"Besties!" I scream before running over to Maverick and Everleigh.

Whoever's idea it was to have a movie-themed cocktail party is either a genius or the worst person alive. I had planned to make two drinks; that is no longer the case because the second is gone. My friends will have to hold themselves over with my "Swamp Water" Midori sours that have tiny Shrek ears attached to either side of the glass.

Maverick and Everleigh add their drinks—"You Mean As Friends?" virgin mimosas with a yellow hair tie around the stem that looks like Paulie Bleeker's headband and"Billy Loomis" bloody mary with a knife food pick for the olives. Between Brendon's "Ka-chow!" cherry-infused moonshine with cut-outs of McQueen's eyes, Seira's "Dinosaurs Eat Man" blue cocktail with mini dinosaur toys floating below a splash grenadine, Jun's "The Rum Isn't Gone" cocktail with one of the nine pieces of eight and steering wheel straw, and Lauren's "RIP Grandpa" pina colada that has an orange peel cut into the shape of the sun, we're stacked.

Maverick is surprised when I embrace him instead of Everleigh.

"You're supposed to hug me back, you artichoke," I scold.

He doesn't move. "I'm trying to figure out if you're drunk enough you just missed Everleigh—"

"I'm....not not drunk but I'm saying hi to my best friend. Obviously."

He slowly returns the hug with some caution. "Hi, Stevie."

As soon as that's done, I push him away. "But I will be spending the rest of the night with your girlfriend. Hi, Everleigh! Drinks!"

"Hiya!" she replies. "I love you! I have drinks too!"

"I love you, oh my god." I tug her hand. "Please, come try some swamp water and check out my super cool record collection."

She follows my lead while Maverick shakes his head. A weird coincidence that his apartment in Windsor was stripped bare of all his records while mine grew exponentially after I returned from my trip to Canada.

Brendon walks over. "Need help with anything, Mav?"

"What's your favorite airline? Thinking about booking an Edinburgh ticket for tonight."

"Actually, it's—"

Everleigh pokes one of the Shrek ears and giggles.

"If you two go anywhere, I will hunt you down."

"That's if you can stand up after our next couple of trips to the cocktails."

"I have Jenny on speed dial." I lean toward her. "Everleigh, I have every single record from The Smiths. Isn't that so cool?"

She smiles. "That is amazing. Please show me everything."

"I'm going back to the car," Maverick says.

Everleigh tries to whisper, but it comes out like she's holding a megaphone. "It's because he left the dog there to surprise you but wants you to think he's leaving."

His eyes go wide. "Oh my god?"

I snicker. "What a sucker. I don't know why we let him get such a big ego about his acting. It's not that good."

"No dog for you," he says. "I'm taking a nap in the car."

"No gatekeeping her stepson," Everleigh tells him. Women supporting women. "She has a legal right."

Not even a full five minutes and Maverick is already over it. "She does not, actually. Because he's a dog."

Says the spoon who calls this dog his child like he gave birth to the damn thing himself. Bet he'd be singing a different tune if I threw a Shrek ear at him.

He turns to Brendon. "You can see the dog. She can't, though."

I cross my arms. "I'm calling the authorities."

"Go right ahead," he replies defiantly.

Without hesitation, I pull out my phone. She picks up after two rings. "Hi, Jenny? Yeah, so, I know you said to only call if it's an emergency but Mav won't let me see my stepson—yes, the dog. Dewey. He's a Shiba. I know...yes, I'll keep calling if someone doesn't help me. Oh—okay, thanks. Love you. Bye!"

Maverick's phone rings as soon as we hang up.

"Nope," he says.

After a running head start—as a theater kid, his form is terrible—Maverick chucks his phone into the air and it lands in the neighbor's yard with a hard thud.

Brendon stares. "Did he just—"

I narrow my eyes. "He did."

Maverick walks back with a smug smile, dusting off his hands as if he's just thrown the winning pitch at Dodger Stadium. "There," he says. "I'll get it back from Bash's yard in the morning."

"Um...my house is on the other side."

I giggle. "Little shit."

The spoon looks a little dead inside. "You—you're fucking with me, right? This is a joke."

"Pretty sure that grump old dude that lives there had a Trump flag up before so—"

I'm on the verge of tears with how hard I'm laughing.

"So I'm going to get hate crimed climbing over the fence?"

