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BEHIND LEROI'S TONGUE IS THE rawest bile from the most bitter, fiercely pubescent American girl's gall bladder, so bitter from penitence and continuous self-condemnation for being a big wuss wheeled and willed by his balls, not his brain.

Last night was when this ickiness has been sitting on the core of his mouth in an akimbo and with legs crossed. Tasteless but faceless was the source when gallons spilt all over his mouth, slipping out of the corners of his lips till he could barely gurgle it all down and it.

It seeps into his canals. Spreading warmth of discomfort all over his body. As white and almost colorless as it is.

This was and is still regret, through and through.

Leroi Slayberry can still smell his best friend all the way from his dermis, lurking like an invisible form of leprosy. Damn, he really took his time scrubbing Kaolin off his body in the showers all in the name of guilt till he almost shed to a new skin.

All he wanted to do was to help out his sudden bicuriousity as a good friend -- and because Kaolin is such a persuasive bitch -- and now he can't get last night out of his head. If he can just find some kind of format button or command. . .

That new carseat smell, music to his nose, is tugged into his lungs and he gasps in ecstasy. One of the few things to keep his mind off the lockers, teachers, students, classes, books--he barely cares about his books--which are just getting too typical, too tiring. His senior days are still fresh and he just wishes for a fast-forward--no, a skip button. Then he will take over the family business and the least of his worries will be his decumbent GPA.

Leroi locks his Porsche's door, his reflection on the shiny bumper seducing him to have a peek, and gladly does he succumb.

Now, he wishes he didn't.

How in the seven hells did he grow so much cheeks in the nick of a semester break? Ugh, now he looks like that fat redhead chick in Ethics class who eats boiled eggs from her purse.

Leroi's heart seizes on spotting... "Jesus Christ! Is that a zit? Two zits?!"


It is sudden, sudden enough to make Leroi's heart jump, but it doesn't. Instead, it's his eyes ans they roll hard into his head in apathy. Huffing in indignation, he quickens his pace to the school's maim block.

"Hey, wait up!" The most clingy, obsessive, Star-Trek-washed-up sophomore in Pheonix High calls out, his worn sneakers squeaking on the terrace plays Leroi's nerves like an harp.

"Can I help you?" Leroi notices the smaller boy's dreadlocks are off his head and he's sporting low hair dyed golden blonde; it reminds Leroi of Mac and cheese.

"You can always help me bro," he speaks in that cringeworthy, shrill voice of his. "And as a matter of fact, Lee Berry. I've biology homework that's really, literally close to bifurcating my cerebrum. . ."

"Nerd," Leroi mutters neath his breath as he stares down at him ruffling AP this and that textbooks out of his bag.

". . .and chemistry aggrandizing my blood's boiling point and --"

"Have you forgotten that my grades never go beyond C? Not that I'm proud of it but," Leroi admits with a shrug, "I just don't care."

Nixon pauses. He pushes his falling glasses with prudence, his index finger coyly setting it back to the bridge of his nose. "Oh, right. I almost forgot you're one of the poorest in your class."

Ouch. That's the problem with Nixon, his know-it-all-ness has a way of making him unbearably blunt.

"Whatever, bro. You're going to hell for the multiple times you've continuously smashed my heart into my face."

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