A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. Your input means a lot. : ) I hope everyone is enjoying the story.

Chapter Five: Competition

11:40 A.M.

Claire yanked opened the bathroom door and dragged Heather inside. Once there, Heather jerked her arm away and glared at her friend. "Ow!"

"Sorry." Claire looked under the stall doors to ensure that they were alone, then turned back to Heather. "What did he say?"

Heather arched her eyebrows and folded her arms over her chest. Claire sighed. "I'm sorry." When Heather still didn't say anything, she rolled her eyes. "Please tell me what he said."

Heather let out a deep breath to show her displeasure, but gave in. "I didn't talk to Jack. I talked to Anthony."

"And?"

Heather smirked. "Apparently Jack likes redheads."

Claire tried unsuccessfully to keep the smile off of her face. "What else?"

Heather leaned against the hard tile wall and looked down at her nails, which were perfect. "He thinks you're really pretty."

Claire's eyes widened. "He does?"

"Well, that's not the word Anthony used, but I assume that's what he meant." Heather looked up from her nails. "He said Jack's been wanting to ask you out for a really long time, but he never thought you'd go for a guy like him."

Claire grinned. "He didn't?"

Heather rolled her eyes. "Sounds like a line if you ask me, but whatever."

Claire frowned. "Oh, thanks."

"I didn't say that he doesn't like you. I just think it's a cheesy thing to say."

Claire considered this for a moment. "So, did Anthony say Jack was going to ask me out?"

Heather nodded. "He said he was probably going to call you this weekend."

"Really?" Heather nodded and Claire grinned. "Oh, God, Heather, do you know how long I've been waiting for this?"

Heather shot her an irritated look. "No, Claire, how long?"

"Shut up. Aren't you happy for me?"

Heather sighed. "Duh. Of course I'm happy, if only because now I won't have to bug Anthony everyday just to see if he's heard anything new." She lifted her eyebrows. "If I fail chemistry, it'll be your fault."

"You're not going to fail." Claire glanced at her watch. "Come on, let's go. Charlotte will start asking questions if we take too long." She looked up at her friend. "Wait, you haven't told her about this, have you?"

Heather glared at her. "Do I look like an idiot to you?"

"Well, I just wanted to make sure. She and Mel talk about everything together and if Mel finds out then she'll tell Chris and Chris will tell the entire football team and then-"

"I didn't tell Charlotte," Heather said loudly.

Claire sighed. "Okay."

"Aren't you even going to say thank you?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "Thank you."

Heather shook her head and held open the door for the two of them. "I feel so unappreciated sometimes."

Claire ignored her and started walking back into the cafeteria. Just as she reached the double doors leading in, she turned suddenly and looked back at her friend. "Hey, I forgot. Can I borrow your car keys?"

Heather reached into her purse. "You leave something?"

Claire nodded and accepted the keys. "I think my billfold slipped out of my purse this morning. I'm going to go check the front seat."

Heather nodded. "See you in a minute." She disappeared into the cafeteria and Claire made her way out to the lot where the seniors parked. After only a moment of searching, Claire found her wallet wedged under the passenger's seat and tucked it into her purse then locked the door after her and started back towards the building.

When she was only a few feet away from the door, she caught sight of a lone figure walking towards the football field. She couldn't see him very clearly since he was facing away from her, but judging by the long hair and the worn denim jacket, he was probably one of the stoners that ate lunch in the bleachers everyday.

She only watched him for a couple of seconds before turning back towards the building and continuing on her way.

11:41 A.M.

"I told you we shouldn't have done this today."

Brian looked over at his friend George, who was slumped over the table in front of him, resting his chin on his forearm. Brian was so tired that he felt like doing the same, but there wasn't enough room on the tiny table for the two of them. Instead, Brian leaned his chair back against the brick column behind him and tucked his feet behind the chair's metal legs.

His morning had gone by rather slowly since all he could think about was the flare gun and his confession to himself at the beginning of second period. He tried, really tried, to pay attention in his other classes, but his thoughts kept circling around the fact that none of it really mattered anyway with the F in shop and the gun in his locker. There were even a couple of times that he almost raised his hand for the pass so that he could go ahead and get it over with already, but something held him back every time. Hope, maybe. Or fear.

