| It's a miserable autumn day, which seems to suit Jake just fine. He's out in the front yard, if it can be called that, standing in the cold rain. He's put an old, bare tire against the trunk of one of the yard's dead trees and is busy throwing a battered football at it. He's not very good. But it seems that accuracy is not really the point. He's chucking the ball as hard as he can and the impact it makes as it hits the trunk or the tire brings a tight smile of satisfaction to his face. His hair is plastered against his forehead and his t-shirt sticks to his body. And still he throws, grunting now with the effort, little growls of frustration.
Austin's old dirt bike roars up the street, pulling quickly into the driveway. Turning it off, Austin gets off the bike, propping it up on the stand, and then begins to head for the house. He's soaked, his own clothes sticking to his muscular but short frame. He notices his neighbor with the football, and he heads that direction. Looking at the trunk as the football bounces off it, he says, "I think it's dead, Merritt."
"Not dead /enough/," Jake practically belts out the last word as he throws with all his might, the ball smacking wetly against the side of the tire and then bouncing out toward the street. He watches it roll dispassionately. "People suck." Just in case Austin was wondering. Still, Jake does manage to give the other teenager a half-smile. "You look like a wet rat. A really fucking muscular wet rat."
Austin rolls his eyes, and gives the front of his shirt a little pull, unsticking it from his chest for a minute, almost self-consciously. He walks over and picks up the old football. "You act like you've suddenly just discovered this." He tosses the football to Jake, and even the short gentle toss has a perfect spiral when thrown by the quarterback. "What happened this time?"
Jake reaches to snatch the ball out of the air. He's a decent athlete but lacks Austin's easy grace. He looks like he's working at it. And he is. He stares at the pigskin for a long moment, then shakes his head. "Henderson and his goon friends threw my bike in the dumpster. Right before the cafeteria cans were emptied, of course. I got to spend half an hour wading through spaghetti trying to lift it out." He nods his head down the street. "Go long."
Austin shakes his head, "Fuck him. You need to just beat the shit out of him." He shrugs, "I can't believe they mess with you. They're afraid of me." He begins to jog into the rain. "I'm not a receiver, you know," he calls as he runs out into the street.
"I'm not a quarterback," Jake returns with a smirk, cocking his arm back and letting the ball fly. It's not a bad pass, though it doesn't have much spiral to it and it is under-thrown a bit. He watches it with grim satisfaction as rainwater trickles down his forehead, his lashes blinking it away. "It's like bad guy code. You beat the other bad guys down to make sure you're known as the baddest bad boy. And he's got a posse. He knows no one has my back."
Austin has to stop his job away, and run back toward Jake a few steps to make the catch. He smiles, wiping the water off his face, "Your dad's rep doesn't help you? It's kind of funny. You're the one they SHOULD be afraid of. Not me." He throws the ball back, clearly the perfect throw of a quarterback. Jake hardly has to do anything more that extend his hands to make the catch. "The bike okay?"
"Yeah, it's fine. A little scratched. Thank God for the rain," Jake murmurs, looking up to the sky and pulling the football close to his chest. "I barely had any spaghetti to wash off by the time I got home." He pauses and regards the football before tossing it back and asking a rare question. "How was your day?"
Austin makes his way back to Jake's driveway. "Met the new foreign exchange kid. From France, I think. Spoke French, anyway." He shrugs, "Seemed cool, but he was with fuckin' Kelly Black." He rolls his eyes once more, "Now that kid's a douche." Shaking his head, he speaks in a high pitched voice, mocking Kelly, "My mom was on TV. Blah blah blah."
Jake chuckles at the imitation of Kelly, another kid he's known for some time. There is a brief pause in the rain, and he looks up at the iron grey sky as if disappointed in the let-up. "I hope this year isn't lame. It's like I'm already tired of school, but I don't get to enjoy being a senior for another year." His gaze drifts back to the quarterback. "You could probably scare the shit out of Kelly if you wanted to."
Austin shrugs, "Probably. I just..." He sighs, shaking his head. "You earned your reputation. I was just a fuck up." He smirks, "I don't want to be feared. I want to be gone." He pushes his hair up off his forehead, glancing up at the clouds a moment as well.
"Earned?" Jake stares at Austin for a long moment, then shakes his head, water falling in little droplets from the movement. "Whatever, man." His shoulders roll. "Least you can do is own it. Beats running from it. Trust me." He looks like he might say more, but in the end he only shakes his head again and starts heading for the porch. "Go dry off, rat."
Austin furrows his brow, "What?" He holds his arms out a bit to his side. "Dude? What the hell?" he picks the football up off the ground, tossing it up onto the porch so it doesn't stay wet.
The ball lands and rolls to nestle in the lee of the wall by the door, even as Jake passes through it. "Later, gator," he calls, even as the screen door slams shut behind him. A moment later, the larger, heavier door closes too, though not so violently, isolating Austin out in the cold autumn rain. As if on cue, it starts to fall with renewed vigor.
Austin shakes his head, and heads back over to his own house.
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