Hey Im Jordan

BHHS: Limitless

_{TIMESTAMP: Around game time. But not at the game.
@LovelyComplex & @Hey Im Jordan
Introducing: Dash Day
FT: The Lyons}

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For a first day of school, Owen thought he did pretty good. He’d made a friend, he’d got invited to a party (he thought?), and Jamie had even told him he had a cute friend to introduce him to. That was why he was in such a good mood while he was painting the interior wall of the gym. He was pleased with the gray his mother had chosen, but a bit annoyed she hadn’t trusted him with the dark orange color she’d painted the ‘accent wall.’ What the fuck is an accent wall? Owen thought to himself as he bobbed his head along to the music that blared into his ears, completely locked in on painting the wall. Painting was therapeutic. He hadn’t believed his mother when she’d said that initially, but now Owen saw the vision.

He was glad there was so much wall to paint; they’d been working on this particular project since Owen had gotten off from school. The implication, at least the way he saw it, was that this was to be his life outside of schoolwork until his father decided otherwise, and Owen was honestly okay with that. Restoring shit was cool, and Owen was watching the gym breathe life back into his father as much as the other way around. If he had to sacrifice his social life for a bit to help his dad out with this, that was perfectly fine with him.

”OWEN!”

Owen turned in confusion as he realized his father had pulled the earcup off of his ear and was yelling to get his attention. He reached up and pulled the headphones down and turned to face his dad, holding a still dripping paint brush as the now distant sounds of the guitar solo to Tornado of Souls emanated from his headphones. “What? I’m painting.” He asked and Troy shook his head as he gestured toward the door.

“Your mom says there’s a homeless kid on my porch.”

Owen stared.

“So get rid of him.”

“What!? Why me?! If there’s a homeless kid on the porch, call the cops! What if he bites me!?” Owen demanded and Troy shrugged his shoulders.

“Can’t help you. Your mom would feel unsafe if I left the building. If he bites you, we have excellent health insurance.”

Owen glared at his father for a few seconds, before shoving the paintbrush into his chest without care for the splatters that landed on both of them. “Fine.” He hissed, and then spun to leave the gym. He threw open the door and glared at the person who awaited him in front of the gym. Owen folded his arms over his chest and squinted down the way at the other boy, “hey, don’t I go to school with you? What the fuck are you doing? My mom is wigging out. I think she thinks you have rabies, dude.”

Unashamed and unafraid, Dash A. Day, with his headphones resting around his neck, had Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen blasting. If his green Beats Pro, that his dad gifted him for Christmas, were on his ears he’d go deaf! That’s how loud his music was. He didn’t care. He’d been waiting across the street from the 365 Combat Club for like… four hours. Maybe. He wasn’t counting. And music helped kill time. Once he saw movement inside and a boy he recognized as the new transfer student, who arrived and entered the building, he skated across the street on his T-Rex board and went to the glass door to peer in. Dash couldn’t believe the gym was opening again. This was a BIG deal. His dad used to go when he was younger and he’d say that his mama would watch him punch bags and people, which got her to swoon. One day he’d be just like his dad and maybe one day, he’d find a girl to swoon over him. A girl like Piper Lyon.

That was beside the point. Dash had two dads. His blood dad and his step dad. He didn’t hate his step dad. Mr. Phoenix suited his mother more than his biological father did -- they both were nerds. He was happy for her because she finally found the person that made her happy. He could never hate Mr. Phoenix. Plus, it gave him a pretty cool sister who was named after a mineral. They had a happy family dynamic; he, his mom, his step dad and his step sister. He loved what they had but that didn’t change how much Dash idolized his father, Damon Day. How badly Dash wished he could be as popular as his father. How much Dash wanted to be seen and recognized by his father, who was cool. So cool. He wanted to be cool too. How bad Dash wanted his father to love him. Damon was a rap god, had charisma for days, and muscles to show how much of an Alpha he was. Damon was the shit. Dash was not. The small brunette teen, with clothes too big for him, and hardly any meat on his bones even though HE DID EAT, knew that but he’d continue to pretend he didn’t. It was better that way.

Over the course of time, Damon fell out of love with his family and in love with himself and his career. Why else do you think Dash’s parents were divorced? His mama was too good, too pure to have broken up with his dad. It was Damon who called the shots and it was Damon who chose to do his own thing, travel and send gifts, and sometimes invite his son over to enjoy the vibes. Damon was better than his family and if he had it his way, he would erase them completely from his history, starting anew with just him, his bitches, and his money. Dash didn’t want to believe that. When the door opened fast, and abruptly, the small boy found himself pushed back and losing stability on his skateboard. Yes, he never got off it.

With no time to react, he found himself falling ass backwards off his board and to the ground, his backside slamming into the asphalt. Momentarily, he scrunched his face, in visible pain, before looking up at the other boy, wide eyed and excited. “You remember me?!” His ribs hurt from the day before but he was too hyped to think of the sting. Dash scrambled quickly onto his feet and kicked his board up. “Me? Rabies? I wouldn’t even know it if I did! Don’t I need to foam from the mouth?” Dash, focus. This was your opportunity to get DEETZ. Rather clumsily, he offered his hand and gave a toothy grin, “The names Dash and we totally do go to school! ... Together! Are you… wait, you said mom? DO YOU OWN THIS PLACE? OH-MY-GOD-THAT’S-SO-COOL. Tell me you own this place. Do you own this place?” Dash’s grip tightened on Owen’s and he began to jump in place, with his board under his arm.

Owen couldn’t help but frown. Owen Lyon didn’t vibe very well with people he considered bouncy, and it only took all of five seconds for him to realize that he was face-to-face with the bounciest person in the Beverly Hills High student body. Owen thought about telling him to fuck off after he was bombarded with… energy, but he was trying to be a better person. “I don’t own this place. My dad does.” He explained, letting the door swing closed behind him as he stood in front of Dash with his arms folded over his chest. Owen wasn’t trying to glare, but he unfortunately had a case of resting bitch face that he’d inherited from his father. Not his mother. Owen’s mother couldn’t do anything other than smile.

“It looked like you ate shit pretty hard, dude. Are you all good? What are you even doing here, dude? How long have you been here?” Owen was asking the questions he figured his dad would have been asking if he were in the same position. Owen wasn’t sure if he was supposed to try and get the kid to leave, or what. For now, there was no harm in simply having a conversation. “You wanna come inside? If you do, they might put you to work. Just sayin’.”

“I can work! That’s fine. I’ve been waiting like forever for this place to re-open. Are you related to the previous owner?” Dash asked, unable to focus on anything but the hype of the gym opening up again. He was used to busting his ass and getting beat up so the fall was nothing and he was glad Owen noticed. That meant he cared. They were off to a wonderful start. Grumpy faces didn’t faze the smaller teen because he was used to Toury being a straight up bitch to most people. Also once you have an in with Malcolm, there is no point in reading into someone’s facial expressions. “So,” Dash started, as he trailed behind the other boy. “I remember passing by this place earlier today and I saw you hanging up a sign. And I was like oh-my-god-no-way. So right after school I decided to skate here, and chill, until I saw an in. This being my in right now.”

The two boys trailed in and mama Lyon glanced over only for her eyes to sparkle in excitement. Owen had a friend. This was already a wonderful start to his transfer. Putting the roller down, she rubbed the paint off her hands on and on overalls before waving at the two boys, “Hellooooo there! Owen, is this a friend of yours? He doesn’t look like a rabid dog, Troy!”

“No rabies here, ma’am! I don’t think!”

Owen looked at his mother and shook his head, “I mean, I saw him at school. But I’ve never heard him talk before now. I told you! I’m keeping my head down! I’m just gonna hang out with Jamie. He seems alright.” He explained to his mother, but he knew the damage was already done; his mother’s mind was made up. Owen was going to hang out with Dash for the early evening, whether he wanted to or not.

“WHAT? I’M PAINTING WITH THE STUPID FUCKIN’ ORANGE. BECAUSE YOU WON’T LET THE KID DO IT!” A voice called back, Troy having just registered that his wife had called for him. But, like an obedient (if gruff) dog, Troy showed up onto the scene seconds later. He looked at Kylie, exasperated, and asked. “What? I had the boy go take care of the kid on the porch.” He turned to look at Owen, almost as if he wanted confirmation that the task had been taken care of… and then his glare landed on Dash.

“You’re the kid who was standing out front of the gym. What are you doing? You work out here?” Troy frowned. The kid looked like he weighed one hundred pounds, soaking wet.

“I could! If you let me! My dad used to. He would talk about this place a lot and then it closed and I was like awwww man, just when I got old enough to join. But now it’s open again!” Dash speedily explained, only to turn his attention to the redhead woman who gestured for him to grab a brush.

“Multitasking, boys! These walls aren’t going to paint themselves. Talk and roll. Talk and roll,” Kylie instructed, clapping her hands to emphasize her gentle commands. “If we can finish this room, maybe we can treat ourselves to pizza later! And by that, I mean, baby, I already ordered pizza with your card. It’ll be here in forty.”

Dash found a home for his board and then sped walked to the woman’s side, not wanting to disobey the maternal figure. “Pizza sounds great, Mrs…”

Kylie immediately answered,“You can call me Mama Kylie.”

“Mama Kylie!”

Troy watched the situation unfold before him, and ultimately shrugged. Even if Owen didn’t know this kid before right now, free labor was free labor. Even if the free labor wasn’t exactly free - his fucking wife had already bought the pizza… and Troy didn’t even really like pizza. He folded his arms over his chest and looked between the two teenagers before him.

“Fine. You work out here now. Paint.” Troy said, and shoved out the paintbrush he was holding into Dash’s hands. He saw nothing else worth saying, and turned around from the group to head back into his domain. At least, it was his domain until Kylie pushed her way in and decided what colors were on the wall. Picking his battles was the most important lesson Troy ever learned.

Owen looked down at Dash and held out his hand to shake after Troy had made his decision. “I’m Owen. Owen Lyon. My dad says we’re best friends now. Let’s go paint the walls before he starts bitching.”

With a paintbrush in one hand, Dash gave a childish and genuine grin, grabbing ahold of Owen’s firm grip with his free hand, which was smaller by a lot. He was happy that he now had a best friend, even if they just met. He noticed the pure power in Owen’s hold and found himself even more impressed. As he shaked, he gritted his teeth, wincing a little from his own movements, before complimenting, “You’re hella’ strong, brother. Are you going to teach me how to backhand strike, double fist punch, tiger claw, leglock, powerbomb, sleeper hold, and SUPLEX?!” To have a strong best friend meant Dash was one step closer to being a muscle man, taking down all the baddies and being a superhero that saves the day. Looking up at Owen, he could totally see that this boy was superhero material. Kicking bad guys to the curb wasn’t the job he wanted but the job destined for him and Dash wanted to make sure he was there for the ride. Every hero needs a sidekick, after all, and he was perfect for the job. Owen & Dash like… Batman & Robin! Captain America & Bucky! Iron Man & War Machine! The Punisher & Microchip! The possibilities were endless and he was stoked that he found his duo.

Owen gave Dash a side glance. What did this kid think this was? Some kind of movie, like they were going to get into hijinks and wacky adventures? Like they’d get drafted into some kind of underground fighting ring and Owen would have to fight his way to the top to survive? He shook his head as he led the smaller boy inside the gym, and toward the half painted wall they’d be finishing up together. “Sure dude, I’ll teach you everything. Just call me Jedi Master Owen Wan Kenobi.” Owen looked down and grinned. “Yeah, man. You seem new, so you’ll be in the beginner’s class. That is with me. I’ll teach you the first rule now: We don’t want any trouble. Seriously, my dad’ll beat our asses if we’re swinging hands outside of the gym.” Owen explained, before he took the paintbrush and lifted it up, pressing it against the wall in a part that hadn’t yet been covered.

“We have to do another coat, and then we can have ice cream. My mom got this sea salt ice cream ice cream. It’s pretty good!”

Dash was excited but he shouldn’t get too excited or he’d forget to give his mother a status update. He had another hour or so before he needed to text her that he was okay. He had time. “We don’t want any trouble,” the shorter boy repeated, mimicking Owen’s paint strokes beside him but going much, much slower to avoid any sudden movements. His sides were still sore from his training session. He did like Owen’s motto though. It was good! Dash wasn’t one to look for trouble but somehow trouble always found him. He didn’t know why. Something about him was just a magnet for bad luck. Owen was right, though. If he could actively avoid trouble, he would.

