A/N: Hey all! May the fourth be with you. :3 (I may or may not have waited till now just to make that joke.) Here it is: the moment you've all been waiting for. Two days after the first anniversary of the ending of my first story (yes, I keep track. ;)), comes the beginning of my next! Yes, this is the story I've been not-so surreptitiously foreshadowi-ng for almost a year now.

A few things about this story before I begin, though:

First and foremost, I do not own Death Note or any of the characters from the series. All rights reserved to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I only take credit for my own OCs, some of which have appeared in my other stories.

This story includes a lot of mention/action involving the use of marijuana. Just keep in mind that these are the characters' opinions on the topic and not mine. So, be prepared for both, "420 blaze it" and "It's illegal for a reason," depending on the character. I'm not personally encouraging or discouraging anyone from smoking, nor am I insulting anyone who chooses (not) to.

Ages are reversed! Since Matt and Mello take senior year, other Wammy's kids will also be seniors. Kids from B's generation, including L, Light, Matsuda and others are all younger in this story. You'll figure it out if I've done my job right. ;)

Expect to see chapters once a week on Saturdays. :3

The M rating will come into play. It may take a while, but it will. Also, I figure with the use of (mostly) illegal substances, I'd better be safe.

Last but definitely not least: Please review! :3 It takes but a minute, and they can be really helpful to let me know how I'm doing and how I can adjust my writing to better suit my intended audience.

Thank you all for reading, my lovelies!

-x-

"Two outs, right to one, boys!" I screamed from behind the plate before squatting down to receive the next pitch.

Snap. From windup to pitch, the ball could barely be seen between Gevanni's hand and my padded glove. "Strike three! Batter's out!"

The audience watching Wammy High's fourth baseball game of the season went wild, and everyone cheered. The Labradors won easily with a score of twelve to nothing. I, acting as both team captain and All-Star catcher, made some pretty bitching plays that held the Eagles down to zero. With my lethal throw down to second, they never even made it to third.

Pats on the back went around as usual. Our rather bored outfielders trotted in, glad to be able to sit down instead of standing out there watching the infield's play after play.

I took off my catcher's helmet. Might I just say damn it gets sweaty under there. I ran my hand through my blonde hair that was drenched in sweat, slicking what fell out of my ponytail away from my face. Somebody handed me my water bottle and I downed about a quarter of it. We went through the line, slapping the hands of the other team. "Alright, guys, right field," I called out to everybody before they got to packing up their gear. The whole team complied, and circled around, everyone taking respective sitting, standing, or lounging positions in the grass.

I dropped my glove on the ground. "We're looking good out there. Outfield, turn and run, don't try to backpedal. You scared us all there for a minute with that, Mikami," Our dark-haired right fielder nodded, looking at the grass. "And make sure, everybody call the ball. L, you nearly bowled Light over on that high infield fly." The third baseman smirked, and the brown-haired shortstop glared at him. "Right. Other than that, nice hitting. Work on your delayed steals—we may need to manufacture a few runs for this season. The other teams are in their prime."

As I spoke, I could see Roger Ruvie, the Labradors' coach saunter up beside me. "Nice game, everyone. Listen to Mello, especially you freshmen," He looked around the circles. No questions or comments. Ruvie clapped. "Right then. Practice tomorrow, usual time. See you all then."

The team dispersed. I watched everyone leave, one by one, till only Coach and I were left from the team.

As we were walking up to the road, I saw Linda standing on the sidewalk, looking around as if searching for someone. She had watched the game, ogling over our second baseman Near all the while. I sidled up behind her, waving as Coach got in his car. My bag hit the pavement. "Hey, Linda. You got a ride?"

Linda was your average art dork. She was also a senior, like me, but she'd always had a different schedule than mine. We'd spoken plenty of times, as she was in the psych class I liked to pop in on and assist during my free periods. She was a bit eccentric, as was everyone at Wammy Middle High School, but we'd had our share of nice chats.

"Hey Mello. Uh, Matt was supposed to come pick me up so we could hang, but he's late..." She scoped the parking lot once more, but Matt's Chevy was nowhere in sight.