Rami walks by. "Let's just say none of us talk to that neighbor. Ever. But good luck with that. I'll just take some virgin mimosa."

Maverick takes a deep breath. "God damn it, okay."

He starts hyping himself up for the rescue mission, including but not limited to punching his fists in the air. While that mess happens, I lean over again. "Everleigh, the car is open, right?"

"Yeah, go for it." Imagine Maverick finding out he did all that only to realize the car has been open this entire time anyway. Spoon behavior if I've ever seen it.

I don't wait around for the mess to happen and bolt to their car. I find Dewey sitting in the backseat with his bi-bandana around his neck. I tap on the window and coo a few times before opening the door. He hops into my arms and I wait a few moments, petting him before I head back to the house.

As I walk through the door, a Maverick-shaped figure walks around the neighbor's gate, soaking wet. Weird.

I slam the door behind me.

"Is that him at the front door again?" Rami asks when there's a knock.

"Think so."

"Is he drunk already, too?"

Everleigh, now sitting on the sofa, swallows. "He said he'd DD tonight."

I shuffle Dewey into one arm and hold the other one up. "Not on my watch!"

Rami opens the door to a soaking wet Maverick with his keys in his hand. So that was him. Lovely.

"Back again?" Rami asks.

"Do you have any towels?"

"We were almost impressed for a second."

Lauren walks by and hands him a towel. "Mick and Moxie just pulled up. Please avoid dripping on our other guests." If Lauren had a penny for every time she had to clean up a soaking wet Maverick, she would have two pennies, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it's happened twice.

"Oh, I'll do my best."

Mick and Moxie appear in the doorway shortly after, both carrying drinks. They eye Maverick suspiciously.

"Sorry, I didn't know this was a pool party," Moxie says.

"It's not," Rami deadpans.

Mick looks unconvinced. "Um...are we sure about that—"

"I'm very sure."

"Okay...well!" Moxie slaps Maverick on the shoulder, causing a slow squelch. "Good to see you, Maverick. Sounded great at the Grammys."

"You guys did too. Loved the EP."

"Revive deserved a nomination but we move along, I guess," Mick adds. "You'll get 'em next time."

"That's all right. Got the better half of the deal anyway," Maverick replies, looking over his shoulder at Everleigh.

Everyone in the room boos. Most of all Everleigh who cups her hands around her mouth to do so. Dewey barks at him.

"There's no way you just said that."

"That was disgusting," Everleigh says.

Maverick doesn't look regretful. "I thought it would get an ew, but that was better."

"This is why you're standing there in wet clothes and I'm having family time on the couch."

Maverick stares at me. A lone droplet slides down the middle of his face. "Maybe I'm trying to figure out if I can beat you to your room and dry myself off on your comforter."

I laugh into Dewey since most of my stuff has been moved over to Brendon's house. "Not like I sleep there much anymore."

"That sounded like an invitation to do so."

"Knock yourself out. I'll be here with Everleigh and Dewey."

After grabbing his glasses from Everleigh, Maverick bounds up the stairs. "Sounds good. I'm going to go steal something else to wear too."

I settle into my seat as he leaves, Dewey still rolled up in my lap. "He's such a knob. Are you guys going back to London right after this?"

"Tomorrow, yeah. He's supposedly giving his final run of songs to Keira sometime at the end of the week,"

I smile remembering the songs he sent me not long ago for approval. As if I won't immediately fall in love with everything he shows me. Maverick can write a song about spoons and I will demand he get a Grammy.

"He sent me a couple of them...I actually might have cried a little. I'm so happy for him. He deserves this. But don't tell him I said that."

"Your secret is safe with me." To be fair, she might not remember this conversation in the morning.

Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe I'm a sentimental fool. But seeing Everleigh sitting here comfortably brings me back to meeting her for the first time in Vegas. Wide-eyed and starstruck. Still on her way to falling in love with her Maverick.

And separate from her relationship, a lot has changed for her personally in that year or so. There's a lot to celebrate amongst the people at this get-together that has nothing to do with the Grammys.

"And before we start falling over our own feet," I laugh, "I just....wanted to say I'm happy for you. I don't know everything but I know this past year has been....rough. You should be very proud of yourself. Valedictorian is huge. You and Maverick are good together. You even have a freaking dog. I'm just....happy you're in my life and that I get to watch you both bloom."

