A/N: I actually wasn't going to update this until I finished the eleventh chapter (which I haven't finished). I'm having trouble with it. Outright struggling is more like it. It's from Otto's perspective, and I have to admit, Otto is the hardest character for me to write. Bastard, making me struggle. Anyways, I figured I'd made you all wait long enough...but don't expect the next chapter for a very, very, very long time. I have a lot of shit to get together, a lot of fanfics to wrap up, and this is last on my to-do list. Not that I don't plan on keeping up with this one. It's one of my favorite fics right now, actually.

Moving on. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews ya'll. I plan on going through a replying to everyone using the nifty "reply" function. So, if you didn't log in, chances are you won't get a reply. So thanks so very much for your review!

Gah! I love Nirvana! One of my favorite bands...The song for the next chapter borrows lyrics from this song. Points to whoever can guess what the song for the next chapter will be!

ENJOY!


Chapter 7: Lies the Truth

Come, as you are

As you were, as I want you to be

As a friend, as a friend

As an old enemy

Take your time, hurry up

The choice is yours, don't be late

Take a rest

As a friend, as an old memoria

-Nirvana, "Come As You Are"

Lars had never noticed so blatantly how rarely his parents were home as he did that day while he paced nervously the living room floor. They'd never come home that night, and when he'd called his father's office, he'd gotten a short reply from the late night secretary snapping, "he's in a meeting". He'd slammed the phone down, and only then did he realize it was four in the morning, what kind of meeting would his father be in? Now it was Sunday afternoon, and neither parent had returned as of yet. Didn't they both have Sundays off?

He tried to sit, lifted himself up, went back to pacing. He tried to figure out what he would say, tried to be happy his parents weren't home yet, as it would give him plenty of time to figure out how he would approach the subject. But he wasn't happy. With each minute that ticked by, he became more frantic, more anxious, more agitated. He paused, in the middle of the floor, closed his eyes tight and ran his hands over his face.

"Mom, dad," he said in a low whisper, "Maurice could have died last night."

He sighed, collapsing on the couch and staring up to the ceiling. He hadn't realized how hard it was going to be. The night before, staring at Maurice's trembling sleeping form, he had been so gung-ho about telling his parents. He was ready to race down the stairs the minute they walked through the door and clobber them with the news. Now…now he was having second thoughts about even telling them.

"Maybe I could talk to him," Lars mused, "Maybe I could give him the D.A.R.E. lecture and he'll stop all this shit." Lars chuckled slightly, then broke into a full laugh. He knew if he didn't laugh, he would bawl his eyes out. The ridiculousness of that thought was more than he could bare. His brother was in deep, last night was more than evident of that, and no amount of "Just Say No" would curve him back on the right track.

Lars gradually fell silent, staring up at the white ceiling with a blank expression. He felt like he'd aged twenty years that night. All of Maurice's frailties had come to light so blazingly to Lars as his brother lolled in his arms, coughed up chunks of blood, and left a crimson red ring in the bathtub. How come, Lars scolded himself, how come he hadn't noticed how thin, how sick, how scraggily and weak his brother had gotten. How distant and deranged. He was supposed to be older. Big brother, protector and caretaker. Their parents weren't around, he was supposed to watch Maurice. He'd failed. He'd messed up. He'd let his little brother fall behind, he let his little brother get lost along the way.

Lars had hated to admit it, when they were younger, but he was jealous of Maurice in a way he never understood. The younger boy had so much talent and promise and potential. That's what all the teachers would say to his parents. "He has the potential to be something amazing," they would say as they discussed the younger boy's latest failing grade, "but he doesn't try." They would show his parents doodles he'd do on the desk or on his notes and homework, video projects that blew other kids' work out of the water, an obvious perception that went beyond anything the other kids were even capable of. He was intelligent, it was undoubted. One teacher was adamant that Maurice should be put in more advanced classes, honors classes even. But the councilor recommended that he go into remedial and special ed, and their parents were reluctant, but agreed.

Lars had laughed back then. Maurice, in advanced classes? It had to be some sort of joke. He'd even called the teacher an idiot. Now he wondered, what if that teacher had got her way and Maurice was in the advanced classes? Would Maurice have fallen away from his old friends? Would he be the mess he is now?

A bright memory, shined in the back of his mind, of a Sand Castle Tournament that Maurice had entered with his friends, the Rocket siblings and the Squid. Lars, with his cronies Pi and Sputz, had stood on the Pier watching the competition and wishing they were out on the waves, as the beach had been closed that afternoon for the Sand Castle building. Lars had spotted his younger brother, and been surprised. But he'd thought nothing of it, walking the length of the beach and picking on younger kids that got in his way. It wasn't until later that day when Maurice came running up to him that he became involved.

