Eleven.

"Okay, this blows."

"Chris, stop whining, you're messing up my concentration," Richard said.

"No, you just suck," CJ answered, and followed it up with, "Take that! Ha!" As he managed to blow up Richard. Well, in the video game they were playing. Richard grumbled.

"Now, now, be nice. It's mean to kick a guy when he's down. By… several hundred points. Ouch, Rich, you do suck."

"Shut up, Nick."

"I was trying to be nice."

"By saying I suck?"

"By not saying that I totally, um…" He paused. "Yeah, you're my bitch." Nick proceeded to blow Richard up again. Richard dropped the controller in disgust.

"You two are ganging up on me, I'm never going to get anywhere!"

"No we weren't," CJ said. "You just…"

"Shut up," Richard sulked.

"I didn't say it."

"You were thinking it."

"Oh, sweetie," Nick cooed, and reached over with one hand to pinch Richard's cheek. "You've loosened up so much! You haven't even thrown up in days!"

"Why are you in such a good mood?" Rich muttered. "CJ's kicking your ass, too."

Nick shrugged. "Naturally upbeat disposition."

"You freaking fairy," Richard added.

"Oh, don't be bitter." Nick turned his attention back to the game, and Chris cleared his throat.

"Um, could we get back to why my life sucks, here?"

"You won't care if we ignore you, though, right?" CJ asked.

"You always do anyway."

"You're sulking."

"You can't see if I'm sulking, you didn't even turn around!"

"You're always sulking. Anyway, life sucks, okay, go."

"Thank you. I can not believe—it's July and I have homework. Homework!"

"No rest for the wicked," Alejandro mumbled from across the room, where he was staring down at a physics textbook.

"I'm not wicked and I'm the only person in the country who doesn't get a summer vacation!"

"We don't get vacation," Nick answered.

"You don't have to deal with a tutor, either."

"Well, it's not our fault you're a baby."

"I'm not a baby! Come on, I'm still getting over the Game On! cast, you guys should be nice."

"I think maybe we'd take you more seriously if you didn't pout and stomp your foot when you tried to convince us you're an adult," Richard said, smirking.

"Oh, go get blown up some more." He groaned. "I hate math. I absolutely, positively, can not stand this stuff. I mean, when the hell am I ever going to need to know what a function is? And how am I supposed to solve for a function when I don't know what it does? I don't get this! And it's July and I should have a vacation, but no, Weisel says I'm too far behind in my classes and I'm only sixteen so I still have to… I just hate everything."

"That's nice," Nick answered, then, "Damn it, CJ, you cheat!"

"I do not, I just rock."

Alejandro looked up from his textbook and over at Chris, then back down. He'd tried to tutor Chris before, and knew how badly that went, so he didn't say anything. But then again, he was also reading a physics textbook for fun; he had a diploma now, based on equivalency tests, and he hadn't really needed a senior year of high school anyway. But still, he felt gypped; he'd spent so long focusing on just school that not getting to graduate seemed unfair.

"F of X-plus-two is eight, how am I supposed to solve for X?"

"It's six, Chris," Alejandro said, not looking up.

"What? Why?"

"The function of X plus two is eight. Eight minus two is six."

"But… Why does it have to be the function? Why can't it just be X? I only just figured out what X means!"

Alejandro sighed. "Do you really want my help with this?"

"No."

"Then don't ask."

Chris grumbled and began to work on his homework some more, muttering under his breath the whole time. CJ continued to beat Nick in the game, while Richard watched and seethed at them. Alejandro observed them all silently, impressed that they'd made it so far as a group. Two tours done, one album out—more than platinum. But sometimes, when they just hung out, it was hard to believe they were any sort of famous at all. They seemed so…

Well, not normal. Richard still had anxiety problems, and Chris was still… Chris. But being inside the band instead of a fan made it hard to remember that their fans really existed, that he was on an album and in magazines, that people paid money to see him.

Actually, he realized, they mostly paid to see Chris and Richard, but still, he and CJ and Nick were a big part of things.

He just couldn't believe how this all seemed normal. He'd never have imagined it.

He was about to turn back to his textbook (just because he wasn't in college didn't mean he couldn't get an education, he'd decided) when Weisel strode in.

"Play time is over, kids," he announced.

"Five more minutes, I'm just about done making Nick my bitch, come on!"

"Off, CJ."

