Disclaimer: I don't own RENT.
Author's Note: LOLercaust. Is anyone even reading this?
This story will contain a female OC. She will be a main character. She also will not be "involved" with either Mark or Roger. Ever. She's there to bring them together and be cute. Seriously, we promise. She won't boink the boys.
I Found a Reason
Chapter Ten - Sexual Escapades and Sugary Cake
Mark's POV
When my alarm goes off, I curse loudly into my pillow. There's no fucking way it's 6:33 already. I reach out blindly and try to turn it off, knocking it over in the process. I swear again and pull myself away from the warmth of my blankets to retrieve it and turn it off. I rub my eyes sleepily, staring blankly at my floor and willing myself to wake up.
"What's the story, morning glory?" Someone asks and I have to smile to myself while I reach for my glasses.
"When did you get home?" I ask Cindy who is smirking at me from my doorway. She's already fully dressed, looking very much like a hipster lost in academia. Besides her button down shirt and v-neck sweater, her dark brown hair has streaks of dark pink and she has a new little diamond stud on the side of her nose.
"Last night," she says. "But little Marky was already sleeping and Mom forbid me to wake you up."
She grins evilly, her eyebrow raised. "So I set your alarm for an hour early so I could wish my baby brother happy birthday before he heads off to another day of quality education."
I groan at her and flop back down on my bed. "You're honestly the most terrible person I know."
"Oh, lighten up," she says. "Besides, making sleeping beauty wake up an hour early is nothing compared to what Mom and Dad have planned for after school."
I cringe. "The family party is tomorrow, if that's what you mean," I remind her.
Cindy winces. "Don't remind me. Be glad you're the baby and you have a room to hide in. I'm visiting from college. They're not going to leave me alone."
"Has Mom seen your hair yet?" I ask her.
Cindy laughs. "She said you've been feeding her stories about how I skip class to binge drink all semester. Once I confirmed that those stories were completely fabricated by my baby brother's twisted little mind, she probably wouldn't have cared if I'd tattooed 'gutterslut' on my forehead."
She comes over to my bed and sets down a paper bag next to her feet before giving me a playful shove. "You're a sick kid, Marky. Do you have any idea how much more often Mom calls when she thinks you're slacking on your grades?"
"Well seeing as how you're the favourite child, I figure they'd call you plenty anyway," I tease her.
Cindy grins. "Remember when we used to pretend to fight over who was the favourite?"
I snort. "I definitely remember that it always ended up with us coercing our parents into buying us ice cream."
Cindy ruffles my hair. "We're a team, little brother."
I reach up and run a hand through my hair, trying to fix the damage before giving up and leaving it sticking up wildly. I gesture over to the paper bag at her feet.
"What's in the bag?" I ask her.
She smirks. "Well, one thing is awesome, one is mortifying. What do you want first?"
I frown. "You didn't buy me porn and condoms again, did you? That wasn't mortifying, it was just awkward."
Cindy laughs. "Oh, Marky. You know I just like to make you blush. It's so easy."
"Not anymore," I say. "You think you embarrass me? You need to meet Roger. The two of you will probably strike up a fabulously competitive friendship over who can make me feel more ill at ease."
"You know, Mark," she says solemnly. "If your friends make you feel uncomfortable in any way you should never be embarrassed to tell a parent or trusted adult friend."
I roll my eyes. "Like it's not weird to be sixteen and have a legion of trusted adult friends."
"Who's this Roger kid," she asks. "I don't think I know him."
"We were in little league together when we were little kids. We started hanging out this year. Us and this girl Violet," I explain.
Cindy raises an eyebrow. "Marky is all grown up and talking to girls now? Didn't they have cooties last time I was home?"
"You know, I was starting to get used to the house being so quiet without you here," I tell her. "It was actually really nice."
"Do you want your birthday present or not, Mark?" She asks, crossing her arms and looking teasingly indignant. I nod while yawning. While she digs into the bag I stretch my back out. Although I don't mind spending time with my sister I definitely could have used that extra hour of sleep.
Cindy digs a small package out of the bag and hands it to me. She leans back on my bed, grinning in her cheeky way. Much to my pleasant surprise, there's a Vonnegut book, a pack of Polaroid film and a new pair of circumaural headphones.
"This is like, a normal birthday present," I tease her. "You realize that, right?"
"Oh Marky," She laughs. "If it means that much to you I can definitely invest in something a little more useful to a teenage boy next time."
"Save your money, Cindy," I tell her. "Because all those dirty items are going to waste buried in my desk drawers. Unless you happened to buy me a girlfriend on your way here."
"Your mail order bride is coming next week," she jokes. "I put a rush on her, but she's coming all the way from Eastern Europe, cut the bitch some slack.
"Are those headphones geeky enough for you?" She asks, gesturing to them. "I know you're not satisfied unless your entire head is enveloped in sound."
"Thanks, Cindy," I say, putting them on to humour her. She laughs at me and messes up my hair again before giving me a quick hug.
"Come on, Mom should be up making breakfast by now," she says, standing up. "Go get dolled up for school."
