Jock the Rapist invites Claire over to the keg for a drink and she worries that the drinking thing may not be a good idea. He assures her that they're thirty miles from home and, apparently, none of their parents own cars nor do any of their teachers, so who's gonna know? Jock the Rapist mentions that Jackie the Snotty Cheertator told him Claire wants to meet her real parents. Claire's like, what is this, ADVERTISED SOMEWHERE? He asks if the adoption thing, just finding out like that, is what's bumming her out. Claire says her parents told her when she was young, so it's not that. And why would he think she's bummed? He says she hasn't seemed like herself lately and he thought something might be wrong. "You don't know me well enough to know when I'm not being myself," she says, but her face is shyly glowing as she says it. Jock the Rapist then runs down a litany of things that he's observed about her that any girl with a modicum of sense would immediately flag as stalker-tastic. She never drinks plain milk, only chocolate; she draws mermaids in the margins of her notebooks; she puts crackers in her sandwiches and so on. This is a guy who, if he weren't going to be attempting to rape her here in a minute, would totally wind up dripping wet in her college dorm room with a goat's heart in a box and a picture of HER wrapped around it. I am so not kidding here.
Jock the Rapist says that Claire's usually the first person to laugh at a joke, but he hasn't heard her laugh in awhile. "Lately, you seem sort of sad," he says. She's not sad, dillweed, she's INDESTRUCTIBLE. That look on her face is a look of anti-destructiveness, not melancholy! Claire asks, rightfully so, if he's been spying on her, and instead of saying, "HELL YES I HAVE," Jock the Rapist just says his goal tonight is to hear her laugh. Just then, the mascot's head explodes in a shower of small firecrackers, and Claire does indeed laugh. She giggles and asks Jock the Rapist if he put firecrackers in the head just for her, and he answers her with a kiss. He takes her hand and they walk off as Jackie the Snotty Cheertator looks after them with an expression of, "Why oh why can't I be the one he attacks on the bleachers?!" Don't worry, Jackie. You'll get your chance. You're not even out of high school yet; you have your entire college career to fend off drunken eejits.