Squint squint squint. Jason stares until he decides that Metody is telling the truth, then slumps against the outer bleacher rail again, looking back at the court.

"'m fine."

Jason scuffs the toe of his boot against the bleacher the next row down, and again, until he manages to leave a little streak of black rubber against the bench.

It would be way too much to say 'sorry' to one of the few people on campus who tolerates his company and vice-versa-ish, so instead Jason leans forward, buries his hands in his big hoodie pocket, and shrugs.

"Chocolate chip sounds okay."