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Bren scarfed down a handful of popcorn as they handed their tickets to the clerk at the side of the concession stand. If he was going to take advantage of the promised unlimited refills policy, then it was probably best to get an early start.

“We’re your lads now,” Nat said, her tone more ominous than anything.

“Sorry, sis. It’s just not the same,” Bren said, pleased with the look of revulsion on her face. Nice to see calling her sis hadn’t lost its impact in the few days since he’d started it.

“Please never call her that again,” Arlo said, looking at the two of them and shuddering like something slimy was slithering down his back.

“Maybe he means it like.” Yu cocked a hip and let his wrist fall limp with a dramatic flair. “Sis.”

Bren mirrored the pose and Arlo laughed. When Yu let his guard down enough to join in, Bren turned the limp wrist into a fist and walloped him in the arm.

“Woah! Catfight!”

Bren knew it was Dustin without looking. He bounded over from the arcade opposite the concession, with a guy and girl Bren had never seen before trailing behind him.

“I’m the only human here in case you forgot,” Yu replied.

“And those two,” Dustin said, cocking a thumb over his shoulder. He stage whispered, “They go to Central. Don’t hold it against them, eh?”

Yu and Nat booed. Even Arlo added a look of mock revulsion.

It hadn’t taken Bren more than a couple of days of class to catch on that the rivalry between Peacock and Central was the same as Glenbridge and St. Stephens back home. Even if sometimes the hatred between them looked like it was put on for show.

The Central duo's faces told him the grudge went both ways.

“Do you think it matters that I didn’t see part three?” Dustin asked.

“Oh, yeah. Saw’s real cerebral like that,” Nat said, waving her ticket around in loopy circles.

The guy with Dustin chuckled and rubbed the side of his head as Dustin rolled his eyes. He had to be at least six three, but he couldn’t have weighed more than seventy kilos.

“Sweet. That means it won’t matter if we miss some of this one while I school Ireland at air hockey!” Dustin slapped his friend on the back. “Beating Suveer’s lost its spark.”

“Says the guy who got scored on more times than his mom last season,” Suveer said, straightening his green and yellow cap with John Deere on it. Dustin lunged like he was going to put Suveer into a headlock but stopped before connecting with him.

“Wait! Do they even have air hockey in Ireland, Ireland?” Dustin asked.

“Don’t make me think of new things; we just figured out lightbulbs last year,” Bren said earnestly.

There was a split second where he was sure Dustin believed him, then he shook his head.

“Hey I’m just trying to learn about your culture. It’s like a leprechaun- and potato-based society, right?”

“Ah, sure you know yourself,” Bren said, in his thickest brogue, which made Dustin’s heavy brow collapse in confusion.

“You wanna translate?” Dustin asked Arlo.

There was a lag where Arlo stared at Suveer’s shoulder, then he glanced up, startled by the question.

“I think this time it means piss off.” Arlo said, keeping his expression light. “Which means stop being a dick, Dustin.”

Bren said, “Every time it means piss off.”

Arlo fiddled with the side of his jeans as the chuckle rippled through the group. It had almost petered out when he gave a convulsive movement and took a small step forward.

“I’m A.J.”

It came out louder than it needed to. The newcomers were five feet from him.