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Race loved when he got to do inventory at work. His mom took it once a week, and Race always leapt at the chance to do it. Anything was better than sitting at the front with his only co-worker, Rachel Neiman. She was pretty enough and nice for the most part... but incessantly annoying. As one of the Broadway Girls, she seemed to feel it was her special duty to do nothing except drive Race up the wall by singing showtunes hour after hour after hour.

"Six, seven, eight Robin's Egg thread," Race muttered to himself, marking the number on his clipboard. "Ocean thread. One, two-"

"I could have danced all night, I could have danced all night, and still have begged for more!"

Race scowled and shook his head. "One, two, three-"

"I could have spread my wings and done a thousand things-"

"Can you shut up so I can do inventory?" Race snapped. "Christ!"

"Just thought a little music would lighten the mood!"

"There's already music, you fool! Je-sus!" He rolled his eyes and resumed counting. "... Three, four, five, six Ocean thread. Grass Green thread, one-"

"Get ready Baltimore! There's a bright, brand new day in store!"

"Okay, that's it!" Race threw his clipboard on the ground and stormed to the front counter where Rachel sat by the cash register, singing blissfully at the top of her lungs. "How has Mom not fired you yet?"

The singing stopped short and her pretty blue eyes turned his way, wide and surprised. "Um... 'cause I'm a good singer?"

Race slammed the ball of his hang against his forehead, groaning. "Um, no. That's the reason she should fire you?"

"My voice happens to be good! I'm sorry punk shit has ruined your ears-"

"Um, hey."

The co-workers turned simultaneously to stare at Trisha Williams and Kyriel Federer, two of Rachel's good friends. Race made a face and threw his hands in the air. "I can't win!" He cried, stalking back to the infinite shelves of multi-colored thread. Behind him, the girls giggled.

"What's his problem?" Trisha asked. "Run out of Starbursts for his next pair of pants?"

"Sh!" Kyriel shoved the other girl, laughing. "Don't give him any ideas."

All three girls started giggling, and Race rolled his eyes, sighing heavily as he continued counting the thread before him. It wasn't a difficult job; just monotonous and boring. And with Rachel singing like she was alone in her car instead of at work, it was distracting and hard to do.

And now, Trish and Ky. Other Broadway Girls to come in and ruin his day. And where were his friends now, hm? Particularly Snitch or Bumlets or someone for Race to be loud and obnoxious with in order to bother Rachel. Well he knew where Snitch was; either band practice or detention. Probably detention. And Bumlets? Who knew what Bumlets did in his spare time? Who wanted to know?

Race sighed again, counting out three spools of Sea Green thread (and yes, Sea Green is a different color from Ocean). One of these days, he was going to have to get a different job. One where his friends wouldn't be too embarrassed to come and visit him.

"So tell me," One of the girls whispered at the counter. "I heard this rumor, Rach, about you and some guy..."

"Davide?" Giggles appeared; Race turned to see Rachel making a face. "Ew, that slime."

"So he did?"

"Ask me to prom? Yes." The same face was made and Race shook his head, turning back to his Erin Green thread. "It was absolutely disgusting. I can't stand that jackass."

"Me neither!" Kyriel's voice whispered harshly. "I mean, after what he did to his sister-!"

"I know, poor girl. He's a jerk-off, Rach," Trisha agreed. "Good for you turning him down."

Race smirked to himself; he knew exactly who they were talking about. Davide Pelligrino. Mandy's younger brother, who hadn't spoken to her in a public setting since she started dating Rafferty. He took such pride in his Italian heritage that he refused to let anyone call him Dave, Davey, or even David. A lot of people disliked him for his generally slimy habits. Plus, he needed a goddamn haircut, in pretty much everyone's opinion; truckers aren't hot. Period.

A sigh passed from the front counter. "I know. I can't believe he asked me, though. It's kind of gross to think about. That I'm the girl Davide wanted to go to prom with? Ew!"

"Definitely."

"Totally."

The girls giggled together again, and the bell over the door dinged, announcing the arrival of a customer. "Hi, welcome to Alice's Crafts and Supplies," was Rachel's automatic welcome. "... Oh. Bobby. Hi."

