A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. I read every single one that came through since the last chapter and they all rocked, seriously. And you guys rock. Thank you for waiting this long. :)

I actually did a very stupid thing: I accidentally deleted the already-finished next chapter from my laptop. So I had to redo EVERYTHING (rawwwrr) just so I could post. This one will obviously not be the same as the one I'd already written (RAAAWWRR) but I don't think it really matters since I was the only one who'd seen that thing anyway. Guh. What a waste. Anyway.

TOM

Tom had always known he was different, and he wasn't exactly sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. It wasn't anything about race (because he was damned proud to be who he was and people didn't mind anyway, not anymore) and it wasn't about money (the only thing Scarsdale cared about, and his Daddy had a lot of that). It wasn't about intelligence (they were used to him by now) and it wasn't about looks(he had no obvious deformities whatsoever so he guessed he blended in). No, it wasn't any of those at all.

All throughout his life he'd felt as though he somehow stuck out like a firefly growing up believing he was a butterfly, though he was never able to pinpoint just why. Day and night, light and dark. Things and creatures suited for specific purposes, having different instincts. There was always something in him that he felt people (himself included) didn't know, something people would be actually afraid to know because they wouldn't understand, but he'd never come to terms with it.

At fourteen, Tom Collins had finally figured out what made him unlike any other kid he knew.

"Hey Tom. Tom."

Tom didn't look up from his Chem 1 homework when he heard Mark call out his name, waking him from a temporary trance. The silence of the Collins' house came back to him like a wave, sharply interrupted by the constant spiking of tortured notes from the nearby piano that Roger was playing. The bottom part of his legs dangled lazily from the opposite end of where his head lay on his mother's suede loveseat that sat in the great room, where him, Roger and Mark were. Even if he tried, it was difficult for him to see either of them since his book and his legs were blocking his view. He was nearly as tall as his father now, just as all three of his brothers had been when they were his age. Puberty had hit a few months shy from his thirteenth birthday and now it had settled in beautifully. Maureen had confessed to him that she was in love with his voice since it made him sound like James Bond. He thought she was crazy for more reasons than one.

"Hm?"

His pencil flew all over the paper, canceling assorted measurements from the solution, ending up with one definite answer. Cancel centimeter, multiplied by a hundred meters gives you the measurement in meters. He loved science. With science he was at least in control. He knew exactly what to do, why and how things happened.

"You remember my sister, Cindy, don't you?" he heard Mark say amidst Roger's terrible playing. Tom commended himself for having immuned himself from Roger's playing long ago. The sounds the boy made on the piano was one of the reasons Roger was there: to practice without fear of his father's sharp eye and quick tongue. Tom thought Jake Davis was an idiot for forcing his kid to play an instrument Roger didn't like in the first place; the kid was just terrible.

"Yeah, sure I remember Cindy,"

Who didn't? She'd actually gotten boobs over the summer and she'd been flaunting it proudly ever since. It had caught every boy's eye, except Tom's.

Terameter, gigameter, megameter…Tom continued solving."What about her?" Kilometer, hectometer, decameter.

He heard Mark snicker. "She likes you, man."

Tom had to put the book down and crane his neck to get a glimpse of Mark on the rug, a battered copy of '20,000 Leagues Under the Sea' on his lap. "What?"

Roger's playing had stopped and Tom saw that he had a funny look on his face. "Yeah Mark, what?" Tom sat up now, feeling an ache in his back for staying in the position he'd been for so long. "Your sister, Cindy? The vamp-woman Cindy?"

"Hey," Mark frowned. Roger shrugged and brushed his hair out of his eyes.

"Man, you gotta admit, she is a vamp. I heard she kissed a guy and she, like, sucked all the life out of him." Roger snickered, his shoulders shaking slightly.

"Where'd you hear that baloney?" Tom stole Mark's attention from Roger by tossing a pencil in his direction. Mark snorted in his direction, adjusting his glasses. Nearby, the grandfather clock announced that it was already six o' clock.

"I saw her diary, man. She wrote 'Cindy Cohen-Collins' all over it. And there was a really small picture of you. I'm guessing she got it from a yearbook or something." Mark shook his head. Tom felt himself go red. Roger guffawed.

"Oh man," he laughed. "That is the craziest thing I've ever heard! Tommy, c'mon. Don't tell me you don't like that. You look like you're about to kill Mark. What are you going to do now, man? You should ask her out!" Roger gave him a wide grin. Tom didn't feel like returning his enthusiasm. He shook his head.

