'93-'94 [Rated M]


"That's a moronic habit you've picked up for yourself," she nods at Tino, who's on her floor leaning back against her bed, his long gangly legs stretched out in front of him, trying to master the art of rolling his own cigarettes. Rayanne deems the smoking habit he's clearly picked up from Jordan Catalano idiotic, and the efforts he's going to to make it into a skill set is ridiculous to her.

This," he tells her, "is a multipurpose skill." At fifteen, now a sophomore in high school, Tino has no qualms about his casual drug use, though mostly the cigarette rolling is for cigarettes. It suits him acquiring skills that set him apart from the others at school — the only kid to roll his own tobacco, the only kid who talks the way he does, the only kid who dares the things he dares, or who picks up things as quickly as he can, or who moves as easily through as many social circles as he does. Tino licks the rolling paper and presses the fold.

Rayanne, still a freshman, not at all tolerant of cigarettes, or really too much of anything beyond some sips of liquor, looks down on him through unimpressed and narrowed eyes, "So you're a stoner now? That's terrific. Who'd you pick up that from? Trudenowski?"

Tino doesn't turn his head back to look at her where she lounges above him on her bed, he just shakes his head and smiles, "So judgmental."

Tino Mourlot'd met Rayanne Graff when she was in the sixth grade and he was in seventh. Even back then she commanded everyone's attention, but Tino didn't see what everybody else saw when they looked at her. Namely, he knew it wasn't an act. Rayanne Graff wasn't any other middle school girl trying to make herself interesting by looking for ways to stand out. She is interesting. When everyone else was wearing baby doll dresses, bodysuits, and Wet Seal chokers, Rayanne was doing her own thing, going vintage, or, after a while, wearing anything that she could skate in, once he started teaching her.

Rayanne had problems, to be sure. Anybody paying attention could spot them, but Tino was fascinated by her. Mostly because she's a nova of kinetic energy. He likes her for hardly ever being predictable, for all the ways she makes him laugh, and for never, ever being intimidated by him or his penchant for sarcasm or rage. When others cower or posture to fight, generally she just laughs at him in those times he loses his temper and explodes. Rayanne Graff is an original, and not because she tries to be. And so he befriended her, and takes great pleasure in her company.

Abandoning his task, Tino lets the tobacco fall to the floor, and pops himself on her bed. Falling backward beside her, his head lands against her thigh. He lies there that near to her, staring up at her ceiling. Rayanne reaches over and retunes the radio, which had gone a little static. The music plays, and they just lie there and listen. A thought enters Tino's head.

Pivoting his head just enough to catch a glimpse of her face, just so much that his nose and lips are now pushed against her slim girlish thigh in her tight-fitting jeans, Tino holds her eyes as he says to her, "You wanna give it a go?" There's an airy feel of frivolity to it — simultaneously a boyish request and a rakish dare. He meant it, but partly only in fun. Everything Tino does is in fun, but this he'd said too to say it. He said it because it popped into his head. He said it because he wants it, and because he'd wanted to see how she'd react. He said it because he likes her. He said it because it is time. He said it as a gamble, and Tino loves to gamble. He's fifteen, and really, he just said it. It was on his mind. The two of them are friends, they're alone, on her bed, she smells like coconut, and he's had worse ideas than this.

Rayanne nudges him off her and looks down at him dubiously. "'Give it a go'?" she mocks.

Tino sits himself up so that he can see her; he is sheepish and wears a demurely tantalizing smile. He nods, as his eyes twinkle, "Yeah."

Rayanne stares at him with seasoned incredulity, "You think that's a good idea?"

Undaunted, and unblinking, Tino grins at her wryly, tilting his head in affable argumentation, "I don't think it's a bad idea."

Dryly, Rayanne endeavors to get this straight, "You — and — me?"

He nods, earnestly. The glint in his young eyes has not faded; he's looking at her now, daring her. "What d'ya say?" Rayanne makes a face; she's considering. "Friends," he affirms, careful not to overly complicate the matter.

