“Amy. Look at me. Please, look at me. I…we…we’re worried.”
     The words distant, heard through a fog of memories, Amy slowly raised her eyes from the shadows on the carpet, meeting her brother’s anxious gaze. She stared for a moment, uncomprehending, trying to pull the words that were falling from his lips into a coherent sentence.
     “Please, Amy,” Alex begged, kneeling in front of her as she sat curled up in her favorite chair, a blanket neatly tucked around her body. “We’re so worried. Please just…do something. Tell us what happened. You won’t talk to the counselor, to Mom or Dad, Jon said you aren’t working at all, and you said that was what you wanted to do. And the police…”
     Alex trailed off, his lips tightening. He would know all too well what his colleagues were saying about his sister’s refusal to give information. “Just…please, Amy. Talk to Jon, talk to the therapist, to me, to Uncle Tom, hell, you can go accost a stranger on the street and tell them about it. But you can’t keep holding this in. It’s not good for you, and…fuck. Amy.” His eyes glinted with unshed tears, his hands curled into fists as he fought to get the words out, to get through. “Please, just give us something, so we at least know that maybe you’ll get better.”
     Amy dropped her head back against the chair, exhausted by the effort of supporting its weight, feeling the press of two sleepless nights in a row twining with the memories rioting in her mind, creating a tension that tightened her muscles and kept her on the verge of…something. Screaming or crying. She didn’t know what it would be, but she could feel it building.
     A dull hum had her opening her eyes again, taking in the fact that Alex was talking, pleading some more, trying one last effort to get through when no one else had.
     “What if I can’t get better?” Amy cut in, her voice retaining only a slight remnant of the hoarseness it had born earlier in the week. “What if I’ll always be like this?”
     “Amy, you don’t know that,” Alex insisted, sounding relieved that she had at last replied, latching onto her words in hopes that maybe somehow it would lead somewhere. “You won’t know until you try. Please, will you at least give it a shot?”
     Amy shrugged, her breath leaving her chest in a hard sigh as she dropped her eyes down to her hands, watching as her fingers knotted and twisted seemingly of their own accord.
     “What if I want to talk to you?” Amy watched him through her eyelashes, gauging his reaction. “What happens if I tell you things you aren’t going to want to hear?”
     “Then I won’t like to hear them. But Aim, I’ll still listen.”
     “And if it’s something you feel your brothers on the force should know?” She tilted her head to the side, her expression conveying the sarcasm her voice lacked, a few strands of brown hair drifting across her face as heated air brushed her face from the nearby vents.
     Amy had to give Alex credit for only hesitating a quick moment before answering, clearly finding ethics an easy thing to toss aside if the situation warranted.
     “I promise I would never tell them anything you didn’t want me to tell them. Not about this.”
     She tried to read his eyes a moment, loosing them in the shadows of the small room, before nodding her head in acknowledgment. She turned her head to bury her face against the worn fabric of the chair, taking comfort for a moment in its familiarity.
     “So will you talk to me?” Alex ventured at last, clearly not knowing what to do with the silence.
     “Maybe.” Amy shrugged as she shoved herself to her feet, silently applauding herself for only stumbling a bit as she fought to find her center of balance. She shied away from Alex’s automatically extended hand, pretending she didn’t see the hurt that flashed over his features as she spurned his help. She bit the inside of her cheek as a quick flare of pain ignited the previous dull ache along her thigh, doing her best to hide the pain from her brother. He’d been worried enough to know of the injury’s existence, he didn’t need to know that it was still hurting her.
     “I’ll sleep on it,” Amy said after a moment of gauging his expression, ignoring the fact that they both knew she wouldn’t be falling asleep any time soon no matter how much her body needed it. “And in the morning...maybe.”

September 2, 2007
6:00 PM
Middleton

     “You little bastard!” Amy shouted as she slung a throw pillow across the room, hitting the wall next to Alex’s shoulder instead of her intended target. “You did that on purpose!”
     Giving her a big brother grin, Alex casually snagged the pillow off the floor and launched it back at her, hitting her squarely in the chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he teased, his brown eyes dancing with laughter.
     Amy flipped her brother the finger and the curls out of her face, crossing her arms over her chest and sending Alex her dirtiest look. “If you don’t switch the channel back I’m going accidentally mention a few things about your childhood next time a few of your buddies stop by the office.”
     “Bitch,” Alex muttered without heat, fiddling with the remote. “I don’t know how Jon could possibly stand your presence long enough to propose.”
     “What Jon does in my presence is none of your concern,” Amy said primly. “Now switch the channel back to the news.”
     “Fine,” Jon muttered as he complied. “You and your stupid news.”
     “Yes, me and my stupid facts. If you have a problem with it you could just stay at your apartment and watch TV there.”
     “Yeah,” Jon grinned, “But Mom won’t feed me there. As much,” he added after a short pause.
     Amy snorted as the channel five jingle began to play, turning her attention away from her brother and focused in on the television, watching the graphics zoom across the screen as the intro reached its crescendo.
     “Is that channel five? With the lady with the hair?” Mathew Carlyle shouted from the kitchen, his voice penetrating Amy’s focused attempts to block out Alex’s token grumbling.
    “Yeah, Dad,” she called back, angling her head so she could still see the screen as she twisted around to address him. “If you come in, can you bring the chips?”
