Scott + Jackson
"Something like that," Scott snorted, staring down into his cup before he tossed it, out onto the sand. He wasn't exactly the best of friends with Jackson, but he thought they'd had an understanding of sorts for a while now, and he could tell that Jackson's tone wasn't meant to be taken as an insult. "But it's harder than it looks."
"What about you? Going to party tonight?" Scott tilted his head, glancing at him curiously. Jackson didn't usually talk to him, and if he did, he probably wanted something. Not that Scott was ever usually particularly helpful; his obtuseness was almost a talent sometimes. "Coach said something about playing hard and partying harder. I don't think he was supposed to, but, you know, Coach."
Somebody yelled, across the way, and Scott tried not to flinch. It was still hard being amidst people; so much sweat and emotion and natural scent - plus the fire, the stink of liquor. He did fairly well at the fair, though, and talking helped cancel it out, so Scott was reasonably confident he could handle it.