I knew Matt. Hell, I more than knew him—he was my best friend. I use that term loosely, though. It's not exactly great for the Varsity baseball team captain to be known as the resident stoner's best friend. Rumors around Wammy's Middle/High School spread as quickly as any place. The fact that each student's IQ was upward of 160 has nothing to do with the speed and looseness of their mouths. This being such, I've heard anything under the sun about us—I'm as big a pothead as he is, Matt does more than just weed and tobacco cigarettes, I'm his dealer. Hell, I've heard plenty of people say we're gay.

And, as catcher for the baseball team, you can imagine I'm the butt of the gay jokes from newbies. My shoulder-length blonde hair doesn't exactly help my cause. "Oh, Mello's a catcher in more than one way, if you know what I mean. He likes it up the butt." I can't tell you how many times I've heard that one. But trust me; they learn very quickly not to say that, mainly because of my impeccable talent of being able to aim my hits.

The first time our shortstop Light was on the team when he was only an eighth grader on JV and I was a freshman—holy crap, that was three years ago already—he called me gay. Once. After that, every line drive I hit during practice sailed right toward him. It wouldn't have been as bad, if he could have actually fielded back then. But alas, he couldn't. I do believe I recall breaking his hand in two places with an especially hard hit caught the wrong way, and he was out for the rest of that season.

Did I mention I have anger issues?

In any case, people have learned.

Although recently—and nobody knows this, so don't go starting more rumors—I've been wondering if the only reason I "overreact" toward those accusations is because they're true. On my side, anyway. Maybe I do like guys. Maybe I think of my best friend Matt as more than just a best friend. I'm not quite sure myself, and there's abso-fucking-lutely nothing wrong with that. But one thing is dead wrong about those rumors: Even if I was gay, I'd be the pitcher.

Linda scratched at her wrist. I leaned back against the railing separating the sidewalk from a sharp ravine leading into the woods behind the field. "I thought you were a smart girl, Linda."

She raised an eyebrow at me. "What are you saying?"

"One does not simply hang with Matt Jeevas and not get high."

"Why not? You do. Unless you really are a pothead," she shot back, rolling her eyes at me.

I set my chin. "Point taken," She was sharp and didn't miss much. "Still. Don't go get baked. I don't care what your little art-oriented brain comes up with while high. It's not worth the brain cells."

Linda nodded absently to get me off her back and pulled out her cell phone. I heard Matt's voicemail on the line: "You're calling—you know who this is, you know what to do." She hung up as the robotic female voice began to instruct her on how to leave a message.

"So do you need a ride over there or what?" I asked persistently, holding the "School Zone" sign to keep my balance on the railing.

Of course, at that moment, the cherry red Chevy pulled up, radio blasting. There was a visible haze in the window. Linda opened the door and I swear, had I not put my cap over my mouth and nose, I probably would have been high in one breath. "Ah, no," I said, kicking the door closed from behind Linda before she could get in. I jumped off the rail and moved around to Matt's side to pull him out of the car. "You're fucking stoned. Like hell you're driving."

My "best friend" looked at me from behind his trademark orange goggles with that what the fuck look. He pulled the key from the ignition and allowed me to drag him out of the driver's seat. He leaned against his now closed car door, totally inattentive and chilled. "How the fuck did you even make it here? You're toasted beyond all recognition."

"Oh yeah, I know," He said with a sniff. I slapped my palm to my face. "What do you want?"

I tried not to slap him. "Matt. Your eyes are barely open. Your car and your goggles are fogged up," I snapped them from his face, releasing a tiny puff of smoke. It took him almost a full second to realize my hand was in his face and he swatted me away. "Your reaction time sucks."

It was like I never even said anything. "I want Cheez-Its. Lend me five bucks?"

I just rolled my eyes. "You two are coming with me. Leave this smoke bomb of a car here," I pried the keys from Matt's hand and locked up his car. Luckily, he had at least somewhat managed to stop in a parking space. I beckoned Linda, who stood there, face flushed, and she followed me to my own car—a crappy little blue sedan. I tossed my bag in the trunk as the ginger slid lazily into the front seat, and the younger dirty blonde sat awkwardly in the back. I pulled out of the baseball field's parking lot.

I glanced in the rear view mirror at Linda. "You still want to go to his place?" I jerked one thumb to Matt staring serenely out the window before returning my hands to the wheel and eyes to the road.

