Title: You Got It
Rating: T
Summary: PreRENT. Mark's POV. School fic. Mark sings of his fantasy rendezvous with Maureen. Starring Mark as himself and Roger as... Maureen. XD Songfic, of course.
Notes: This was partially inspired by Stephanie Pascal's "Girl All the Bad Guys Want." So kudos to her. (Huggles) I also heard this song and this fic wrote itself in my head. :)
I also couldn't resist throwing the word seriousfuckinly in there, in case you wonder.
The song is "You All Dat" by Baha Men.
Also... this is not meant to be taken TOO seriously. ;)
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I glared at him, though I knew it would do nothing. He merely continued to strum his guitar boredly, occasionally sending one of his infamous super-cocky make-girls-go-weak-at-the-knees grins in my direction.
This served only to infuriate me further, and with each random chord, my blood boiled hotter. I clenched my hands into fists, staring steadfast at the wall to avoid his green eyes, which were surely gazing upon me with amusement.
"Marky." Roger stated suddenly, letting his hands go slack and settling his guitar into his lap. "You still haven't answered my question."
I scrunched my eyebrows together, knotting them into a V shape.
He smiled innocently and asked again, "When will you get yourself a girl, Mark? I mean, I'm out on dates almost every night, and you... you stay behind. Sometimes, I worry that I'll come over to your place to find that you've chewed your own scarf in absolute boredom and insanity, and I'll have to rush you to the hospital and have them pump yards of yarn from your stomach."
I chuckled drily, the noise that scraped from my throat nearly soundless and foreign.
"Seriousfuckinly..." Roger stated, putting down his guitar and settling further into the cushions of his chair. "Have you even talked to Maureen lately… ever?"
I could feel my face go red instantly, that rosy hue climbing into my cheeks at mention of her name. Suddenly that abandoned calculus homework that lay at my feet was interesting... a downright miracle.
"Look, Cohen, let's skip this awkwardness. I know you've had a crush on her practically since you were still in diapers." Roger said, clearly enjoying my pained silence. "Man, just grow a pair and ask her out."
At this point, I snapped. "A-ask... a-a-ask... ask her out? Roger Davis, guys like me don't just ask girls like Maureen Johnson out. It's just not in the nature of things."
"Guys like you don't ask chicks out at all." Roger hid a smile behind his hand as he leaned forward, propping his chin up with his fist. "Which is why guys like you are still virgins."
"Shut up." I growled, thoroughly unhappy with him by now. I mean, first I agree to study with him out of the goodness of my heart, and I come to his house and get this?
And yeah... we were REALLY studying. RIGHT.
Roger laughed, eyes still on mine.
"It's not that simple, Rog!" I shouted at him. "She's the most popular girl at school, and me? I'm no one. I'm NO ONE, Roger. How the hell could I ever simply ask her out?"
Roger dropped his arm and pursed his lips in mock thought. "Well, actually, it's quite easy, Marky. You walk up to her and utter six words. Say them with me now: Will... you... go... out... with... me. Question mark."
"Roger, she doesn't even know I exist!"
"Sure she does. She was just talking about you the other day."
A glimmer of hope exploded within me. "Really? What did she say?"
Roger scrunched up his nose and looked at the ceiling. "She said, 'Mark? Isn't he that one kid who cried that one time when he spilled brown paint on his pants in art class?" This was followed by muffled snickers.
It was safe to say that the hope had been snuffed out. "I was in the first grade, Roger. And it looked like I shit myself. You'd cry too."
"I doubt it." Roger said nonchalantly, waving a hand.
"Okay..." I plopped down beside him on the floor. "So she knows me as 'Shitty Cry Pants Kid', where do I go from that, Roger? Tell me that."
"Um... you actually would mosey on up to her and... I don't know, maybe talk to her?" Roger said as if it were the most obvious and least difficult thing in the universe to comprehend.
"Then?"
"Then you ask her out." Roger said drily. "Damn, Mark... I don't recall signing up to give you a crash course on scoring chicks. What is this Romance 101? Because Professor Roger is not available."
"No." I pouted. "It isn't. I flunked out of that already, I think."