     The bag of Tostitos landed squarely in her lap as Mathew settled onto the couch next to her. “I miss anything?”
     “Nope,” she answered, “They just started some story about that teacher’s strike a few towns over. Jon heard about it from someone. Somebody gave in on some side, or something like that.”
     “How eloquent,” Mathew murmured with a smile as he slouched down on the couch, stretching out his legs with a sigh. “What are the big stories supposed to be tonight?”
     Amy slid her eyes his way, then flicked them over to Alex, who had turned his head in question at her unusual silence.
    “I heard,” Amy said, pitching her voice to carry to the back office where she knew her mom was working. “That they got something knew about the Slasher.”
     There was a moment of complete silence, then a flurry of movement as her mother hurried away from the new case she had been looking into, quickly taking a seat next to her husband, eyes intent on the screen to the exclusion of everything else.
     Alex made a disbelieving noise, shaking his head in amazement. “You and Mom are just like each other with this guy. Can’t get enough of it. Must be some kind of morbid trait you pick up in law school.”
     “Or maybe it’s a normal trait you lack,” Amy suggested with a quick smile, “Seeing as you’re the one that went to community college.”
     “Hey, it was not community college,” Alex exclaimed, expression outraged. “It’s a university, and if it happens to be in the next town over, that isn’t my fault, Miss I Want to Get as Far Away From My Parents as Possible so I Can Do Exactly What Mom Does.”
     “You can’t talk,” Amy said with half her attention, the other half picking out odd words from the broadcast, listening for anything of interest. “You did exactly what dad does.”
     “Well you-”
     “Children,” Catherine said, voice slicing through the argument in that tone all mothers seem to have. “Get a hold of yourselves and act your ages. You aren’t squabbling teenagers any longer. Stop pretending to be ones.”
     Amy made a quick face at Alex and turned away before he could respond, grabbing a handful of chips as the camera zoomed in on the anchorwomen’s grave expression, excitement sparking as she got ready for the story she knew had to be coming next.
     “And now, for some breaking news. Earlier this day, after a careful investigation, an FBI spokesperson announced that the recent murder of Adam Fisher in New York City was indeed the work of the Slasher.”
     “Knew it,” Amy muttered as she shifted position on the couch, trying to work off the bubbling, excited energy that was suddenly humming through her. “Told you,” she fired at Alex, who flipped her off without even looking, fixated on the television screen.
     “This is one sick fuck,” Mathew breathed as the report continued, shaking his head in disbelief. “To do this…Jesus. It’s beyond me.”
     “He probably has some mental disorder,” Catherine stated with satisfaction as the report began to cite old information, trying to draw out the excitement. “Means he’s going to loose control and fuck up, and then we’ll catch him.”
     “Looks like its already happening, to me,” Alex muttered. “I mean, seriously, the guy has been killing people for years. That isn’t loosing control already?”
     “He’ll get worse,” Mathew clarified, looking thoughtful as he considered the matter. “It’s like being sick, before you get better it has to get worse. That seems to be the pattern with people like this.”
     Amy nodded in agreement, slouching back again, fingering the back of chips. “Slow slide into being even more twisted than they already are. More violent, more head games, more frequent.” She cast an uneasy glance at the television screen at her last words.
     “He’s already more frequent,” Catherine voiced her thoughts. “Going from four months in between kills to two? That’s a hell of a lot more frequent.”
     “So how long,” Amy asked, “Before he starts to fuck up and make mistakes? Because he hasn’t made any yet.”

6:15 PM
New York City

     “Police are carefully investigating the scene of the crime,” Linda Farentina continued, trying to look grave under the spiked strands she was trying to pass off as a respectable haircut, the excited glint on her eye giving her away. “So far, they have declined to comment, only saying that federal agents will be arriving shortly to assist with the investigation.
     “However.”
     Erik paused in the act of switching off the TV at the sudden tension that one word evoked, slowly lowering the remote control back onto the coffee table, shifting forward in his seat to hear Linda’s words over the noise of the city drifting into the room through the open window.
     “However,” the newscaster repeated, obviously delighting in the idea of holding the nation fixed on her image, waiting for her next words with baited breath. “There is word that, while the police refuse to prematurely confirm or deny, there is a strong likelihood that a piece of viable evidence has been discovered at the scene of Adam Fisher’s murder.”
     Erik sighed a soft curse, flipping off the TV as Linda began to recount old information, just in case anyone had forgotten in the last few months. He dropped his head into his hands for a moment, massaging his fingers against the headache he could feel building behind his left eye, a throbbing pain that couldn’t distract him from the fact that he was in trouble.
     Feeling restless and twitchy despite the tiredness that should have had him in bed even at this early hour, Erik rose to his feet and moved for the open window, keeping his body pressed against the wall, partially enveloped by the light curtains, a pale shadow against the gauzy fabric. He hid from the view of anyone down on the streets below as he breathed deeply, sucking in the tang of New York City air. He scowled as he didn’t find the relief he needed, the wild scent he was looking for hidden beneath layers of pollution and sweat. Leaning a shoulder against the wall he turned his head to watch the people moving on the ground below, squinting against the shine of the streetlight across the street as he idly traced the shape of the knife at his waist.
