Trace let out a breath and used his arm to wipe the dripping sweat off of his forehead. He stood up tall and made a face at the ache in his back but smiled at the work he finished. Brett lifted the back of the truck bed until the panel fit in with the rest and gave it a little slap.

“You’d think they’d send people here to collect their busted lawn mowers,” Trace grumbled while rolling his shoulder. He pulled a face at the dull ache that had been settling in. “Instead of making us transport it to them.”

 “We’re young, able bodies, of course they’d make us work,” Brett replied as he, too, used his arm to wipe sweat off of his face. “Just thank the Lord that we’re finally finished for the day.” He paused to look around the empty parking lot to make sure the coast was clear. He reached into the window of the truck and, after looking around again, pulled his arms out with a beer in each hand. “Catch,” he said while tossing it to Trace.

“You know we can’t drink on school property,” Trace said as he rolled the cool glass around in his hands.

Brett shrugged and popped off the cap. “Who’s going to know? No one’s around and school’s over so it’s not like the little kids are going to report us to anyone.” He lifted his eyebrows before taking a hearty swing and let out a sigh of content. “So, how’s everything going now that Timberlake’s back?”

Trace didn’t miss the tone of contempt in Brett’s voice but he chose to ignore it. Not everyone was a fan of Justin, he knew. He wasn’t exactly the most popular person in school, when it was filled with pageant princesses and football stars. “It’s…it’s different,” Trace finally replied as he pressed the cap of the bottle against his truck. He brought it up and quickly slammed it back down, successfully popping off the lid, spilling a little bit of the drink in the process.

“Different how?” Brett asked with lifted eyebrows.

Trace shrugged and took a sip of his drink.  The sip quickly turned to a gulp until half of the bottle was empty when Trace finally stopped himself. He let out a little sigh and steadied his breathing. He shook his head slightly and replied, “Just different. He’s different. Ever since he broke up with Britney—“

“Heard she cheated on him,” Brett interrupted Trace. Then he gave a little laugh. “Bout time something didn’t go right in Golden Boy’s life.” He noticed the look on Trace’s face. “Don’t get me wrong, bud. Justin’s a great guy. But, come on, good things always happen to him.”

“Because he works hard for what he has,” Trace replied, tapping his fingers against his beer bottle.

Brett lifted an eyebrow at the slight uncertainty that was in Trace’s voice. He tried to hide it but Brett caught it easily. “Does he now?” Brett asked, resting his forearms on the back of the truck and looked at Trace past the handle of the broken down lawn mower that sat in it. “Did he work hard to get someone smoking like Britney as his girlfriend?”

“They’ve known each other—“ Trace started but Brett cut him off.

“Did he work hard to add onto the mansion he now calls a house?”

“He earned—“

“Did he work hard to leave you behind?” Trace’s mouth had opened to retort but it froze halfway as soon as Brett’s words settled into his brain. Brett gave a laugh and finished the rest of his bottle. “He sure did leave you behind right quick. Almost as if his ass was lit on fire,” he drawled with a knowing smirk.

“That’s not…what happened,” Trace mumbled.

“How many times has he come back since he joined that boyband?” Brett asked. “Like…five?” He shook it from me. “Take it from your friend; you’re better off without this guy. He’s shoving you down into the dirt and won’t let you come up to see the light. Well, I’m helping you to your feet, man. I mean, why else would you willingly be here so early if not to escape him?”

That’s not what Trace was escaping that morning, not at all. Trace had practically bolted from his house the next morning to be sure that he wasn’t stopped by anyone to talk. He didn’t want to talk. Not about what he was doing. Not about his life. Not about his grandfather. Not about Justin. Nothing. He didn’t want to talk at all. He barely sat down for breakfast before he was up and out the door again to get to work. It was earlier than the needed him to be there but it was better than sitting at a table with his father and mother who kept giving each other looks that grated on his nerves.

He knew what they were saying and they didn’t even have to say it. They could see that something was going on between them. Anyone with eyes would be able to see it if they looked carefully enough. He sat in his truck until school started going over in his mind what had managed to go wrong in a friendship that he thought would last forever. He grew closer to Rachel over time, it was inevitable. She was the only one around and the only one who felt the sense of loneliness he was feeling.

He always thought, a bit naively, that whenever they came back they’d pick up where they left off and have many adventures like they used to do. However, the more the years went on the more Trace began to abandon the idea. Not that he wanted to, but because reality was starting to seep into the perfect world that his mind made up.

“Why are you two friends anyway?” Brett asked.

“Our mothers are best friends,” Trace replied. “All of ours, actually. They’re best friends. So we became friends ‘cause they’re always together.”

Brett laughed. “Wow. So you’re used to playing second fiddle to him, huh? Watching him go around and living the high life and…you’re here working as a glorified janitor at our old Elementary school.”

“That hardly has anything to do with him, it has to do with my dad,” Trace replied as he brought his beer bottle back to his mouth, finishing his drink this time.

“Ahh, so you’re just going to let others fuck around with your life?” Brett asked while running his fingers through his hair. “Is that why you haven’t beaten the shit out of your so called friend for sleeping with Mack?”