From one topic to the next, Dash’s ADHD brain got the best of him (the only reason he could focus on this task was because he had a body double in Owen), he began rambling, leaving little room for silence, “So I see you’re cool with Jamie, that means soon enough you’ll get to meet Trixie. Wherever he is, she usually is with him. They’re kind of this feracious bestie duo that is really good at finding out things about people. They run the newspaper club! But I think they have a bigger fanbase on their podcast, Salt & Truth, you should give it a listen sometime.” Dash nodded to himself, bringing the roller up and down, up and down, up and down. He unfortunately couldn’t reach the top part so he crouched, regardless of the pain, and began to get the lower half of the wall. If he focused on the job at hand, the bruise practically didn’t exist. “You’d think those two are dating since they’re practically inseparable but Jamie has this on again, off again relationship with AJ, he’s a gearhead, and Trixie… iunno. She used to date this jock, his name is Theo, but that ended abruptly before sophomore year. Since then, it’s hard to tell what’s been going on in her love life. She keeps all that private. Some people think she has a side piece from another school but I think she just hasn’t found someone good enough for her. It’s wild how invested people get in other’s lives at this school. I’m only telling you because you should know! Since you said you’re not looking for trouble.” He looked up at the other boy and explained, “If you’re not looking for trouble… those two might bring in the trouble, by accident! They’re just part of the populars, the peps that care too much. It comes with the territory. The higher you are in the social ladder, the more trouble you get.”

“This school sounds like shit.” Owen said in observation as he and Dash worked on painting the wall. He didn’t sound upset about it, it was almost as casual an observation as an observation like that could be. Two things were obvious about BHHS that Owen could not deny. Firstly, everyone in the school seemed to be a drama king or queen. Secondly, everyone seemed to be up in everybody’s business. Owen looked down at Dash and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t even know what a gearhead is.” He said at the end of Dash’s ramblings. It was valuable information, Owen supposed, but he would have figured it out eventually. “I appreciate the lore dump, but it’ll be fine. If trouble finds me, I’ll figure it out.” Owen shrugged and went back to focusing on the painting.

“Besides, Trixie might like me. I’m pretty cool.” Owen was careful not to speak too highly of himself. He knew he had a short temper, and that before long it was likely to bite him in the ass. It was important to keep himself under control, and that meant focusing on what mattered: watching the paint dry. “Trouble’s not gonna find me, cuz I live here. In my sanctuary. My domain.” Owen explained his scheme to stay inside the gym until long after high school like it was the smartest plan anyone had ever come up with. “I’ll go to the school, and then I’ll come back here. I got everything I need here. See? Don’t want any trouble.”

“Too bad you’re a fuckin’ trouble magnet.”

“Shut UP, Dad!”

“This kid’s small. If he’s gonna get involved with Owen ‘Can’t Go Two Weeks Without Getting in a Fight’ Lyon, he should know ahead of time. And I hear you talkin’ too. Don’t bring no fuckin’ women here.”

“Owen can bring in any woman he wants!” Mama Kylie interjected, coming out of her husband’s office to give her son’s new friend Mountain Dew (assuming that was what the twink preferred). “We have healthier options, like water, but you look like you love the Dew. You know it took my husband years to get me on a healthy diet. Did you know I used to be a gamer girl?”

Graciously and excitedly, Dash grabbed the soda can and shook his head, “No, Mama Kylie, I did not know you gamed. We just met! But that’s really cool. I overheard in the halls that Michael O’Connor is bad at Fortnite.”

“O’Connor,” Kylie smiled to herself, knowing the surname well from her own time at BHHS. From one distraction to the next, she went back to the main topic at hand, “Troy, my baby is going to LIVE. We aren’t going to police him too much. If he finds a girl…” The maternal figure turned from her man to her son with a giddy grin on, “She is welcomed here. Mama is law.”

Troy frowned as he looked between his wife and the two boys, “fine. But we’re NOT ‘reconnecting’ with people we went to school with, Kylie. I don’t care how badly you want to or how many spawn of our classmates walk through that door. I hated high school.” With that, Troy turned and walked off toward the office. There was no denying it, he was clearly dejected and pouting.

“Thanks, mom. I really am staying here tonight. I figure I can work on shit late into the night so we can start really plucking away at dad’s list. Is that cool? He’ll stay with me.” He pointed at Dash.

“Of course that’s cool! Less work for me tomorrow and also,” Kylie took out her phone and waved it to all three of the boys in the room, “I might’ve already reconnected with one person. Did you know there’s a big party tomorrow?! You both must go! The Greens are so over the top, I’m sure it’ll be the party of the century. Right, Troy?” Mischievous and impish, Kylie put her husband on the spot and if he didn’t answer her the way she wanted him to, she’d tell the two boys embarrassing stories of him from highschool. This is what Kylie did. She was a petty girl. Troy knew her well.

“I guess I could ask my sister for a ride or maybe one of my friends is going and I can carpool with them. Oh snap! I need to call my mommy and tell her where I’m at. I totally forgot,” Dash gasped, putting the roller down in its tray before standing up, grimacing as he did so trying to hide the mild flinch. He walked to his own corner to make a call.

Tilting her head, she asked, “Owen, you know that kid has an injury right?” Not only did Kylie notice Dash avoiding running, but even as she watched him put the roller down, he saw him purse his lips and slow down.

“He fell, dude. He ain’t hurt that bad, but I’ll keep it in mind. DASH! You’re good right?!”

“How can I NOT be good?! I got a new best friend!” Dash roared, knowing this news would make his mom so happy. Dash never had a best friend! Friends sure but never a BEST friend.

“Okay, well you two don’t get into too much trouble,” Kylie worriedly pouted, still concerned but deciding it was best to bury it until she had more information. She trusted her son. He was a protector, just like his father.

“Don’t you worry, Mama Kylie, we’re not looking for trouble,” Dash nodded to himself as he focused on the task at hand. Painting. “No ma’am, no ma’am. No trouble at all.”

BHHS: Limitless

_{@smarty0114 & @Hey Im Jordan
TIMESTAMP: Directly after this
Location: Driving Away From AJ’s
Featuring: Katie Callaghan & Scott Lyon}

“You can’t say things like that to my friend.

I know he hurt your brother, and I know that hurts you, but you have to realize that AJ is hurting too. And no offense to you, Jamie, or your righteous fury, but AJ is the most vulnerable person we know. The guy is banging lines in the bathroom at school, for fuck’s sake!” Scott’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, and he did his best to keep his vision trained forward. He didn’t want to see the look in Katie’s eye, because he knew well enough it would be one that did not bring him joy. Scott was not often the ‘aggressor’ in what few arguments they had, and this was turning out to be harder for him than he’d expected. “I don’t want you to say something mean to him, something we know you’ll regret and have that be a reason…” Scott trailed off, unsure how best to address or handle the explosive, volatile state that AJ was in. Scott had a feeling that on some level, Katie blamed herself for the mess. She’d introduced them after all, but it wasn’t her fault neither AJ nor Jamie were ready for anything serious.

“I love you. I love you more than anything in the world, and you know that. My life has only gotten better since I won you over. You’re my person, seriously, and I’m lucky to have found you this early. That means you’re my priority… But, you can’t abuse that privilege; you had to know it wasn’t going to feel good for me to watch the two of you fight like that, right?” Scott finally turned to look at Katie, with ever so slightly watery eyes — he was doing his best, but this wasn’t an easy conversation to have. “I’m sorry I raised my voice, but I’m really worried that my friend isn’t okay, like really isn’t okay… and it feels really terrible to have my girlfriend make him hurt worse.

And I know you’re just defending your brother, but you’re my girlfriend. Sometimes that means at least protecting my brother from your feelings sometimes.” He let out a long sigh and used his palm to dry his eyes. He’d managed to keep himself from crying, something he had only done once before in front of Katie and spoke in a stable, if a bit tired, voice. “Okay. I’m done, your turn now.”

Katie had desperately wanted to interrupt him, and show him how wrong he was. It reminded her of the old days, when their screaming matches used to derail Chess Club weekly. She refrained. Theirs was a relationship built on a particular kind of passion, and that meant they’d had to establish rules, early on, to keep themselves from devolving into some warped, angry version of themselves. Rule Number One: No matter how mad you were, no matter how right you were, you didn’t interrupt in the middle of a fight.

Instead, she stared at him from the passenger seat, eyes narrowed, arms crossed. The corners of her mouth turned down, ever so slightly, a whisper of a frown. She looked like she was plotting a murder-suicide. She was mad at AJ for what he’d done to Jamie, and she was mad at Scott for what he’d said to her, and for testing her resolve with his teary eyes. Most of all, she was mad at herself. “You understand that comparing yourself and AJ to me and Jamie, is ridiculous, right?” It probably would’ve been better if she’d started yelling. Instead, she spoke calmly, a fire so hot it had begun to feel cold. “Jamie is my actual brother. He was, quite literally, the first person I ever met. Before my mom and dad, before Kim and Niles, before you, and way before AJ, it was me, and him. I am always gonna choose him. And if AJ is going to let his fucking vulnerabilities hurt Jamie, then that means I’m not neutral. I can’t be.” She paused, debating her next words. Despite appearances, she truly wasn’t trying to be cruel. She just wanted him to see it from her point of view. “If AJ had pulled the same bullshit he pulled with Jamie, with Piper instead, would you feel so protective over him? Cause I don’t think you would. That’s the difference between a sibling and a best friend, Scott.” Again, she wasn’t trying to be cruel. Sometimes, especially with the Callaghans, it just happened.

”You’re right, he isn’t okay right now, and the last thing he needs is somebody treating him like he’s a kid. Quite frankly, I hope I did leave an impact. He should remember me yelling next time he tries to get handsy with somebody else’s brother.” Katie took a breath, an attempt to quell the flame in her belly. “Okay, your turn.”

As Katie spoke, Scott’s thumb started to tap on the steering wheel of the vehicle. At first, its pace was rapid and intentionally loud. He was doing the same thing she had been doing earlier: trying not to interrupt her. But, as Katie spoke, the pace of Scott’s tapping slowed. It was a show of how strong their relationship was that both of them were able to maintain such a steady tone when arguing like this; just a few years ago something this loud might have ended up escalating into something being thrown, but now they were patient. Calm. Controlled. As Katie spoke, Scott could feel his ire dissipate; even when he was upset with her, Katie’s voice and presence comforted him and helped him relax.

She had a point. It wasn’t like Scott didn’t know that, and of course he knew that AJ had done the wrong thing with how he’d handled Jamie. Pulling the Piper card was low, but Scott didn’t really blame her. He hadn’t thought about it that way, and framed through that lens, he almost understood her reaction. Did it hurt that she’d always pick Jamie first? Yes, absolutely. But on some level Scott understood. He didn’t have the same level of connection to his half-sister that Katie had to her twin brother, but Scott got the message.

The tapping of his finger stopped as she said it was his turn, “It’s fine. You were upset, I was upset. But I don’t want to be in a position where I can be caught in your crossfire with AJ again. Can we do that?”

Katie blinked, and tilted her head. She’d been expecting more of a fight, was almost hungry for one, and now her old friend, guilt, was creeping back in to say ‘hello’. Retribution for her vengeance. Her brows unfurrowed, and her eyes softened. Staying mad at Scott Lyon was a difficult task, and it had been for some time now. “Fine.” She looked around for a moment, awkwardly searching for a way to say ‘I’m sorry.’ “I will admit…that was shitty of me. I shouldn’t have dragged you into it. I’m not saying AJ’s off my shitlist, but,” Katie sighed, “I will try to keep you out of it.” Another pause. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The important part was out of the way, and Scott couldn’t help but feel relieved as Katie promised to keep him out of it. She hadn’t said she was sorry directly, but Scott knew Katie well enough to know her intentions. That was good enough. His hand slid behind the wheel and he grabbed the key, turning it and firing the car up before he relaxed back into the chair, “who knew our hardest battles would be AJ and Jamie’s?” He couldn’t help but take the shot, there was something… unique about how these days most of his relationship problems with Katie stemmed from someone else’s relationship.

“Are we still going to Kimmy’s? Either that or my place. Your call.” As he shifted the car into gear, Scott found himself silently hoping the saga of AJ and Jamie was over for the foreseeable future. If they could just graduate first, then he and Katie would be far enough away from any drama that it at least wouldn’t impact their relationship. “Wanna get Chick-Fil-A on the way?” Scott found that emotional spats made him hungry for frozen lemonade.

She smiled softly. All around her, life was shrouded in a mire of uncertainty, and yet, here was Scott, consistent and constant and cool. He was both anodyne and agitant, a reminder of how much she had, and how much she had to lose. Try as she might, she could not escape that dichotomy, because she loved Scott Lyon, but she also knew that, no matter what they believed, people leave. They always had, and they always would. It was just a matter of time. “Chick-Fil-A and then Kim’s. I can’t flake again, I’m already like, the worst friend ever.”

Scott was glad to see that things had shaken out smoothly enough that he didn’t think he was going to be sleeping alone. Arguments with Katie used to be an explosive affair that always seemed like their relationship was about to fall apart, but now they were able to have spats that were reminiscent of debate team brawls. It was almost professional, and from the outside looking in it maybe gave off ‘transactional’ vibes, but Scott was happy with their relationship, and so was Katie. He rested a hand on his passenger princess’s thigh as they drove away, “I don’t even want you to flake. I want you to bring her chicken nuggies and be the world’s greatest best friend.” He grinned and squeezed her thigh, teasing a bit as they headed toward the nearest Chick-Fil-A.