Race stopped counting his Spring Garden thread and turned. "Mush? That you?"

"Hey Race!" Was the response, to which Race allowed a silent Hallelujah! "Where are you hiding?"

"Blue and Green threads. Come on back."

The girls giggled as Mush walked through the aisles, tilting his head and smiling at Race as he approached. "I love watching you work."

"Is that some sort of gay comment?" Race quipped. "I know about you stage actors and your dressing rooms."

"Hardy-har. Very funny." It was Mush's turn to roll his eyes. "I meant that it's very amusing to see you and your mohawk dancing amongst sewing kits and scrapbook stickers."

"Just like it's amusing watching some twink suck your dick?"

"Oh, burn. Only not. Asshole."

Race grinned and marked down seven Harvest Green spools. "What's your accent today, Mushy-boy? I can't seem to detect one."

"I was Jamaican for a while dere, mon," Mush answered, instantly slipping into it. "But me Mom got mad and kicked me outta de 'ouse."

"... Yeah, well don't start again or I'll have to kick you out of the store," Race responded, kneeling down to count the Sage Green thread. "What are you doing here anyway? Spot's usually the only one to ever come visit me here."

"My mom's social group is doing some stupid painting thing this weekend and I was sent down to buy some paints and brushes."

"Got the card?"

Mush smirked and waved his mother's Visa card in front of Race's nose. "The richest family in Iglesia Rey? How could I not have a card?"

Race stood up and bowed cheekily to his old friend. "Then please, let me show you our finest paints. Oil or acrylic?"

"... I don't know? What's the difference?"

"I have no idea. Ask my mom."

They crossed the store, passing the obliviously gossiping girls on their way. To Race's surprise, Mush actually turned to stare at the girls, nearly running into a shelf of knitting needles in the process. "... What's your problem?"

"... Nothing," Mush answered after a moment's hesitation. "These are the paints to choose from?"

"Yup." Race gestured to the rainbow of colors before them; everything in this store was rainbow. No wonder Spot was the only one who ever came to visit. "Folk Art is the best brand, in my opinion, and it's cheaper than Delta, and it has more color choices. As for brushes, I'd recommend the Plaid One Stroke set of four. Good, solid brushes."

Mush started to laugh. "Hey, mon, how you know so much 'bout dese t'ings?"

"Don't start, fuckwad. I know 'cause I hear Mom say it so often. I have no opinion; I just pretend I do."

"Right. I'm sure." Mush grabbed a bottle of Eggplant paint, turning it over between coffee-cream fingers. "All right then. I guess I'll get those brushes and some of these paints. Although I'm seriously considering those water colors right there."

Race laughed when he saw where Mush was pointing; the typical child's set in a yellow case, black-through-red with a plastic brush. "I think your mom would pitch."

"I think she'd die." Mush pursed his lips. "But no. Not yet. We'll stick with these."

Race gestured to the counter. "Rachel will ring you up when you're ready. I have to go finish counting the Kelly Green and Enchanted Forest."

"Have fun, mon," Mush said with a grin, plucking Barnyard Red from the shelf and inspecting it.

"Hey, Dom!" Rachel called as Race passed to go back to his thread. "That one's still got a nickname?"

Race frowned, hooking his left thumb through his beltloop. "Uh, yeah? Most of us do. Why?"

"He doesn't have a date, then?"

"No. Why? You interested?" Race grinned suddenly, showing all his white teeth. "Sorry, Rach, but Mush is in the drama department, and you know what that means, being in the drama department as well."

Rachel and Kyriel both glared at him, but Trisha, who was more of a prep, looked confused. "What do you mean?"

Before either Rach or Ky could respond, Race gleefully opened his mouth: "He's a twink."

"I am not! Stop lying, asshole!"

"He likes when twinks suck his dick, then."

Mush appeared from the back wall, his arms loaded down with several different colors of paint. "You are such a fag."

"Look who's talking!"

"You're the one who keeps making up stories about me and twinks!"

"Hey hey hey!" Kyriel snapped her fingers, looking annoyed. "Can we stop with the gay-bashing, please?"

"We're allowed to bash gays," Race said snippily. "Three of our friends are gay, that means it's allowed."

"It does not."