She didn't make eye contact with me, and instead observed the stitching of the seat beside her. "No, I just remembered I have theater later anyway. Could you bring me home?"

"Good choice."

With a few additional directions to refresh my memory, I stopped in front of Linda's house. She took up her bag on her shoulder and finally looked at me. "Thanks." With nothing more, she ran up her driveway and disappeared into her home.

I looked at Matt. "What am I going to do with your ass?"

He looked right back at me. "Get me some Cheez-Its?" He grinned cheekily at me.

My self-control flew out the window and I slapped him so hard his goggles landed on the dashboard.

"Hey, what was that for?" He lunged for his goggles and held them close.

"For being an idiot. And my best friend."

"Oh, okay." Strapping the orange lenses back over his bloodshot blue eyes, he crossed his arms and leaned his head against the window. He mumbled, almost inaudibly, "I'm tired."

"Not my problem," I clicked my tongue and pulled a U-turn, back in the direction of Matt's house. We sat in silence. I pulled the rest of the package off my chocolate-scented air freshener. "You reek of marijuana."

Again, he didn't care much. He only drawled slowly, "I know."

By the time I got across town to where Matt lived, he was dead asleep. I growled to myself before punching him in the shoulder. He jolted from his cannabis-induced slumber. "You're home. Go in there, change your clothes, use your eye drops, and smash your bong before your mom gets home. You'll be a much better person afterward."

"Weed never killed anyone," Matt reasoned with a shrug.

"No, but I'm going to if you don't stop smoking it," I cracked my knuckle against the steering wheel.

He sighed and blinked tiredly as he dragged himself out of the car and into a standing position. "What about my car?"

"Take the bus to school tomorrow then drive home. Simple enough," I suddenly wished I kept a bottle of Febreze in my car. Mental note to self.

Matt nodded and turned to leave. "Hey wait—" I caught his attention just before he slammed my passenger door shut. He looked at me absently, and whatever I was about to say or do completely escaped me. Charismatic as I was, even I felt awkward staring at his goggled eyes, if only for a few seconds. Fried as he was, those eyes still set my pulse racing. "Keys." I glanced down where his keys were sitting in the cup holder. Oh. I tossed them to him.

"Thanks. Bye."

I watched him into his house before returning silently to my own house. I slumped in the driver's seat for a moment. If those rumors were true and I was gay… I shook my head. It was beyond weird thinking that I of all people liked guys and not the bunch of girls who are for some reason or another attracted to me. But I wouldn't be completely truthful if I said I didn't find Matt attractive in the least. Just ask my still-racing heart rate. Some things were alluring about that boy, but I couldn't let anyone else know I thought that.

My dad pulled in the driveway behind me, coming home from work. I slapped the confusion from my face and got out of my car. I greeted my father and we walked into the house together, where dinner was already steaming and ready to eat.

"Did you win?!" My annoying little energy ball of a sister bounced in her seat at the kitchen table.

"Yeah, Elsie. Twelve to zero," I remembered I was in my uniform and retreated to my room to change.

I whipped off my shirt and glanced at myself in the long mirror on the back of my door. Muscles, dirt, and sweat... I ran a hand across my flat abdominals, examining the way my muscles seemed to ripple beneath my skin. Or… breasts, cleanliness, and softness? I rubbed my face with both of my hands before tugging on a plain black T-shirt and a pair of plaid sleep pants.

Maybe I was too afraid of what people would think of me if I was gay. I'd get no respect from the team unless I scared it into them. Even then, they'd still make jokes behind my back. I'd need that devotion and respect from them if we were going to get through this season and come out champions. I'd also be out of high school and on my way to Lawliet University soon. Maybe then…

No. By then, Matt will have moved out of his parent's home and into some big city where he can get cheap weed and good-paying hacking jobs. I'd have to try to make a move before graduation, which was rapidly approaching. Now, how to do that without anyone else knowing…

My thoughts were interrupted by a dinner call from my mom. "Yeah, I'm coming." Pulling the hair tie from my hair as I jogged down the stairs, I joined my straight and completely devout Catholic family who believed being gay was a sin for supper.

Bring it on.