She doesn't hide her tears. New MARS and Maverick music releases aside, Everleigh doesn't come off as someone who likes when people see her cry. I have to look away just so I can finish my thoughts because this is something she should hear. I want her to know how proud I am of her.

"I remember the first time I heard a MARS song and I felt like you guys were speaking to me. And that had never happened before. Ever. And being able to meet you and see you become this...legend, even more than you already were, has been...one of the greatest experiences of my life. Um. Thank you for being you, and I'm so glad you finally admitted boy wonder was the one. I might not have known you for long, but you've never looked happier. And—and album of the year? I mean—record-setting. There's nothing you can't do."

Of course, my efforts to not cry are moot. Fire signs doused by their own tears. Salt water really is the best cure for everything.

I look down. "Do you think Dewey minds if I use him to wipe my tears—"

"He's a phenomenal tissue," Everleigh laughs.

"He's going to end up looking like his dad soon. Just a ball of my tears. And I'm not even fully drunk yet."

"Good thing Dewey gives great kisses. He'll make you feel better."

I kiss the top of his head. "Better already." Looking toward the stairs, I add, "Why is the bozo taking so long—"

"He did take forty-five minutes before the Grammys to get ready. Thought we were going to be late despite the hour leeway you gave him."

Right on time, Maverick makes his way down the stairs wearing an outfit straight from my closet: dinosaur socks, sweatpants, and my favorite there's some ho's in this house Christmas sweater.

"Out of all the sweaters to steal—"

"I thought we celebrated Christmas year-round in this house, Kealoha."

"I meant it's funny you think I'm not going to kick your ass if you try to steal that one." Bold words from someone currently showing off his record collection as her own. I give myself a pass.

A challenge if he's ever heard one. "I feel like I want to test it—"

"We have that sweater at home," Everleigh scolds.

"Yeah, but it's not Stevie's."

"You're literally begging me to come to London to steal your girl, your dog, and her sweater."

Everleigh looks at me. "My sweater's the one that took a swim. We can leave it here."

I figured as much when Maverick walked in with a Grad 2023 hoodie. "Are you staying here with me too or—"

"Obviously. Only his ticket was round trip, lovely."

"Perfect."

Maverick takes a seat on Everleigh's other side. "I'm taking the Dewmaster with me."

I run my hand along Dewey. "Dewmaster would look good in a baja blast shirt..."

"He definitely would," Everleigh concurs.

"He looks good in everything."

Brendon walks over with two drinks. "Seira has enlisted me to tell you both, and I quote, you're slacking and it's embarrassing. Drink up."

As a Brit, Everleigh is impressive around a bar but Seira can single-handedly drink any of us under the table. She considers it an asset more valuable than her eight Grammys.

I take the Jurassic Park-themed drink. "What if I want a Ka-chow!"

"She'll bring you another one."

Everleigh takes the other The Rum Isn't Gone. "Thank you, Bash."

The two of us clink our glasses together and down the entire contents in one go.

Maverick stares at us. "Those were not shots."

"And we're not slackers," I reply. "Especially not the one with the Masters degree. Go hard or go home."

Everleigh stands up, all too willing to prove herself. "I know Stevie wants a Ka-chow!, anything else for anyone?"

"Some sanity, please," Maverick responds.

"Lame. Bash?"

"Billy Loomis looked good."

I laugh. "Hell yeah, he did."

"The drink."

"The answer is both." Everleigh walks away.

Maverick turns to me. "Please tell me you're planning on shooting water together at some point."

I rub Dewey's ear. "What is water? Never heard of it."

"That thing that keeps you alive, weirdly enough. Or eat something."

"I'm pretty sure I saw olives in the Billy Loomis."

He puts his head in his hand. "I was thinking bread. Pizza. Something spongey."

Brendon shrugs. "Mick's drink has donut holes."

"Not you too," Maverick groans. "I thought we were rejected boyfriends together."

My boy wonder has a flush of pink on his cheeks. How Maverick hasn't noticed this is beyond me.

"I might have had an RIP Grandpa colada before I walked over."

"Traitor."

"Stevie's running for everyone tonight so you might as well give in and drink."

Maverick reaches into his—my—pants and dangles them in the air. "I'm driving."

