"Why are we here?" her voice, exasperated beyond comprehension, figuratively rolled off his back as he pressed the foot of a foam dinosaur. The creature stomped in its box and let out a roar that was startling for the toy's size. Abby jumped and looked both ways, checking for Marty-Club employees as Hoagie giggled. There was no sign of a painfully-grinning orange-smocked teenager, senior citizen, or middle-age denier in sight, so she rapped him across the head. The smack didn't deter him and he fled down the aisle and into the next, Abby following him closely with just the barest taint of amusement playing upon her lips.

"It is eleven p.m., June fifteenth. We are at Marty-Club. Again, Abby asks you, 'why?'."

Hoagie looked up from the fake sword he'd been examining and grinned crazily at her, the effect of fizzing sugar candy and multiple sodas that had yet to mess with her own sanity.

"Would you rather be staggering around some stranger's house, drunk, high, grinding with a creep to terrible music and likely to lose something that you would rather not? You know, like most people our age would be doing?" he flicked his gaze back to the weapons that had been intended for children, not two sixteen year olds that didn't have anything better to do.

Abby was stunned at his train of thought. "Point taken, Hoags. But why Marty-Club? You tryin' to get a lifetime ban?"

He pulled the sword from the shelf and straightened up, pretending to run her through with it. She sidestepped and snagged her own plastic blade for defense. They dueled halfheartedly, not wanting to get caught and thrown out.

"I would've gone to the park, but that's full of druggies and people making out," he said, spinning around and expertly blocking her faux-attack. "Could've gone to a pizza place, but I've got no money," he knocked the sword from her hand and raised his blade to her neck. She played along, raising her hands in surrender and backing into the shelf behind her. "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." The seriousness of his expression made Abby burst into a fit of laughter and she pushed the rapier from her throat as his face split into a wide grin. Hoagie twirled it once and swiped the dropped weapon from the floor, placing both back on their display. "And besides," he finished, "I like Marty-Club."

She rolled her eyes at him fondly. "How on Earth Abby ended up with you as a boyfriend, she'll never know."

"It's because you luuuuuuuurve me." He said, ducking from her playful smack and racing to a rack of hula hoops. He grabbed a sparkly pink one and made three others hit the cemented floor. They rolled away and clattered flat loudly. He shrugged and tried to make the hoop stay spinning on his hips. He wasn't having much luck and pouted as it fell to the ground. Abby smirked at him, scooping up a shiny green and purple one that had rolled away.

"Amateur." She said, keeping the hoop twirling gloatingly as he crossed his arms. She stopped and put it back on the rack, doing the same with the pink one and the other hoop that lay on the floor.

Suddenly, Hoagie yawned, stretching mightily. Abby glimpsed flat stomach as his shirt rode up and wondered if he'd done it on purpose to annoy her. His arms dropped back down and he rubbed at his eyes. It seemed that his new contacts were bothering him again. She pondered why he'd gotten rid of the cute glasses he'd had since ninth grade. She really wished that he'd stop trying to look good when he already did. Life would be great if things would never change, like his glasses, or her having to get braces sophomore year (thank goodness her teeth straightened right out and she'd gotten them off last week.) or if they weren't leaving each other, maybe forever, in just a few years.

"Time to leave, Abby says." He smiled at her tiredly, the sugar train he'd been riding derailed for the night.

The automatic doors slipped open and the pair strode into the muggy summer air. It was eleven thirty-four p.m., June fifteenth. They were sixteen. They were teetering on the edge of maybe-more-than-puppy-love. They had no clue.

Okay, Jess's contacts are bothering her and she didn't have the time to edit very well, so if you could tell her about any mistakes, that would be great.

For stoplight-melody's contest, I hope. I don't think it's up to my usual standards, but there you have it.

Love always,

Jess