Breaking from this moment, Rayanne chuckles and diminishes his intent. "You're desperate," she remarks flatly.

Tino's reply is genuine, "I'm not."

Unconvinced, Rayanne looks at him, matter-of-factly, "I think you are."

Tino, not dissuaded, only shrugs, "If you don't wanna." He's not going to work to convince her, it was a proposition, nothing more.

Rayanne glances at him, he's just sitting there looking at her, his deep grey eyes intent beneath his narrowed, focused brows. His straight flat mouth, having spoken all he means to on the subject, is silent, now just waiting for her answer. She considers: There'll be no hard feelings if her answer's 'no.' He'd never think twice about it. ... She's fourteen. She's in high school. Inevitably it's going to happen. He's not an asshole. And, this way, it isn't complicated. Rayanne blinks.

"Okay." She nods. "Sure." And then, just as quickly, Rayanne looks at him, and asks, "Not seriously though?" This is a dare. This is Tino being impulsive, this is Tino storming off the baseball field or stealing a case of beer. This isn't for real.

There's a moment, a split moment, in which Tino Mourlot waivers; his eyes shift and his jaw tightens, because Tino does feel things, and experiences mean things to him, and she is so pretty, with those huge brown eyes, and that great mole that just makes her face, and he's figured out she isn't as reckless or as invulnerable as she can let on, but he can shut this internal deliberation off, and so he does, the look of hesitation only registering for a mere instant, and then he's playing the role, grinning at her, wickedly and winningly, glintingly promising her at her own request, "I'm never serious."

Rayanne blinks. "Okay." She can't imagine this to be a very big deal. Her mother certainly never treats it like it is. Maybe if she were raised in another house, in a family that wasn't split, in a life that wasn't so much about instant gratification and diversion, maybe she would have answered differently, but then that person would not have been her. Rayanne is not afraid. At least she dares herself no to be. "Why not?"

"Those're words to remember," he jests wryly, then, like he's realizing this is happening, he straightens up, and touches his hand to her small, open face. Gently. They look at one another, their eyes both open and, waiting, as the anticipation builds gradually between them. Tino, eyes wide and full of her and a new adventure, moves closer to his friend, and their mouths draw ever nearer. Then Rayanne shuts her large brown eyes, and he follows suit, and then their lips touch, and they are kissing, taking none of it seriously.

Hers is the first shirt to come off, and though there's largely nothing there, she's not in the least apologetic about it, and he loves that, and he grasps her anyway. The getting off the shoes and the socks proves a bit awkward, and he notes to himself: next time, better to start off already barefoot. Similarly awkward was the wrestling with her tightly fit jeans, and he gave up on the bra clasps completely, finally just yanking the whole thing off her, managing to get himself elbowed in the process. He would not classify any of this as smooth or practiced.

Most of what they are doing is new to both of them. They are touching things they have never touched, never held or kissed, seeing what they've never seen in-full and outright, exposed in the broad open daylight of her bedroom, but while there are missteps and false starts, and fumblings and entanglements, there is no shame, and both are guided by a kindred adventurous spirit and a can-do attitude. Which, as it turned out, they both needed, because the maneuvering, or, accomplishing of the actual feat proved less effortless than either might have been lead to expect. But they saw it through, and now, there above her, moving at a rhythm he's entirely unsure of, Tino kisses her. His lean arms supporting his weight, his mouth close on hers, he smiles at her, beams, and laughs. The entire endeavor seems a little to him like the first space landing must have been: unthinkable, and outlandish, and an extraordinary measure of human discovery and accomplishment.

Rayanne chuckles beneath him. While still dressed they had been reversed: she bent and straddled over him as he lay back on her bed. He was letting her kiss him and though it was pleasurable, it did seem, if either'd stopped to think about it, such an odd thing for them to be doing. But they'd carried on. And now, with this naked, fifteen-year-old boy atop her, lanky and just slightly pimpled, it just seems ridiculous.

