Lunch was always a big thing with Jack and his friends. They had sat in the same corner by the same two poles in the courtyard since freshmen year. It was always yelling and occasionally singing and dancing. Sometimes, for no reason in particular, Snitch would randomly launch himself at someone screaming 'Oh my God, we're gonna crash!' and pushing his hands all over their eyes. Apparently, it was from some cop comedy movie he had seen but couldn't remember the title of. However, he did intimate that Christian Slater had starred in it. Skittery had immediately put the movie down because he, for some reason, had a vendetta against the actor.
"Today is unusually quiet," Race remarked. "For us."
Spot and Jack were sitting next to each other and listening to Spot's iPod, each having an ear bud. That left them silent while Blink was stewing about his detention that afternoon.
"Someone better fucking wait for me because it's going to fucking rain today," he pointed to the bloated sky above their heads. "And I don't want to fucking walk home in the fucking rain."
"I have…a thing," Snitch lied. "That I have to do."
"And I'm due in a chatroom tonight," Skittery put in. "At three. We're debating the need for Riley."
Jack took the bud out of his ear. "And I'm not even going to make an excuse. I just don't care."
Blink gave him the finger. Spot nodded his agreement with Jack and Mush was fast asleep. Besides, he was never allowed to stay after school for anything because of his overprotective mother. It was a miracle that he could hang out with them at all.
"I'll wait for you," Race piped up. "Since none of these douches will."
Blink smiled at him before sticking his tongue out at all of the others.
"You know you all fucking suck, right?" he grumped. "And Larkson needs to fucking suck it. Because she fucking knows I'm a better fucking actor than her and she's fucking frustrated because she's stuck as a fucking high school teacher!"
Mush held up his fingers without even sitting up. "Six, Blink. Six times in one sentence. I think you have tourettes."
"And I think you need to shut your fucking mouth," he kicked him.
"Ah," Snitch remarked. "What a united group we are."
Jack and Spot were off in their own little musical world.
"Let's get some shoes," they talk-sang. "Let's get some shoes…"
"They are idiots," Skittery stated. "Oh! Guess what!"
"Nicholas Brendon finally gave you a restraining order?" Race queried.
He rolled his eyes. "No. Tonight is stay night."
From when they were seven, they realized that having all of them sleep over at one house would prove catastrophic. So they all slept over at different houses and then met up in the morning at Spot's house.
Jack rolled his eyes. "Really?"
Skittery shoved him. Jack shoved him back, causing the ear bud to fall from his ear. Spot picked it up and placed it back in his own as Jack and Skittery pretended to have a dramatic fight. Snitch provided the dramatic fight music.
"Dunuh. Dunnuh! Dunnuh! Dunununudunnuh!"
"Catfight!" Mush yelled without getting up.
Spot rolled his eyes and turned up his iPod. The two, however, jumped immediately apart when an administrator walked by. Snitch's fight music suddenly turned into the Mario theme due to this particular administrator's resemblance to the pixilated plumber. Blink elbowed him slightly and the two dissolved into laughter.
The second he passed, Skittery shoved Jack.
"You were so trying to make out with me," he announced.
Race rolled his eyes. They were all idiots.
"Oh, yeah," Jack put a hand over his heart. "Because now that I'm out, I want to whore it up with a boy who I've taken baths with."
"I'm all over that shit!" Snitch exclaimed exuberantly and jumped on Jack, thrusting his pelvis back and forth in short intervals.
Jack shoved him off of him and they burst into laughter. Some of the kids from the "emo" table glanced their way. They were used to it. The kids at their school treated them like they were from another planet and maybe they were.
"So arrangements?" Skittery pulled out his Buffy notebook and opened it to a fresh page.
Blink rolled his good eye. "Skits, must you fucking write every fucking arrangement? Are you that fucking anal? Who the fuck are you? Howard fucking Hughes?"
Skittery ignored him. Race shook his head at Blink. He knew that they had to do this just in case, by accident, someone ended up at Jack's house or Spot's.
"I'll sleep over at Blink's," he volunteered. "Since I'm waiting for him and everything."
"Me too," Jack shrugged.
"I'll go to Mush's," Spot added since Mrs. Meyers didn't allow her precious little son to stay over at anyone else's house.
"Then I guess it's just you and me," Skittery scribbled down his and Snitch's names on his notebook. "And we're meeting at the ranch?"
Spot shoved him. "I do not live on a ranch."
"You have horses don't you?"
Spot, despite the fact that he was a sixteen-year-old boy, managed to look like the epitome of feminine disgust right then.
