Author's Notes: I personally don't see Stan and Bill as anything but friends, but here's a little something for the Stenborough fans. It's not really slashy, but it's still cute, at least I think so. :) And of course, there is lots more Reddie.
000
It finally stopped raining, but the clouds are still low and angry in the sky, and the air outside makes me feel like I'm swimming through a swamp. I can't stand this kind of weather, but there's nothing I can really do about it. That's the worst thing about weather- it's something that just happens, and it can be either a gift or a curse. But today, it definitely feels like more of a curse. It feels like the clouds hate me, even more than I sometimes hate myself.
After striking out on the field of Eddie Kasbrak for what feels like the fiftieth fucking time I decide I can't face him again for a while. Usually I like to linger at his locker after school, telling him dirty jokes that make his ears go this pretty shade that I've dubbed Eddie-reddie in my head, but after what happened at lunch today I'm not even sure he wants to be within the same solar system as me, maybe not even the same universe. So instead I invite myself over to Bill's house after school.
"S-S-Stan's coming o-o-over too," says Big Bill as we unlock our bikes from the rack. "He just n-n-n-needs to go h-h-home for a b-bit to get M-M-M-Monopoly."
"Monopoly?" I groan, cursing my luck. I get down on my knees in front of Bill like I'm pleading for my life, because that's sure as hell how it feels. "Anything but that. Anything!"
Monopoly is serious business with Stan and Bill, but me? I'd rather get stampeded to death by a herd of rampaging elephants. At least getting squished underneath a hundred tons of saggy baggies would be more exciting than watching my two dorky friends arguing over who gets to buy Park Place.
"B-b-beep-b-beep, Richie," says Big Bill, but he's smiling at me, and he even helps me up off the ground like the foine, foine gentleman that he is. "Anyway, you d-don't have to pl-pl-play if you don't w-want."
"Like that's supposed to make everything okay," I say with a pained sigh. The only thing worse than playing Monopoly is watching other people play Monopoly.
He just shrugs his shoulders at me and hops onto Silver. I slide onto my battered old Huffy, wincing at how far I have to bend my knees up to get my feet to connect with the pedals. I wish my parents would buy me a new bike, since I've had the same one for almost three years and it's been too small for me for at least a year and a half now, but I know they probably won't. They can't afford it, they'll say, and I'll want to say that's because they spend all of their money on alcohol and cigarettes. I'll want to say that, but in reality I won't actually say anything, because they won't listen anyway.
Part of why I say the things I say to my friends is because I want to make sure that they're listening. When they get annoyed by what I say, at least I know I'm being heard, you know?
So anyway, that's how I find myself in Bill's room this afternoon, watching him and Stan setting up Monopoly. I reach down and steal the little dog token, my favorite. I call him Nicolai, and he's pretty saucy for such an old dog. One time he raided the bank and managed to steal five houses and a couple of hotels right out from under Bill's nose. Sometimes he and the shoe (Eddie's favorite token) get together and wreak havoc all around the board until Stan and Bill start yelling at us, and that's probably the best part I can think of about having to suffer through Monopoly.
I pick up the shoe, turning its cool weight over in my hands. I miss my partner in crime.
Before I can think too much about what I'm doing, I say, "Uh, guys? I have a problem."
"Tell us something we don't already know," deadpans Stan, and Bill smacks his arm. "What?" Stan continues with wide eyes. "He said it, not me."
"Wh-wh-what is it, R-R-R-Richie?" asks Bill, laying a hand on one of my shoulders.
"Actually, it's more of a hypothetical problem," I say, because these guys are two of my best friends, and I don't want to lose too much face in front of them. If they knew I was crushing on Eddie Spaghetti, I'd die a grislier death than Stripe at the end of Gremlins.
"Sure," says Stan, raising one eyebrow. He ducks away before Bill can smack him again.
"D-d-don't listen to h-him. G-g-g-go ahead, R-Richie," says Bill, giving me an encouraging smile.
Instead of looking at them, I look at Nicolai and the shoe, lying side by side in my hand. Part of me wants to bust out with a rousing rendition of "Ebony and Ivory"- you know, side by side on the piano keyboard, oh lord- but I manage to fight it off. For now, anyway.