"It's just a phase, man," he told Mark. "She'll get over it."

But Mark shook his head. "The way I see it she's liked you ever since we moved here."

"Ooh, Maureen's got competition," Roger said. He raised his legs to sit Indian-style on the piano seat, where he fit perfectly. At ten, Roger was still pretty much of a runt among the other kids. Even Mark was growing taller faster than he was, but it never really fazed the kid. Tom frowned at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh c'mon, Tommy, do you really think Maureen doesn't like you? Ask Mark!"

"She does not!" Tom had shut his book now and had placed it on the nearby coffee table. Chemistry would have to wait. His heart was beating faster now, but not in a good way. Shit. Shit. Please don't let that be true.

"It doesn't take a genius, man," Mark looked at him seriously. "Anyway, that's a good thing, right? My sister likes you, Maureen likes you…I mean, that's great news, isn't it? So you can, like, ask them out easier or something. I dunno. That's what my Dad would say."

"I don't know what my Dad would say, but…eurgh Tommy, are you going to have a girlfriend now?" Roger looked as though he'd swallowed something putrid. "Yech."

Shit.

His face was hot. Tom licked his lips. They tasted of strawberry soda. He remembered what his father had said the other day: "No girlfriends yet, son? High time you start looking, don't you think? He remembered feeling hot, then cold, wondering if he should tell his father. But then he'd seen Ian's framed school photograph on the wall.

It wasn't the right time.

"No one's getting a girlfriend. You guys are nuts. I'll prove to you that Maureen doesn't like me and then we'll just get on with our lives." He forced a smile and attempted to assess the situation by changing the topic. Without much thought, he turned to Roger.

"Roger, man, why the hell do you keep playing that stupid piano? I thought you didn't want to anymore."

Roger's expression changed, like someone passed an eraser over his face and made the smile disappear. He looked down and played with his laces, avoiding eye contact with Tom. "I've told you before: my Dad wants me to."

He could see as Mark shifted uneasily in his seat. This was a sensitive topic, but Tom went on. He was pissed at Mark for bringing the girlfriend topic up because it made his situation harder than before. He was pissed at Roger too for supporting it.

"Can't you just tell him you don't like it? Music has to have love, man, or you're lost," Tom stated smoothly. Maureen and Cindy were still on his mind, Maureen especially (God, had he been that blind?).He was in deep shit, thanks to Mark and Roger. "That's what my Mom used to say. She taught James and I how to play the piano."

Roger frowned. He spoke the next words carefully, as if he were uncertain if he should really say them out loud. "I just…have to. Dad said my Mom used to play. I know he misses her. I just want him to be happy."

"You're not going to make him happy if you keep murdering those piano notes, man,"

He knew he'd struck a chord. He knew how hard Roger had to fight to gain his father's love and attention. The kid was, after all, constantly competing with the memory of his mother and his father's work, and it didn't take a genius to figure out just how much Jake Davis loved both.

He was more than happy now that the conversation didn't revolve around him anymore.

"I just want him to be happy with me, Tom," he heard Roger say more softly. "I'd do anything. You know that. I'd do anything."

Tom remembered thinking those same words just recently when his father had asked him about girlfriends: I can't tell him. I just want him to be happy. I'd do anything to make him happy. I can't tell him. It'd break his heart.

Suddenly, his thinking cleared and his conscience kicked in. It said one thing to him and one thing alone:

What the hell are you doing?

From the corner of his eye, he could see Mark, mute on the floor, looking at him almost in disbelief. Tom felt as though someone had just dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over his head. Fuck, what had he done? Roger had his head down, his finger tracing lazy circles on the piano seat's leather exterior. The look on his face reflected a hurt Tom had never seen before. He couldn't believe it. He'd hurt Roger and he'd done it on purpose. Just to save face.

Tom felt ashamed of himself. The anger he'd felt a while ago had melted away, leaving him feeling as though he'd been kicked. Roger had trusted him and he'd let him down. Et tu, Brute?

"Oh God, Roger. I'm sorry I had to bring it up, man," He felt sick to his stomach. "Oh God, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He thought for a moment that Roger wasn't going to say anything, but "It's okay, Tommy," came softly about ten seconds later. That was Roger: quick to forgive and never holding a grudge. Tom knew he was on a clean slate, but he had to do something for the kid. He couldn't stand thinking about what he'd done. What the hell was wrong with him? Roger had done nothing to deserve it.

