I stood stock still, staring at him. "Racetrack?" He nodded. I sagged against the door. "Why are you in my shower?" I would have grinned at that oh-so-lovely mental image, but I was too busy freaking out.

"Um…I don't know. I was in Brooklyn, actually…" I opened the door, remembering that I was in a rather small bathroom, and was nearly mauled by my dogs, who were freaking out about me.

"Is anyone else here?" I asked, looking around, as if I expected Jack Kelly to pop out of the sink. Racetrack shrugged.

"I have no idea. I just woke up in your shower." He looked around. "Nice place." I smiled.

"Thanks. It's my grandparents'. I'm taking care of it while they're in Texas." He bent down to pet Hugo and James. "This is Hugo, and that's James. Oh, and I'm Tory," I added, holding out my hand. He shook it.

"Where the hell am I!" cried a new voice. I spun around, then hurried into the kitchen. "Race! Where are we!" Spot cried, near hysterics. I couldn't help snickering at the sight of Spot in hysterics.

"We're in Tory's house," Race replied, in a low, calming voice, motioning to me. He looked at me, as if noticing me for the first time, which he was. He stared at me, taking in my plaid pajama pants, and my spaghetti-strapped tank top. (Hey, I said it was a chilly Tuesday. I didn't say it was cold inside!) I suddenly realized that these boys were from 1899, a time where teenage boys went "ankle-watching" on windy days.

"You some kinda' whore?" Spot asked, his lips curling in (thankfully) disgrace. I shook my head, cheeks burning red. (Hey, that rhymed!)

"Nah. Around here, everyone dresses like this. Girls don't have to wear long skirts."

"You mean there are girls walking around in short skirts?" Racetrack exclaimed, looking disgusted at the thought. I frowned. Why were two perfectly hormonal teenage boys be disgusted at the thought of short skirts? Unless…

"Why were you in Brooklyn, Race?" I asked. I noted that he blushed quite noticeably.

"Um…We were actually about to play poker, Spot and I," he muttered. I grinned.

"Strip poker?" I prodded. A deeper blush. I looked over at Spot, and he, too, looked embarrassed. "Boy-os, are you two gay?"