Everything You've Done Wrong
What could you both possibly share?
Other than the color of your hair?
Sean said, "We both play guitar"
Never even have to say a word
That's the best thing that I ever heard
You have left a fingerprint on me
Just dust and then you'll surely see
I've got my reservations
And I hate my generation
-Sloan, I Hate My Generation
Chapter Three: Rhythmic Breathing
"Ya know, they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results," Race mused.
"You know, they say the definition of jackass is--well, basically you," David answered.
"Reeeeeal slick insult, there." Race kicked the back of David's seat, which caused David to roll his eyes, even though Race couldn't see him do it from behind.
"Fight nicely now, you two," Mush scolded cheerfully. "Look, Tony, they felt bad. Spot was a real asshole to you, which he usually is, but everyone else didn't mean it. They all promised to give you another chance if you'll do it for them."
"Yeah, yeah," Race sighed and slumped in his seat.
"Look Tony, you've been complaining about getting a band since we saw Aerosmith live four years ago," David said. "And you've been playing drums for as long as..."
"For as long as I've been gay." Mush nodded. David gave Mush a pat on the shoulder without looking away from Race.
"That's right, and Mush has been gay a long time."
"Very gay."
"The gayest."
"Would you stop talking about Mush being gay?" Race snapped. "You think I wanna hear that?"
Mush rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling as David continued.
"You need a band, Tony. You deserve one. So give them another chance."
"Well, that wouldn't exactly be my band, would it? It would be a band of me and people who don't like me."
"They'll like you once they hear you play," Mush promised. "Trust me. I had a long talk with Blink about it last night."
"You mean you managed to get your tongue out of his mouth long enough to talk?" Race answered.
"I thought you didn't want to hear anything else about how gay I am," Mush replied, semi-defensively, then added, "...but you have to admit he's cute."
"I don't have to admit anything," Race shot back at him. "And anyway, if I was in a band with them, it'd be like...messy break up, instantly. Seriously, pure Fleetwood Mac." Race crumpled his nose. "Only we wouldn't all sleep with each other."
"That could happen."
Race and David both gave odd looks to Mush, who smiled innocently. "You're in a weird mood today, Mushee," Race said.
"So, you're going to come," David said immediately. "Because would you pass up a chance to show off? Never."
Race tried to find a snappy reply, shut his mouth when he couldn't, and kicked David's chair again. So David knew him too well. So what?
"Okay." Race nodded, crossing his arms. "Okay, I'll go, BUT," he cut David and Mush off before they could say anything, "as long as I get to throw back anything they throw at me."
"Tony, you think everybody throws things at you. You think frisbee players are throwing things at you. When really, they're just playing frisbee."
"Hey." Race pointed a finger at him, his face looking very much like Al Pacino in The Godfather just then. "Don't talk back to me."
"Oooh, feisty."
Once again, David and Race stared at Mush.
"What?"
Race smacked the back of Mush's head and went back to the assignment he was half-heartedly working on in study hall and ignoring Mush and David. Mush had been acting weird all day, and even gayer than normal. Not that he was particularly flaming or anything, but he was definitely one of those guys who people met and just sort of assumed. Correctly. Race could never quite put his finger on why, though.
And David seemed to have decided to make Race his new project; he had resolved, after three years of close friendship, that merely two friends weren't enough for Race. So he was downright determined that Race would become friends with his clique from home, and that they'd love Race back, and it would be a festival of mutually accepting people despite gaping differences in their backgrounds.
He was optimistic. Race was, needless to say, very skeptical.
David failed to notice that, despite his joke earlier, not all people could tolerate jackasses. Race had a theory that David and Mush were only friends with him because they knew without them, he wouldn't really have any. He'd just be that guy who plays drums and makes out with chicks at parties.
"Tony?"
"Eh," Race replied, still scribbling in his chem notebook (David was making him study three hours of it a day...at least.)
"Are you interested in anyone right now?"