"Psht. I don't see you having any gay friends. If you did, you'd understand why we bash them."

Kyriel threw up her hands, shaking her head at the other girls. "All right, Rach. We've gotta get going. We're gonna go see Fever Pitch. Wanna come with?"

"I don't get off until-"

"Go."

Rachel glanced at Race in surprise. "What?"

"Go on, go." He made a shoo-ing motion in her direction. "Get your ass out of my hair for a night. We only need one person anyway, and I know safe combos and passwords and everything."

"... Your mom won't get mad?"

"Fuck no. She thinks she works you too much as it is."

She blinked at him, blue eyes wide. "... You're sure?"

"Absolutely. Get out. Now. Before I fire you."

"... I take the night off, or I get fired?"

"Yes."

"... All right then." She shrugged and stood up, grabbing her purse from the shelf beneath the computer. "If that's the choice I'm given, I guess I'll have to take the night off."

"Damn right you do." Race slipped past her and went to the time clock on the computer, typing in Rachel's name and clocking her out.

"'Night, Dom."

"See ya, Rach."

Mush raised his eyebrows once the girls were out the door. "You two seemed pretty friendly."

Race snorted, slumping back in the chair. "Yeah, right. More like civil."

"As in...?"

"As in we work together, so we either fight all the time and make ourselves miserable, or we're generally civil to each other." He kicked his leather-and-chain boots over the counter, leaning back. "We still fight a lot."

"I bet. Does she sing?" Race scrunched his nose and stuck out his tongue, making Mush laugh. "I figured. Check me out, asshole."

"Goddamn twink."

"... That's not what I meant."

Race grinned and took his feet down, grabbing Mush's paints and scanning them one-by-one. Mush stood silently for a moment before reaching over to toy with one of the many McDonald's toys that lined the counter. "... What about that girl Rachel was with?"

"... Which one?"

"The one with black hair."

Race slammed a container of Cool Melon paint down on the counter, shaking his head. "They both had black hair, you moron."

"... Oh. The one with all the rings and bracelets then."

"Trisha?" Race frowned, struggling to scan a container of Sweet Midori paint. "What about her?"

"Nothing." Mush flicked an old, plastic Megara figurine, knocking the Disney heroine onto the floor. "She was just kind of quiet, is all."

Race actually laughed out loud. "Oh please. Trisha? I don't think so. She gives me as much crap as Rachel. Why do you think they hang out?"

Mush shrugged slowly and didn't reply. Race scanned an Anenome (who the fuck thinks up these godforsaken names?) paint container and leaned over the counter, eyeing his old friend.

"... Do you like her?"

"... She was pretty, I guess."

Instantly, Race started shaking his head. "Mush, listen, don't. Okay? Just trust me on this one. It ain't gonna happen."

Mush frowned at him. "And why the hell not?"

"You get too used to this 'turning girls to mush' thing. And the 'richest kid in town' thing. I happen to know for a fact that Bart Lilken is going to ask Trisha to prom."

"So? I'm good-looking and rich, I can beat Bart."

"Ah, see, that's where you're wrong. Good-looking and rich only appeals to some girls. Trisha isn't one of them."

"Meaning...?"

"Even if you ask her, she'll probably go with Bart. Either that, or you're going to have one shitty time at prom."

Mush's frown deepened, his eyebrows low over his dark eyes. "... Are you done scanning yet?"

Race winced and scanned the last paint container, Pageant Song. "Yeah. Total is... thirty-five dollars, twenty-one cents." The card was run through the machine and Mush was given his bag of paints. "Hey, Mush, I'm sorry, man, but I can't lie to you-"

"Don't tell me things I already know, Race," Mush said, grabbing his bag and heading out the door. Race watched him, eyes squinted against the setting, Texas sun. After a moment, he shrugged, resumed his previous position in the chair, and dug into his secret stash of Skittles under the desk. If Mush already knew his good looks and financial status were more hindrance than help, well, then that was his problem.

Snitch scowled at his best friend, and instantly hit Skittery over the head with a bottle of Lime Coke. "Shut up, stupid, it wasn't my fault! It's just that freakhole Mr. Sibiric hates me. He's always hated me, you know that."

