Like a good soldier, Julie followed orders and arrived on Shawn’s doorstep early, an hour before sunset. Lucky for her, Shawn skipped his evening class and let her in. She removed her backpack and looked around at the filthy living room. An ashtray full of cigarette butts and ash started the I don’t give a crap look. It continued with a male mannequin wearing lady underwear beside the TV, as the night’s blueprints barely hung on the wall with a single pushpin. Dust caked the lampshade beside the couch, while the therapist leather couch remained covered with a month’s old issue of the local LA Times. Dean’s tissue paper still filled the entire coffee table, with cracker crumbs scattered on the couch and around the living room, all of which making a trail back to Dean’s bedroom.

The house resembled a tornado ran through or perhaps a bomb detonated, either way, she knew Morgan would eventually make his way there, so she put herself on cleanup duty. With a pair of dish gloves and a trashcan, she spent a half-hour cleaning trash and wiping away debris, followed by another 15 minutes of sweeping.

During the cleaning process, Shawn studied in his room, but he strolled out once she finished and plopped himself on the couch. Leaning back on the armrest, Shawn stretched his legs on the cushion. Book in his lap, he turned again where he left off.

“Thanks for cleaning up, Jules,” Shawn said. “I would’ve but—”

“I know.” She sat on the other couch. “Your grades are slipping, so you’re alright. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t done it before.” The previous summer, she cleaned when Dean visited family upstate. Julie did the same around spring break, with Dean vacationed in post-Berlin Wall Germany; for once, he got to enjoy East Berlin.

“Yeah,” he said. For whatever reason, Shawn had the desire to do something spontaneous and relived one of the memories they’d shared the past year.

“Do you wanna do something fun? Like go to a game?” he asked, where Julie refused and made a case towards the meeting coming shortly. He reminded her of the old days when they’d visit a Dodger baseball game a week or the time when the gang crashed a medieval festival.

“God, those ‘actors’ were the worst,” she laughed.

The crew attended a medieval festival, watching actors crudely perform Shakespeare. It was tragic: one guy wore jeans, another wore a Spartan helmet. Several performers put it upon themselves to try accents, all ranging from a half-assed British rich snob down to Crocodile Dundee’s land from down under. Embarrassed by the performance, the gang chose to force an end to the production in any way possible. Shawn had looked around and found an organic fruit and vegetable stand. Looking at Julie, he asked: Shall we? She agreed, and the crew walked beside a stable and began throwing cabbage and tomatoes. All hidden from sight except one, “Amanda!” Julie called as Amanda smiled, tossing vegetables outside of cover. Shawn looked at the glee on Amanda’s face as he lobbed another towards her for ammunition. Once caught, she rocketed another at the Spartan; this attempt hit him in the left eye before he could cover-up. Julie grabbed Amanda by the arm, and the crew ran before authorities could arrive.

“That reminds me.” Shawn stood up and placed his book on the coffee table. “I’ve got something for you in my room.” She nodded and followed behind, eager to see her gift.

His bedroom was wall to wall covered with road signs such as Do Not Enter and Stop, but her favorite was the orange construction sign of Men Working or lack thereof working for Shawn’s case. Walking to the far end of the bed, he opened his mini-fridge. Inside were water bottles, cokes, beer, and his gift: a case of grapes. Confused, Julie questioned why.

“You don’t remember the Grape War of ’90?” he asked

“Oh yeah!” she finally recalled. “It was in the bar, right?”

“Yeah, you girls murdered me.”

“Fun is fun.” She smiled, leaving space for an awkward silence between the two. Quite enough for them to hear a machine whirling. “What the hell?” Shawn climbed over the bed, and the two stepped closer where the sound emitted. The destination was the wall between his room and the bathroom. They both placed their ears against the wall and looked eye to eye. She opened her mouth to give out her hypothesis until Shawn put a finger against his lips. Something inside was spinning, and they knew it wasn’t a bomb. “Sounds like a VCR,” she said. Then, click it stopped with a thud, giving the two a classic horror movie jump scare.