Race shot his head up at Mush. "Okay, you are acting very odd today. What's wrong with you?"
"Yeah, Mush," David said, sounding much more friendly, but still curious. "What is wrong with you?"
Mush glanced at Race, who had gone back to his notebook, muttering out chemical equations. Mush mouthed out to David, 'I'll tell you later'.
David didn't like secrets. But he kept his mouth shut.
Race managed not to fling his pencil across the room in frustration, though only because David turned around, read his notes upside down--reading the right side up was hard enough, given Race's handwriting, and the fact that David could do it upside down was impressive--and pointed to the large mistake Race had made. "Seriously, how did you even pass math?"
"Math makes sense," Race snarled. "We can't all be here on freaking scholarships, Dave."
David rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well if you don't stop forgetting the difference between addition and multiplication, you're going to fail out entirely."
"Shut up." Race shooed David away from his homework and corrected the mistake. But all in all, he was having a very weird day, and began to wonder if maybe seeing David's posse would actually be a step up.
When school finally slothed it's way to an end (Race didn't know why, but he hated Tuesdays a lot more than he hated Mondays) Race was glad he'd caught the bus with David that morning. It would save them a trip of dropping off Race's car. Race didn't like buses, but he'd done it because David had given him a ride home the night before when he'd clearly wanted to stay with Blink and the others, so it was Race's way of saying "yeah yeah, I'm grateful." Because Race would never actually say that.
Luckily, by that point, David and Mush were both fluent in Race-speak.
Mush drove them again, and Race tried to ignore the dread he was feeling. For all though he was perfectly aware that he wasn't exactly Mister Sunshine Easy To Live With, he didn't actually like being surrounded by people who outright disliked him. And unlike school, where most people would just roll their eyes at him or ignore him entirely, David's friends had made it clear that they really disliked him.
Especially Spot. Who Race didn't want to have to deal with again.
But at least he'd get to drum in front of a new audience--which always made him nervous, but at the same time, he was excited.
"You have your sticks, right?" David asked as they came to a stop at Blink's garage. Race smirked. "Right, you always have your sticks."
"I'm the stick MASTER," Race said in a hissy voice, and Mush and David snorted as they got out of the van.
Mush, as expected, walked over to Blink and greeted him with a kiss. "We brought the prodigy."
"Beer?" Jack said from his spot on the couch, chucking out two bottles. Race caught both of them, and glanced at David and Mush. Both shook their heads.
He shrugged and tossed one back, opened the other for himself, and looked around self consciously. He hadn't had a chance to change back out of his uniform, and felt odd wearing it outside of school, and the way everyone was watching him, he felt kind of like an exhibit in a zoo.
"Uh, thanks," he said to Jack, and wanted to demand to know why people were just staring like that, but didn't. Instead he sat down on one of the spare chairs.
"So..." Blink said finally.
"So rumor has it you're a drummer," Dutchy supplied. Race glanced at him again and this time noticed that, almost like Spot, he looked too skinny for his own good; unlike Spot, his clothes didn't seem to fit quite right. They hung off him like he'd lost the weight too recently to have gone shopping for new, better fitted clothing. But Race just assumed that he didn't shop that often, or couldn't afford to, and didn't think anything of it.
"Rumor has it right," Race replied, taking a sip of beer. He caught eyes with Spot, who was sitting next to Jack on the couch. Spot shot him a cocky grin.
"Buon Giorno, Midgeto."
"Good afternoon, ya skinny asshole."
Spot looked around at the others, expecting someone to jump to his defense. No one did. "You kind of asked for that one," Jack said.
"On topic, please," Blink snapped, and gave Race a serious look. "Are you any good?"
Mush smiled. "He's-"
"I'm not bad."
Blink and Dutchy's eyes met, as if considering whether they should actually let Race do this or not, until finally...
"Can you just show us a bit of what you can do?" Itey asked. He seemed oblivious to the odd looks he was getting from Dutchy, Blink, Jack and especially Spot.