Trace faltered. “How d’you know about that?”

“Word travels fast around here,” Brett replied. “Especially when it deals with Justin. He’s one lucky fucker. I’ll bet he has fine ass ladies lining up for his dick.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. He quickly lit it and stuck the cigarette in his mouth and took a long drag. “So, are you on a certain schedule to get back to your place or do you have some time to let your hair down, so to speak?” He let out a breath and a cloud of gray smoke lifted up into the air.

The pounding bass beat matched Trace’s heart as he placed his hand on the woman’s stomach and pulled her closer against him. He grinned when he felt her ass press back against his crotch and she swayed her hips to the music. Her dark hair was flying around as she lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck. He leaned in against her neck, taking in her intoxicating scent while rolling his hips, successfully getting a moan out of the woman.

He scanned the dance floor. It was packed, even more so for the nightclub. It was as if everyone in the whole of Memphis had come to this particular nightclub. He wasn’t complaining, though, any excuse to be pressed closer against this brunette vixen. She gently massaged his neck as he smirked, sliding his hands lower, lightly touching her thighs under her skirt and she trembled against his touch. She was like putty in his hands.

Or, in this case, panties.

She turns around and presses against him, her mouth near his ear. “Want to have some more fun?”

“Hmm, depends on how much fun you’re willing to have,” he replied.

She gently nipped at his earlobe, pulled back and winked at him. “Meet me by the bathrooms in ten?”

“Ok, but if I’m not there in ten don’t hesitate to start the fun, ok sweetie?” She pressed a kiss to his neck before peeling away from him. He shook his head and headed over to the VIP area of the club, motioning to the waiter the drink he wanted before sitting down.

“Having fun?” Brett asked over the loud noise with a large smirk on his lips.

“Are you blind? Girls are throwing themselves at me. Of course I’m having fun,” he replied with a little eye roll. He went to punch Brett on the shoulder but he was slightly off balance. He chuckled to himself and shifted in his seat to stay upright. The lights in the club seemed brighter than before. He blinked a few times to try and get his vision to clear but it didn’t go away. Then he shook his head and almost fell over but Brett pushed him back up in his seat.

“Don’t you think you’ve had a bit too much?” Brett asked, nodding towards the drink that Trace had just received.

Trace shrugged and took a sip from the small straw that was placed in it. “Since when are you such a lightweight?” He asked Brett. “Remember those college parties? You were the first to hit the keg.”

Brett laughed. “I’m just sayin’ maybe you should put some time between those drinks you’re knocking back.”

“Okay, mom!” Trace slurred slightly. He wrapped his lips around his straw and sucked up the rest of his drink before pushing the glass away. He put too much force behind it so it slid right across the table and smashed onto the floor. “Oops,” he muttered before doubling over and laughing.

Brett laughed and shook his head. He was about to comment when a leggy blond swung herself onto him and pressed a searing kiss onto his mouth. “Hey Trace, you can find your way back home, right?” Brett asked as the blonde attached her lips to his neck.

“Yeah, shure man,” Trace replied, flagging the waiter down for another drink.

“Have fun, bud,” Brett said before grasping the blonde’s hand and practically tearing his way out of the nightclub.

Trace leaned back in his seat and ran his fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes at the dull ache that came to his head with each pound of the bass. He let out a deep breath and suddenly sat back up when he remembered. “Oh geeze,” he muttered. He suddenly remembered that he had left someone by the bathroom. Sally? Sarah? Samantha? He pushed his way to the bathroom and found her leaning against a wall, applying fresh lipstick to her lips.

“It’s about time. I was starting to think you left,” she cooed, snapping her compact mirror shut with a snap.

“Yeah. How about we get out of here?” He suggested, taking her elbow.

A devilish smile came to her face. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours,” Trace replied quickly.

She grabbed his hand and Trace almost winced at how tight her grip was. She pulled him out of the club through the back door and he took a deep breath of the cool air. Her heels clacked as she marched with a purpose towards her car. Trace didn’t want to leave his truck behind but he figured he’d just send a quick text to Rachel or Cal to drive it back for him and he’d be fine.

She pulled her keys out of her purse, about to unlock the door but Trace stopped him by pressing up against her and pressing her back against the car. “No, let me drive,” he murmured, looking into her eyes. “Just give me the directions.”

She slapped the keys into his palm, leaning forward to take a whiff of his cologne, letting out a sigh of content. He fought the urge to roll his eyes as she walked—actually sashayed—around to the other side of the car.

The entire ride to her place Trace had to fight the urge to slap her hand away from his knee that was steadily climbing higher up his thigh. It’s what you want, isn’t it? To get your mind away from…stuff. Yeah, this will help, he told himself.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

That one word repeated in Trace’s head as it throbbed with every car honk, squeal of tires, and turning signal ticking just to name a few. He barely made it out of the hotel room a few hours later. His body was hurting. He knew right then and there that he had over did it a couple of hours prior and now he was suffering the consequences with a churning stomach Note to self, don’t ever drink that much again.

He let out a sigh of relief when his house came into view as the taxi driver pulled over. Trace paid the man, barely looking at the till, and stumbled out of the car, holding onto the door to make sure he stayed on his feet since his knees were quacking so much.

