A few nights later, Mary Jude permitted Roger to attend a party with Michael, held by a fellow member of Michael's basketball team. She trusted that the brothers would look after each other.

The party was located on the Upper West Side. Roger and Michael took the subway and walked six extra blocks to the building of Kevin Burgess. Kevin Burgess came from money—his parents paid his Immaculate Soul tuition without batting an eyelash. He threw parties that kids talked about until well into the following week.

"Hopefully tonight will be your lucky night," Michael declared. "We'll find someone to keep your mind off of your singing nun."

Roger felt his ears burn, "What?"

"Come on. You've been moping ever since Sister Cecilia left you high and dry. What, were you in love with her or something?"

Of course his brothers and his grandmother knew about Sister Cecilia, but this was the first time anyone had ever brought up the fact that Roger might have a crush on her—which he didn't. "No!" Roger replied defensively. "That's sick!"

"Well, you've been moping around since she left you. It's like you two broke up or something."

Roger just rolled his eyes as he and his brother entered the building and headed towards the elevator.

There was nothing extra special about these parties, save for the fact that Kevin's parents were almost never home, and he had a twenty-five year old brother who provided the contraband alcohol. By the time the Davis brothers arrived, the party was already in full swing. It was wall-to-wall people in the sprawling loft, and at one of the far ends of the room was a five-piece rock band, ripping through a cover of "Blitzkrieg Bop", with nearly the entire party joining in at the refrain: "Hey! Ho! Let's go!"

Roger bobbed his head excitedly to the music as he and Michael weaved their way through the bodies. There were blue and white Christmas lights strung up—Immaculate Soul colors—and behind the band was a hand-painted banner with ISSH CLASS OF 87 sprawled across it.

"At least the music is decent!" Roger shouted to Michael, who simply nodded in agreement. He led them directly to the keg off to the left side of the room, not far from the band.

"Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike!" hooted one of the guys at the keg, slapping Michael a high five. He was lanky and at least six and a half feet tall, with dark brown hair and glasses. "What's up?"

"Not much, dude," Michael replied with a grin.

"Who's the kid?" asked another, this one holding the party pump to the keg. He used it to gesture towards Roger. He was blond, with chiseled features.

"My brother," Michael replied, thwacking Roger on the back. Roger tried not to wince. "Roger's gonna be the big man at ISSH when I leave!"

I am? Roger thought to himself. Michael's friends looked at Roger expectantly. Roger didn't know what to say except, "This band is great!"

"Oh, you mean Whips and Chains? Yeah, they're pretty kick ass," said the blond. "Their singer's a righteous babe, too!"

Roger glanced over at the stage for the first time and wondered how he didn't notice straightaway that the lead singer was a girl—not only a girl, but a downright cute one at that. She was slight and small-chested; her face was round like the full moon. Her dark brown hair was streaked through with blue, with long bangs that fell in her eyes. Her look was punk—ripped jeans, black Doc Martens and a black tank-top with Beauty School Dropout written across it in bright green. She was holding the mic with both hands and bouncing on the balls of her feet in time with the music. She had a hell of a voice. "Hey! Ho! Let's go!" she urged the partygoers.

Michael nudged Roger, snapping him back to reality, "That's her!"

"What?!" Roger asked, pretending not to hear his brother.

"That's the girl!" Michael shouted.

"What girl?!"

"The one who moved in by Grace!"

"The what?!"

"Never mind! I'll…tell you later!" Michael handed Roger a plastic cup of beer and gave him a playful shove. "Go get 'em, tiger!"

Roger shook his head and took a sip of his beer. Sometime his brother could be a complete ass. The band brought "Blitzkrieg Bop" to an end and the partygoers cheered. The singer pumped her fist up in the air and nodded her head as the drummer counted off the beat to the next song, which was revealed to be "Touch of Grey" by the Grateful Dead, another song with a catchy refrain: "I will get by."

He eased through the crowd and positioned himself by the stage so he could get a better look at the band. Besides the singer, there were two guitarists: one with bleached blond hair, the other played shirtless. The bassist modeled a spiked dog collar around his neck and the drummer, sporting a Mohawk, easily weighed at least 300 pounds. They were certainly a motley crew, but the singer stood out like a diamond in the rough.

When their rendition of "Touch of Grey" ended, greeted by whoops and cheering, the singer leapt off the platform and gave high fives to those who offered them. Someone handed her a beer and she took it, drinking deeply. Roger maneuvered his way through the crowd until he was standing beside her. He nervously stood in her perimeter until he worked up the nerve to tap her on the shoulder. "Hey…excuse me?"

