And You Can't Tell Anyone (Track Twelve: III) 2, chapter 10

Wren spent a great deal of time fussing over her appearance. She tried at least four different ways to arrange her hair before settling on leaving it down. Her hair dryer was missing, which was odd. Not plain odd, but suspicious

This is just silly, it's not like we're going on a big date thing. I've known him for a while now. What am I saying? Of course it's a big thing! But what if I'm over doing it?

Wren bit her lip and critically inspected her appearance. Maybe a little too formal, she decided before wiping off her make-up and re-applying again. As she did so, she heard an incriminating scratching at the bottom of the bathroom door. Two seconds before she reached the door, she heard the hair dryer start up. Instantly, a huge cloud of white dust exploded into the bathroom from under the door. Wren was coated. She began screeching every possible swear word she had ever known, while she heard Billie Joe's mocking laughter from the hall.

"You idiots! Arrrgh. Bone headed, numbskulled, stoned out, moronic dickfaces! What the hell? Oooooh! You are so incredibly dead. As soon as I get back, I'm gonna, I don't know what I'm going to do, but it's going to be REVENGE!"

Knowing she looked like some sort of really bad chef, all covered in what turned out to be flour, Wren tried to open the door. It wouldn't. She was locked in. Annoyed, she banged on the door. There was more rustling outside the door. She looked down to see two slices of cardboard--no wait, it was a record cover--protruding an inch or so from under the door. Before she could inspect it more, there was a splat, and whipped cream splattered out all over her legs. The force of the splat was so powerful, she even had cream on her face. Wren recognized a good joke when in the middle of one. She could only smile and rest her forehead against the door.

"Alright, I give up. Let me out. I have to go change now."

The door swung open, to reveal Billie Joe and Tré wearing gleeful looks on their faces. They bent over laughing as they saw her.

Straight-faced, Tré helpfully pointed out, "I think you missed a few spots when you took that shower."

Feeling sassy, Wren shrugged. "Oh well, I guess I can get Mike to clean me off. You're such a supportive friend, Tré. Thinking up ways for us to be together, it's so sweet. I should do the same for you sometime."

"I'd love to lick you," Tré grinned, "But I don't want Mike to kick my ass, so I'll have to take a rain check on that one. By the way, I do believe he is waiting in the living room to see you."

Wren groaned and rushed into her room for a new change of clothes. A record time of ten minutes later, she entered the living room. Billie Joe and Tré were playing around with their instruments. Mike was sitting on the couch, leaning over his bass as he strummed. He was looking incredibly fine. A wind-breaker jacket covered up one of his signature wife-beaters. Not creased, unrumpled black jeans covered his long legs. He'd even replaced his every day sneakers with some stylish combat style boots. The normally fine sideburns were now honed and sharp, arrowing below his equally razor-like cheekbones. His hair was falling into his eyes, and he paused to brush it away.

Upon seeing Wren, a slow, appreciative smile warmed his face. "Wow."

"Wow yourself. Look at you, you look..."

"Lickable? Shmexy? Almost as fucking hot as myself?" Tré supplied.

Billie Joe looked up from his guitar, green eyes twinkling. "Fuckable?"

Tré clambered over the drums and snagged the guitar away. Within seconds he was managing to strum out an odd sounding country song that Wren had heard several times before.

"Wanna be yer dominated luv slave," he crooned, "Wanna be the one that takes the pain." He started playing randomly, not really making any sort of music at all, but still singing, making up the tune as he went. "Mike looks rape-able, but whooooo would wanna? Since he has a--" Wren rolled her eyes as Tré winked at her and confided, "You can't run away now--incredibly, amazingly hil-ar-iiious-lyyyy tinyyyy ensyyyyyyyyy-weeeeeeeeeenieeeeeee..." He held a horrendously high note, more like a shriek, for an infinite amount of time before booming out deeply, "Dick!"

