May 1994

It hurts, somewhere in the region of your stomach, knowing that your parents are glaring at each other when they should be watching you.

It's the night of graduation and Shawn's smirk is huge. He's 18, ready to take on the world, and he's replaced the speaker's water with diluted vinegar. It's still up for debate whether Ms. Mulligan, high school vice principal, will gag and demand the perpetrator's head on a platter, or whether she'll just keep on truckin' when she finally takes a sip.

Shawn's money is on the latter, because Ms. Mulligan has more pride than is good for anybody, but either way he's in the clear because no one saw him do it. They may suspect him, but they'll never be able to prove it. He didn't even tell Gus, who may be his best friend but folds like a bad hand if a teacher so much as glances at him without smiling. He left no trail--no evidence, no case.

He learned that one from his dad.

The thought pulls his eyes back to his parents, who are sitting one foot apart but who are not sitting together. Together has nothing to do with the tense set of their shoulders, to the hard set of his mom's mouth or his dad's eyes as they look at the podium but don't see it. His parents have developed te ability to fight without speaking, without looking at each other even, and it is an ironic thought that Shawn has to shout to be heard in a deathly silent house.

He doesn't know which is worse. When they are fighting, or when they are not-fighting.

Shawn misses the moment of the gag, the spectacular, bulgy-eyed gasping choke Ms. Mulligan makes before moving on in a slightly strained voice. There are titters from the watching graduates and even from some of the parents, and Shawn is disappointed he missed it, though watching the vice principal choke her way through three more paragraphs before sitting down is pretty rewarding.

Shawn catches the looks some of his classmates are shooting him (because honestly, who else is dumb enough or gutsy enough to pull a prank during graduation?), but he’s more concerned when his eyes catch his dad's and they are saying, very clearly, that they are not impressed.

But the slight puckering of his mom's mouth as she expertly fights off a grin is so worth it, and Shawn grins and waves inconspicuously at both his parents, pretending he has no idea that anything just happened. The bland march across the stage starts a moment later, and it's almost worth it too when Gus ruins the photo of him shaking the principal's hand by glaring suspiciously at Shawn instead of smiling.

There is a long time between the G's and the S's, and Shawn is hard pressed not to do something stupid and ruin his chances at a high school diploma. There are enough people already who are surprised he made it this far. He spends the wait whispering inappropriate things to Kate Stein, who is a good girl and is trying very hard not to giggle.

His row is finally called, and there is more than one glare from the teachers as he approaches--there is some question as to why he even bothered hiding his role in the vinegar switch, considering that most everyone here assumes it is always Shawn Spencer (and there's no denying there's a lot of validity to the statement) and Ms. Mulligan's smile is very grim when she hands the diploma to him with a white-knuckled fist. He smiles widely in return, the expression charming, and her look softens just the slightest bit.

His smile widens for the camera, and no one has any idea that his gut is twisting because he can see his parents from this angle and they are not looking at him. Henry is whispering something, face contorted as Claire glares at him from the corners of her eyes, her own expression sour.

The smile feels as though it's going to crack his cheeks.

Graduation is suddenly too short, and when it is over Henry doesn't look proud as he marches up to his son. Claire beats him by a second.

"Oh, honey," she says as she hugs him. "I’m so proud of you."

"Thanks, mom," he answers, smiling, but she misses it because she’s already glaring at Dad.

Mrs. Guster suddenly waves and it’s obvious she’s torn between greeting her friend and refereeing the two Spencer men, the eldest of which is staring, his eyes very hard, at his son.

"Behave," she finally snaps. She walks away, cheerfully calling back to her friend, and Shawn knows he is doomed.

"Shawn--"

"Sir."

"What kind of stunt--"

"That wasn’t me," Shawn says quickly. Too quickly, probably, but he really doesn’t want his dad to get on a roll, here, of all places. So he lies, but he figure there’s justification in the fact that lying now will save his dad from the murder charges he’d be guilty of if he tells the truth and they find his bleeding, dead corpse on the front lawn in the morning. The thought isn’t quite as funny as he was hoping it would be.

