See first chapter for disclaimer

A/N; I've gotten some comments about how Mark seems kinda different from normal. I guess I just wanted to make him less goody-goody. Even in the play he's not a complete spaz, and he does have some fun at the party. I guess I just wanted a wilder take on him. I mean, everyone has it in them, it's just some get it out of their systems sooner than others. I guess that's what I'm trying to get across, but if you guys think it's too much, I'll try to tone it down a little.

Four: Mark

Halloween 1985

I almost decide not to go to the party. I mean, it's not like I know anybody there. I think I only got invited because I smoke sometimes with Chris DePaul (the guy throwing it). Chris is an okay guy, only thing is he's such a burn out that I'm surprised he has the initiative to make a sandwich, let alone throw a party.

In the end I go though. I want to say it's because I decide to follow Chris's example and do something slightly productive, but that would be a lie. Honestly it's either this or spend Halloween handing out candy with Cindy and I'd rather not spend tonight with my older sister.

The nice thing about Scarsdale is that you can walk everywhere from anywhere because it's organized in a grid. It's like walking on a chess board. The only real problem is remembering where you are because all the blocks look the same. They've all got similar names, Owl Close, Fox Street, Rabbit Road. What is it with upstate New York and nasty little animals?

Chris lives on 420 (no joke!) Doberman Way. It's no wonder the kid's a burnout with an address like that! I can feel the music before I get into the house, the baseline thumping up through my feet. Inside it's a nice typically Scarsdale house, respectable. The first floor is deserted, but for a few couples making out on various pieces of furniture. There's a sign made from the lid of a pizza box taped to the wall with PARTY IN BASEMENT written in sharpie. I clop down the stairs and suddenly and get hit with a solid wall of smoke and sound. Led Zeppelin (Immigrant Song) is roaring through the speakers. The air is gray with a combination of cigarette smoke, incense, and pot. People are everywhere. Some are dancing, but not many. Instead, most are sitting around, bobbing their heads to the music. A guy in the corner is raving about tigers in the hair dryer. Most of them are sitting around in groups talking, eating, smoking. Typical party.

I join a group and someone (I think her name is Jenny) passes me a joint and I'm away in the land before I know it. Chris did good. There is an amazing amount of drugs at this party. I don't know where or how on earth he scored it, but he's obviously got connections, because some of these people look way older than fifteen.

Between ten and midnight, everything is a blur. I'm well aware that I'm going way too fast. I'm drunk and high and I'm not entirely sure what I've ingested. I vaguely remember talking to Chris for a little. I danced with someone, some girl I don't know. I think I kissed her, but I'm not sure. I'm not the kissing strangers type. For that matter, I'm not the kissing anyone type. I don't think I've had this many chemicals in my blood ever. I also don't think I like this very much. It's making me nervous and sea sick, the way the room keeps tilting and going in and out of focus. I can't see straight, walk straight, think straight, my only rational thought is that I have to get out of this basement. I have to get upstairs and calm down a little. I hope there's coffee or water or something without alcohol that I can drink. I need to slow down.

I struggle through the packed basement, up the stairs (were there this many of them on the way down? Where they this narrow, this steep, this dark? Why are they moving?).

The basement opens into the kitchen. The tiles are a problem. They're black and white checks and the black ones keep popping up, the white ones sink down. Then they switch and the white rise and the black sink. I don't think I can walk on this floor. I stagger and grab the counter. It looks like sponge, but it holds so I guess it isn't.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Oh great, now the counter is talking to me. Can this night get worse?

"Dude, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

Fucking counter. Wait.....no, because counters can't talk so.....

I look up. This tall guy with shaggy hair that's half blond, half brown is staring down at me. God he looks familiar. Wide mouth, different colored eyes....it's, wait for it, it's BATHROOM KID!

"You're not the counter," I say.

"No, I'm the Roger," he says. "Are you alright?"

"Um.....the floor tiles.....I don't think I can stand on them. They won't hold still."

"No problem, we'll go into the living room. Do you want some pudding?" He grabs my elbow and guides me into the other room, puts me down on the sofa.

"No. I need to slow down......"

"I'll help, just let me get my pudding. I've got the munchies like nothing else, man."

So I watch Roger eat his pudding and I drink copious amounts of water and later some pop. It doesn't bring me down all the way, but it helps a little. I have to give Roger credit for most of it. He keeps bringing me stuff to drink, walking around with me, finding me places to puke. I am insanely grateful, especially after the way I treated him in the bathroom. I think now I'd give him a whole box of Cloves, if I had any left.

Now, there are three things that can happen after you spend the night the way we did. A) You can ignore each other forever. Pretend this embarrassing little incident never happened. B) You can become worst enemies after the person taking care of you tells everyone at school what a loser you are. C) You can become best friends. The two musketeers. Rocky and Bullwinkle. Sid and Nancy (only without the sex and the suicide pact). But anyway, I think you know what I mean.

Honestly , I'm really worried that we're going to have a B relationship. C wouldn't be so bad, but it would be a waste of a night. A seems hopeless. B seems most likely, but it would totally suck.

So I'm shocked on Monday when I drag myself up the drive to the school and hear Roger calling me from across the parking lot.

"Hey! Mark! C'mere, man!"

And I go over. No, I drift. I drift on a cloud of shock and relief because it's not an unfriendly yell. Roger grins at me, "Had a good weekend? Did you get busted by your folks?"

"No. The only one up was my sister. Let's just say I'm in debt to her till I'm forty one."

"But you're not grounded." He states, still grinning.

"Not yet, anyway."

"That's cool, hey meet Ellis and me behind the kitchen during English, okay?"

"Sure."