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The conversation was fruitless, and Bob set out for home.

This was the atypical backwoods, country road that he walked, most of it, on this stretch, was not even asphalt, just dirt and gravel. In it\x92s state-crossing length, this was the purgatory of I-90; no one came out this far, rarely, and no one started from here. So Bob grew nervous as the sound of an engine and glow from headlights came closer; he stuck to the side of the road, not even crossing his mind about hiding, he just kept walking. As the car kept coming, he tried to reason to himself it was just one of those rare cases where someone actually had a reason to travel this far, and kept thinking that as the car broke hard and stopped a few feet in front of him. He knew it well enough...Thomas\x92s car. And sure enough, the driver, that same orange tabby, popped his head out of the now open car door. Drunk, the smell of beer drifted over to Bob even from distance separating him from the car, Thomas threw his arms up in an aggressive manner.

Bob ran.

Thomas, however drunk, was in better shape and much faster, tackling him on the grass shoulder; he turned Bob over and struck a blow to his muzzle, then to his chest. Bob lay stunned, Thomas hovering over him, breathing heavily, the stink of beer blowing in his face.

Thomas (pinning Bob\x92s shoulders and reveling in his dominance): Ah got\x92chu, faggot. Ah got\x92chu.

Bob\x92s paw fished for something, anything, to use as a weapon within his reach. He looked straight into Thomas\x92s eyes as he wrapped his finger around a pine cone...it was not much, but it would provide a distraction.

Bob: Flatterer. (He shifted his weight, bringing his shoulder up and out from under Thomas\x92s paw, raking the pine cone across his nose.)

Thomas falls back, clasping his muzzle and screaming; Bob stands up and brushes himself off, standing over the screaming tabby. Taking his time, he reaches back into his coat and unsheathes his knife, straddling himself over Thomas\x92 chest.

Bob (completely grim in his work, he traces the blade across Thomas\x92 throat): What\x92s the frequency, Kenneth?

Thomas (blood oozing through his fingers): Fuck ya, faggot...like Ah fucked yer lil\x92 cat bitch...

Bob (raising an eyebrow): Um...who?

Thomas: Tara...Ah fucked her just like Ah fuck e\x92ery bitch.

Bob (smirking): You...and Tara...heh...haha...hahahahaha!

Thomas (brow furrowing): Don\x92t laugh at me, faggot.

Bob: You...hahaha...you fucking idiot...hahaha...She\x92s only sixteen. You...heh...you dipped your stick in jailbait, Tommy boy.

Thomas: So? Ain\x92t shit ya could do \x91bout it.

Bob: Oh? Her word and mine, beats yours; and I\x92m sure you bragged to a few friends, didn\x92t you?

Thomas grunted.

Bob: Tell you what, I\x92m in a blackmailing mood. I don\x92t want to see you or your friends around us, and you know who I\x92m talking about, ever again. One of your locker room romance buddies even looks at us, and you\x92ll be somebody\x92s boyfriend real fast. Now...(he stood up while Thomas looked on, the blood on his nose drying)...git.

Thomas rose slowly, and stumbled back to his car; starting the engine, he drove off towards the bridge. Bob stood on the shoulder looking after the car, he sheathed his knife, straightened himself out, turned around, and promptly vomited.

Bob and Polly sit alone at a booth, Bob recapping what Thomas said. Polly puts on a face of disbelief, shaking her head.

Polly (running her fingers through her hair): I can\x92t believe that...Her...with Thomas...

Bob (shrugging): Her life.

Polly: You don\x92t understand...I watched out for her in school, I invited her to stay over when her parents left her alone for weeks at a time...she\x92s almost like a little sister to me.

Bob: And you think this is her first time?

Polly (giving him a cold stare): I know it was.

Bob (raising an eyebrow): Hm... (stretches out the length of the booth\x92s seat, resting his back against the wall): Talk to her, I guess, I\x92m not.

Polly was about to respond with something witty, when the little bell above the front door tingled; both Bob and Polly looked over as Tara walked in.

Bob (looking back at Polly): Coincidence?