I sigh loudly, but drag myself out of bed and haphazardly throw the covers back over the mattress in a lazy attempt to pretend I made the bed.
Cindy stops at the doorway and turns around. "Oh by the way, Marky. You're going to be needing this for the holiday pictures Mom and Dad plan on taking as a colour-coordinated family later."
She reaches into the bag again before tossing a bundle of scratchy fabric at me. I glare at the seasonal print in horror while she laughs her way out of the room.
During breakfast I had lowered myself to the point of whining, trying to get out of our yearly ritual of sending 'holiday' pictures of our family with 'holiday' cards. During the winter holidays my mother constantly tries to play on the novelty that we're a family of mixed religions, my father being raised Jewish and my mother a strict Catholic. Me and Cindy have had a little bit of both throughout our childhood, and were always allowed to make our own decisions about which traditions we wanted to follow. Cindy leaned a bit more towards Judaism, but she was always especially close with my father. I think they might have bonded over it a bit, though neither one was especially devout. I've always been sort of in the middle, borrowing from both, but really never picking a favourite. I haven't decided where I belong yet.
My mother thinks it's fun to send cards out that reference both religions. She also likes to take holiday pictures that incorporate both. Last year we posed with both a Christmas tree and a menorah. This year we're apparently wearing holiday sweaters. Cindy and Dad get to wear the significantly less dehumanizing sweater vests with little dreidels, menorahs and Stars of David. Tacky, but not traumatizing. Unfortunately my mother apparently decided that I'm Catholic this year, as I'm going to be wearing a horrible red nightmare covered with prancing reindeer, a giant green tree with puff ball ornaments and 'Merry Christmas!' scrawled out in yawn across the chest.
All of this on my birthday, no less. I desperately begin wishing to trade in my family, cursing under my breath as I head toward the school. I frown to myself, not seeing Roger or Violet anywhere. If Roger decided to cut gym without me, I'm trading him in too.
I don't notice the footsteps behind me, busy as I am grumbling to myself, until two people hook their arms through mine and scream 'Happy Birthday!' in my ears. I jump about twelve feet, and when I finally catch my breath Roger has practically dissolved in laughter and Violet is smiling and holding out a little cupcake with a candle stuck in the middle.
Roger grins and throws an arm around my shoulders while digging his lighter out of the pocket of his jeans. He reaches over and lights up the candle and I'm treated to a rousing rendition of 'Happy Birthday' right outside of the main entrance hall of our high school. I can feel my ears burning slightly, but I can't help but smile.
"You didn't have to do that," I tell them, peeling the foil wrapper off of the cupcake and hesitantly dipping a finger in the sprinkle-covered frosting to taste it. Roger looks incredibly pleased with himself.
"We brought shitloads of stuff for lunch too," he says. "We're throwing a fucking party."
"It's too fucking cold to sit outside," I protest. "Where do you plan on having this party?"
"You hear that, Vi?" He asks, giving me a disapproving look. "All that time we spent slaving away over birthday cakes and cookies and he thinks it's too cold to have a party."
"You mean all the time I spent slaving away?" She clarifies, giving me a wink. "While you sat on my kitchen counter barking instructions and playing guitar?"
"Per usual," I tease him while he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks pouty. "I was kind of hoping that's what happened. Because if I was expected to be consuming anything that Roger cooked, your party would be short one guest of honour."
"In his defense," Violet says, noticing that Roger looks put out. "He did buy most of the ingredients, told me what to make and hung around to help me pack everything up."
"Well, thanks," I tell them both. "I look forward to deliberately disobeying everything my mother ever told me and eating a pile of junk food for lunch."
Roger grins at me, hooking his arm around my head in a hug that could pass as a headlock. "That's the spirit, Marky."
Roger and I head off to Chemistry lab and are affronted to discover another project that feels like it's designed for someone a bit younger than us, seeing as how our teacher has decided to send us off on a Chemistry scavenger hunt. After a few minutes of explanation, our immediate disinterest has been forgotten. We discover that as long as we're back to check in before next period and we return before the bell rings to leave for third, we're getting permission to wander throughout the entire school and over the grounds.
Roger and I grab worksheets and stuff my Chemistry book and his notes in my bag before we head out. I pull out a pen and immediately begin scanning the worksheet, looking for easy things we can mark off without even really looking for them. Much to my dismay, I realize that this assignment is heavy on the Chemistry and not so stressed on the scavenger hunt part.
"Where do you suggest we go to find a malleable substance?" I ask Roger, frowning as I read further down the list.
He looks down at his own worksheet, brow furrowed in thought. He snaps at me and I hand him the pen I'm holding, assuming that's what he wants. He immediately begins writing stuff in, talking half to himself.
"Gas-liquid solution can be Coke. Easy. And then an element can be the aluminum can. Polymer can be something plastic like…" he trails off.
"The plastic containers they serve lunch food in?" I offer and he nods and writes it in.
"I don't know where the hell they want us to find a solid-liquid solution," he says, flipping through his notes.
"The clay in the art department!" I say loudly, hitting his arm.
He gives me an odd look. "What are you going to do? Drop a chunk of clay in a glass of water?"