"You didn't flunk out, you were denied admittance." Roger corrected, and I sighed, kind of fed up. "But you're my friend, Mark... so I'll help you, because that's what friends do."
He didn't say it in an ultra-mushy-gushy way, but it was still
uncharacteristic of him. I managed a grateful smile, despite the fact that I was still very frustrated with him.
"Really?"
"Yes... I'll try to help you get Maureen Johnson. But you owe me, man. Especially since I think you're a lost cause no matter what I say or do about it."
"Shut up and HELP me, then, Roger!"
"Right. So first you have to figure out how to ask her out."
"As if she'd say yes." I said dully, playing with my shoelace.
Roger chuckled. "I rest my case."
I smacked him. "NOT HELPING!"
"Ow... dammit." He spat, rubbing his shoulder. "Alright. I'm sorry. I was trying to help. I mean... maybe if you got a girlfriend your status would climb... a hair."
I glared at him again.
"From like, super-nerd to just plain nerd."
"That's very reassuring." I quipped sarcastically. "Roger, what if she flat out says no?"
"Then you crawl into a hole somewhere and sob, I dunno."
I gaped at him. "You don't know? Rog, you cannot tell me that you've never been refused by a girl?"
He looked thoughtfully at me for a moment. "This is me, we're talking about, Mark. The guy girls throw themselves at in the halls."
"Fuck you."
He laughed again, always so fucking amused by my lack of skill with the ladies. "I don't know what to say, Mark. I guess... just figure out everything you want to say to her and have it ready when you finally stop being such a chicken shit."
A halfhearted glare wasn't really worth it at this point. I merely ignored the negative aspects of what my friend had said and stood up. "I already have it all planned out."
He raised an eyebrow. "Really? Cohen, I'm impressed... let's hear it."
"What?"
"Come on, Marky. It can't hurt. Let's hear what you'll say to Maureen."
I looked at him, skeptical. "Why, so you can laugh at me?"
"Yes..." Roger began. "I mean no... maybe."
A moment of silence passed between us.
"Come on. Just... pretend I'm Maureen."
The thought of this made me laugh. He smiled. "I'm not kidding." He stood up with a dramatic flourish and tossed imaginary curls behind his shoulder, batting his eyelashes. "Pretend I'm Maureen."
I sighed deeply, mourning for any dignity that I'd inevitably lose after this, before resigning to my fate. "Alright, so here's what I have in mind..."
"Hold on, let's set the mood." Roger said quickly, interjecting into my line of thought. "Where will this be?"
I thought for a moment. "That party. Next week."
Roger looked almost proud of this boldness, but soon returned to business. "In other words, Maureen will be there, with all her popular girl friends, most likely wearing a shirt with more than mild boob popage."
I shuddered then, taking a step back. "God, Roger." Why do I have to have such a vivid imagination? "Just... stop it... you're Maureen now, remember? Don't put those sorts of images of you into my mind! "
"Oh all right, you killjoy." He teased, and then he positioned himself in his greatest impression of a flirtatious pose, and held his cupped hands in front of his chest, grinning wickedly.
"Stop it." I insisted, and he dropped his hands to his sides, trying a girly smile. He gave me an attempt at an extra-alluring Maureen look, eyes gazing expectantly at me.
"Better?'
"No... but it'll do, I suppose." I said lamely, thinking of what to say. How awkward is this? And he looks fucking ridiculous.
He noticed my hesitation, and cleared his throat. "Mark, how will you approach her at the party? What will you say to her? What will you she be doing?"
A creative spark hit me then, and I wanted to do a happy jig. "Okay, Ro-Maureen. This is how it will all go down."
I jumped up and crossed to the other side of the room, twirling my scarf around my arm in a positively chipper and hopefully adorable way. "I was up with the moon, and down with the stars, and the party was carrying on..." I decided to start with the general idea of the setting, to prepare myself better.
Then, Roger, with a nauseatingly high-pitched falsetto, jumped in, adding, "Parrrtttaaay!"
That was so unnecessary. I shook my head in disdain and continued. "All the girls were outside, kicking sand, sipping on mohitos..."
"Ooohwoooohhooohooh!" Roger cut in, shaking his hips and sipping at a fake drink. It was at this point that I confirmed my suspicions. My best friend was evil. And more than slightly frightening at many times.