     He had messed up big time, with this one. Got caught unexpectedly in the pull coming right off his last kill, and stupidly he’d tried to fight it, deny that it could be happening again so soon. You’d think that by now he would no better, but no, he had tried anyway.
     And look at where it had gotten him. Waiting in a hotel room to see if he was going to get caught over this or not, if he was going to have to take another unscheduled and unprofitable trip to some third world island until the fuss died down, because he should have been more careful. Should have worn gloves, should have kept his hood up, should have known there would be damn homeless people in that area of town, and that even if they were passed out drunk they were still a liability.
     With another soft sigh he palmed his knife from the waistband of his slacks, running his fingers lightly against the cool steel of the blade, letting the cold and the reassuring feel of the grip against his fingers calm him. Closing his eyes he shifted completely out of sight of the window and flipped the knife, rubbing the hilt in slow circles against his temple, relaxing as the headache began to fade.
     Keeping his eyes close he grabbed for his sunglasses, finding them after a fumbling moment on the bedside table, putting them on to block the stinging light from his eyes.
     “Stop being an ass,” Erik murmured to himself as he slid his knife back into the waistband of his pants, shifting it to its usual position. “You just need to get out of New York. It’s not like you weren’t planning too.”
     And besides, he added silently, I need to get away from large population centers.
     He waited restlessly for the internet start page to finish loading on his laptop, his fingers flying over the keys when it finally allowed him to type the web address he needed.
     Larson Consultations Company read the banner at the top of the page when it finally loaded. For Any Business, Anywhere. Erik paused for a moment, giving the home page a critical look, searching for any flaws he could correct to make it more appealing, more accessible.
    Finally determining that everything was fine as it was he logged onto his account, jumping to the list of companies waiting for his services. He did a quick scan of the names, then organized them by located, eliminating all those not in the northeast. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to stomach a long plane ride, not in the state he was in now. Too many people, all looking too interesting in this city. It had gotten him wired again, given him the tingly feeling that heralded the need to see blood flow. If he got out in time, before his instincts locked in on someone, maybe he could avoid it for a few more weeks.
    Erik scanned the list as his mind idly ran over those familiar thoughts, seeing if any names caught his eye. He was about to start again, this time with a search through the company bios when a name caught his eye near the bottom of the list.
    Mother’s Fresh Baked Pastries (MFBP).
    Erik stared for a moment, then slowly blinked, considering. He hadn’t worked for a bakery in a long while, and he could certainly use a break from having to wrap stubborn upper management around his finger.
     Feeling a spark of interest he clicked on the name, brining up the short biography. He grinned as he read through. This was just getting better and better. It was a young company, only twenty years old, which meant there should be an abundance of problems to be fixed and a scarcity of assholes to deal with.  
     The company’s website just confirmed the decision. It looked like it had been created by a sixth grader without a lot of time on his hands. And it had also planted the address right at the top of the page.
     Middleton…Erik mused to himself. I remember Middleton. His lips curled into a small smile as his fingers fell to his knife again.
     Middleton it is, he decided as he clicked back to his website and began to write a letter of acceptance to let them know he was going to be taking the job. Middleton and Mother’s Fresh Baked Pastries.

6:30 PM
Cincinnati

     “Sinner, turn that shit off. It’s just depressing me, seeing that bitch talking about Fisher like that.”
     Sinh glanced over at his partner, Damien, reaching for the remote and flicking off the TV in their office. He sighed, running a hand over his short black hair before swiveling his chair around to face the other man.
     “You shouldn’t let it effect you like that,” he said quietly, fiddling with the end of his tie. “Better to concentrate on other things.”
    “Like what?” Damien asked, shaking his head. “There isn’t a whole lot to concentrate on. The Slasher got away again, took another life, fucked up our reputation more. We didn’t need this, not with the Boss breathing down our necks already.”
    Sinh gave Damien a look. “You could think about your wife, maybe. Or your daughter. I’m sure she would love to see you.”
    “Sinh, she’s three months old. She has no idea who I am.”
    Sinh smiled slightly at the guilty look that crossed Damien’s face. “Go home, man. It’s past six. The day’s been long enough. Get some rest and start fresh tomorrow. You’ll be able to look at this in a better light once you’ve been refreshed.”
     Damien snorted but slid off his desk with a huge sigh, reaching for his suit jacket even as he murmured that he shouldn’t go, since Sinh was going to be staying.
    “Dame, you got someone to go home to. I’m sure she’s missing you. I’ll be leaving soon anyway. We have an early flight tomorrow.”
     “Liar,” Damien said good naturedly as he headed for the door. “You aren’t going to get out of here for a few more hours. You never do, the days following one of the killings.”
     “Well then, no reason for you to stay with me,” Sinh smiled. “You know I always turn out fine.”
     “That’s debatable, but we’ll pretend you’re right for now.”
     Sinh watched as the door closed behind his partner, sighing the minute Damien was out of view. He dropped his head onto his hands, rubbing at his eyes before straightening and reaching for the cooling cup of coffee next to his computer.
    The Slasher. The nation’s most notorious serial killer, and Sinh’s biggest failure. He had been assigned to the case two years ago, coming off two major successes in the counterterrorism unit. The transfer had been unexpected, but Sinh took to his new job readily enough, immersing himself in learning the basics he would need to get ahead.
