After the game -- and the chewing-out he'd received from his coach for fouling out so early in the fourth quarter -- JC, like Justin, went home to change before going over to Brian's. He slipped on a shiny pair of black pants and a tight red t-shirt that seemed to matched his still-angry attitude as he looked at himself in the mirror. Why am I going to this party? he silently asked his reflection. It's going to be all those stupid Jefferson kids celebrating the fact that they beat us again, and gloating that they're so much better than the kids that go to Kennedy High School. JC frowned. Why are you going? he answered himself, You're going because you've known Brian since preschool, and even though he goes to your rival high school, you're still close. And he's counting on you. So suck it up and get in your car. His self-lecture over, JC ran a hand through his hair, which, because it was getting long again, was still damp. He tried to finger-comb down the curls that were forming, but they stuck out at funny angles. JC sighed and smoothed some gel into his hair. If it's going to look freak-showish, at least it'll stay that way. Then he picked up his keys and left, slamming his bedroom door behind him.
Justin parked his car outside Brian's house and smiled as he let himself in at the back door. He and Brian had worked together during the past summer for a local moving and storage place, hauling people's stuff around, and they'd become pretty good friends. Justin liked Brian's sense of humor, plus he came to all of Jefferson's basketball games even though he played hockey instead. Everyone liked Brian. "Timberlake! #23 himself! All right!" Brian called as soon as he saw the tall blonde walk in. He came over and slapped Justin on the back, then Brian breathed, "My hero!" and pretended to swoon. Justin grinned back at his friend.
"I'm not the hero tonight, Bri, you should be saying that to Lance. He saved our asses after I fouled out."
"Hey, 'Lake, at least you went down swinging. That dunk near the end? Magic, baby."
"Thanks. Say, is JC here?" Justin asked, but Brian didn't hear him because at that moment, Lance came bursting through the back door.
"We won! Whoo hoo! Kennedy sucks!" Lance called, "and it's Friday, so let's party!" His words were met by a general clamor from the twenty or so people in Brian's living room, almost all Jefferson students, and Brian spun away from Justin to congratulate Lance on his game-winning shot. As Brian leapt onto Lance's back, Justin smiled at Lance finally receiving some attention. If this kept up, Justin thought he'd have to give Lance the old nickname people use to call Justin: "Spotlight." Lance was eating up the attention, and Justin couldn't blame him -- that was usually where he was. Tonight, however, Justin was glad the heat was on someone else. For once, he had things besides basketball on his mind.
JC stood in the kitchen at Brian's, away from the crowds, and leaned against the counter sullenly. These weren't his friends. This wasn't his crowd. And he'd lost tonight, to top it off, to Timberlake and the rest of those snotty Jaguar pricks. JC frowned again. Why do I let Brian talk me into these things?
JC was still frowning when Justin came wandering into the kitchen to grab something to drink. "JC, hi," Justin said, smiling brightly.
"Shove it, 'Lake," JC returned coldly.
"Whoa, hey, I was trying to be nice," Justin said, trying not to look as wounded as he felt. He couldn't let the Eagles' star hurt him. He wouldn't. "I was just going to say nice game tonight."
"Yeah, it was a good game -- until I fouled out and we lost. Thanks for drawing that last foul against me, by the way."
The hurt in Justin's eyes drained away and became anger instead. "Look, JC," he shot back, "I didn't draw that. You were guarding me too closely. You knew I was going to shoot from there. You should've given me some respect."
"That's the last thing you deserve," JC spat before turning on his heel and stalking out of the kitchen.
Justin stood there, watching JC's retreating form, too stunned to say anything. He and JC had been friends -- teammates, even -- in the past. They'd played in summer basketball leagues together since they were kids, and Justin thought that even if they weren't really friends, they at least respected each other as athletes. But JC had just smashed that pipe dream.
Justin came back to his senses and stormed out of the kitchen after JC. "Chasez," he called JC's last name after the boy, "Come back here!"
"Fuck off, Timberlake," JC yelled back, "You've done enough damage for one night."
JC was now standing in the middle of the living room which was crowded with Justin's friends and classmates. He knew he was treading dangerous water, but he didn't care. He was pissed. Justin caught up to him and caught his arm. JC spun around at the touch and shook off Justin's hand as if it were poisonous. "What the fuck do you want?"
"I want you to take back what you said in the kitchen," Justin returned, calm as ever.
"I'm not gonna. Ask all you want."
"Then I say we take this outside. You and me. One-on-one in the driveway."
"You want to fight me?" JC asked, incredulous.
Justin rolled his eyes. "No, I want to kick your ass in basketball. Prove who deserves respect. Just you and me, one-on-one."
JC's eyes once again spit fire and Justin felt his face flush under that scrutiny. "You're on," JC hissed and Justin broke into a grin. His friends who had gathered to watch the confrontation cheered, and someone tossed Justin a basketball.
"Game on!" Justin called, and he lead the way out the back door to the hoop in Brian's driveway. JC followed close at Justin's heels. "Prepare to lose," he said with a sweet smile.
JC just glared at him. "Let's go."