"Though I can't imagine why. I mean, you're so quiet and studious-"

"I thought I told you to shut up?"
Skittery grinned, still rubbing his head from the Attack of the Lime Coke. "I ain't your bitch, fool!"

"No, you're a pussy." And Snitch's face lit up as he and Skittery finished the Team America quote: "'And Kim Jong Il is an asshole. Pussies don't like dicks because pussies get fucked by dicks. But dicks also fuck assholes; assholes who just want to get shit-"

"Okay okay okay!" Mandy squealed finally, shoving her hands over her ears. "We don't want to hear the rest!"

"Pussy!" Skittery teased.

"Licker, you forgot licker," Snitch added, remembering to duck as Rafferty attempted to kick him. Jack laughed and rolled his eyes.

"I can always count on you guys for a laugh," he said fondly, pushing dark hair out of his eyes with one hand.

Snitch made a face. "Don't go getting mushy on us, Jocky-boy. That's Spot's job."

"It is not! That's such a stereotype!"

"If the tiara fits..."

Spot wrinkled his nose in distaste and turned back to his cold chicken sandwich. Friends were nice to have usually, but sometimes (a lot of the times, where Snitch was involved), they were just out-and-out annoying.

"Hey guess what."

Snitch's comment went ignored. He pouted heavily.

"It's nothing bad this time, really!"

"Okay, I'll bite." Skittery always took the difficult job of taking care of Snitch's need for attention. "What?"

"I'm in a band."

"We know." Sarah rolled her eyes. "You only talk about it all the time."

For a moment, Snitch was thrown. Then, he realized the cheerleader was just being stupid. "No, idiot, not marching band. A band. Like guitars and drums and keyboards and stuff. Like for Battle of the Bands?"

"... You are not."

"Am so." Snitch grinned proudly. "The Detention Boys. Me, Bart, Zach, and Tony are starting a band and we're competing in Battle of the Bands. Just to show those stupid teachers who don't like us for no good reason that we do have talent."

Silence. Then insane laughter. Snitch pouted again, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Fine!" He snapped. "Dash my dreams into dust! Forsake my golden future! Leave me to sleep on the sidewalk in a snowdust of cocaine and heroine and-"

"... Guys, I'm getting desperate."

Snitch's mouth clicked shut and everyone turned to look at who had spoken. Bumlets, electric blue hair hanging in his eyes, was sitting stiff on the steps, lips pursed tight. This was the last thing our heroes had expected; one of them had been sure to crack, but no one had thought it would be Bumlets.

"Hey, man, you still got three weeks," Blink said, putting a hand on Bumlets's shoulder. "If anyone should be 'desperate' it's Snitch."

"Hey!"

"Just being honest."

"I hate you all."

"Bumlets's crisis, not yours," Sarah snipped, tugging on a lock of Snitch's too-long hair.

"Okay, okay, to be fair, Spot also has a bit of a problem."

"Do not!"

"Shut up!" Blink sighed in frustration. "Point being, Bumlets, you shouldn't be 'desperate.' You've got three weeks to get a date. You're all set to go."

Bumlets's face turned sharply to look at Blink, then up at the sky, then down at Snitch.

"... Yeah," he said finally, easing up a little. "I don't have as many problems as Snitch has."

Snitch held up his hands, angry, as everyone laughed. "Why do you all target me? I haven't done anything!"

"Right!" Race snickered. "And OJ's innocent."

The volume of the laughter heightened at that, Snitch's joining in.

It was always surprising how well the thirteen got along. They were all so different; different in likes and dislikes, in financial standings, in dreams and nightmares, in pastimes and families. And yet, they were still the best of friends. It's one of those things that gives hope to the rest of us; if these thirteen, our heroes, had managed to be friends for all the many years they'd known each other, then maybe it's possible for the rest of us as well.

... Yeah. Right.

.:AUTHOR'S NOTE:.

Okay, okay, I know, not up to my usual standards. But the points get across and it's mildly amusing and that's all I'm worried about at the moment.

I was amused by the weird colors I found for Race to deal with. Mahaha. Could you tell?

Anyway. It's summer but my mom's bitchy right now so I still have a fucking bedtime. So I gotta split now. See you all around.