     Unfortunately, two years later here he sat, working the same case, little progress made, facing the same failures day after day. He was glad his parents weren’t still alive to bear his shame.
     Shame for so many things, he thought, eyeing Damien’s disheveled desk a moment before turning to his own.
          He needed to stop thinking about this, and focus on his work. Concentrating on his computer, he skimmed his eyes over the press release he had been working on, knowing that the reporters would be asking the same questions as always about why they didn’t have any clues, why they couldn’t catch this guy.
    After fourteen years of the same replies, Sinh would have thought that they would stop asking, but they had yet to do so.
     He typed out a few sentences, trying to put a spin on Fisher’s murder, attempting to give his death some honor while at the same time salvaging his own reputation.
     The Boss had been looking in on him and Damien again, criticizing their approach, wondering aloud if maybe he and his partner were too close to the case, if maybe they needed some sort of break.
     Which they both were, and they both did, but Sinh knew neither of them would admit it. The Slasher was theirs to track down, theirs to capture. Neither of them would stand for sitting back and letting some other agent walk in and take over.
     At least this time there might be some hope, Sinh thought as he reworded a sentence to make it sound less apologetic. If that kid who called in wasn’t pulling a prank…Sinh knew the futility of praying for this lead to pan out, but Damien must have been rubbing off on him, because he couldn’t stop the loop in his mind that begged over and over for some chance to finally do their job.

     Joscelin arched his back and gasped. Lips trailed down his neck, across his collarbone, teeth nipping at his chest before latching onto his nipple. Jos let out a low moan, digging his hands into hair, holding the naked body stroking and kissing him against his own bare skin.
     Jos groaned and tightened his hold, forcing himself to shove the other male away and flip him onto his back. Jos straddled his narrow waist, trailing his hands across the tight abs and smooth pecs below him before leaning down, eyes trained on the other male’s lips.
     Moaning slightly, Jos relaxed against the other male, flicking his tongue against his mouth, urging the lips to part and let him inside. Slipping his tongue forward Jos took control of the kiss, stroking and tasting with his tongue, his hands massaging along the other male’s sides, trailing lower and lower, one hand sliding down between the other male’s-
     “Good morning, Fenwick High!”
     Joscelin Vera blinked hard, his attention brutally pulled from his latest fantasy back to reality. Shooting a glare at the offending intercom that was still cheerfully prattling about the latest after school clubs and activities Jos shifted in his seat, thanking God that he had worn loose pants today, ones baggy enough to conceal his raging hard on.
     “Ah, to be horny and in love,” a voice murmured, “What a wonderful state to find oneself in.”
     “Shut up, Jerry,” Jos muttered under his breath, shifting again.
     Jerry laughed quietly, lounging back at his desk to further address his friend. “Hey, don’t be offended. I would love to be in love. Such a great thing. I’ve got the horny part down. Just need a little tender lovin’, which, I might add, would sure help out with your little, uh, problem.”
     Jos scowled at Jerry’s meaningful glance down at his groin. “First off, it isn’t little, as you very well know. And second, I’m not looking for an easy lay, as you should also know.”
     “Hon,” Jerry said, “You are looking for the easiest lay you can possibly find. I mean, you might be gay, but that doesn’t stop you from being male. It just has to be the right person for you. And, sadly, there is only one guy who meets that qualification.”
     Mr. Jones spoke without looking up as the door opened. “Mr. Nuhall, good job with the whole getting here on time thing. You’ve got it down perfectly, and only after three weeks of school. Quite startling, there.”
     Jos cast a glance towards the front of the room as Mr. Jones spoke, his voice as mellow and relaxed as ever despite his obvious sarcasm. Jos sucked in a slow, steady breath as he looked towards the door and saw who it was Mr. Jones was addressing.
     Tall, dark, and handsome as ever, Joscelin thought, letting his eyes make a quick sweep of Devon Nuhall’s body before he turned his head away. Still, that one glance was enough to brand the image of the other male onto the back of his eyelids. Suppressing a happy sigh Jos closed his eyes and fought the urge to take in the real thing instead of the remembered image.
     Devon was a sexy beast. There was no doubt in Joscelin’s mind as to this statement. He was tall, around 5’ 11’’ and carried himself with an athletes grace and confidence. Which made sense, as he was a reciever on the high school football team. He had a compact, muscled body, not too bulky but still defined. Jos suppressed the urge to lick his lips as he pictured those muscles shifting and tensing beneath that suntanned skin.
     How he wanted to trail his tongue down that strong neck, dig his fingers into that brown, sun-streaked hair, stare deep into those dark brown eyes as his body moved-
     “Better start thinking of something else, unless you want everyone to see you come in your pants.”
     Jos opened his eyes and shoved Jerry, who had recognized his growing excitement and its cause. Glancing around Jos made sure none of the teens around them had heard, but the mass of seniors was too busy discussing the latest social scandal to eavesdrop on mundane conversations.
     Joscelin suppressed a grin. If only they knew…
    “Jos, hon,” Jerry said, worry plain on his delicate features, the abrupt change in his typically cheerful manner grabbing Jos’s attention.  “You can’t keep holding this in. You’ve been crushing on Dev since what, the seventh grade? That’s like six years man. That’s a long time, especially when you sure as hell haven’t been getting anything back.”