It takes me all of two seconds to grab the keys out of his hand before I walk outside and throw them over to the correct neighbor's yard. I am also not an athlete by any means—leave that title to boy wonder—but my throw puts Maverick's to shame if I do say so myself. The keys sail through the air in a perfect arch before landing softly on the grass.

"Not anymore, you're not," I say as I walk back inside.

"You—" Maverick looks gobsmacked. "I can go get them."

Before he can attempt, Everleigh walks back into the living room balancing four drinks in her hands, a skill likely acquired during her flight attendant days. Excuse me, miss. Do you happen to have an extra spoon? This one seems to have jumped overboard.

"Oh, good, you're joining us? Here's a swamp water, babes."

"I'm not—" After reconsidering, Maverick concedes to the girlfriends. "Thank you."

"And Billy Loomis, Ka-chow! for my favorites."

She doesn't have to tell me twice. "Thank you, my love."

"Thanks," Brendon says before taking a sip. "Billy Loomis is...delicious."

"Can you repeat that for a video, please?"

"No."

"Thank you." Maverick holds Everleigh's drink so she can sit. "Needed to be the best for the best."

"How's the swamp water, Mav?"

He hasn't touched it. "Amazing. Thank you."

I narrow my eyes. "Drink it right now."

"No."

"Bet you I can finish my drink before you can finish yours," Everleigh says.

Achilles heel times two. Maverick perks up. "....Bet what, exactly?"

"Literally anything."

"When you lose, I get to throw you in the neighbor's pool."

"When you lose—" Everleigh starts.

"Can I wax his leg?"

"Stevie gets to wax your leg."

Signed, sealed, delivered. Sucker. "Fine. Deal."

I'm running upstairs by the time Maverick makes the deal, having handed Dewey off to his mother, and I sifle through the bathroom cabinet, quickly finding what I'm looking for. As soon as I'm holding the box, I rush back downstairs in time to find Maverick sulking.

"I've got it. Did he—yup, he did. Time to strip, Maverick."

"I thought we were going to just roll the pant leg up."

Not after that stunt he pulled with trying to hide Dewey from his stepmom.

"No," Everleigh corrects, "you somehow thought you were going to win." She snorts.

He can't argue with that. "That's also true."

"We're doing a thigh," I advise.

"I hate you." He flips me off with a shiny new stevie tattooed across his middle finger.

"Greatest thing I've ever seen."

"Whatever, I love you too." Maverick doesn't fight it anymore and starts to pull down his pants. "Fine."

Since doing one of his legs would be too easy, I enlist Seira's help with the other. Everyone else looks in pain just watching Maverick walking the plank to his hairless death.

The two of us warm up the wax strips on his leg and he looks about ready to jump into oncoming traffic. Everleigh takes his drink while he buries his face into her side. It's not like it'll save him from Seira or me, but taking any chance he can to get closer to her is completely understandable.

We countdown from different numbers, only furthering Maverick's spiral, and after sharing a final look, we rip it off at the same time. The squeal he lets out is straight out of a bad horror satire. Scary Movie starring one Kingston Maverick.

        I hold up the strip of wax. Little droplets of Maverick's dignity have gotten stuck as well. "Ouch, that's gotta hurt."

        "I feel like we've grown very close from this experience alone." Seira stares down at her strip equally as fascinated.

        Tears glisten in Maverick's eyes. "Besties. Bonded for life."

        She laughs. "Who needs a shared Grammy when you can have a hairy wax strip?"

        "I do," he cries. "I need the shared Grammy."

        Seira looks across at me. "Can we do another one?"

"I have four more strips in here—"

Maverick must be a bigger lightweight than I thought because he doesn't argue. "If you count together and give me a proper warning—"

"You're really going for it again?" his girlfriend gawks. A glance around the room tells me everyone else is also as shocked.

"Will it look less weird if I do—"

"We will do no such thing," Seira says in response to Maverick's earlier demand. "On a random number, we go again."

The thing about getting something like a piercing or tattoo done is that it always hurts the longer you go or the more you do. Obviously, your body is going to be like what the fuck, get away from this thing that's hurting you but Maverick, for some reason, has not thought this through. The cry he lets out this time we rip off the wax strips if even more strained than the previous.

"Beautiful," I remark. "Now the front of both your thighs are as smooth as a baby's butt."

