The sun was shining with promise, glinting off of the cars parked on the street and making the garbage sweat and produce a disgusting smell into the air. Still, it was one of those late summer days where the air just seemed to shimmer with possibilities.

Claudia couldn't help but think this as she mounted the steps to school. There was a strange spring in her step she couldn't quite describe as she reached the glass doors. Perhaps it was because she was about to spend time with one of the few people in the world she could stand and one of the few people who could stand her: Patrick.

She liked Patrick and she could tell he liked her. Of course, they couldn't spend time together as friends or else the school would start humming the tune of that Police song even though it wasn't like that. Especially since, to get him interested, you'd have to have a penis and to get her interested, you'd have to have breasts.

Still, for a guy who was nearing thirty soon, Patrick was looking pretty good for his age. From a strictly objective, lesbian point of view.

Claudia's strange thoughts were interrupted when she crashed into someone at the top of the steps. Muttering obscenities, she glanced up and the obscenities increased.

Star with his good-looking-smirking-football-ness was standing at the top of the stairs, grinning stupidly. She curled her lip with annoyance. Even though she had known Star her whole life, she didn't know much about him. Nor did she care to. He was one of the football types. The guys who, whenever they see her, try to get her to make out with some random skank so they could watch.

The only thing Star had going for him that the others didn't was that he had no idea he was attractive. The other guys—especially those less than savory ones—always thought they were hot shit. Star always said he had a flat face but he was ridiculously good-looking. However, any self-defamation didn't make up for the fact that he was just some horny, hetero, stereotyping sports star who probably only wanted to see her kiss a girl.

"God," she snapped. "Watch where you're going!"

"Me?" He looked offended. "I was just standing here. You crashed into me, tiny."

"Don't call me that!"

"Call you what? Tiny? Okay, tiny. Whatever you say, tiny."

Claudia thumped him in the arm. "Shut up!"

"Fine, fine." He had a stunning smile on his face that showed he was most definitely enjoying this. "Tiny."

"Urgh!" Claudia punched him again and went inside.

As she passed into the cool air-conditioning of the building, she couldn't help but wonder why Star made her so volatile. Before she could mull over this any further, she noted a presence behind her.

"Alright, I won't call you tiny anymore." Star.

"Whatever," she said.

"Why do you hate me so much?" he asked.

Claudia turned around. "I don't hate you. I mean…you're just a typical guy. You may like atypical things than other football players but that's what you are. Some closet homophobe who wants nothing more than me to kiss a girl."

His face darkened and Star crossed his arms over his chest.

"Homophobe?" His voice had taken on a tone that the usually good-tempered guy she had known since diapers didn't have. "Homophobe? Who the hell are you calling a homophobe? You think that just because I a put on a uniform and chase a ball means that I just like watching girls make out and that's the only reason I'm friends with you. Newsflash: if I were a homophobe, I wouldn't be friends with Jester or Pickle or Gypsy. Why would I only hang around them to see them kiss guys?"

Before Claudia could open her mouth, he continued.

"You're stereotyping me. You think that just because you're a high and mighty lesbian that means that you're a minority and minorities don't stereotype. Well, they do. You don't know anything about me. If you did, you wouldn't be saying any of this."

With that, Star stormed away down the hallway, leaving Claudia to ruminate in his words. The strangest thing happened as she stood in the hallway, mouth almost nearing agape.

Star was right. Star was right and she was an asshole.

--

Patrick sat in his classroom, drinking his daily cup of coffee. He had begun mainlining his caffeine addiction into powerful shots of espresso, especially in the morning. It was all he could do to make it through his first period class.

Just as he swallowed, the door banged open and Star came hustling in. Despite his heterosexual manliness, he managed to look like the epitome of feminine disgust right then as he plopped into his seat.

"Problems, Ringo?" He asked, cocking a brow.

"No," he said icily. "Just usual shit."

Patrick sighed and didn't even bother to correct him on language. He was obviously pissed off about something. Perhaps it was favoritism but, largely, he just didn't care.

He took a few more sips of his ultra-strong coffee as more students trickled in. Then the door banged opened and boy he didn't recognize came in that made him nearly choke on the hot liquid.

He had blue eyes and straight, blonde hair that fell in his face but it was the outfit that did it for him. A pair of tight-looking, vertically striped bell-bottoms and a silk shirt with a ruffle at the collar. Something was tied at his neck and plain, black high tops were worn on his feet.

The boy turned to him and smiled, revealing both a chipped tooth and his identity.

"Cujo?" he sputtered. "What the…heck are you wearing?"

Hester just kept grinning and plopped into his seat next to Star who seemed unfazed by the ridiculous outfit. He had probably seen it already.

Patrick shook his head at his former charge as the bell rang.

"Alright, class," he said easily. It often surprised him how well he dealt with kids. "Let's get started."

--

Jack stretched out lazily on the couch, pushing his legs out and arching his feet. He gave a massive yawn and sat up.

"Jaaaack!" Allen said impatiently. "It's your turn!"

"Sorry, Al," he mumbled. "I'm still kind of jetlagged."

He nodded as if he understood. "Okay. I'ma gonna get Uncle David to play with me. If he's not with that other guy. I don't like him."

Jack had to laugh. He loved this kid already.

"I don't like him all that much either," he agreed.

"He's kinda lame if you ask me," he continued. "His hands are kinda sweaty and gross. I don't understand how Uncle David could hold hands with that guy without having to wipe them on a towel."