Video Games: The General Discussion & Community Thread Number Two

<Snipped quote by Hey Im Jordan>

I was thinking of trying xdefiant but the abilities turn me off from playing from it. Well, that and the fact I have to go install another launcher just to play the game.

@Kuro

the abilities might not be as impactful as you think and i would encourage you to try it anyway

that being said the launcher is a good reason

BHHS: Limitless

_{TIMESTAMP: Throughout the day... just read.}

_{@Hey Im Jordan@Melissa@LovelyComplex@smarty0114@Aces Away@Festive}

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Some people used their time in homeroom to catch up on homework. Other’s, like Jamie and Decky, used it to catch up on old grudges. Before, Benji would’ve been one of the boys asking Ms. Belmonte about her plans for the weekend, in the vain hope that she might realize her life and career weren’t worth missing out on the charms of a seventeen year old. Now, he used it to listen to music, and text Athena Helmsley. Somehow, that felt like an even less realistic use of his time.

He’d known of Athena for years now, it was difficult not to. For the majority of their relationship however, their text thread had mostly consisted of Benji asking if she knew where Calli was. The switch happened in the early weeks of summer, while he wallowed in a miasma of self-pity, anger, and embarrassment. He was mad at his father for ruining his life. He was mad at his mother for retreating into herself, and he was mad at Aunt Gina for seeming completely unaffected by the whole thing. His phone was full of ignored texts from the Elite groupchat (affectionately named The Bois) and individual messages from Ethan and Mikey and Jack and everyone else in the world who wanted to make sure he hadn’t driven his car into the Pacific Ocean.

He still wasn’t sure why he’d responded to her more than her sister or any of his other friends. Maybe it was adolescent hormones or maybe it was just easier to talk to somebody who hadn’t really known him. Strangers were a lot harder to disappoint.

Whatever his reasons, he and the heiress had gotten close. Despite what people might’ve thought, they definitely weren’t sleeping together. He had assured Calli as much after he received an icy text, shortly before the school year started.“Scout’s honor, I will not bone your sister,” was the exact phrasing. He’d made a promise, and he was trying to keep those. They were friends, which is why he had edited the text he was drafting harder than Trixie peer reviewed English papers.

Finally, after an embarrassing amount of time spent staring at his phone, he pressed send.

To:Athena 👑
you coming to the game?

Benji tapped his fingers against his desk, staring down at the blue bubble on his screen. Was that stupid? Of course she was coming to the game. He should’ve just said he’d see her there. Opted for confidence. Or he could’ve said nothing, like someone who had promised not to fuck his friends sister might do.

“Big weekend ahead, Benj. You ready?”

Jack’s voice cut through his music, startling him. He turned his phone over, hiding the screen, and looked over at Jack, his free hand coming up for the customary Elite handshake. “As I’ll ever be,” he said, dry and tired.“You know Ethan’s parents are gonna murder him if we fuck that place up tomorrow? They like, love that vineyard dude.”

Jack dapped up his bro before resting his feet on the back of the chair in front of him, receiving a dirty look from the person sitting there. “Pshh it’ll be fine. They know how high schoolers rage,” He interlocked his fingers and rested them on the back of his neck, leaning into his seat casually. “They’re practically inviting chaos by letting us use it. Besides, I haven’t seen Ethan ever get anything more than a slap on the wrist, he’ll be fiiiine.” The blonde reassured his friend. He was about to say something else, but the sound of Benji’s phone buzzing became audible. Jack raised a brow, “Oh, so your phone does work.” He sarcastically commented, still giving Benji a hard time from when he went AWOL this summer.

“Shut up,” Benji said, struggling to suppress a grin conjured up by the phone’s vibration. He flipped the phone back over and scanned the new message.

From:Athena 👑
yesss I’ll be there !!
a little birdy told me you were in the starting line up! you’ll be great :)
and it definitely wasn’t george michael, just so we’re clear lol

To: Athena 👑
I hope not
If the birds start talking too, i might have to call it quits

Benji looked back up, mind clearly down the hall. “Sorry what?” He blinked. “Oh, yeah. Party.” He shrugged, as though whatever consequences the party might bring were beyond his purview. After months of Aunt Gina’s birds, honestly, it felt like they would be. “I mean, I’ll take free booze. I just want my concerns noted, y’know, for the record.”

The blonde gave his friend a knowing look, “A bit distracted there, Benj?” He probed, hoping to get something out of him, anything really. Benji had been, well, different since everything had gone down with his family. Jack wanted his buddy back, the guy who was always up for anything, his partner-in-crime who would always be willing to make crazy mistakes with him. Maybe this weekend would be the return of some normalcy. “Consider them registered. But I’m telling you man, it’ll be smooth sailing.”

It most certainly would not be, but neither of them had any way of knowing that.

---

They got through homeroom thanks to discussions of hockey plays, and a lively debate about whether one great white could win against a troop of fifty bears. Benji argued for the shark. “Bro, the shark would never even come onto the bears’ turf, I don’t care how many of them there are–YO MIKEY!” Their conversation had pulled Benji from his shell, so much so that he didn’t even think twice about projecting his voice down the hall as Michael O’Connor turned a corner.

Mikey was in the zone. In his opinion, he had made what was essentially the deal of the century. And part of it was already done! Mikey even reckoned finding Nicky a date was going to be the hard part of the whole deal, so he was really chilling with that out of the way. Sara was perfect, they were going to be the cutest couple ever and MIkey was going to be sure they had a most excellent time at the party. Probably. He wasn’t like, one hundred percent positive they could hang with him and the lads, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

Benji yelling quickly snapped him out of the zone. There was confusion on his face; he hadn’t spent time with Benji in a while, since Benji had opted to go the way of Bruce Wayne in The Dark Knight Rises and disappear into the sunset. “Dude, Benny what’s up! Man, I would have thought you were dead if it weren’t for you leaving me on read.” He quickly closed the gap between himself and his two friends, and couldn’t help himself. Once he was close enough, he wrapped Benji up in a tight bear hug. “I knew you’d come if I lit the beacon!” He beamed widely as he broke away from the embrace and looked over at Jack.

“There’s not a single other motherfucker in the whole student body who I could see being the distraction other than Benji here. We are locked the fuck in.” This was like the Beatles getting back together, or when Iron Man decided he would break the law of time. Michael, of course, was just assuming that Benji had read the text message he’d sent The Bois earlier, detailing his ‘plan.’ The plan basically consisted of Benji distracting the administration while Mikey, Jack, and Ethan broke into the principal’s office and acquired a long-since confiscated megaphone. Easy money.

Jack extended his arm, fist bumping his buddy, “Let’s fucking gooo,” He responded excitedly, looking from Mikey to Benji with a mischievous grin. When Mikey had texted the group his idea, Jack was immediately invested, ready to bend the rules to get shit done for his friend. Although the boy had been reminded excessively by his coaches to stay out of trouble for the next few months, this was harmless fun. Plus, with such an elaborate scheme, there was no way they’d get caught! “This is gonna be great, Benj you’ve got this bro.”

The football player screwed up his face, confused. He’d just been trying to say hi. “Bro what the fu–” his voice trailed off as he read the text from Mikey, requesting their help. Damn, he really needed to pay better attention to messages not from Athena. “Why the hell do we need to steal a megaphone anyways?” Benji asked, suddenly skeptical. “And why do I have to be the distraction?”

“Well, the thing is… I told this kid if he got me a win in Fortnite, I’d get him a date and let him and the date chill with us at the party. I did that already, but I also told him we’d steal his buddy’s megaphone back. Apparently, it’s a pretty big deal that they don’t have it. It’s important, dude.” Michael shrugged, not thinking he needed to explain his reasoning much further than that. He needed the megaphone, and his best bros were honor bound to help him get it. The distraction part? Oh, that was easy. He beamed a wide toothy grin as he boasted his explanation, “Dude you may have been a lil quiet lately, but that doesn’t change nothing. Nobody is more distracting than Big fuckin’ Ben! We just need you to be like, Benji our loudest friend again and not Benjamin the guy who mopes in the fuckin’ corner. Think you can handle that, for like 20 minutes?”

Benji sighed, but the smile creeping up his face betrayed some genuine amusement. It was surprisingly easy to fall back into the Benji of yesteryear when he was surrounded by his friends. Perhaps that’s why he’d avoided them for so long. “Okay, fine, but we’re gonna need some walkie talkies. They set the tone.” He furrowed his brow as he began churning through possible ways to divert attention from the principal’s office, and her assortment of confiscated materials. “How big of a distraction are we talking here? Great Food Fight of 2021? Also, where are you gonna get a key?”

“Oh, he’s back alright. This is going to be epic.”

---

Kisho worked his jaw repeatedly on the near silent walk from math class to the baseball shed, teeth grinding harshly as he drowned anything other than Álvaro’s presence out with the music blasting from his headphones. His fellow soccer player was not one of his favorite people, and while that was normally fine outside of the soccer field, they didn’t often have to be completely alone together. Yet, here the two were, making their way from class to rendezvous point with the rest of the Elite, and it’s taking everything in him not to race ahead in the small hope that he and the other accented Elite weren’t the first to make it. Unfortunately for the slighter boy, he could see the shed in the distance and there was no one there waving enthusiastically towards them, no other friends in their group as punctual as the oil and royal heirs. Kisho’s already short patience wavered at the empty sight, and his blank face finally fell into a frown as his disappointment showed.

“Damn it all,” He grumbled, not as quiet as he believed it to be because of how loud his music was in his ears. He checked his phone impatiently as they pulled up to the shed and sighed at the lack of activity in the groupchat. It must mean everyone’s on their way, at least. I’m not alone with Theo, at least, he thought in a vain attempt to boost his spirits. Small mercies, lesser evils.

“Ay Dios mío _{(Oh my God)}, quit it with the teeth grinding.” Hate. There were no bounds to the level of hate Álvaro held within his morsel of a heart. Across the three languages he spoke, none of the words could quite describe the hate he felt towards Kisho. Around the group, he could keep it contained, like a shaken soda bottle, sealed but ready to blow. But now, alone? He didn’t need to pull his punches.

It was as if the little common boy knew exactly how to make him tick; there was yet another offensive to Álvaro, he couldn’t respect the tranquility of silence. Álvaro leaned his back against the shed, softly tapping his boots onto the dirt below. Álvaro wasn’t one unfamiliar with patience, although he held none for the black hair prole that lay before him. He must have been too caught up in whatever abomination of sounds Álvaro could hear spilling out from the oddly constructed headphones he wore, the only thing that could explain such a blatant display of disrespect to some as regal as himself. As Álvaro approached the boy from the side the size difference between the two became apparent. Álvaro stood about a foot taller than the boy built with a more stocky frame, while on the soccer field, they serve as two sides of the same coin, but off they couldn’t be more different. He gripped the band of Kisho’s headphones and pulled them from his ears, “You aren’t the only one here, cabrón. Quit grinding your teeth, and turn down the fuckin’ noise.”

“Do not touch my shit,” Kisho snapped before he even registered what Álvaro had said to him, unwilling to snatch the item back lest the taller boy hold them too tightly and they break. He couldn’t handle that and being stuck with the prince of pissing him off. Álvaro thought so highly of his standing, but Kisho just saw someone who couldn’t handle being second place in anything. Someone who didn’t know the meaning of being a step below anyone and thus couldn’t put themself in someone else’s shoes. The type of person that would do anything he could to stay on top. A liar, and a bully. Kisho hated bullies. Fists clenched at his sides, he glared at the taller boy, Álvaro’s words finally filtering past the irritation clouding his mind. “You ask too much, ass, I will stop grinding my teeth when I am no longer stuck with you. I will turn my volume down when I no longer have to hear you breathing near me.”

“And I’ll stop ‘touching your shit’ when I no longer have to deal with un desperdicio de espacio _{(a waste of space)} such as yourself.” Álvaro tightened his grip around the band of Kisho’s dear old headphones, almost amused at his riled-up frustration; the best way to get to someone is through something they hold dear. “I ask of you one simple thing even a child can comply with and you are over here throwing a hissy fit like a little ass girl, you really must not want your headphones back.” It was a stand-off between a chihuahua and a pitbull, both unrelenting in their resolve. Álvaro would never back down from a fight, especially one he’s been resisting since the start of the soccer season.