"No, it's a malleable substance," I tell him impatiently.
He grins and adds it to the list. "Good thinking, Marky."
We figure out a couple more things without any sort of effort. Roger determines that an edible example of physical change could be something that melts. We write down melting ice cream, both of us pretty sure that the cafeteria sells ice cream. I read in Roger's notes that air can be considered a homogenous mixture.
"What's a substance with a density less than 1g?" I ask him, flipping through my textbook.
"The brain of anyone who participates in Scarsdale sporting events?" He offers. We scribble a few more things in and then camp out in one of the practice rooms in the music department. I dig my walkman out of my bag and turn it on, jacking up the volume so we can hear the music filtering through the headphones and into the tiny room. Roger leans against the piano, his arm resting on the one knee pulled up his chest, his other leg stretched out in front of him.
I dig through the textbook, trying to find more examples to add to our list while he plays with his lighter and eventually digs his cloves out of his pocket and lights one up.
"You're seriously going to get us busted someday, Rog," I scold him teasingly. He blows his smoke in my direction, ignoring my warning. He stretches, then stands up and sits at the piano bench, placing the cigarette between his lips and laying his fingers on the keys. He begins to play what sounds like a scale.
"You can play piano?" I ask him. He lifts one shoulder and then drops it again.
"Yeah," he admits, inhaling on his cigarette again, the fingers of his free hand moving to play a pattern of notes in the low register of the keyboard. "I'm pretty awesome at it."
I roll my eyes at his lack of humility. "When did you learn?"
He starts to play a jumpy bass line with his left hand, cigarette dangling from his lips. He shrugs. "I've picked it up a bit over time."
I dig my Polaroid out of my bag and wait until he's got both hands on the piano and he's playing a nice little melody before I take a picture of him. He narrows his eyes playfully at me over his shoulder while he plays, letting one hand leave the piano for a moment so he can exhale some smoke before continuing to play.
My watch is telling me we have to go check in soon. Meaning in about two minutes, and we're on the other side of the school. I watch Roger for a moment more, his eyes closed as he plays, occasionally halting between chords or fumbling over a key. He's not as practiced as with his guitar, but it still seems almost sensual.
"Guitar is my main squeeze, you know?" He explains later, his arm around my shoulders again, still smoking while we take the long way back and pray no one sees him holding a cigarette.
"Guitar is like, this extension of your body," Roger says. "You can feel the electricity of the music in your hands, in your, uh…" he smiles at me also shyly. "The way you hold the instrument, it's right over your cock. Your hips are right up against it, you're connected to it. Playing music is probably a lot like fucking."
He laughs and takes another drag. "But it's like, dirty love. Guitar is a dirty instrument. Piano, though…"
He smiles. "Piano for me is like the girl next door. She makes pretty music, but she's a little more complex. She might even be your best friend. She's not this like, sexual energy, you know?"
He grins. "Not that piano can't be a dirty slut too. She definitely knows her way around. But she's classy about it."
"So why do you spend so much time with your guitar?" I ask him, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. "It sounds like you really want to learn piano better."
Roger shakes his head. "I'm not sure how to explain it. It's freeing to play guitar. When you're up onstage and the music is pounding around you, through you, and it's vibrant and sexual and powerful, it's a fucking rush. There's nothing like that, I fucking love that feeling.
"You need something like piano to bring you down once in a while. It keeps you grounded, keeps you focused. Requires a lot more discipline. I would like to learn it better, but I'm too impatient," he grins down at me. "And I've got a few good years of dirty guitar fucking left, anyway. I'll buckle down on my girl piano when I'm old."
I roll my eyes and shove him off me. Roger stamps his cigarette out under his foot and we hurry off to check in at Chemistry before next period.
After another period of watching Roger fight over Geometry with his classmates, the three of us head out to Violet's car to grab my birthday lunch and then take our usual place under the big willow tree, though we're bundled up in coats and scarves. We huddle together under the tree, Vi and Roger on either side of me, a giant cake platter on my lap. The three of us don't bother cutting slices, we each grab a plastic fork from the bag Violet brought and dig in together. Violet eats around the frosting and Roger steals as much of it as he can.
There's also a little container full of cupcakes like the one Violet brought to me this morning, a plate of sugar cookies covered in sprinkles and a tiny tray of what looks like lemon squares covered in powdered sugar. Roger dips a cookie into the frosting of the cake.
"I sprinkled the cookies," he says proudly, and I share a look of amusement with Violet.
"I can tell," I reply, leaving him to wonder if it was sarcasm or a complement. He frowns as he grabs a cupcake, but eventually seems to forget about it either way.
A gust of wind hits us unexpectedly and we shiver together. Roger moves in closer to me, wrapping his arms around himself and scowling.
"It's fucking cold," he whines, eyeing my coat jealously, which no doubt is substantially warmer than his beatup leather jacket.
"We could sit in someone's car if you're cold," Violet suggests. She finishes a cookie, puts on a pair of gloves and shoves her hands in her pockets.
"It's not that cold," I protest, not about to let Roger forget he was the one to suggest sitting outside. "Roger's just being a girl."
