Casey Wood sat on an ugly green couch in his buddy’s basement, listening to his friends bicker. Music blared in the background and loud voices prevailed.

        “Are you kidding me? It’s debates like ours that created a movie like Freddy vs. Jason,” said Danny Capill.
        “Whatever,” replied Mark Craver.
        “Nah, I’m in the know. Saw an interview. The guy who plays Freddy said so himself.”
        “Well aren’t you just flippin’ special,” said Mark.
        “First Friday the 13th movie I ever saw was the fourth,” said Cameron Ford. “You know, ‘The Final Chapter,’” he added, fingers raised in the air Mini-Me style. “Five movies before ‘The Final Friday.’” Cameron did the air-quote thing again.
        Casey hadn’t said anything so far, but now felt the need. “Man, that one was terrible.”
        “Which?” asked Cameron.
        “Jason Goes to Hell, the ninth—am I right?” said Jeremiah Bronson. “Wasn’t that ‘The Final Friday?’” Jeremiah did his own impression of Cameron’s Mini-Me impression. “Big-time lousy.”
        “What were they thinking, making Jason’s soul jump around from person to person?” asked Danny. “That’s not a real Friday the 13th movie. Gotta have the real Jason killing people. Dumb move.” Danny cracked his knuckles and opened another can of Bud.
        Casey, Jeremiah, and Danny all sat on the same ugly green couch, while Mark and Cameron stood. The couch was the lone piece of legitimate furniture in the Fraternal Order of Friday meeting room—a place known in the outside world as the basement belonging to Mark Craver’s parents. Casey didn’t remember the exact date the Order was established, but this had been their hangout since his freshman year.
        Mark spoke up again, “By that standard, one and five aren’t real Friday the 13th flicks either.”
        “Five for sure,” said Jeremiah. “Some ambulance guy instead of Jason? What was that?”
        “One’s a classic,” Casey commented. “How can you say it’s not a real Friday the 13th flick?” He looked at Mark. “One started it all.”
        “Who really gives a shit?” asked Neal Jordan. He got up from Mark’s yellow beanbag chair and took out his cell, looking a little too Keanu-Reeves-cool.
        “I give a shit,” Danny responded. He pointed at Neal. “We give a shit. That’s what we do here. Talk about stuff no one cares about. Got it?” He took a drink of beer and belched.
        Neal stared at Danny. “Remember when we used to party with chicks?”
        “Some of us still do, dude. Not all of us are married like you.”
        “I have a girlfriend,” said Neal. “There’s a difference.”
        “Yeah, you think,” said Danny.
        “Whatever.”
        “Look, this isn’t the Fraternal Order of Babes,” said Danny. “It’s the Fraternal Order of Friday. We hang out. Talk. Watch a flick. Drink. It’s cool, remember?”
        Neal shook his head. “I gotta call Trish.” He walked out toward the stairs.
        “Whipped,” muttered Danny, loud enough that only Casey and Jeremiah could hear.
        Jeremiah got up from the couch and Eric Vathens sat down in his place. “We going pepperoni tonight?” said Eric. “I’m ready to eat.”
        Casey, Eric, Mark, and Neal were all juniors at Jasonville High School. Danny, Cameron, and Jeremiah were seniors. Cameron had just rented the eleventh Friday the 13th movie, which the Order was going to watch as soon as they could reach agreement on pizza toppings—a task that sometimes consumed half the night.
        Mark’s mom, LeAnne, worked late on Fridays and his dad was never around. Casey remembered seeing Mr. Craver maybe twice, and he’d known Mark since fifth grade. All told, the Order had free rein in the home, not to mention executive pizza privileges.
        At the Order’s founding, they’d debated various names: “Fraternal Order of Flick” and “Fraternal Order of Gore” were near-misses, as Casey recalled. But when the seven officially voted the choice was sealed: They would be known to each other as the “Fraternal Order of Friday.” Of course, if Danny had mentioned the “Fraternal Order of Babes” back then, who could say what would’ve happened?
        The fact that they all lived in a town called Jasonville was part of the irony of it all, serving as a catalyst for all the Jason-talk.
        Danny was the most muscular—and occasionally hostile—member of the Order.