Kisho recoiled immediately at Álvaro’s words, the offhand comment hitting him like a slap to the face. He made an aborted motion to cross his arms over his bound chest before thinking better of the tell. Because Álvaro may be a part of the Elite now, he may have infiltrated Kisho’s friends, but, He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know. Calm down, deep breaths. Don’t back down. Kisho’s mantra ran over and over in his head as he squared his shoulders and looked up, and up and up, to where Álvaro held his headphones well out of his grasp. He could hear the expensive material creaking under the boy’s vindictive grip, over the beats still pouring from the speakers, and his heart leapt into his throat. If he came home with broken headphones, his family would know something was going on more than Samyan’s knowledge on the matter. If these headphones broke, in particular the outer casing of them that’s really the only remaining original part of the device, then he’d lose the last thing his mother ever gave him before she died. He’s had everything inside the casing updated over the years for the best sound quality and noise canceling that money could buy, but he refused to change the outside at all, the parts that she had held as she handed them over to him from her hospital bed.

“Relax your grip,” Kisho demanded, voice low to avoid any tremor that was threatening to surface. His nails were close to cutting into his palms with how tightly his fists were held at his sides. He stepped up to Álvaro and stared directly into his eyes from his spot so far beneath him, letting the boy know he was serious. “And hand me my headphones, or I will kick you in the balls so hard that there will be no chance for you to create someone worse than yourself.”

“Aww, that one really got you riled up huh? I’m sure you can replace this cheap discount tech section dollar store pair of headphones in no time.” Álvaro stifled his laughter, God, there were few things that brought him more joy than this. “You are going to have to get more creative with your threats, pendejo. I’ve heard the same thing from men way bigger than yourself, women too.” Álvaro eyes glared into Kisho’s, a grin spreading across his face. “I’ll give you one last chance to just turn down the music, or who knows maybe I’ll have to mess around with whatever buttons are on the side, and I don’t think you would like that alternative.” Álvaro squeezed his hand applying pressure to the plastic shell of the headphones. Creaks from the hard plastic begging to be released could be heard from within his hand, anyone could tell that it was on the verge of cracking if not already there. He wasn’t going to surrender to a no-good tryhard whom he held less respect for than a rabies-infected street mongrel. Álvaro lamented the fact that their practice was canceled today because of the game as he wanted more time to mess with the black-haired boy.

“Stop!!” Kisho panicked, voice coming out in an uncharacteristically high shriek as he heard the telltale signs of hard plastic giving way. His eyes were desperately latched onto his precious headphones and his heart was in his throat, cutting off all surface thoughts of propriety and appearance. He could yell and complain as much as he wanted, act like a child in a way unbecoming of him, but he couldn’t do much more. Where the Fujimori name is synonymous with Oil, as is the Borbón name with Coal, and those were two businesses too close together not to breed a deal between the two patriarchs. Anything that happens between the heirs of the two companies could become front page news, and even if their parents covered it up, it would affect inter-business relations. It was just another reason that Kisho had to put up with the royal remnants bullshit and entitlement most times, because the boy was a vindictive fuck and would do anything to mess with Kisho’s life, just typically more behind the scenes than the blatant goading and tormenting he’s doing now.

He also couldn’t jump for it, for completely unrelated reasons. First of all, it was completely undignified and would only make the taller boy laugh and sneer at him more, but that was also not the reason. The real reason was that he was not wearing his sports binder or compressive bra, it wasn’t even a racerback for better movement, just a basic, everyday type. And because of the hot day, it was one of his half tanks instead of the full ones with fabric all the way down his torso. If he were to go jumping and flailing for his headphones, it would only serve to entertain the sneering boy even more, and risk exposing Kisho’s one big secret to the second to last person he ever wanted to know. Unfortunately, the last person he wanted to know already did, and that was a major part of his problem and his distrust and hate.

It was different on the field, especially during practice when they were actually playing against each other. They rammed into each other, tumbled to grass in a flail of limbs and harsh words- both English and their native tongues- before they got back up and went at it again, desperately hoping the other would break a limb or make a mistake they could take advantage of. Álvaro has hit or grazed his chest plenty of times during these spats, but in the heat of the moment on the field with a pissed off rival, no one is thinking about a little extra cushion when they fall on top of you after you sweep their leg trying to get the ball. Whether either of them wanted to admit it or not, the two of them were fairly equal on the field, and given the other boy’s royal superiority complex and need to call Kisho as many degrading terms as he can when they were forced to interact, he was sure that Álvaro would not take the news of Kisho not even being born as male lightly. He could already hear the disparaging ‘like a girl’ comments taking on a whole new meaning if he found out, and it made him sick.

“Kutabare_{(Fuck you)}!” The smaller boy cursed harshly at the taller when another creaking from his headphone broke his restraint, rearing his foot back with every intention of delivering his striker’s kick to his fellow striker’s groin. He hadn’t even had a chance to put any forward swing on his leg when he heard the telltale raucous noise of an Elite conversation. He froze in his position for a moment as he calculated the amount of time they had before the boys rounded the corner of the shed and he and Álvaro glared at each other in contempt when they both came to the same conclusion.

Not enough time.

Kisho lowered his foot back to the ground and calmly fixed his oversized black and red tshirt like he hadn’t been reared back to assault the boy in front of him. Emotionless resting face now back in place with the assurance that his boys would be there in moments, the now recollected Kisho held an expectant hand out to Álvaro, well aware that the manipulative bastard had far more appearance to maintain with the people rounding the corner than he himself did.

“Headphones.” It was a monotone prompt, one the bully likely didn’t even need. Álvaro had no time to break them and make it look like an accident, so both boys knew that it was time to bury the hostility and make face for the friend group.

“Here comes your fucking cavalry brigade.” Álvaro reluctantly dropped the pair of shabby-looking headphones back into the hands of the disparaging sight of the boy before him, sighing at the lack of damage that adorned the glossy surface. “Count your blessings, boy. Lord knows the rest won’t be around to save you next time.” Their eyes held in a standstill, Álvaro could read the boy like a picture book. His shrill outcries of terror and his almost impulsive mistake gave away all he needed to know; the boy was scared. Over a pair of poverty headphones? No, there was more to it. And to Álvaro? He basking in the thrill of making this boy tick more than he usually would be able to. He just needed to know why, and for that he knew the exact person to ask.

As the volume of the typical Elite frivolity increased, Álvaro broke the silence one more time before the group fully arrived, “Oh yeah, one last thing.” Álvaro placed his hand on Kisho’s shoulder and leaned into his ear so that only he would hear. “I promise you, if you ever raise that weak little shooting leg at me again I will make sure that the only thing both legs will be useful for is sitting in a wheelchair.” His tone was harsh, and his grip was harsher. If you knew Álvaro, you knew that he kept his fucking promises. And he wasn’t one usually to get his own hands dirty, there were lesser, more expendable types to handle such activities, although at a worse quality than if he would simply undertake it himself. Álvaro only ever fought to prove a point, and goddamn did he believe Kisho need to learn a few despite his father’s direct orders to spare the boy. It was one of the few things that kept Álvaro limited in his actions toward the boy, his aggressive playing style wasn’t the only reason he held the unofficial record for red cards in the school’s history. On the field Álvaro was unstoppable, and he would be damned to let Kisho stand in the way of his god-given glory, I mean the man was baptized by the pope himself. The tension between the two often has the rest of their teammates ready to jump in at a moment’s notice, but Álvaro restrains himself as a good son must.

Álvaro released the black haired boy from his grasp, taking a step to expand the distance between them. He took a breath, plastering the same fake smile he wore undetected (for the most part) for these four he’s run with the Elite; if this school was a movie, he would win the Academy Award for best actor.

He shot a quick wave over to the rest of the boys as they rounded closer, “It took you all long enough!”

“Sorry for the delay, Your Highness,” Benji called back, oblivious to whatever tension remained in the air. He waved his newly acquired set of walkie talkies (courtesy of Dash Day, thank God for kids with ADHD) over his head like some sort of trophy, before explaining, “We had to stock up.” While he had spent the morning securing communications, Mikey and Jack had secured their entry: the master key. “I just hope everyone knows that if they get detention today, it’s because Mikey sucks at Fortnite.”

“Dude, I’m not even that bad! It’s hard! I can’t crank 90s like those goddamn Fortnite zoomers.” As the saying went, Benji spoke of the devil and Michael appeared on the scene, shaking his head. He wasn’t even present and he was getting dunked on by his friends over the video games! Mikey chose to believe it was becuase there was simply nothing else to make fun of him for. And besides, Mikey had to let Benji get his licks in. The dude went ghost for like an entire summer, which was practically a lifetime. Easing him back into society was the right thing to do, even if that meant taking the hits on the chin.

Mikey held up his hand, a golden brass key glinting in the light. “And just like that, O’Connor seals the deal again. One master key, locked, loaded, and ready to get down to business.” He beamed around at the group, pausing only briefly on Kisho to furrow his brow at the uncharacteristically disheveled look the other boy held. Michael made a mental note about that, reminding himself that he would have to check on it later. That was the older brother in him. But the Elite in him couldn’t help but brag, “until they re-key the school, we’re the kings, boys.”

Jack materialized beside Mikey, a dumb and goofy grin plastered onto his face. He patted his friend reassuringly on the shoulder, leaning in towards Álvaro and Kisho with his other hand cupping the side of his mouth, like he was telling a secret. “Duuuude, Mikey is that bad. I’m not even a decent Fortnite player and I can beat him. He needs all the help he can get.” He laughed, moving back and sniping the keys from his friend’s grasp. The blonde pulled a rolled up piece of paper from his back pocket and unfurled it, revealing a diagram. Blueprints to the administration wing of the building, which included the Principal’s Office. “That Janitor came in clutch, we’re not even going in blind. Feast your eyes, boys, because this is how we’re getting the job done.”

“This is about…Fortnite,” Kisho reiterated blandly to his far more energetic friends, unsure if he'd heard correctly as he had been returning his headphones to their resting place around his neck after a subtle check for damages. Coming out of this, his shoulder is likely to show more injury from the royal pain’s grip than his headphone’s sturdy plastic. He'd noticed Mikey's glance though, and did his best to fix both the wrinkled fabric near his shoulder and his face, and counted his blessings once more that Álvaro was more interested in fucking with him than actually paying attention to him, because the boy almost had another clue to Kisho's life via his grip on the smaller's binder strap. Props to blind anger. As Jack pulled out the blueprints, Kisho also registered Benji's walkie talkies and Mikey’s key, then did his best not to openly stare at the large paper in resignation. “I am risking getting punished by my father for Fortnite? Boys, how did you even get all of this?”

Jack exhaled audibly, feigning fatigue. “Bro, it was not fucking easy, let me tell you.”

Hours Earlier...

Mikey squinted at the janitor he and Jack had managed to find. “Come on, dude. What if…” He ruffled around in his pockets and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. He held it up between two fingers in front of the staff member, “...my good friend Andrew Jackson was here to persuade you? Just tell them Levi bullied you into giving him the key. They’ll believe you and just give ya a new one, seriously.”

The janitor gave the two boys an incredulous look. These kids thought he could be bribed? He didn’t get paid enough for this shit. “For 20 dollars? Are you two stupid?” He shook his head. “No shot.”

Jack leaned over Mikey’s shoulder, snapping another bill in front of the man, “Well, what if the esteemed President Lincoln joined the party?”

The blonde blew a raspberry. “That guy drove a hard bargain.” He nudged Mikey giddily, “But the dream team made it happen.”

“Dude, seriously. We’d better get some use out of this thing. Where’s El Capitan?”

As if a choir of angels were singing his name, Ethan Green, with his arm over his brother’s shoulders, strolled down the gravel, high as a kite. He could see his brothers-in-arms at a distance, minus Theo who didn’t want to partake in such tomfoolery (lame excuse, but whatever). He locked eyes with Jack and gave a nod, before continuing his spiel with his older brother. “Now if you want to win Amy over, you need to get out of your comfort zone, my dude. What better way than stealing something from the principal’s office?” Ethan pressed on, wanting Andy to join in on the fun. The younger Green twin could smell success in the air with his brother at his side. This gave them a higher chance of succeeding in their heist, and aiding Mikey at his horrible gameplay in Fortnite. Success was all that Ethan wanted (and to watch good films). A new era for his twin and he was going to be part of the ride, from start to finish. Till death do they part. Green brothers FOR LIFE. “Like check it, what if we find something that belongs to dad’s in there? Do you know how happy dad would be if we found his old phone or game boy or whatever? Bruh, this could guarantee the vineyard, I’m sure of it.”

Out of his comfort zone. Easier said than done, but Andy was pretty confident he could do it. He was also pretty confident he needed a nap, and some Cheetos. As Ethan mentioned finding something of their father’s to guarantee the vineyard for their personal use, Andy looked over at him and tilted his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard dad say no. To anything. Have you?” Andy asked the question genuinely, but as he thought about it… he shrugged. While he had never heard his dad say no… Ethan probably had. “Yeah, I mean he’d probably be more up for it if we find a GameBoy! Maybe he’s missing a beloved Pokémon or something.” Andy beamed at his older brother and gave him a thumbs up. He’d have to figure this out, since it was clearly a pretty big deal to his older brother that they secure the deal for the vineyard party. Andy didn’t get it, but high school politics were more complex than they seemed! Besides. He had a girl… friend now?

