Everything You've Done Wrong
Last night is the night I will remember you by
When I think of things we did
It makes me want to cry
We said our goodbyes (on the night before)
Love was in your eyes (on the night before)
Now today I find, you have changed your mind,
Treat me like you did the night before.
-The Beatles, The Night Before
Two: Hi, I'm Sober
"Fuck no."
"Tony..." David rolled his eyes as he watched Race adjust his cymbals and take a seat on the revolving drum stool. "Come on, it's not like you had a terrible time."
"'Course not. I was drunk."
"But... you don't even know them. And I don't want to go alone. Mush'll be with Blink the whole time." David winced and boxed his ears as Race let loose and cut a long drum fill--as loudly as possible. When he was done, he gave David a large, cheesy grin.
"Sorry, what was that?"
David scowled. "You're a dick."
"Yeah, I am. Which is why your friends don't really want me to come back, Dave."
"You don't know that."
"I do. I was drunk, not deaf. They didn't like me."
"Well," Mush put in, grabbing one of Race's drumsticks before he could drown out the conversation again, "you didn't exactly give them much of a chance either."
Race let out a snort. "Please, one of them thought that Mic Fleetwood was one of history's worst drummers. Why would I give a dumbass like that a chance?"
"See, that is just your problem." David seemed pretty sore by now; after all, these were some good friends of his. And Race had a history of acting like a brat. "You're a snob."
"Taught only from the best," Race answered. "Come on, get to your freaking piano and leave me alone."
"Tony," Dave sighed, then added maliciously, "Racetrack."
"Shut up." Race glared at him and yanked his stick free from Mush's grip.
David ignored him and continued, "You know you don't have to be a snob like your family. Just come hang out for awhile. It'll be fun."
Race resisted the urge to snort, and instead muttered, "Yeah, right."
"Tony," Mush said, in his soft 'please please please' voice. Race hated that voice. It always got it's way because it was too damned licit. "Tony come on... if me and Dave like them, then they can't be so bad. Right?"
"I don't like anybody," Race answered.
"You like us." David glowered.
"You don't count."
"Please Tony?" Mush even stuck out his lower lip. "Pretty please?"
There was a long silence, and Race almost grabbed his snare and smashed it over Mush's scull, but decided against it. He was a good guy after all.
"You are so gay," Race muttered.
"Is that a yes?!"
"Go away."
"It's a yes!" Mush and David high fived.
"On second thought, I hate you both," Race muttered.
"Yeah, yeah. So are you free after school?"
"I'm going to stab you with my drumstick."
"He's free," Mush answered for him. "So you'll come with us, right?" Though somehow, it didn't sound like a question.
"Yeah. Now leave me alone."
"Thanks, Tony. It means a lot to me." Dave smiled and wandered off to get ready for band.
Race looked as if a thunder cloud had settled over his head. "'Thanks Tony. It means a lot to me,'" he mimicked in a high pitched voice. "Asshole."
"You're sweet." Mush rolled his eyes, but still smiling he screwed his mouthpiece into his trumpet. Race didn't answer. He went right to work on his drums, letting in fill, after fill, after fill.
The world seemed to fade out as he played and he found himself lost in the rhythm and sound, the very feeling. Somehow he connected to it, down to his very core; while he was playing, nothing and no one mattered. Not his father, and the weekly drug test; not Mush and David and David's friends who hated him; not the fact that David was right, he was a snob. His worries fell away and he just played.
Sometimes it felt like the sound didn't come from him; it felt too good to forget about things. Years before, Race had turned to another alternative for apathy, a much more dangerous alternative. But even then, the drums had been his savior too. A lot like David and Mush. Always there, always ready if he needed to pound on them to let things go.
Occasionally, they were also there to pound on him when he needed it--when he was being stupid. It was a more frequent occurrence than he wanted to admit in those days, though it rarely actually came to blows. Usually Mush's "I'm going to hit you for your own good," was enough to bring him to his senses, because Mush was terrible at bluffing, and if he said it he meant it. And he only used it as a last resort, when Race was on the brink of doing something dangerous.
Luckily, Race hadn't been up to his old tricks for quite awhile. He'd left them behind, but he'd be lying if he said it had been easy. That had been one of the worst times in his life, and there had been a few. Just thinking about it made Race pound harder, until finally he ended the elaborate instrumental with a crash on the cymbals.
Mush was staring at him, open mouthed.
"What?" Race asked. He knew on some level that if he was emotional, people could hear it when he played, but he didn't think there was any cause to stare at him.
"Nothing," Mush said. "Just... You know you're really good, Tony? Like, really good."
Race smirked, twirled the drumstick between his fingers and blew over the top like it was a gun in an old western. Mush laughed, waved, and made his way over to the brass section before he was too late, and as soon as he was gone, Race ducked his head to hide his grin. So he loved being complimented on his drumming, there was nothing wrong with that.