Race had to smile. So, Itey wasn't so bad. He was kind of nice. In a shy, bass-player sort of way.
"I guess I could."
"Well Jesus, don't keep us in suspense," Spot snapped, sulky because he hadn't gotten more of a reaction from Race and he'd actually startled his teachers by going to the library to look up the Italian. "You don't fake modesty well."
"Modesty's a three syllable word. I'm impressed," Race answered, feeling a bit more on his game suddenly, as he reached into his bag and found his sticks.
"He's right," Blink muttered.
"Yeah, well, maybe there's a reason I'm not so modest about the drums," Race snapped back.
"Then let's see what you got, hotshot," Blink scoffed.
"Awright." Race smirked, stood, and took his place behind the dusty drumset.
He wrinkled his nose, but didn't say anything. After all, he had to deal with a pretty crappy drumset in the school band, too. For such a rich place, they really just went for the worst brand names.
"You guys got headphones?" Race asked, glancing around. They all stood still. "Well come on. It's loud."
"Here," Itey said, grabbing a pair that were in a dusty heap on the floor. "Bruce threw them at Dutchy when he left." Dutchy glared at Itey. "Well, he did."
Race put the headphones on, twirling the sticks on his fingers. He glanced up at Mush and David. They both nodded. He started with three bass hits with the foot pedal, and then lifted the sticks.
And then, as always, he slid into the rhythm. He played for three minutes without stopping, concentrating on what he was doing with enough intensity that he was oblivious to the other boys in the garage. Not even the fact that Spot was staring at him had any effect, because he just plain didn't notice.
Which was just as well, because the naked lust in Spot's stare would probably have thrown him off, and he hated it when something threw him off while he was drumming.
He didn't think it was the best thing he'd ever played, and was mentally berating himself for doing such a weak job in front of people who really wanted him to screw up, but when he looked up he slowly began to smirk. Every eye in the place was fixed on him, and while Itey was smiling, and Dutchy and Jack looked mildly shocked, Blink was actually gaping. He didn't bother to look at Spot.
As Race took off the headphones, David broke the silence by sticking out his right hand at Blink and clearing his throat. "Ahem...I do believe you owe me ten dollars."
Blink took the money out of his pocket, stuffed it into David's hand, and continued gaping at Race. Itey hurried towards the drums, still smiling.
"Wow...that was...amazing. Where... where did you learn to play like that?"
Race smiled, actually smiled. He didn't do that too often. "Well, you know. I've been doing it for a long time."
"That was pretty fuckin' awesome," Jack agreed, also coming towards the set. "How long exactly have you been playing?"
"I dunno. Second or third grade... Went right for them in elementary school band, made my parents crazy with the noise but..." He shrugged, and it wasn't false modesty or anything, it was genuine pleasure. "I kinda like it."
"Yeah, it shows," Itey marveled. He glanced back at his band mates. "So should we... You know, talk about it?"
No one responded, but Race rolled his eyes and stood up. "Yeah, you guys do that. I'll be outside so I can't hear you talking about me." He set the headphones down and walked out, sticks still in hand.
He marched over to Mush's van, with a sort of spring in his step. It made him almost giddy, kind of like he was a little kid, whenever people took notice of him. Well, notice in a good way.
"Nice skip there, Midgito."
Fuck.
Spot really wanted to ruin his life. Race turned around, a glare in set, but was surprised with the look he saw on Spot's face. He looked like...
Dare he say it?
"You thought I was good," Race said with disbelief. "You can't find a way to insult me!"
"I could find many ways to insult you," Spot shot back. "Drumming just ain't one of them, I guess."
"Well, at least I know what I'm good at," Race answered.
"Yeah, so you can make people go deaf. Way to go."
"Shouldn't you be in there?" Race demanded. "I'm surprised you missed a chance to call me an asshole behind my back."
"Hey," Spot said defensively. "I don't have to do it behind your back. You are an asshole."