Yes he was ignoring her texts, but he’d get there eventually. “Do you guys actually have a plan?”

While Henry Green did not say no often, if at all, the vineyard was a different story. For some reason or another, Eden Springs was a forbidden jewel in their family. Off limits to outsiders. Strictly family. No one told him why. Not even his dad and his dad told him everything! Ethan was flabbergasted that not even his father threw a party there which only made him want to throw a party there even more. This is why the golden boy absolutely needed this mission to go off without a hitch. “Of course we have a plan!” If they did have a plan, Ethan did not know of it, he was only assuming, out of the faith he had in his band of brothers. “Starting with our crew. As Reuben Tishkoff said in Ocean’s Eleven: ‘Ya gotta be NUTS. And you’re gonna need a crew as nuts as you are!’ I think we’re off to a fiiiiine start, right boys?”

Video Games: The General Discussion & Community Thread Number Two

Said fuck it and decided to buy MW3 anyway. Gun go brrr.

No but seriously, I haven't played a COD game on PC in probably a decade. My games are almost always positive (so far) but I rarely win matches lol. I hate the unlock system, though. Camos are easier to get, but just like with attachments and stuff, you have to use alternate weapons to unlock things. Like, why the hell do I need to use a SMG to unlock a red dot-esque sight for my AR? It's so dumb, but I guess it gets you to use other things I suppose.

Also, the music gets annoying after awhile. I know it's main menu music or whatever, but it feels so repetitive after listening to it the 500th time.

@Kuro

just buy mw 2 2009 bro its better neway

or download xdefiant which is pretty badass too

BHHS: Limitless

_{@Hey Im Jordan & @Fabricant451
TIMESTAMP: 4:30 PM
LOCATION: The Mermaid's Closet
Introducing: Juliet Park
Featuring: Shauna Flynn}

___________________________________________________________________

“But can you tell me why I need a job?”

Juliet thought it was a fair question. There was no point in her having a job she didn’t want! Her last job had essentially been perfect, and after she’d lost it, she basically considered her contribution to society over. Even working at Disneyland as a ‘cast member’ (she’d been a Jungle Cruise operator) had been… less than ideal. Juliet had accomplished most of her goals, but a lot of the magic of Disneyland was gone now - and she wasn’t sure it would ever come back. Why would she want to work anywhere else?

Especially a place called ‘The Mermaid’s Closet.’ Juliet knew the store, she’d shopped there once. Only once. Sitting in the passenger seat of the vehicle, she turned her attention to her mother, and pleaded in her native tongue with the hopes that it might convince her mother to let this one lie. “왜 여기에? 끈적끈적해요.” _{(Why here? It’s tacky.)} She demanded, though it fell on deaf ears.

Juliet groaned when her mother just ignored her. So what if she’d gotten fired!? It wasn’t her fault. She checked her Apple Watch, then put her hand on the door handle. “Fine. But if I don’t like it, I will complain.” She pulled the door handle, and pushed the door open. Her decision was already made. How hard could it be to bomb an interview? She thought about more things to throw over her shoulder at her mother, but in the end she opted to not poke the bear. She felt lucky to get away with just the expectation that she’d at least ‘try’ to get a job. Of course, she hadn’t expected her parents to arrange an interview for her.

Hopefully a full review wouldn’t be sent to them after she got rejected. Her brow furrowed as she watched her mother drive away, wondering how she was even supposed to get home, before she turned her attention to the doorway of The Mermaid’s Closet. As she grabbed the handle and pulled it open, she found herself wishing she’d just done what her father had suggested, and moved to Korea when she was eight to be a trainee. At least then she wouldn’t be here.

She pulled open the door and looked around the store, eventually making eye contact with the person behind the counter. She quickly closed the gap between herself and the counter, and looked at the woman on the other side. She checked her watch again, “I have an interview in two minutes.” She explained, already thinking of things she’d say to make sure the deal wasn’t cinched. Unless her parents had pulled strings without telling her, this was going to go just right.

Most people who graduated with her expected Shauna Flynn to either be behind bars or faded to obscurity but the ultimate twist of expectations found Shauna evolved into a respectable business owner. The Mermaid’s Closet was a boutique that offered a wide selection for women of all walks of life at affordable prices. Of course, she stocked higher end items as well thanks to a working relationship with Min-Seo Thomas and other designers. One year, The Mermaid’s Closet was a sponsor for BHHS’ Homecoming Game which led to the yearly tradition of there being a discount for all BHHS students during Homecoming Week so long as they provided a valid student I.D. That sale wasn’t why the Closet did good business, but it was why the Closet was doing more business. Plenty of students who needed last minute Homecoming outfits and the Closet was happy to oblige.

As the owner and manager, Shauna rarely worked behind the counter, but she could often be found on the floor, helping young women find their style and confidence and providing tips for accessories and the like, but she was covering for an employee who had taken a late lunch break when Juliet walked in and approached the counter. Shauna looked at the girl then over her own shoulder at the clock on the wall behind the register. “Ya kno’, there’s no brownie points fer gettin’in early.” Shauna’s silken Irish brogue still had an effect on those susceptible to accents, but Shauna’s days as the Shark were behind her. Now, her talents of seduction were reduced to swiping on pictures of lonely, bored, and not always single women on various apps.

Fuck what a downgrade adult life turned out to be.

“Ya got a resume? I know yer ma an’ Kitty’s Missy put in a word for ya, but one’o them lives in a constant state of inebriation. So hand it over, yeah?”

There was at least one positive of working here: the lady behind the counter was at least attractive. It took every ounce of self control that Juliet had within her to not drum her fingers on the counter as the woman talked in an accent she could hardly even understand, and then she frowned. Had the other woman said she’d gotten a word from her mother? That was not a good sign, it might end up ruining her plan. As Shauna asked her about a resume, Juliet shook her head.

“I don’t have a copy of my resume. Is that going to be an insta-fail? I’m sorry.” She explained with a smile on her lips. The smile couldn’t have been a more fake, almost mocking smile if Juliet had read the words off of a script. She hadn’t ever made a resume, but could pretend like she’d just ‘forgotten’ one. “I worked at Disneyland before this. Does that count?” She looked back at the clock, and pointed with a dainty finger. “It’s time now. Is there like an office, or…?” She asked, as she peered around the building, a look of clear judgment on her face - she was sizing the place up and thinking about how much time she would be willing to spend there.

“I’m pretty excited about the interview!” She was not. But did the manager realize that?

“Sure ya’are.” Shauna was familiar with the smile on Juliet’s lips. She’d seen it on classmates years ago who suffered her presence during cheerleader tryouts. She’d given the same smile when freshmen girls tried to stretch a one night stand to a relationship before Shauna shot them down with that same expression. In no world would someone like Juliet be good for business, but Shauna was willing to humor the girl even if only because she was asked by two different mothers. “Come on back.” The Irish owner gestured with her head to a door near the back with ‘MANAGER’ on label made tiles.

The office was fairly standard. Shauna had a desk with a computer and monitor and a second screen was mounted on one of the walls. There were binders open on her desk and pictures of various cast photos from stage shows hung on her wall in place of motivational quotes or family photos. Instead of chairs, there was a black couch on the other side of the desk, and a smaller chaise lounge on the right wall. “Take a seat.” Shauna crossed over to her desk chair and sat down, pushing her binders to the side and keeping her eyes on Juliet like she was thinking the girl was going to shoplift.

“Cut the shite.” Any pretense of Shauna being a friendly manager was lost in the gruff brogue. “Who’s makin’ ya take this interview?”

She looked around the room, and there was a visible grimace as she saw the couch. She knew the kind of videos that were made on couches like that, which was why Juliet was wise enough to not take a seat. Instead, she stood across from Shauna and peered down at her as she finally spoke. Juliet had responses prepared for more than a few possible interview questions. But when Shauna asked her first question, the smile dissipated.

Juliet hadn’t seen that coming. Was she really that easy to read? No, she knew she wasn’t that easy to read. This other woman just had a little more experience at reading people than Juliet had expected. In fact, ever since she’d stepped into the room, the manager of the closet was proving to be different than what she’d expected. “What do you mean?” She stuck to her guns at first, forcing the smile back onto her face. “I applied for the job. I want the interview.”

She knew she was being read like a book though, that Shauna saw straight through the smile and knew that Juliet would have rather been wearing an annoyed frown. “Ugh. My parents. They’re mad I got fired.” She no longer attempted to hold the smile on her lips, and for the first time since meeting Shauna was honest. She knew perfectly well there was a chance this got back to her mother and stabbed her in the back, but this was almost cathartic. She watched carefully, trying to see if she could pick out Shauna’s own feelings as she waited for the response. With any other person? Juliet expected she would have already been dismissed from the interview.

“Why’d ya get fired?” This sort of thing was typically found on a resume and Shauna could have someone else make a call with the previous employer and get the information needed, but there was a curiosity about this girl, and a strange sort of familiarity. In Shauna’s estimation, this Juliet girl was used to getting what she wanted with a smile and a suggestion. That was a dangerous combination, but from this side of the desk, Juliet wasn’t ready to go pro.

In any other situation, Juliet would have given a dishonest answer. However, this person seemed like the first person in the entire world that Juliet felt she could proudly announce the truth to. Maybe it was the accent? This was dangerous. “I got caught getting to second base with Belle in the spare Jungle Cruise boat.” he couldn’t stop the bright, proud smile that spread on her lips as she said it. “I’m really upset about it because only Merida and Tiana were left, and I really wanted to complete the set.” She sighed wistfully, sounding more like someone reminiscing about coming close to a long term goal and coming just short. “Did you know they fire immediately for that? Not even her! Apparently, it’s harder to find actresses who can be princesses the way Disney wants princesses.”

“I wish I never had! It really ruins the mysticism, working there. Don’t work there if you like Disneyland.”

“Rule 4.” Shauna spoke softly, but audibly, shook her head and smirked. Keeping her eyes towards Juliet, Shauna opened a drawer on her desk and handed an old school notebook with a visible crease and wear and tear on the cover to the interviewee. The cover of the notebook was black and had no other identifiable features, but on the inside was a list of rules and beyond that was a list of names, dates, numbers between one and ten, and acronyms like ‘FFNC’, ‘FFC’, ‘SONC’ ‘SOC’, ‘SNNC’ ‘SNC’ and more. As the notebook went on, though, the list of names got smaller and smaller.

“Rule 4. Never in a spot where authority can walk in.” That time she spoke much clearer, her accent vanishing but the husky, silken smooth tone lingered. “What’s your count?”

Juliet raised an eyebrow as she heard Shauna speak up again. She looked down at the book and idly flipped through it, only glancing over the names and notations. “This is your little black book.” It was obvious just from a single glance, but it shook Juliet so hard she couldn’t help but say it aloud. “Cool. I just have a Google sheet myself, but I guess your options were kinda limited, huh?” Just from turning the pages in the book, she could tell that it was likely from when the woman across the desk had been her age.

She hadn’t yet answered the question about her ‘count,’ nor had she been able to wipe off the smirk that crawled across her lips when Shauna asked. She lifted her eyes from the page she was looking at to make eye contact with the older woman, “ten, but I would be willing to make it an eleven.”

“I wouldn’t be able to hire you if you wanted eleven.”

“That’s a shame.”

Shauna had never regretted maturing into someone decently responsible, but even she could admit that moments like this were incredibly tempting. Her romantic life was just so…boring. App hookups had no passion, no thrill, no climax, and they always wanted to talk and cuddle after. Exhausting. Even the friends with benefits who knew that their relationship started and stopped when clothes were put back on had a tendency to bore. It was like eating a good steak dinner every night; eventually it started tasting of nothing and wasn’t even all that satisfying anymore.

Yes, Shauna missed being ‘The Shark’, but even if she matched solely with nineteen and twenty year olds, she’d still be seen in a negative light just because there was a three in front of her ones column. She didn’t even hit on the mothers who shopped here or the single women looking for something to spice up their drab life. Sure, she bantered with them and laughed when they made a comment about a pot of gold or how lucky they were to find the shop, but it was as fake a laugh and smile as Juliet had given on her arrival.

“You’re good at getting girls to do what you want, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question. The Shark knew the type. Sharks could smell their own. “But I don’t think you know as much as you think you do.” They weren’t talking about fashion. They really never had been. “Say I offered you a floor position. You could tell your mom you’re in sales. But really I’d offer you an internship. I thought Kitty would follow in my footsteps but she had to go and fall in love. Rule 10. Give me until your graduation and your own black book would put mine to shame. What do you think?”

Juliet thought about it. She was beginning to pick up what the other woman was putting down. It at least got her a job so her parents would get off of her back, though she had to admit, she’d never considered a mentor. At least not in this aspect of her life. She tapped her finger on the cover of the closed notebook; her pride would be wounded if she just admitted she had a lot to learn, and that stung. “How many names are in your book?” She asked as she opened it to a random page and glanced down, and then froze as she saw one of the many names. “Hey. My mom’s name is in this book.”

