Sam stomped down the road, feet splashing in puddles every-so-often made by rain days ago. He didn't mind that the reckless movement of his feet was causing the dirty water to splash up on his ankles; in fact, he liked it.

Sometimes when Sam passed someone on his route to his house, he would get a stentorian hoot or a 'yay, Sam,' like he was about to go out and fight someone head-on. It felt weird, the amount of attention. Sam wasn't sure what to think of it.

Finally, a beige stained house with a Mexican tiled roof came into view, the grass green and healthy. In the driveway there laid an abandoned bike from⎯what Sam guessed⎯the previous owners of the house. In a way Sam felt bad, bad for taking some random person's house and making it his own⎯ no; Sam, Edilio, and Quinn's. Sam shrugged and pushed the thought to the side of his mind.

Sam made sure to lock the deadbolt once he was inside, slipped out of his sneakers and slithered over to the worn leather couch. He fell face down in the all-too-familiar smell of leather.

Slowly Sam closed his eyes. . . . Slowly. . . . Slowly. No, he protested. I need to stay. . . . Stay awake. . . . A little part of his brain nagged him, telling him he need to stay alert, awake. The other half protested and said the opposite. The opposing side won.

Suddenly he heard a noise. And then some deep voice yelp in pain. The noise was quiet and muted, like someone was trying their best to not be heard.

Another thump.

Sam growled, annoyed he couldn't sleep in peace, and yelled, "Hey, it's Sam! Stop hiding you chickens!"

More thumping, louder as it came closer and closer to Sam.

Edilio pounded down the stairs. He ran full-blast at Sam when he caught sight of him. "Oh, my God, man! You had us worried. We thought you were some intruder or something."

Sam smiled and⎯despite his amount of effort⎯laughed, too; though he was able to tone it down to a snicker.

Edilio rolled his eyes. "Next time tell us it's you when you come in, man. 'Cause I hate hiding with Quinn. He's so loud."

Sam lifted a brow. "Is Quinn is still hiding?"

"Oh, woops. I was supposed to tell him if it was actually you or not." Edilio cleared his throat and started to yell. "Hey, Quinn, dude! Come down here! I think Sam's trying to kill me!"

There came a loud gasp from upstairs and then a, "I'm coming, Edilio!" Followed by a lot of thumps and crashes.

Quinn made it down the stairs. His eyes were wide and frantic, bruises starting to lightly form on his exposed legs.

Quinn caught sight of a beaming Edilio and his eyes filled with pure hatred.

"You idiot, wetback! I thought you were going to die. . . . I thought. . . . I thought. . . . " Any grudges Quinn was going to hold slowly disappeared with his anger.

Huh, Edilio thought, I kind of thought he would be more of a challenge.

Edilio put both of his hands up, a sign of defeat, and turned to Sam. "You hungry, man?"

Sam nodded his head yes.

Quinn tried his best to ignore their conversation. He stretched his back, pulling the knots out, making a very loud popping sound. He then plopped himself on the carpeted stairs, sighing extremely loud. The stairs make a loud creek as his rear made contact. As predicted; Quinn was pouting.

Edilio slithered to the kitchen, his copper arms swinging by his sides. His feet stomped on the ground loudly, even through he had no shoes on.

Quinn complained loudly.

Edilio threw open the pantry, banging the door into the wall. Edilio recoiled in shock, obviously not expecting the loud sound.

"Quinn, man. If you're hungry or something you can have food."

Quinn leaned back against the stairs, arms spread behind his head, legs crossed in front of him. He failed to hide his gratitude.

"Okay. Mind passing me a bowl of cereal, Edilio?"

"Yes, I do mind. Get your own bowl, lazy."

Quinn sat up straight again, foot slapping on the ground. "Why are you getting Sam a bowl of food then?"

"'Cause he went inside of a burning building and nearly risked his life to save someone he didn't know."

Sam saw how Edilio carefully avoided the fact that the little girl Sam had tried so hard to save was dead.

Edilio walked over to Sam, a blue bowl filled with some cereal he had never seen before. Inside the bowl there was a small, silver spoon but no milk, which was good because Sam didn't like it when his cereal was soggy.

"So, have either of you guys ever heard of someone named Fern, um. . . . Romes?"

"Who?" Both Edilio and Quinn said in unison. Quinn seemed to have suddenly found the conversation interesting.

"Fern's a girl from Coates. She has blonde hair, hazel eyes, and, um, she's five foot four?"

Quinn cocked his head and completely look what his friend said onto a whole other level. "Is she hot?"

Sam felt his brain twirling, twirling down an endless, dark tunnel. He was confused. Should he answer his friend's question? The back of his neck tickled and a few beads of sweat formed.

Edilio slanted his head at an angle, too, and Sam could see they were both waiting for an answer.

"Ugh, yes."

A big, goofy smile spread across Quinn's sunburnt face. He shoved Sam playfully in the chest, spending his a few steps backwards.

"You're blushing," Quinn exclaimed.

"Whatever. Wait 'til you see her," Sam muttered.