It had probably been Maurice's passion that Lars had envied the most. His ability to show his emotions, to plead with an older brother for help, even if his cries seemed to fall on deaf ears. He would give up his dignity, throw himself prostrate to shame, all for one moment, to save his sand structure just long enough for it to be admired and seen and to fulfill its purpose. He had been such a sweet kid, and Lars didn't realize how important that was to him until that boy was gone.

I don't know what I was thinking. Those words had stuck with Lars that day, until the last minute, when he broke and led his friends to hold the tide water back as the judges snapped a picture of the kids' work of art, or Maurice's was more like it. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Maurice was the craftsman behind that near-perfect replica of the Ocean Shores Pier.

Lars frowned. Where had that kid gone, with those bright eyes and wild imagination. That little boy could build cities from sand and no one ever knew.

He went away, Lars lamented, and he's never coming back.

-0-0-

Otto stumbled down the stairs, nearly knocked down as he collided with his father who easily caught him.

"Whoa, Rocket boy," Ray cried, setting his son back on balance, "Where's the fire?" He frowned then, placing a hand over Otto's forehead, "You feel alright? You look sick…and it's well past noon, are you just waking up?"

"I'm fine, Raymundo," Otto mumbled, swatting his father's hand away and pushing his way past, "There any breakfast left?"

"Uh…no, I think your sister cleared it all away. Drop by the Shore Shack, though, and I'm sure Tito won't mind grilling you something to eat."

"Sure thing, dad. Nothing like a Shack Burger for breakfast…"

"What are your plans today?" Ray asked casually, leaning against the banister and peering curiously down at his son.

"I don't know," Otto shrugged, "Well…now…drop by the Shack," he forced a grin and his father nodded with a slight smirk, "I'll probably hang with Jamal at Madtown, and…uh…what are you looking at me like that for?" Ray had lost all signs of pleasantness and cheer from his face, his forehead had tensed and his eyes had hardened.

"Conroy called."

Otto groaned, slumping against the wall and glaring up at his father, sneering, "And what did he say?" Ray took a deep breath.

"Now, Otto, I have always instilled in you to be the bigger man in situations like that…"

"Dad," Otto squawked, "You weren't there, alright! You didn't hear what he said about Reggie! Or what he said about Sam! Or what he did to both of them!"

"Regardless, son," Ray interjected, taking a serious tone, "You know better than swinging punches. You should have gone to Conroy if you were having trouble with this other boy. He said he didn't want to have to, but you're suspended from Madtown for a week."

"What?" Otto cried, "That's not fair, dad! I didn't do anything, it was that lame-o…"

"Did you or did you not punch him first?"

"It doesn't matter! He was being a jerk…"

"Regardless, Otto," Ray snapped, "You have to demonstrate that you can rise above that kind of behavior. There were children there and you didn't set a very good example for them."

"Trust me, dad," Otto sneered, "Punching that jerk was rising above it."

"Otto…" Ray sighed, feeling any slight anger fizzle as he looked down at his impertinent son. There was so much of him in that younger boy he didn't know whether to swell with pride or lay awake worrying at night, "I know you think you were doing the right thing…but…this was a situation you should have let Conroy handle. Conroy could have called the kid's parents and then between the three of them they could have decided an appropriate disciplinary action and…"

"Jesus Christ, dad," Otto growled, slamming his fist against the wall behind him, "You're starting to sound like them. Listen to me, none of that would have worked! His parents don't seem to give a shit what he does! I mean, he went to jail for beating Josh to a bloody pulp and he was hanging at Madtown the very next day. His parents didn't do anything about that, what makes you think they'd do anything about him shoving a girl and vandalizing another kid's property? I mean, jeez, I used to think they cared…but now…they let him run around and do whatever the hell he wants. I never thought I'd see the day where I'd rather hang out with his older brother than him…"

"Alright, I think I'm getting the…" Ray scrunched his nose, "Wait a minute…who are we…who we talking about here, kid?"

"Conroy didn't tell you?" Otto cried in exasperation, "Maurice!"

"Maurice…as in…Maurice Rodriguez?" Ray questioned. Otto nodded incredulously and Ray sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He sat down on the steps of the stairs and motioned for his son to follow suit. Otto reluctantly did so. "Talk to me, Otto. I know that kids grow apart…but…talk to me. What's going on between you and Twister?" Otto bolted to his feet before he could control himself.

"Maurice, Raymundo. He goes by Maurice, now," Otto snapped, trembling with inexplicable rage, "And what's there to talk about? The fact he's a total lame-o? The fact he thinks he's top dog and treats everyone around him like shit? I don't care what happens to him. I hope he gets sent to juvie until he's twenty-one! It's where he belongs. And me, punching him, is what he deserved. And if Conroy hadn't stepped in, I would have given him a lot more of what he deserved.