"Yeah, CJ," Nick said, and turned the game off.

"Man, I had a new high score, too! You all suck."

"Whatever. Anyway," Weisel said, "we have a fascinating opportunity in front of us."

"Is this one going to kill me again? Because I'll get my mom to come visit."

"Chris, shut up. As I was saying, we have a choice in front of us—but a good one. Either way we go is… lucrative."

"So, spit it out."

"We have two very lucrative acts setting up tours at the moment. They'll both be on tour through the fall—and either one would be happy to have you as openers. However—"

"Wait, huh, slow up." Chris crossed his arms. "I'm sorry, did you say openers?"

"Chris, shut up. The two choices are—"

"No, is the answer," Chris snapped. "Forget my mom, I'll call Rich's. We're not opening for anyone, we're not openers. People open for us."

"As I was saying," Weisel continued, ignoring Chris since trying to quiet him didn't work, "our choices are good, though both have advantages and disadvantages. The first offer we received was from the Uptown Boyz—"

"Oh Christ no," Richard snapped.

"Hey, hear him out," Nick interrupted, earning him dirty looks from Chris and Richard.

"—or Shawna Rivers."

"What? No!" Richard yelled. "No, that's just… Bad to worse!"

"I thought you two knew each other as children?" Weisel asked.

"We did. Why do you think I don't want to do it?"

"I see. Well, be that as it may—"

"No," Chris said again. "I am not opening for anyone. I'm sorry, but…"

"But you are not the only member of the band, young man," Weisel scolded.

CJ cleared his throat. "Actually, we back-up dancers kind of agree."

"CJ, I didn't mean that—"

"Whatever, Chris, point is… Dude, we went platinum, we're not opening for anyone."

Weisel raised an eyebrow. "Shawna Rivers is currently preparing to release her second album; it's anticipated to do triple the business of her first—which is already more than twice your sales. What were you saying?"

CJ groaned. "Okay, but… We still shouldn't be… Uh…"

Chris jumped in. "We shouldn't be opening for anyone, it makes us look like we're desperate, and less than the Uptown Boyz—and I swear I'll quit if you try and make us—"

"You are under contract until you turn twenty, Chris."

Chris scowled.

"I'll quit," Richard snapped.

"You are all under contract to Pulitzer Inc, none of you can quit, so stop threatening. Richard, I'd call your mother anyway. I was being generous in offering you boys a choice, however if you're unwilling to cooperate—"

Alejandro cleared his throat. "We'd like to choose," he interrupted, and everyone stared at him. "Our first choice is neither."

"You don't get that choice."

"Let me finish. Our first choice is neither because in opening for either of the two acts, we lose publicity—we aren't the stars, and people aren't coming to see us. If we open for the Uptown Boyz, it makes us look like we're their wannabe clones; if we open for Shawna…" He trailed off. "We'd still be losing the spotlight. And we're never going to build the fanbase and following you keep talking about if we're not in the spotlight."

Weisel smirked. "Kid, don't go into entertainment."

"I already am in entertainment, Mr. Weasel."

Weisel glowered, and everyone else snickered.

"My point was, you don't take our opinions seriously. The press already accuses us of being puppets, of having no real talent of our own. And you tell us to deny it—but then refuse to take us seriously. So how are they wrong?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter what's true, Bumlets. What matters is what you tell the press is true. And don't forget that."

Alejandro narrowed his eyes, and everyone else watched silently, sensing that Alejandro was their best chance at winning the fight. "The press already thinks we just do what we're told. Me smiling for cameras won't change that. But me refusing to answer questions will certainly get them thinking."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Do you feel threatened? I was just having a friendly discussion about our upcoming options."

Weisel snorted. "Yeah, well, you've still only got two choices. Shawna or the Uptown Boyz. But since you're such free thinkers, I'll let you decide which one. And to make sure you know what you're getting into, Mr. Pulitzer is throwing all three groups a party. Formal dress, end of the week. I'll expect your answer the next morning."

He strode out of the room and everyone sat in silence, and then finally turned to stare at Alejandro.

"Holy shit, Alejandro! Holy… Oh my god!"

Alejandro shrugged. "I resented his attitude."

"So you fucking mopped the floor with him? That was amazing!"

Chris snorted. "What do you mean he mopped the floor? We still have to open for one of them. He didn't do anything except get Weasel all pissed off."

