Author's note: This all started a couple of years ago when Ish was on a wild and crazy beach vacation. She ran off to the nearest TGI Friday's and was contemplating a nice lemonade when she realized there was a passion fruit crush where everything not fruit was actually Red Bull. It was awesome and she noticed that the little bit of jitters she got from the first one got high-octane after a few. And then this started running around in her head, so she got the others to go crazy. Also, for Jonathan Coulton fans, the title should look familiar.

/Running late - rehearsal went long. Sharsky caught an earlier bus and will be the guy with the Red Bull shirt and the beard./

Naturally. Tonight I was on a mission to vet a couple of guys who Lisbeth knew and apparently trusted enough to stay at a hotel with over Spring Break. Either they had a brother-sister vibe going, or she had the hots for one of them and was hoping for something memorable (but not at all regrettable) from our frosh Spring Break. She didn't volunteer which was the case, but considering Fassbinder stayed behind to be with her and Sharsky went ahead, I had a pretty good guess which one might be her crush.

Whatever the situation was, there were certain places that constituted a safe place for social experimentation. To keep the interrogations casual, we were all going to get together at the T.G. downtown. So much for that. I had an early evening class and I'd biked here right after it let out. All the slowpokes were leaving a carbon footprint. There was no sign of Red-Bull-and-Beard yet, and apparently the others would get here when they got here.

Lisbeth's friend was easy enough to pick out when he arrived. College guys with beards weren't unheard of, but his Jesus hair was pretty epic and his beard wasn't bad either. Give him ten years and a bottle of bleach and he could totally cosplay Saruman. The Red Bull t-shirt only confirmed it. When he looked my way, I nodded and he walked past the hostess to plop down at one of the chairs opposite me. He was polite enough to place his phone screen-down, and the X-Files case on it made me grin.

"So...Sharsky, I assume?"

"Yep." He waved as if we were on opposite ends of a room, not the other side of a table. "Jocelyn?"

"Right." I didn't feel like doing a windmill impression of my own, so I stuck out a hand and was rewarded with a low five. "But you can call me Joss for short."

"Like Firefly?"

I fought a grin and pretended indignation. "Excuse me? Like Buffy the Vampire Slayer!"

Taking it in stride, he said, "Zoe was kickass, too. Kaylie, River, Inara...they all would chum it up with Buffy and Willow."

The boy had smarts, there was no denying that. It was all the doing of the man they called Joss, but it was nice to banter. "Nice to meet you?"

"Sure."

Lisbeth hadn't said much about him, just that he was a techie who I would probably get along with. So far, I had to admit she was right. That impression grew stronger a second later when he decided we were done with small talk and he needed screen time and flipped his phone back over. He was so engrossed in his Angry Birds app that he didn't hit on me or anything. Since I'm kind of top-heavy through the torso and was wearing a button-down to gauge his perv-factor, it was more refreshing than annoying.

"So, Sharsky," I prompted once, from the sound of things, he'd taken out a few pigs with some well-placed ballistic fowl. "Got a last name to go with that?"

He didn't answer until he'd tried three times to beat the next level and finally succeeded on the fourth round. "That is my last name. What about you?"

"Wheaton."

His head jerked up like I'd thrown a glass in his face. "How do you spell that?"

Yep, check that fandom off the list, too. "Just like Wil."

I took a long sip of my drink as he launched another Red, successfully from the crash. "Nice hit. Got a first name?"

He tried a Matilda before replying. "Depends. Who you gonna sell all this confidential information to?"

I was willing to bet someone on The Bachelorette would love to get their hands on his social skills, but he wasn't that much weirder than the guys in my programs after they'd pulled an all-nighter.

"Got my own secret file on all the campus creepers. Middle name?"

He grinned and launched another bird. "We understand one another, then. I don't have a middle name. Parents didn't believe in that kind of thing."

I chuckled and pulled out my own phone to text Lisbeth back. /Sharsky found me./

My news app had pushed an urgent alert, and I opened it. "Looks like they're going to be even more late. There's a big wreck on University Drive. It says it's a road-rage incident."

