride?"  The darker haired girl bit her lip and Ryan peered back at her.  Big flirt, but not much else to her from what he could tell.

            "Naw.  Mexico's not for me," he said, then stopped.  Where was he going, anyway?  Maybe he could do Mexico.  No.  Wait.  What was he thinking?  Not with Sandy Cohen's next-door neighbor and her best friend, he couldn't.  He squinted across the parking lot back towards the diner.

            "Hey, Summer, I'll meet you at the car," the other girl said pointedly.  Summer glared at her before marching off, tossing her hair, and Ryan had the nagging suspicion he'd missed something.

            "Where's your bike?" she demanded once her friend was out of hearing distance.  "You told us you have it here?"
            "Yeah, it's," he jerked his thumb, "just over... there."
            "Show me."
            "What?"
            "I think you're lying."
            "What if I am?"
            "If you are then you really are an asshole.  Acting all Jack Kerouac just so we'll think you're cool."
            "Kerouac...?" Ryan was lost.

            "Look, I..."  She tucked her hair behind her ear.  "I didn't mean that.  You seem like a good guy and all.  But.  Are you sure you don't want a lift?"

            He fixed her with a hard look.  "I'm fine."
            She shrugged.  "Well. Okay.  Nice to meet you, then, Bike."

            Ryan watched as she stalked off after Summer, unable to close his eyes until she was gone.  Kids would talk.  Surely they'd tell Seth later.  Which meant now he really had to leave San Diego.

            What was fate doing to him?

            He wandered down the street in the direction of the highway, long after the princesses and their SUV had vanished, until he found a park.  That was familiar territory.  It was a decent enough day, if still a little chilly, at least it was sunny.  He settled onto a park bench and pulled out the pen and notepad he'd brought with him from the hotel.

            Ryan chewed thoughtfully on the ballpoint pen.  He'd never been much of a writer, but it was something to do, anyway. 

            "Dear"

            He stared at the word.  Dear who?  Dear Trey?  He didn't have the address of the prison Trey was in.  Dear Mom?  Like that was happening.  Dear Seth?  What was left to say?  Dear Marissa?  Much as he wanted to, no.

            "Mr. Cohen," he chewed on the pen again, the plastic buckling beneath his gnawing teeth.  After a moment, he ripped the page off and threw it angrily at the wastebasket several feet from the bench.  It missed.

            He stared at the crumpled page on the sidewalk.  Numbers flashed in his head.  Numbers he should have forgotten, but couldn't, they were seared in his head, little smoldering flames of knowledge he couldn't stamp out.  No matter how hard he tried.

            He stood and started walking towards the highway again. 

*

            I roll the window down...

            ...the strong scent of evergreen, from the passenger seat, as you are driving me home...

            Home.  Seth was going home.  Bike – Ryan – wasn't.

            There was nothing left for Seth at home.  Sure, parents, money, a pool, a sailboat, PlayStation, but toys were no fun by himself anymore.  Maybe when Anna came back she'd be somebody to spend time with, but for now he wanted more.  He wanted a friend, but all his friends were like Bike, they saw his failures and they left.  Just like Anna would, sooner or later.  Just like everybody who wasn't part of his family.

            He spun the wheel and the Range Rover lurched into an empty parking lot.

            Seth turned the car off and sat there for a long time.

*

            Ryan clutched his backpack, his safety net.  Four hours and no lift, now here he was back in a park, but it was a strange park.  Maybe there were other kids around, but not Dave, and not The Finger.

            He wondered how Trey was.  Sure he was locked up, but Trey had a bed, food, some kind of stability even if it sucked.  Where did Trey think Ryan was exactly?  Did he know his baby brother was on the street?  He never would have allowed it if he wasn't locked up.  Would he?  He never would have let Ryan get away with it in the first place.  If he wasn't in jail he would have called everybody he knew, wouldn't have let Ryan edit his choices, disappear in desperation.  He wouldn't have let Ryan get so far from home with no one.  But then, he had allowed himself to disappear.  Stupid Trey.  Did he even realize what he'd started?

            It was a painful thought.  The kind of thing Ryan was trying not to think.  He opened his eyes.

            And wished he hadn't.

            "Hey, guys," he said nervously.  Counting.

            "Honky.  Get the fuck offa my bench."

            Yeah, he could probably count that high if his nerves weren't preventing him from counting sans fingers at the moment.  Cause he didn't have enough fingers for these guys, let alone fists...

            "I'm moving," Ryan grunted.

            "Not fast enough you ain't."
            He bit back the automatic comeback that popped into his head.  Bad idea.  No provoking.  Ryan was bad about provoking people.  No more.

            "This better?" He scrambled to his feet.

            "Not good enough."
            "Maybe you better spell it out for me," he said, rolling his head back as he swung his bag over his shoulders.

            "I ain't no good at spelling."
            Ryan squinted.

            "I'm better at makin' sure punks like you stay the fuck outta my park."
            He sighed.  "Look, you and your crew look pretty set, you sure you don't want an extra?"  He couldn't believe he was saying these words.

            "Not one looks like you."
            Okay.  Harsh.  "Then I guess I'm movin' on."
            "Your lips are movin'.  Your legs ain't.  You see the difference?"

            "I see it," Ryan said, resigned.

            "Now we talkin'."  The kid smiled.  His smug, satisfied look flipped a switch in Ryan.  He ground his teeth to keep it from taking over, turned, and began to stalk off, still seething.

            "You forgot somethin'."
            He stopped.  "What?"
            "Your toll."

            "For?"
            "My bench."

            Now he was pissed, and now his muscles clenched, and now his fist had connected with the asshole's jaw and here were his friends his buddies his gang their fists were flying and smashing into him their hands were grabbing pulling pummeling him his flesh was tearing his limbs were thrashing his knuckles were bruising his head collapsing back against the soft grass in late late afternoon as they swarmed off.

            With their toll.

            And now his backpack was gone.

            And now Ryan, who had nobody, truly had nothing as well.

            Served him right.  Dumb Ryan.  Stupid, hotheaded, over-emotional Ryan, stupid, homeless, lonely abandoned useless pitiful pathetic Ryan Atwood.