"And don't bother feeding me that bullshit about how me and him used to be best bros, and had been since we were in diapers, so I should show a little compassion or something stupid like that! Because I don't give a shit what he does, I don't care about him. He's a traitor, dad, and don't bother giving me a lame speech about how 'kids grow apart, it's only natural', because we didn't grow apart. He pushed me and the rest of us, Reg and Sam and all, into the gravel and trampled all over us and stabbed us in the back repeatedly. So he can go to hell, alright? For all I care, he can go to hell!"

Otto made to rush out the door, but his father's voice calling his name brought him to a halt and he stood with his back to the stairs shaking uncontrollably.

"I know it's difficult losing someone who was such a big part of your life, son," Ray whispered, "I know you're frustrated, and you don't understand. I'm not going to ask you to show compassion, and I'm not going to tell you that it's natural for kids to grow apart. Truth is, I want you to stay away from him, go out of your way if you have to. I just don't want you getting mixed into a feud with him," Ray sighed, lowering his eyes to stare at his hands sprawled out over his knees, "I never thought that he'd fall into that kind of crowd. I'd always thought he was such a good kid…but…I heard about last night from Paula and…I don't want you or Reg anywhere near him. I don't know what he's into, though I can take a few unkind guesses, I don't want you two around it. If he's in your way, go around. If he's hanging out where you wanted to hang out, go somewhere else. If he's trying to provoke you into some sort of conversation or argument, walk away. I know you can be a little hotheaded," Ray chuckled slightly and it sounded a bit pained, "It runs in the family…but you got to let it go, son. It'll be hard…but just…ignore him. I'm going to talk to Reg about this later, I know Sam's mom is telling him the same thing. I'll talk to Jamal's and Eddie's parents, and I know Josh's parents will tell him the same."

"Are they going to press charges?" Otto questioned, peeking at his father, who seemed to look almost defeated on those steps.

"I don't know. I think they talked to Raul and decided against it depending on what measures the Rodriguezes decide to take in punishing Maurice," Ray answered solemnly, "I want you to understand. He needs help, Otto, and I don't know if he's going to get it. I don't want to say that Raul and Sandy are bad parents…but it's hard to admit when your kid's in trouble." Otto nodded, slowly.

"Can I go now, dad?" he asked carefully.

"Yeah, sure. Where you gonna be?"

"I'll pick up something to eat from Tito, and then I think I'll head to the beach," Otto answered carefully. His father gave a grunt of approval and he slipped from the house.

Otto jogged down the street from their cul-de-sac, slowing in his sprint as he passed the Rodriguez house and studying it. He came to a halt, staring up at the large two story building, weatherworn and sun beaten. He knew he could point out, without even having to look, the exact location of Maurice's bedroom window. They'd had shouted conversations from their bedroom windows when they were grounded and unable to use the telephone almost every other week growing up. They'd snuck out of bedroom windows in the middle of the night to meet and do some midnight shredding at Madtown, and Otto had stayed the night so many times in that house, he'd been to that bedroom so many times, he could point it out.

He didn't even know what the room looked like now. It had been almost three years since he'd stepped foot inside that room, let alone the Rodriguez house. A tie-dyed blanket in reggae colors of bright red, green, and yellow was draped over the window now blocking visibility inside. It had never been covered even with blinds before. He'd wondered when that blanket had gone up. He'd never noticed it before, but realized, it had been there a long while. When had it become natural to see that brightly colored rug instead of the room beyond?

Otto sighed, his eyes falling back down and they paused on the lawn, where Maurice had thrown up the night before. It appeared that someone, Lars most likely, had attempted to clean the vomit up. But the chunks of blackening crimson red were still there and Otto was suddenly overwhelmed with nausea. Was that blood?

…so fuck you, Otto, fuck all of you.

Otto shook his head, dreadlocks flung wildly about. He took a deep breath, trying to shake that image from his mind. He'd never seen anyone look so feral, so dangerous and insane. Otto had been scared. He couldn't even begin to explain the fear that had gripped his heart that night. He'd tried to hate that boy. That tall, lanky, intimidating and sharp featured creature that had replaced his childhood best friend. But all he ever felt was disgusted…sick and disgusted. And, to his dissatisfaction, sad. He'd tried to chase memories from his head, that flashed in front of his eyes of a smiling redhead in a yellow striped cap, grinning stupidly and shredding with the rest of them at Madtown, Spray Beach, chilling out and eating at the Shack, laughing between classes. It didn't work. Twister was a ghost that would probably haunt Otto the rest of his life.

He took a deep breath, continuing down the street at a slower pace. He could have sworn he saw, for a moment, the multi-colored blanket ruffle, flutter, as though someone had peeked out them, but he decided it was probably just his imagination playing tricks on him.

