Title: Just Josh
Author: GatorGrrrl
Rating: K to T (G to R)
Warnings: implied to mild slash, angst, bad words
Disclaimer:

A/N: Finally, an update! Yay!

If you could be in the Olympics (summer or winter), what event/sport would you want to do most? Why?

Two words: doubles luge.

Have you ever watched it? Probably not. It's one of those sports that's only on in the middle of the night during the second week of the winter Olympics, sandwiched between previously recorded cross-country skiing and women's short track speed skating.

Anyway, Drake and I were sitting on the couch in our room, each trying to hold an entire two-liter of Mountain Fizz at bay. See, Drake and I had a bet going about who could hold out from peeing the longest and I was determined to win. Of course, I had to go so bad, I could barely move, and Drake wasn't helping by constantly shaking what soda was left in his bottle.

At any rate, I had the remote control (mostly because I think Drake was afraid that if he lunged for it, he'd wet himself) and was flipping through the channels. There was a show about salmon on the nature channel, but the tiny whimper that Drake emitted at the sound of all that flowing water matched the one that I swallowed down and I decided to take pity on both of us and change it to something else. Eventually I got through all the channels and started back at the beginning, flipping aimlessly through the networks.

That's when we saw it.

It was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen: two men wearing skin-tight body suits lying one on top of the other on a tiny little sled, zooming over an ice covered track. One moved his feet, one moved his head, and they flew around the curves in a flash of multi-colored Lycra and aerodynamic space helmets.

I couldn't take my eyes off it. I mean, remove the outfits and it would be illegal in at least twelve states.

"Dude," Drake said beside me and I knew he was staring at the screen, too.

"Yeah," I whispered, my mouth suddenly dry.

"Do you…" he said. "Do you think…?"

I flicked my eyes at him, the glow of the television accentuating the planes and angles of his face. "What?"

He turned his eyes to mine, holding my gaze for a moment before turning his eyes back to the screen. I returned my gaze to the screen as well, watching intently as the next pair of competitors carefully arranged themselves on their sled.

"I'd like it better on top," Drake said after a moment.

I almost swallowed my tongue. "Um," I stuttered. "What?" I looked over at him, eyes wide.

"Well, yeah," he said, his dark eyes fixed on the TV. "I mean, look at 'em." He motioned to the screen, his shoulder bumping mine and I felt myself swallow involuntarily. "The guy on the bottom's getting his junk squished. And what if he has to pee? That would totally suck."

I coughed a little and shifted on the couch, my knee brushing Drake's as I resolutely did not look at him.

"Besides, you're taller than me. If you were on top, I'd suffocate," Drake said, nudging me with his elbow.

My bladder was bursting at this point and I told myself that was the reason why I suddenly pressed my knees together and dug my fingers into the worn arm of the couch.

"Black," Drake said. "Black with, like, blue stripes."

"Huh?" was all I could manage.

"The suits, man. I mean, they're tights, which sucks. But if they were manly tights, I guess it would be alright."

I closed my eyes, trying to drown out his voice, but all I saw was a virtual IMAX view of Drake and I in black body suits, zooming down an icy track, his butt pressed against my groin.

"You win," I whispered hoarsely, pushing myself up from the couch. "I-I really gotta go." As I hurried from the bedroom, I could've sworn I heard Drake laugh.

Write about a mess you've cleaned up.

I live with Drake Parker. If you know him, then you know I don't have to explain any further. If you don't, let me elaborate.

Drake Parker repels neatness. Oh, he's clean, in a $25-a-bottle shampoo sort of way. But he's not neat. His ability to create chaos in his immediate environment is almost like a super power.

Take, for instance, our room. My side? Spotless. Every shoe is paired with its mate, every piece of clothing is either hung up, folded neatly in a drawer, or in the laundry basket, the corners on my sheets are hospital worthy, and you could bounce a quarter off my blanket.

Drake's side? Amazingly disorganized, like a perfect demonstration of entropy in nature. Except Drake doesn't know what entropy is. He lives it, yes, but he doesn't know what it is. Because even if he was taking Physics (which he's not), I'm sure he would've lost the book by now in the swirling vortex of clutter where his bed is. It's kinda like the Bermuda Triangle, only instead of stuff vanishing, it endlessly accumulates.

And now it's spreading like a virus, creeping outward slowly but surely beyond the boundaries of our room.

This morning I found Drake's socks in the sink.

Awesome.

This is one of those words whose effectiveness depends entirely on its user. For instance, if I say, "Chemistry is awesome," I usually get a chorus of groans and synchronized eye rolling. If I say, "Oprah is awesome" or "Baking is awesome" or "Photon cannons are awesome," I usually get more of the same. Especially if I happen to be talking to anyone who's not Eric Blonnowitz, Craig Ramirez, or Mindy Crenshaw.

Drake, on the other hand, could say, "Leprosy is awesome," and everyone would run out and try to catch it as soon as possible. He could say, "I am awesome" or "Girls are awesome" or "Candy is awesome" and people would listen with rapt attention like he was the pope on Easter.

Being Drake Parker is awesome, what with the cool hair and the guitar playing and the endless string of pretty girls dying to kiss him. But so is being Josh Nichols. Sure, I'm klutzy and awkward and get tongue-tied easily. But I'm also caring and smart and a really good friend.

Not to mention, I'm Drake Parker's stepbrother.

And that's awesome.

What do you hope for?

To be valedictorian. A lifetime supply of cheese. The opportunity to see The Hailstones without getting handcuffed. To beat Mindy Crenshaw in the science fair just once before I die. To learn the secret source of Megan's evil. To have Helen remember my name. World peace. To meet Oprah. A full scholarship to Yale, Harvard, and Stanford. To patent my Fudgie Boos recipe and become a millionaire before I turn eighteen. To stop dreaming I'm a giant shrimp at a cocktail sauce party. My own car. To learn how to speak that African clicking language. Beating the computer at solitaire. Finishing a whole book of logic puzzles in ink without having to use whiteout. To read War and Peace in the original Russian. A cure for cancer. Equal rights. An end to global warming. Having my dad be right about the weather for once. An endless supply of milk for Crazy Steve. A new haircut for Gavin. A tattoo in a very strategically chosen place.

That's about it, I guess.

Wait. I almost forgot. There is one more thing.

I hope someday to have the courage to tell Drake I'm in love with him.

I know, these are pretty short. But I haven't had a lot of time to devote to these prompts. I hope you enjoyed them anyway. Please let me know what you think!