"I saw it, sure," he explains as Henry’s hard look turns suspicious, "and I heartily applaud whoever did it, but I am very sad to admit that it wasn’t me."

Henry’s expression doesn’t change, and Shawn knows he’s not buying it.

"Come on, Dad," he wheedles, changing tack. "Aren’t you proud of your son? I graduated, I made it through high school, everyone is just so--"

"Surprised?" Henry cuts in. "Yeah," he snorts, anything but amused. "You managed to catch us all off guard with that one, kid."

Shawn’s stomach twists. It’s funny, because that’s exactly what he was going to say. Almost word for word, actually, as to what was in his head.

It wouldn’t have hurt like that.

Shawn pretends his father was joking and grins, putting his arms out in a large invitation of a hug.

"Manly hug?" he prompts. "Father-son bonding moment?" Henry looks unimpressed and Shawn pulls the diploma from where he has shoved it into the band of his pants, extricating it from the folds of his gown, waving it in the air even as the other arm remains flung out dramatically.

"Graduation?" he asks, waving it pointedly. "Diploma? High school diploma? Have I mentioned that I actually managed to finish high school with real, live proof?"

Henry crosses his arms. "You know that’s empty, right?" he asks, looking pointedly at the hard diploma cover. "It’s to make sure the graduates behave themselves. Very smart move, Shawn. I think I’m going to go have a word with Ms. Mulligan."

Shawn drops his arms (not that he’d been expecting anything, but it was fun seeing his dad squirm). Yes, he did know it was empty, thank you. Were they going to take away his actual diploma because he replaced the speaker’s water with vinegar? Were they even going to be able to prove it? No, on both accounts, even if the second ended up being a yes. They didn’t fail graduates for pulling something as harmless as a water-switch prank. Did his dad give a damn? No, again. But then Shawn had always been guilty until proven innocent.

He had made sure, for a long time now, that he actually was guilty. There was no point in being innocent if your dad was going to believe, beyond any doubt, that it was always you.

Shawn is pretty sure, as his eyes drop, that the smile on his face has disappeared.

"Can I borrow the truck?" he asks, and the question is so far out of left field that for a moment Henry’s scowl disappears as he blinks. It’s back in a second.

"No," he snaps. "There is no reason--"

"Please, Dad," Shawn begs, and he knows now is a bad time with Henry on the warpath, ready to prove his guilt, but he also knows that as soon as Henry figures out that it was him (because it always is and he always does) that he can forget about seeing the outside of the house for the next two weeks.

"I just--" he searches for a suitable explanation. "There’s a couple of graduation parties I want to go to, especially the big senior thing the school put together for us, and I just want to have a consistent ride. I know you came in the cruiser and mom’s probably going to want to visit with Mrs. Guster for awhile, so it’s not as if you really need--"

"No," Henry snaps again and Shawn curses himself because he overdid the explanation and he’s blown his chance. "You can’t be trusted with your own things--" here he gestures at Shawn’s dress shoes, which are scuffed beyond any recognition of said "dress" state, "--and I will not trust you with my truck."

"But, Dad--!"

Henry’s glare hardens. "Is that clear?"

Shawn’s tone is insolent, the phrase muttered, but it is clear. "Yes, sir."

"Good," he says. He starts to walk past Shawn, then pauses. "And I’m not sure you’re going to any graduation parties tonight." Shawn’s jaw drops. "It depends on what Ms. Mulligan will have to say to me."

"But--!"

Henry ignores him, brushing past his son without so much as a glance sideways, and it is then, angry, seeing red, but still pretending he doesn’t care, that Shawn gets the best (read: worst, worst ever) idea.