Sharsky glanced up. "Does it involve any sports cars or giant, alien robots?"

"No?" I would have remembered if it had mentioned either one and the normal response would have been something along the lines of 'Is anyone hurt?' Satisfied that no sports cars or spaceships were being towed off Center Street, he went back to his game. I double checked the news story, "It says it was a pick-up that ran a light."

He shrugged. "They'll get here eventually, then."

With another look at his X-Files phone case, I asked, "The aliens or our friends?"

At last, he looked up and smirked. "Maybe both. If we're lucky." The smirk faded to something almost wistful.

I tilted my head, not understanding what that was supposed to mean, though the Scully swag was probably explanation enough. He didn't notice as he was now looking back at his phone. I rolled my eyes slightly and took another sip of my drink.

Sharsky glanced up at my movement and looked at my glass. "What's in that?"

He actually set his phone down and looked around, I guessed for a server. Apparently, Angry Birds was thirsty work.

"Not sure you want to know." I handed him the drinks menu with a smile. "Any dietary restrictions?"

"Well…" It took him so long to consider his options that I thought he must be hypoglycemic or allergic to strawberry lemonade or something. "Fassbinder made me promise not to do anything stupid."

"Oh, this isn't stupid. It's healthy. Fruit and everything."

"OH, Lisbeth loves fruit. Always trying to sneak it into our fridge. I think we've still got some strawberries from Valentine's Day."

Weeks-old-probably-fermented fruit in the fridge left only one question. "I.T. or code monkey for your major?"

"I prefer 'Programming guru' thank you very much." He waved at a passing server. "I'll have one of those."

The server nodded and continued on her way.

"Naw," I said, going back to our earlier conversation. "The beard works against you too much for that. Hacker's the best you can claim."

"Hey," he said, "'hacker' is the highest honor a code monkey can earn. I'm almost there, but I got demoted after...that thing…"

Given that he seemed to be claiming titles for himself, I had to wonder whose authority he recognized enough to accept a demotion from. Was there some kind of chain-of-command that went from people who pirated movies all the way to the guy from War Games?

He was actually kinda cute, blushing under the beard, so I couldn't help but prod him a little. "What thing?"

"It started out as purely academic..."

"Uh-huh."

"But there was an encryption that was practically begging to get cracked, but then things got... a little out of hand. But enough about me. How do you know Lisbeth?"

I blinked, was he actually now trying to be social now? Or just really eager to change the subject? Either way, better late than never. "She and I were in a Gen Ed modern history course last semester. I helped her study the inventors and scientific discoveries and she helped me memorize the art and literature movements. When I overclocked her ancient laptop so it would keep up with her typing speed, she said I needed to meet some of her friends."

His eyes lit up. "A fellow code monkey?"

I shook my head. "E. E., dude"

He grinned. "You're the one we'll call when the server catches fire, then."

"If your server catches fire, you're doing something really against spec."

"Who says it was me?"

"Was? How many times has this happened?"

"Is this going in the creeper file, too?"

"Only if it's a good story."

His snigger-snort coincided with the arrival of his drink, so he didn't bother to ask the server what it was before trying it out. After all, if someone who spoke his language liked it, it couldn't be all bad.

"This is good!" he said after a sip.

"Passionfruit and strawberry and nothing with penicillin on top." I didn't mention the best part, because it would ruin the moment if he was forewarned. "It's my favorite."

...

The table should have had plenty of room for all involved, plus plates and cutlery, but by the time the other half of our party arrived, we had enough glasses to start our own IKEA. The server for some reason didn't seem to be stopping by to take the used glasses away. There was a small possibility we were a little raucous and drinking too fast for her to keep up.

"Hey, it's Fassbinder and Lisbeth! Have a seat," Sharsky invited enthusiastically. "Have a drink."

"Have a menu?" the guy at her elbow asked, who I assumed was Fassbinder. "Or were you just planning some kind of drought first?"

"We weren't going to order until you showed up," Sharsky protested. "At least this is from the four food groups."

"Yeah - this is healthy!" I added. Since Lisbeth winced, maybe I had said it a little too loudly. Or maybe she had a headache. I'd better get her my favorite drink, too.

