"What's your problem?"

Zeke shrugged off his football jersey and stuffed it in his locker. "He's oblivious."

"Of course he's oblivious. He's Casey." Stokely reached over and grabbed a cigarette from the pack sticking out of his pocket. "Oblivious goes with the territory."

"Thought you quit."

"Thought you did too." She took a long drag and blew the smoke into Zeke's face. He didn't flinch. "Are you going to tell him?"

"Why would I do that?"

"The same reason you drive him to school everyday, fuckwit."

"Thought you quit swearing too."

"Don't be stupid." Stokely shrugged. "Stan broke up with me, I figure I'm allowed a few vices."

Zeke slammed his locker shut. "In that case, we can go get drunk."

Stokely was, unsurprisingly, a mean drunk. A pretty coherent drunk, but definitely mean.

"Asshole. Complete asshole. All ready sniffing around one of Delilah's cheerleader groupies. Should have known. Fucking football players."

"Hey."

"Like you fucking count." She laughed softly to herself, snorting. "Zeke Tyler, quarterback. Whatever. Stan, though. Wanted to fucking kill him. 'It's not working. Let's be friends.' God. How did I become a teenage cliché?"

"You were body snatched by aliens."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Right, right. I keep forgetting. God, what a trip. What a fucking trip."

"Another beer?"

"Sure."

"What's the deal with you and Delilah?"

Stokely groaned and pushed her hair back off of her face. "Christ's sake, Zeke, can't you come up with something better than that? Everyone wants to know what the deal with Delilah and me is!"

"Only 'cause you make it so interesting. Every guy in school has a lesbian-cheerleader fantasy, and when the school dyke takes an interest, well..." Zeke clicked his tongue. "You know how it goes."

"Men are pigs."

"Original."

"Doesn't have to be. Cliches become cliches because they're true, dumbass."

"Then you're just stating the obvious."

"Remind me why I'm drinking with you again?"

"Because you broke up with Stan, Casey doesn't drink, Delilah only drinks at parties, and Mary Beth is dead."

"Good enough," Stokely conceded.

"Delilah?"

"What about her?"

"Everyone wants to know," Zeke admitted. "I want to know." He threw his cards down on the table. "Straight flush."

"Fuck. How do you do that? Probably 'cause you're dealing... "

"Probably because you just suck." Zeke took a long drink from his beer and threw the empty bottle in the general vicinity of the trashcan. There was a smashing noise, but he figured the maid would pick it up tomorrow. "You and Delilah?"

Stokely smirked and raised an eyebrow. "You and Casey?"

"Touché. New piercing?"

She reached up to finger the silver hoop through her eyebrow. "Mhmm."

Zeke got up and grabbed himself another beer from the fridge. "You know it won't leave this room. And I'll tell you about Casey, if you want."

"The old 'I'll show you mine, you show me yours', huh?"

"Pretty much."

It was only a moment before Stokely smirked and nodded her head. "All right. Sure. I'm drunk enough for that." She gave Zeke a long, assessing glance, and then shrugged. "She pisses me off. That's it. Just fucking pisses me off. Just like every other cheerleader, every other moneyed, ass-kissing, cardigan-wearing prep out there. They think they can fuck around with people and get away with it. Just pisses me off, and that's all."

Zeke stared back at her for a moment before laughing in her face. "Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"Bullshit. Bullshit, Stokely. Bull-shit. That's a good reason, I'll give you that. But you're lying. And the school might buy it, and the rest of the world might buy it, and you might even buy it, but I don't. You can lie to yourself Stokes, but you can't lie to me. You want Delilah. You want Delilah Proffit so bad every time you two fight you probably cream your panties."

"Crude."

"Don't hear you denying it."

"You're too fucking smart for your own good, Zeke.

"Story of my life. Feel like admitting the truth?"

"What truth?"

"The part where you want to pull Delilah's prissy-perfect little skirt up and talk to the kitty."

"That was crude."

"And you still neither complain nor deny."

"I..." Stokely's mouth snapped shut. "Christ, Zeke."

"You know," he continued casually. "I bet you never really grew out of playing with dolls. I bet you dream of dressing Delilah up, a pretty little devil in black leather and lace. Only black. Because pastels make her look so frail. And we both know Delilah's not frail. And her makeup... her face is done up all wrong too. Don't you think? All those shy, subtle, blushing colors. You don't want that. You don't want that at all. Outline her lips in fire engine red, not Elizabeth Arden's spring line. Slip the silk shirt over her head, tie up her boots. Killer heels. Black, all black. She really only belongs in black."

Stokely tried to life her cigarette to her lips, but her hand was shaking. "Christ," she murmured. "Christ, Zeke – "

"It's pretty picture," he continued nonchalantly. "I can see why you like it." He flopped back down into his chair. "You wanted to know about me and Casey?"

It took Stokely a moment to catch her breath, and she shook her head vehemently. "No. No, just leave me in the fucking dark."

"What was it like?"

"Like... the funhouse at the fair. The hall of mirrors. A million reflections of you. Just like you, in every way, except you know they're fake. Creepy, but... still comforting. Like running into someone with a dead friend's face."

"Sounds more creepy than comforting."

Stokely blew another stream of smoke in his direction. "Guess you had to be there."

"I never could figure you out, you know. Never. Too fucking complex, especially compared to those rodents we call our classmates. They make hamsters seem complicated," Stokely bitched. "But you... Freud would have a fucking field day with you. Not to mention Erikson, or Mathis. Christ, Zeke... you'd blow their narrow little minds out of the water."

Zeke grinned and handed her another beer. "Aw, Stokes... you're making me blush."

"Asshole. You know what I mean. I always wanted to know what made you tick. What warped little belief system was running the show. That's the only thing I regret; not getting you before Casey killed the queen."

This time Zeke didn't smile. "Now I'm less flattered and more creeped out."

Stokely stamped her cigarette out in the ashtray. "Not so sure it was a compliment in the first place."

There was a very long silence, and then Zeke pushed his chair back and stood up.

"Ride home?"

"Please." Stokely shrugged her black coat over her shoulders and headed out to Zeke's car.