He scowls playfully. "Fine, keep me warm and I'll shut up."
"You're not getting my coat," I warn him as he scoots practically on top of me, reaching out to steal another large bite of cake.
"Well then start supplying some body heat, you frigid bitch," he shoots back, making sure to toss a grin back in my direction as he reaches for another cupcake so I know he's joking.
"Oh and cancel your plans, Marky," Roger says. "We're taking you out tonight."
"I'll drive," Violet offers. "Since somehow Mark always gets stuck driving your drunk ass home, Roger."
"Where are we going?" I ask them, but neither will fess up. I explain I have a family function after school, purposely excluding the whole holiday sweater picture thing, but promise to call as soon as I'm finished.
When the bell rings to end lunch we share a mutual groan, and gather the remainder of our food up. After we drop it off back in Violet's car, Roger walks huddled up beside me, his arms wrapped around himself. Once inside the school he walks with us as far as he can before giving me a punch on the arm and waving as he heads off to history.
I practically run out of the English classroom with Violet. We'd been reading Catcher in the Rye for the past couple weeks in class, much to our mutual disinterest. For weeks we'd been listening to a room full of high school students express how connected they felt to Holden Caulfield, how much they had in common with him.
Violet and I share the impression that Holden Caulfield is a whiny brat.
Our teacher had started today with a lecture on the themes found in the novel, most importantly how Holden feels about "phonies". When a popular girl raised her hand and began a long, rambling monologue about how she hated fake people, we had both had enough and began passing notes making fun of various parts of the book until we were caught and prompted to share our thoughts with the class.
"Have you ever noticed how people obsessed with this book typically become mass-murderers?" I had asked the teacher, who glared at me in response.
"Anything that contains subliminal messages telling someone to gun down rock stars probably shouldn't be required reading for high school students," Violet added.
"Seeing as how we're emotionally underdeveloped and vulnerable," I had agreed.
In my opinion, we were justified. It's all a bit ridiculous. The book might not even be so bad if it wasn't regarded as a sublime piece of literature. It's substantially unextraordinary.
The rest of the school day passes too fast. I feel like my photo class ended as soon as it began and as much as I tried to stall on my way home, taking a few different short cuts that added an extra thirty minutes or so to my drive, I all too soon find myself standing in front of my bathroom mirror wearing a nightmare of a sweater.
Cindy pops in, her hair pulled back neatly into a bun that hides nearly all of the pink dye, wearing her sweater vest over a white button down shirt and not looking even vaguely ridiculous. She steps into the bathroom, throwing her arm around my shoulders and grinning at our reflections.
"That's what you get for being religiously ambiguous, little brother," she teases me. I let out a heavy sigh.
Cindy leads me out of the bathroom and outside to the car. My mother beams at us and my father gives us a sympathetic smile. He goes along with Mom because it's easier than arguing with her, but I'm sure he feels something akin to what me and Cindy are.
The pictures themselves are amazingly awkward, feeling very much like holiday mugshots. My mother constantly has to hit either Cindy or myself and even my dad once or twice when she catches us making inappropriate faces for the camera. The whole thing is a fiasco, but eventually the photographer and Mom are satisfied and we're free to leave. I tear off my sweater as soon as we're in the car, listening to Cindy reluctantly give my parents an update on how all of her classes are going. I don't know why they bother asking, or why they even believed me for a minute when I suggested she was doing less than fabulous. Cindy has effortlessly been a straight A student her entire life. But not in an obnoxious sort of way, how some people can be limitlessly booksmart but annoy the hell out of you. Cindy is genuinely clever. We had a great time together when we were kids, and even though I constantly get shit from her for being her little brother, we still get along really well.
As soon as we're home I toss my sweater on the floor of my room and kick it halfway under my dresser. My father comes upstairs a few minutes later as I'm about to call Roger to announce they're taking Cindy out for dinner. He invites me along, almost as an afterthought. I decline, thankfully able to explain that my friends are taking me out. My mother appears behind him and attempts to wheedle me into coming, but I remind them there's a whole party dedicated to me tomorrow, they should spend the night with Cindy since they never see her. Cindy glowers at me behind them and I smirk at her.
"Tell your friends to bring their families over tomorrow, Mark," my mother says. "I'd like to meet Roger's parents. What's the girl's name again?"
"Violet," I tell her, cringing to think of spending my birthday party with Violet's mom around.
My mother smiles. "Invite them all, we have plenty of food," she says and I reluctantly agree to ask them.
"You're a jerk, Marky," Cindy pouts as Mom and Dad head downstairs. "Leaving me with them all alone! We're supposed to be in this together."
I snort. "C'mon, Favourite Child. They see me everyday. They practically forgot to invite me. You think having me there would take some of the attention off you?"
Cindy looks almost sad for a moment. "I'm sorry, Mark. It's supposed to be your birthday."
I wave her off. "I don't care. I have all day tomorrow to be embarrassed and prodded by relatives. I get to hang out with my friends tonight, that's enough for me."