Usually, drumming was how he met girls. Well... the primary source of how he met girls. The rich Italian part didn't hurt either, but in the end, drums were more Race. Yet, when he heard praise such as that from Mush, or David, and occasionally from his sisters, it was like it made his whole day. Yeah, Race knew he was good. But it was funny; when a person was truly spectacular at something, it was when they were most humble.
Because in Race's mind, he could always be better.
Before he could wonder too much about it, Professor Aiosa, the jazz band instructor, began to gather people's attention and he was more than happy to slip away into the music again. It sounded even better with an ensemble, but somehow he always felt like he was at least partially responsible for it, carrying everyone else on his beat. It was a good feeling, good enough that he forgot his after school destination until David reminded him during the last period.
Really, chemistry was bad enough as it was. As remembered, he would have failed it if it hadn't been for David. But being reminded of a meeting with a bunch of people who didn't like you and the feeling was mutual, while you were trying to remember bionic compounds, was never something to bring good cheer to a person's mood. Luckily, Race's day hadn't been too shabby.
"So, you're still coming... Right?"
God, David could be so sappy. It was the big blue eyes.
"Don't worry, princess, I said I would."
And somehow, David just smiled in response, used to Race's digs by that point. Also, because he could see Race was hurriedly copying his homework before they had to turn it in. "Tony..." he said disapprovingly.
"I wouldn't have been too hungover to do it myself this weekend if you hadn't dragged me to that party," Race answered.
Mush poked him in the ribs from the other side. "Tony, do your own work, would you?"
"Hey, you copied my history this morning," Race answered.
Mush started to respond, then shrugged. Race had a point. Homework, in their clique of friends, was really all communal.
They had a system; David copied Mush's English Lit, Mush copied Race's history, and Race copied David's chem. Really, David didn't copy much off of Mush because... well, David had gotten a scholarship for this school. But he spent so many hours on math and sciences, that he was simply too tired sometimes. None the less, it was a system. One that Race liked. It was because of this system, and because of his affection (unspoken, of course) for his two best friends, that Race tried not to complain when the bell rang, and the time came for him to actually re-meet these people.
They stopped briefly at Race's house so he could drop off his car, as his parents would definitely not let him bring it to That Part Of Town, and he changed out of his uniform and into casual clothes, and they piled into Mush's for the trip. David grabbed a bus across town in to school; unlike Race and Mush, his family didn't have ungodly amounts of money to throw around and he didn't have his own car. But he was just as happy to get a ride home with Mush, who just wanted to see the guy he'd hooked up with at the party again.
Race, on the other hand, was hoping to avoid whoever he'd hooked up with. Largely because he still couldn't remember her clearly.
"Hey, Tweedle Dum and Dee," Race said from his spot in the back seat. David shot him a look (he was famous for them) but Mush snorted.
"Yes?" David responded.
"Do you remember me disappearing into any rooms with a girl?"
There was some silence as David looked clueless. "I don't think so... I was outside the whole time."
"Something vague," Mush answered, twirling the steering wheel. "Why?"
"Because there's some chick out there who is the creator of..." Race's pulled down the collar of his shirt to display his love bites, "these."
David laughed. "Well, we're not meeting up with any girls today, so... I doubt you'll run into her."
"So who're we meeting?" Mush asked eagerly, in a manner that made Race want to smack him. So it was probably for the best that he was belted in the back behind David and couldn't reach, because after all, Mush was driving.
David laughed. "Blink and the band. And Jack and Spot, I think."
"Band?" Race asked curiously, before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be interested. David laughed again, which he found really irritating, and he could reach to hit David, so he did.
"Ouch!" David snapped. "That hurt..." But he laughed again on the last word. "Tony, you have serious issues."
"Big surprise." Race rolled his eyes, and looked out the window. He didn't see Mush and David glance at each other with knowing smirks, as if counting down the seconds until...
"So... is their band any good?"
"Well," David said, then paused, trying to find a way to say it politely. He gave up after a second. "No, not really. I mean... They're not bad, exactly. They just don't... Mesh well together."
"Oh." Race went back to being uninterested until, "Why not?"
David turned around and smirked. "No drummer," he said.
"Really?" Race raised an eyebrow. "How can you have a band without a drummer? That's like... fettuccini without alfredo."
Mush burst out laughing, and even Race had to smirk at his own joke. David seemed unamused. "Their last one quit."
"Why?"
David bit his lip. "It's... complicated."
"So explain it. Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?"
"You know, Tony, sometimes I'm not surprised you don't make good first impressions," Mush said mildly from the front seat.
"Well, they had a drummer. And he wasn't very good."
"Pete Best," Race commented, interrupting.
David assumed that, because it was Race talking, it was an obscure reference to a drummer he'd never heard of, and continued. "Except he thought he was good. And they kind of argued about it... A lot. He'd been really good friends with them, and the entire band nearly broke up over it, and they're all still really pissed about the whole thing."