        Neal was the one with the hot girlfriend. Naturally, everyone wanted to be him.
        Eric was quiet, but always seemed to be watching things.
        Cameron acted as the instigator for the Order.
        Jeremiah was best at being mediator when Cameron’s instigations got out of control.
        Mark was Casey’s best friend, and the most wily, talkative member.
        Casey, of course, considered himself the level-headed voice of reason.
        “Do we have a pizza decision?” asked Jeremiah.
        “We’re not ordering until Don Juan chips in,” said Danny, his muscular physique tense.
        “Neal already paid,” said Casey.
        “Well tell him to get off the phone with Cleopatra and get his ass in here.”
        Casey ignored the comment. “Turn that crap down, I’m gonna call,” Mark yelled. Mark was so scrawny he could almost pass for the original Jason Voorhees. He pointed at Eric, who was closest to the stereo. Eric nodded dismissively and turned the volume down a notch.
        “Can we start the flick now?” asked Cameron.
        “Yes, please,” said Casey.
        “Okay ladies,” Cameron said. He stood in front of the TV and held up the movie. “Friday’s Friday.”
        “This better be better than the tenth,” said Danny.
        “Yeah, right,” said Eric. He was the lone Order member with a mustache, which made him look a little like a used car salesman. “‘Better’ like your Homecoming date this year?”
        “Least I’m gonna get one,” said Danny.
        They all laughed.
        “I was thinking about asking your mom this year,” Eric replied. “I’m sure she won’t be busy.”
        Everyone chuckled again.
        “Hey now,” said Danny. He threw a fake punch at Eric.
        Mark hung up the phone. “Thirty minutes, gentlemen.”
        “I don’t think we qualify for that title,” Casey said.

 
Cameron stopped the DVD and flipped back to the main menu before the credits could roll.
       “Wow, that was…dreadful. Utterly,” said Danny.
       “If you’re gonna make a movie called Freddy vs. Jason, at least decide who wins,” said Jeremiah. “What was the point?”
       “For all the hype, I must admit I’m disappointed,” said Cameron.
       “Some decent kills, though.”
       “And some of those chicks were hot.”
       “One bloody slice of Americana,” said Casey.
       “Still dreadful,” said Danny. He opened another beer. “They must be out of ideas. Throw Jason and Freddy together and see what happens? Whatever.”
       “I kept waiting for the plot to unfold,” Mark said.
       Several of the guys laughed.
       “Right,” Danny mumbled.
       “Yo, why did Jason have hair in this one?” asked Jeremiah.
       “Different actor,” said Eric. “They ditched Kane Hodder, dude from the last four.”
       “But couldn’t they at least have shaved the new guy’s head?”
       “Okay,” Cameron motioned for everyone to pay attention, “Freddy vs. Jason left a lot to be desired. Big surprise. We’ve established that—”
       “I’m out,” said Eric, standing up like he was ready to charge out onto a football field.
       “You’re not leaving until we do the Fraternal Whopper of the Week.”
       Eric sat down.
       “Now gentlemen, we know that the Friday movies have some of the hottest chicks in them, who usually end up dead,” said Cameron, “The Whopper question is: If you were going to kill one chick from school, who would it be?”
       “Only one?” asked Jeremiah, provoking chuckles.
       “Why only one?” asked Mark. “Jason usually kills them all.”
       “You wanna come up with the Whopper next week, fine,” said Cameron, pointing.
       “Great question, Cam,” said Eric, “Beth Simmons.” He nodded. “Definitely.”
       Neal said, “Not that I’d ever kill anyone, but if I had to pick…”
       “You have to pick,” Cameron said.
       “Geena Wolford.”
       “Dude, isn’t she like best friends with your girlfriend?” said Jeremiah.
       “Yeah,” Neal replied. “So? She totally hates me these days. Always saying stuff behind my back.”
       “How about Meghan Reed?” asked Mark. “She’s the worst tease around. Deserves to die.”
       “Why?” mumbled Casey, shrugging his shoulders.
       “Come on,” said Mark, “She won’t go out with anyone, except for that college boyfriend she had awhile back. Doesn’t put out for anyone. Plus, she’s always wearing those tight tops.”
       “Okay then, any other deserving girls someone would like to select?” asked Cameron.