She turned to face him. "Hi," she said with a shy smile. She took another sip of her beer. Her eyes were beryl, ringed with smoky eyeliner. Her lips were watermelon pink.

"Hi. You don't know me," Roger blurted, "but…I'm…well…" he cleared his throat. His tongue suddenly felt covered with dust and couldn't get words out. "You're a great singer!"

Her face broke into a wide smile, "Hey, thanks!" she exclaimed. "Um…you're right, I don't know you. You are…?"

"Roger. Roger Davis." He held his hand out for her to shake, which she did, enthusiastically.

"I'm Stella Feldman," she introduced herself.

"Hi," he repeated. "Well, I just wanted to let you know…that you're a great singer."

Her smile faltered slightly, "Thanks. You said that already."

"Oh! Oh, sorry…sorry, I'm just…I'm kind of shy, I guess, and nervous…sorry."

Stella giggled, "Well, it's kind of cute," she said.

"Hey! Stella!" beckoned the guitarist who had been playing shirtless. "STELL-AAAAAAAAH!"

Stella rolled her eyes, "How long have you been sitting on that one, Marlon Brando?"

"Come on, just get up here so we can finish the set!"

Stella sighed and turned to Roger, "Well, I better go. I guess I'll talk to you later."

"I guess so," Roger replied with a small smile. He watched Stella step back up onto the platform. He remained close by the stage and watched the band get organized and then they started up the next tune. After the first few chords, Roger recognized it as "Highway to Hell." He half-expected one of the guys to step up and take over the vocals on this one, but his eyed widened in surprise when Stella opened her mouth to mimic Bon Scott's rock-and-roll scream almost to perfection.

"Livin' easy, lovin' free! Season ticket on a one-way ride! Askin' nothin', leave me be! Takin' everythin' in my stride!"

Michael suddenly appeared at Roger's side, already slightly tipsy. "Heeeeey," he drawled. "Saw you talking to the singer. Pretty hot, huh?"

"Sure," Roger said casually.

Michael knocked his brother on the back again. "You gonna make a move?"

"We'll see."

"Atta boy!" Michael guffawed. "Go for the gold, Wild Child!" Roger just rolled his eyes.

The band played three more songs before Stella announced the band was going to be taking a break. She placed the microphone back on the stand and again jumped down from the platform, right in front of Roger. She grabbed his hand. "Come on."

Roger gave a surprised laugh, "Where are you taking me?"

"Outside! Come on," she urged, pulling him along. He could only imagine what everyone else in the party was thinking. She led him out the door of the loft and to a nearby staircase. In the dim light, Roger noticed a thin sheen of sweat across her forehead. "God, I love New York—always a rooftop to escape to!" She practically pulled him up the staircase to the roof entrance. When she opened the heavy steel door, Roger's lungs burned with the rush of the fresh air.

"Mmmm," Roger sighed in agreement. "My brothers and I used to sleep on the roof when the weather got really hot."

"Me too! Well, I don't have any siblings, so me and my cousins would do that," Stella replied. She sauntered over to the ledge and leaned against it. "Look at this city! I want to make love to it sometimes!" She spread her arms wide and threw her head back in a boisterous laugh. Roger just watched her for a few seconds before joining her by the ledge. The wind blew in hot.

"So," Roger said, feeling more at ease now that they weren't at the party, "how long have to been singing with the band? What're they called—?"

"Whips and Chains. And not long," she explained. "Six months."

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen. You?"

"I am, too. I thought you were older."

"I thought you were older, too!" They shared a nervous laugh. She cleared her throat and continued. "Well, my cousin Matt knows them; they needed a singer and he told them about me, how I can rock pretty fucking hard for a girl."

"You really can."

"Thanks. Anyway, I auditioned for them and they were pretty blown away. I'm their youngest member, ever. It's kind of cool. I get special passes to all the clubs that are eighteen and over because I'm with the band."

Roger just nodded in response. He looked out over the cityscape. "Whenever I'm on a roof, I always think about this one song by Elton John…'sat on the roof and I kicked off the moss. A few of these verses, well they've got me quite crossed…'"

"But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song. It's for people like you that keep it turned on," Stella finished, singing.

"You know it."