Seira looks down at his legs. "There are a ton of spots still—"

"We should open up a salon," I declare. "Drunk waxing."

Maverick rubs at a spot that may or may not have blood. "I'm giving you a terrible Yelp review."

"My slaps still have five stars."

"Your slap didn't make me bleed."

"Want to try again—"

"Yeah," Brendon nods, " I think the Ka-chow! hit her."

"What was in it again?" Jun asks.

"....Moonshine."

"Oh."

Maverick stares at me in horror. "What are you doing—"

I quickly slap another wax strip onto his leg and rip it off. "Ka-chow!"

He muffles his scream with Maverick's shirt while I cackle maniacally.

"Oh my god—" Brendon gasps.

Mick, who's been standing off to the side sipping on a Babe Ruthless, a mint-flavored cocktail that has a tiny bandana with a star on it tied around the glass, laughs. "You guys need to invite us over more often."

"Oh, you little shit, Stevie!"

I look at Everleigh with a smile. "This is the best day ever. Thanks, Everleigh."

"You literally won an Album of the Year Grammy three days ago," Lauren deadpans.

Everleigh smiles back at me while petting Dewey who's snuggling comfortably in her lap. "You're welcome, babes."

I grab my sweatpants from the floor and hand them to Maverick. "Here you go."

"I hope these are the period sweatpants 'cause they're getting blood on them," he says as he pulls them on, wincing in the process. "And I'm not sorry."

"Please make sure they're dry cleaned when you return them."

He doesn't spare me another glance. "Point me in the direction of the liquor table, please."

Rami points. "It's the big table over there with a bunch of liquor on it."

I laugh into my palm. It might be a little overkill if I ask him to bring me another Ka-chow!

"It's really funny you think I can see through these tears right now, thank you so much."

Rami shrugs. "Don't make bets you can't win."

"Don't bet against me or Everleigh," I say and give her a fist bump.

"Babes?" Everleigh says.

Maverick sighs. "I really hope you mean me and not Stevie."

"Can you please grab me a Ka-chow!?"

He rolls his eyes but starts to waddle away. "Yes." Maverick comes back with three drinks.

"For me?" I place a hand on my chest. "You shouldn't have."

"Nope." He sits between Everleigh and me. "Two for me. We're playing catch up now."

Considering Everleigh and I drank a whole stash before they arrived, he's lost out on a lot of time. "You've got a lot of work to do, then."

"This is fine," he says. Dog-in-a-burning-building fine, but sure. "We're fine."

...

"No, because Brendon said he likes salt and vinegar chips and I almost broke up with him right then and there."

Everleigh scrunches her nose. "At least that's a real flavor. Kingston claims all dressed are his favorite crisps."

"They're real."

"Sounds fake," I concur.

Brendon sides with his fellow rejected boyfriend. "They're actually pretty good."

I stare at him. "...Except they're part of Maverick's imagination."

"They had us try them for a video before the Montreal race two years ago."

"Thank you," Maverick breathes. "Finally."

Everleigh isn't ready to admit defeat. "How much did you pay him to say that?"

"Nothing." What's that smell? Hmm, bullshit.

"Go down to the store and buy some right now," Everleigh demands. "Prove they're real."

"They're Canadian."

"A likely story."

"We all know Canadians are fake too," I say.

"Yeah, you're right. I was actually born in an active volcano off the coast of Austria."

"Austria's what you went with for that?" Everleigh asks.

Deflecting, Maverick points at me. "I've seen Stevie eat a vomit-flavored jelly bean and you mean to tell me that all dressed chips are less believable?"

"Obviously, they have vomit-flavored jelly beans." I roll my eyes. What a silly question. "All dressed doesn't even sound real. All dressed, what? All dressed for the Oscars 'case none of what we're saying is real? Please."

"What about ketchup chips?" Maverick questions. "Would you believe those are real?"

"No, because I hate ketchup."

If we were wingman fighter pilots, Maverick would have long ago ejected himself just to avoid having to listen to me anymore. "Disgrace. What about Coffee Crisps?"

"Coffee-flavored chips?" I balk.

"Coffee chocolate."

"Oh." Why didn't he just say that? "Those are so good?"

"Oh my god." Maverick shakes his head. "Do you believe marmite exists?"

"Well, yeah. It's disgusting but that's an actual thing."

"So are all dressed chips. But they're good."