Keys jingled at the front door, diverting their attention; they stepped out, knowing it could only be one of two people: Dean or Amanda. The door opened, and Amanda backed in toting a backpack and tray of cupcakes.

“Hey,” Shawn hurried to the door and grabbed the cupcakes from her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing food?” he said, but then she grabbed one from the tray. “Where’d you get these from?” He shut the door.

“Lance.” Amanda’s drug dealer. “So, they’re the same recipe as his special brownies.” He licked his lips until Julie popped him in the back of the head.

“Stay focused,” she hugged Amanda, and the two made their way to the kitchen. Shawn followed and got his foot tangled in the phone line across the living room. He untangled himself and cursed at the phone. Shawn walked to the girls and asked when can he eat, as Amanda raked some frosting from the top and licked her finger.

“After the meeting,” Julie said.

“Alright, Miss Do-The-Right-Thing.” He smiled. “That’s a deal.” He looked at his watch ten after six. “So, when are we starting?”

“Sevenish,” Julie said. Raised to be an overachiever and mostly be ahead of schedule, Julie’s efficient routine helped her pursue her dream of being a doctor. Over the summer, she graduated with her undergraduate degree. Despite the early graduation, she remained hesitant on enrolling to USC’s med school. Her fall semester consisted of three classes, one being Morgan’s, all just to fill the time.

The front door opened and Dean entered, duffle bag over his shoulder, pulling two cardboard tubes under his armpits. He greeted everyone as Julie grabbed the tubes. “Thanks, Jules,” he placed his backpack on a couch as Julie put the containers on the table. Scanning the room, Dean asked, “Who are we missing?”

“Mark and Morgan,” Shawn said. “I got 20 bucks on Mark showing last?” Regardless of the joke, Shawn was always serious about his bets. Over the years, the 20-year-old grew a gambling habit the size of an Olympic swimming pool, which he would occasionally dive into the deep end. Julie watched Dean give him a stern look.

“Music,” Julie said, “Who wants music?”

“Umm,” Amanda licked another finger worth of frosting, “Shawn, do you got one of Jules’ mixtapes?”

“One’s by the stereo,” Dean said as Julie rigged the tape to play from the beginning.

The first song Blitzkrieg Bop by The Ramones, which started after the instrumental section. The lead singer repeated the first four words as if the listener hadn’t heard the first time. Shawn and Amanda had the floor and hopped around like at a concert. Yeah, it looked about as bad as you could imagine. Dean and Julie stood by the stereo.

“Do you think this gig is gonna be clean?” she asked as he adjusted his glasses.

“Only if we have a full crew,” he removed his glasses and wiped them with his shirt. “It’s a bit more dangerous than most, but we can manage. Second thoughts?”

“No,” she quickly said to not hesitate, “You?”

Dean looked over at the concert duo, “I’m just worried about Little-Miss-Accident, I hope she doesn’t trip over her feet like last time.”

“She can be clumsy,” Julie admitted, “but I promise she’ll hold through on this one.”

“Tell that to Morgan,” he said. Honest, direct, and to the point is who Dean tried to be, but usually came off as working too hard.

“Commander and Chief?”

“Commander and Chief,” he emphasized.

“He is bipartisan,” Julie re-arranged a few cassette tapes beside the stereo, “And totally not a mutant Nazi.”

“What?” he asked.

“Sorry, we watched An American Werewolf in London,” she looked back at Dean. “Are you finally over the flu?” Only for Dean to assure her, he’s healthy as a horse.

“Good,” she said, “Can’t have our journalist out of work.”

“I’ll just have the good doctor patch me up,” he said in a charming tone.

“Sorry, I’m out of order,” she said. “Not till I’m done with med school.”

“Looking for more cash?” Dean asked.