Alejandro looked down at his textbook and didn't answer, but Nick jumped in.

"Actually, from the sound of it, he was about to tell us all that we didn't have any sort of choice, since you three were so adamant about this. Alejandro at least made him think, and he got us the choice."

Chris scowled. "It doesn't matter anyway, and now Weisel is pissed."

"I'm pissed!" Alejandro snapped at him. "I was defending your point, you moron."

Chris stared at him. "Did you just… Did he just call me a moron?"

"Well, if the shoe fits…" Richard mumbled.

"Hey!"

"Okay," Alejandro said, interrupting again. "Chris, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that you're a moron. But if you were to think about it, I was making the same point that you were. The only difference is that I didn't sound like a spoiled brat."

Chris glared at him, and Alejandro picked up his textbook. "Anyway, who we open for doesn't matter to me. If it was up to me, I'd be getting ready for college about now. But I'm here, so I'm going to do whatever I can to make sure this goes well."

He left the room, and there was another quiet. Finally, Nick said, "I think Alejandro's all grown up now."

"I think Alejandro is…" CJ trailed off. "I mean, he doesn't get mad, does he?"

"He's been mad at me before," Nick answered. "He got over it when I apologized."

Chris shut his math book. "Do you guys really think I sounded spoiled?"

"Chris, you really want an answer?" Richard asked.

"You're just as bad as I am."

Richard shrugged. "At least I see reality and know that I've gotten it all distorted. Sometimes, I don't think you do."

"Okay, well…" Chris was quiet now, looking almost thoughtful. "Well, I mean. If you guys really think I sounded so… distorted. I mean, then maybe I'd better… I guess I could say I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Nick said. "That might be a good idea. Besides, now that we know that Alejandro can kick some ass when he wants, I think we might want him to be on our side."

"He should use his powers for good instead of evil," CJ agreed. "If it wasn't for those pesky contracts, I'm sure he'd have us on the cover of Rolling Stone by now."

Chris mumbled something under his breath, and stalked out of the room. He found that Alejandro was in his room, sitting at his desk and staring at his textbook. Chris watched him for a few seconds and saw Alejandro finally shove it across the desk and bury his head in his hands.

Chris cleared his throat. "Uh… Alejandro? Can I come in?"

Alejandro looked up abruptly. "If you want. Whatever."

Chris closed the door behind him and pointed at the bed. "Can I sit?"

"Sure."

Chris sat, and hesitated, and fidgeted. "Uh," he finally said. "Look, uh… Okay, I suck."

"Chris—"

"No, come on, please let me finish. I don't know how to say… I mean, you're right, I am kind of… spoiled. And you did do a really good job down there, and you sounded so professional, compared to me. Like I was just throwing a temper tantrum but you were really concerned with the band."

Alejandro shrugged.

"So, anyway… I'm sorry for not… For acting like… You know, right? I don't

know how to say it."

"Yeah," Alejandro said, letting out a deep breath. "It's okay. And I really don't think you're a moron, I just…"

"I know. I… Do you really wish you were in college now? Instead of in the band?"

"I dunno. Sometimes."

"I guess we need you more than you need us. I mean, without you… we're screwed. No bass singer, and you're the best dancer, and you're the smartest. I mean, you really did just about kick Weasel's ass. But none of us could just walk away from all this, like you could."

"Chris, I won't," he said. "I don't… Quit. I just hate that we're barely even a band. We really are just puppets."

"Yeah." Chris shrugged. "I guess I just never felt like that because it's all I've ever been. Like he said, Pulitzer owns me until I turn twenty. And he had to buy out my contract with Face Forward. I never even thought of it that way."

"Well, I guess this is just the way it works."

"Yeah."

Alejandro shrugged. "Thanks for coming to talk to me, though. I really don't think you're spoiled—"

"Yes, you do. I am." Chris shrugged. "That's why it never bothered me to be a puppet."

"Well, you don't have to be one forever."

"Nope, just for almost four years. Honestly, I'm not sure what else to be."

Alejandro gave him a wane smile. "I'm sure you'll think of something. You wouldn't have gotten this far if you weren't really talented."

"Thanks." Chris smiled. "Anyway… I guess we should probably go try to calm Rich down… He and Shawna hate each other, did you know?"

"I didn't."

