A/N- Hello All. This is my first multi-chaptered RENT fic, and I got some positive feedback from my friends, so I thought to post it on here.
This is a major canon fic. No Angel, Mimi, Benny, or Joanne. That's how JL wrote it, that's how I'll follow it.
Enjoy!
I OWN NOTHING!
xox
That Face
Chapter 1
Girls are evil. Evil, cruel, and sadistic. They enjoy watching you squirm under their thumb. Girls and I do not mix. I'm awkward and dorky. Girls… they're majestic and beautiful. One could see where that combination would fail. For all the twelve years (almost thirteen!) of my life, girls have walked all over me. I'm not like my best friends, Roger Davis and Tom Collins. Roger and Collins are so… suave and likeable. Babes just fall at their feet.
Roger's a musician. I guess that's what makes him so "cute". "Groupies" follow him everywhere. Compared to him, I'm just the driver of the bus. Collins is a genius; a true prodigy. He's always trying to go against the "capital injustice" that is Scarsdale Middle School. He's an anarchist.
Me? I'm just Mark Cohen. Mark Benjamin Cohen, if you're really that interested. I can't play the guitar and I'm only in Advanced English. I'm an AV geek. Ever need a TV or projector? I'm your guy. I know everything there is to know about the AV room. It's just my nature, I guess. To scrutinize and memorize every detail. I'm a perfectionist. But film is what I'm really passionate about. I own a 16mm camera. It used to be my grandfather's. That's the only reason I'm in AP English. I write my own screenplays. They don't get off the paper though. I don't really think they're good enough. I don't think any of my work is good enough. That's just me.
As I said before, I'm not exactly the kind of guy you'd see with a cheerleader… or any kind of girl for that matter. Not that I care or anything. Girls are evil.
Maybe except one…
"Mark! Hey Mark!"
I pulled my camera from my locker and wrapped my favorite blue and white scarf around my neck. It was the end of the day and Collins and Roger were supposed to meet me at my locker to walk home, like every day. Collins was the one calling my name. But Roger wasn't the one with him. It was a girl. Big surprise there. But Collins wasn't like Roger. He didn't seem to really… notice the girls. He knew they were there… he just… never cared.
The girl had her face down and her hands in her pockets. Not in an antisocial way like what I would do. She looked like she was walking on air. Collins must've picked this one up without noticing.
"Hey Collins," I greeted glumly, closing my locker and twirling the lock.
"Hey," He nodded. "Mark, this is Maureen Johnson. Maureen, this is Mark Cohen. The klutz I was telling you about."
Gotta love my friends… "Thanks Collins," I muttered, looking down and blushing. I hate blushing. I do it so often… My mom calls me "The Strawberry".
"Hi," The girl said brightly, looking up at the same time I did.
Any greeting that had started to form in my mouth, died. Her long brown hair cascaded down her face, framing the heart-shaped structure. Her eyes were a dark emerald color. They shone like lanterns in a dark cavern. Her nose was small and dainty, though I couldn't help but notice a small silver stud on her right nostril. Her lips were full and painted a bright red. They were currents shaped into a grin, bearing her straight, white teeth. Evil never looked so beautiful.
"What, uh, Mark means by standing there and gawking is, 'Hi. I'm Mark Cohen and you're really pretty," I distantly heard Collins telling—Maureen, was it? Good ol' Collins.
I quickly snapped back into my head. "That's not true! I mean… it is true that my name's Mark Cohen. But nothing else is! I mean, not that you're not pretty. Because you are… not that I have a crush on you or anything…" God, could someone shut me up? "… And I'm just gonna shut up now…"
Collins rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Maureen just giggled. I swear, it sounded like an Angel's choir.
"Anyway, Captain Coherency, Maureen moved in across the street from me last night."
My heart lifted. Collins lived across the street and a house over from me. If he was telling the truth, Maureen was my next-door-neighbor. But wait…
"But the Hawke's didn't move away," I said, my brow furrowed.
"They're my Aunt and Uncle," Maureen explained. "I moved in with them."
I would've asked why, but I didn't want to add "nosy" to the already long list of things against me.
"Markie!" I heard a rough voice behind me before an arm was thrown around my shoulders. I rolled my eyes at the horrid nickname.
"Don't call me that, Roger."
Roger Davis just laughed and brushed his long brown hair out of his light green eyes. "And hello. Don't believe we've met. The name's Davis. Roger Davis." He extended his hand to Maureen. She shook it, giggling.
"Johnson. Maureen Johnson."
"You new here?"
"Moved in last night, across from Collins," She nudged Collins lightly. I felt a feeling that I've never felt before rise up in me… possibly jealousy?
As we started the fifteen minute trek home, Roger and Maureen chatted about their hobbies. Turned out that Maureen liked to act and sing, mostly act. Her dream was to act on Broadway or in a Soap Opera. I was kind of zoned out, so when Roger said, "Right, Mark?" I had no idea what he was talking about.
"Uh, yea, sure," was my confused reply.
Roger and Collins burst out into hysterics, turning red in the face.
"What, what, what?!" I asked, wondering what the hell I had just agreed to.
"I knew it!" Roger exclaimed.
"Knew what?!"
"You DO masturbate to Playboy!" Collins was clutching his stomach.
My face flushed and my stomach lunged, "That's NOT TRUE!"
"That's not what you said!" Roger chimed.
I was mortified! More than mortified, actually. My face was bright red and I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt a dainty hand on my shoulder. It was Maureen.
"Do they always do this to you?" She asked softly as my "friends" continued their sadistic laughter.
"Yea…" I sighed, trying not to sound too pathetic.
"Do you… you know…?" She raised an eyebrow.
"No!" I said wearily.
"Okay, okay! Just checking," She offered a small smile, which I half-heartedly returned.
When we reached our square of houses (Roger lived across from me and next to Collins) I quickly bid farewell to my friends and ran into the house and into my room. I was about to pull out my copy of Playboy when my mother called up the stairs.
"Markie! Hurry and wash up! We're having the Hawke's and their niece over for dinner!"
Oh… fuck.
This story is dedicated to three people.
Richie- The unknown inspiration for my Mark. He's the dork and spazz that Mark Cohen is. I love him. VAGINA!
Bella- I don't know what I'd do without you. You're the person I look to when I think of Mark in general. What can I say?- Love, your Long Island Lolita
Trai- Uh... you're only in here because you dedicated your story to me. I actually hate you. P. You whut.