“Maybe,” she said. “It depends on what we make on the next gig.”

“How about we try to find the Fisher Account. Rob it, and we’d be set for life.”

“What?” Julie’s puzzled face gave Dean evidence to change the subject. Lucky for him, he didn’t have to think of a smooth transition for fate had him covered.

A car dealership advertisement claimed their in-house financing could save over 10% on a down payment, then Crystal Water’s Gypsy Woman roared through the speakers, causing the two to join. Electronica was Julie’s favorite genre, so she always sprinkled a few hits here and there, such as Moby’s Go, Marky Mark, and the Funky Bunch’s Good Vibrations and EMF’s Unbelievable. A set of ads played next, giving Amanda ample time to mix a screwdriver at the counter. By then, a guitar riff that sounded like it came from a dream. As it oozed through the speakers, she immediately knew what it was and hurried back to dance with Shawn. The track was Wicked Game, a ballad by Chris Isaak.

Amanda jumped in Shawn’s arms, and Julie took Dean’s hand, as the four slow-danced to the tune. Julie watched Shawn whispering in Amanda’s ear, causing his girlfriend to blush and giggle. Julie whispered to Dean, “Have you ever wanted to be ordinary?” Dean asked her to define normal, a question she didn’t answer for, and placed her head on his shoulder.

They matched in height, but their wardrobe couldn’t be further off. The doctor in training’s acid wash jeans fit tight around her legs and her blouse as loose as an alcoholic at a wedding reception. A style called loose and flirty, she found in a Vogue magazine. Dean is a dress shirt and slacks kind of guy and didn’t veer away from the look either. His sleeves rolled up gave the message, I’m dressed but ready to party.

Julie looked over to the other two, knowing full well they love each other but wasn’t sure if her bat-shit crazy side would lead Shawn into the spider web she was trapped within. As she wondered if they could make it work, Dean caught her staring at the chaos couple and assured her that they’d eventually pull through. They hoped.

Morgan opened the front door. “Good evening, Demeter,” he hugged Julie, where occasionally he’d give a personal salutation calling them a Greek god matching their personality. “As always, you are the mother to us all.”

“Apollo,” he gave Dean a firm handshake and a smack on the arm, “god of truth and healing.” He walked over to the couple as Julie faded the music into the background. He shook Shawn’s hand, “Nice to see you, Ares. Start any wars lately?” Shawn smiled as Morgan greeted Amanda. “And Miss Aphrodite, the goddess of love, or is it goddess of wisdom Athena for today?”

“I’m-, I’m just Amanda,” she nervously said.

“Fair enough.” He stared at Amanda longer, then looked at everyone. “Who are we missing?” he asked Julie.

“Mark,” she said, “but—”

“I win!” Shawn said, “20 bucks anyone?”

Nobody responded, but Dean gave him the same stern look from earlier; this time, his eyes narrowed on his subject. The group believed Morgan should have his typical advisory response; the years together, his lectures burned in their brains. This time he didn’t start his usual; Investing is the smartest way to spend money. Morgan is the typical, responsible father/uncle type everyone needed, but never got.

Dean offered him a glass of wine where the couple stepped into Shawn’s room. The professor followed Julie and Dean for drinks. As Julie poured, Morgan asked who he owed thanks for the drinks.

“To our forefathers,” she said.

“Our forefathers?” Morgan asked where Dean stood back and observed the two. “I do thank them,” he glanced in question at Dean, “but why today?”

“I just like bringing up current events,” she said. Morgan took a sip from his drink. “Your lecture felt like you were talking about us.”

“Not specifically,” he took another sip. “I just wanted to get you thinking.”

“What about your guest?” she asked. “Roland, am I correct?”

“Roland is an old friend of mine,” he said. “That is all you need to know.”

All I need to know? Julie thought. Can you stop being so mysterious? We’re all a little tired of riddles and this need-to-know talk; tell us what you know, and maybe we can ultimately have trust in you.