Race ran his index fingers down his cheeks, making mock tears. "That's just so sad..."
"Either you stop asking questions, or take them seriously!" David's face was turning a little red. It always did when he was mad. "Racetrack."
Race's face fell. "Take it back."
"Raaccetrrraaccckkk."
"Shut up!"
"We're here!" Mush broke in, over-cheerful, pulling into a parking spot. Race looked out the window and sneered.
"Oh my God."
"Hey jackass, I live two blocks that way, so shut up," David snapped, pointing down the road. Usually, he went to visit Mush or Race, not the other way around, and that was why.
Race had the good grace to not say anything; if he got David mad enough he'd have to do his chem homework on his own, and that made shutting up worth it.
"I'm just gonna go get Jack and Spot and we'll walk to Blink's, okay?"
Mush nodded, grinning ear to ear, and Race sighed and nodded. He remembered Mush going on about this Blink guy in great detail all through lunch and study hall... And English, and history... And in chem, though Race had blocked him out in an attempt to actually figure out what the hell was going on... And he probably had in band, but Race didn't have to listen to him then. The guy was disgustingly smitten. Race just hoped whoever Blink was wasn't equally so, because he didn't think he could put up with two of them.
"Tony." Mush turned to look at him. "Just wait, he's so great!"
"Mush, this is bad. You're starting to rhyme."
He continued, "He's so funny, and outgoing, and blond..." Mush looked in the rear-view mirror. "Do I look okay?"
Race had to grin. Okay, so maybe he was kind of happy for Mush. He couldn't really help it, after all. Mush got a tough time sometimes, with being gay. And Race wasn't completely heartless.
"You always look great, Mushee."
That made Mush absolutely beam. "Thanks, Tony." Finally, the two stepped out of the car, and Mush locked it quickly as they rushed up to David, who was waiting at the front porch, giving Race another of his looks. One of the lecture ones. Shit.
He opened his mouth, and Race cut him off. "Yes, Davey, I'll play nice, share my toys and everything. Jesus."
"You'd better. These two don't have it so great, and they're like brothers to me, so if you act like an asshole I swear to god..." He trailed off, unable to think of a suitable threat.
Race held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Fine! I'll keep my mouth shut, so long as no one says anything to me."
"Good," David said, and knocked on the door.
They were silent as they waited for someone to appear (Mush was looking so excited he was ready to explode, and Race really wondered what he'd be like when they actually met this guy.) Finally, the door opened, and in the frame stood a tall, handsome, rugged-type boy with jeans, a black Def Leppard tee, and a button up red flannel shirt thrown over top.
Mush and David immediately gave Race warning looks, and Race shrugged. He usually had this thing with flannel.
"Davey!" The boy exclaimed. "Nice uniform. Too bad Sarah doesn't prance around in one a those."
"Very funny." David gave him a friendly thump on the arm. "Where's Spot?"
"Putting on pants."
"Do I want to ask why Spot's not wearing any pants at four in the afternoon?"
"Probably not, no." The boy paused for a second, then yelled back into the house, "SPOT, would you hurry it UP?"
He got a reply from somewhere inside, which wasn't terribly coherent but sounded a lot like "Go to hell!" and caused the guy wearing flannel to roll his eyes.
"Spot in one of his moods?" David asked.
"When ain't he? SPOT, what the HELL is TAKING YOU so LONG?"
"Christ, Jack," the voice said, close enough that he wasn't yelling, "go take some fucking Prozac or something." And the source of the voice stepped into view.
Though dressed a lot like flannel boy (strait-legged jeans, dirty tee and a jean jacket), somehow the clothes didn't fit him; he was too good for them. Race wasn't an expert on male beauty, but 'Spot' looked kind of like one of those male vogue models. Puffed lips, high cheekbones... over all, he had a face that could make anyone stare.
"You look stunning," flannel boy joked, and Spot shoved him.
"I always do. Who the fuck are you two?" Spot asked Race and Mush, though in a non-threatening , almost friendly low voice. Race decided Spot probably always greeted people this way.
"I'm--"
"Wait, you'd be the queer guy Blink won't shut up about, right?" Spot interrupted, and Mush beamed, which made Spot look almost as disgusted as Race felt. Maybe this Spot guy wouldn't be so bad.
"Spot..." David sighed, but Spot ignored him.
"And I remember you," Spot continued, sizing up Race, who suddenly felt short. He was short, but usually no one noticed; he worked out enough that he could be intimidating anyway. But now he felt short, which annoyed him. He took back his previous thought that maybe Spot wasn't so bad.
And Race, being the moody Italian he was, frowned at Spot, trying to make himself appear taller. Didn't work of course. "Have we met?" Race answered, his voice sounding snotty even to his own ears. He caught David wincing, and shaking his head. Oh well. He tried... for two seconds.