Everleigh looks ready to strangle me after that one. "Marmite is not disgusting."

"Yes, it is." Turning to Maverick, I add, "And no, those are not real."

Brendon raises a finger. "Vegemite is superior."

The name is enough to make Maverick gag. "Both are revolting, actually."

Everleigh's face tells me this isn't the first time they've had this conversation. "That's because you scooped it on like it was Nutella which isn't what you're supposed to do. And you mixed it with jelly."

Brendon's eyes go wide. "He did what—"

"God," I say, "I love Nutella."

"You can share the Nutella when I shop him here next time he mixes those two together," Everleigh practically threatens.

"It was awful before it was mixed with jam, actually," Maverick clarifies. For this, I'm on his side.

"Sure," Brendon shrugs, "if you have the flavor palate of a child."

Just because I'm in love with him, doesn't mean I won't break up with him for this—

"I was told it would help with my hangover and all it did was make me puke."

The steam is shooting out of Everleigh's ears at this point. "Because you mixed it with jelly and then thought oh maybe marmalade would be better—"

"Are you supposed to just eat the poop spread alone?" I cry.

"Well, yeah." Brendon looks at me like I've grown two heads. "Just a smidge on toast or something."

"Disgusting."

"Sometimes margarine," Everleigh speaks as if she's talking to a class of five-year-olds, "but usually by itself, like he said."

"I don't care that it's got B-vitamins," Maverick gags. "I'd actually rather die."

It's not often you find Maverick and I on the same side of the argument, let alone Brendon and Everleigh agreeing instead of trying to one-up each other because they only know how to exist in competition mode.

"I would rather be forced to watch Werewolf in the Catacombs than eat that stuff again," I say.

Maverick nods. "Yeah, seriously. You can Clockwork Orange me with Werewolf in the Catacombs and it'll be less painful."

"Literal children." Brendon shakes his head.

Everleigh stares. "You'll eat vomit jelly beans but not—"

"I would literally rather eat my wet pool sock," Maverick interrupts.

Brendon looks thoughtful. "I think I actually have some Vegemite at my house—"

"No." I cross my arms. "I thought I threw that out."

"Secret stash." The ultimate betrayal.

"Care to eat your words, Kingston?" Everleigh taunts.

I know an incoming bet when I see one, and there's no way I'm letting Maverick walk himself into eating Vegemite. "Wait—what if I have the jelly bean roulette—"

"Pretty sure there's a sock one," Maverick says. "I'll literally eat that over marmite."

Brendon looks between us. "Luigi's against the Toad's?"

I go into panic mode. "Don't challenge Maverick—"

"Obviously, we're in," he says.

"Nevermind, I forgot where I put them—"

"Here you go," Jun says, walking over with the box. "Have fun."

I narrow my eyes and yank the damn thing out of his hands. "Thanks, Jun."

Brendon moves over to grab it out of my hands. "Okay, how does this thing work?"

"By stabbing me in the eye—" He nudges my side. "But you can also spin the arrow and it'll land on the color you need to eat. Those are the possible flavors."

His eyes quickly scan the flavors while my stomach plummets into my ass. "Ah, yes. There's the stinky socks."

"Serve it, boy wonder," Maverick says.

Brendon holds out the box to Everleigh with the spinner nearest her. "Care to do the honors, Leigh?"

Everleigh wordlessly flicks the arrow and we watch until it lands on the color. An innocent-looking pale blue color—toothpaste or berry.

"Even if they get toothpaste, that's the most normal one." I groan. "Fuck me."

After taking out a jelly bean for each of them, Brendon and Everleigh cheers each other while Maverick and I look like we're ready to be hanged. Yo ho, yo ho, it's a bozo life for us. Just thinking about what flavors we're going to end up with makes me want to shove him overboard myself for agreeing to this.

Brendon and Everleigh on the same side? We don't stand a chance.

"Hmm, berry," Brendon hums. "Nice."

"Berry," Everleigh echoes. "Cheers."

Deciding I'm not stable enough to start it myself, I hold the spinner out to Maverick for our turn. "Maverick, you spin. I'm too busy trying not to throw up already."

And what a winner spin it is—canned dog food or chocolate pudding.

"Objectively, if I feed it to the dog—"

Everleigh stops him. "You're not feeding a potentially chocolate jelly bean to the dog."