     “Look, Jerry,” Jos sighed. “We’ve been over this before, and nothing has changed. I can’t-“
     “Of course you can,” Jerry interrupted. “You don’t have to be longing after him. And even if you did, you don’t have to stop having sex and dating because of it. You were fine all through sophomore year with dating, the halfway through junior year you just stopped. Its been what, a year since you last got laid? Your hands got to be getting tired, hon. What happened?”
     Jos opened his mouth to answer only to stop when a flash of color caught his eye.
     “Hey guys,” Jessica said, flouncing over in her mass of frills and ribbons and layers. “What’s up with you two?”
     Jerry dropped his gaze down to Joscelin’s lap again before looking up and giving Jess a slow grin. “Just…stuff,” he murmured. “Just some stuff.”


     Devon slung himself into a free desk in the back, leaning back and letting his eyes drop to half mast. Damn, school starts way too early, he thought with annoyance, glancing at the clock. No normal person is up this early.
     Dev sighed and sent his gaze skimming across the room as he fought to stay awake long enough to last through extended homeroom and get to his first period class. Mr. Jones sat at the front of the class, his tie-dyed T-shirt an explosion of color against the bright whiteboard behind him. The man was humming quietly to himself, completely disregarding the announcements everyone was supposed to listen to. The class followed his lead, too engrossed in discussions of last weekend’s party and the latest hook ups to worry themselves with anything else.
     Devon reveled in the moment of privacy, eyeing his classmates as he did so. Adrianne was looking fine today, he thought, staring at her low cut top and the curve of her ass revealed by her position and the microscopic scrap of cloth she was passing off as a skirt today.
     Not wanting to get caught staring Dev shifted his gaze, lingering a moment on a flash of cleavage as another girl in Adrianne’s group, Amy, readjusted her shirt. Gods, he was glad the high school was so lax about enforcing the dress code, he thought with a suppressed grin. It made classes so much more interesting.
     Shifting in his seat Dev turned to take on the other half of the class. The groups over here were quieter, made up of the people who populated the middle tier of the social ladder, for the most part. Not that they were losers, or anything. Just different, not fitting in as well with the popular crowd laughing across the room. They were the quiet kids, the flamboyant kids, the writers and readers, smartasses and idiots.
     And then there’s them, Dev thought, smiling slightly as his gaze fell upon Joscelin lounging back in his seat, a sexy smile on his lips as he listened to whatever Jessica was telling him, her cheerful voice carrying over all other conversations. She gestured wildly about something, eyes wide, drawing a laugh out of Jerry Lewis, who had turned to straddle his chair in order to hear the conversation.
     Jerry was an odd one, Dev thought idly as his eyes followed the bouncing of Jess’s chest as she moved around in her seat, unable to sit still. He was smart, funny, handsome, and had a great personality. He was also gay, the only factor holding him down socially. The fact that he flaunted it didn’t help, either. It only served to make people come down on him harder.
     A shout of laughter made Dev focus on the group again. Joscelin was laughing at something Jessica had said, his face lighting up, strands of pale blond hair falling into his steel grey eyes. He brushed them impatiently aside, giving Jess a smile and a one armed hug as he continued to laugh at her.
     Jessica gave a reluctant smile before turning and walking over to Dev, settling on his desk with a smile and toss of her short black hair. “So,” she began, eyes bright with eagerness, “What are you up to this weekend? Because you know, I was thinking maybe a little get together would be nice, just me and a few friends…”
     “Your parents are out of town again, aren’t they?” Dev asked with a smile.
     “Yeah.”  Jessica replied with a grin. “Entire weekend. Time to throw a wild party and clean up with them none the wiser.”
     “Aren’t you still grounded for the party you threw two weeks ago?” Dev asked, raising an eyebrow.
     Jessica laughed. “Of course. But really, what my parents don’t know isn’t going to hurt them. Just their insurance. So you in?”
     “I don’t know…” Dev said, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve got a game on Saturday. If its over in time I might be able to head over…”
     “Oh come on. You can come. If Joscelin can get away from his parents and come, then there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to.”
     “Jos is coming? On a Saturday? Damn, normally they get him holed up the entire weekend with church stuff.”
     “Yeah, I know. I think he found some way to get some wiggle room, or something, because he’s been getting out more, recently.” Jessica’s face took on an exaggerated dreamy expression. “Hmmm, wiggling. I would love to see him do that,” she said, casting a glance over her should at Jos, who was laughing and joking with Rene and Jerry. “He said he would come for me, because I was such cutie he couldn’t resist.”
     Dev felt a flash of jealousy, swiftly suppressed. If Jos wanted to make a move on Jess he was in no position to stop the guy. No reason to, either, he thought with a frown after Jessica trotted away again after receiving his promise to attend the party. He didn’t have any kind of thing for her, and really, she wasn’t his type. He was partial to blondes, like Rene.
     Sighing he dismissed the incident from his mind and rose to his feat, anticipating the bell. Its harsh buzz sound a moment later and the class surged to their feet, heading off to their first period classes, Dev drifted with the crowd, falling in next to Adrianne as he let the swarm carry him to where he needed to go.


     “How many times do I have to tell you, never leave geckos unattended near printers!”