Where had things gone wrong, he wondered. Was it in Maurice, all that time, to become like this? Was it like an insect…a parasite growing in the pit of his heart, even when they were children laughing and playing and all that shit, that one day consumed Maurice entirely? Were there signs, Otto wondered? Could he have known, if he'd paid more attention, that Maurice was going to turn bad?

Otto clenched his jaw, trying to loosen the tensed muscles in his shoulders and arms. Looking back on everything, it had seemed to happen so fast. One minute they were best bros, the next minute it was like he was looking in on Maurice's life, like Maurice was in a little snow globe and he could shake it up every now and then, but he couldn't reach in and directly affect anything. He wasn't a part of the snowy scenery. But it hadn't happened that quickly, had it? Did it happen at all? Otto would wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, drenched in sweat and be completely convinced that the past few years had been nothing but a bad nightmare and that in the morning he would walk with Twister to school with Sam and Reggie and they'd all be laughing, off in their own extreme sports world the way they had been in childhood. But then he would see that every picture, the framed group shot on his bed stand, the various wallet sized unframed freeze-frames of their youthful faces tucked neatly into his vanity mirror, every evidence of Maurice having been in Otto's life, all of it was gone, shoved into the back of his closet where all of his skeletons resided with his fashion mistakes and realize that it was, indeed, all very real. It had happened, and last night had happened, and…it was beginning to seem that maybe those memories he had of their blissful childhood were the things that never happened.

He fought the urge to run. To just bolt. To run from that cul-de-sac, down the block, down the California incline, up the Pier, up on the beach to the side of the highway as cars sped past. To just run for it, to no where in particular, some unknown, unseen, abstract destination far off at the edge of the earth. Freedom, he wanted to call it. But it wasn't really freedom, it was just escape.

He needed to do something, anything, to burn off that energy. Adrenaline was flowing freely through his bloodstream now and he felt every bit the raging hormonal teenager he was supposed to be. He wanted to fly in the powder blue clouds with the birds, to race across the translucent horizon with the dolphins, scream out atop the silent mountains and declare to the world that he was alive and vigorous and healthy and…purposeless.

He began walking up the street again, kicking a piece of chipped off gravel and watching it roll haplessly forward before catching up to it and giving it another half-hearted kick.

He wanted to distance himself from everything around him. Close his eyes and crawl back into the womb of innocence. He wasn't ready to grow up in the real world. He wanted just a few more days, a few more years of utopian ignorance before he had to face the cruelty of harsh reality.

He sighed, shivering though it was almost ninety degrees outside.

High school seemed like a scary place. Freshman year was stumbling about blindly, trying to find something solid to stand upon. To get a hold of yourself, get your bearings straight, scramble to position yourself, to adjust for what was to come. Sophomore year was more secure. It was about fun, or trying to look like you were having fun. It was about getting a driver's license, getting a job for extra cash, and trying to act as though you like the friends you have even though they're just as fake as you. Junior year was an acrobatic experience, and Senior year was the ascent into adulthood. No bars held, no turning back, this is your life get used to it, nudged out of the nest, better open your wings or splat on the ground, adulthood.

Otto shivered again. Realizing, he'd never thought about the future seriously before. But something inside him seemed hollow, blackened. He'd never thought that the first time he considered his future, Maurice wouldn't be in it.

Somehow, though he couldn't explain it and he hated to think it, that one fact seemed so much more scarier than whatever was to come.

-0-0-

Reggie mumbled a "thank-you"as Sam handed over her large coke, the lid already punctured with a straw. He took a seat next to her on the bench and began to work on prying open his bag of cotton candy. She let the cup set on her bare knee, hunching her shoulders and brushing the loose baby strands of hair from her eyes as she scanned the horizon of surfers and haze for anyone she knew. She thought she recognized a few people, but couldn't be too certain as they all looked like nothing more than tiny specks on the vast ocean.

She shuddered, when Sam's arm slipped around the back of her shoulders and he flinched away, muttering an apology. She didn't even think to tell him he needn't be sorry and that he could put his arm around her if he liked. They sat in silence. She casually sipped her soda and gazed straight forward through the crowd of locals and the random tourist here and there at the distant ocean and he munched on his cotton candy, drank his own soda, and eyed passer-bys as though daring them to say something. They'd met nearly a half-hour ago at the well-known Pier Amusement Park, and most of their date had been spent in awkward silence. Neither knew what to talk about.

Reggie knew Sam's mind was on his project. He'd mentioned it a few times, though not conversationally, and he was constantly flipping his cell phone open and typing in Oliver's number, though never dialing. He hadn't yet broken the news to his fellow RPG makers that their long-time effort of early mornings and late nights was now two shiny boomerangs. Reggie couldn't even make the attempt to talk about the whole ordeal. Her mind was on Maurice.