She gives me a hug on her way out, promising to bring me back a piece of cake or something from the restaurant. I smile to myself and shake my head as I pick up the phone. It's not that my parents don't love me, or that I'm terribly neglected or anything. Cindy was their first kid and despite having a wild streak a mile wide, she's done everything right so far. She's more outgoing and subsequently bonded better with our parents than I did, seeing as how I've always been more self-involved. She's also the first kid to leave the nest, so to speak, and they miss the hell out of her. I don't blame them for wanting to spend time with her. I just hope I manage to hang out with her tomorrow or Sunday before she leaves.
I call Roger, who informs me that Violet is corrupting the hell out of his baby sisters by letting them play with her makeup again. Apparently she'd already driven over to his house to wait for me to call. He tells me they'll start packing up and begin heading over now. I change my clothes while I'm waiting, pulling on my Blondie shirt and changing from the uncomfortable dress shoes my mom made me wear for the photos back into my beat up sneakers. I stare at myself in a mirror for a minute or two, making a face when I notice that my hair is nicely combed… fucking holiday pictures. I run a hand through it to mess it up just a bit, observing that it does nothing to make me look any more or less cool. Now it just looks like bedhead, which is adequate, I suppose.
I dump my school books out of my bag, giving my homework a reproachful look, knowing with absolute certainty it won't get done until 11pm on Sunday, and carefully stuff my Polaroid and a couple packs of film into it. I toss a longing look over at the camera I bought from the thrift store, trying to figure out when I'll have time to read up on it. My dad promised me a projector as a late birthday present once I figure out how to work the damn thing.
My bedroom door opens and I jump about a mile before I realize it's only Roger and Vi.
"You just let yourself in now?" I ask him, trying to slow my heart beat. Violet smiles guiltily from behind him.
Roger shrugs, flopping down onto my bed. "You should lock your doors. Anyone can get in, you know."
"Even common hoodlums like you," I sigh, picking up my bag. "Where are we going?"
Roger gives me a look of scathing disbelief. "You don't want your presents first?"
I stare blankly at him for a moment until I feel my face begin to go pink. "You, uh… didn't have to do that," I mumble, suddenly at a loss for words. Suddenly I long to be second-best to Cindy, sitting home reading about cameras on my birthday. I temporarily feel like a monumental burden.
"Don't be ridiculous, Mark, it's your birthday," Violet scoffs.
Roger gets off of my bed and comes over to me, hooking his arm around my neck and shoving a small package messily wrapped in old newspaper pages into my hands. "Stop being a wet blanket and open your damn present."
I can't help but smile when I find a package full of music, mostly mix tapes with names like "Get Me A Drink And A Dance Floor" and "Suburbia – The Best Place To Leave". Roger grins like a fool when I thank him and messes up my artfully messed up hair. He continues to lean on me when Violet presents her gift, a small painting based on a Polaroid of the three of us we'd convinced some waitress to take. I thank her as well, giving her a hug which Roger promptly joins in on, being the needy bastard he is. I shove aside a few things on my dresser and prop the painting up against the wall, admiring the effect.
I'm busying thanking Vi again for the painting when I notice Roger bend down to pick something up off of my floor. I'm used to him violating pretty much anything I own without giving it a second thought at this point, so I hardly notice until he starts laughing his ass off.
"Marky! Where'd you get this sweater?" he practically yells, looking so delighted I can hardly breathe from embarrassment. Reluctantly I explain the family events of the afternoon while Roger takes off his leather jacket and pulls the sweater on over his t-shirt.
"What?" he challenges Violet when she giggles at him. "You don't think I can rock this?"
"You'll be rocking it alone if you wear that," I say, inadvertently shrinking away from the sweater when he comes over to me again.
He looks incredibly pleased with himself. "Happy Holidays, motherfuckers."
"It's barely November, Rog," I remind him but he ignores me and as we head out to Violet's car it appears as though we'll be spending the evening with my horrible holiday sweater.
Violet and Roger drag me into a roller rink, and Roger announces that we're going to get some drinks before we go out on the rink. The bad pop music blares around us as Roger brings us three Cokes. To my surprise he discretely pulls his whiskey flask out of his coat pocket and tops off his drink and mine, giving Violet only a little bit since she's the one who drove.
"What is that, rum?" I ask him and he nods and gives me a wink.
"Drunken roller skating, Marky. No better way to party."
Eventually our drinks become less Coke and more rum until I'm barely aware of the fact that Roger is wearing a sweater made out of yarn and Christmas cheer. Violet leaves us at the table, pawing at each other and laughing while she scores us some rollerskates. I pull my Polaroid out and waste an entire 10 pack of film trying to take pictures of me and Roger together. No matter which of us is taking it, we keep cutting half of someone's face out of the picture. This eventually leads to Roger sitting on my lap, his bony ass digging into my thighs and pressing his face right beside mine. In a sober situation, this sort of thing might be uncomfortable. I can't really be certain at the moment as Roger and I share a cheer while the picture develops, displaying our faces smashed together in mutual drunken delight.