"Well you do," Snitch added with a snort of laughter. "And we call Jack Cowboy. Jesus…"
"Spot, didn't you ride Baron around your yard at that last party? The tequila shots one," Race put in.
Spot put his iPod away, glaring at him but his gaze wasn't fixed as though he didn't know who should take more offense: him or his dog.
Mush got up then and stretched. He arched his back and let his pink tongue slide out toe glaze his lips.
"You weren't even sleeping," Snitch observed.
"Yeah but laying there made me…I got nothing," he laughed. "So Spot's coming over to my house? Radical."
Everyone gave him an incredulous look.
"What?"
It was Jack who spoke up. "Radical, Mush?"
"I'm trying out 80s lingo. You know, tubular, radical, bodacious…"
"So shall I refer to thee as Bill S. Preston esq. or Ted Theodore Logan?" Snitch cocked a brow.
Mush shoved him playfully. "Mush is fine."
The bell rang to signal the end of lunch and they all rose.
"Oh," Jack snapped his fingers as he was hit with, Race assumed, a formerly forgotten thought. "I have a new fifth period. I got moved to Advanced U.S. History, bitches."
Blink scooped up his backpack. "Does that mean you have a different lunch now?"
The fact that he had managed to say a complete sentence without the use of any expletives amazed them all undoubtedly.
"Would I be here if I did?" Jack rolled his eyes.
"Yes," Spot smirked before walking off.
--
David was aware of two things the moment he stepped into History class: one, someone was sitting in his designated seat and, two, that person happened to be Jack Kelly. He hovered awkwardly before him, fingering his backpack strap nervously. There were times, much like this, when David wish that he could be the assertive boy. When he could just look at the shiner-plagued boy in his seat and be like 'Hey, move!' Unfortunately, David was unable to become the active protagonist in the novel of his life and, thus, had to settle for standing over him and tapping his foot a little.
"Yes?" Jack flashed this indolent smile at him that drove him up the wall.
"You're in my seat," he said plaintively, it coming out more quiet and less assertive than he had planned.
"Is your name on it?"
David managed to toss that one back at him. "Yes. On the sheet. Over there. Please move."
Much to his surprise, Jack actually looked moderately impressed. He stood and gave a little bow.
"Then I humbly surrender this seat to you and will find somewhere else to fulfill my seating needs."
No sooner had David reclaimed his seat that he noticed that that 'somewhere else' happened to be the seat directly behind him and, unfortunately, the student who had sat there before had long since vacated it and moved back to Puerto Rico. David cursed himself for having Junior classes.
The bell rang to signal the beginning of class and Mr. Richards got immediately to business. Namely, their Revolutionary War projects.
"I want partners on this," Richards happened to be one of the football coaches as well and was big on teamwork. "Work together for your person and I want to see stellar performances."
Alexia Hardiway raised her hand. "Do we get to pick our partners?"
"No, alphabetical order. Adams, you're with Bailey…"
Richards proceeded to read off the names until he got to David's.
"Jacobs, you're with new boy. Kelly."
He didn't dare turn around to face him. He had managed to avoid those boys for the past thirteen years. Now, in less than two days, he had had more interaction with them than he cared to.
Much to dismay, Richards decided to let them have the rest of the period to plan with their partners which historical figure they wanted to do a presentation on. David foresaw many reports on George Washington.
"So, Dave," Jack's voice came from behind him. "Who do you wanna do? I was thinking Banastre Carlton. He was pretty hardcore. You know, that's Snitch's real name. He hates it."
David didn't care to remember which one was Snitch—the blonde one or the one who tattled on everyone in grammar school?—nor that his name happened to correspond with the British butcher.
"I think we should veer towards the Patriot side," he mumbled, actually turning to face him.
"Tom Brady, then?"
David didn't get it. Jack shook his head.
"Never mind. What about…" he shrugged. "That one guy on the ship. The 'I have not yet begun to fight' guy."
He felt that it was useless to continue much of a conversation in this vein so David just shrugged.
"Sure."
--
David's last class of the day was chemistry. That meant that he had to pass through another one of his neighbors who now, after thirteen years of solid silent indifference, had taken it upon themselves to talk to him.
"Hey," Mush greeted him. "Ready for today's quiz? I so love this ionic bond stuff. So easy. I just have to memorize the polyatomics. Hydroxide is the OH with the negative sign, right?"
He made a little sideways dash with his index finger to indicate the sign. David just looked at him, noting that this was the most conversation that he had never had with Mush. If it could even be called conversation. He slid into his seat and shrugged.
"Yeah," he answered.