"You don't remember?" Spot looked amused. Like he was laughing at Race. Which Race didn't like.
"Should I?"
"Under the circumstances, yes. ANYONE should." Then Spot shrugged. "Oh well, your loss. Jacky-Boy," Spot turned to look at flannel-boy, "grab a key."
"Yeah yeah..." 'Jacky-boy' disappeared inside a moment, and reappeared with a set of keys attached to a handcuff key-chain.
Race wanted to ask why he ought to remember having met Spot before, but wasn't going to lower himself to it. But he did smirk once Spot stepped onto the porch and he got a better look at the kid, who may have been taller than he was, but was built like a twig. It looked like a strong breeze would snap him in half.
"What're you staring at?" Spot snapped.
Race smirked back. "Nothing, Skinny."
"Yeah, izzat so, Shorty?"
The smirk fell from Race's face. He definitely didn't like Spot after all.
"Guys," David said. Spot rolled his eyes at the same moment Race did. Then Race glared at him. He was infuriated when Spot did not glare back. He smirked again.
"Cazzo..." Race mumbled.
"An' what's that mean?" Spot asked.
"Look it up."
"So, so did Blink really talk about me!?" Mush pushed Race to the side and stepped in time with Spot as the five of them walked down the pavement. "What did he say?"
Spot looked, to be frank, as if he was about to slap Mush. But he didn't. "I dunno..."
"He likes yer smile, he said that," Jack broke in. Mush smiled, and Spot muttered something about how Jack shouldn't encourage people.
"He likes my smile..." Mush repeated dreamily.
"God, what a fucking pair," Spot said disgustedly. "He been like that since Friday? 'Cause Blink has and I swear I'm this close to beating the crap out of him."
"Oh, come on, it's cute," David argued.
"It's not," Race muttered. "It's annoying."
"You're just bitter because no one loves you, Tony," Mush said, playfully shoving him off the sidewalk. "Not like me and Bliiiiiiiiink."
"Jesus," Race muttered to himself.
"We'll get a civil union, and then we're going to adopt two point four children, and–"
"Maybe you should ask him about that?" David suggested. "Because we're here."
"We're here!" Mush exclaimed, and pranced (goddamn pranced) into the... open garage. A garage band. Race should've known. Only a garage band wouldn't have a drummer and still call themselves a band.
In it were three males. One was a tall unconventionally good looking blond with rimless spectacles. He was tuning a red fender, cradling it like a child. The thin one holding the bass was Spanish, and wore a T-shirt that read 'Nowhere Man'.
Race didn't remember any of them, but decided the instrumentless male that Mush was wrapping himself around had to be the infamous Blink.
"Nice place," Race muttered. Only David heard, and he elbowed Race sharply in the ribs.
"Can't... breath..." Blink gasped. Mush paid no heed.
"Mushee," Davey called, "if you don't let him inhale, he can't kiss you hello." Which seemed to do the trick, because Mush loosened his grip, and as promised, the blond kissed him.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," Mush said, sounding like he was suddenly overcome with a bout of shyness, which was ridiculous, given that he still had his arms clenched tight around Blink.
"Miss me?" Blink offered.
"More than you can imagine."
"I think I've got pretty good idea..." Blink said, and kissed him again.
"Get a room, you two," the other blond commented, rolling his eyes.
"At least we've got a groupie now," the Spanish one noted.
Oh, Race had so many sarcastic comments. And they were good! But David still had a sharp eye on him. "Well, uh..." David stepped forward, giving Race's ear a tug at the same time. Spot snorted, and Race glared. "I'll introduce... Mush, Blink, two seconds, please."
Mush and Blink--reluctantly--turned away from the other. Race couldn't help but notice that they were indeed quite a cute couple. Not that Race would ever, ever say this out loud.
"Okay, obviously, this is Blink..." David pointed, and Blink gave a wave, and resumed his position of cuddling Mush. "This is Dutchy..."
"Look at this." Dutchy held up his guitar. "Isn't it stunning? You know, I really think it's the nicest guitar on the whole fucking planet."
"Dutchy just got a new guitar for his birthday," Jack informed Race. Race nodded slightly.
"This is Itey." David gave the Spanish boy a pat on the shoulder. He smiled shyly, and bowed his head in a friendly manner.
"Guys, that's Mush--"
"We figured," Dutchy interrupted. "Since Blink's been kind of single minded since Friday."
"Awww, you have?" Mush asked, and Blink nodded. "That's so sweet." And then they were kissing again.
"You know what?" David said thoughtfully, after watching them for a second. "I think everyone else is right. That's just annoying."
Blink flipped him off without moving his mouth away from Mush's. David rolled his eyes and finally finished, "And this is Tony, who's really not such an asshole when he's sober."