He laughed again, loving the bald-faced sincerity that only a ten-year-old could have.

"Yeah," he said. "I just don't really like him. He's…too nice."

Allen nodded exuberantly. "He is too nice. Maybe he's a secret, government spy or something!"

Jack leaned forward and ruffled his hair. "Maybe he is."

"Anyway," he continued, idly fiddling with the video game controller. "I don't think David should be with him anyway."

Jack was amazed at how easily a small boy could grasp the concept of being gay. Of course, when two of your three uncles were gay, maybe that eased his understanding.

He was about to answer when the door opened.

"Don't want to seem like a stalker or something, but Sarah gave us a key."

Jack turned to see one of David's best friends.

"Hey," Jack said with a smile. "Skittery."

"Hi, Uncle Michael!" Allen said excitedly.

Skittery smiled at the little boy, looking ever the same in the same distressed jeans and pink Polo he had always seen him wear.

"I'm waiting for David," he explained. "He called me and wants to go have lunch today."

"I see. Well, he's out with Josh."

He nodded and sat down on the arm of the couch next to Jack.

"Yeah, he told me all about the doctor."

"Yup. Dr. Jackson, his one true love."

To his surprise, Skittery began laughing.

"What?" He asked, quirking a brow.

"Jack…his last name is seriously Jackson?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Then his name is actually Joshua Jackson?" He giggled in laughter and Jack felt himself brighten. A whole world of mockeries were now open to him.

"What's he laughing about?" A voice called from the hallway.

Allen jumped up from his spot on the floor, obviously recognizing the voice.

"Uncle Oscar!" He pelted towards the door and tackled him into a hug.

Jack saw Oscar stumble into the room with the weight of Allen suctioned to him.

"Well," Jack smirked. "If it isn't the Psycho from Sicily."

Oscar gave him a dirty look. The two had never really gotten along. The only time they had shown a sparkle of compatibility was when they both kicked the shit out of the homophobes who were beating up David.

Oscar hardly looked anything like himself. His face was narrower and his hair was longer, the front pushed back by a red bandana. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lower lip and another one was tucked behind his ear.

Jack smirk deepened. "Hey, Oscar. Keith Richards called. He wants his…everything back."

Oscar scowled at him and turned his gaze to Allen who was shackled around his leg. A smile split his face—causing the cigarette to fall on the carpet—and he ruffled his dark hair.

"I know Skits is meeting David for lunch, but what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see my nephew, dipshit," he shot back, managing to come over to where they were with Allen still around him.

He felt relief. "Good, because if you guys were staying here, there'd be no room. I'm here, David and Dr. Quinn, Medicine Asshole are staying here and then Sarah's family."

"We're staying at the Plaza," Skittery explained.

"Perks of being an internationally known rock star," Oscar continued, smirking and letting an arm drape around Skittery's shoulders.

"Spare me the details of decadence," Jack replied, wishing David would show up.

"He'd better," Skittery said with a slight bite to his voice.

"Ooh, Skits is pissed at something you did," he observed.

"Michael," he corrected. "And we'd kind of don't like to talk about it."

Oscar rolled his eyes. "It's not that bad. I got fucked up on drugs once and screwed around with a chick who ended up getting pregnant. Thus, Jason was born."

"Jason?"

"Our 'son.'" Michael said. "His son. It happened five years ago and I don't really care all that much anymore. I mean, he came back to me."

"Where is this little…guy?" he asked. He was going to be really mean to Oscar and call the kid a 'bastard' but that was just too mean for Skits because he actually liked him.

"With Sarah. He's got a cold," Oscar explained. "Or else he'd be here."

Jack nodded noncommittally and that was when the door finally opened. David and Josh stepped in, obviously in the midst of a conversation. It came to an immediate halt when he saw the people gathered in his living room.

"Skittery!" he exclaimed, running up to his old friend and giving him a hug.

"David!" he shouted back, throwing his arms around him in return.

Jack saw Josh smiling at their reunion and was about to say something when Oscar, of all people, beat him to it.

"Hey, Dr. Jackson," he smirked. "Where's Bombay?"

Josh furrowed his brow in confusion. "In India, I guess."

Jack cocked a brow at him and Oscar shrugged. Was he actually doing something for him?

"Oh…now Bombay," he continued. "Is that anywhere near Dawson's Creek?"

He suddenly didn't hate Oscar so much anymore. In fact, he wanted to hug him.

"No…I don't think so…" His face was creased in obvious confusion. David had mentioned to him after the Blue Lagoon incident that Josh didn't know squat about pop culture. He was going to fit in swimmingly with them.

Shortly after, David and Michael left for their lunch and Josh went to the bathroom.

"He seems nice," Oscar said. "A loser, but nice."

"Yeah…nice," Jack scowled.

"I still don't like him," Allen proclaimed. "Uncle David should be with someone else."

"Aren't you a little young to dictate your uncle's love life?" Oscar asked.

"Nope!" he said sunnily. "I just don't think that that guy's good for him at all."

"And who do you think is?" Jack asked, humoring him.

Allen looked at him purposefully. "You."

--

A/N: A smaller chapter but I think I got what I wanted to be said, you know, said. Also, I put in another obscure Monkees reference. The first was, as I told some people, the name of Blink's landlord but this one is even more obscure and really only known if you know about them obsessively like I do. xD