Thankfully, Mush sat on the other side of the room but the classroom was mostly empty. David decided to broach the subject.
"Why are you guys talking to me all of a sudden?"
"Because you're a creepy shut-in and we want to take you under our wings," he said in such an earnest tone that David couldn't tell whether or not he was joking.
He didn't care, though, enough to ask him that. They had a good three minutes before the bell rang and David did his best to ignore him. But Mush decided that that wasn't good enough and, as more kids filed in, that he needed to talk to David.
"How come you never hang with us? We don't bite, really. Just Spot but he's weird anyway. And he doesn't really bite. He just puts his mouth on your arm like a puppy or something," he laughed. "It's hilarious."
David pretended to study his notes but he didn't need to. Mush had been right. The "ionic bonds stuff" was incredibly simple. He even already had the polyatomics memorized. Just anything to avoid listening to him.
It was bothering him more than he let on. Why were they all talking to him all of a sudden?
--
For Snitch, Skittery, and Spot last period Spanish class was possibly the best time of the day. That time was sweetened because of their "culture presentations" they were doing all week. The teacher had purposely scheduled it so each day, someone who brought food would go.
Currently, they were noshing on animal crackers the teacher had brought to keep them quiet during a rather reggaeton-heavy presentation about Puerto Rico. The two kids presenting were part of the many of Hispanic students (most hailing, in fact, from Puerto Rico) at their little Florida school who Blink simply referred to, as a whole, as the Sharks. Whether or not they took offense to the name—or if they understood the reference at all—was unbeknownst to any of them. Nor did they really care.
"Spot," Skittery remarked. "That's sick."
Spot was biting the heads off of his animal cracks and dropping the decapitated corpses onto his napkin. He grinned at Skittery.
"This is more fun than just trying to decide what they are," he stated. "I mean, what is this?"
He held up a blobby thing that could have been a rhino or a sheep.
"I don't know," Skittery admitted. "I've also never seen monkeys or rabbits in a box of animal crackers."
Snitch wasn't paying attention for he was too busy having two zebras make whoopee on his napkin. In fact, Ms. Martinez—the boys noted—was realizing that none of the students eating their animal crackers were actually paying attention to the presentation.
"What can she expect?" Spot said sassily. "It's a Friday."
Snitch ceased his animal sex and nodded. "Yeah. Duh. Besides, who cares about the coqui? It's a frog. Big deal."
"Your compassion for endangered species floors me," Skittery deadpanned.
"Hey, I care about manatees and the Everglades and all of that destroying nature stuff," Snitch got huffy. "I just don't care about some frog that can't even survive off of Puerto Rico."
To further accentuate his point, Snitch pulled down the collar of his shirt—as he always did in these cases—to show them the World Wildlife Federation logo tattoo right below his collarbone. Skittery and Spot rolled their eyes at each other. There was always talk going around that Snitch's mother didn't keep tight enough reins on him.
"Banastre," Ms. Martinez glared at him. "Silencio."
"Sí," he grumbled.
She smiled apologetically at Jorge and Clarissa before urging them to continue. It was interrupted, yet again, by the sudden vibration of Skittery's cell phone. Usually, cell phones weren't allowed in class but after a protest last year—in which the boys had taken a part in—they were allowed to be used albeit not when the teacher was talking. It wasn't a half-bad arrangement.
In this situation, however, the other half would come into play.
"What?" he snapped. "I have to work tonight? Damnit!"
By this time, Jorge and Clarissa had given up and said 'fin' before sitting back down. Ms. Martinez just shook her head at her delinquent students, muttering 'a Dios mio' under her breath.
--
"Fucking all fucking fuckity hell," Blink complained, letting his damp cigarette fall to the ground.
Race shook his head at him but was hating the rain just as much.
"I'm freezing and cold and wet as well," he pointed out. "And I'm not firing off a slew of obscenities."
Blink gave him the finger and they continued on their trek home or, rather, to Blink's home. They walked in silence for a while, the only sound being the ever worsening rain that was soaking them both.
Race frowned at him. Blink had been in an increasingly bad mood since he had gotten the detention. Actually, he had worsened after Jack's announcement yesterday and his own hinting that he and Jack were more similar than first thought. Race was used to him saying 'this is fucking great!' instead of 'this fucking sucks!'
In other words: Blink was in need of some serious cheering up.
Race, his feet squelching within the confines of his sneakers, jumped forward and spun towards him.
"What the fuck are you fucking doing?" Blink cocked a brow.
Race jumped backwards in the rain and started to dance. His sopping backpack banged against his back as he spun around, flapping his arms.