“You’d be surprised at some of the other names in there. Let’s just say it wasn’t Kit Thomas’ talking that landed her Min-Seo.”

For her entire life, Juliet had thought her parents had met in high school, introduced by her churchgoing grandparents and that had been that. There had never been another person in their lives, or at least that’s what Juliet had been told her entire life. She snapped the notebook shut, and for the briefest of seconds it seemed like there was a chance Shauna had lost her potential successor.

“Teach me.” She said as she placed the book back down on the desk. “Oh, I’m Juliet.” She’d intentionally not introduced herself before, not seeing the point since she’d originally had no intention of seeing this woman again. “I want to know the rest of the rules.”

“We’ll go over the rules at your orientation.” Shauna leaned back in her chair, a look of genuine satisfaction on her lips. Was this how parents felt? Pride? She’d never know. But she would be true to her word and teach her apprentice everything she needed to know to carry on the legacy. Of that she was certain. “But you’re going to have to accept that most of your names will be hard sixes or below and that’s being generous. Work the ones with body issues long enough and you’ll spring to eights and nines in no time. Trust me. I’ve fucked Oscar winners.” Shauna could’ve been lying but she had a way of making every word she said sound as believable as it was rude.

But she was an actress above all.

“Shauna. Tell your mom she owes me one for taking you in.” The wink she gave Juliet was full of such ill intent that a blind person could’ve picked up what she was putting down. “Oh, one freebie. The lock on the dressing room closest to the window has trouble catching.”

“When can I start?”

Video Games: The General Discussion & Community Thread Number Two

xdefiant good

BHHS: Limitless

The camera panned out to show the capacity crowd gathered at Madison Square Garden, one of the last shows AWE was running before their biggest event of the year; the Showcase of Immortals. In the ring was a table with a black cloth over it, and a binder containing the contract to the main event of Starcade: Caiden Winters vs Drayden for the Undisputed AWE championship.

Sat at the table was long-time AWE fan favorite Drayden, dressed to the nines in a dark suit. Falling to an injury almost a year ago now, Drayden had recently returned from the shelf. He shocked fans by returning to align with Roddy Quinn, the boss of AWE, who had been spending the time since Drayden’s injury trying to stop Caiden Winters’s meteoric rise. Unsuccessful on his own, Roddy had been forced to bring out the biggest gun he had: his ace.

Upon his return, Drayden had tried to explain things to fans who wouldn’t listen to him, or Roddy. Caiden wasn’t who they wanted as their champion! Caiden hadn’t even beaten Drayden for the title, he wasn’t their champion. He was a fraud, a fake. Someone Drayden promised to personally expose.

The fans had rejected him. They didn’t want Drayden’s AWE anymore, they wanted the new one. The one ushered in by Caiden Winters. Caiden followed a long road to get to where he was now, holding the AWE world championship around his waist. After successful feuds against Roddy Quinn himself, Oscar O’Sullivan, and finally Gethin, Caiden Winters had built a level of groundswell support in AWE that hadn’t been seen in years.

When Drayden came back and insisted he would take that away because it was what the fans needed even if they didn’t know it yet, and… they rejected him. The lights dimmed and music filled the arena. The sound of rabid cheering filled the atmosphere as the camera focused in on Drayden and the smirk that was on his lips in anticipation. His opponent had arrived.

The camera panned to the top of the stage as Caiden Winters finally stepped into the spotlight, to an explosion of cheers. He walked with purpose as he approached the squared circle, his eyes never leaving his opponent who was waiting for him in the ring. This wasn’t Caiden’s first contract signing on AWE television, and it likely wouldn’t be the last - but it was clear from the way he held himself this was the most important.

His first match in the company had been against Drayden, and Drayden’s last match before his injury and time on the shelf had been against Caiden. They’d competed for the very title that now rested on Caiden’s shoulder, the AWE championship. Even though he’d turned up short in the match, when Drayden had wound up on the shelf after their match, Caiden had openly boasted about being the one who put the Heart & Soul of AWE to rest. This wasn’t just a match for the title, it wasn’t even ‘just’ a match for the future of AWE. This was a blood feud.

Caiden stalked his prey, walking around the ring before even stepping up onto the apron. Rabid fans screamed his name, a prophetic warning for Drayden. ‘CAIDEN’S GONNA KILL YOU’ they screamed, and it had a visible effect on Drayden. The smirk dissipated on his face as he held eye contact with the circling Caiden and one of his legs bounced up and down restlessly. By the time Caiden had completed his lap and climbed the steps to get into the ring, Drayden was up on his feet.

The music came to a close as Caiden stepped past Drayden and reached through the ropes for a microphone. He took it and stood opposite Drayden in the ring, but neither of them spoke. They stood eye-to-eye in the center of the ring, and the aura of their hatred energized the fans.

‘THIS IS AWESOME
THIS IS AWESOME’

Caiden cupped the mic and lifted it to his lips, but his voice wasn’t the first heard by the viewers. “...I’m marking out bro.” Wade Palmer, the voice of AWE couldn’t help but let out a whispered reaction to the scene playing out in front of him. He’d been doing this for a long time, but was watching the feud of the decade unfold before him. He had the best seat in the whole damn show, sitting ringside behind the commentator’s desk every week for the showcase of the immortals.

As Caiden began to talk, the entire crowd hushed to listen to every word he had to say. “I hate you.” He said it with such certainty that it was apparent the feeling may have transcended the performance. “I hate the way you talk, I hate the way that you wrestle, I hate that you’re such a bootlicker for the boss. I hate you. I hurt you, and I tried to keep you from coming back, but you couldn’t leave well enough alone.” He almost snarled it the second time he told Drayden he hated him.

“That’s fine with me, because after I beat you one last time, I’ll set the record straight. I’m better than you. I know it, everyone in this arena knows and you know what? So do you.” He paced up and down the ring as he talked, ranting now. “You had your chance to sit in your mansion in Pensacola and watch me be better than you ever were, but your pride couldn’t handle it, could it? You and your massive ego couldn’t stand this title on my shoul -”

“I hate you too.”Drayden finally spoke, cutting his opponent off and the immediate reaction from Caiden was palpable in his expression alone. His eyebrows furrowed, and it was obvious hot rage was bubbling inside the younger man. “I can’t stand you. I can’t stand that you spent your entire career in other companies, across the world, and thought if you finally came here you’d be entitled to it. And for what? For selling out bingo halls and high schools?

You can’t do this! You don’t have what it takes to carry the company, the business — you don’t got it. Why do you think I’m here? Why do you think Roddy called me in the first place!? Because you can’t do your job!” Drayden snarled the accusations into the microphone. “You’re holding a belt I never lost. If my knee hadn’t blowed ou—”

“If your knee hadn’t exploded, these people wouldn’t be here because they don’t want you anymore!” Caiden was quick to respond, with words that apparently resonated from the fans based on the roaring reaction. His opponent moved the mic toward his mouth to respond again and Caiden stepped forward getting in his face. “STOP. Stop, brotha. You emptied the clip, what more are you gonna say? That you work harder than me? While you were on the injured list for the past year, I worked twice as many matches as you did in the last five years. Didn’t miss a house show, didn’t miss a PPV. No days off, both shows.

What did you do? You got on a private jet and went to talk shows to cry about how badly you wanted to get back in the ring. You went out there and you told Good Morning America that you’re the best wrestler in the world. You’re not going to convince the fans that you’re better than me, you’re not.” Taking a step back, he ripped the title belt off and held it up in the air. He held it at arm length, in front of his opponent’s face as the camera zoomed in on Drayden’s face. Hungry. Desperate to ‘save’ the company. “This is a world championship, you’ve held it seven times. This is something people in our business work their entire lives, spill blood, sweat, and tears just for a shot. And you know what?” He tossed it to the side of the ring.

“I don’t want it. And neither do you. I know what you want,” as Caiden spoke, Drayden furrowed his brow as his opponent spoke, but it was obvious in the air. Caiden Winters was onto something. “Let’s rewind the clock to our very first match. My debut, do you remember it? I bet you do. The fans - your fans then - they were ready to watch you beat another indie darling down, huh?

Let’s go Drayden, clap. clap. clap. They said. Drayden’s gonna kill you, clap. clap, clap. They said. But what did they say, when you were laying flat on your back on the canvas after I put you down for the one, two, three. What did they say?” He leaned forward again, this time getting in Drayden’s face. “They didn’t say a damn thing.”

He pulled back as his opponent scowled, “We fought again for that belt, and you won the match - but you didn’t beat me. That much was clear when they rolled you out of the building on a stretcher - what did they say then? It wasn’t your name was it?”

It was clear the cutting words were having the intended effect, as the other man seemed to be seething with rage. Caiden looked at him, daring him to respond, and Drayden picked the mic up to do just that, “talk is cheap.” He snarled, and the next events happened very quickly. The mic dropped down to the ground, and Drayden’s elbow flew toward Caiden’s face. It hit its mark, and the fight was on.

As the two superstars threw hands at each other, the camera very briefly panned to the top of the ramp where Dana Flynna the general manager and authority figure of AWE was frantically motioning for help to save her main event. Security guard and roster members poured down the ramp to pull champion and contender apart as their brawl spilled outside of the ring.

“I’LL KILL YOU!”

“YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO!”

________________________________________________________________________________

Introducing: Joey Everett
Timestamp: Some undisclosed time in the morning → Sometime after homeroom-ish

The video paused, Joey wasn’t interested in the rest of it. He’d have to have seen it a hundred times, but he liked it all the same. Having a famous person for a parent was weird at first, but as he grew up and realized the scope of his father’s stardom, he really started to get involved in the community. Joey was an avid forum poster, though he did his best to keep his connection to the business as quiet as possible. That was mostly out of respect for his father, who maintained a low public presence, even when he was champion.

Caiden Winters wanted a private life, and it wasn’t Joey’s place to ruin that. No matter how badly he wanted to correct the YouTube comments he scrolled through, Joey kept silent. It was hard to deal with the fact that people took wrestling so seriously sometimes, but it was also exciting. In due time, Joey was hopeful he’d find his way into the family business. He wasn’t interested in being an in-ring performer, that didn’t really appeal to him. Joey didn’t really think he had it in him to work a match like his father had, but that didn’t mean his options were up.

He may not have had the drive to train and be the legacy of the best to ever do it (in Joey’s opinion, anyway)... but, writing the narrative? Creating the stories that drove people to think two men who couldn’t be closer friends backstage truly hated each other?

Joey could do that.

That was his goal. Joey wanted to be the guy with the pen, the one in control of the narrative. He’d always liked writing, but it was only in the last year or so that he’d finally gotten exposure to the writer’s room of AWE.

It had frankly changed his life. The long term storytelling was beautiful in a way nothing else was to him, seeing the storyboards, reading the notebooks the head writer worked in… It lit a fire under Joey like nothing else had. It was one thing to write a movie or a TV show with a defined beginning, middle, and an end, but the ever evolving story told by professional wrestling was one of a kind.

It was a multi-step process, and Joey had a feeling he’d never hold the final say in the game, but he just wanted a chance. He had originally assumed his father would be able to get him a job, but Caiden had outright refused. You think I came up sleeping in the backseat of my car and working high school gyms just to raise a nepo baby? Not a chance. It had slowed, but not ended his plan. Joey turned to studying, to make sure that he got into a respectable school, so he could get a screenwriting and creative writing degree, following in the same footsteps of the current head of AWE’s writing room.

Joey was sometimes jealous of other students at his high school, whose parents, often more famous and wealthy than his wealthy and famous father, would give them money for whatever they wanted. Caiden was fairly firm on the idea that Joey would work for everything he had. And Joey had. Even the Camry he drove around when he absolutely had to had been paid for by the pocket change of his peers.

One of the few things he hadn’t paid for himself was his pet chameleon, Retribution. Retribution was named after his uncle, Blake Ryder, who had wrestled under the ring name Retribution. If Joey thought about it hard enough, the word ‘retribution’ was there enough that it became confusing, but that didn’t change his intention. Retribution was named Retribution as retribution on his father for refusing to buy him a dog.

Not that Uncle Blake was much better… who bought a teenager a fucking chameleon? Joey should have been more specific about it when he’d told him he wanted a pet. Blake had said he’d get his nephew anything he wanted, and Joey had essentially regretted not being more specific ever since.

Chameleons were high maintenance, angry, and they barely did anything. At first, Joey had been annoyed he’d gotten something so… weird instead of something normal. Not even a turtle? Seriously? It took a lot of effort, time, and money to get a cage that was proper for the little dude, but after a while, Joey really started to enjoy it when Retribution did what Joey affectionately labeled ‘Chameleon Things.’

