Uno:
That's what I thought. There's just one problem we gotta fix with you. Actually, two.

Dryce:
Okay.

Uno:
First – you gotta stop being vegan. Everyone knows that meat contains protein, vital amino acids, and vitamin B12, which can't be found in ANY other food group.

Dryce:
Actually, beans contain protein, and the amino acids are self-generated by the body once the body's chemical reliance on external amino acids has worn off after a gradual change in diet. It's only Vitamin B12 that's hard to get, but with vitamin supplements-

Uno:
SHUT THE FUCK UP AAAAHHHHHHHHH

Uno, who just now seemed chill in the face of stress, was unable to handle a calm, cool rebuttal. He goes ballistic and smashes a wooden baseball bat on the floor. The broken shards explode with a hot KRAK!! He stands there panting for a moment before finding again his will to go on, and points the jagged splinters that remain of the bat at my neck.

Uno:
Just stop. Fucking. Talking.

I nodded.

Deux:
Secondly, you've gotta start smoking, or doping, or dipping. We don't care. As long as you get your daily dose before the game, everyone's happy.

Deux holds up a bag of green buds, dried leaves in crystallic clumps. He is obviously quite proud of it, and has momentarily forgotten about his earlier sadness.

Dryce:
That looks like weed, dude.

Deux:
W-what? No it's not.

Dryce:
Yeah it is, I can smell it from here.

Uno:
Crack that sucker open, buddy, let's smell.

Deux crackles open the plastic bag's pressure seal, and a familiar dank aroma spills out.

Trois:
Dude, that's weed. You've been smoking weed before games?!

Uno:
No wonder you always suck so bad!

Deux:
Okay, whatever! So it's fucking weed! I don't like nicotine, okay?! It makes me nervous and I always get a headache!

Uno:
Weak, dude.

Trois:
Mega weak.

I could feel the words bursting at the tip of my tongue. I wanted to tell them how I knew – that my sister had been smoking weed for the last three years, and that I'd tried it. That I'd been taking a hit of her joints every friday for the whole summer. I wanted them to know how cool I thought it all was, that I was a twelve year old who smoked weed sometimes. But instead, I decided to keep my mouth shut. Suddenly I was getting anxious, like I was too full of joy and self-satisfaction and I couldn't contain it.

Uno:
Yo, he's getting agitated.

Deux:
You're sweating, man.

Trois:
Yikes.

Dryce:
I'm uh, good. I just need to piss...

I stood up, knowing that "piss" was the better choice than "pee". I didn't want to sound any more childish or effeminate than I already did. The ropes fell off my hands like yarn and the guys gasped.

Uno:
YO, HEY! HE'S GETTING AWAY!!

Dryce:
I just need to use your bathroom...?

Deux:
How the fuck did you get out? I tied that rope with a Triple Buttclench, the toughest knot ever created.

Trois:
A triple what??

Deux:
I learned it in the Boy Scouts.

Dryo:
I bet you did.

I cracked a smile but held back from laughing. Their mood dropped, and I could tell I went too far. But instead of telling me "not cool" or "that was messed up", they just pretended like it never happened. Was I supposed to pretend like it was a huge diss? Was I failing to play the role of a villain so they could hate me? Was it worse to get burned by a friend than by someone you hated?

Uno:
The bathroom's down the hall and to the left, bro. I'll drive you home.

Dryce:
I thought I was getting initiated or whatever. Heckled and hazed like a geek.

Uno:
You're just... not geeky enough, man. Nor are you cool enough to make this work. You're like nothing, and it's not fun.

Deux:
You don't even defend yourself or get offended. It's like... you're always just being calm, even when you're supposed to get mad.

Dryce:
Oh, yeah, no I was mad. I just... ignored it. I thought you were gonna saw my legs off or something.

Uno:
No, I mean, we were gonna scare you with that, maybe. But you don't look scared of anything. You're all...

A short, dense silence.

Dryce:
...at peace? Chilled out?

Nobody replied. I went to the bathroom, which was kind of gross and hairy all over. I didn't want to say anything about it, though. They looked like they'd had enough. I wasn't even trying to bully them, I thought as I washed my hands. They were acting like I was sent here to terminate their self-esteem, when they'd kidnapped ME in the first place. Somehow I felt like the bad guy here. What the hell was going on?

Quincy and Beakley were sitting in the garage when I got back. It looked like they were having a good time, talking to each other. I didn't have that anymore, a friend. I guess I was a little jealous, cause I looked at them and tried to guess what made them such good friends. They looked at me and immediately stopped talking. I guess I just didn't know the secret password, or whatever. They pointed to Ron, in the car.

Ron drove me home without saying a word. I sat and watched the fields out the passenger window, thinking how nice it must be to own land. I even thought, it must be cool to drive. As if he could hear my thinking, Ron clenched the wheel tighter and skipped a gear. What was he so nervous about? Did he think I was going to steal it? I can't even drive. Finally he spoke.

Ron:
You need to learn when to shut up, man.

I nodded.

Ron:
It's about... conservation of energy. You can't always be burning off your fuel as soon as you get it. You got to keep secrets sometimes, even from your best mate. For their sake. Do you get me?

I... nodded?

Ron:
It's like... you don't say you gotta make a sandwich. You just go and do it, don't make a fuss and announce yourself. Even the way you sit, you're always communicating. Like that you're pissed off at me.

I pretended for a moment that I wasn't.

Ron:
You gotta shut up your body or you're gonna get in shit. Let the tank fill without it making you fat. It's like active rest, with your metabolism ON even though you're not doing nothing. Sleeping on purpose instead of because someone told you to, but you're awake.

Dryce:
That doesn't-

Ron:
Just go dark, stop paying so much attention. Like you did that one day, except don't black out this time. You know what you did that game was a fluke, right? You were possessed.

Dryce:
I was what?

Ron:
Possessed by the crowd, man. It happens to little newbies like you. Your mind goes to sleep and the people take over. You start playing the way they want you to, but you're not in control. Even if you win, you're not in control. Do you understand?

Dryce:
It's here.

I gestured to the house where I "lived". Purposely, I'd told him to drive a few blocks away from my dorm so he wouldn't know where to find me. At least not easily.

Ron:
So I'm not gonna come 'round the block and find you walking, am I?

I froze.

Ron:
Just tell me where your real house is.

Dryce:
I gotta hit the store first. You're helping me out here.

Ron:
If you say so. Just remember what I told you, aight? Wear the glove, don't be the glove.

Dryce:
I'll give it a shot.

I left the car and walked into the gas station. It was a long enough day that I got myself some chips. By the time I got home, my stomach told me I'd regret it. I think Ron and his buddies might be batters, in this grand baseball metaphor. Pitchers and catchers don't get home-runs, either, now that I think of it. Not until they swing and hit something. So what the hell is the ball? A conversation? Are we all just useless until it's our turn to inflict what we want onto whoever's in the way? Maybe baseball really is a terrible metaphor for relationships, and sometimes things we say all the time don't make any sense at all.