     Mr. Miyo rushed forward, snatching his pet gecko away from the printer. “Jeez. I let you guys play with Geico for five minutes and I find him near another printer. How many times do I have to keep reminding you not to do that?”
     Mr. Miyo trailed off into quiet mutters as he returned to his desk in front of the class, Geico cradled in his arms. The class stared a moment, then turned back to their quiz on last night’s reading.
     “Did you see anyone let the gecko out?”
     Dev looked up from fiddling with his pencil. Both he and Jos had finished with their quiz, and were occupying themselves with the extra credit, doodling on the back.
     “No,” Dev replied quietly. “He let it out himself at the beginning of class.”
     “Well then,” Jos said, his suppressed smile evident in his voice.
     Dev smiled back slightly before turning back to his quiz. He let his mind drift as his pencil wandered over the paper. Today was the last practice before the game against Archtown High, Fenwick’s big rivals. The coaches would be pushing them hard, he knew. It was going to be great. Dev was absolutely in love with football, loved running across the field, maneuvering past the other team, the feel of the ball in his hands, and roar of the crows as he ran into the end zone.
     “Quizzes in, children!”
    Mr. Miyo’s shout pulled Dev out of his daydream of football and back to reality. He began to hand his paper forward then paused, staring at his idle drawing. A pair of eyes looked back at him, oddly familiar, but he found himself unable to place them. Shrugging he passed his quiz forward and settled in for the lesson, idly wondering as he did so what had a faint blush coloring Jos’s pale skin.

     Jos kept his gaze focused firmly forward, fighting the urge to turn and stare at Dev. He had only caught a glimpse of the drawing, but he had realized what it was immediately. Devon had drawn a pair of eyes. A very familiar pair, though from the confused expression on his face Jos knew Dev didn’t recognize them. And I’m not about to enlighten him, he thought wryly as he watched Mr. Miyo place Geico onto a table near the computers. That is one conversation I want no part of.
     Joscelin firmly ignored the little voice in the back of his head that sounded oddly like Jerry shouting liar!
     “Well, class,” Mr. Miyo said, wandering around the classroom as he spoke, “seeing as this is Social Studies, I figure we should do something social like that maybe studies some things. So. I made a project for us to do, instead of the typical mid-September research paper thingy.
     “Here’s the assignment. It’s in two parts. Part one, will be drawn out of the magic hat,” he said, gesturing towards the sombrero taking up half a table in the back of the room. “The second part will be drawn out of the mystic beer can.” Another gesture, this time towards the beer can sitting on his desk, its top chopped off and overflowing with slips of paper.
     “People will draw their assignments, and work with the other peoples that drew the same thing. You can go up and draw now.”
     The class remained still, glancing around at each other in faint confusion.
     “Now now, don’t run me over in your excitement to draw,” Mr. Miyo drawled, walking over and rescuing Geico from the printer. “Just take your time. I’ve got all day to wait.”


     “You have to do what?”
     Jerry grinned. “They have to take a trip to a local park and observe the daycare children, and somehow write a report of the social interaction between the kids and their parents.”
     Rene blinked. “And what’s this for, Psych?”
     “Social Studies,” Dev answered, sliding his tray onto the lunch table and snagging a vacated seat from the table next to theirs. “Mr. Miyo.”
     Rene stared a moment, then smiled. “And that explains everything, doesn’t it.”
     Dev snorted. “That it does.”
     “And that’s just the first part of it,” Jos put in, sliding his own tray onto the table and grabbing a chair for himself. “The long term part involves viewing social behavior and interaction in groups and alone, over a period of half the year.”
     “Jesus,” Rene muttered. “Mr. Miyo must have been getting his rocks off on that.”
     “Oh yeah. Definitely.”
     “Aren’t you guys supposed to be learning European History?” Rene asked, a faint frown wrinkling her forehead.
     “Yeah,” Dev sighed, “We are. Mr. Miyo doesn’t care, though. He likes Social Studies better.”
     Alex shifted in his chair, spindly body and narrow face intent on the conversation. “So what do you have to do for the long term? And what’s your groups?”
     Jos barely repressed a shiver at Alex’s words. How he loved to hear that boy speak. He looked horrible, too narrow, too intent, too pimply and smart, but his voice made people melt, deep and smooth and seductive. Rene gave a soft sigh next to him, her eyelids fluttering down over her green eyes to savor the sensation before she forced them open again.
     “Devon and Joscelin are working together,” a female voice spoke, tone slightly absent as September placed her lunch on the table. She looked around a moment, frowning, then pulled a velvet bag out of her pocket, reaching in and pulling out two ten-sided die. “They have to enact a game of Mango Tag,” she continued, stroking the dice a moment before tossing them onto the table. She looked at the numbers then nodded as if having her thoughts confirmed, walking over and grabbing hold of a chair.
     September yanked hard, pulling out from beneath the junior who had been occupying it, walking it back to the table and sitting down, carefully tucking her dice back into her bag and secreting it away again. The junior picked himself off the floor with a sigh, well used to the treatment.
    “The dice tell you to take Tim’s chair again?” Jos asked, voice dry.
     September looked at him in surprise. “Of course. The dice always tell me what to do.”
     Jerry cleared his throat, holding back a laugh. “So, uh, what exactly is Mango Tag?” He asked, breaking the silence.