Which was actually cause enough for Blink to separate himself from Mush momentarily, size up Race, and mutter, "We'll see," under his breath.
Race rolled his eyes. "I can't wait," he replied, and then, not being able to help it, let out a laugh. "Nice 'band'. Where's the drummer?"
"Tony-" David started, but Dutchy cut in.
"He left, the dick!"
"Bruce isn't a dick, Dutchy," Itey started, but Dutchy continued.
"He's a big dick and he left us, the DICK."
Even Race was speechless.
Dutchy seemed to have that effect on people.
"Wow. Sorry I asked," Race finally said after a long silence.
"I told you not to bring it up," David snapped.
"You been spreading rumors about us, Davey?" Itey asked, sounding amused.
"Yeah," David answered evenly. Race noted that David seemed a lot more relaxed with these guys than he did at school, where he was as uptight as humanly possible about all things, all the time. But then, Race did remember him saying something about having lived on the same street as all of them since they were in diapers, having been in the same school since kindergarten, and how accepting the scholarship to Race's school had been the most nerve wracking thing he'd ever done.
Race even felt a little jealous. He didn't have many close friends...well, in fact, only two. Mush and David. He didn't want anyone taking them away, because they were all Race had. Sure, he had his acquaintances, but really, these two had been everything to him for a long time.
The afternoon continued much the same for awhile, with David and his 'posse' laughing about inside jokes, and Mush and Blink making out, and Race was feeling very alone, and very bored, and eyeing the abandoned drumset with hunger. He didn't notice that Spot was staring at him, with a raised eyebrow.
"Bored?" Spot asked finally.
"Shouldn't you be giggling with the rest of them?" Race asked bitterly, and as if the universe had decided to give him perfect timing, Dutchy said something that made everyone listening crack up.
"You joking? I've lived here two months, and I still haven't figured a damn thing they're talking about. This sucks. Let's blow."
Race hesitated, and then glanced over and saw that David was totally absorbed in talking with Jack, and that Mush was still making out with Blink, and the band as a whole was laughing more than they were playing. In fact, Race hadn't yet heard them play at all.
"Yeah," Race finally agreed.
"Cool." Spot stood up and announced, "You suck. The midget and I are ditching you all."
"Have fun, Spot," Jack called, not looking away form his conversation.
"Don't call me 'midget'," Race muttered as Spot shoved his hands into his pockets and they started off. Race ignored David's yell of 'PLAY NICE!' and wished that Spot was walking off the curb so Race could at least reach his nose.
"Fucking sunshine, ain't you?" Spot asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and a lighter. "Want a cancer stick?"
"I don't smoke."
"Mister High and Mighty," Spot answered, taking a puff. "What do you do, then?"
Race didn't know why, but Spot's attention was unnerving, and making him uncomfortable. "Do you care?"
"Not really. Just wonder what you rich kids do with all your money that us peasants can't afford."
"Cocaine, mostly," Race answered bitterly. He was bitter enough that he didn't even make a snide comment about being impressed that Spot knew the word 'peasants.'
"You serious?" Spot asked.
"Yeah, sure. I'm a seventeen year old recovering coke addict." Race rolled his eyes, and was inwardly amazed. He got the same reaction telling the truth like that as he did when someone asked what his dad did and he answered with Mafia hitman. He didn't have to lie, because no one believed him. People just assumed no one would tell the truth about something like that, that it had to be a lie.
"Jesus." Spot muttered, smoke seeping out of his lips. "Are you all so fucked up?"
"Buy the book, why don't you?" Race snapped. Spot shrugged, kicking a pebble with his bright red, beat up sneakers.
"You brought up the coke thing, man."
"Totally, dude."
Spot stopped in his tracks, staring incredulously at Race, but still looking faintly amused. "You are a HUGE asshole."
Race didn't have a comeback for the moment. Really, though, he had to applaud Spot on his restraint. Race was grumpy. By now, David would have smacked him.
"Really, just a tiny asshole," Race answered.
Spot started to respond, then decided it was funny and laughed instead. "You'd get beat up so fast in a public school, man."
"Yeah, well, luckily I don't go to a public school, man." He paused. "And what's with everyone's stupid nicknames, anyway?"
"They grew up together, they gave each other nicknames. They like me, I get one too." Spot answered. "Don't you think say... Spot sounds better than Tony?" Spot added an exaggerated, almost insulting Italian accent on Race's name.
Spot was a challenge. For some reason, Race really wanted to piss him off. He acted like he knew something Race didn't. "Well, sure, if you're naming a dog."
"That actually has nothing to do with it," Spot informed. "But, you ain't the type a guy who catches on to things very quickly. Otherwise you'd remember me."
"What the fuck are you talking about-"
"TONY!!"
Spot and Race turned their heads. David was rushing towards them, holding Race's cell-phone. "Oh shit," Race snapped.