"Sharsky agreed to a fruit or vegetable?" Fassbinder said. "This I've got to try."

"You won't get carded for it," I assured him. "And I don't think chain restaurants are allowed to put too many carcinogens in their sodas these days."

Lisbeth, the purist, got a water while the rest of us put in a round of 'I'll have what they're having" while the waiter made space for menus. We had just about finished debating the merits of different burgers when the drinks came.

"This is nectar of the gods," Fassbinder groaned after downing half of his.

"Well it doesn't exactly look like ambrosia," Lisbeth smirked. She aimed a freshly-unwrapped straw at my glass. "Can I try yours?"

"Sure."

She pulled my straw aside, stuck her own straw into my drink and sipped. Then she very impolitely spewed healthyish nectar of the gods all over the menus. A lot of back-thumping and laughter ensued, but we were all a bit wary of her drinking after that.

She pinched her nose as if trying to stop a nosebleed. "That's not seltzer. You're under the influence."

"It's bubbly, but it's not alcohol." I waved a nonchalant hand. "It's 400% safe."

"Bull," she choked.

"Language," Fassbinder teased.

"Red Bull," Lisbeth spluttered before downing her entire glass of water. "That thing's an adrenaline rush with a twist of Kool-aid."

"Awesome," Fassbinder crowed, and then chugged the rest like a pint. "I need another one to play catch up!"

"It's caffeine masquerading as a fruity concoction," Lisbeth protested. "We're not planning anything tonight. Not until your blood caffeine levels go lower."

"Buzzkill," Sharsky muttered.

"Word," I agreed.

"Damn straight. How many of these have you two had?" She looked at our empty glasses aghast. "You know enough caffeine will stop your heart - and kill you."

"That's better than stopping your heart and keeping you alive," I pointed out. "Because that would be zombies." Sharsky held out a closed fist for a bump and I returned it.

Lisbeth rolled her eyes at me. "They should be monitoring these at least as much as the alcohol."

"They wouldn't dare." I scoffed.

She pulled out her phone and started looking something up, probably the caffeine content to see if she should call Poison Control or refer us to some kind of rehab program.

"But…but… it's Red Bull!" I could have made a convincing argument, but I just gesticulated wildly and the boys nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

Lisbeth the Uninitiated looked helpless in the face of my unassailable logic. "You're all wasted!"

"We're not wasted." Fassbinder hiccupped loudly, then blinked several times and gave an experimental belch. "Mmm. Just a little buzzed."

"Someday, I'm going to switch all the Red Bull in your fridge for Country Time Lemonade," Lisbeth grumped.

"Dude, my grandmother drinks that," Sharsky protested.

Fassbinder belched again for emphasis and Lisbeth rolled her eyes.

She wasn't a buzzkill, just the type of person who knew when every exam and major paper was. I couldn't help but tease her. "Wonder if this comes in kegs."

Fassbinder's eyes lit up and Lisbeth glowered at us all. "I looked up the caffeine content in those drinks. If you've had 8, you're dead." Lisbeth counted up our empty glasses. There were over a dozen.

Nope, she is a Buzzkill, I thought.

"Death by Red Bull, what a way to go." Sharsky said wistfully.

She smiled at him with deceptive sweetness. "But then you'd miss Atlantic City."

That finally pierced my giddy glow and I finished the last four ounces before pushing my glass away. "Nothing but water from here until at least Tuesday," I vowed.

"Sunday," Fassbinder said. "I've got a paper due on Monday."

"You do you," Sharsky said to us both. "I can detox with some A&W."

"Creative substitutions," I observed. "We're going to have to compare notes."

"Oh!" Sharsky suddenly exclaimed. "Atlantic City! Joss, do you want to come?"

I stared at him blankly, and I wasn't the only one.

Fassbinder thwacked him lightly on the back of the head, "Dude, that's the entire reason we're here."

"Oh, right."

"You are all too buzzed to plan anything tonight," Lisbeth repeated. "Let's just get to know each other for right now."

I leered at his crestfallen expression. "To answer your question, Sharsky, yes."