     Jos snorted. “It’s like normal tag. Person who is it has to carry around a mango, pass it off to the next person, then that person’s it. So on, so forth.”
     “And you need to play this for how long?” Jerry asked skeptically.
     “Six months.” Jos sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know how we’re going to keep it up that long.”
     “You’ll think of something, Hon.” Jerry murmured, “You are quite…inventive.”
     Dev glanced up at the odd exchange between Jerry and Jos, Jerry completely unphased by Jos’s steely glare, meeting his grey eyes with his own brown ones. Their stare carried a weight of meaning Devon couldn’t even begin in try to sort through.
     “So, September,” Alex said, picking up on the tension, unsure what to do. “What is your project? And who is your group?”
     September looked up from her lunch, frowned, and pulled out her die, casting them against the faux wood tabletop, their marble surface clinking gently against it, glimmering in the dim, greenish light. After eyeing the numbers September grabbed them up again, casting a warning look at the other members of the table who by now knew better than to go anywhere near her dice.
    “My assignment is to observe the social interaction between players of strategy games,” she said, voice detached despite her alert gaze. “And long term, to observe how those interactions change the players and affect their lives away from the game. And I am working alone.”
     “You certainly lucked out,” Rene observed. “That’s right up your alley.”
     “I don’t own an alley,” September replied. “Just an inn.”
     Rene blinked a second, then shook her head and started another topic of conversation. By now everyone was used to September’s quirks and obscure and spontaneous Dungeons and Dragons references.
     Joscelin looked up as Jerry rose to his feet a few minutes later, tossing out his trash and walking back over to grab his backpack of the ground, not even bothering to glance at the space where his chair used to be. Slinging his bag over his shoulder he called out his good byes, then leaned down and whispered into Jos’s ear “Later, sweet thing. Later, we are going to have a little talk.”



     Jos lounged back against the bleachers and closed his eyes, tilting his head back to enjoy the afternoon sun. He slowly relaxed, allowing the inane chatter and snide remarks of the girls flocking around the lower half of the bleachers to wash over him. Male voices shouted and grunted on the field below as the varsity football team began their pre-practice warm up session, or, as the players referred to it as, the pre-warm up warm up.
     “You know, you’re going to get another wicked sunburn if you keep laying out in the sun like that.”
     Jos cracked an eyelid and watched as Jerry’s thin body moved agilely up the bleachers, stopping to loom over him. “But you don’t really care, do you?”
     Jos smiled slightly. “Nope.” His smile faded as he took in Jerry’s serious expression. “What’s up? You aren’t looking too hot.”
     Jerry sighed and sat down, turning to eye the field as players stretched their hamstrings, bending over to touch their ankles, then back up again. . “I’m worried,” he finally said, shaking both him and Jos from their enjoyment of the sight.
     “Worried? What about?”
     “You.”
     Jos blinked in surprise, raising a skeptical brow. “Me? Why the hell are you worried about me?”
     Jerry opened his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words, then glanced down at the field in frustration. Jos followed his gaze and ruthlessly suppressed the jolt of desire he felt as his eyes landed on Devon, stretching his tanned body, muscles flexing in his arms as he laughed and joked with those around him.
     “Oh no,” Jos said, suddenly realizing what Jerry wanted to talk about and shooting to his feet. “No. We are not having this discussion. Not here. Not ever. No.”
     “Yes,” Jerry shot back, unexpected steel in his tone. “We are. Now sit that cute ass of yours back down. Because this needs to be addressed, and it needs to happen now.”
      Jos stared a moment, then slowly lowered himself back onto the cool metal on the bleachers, glancing around as he did so.
     “This is not the place to do this,” he hissed. “Do you realize how easily we could be overheard?”
     “We’re fine,” Jerry said with some amusement. “The slut squad down there will keep everyone else thoroughly distracted.”
     Jos glanced down at the group of girls who were posing in the pretext of talking to each other, flashing their low cut shirts and high riding skirts and shorts, giggling and smiling as they slashed each other apart, trying to win the attention of their favorite player on the field below. He shook his head, sighing as he realized the truth in Jerry’s words. There was no way anyone was going to overhear them, not when they were sitting at the top of the bleachers with that group below them.
     “You agreeing to listen now?”
     “No, but I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
     “No, you don’t.” Jerry laughed at Joscelin’s scowl. “How you hate to give up control.” He said to himself before taking a deep breath and diving in. “We need to talk about you and Devon.”
     Jos scowled. “There is nothing to talk about. There isn’t a 'me and Devon.'”
     “And that’s part of the problem. I mean, you have had a crush on the guy since the seventh grade. That’s before you even figured out that you were gay. That in itself is a bit odd, but Jos, you’ve been holding onto this without any sign whatsoever that Dev is interested in other men, let alone you.”
     “What’s your point?” Jos said, glaring slightly at his friend before turning his eyes back to watching Dev move.
     “The point,” Jerry said, voice getting angry, “Is that this is becoming a problem. You haven’t gotten laid in like a year, and I know large that appetite of yours is. There isn’t a chance in hell that that’s healthy.”
    “Getting laid isn’t the only imp-”
     “Sex is important, Jos. Don’t even try to deny it. Even if it wasn’t, with the way you started acting last year, staring at him all the time, fantasizing about him, whispering his name in your sleep, you can’t possibly expect to keep this from your parents. And I don’t want to see you get hurt when they find out and flip.”