"Yeah, they always have. It was hilarious, at least, the rumors were. They had to kiss when they were kids on TV together, and apparently Rich insisted on spitting as soon as the shot was over."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, but he accidentally spat on her shoes."

Alejandro laughed.

Richard glanced at his friends as they got out of the limo, and he had to admit it: they looked good. Even CJ, who still looked like a faux-skater boy even at the best of times, managed to look classy wearing a tuxedo. Nick looked like he'd been born in one, though, and every single girl they passed stopped to gape. Whereas Alejandro looked like he was a little uncomfortable, but anyone who liked 'tall dark and handsome' would probably develop an instant crush.

Chris, however, left everyone else behind. He had all of Nick's confidence and all of Alejandro's class, and his usual fake smile seemed more real when he was dressed up. And he had charisma—it was so easy to forget about that when you knew him so well that it didn't work anymore, but Chris positively reeked of charisma. Every eye was drawn to him, and that was more than alright by Chris.

Richard felt vaguely dirty thinking that Chris was attractive, but it was the truth and there was no getting around it. He could only imagine that Chris's ego knew that, too.

They walked inside and to a private room, where the tables hadn't yet been set, but there was an open bar. Not that they were twenty-one, but at a private function, no one really cared.

Shawna Rivers was wearing a red dress and standing by the bar, holding a pink martini in one hand, and observing everyone who walked by. Her hair was done up in elaborate curls and her dress left very little to the imagination. Richard gulped. He'd seen her videos, of course; he'd known she grew up to be attractive, but he hadn't seen her up close since they were kids.

She raised an eyebrow at him coyly.

"Go get 'er, tiger," CJ mumbled, and pushed Richard forward. He stumbled but caught himself, vowed vengeance, and walked up to the bar, doing his best to look like he was ignoring her.

"Vodka tonic, please," he requested, and the bartender nodded and turned away to make the drink. He glanced at Shawna and smiled. "Good evening, Ms. Rivers."

"And to you." She sipped her martini. "It's been a long time, Richard."

"It has."

"That reminds me." She took another sip and then swirled her drink slightly, and he waited. She glanced up at him, smiled, and tossed the contents of her glass in his face. Then, as if nothing had happened, she set the glass down. "Can I get another when you're free?" she asked the bartender, and stalked down to the other end of the bar.

Richard reached for a napkin and began to wipe his glasses clean. He saw Chris walk up next to him, recognizing him by the blond hair, as he couldn't see anything more detailed.

"That could have gone worse," he noted, and Chris nodded. Richard mopped the remaining gin off his face, and replaced the glasses.

"Your drink, sir," the bartender said, managing to keep his face remarkably straight. "It appears as if you'll need it."

CJ bounced up behind them. "Hey, keep on your toes. The Uptown Boyz are in the lobby."

"Fabulous," Richard said. "I have a better idea. Why don't the Uptown Boyz open for the Ice Queen, and leave us out of it?"

"Because we're puppets," Chris sighed, and saw that the bartender was free, having handed Shawna another drink. "Can I get a screwdriver?"

The bartender frowned. "Can I see your ID?"

"What! You didn't card anyone else!"

Richard glanced down the bar and saw that Shawna was watching them, but as soon as she saw him watching her, she looked away.

Before he had a chance to wonder about that, the Uptown Boyz entered the room. They looked good too, also wearing tuxes and dressed to the hilt, but something about them just seemed greasier than the V-Tones.

One of them—Anthony—swept past him and to the bar, where he shot the bartender a smile, passed him a fifty dollar bill, and declared, "I'd like a martini, then a G&T with lemon, and then a shot of whiskey, and a rum and coke. Keep the rum coming all night. Thanks." He turned to Richard. "What?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Good."

Richard glanced over at Chris, who raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

Ryan Ballatt, the one with the eyepatch, was standing at the edge of the room. He'd removed his jacket and loosened his tie, and looked rather uncomfortable, but was standing right next to a tray of cocktail weenies. Richard bit down a snicker, and watched as Nick walked over to take one of the weenies. He couldn't hear what was said, but it looked awkward. Poor Nick, he mused, having already decided there was no way he'd make friends with any of those guys.

But if it was them or Shawna…

He shot her another glance and saw that she was talking animatedly to Jack, the leader of the Uptown Boyz, and smiling coyly at him. He snorted in disdain and took a gulp of his drink.