Sub-consciously she brought a hand up to touch the shoulder, where his hand had roughly connected as he pushed her away. As though the event had happened right then, fresh anger shot through her body and she bit back tears, chewing on her tongue to remind herself not to get too emotional over something so stupid.

My name is Maurice, babe, and you are…? He'd said it so spitefully, and that smile, as though he were enjoying every minute of the pain and embarrassment he was so obviously causing her. The way his so-called friends laughed, and egged him on made her sick to the stomach. Jeering at her and belittling Sam. How could he disregard them so casually? How could he let his friends treat them so badly? Did those six, maybe seven years of friendship just slip from his memory with the flick of a hand? And then there was the way he stared her down.

She blushed suddenly at the memory. Her anger seemed to fade away as she recalled his eyes burning into hers. The intensity of those eyes! God! It was like being dragged into a whirlpool, unable to pull herself out. Just spinning deeper and deeper inside. It wasn't like they say in cheap grocery store Romance novels and spiritual books. It wasn't like looking into his soul. In fact, it was like he was taking her soul. In bits and pieces.

She'd felt as though she were falling apart in front of him. She didn't know how long she could have stood there, as she'd already felt her legs giving out beneath her. What had happened to the Rocket strength? Where was the Reginator? No where. She didn't exist. There was just Regina, crumbling like sheetrock. She knew, she just knew with every fiber of her being, she'd been mere moments from curling up into a ball on the ground and crying like a little girl.

Don't look at me like that, the little voice inside of her had said to him. Pleading like a little child.

God. She hated him for making her feel that way. Like a little child. A little girl. Helpless and weak and small.

He'd been so close to her, she could smell him. Sweet and musky. Like alcohol, cigarette smoke, and boy. And for some reason it had made her giddy and lightheaded and her chest had convulsed like she was about to have a seizure.

She looked ashamed at her fingers curled, her hand lying uselessly in her lap. The first thing she'd noticed that day as they stood inches apart was his intense look. Heat rushed to her cheeks and her stomach and chest, and her legs felt numb. She chewed the inside of her cheek, battling with herself, until she finally felt as though she would burst and released a deep sigh that resolved her emotions and she took a long drink from her soda. Maybe… for a fleeting moment… as his eyes and body and scent and voice overwhelmed her senses… she may have…just maybe…for a small fraction of a moment…for just a teensy spec of time… found him undeniably sexy.

With that self-admittance, Reggie trembled almost uncontrollably, taking small breaths and trying to compose herself. She felt her whole being collapse and considered crying for a good long while when she got home. She could not, under any circumstances, develop anything reminisce of a crush on that boy.

Sam cleared his throat, audibly, beside her and she was washed with a renewed sense of guilt and hate for one Maurice Rodriguez. Here she was, sitting next to a sweet, kind, caring, and gentle boy and she was off gallivanting about in her memory of a brash, rude, malicious young man.

"I think I should call Oliver," Sam mumbled, his cell phone open once more. Reggie nodded her head, but he wasn't looking at her, so she wasn't sure he'd seen. He slapped the phone shut and shoved it decidedly back into his pocket. "I…just can't…"

"Is everything lost?" Reggie questioned quietly, "Isn't there a back-up disc, or something?"

"Of course we have back-ups, but the project is in pieces…it took us five hours to compile the thing and then three more just to save the finished copy to that disc….and it was so huge, we couldn't leave the saved copy on the school computer, our lab teacher would have been so tweaked. God, we're going to have to get together tonight and put it back together…we'll have to do it at Oliver's house since we don't have access to the school computer lab and he's the only one that has a computer that can handle it," Sam sighed, tossing the half-empty bag of cotton candy into the nearby trashcan and Reggie looked at him with concern. He wasn't one to waste perfectly edible food, "We won't even have a chance to debug the damn thing, compiling takes long enough. Something tells me I'm going to be in Run Time Error hell tonight…" He frowned, shifting uncomfortably, most likely because of the heat, and taking a good long drink from his soda. A strange look crossed his face, a mixture of sadness, shame, and anger, and Reggie didn't even have to guess at what it was about.

"You couldn't have done anything," she told him softly, patting his hand gently. He smiled half-heartedly at her.

"I know…" he mumbled, "I just…felt like a little kid or something…I couldn't even get a sentence out…I'm just such a little wuss…"

"You were scared, Sammy."