"And all the boys were standing around, dancing the congo..." I imagined, truly trying to put myself into this story.
"Hey-hey, hey-hey, hey-heeeeyyyyy!" Fuck, he was obnoxious.
I attempted to ignore this and strutted casually toward him a bit. "And then, woah! There she was, I think she's looking right at me!'
"No way!" Roger claimed, now preening himself. Oh, dear Lord.
I shook my head again, and fell back into my groovy little step I had going on. Whilst making sure not to trip over the hem of my jeans, I shot back at him, "Hey! I know what I see when I see it!"
"Right!" He chimed, spinning in a circle and patting his hair.
"Watch me go down there and do my talk," I stated, fake-confidently. "Damn girl, I just got something to say...!"
Roger smiled and waggled his pinky at me, before giggling and whispering to imaginary Maureen-friends around him. Damn, he's good at this.
At this point, I was really into the story, and I weaved around him
cautiously, preparing for my next move. "Tell me will it be okay if I say..." This is where I decided to sound hip, you know, fly. "..you got it! You all dat! You got it!"
Roger, obviously trying not to laugh and screw up the act, merely blinked in surprise. You all dat?
I don't think I quite pulled the weight of that one.
But at this point, I didn't care. It was time to take things to the next level. I would NOT have him laughing at me if I could avoid it.
"Baby, don't turn me away!" I crooned, bopping my head up and down. Hell yes, I had this on LOCK now.
But, putting it into perspective, things wouldn't come to me as easy as pie. So, I decided to throw in the probable conflict. "All the girls started laughing at me..."
"HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!" Roger said, tossing his head back and forth and smacking his lips. I hate him. Truly.
I backed away from him a few inches. "I had to make a quick retreat, get ready for round two!"
"BONG!" What the fuck? Where did Roger get a gong?
Shaking it off, I decided to get poetic. I mean, hell, what girl doesn't like poetry? "'Cause my love is like a bomb, about to explode, and only she can light my fuse...!" Pathetic.
But I continued on.
My mother always said I was a trooper.
"So I'm walking...!" I narrated.
"Woah!" Roger said, voice suddenly deeper, in fake shock.
"...I'm talking!"
"Way!" What the hell? Way? Why did he just say WAY?
"...dang girl, I just got something to say." I stated solemnly, circling him again. He watched me walk, having way too much fun with this.
If he were really Maureen...this would be a lot harder. I thought, feeling uneasy. But then, he wasn't really Maureen, so why the hell did I agree to do this and humiliate myself?
And it'll be even worse... next week.
Sighing, I hopped back into the game, hoping that next week wouldn't be my week to make a fool of myself.
Not that every other week wasn't.
"Desperate men make desperate moves, so I dropped to my knees and prayed!" I sang soulfully, and I cringed a bit when Roger jumped in.
"Yeah!" He never had much of a voice for... gospel, really.
"Please God, just one time, give me a night of ecstasy just for two." I clasped my hands together and fell onto my knees, staring toward the heavens.
"So I opened my eyes..." I started, and stopped when I saw Roger looming over me, a sideways smile adorning his face.
"... and to my surprise," I improvised. "My goddess of love..." Damn, it felt weird calling Roger that. "... was standing there." And then, an amazing idea popped into my head.
If Roger liked acting like Maureen so much to tease me, and found this SO DAMN funny, why not give him more of a chance to do so?
Why not give myself a chance to laugh at Roger for a change?
It was time to put Roger in the spotlight. He almost never is able to step up to the plate under pressure. "And she said..." I finished, prompting Roger to come up with something to say as Maureen, and fast.
But of course, my flawless plan, wasn't so flawless after all.
It seemed he was exceptionally good at this. For reasons I'd rather not know.
Yes, Roger, without so much as a pause, flicked his hand back and looked at his nails. He took a breath, looked me in the eye, and winked. Then, he spoke.