       Jeremiah spoke up, “Claire—”
       “Claire Borden,” said Eric, beating him to it.
       Jeremiah nodded at Eric. “Great minds think alike.”
       “Yeah, so do you guys,” said Danny.
       “Don’t be stealin’ someone else’s pick,” Cameron said to Eric. “You already chose.”
       Casey stood up and headed toward the pizza boxes. “Karen Gothman. I hate to say it, but I despise her. I can’t think of one good thing she’s ever done.”
       “Seen her mom, though?” asked Mark. “Whoa, babe. I’d like to hang on her chandelier someday.”
       The group laughed.
       “Who hasn’t picked?” said Cameron.
       “You, for one,” said Casey.
       “Easy. Ashley Tyler. Next.”
       “No way, Cam, she’s cool,” said Casey.
       “You don’t even know. Just wait awhile. She’s not.” Cameron scowled, and it appeared the subject was closed. “Who hasn’t gone?”
       No one spoke up for a moment.
       “Just Danny, I think,” said Casey.
       Everyone looked at Danny. He took a swig of beer. “Hmm, let’s see.” He looked around. “I think…Trisha Geller.”
       Everyone turned to look at Neal.
       “Not good,” mumbled Mark.
       Neal hesitated, then his eyes narrowed and he stared straight at Danny.
       “That supposed to be funny?” demanded Neal.
       “Not really. It’s just my answer.”
       “Your answer is my girlfriend?” Neal stood.
       “Don’t take it personally, bud,” Danny said with a near-perfect mimic of Neal’s voice. “It’s not you.”
       For a second it seemed things were just going to blow over, but not this time.
       Danny stopped looking at Neal and turned—in a sickeningly casual way—toward Cameron. “Again, as I said, Trisha Geller.”
       Neal stepped forward.
       In a quick burst, Danny threw aside his Bud can, jumped up, and met Neal halfway. They crashed into each other. A pizza box went flying.
       “Just ‘cause she dumped your sorry a—”
       Danny tagged Neal with a right across the jaw, staggering him.
       “Son of a bitch!” someone shouted.
       Neal came back at Danny with a flurry of punches. The two of them went over the couch, knocking over a lamp and table.
       “She…hates…me.” Danny spat out each word as he punched. “It’s…mutual.”
       Neal wailed away at Danny’s stomach. Danny kneed him back in the chest.
       Bodies descended upon the brawl and there was pandemonium. Someone’s half-full beer can tumbled through the air. More shoving. Cursing. Whenever the guys would separate Danny and Neal for a second, one of them would rip free and be back at the other.
       Neal tried to raise his fist again, but Eric and Jeremiah both grabbed his arm.
       Cameron yelled and tackled Danny. “Cool off, dude! Now!”
       Danny tried to throw Cameron off, and succeeded partially. But by then, several of the guys had forced Neal over to the far side of the room.
       “Guys, we aren’t gonna do this!” screamed Jeremiah.
       Mark picked up the fallen lamp. Everyone was breathing hard. Some post-scrap cursing flew around the room. The smell of spilled beer hung in the air like a cheap brewery.
       The fight itself had been a draw, but Neal’s lip was bleeding and Danny’s face was blotched with red marks.
       “Real cool!” Neal pointed and shouted from across the room, beer foam in his hair. “Think you’re funny saying my girl? Trisha and I are serious, man! I care about her! Don’t you ever—”
       “She’ll rip your heart out and swallow it!”
       “You don’t know shit!”
       “Enough!” screamed Mark. He picked up the tipped table and slammed it down.
       Exhales came from all around the room. Eventually, silence.
       “You guys riding together?” Casey asked Jeremiah and Neal.
       “Yeah,” Jeremiah answered, “We’re, uh, headin’ out now.” He pulled Neal’s arm. They walked to the stairs, and Neal didn’t bother to look at Danny.
       The room grew quiet again.
       Casey scanned around, speechless. He looked at Danny. Soon, everyone stared at Danny.
       “Nice one, dude,” Casey said.
       Danny shrugged his shoulders. “It’s all just”—he raised his eyebrows—“pretend anyway.”
       A moment later they heard Jeremiah’s car start up and tear off.