"Of course I do! So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do—"

"You see I've forgotten if they're green or blue," Roger added. They sang the last line of the verse together:

"Anyway the thing is what I really mean: yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen."

Roger smiled broadly and diverted his gaze, blushing slightly. Stella gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. He laughed. "That was one of the first songs I learned how to play on the piano."

"You play piano?"

"And guitar. I taught myself," he added.

"I've always wanted to learn piano," she mused.

"I could teach you," Roger shrugged, "free of charge."

"Aw that's sweet," she smirked. "Assuming I would pay you in the first place!"

"You couldn't afford me," he joked.

She laughed. "I had a feeling you were a guitar player, though. You have that rock-star look."

"Well, maybe I'm just invoking my namesake," Roger replied. "My mom named me after Roger Daltrey, from the Who. She saw them play at Woodstock."

"My parents named me after A Streetcar Named Desire," Stella explained. "I guess they didn't realize that Tennessee Williams was an anti-Semite. That's like naming a Jewish kid Adolf, isn't it?"

"After what? A streetcar?"

"A Streetcar Named Desire? You know, Stanley Kowalski standing half-naked in the middle of the street, yelling: 'STELL-AAAAAH!'" Roger gave her a strange stare. "Oh come on! You've never heard of A Streetcar Named Desire? It's a very famous play."

"I'm not too into plays," Roger replied with a shrug.

"Ah. Well, there's nothing wrong with that. Imagine my surprise when I found out my name derived from a scene where Stanley is apologizing to his wife after beating her."

"Whoa, that's heavy."

"Tell me about it."

They stood in silence for a few more minutes, just watching the skyline. Finally, it was Stella who tapped Roger's shoulder. "Come on. We should be getting back."


Whips and Chains kicked off their second set with a rock version of "Why Don't We Do It in the Road?" Roger watched the entire time. Occasionally, Stella would shoot him a wink or a smile or make a suggestive dance move in his direction. He felt like he was getting a private show.

When the band was done playing for the night, Stella spent the party at Roger's side. They camped out on the couch, drinking beer and talking about music. At one point, someone passed them a joint, and they each took a few hits. Roger's head was swimming nicely. When Michael found them, it was nearly two AM.

"Say goodbye, Romeo," he said, more than a little tipsy. "We gotta split." He went off to give farewells to his friends.

Roger glanced at Stella, "Sorry. He can be a real dick sometimes."

"It's okay," she assured him. "It was really cool hanging out with you all night, though. I usually get so bored at these kinds of things."

"Me too," Roger lied. "I guess we're both kind of forced to be here."

"Yeah." Stella reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of gum. She unwrapped a piece and put it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. An awkward silence settled in. Roger said the first thing that popped into his head.

"Hey, you think I could get a piece?" he asked. "My grandma will kill me if I come home smelling like beer and pot."

Stella turned to him and gave him a mischievous smile. "Sure," she said. Before Roger knew what was happening, she had moved her body so that she was straddling him. She tilted his head back and kissed him full on the lips.

At first, Roger's eyes widened in shock, but soon relaxed once he realized how much he enjoyed it. His hands moved to her hips, then stroking her thighs. As soon as he did this, her kisses became a little more forceful and she slipped her tongue into his mouth. He made a small noise of surprise and furrowed his brow.

Then, just as quickly as she'd come on, Stella pulled away. She smiled in a coquettish way, patted his head and sauntered off into the crowd of the party.

It took Roger a few dumbstruck seconds to realize he was now chewing her gum.


A/N: Again, SO SORRY for the delay. I had to rework the plotline of the fic just a little bit. I don't control these characters—I'm just taking dictation Plus this particular chapter, for some reason, gave me a lot of trouble. I guess it was the introduction of Stella. But here it is, and Chapter 9 is underway.

Also, a little note about the gum scene! That idea came to me quite suddenly on 10/4/07—while I was seeing Rent for the 10th time (yes, I saw Adam and Anthony again! I was also in the audience for their final matinee on the 7th). But anyway, I was chewing gum during the show and the idea just popped into my head during "Christmas Bells". I was so unable to contain myself that I took out a pen and just started writing! I wrote that entire scene on the back of the NO PHOTOGRAPHY slip from the Playbill. I wrote from "Seasons of Love" until the beginning of "Goodbye Love". I felt kind of bad that I was writing while everyone around me was sobbing (my two friends included), but I'm sure all of you hardcore writers out there know what I mean—when an idea hits you, you just gotta write before the idea is gone!!!