Next to him, George reached out and took a brownie from the pile on the table a few inches away and started unwrapping it. Elliot, the Latin Club president, noticed the movement and snatched the brownie from George's pudgy hand before he could start eating.

"These are for sale, George!" Elliot fixed the plastic wrap and replaced the brownie in its pile. "You can only have it if you pay for it."

"But I made those."

"It doesn't matter." When George frowned, Elliot moved in front of the table and started straightening bags of half-burned cookies he'd positioned near the front. "That's why they call it a bake sale. You sell baked goods."

"Well, we haven't sold anything."

Elliot shook his head. "Not true. We've made…" He looked over at Brian, who was in charge of the cash box. "How much have we made?"

Brian looked down at the box. "Um, counting the fifty cents George gave us for those cupcakes?"

"Of course."

Brian hesitated. "Fifty cents."

Elliot nodded matter-of-factly as if this didn't bother him in the least. "It's okay. It's okay. The lunch period isn't over yet."

"This is a Greek tragedy."

Elliot let out a deep breath and looked back at George. "We're the Latin Club, George. We hate the Greeks, remember?"

"Fine, a Latin tragedy."

Elliot shook his head determinedly. "This is not the right attitude. Not at all. We need to sit up straight. We need to hold our heads up high. No one wants to buy cookies from a group of losers who can't even look them in the eye."

"Yeah, they want to buy them from cheerleaders."

"It's the Prep Club, George, not the cheerleading squad. Know thy enemy."

Michael, who was sitting off to the side finishing his Physics homework, snorted. "Good luck with that."

Elliot pretended not to hear him. "What do they have that we don't?"

George thought about it for a minute. "Uh, short skirts?"

"No!" Elliot slammed his hand down on the table and looked him in the eye. "Confidence! Charisma! They know they've got a great product and they aren't afraid to show it."

Again, Michael snorted and, again, Elliot pretended not to notice. "We've got to regroup, rethink our battle plan. No army ever won a battle by sitting around thinking negative thoughts. Remember the conquest of Italy, gentlemen? Remember that epic battle fought on the shores of Lake Reginus?"

"Regillus," called out Michael, who didn't even look up from his physics book.

"Lake Regillus," continued Elliot without skipping a beat. "Do you remember that epic battle? It was the turning point, my friends, the moment when Rome turned to his enemies the Aequians, the Volscians and the Encrustans and said-"

"Etruscans," said Michael.

"Their enemies the Etruscans and said, 'No! We will not let you fight over our land like a scrap of meat fallen from the table of the king and into the mouths of the savage dogs below. No! We will not bow down!" Elliot slammed his hand against the table once more and looked each of them in the eye. Well, two of them; Michael was still working on physics. "No," Elliot whispered dramatically. "They did not bow down. And look what they became. The greatest empire the world has ever seen."

There was a moment of silence before George turned to Brian. "Are we the dogs or the meat?" he whispered. Brian shrugged and George looked back at the stack of brownies a few inches away, his eyes filled with longing and desire.

Without warning, a boy wearing a blue letter jacket appeared next to Brian at the far end of the table. He reached out and grabbed a handful of brownies, then turned to Elliot, who was standing in front of the table, and clapped him on the back. "Hey, I forgot my money. You won't mind if I take a couple of these, do you?"

Elliot frowned. "Well, actually, I-"

"Aw, thanks. I knew you'd understand." He nodded at Brian and George. "Later." Then he walked away.

Elliot watched the jock leave, then turned back to the table and started filling the bare spot in the middle with bags of cookies. "This is just a minor setback, gentlemen. Every great nation has faced them dozens, nay, hundreds of times."

"So, was that an Aequian or an Encrustan?"

Elliot didn't even blink in Michael's direction. "You can't win a war without making a few sacrifices. In the grand scheme of things, this means nothing."

George sighed and slumped forward again, leaning his chin against his arm. "Easy for you to say. Those were good brownies."

11:47 A.M.