Alejandro was leaning against a wall, arms crossed lightly over his stomach, watching everyone else. Richard caught his eye and he nodded a little, shrugging. But before Richard could move on to watch someone else, he saw Jeremy Snodgrass, the strong but silent member of the Uptown Boyz, wander over towards Alejandro and extend a hand. Alejandro shook, and the two stood side by side, both looking a little uncomfortable, only occasionally exchanging words.

He looked over at Shawna again, just in time to see her reach out and put a hand on Jack's shoulder. He laughed at something and slapped a hand down on the bar; the bartender rolled his eyes and began making another drink. Richard took another sip, and next to him, Anthony was already on his third.

"In a bit of a hurry?" he asked.

"You blame me?"

"Not particularly."

"Alright then. I'm just hoping no one gets killed tonight."

"You think this'll be that bad?"

"You ever met Sean?"

"Only… Only briefly."

"Ha." Anthony tossed back the rest of his third drink and reached for the fourth, already waiting for him. "Just you wait. He didn't want to come tonight. It'll be awful. With luck, I won't remember in the morning."

"Oooookay." Richard glanced over at the weenie table, and saw that Nick was heading off to the men's room. Ryan watched him go, and ate another weenie.

He heard loud talking from across the room and glanced over to see that Sean, who was quite loud for someone so skinny, had pulled Jeremy away from the wall where he was standing with Alejandro, and was heading towards the bar. Most of what he said seemed to be obscenities. He stopped to glance at Anthony.

"Drunkard."

"Asshole," Anthony answered evenly.

"Don't you call me an asshole, at least I can hold my liquor."

"Yeah, but you're still an asshole. Richard, meet the asshole."

Richard glanced over at Sean. "Uh… It's Sean, right?"

Sean ignored him. "Excuse me? I can have you killed, Tony. Don't tempt me."

"Go ahead. You'll save me the hangover. Cheers." He raised another drink.

Richard glanced around for help, now surrounded by Uptown Boyz, and failing to find any, he took a drink.

"Hey, dickhead!" Sean yelled down the bar. "Stop groping the competition!"

Shawna shot him a look of utter disgust, and Jack guiltily walked over to them.

"Thanks, asshole. I was going to score tonight."

Richard clutched his drink a little bit more tightly than was probably necessary. He glanced back at Shawna, and saw she was now talking with Chris, who had managed to work his way out of the knot of Uptown Boyz.

Jack followed his gaze. "Please, if you think a little kid is gonna show me up, you're stupider than Sean."

"Fuck you, Kelly."

"I have standards, asshole."

Anthony polished off another drink and commented, "See what I mean?" Jeremy rolled his eyes, probably in agreement.

Richard glanced around the room again, desperately, and saw that Ryan was now also heading towards the men's room, hurrying. Probably something wrong with the cocktail weenies, Richard decided, glad he hadn't had any.

"Excuse me!" a voice interrupted, and Richard gratefully turned his attention to the maitre d', who was standing by a doorway. "If you'll all step through here, the meal is ready."

"Thank God," Jeremy mumbled, and walked away briskly. Richard was inclined to agree with him, and followed suit. He could hear Sean and Jack snarling at each other behind him.

They were seated at a single long table, and, unfortunately, place cards were set up at each seat. Richard found himself seated between Anthony and Shawna. Fabulous, he mused. A drunk and a bitch.

Worse, he noticed, Chris was seated next to Sean, at the end of the table.

It started innocently enough; appetizers were served (Richard was starting to be a little concerned that neither Nick nor Ryan had reappeared), and Chris reached down the table, past Sean to grab the salt.

"Excuse me?" Sean snarled.

Chris blinked. "I only need it for a second."

Sean glowered at him until he set it down, then snapped it up himself and deposited it on his other side, out of Chris's reach. Chris stared at him for a second, then shrugged and went back to his own food. Richard wished Chris was close enough to kick under the table.

"Hey, where's Ryan?" Jeremy asked, glancing down the table.

"Bathroom," Richard answered. "So's Nick, they both ran off in a hurry. I think it was the cocktail weenies."

"Nah," Jack said. "I had a couple, they were fine."

"Huh." Richard shrugged. Odd.

Down the table, Chris refilled his water glass and set the pitcher down next to his plate, between him and Sean. Sean glowered at him and moved it. Chris gave him a baffled look.

