High School: Freshman Year - Skittery

I hated him when I first met him. He had that perkiness about him where he's so goddamn chipper all the time that you just want to grab the nearest weapon of mass destruction and nuke the world to end it. I mean, we had two classes together freshman year- English and Biology. And, with the last names of Tatum and Riccio, of course we sat near each other. In English, I actually sat directly behind him due to a shortage in Honors students and thus an eighteen student class.

But I hated his perkiness. I hated how easily he made friends, how he could get away with sucking up to the teachers...

How he was out and no one cared.

I lost half my friends when I came out, and my mom was really the only one who supported me. I told her everything, especially since her divorce and since my brother's departure for service in Iraq. And whenever I complained about Snitch Riccio, Mom would smile and say, "There's a fine line between love and hate, Izzy."

And I'd glare at her and stalk off, disgusted. I mean, I was fourteen. I knew everything and she knew nothing.

Right?

It was sophomore year that I started my first job. I turned sixteen that October, and in March, the Coldstone Creamery at the mall lost five employees thanks to random drug testings. I applied as a replacement. And I got the job.

And so did Skittery.

I knew he didn't like me, which was why I didn't tell him until our first day that we were working together. See, I liked him. And I wanted so badly for him to like me too. I just wanted to be friends. Honest. I'm one of those people that hates being hated. You know?

We started to work together that March, just before the busy season. And as soon as Skittery walked through the door and saw me adjusting my visor behind one of the stones, this... determined, set face locked in and he ignored and avoided me the rest of the night as we were trained and taught by our co-workers.

I honestly hadn't seen much of Skittery that year. We passed in the hall between third and fourth hour, and I always said hi and he always ignored me. But working in such an intimate, cheerful environment, I had a good chance of becoming his friend.

I hoped.

For some reason, our manager, Jack, kept making me work with Snitch over the summer. "You guys have similar availability," Jack explained when I asked him why. "And you both close fast, even on busy nights, so we get out quicker when both of you close."

I scowled and went back out front to see if I needed to refill anything.

Then, something happened.

It was a Wednesday. I was key closing, so Jack had gone home. Snitch's best friend, Swinger, was doing dishes in the back while Specs wandered between frontline and backroom, refilling and replacing mix-ins and ice creams. So snitch and I were taking care of the short line of customers. I followed the script they pounded into us, and as I added a few final turns, I asked my customer if he wanted a waffle bowl or a waffle cone tonight.

"Ah... no thanks. Not tonight."

"Aw, are you sure? They taste better than stale, icky old styrofoam." I grinned in what I hoped was a charming manner. Snitch glanced at me as he worked on a young girl's ice cream.

"How do you know it tastes better?" The man challenged, smirking.

I was thrown. "Well..."

"He doesn't," Snitch interjected, reaching over and grabbing a small bowl. "But I do."

And with that, he shoved the side of the bowl in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. As the man gawked, Snitch's face contorted with disgust. "Yeah," he choked. "The cones taste way better."

The man stared at Snitch for a moment longer, then looked at me. "Give me a cone."

I did, and in return for Snitch's display, he gave us a five-dollar tip.

After we cleared the line away, Snitch set to work in the lobby, wiping down tables and benches. I watched.

"Dude," I said. "How did you think that up?"

"Hm? Oh, the bowl?" He laughed; it was a nice laugh, shy and quiet. "I dunno. It was an impulse."

"It was a damn good one."

"Why thank you."

I stared at the mostly full tip jar and pondered things. Snitch was still overly perky, and that was still annoying... but his quick thinking had guaranteed good tips once I sorted things out after closing.

"Besides," Snitch continued, "aren't we supposed to do crazy crap like that? Didn't they teach us that during training?"

"Yeah, yeah." I rested against the back counter and turned back to Snitch just in time to see him bend over to wipe down a table. His ass stuck up in the air, and I gripped the counter in surprise when I unconsciously thought, Damn! Baby got back!

"What other stuff can we do?" Snitch asked, standing up straight again.

A family of four came in, and I called Swinger out of the back to take care of them before glancing at Snitch. "Get back here. I have an idea."

Thirty seconds later, Snitch and I exploded from the backroom, him riding the back of the bus cart as I pushed. The family turned to watch in horror as I let Snitch go and crash into the opposite wall. He flew over the cart and lay sprawled over it, groaning. "Okay, that wasn't cool," he said, sliding off the cart and reaching for a rag off the back counter. "Sir, I challenge you to a duel!" And he smacked my chest with the rag.

"Sir, I accept!" I answered, letting a surprised Swinger hand me a rag. Snitch and I twirled our rags, then proceeded to snap them at each other as we retreated to the back room.

When the family left, the father dropped a ten into the tip jar.

As soon as Swinger told us, I jumped into Snitch's arms and whooped, making an incoming group of little girls squeal with laughter.

After that, Snitch and I got to be good friends.

Skittery and I came to enjoy work, and when Jack realized how much more money we raked in, Skittery and I were always scheduled together.

Not that I minded. Skittery was a close friend by this point. I'd gotten to meet his brother a week before junior year started, when Joey came home from service in Iraq. Skittery idolized his brother, and when he caught me at work and told me Joey was coming home, I had to take him back to the fridge so he could cry out his relief and joy on my shoulder.