"Your dad...called... twice..." David skidded to a halt behind them, handing Race the phone, panting slightly. "You should start turning it off more."
"I know, I keep forgetting."
He went to hit the button to dial his voicemail, but the phone started ringing again so instead he made the mistake of answering it. It was his father.
"Where the hell are you?" his father demanded unceremoniously.
"Look--"
"Answer the question."
He sighed. "I'm at David's." Which was only technically a lie; he was close enough that he could be at David's house in just a few minutes, and he was with David, so it was more or less the same thing.
"The same David who got you drunk on Friday?"
"He did not--" he paused and shot a look at David, who looked concerned, and Spot, who looked amused, and hissed into the phone, "Can we discuss this later?"
"We will discuss it at great length later," his father promised. "Your mother and I have told you before, we don't approve of--"
"I know, I know!" Race interrupted. "Look, he's just helping me with my chem, okay? Mush is here too. I swear, nothing you'd disapprove of is going on."
"Michael?"
"Si."
Whenever Race wanted to calm his father down, speaking in Italian always worked. Probably made Paulo Valentino/Higgins feel like a family man. A normal one. Then again, Race only remembered to do this when he himself wasn't pissed off too. But at that moment, Race would have done anything to make sure his dad didn't start acting like an asshole to David.
"You are coming home now."
"Soon."
"By six. Ciao."
"Yeah, ciao."
Race jammed his thumb on the off button, and started ranting at a fantastic rate, in Italian. It was the way he was raised, since it was his first language, so whenever he ranted, it came out Italian.
He only stopped when he saw that David and Spot were staring at him. "What?" he snapped testily.
"What the hell was that?" Spot demanded.
"He does that sometimes," David said calmly. "Sometimes I think he's not even speaking Italian, he's just trying to convince us he is."
Race's reply was also in Italian, and very unflattering, which was obvious from his tone if not his language choice.
"So what's Mussolini want?" David asked, having heard Race refer to his father as a fucking dictator on more than one occasion.
"I've gotta be home by six."
"Aww, and we were just starting to have fun, too."
"Shut up, Spot." And it was nice to hear David tell someone else to be quiet for a change.
David checked his watch, and let a worried noise escape his lips. "It's a quarter after five now, Tony. We better get you back. You live half-way across town."
"In one of the big houses?"
Race had to admire the amount of sarcasm Spot could get into a sentence. "Fuck you," he replied.
"Mush will want to stay with Blink." David immediately started walking back towards the garage, and Spot and Race followed. "I'll drive you home and bring the car back."
"I'm heartbroken."
"RACE."
"Don't call me that."
"Ah HA," Spot interrupted. "So you have a stupid nickname, too."
"Go to hell."
Spot gave him a weird look. "So you hate your dad or what?"
"Yeah, you could say that."
"'Cause you got a fucking curfew? You don't know a fucking thing about what a lousy father is like." Spot narrowed his eyes.
"Spot--" David started, but Race was already walking away, ignoring both of them. Because if he didn't ignore it, he was going to say something he regretted. He'd probably tell the truth; that his father killed people for a living, and even if his family was rich because of it, Race did know what having a bad father was like.
He wasn't about to bond with Spot, least of all because they had fathers with belligerent behavior. So he reached the garage, and waltzed right up to Mush and Blink--who were making a whole new name for the term 'making out', lying on an old couch that sat at the garage's edge.
He stood there for awhile, and finally shoved Mush with his toe. Nothing. He did it again, and Mush pulled back from Blink, looking irritated.
"What?"
"Car keys."
"Why?"
"Dad."
"...oh." Mush dug into his pocket, and produced the set of keys, flipping them up at Race.
Race expected him to go back to making out with Blink, but Mush paused for a second, then finally asked, "Did you get in trouble when you got home Saturday?"
"It was fine."
"I mean... I meant to keep you out of trouble, but I got kind of..." he ran a hand through Blink's hair. "Distracted," he finished.
"Yeah, now you're just making me ill," Race answered.
"So what, you need a babysitter?"
"Shut UP, Spot," David snapped, then to Race, "Let's go."
"And hey, Tony? Try not to crash it this time," Mush called, before turning his attention back to Blink.
Race almost turned right around and smacked Mush, but it was hard to smack Mush because the guy was really so damned unsmackable. Especially when he was making out with someone.
"Crash his car, eh? Was this during one of your 'coke phases'?" Spot asked. Race didn't get a chance to reply as David shoved him along as they walked the few houses down to Jack and Spot's--where Mush's car remained.
"Is Spot usually such a dick?"
"Are you usually so charming?"
"He provoked me!"
David rolled his eyes.
"Well, he did." And Race didn't care how sulky he sounded; it was the truth. For a change, he hadn't been at fault.