Mostly, Chameleon Things amounted to grabbing things, making funny expressions, and climbing on Joey like a tree. Joey looked up toward his hat, he saw the paw of a chameleon waiting for him on his forehead. He held his fingers to his forehead and Retribution slowly crawled from his spot on Joey’s head and onto his arm.

“Yeah, you’re right buddy. You gotta go back to your home.” Retribution’s home was a massive glass enclosure next to Joey’s desk. Joey snapped his laptop shut with his free hand and stood up with the arm holding his pet extended. He reached down into the enclosure and let Retribution climb onto one of the trees. “I have tutorings to do after school, so I won’t be back until later. You should be good, right?” He asked, checking the water dish in the habitat.

He nodded to himself and then left his bedroom with his backpack slung over his shoulder. Joey walked through the house his parents owned, and found that both of them still weren’t back. When he was younger, Joey had often gone on the road with them, but these days he found himself home alone more often than not. HIs parents' work required both of them to travel so frequently, that he didn’t feel it was an exaggeration to say he hardly saw them anymore.

Joey was a good kid, and he didn’t really need supervision, so it worked out in the end. Even if he was a bit beat up about it at times, his parents were good at making sure they were present for the events that really mattered. Were they there at every mathletes competition? No, but they were there when he made it to regionals. They were as supportive as they could be, given the situation.

In spite of the heat of Los Angeles, Joey made a point to wear his beanie on his head. If he hadn’t, his mother would have found out somehow, and she might have cried. At first, Joey had been stuck in the rebellious phase, thinking it a bit lame that his mother had taken the time to knit him a beanie that he could hardly wear given the weather where they lived, but after a while it had grown on him. The few friends he had now probably wouldn’t even recognize him if they saw him without it.

A year or so ago, Joey would have rode his skateboard to get to the school, but lately people had started assuming he sold drugs just because he rode a board around Beverly Hills High. When two separate people asked on separate days if he was carrying anything, Joey had decided that it was time to stop, even if it meant his options were getting up early to walk to the school, or suffering through Los Angeles traffic.

The journey to school was long, and Joey was thankful that every day was another day closer to never having to do it again. It wasn’t the day-to-day classwork he didn’t like, but… Being a tutor for some of the people he worked with was genuinely concerning. Weren’t they supposed to be the future? Why did so much of the future struggle with fractions? Were their teachers bad at their jobs? Was it the fault of the parents? These were all questions that Joey had asked himself once or twice since taking up the tutoring job in his sophomore year.

Unfortunately, the tutoring sessions were part of Joey’s rhythm. At first, he’d wanted to do people’s homework for them, but that was something his father would have never approved of. And so, Joey became a teacher. He even reckoned he was a pretty good one, as most of his students found results, but it didn’t make it any more fun. One could only repeat Pythagoras' theorem about fifteen times before it became repetitive.

How many times had Joey explained the theorem now? Try five hundred. A part of him wanted to give up, but another part of him remembered how expensive food for Retribution was (seriously, why did bugs cost so much?), and another part still remembered how much money his peers had. That made it easy enough. He had to give his father respect where it was due… not being spoiled led to Joey having one hell of a work ethic.

Which was another reason why he was dreading school, and then work that day. With homecoming approaching very rapidly, someone would want him to go to the dance, to go to the party, even to the game. Joey didn’t want to do any of those things, he was doing his best to stay focused on himself. If he didn’t get into the right college, it could throw everything out of equilibrium.

People who got to be ghosts in high school didn’t realize how easy they had it. Joey had long ago gotten into the habit of ‘hanging out with everyone.’ Regrettably, it was fairly easy to get along with anyone as long as you listened to what they had to say and offered the right responses — and it was so easy to give the right responses on autopilot. If anyone asked him to go to the events, Joey would say yes before he could stop himself.

Before long, Joey found his way into his homeroom class. He was late, but not late enough for anyone to complain about, and sunk into his chair at his desk. At least he missed the Morning Show.

BHHS: Limitless

Troy Wells

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_{Troy Isaac Wells}

18 • MALE • BISEXUAL • HE/HIM • VAGUELY LOOKING

(FC: Logan Shroyer; Dialogue: 6C6C6C)

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Ｉｎｔｒｏ

► reputation

Compared to his sister, Troy is almost boring at first glance. He tends to not draw as much attention as Helen does, and has spent most of his high school career quite pleased by that fact. Troy has been happy to mostly hide behind his sister, and take a backseat in the groups he’s in - something that is pretty difficult due to the simple fact that he is very, very attractive.

Many people look at Troy as the ‘quiet bad boy’ type, and it isn’t wrong, but it isn’t right either.

► current dilemma

His sister’s nonsense.

His parent’s nonsense.

His own nonsense.

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► social media handles

You want it? Earn it.

► style

He is relatively fashionable. He does not wear overly expensive ‘high’ fashion, and prefers to shop by himself at local thrift stores for things that fit him.

A lot of cool colors, primarily greys.

► ride & everyday items

Day-to-day wheels

► occupation

A part time baker at Plouf. He’s been unsuccessfully trying, for about a year now, to replicate his grandfather’s cookies.

► extracurricular activities

Cheerleader, gymnast, frequent goer of the Glitter City. Used to ice skate.

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Friends would describe me as _______.

Quiet and reserved. Which is why my answers are short.

In my free time I like to _______.

Do yoga. Tie knots.

I would like to learn _______ in the next year.

Grandpa Remy’s snickerdoodle recipe. I swear, I follow it to a T… there’s something he’s not telling me.

This is how I define success and failure:

Trying to define success and failure is setting yourself up for failure. I don’t do that.

I'm inspired by _______.

I guess I’m inspired by the same things other normal people are? Music, stories… that sort of thing.

These songs are the soundtrack to my life:

Fight For Your Right
Mother
Closer to the Sun

My fondest memory as a child was _______.

Baking cookies for the bake sale with my grandpa. If I could remember things a little more clearly, maybe I wouldn’t have to waste time trying to get him to show me how it’s done.

If I could tell my younger self something, I would say:

Learn to sleep with one eye open. Once the Hellcat’s rampage starts, it won’t stop. You’ll get that when you’re older.

The things that make me smile are _______.

I like my family. They’re good people, which is rare in my neck of the woods.

My whole life story in one sentence:

What did Helen put for this? Give it to me. Yes I can see it, I’m her brother.

Seriously?

Put mine down as: I ain’t got no issues. Keep the ‘ain’t.’ It’ll annoy her.

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► extra information

N/A at this time

Hercules Helmsley

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_{Hercules John Helmsley}

17 • MALE • HETEROSEXUAL • HE/HIM • AVAILABLE

(FC: Nicholas Galitzine; Dialogue: 2966e0)

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► reputation

Like many students at Beverly Hills High, Hercules Helmsley has a strong last name. Unlike some of his peers with powerful families and strong last names, Hercules Helmsley believes he and his sisters would be the exact same people they are today even without his family’s fortunes. For that, he thanks their mother.

Doomed from the start with the name Hercules, Herc is amongst the most eccentric of the BHHS student body. He is a frequent attender of renaissance fairs and LARP games. He spends a lot of his time reading, something he considers practicing for his real passion: writing. Hercules is a frequent poster of fanfiction of his favorite fandoms, and also participates in a variety of roleplaying mediums. This of course, includes Dungeons and Dragons, and he has been going to the local comic shop and playing since he was old enough to roll dice.

At the end of the day, Hercules is a romantic, who takes love very seriously, and is just waiting around for the right princess to show up and be worthy of his love. Until she arrives, he’s happy to just keep telling his stories.

► current dilemma

Right now? Right now my biggest concern is convincing my sisters that we do need to do a LARP session for our 18th birthday party.

Hercules has no plans of attending college after he graduates. Instead, he wants to start streaming his tabletop games, work on writing his own fantasy novel series, and just all around enjoy life as a creative person. He is well aware that his parent’s status is the main reason he has been afforded the opportunity to be a creative.

To that end, Hercules is in a very unique position where his only dilemma is convincing his sisters to have a cool party.

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► social media handles

AO3: redacted
FanFiction.net: redacted
Discord: herculeshelmsley36 (there was already a herculeshelmsley, a herculeshelmsley3, AND a herculeshelmsley6? he thinks his sisters did it)
Insta: helmsleyhercules (they didnt anticipate that one)

► style

Hercules Helmsley wears whatever he wants.

► ride & everyday items

The Chariot, of course

► occupation

Hercules spends some time working at his mother’s businesses

► extracurricular activities

Caring for a hundred dogs
Leads a youth D&D group, which he DMs for
Hangs out at Webb-Heads so much he essentially works there for free (Mrs. Webb is signing off on his required community service)
Does writing novel ideas in his journal count? It should.
Takes swordsmanship classes because he wants to look realistic when swinging the plastic ones at his LARP sessions

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Friends would describe me as _______.

Sappy. Romantic. Funny? I hope funny.

In my free time I like to _______.

Write novel ideas! Write fanfiction! Play RPGs! Read books! Commission artists! Hang out with my sisters! Practice swordsmanship!

I would like to learn _______ in the next year.

Why Diana hasn’t invited me into her shippy clique. I wanna ship people too.

This is how I define success and failure:

My mother and father’s relationship is success! My auntie Becca’s love life… is sadly failure. Mine won’t be though.

I'm inspired by _______.

The way my dad talks about my mom and the way my mom talks about my dad. True love is the world’s strongest power!

These songs are the soundtrack to my life:

Let it Go - Idina Menzel
Concerning Hobbits
The Imperial March

My fondest memory as a child was _______.

Going to my first ren fair with my mom! I think it’s so cool. I’m a prince almost every time.

If I could tell my younger self something, I would say:

No matter what Calli and Thena say, believe in Santa until the very end. It’s just more fun.

The things that make me smile are _______.

Whimsical stories. Romance movies. Cool swords.

My whole life story in one sentence:

Long live the king.

Nah, I’m just kidding. Can you imagine?

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► extra information

SELF-EXPLANATORY

BHHS: Limitless

@Hey Im Jordan & @Fabricant451
Location: The Library
Timestamp: After homeroom
Starring: Michael ‘You Like True Crime?’ O’Connor and Sara ‘Uhm, Ackshually’ Delgado

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If Michael said he had a plan, that would have been a lie. It wasn’t even safe to say that he had an inkling of a plan, he’d agreed with what Nicky had requested so quickly that he hadn’t even had time to formulate a plan of attack. There were few options to fulfill his ridiculous request; Dylan’s had felt dumber in the moment, but was success was more immediate. Easier to find. How the hell was he supposed to find someone to date Nicky Snyder? He wasn’t a fucking magician. Nicky was loud and proud about it, and while that wasn’t necessarily a negative in the dating world, it was far from a positive. People like Nicky were supposed to be like Ethan: drowning in pussy. All that unearned and undeserved confidence, and for fucking what?

Nicky needed a special type of girl, Michael knew that much from the five minutes they’d talked together that morning before exchanging Discord IDs. This was a lot to go through for one night of playing Fortnite, but if this guy was as good as Michael assumed he was? Then he’d probably get enough wins in one evening to stop his brother from ever bringing it up again. It had taken almost the entire homeroom period and nearly the entire travel time between periods before it had dawned on Michael.

He knew who to set Nicky up with! Or, at least, he used to. Back in the before times, when he favored his academics over his athletics, Michael had been the captain of the mathletes. He had hardly interacted with his old teammates in the years since, but there was something to be said about being in high school: numbers never changed. Now, he just had to hope that she answered the call when it was put out into the air.

To: Sara from Mathletes 🤓
Hey Sara! It’s Michael, I don’t know if you remember me.
Can you meet me in the library? I was wondering if I could ask a favor! Ten minutes of your time? Do you still have study period after homeroom?
I do! I’ll be in the library waiting if you want.

It took more self control than it honestly should have for Michael to not physically pat himself on the back as he grinned and headed toward the library. In his head, this was already a done deal. What was she going to do, say no? Everyone wanted to roll with him and his friends, so he had that to his advantage. And besides, she was a bit geeky — there was a chance she might know who NIcky was, and then his battle was more than halfway done. As he took a seat at one of the desks in the back corner of the relatively large library, he smiled. All he had to do now was wait.

When her phone buzzed, Sara naturally assumed it was another automated message asking her to vote for some candidate or another spam email notification that she enabled just so the vibrating phone message would make it seem like people were actually interested in talking to her. No one would really need or want to contact her other than her mother or abuelta and one of them was at work and the other was not presently around a phone and certainly wouldn’t know how to send a text message anyway. So when her phone buzz, Sara just ignored it and went about her day, heading to her favorite location in school once home room came to an end - the teacher hadn’t called her name during roll call because of course she was present. Where the hell else would she be?