Rayanne half chokes for a second; this, isn't exactly easy. The pain of it, after the struggle to even exactly achieve it at all, is real, but, single-minded, she pushes it aside. Tino finishes shortly, and there above her, so close in his sweat and his heat and brand new relief, and delighted in the sheer triumph of this moment, he bites gleefully at her nose before popping up and falling over beside her. Rayanne pushes the hair out of her face, thinks about smiling, and sits up.

She pulls on her shirt while Tino disposes of the condom a year ago Jordan'd forced on him, and uses his sock to wipe himself off. He sneaks a look at her, and as he gentlemanly-like hands her her panties, his eyes are soft, and affectionate. His gaze is entirely full of her, but he blinks before he lingers there too long, for such was not their deal. He smiles. And she tosses him his boxers.

"Well," he grins at her, as they both respectively tug up their underwear, "that happened."

She looks at him, and the corner of her mouth lifts in agreement, "Yeah." She hasn't come to terms with her reaction yet. Since the moment it'd all started she hasn't had time to take a breath; all of it, all of it was so fast. It wasn't a huge deal. They'd done it, and nothing's changed. The moment she'd really started thinking about it, what it was like to be doing it, it was already ending. She'd had sex. She'd gotten that virginity thing out of the way. And it wasn't terrible. And he'd been kind of sweet about it, and really is good looking. She decides, standing there barefoot and pantsless there with him, her friend, that she doesn't regret this.

Across from her, Tino looks at her, his friend as he's never seen her. She's so short standing there, in her loose fitting tank, brightly colored undies and thin bare legs. So very very cute he thinks. But thinking that way is outside the parameters they'd set so he looks away, and steps into his jeans. "Tacos?" he asks. "Want to go get some tacos?"

Raynne blinks as she looks at him; he really is cute she thinks, though she does not let on. "Check your watch, kid," she says, reaching for her discarded jeans, "don't you have to be at work, like now?"

Tino checks his pager. "Shit. Yes." In a flourish, Tino fastens his belt buckle and scoops up his t-shirt, his hoodie, his socks and his Vans, and makes for the apartment door.

His stuff still bundled under his arm, he unlocks the deadbolt and, stopped in the doorway, he holds up his hand to her in an understated high-five. Her hand meets his in the inevitable hand slap, and he holds her there, his long fingers folding down onto hers. And then he kisses her, friendly like, and only once. Though he guesses he's not meant to. "Thank you." And he means it, but then he laughs at himself and self-censures, "Dumb." Then he grabs his board and runs barefoot down the building's hallway to the stairwell, singing out to the world. "Some people call me the Space Cowboy! Some call me the—"

Behind him, Rayanne wordlessly shuts her door. This happened, but it is over.


It's more than a week before Tino says anything about it. He and Jordan are sitting in the shade by the vending machines behind the school's back stairs when finally it comes up.

It hadn't taken Jordan much to get Tino to cut third period. They're reading The Catcher in the Rye in sophomore English, and as Tino's already read it twice, he'd rather not have a burned-out, underpaid, under-inspired teacher (who more than likely hasn't opened the book and actually re-read it any time within the last five to ten years) ruin it for him. So instead, they're out enjoying the sunshine, talking about Jordan's plans for his new car.

Jordan's saying something about a carburetor or something (Tino's not exactly listening) when Tino stops the conversation, and with a private, quiet smile he says, "I did it."

Jordan looks at him; it doesn't take him long to take his meaning. He smiles. "Who with?"

Tino evades, drinking his soda. "A very obliging young lady."

"Who?"

Tino glances at Jordan, he'd wager his friend won't love his answer, but still there's a slightly goofy smile on his face when he speaks the name, "Rayanne." His grin doesn't last long though when he's immediately having to call his best friend out on Jordan's not-so unexpected eye roll, "What?" His head tilts pointedly, "What was that?"

"Rayanne?"

Now it's Tino who rolls his eyes. "What's your problem?" Jordan's intolerance of her is nothing new.