"We'll dance in the garden in torn sheets in the rain," he sang loudly, his voice almost getting lost in the pounding rain. "We'll dance in the garden in torn sheets in the rain…in the raaaaaiiiin! We're the deadbeat club…"
Blink started laughing and pushed his soaked hair from his forehead. "You're fucking nuts, Higgins. You know that?"
He ceased his dancing and shrugged. A smile was tugging on the edges of Blink's mouth. Apparently, they were getting somewhere.
They fell back in sync and continued past the fancier houses of the first neighborhood.
"You know," Race mused. "We're kind of like the deadbeat club. We don't have jobs, we get drunk a lot…"
Blink nodded. "Yeah, I could see that."
"Is Jack going to already be there, waiting inside all warm like a prick?" he wondered aloud. "Laughing at us and being all 'oops, forgot you needed a ride'?"
"Probably, knowing Jack," Blink shrugged. "Fucking prick. I should've never given him a fucking key."
"Ah, but what fairness would that be? We all have keys to your house and all that. Which, if one of us turns out to be an insane serial killer…he'll have easy access."
They laughed and continued down the road. Race went to say something—more in the vein that Spot would be the one most likely to become an insane serial killer—when he slipped and crashed into Blink. He didn't fall but instead, caught him by the arms and eased him back up.
"Easy," he smiled. "You'll get fucking pulled over."
Race cocked a brow but pulled himself up, noticing goosebumps studding his arms and a chill from the rain he hadn't noticed before. From the rain…right? It had nothing to do with how solid, albeit soaked and pruny, Blink's hands had been when he caught him.
"So anyway," he continued. "I'm betting that Spot's the one who's an insane serial killer."
"No fucking way. He's way too obvious! It's gonna be fucking Jack!"
--
David could tell that Jack hated inviting people over. He hadn't wanted to come over but Jack had said it was because they needed to work on their presentation.
"Your house is a lot like mine," he observed. "Except one story…"
Jack shrugged and gave a sideways glance to the living room. David had been obstinate to go over to Jack's. But, of course, he'd rather go there if he was forced to spend time outside of school from him rather than at his own home.
"So, uh," he paused. "I should warn you about my—"
"Jack, that you?" a voice from the living room called. "Three's Company is starting."
"Yeah, dad," he returned. "But we have to do a project."
"We?"
Jack forced a smile at him. "Wanna meet my dad?"
Jack walked with his shoulders drooped and shuffling his feet as they made his way towards his father.
"Dad, this is David. He lives up the street," he said quickly. "You know his parents."
David saw a man slumped in a recliner in front of TVLand. He actually looked a lot like Jack: they had the same features. Except his father had darker circles around the eyes and stubble. He was clutching a bottle of whiskey and staring at the antics of John Ritter and co. on the television.
"Okay, we're done. David, let's go to my room," Jack was suddenly in a hurry.
They made their way into a room branching off of the living room. Jack's room was…different. There was a chalk drawing of David Bowie on the far wall and posters from movies David had never even heard of. The walls were painted a bright red and the wall above his bed bore an enormous corkboard covered in pictures of him and his friends. David looked at their faces: screaming on roller coasters, jumping around a yard dressed in medieval garb (Spot, for some reason, was wearing a tutu with one of those cone-shaped princess hats and looking petulant), and dressed up as gun-toting cowboys. There were more recent pictures as well. A photobooth picture of them all crammed in there, smiling. Pictures of them at Disneyland and school pictures and just a bunch of those black and white pictures where they all looked strangely attractive (black and white tended to do that to people). There was even a picture of them all with Santa. Jack was giving him bunny ears, Snitch was practically lying across his lap—Snitch was the former tattler, right?—Race and Spot balanced on the arms of the chair. Blink and Mush and Skittery just smiling like they had nothing better to do. David looked at the pictures and couldn't help but think that if Jack had never hit him over the head with a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, he could have been in all of those pictures.
"Done staring?" Jack queried. "Can we get to work? I'm due at my friend's house in about two hours."
Anyone else, using that tone, would've sounded like an ass. From Jack, though, it sounded almost…endearing.
David turned away from the corkboard and forced a smile but inwardly he was reeling. He hated these boys, didn't he? Satan Jack Kelly who could have given him brain damage as a young lad and his psycho friends? Wasn't he supposed to hate them, to avoid them at all costs? And now he was in the house of one of them.
What was wrong with him? Had he gone completely mental?
"So this guy, John Paul Jones," Jack interrupted him. "His crew was entirely these pirate-like guys. That's pretty cool, huh?"
He nodded. "Oh, yeah."