In the library, Sara checked the tutoring roster. No one had signed up today, at least no for her, and she chalked it up to the fact that on pep rally day the only thing students cared about was getting out of class earlier so they could start the weekend that much sooner. It was no bother, she had doodles and reading to catch up on anyway. To the back of the library Sara went, to the back corner table that was quiet and out of the way of general foot traffic. On most days Sara’s biggest hurdle when studying on the back desk was that some students used the back corner desks for making out, but Sara had gotten quite good at writing notes and studying when hands and asses were right in the corner of her eye. She sometimes cleared her throat to try to get them to leave, but it was like trying to hear a single bell in the middle of a raging concert.

Sara paused as she turned towards the back corner desk and saw that it was occupied not by students engaged in a rousing game of tonsil hockey, but rather a student who looked like he was waiting for someone. Probably so he could play tonsil hockey. Sara didn’t say anything as she took the familiar seat and pulled a book from her backpack. She didn’t exist. The intruder would mind his own business as if she wasn’t even there. Such was the symbiotic relationship Sara had with the school.

Michael didn’t ignore her. In fact. he found himself staring at her. Was she trolling him? Had she checked her texts? Was she ignoring him? Did he deserve this? He racked his brain and tried to think of a time where he had hit on Sara. There wasn’t anything that immediately popped up, but as he gazed at her… he wondered if he’d made the right choice texting her. Seconds ticked away, and Sara was reading a book. This was a punishment, it had to be, but Michael was stubborn. He got it from his mother, one of the most stubborn people on the entire planet.

Seconds turned into minutes, and in the game of chicken they were playing, neither of them moved. Other students walked by the scene, observing it for a few seconds with a scrunched up nose of either confusion or distaste. Michael did not see them. He was focused on Sara. It was on the fourth minute that he decided something had to be wrong with this girl and tapped the table to get her attention.

“Hey, did you get my text message, or…?” Michael left the question rather open ended, unsure what the deal was here. He wasn’t used to being ignored, even when he had been a nerd, he had a commanding presence. This, though? This was fucking ridiculous. “If you didn’t want to help me out, you could have just said so. I know I’m more interesting than that book, dude.” Though he spoke in a whisper, his tone was still firm, almost harshly so. He did not take being ignored very well.

At least he was whispering while he was talking to someone on the phone, though Sara couldn’t remember the last time she knew someone her age to speak to someone on the phone. It must’ve been a family member who hadn’t learned how to text yet. The question by Michael went unanswered for another full minute before Sara reconsidered; he had mentioned something about a book. “Are…are you talking to me?” She had to ask, her voice almost scratchy like she needed water. This was officially the longest conversation she had had with another student. “Did…you want to read my book? Are you interested in the history of toxicology? Charles Norris, the subject of this book, was a pioneer of what we now know as forensic toxicology, it’s a really fascinating book even if you’re not interested in the subject matter. I don’t know if the school library has it, but it’s called The Poisoner’s Handbook if you want to buy your own copy.” It had been so long since she spoke that it all just sort of…flowed out of her. She half expected the guy to have up and left during her lengthy reply.

Had she always been like that? Michael honestly couldn’t remember, even when they’d been on the team she hadn’t been much of a talker. When she started rambling about her book, he started realizing this plan was genius. Both Nicky and Sara were yappers, this was going to go great. He relaxed into his chair and shook his head. “Uh, no I’m not trying to read your book. Check your phone, I texted you like 20 minutes ago.” It could have been an eternity, with how long he’d been staring a hole into her skull. At least he knew he wasn’t being blatantly ignored; it turned out that Sara was just… a little weird. “I didn’t know you were interested in toxicology though, that’s kinda… interesting.” He didn’t want to say creepy, but the message was probably received. He shook his head.

“The Sara I remember wasn’t really like a True Crime Podcast girlie. She brought snacks to all our mathlete meetups.”

“It’s not a true crime podcast, I listen to NPR, true crime podcasts are basically dramatic readings of Wikipedia articles but that’s beside the…you were in mathletes?” Sara paused and looked away from her book and towards the boy who had been able to see the ghost in the library. Sara had been in mathletes but only lasted a semester and a half, not because she was bad at it but because the team never really included her in the competitions against other schools. She warmed the bench even though she knew a lot of the answers and believed she would have been a great asset. But things just sort of went that way for Sara: unrecognized, unknown, unwanted. Her abuelita had said that the best way to fit in was with food but every time she brought homemade cupcakes and donuts, they were simply eaten by the others and assumed to have been bakery bought.

Unlike others at the school, though, Sara remembered faces. Names. The guy didn’t look it now, but if she squinted and added puberty growth spurts…”Are you…Michael O’Connor?” Why would Michael O’Connor talk to her? Why would he text her, if what he said was true? Why would he know her name? “You don’t need tutoring, you already know how to factor trinomials. What…what…what do you want? If…if this is…like…some popular kid prank…just…just do it now, okay?”

“What do you think this is, a Mean Girls sketch? I’m not… me and the boys don’t do that.” That was mostly true, though Michael knew that there was one person in the Elite in particular who was cold-hearted enough to actually pull a prank on someone of ‘lesser’ social standing. But that definitely was not him, he just needed a favor. Why was she making this so difficult? He’d needed to wrack his brain hard as fuck just to find a name that he thought would fit, and now that he was talking to her, she didn’t even seem interested in him. That wasn’t really surprising, something told him that shredded jocks were not Sara’s type. “Sounds to me like you know a lot more about true crime podcasts than you want to admit,” he mused, circling back to Sara’s comment about dramatic readings of Wikipedia articles.

This was going to be perfect, he reasoned silently. Sara, it seemed, needed friends… and sooner, rather than later. Nicky, as far as Michael knew, had friends. They could share! It worked out. “Since you didn’t check your phone I guess, I’ll just repeat myself.” He hated doing that. “I was wondering if you could help me out with a favor? I have a friend who really needs a date to the dance and the party tomorrow. I was hoping you didn’t have anyone in mind already?” He paused, letting her chew on it before he launched in again, this time focused on sweetening the deal.

“He can come pick you up from your place for the dance, then at the party you guys can hang out with me and the rest of the crew. There will be free food, booze, and weed. You gotta like at least two of those, right?” Having shot his shot, Michael sank back into the chair and relaxed. What was she going to do? Say no?

Sara hadn’t been to a dance or a party in her four years of going to BHHS, but even if she had, would anyone have even noticed her presence? Dances were one thing, but parties? Parties were basically the social events of any given month; she’d heard that Halloween parties were particularly crazy and that one year some people woke up the morning after in the hospital. Hardly her idea of fun. If she went to a party, she’d somehow find herself on a couch sandwiched between two different couples each engaging in drunken, sloppy makeouts but be too timid to say anything and too squished to prise herself away from the situation. Not that she was speaking from experience, of course.

“I don’t…alcohol and…weed…they…impair senses…I just…isn’t there someone…better for this? I…I have plans…” She didn’t. Not unless making a steak torta and watching a Ken Burns documentary about the Central Park Five counted as plans. “I think…I…I don’t…I never…I…plans…” Was she hyperventilating? Why did it suddenly feel so hard to breathe? Was she sure this wasn’t a prank? “No…ticket…I…”

“Don’t worry about that. Me and the boys will handle your ticket, you just need to get a dress and be ready when he’s there to pick you up. If you don’t like him, ditch him at the party and find someone you do like. Trust me, Sara. A little alcohol and weed impairs your senses and you’ll have the time of your life.” Was there a chance that it ended poorly? Sure, there were usually a few bad decisions made, but Michael felt pretty confident he could keep an eye on Nicky and Sara for a couple of nights. “You’ll have a ride there and a ride back… and we’ll keep you entertained.” He didn’t say it, but part of him wanted to point out that after a weekend of hanging out normally, she might even have a couple of friends.

“I feel like I never see you at the parties. This is our last year, so party hard and see where it goes.” Michael hadn’t been expecting any resistance from her, let alone basically a panic attack… which he hadn’t really addressed. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his sports bottle, filled with a red substance. “Here, drink some water. Well, I put a pre-workout packet in there, but it’s fine… water is good for you. It’s fruit punch flavored. Well… watermelon and strawberry.” Technically, it was called ‘Tiger’s Blood,’ but something told him Sara wouldn’t drink it if he said that.

“Just drink it and take a breath before you pass out, dude.”

Under normal circumstances, Sara would have questioned the drink offered to her. Water wasn’t supposed to be red and people who put the little flavor packets in their water were better off just drinking juice, but this was an unusual and unprecedented circumstance so she grabbed the offered bottle and half of the contents were rolling down her throat before she stopped, panted to catch her breath, and quietly handed it back. “You’re not supposed to accept drinks from strangers…” Sara didn’t think Michael had any nefarious plot in mind, she was just reverting to general trivia and information like a loading screen of a video game.

“What…what were you talking about?”

This was an experience. Michael had never dealt with someone with so much anxiety. How was it even possible to cram that much anxiety into that small of a body? He didn’t want to fuck this up by being rude, so he took the sports bottle back. It was nearly empty, but he supposed that was okay, at least she was able to talk to him now. With a sigh, Michael repeated himself — again, a landmark moment for him, but then this was a desperate time and called for a desperate measure.

“I want you to go to the dance and the party over the weekend with a friend of mine. He will pick you up, you just need to have a dress and an overnight bag. And maybe slightly more willingness to get drunk.” Without wiping the nozzle clean, he slurped at some of the drink still in his bottle. “Come and have fun. The library will be here on Monday.” This time, he hoped, she wouldn’t launch into an immediate anxiety attack this time. “Do you have Discord? I can give you bro’s.”

The library might be here on Monday but Sara had no guarantee that she would be. She paused and let hundreds of questions pour through her head, each one starting with the damning phrase ‘what if’. What if something bad happened, what if she got in trouble, what if someone died, what if what if what if what if. And within the storm of anxiety and excuses her thoughts went back to her bedroom, to that empty cell of a room and to the desk she did her homework and studies at. To the college acceptance letter that greeted her and the loudest question in her head became ‘What if I go to college with zero experiences?’ followed ever so closely by ‘What if I do something I regret?’ The question swirled and morphed and silently she pondered the more important question: would I regret not going? It wasn’t like they could…unaccept her from college…right?

“What…what’s Discord? I don't have to..like…” Sara looked around. The only ones within earshot were herself and Michael but even so, Sara leaned in and whispered like she was confessing to a priest. “I don’t have to…[size=64]have sex…[/size]right?”

“That’s between you and your date, not me! But I’m not hiring you to be a prostitute! That would be insane, I just need you to be this guy’s date, okay?” He felt like she’d agreed, but he was holding off on telling her her date’s name for now. He was worried that giving her a name would make it too real. “How do you not know what Discord is? How do you keep in touch with like… anyone?” He asked, frowning as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contact list; at least he’d had the brain power to get his phone number too, rather than just a Discord contact. What kind of person didn’t have discord?

“You’re agreeing, right? I honestly can’t tell, man. This’ll be good for you.” I think.

“My mom texts me or calls me if she needs to contact me.” Sara responded to the rhetorical question before she realized it was, in fact, rhetorical. Her social stock was already in the gutter but now it had to be barrelling its way to the core of the earth. “I…” Sara closed her eyes. The voices in her head were screaming, debating one another like the ancient philosophers in Greece, but sometimes the voices had to be silenced. Sara knew many and more things…but that wasn’t a skill so easily learned by any book or research paper. Her second most important mentor of her youth always said to take chances, make mistakes, get messy…maybe it was time for Sara to try one of those. “...Okay.”

“NICE.” Mikey couldn’t help but pump his fist in front of himself as his voice went a few decibels above where it should have been in the library. It was like a huge weight had lifted off of his shoulders as he was locked in for his deal with Nicky Snyder. Things were put into motion, and he was going to do his best to make sure the adopted nerds had a good time. He scribbled down a number on a piece of paper and pushed it across to her. “There’s his number. Text him if you want, maybe if you’re all mysterious and anonymous it’d be cute, I dunno. If you don’t wanna do that, tell him you got it from me.” He stepped up out of his chair and shouldered his pack again, grabbing his sports bottle and starting to walk away. As he departed, he dropped the library whisper and added. “Hey bring some of those Mexican donuts you used to bring to mathletes, yeah? Fuckin’ loved those things.”

It wasn’t quite how she imagined it happening, but Sara got her first phone number from a classmate. It might not have meant much to most people, but it was quite the big deal for Sara. Was she supposed to bring the pan dulce to the dance? Was that allowed? Wouldn’t that be weird, showing up with sweet bread for an entire dance? How many was she supposed to bake? That would take her, like, most of the night and into the morning if she wanted enough to go around. How many people showed up to a dance? To a party? Like…sixty, right? That seemed right. Sara looked at the slip of paper and looked over the number, already doing little equations with the number in her head. It was fun for her. Maybe she’d try sending a text after school - doing it during school hours was against the rules after all. “Wait…” Sara paused, looked at the paper. At the numbers. That’s all that was there. Numbers.

“Who the heck am I going to the dance with?”