     “What do you want me to do?” Jos asked. “I can’t help the fact that I like him.”
    “No, you can’t,” Jerry agreed. “But you can do something about the way he feels.” He smiled slightly at Jos’s shocked look. “Didn’t think of that one, did you? The way I see it, you have two options that will allow you to get through this school year grades and family life intact. You can either give him up, somehow break off this whole pining after the unattainable thing you’ve got going. Or you can change Dev.”
     Jos was silent a moment, staring blindly in front of him. “I don’t want to change Dev,” he finally said, reluctantly. “I like him the way he is now. And I’ve already told you, I can’t just end the crush. I don’t control it.”
     “I didn’t word that too well,” Jerry said, relaxing back now that he saw Jos was paying attention and not about to explode. “I meant that you can either give him up, which we have established is a no go, or you can…alter his views. Because we both know that that boy is bi.”
     Jos snorted softly. “Of course I figured that out. But he doesn’t know, so its not like I can act on that nice little trait.”
     “Joscelin, I saw you get a hard on because Dev looked at you the right way. What’s better, I’ve seen Dev get hot without realizing it from looking at other guys. He is bisexual. And even if he doesn’t realize it, its only because he’s ignoring the fact that he wants to get in bed with some of his friends. It certainly isn’t because he isn’t feeling anything. And as long as he’s feeling the heat, then you can make him aware of the fire.”
     Jos was silent, then, slowly, he smiled one of his wicked, hungry grins. “Yes, I could do that, couldn’t I?” he murmured to himself, eyes following Devon’s running figure across the field. “I could do that very, very easily, if I played it right.”
     Jerry laughed, rising to his feet in a languid stretch. “Come on,” he said, nudging Jos’s leg with his foot. “Lets head over to your house. We have plenty of time before your parents get home to start planning the seduction of Devon Nuhall.”


     Devon was breathing easily, bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager to run. His gear was on, the extra weight doing nothing to hold him down. He was warmed up, his muscles tingling slightly as the blood pumped through them.
     Glancing behind him he saw the group of girls in the bleachers smile and waving, calling out advice and compliments to each other and the players on the field. Dev smiled, turning back to the field, as the girls noticed his attention and began shouting down invitations and advice to him, talking loudly among themselves about how hot he was.
     What a way to make a guy feel confident, he through wryly as the coach called them onto the field to run through the plays they were going to use in tomorrows game. The other team was huge, a wall that no one could push through. Which was why they weren’t going to try. They were going to pass, pass, and then pass some more, because Archtown could not run for their lives, and there was no way they would be able to keep their hulking bodies up with the sharp cuts and bursts of speed the coaches had worked into the plays.
     Settling himself into position Dev kept his eye on the quarterback, waiting for the hike, closing off his senses until his entire focus was on the game. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, opening and closing his hands, Dev waited. Then the quarterback gave the signal, and he shot off like a fire was on his ass, his burst of speed carrying him far down the field.
     Counting carefully in his head he suddenly stopped, planting a foot and pivoting, the already airborne ball sailing into his waiting hands. Dev pulled the ball in close, cradling it with his body. Then he got plowed.
     The defender rammed into him, catching him off guard and slamming him down into the ground. Dev gasped and tried to suck in a breath as the air whooshed out of him. Finally managing to suck in a breath Devon’s awareness spiraled out, and he realized that his team was clustered around him, Andy apologizing over and over, looking horrified at hurting his friend.
     “Cut it, Clark,” one of the couches grated out, silencing Andy. “Nuhall’s gonna be fine. Now get your ass back in line and set up for the next play.” Andy nodded and trotted back toward the line of scrimmage, worries forgotten as he fell back into his football mindset.
     The coach watched a moment before turning and kneeling down next to Dev. “You ok, Nuhall?” he asked, frowning down at Dev. “We don’t want you injured for tomorrow’s game.”
     “I’m fine,” Dev said, pushing himself into sitting position, glancing around as he did so. The group of girls was whispering among themselves, some still frozen in poses of horror and shock. About to turn away a flash of brightness caught his eye. Turning more his gaze fell on Joscelin and Jerry, paused as if they were making their way to the parking lot. The sun gleamed brightly off Jos’s pale hair, highlighting the strands falling into his eyes again.
     He doesn’t like it when his hair does that, Dev thought idly as he turned back to his coach, rising to his feet as the other man did. Dev barely managed to suppress a wince as his knee sent fire racing through his body, the pain quickening his breathing and making his heart pound.
     “Nuhall, get yourself to the trainer. You’re in no shape to keep on practicing in standing up makes you wince.”
     Dev sighed and nodded his head. Apparently he hadn’t suppressed that move enough. He pulled his helmet off, making his way off the field and towards the steps that would take him to the trainer. He ran his free hand through his sweat-spiked hair, fighting to keep from showing the pain his knee was in.
     Getting ready to brave the stairs he paused a moment, an odd sensation running down his back, as if he were being watched. Shifting around Dev saw all the girls again focused on the football field. Frowning slightly he looked in the other direction, shaking his head in confusion as the only people he saw were Joscelin and Jerry starting toward the parking lot again.