"Fuck you," Sean mouthed.

Chris stared at him, then glanced down the table to see if anyone else was watching. Only Richard seemed to have noticed, and he shrugged, so Chris shrugged back. Richard was proud of how non-hostile Chris's reaction was.

Next to him, Anthony groaned. "You think they'll bring us food soon? I need another drink."

"How are you not drunk?" Richard asked incredulously.

"You live with these guys, you build up a tolerance pretty fast."

"Okay… I see."

"Sean's gonna kill your boy down there, you realize that, right?"

"Did Chris do something to him?"

"He exists. And is nearby. I have yet to figure out any other reasons for Sean's temper."

"Great." He glanced over at Shawna, who was sipping her water, looking bored. "If I ask you how your day was, will you promise not to throw your water at me?"

"I wouldn't count on that," she answered, and went back to pointedly ignoring him. He rolled his eyes.

"She kinda hates you, huh?"

"I accidentally spat on her shoes, once. I was twelve, and apparently, she holds grudges."

He got a sharp elbow in the ribs from Shawna, who hadn't even turned around. "Oops," she said innocently, over her shoulder.

"Bitch," he answered.

"Dick."

He rolled his eyes, and Anthony snickered. She turned to glower at him. "Go get wasted, asshole."

"Trying my hardest, sweetheart."

She made an irritated noise at that, and looked indignant. Richard decided to try and not get caught between them if they spoke again; he had already had one drink dumped on him and didn't want to get caught in any crossfire.

Down the table, Chris reached for the salt again, and Sean stabbed at his hand with a fork. "Ow!" he yelled. "Hey!"

"Problem?" Sean snarled.

"You just stabbed me!"

"Here we go…" Anthony mumbled.

"You didn't say please," Sean yelled at Chris.

"About what! I didn't ask you for anything!"

"My point."

"What!"

Sean smirked at him, and Chris glared back. "Can I please have the salt?"

"Hm. No."

Chris glowered and reached for it anyway, and Sean stabbed at him again, and Chris pulled his arm away and knocked over both of their water glasses in the process.

"I swear, we can't take him anywhere," Alejandro mused from the other end of the table. Jeremy laughed weakly.

"Chris, can it," Richard snapped.

"I didn't do anything!" He grabbed a napkin and tried to stop the water from dripping, and when he'd managed to mop most of it up, glanced down the table and not-so accidentally dropped the wet napkin on Sean's lap. "Oh, sorry. I wasn't looking."

Sean threw the napkin in his face. "Me, neither."

"You should have a drink too," Anthony mumbled in Richard's direction. "You'll need it."

"No, he shouldn't," Shawna hissed. "He throws up."

"Yeah, you bring out the urge to puke."

She tossed her hair over her shoulder defiantly.

The waiters came in with trays of food. Anthony grabbed one by the sleeve and ordered another six drinks. Jeremy rolled his eyes, and Jack outwardly laughed. "Whatever. Assholes," Anthony muttered.

"Excuse me, that's my fork."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is!"

"No, it's not."

Chris stared incredulously at Sean. "I don't have a fork. You have two forks. You do the math."

"Are you accusing me of lying?"

"I'm accusing you of stealing my fork!"

"Well, I'm saying I didn't, do you want to make a big deal about it?"

"I want my fork!"

"So what if I did take it? What're you gonna do about it?" Sean taunted.

"Sean—" Jack called from down the table, and received the middle finger in response.

The waiter appeared with several of Anthony's drinks. He handed one to Richard. "On me. Cheers."

"Thanks." Richard took the drink, deciding that he probably could use it.

"Look, you're being ridiculous," Chris said. "It's just a fork, it's not worth getting pissed off about!"

"I'm not pissed," Sean answered.

"I am!"

Sean snorted. "So? I should care because…"

"Because… I… Give me my goddamn fork!"

Sean stood up abruptly. "Try and take it," he snarled.

Chris stood up too, and Richard noticed abruptly that Chris did seem older now, or at least taller. Or at least, Sean was short enough that Chris didn't look like a little kid next to him.

"Give me my fork."

"Make me."

