#HOLY SHIT A CROSSOVER WOULD BE IMMACULATE

[casssmalefantasy]

WRONG JERSEY

PAIGE BUECKERS X READER

| synopsis: you’re a uconn senior who doesn’t do game days—until your best friend finally drags you to one. you show up in an azzi fudd jersey. paige bueckers shows up with eyes only for you. one too many glances across the court and one flirty encounter at ted’s later, and you’re wondering if it’s possible to fall for someone in four quarters and a drink.

| warnings: suggestive content, drinking, flirting, language, college shenanigans, heavy eye contact, one (1) wrist grab

| word count: 4.1k

dina’s been on your ass for weeks.

“just come to the damn game,” she groans, lying dramatically across your twin XL like she doesn’t have two essays due and a scouting report to finish. “it’ll be fun. the vibes will be immaculate. and paige will be there.”

you raise a brow from your desk, mid-scroll through a spreadsheet for your senior business capstone. “and?”

“and,” dina grins, “all the girls love paige. come on. just this once?”

you don’t answer right away, but she sees the flicker in your eyes—curiosity, intrigue, something—and she pounces.

“plus we’re all going to ted’s after. you haven’t had a night out since halloween.”

she’s right, unfortunately. so you groan, shut your laptop, and throw your hands up in surrender.

“fine. but if i miss this project deadline because of you, you’re writing the executive summary.”

“deal,” she chirps.

—

you’ve been to a few games before—dina’s job as one the team manager’s made sure of that—but this season’s been nonstop. between job interviews, papers, and back-to-back presentations, basketball had taken a backseat.

still, when dina texts you a ticket and says, reserved student section. wear something hot, you listen.

your azzi fudd jersey still looks brand new. dina got it for you last year after you said azzi was “cold as hell” during her freshman season. she even introduced you once, saying, “this is my friend. she thinks you’re sick.” azzi had smiled and said thanks, and you swore she remembered you in class this semester—sociology 2312—because she always waved.

you throw on the jersey over some black baggy jeans, lace up your jordan 4s, and brush through your hair until it sits just right. a little gloss, some mascara, and you’re out the door.

gampel is already buzzing when you show up. the crowd is loud, the energy thick, and the student section is packed with navy and white. you spot your seat, right in the middle of the chaos, and slide in just as the lights dim for warmups.

the team jogs out onto the court, and immediately, you feel it.

or maybe—you feel her.

paige bueckers walks out like she owns the floor. tall, calm, braid swaying as she dribbles toward the three-point line. and somehow—somehow—her eyes catch yours.

you blink. she doesn’t. then, slowly, her gaze dips, cheeks flushing ever so slightly before she looks away.

did she just—

“HEY!” dina screams, grabbing you into a quick hug. she’s breathless, clipboard still in hand. “you made it! holy shit. i didn’t think you would.”

“you peer pressured me.”

“and look at you. repping azzi. cute.”

you laugh, but your eyes flick toward paige again—just in time to see her watching. dina pulls away and heads toward the bench, but not before paige intercepts her, grabbing her by the elbow. they speak quietly, and then they both look back at you.

you freeze.

paige says something else to azzi, who turns her head, smirks, and bumps shoulders with kk. ice snorts.

yeah, they’re definitely talking about you.

paige’s eyes are on you all through warmups. it’s subtle if you don’t know better—but you do. you catch it every time she fixes her ponytail, every look she sends your way after a swish.

you try to play it cool. totally normal. completely casual. just a hot six-foot-something hooper staring at you like you’re the only person in the arena.

no big deal.

—

the game tips off and uconn dominates. paige is on another level tonight—no-look passes, step-back threes, crossovers that make the crowd gasp. you’re not a basketball expert, but you know when someone’s cooking.

and she’s cooking.

the student section’s rowdy. you scream with everyone else. paige hits a clutch three and points to the stands, eyes scanning—and for a second, you think it’s for you.

your stomach flips.

—

somehow, dina convinces you to go to ted’s after. she claims “everyone’s going” and you need to “celebrate the win” and also “stop being lame.”

you cave.

the bar’s packed, but familiar. sticky floors, overpriced drinks, and music just loud enough to keep you yelling across tables. you barely make it to the bar when you hear her.

“hey.”

you turn. paige is next to you, black hoodie on now, with a pair of gray sweatpants. waves a little looser around her face after taking her braids out. soft. casual. attractive.

“hey,” you say, pretending your heart isn’t in your throat.

