I Am The Singer

"So, what did you do?" Mike asked idly, sprawling himself over Billie Joe's couch, his tall, lean frame stretching out. He then motioned at the fridge with a finger and raised his eyebrows hopefully. "Yesterday, I mean. Come on, you know what I'm talking about."

Billie stood over him, watching him doubtfully. He scoffed as he made his way over to the fridge, leaning inside to search for something worthwhile consuming. "Dude, why are you even here anyway?" he sighed, "You just followed me home."

He could imagine his friend grinning sheepishly, but didn't bother turning to look.

"Well I thought maybe you'd be more likely to answer if I asked you at home."

"No, it just makes it more likely for me to kick your lazy ass out," Billie replied, still pawing through the fridge. He reached in and picked up an apple, brandishing it at his friend mockingly. "Just for the questions, you're only getting an apple."

"...I like apples, idiot."

Billie chucked it at him, annoyed, and he sat up to catch it with a small laugh. "Why can't you be like every other kid and be disgusted with fruit? You know, beg me for sugar or whatever?"

"Because I grew out of that when I was ten?" He smirked back before taking a small bite out of the apple in his hands. After, his eyes widened and he grabbed his throat and mimed choking. "I'm dying! Real, fruity goodness! I just can't take it!"

Billie rolled his eyes and watched his friend perform a magnificent dying act, crumpling to the floor awkwardly. After all gagging sounds had subsided, Billie raised his hands and began a very slow, sarcastic clap. He crossed the room and sat himself down on the couch. Mike sprang up again a few seconds later with a huge grin on his face and collapsed next to him.

"Are you gonna tell me?"

"All in good time."

An annoyed sigh was his response. "Quit trying to be all wise and mysterious. It doesn't look good on you."

"And can you quit being impatient? You're going to get on everyone's nerves eventually."

Mike sighed and slumped down into the couch, taking another bite of the fruit. "Fine. I give up. I'll play your stupid waiting game."

***

PHASE TWO: whored out
Tre has commitment issues. Needed: one hot girl.

Billie knew the perfect person. The second he had thought of the idea, he knew the only girl that would make this work. He watched her from the other side of the classroom, chewing at his lip in wonder. How was he gonna approach this? He needed to be careful. He needed to make her agree. There was a high chance that she would look down her nose at him with an eyebrow cocked, then let her face contort into a disgusted expression, and scoff at his proposal.

It was an intricate plan, wasn't it? It required to be treated as such. Every part needed thought, or else it would fall apart in places he would never expect.

He stood up, a conversation that he had planned reverberating throughout his mind. In the midst of the specifically planned words, he heard please work, please work. Wow, when had this suddenly become so unbelievably important to him?

Hesitantly, he arrived at her desk. Morgan Rhen. Slut of the Century. Yeah, that was pretty much her official title. Her reputation proceeded her a lot of the time. She was just the girl that 'got all the guys' but never seemed to be in a full-time relationship. The weirdest thing was that she seemed to enjoy it. Weren't girls meant to be all touchy-feely, and "let's stay together forever"? She wasn't like that.

Even with her promiscuous nature, somehow, no one out of their trio had actually got in her pants. She was a whore, yes, but it seemed she still had her standards.

About two or so years ago, the three of them had created a competition just between them, where the first one to have sex with her would get the "I did the Slut of the Century" cup. (This cup was just a coffee mug with the title painted on it with some space for the name of the winner. Of course, they had to hide it from their parents.) It was a very guy-ish gesture, but they were all extremely competitive about it, and even though the initial excitement had worn off, they still attempted to pick her up every once in a while.

Billie knew Tre was competitive, and Tre knew that he would never get Morgan. If he was presented with a chance...well, success would be in sight.

She turned to him, looking up with that slightly doubtful look on her face, as if she knew trouble was coming.

"Hey Morgan," he mumbled quietly. Noticing how unsure he sounded, he coughed, hoping that would increase the volume of his voice.

"Yeah?"

He aimed a glare at the girl sitting next to her, who rolled her eyes and turned away, before leaning on the corner of her desk. "Morgan, I need a favour."

"I'm not having sex with you," she replied hotly, her tone decisive and definite. Wow. That still hurt, even if it wasn't what he was actually implying... He just got shot down again.

Billie shook his head, hurriedly. "No, not me." He leaned closer, lowering his voice down to just more than a whisper. "I need a favour," he repeated, "My friend, Tre. I'll pay you."

She looked at him through narrowed eyes, still doubtful. "You'll pay me?"

"Yeah, extra."

She seemed bought.

"Okay. I just have a few things you need to do... Meet me at my house after school?"

A suspicious flicker appeared on her face, causing her nose to wrinkle. He rolled his eyes at the sight of it.

"I don't want to fuck you," he lied. He did. But, not today. That could wait for another time.

"Fine." She pushed her book over to the side of her desk and passed him a pencil. "Write down your address."

Billie found himself smirking slightly as he scribbled it down. Phase two seemed promising. Maybe, on some off-chance, this would actually work? The thought of seeing his plan being successful released a surge of pride. He couldn't wait for the end.