Instead I say, "Well, hypothetically speaking, what's the best way to get someone to like you?"
"When my mom wants to do something nice for my dad, she makes him a really fancy dinner," says Stan after a pause. "So, maybe something like that?"
"Y-y-yeah, or wh-wh-wh-what about g-g-going somewhere r-romantic, m-m-maybe like wh-where you first m-m-m-met?"
I jump up, letting Nicolai and the shoe fall out of my hands and clatter onto the Monopoly board without so much as a second thought. "Yeah, yeah," I say in my 1920's Gangster Voice. "That's the ticket, see. You guys are the best, see. I'll make sure you don't have to sleep with the fishes tonight, see."
And before they can stop me I'm out the door so fast that I leave a tornado of Monopoly money trailing in my wake. This is for two good reasons: one, I have a lot to think about; and two, in case it isn't obvious by now, I so don't want to play Monopoly with Bill and Stan.
000
The next day is Friday, and Eddie isn't at school. It thunderstormed something fierce last night, so the sky is still overcast, and the gray light peeking through the clouds reminds me that if I don't see Eddie today, I'll have to wait all the way until next weekend to do what I'm planning. And that isn't an option as far as I'm concerned. So, right after school I take my trusty old Huffy and zip on over to the Spaghetti residence to try and convince him to do my bidding.
When he opens the door, right away I notice he isn't wearing his cast anymore. But I jump back, pretending like I don't recognize him for a minute. "Eds! Is that you? There's something different about you today."
"Haha, very funny," he says, rolling his eyes at me. "I got my cast off today, see? That's why I wasn't in school." And he flexes his arm for me, giving me a shy smile that makes me feel as squishy as the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.
I run my fingers down his bare arm, testing it, and he shivers underneath me. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment I swear I can see a sort of sparkle to them that makes me think maybe he likes what I'm doing, but then he clears his throat and looks away while he pushes my hand back against my side.
After pestering him for five more minutes, which pretty much consists of me going, "Please?" and him going, "No!", I finally convince him to hang out with me tomorrow, and even better, he doesn't slam the door in my face. And just like that, my masterful plan is set into motion. This is the time, I tell myself, and I'm not talking about Miller Time. I'm talking about how brilliant my plan is, how it's basically failproof, and by this time tomorrow, my Eddie is going to be mine, like, for real, and not just in my overactive imagination.
On the way back to my bike I notice the Venus fly trap isn't rotting against the side of the house anymore. Probably his mom found it and threw it out. And anyway, what happened to it doesn't matter, because that was one of the old, failed plans. What matters is what I'm going to do tomorrow.
And what I'm going to do tomorrow is going to be nothing short of spectacular.
000
Saturday morning dawns bright and clear and completely free of clouds. It's one of those classic New England September days that almost doesn't seem real, like it belongs in a movie or something like that. Part of me doesn't want to trust it, because this is me, and nothing seems to go my way lately. But what else can I do? Like I said, you can't exactly control the weather. And maybe I'm just being ridiculous like usual. I mean, if yesterday's weather was a curse, today's weather is a gift, and what could possibly go wrong with a gift? I mean, it's not like I'm Jokey Smurf or anything like that.
In a few hours, Eddie and I are seated in Mike's barn. The sheep are baa-ing every which way, and it's a more than a little smelly, but I don't mind. "What are we doing here, Richie?" Eddie asks, wrinkling his nose as he looks around the dim and dusty barn.
"Why, Eds, I'm surprised at you," I tease. "Don't you remember that this is where we first met?"
See, our first grade class went on a field trip to Mike's farm, and when Mike's grandfather showed us around the barn, Eddie was standing right next to me, which sort of surprised me, because usually he avoided me like he thought he was going to catch something from me. He was a cute little guy even back then, with his big brown eyes and the freckles scattered across his cheeks, but he was also super shy. I had been trying to get him to talk to me for ages, but all he would usually do was take one look at me and run away. I think my Voices scared him. Hell, sometimes they scare me.