Race shrugged.
"And anyway, you know if they let you in the band, it'll just be because you can play. They don't like you," Spot continued.
Race was glad he'd had practice hiding what he was thinking with his father, because it meant he didn't respond visibly to Spot's comment. Spot was right, and he knew it, but it had still felt good for that minute, when it looked like maybe all of David's friends didn't hate him.
Instead he answered, "Your accent was shit, by the way."
Spot's face fell. Race knew now, that Spot was really trying to get to him. Get a reaction. But Race was a master at hiding emotional reactions. "My accent was brilliant."
"'Boo-won Jer-noh'," Race repeated, his voice coming out very Swedish sounding. "It was an insult to my beautiful language."
"YOU'RE an insult to your beautiful language."
Race opened his mouth, and then closed it. "That was a good come-back."
"Thank you."
"So here's my thing," Race said after a short pause. "I know why I act like a dick. Why the hell do you?"
Spot rolled his eyes. "Awww, does the spoiled rich kid wanna bond with us poor boys?"
"Not really. Just figured that if I end up in the band, I'm gonna have to put up with you a lot, and I'm a lot less likely to beat your skull in if there's a reason why you're a jerk."
"Beat my skull in?" Spot laughed. "I could take you with one hand tied behind my back."
"Really." About the only thing Spot seemed to have on him was the advantage of height, but Race was certain he weighed more than the seemingly anorexic Spot, and that a lot of his weight was muscle. "Yeah, if you say so."
"Don't try me," Spot snapped.
"Come on, you want me?" Race opened his arms. There was a silence, and then Spot smirked. In what was clearly a very sexual manner. And Race suddenly looked very scared.
"Well, hey, if you insist."
"Hey," Race snapped. "THAT isn't funny!!"
"It's hilarious."
"What is wrong with you? Are you like... some form of... anorexic, girly faced ALIEN?"
Race really wished he hadn't said something so stupid, because Spot started laughing. Specifically, Spot started laughing at him.
"Uptight about being straight, huh?" Spot managed between laughs. "Too fuckin' funny. How the hell can you even be friends with that Mush guy?"
Race glared at him and was very tempted to try and hurt him. But he didn't. Instead he twirled the drumstick between two fingers, and said as coolly as he could manage, "I'd impale you with this, but it's too good for you."
"Oh, that hurts, really," Spot mocked, grinning ear to ear. "At least if you stick around you can keep me laughing..."
"Yeah, it must be nice to be so easily amused."
Which made Spot stop laughing, which would have made Race smirk, if he hadn't been pretending to be so aloof.
"Oh my GOD!"
Spot and Race jumped a little, and both jerked their heads to look inside the garage. David was staring at them, open mouthed, and Mush was shushing him, jumping up and down with his finger to his lips.
"Ssshhsshshsh!" Mush grabbed David's ear, and pulled him over to the couch, where they started talking really quietly and really fast. Then Itey, Blink, Dutchy and Jack burst out laughing.
Spot and Race shook their heads a little, and then resumed their arguing.
"So, about Mush being super gay," Spot said again.
"Listen, Mush is my friend. Him being gay has nothing to do with anything."
"So it don't bother you that he and Blink keep playing tonsil hockey, huh?"
"No." Race paused, then amended, "No more than it would if he was making out with a girl."
"What, you got a crush on him or something?"
"No," Race said icily, hoping he could get even a tenth of the effect his father could when he used that tone of voice. "I like girls. But. Those two are just irritating."
"Aww, poor Midgito doesn't have a girlfriend to make out with? Feelin' loooonely at night?"
"Not really. You'd be surprised how easy it is to pick up girls when you're," his eyes flashed and he looked over Spot, "smart, attractive, and oh yeah, rich."
"Yeah, hookers go for that."
"Which is why your mom just loves to suck me off."
Spot raised his eyebrows. "Oh. We gettin' down to 'your mom' insults now, are we little man?"