Mike raised his eyebrows. "If I'm that small," he mused to himself, "and Tré is smaller than me, how incredibly miniscule is he?"

"Hey!" Tré protested as he handed the guitar back.

"You said it in the first place," Mike replied innocently.

"Speaking of first place," Billie Joe added, "I guess that's where I am."

Mike and Tré spoke together. "SHUT UP!"

The guitarist tried to look offended. "I was taaaaalking about the whole Game. We got Wren a good one."

"Yeah, they did that's why I'm a bit late." Wren confided.

"You guys better get moving," Billie jeered, "since we've done so many already, and you guys have not even done one on purpose."

"Yeah, yeah," Mike waved his hand, "We're just lulling you into a false sense of security. Speaking of moving," he put the bass on its stand, "I think we better go."

"Here's the keys," Billie Joe tossed them to Mike, who caught them easily. "And don't make a mess in my backseat. Nobody wants to sit in that kind of stuff."

Tré sniffed tearfully as Mike and Wren rose up from the couch. "Awww, look at them, my little darlings are all grown up. Why, it seems like just Wren had moved in and Mike was sleeping on the floor. Time flies so fast." He wiped an invisible tear.

Billie Joe slung an arm around him. "Yep," he sighed gustily, "I remember when little Mikey came to me and said he was crushing on her. Look at where they are now. Getting ready to go out and fuck like bunnies."

"Contrary to popular belief," Wren stated through her embarrassment, "We don't screw each other every time we're alone."

"Well of course not," Tré agreed affably, "With such a little cock, he probably can only manage to get it up once a week. I pity you, poor girl, must be sex starved." He grinned as Mike jutted out his jaw in irritation. "If you ever get hungry, I could always fix you up a midnight snack."

Mike shook his head disbelievingly. "How about you quit making passes at her while I'm right here?"

"There'd be no fun if we did it when you weren't around," Billie Joe commented.

"And how would you like it if I started hitting on your new girl, what's her name again?"

Billie Joe immediately clamped his mouth shut.

"A new girl friend?" Wren was intrigued. "What IS her name? I'd love to meet her."

"She's nobody, just someone I picked up at a party about a week ago when I was a bit drunk."

Tré was suddenly afflicted by bronchitis. "Coughsloshedcough."

Mike put his arm around Wren, "We better get going."

Tré put on a shrilly lady voice as the couple headed out the door. "I want you both back here before sunrise, and you better've gotten laid!"

Mike courteously held the car door open for Wren before getting in himself.

"So, where're we going?" Wren asked.

Mike raised his eyebrows mysteriously. "I can't really say, but be prepared for a wild night out."

Wild night out was something Wren would have expected from Tré, not from the more laid-back Mike. Then again, he was full of surprises. Which was great, in her opinion, because she loved finding out new things about him. Grinning to herself, she just kept looking at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing, I just can get over how different you look. Next thing you know you'll be driving a BMW around."

He shook his head. "I'll be a thousand before I can save up enough to get one of those. By the way, you look great."

"Thanks." She brightened as she remembered something. "Did you get that stuff made up? The goo?"

"Yeah, actually, I did. I've got in my room. It's supposed to be like paint and you can brush it on, or I think if it dries then we have this really awesome powder. Where should we put it?"

"How about all around the bed? So when they get up, that's the first thing that happens. Then we could put it on the door handle and the light switch..."

"Toilet handle," Mike said evilly.

"Toilet handle! That's awesome. We should put this stuff everywhere. They won't be able to escape from us," she muttered darkly.

Mike put his hand on her knee, "You're so evil. And I'm so cunning; we make the best god damn team ever."

Wren laughed crazily. "Marshmallows! Why didn't I think of that?"

"Marshmallows? Did I miss something?"

"You know your evil marshmallow theory?" He nodded, so she went on. "Why don't we do something with marshmallows?"

"But what to do with something that gets really sticky...." he mused. "What doesn't go well with sticky?"

Wren grinned, "Hair doesn't go well with sticky."