Andy bit into his ham and cheese sandwich and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. On the other side of the table, James was working his way through a small bag of cookies and a can of Coke. He glanced up at Andy and grinned, then motioned at the can next to Andy's lunch sack. Andy rolled his eyes and nodded. Yes, James was right about the Coke.

Andy glanced to his right, where he had a better view of the rest of the table. He ate with the jocks, of course, but not exclusively. Their table was a hodgepodge of athletes and former athletes who'd known one another since kindergarten. In addition to the wrestlers, there were also baseball, football and basketball players, with the odd lacrosse or hockey player thrown in for good measure. Some of them, like James, didn't play anymore due to injury or disinterest, but sports was the common denominator that fueled some surprisingly intense discussions about strategy and technique. So, what was the topic of conversation just one day before Illinois battled it out for a position in the Final Four?

Sex, of course.

"Dude, she was givin' you the look all night."

Nate, one of the football players, shrugged. "I guess."

Anthony just stared at him. "So, what happened?"

Nate bit into his orange. "Why the hell should I tell you? A true gentleman never kisses and tells."

"I didn't ask about a gentleman. I asked about you."

Nate glared at him. "Ha friggin' ha."

Chris, one of Nate's teammates, walked up to the head of the table with a pile of brownies cradled in the crook of one arm. "Dessert anyone?"

Everyone at the table raised his hand. Chris tossed the brownies into a pile at the center of the table and sat down to enjoy the one he'd saved for himself. There weren't enough for everyone, but Andy managed to grab one of the packages before they disappeared.

"… and then you're going to carry the three… the other three… the three."

Andy looked to his left, where two of the baseball players, Frank and A.J., were having a study session. Frank was going to be valedictorian if he didn't screw anything up and the guys depended on his expertise to get through their own classes. Every day, from 11:29 to 12:16, Frank "tutored" his buddies in everything from Calculus to Shakespeare and didn't ask for anything in return. Andy knew for a fact that he would have failed Mr. Henson's Geometry final during his sophomore year if Frank hadn't spent three consecutive lunch periods explaining polygons and trapezoids.

"So, you're really not gonna tell?"

Andy looked back to his right, where Anthony was still badgering Nate about his activities from the night before. "No, I'm not gonna tell," Nate insisted.

"Why not?" Anthony asked.

"Because nothing happened," Andy interjected.

"That's not true!" Nate exclaimed before he could stop himself. Anthony hooted and clapped Nate on the back. Nate sighed and turned to Andy. "You're an asshole."

Andy grinned. "Who're we talkin' about anyway?"

"Jenna Davis," offered Anthony.

Andy nodded. "I know her."

"Well, apparently not as well as our friend Nate."

Nate elbowed Anthony in the gut and stood up from the table. "You guys are such jerks." Without saying anything else, he grabbed his empty lunch sack and walked away.

Andy looked over at Anthony and frowned. "What's wrong with him?"

Anthony shrugged. "P.M.S."

Andy rolled his eyes. "No, really."

"How the hell should I know?"

Andy sighed and went back at his lunch. He stuffed the last bit of brownie into his mouth and looked across the table at James, who was taking long sips of his Coke. When he saw Andy looking at him, he smiled and lifted the can in a silent toast. Andy rolled his eyes and finished off the rest of his own Coke.

11: 48 A.M.

Bender made his way out to the football field and up into the bleachers, cupcake and brownie in hand. His combat boots echoed loudly on the metal planks, alerting his friends to his presence. Billy and Damien were sitting along the top row next to Davis, who was sprawled out on the bench. When Davis heard Bender coming up the steps, he turned his head and looked over at his friend, eyes widening when he saw what was in Bender's hand. "Aw, dude, is that a brownie?"

Bender narrowed his eyes. "It's not for you."

"But I'm really hungry, man."

"So, go get your own damn food."

Zeke, who had been sitting on the row below Davis, came up beside Bender and grabbed the cupcake from Bender's outstretched hand. "Nah," he said, licking a layer of icing off of the top. "It's cheaper if I just eat yours."

Bender glared at him. "What a funny guy."

Zeke grinned and started removing the foil from the bottom of the cupcake. Bender climbed up to the top row and pushed Davis' legs from the bench. Davis grabbed onto the metal seat to keep his balance and sat up straight then turned and sneered at him, kicking Bender as hard as he could. Bender pushed him over and Davis gave up, knowing when he was beat.