"You say that like it's okay," Sam cried, tossing his soda away now as well and bolting to his feet to pace. The park had cleared for the most part, the crowd had thinned. It was just too hot that day for rides and popcorn, "And that bastard…what is his problemo? He didn't say anything, didn't even help me out at all. And then the way he treated you…like he didn't even know you…"

"He was just trying to impress his friends," Reggie said solemnly, looking down so Sam didn't see the color that had spread over her cheeks at the mention of Maurice, "We can't forget…they are his friends now. And we're just…"

"And we're just what?" Sam demanded, turning to face her. His cheeks were splotched with red and there was an involuntary twitch in his cheek. It had him enraged, and Reggie didn't know what to do. She'd never seen Sam so worked up, "He threw us away…like we were trash…or something. He either treats us like lepers or strangers in the crowd…and I don't know which one's worse. God!" Sam fell back to the bench, running his hands over his face and quivering as his anger subsided and slumped back as though wiped from that brief outburst, "Twister could be a jerk, but at least we could handle it, and he was our friend…so he wasn't usually a jerk to us…and it wasn't like he tried to be, he just said stupid things. But now…now it's like he goes out of his way to make everyone I thought he once cared about miserable. He used to be a good guy, but I'm with Otto now…he's a complete and total lame-o." Sam shook his head, coughing, and turning his head to stare out at the emptying amusement park, the few people standing in line for rides with their little kids while they sweat profusely, "What's worse…I think he gets some sort of sick pleasure from it all. I mean…you know…I always thought Lars was the sadist.

"I just can't stand him anymore. Is it bad that I wish something horrible would happen to him? And what about last night? What the hell was that all about?" Reggie bit her lower lip. She had tried to block out the night before, but now it seemed to play in front of her eyes as vivid as when it had happened, "I mean, what was wrong with him? I've never seen anyone so…so aggro. Had he been drinking? And what was with all the blood? Did he get in another fight? I just…you know, my mother always told me not to hang out with him so much."

"I didn't know that," Reggie said silently, her eyes glazed over with the memory and fresh tears.

"Yeah. She said 'that boy is a bad seed'. She was convinced that he was a juvenile delinquent in the making or something. She hated him, and I was always defending him to her. I don't know what the hell it was all about…until now. I hate to admit it, but my mother was right. The guy is bad news, probably always was. Maybe we never should have…"

"Hey," Reggie snapped suddenly from her reverie, focusing in on Sam and overwhelmingly furious, "Look, I've known him longer than you, alright? Maybe he's not that great right now, but your mother was wrong. He was a good kid! And you know…" her voice broke slightly, and her bottom lip quavered, "Twister's still in there…somewhere…I know he is." She closed her eyes, leaning forward on her knees, whispering to the ground, "He has to be."

"I'm sorry, Reg," Sam mumbled, moving a hand towards her, to comfort her, but flinching back uncertainly, "Let's talk about something else, alright? He's not our problem now. He doesn't even like us anymore…" Sam shook his head, "That was more than evident yesterday at the skate park." Reggie nodded slightly and they fell silent, lost in their own thoughts.

Reggie tried to force her mind from that night, but she couldn't. She couldn't just not care about Maurice. As much as she'd tried to get used to the fact they weren't friends anymore, that he had a new crowd and wanted nothing to do with her or Otto or Sam, she just couldn't. She would wake up every morning thinking, "today I should go to the beach or something with the guys" and that always included Maurice or Twister or whatever he was to her at that moment. But then she would remember and it just…disheartened her. It didn't seem right that she should have to wake up everyday and suddenly be washed with sadness. He hadn't been drunk, she tried convincing herself. But then what would that have made him? Lars and that other boy had talked, but she couldn't hear what they had been saying. Lars had been angry at the other boy, it was obvious they weren't familiar with one another and they weren't friends in the least.

She recalled how tenderly Lars had led his brother into the house. She'd never thought that Lars could have that in him. She wondered for a moment if Lars had taken care of Maurice, but it was quickly erased by an undoubted 'of course he did'. Suddenly, she wanted to believe Maurice had been drunk. Because that wasn't so bad, then. There were worse things, she knew. But the way he had looked out at the street, the houses, the way he walked and talked and acted. It wasn't like a person intoxicated. She'd been to parties that included a little drinking. She knew what drunk looked like, at least, she was fairly certain she did. She closed her eyes and shook her head and squeezed her hands. Forget him. Forget him. Oh god, forget him.

Sam was lost in his own memories. Squid. He smirked. He'd hated it so much when Twister had called him that, and now…now he would give anything just to have Maurice call him by it…just once. Maybe then he could believe that Twister was still in there somewhere. How could all the good times mean nothing. He picked the lint from his shirt and blinked away tears. The past few trips to Mount Baldy, New Zealand, Hawaii, Malibu and anywhere else the Rockets' father so graciously took the kids all on were punctuated by the absence of Twister. They always seemed to lack, be less fun, or even unmemorable aside from the fact that they were without him. Nothing seemed…well…right anymore. They're group was incomplete, as cliché as it sounded. They didn't hang out as much anymore, Reggie, Sam, and Otto. Reggie and Sam would go on their dates, but Reggie had Sherri, Trish, and the cheerleaders and other girls. Sam had Oliver and his Nerd Squad, as they jokingly called themselves. And then Otto had the attention and friendship of most every extreme sports wannabe in Ocean Shores, though he usually just hung out with Jamal, Eddie, and Josh.

