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“Yo, Combo, let’s get out of here,” Jesse calls down the hall.
“Man, I got detention,” Combo protests. Jesse and Badger look at each other and then crack up laughing.
“So what?” Badger asks. “Ditch.”
“They called my mom last time,” Combo complains. “She said one more time and I’m grounded, yo!”
“Bitch,” Jesse coughs. Badger cracks up and starts making chicken noises. Combo flips them both off and keeps going toward the detention room. Jesse and Badger are laughing at him, but his mom is actually kind of scary.
“Let’s go,” Badger says. “My cousin said he can get us some weed.”
“Nice,” Jesse says appreciatively. “Remember last time he got us weed and you pissed your pants?”
Badger shoves him into a locker, laughing. “Shut up, man.”
“Boys.” They both turn around to see Mr. White, the nerdy chemistry teacher, looking at them disapprovingly with his arms crossed. Jesse rolls his eyes. “Get to class.”
Jesse salutes him and Badger snickers. “Yes, sir, right away, sir,” Jesse mocks. Mr. White’s frown deepens and Jesse and Badger leave him behind. Crusty old asshole. It’s the last week before Christmas break. He could take the stick out of his ass for ten minutes.
They wander around for a while, killing time, because Badger’s cousin is nineteen and has a job besides just selling weed. Jesse thinks it’s stupid—if he can make that much money with the people practically doing all the work for him, why bother slinging fried chicken at Los Pollos Hermanos? Jesse’s going to get into dealing soon and he’s definitely not getting some square day job.
After Badger falls over for the third time while trying to jump over a fire hydrant, they head back to the school. It’s too cold to be wandering around outside anyway—it’s December, and sure, Albuquerque doesn’t get snow, but it’s still winter. Combo will be out of detention before Badger’s cousin is off work, so they might as well cut him in. He knows strippers because his older brother’s ex-girlfriend’s sister is a stripper. Well, he keeps saying that, but he’s never actually delivered on his promise to introduce them to any.
Combo meets them outside and endures their teasing about what a wuss he is. “Shut up,” he says. “If I’m grounded I can’t smoke anything ‘cause my mom will be watching me like a hawk.”
“Have you ever even seen a hawk?” Badger asks skeptically. “How do we even know hawks have, like, good concentration or whatever?”
“Oh my God,” Combo complains. “It’s a metaphor or some shit.”
“Yo,” Skinny Pete yells from across the parking lot. “Come on!” He dropped out last year, after the second time he had to repeat the twelfth grade.
They pile into his shitty four-door and Badger gives directions to his cousin’s work. They’ll wait for him in the parking lot. But then, since they’re already there, they end up splitting a combo meal—they make Combo pay, since it’s his name—and some Cokes.
“I heard they put crack in the breading stuff they fry the chicken in,” Badger reveals. “That’s why it’s so good.”
“Dude, no way,” Jesse argues. “There’s health inspectors and shit. They can’t just go around putting crack in food. It’d have to be something more subtle than crack.”
“They used to put coke in Coke,” Skinny Pete points out. “Could be something like that.”
“That was back in ancient times,” Jesse says, shaking his cup around to get the straw out of the ice. “People don’t get away with shit like that anymore. Besides,” he adds under his breath, nodding toward the chicken guy who’s walking around asking if everything’s alright. “You think that guy knows how to get drugs? Come on.”
They finally get their weed from Badger’s cousin and split. Skinny Pete takes them out to some warehouse he’s been working at and they pass around a few joints. Badger gets on some rant about Star Wars that lasts for twenty minutes. It’s not even their usual argument about whether Leia’s hotter in the bikini or the white dress—it’s some weird science shit about hyperspace and travel. Jesse tunes him out the way he always tunes out science shit. Then he and Skinny Pete do get around to talking about Leia, and the pros and cons of her hairstyle.
“I like it,” Badger says. “It’s all sexy librarian, like Mary Poppins.”
“Mary Poppins wasn’t a librarian,” Jesse says. “She’s a nanny.”
“Wasn’t that chick a nanny a bunch of times?” Combo asks. “In the other movie, too, with the Nazis.”
“The Sound of Music,” Skinny Pete supplies.
“Why do you know the name?” Badger laughs. “Bet you know all the songs and shit, too, huh?”
“Do re mi fa suck my dick,” Skinny Pete says.
“I bet that forklift could lift up all of us at once,” Jesse interrupts, pointing toward the machine in the corner.
Combo scoffs. “Duh, dude. It can lift like a thousand pounds.”
“How much do you think all of us are together?” Badger asks. “More or less than a thousand?”
“Way less,” Combo says. “Pete’s only like twelve fucking pounds.”
“Shit, man, I weigh two hundred,” Skinny Pete lies. They all crack up, and Jesse throws the spent blunt at him.