"Asshole," he said. "You could've brought me something."

"He could have brought us all something," said Billy, who was playing with a small metal lighter a few feet away.

Bender unwrapped the brownie and took a small bite. Arsenic or no, it was still pretty damn good. Davis peered at it curiously, then looked up at Bender, pouting. "Just a little bit?" he squeaked quietly, holding up his hand so that his thumb and index finger were less than an inch apart.

Bender rolled his eyes and held out the brownie. "Careful, it's poisoned."

Davis took a large chunk and lifted it to his mouth, apparently too hungry to care. A few feet away, Billy snapped the lighter shut and stuck it in his pocket, then grabbed his skateboard from the aisle below. "Anyone dare me to take it all the way down?"

Davis immediately nodded, mouth still full of brownie. "Me," he called out, holding his hand up in the air.

Billy smirked. "How much?"

Davis wrinkled his nose. "I'm not payin' you."

"I don't know," said Bender. "Should be a good show. He'll probably end up breakin' his neck."

Billy flicked him off and turned to Damien, who was sitting a few feet away, gazing out at the football field below and smoking a cigarette. "What about you?"

Damien looked over at Billy and frowned. "What about me?"

Billy rolled his eyes. "How much you gonna pay me to take this all the way down the stairs?" He held up the skateboard for clarification.

Damien looked down at the skateboard, a lock of blonde hair falling into his eyes. He thought about it for a moment, then looked back up at Billy. "One thousand dollars."

Billy looked annoyed. "You don't have one thousand dollars."

Damien arched an eyebrow, looking him square in the eye. "How do you know?"

Billy shrugged, admitting that he did not, in fact, know if Damien had it. "Okay, fine, a thousand bucks. We're on."

Damien nodded and Zeke stood up, suddenly panicked. "Dude, you're not really gonna do it?"

Billy looked over at Damien for confirmation and Damien nodded, giving him the go ahead. Zeke's eyes widened. "You're gonna kill yourself!"

"I'm counting on it," said Damien.

Billy looked over at him. "What?"

Damien shrugged. "Even seeing you break your neck isn't worth a thousand bucks. But if you die…" He gave Billy a tight smile. "… I get my money back."

"You prick!" Billy slammed the skateboard onto the metal plank below. Bender looked over at Damien, who suddenly wasn't smiling anymore, just watching Billy with eyes as cold as ice. Damien was not someone you called a prick. He was not someone you messed with period, even in jest. He was a quiet person, so quiet that sometimes people forgot that he was even there. He was also incredibly intelligent and was the only one of the five of them who actually went to most of his classes and was likely to graduate when he was supposed to. Bender hadn't talked to him much, but even he was smart enough to know when to back off and when to keep his mouth shut.

Billy, however, wasn't as observant. "Man, I'm done here. I'm gonna go practice on the ramp," he said angrily, referring to the concrete ramp that led from the student parking lot to an entrance on the second floor. Billy honestly believed that the ramp was created for that very purpose and was genuinely bewildered when the school authorities would chastise him for using it to practice with his skateboard.

Billy took the steps two at a time, his beat up Vans thumping loudly against the metal planks. Bender watched him until he reached the bottom, then looked over at Damien, who was also watching Billy leave, his gaze steady and his eyes narrowed. After a moment, Damien turned slowly to look at Bender and Bender knew instinctively that Damien had known he was watching him the entire time. Damien gave Bender an ironic smile, then pulled his black leather jacket closer to his body and took another drag on his cigarette.

Bender felt something brush against his outstretched hand and looked down to see Davis picking up the last piece of brownie off of the wrapper. He looked up at Bender and flashed him a childlike grin, then stuffed the piece of brownie in his mouth. Bender didn't say anything to him, just threw the crumbs in his friend's lap and kicked him in the shin with the tip of his combat boot.

A/N: I may be a history major, but, believe it or not, I am not an expert in Roman military history. I found the information (or misinformation, whichever the case may be) in Elliot's speech at unrv dot com.

Please review if you have any suggestions or comments. Thanks. : )