Sam sighed, folding his hands in his lap and watching the seagulls gather on the ground to eat the popcorn and candy dropped by uncaring Amusement Park patrons. If anything, they all had new friends now. His mother would tell him with her matronly nasal, "kids grow apart". But it didn't make that transition from friends to acquaintances, or in some cases like Maurice, complete strangers, any less painful. To say he didn't miss those days relaxing on their surfboards on the lull ocean, laughing over childish things and talking about nothing important whatsoever, would be a flat out lie. He would look back on those days longingly, and wish he could have froze those moments in time when they were truly happy.

There was something kind buried inside of Twister that none of the other kids ever possessed. An innocence that Sam had never seen in anyone else. He had sat on a raft fishing with the rest of their gang, and befriended his tiny first catch within seconds. He had played on the beach and gained the infatuations of a surfing seal that he named affectionately Bruce. Twister was more child-like than any of them. He was sentimental, kind, and caring. The type of person people wished they could be. Sam frowned, wondering if that little boy had known how truly unique he was. He probably didn't. Sam ran a hand over the back of his neck and sighed. His mother was wrong, he knew. Twister had been a good kid.

"Um…Reg," Sam finally spoke up, forcing himself to remember a more important conversation he needed to be having. Reggie looked to him curiously, smiling slightly, but it was too sad, too half-hearted.

"What's up?"

"I was thinking…" he mumbled, persisting with a stammer, "That maybe…um…I just thought…you know…uh…" he tugged at his shirt. Why was it suddenly so hot? "Maybe it was time…we…um…talked about…well…us."

"What about us?" Reggie questioned carefully, meekly.

"Well…I…uh…we've been dating for awhile," Sam continued, swallowing hard, "And…well…everyone just assumes that you and I are…already…well…it's just that…" he shifted slightly, trying to turn to face her and kicking her shin, "Sorry," he gasped quickly as she hissed in pain, grabbing the injured area. She shook her head, mumbling that it was alright and motioning for him to continue, "Uh…well…" he took a deep breath, and let it all spill out, "We like the same things, we've known each other a long time, and we know everything about one another. We've been dating awhile, we get along really well, and everybody says we're perfect together. The perfect team, really. And you're the only girl I've ever felt comfortable around, you're my best friend, and I really like you. It all just makes sense. Reggie, will you be my girlfriend?"

Reggie stared blankly at the blond boy before her, blinking a few times and trying to determine if she'd heard right. It wasn't how she'd imagined the moment, getting her first serious boyfriend. Sweltering in the summer heat, wearing an old tank top and frayed ratty cut-off shorts. He seemed to be arguing his case, as to why they should be a couple, and she half-expected him to pull out his laptop and show her a PowerPoint presentation on the pros and cons of them going steady. She shook that image from her head and let a smile slip over her stunned features.

"Yeah," she stammered, surprised to hear herself agreeing, though she didn't know why. Like he'd said, it made sense, "Yes, I'll be your girlfriend." A slow smile made its way over his face, and suddenly the atmosphere lightened, as she repeated the words again, as if to confirm to herself that she was indeed agreeing to a steady secluded relationship with the proverbial boy-next-door. They broke into sheepish chuckles, and Sam hesitated forward, pulling back, his hand resting mere inches from her arm.

"Should I kiss you now?" he asked meekly. She shrugged, then nodded. He leaned in uncertainly, trying to adjust himself, trying to figure out which angle to come in at, and then suddenly threw caution to the wind and quickly pecked her on the lips. They smiled at one another, as though satisfied, and both stood to head back home. They walked side by side, Reggie's arms crossed over her chest, Sam pulled his cell phone back up and punched in Oliver's number, this time hitting dial and letting it ring.

-0-0-

Lars was stunned when his parents entered the house, having nearly dozed off waiting for them. He scrambled quickly to his feet, and they stood in the doorway. Raul shutting the door and coming to place his hand in the small of his wife's back. They looked down at their eldest son pleasantly, and he stared up at them with wide eyes and obvious fear. He glanced at the clock and shot his gaze back up to them, folding his arms in front of him.

"It's four forty-seven, where the hell have you two been?" he demanded, and they flinched at the abrasive nature of his tone.

"Watch your language, young man," Raul started but Lars cut him off, shaking his head and trembling, pacing the room.

