"What does she have that I don't?" I wonder out loud as I sit on my bed, eating my dinner (and by "dinner" I mean "peanut butter sandwich") and reading through my history textbook. I'm alone, so it's okay if I talk to myself, right?

"Tits," says a voice from the doorway, and I nearly jump out of my skin. Apparently, I'm not alone. Racetrack leans against the door frame, smirking in that smart-ass way that I hate. "Sorry, scare you?"

"A little. But it's cool. Hey, Race." I clear my books off the foot of my bed so he can sit down, and he does. "What's up?" Everybody else is out, so I wonder what he's doing here. He seems to sense this on my face and smiles.

"Just wanted to see how you were doin'. You seemed kinda bummed that everybody was goin' out."

"Well, it gives me some quiet time to study, and maybe actually sleep." We both laugh because we know that in this school, occasions on which you get any actual rest are few and far between. "How come you're stayin' in tonight? I figured you'd be out at that club with Jack and Dave."

"Nah." He shrugs, shakes his head. "They seemed to want some time to themselves tonight."

"Uh-huh. So, I'm confused. Are they...?"

Race chuckles, nods. "Yeah. They have been since freshman year." He smiles. "It's kind of cool, actually. Except when they start mackin' on each other in public."

I laugh. "I can see how that could be uncomfortable to innocent bystanders."

Racetrack leans over to look at my textbook. "Civil War, huh? I hate that shit."

"Me, too! Seriously. I cannot imagine a scenario in my life in which I will need information on guys with bad facial hair shooting each other."

Race just laughs. "So, I got a Playstation in my room. Care for a little healthy competition, or are you too smart for video games?"

I grin. "Prepare to get your ass kicked."

After several hours of shooting random passersby and stealing police cars in Grand Theft Auto, Racetrack's roommates, Pie Eater and Bumlets, come in and announce that they want to go to bed. I don't blame them, it's going on three in the morning. I say goodnight to Racetrack and go to grab my toothbrush from my room, satisfied that I have made another solid friend.

As I'm finishing brushing my teeth, one of the shower doors opened and Dutchy stepped out, clad only in a towel and his shower shoes. He's whistling something, which I recognize as "Mr. Cellophane" from Chicago before he sees me and stops. "Hey, Specs!" He grins, using his extra towel to dry out his hair.

I finish rinsing my mouth and spit, then smile. "Hey," I say, a little bit shyly. I feel weird around him now. "Um... what are you doing up here?"

He stares blankly at me for a moment, then laughs a little. "All the showers on my floor were occupied. Weird, for three a.m., huh?"

"Yeah." I stick the handle of my toothbrush in the front pocket of my jeans. "How... how was your date?"

"My date? Oh, Sarah. Um, it was okay," he ducks into the shower stall and pulls on pajama pants and a white T-shirt, then comes back out. "I'm not really interested in her, I guess. She asked me out, and I get extra credit for going to that exhibition, so I figured, why not, y'know?" I nod. "So we went to that photography thing, and then I treated her to a late dinner and walked her back to her room. I think she was expecting something a little more, but..." He shrugs.

"But?" I lean back against the sink, watching him.

"Well, I kinda got a thing for somebody else."

"Oh." Of course he does.

"So, how was your night?"

"Pretty good. I finished my art project, and studied some for my U.S. History test next week. Then Racetrack swung by and invited me to come over and play video games for a while, so that's what I've been doing for the past, like, six hours." I laugh, and he does too. He's so gorgeous when he laughs.

"Well, that sounds like much more fun than what I did." I smile and shrug.

"I guess. Um, well, I think I'm gonna hit the sack. Goodnight." I head for the door.

"Hey, Specs?" I stop, halfway out of the bathroom. The way he says that always makes me want to pay attention.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for helping me with my laundry today." He smiles and blushes a little, like he's embarrassed to have needed help, and I smile back.

"No problem. G'night, Dutchy."

"Night."