"Damn baby, got something to say? Well, c'mon, hurry up, I don't got all day." He pinched my cheek then, like some great-aunt or something. "You got the hots for me, I can see, but you gotta give ALL you got to get me." No kidding. "So c'mon, c'mon," He goaded, lightly slapping my chest. "... what you got? Give it to me. If not, you're like all other guys who wanna do me, huh?" His gaze of scorn then was
dead on. And then, for a finish, he got right up in my face, looking quite pleased with himself. "Let me show you how it's done, you gotta have balls, or you ain't gonna get none!"
Owned. I sighed internally, momentarily at a loss for words, stunned both by Roger's impressive improv performance and by its frightening accuracy. And by the pure shock of hearing him talk like that.
Roger knew he'd got me. He danced around me in a circle, flaunting his butt and imaginary chest. This, also, was rather disturbing. You get used to it when you're friends with the guy for awhile.
Not the boobs-butt dance. I mean, the awkward disturbed-ness.
The boobs-butt dance is reserved for special occasions only.
Don't even fucking ask.
When I'd recovered slightly from the trauma, I turned to "Maureen" and started again, hoping to regain my upper hand. "I know you hear this fifty times a day."
Roger nodded, snapping nonexistent gum between his teeth. "Well fifty-one, after you say what you gotta say!"
Burn. I fumbled for words, suddenly forgetting everything I ever dreamed of saying to Maureen Johnson.
"Tick-tock, yo, the clock is ticking," Roger pointed out, tapping the side of my head and then his wrist.
"I'm under pressure...I'm nervous -..." I tried, but it was no use. I was sweating profusely, and my anxiety was at its peak.
"Chicken!" Roger said with a tinkling laugh that rendered my eardrums numb.
I pulled myself up tall, ears ringing. This was it. My final chance to prove that I had what it takes to ask a girl like Maureen out.
"Hold up, girl, listen up, here I go..." Was my preamble. "You're all dat, you definitely got it, girl."
I know what he was thinking. You all dat? Mark Cohen... just said 'You all dat'? Again... even though he didn't quite pull it off the last time?
The threat of bursting into a fit of laughter nearly overtook Roger then but he managed to simply smile and ask seriously, "What you want? What you need?..."
"...what I gotta say?" I finished, feeling very proud of the extremely poetic and romantic rhyme that was to follow. "Give me your hand, and let me take you away ..."
And just like that, Roger was snickering and he grabbed my hand. "Okay."
"You got it!" We sang together, "You all dat! You got it? Baby, you tow me away!"
Hearing Roger accept my offer was like an explosion of stars in my brain as I imagined Maureen taking my hand in hers, her ivory skin, her perfectly shaped, rose-tinted lips...
All my surroundings faded away...
I was up with the moon, and down with the stars,
And me and my baby was going to our own party.
Until...
Two hands flew up out of nowhere, cupping before my eyes. I snapped back to reality, and found myself staring at the backs of Roger's curved hands.
Then, his livid voice floated to my ears. "My face is UP HERE, asshole!"
He chuckled as I shifted my gaze out of half-daydream and looked up into his eyes. My mouth hung open a bit, and my eyes were probably looking a little glazed.
"What?" He shook his hands. "Bit jealous, are we?" And then, he reached over and patted my shoulder. "Needn't worry, Marky. Once that puberty hits, you'll fill out too. Like overnight... it'll be like, BAM! I've got cleavage!"
"Roger..." I started, irritated with him greatly after his little antics.
"Yes, Marky?" He tittered.
"You're not Maureen. So grow a pair and shut your damn mouth." Using his own words against him felt SO good.
So did seeing him drop his hands, looking mildly shocked and bemused.
In fact, I was pretty proud of myself at that point, and happiness flooded me.
That is... until...
"Mark... no offense dude, but even after that little... dress-rehearsal, your chances haven't improved much."
No shit, Sherlock.
"Well, I'm glad you're here to tell me these things." I said with a sigh, hopping back onto the couch.
"You're welcome, buddy." He said, in a sing-song voice.
I wanted to sock him.
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Weird and strange and... random. I know.
But, I gotta say, the mental images of Roger acting like Maureen were quite entertaining as I wrote this. XD
And argh, typing with a somewhat injured hand is no fun. Now I know how poor Adam Pascal feels... :(
(Hugs Adam)
REVIEWS? (No flames, please!)