"Yes, Spot's like that with everyone," David finally answered, as he climbed into the driver's seat. Race wanted to point out that he had the keys, but decided he wasn't in the mood to argue with David, and besides, it sounded like he might actually get to hear some sort of gossip, so he handed over the keys. "Spot's got a right to be kind of a dick, though."
"And I don't?"
"No, you're just spoiled."
"Well, I'm glad you feel we're close enough that you don't have to sugarcoat things, Dave."
"Well, you are."
"And we were talking about Spot."
David sighed, and glanced over his shoulder as they backed out of Spot and Jack's driveway. "Listen, it's his business..."
"Tell me."
"Race."
"Tony," Race corrected.
"Tony." David sighed once more, and it felt as if Race was the teenager and David the parent. "Listen, Spot's been in like, four foster homes in the past two years, okay? And they've all been hell."
Race didn't respond. A foster kid. "Oh," he finally said.
"Yeah. So cut him some slack, all right?"
Race didn't answer, but he found himself lost in thought. So Spot was a foster kid, living with Jack. So was Jack being fostered as well? Or was it just that his family did it? He almost asked David, then figured Dave would probably find a way to be offended by the question and stayed quiet.
But even by the time he got home, he couldn't get Spot off his mind.
*
Spot felt free to make himself at home--that is, he marched into Blink's house, and brought out a case of beer for the crew as they waited for David to get back. Mush didn't take one, but looked nervously around the circle of boys. He knew none of them really liked Race, and he was feeling very protective. After all, Race meant a lot to him. And he wanted them to like him. He couldn't help it.
He was about to say something, but Spot did first.
"He's more fun when he's drunk."
"You actually talked to him?" Jack asked, sounding incredulous.
"No," Spot said, and smirked, and let it hang in the air. There was a long pause and he drained half of his beer, and looked back to see everyone else looking confused--except Mush.
Mush looked like he was slowly doing a math equation in his head, and then his eyes went wide.
"Oh my GOD," Mush gaped. "You're the hot chick!!"
Spot grinned as everyone made confused sounds, and Jack let out a "What the hell?' Then Mush burst out into a fit of laughter, tears and all, seeming to think that this was probably the funniest, and worst thing to ever happen in the history of Race doing stupid things when he was drunk.
Then he stopped laughing. Abruptly. It made the others stare. "You can't tell him."
"Wait, tell who what?" Dutchy asked, having a fairly good idea what was going on, but not sure because... Well, because Race was a jerk, and he couldn't picture anyone really wanting to hook up with him.
Spot shrugged. "Well, I kissed him to make him stop talking, and he seemed pretty into it, so..."
"You can't tell him," Mush insisted. "You'll shatter his whole... image and... way of life. Totally."
"Sounds fun to me. He's kind of a prick."
"Says the guy who made out with him," Jack inserted.
"Hey, in that respect, he was very worthy of the cause." Spot finished off his beer, and grabbed another one from the box, gripping the tap off with his teeth.
"If you keep doing that, they're gonna fall out..." Itey observed. Spot ignored him.
"Please..." Mush clasped his hands together. "Please don't tell him or anyone else!"
They were quiet, and Blink cupped Mush's chin in his hands. "Come on, Spotty, look at that face. How can you say no? You can't."
"You can't. I think I could."
"Oh, come on," Dutchy snapped. "Look, he's a prick; whatever, you'd be too if you actually had money. We weren't exactly warm and friendly either. He's straight, Spot, he was just drunk." He paused, and shot a questioning look at Mush. "At least, I'm assuming...?"
"Straight as an arrow," Mush agreed. "Well. Mostly."
"You either are, or you aren't," Jack pressed. Mush bit his lip as they all zeroed in on him. Even Blink looked curious, and he didn't jump to his rescue. Mush glared.
"Well, he does look at me a lot when I don't have a shirt on."
Everyone resumed looking disinterested.
"What?" Mush asked.
"Honey, everyone would," Blink answered.
"...oh." Mush thought about that for a second. "Thanks!" he added, then paused again. "It's just, you know, I think Race might not be as straight as he thinks he is, but he had a pretty traditional upbringing... Sort of... And it wouldn't even occur to him that he's not. And if it did, he'd either just deny it or freak out, and I think if someone else suggested it, he'd freak out."
"So?"
"So I've seen him freak out, and it's really... Not a good situation for anyone involved." Mush actually shuddered. "Please, just... Let it go."
Then all eyes switched from Mush on to Spot, who looked as if Christmas had just been cancelled. Or whatever a joyous festivity for Spot was. He rolled his eyes and let out an annoyed snort.
"Fine."
"Well." Jack gave an impressed noise. "You never do anything when I ask." Spot blinked, taking a sip of his beer.
"That's because you're a shit."
"Thank you."
Blink leant his head on Mush's shoulder, made himself comfortable, and asked, "But seriously, what do you see in that guy?"