“you had fun at the game?”

“yeah,” you say, turning to face her fully. “you were... really good.”

she smiles, slow and satisfied. “you always this generous with compliments or just for me?”

you arch a brow. “depends. you always this flirty or just with me?”

her grin widens. “guess you’ll have to find out.”

you shake your head, but your smile betrays you. “dina said you’re tired of being a campus celebrity.”

“she talks too much,” paige mutters, eyes never leaving yours. “but she did say you’re best friends.”

“that’s true. she also said you asked about me at the game.” you say teasingly.

she doesn’t even flinch. “guilty. azzi said you’re in one of her classes. said you’re smart. quiet. kinda hot when you’re focused.”

you blink. “azzi said that?”

“no,” she shrugs. “that was me.”

and then she smirks, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

you don’t say anything at first. the bartender slides your drink over. paige orders a dirty shirley. she pays before you can.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to.”

you look at her, eyes warm and unreadable, and for a second, the noise of the bar fades. you take a sip.

“so...” she says, leaning in just enough to make your breath hitch, “you giving me your number or what?”

you laugh, finally, cheeks flushed. “smooth.”

“you like it.”

you type your number in her phone. she doesn’t look away as she saves it.

“i’ll text you.”

“i hope so.”

“and maybe next time,” she says, brushing a hand lightly over your waist as she passes by, “you’ll wear my jersey.”

[sunlightocean]

trailblazer mc meeting riddle from twst

"RULES ARE MEANT TO BE BROKEN-"

"EXCUSE ME?????"

the possibilities are limitless

[praphit]

Ad Astra: Dammit, Brad!

Just Ad some Astra, people! - and everything will be alright. There's a joke there somewhere; it's not in what I just said, and wherever it is, it's probably a bad one, but it's there! Sometimes, I like jokes that are bad. We all have a family member or two who tell the same bad joke over and over again, but love them for it.  Or sometimes it'll be the same joke that people tell at work, you know??  - about the weather, or the weekend or something:

I'm always hearing jokes like "I'm off to HR. So-and-so grabbed my butt again. They'd better fire his ass this time!" - AND THEN WE’D ALL LAUGH. ... ... in retrospect, that's not really a joke. ... Ok, better example - sometimes people will be like "Oh no! My wife is leaving me. She found me in bed with another woman... she's taking the kids." - AND THEN WE’D ALL... ... Hmm... I 'm starting to realize what assholes we've been. But, y’all know what I mean, right? There are jokes that are bad, and then there are bad jokes! *sigh* That leads me to this movie.

Brad Pitt, baby! Look at those eyes! Damn he's pretty! I hope I look that good when I'm his age. I'm here for them sending Brad Pitt anywhere. Send him to the jungle - I'm there! Send him under water - I'm there! So, of course, if you're sending him to space - I'm there! The prob is, it's a bad joke. They sent him to space and he didn't do nothing! - I mean NOTHING! All he did was float around and narrate. Idc how pretty he is, nobody wants to watch that!

Brad Pitt, with this movie, joins that special list of actors:

with Tom Hanks, and Meryl Streep, and George Clooney, and Denzel.

We love them. They're extremely talented. Critics love them. AND their movies are boring as hell - this one is no different. Don't believe me?? - go to RT and you'll see a critical rating of around 80% and an audience rating of around 46% (tho it might be less by now). Normally, I say the truth is in the middle, which is still in the 60's, so... yeah, "Ad Astra", everybody *slow clap*

There's a lot of beauty to behold in this flick (especially in the beginning), so it might win awards in that arena, but damn the plot and characters! Dag gon you, Brad Pitt! It's not his fault that the movie is boring. It IS his fault for being in this boring movie.

Brad's character has daddy issues, and decides to work them out in space. Critics will say how deep this movie is... this ain't deep. Brad, your dad is a jerk - THE END. 

Either make peace with that fact or say "bleep it" and move on with your life - don't drag us along for this boring ride.

Dammit, Brad! 

You could have been a diva! You could have been like "I know we're in space, but imma take off this suit, and my shirt... trust me, the ladies will love that. I'm Brad Pitt. And I know in this scene there are dangerous highly flammable substances around, but Brad Pitt needs a smoke; make it work in the story! I know this is an Oscar craving drama, but I feel like fightin a mutha bleeper or two. Hey you! Yeah! Jamie Kennedy! Donald Sutherland! I've always wanted to punch y'all. Let's fight! Come here! I'm Brad Pitt! Where ya going?!