"If it makes you feel better," Mark's voice was small and Tom turned to look, "at least you don't suck at Math like I do. My Dad wants me to become an engineer, but my Math grades say otherwise." He shrugged. "It's just not my thing, Math. It stinks. But I don't want to let my Dad down."

Tom saw as Roger looked up at his best friend, looking almost confused. "Why didn't you just ask me to help?"

"I…I didn't want to, like, bother you or anything. I mean, I'm stupider at it than you are…"

"You're not stupid, Mark," Roger interrupted. "I'll help you with your Math, I swear. You're not stupid."

Tom felt a surge of affection for both boys rush through his veins, and he cracked a small smile. What was he thinking being mad at Mark and Roger? God, he was pathetic. He hoped it was just the hormones.

"Wait here." He got off the loveseat and jogged towards the stairs. He took the steps two at a time, hearing the dull pounding of his sneakers on the wood in his ears. The sounds were louder since no one was home. His parents had gone out for the evening and James and Michael had moved out long ago. He was, in a sense, like Mark and Roger now: sole receivers of their father's hopes and attention. It made everything doubly hard, especially with the realization of what he'd been keeping inside of him for so long. He wished life were like science. At least he'd know why and how everything happened, and he could predict how everything would turn out. But life wasn't. He couldn't do that. Not around here at least.

He paused automatically upon reaching Ian's room and waited a moment before opening the door that led to the inside of it. He had no knowledge of his parents ever entering Ian's room after the accident, like they'd made it into a shrine of some sort. Tom still went into it sometimes, to think, or sometimes to cry. He saw Ian's Fender perched on the stand by the window and without thinking, grabbed it, along with a few pieces of sheet music. Before he could consider what he'd done, he'd gone out and was jogging down the stairs with it in hand. He felt no guilt about it whatsoever. Knowing his brother, if Ian had known about, he wouldn't have minded.

"Here, Rog," Tom handed Roger the guitar. Immediately, Roger's mouth dropped open and he looked at it as if it were some sort of sacred artifact, his eyes attempting to take in the entire sight in one gulp. "If you want to make your dad happy, you're better off doing it in some way that makes you happy, too. Take it."

"Oh wow," Mark's eyes were wide as well and he reached out to touch it. "Wow. Is that Ian's? 'Cause I remember seeing him play something like that before…."

"It doesn't matter whose it is. Just as long as you promise to play it well," Tom placed it on Roger's lap since Roger was still mesmerized by it. "I know you'd wanted the drums originally but…"

"No, no, this is great. Oh wow, thanks, Tommy. Really. Thanks," he ran a gentle finger down the Fender's face. "Oh wow…I promise I'll be really good at it. I swear."

Tom smiled. At least that was one kid down. He turned to Mark. "I'll help you with your Math too, if you want. But then you can also try to find some other thing you like that maybe your Dad will like too, if you care that much. It's your life, man, not his. You have to find your own way."

Mark nodded. If there was one thing about Mark Tom liked, it was the fact that he listened, and he listened well. Tom could always be sure he was going to get somewhere with the kid. He didn't want either Mark or Roger to be in the same rut he was in. The least he could give them was a confidence boost.

"I'll keep that in mind," Mark smiled back. "Thanks, Tommy."

"No problem." He looked at Roger who was now attempting to play the guitar. On his first try, the kid didn't sound half-bad. It was at least better than what his piano playing had been.

"I'm gonna be so good on this thing Dad would explode once he hears me," Roger looked almost blind with happiness. "Thanks a million, Tommy."

Tom smiled. He was glad he'd helped, but he wished he could at least be brave enough to follow his own advice. Life wasn't like science. Correction: life in Scarsdale wasn't like science. Here you had no control. Instead, everyone except yourself had control over whom you were and what you were going to become, and Tommy hated that fact. He hated it but he had to conform. He had to conform for now. He had to wait.

But Maureen…he had to tell Maureen soon.

A/N: I hope you guys know what secret Tom's hiding. It's not that hard really if you look close enough, and that secret's all-out anyway in present- Rent-time. Also, I know mean!Collins is pretty rare and out of character, but I figured, well the guy's human and all, there had to be some point in his life that he was mean. And besides, he was doing it because A) he's high on hormones since he is an adolescent and B) he's very protective about his secret at around this point in time. He's just a kid.

Would you like to see Tom's confrontation with Maureen? Because I haven't decided that yet. You guys tell me and I'll try to come up with a chapter soon. :)