Hey, guys. This story is gonna take place when Otto and Twister are in their Junior year of High school, and Reggie is in her senior year.
Disclaimer: I do not own rocket power or rent or anything else I talk about in this fic.
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Five-Hundred, Twenty-Five Thousand, Six Hundred minutesFive-Hundred, Twenty-Five Thousand moments so dear
Five-Hundred, Twenty-Five Thousand, Six Hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?
Twister Rodriques felt his head hit a cold wall as he slumped down against it. His camera had broken down again. "Piece of shit…"
Every town has it's less-appealing part, whether the lawns simply haven't been mowed in months, or the area was plainly a dump. Downtown Ocean Shores was a dump, and Twister was in the worst part of it.
He had started this… hobby… last year when he was forced to do some community service after setting a garbage can on fire in school. Apart from cleaning garbage, talking to senior citizens, and reading to children, he also had to work at a homeless shelter in this area.
One day while he was walking to the shelter, he passed an elderly woman in baggy clothing, laying on the ground. Out of nowhere, two cops came and began to beat her with nightsticks, threatening her to get off the sidewalk.
It really sickened me, so I did the only thing I could do, with the only thing I had.
"Smile for 10 years in prison, officers" I grinned as they stared into the lens of my camera, which had caught them in their cruel act. They froze, and stalked away.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Twister remembered the woman's voice clearly still today. "I don't need no help from some bleeding heart cameraman. My life's not for you to make a name for yourself on!"
"But I was just…"
"Just trying to use me to kill your guilt! It's not that kind of movie, honey. Im gonna go- this lot is full of fucking artists."
Twister began to turn around.
"Hey, artist"
Twister turned back to expect an "I'm sorry", or maybe a "thanks".
"You gotta dollar?
Twister looked at the ground and shook his head. He didn't think of bringing any money with him.
"I didn't think so."
Then there's Otto. He moved out kind of young, sort of. Not legally, of course, since he's only 16. He hasn't slept in his own bed for about a year now. He stays with our friend, Sean, downtown. And why would he bother giving up his warm, comforting bed for a crappy little apartment in the worst part of town? His dreams.
It started when he was fourteen. First year of highschool. The doctors found he had a mild case of A.D.H.D. It didn't really seem to affect his work or anything, like we all expected, but it did explain his hyperactivity. So, he decided he didn't want to take an elective class where he would have to sit down and listen to a teacher rabble on and on for an extra 40 minutes. He chose to take theatre I. After about a week in the class, he fell in love. With acting. With moving, with pretending he was someone he's not, and it just went from there. He joined Proscenium, the school's theatre group, and had a small, supporting roll in his first musical, A Chorus Line. Although it was small, he gave it everything he had, and the theatre director fell in love. With Otto's acting. He had talent, he could sing, he could dance, he could lie, he could convince anyone of anything. A perfect actor.
In his sophomore year, he took Theatre II, while taking a much bigger role in the school's next musical, Les Miserables. He did an outstanding job, and it took him to this year, which is the year he is finally shining. He is taking Theatre II again, while being supervised by an agent. A real agent. He is also taking theatre classes at our local community college, and best of all, he got the lead role, surpassing all the seniors, of Mark Cohen, in his outstanding performance in RENT.
One day, he asked me to wait for him after rehersal so I could give him a ride home, since his car had broken down. It was boring standing outside, leaning on the car, so I decided to go inside and watch him, and that's where it happened.
He was dancing with Kiki Marques, who played JoAnne, and he was singing in the scene Tango: Maureen. He twirled, he danced, he sang, he really was Mark Cohen while he was up there. He was incredible. He didn't care what he looked like, as long as he looked like his character.
He was talented.
He was amazing.
He was incredible.
He was beatutifull.
He's the one I'm in love with.
Yes, that's right. I'm gay, and I'm in love with my best friend, Otto Rocket.
Then came that night that broke my heart. The night that I cried myself to sleep. He was leaving.
By the night of his star performance, he had been staying with Sean for about 11 ½ months.
He was amazing.
He was incredible.
He was talented.
The New York University of Performing Arts thought so, too.
They promised him a four year scholarship to their college. In New York. As in the other side of the country.
Of course, I told him how awesome he was on stage, how good he did, but I couldn't really feel too proud of him at the moment. Maybe that's not the right way to say it. I was proud, but, I couldn't feel any good for him at the moment.
I cried that night, and he saw my light on through my bedroom window at 2:30 a.m., and got worried. He called me that night, and asked what was wrong.
I told him I was proud.
I told him I was happy.
I told him nothing was wrong.
But he knew, he knows me better than anyone else.
So…
I told him I'd miss him.
I told him I didn't want him to leave me.
I told him I loved him.
He said, "really?"
I got scared.
I hung up.
And he is leaving next week.
We haven't talked about that night since.
So that's why I'm here. I'm making a documentary of life in downtown Ocean Shores, how these people need help, food, money, jobs, whatever.
But today I'm going to say goodbye.
I can't leave it like this.
