POGO STICKS ARE PERILOUS
The practicalitiesof dried cum are evident a short while later,butI’m obviously crazy because I love it.
Despite accepting that I won’t let Zach anywhere near me tonight before I shower.
The tangible (if faintly gross) proof has me holding my head up high when we step inside Darcy Lovell’s apartment building.
Everyone knows her dad owns it; that’s why she can have a party without getting her ass kicked out. Fuck the other neighbors who spend fifteen grand a month to live here—the landlord’s bitch spawn is in residence and what she wants, she gets.
Zach collects our coats in one hand but drags me with him so I’m not alone. I will definitely be rewarding him later forthat.
The music’s loud, the massive apartment’s full to the brim, and I can already see Pecan bouncing up and down on the makeshift dance floor like he’s?—
“Does he have a pogo stick?”
Zach shouts in my ear, “Who?”
“PECAN.” I point to where our mutual dumbass friend is doing a great jack-in-the-box impression.
Zach’s scowl’s immediate, as is how he hauls me through the crowd toward Pecan.
“The fuck are you doing, dude?” is his greeting. “Where did you even get that thing?”
I can see some of the girls tittering behind their red cups and know I’m definitely the butt of a lot of the jokes. When I spy Addison Fitzpatrick standing among them, I half-expect a smirk, but she surprises me by shooting me a sympathetic smile.
Not that it means much when she’s surrounded by mean girls clearly taking a lot of pleasure from my humiliation, but I guess that’s something.
And it’s not like I can even focus on them too much. A dipshit Pecan might be, but I’m so glad for his bizarre brain. Breaking his neck on a pogo stick is more of an emergency than Dyers’s BS.
“Zach! Deeeeeeeee!” Pecan yeehaws. “You made it!”
“Where did you get a pogo stick?”
“Dunno,” he chirrups, bright and breezy as ever. Or is he? I know him well and beneath his cheer… “You want a go? Be great for your coordination?—”
“Maybe if you didn’t stink of Grey Goose, we could applaud you for training at a party,” I throw in, wanting to smile but knowing I shouldn’t encourage him. “What if you break your arm, Peeks?”
“D, you’re so right.” He bounces. “What if I did?” He bounces again. “That would suck.” Another bounce.
“Feel free to stop at any time,” Zach yells.
Bounce.
“But it’s fun!”
Bounce.
“Might be. But what if you broke your arm and tore your ACL?”
He stops bouncing.
ACL, meniscus, hamstring—dirty words to an athlete.
“D, you think I could?”
I watch him wobble from side to side on the stick. “I think you could if you don’t jump off, Pecan.”
He veers to the side just as Zach snags him and yeets him upright. A call of ‘GERONIMO’ tears through the living room and a chorus of boos greets us once Zach saves Pecan’s butt.
