Casey Starbuck and the Misfit Toys

1

Casey Starbuck knew how to make an entrance.

He threw open the door with a bang, causing three heads to snap in his direction. He was dressed in a Smith’s t-shirt and jeans, his face twisted into an expression the three knew too well for their own good.

“You’re scheming,” one said, stating the obvious. But someone would have to, because that’s how it worked. Casey would make his grand entrance, wearing that smirk he saved especially for destruction, and someone would say what now, Casey? And he’d tell them. It was a sort of routine for the four, a nonverbal agreement.

“A great observation, Tucker,” he nodded towards his friend --Tucker-- who merely rolled his eyes. He paused, mostly for effect, and continued. “We are going to sabotage the school play.”  

The four allowed him to soak up the initial moment after he dropped the bomb, because they knew that was his favorite part, spare the actual plotting.

“And why on earth would we do that?” Agnes asked, sounding bored with the idea already. She picked at the threads in her acid-washed shorts that, admittedly, weren’t the best decision, being that it was a good twenty degrees outside. But Agnes was never one to stick with things she deemed safe calls.

Casey brushed off her attitude with a flick of his wrist, settling into a rolly chair he’d claimed since they’d first started to meet there. There being a storage closet Casey had somehow been able to pawn off from the janitor for twenty bucks a month. It was on the small side (read: very small) but Casey had insisted that history would be made, and planned, in that room. And they believed him, because that’s what they did. They backed Casey no matter what, because without him, they were nothing special. The four fit together like a small puzzle, easy to see how they connected, but their pieces were somehow missing from the big picture.

“Loving the optimism.” he drawled, threading his fingers together and placing them behind his head. Agnes made a face at him, but he just beamed at her.

“But really,” Gracie said, her eyebrows drawn together, “what has Hamlet ever done you?”

“It’s not what it’s done,” he answered, lowering his hands to tap a vague beat against his knee. Casey was always moving in some way, like the gears in his brain would somehow stop working if he sat still for too long. He was continuously churning out thoughts and problems without answers and solutions that lacked questions. “But more of what it hasn’t done.”

Agnes snorted. “You alway explain things so clearly, Casey.”

Casey swiftly ignored her. “I have a plan.” he flew from his chair and started to pace. Or, more accurately, step in place, due to lack of room.

“You’re going to tell us whether we ask or not, so you may as well fire it at us.” Tucker said in an exhale that was more tired than excited, but nobody had to spell it out that Casey had enough excitement for the whole of them.   

“Another great observation.” Casey stopped long enough to look at them, a determined grin setting his eyes alight. “Congratulations, Agnes, you’re making your theater debut!”

She immediately straightened up from her slouched position, an indignant expression flashing over her previously bored features like a siren. “Like hell!”

“Tucker, you and Gracie are stage crew.” Casey found it quite amazing how easily it had become to ignore Agnes’ antics. He figured eleven years of friendship was the reason, and the fact that Agnes rarely meant anything behind them. Mainly the latter.  For their part, Tucker and Gracie just shrugged and continued to either work too hard or not at all respectively, figuring that the whole thing would either blow over or they’d end up in crew shirts flicking switches.