Chris actually started to lunge at Sean, but suddenly Nick was there, having come in from the bathroom. He pulled Chris back and planted himself between Chris and Sean. "What just happen—"

Sean shoved Nick out of his way and started for Chris, but by now everyone was paying attention and Jeremy had rushed to the end of the table and grabbed Sean's arm. Sean pulled free and Jeremy lunged forward to grab him again, and Jack hurried over to help. Chris, who wasn't quite sure what was going on, decided to grab his fork off of Sean's plate, and Sean started swearing and Chris looked like he might actually take a swing at him, but Nick grabbed his arm and dragged him down to the other end of the table.

"Chris can take my seat," Nick said.

"And your fork?" Alejandro muttered.

"What? What did I miss?"

Ryan walked in from the bathroom, his tie now completely undone and his shirt unbuttoned and slightly untucked, with his jacket under one arm. "Hey, guys, what's going—"

"Fuck you all," Sean shouted and turned to storm out of the room.

Ryan blinked. "Was it something I said? I thought he was still mad at Jeremy."

Still standing next to Sean's seat, Jeremy shrugged. "Who can even tell anymore?"

Richard glanced back toward Shawna. She was still seated, sipping her drink, and looking utterly disgusted with the whole lot of them.

"I see you haven't matured any since you were twelve," she commented.

"I didn't do anything!" Richard exclaimed.

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes. "That sounds familiar."

Richard felt a muscle next to his mouth twitch. "Look. I was twelve. I'm sorry about your shoes."

"Was kissing me really that bad?"

"Shawna, you were ten!"

"Are you saying I wasn't attractive at ten?" she countered.

"I'm saying you were pre-pubescent at ten." He paused. "Why? Did you want to kiss me?"

She turned away again, but he distinctly heard her muttering something that sounded like, "Men are such idiots."

The remainder of the meal passed relatively without incident. Chris still glared around the table, but mostly kept his mouth shut. Both Nick and Ryan seemed to have recovered entirely from their food poisoning (or whatever it was that had sent them both to the bathroom), Anthony finally got drunk enough that he no longer cared where he was, and Shawna spent the night flirting with Jack, but every time she did so, she looked over her shoulder to make certain that Richard was watching.

When the desserts were brought out, Richard heaved an audible sigh of relief. Desserts meant that the end of this fiasco was drawing near. Next to him, Shawna shot him an unreadable glance, and pulled her piece of gooey chocolate cake closer.

Richard blinked. "Are you going to eat all of that?"

"Are you calling me fat?'

"Perish the thought," Richard said mildly. "After all, you're Shawna Rivers, and I'm male and have a pulse. Thus, I am too tongue-tied to even attempt to insult you."

She smiled coyly. "So you're saying that you do find me attractive?"

"I don't find you… unattractive."

Shawna laughed and tossed her hair back over her shoulder.

Richard wasn't sure he liked the look on her face. It was as though she were a cat licking its lips and sizing up a hapless mouse.

"So," Chris stated, looking around the table at Nick, CJ, and Alejandro, "I cannot work with Sean."

"It wouldn't be working with Sean, it'd be working before Sean."

"CJ, shut up. The point is," Chris continued, "Richard isn't here, so he doesn't get to vote. I'll take his vote. And our two votes are no, no, no, we are not opening for… for him."

"Wow, taking this a little personally, huh?" Alejandro commented.

Nick cleared his throat. "Well, I, uh… I wouldn't mind opening for the Uptown Boyz." The only response he got was three separate sets of glares, so he shrugged, looking slightly sulky.

"Yeah," CJ said, "that Shawna is a stone-cold fox. Better her than, um, what happened last night."

"Ditto," Alejandro put in.

Just then, Richard stumbled through the door, looking exhausted.

"Good morning," CJ said cheerily. "And did we have a nice night, Mr. Greensmith?"

"None of your business," Richard replied, but he didn't sound very angry.

"Is that still your tuxedo shirt?" Alejandro asked. "And your tuxedo pants?"

Richard glanced down at himself. "Looks like it."

"So… who did you go home with last night?" Nick asked. "I mean, the Uptown Boyz are totally gay."

"None of your business," Richard said again, and pinched Nick's cheek. "Oh," he added, "by the way, my vote's for Shawna. I'm going to go get some sleep now. 'Cause I didn't last night. Bye!"

And with that, he stumbled back out of the room, and the other four guys stared at each other. No one commented. No one needed to.

AN: This chapter probably shouldn't amuse us as much as it actually does. But man, the dinner scene made us cackle aloud, like, six times. This story is remarkably self-indulgent like that.