Closets and Chlamydia

Locked in a closet was the very last place Reggie wanted to be. Especially when it was the Shore Shack's utility closet, which meant that it was very cramped, very cluttered, and vaguely smelled of fish. It wouldn't have been as bad if there hadn't been an extremely claustrophobic moron named Twister stuck in there with her.

"Reg, do the walls look like they're getting smaller to you?"

"No." Reggie said, pounding on the door and yelling, "Help!" in hopes that Otto or Ray would hear her. Then again, she had been at it for at least ten minutes already, and no one had heard her yet.

She gave up, leaning backwards against a mop bucket, "Looks like we're stuck."

"I'm sorry I closed the door, Reg, I didn't know it would lock!" Twister apologized.

"Twister, it said, 'DOOR LOCKS FROM OUTSIDE' on the outside of the door."

Twister grinned, which made Reggie remember that he or Otto had never much listened to warning signs. She groaned.

"Reggie?" Twister asked, moving towards her a bit more, his eyes widened, "Do you think we'll run out of air?"

"No, Maurice, we won't run out of air. Besides, if we do, all the air in your head should keep you alive for a few days."

"Have you ever seen those movies on TV? Like when the people are about to die so they confess their deepest secrets?" Twister asked, leaning in again.

"We're not going to die, Twister." Reggie groaned again, shoving the mop bucket to the side.

"But if we do," Twister said, clearly ignoring her, "I have to tell you something."

"Right now, or before we die?"

Twister ignored her again, "I really like you, Reggie. I wanted to tell you that before we run out of air."

"We're not going to run out of---what?" Reggie stared blankly at Twister, completely shocked, until a bottle of dish soap fell on her head.

"I said," Twister "That I really like you. More then a friend. And that I hope Otto's not listening; 'cuz he'll kill me."

Reggie leaned back to sit on her knees, "This had better not be a joke, Twister."

Twister looked affronted, "Why would I joke about it?"

"You like me."

"Yes."

"And you're not joking."

"Yes."

"You like me."

"Geez Reg," Twister groaned, "And everyone says you're smart! I like you, okay?"

Reggie leaned in further, "Since when?"

"Since forever?"

Just as Reggie leaned in again, close enough to smell that he had been testing out Lars' cologne again, Twister panicked and scooted backwards.

"Reg, I can't kiss you!" He shouted, shielding his face with his hands.

"What?" Reggie asked, clearly offended, "Why not? I thought you liked me!"

Twister scooted backwards a bit further, knocking a mop onto his head. "Of course I like you, but Lars told me when you kiss girls you get car-midia!"

Reggie tried not to laugh. "Chlamydia, Twister?"

"That's it, Lars told me you get it from kissing and it never goes away!" He shouted again, flailing his arms around the small closet and knocking a few more things to the floor, "So don't try and kiss me, 'cuz I don't want it, dude!"

"No, Twister." Reggie sighed, "Chlamydia is an STD."

"An S-TV?"

"An STD. And you don't get it from kissing…you get it from…" Reggie paused, wondering if Lars had shared with Twister anything about the birds and the bees, "Well, you don't get it from kissing."

Twister looked skeptical, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Reggie laughed, "Wanna' try that again?"

Twister leaned in, sending silverware to the floor, and pressed his lips against Reggie's. At that very moment, the door was flung upon by a very cross looking Otto, who, at the sight of them in mid-lip-lock, turned a tomato-red that clashed horribly with his hair.

He opened his mouth, presumably to shout some profanities at his best friend and sister, but was cut off by the closet door slamming shut on him, and Reggie shouting, "Some privacy, Otto!"

Running out of air was now the last thing on Twister's mind.