With great difficulty, we get our skates on and follow Violet, who seems to be greatly enjoying our escapades, onto the rink. Roger and I hang onto each other for dear life, desperately trying to avoid little kids and other drunken teenagers. The dorky atmosphere of a roller rink is incredibly amusing if you're there with good friends, and even more so if you're drunk. Roger causes a minor riot when he insists on skating with Violet during the 'girls only' song. When the couples songs come on, the three of us bond together into a wall of teenage laughter, falling occasionally and blaming the spills on the skating ability of the other two.
We play a few rounds of skee ball and Roger wins us some crappy toys before we call it quits, heading out into the cold with our arms around each others shoulders, Roger singing Clash songs loudly in my ear. Violet props our little toys up on her dashboard as Roger and I fall into the backseat and we drive back to her house, having mutually decided earlier in the evening to crash in her room. Roger closes his eyes and slumps against me, snoring lightly under his breath. I'm starting to sober up a bit as we pull up to Violet's house and I shake Roger awake. He yawns loudly and stumbles out behind me as we head inside.
Much to my chagrin, we are almost immediately accosted by Violet's mother who tries to help me out of my coat and winks cheekily as she offers us something to drink.
"If you're going to drink, I'd really rather you do it here. What do you say, Violet? Bring your adorable little friends into the kitchen and we'll get you kids something warm," she says, putting an arm around my shoulders and starting to lead me away from my friends. I throw a look of desperation over at them, which Roger finds hilarious. Eventually, Violet pries me out of her mother's clutches and we duck into her room and lock the door behind us.
Violet pulls out the couch bed for me and Roger before disappearing into her bathroom to change. We don't bother undressing besides kicking our shoes off before slipping under the covers together. Roger passes out almost instantly, his head against my shoulder, his hair gel seeping through the fabric of my shirt. When Violet emerges I mutter a goodnight as my head clunks against Roger's and I fall asleep.
When the three of us arrive back at my house midmorning the next day, we find my parents have already decorated and part of my family has arrived. Cindy has been backed into a corner by one set of grandparents and also my dad's older sister, Aunt Angelica. It seems like there are little kids everywhere, which seems to appeal to Roger. My Uncle Joel is teasing my dad about something, and my mother is being harassed by my grandmother about everything from the food to the drive to the weather. Mom gives me a tight-lipped smile when she sees me come in, far too preoccupied with making all the relatives happy to muster a real greeting. I turn back to my friends to point out some relatives to them, but find only Violet standing behind me.
"Where's Roger?" I ask her.
She shrugs. "I don't know, I didn't see him leave."
Rolling my eyes, I figure he'll turn up eventually, I give the family tour to Violet instead, telling her how Aunt Angelica is an eccentric old cat lady who was a total babe when she was younger but now mostly sits around brushing her hair and talking to her cats. My maternal grandmother is a bitter old lady who hasn't stopped complaining about basically anything and everything that happens to her since my grandfather died a few years ago. She calls my mom or my aunt constantly to chastise them for not visiting enough, even though all she does when we do is complain that we're interrupting her schedule.
We grab some drinks and head off in search of Roger, waving hello to my Dad as we pass him. After a few minutes of searching we finally find him in the basement, spinning the wheel for the kids who may or may not actually be playing Twister. The boys look more like they're engaged in hand-to-hand combat and their sister Julia is lying on the floor bouncing her dolls from circle to circle on the mat.
"Left foot, blue," Roger says and grins as the boys decide to use their left feet to kick each other instead. Julia sits one of her dolls on a red circle.
"Shh," she whispers to Roger. "She's gonna sleep now."
Roger sets down the spinner when he sees us and heads over.
"Whose kids are these?" he asks. "They're awesome. My mom's coming over later, I just called her and told her to bring Molly. She'll totally have fun."
"Mom will like that," I tell him. "C'mon, lets go hide from the relatives before they get bored of Cindy and descend upon me."
Roger reluctantly agrees, waving goodbye to the kids who look genuinely sad that he's leaving. Roger steals my cup of Coke away and downs the rest of it, grinning like a fool when I frown at him.
"Where's the food," he asks over his shoulder, leading me and Violet up the stairs.
I direct him to the kitchen where we grab plates of food, a six pack of soda and a large bag of chips before bounding up the stairs to my room. We set up our feast on the floor, crack open our Cokes and figure out how to pass the time until they decide to bring out dessert.
"We should have brought the Twister mat up here," Roger says, his mouth full of chips. "And the kids, come to think about it."
I make a face. "I'm sure they won't object to you rejoining the kiddy table if you miss them that much."
Violet laughs when Roger shrugs and looks like he's about to get up, before realizing he has an entire plate of food left.
"We could play like, poker or something," Violet says. "I think I have a pack of cards in my purse."
Roger and I exchange a look. The volume of things Violet manages to keep in her purse has never failed to shock the hell out of us.
"Anyone know how to play poker?" I ask them, after considering the suggestion. After a moment or two Roger shakes his head and Violet shrugs.
"It was a thought," she says.
"I think I have like, Uno under my bed somewhere," I offer. "I don't think it will be difficult to remember how to play."