Polly: Just another stupid narration segment where the characters interact with the audience over something that was obviously going to happen.

Bob (closes his eyes): Hm...

Polly (motioning over to Tara): Over here.

Tara saunters over, sliding into the booth next to Polly, hugging her.

Tara: Hi, Bob (Bob gives a half-ass wave, keeping his eyes closed). So...(looks back over at Polly): How goes?

Polly (giving her a serious look): We know.

Tara (looking confused): Know what?

Polly: Thomas.

Tara (her face dropping): Oh...that.

Polly: What were you thinking?

Tara: I...uh...

Polly: Jesus, Tara, you\x92re only sixteen.

Tara: I...

Polly: At least tell me that you used protection.

Tara: We did.

Polly: Why Thomas? Out of everyone, why him?

Tara (hanging her head): I...

Polly: He\x92s the biggest jerk in town (Bob scoffs a little off-screen).

Tara (tears welling in her eyes): I...

Polly (turning away from Tara, her face resting in her paw as she closes her eyes): What were you thinking?...

Tara (tears flow down her cheek as tiny, crying squeaks come from the back of her throat): I\x92m gay.

Polly opens her eyes but doesn\x92t move, her paw still resting over her face, Bob just doesn\x92t move.

Polly: What?...

Tara (starting to rise, still crying openly): I knew you wouldn\x92t understand...

Polly (clasping Tara\x92s shoulder, pulling her down gently): You\x92re right, I don\x92t, but only because this doesn\x92t make sense. What does Thomas have to do with you being a lesbian?

Tara (sitting back down): You don\x92t think I\x92ve been denying this?...I thought maybe being with Thomas would change me...

Bob (eyes still closed, unmoving): But now you feel even worse than before.

Tara (sniffs, drying her eyes): Yeah...

Bob: Hm...

Tara: You\x92re...not...are you?

Bob (opening one eye): We\x92re not delving into my personal life, this is your spotlight.

Polly (squeezing Tara\x92s shoulder with her paw): Well...I\x92ll support you no matter what. You can always tell me anything, all right?

Tara (nods and dries her eyes a little more, hugging Polly): Thank you.

Polly (hugging back): No problem...Um...I don\x92t really need to ask if you\x92re going to tell you\x92re parents, do I?

Tara (leaning back): Never.

Polly: Thought so. Um...what about Thomas?

Bob (back to both eyes closed): Don\x92t worry about him. He won\x92t bother her.

Tara: How do you know that?

Bob: Trust the rat.

Alex raises an eyebrow as Bob talks, recanting over the coffeehouse scene, Alex\x92s eyes glance over the various books around the room out of nervous habit, unsure what to say.

Alex (rubbing the back of his neck): Well...ok...That\x92s a surprise, I suppose...She slept with Thomas because she was denying to herself that she was gay...but then she feels even worse now, afterwards, and just blurts it out to you and Polly?...

Bob (sitting on his mattress, glasses in paw, rubbing the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger): It gets better...She asked if I was too.

Alex (confusion spreading over his face): Um...what\x92d you say?

Bob (looking up without his glasses): I didn\x92t. But it got me to thinking...that...I\x92ve never told anyone...

Alex just sat by, quietly.

Bob: I\x92m not gay, if that\x92s what you\x92re wondering.

Alex: Well...you made it sound that way...but, (he shrugs) ok.

Bob (sighing and closing his eyes, his arms crossing over his stomach): Look...this is really hard to say...but you\x92re my best friend, and I think you deserve to know...plus, it\x92s showing my trust in you, so be flattered...

...I\x92m...bi...

Alex just sits there and blinks.

Bob: Well since you\x92re not going to say anything...(puts his glasses back on)...I know I\x92ve felt this way for awhile...I\x92ve just been denying it. But now...(he shrugs)...I just had to tell someone, and like I said, I trust you.

Alex (nodding lightly): Well, it\x92s ok with me.

Bob: You sure?

Alex (smirking): Yeah...just don\x92t hit on me.

Bob (in all seriousness): I don\x92t think you have to worry about that.