He thanked the driver, managed to close the door and grabbed his head at the tiny explosions once the door slammed shut. He groaned as he turned towards his house. He didn’t think he’d be able to make it up the long driveway to his place, let alone make it through the front door without going crazy from the wind chimes on his porch.

Why does Mom have those again? He sighed and rubbed his hands over his short curls. He had to get into the house before his parents got home but he didn’t trust his legs. They were quaking way too much and he couldn’t walk a few steps without tilting.

Finally, he took a few deep breaths and took a couple of steps when he collapsed onto his knees. The smell of freshly cut grass floated past his nose and triggered his stomach to convulse. The next thing he knew a sour substance was pushing its way past his teeth and he let out a loud retching sound coupled with a few coughs as vomit fell onto the grass. He barely heard his front door opening and closing over the noise.

 “It’s about time you got back,” Rachel commented. Trace practically jumped out of his skin at Rachel’s sudden comment. Trace lifted his head to see Rachel standing above him, her arms crossed over her chest with her eyebrows raised. “So, how good was she?”

Trace tilted his head slightly. “What are you talking about?” He struggled to get to his feet but fell back onto the ground.

“The girl. I know you, Trace, you didn’t leave alone. How good was she?”

“It was…she got my mind off of things,” Trace muttered.

“I’ll say. Didn’t you say you were going out with Brett tonight?” She demanded. Trace replied with a groan and rolled onto his side. He just wanted the stars to stop spinning… “Oh man, he left you! I’m going to kill him!”

“Rachel,” Trace groaned.

“This is just great!” Rachel said while throwing her arms into the air. “You’re out all day and you come back drunk after you’ve slept with some strange girl. You’re probably crawling with STDs right now!”

“Rachel, stooooooop!”

“Hey, what’s going on out here?” Trace squeezed his eyes shut at the voice and the light on the porch that flickered on. When he opened his eyes he was now staring up at Justin and Cal who looked down at him. “Are you alright, bud?” Cal asked, lifting the brim of his cowboy hat.

“Is that glued to your head?” Trace asked. “I never seen you take it off. Is it to protect yourself from being abducted?” He then made a snorting sound and cracked up, rolling along the ground.

“Don’t tell me,” Justin sighed.

“Yeap, he’s drunk,” Cal said with a nod. He lightly poked Trace’s side with his foot and Trace rolled over as if he had been pushed. “Really drunk.”

“Guys, we have to get him inside,” Rachel said, suddenly nervous. “Right now! His parents will be home any minute!”

“Oh shit,” Justin mumbled, picking up on her urgency.

“What’s wrong with that? Their son is allowed to drink,” Cal said as he lifted his cowboy hat to scratch his head.

“If you have a five minute conversation with Mr. Ayala you’ll know that his life is on the line,” Rachel replied. Justin and Cal reached down to pick him up but had difficulty getting him to his feet. “Wait, his truck’s not here!” She suddenly cried out. “What about that?”

“Okay, okay…” Justin said, wracking his brain. “We’ll say…Brett took him out for the afternoon and he left his truck by the school. We can get it in the morning.”

“But we don’t know where it is!”

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow! Just hurry. Cal, come on!”

Cal looked from Trace to Justin and then to Rachel. “You’ve told me many times the stories about how you had to cover for each other whenever one of you did something stupid. Every time I’ve heard these stories I’ve told myself if anything were to arise I wouldn’t get involved,” he explained to her.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise!” Rachel said as she pressed her hands together. “You and Justin get him up to the bathroom and straight into bed and we’ll try to distract his parents for a bit.”

“It’s only twelve, this is early for Trace going to bed,” Justin pointed out, prying Trace’s bony fingers from digging into his arm. “It’d be better if we took him to one of our houses, sober him up, and then get him home.”

“And aint he old enough to get himself out of this mess,” Cal added.

“Look, I don’t know about you anymore, J, but Trace is my friend,” Rachel said firmly. Justin’s eyes squinted slightly at the tone she used and what she had said. He still considered Trace his friend. His best friend. His brother. Even despite the odd air that was between them now, he’d do anything for Trace. “And as his friend I promised I’ll always be there for him and that’s what I’m going to do! Be there for him! Now, are you in or are you out?”

“I promised I’ll always stick with you,” Cal sighed. “But I’m not exactly agreeing with it.”

“Thanks anyway, baby,” Rachel said with a half smile. “Justin?”

Justin stumbled slightly from Trace’s weight but he nodded as well. “I’m in too. What’s the plan?”

“We can take him to Mack’s house and try and get him sober as fast as possible. Wait for his parents to get home and ship him down the street and everyone will be none the wiser,” Rachel replied, tapping her chin while thinking. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

Her words were punctuated by the watery sound of Trace puking again. Rachel, Cal, and Justin all made faces at the smell that wafted from the pile of stomach bile.

“My boots,” Cal muttered forlornly.

“Rach, for Trace’s sake, this better work,” Justin grimaced at the feeling of his now soaked shoes.

“Sorry,” Trace grumbled.