I think that's when I realized I liked him as more than a friend.

What can I say? I like 'em sensitive.

Skittery and I got crazier with our stunts the longer we worked. There didn't have to even be people in the store. I remember one Monday where we got bored, so Skittery jumped on a table, grabbed hold of the ceiling fan and spun on it until we had a reasonable line of curious customers. And another time, we sat on the back counter and belted out songs from different musicals until we had twenty dollars worth of tips- each. Then, there was Halloween, where we talked Jack into letting us wear costumes. I was Batman and Skittery was Superman, and we bitch-fought in the middle of the lobby. I just... I had so much fun with Skittery. The hours were lousy (we always closed), the pay was only barely above minimum wage, but I liked spending time with Skittery now that we'd become friends.

And besides, we had history together that year. We did a lot of projects with each other, and grew really close. By the time prom rolled around, I had a mad crush on Skittery. And I meant to ask him to prom... but I kept chickening out.

We had more fun at work on prom night anyway, I think. Not very many people came in, so Skittery and I went through the entire script of RHPS to amuse ourselves, and once we finished that, we started to dance to the radio. Ricky Martin, Paula Abdul, Jason Mraz... anything that came on that we knew the words to.

And I preferred our night to anything that could have happened at prom. I mean, c'mon. We were only juniors. There was always next year.

This is when we finally get together.

Friday night. I was key closer. Snitch had backroom, Specs had lobby, and Bumlets was sharing stone closing with Mush. Snitch was the only one not finished by eleven-thirty, so I sent the others home and went back to help.

"Why aren't you done yet?"

He looked up and accidentally sprayed himself in the face as a spoon spat dirty water at him. "Urgh... ice cream tubs, mix-in jars, spoons, tongs, spades, scrapers, dipwell equipment... I can't finish the goddamn dishes. I've done everything else except mop."

"I'll mop. If I finish before you do, I'll help with the dishes. You know." I grinned. "Like Swinger and Mani do."

I did as I said I would, and even though he only had a few spades left by the time I finished, I went to help out anyway. We stood side-by-side, arms brushing together as he rinsed and soaped and I rinsed and sanitized. It was very assembly line, and when we finished, I was sorry. Somehow, between freshman year and senior year, I'd gone from despising Snitch to adoring him; I'd meant to ask him to prom junior year, but just kept losing my nerve. It was January now, and I was trying to get up my courage to ask him at this moment.

But then he turned and stared at me.

I lost all ability for coherent thought.

You know that episode of Friends where Ross and Rachel finally get together? They have a fight at Central Perk, Ross storms out, Rachel angrily locks the door behind him and goes to the couch to cry. Then Ross appears at the door again with this... desperately sorry look on his face.

It was exactly like the look Snitch was giving me.

I exhaled slowly. "Are you okay?"

He continued to stare. "Where is everyone else?"

"I sent them home."

"Good." He put his hands on my shoulders. "'Cause I have to do this."

And he kissed me.

Instantly, I responded, cupping his face in my hands and kissing him back, hard. He stumbled from the vigor of my kiss, and I pressed him against the table, helped him get up to sit on it, forced him down. Every time a thought came into my head that didn't revolve around Snitch's soft lips, probing tongue or hard body, it was one thanking God that our store was the only one in the franchise without security camera.

I got his shirt off and was tugging at his pants before he pushed me away, panting and shivering. "Oh my God," he whispered, sliding off the table and leaning against it with his head in his hands. "Oh my God."

"Something wrong?" I was worried that I'd gone too far. "Snitch?"

"No." He slid his hands off his face. "That just... aw, Jesus." He looked at me again and gripped my arms with hands strong from nearly two years of handling ice cream. "Skitts, who knew you could do that to me?"

"Do what?" I asked, confused.

He took my hand and pressed it against his cheek, hot and sweaty. "This." Against his chest, where his heart beat rapidly against my fingers. "This. And..." He hesitated here, then gently dropped my hand over his crotch, sending a blush into both our faces as our eyes met again. "And this."

I stared at him for a moment, then kissed him again.

As I buttoned my pants twenty minutes later, I had Snitch throw a bucketful of sanitizer over the the table. There was no doubt that the thing needed sanitized after what we'd done. I had him do it every time we closed after that too.

Needless to say, we were boyfriends.

And I still don't quite understand how I went from freshman year hatred to senior year romance.

There really is a fine line between love and hate. Isn't there?

.::AUTHOR'S NOTE::.

Okay, it sucks, I know, shut up. I have more to go with it. This is a three-part story, and I already have the second part written, I'm just busy on weekends because they cut down on hours at work, so all my hours are on the weekends. And the weekends are usually my big typing time, so yeah. We'll see if I can get anything done after I get home (after work, we're going to see PoA again 3Neville and his Snitchy-teeth. XD), and if not, then tomorrow I'll try, 'cause I don't go in until six tomorrow.

On the topic of terms like "spades" "dipwell" ... I've been working at Coldstone too long. I know it too well. Bah. I'm going for a job at Safeway.

P.S. I've decided to post the Outkasts rewrite on . It'll be posted under my current new title Pushing Back, so look for it. It'll be good.

And now, breakfast before work. Ta.