"Dad!" he cries, shooting out an arm to stop him. Henry pauses, turning to face his son, and in the commotion of the turn, when Shawn is pretending to fumble on his dad’s jacket, his other hand slips into Henry’s pocket and smoothly pulls out the keys to the truck.

He slips them into his own pocket. "I just--you know what?" He makes a frustrated face, but internally he is gleeful because he just picked Dad’s pockets and the always vigilant man didn’t so much as notice. The practice on Gus seems to be finally paying off. "Just forget it."

Henry turns away with a frustrated sigh (what had he been expecting? A confession?) and Shawn turns his own back to his father, a grin growing on his face as he jingles the keys in his pocket.

For the first time he feels like he has the entire world at his fingertips.

"Smooth," says a voice, and Shawn whirls. "Very smooth."

The words are suggestive, as is the girl who is watching him with half-hooded eyes. He stares.

Lacy Woods is not a gorgeous girl. She is, in all honesty, not even that pretty. Wide shoulders with bones that seem to jut out prominently, almost viciously, she has a high brow, large, slightly wide-set eyes, and semi-long hair. It is messy, and he can only assume that’s the style. But she is wearing a dress (she was probably the first to lose her graduation robe) with a neckline that appears to believe it was a waist line in another life and is trying, very valiantly, to go back to its rightful place. Lacy is sitting in a folding chair and she suddenly props a knee up, leaning over, presumably to fix the buckle on her shoe, and Shawn is hard pressed to realize that her buckle is fine, because more noteworthy is the fact that he can see all the way to her stomach.

She’s not wearing a bra.

To say that Lacy kind of has a reputation is like saying the sky is kind of blue. Even her makeup, red lipstick over large, plump lips and dark eye shadow smeared heavily above her eyes, is suggestive. It’s surprising she actually made it through graduation with her robe still on. She was the girl in high school who bullied the good girls into standing look-out while she smoked in the bathroom. And to say that half the football team knew her is not exaggeration.

Lacy Woods, to put it frankly, is a slut.

Shawn has absolutely no idea why she picked him tonight, but he is struck by the thought that she is looking at him like that, with that smile, and that she is actually impressed by what he has done. It feels good, and he is suddenly feeling very reckless. He pulls the keys out of his pocket and swings them around his index finger, a devil-may-care grin spreading across his face.

"Wanna’ go for a spin?"

"Are you nuts?" she demands. "Henry--" He is not surprised she knows who his dad is--there are very few people who don’t, "--is, like, the scariest guy in the world. If he catches us, he’ll kick our asses from here to the moon." He is disappointed, but there is something very freeing about the fact that, finally, someone has admitted to his face what he has had to live with his entire life.

She smiles, and her glossy lips pull wide. "Sounds like fun."

Shawn nearly trips over a folding chair in his haste to go "cover himself with the ‘rents" as he smoothly tells her (Lacy’s short attention span is almost as notorious as her reputation), and she laughs. He knows she is laughing at him, but it is still easier to ignore, to pretend not to notice than the way his dad’s expression darkens when he looks at him and the way his mom’s does when she looks at Dad.

Shawn kisses his mom’s cheek as he comes up behind her. She laughs and turns, surprised, from her conversation with Mrs. Neller.

"I’m borrowing the truck," he says and his mom’s eyebrows raise.

"He actually let you?" He feels guilty when her expression softens, her face almost smiling. "I’m glad. I was already planning on going home with the Gusters. Mrs. Guster and I want to drink coffee and cry over how proud we are of our boys."

Shawn is embarrassed when this pleases him. He ducks his head, momentarily hiding his almost shy smile.

Mrs. Spencer’s own smile disappears. She hates that he reacts to sincere compliments, to heartfelt sentiments of love like he should be ashamed someone could talk about him like that.

She doesn’t say anything about it, simply pats his cheek with her hand. "You boys have fun." Shawn nods but he is already running off. She shakes her head as she turns back to Mrs. Neller with an eye roll and a very pleased sort of, "Boys."