“Two hundred if there were three of you, maybe,” Jesse laughs.
“Like you’re any bigger!” Skinny Pete fires back. “Least I’m taller than you.”
“Hey, I’ve got another growth spurt coming,” Jesse says. “My dad grew six inches after he graduated from high school.”
“You wish you could grow six inches anywhere,” Badger says, accentuating his point with a lewd hand gesture. Jesse flips him off.
“Really, though, let’s try,” Jesse says. “Let’s all get on it.”
“We can’t all get on it,” Combo points out. “Somebody’s gotta drive it.”
“I can drive it,” Skinny Pete says proudly. “I got my forklift license.” Except he can’t find the keys, so no one can drive it, so they all just stand on the forklift part and try to imagine if it would lift them up if Skinny Pete could turn it on.
“It’s definitely lifting us!” Badger says, eyes closed as he imagines it.
The warehouse gets boring without the promise of a forklift and with the weed gone, so they head back into town. Badger wants to get more fried chicken. He always wants Los Pollos Hermanos when he’s high, which he swears is more evidence the chicken’s drugged.
They’re pulling out of the parking lot, greasy chicken smell hanging over everything, when Combo starts cracking up and yells, “Pull over!” He’s pointing to the church or whatever the building is. They’ve got one of those giant displays with the donkeys and the chick and the baby.
“Let’s piss on ‘em,” Combo suggests.
“You can’t piss on baby Jesus,” Badger says, scandalized. “That’s like, a ticket straight to hell.”
“Yo, I thought you were Jewish,” Jesse reminds him.
“So? I can still respect other religions.”
“Whatever, man, I won’t piss on the baby. Just the ass.” Combo’s already out of the car, and Jesse jumps out after him. He’s pretty sure Combo’s just trying to save face after chickening out of ditching detention earlier, but at least it’s funny.
“I’m staying here,” Badger says behind them. “I don’t want to get struck by lightning or grasshoppers or whatever.”
Combo’s already going to town on the donkey, and Jesse’s laughing so hard he can barely get his belt unbuckled. He’s gonna get the wise men. He’s working on pulling down his zipper when lights suddenly flood the whole display.
“Shit!”
“Get away from there!” Some guy yells. Jesse sprints for the car. Combo’s still got his pants down, literally, and can’t run.
“Combo!” Jesse calls over his shoulder.
“Dude, go!” Combo yells. “Go, go, go!” He’s trying to waddle after Jesse, but the security guard tackles him. Jesse jumps into the open door and Skinny Pete hits the gas.
“We left Combo!” Badger cries, distressed.
“He said to go!” Jesse pants. “He still had his dick out and everything.”
“You think that guy’s gonna call the cops?” Skinny Pete asks, glancing in the rearview mirror nervously. “Shit, hope he didn’t get my license plate. I can’t take another ticket.”
“There’s no way he got your license plate,” Jesse reassures him. “It was all dark and the dude went straight for Combo.”
“Oh, man, his mom’s gonna kill him,” Badger moans. “We just left him there. We left our man behind.”
“Quit being so dramatic,” Jesse orders, guilt bubbling away in his stomach. “He’ll be fine.”
Combo’s at school the next day, so they know his mom didn’t kill him at least. All anyone can talk about is how he got arrested, and he keeps lording it over them after they meet up at Los Pollos Hermanos.
“Who’s the bitch now?” He taunts. “You guys hauled ass outta there and I got arrested.”
“Your mom bailed you out in like twenty minutes,” Skinny Pete points out, rolling his eyes, but he looks kind of impressed. None of them have ever been arrested.
“Guess you can’t skip detention for a long time now,” Jesse says.
Combo shrugs. “I already got arrested. Not like skipping detention’s worse than that.”
“Good point,” Badger says. “My cousin said he could get us some more weed tomorrow.”
“Sweet,” Jesse says. “Let’s go to the warehouse again. Maybe this time Pete can actually turn on the forklift.”
“I will,” Skinny Pete says defiantly. “I’ll show you all.”
“I wanna drive it, too,” Combo says.
“You don’t have a license,” Skinny Pete says.
“I can drive a car,” Combo points out. “How hard can it be?”
“If you can do it, anyone can,” Badger says. Skinny Pete flips them all the double bird.
“I had to take a test for that license,” he whines.
“Shut up,” Jesse says. “You can show off your great forklift skills tomorrow.”
“You’ll all be begging me to teach you,” Skinny Pete says. They all shove each other around, heading for his car, and plan out their day tomorrow. Jesse smiles a little as he listens to his friends arguing over Star Trek vs. Star Wars. He can’t wait to get out of high school so they can do this all the time, shooting the shit and eating chicken and ribbing each other. He’ll start dealing and making fat stacks of money, and he won’t have a single worry in the world.