Anyway, one of the sheep tried to eat his fannypack, and he shrieked. I have to admit I was impressed by the lungs on this peanut of a kid. I didn't think he had it in him at that point, although obviously, I know better now. My Eds is filled with so much fire he burns me on a near daily basis, but I didn't know that back then. So, I grabbed one side the fannypack, and he grabbed the other, and together we pulled it out from the sheep's jaws of doom. I felt almost like Rambo, doing something real heroic, you know? And guys like me don't get many chances to play the hero, so I really relished the awed way he looked at me afterwards.
But it didn't last very long, because once Eddie saw the mangled fannypack, he was so upset he started gasping for air. In between gasps he managed to relay how he had asthma, but I didn't panic, because one of my cousins has it, and I knew what to do. Instead I asked him where his aspirator was and helped him to use it, making myself into an even bigger action hero in his eyes. After he could breathe again, his hand slipped into mine as we walked through the rest of the barn, and every time he looked at me I could see that awed look coming over him again. We've been best friends ever since.
I can't believe it's been seven years since that day. I also can't believe we haven't killed each other yet.
I start opening up the picnic basket that I packed this morning, because I can't wait to show Eddie what else I have for him. Last month it was my mom and dad's anniversary, and my dad took her out for a hot night on the town: dinner and a movie at the Aladdin, but not something cool like Back to the Future or Indiana Jones. Nah, instead they saw this puke-a-riffic movie called Beaches, which I guess my dad wasn't too impressed by, especially because now every time my mom hears "The Wind Beneath My Wings" playing on the radio she starts bawling. Anyway, they couldn't stop raving about the spaghetti bolognese they had for dinner that night.
Spaghetti bolognese sounds pretty gross to me. I mean, baloney and spaghetti, who the hell came up with that little number? But I know Eddie really loves Italian food, so I thought I would impress him with my culinary skills. Okay, so I cheated with the sauce and used a jar of Ragu I found hiding in the pantry, but I cooked the spaghetti all by myself. Then I drained it, mixed it with the sauce, and wrapped a bunch of baloney around it. Maybe it doesn't look very pretty, and to be honest I'm not sure it's going to taste very pretty, but my parents were so excited about it, I figure it has to be something really special, right?
Beside, it's a great excuse to pull out my Italian accent, which I am even more proud of than the spaghetti bolognese. "You are-a going to-a think-a zis meal is out of zis world-a," I promise Eddie, giving my pinched fingers a smacking kiss for emphasis.
But when I open the Tupperware container, Eddie makes a face. "What is that?" he asks, blinking at me.
"What does it look like? It's spaghetti bolognese," I tell him. "It's très romantique. My parents love it."
He gives me the weirdest look, like he's torn between yelling at me and hugging me. But just then, Mike's grandfather comes blasting into the barn, and he. Is. Pissed. "What are you kids doing here?" he shouts, glaring at us.
I'm so startled I drop the spaghetti bolognese, and it goes spilling onto the dirt floor before we even got a chance to try any of it. Eddie is starting to wheeze beside me, but I don't think it's an asthma attack this time. I think he's just scared, but I can't say I blame him, not with Mike's grandfather looking at us like his head's about to explode. Eddie's hand slips into mine, just like it did seven years ago when we first became friends, right here in this very place. And how fucking perfect is that?
"You kids can't be in here, it's dangerous," Mike's grandfather continues, even though I don't see what could possibly be dangerous about a barnful of sheep. I mean, what are they going to do, baa us to death?
Mike's grandfather yells, "Get out!" and we... well, we get out. Duh.
As we flee from the barn I realize we left the picnic basket behind. Maybe I can call Mikey and get him to retrieve it for me later, and as an extra added bonus, maybe it'll be a good chance for me to brush up on my Yogi Bear impression. Hey, Mikey... I think I need to find my pickanick basket!I also realize that Eddie is still holding my hand, and it feels amazing. Like, I'm light-headed, and that's just from holding his cute little hand.
The sky is blue and clear and cloudless as far as I can see. And even though there are no clouds today, I have a feeling that the good clouds are just around the corner. The shapes in the clouds will start to form again, and I find myself excited to discover just what they'll turn out to be.