"Oh, come on. He's not so bad once you get to know him." He paused, and his eyes lit on the drumset, and he remembered the situation the band was in. "And he drums."
Dutchy scoffed. "Uh huh. Right. Is he any good?"
"Yeah!" Mush nodded his head, and then stopped because Blink was making himself comfortable on Mush's shoulder. "He's amazing."
"Yeah, what do you know about drumming, Mush?" Spot was looking highly skeptical. Mush was having none of it.
"Just as much as you," he shot back. "I promise, you guys...he's really, really good."
"We'll see." Blink answered.
"I don't think so," Spot said. "I don't think we're likely to see him again at all."
"I don't know, David and I could probably convince him to come back. I mean, if you guys promised to not make him all defensive."
"Somehow, I don't think it was our fault," Dutchy muttered.
Mush shrugged. "He's rich, and he knows it, and he has no idea how to act around people who aren't, okay? Just give him time."
"Well..." Itey spoke up. "We do kind of need a drummer."
Dutchy and Blink stared incredulously at Itey. "Are you serious?" Dutchy asked blankly. Itey nodded. It wasn't often that Itey asked them to do something, and when he did, they tended to want to agree. He was the most selfless individual they had ever known, and thus...
"Fine," Blink said. "We'll give him a shot."
"Yay!" Mush eeped, and gave Blink a firm kiss on the mouth. Spot rolled his eyes at Jack, who shot him a grin.
Spot didn't say anything.
But for the rest of the day, he couldn't get Race off his mind.
*
Funkiechick: You'll note how much fun was had making Race a mean little bitch.
B: Oh yes. Ohhhhhhh yes
F: Also, anorexic!Spot is oddly sexy and we really should consider therapy.
B: And we checked; legally we can't be held liable for any sugar-shock induced comas that resulted from Mush and Blink
F: Though it should be noted that despite what dentists say, some sugar is extremely good for you.
B: At least, this kind is. Yummmm.
F: Later, the rating will be upped to r, as in rroooowwwrrrrr.
B: Ingredients in the SpRace Cake really call for it. (And don't even get us started on the off screen Blush Martinis...)
F: Also, note that Blink is sexy and licks the microphone when he sings.
B: And really, how phallic is the whole mic setup, anyway?
F: DrummerProdigee!Race will soon be featured naked on autographed posters at your local Megatunes.
B: His in-store appearance schedule has yet to be finalized, though.
F: Because we just may keep him with us to stare at for awhile.
B: Rrrrrrrowr.
(Spot: Back off! Fag hags!)
B: Teehee. Longest ANs ever. But hey; longest chapter ever....
F: So true. And hey, nothing beats my long shout outs.
hilaRy:
B: We're not trying to kill you. We need you to write Vaudeville.
F: But if you had to die/ Spot/Race is the way to go.
Seraph:
F: Apricot pie is third on the delicious list!
B: Well, really, even most delicious things can't be compared to the deliciousness of Italian!Racetrack and Bluepoloshirt!Mush
F: But Apricot Pie AND Italian!Racetrack plus Bluepoloshirt!Mush?
B: yum.
Shadowlands
B: Race is always cool. It's a law. Even when he's a whiny bitch.
F: Cool? COOL? B b!! Someone called us cool!
B: Aaaaah! Thankyou! :)
Omni
F: Be sure to order quickly, they're selling like hot cakes!
B: Thank you; that'll be $25. Please send us your credit card number and billing info...
Hotshot
F: Oh, now you know who Race hooked up with and doesn't it make the world a more delicious place?
B: Gee, it isn't surprising anymore when Mush and Blink hookup when I'm writing? Imagine that...
F: It's because your a M/B whore.
B: Oh, right. As for the family business Well Wait and see. ;)
Stage
B: Yay! We're different! [squeal]
F: Godfather...equals...AL PACINO! *squeal* [faints]
B: [revives Funkie] I like Italian food, personally. Or maybe that's just because pasta is the only thing I know how to cook.
F: I love Italian food because I never get it. I tried to make lasagna once and it set on fire.
Gothic Author
B: Mafia!Race? Welllllll.... Maaaaaaybe....
F: Collaboration is a good thing, especially considering the discoveries B and I made whilst writing ahead of time...
B: Ahahahahahah! Don't mind us while we cackle madly at upcoming chapters.
Holiday
F: Well, believe me honey, you like Italian!Race and Bluepoloshirt!Mush? You ain't seen nothing yet.
B: And hangover suck. Hardcore.
F: Amen to that.
Final notes:
F: B and I are obsessed and it's not healthy, but it's the best form of non-healthy.
B: We'll try to get the next chapter out soon and keep this fairly regularly updated, but the sudden return of things like "school" and "work" might slow us down a bit.
F: And I say, fuck school and work for being so important.
B: Woo! Amen to that.
-this chapter celebrated with internet tea and plums-