"Yeah, but the dog food would be good for him."

I swallow looking at the jelly beans. "What if I just jump into the Trumpie's pool instead—"

"It could be chocolate pudding," Everleigh tries to suggest helpfully.

Yeah, and I'm going to win a Pulitzer for writing an album about wet socks.

"It could be my own vomit coming back up—"

Brendon pushes the box toward me. "Just eat it, babe."

Maverick and I share a look before holding the brown jelly bean up and knocking it back like a spoonful of medicine. "Maverick—" I gag, "—I hate you."

My spoon-in-crime is on the verge of tears. "Oh my god."

"I take it the chocolate pudding isn't as good as you thought it would be." Brendon laughs.

"Don't you dare—" I hold my hand to my mouth and close my eyes. Is this what they feed Dewey? That's damn near animal abuse.

Maverick's face scrunches together. "Why is it sour—"

Everleigh rolls her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic—" He moves toward her with his lips puckered and she shoves her hand into his face. "Do not touch me—"

"Okay, well, let's go again," Brendon says before spinning it himself. It lands on an orange-colored bean. "Dead fish or strawberry banana smoothie. Yikes."

"I hope it's dead fish—" I tell him.

"Oh, that's...." Everleigh drifts off.

"Like marmite—" Maverick finishes.

"Shut up." She holds her hand out. "I hope I don't regret this. Hit me with it."

"Cheers." Brendon chews thoughtfully. "Not a huge fan of banana but that's not bad."

My eyes bug out. "Not bad—"

Everleigh wrinkles her nose. "Artificial banana is the worst."

Maverick is unamused. "I'm breaking up with you," he says before taking a sip of Rami's drink for tonight—aptly titled Waterboy. He went all out with the shaped ice cubes.

I yank the box out of Brendon's hands and spin again. "Fuck. Rotten egg or buttered popcorn."

"Stevie, I swear to god."

I'm about ready to throw this box of jelly beans at him. "I did not agree to this challenge—"

"Remember that time I was supposed to be DD and my car keys ended up in boy wonder's yard?"

"Remember that time I slapped—oh, never mind. Eat the damn jelly bean."

While I hesitantly chew, Maverick tosses the damn thing into his mouth before looking ready to barf. "Oh my fucking—"

My eyes start to water. "I wish we never won. I wish we never had a reason to celebrate. Fuck Escape Velocity. I hate it here."

"Stevie," he looks at me, still green around the edges, "you've seen Scream, right?"

"Yeah."

"Can you gut me like Billy and Stu, it'll be less painful?"

"Sure, right before I stab myself in the esophagus."

Brendon places a hand on my shoulder which I promptly shake off. "I think you're being a little dramatic."

"I would rather eat Mav's wet sock right now."

"There's two," the spoon says. "We can share. Cleanse the palate."

After Brendon and Everleigh win another round with peach-flavored jelly beans—and Maverick and I debate how to break up with them purely out of principle—Maverick takes another spin while I avoid watching. When I take a peek, he looks dead inside.

Everleigh eyes him. "It's stinky sock, isn't it?"

"Stinky fucking socks."

"Or?"

He stares at me. "Do we even have to look—"

"Tell me or else I'm going to walk headfirst into traffic. I need hope."

"You're 0 for 2 right now," Brendon says.

I want to cry. "Maverick—"

"It's tutti-frutti," he responds, "but does it matter—"

"If it's not tutti-frutti, I'm going to fling myself into a group of Republicans."

Brendon has never looked so concerned for me in his life, and this is the man I trusted to take me to see my estranged mother. "Are you okay—"

"No."

Maverick hands me a jelly bean. "Good knowing you, Stev."

It takes all of one bite for it to hit me and I feel my stomach doing cartwheels inside my body. "I'm going to—" I hold my mouth.

"No..." Maverick sprints to the bathroom.

I look at the rest of the room. "If you'll all excuse me, please."

What happens next will never be repeated if I have any say in it.

(Move, I need to barf.) (No, I got here first.) (Bitch, it's my house .) (And they're your jelly beans that fucked us up.) (Move or I'm puking on your head.)

Faintly, I hear Brendon say, "They must really hate tutti-frutti."

(I'm suing the makers of jelly beans.)

Everleigh laughs. "Can't be worse than the strawberry banana smoothie."