Hey, Liv Tyler! 

Where the hell have you been? I know this scene doesn't call for it, but let's you and me make sweet, sweet love. What?! Why not?! I'm Brad Pitt!"

But, instead he kept his mouth shut (except for when the director made him narrate in monotone), and just floated around in space. Every now and then, Ruth Negga would appear or Tommy Lee Jones... and every now and then something beautiful would appear, but then back to Brad's thoughts about daddy in space.

DAMMIT, BRAD!

I mean...

I....

*deep sigh*

Grade: D

Plus, we've already made this movie! - several times! It doesn't have to be complex. They did... what was it? - Armageddon, with um... Bruce Willis, and... Ben Affleck... 

... and wasn't Liv Tyler in that too?  - Was that her last movie? And I think Chris Tucker showed up and started singing... with a crazy hairdo... that doesn't sound right at all, but that's what I remember.

They did Apollo 13! 

The Hanky Pank Man went into space and probably won an Oscar or something.

Didn't Ryan Gosling go into space recently?

I don't remember much of that movie. He was probably crying, cuz that's his strength. He builds up to a cry for the whole movie, then at the end he makes us cry with him. Sorry, cuz that's pretty much a spoiler for all of his movies.

Matthew McConaughey went into space... something about time travel or something, I think. 

Was Liv in that too?! Maybe she has actually been stuck in space. All of these movies are connected - they're just trying to get Liv Tyler out of space and back into Hollywood.

... nah, it was some other pretty pale white woman.

Sandra Bullock went into space. 

She floated around for a while... but she didn't do that for hours whining about daddy issues like a lil bitch, BRAD PITT! (sorry, again, not your fault). SANDRA eventually did stuff... though I can't remember what. I remember ghost George Clooney ( at least I think he was a ghost) showing up in her space pod ... and then he made them both space martini's,

 and.... and then she took off her pants. There was a butt shot, and roll credits. 

Again, that doesn't sound right, but that's what I remember. Why did she take off her pants? Or is that what ladies do when in the presence of Clooney?

And I think Mark Hamill might have went into space and did some stuff as well.

I seem to have forgotten a lot about these movies, but that's kinda my point! Just go up into space, do some shit, and come back! We're going to forget most of it anyway; just entertain us in the moment! You don't just go into space and float around, BRAD PITT!

DAMMIT, Brad! Those are hours of my life wasted listening to you drone on and on about NOTHING!

Again, I'm projecting my anger onto Brad, but it's not really his fault.

A better movie would have been this -

Brad decides to go to space, and take with him a handful of other actors who got stuck playing boring roles. They'll all revisit one of their more memorable exciting characters:

Brad - Tyler Durden

Hanks - Woody

(yep, yep... that’s weird)

Streep - the witch from "Into the Woods"

Denzel - the guy from Training Day

(Wow, did they think Denzel was going to grow into that jacket during filming?)

Clooney - Batman

(his nipple game was immaculate)

Let's put Damon in there, cuz... yeah... - he'll play... what part was it when his movies started to... you know... ??? Was it "The Informant!"? He'll play that guy.

We still need more color, I think. And another woman... a lil older... um... Rosie Perez!

I hear that she's coming back to acting. Maybe I shouldn't call it a come back, but... has she done anything since "White Men Can't Jump"?  or had she been in space with Liv Tyler? She's supposed to be in that "Birds of Prey" movie next year... why they grabbed her for that movie when she hasn't done anything in like 40 years, idk. BUT, she's going to be in MY movie dag gonit! - she'll play... Idk, we'll just throw a "White Men Can't Jump" T-shirt on her, and give her a basketball.

BOOM! The team!

They'll go into space in hopes to do something interesting or fun or.. something that generally doesn't suck ass.

And why does it always have to be about exploring the moon or mars? And why do we only meet stereotypical aliens? There always either cute and marketable or they want to kill us.

We wouldn't even have to go the alien angle. What about other entities? Ooo! Or what about God? Scientists often joke that they haven't yet found some white bearded old man surfing through space yet. But, what if they did?

How about this?!

Brad and his team find Jesus and the Holy Ghost surfing through the cosmos, looking for the Father.

(Jesus played by Lil Wayne and HG played by... Lady Gaga - sure)

BUT the Father (spoiler alert) is actually on earth. He came down in the form of... idk... Neil Degrasse Tyson.

