#reesiewrites

“Howsit Stebbins? Just a black coffee, yunno the drill.”

“Hello, Olson.” Stebbins tilts his head, brows furrowing. He’d be the perfect picture of confusion if it weren’t for the mischievous grin on his face. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite hear you. What would you like?”

“A black coffee. Same as always.”

“Hm?”

“Damn you, Stebbins! You know what I’m sayin’!” They did this song and dance every morning. It was a little funny but Hank wasn’t about to tell the bastard that. “Fine. I’d like a black cah-fee please.”

Stebbins snorts. “Of course. See you tomorrow, Olson.”

“They gone?” Art doesn’t see anymore, but you never know for sure.

“Fuckin’ hope so.” Gary wipes his knife on his tanktop. He’s got blood trickling from a cut on his forehead from when one of the zombies jumped him. Blue eyes flick up, checking Art over. “You good? Your nose’s bleedin’ again.”

“I’m alright. Slammed my face into the floor.” Art looks around, heart sinking. “Where’s Collie?”

A pained groan sounds from the corner of the room. Rushing over, Art’s hand flies up to cling to his rosary. Gary lets out a long string of curses.

Jamie looks at the filled paper with wide eyes. The handwriting is all jagged lines. He’s not even sure he can read it all—especially when his soulmate has already filled ten pages.

He squints at the first page. ‘Hello! I’m your soulmate. My name is Richard Harkness. Everyone calls me Harkness, but you can call me Richie.’ The rest of the page is what Jamie can only call a life story. His soulmate, it seems, is an oversharer.

Art knows nothing about sports but he does know Ray looks good in a baseball uniform. There’s just something about the way Ray stands in it—a rare confidence—that Art can’t get enough of.

“If you stare any harda your eyes are gonna start fuckin’ bleedin’.”

Art glances at Hank, his lone company during games. “You ain’t one to talk. You ain’t take your eyes off Gary since he put his hair up.”

Hank sputters, maybe thinking of denying it, and then sighs. “So we’re both fuckin’ hopeless. Great.”

Collie can’t grab his weapon in time. Everything happens too fast.

One minute they're trying to lose Barkovitch, and then Rank is swinging. The comment about his mom set him off. Collie can’t even blame him, Barkovitch deserves his teeth punched in.

It doesn’t end with the swing, though. Barkovitch side-steps, Rank trips, and then there’s a mutt in the bracken. A porcupine. It stabs Rank before Collie can even react.

It’s Barkovitch who kills the mutt. Collie is busy crouching over Rank, trying to figure out what to do. 

“It’s certainly… modern!”

Rank snorts. Leave it to Richie to find something positive to say. “It’s white.”

Universities only provide dorms for the freshman–then it’s up to them to find a place. As out-of-staters they’ve gotta be on top of it before every place gets taken. So far their options haven’t been great. Like the shoebox they’re standing in, with everything painted hospital white. Even the furniture is all the same shade. The artist in Rank is screaming.

Richie pushes his glasses up and crosses something off in his journal. “It certainly isn’t inspiring. Next place?”

“There aren’t many of us left.”

They’re sitting at a makeshift campfire. Collie can’t help staring at the gold gleam of Stebbins’ scales. “Dragon-shifters?”

“Once humans started using us for sport, we lost the ability to survive on our own.” Blue eyes narrow into slits. “My father used to say it was an honor to train humans.”

“I’m guessing you don’t agree?” Collie wouldn’t blame him. He wasn’t a big fan of humans either. Not any of the ones with power, anyway.

Billy doesn’t think of Ray Garraty as a rival. That would require him to notice how Garraty is doing and then strive to do better. Billy doesn’t have to try to do better; he simply does it. So what if Garraty is only ever a point or two behind him when scores are posted? Billy is still winning.

Then again, when was the last time someone had even come close to matching him? The last time he’d found himself actually wondering what someone else scored?