Billy took a Coke from the cooler and gave the owner a quarter. “It’s okay, but I get the first swig.”
Billy took a couple of big gulps then sputtered; brown foam coming out his nose.
“You do it every time.” Chris grabbed the bottle.
“Hey, you kids, look at the mess you’re making. Out of the store.” The owner, a short, bald, fussy old man with a British accent wore a full apron over his clothes. Kids said he was a perv and wore it so you couldn't see him jerking off.
On the sidewalk, Chris took a drink, but instead of handing it back to his friend he plugged the opening with his thumb and shook the bottle violently.
“Hey, Chris, what’re doing?”
Chris pointed the bottle at the store window, partially slide his thumb back, and a thin stream of foamy cola shot out and sprayed across the glass.
“Hey, you little delinquents,” the owner shouted from inside.
“Let’s get out of here.” Billy was already running down the block. Chris pointed the jet so the amber arc hit near to the top of the large pane of glass and cascaded down, the brown liquid sticking to the sun-warmed glass even before it could run off.
“Stop that you little bastard.” The owner, his apron off, a broom in his hand limped out of the door and toward Chris.
“Fuck you,” Chris directed the spray toward the old man, but the pressure was gone. “Fuck you, you old pervert” He he ran to catch up to Billy.
“I’m reporting you to the principal first thing Monday morning.”
“He’ll do it too, you know,” Billy said once they'd turned up the street and stopped running.
“You could get kicked off the team.”
“Jeez, there’s less than half the Coke left, Chris,” Billy said, holding up the bottle. “I’m drinking it, your share is on the window.”
“That was so fuck’n A. Wait ‘til I tell the rest of the guys.”
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