"I've been worried sick, waiting and wondering, and not knowing what to do…"

"Lars, mi hijo," Sandy cooed softly, coming into the den swiftly and placing an arm over her son, "I know we're a bit late getting home, but your father and I decided to go out last night. We hardly see one another between work and…" Lars yanked from his mother's touch, turning on them with tears spilling from his eyes.

"I don't know what to do, mom, pop," he stammered, "He's up in that room and he hasn't come down and I don't know if he's still asleep or if he's okay now or what…and I don't know what to do…" Suddenly, he was a child, begging for his mom, begging her to make things better, to kiss the boo-boos, chase away the nightmares, and comfort him in the way only a mother could.

"What are you talking about, mi hijo?" Sandy questioned, exchanging a confused and concerned glance with her husband. Lars blew up, then, suddenly enraged. How could they not know? How could they not have seen the way their son was wasting away right before everyone's eyes? How could they not have noticed that their youngest boy was fading away!

"What am I talking about?" Lars repeated, "What am I talking about! If you ever came home you would know, goddamn it!"

"Lars, no toma ese tono de la voz con su madre," Raul growled, and Lars turned on him.

"Don't take that tone of voice with my mother?" he mocked, seething, "Oh, well what tone of voice am I supposed to take when my little brother comes home late at night covered in blood and vomit, not knowing what the hell is going on, screaming at everyone, not making any sense, completely wasted and I can't even get a hold of my goddamned parents! Huh? What tone of voice do I take then? Huh? When my little brother nearly got himself killed last night? When my little brother's been killing himself every fucking day for the past two years?" Lars broke, clutching his forehead with his hand and trying to hide the tears that were now flowing freely, too embarrassed to even look at his parents and see their reactions, "God, you don't know. You don't know, do you? What's it's been like…what he's been like…you don't even realize."

"Lars…" Sandy began, reaching forward to her son, but he pulled away, turning his back to them and heading for the far recliner. He paused, shoulders shaking.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, "I didn't mean to…I tried to watch him…I did…but I didn't do a very good job," he turned to look at his parents, staring wide-eyed, each with stone plastered faces ready to crumble at the next words that passed from Lars's lips, "He took LSD last night."

"Que?" Raul exploded, and Sandy stepped forward tentatively.

"Are you sure, mi hijo?"

"Yes, I'm sure. That's what that boy said…that dropped him off…"

"Where was he?" Raul demanded, "That he was getting this LSD?"

"I don't know," Lars mumbled, eyes downcast, "I don't ever know where he is. He doesn't tell me. And it's not like I can keep track of him. He takes off, he doesn't come home some nights, he just…" Sandy touched a hand to her son's elbow, and he came to her, letting her wrap him in her arms.

"Shh…mi hijo. Tell us everything," she whispered, leading him to the couch, "We're here now. Tell us everything that has happened and we will take care of it."

Lars took a deep breath, leaning back into the comfort of the sofa, and looking to the ceiling as though he'd written everything on the white plaster.

"I don't know everything," he began with a hushed unsteady voice, "I know that he goes to parties, and he comes home smelling like alcohol and marijuana, and sometimes he doesn't come home at all. He goes out at night, he goes out during the day. I don't know half the people he hangs out with all the time, I couldn't pick them from a crowd. He has this girlfriend and…god, I don't know what they've done…and…" Lars shook his head, trying to keep composed, "He ditches school all the time, he gets in fights, he has an attitude like you have no idea. He's banned from Madtown, I don't know where him and his delinquent friends will go now. I didn't think that…I didn't think he did…well, anything worse than that…he's just…I don't know…so much has happened, that I don't even know if I remember it all," Lars closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He licked his lips, and looked out at his parents, "I guess this has all been going on for a couple years now…"

And slowly, Lars confessed to his parents the past three years that he had spent hiding, covering and watching his brother's downward spiral.


END A/N: For some reason a lot of you seemed to have it in your heads that Lars was going to go on a rampage, beating people up and whatnot. I don't know where you guys came up with that. I mean, honestly, what would the point be of him going out randomly pounding his little brother's friends? Maurice would stillbe a drug junkie, right? That wouldn't change. And Lars would not only get in trouble with the law, it would probably affect his position on the Shark's field hockey team. Truth is, sometimes the hardest thing to do is talk to your parents and ask for their help. Moving on from that after-school movie moment...

On Sam and the RPG project, I tried to keep the computer programming jargon to a minimal. Computer programming is a hobby of mine, actually...hehe...but gasp! Reggie is Sam's girlfriend now! Them crazy kids...

Anyways, it's three-thirty in the morning and I'm dead tired, I should get to bed. I don't think there's anything else I need to say so...

Great way to start off the New Year, right? With a fanfic update? You know what else is a good way to start off the New Year? With REVIEWs! And lot's of them!

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, I did my last proofread late at night, so...yeah.

Thanks for reading!