We all murmur a general sort of agreement so I dive under my bed and push aside a few things trying to locate the box. It's buried in a far corner next to Battleship and an old plastic chess set, neither of which I ever recall using. We dump the cards out of the box and spread out the instructions which read sort of like Greek. Roger gets bored and starts making up rules.
"Just take a handful of cards and start throwing them in the middle," he suggests. "If they're like, similar or whatever, that's cool."
"Well, I think that's technically right," Violet says, taking another peek at the instructions. "It says you can play cards that match the colour or number of the one face up," she squints down at the page. "I think?"
"Isn't this game for like, toddlers?" I groan. "I don't remember this being so confusing when I was nine."
"Maybe we should ask the kids," Roger says, drawing another card and frowning at it.
We eventually slap together a format of gameplay, which is about half real rules, half shit we've made up. Roger turns out to be absolutely abysmal at this game, and soon has completed two games with nearly all of the cards in his hands. Me and Violet can't quite figure out how he's losing so badly, seeing as how we're already cheating.
"Fuck," he says, after a few rounds of the new game. "Can't red and yellow be the same colour?"
I exchange a look with Violet who shrugs. Roger gets so pouty when he's losing at anything it's usually worth it to just mollify him.
"Sure, go for it," I tell him and he throws down some cards in a desperate attempt to get rid of his hand. I don't mention that I think I see some green and blue cards in there as well. Violet goes along with it too and we continue playing, deciding to let Roger do whatever he wants, which is normally what happens when we hang out anyway.
About ten minutes later Violet is down to her last card again and Roger's brow is creased in frustrated, knowing full well he's lost this round too. Violet plays her last card on her next turn and Roger tosses his losing hand into the discard pile with a heavy sigh, scrunching up his face like a spoiled child and crossing his arms.
Violet reaches out to reshuffle the deck and Roger suddenly gets a dangerous gleam in his eye. I know that fucking look. I love it because it always leads to either fun or trouble, and usually both. But I'm staring at him giving this giant shit-eating grin at the cards while Violet shuffles and I'm wondering what the hell that look is leading to today. Right before Vi doles out a new hand for each of us, Roger reaches down and takes off one of his shoes.
I stare hard at him, willing him to silently communicate to me what the hell he's doing, but Roger just keeps smirking, taking his cards willingly and looking far more enthusiastic about this round. Violet sees my fixation on Roger and gives me a questioning look, but I can only shrug at her and start the game.
The game goes quick, feeling very much like Roger is intending to lose. When Violet is again down to her last card he's grinning his head off. We count out our cards and once Roger discovers he's lost again, he winks at me, reaches down and slips off his other shoe.
"What the fuck are you doing," Violet asks him, finally noticing his odd behavior.
I look from Roger to the cards and finally make the connection, rolling my eyes at him. "Isn't it obvious, Vi?" I ask her and when she still looks confused I sigh loudly.
"Strip Uno," I tell her and Roger laughs. I fix him with a stern look. "Stop trying to lose," I scold him.
"Well you could help me out, Marky," he grins. "You've got a bunch of layers to lose too."
I try not to blush, frowning down at my new hand of cards and silently thinking that I might be fucked this round if I don't pick up some better ones.
Unfortunately for me, now that Roger has gotten me in on his new version of Uno, his ambition to win has gotten stronger. I lose the next round and Roger nags me until I relent and pull off a sneaker. Violet looks mildly frightened at the prospect of witnessing our strip-off, but goes along with it, doing her best to win each round. Not that we'd really let her lose at this point.
Three rounds later and Roger is shirtless, having lost both his sweater and the band t-shirt underneath, and I'm sans footwear. I try not to fuck up this round, thinking ahead and putting far more brainpower into Uno than I'm sure is required. Nevertheless, I end up being forced to lose my shirt at the end of the round.
I glare at Roger when he appears to be purposely losing again halfway through the next game, seeing as how the only thing he has left to take off is his pants and well… yeah. Then I realize it's better him than me and I let him pretend he has nothing to play in his hand for the next few turns.
When Violet wins again Roger gives me the dirtiest grin ever and stands up, hands at the zipper of his pants. Holy shit, I can only hope he's wearing something under them. Violet stares straight at me, looking like she's about to break into a bout of laughter at any moment. Roger unzips his pants and starts to slide them down his narrow hips when my door opens and all three of us turn toward it in terror.
It takes Cindy a moment to fully absorb the scene, her little brother half-clothed sitting directly in front of another half-clothed boy who is about to get a whole lot less clothed. There's also the added fun of having Violet there for the whole awkward party. Cindy swallows, recovers and leans against the doorframe like nothing has happened.
"So this is Roger," she says, like there was any doubt. She smiles at Violet and gives her a wink before closing the door behind her and joining us in my room.
"Marky, how many times have I warned you to lock your door during your sexual escapades?" Cindy asks. I glare at her, willing myself not to turn red. I'm not about to let her have the satisfaction of embarrassing me in this already fantastic situation.
Roger, like he's not standing there shirtless with his tight jeans halfway down his hips, gives Cindy the same sinister smirk he's been giving me for the past hour or so.