Jordan looks at him with an airy, kind of superior scoff — not a look he pulls on Tino very often, "So, heh," he snorts, "how's it going t' be now?"

"How's what going to be?" Though he's often the smartest person in the room, Tino can play the naïve angle better than anybody, partly because no matter how tall he grows, he still has such the look of a kid; especially when he means to. Which he does, any time he thinks it'll work to his advantage. "Me 'n Rayanne?"

"Yeh," Jordan nods. It should be obvious. He's never been a huge fan of Rayanne's, but Tino's always liked her, and now, having slept with her, Jordan can only imagine Tino's going to get attached, and gooey, and stuck. Which'd mean Jordan'd be stuck too, stuck with Rayanne Graff.

Tino laughs at Jordan's faint grimace. "I'm not feeling the fraternal congratulatory spirit I might'a expected to." Still smiling broadly, he punches Jordan in the shoulder and reminds him, "This is a watershed moment of my formative years." He looks at his friend wryly, still trying to rally him to his side, "Death, will no longer take my maidenhead." Jordan has no idea what that means, but he's used to skipping over Tino's verbosity and literary references. Tino reaches up and yanks a leaf from a low hanging tree branch, then glances sideways at his friend. "What's your beef with Rayanne? She was lovely and accommodating."

"Great," Jordan grunts in irony. "Now what?"

Tino looks at him, this time really not knowing what Jordan's on about. "'Now what' what?" He shrugs openly. "We're friends."

Jordan looks at him, studying him through narrowed eyes, "That's it?"

Tino looks at Jordan like he's a little bit of a stranger to him — a little bit like he feels sorry for him, but also like at that moment he gets everything that is the so-called mystery of Jordan Catalano, "Yeah…" he smiles slowly. Jordan, sometimes, Tino's come to realize, gets these blocks, these shut down triggers between who he's close with and the other people he lets populate his life. Catalano doesn't open up to too many people, and he's come to be somewhat detached from the girls he spends his time with, a thing he's been doing with people far longer than he's been sleeping with anyone. Tino benignly patronizes him, "Would it be so terrible if it were more?" Jordan's brow arches pointedly at him in wordless reply. "J," Tino shakes his head warmly, "you gotta get over this not being friends with girls thing."

Jordan's eyes flinch, he doesn't like what he's just been accused of. Of course he has friends who are girls. Minus Amber. Shell had been his friend; he guessed Ivy and Kate counted, maybe. And there were Lisa's friends. And earlier this year Kennedy, though that really didn't end all that great…

Tino refrains from pointing out that all the names Jordan's listing in his head are girls he's hooked up with to some degree or another — they were never friends. Impartially Tino continues his innoxious reproach, "I think they're around for more than a lay," he needles.

Jordan looks at him, maybe a little defensively. "I'm friends with Lo, an' T an' Jenna."

Tino shakes his head at his friend. "They're friends," he corrects. "Lauren, Taryn, and Jenna are friends with each other, and with your big sis. You were something they tried. Like..." he takes a moment to think something up for a fitting comparison "skeet shooting." Tino snorts at his humor and smiles, "No offense. Anyway," he pushes on, "don't hate 'cuz I c'n think of other things to do with a girl than shove my tongue down her throat." Tino pauses. "Or, you know," he squints a smile, "anything else."

Jordan's laugh erupts, immediate and full. He feels better now Tino's done this, he doesn't care why that is. And Tino, pleased with his first venture, could give a shit if Jordan wants to tear it down. It's his prerogative to be sentimental if he chooses, only she can tell him not to be.


*Posted 3/31/14


AN: The other names mentioned in this scene all have back stories to them but most will never be written out. There was a full other (long) chapter I wrote about Jordan, Lauren, and two more of Lisa's friends, Taryn and Jenna, but I seemed to have somehow deleted it (grrrr!), and I can't muster the energy to rewrite it. Anyways, I think enough of the gist comes across.