They were inseparable in a love-you-like-a-brother kind of way. Van had a differnt girlfriend every month and sometimes a boyfriend that looked like a girlfriend. That's when the most drama happened. That's when Van had his life, and Regan had his music.

If it had a beat, Regan loved it. Mainstream, underground, undefined, and even awful--it didn't matter. High school was crap and music was awesome and that was it.

Until Regan met Washington.

Regan wouldn't have gone over if he'd known Van wasn't home. But Van's cellphone was busy and they always got together Friday nights when Van wasn't hooked up. Which, as far as Regan knew, was the way it was. Van had ended his six day relationship with Beque on Wednesday. That meant a weird-free evening over old horror films and loud music in the basement until Van's mom or dad threatened them with death from the top of the stairs at around 3am. That's just how it was. And it was cool.

When Van's older brother, Washington opened the door, Regan though he'd died. College-age and even cooler than Van, Washington was the guitarist for My Living Hell, a regional band that Regan followed religiously. The high point of his entire sophmore year had been seeing them live; now, face to face with the epitome of awesome, Regan wasn't sure he could talk without feeling like an absolute moron.

But they did talk. And it was ok. Alright, more than ok. It was amazing. Eventually Regan stopped hanging out with Van on Friday night.

Because being Washington's groupie for weekend gigs was even awesomer. And kissing him?

The highlight of his junior year.