"We like the added excitement that someone could walk in at any moment," he says. "Adds this whole danger element."
Cindy looks him up and down and raises her eyebrow at me. I shrug, silently telling her, yeah, this is the kid I consider my best friend. Please don't judge. She smiles and shakes her head at me.
"They're cutting your cake, Mark," she says. "Please come distract the relatives from me for a bit. I'm going to hide in the bathroom or something."
I agree, and Cindy leaves the room and I hear the bathroom door down the hallway shut and lock. I glare at Roger.
"You're so lucky it wasn't my mom or something," I snap at him.
"Yeah, like you're really angry," he scoffs, reaching over to mess up my hair. I push him off and run my hands through my hair, trying to fix it. I wish people would stop touching it. It looks ridiculous enough on its own, it doesn't need to be manhandled every time someone feels like teasing me.
We put our clothes back on and follow Violet downstairs. Roger's mom has arrived, she's talking with my mom and one of my aunts in the kitchen. They're all laughing about something, probably something stupid I did when I was a kid. Parents always have a way of telling your most embarrassing stories when your friends are around, so I try to lead Roger and Violet through the kitchen unnoticed.
Molly is playing with Julia and her dolls. The two girls are giggling together, getting along well. Roger seems especially pleased by this, dropping onto the floor next to them to join in on their fun.
"He's like a big kid," Violet says fondly and I nod.
"It would be fucking irritating if he wasn't so endearing," I find myself saying and I'm left feeling slightly miffed when Violet smiles knowingly at me before helping herself to some cake, promptly scraping the frosting off of the top. Roger appears behind her almost instantly, reaching around her shoulder to scoop up the frosting and devour it.
"Isn't anyone going to sing 'Happy Birthday'?" he asks me.
I shake my head. "You guys sang it to me about eight times yesterday. Seven of which were while we were drunk. I think I'm set."
Roger rolls his eyes. He reaches down and grabs Molly while she and Julia are running to get cake and hoists her up on his hip.
"Say Happy Birthday to Mark," he instructs her and Molly smiles shyly before complying. He grins at her and then kisses her temple lightly before setting her down. She runs off to join her friend and Roger helps himself to cake, taking a corner piece loaded with frosting. Despite our promise to Cindy, we take our cake back up to my room, and pop in a movie before the three of us curl up on my bed together.
Eventually the party dies down and most people leave. A few relatives, mostly the grandparents, are spending the night. It takes a good deal of wheedling on my part to convince my parents to let Violet stay the night, who eventually agree on the condition that she sleeps in Cindy's room. Cindy doesn't seem to mind this arrangement at all, as long as Violet promises to give her some dirt on her little brother for teasing fodder.
Roger and I hole up in my room, laying on my bed with our feet on the wall and our heads hanging over the edge, listening to the mix tapes he made me and talking about nothing. I can hear Cindy and Violet giggling through my wall and we press our ears up against it trying desperately to hear what they're saying about us, but we can't make out complete sentences. We fall asleep like that, heads pressed against the wall, faces less than a foot apart. Both of us are rubbing our necks in pain the next morning, not too sure why we cared so much if the girls were talking about us.
One of my grandmothers, the nice Jewish one, not the crazy Catholic one, is making breakfast in the kitchen when the four of us stumble downstairs, which we each receive a giant helping of, in addition to leftover cake from the night before. My mom frowns at our inclusion of sugary cake as a breakfast item, but says nothing. She seems to be a really good mood, coming down off the high of being surrounded by family, something I think she's very fond of.
Roger and Violet leave a few hours later after we complain about school and watch another movie. I spend a bit of time with Cindy before she leaves, sitting in her room and watching her pack up the stuff she brought home for the weekend.
"What'd you and Violet talk about?" I can't resist asking her but she shakes her head.
"Nothing you need to worry about, little brother," she says with a wink. "Make sure you bring them around this summer when I'm home, it's nice to meet your little friends."
I make a face at her and she laughs at me, tossing a few more articles of clothing into her bag.
"That Roger's a little charmer," she says, looking up at me with a strange expression. "He's a good-looking kid."
"You're not going to try to hook up with him are you?" I groan. "Please tell me that now that I finally have friends you're not going to become that kind of sister."
She smiles. "Oh Marky, c'mon. He's a little young for me, don't you think? I'm just saying…" she trails off with a shrug.
I stare at her, not sure what to make of this exchange, but decide to shrug it off. She commences packing and all too soon I'm hugging her goodbye and making promises to call that I won't keep. I'm terrible at keeping in touch with people.
All in all, not a bad birthday. I don't even mind that I didn't really get anything done this weekend. I figure I'll start playing around with the camera next weekend. If I can get some film and get it running I'm sure Roger and Violet won't object to me trying it out on them. It's not like they're not used to me shoving cameras in their faces. I glare down at my schoolbag, willing my homework to do itself, to no avail.
The rest of the relatives leave later in the evening and finally faced with no one else to distract me, I head down to the kitchen to grab myself another slice of cake before barricading myself in my room with a stack of mix tapes to start the mountain of homework due tomorrow.