Btw - did y'all know that Neil was Metoo'd? Somehow I had missed that. So, the Father takes that form, somehow forgets that he's God... maybe gets metoo'd, and now Jesus and the HG have to look for him. Brad and his gang have an interesting encounter with them, and end up joining their quest, and in the process come across... idk... a malfunctioning Optimus Prime (crossover, baby!) with a thirst for blood and vengeance!

All of that stuff gets handled in about 2 hours or so, and Brad Pitt and friends come back to earth and do a musical number with BTS.

 THAT, Bradley is how you do it!

DAMMIT, Brad!

To be fair, "Once upon a time in Hollywood" is good! So, maybe we'll look back and give Brad a pass for this.

Sooooo, hit me up, and let's make THAT movie, Brad!

Annnnd don't make no more bullshit. Thanks.

[meguwumibear]

Our Love is God pt 2

Okay this is part two of Our Love is God, my Heathers and Stranger Things crossover. I hope you all enjoy it. Feedback is welcome and encouraged :)

______________________________________________________________

         Steve doesn’t find out about the incident until after school. The Heaths are all over his house, which weirdly has become the gangs new stomping ground even though Heath’s house is bigger, playing a quick game of croquet before the night’s party. “Did you hear?�� Heath Chandler asks after taking his turn. “Did you hear what that maniac Billy Hargrove did?”

           No, Steve hadn’t heard, but it isn’t unusual for him to be out of the rumor loop. Snooping has always been Heath’s favorite past time, not his, so it makes sense that Heath would hear about whatever happened with Billy before the rest of them. Heath’s always had a terrible habit of sticking that rounded nose of his into other people’s business. If something really did go down, Heath for sure would be the first to catch wind of it. Not much happens in this shitty little town that the world’s youngest sleuth didn’t know about.

           It was all one great big game to Heath, knowing the business of others. In fact, he prided himself on his collection of dirt. Having all this forbidden knowledge made him feel superior to the people around him. And, to be fair, if he knew everyone’s secrets, and no one knew his, he did hold a certain advantage over the other people in town. He could use his acquired information to ruin the reputations of his peers, or, worse, blackmail them.

           “Well,” Heath says, “did you guys hear what Billy did?”

           There it is again: that name, that five letter word. The mere mention of the kid’s name makes Steve’s heart skip a beat. He can’t quite put his finger on why this handsome stranger is having this effect on him, but there’s no denying that Billy Hargrove has intrigued him. In an earnest attempt not to sound too interested because, hey, why the hell should he be interested anyway, the kid’s a total stranger, he replies, “No I didn’t hear. What did he do?”

           “Oh,” Heath begins, taking his dear old time to explain. The art of anticipation is just as important to Heath as his overly priced hair gel. “It’s awful really. Apparently just after we left the caf, Billy pulled a gun on Tommy and Ram.”

           Steve waits for more details, but Heath offers none. “Shit,” Steve swears unable to express all the thoughts racing through his mind any other way. Shit. A gun? Billy pulled a gun on those numbskulls? “There has to be more to the story than this,” he says. “Why would he just pull a gun on them unprovoked?” Heath has to know more than this; he always does. He’s just taking his sweet old time to divulge the juicy details.

           Heath shrugs, “Rumor has it Tommy accused him of being queer or something along those lines. Guess the bastard didn’t like that very much.”

           “Yikes,” Steve says, still unable to fathom his thoughts into words. “Do you think they’ll expel him?” Steve cringes the moment those six words leave his mouth. Do you think they’ll expel him? Fuck, if the dude really shot Tommy and Ram he deserves a worse fate than that. If Billy really did shoot them, he belongs in prison.

           “God, they won’t expel him,” Heath M says. “They’ll just suspend him for a week or something.”

           “He used a real gun!” Heath counters. “They should through his ass in jail.”

           Oh, Steve realizes suddenly why they even begun talking about Billy the teenage delinquent in the first place: Heath’s jealous of the boy. It’s not hard to see why Heath would feel threatened by the new player. Billy’s confident, easy on the eyes, and, apparently, handy with a pistol. Everything about the kid jeopardizes Heath’s title of king of the school. The more interested people become in Billy, the less interested they’ll be in Heath. Heath can’t have that; he needs to be kingpin.

           “No way,” Heath protests, unable to deduct why Heath is so vehement about locking Billy up. “He used blanks. All Billy really did was ruin two pairs of pants. Maybe not even that. Can you bleach out urine stains?”