Gus catches Shawn’s arm as he’s rushing past, turning away from Kate and Josh, who are looking rather delightedly at their watches and declaring "Twenty-six minutes of freedom. Twenty-six minutes of freedom. Twenty-seven minutes of freedom!"

"Are we headed to Senior Swing?"

Shawn’s smirk is huge. "Nope. You might be though." He flips out his hand after a quick glance around for his dad (he has disappeared, which is both liberating and suspicious), revealing the keys in them. "I ‘borrowed’ my dad’s keys."

The suggestive way Shawn says "borrowed" is enough for Gus.

"You stole them?" he demands shrilly. Shawn shushes him immediately and Gus leans down, hissing, "This is such a bad idea. Your dad’s going to kill you."

Shawn smirks. "Ah, the threat of imminent death. Adds a certain amount of spice to life, don’t you think?"

Gus, however, isn’t smiling. But he doesn’t look angry either, just very, very worried. "This is a really bad idea, Shawn."

Shawn straightens. "Whatever. You don’t have to worry about it. I’ve already got someone riding shotgun in the getaway car."

Gus follows the sweep of his arm and his jaw drops when his eyes land on Lacy. She waves at him then crosses her arms, rubbing them. A person could almost believe she’s simply cold, but the position has somehow managed to squash her chest together, showing off more cleavage and breast than is really necessary. Ever.

Gus knows when he is being mocked. He scowls, but still manages to look embarrassed. "Lacy Woods? Seriously, Shawn. Don’t do this."

"Don’t do what?" he asks as though he doesn’t know.

"You know what," Gus says angrily. "Lacy has slept with probably 25% of the student body. Why would you even--"

"Because right now she wants me," Shawn snaps, but a second later the expression has smoothed out into his usual easy humor, the smile huge and mischievous. "Just because," he finishes, like that’s a reason.

Gus has no idea what Shawn means. That when your parents seem more interested in hating each other, that he’ll take what he can get. And right now Lacy is looking at him like he’s worth it.

It’s a heady feeling.

What Gus does suddenly understand, however, is that Shawn is pissed at his dad. The stupidest decisions his best friend makes are usually preceded by some sort of fight with Henry.

Gus’s expression is anxious again. "Look, Shawn, just think this through. Your dad’s probably just mad at--" he can’t say it because Shawn’s face has darkened again. He refuses to see what everyone else has for years; that his parents are headed for a divorce. "He just..." Gus flounders. "He sort of transfers anger, you know? So he’s probably not actually mad at you, and if you give him a chance to cool down--"

Shawn’s grin is huge when he cuts him off. "Ah, don’t be jealous, Gus. I’m sure there are plenty of loose girls lying around for you to get one too. I’ll see ya’ buddy." He claps Gus on the shoulder and has left before he can protest.

Gus turns away. He can see the disaster that this is leading to and he really doesn’t want to have to watch. Not again.

"Ready to go?" Shawn asks as he offers Lacy his arm. She accepts it with a charmed smile, pulling herself to her feet. He wishes, as she stands, that she wasn’t wearing high heels. There is something emasculating about having to stare at a girl’s chin.

"I was about ready to give up on you. Are you taking that?"

Shawn looks down, surprised. The diploma is still in his hand, and he studies it for a second, thumb running along the smooth cover. He flips it open.

It’s empty. Just like Dad said.

"Nope," he says and drops it unceremoniously on the floor. She giggles and the hat follows a second later.

They race for the door, both laughing as Shawn struggles with his graduation robe, finally managing to pull it off when they reach the parking lot. He throws it dramatically across the windshield of a BMW Bug and she laughs again.

He knows it’s stupid, showing off when they’re this close to getting caught, but he is struck suddenly by the thought that he doesn’t care, that he has graduated, for crying out loud, that he’s free as a bird. He feels as though he can do anything he wants to right now. The world is his, and so, for the night, is his dad’s truck.

He smiles as he slides into the cab.