"So, how long are they gonna make you stay at that stuffed up boarding school?"

"Til I graduate probably," Jack shrugged.

"That's too bad," Ducky, who was nicknamed thus because his lips made him look like that very bird, sighed and combed a hand through his straggly blonde hair. It was much too long, in Jack's opinion, for a boy, and wasn't as well taken care of as it should have been. Clearly, Ducky had never heard of dandruff shampoo. "School's just not the same without you, you know?"

"Yeah," BJ agreed from his spot on the sofa, where he sat browsing through Jack's dirty magazines and chewing on one of his sister's rock-hard brownie cakes, "Man, the s**t we got into together. Remember that time we stuffed little Percy Williams in his locker after last period? And nobody found him till the next morning, and he'd pissed his sel-

"I remember," Jack drawled. He plucked up the magazine in BJ's lap, curled it into a weapon worthy of beating, and smacked him over the head with it. BJ cried out, more with surprise than pain, and little bits of brownie spewed everywhere. "That's why I'm in this mess in the first place."

"It could have been worse," Ducky pointed out fairly, "They could have sent you somewhere out of the city."

"They could have sent us all someplace," Jack waved his magazine at Ducky threateningly, as thought it were a sword, and then turned to stare at BJ, "Don't you guys forget that you're also both responsible for what happened to Percy. I'm taking the heat for it, so you owe me."

"'Course we won't forget, Jack," BJ said in-between mouthfuls of brownie, "we miss you, you kno- OW. Hey, what the hell does your sister put in these things anyways? I think I just chipped my tooth."

Jack laughed at him. It was somehow jovial and harsh at the same time. "I told you not to eat that."

"But it looked so good!" BJ whined.

"Looks can be deceiving."

"Its all rich, chocolatey goodness on the outside," BJ was rubbing at his cheek, and staring dolefully at the offending piece of cake, "and then painful in the middle."

"Kinda like Jack's sister," Ducky, lips twitching, murmured under his breath, "except she's white chocolate."

"Oh, hey, you shut your mouth!" Jack whirled on him. "Don't talk about my sister that way."

"I'd lose all of my teeth if it made her happy," a wistful sigh whispered passed BJ's lips, and he was regarding the cement brownie he held with a newfound wonder; as though it was the path to some sort of heaven. Jack, disgusted, wrinkled his nose at him.

"She has a kid, you guys!"

"I like my women experienced," Ducky grinned. The teeth behind his lips glistened like pearls.

"Yeah, well," BJ snorted, "there is experienced and then there's experienced, and I think Cole- OW, would you stop hitting me with that thing?!"

He whirled towards Jack, who stood beside him wielding his magazine-bat, and tackled him around the middle. Jack cried out. A tangle of scrawny arms and gangly legs, the boys tumbled to the cement floor. Their fall was mostly cushioned by an old black and white rug with a random pattern, but a sharp pain shot up Jack's arm when his elbow made contact. Grimacing, he grit his teeth, and swiped at BJ's head with his fist.

They groaned and laughed and hissed while they fought. Ducky, disinterested, reached around them and plucked up what remained of BJ's brownie. He examined it carefully for a moment, brushed a bit of dirt off the top, and then shrugged and popped it in his mouth. It was a moment or two before he managed to swallow the whole thing.

Jack and BJ were a clumsy, red-faced flurry of cuss words and amateur wrestling moves. It was difficult to tell who was winning.

Probably, nobody was.

And then Jack had BJ pinned to the floor, with his arm twisted behind his back. BJ wheezed into the rug, wrinkled his nose in distaste, "Man, this carpet stinks."

"Tap out," Jack, both laughing and panting, pulled BJ's arm even tighter. His friend hissed through his teeth. The fingers of his free hand curled defiantly, and he struggled underneath Jack, attempted to shirk him off. "Tap out."

BJ tapped out.

Victorious, wearing a grin that practically split his face in two, Jack released him, and rolled over.

"You fight dirty," BJ whined, "I think I've got scratch marks on my neck."

Ducky pulled out his cellphone in order to either prove or disprove BJ's claim.

Unconcerned, Jack sat up and smacked BJ on the back with his hand. It was a display of camaraderie, and did not hurt. "You're just a sore loser."

"There aren't any marks on your neck," Ducky observed wryly and then, casting a furtive glance at Jack, he chuckled, "but if you want some on your back, I'm sure Coleen could help you with that."

Glowering and still breathing heavily from his encounter with BJ, but not really angry, Jack let out a mighty war cry, the likes of which would have made William Wallace proud, and threw himself at Ducky.