           Steve is able to bite back his chuckle. Heath, on the other hand, is not so lucky. Heath’s face scrunches into a scowl. “You seem pretty amused,” he spits Heath’s way, taking the opportunity to take his next turn even though Steve hasn’t touched his ball once yet. Heath knocks his red ball directly into Heath’s green one, plotting his revenge.

           Heath sighs, coming to the conclusion that he has no one other than himself to blame for this, “So what are you going to do Heath? Take the two shots or send me out?” The question doesn’t even need asking. Heath Chandler show mercy? It’s less likely than you think.

           Heath stalks over to where Heath stands, “Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast? First, you ask if you can be red, knowing that I’m always red. Now this?” Heath shakes his head side to side. He moves his red ball next to Heath’s green one and lines up the put. In one swift motion he sends Heath’s ball sailing across the yard, landing on the other side of Steve’s covered pool.

           “Oh, shit,” Heath swears, looking sadly at his ball.

           “It’s your turn, Heath,” Heath says. Heath trudges over to his ball and eyes the wicket he needs to get his ball through. He lines his mallet up with the ball, taking a few small practice swings.

           “No way, no day,” Heath laughs. Steve is about to tell Heath to give it up when Heath smacks the ball, sending it soaring into a tree, which it bounces off of. The ball lands in front of the wicket and rolls neatly under it.

           “Holy shit,” Steve exclaims at the exact same moment Heath offers up, “God, that was incredible.” Even Heath himself lets out a tiny wooh, surprised by his own luck. He couldn’t make that shot again if he tried.

           Heath, meanwhile, is clenching and unclenching his fists, staring pointedly at Heath. Heath senses Heath’s augmenting anger, so he quickly changes the subject before it manifests into something ugly. “So, tonight’s the night. Are you two excited?”

           Heath turns to look at Heath, “I’m giving Steve his shot, his first Remington party. You blow it tonight, boy, and its keggers with kids all next year.” The latter statement was directed solely at Steve. It’s a warning, and a grave one at that. Blowing tonight’s party would mean more than keggers with kids; it meant total social ridicule. Steve didn’t want that.

        Instead of giving Heath a verbal answer, Steve taps his blue ball across the lawn. Heath smirks at Steve, mistaking his silence for submission. Heath M takes his turn, followed by Heath D, then Heath is back up. For the second time that day he hits Heath’s ball.

       “Why?” Heath asks, genuinely curious why Heath seems to need to torment him.

       Heath only shrugs, “Why not.”

       Just as Steve is about to take his next turn, his mother appears at the back door. She’s clad in a formfitting grey dress, her fingers dripping with jewelry, despite the fact that she hasn’t left the house all day. Admittedly, Steve’s mom taking a lazy day is a rarity, but can a lazy day really be declared a lazy day if one sees fit to get dressed? Lazy days are about pajamas and tv; they’re about binge eating and hot shower. No one in their right mind would spend a day home from work fully clothed. That’s Steve’s mother for you: immaculate seven days a week, all twenty-four hours of the day. “Heath, you’re mother’s here,” she calls from the doorway, not bothering to venture outside.

        “Come on whoever wants a ride,” Heath says, dropping his mallet. They all need rides save Steve who lives here, so the other Heaths quickly drop their mallets and follow Heath to his mother’s car.

        Steve gathers up the discarded mallets and balls, tucking them away inside his shed. Back inside the house, his mother is setting food on the table. “Are you hungry, Stevie?” she asks him as he enters.

       “Aw, gee, mom, the pate looks great, but I got to motor if I want to be ready for that party tonight,” he tells her. She looks mildly disappointed at his rejection, but allows him to wordlessly slink away into his room anyway.

       Steve feels bad ditching his mother for a party. She doesn’t take off work very often, so he should want to spend time with her when she does. It’s just, all of her mothering and attempts at affection feel forced. Sometimes Steve wonders why his parents even bothered having a kid in the first place. They’re never around, never were, even when he was younger. He was raised by nannies in his younger years, though he eventually graduated to being his own caretaker. He doesn’t hate his mom or dad; he just doesn’t really love them either.

      Steve takes a quick shower to wash the stink of the day away before dressing. A quick glance at his clock tell him that he’s only got about ten minutes to style his hair. It’s already five fifty, and Heath said he’d be there at six. Heath is rarely late to a party, and Steve knows better than to keep him waiting. Heath is as impatient as he is cruel.

