Microwaved Soup and Wet Cigarettes

He was alone. And he was cold. And he was wet. And he didn't care that California was in the middle of a drought like it always was, he just wished it would stop fucking raining.

His mom didn't usually yell at him, Greg did. But this time he walked from one room to the next, one voice to the next. Neither soft and neither forgiving.

So he had grabbed his pack of cigarettes out of his dresser, climbed out the window in nothing but a tee shirt and jeans and started walking. Two blocks turn right. Three blocks turn right. One block turn left. Walk down ten cracked stone steps. Walk down this dingy dirt road. Or mud road, rather. Climb tree.

Falling twice was not part of the pattern, but due to the fucking rain he ended up on his ass twice before he finally rested against the branches, not really caring if he fell and broke his neck or his arm, but not exactly hoping for it either.

He didn't know how long his eyes had been closed before the rock hit him. "What the--?" He glanced down and groaned when he saw Michael Pritchard.

"Hey, asshole."

And Billie just wanted to slap that stupid grin off his face like he'd never wanted anything in his life except when his dad died. "Go to hell."

"Come on, Billie. It's fucking freezing. You're going to catch pneumonia and I'll have to eat lunch by myself for a week while Greg tortures you with microwave chicken noodle soup."

"Go. A. Way."

"Billie, get out of the tree." Mike said, slightly annoyed.

"I'm pretty liable to kick your ass if I do."

"That's fine. I'd probably do the same thing." When Billie didn't move, Mike grabbed the lowest branch of the tree and pulled himself up. "Your mom called, freakin' out. I knew you'd be here."

"I never come here with you." Billie said.

"I'm a stalker." Mike laughed and stopped when his friend glared at him. "What did Greg do this time?"

"I don't care what Greg does." But Billie and Mike both knew that was a lie. "But my mom was screamin' at me this time, too." He fumbled for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, cursing when they slid out of his hands.

"I've got a new pack at my house." Mike said. "But you wouldn't be able to light one up in this shit anyway. You've got to be fucking freezing, man."

"No kiddin'? I was so hot I was getting ready to strip down and try and get a tan." Billie shot back, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Mike reached out and grabbed Billie's hand. "Let's just go, all right?"

"You're a prick, Mike."

"Love you too, Billie Joe."