      Just as Steve suspected, Heath picks him up at exactly six o’clock that night. He honks the horn loudly to alert Steve to his presence, not even bothering to get out of the car. Steve walks out of the house without so much as a goodbye to his mother, who’s already retired to her study with a glass of wine. Steve’s wearing a preapproved outfit of a blue turtleneck sweater and skinny jeans. Heath is wearing a red polo shirt, accompanied by a black blazer.

       They make a pit stop at the local Snappy Snack Shack—an open for business twenty four hours a day convenience store marked by a big bright neon sign—before going to the party. Heath sends Steve in for some corn nuts since amidst all the lunchtime polling he forgot to eat lunch. Steve calls to Heath from the doorway of the store, “BQ or plain?”

       “BQ!” Heath shouts back as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

        A bell pills as Steve enters, and the cashier smiles as nicely as someone who’s stuck working a minimum wage job can at him. Steve shoot the guy a smile back and finds his way over to the corn nuts, which are hanging from a rack in the back of the brightly lit store.

       “You gunna pull a super chug with that?” someone asks from behind him.

       Steve knows that voice; Steve hasn’t stopped thinking about that voice since he first heard it not even ten hours ago. Sure enough when he looks up, Billy Hargrove, the bane of Hawkins is standing a mere foot away from him, leaning against the candy counter, shooting him an oh so charming grin. He’s wearing a floor length black trench coat and a red button up shirt, though he hasn’t bothered to button more than one or two of the bottom must buttons. The kid is close enough for Steve to touch, and it takes everything in him not to reach out and run his fingers along Billy’s exposed chest.

        “No,” Steve says, “but if you’re nice I’ll let you buy me a slushie.” Shit. Did he really just say that? Is he really flirting with self-proclaimed bad boy Billy Hargrove? “I see you know your convenience-speak pretty well,” he adds, desperate to take the conversation in a different direction.

       Billy shrugs his shoulders, “Yeah, well, I’ve been moved around all my life. Dallas, Baton Rouge, Vegas, Derry, Sherwood, Ohio, Hawkins,” he takes a step closer as he lists off cities, closing the gap between them. Billy is so close Steve can smell his cheap cologne. “There’s always been a Snappy Snack Shack. Any town, any time, pop a ham and cheese in the microwave and feast on a turbo dog. Keeps me sane.”

      “Really?” Steve asks taking a couple steps back. His heart is beating so loudly he’s worried if he doesn’t put some distance between himself and Billy the kid will hear exactly how nervous he is. “That thing you pulled in the caf today was pretty severe.”

      Billy nods in agreement, “Yeah, well, the extreme always seems to make an impression.” Shit. Is Billy flirting with him now? “Did you say cherry or coke slushie?” Billy asks. Fuck. The dude is definitely flirting with him.

      Steve’s brain is screaming at him to leave the store, to vacate the premises, to forget about the corn nuts. Steve Harrington does not flirt with boys, and boys certainly do not flirt with him. He opens his mouth to tell Billy he was just joking about the slushie, but what comes out instead is, “I didn’t. Cherry.”

       Billy pays for Both Steve’s slushie and Heath’s BQ corn nuts. The two exit the store together, pausing by Billy’s motorcycle to say their goodbyes.

       “Great bike,” Steve muses as Billy mounts it.

       “Yeah,” Billy agrees, “just a humble perk from my dad’s construction company. You’ve seen the commercial right? ‘Bringing every state to a higher state.’”

       “Wait a minute,” Steve says, “Billy Hargrove. . .  your pop’s Big Bud Hargrove construction?” It suddenly makes sense why Billy doesn’t stay in one place for very long. His dad has to go where there was work, and Billy had to go where his dad went. “It must be rough moving place to place.”

       Billy pops an unlit cigarette into his mouth. “Well,” he starts, pausing to light the cigarette, “everybody’s life has got static.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette before asking, “Is your life perfect, pretty boy.”

       Steve flushes at the pet name, hoping it was too dark out for Billy to notice. “Oh, yeah,” he says, his voice coming out much calmer than he feels. “I’m on my way to a party at Remington University.” Behind them, Heath honks his horn irritably. Steve rolls his eyes, “No, my life’s not perfect. I don’t really like my friends.”

       Billy smiles and nods, “Yeah, I, uh, I don’t really like your friends either.”

       “Well, it’s just like they’re people I work with, and our job is being popular and shit.”

        Billy’s tongue darts out of his mouth, wetting his chapped lips, “Maybe it’s time to take a vacation.”