Race frowned, leaning forward, staring up at Spot. "I could take you on in any insult war, any physical fight, and any confrontation period."
Race expected Spot to snap back with a comeback, but instead Spot leaned his head down slightly, and let a breath escape his lips, trailing on Race's mouth. Race could feel his face heating up, and he didn't say anything.
Then, abruptly, Spot pulled away, smirking. "Not any confrontation, Midget boy."
"That's..." Race trailed off. "That's cheating."
"Aww, you're cute when you're freaked out."
"That's not FUNNY."
"Sure it is. God, are you a homophobe or in denial? 'Cause you get all freaked out, but if you're friends with a fairy like Mush--"
"Who're you calling a fairy, Mister I Just Almost Kissed A Boy?"
Which made Spot laugh again. "Man, you've gotta work on your comebacks when you're startled, you're not nearly as good as you claim." He stepped in closer to Race. "Though to hear my Mom tell it, you ain't very good at all. Kinda lacking in that area, huh? Brings a new meaning to Midget Boy."
And Race probably would have punched his lights out, but Mush yelled from the garage door that they could come back in. And Race couldn't help himself; as he walked past Spot, he shoved the skinnier boy hard enough to send him stumbling back a few steps, then stomped the rest of the way up the drive.
As Spot walked in after him, Jack mumbled to his foster brother, "Tough little bugger, isn't he?"
"Fuck you," Spot sneered. Race stood kind of shyly (which was only noticed by David and Mush, who knew him so well) in front of Dutchy, Itey and Blink.
"So." Blink clapped his hands together. It was the first gay-looking gesture (besides making out with Mush) that Race had seen him do. God, where was his camera? They grew up so fast these days. "We talked."
"And you're amazing," Itey said.
"Shut up, Itey," Dutchy snapped, but sounding good-natured. "And it's no lie that your drumming is so hot you could put the set on fire, throw in some magic dust and make a witch's bonfire."
Everyone blinked.
"And we're uh..." Blink cleared his throat to continue. "And we're prepared to let you in. If you are."
Race bit his tongue. It was Blink's way of saying 'we have to get along or you're out.'
Race thought about it for a long minute. Yes, he wanted to play; he wanted to play in a band so badly it was killing him. The school jazz band just wasn't enough for him, not when drumming was about the only thing that made him feel truly good. But it would really get his father angry...
He paused on that thought. He'd be practicing with David's friends, in this garage, almost every day. Yeah, that would set his father off. But his father approved of Race's doing activities outside of school; he figured it would help keep Race "on the right track." So he'd be almost forced to let Race do it, and he'd hate that.
And getting away with something that would anger his father was definitely worth something.
On the other hand, while he was certain he could keep his smart mouth in check with most of the people he'd met, Spot would be something of a problem...
"Well," he said. "I'm willing to be on my best behavior, but I don't have to get along with that asshole, do I?" he asked, jerking his thumb towards Spot.
"No one gets along with Spot," Jack said.
"Fuck you, Jacky boy."
"Yeah, you'd like to, Spot," Jack answered easily, which cleared up one more of Race's questions. Either Spot was gay or... No, Spot was pretty much just gay.
"Great!" Blink grinned. "So, we got a drummer!"
"Hey hey." Race raised his hand. "I didn't agree yet." Blink and Dutchy snorted and rolled their eyes, but Itey just smiled.
"Well, we can all play together first before you say anything."
Race winked at Itey. "I like you."
Itey smiled and looked down at his feet.
"So, we've just been working on some cover songs. You know, waiting to have a drummer to do anything original," Blink said. "So... I guess, unless you actually know any Sloan, if you can handle Def Leppard..."
But then he noticed Mush was choking on his bottled water. "What?"
"Sorry. You just asked Tony if he knows Sloan and that's like... that's like asking the Comic Book Guy if he knows Batman, you know?"
"He's a total fanboy," David translated.
"Yeah, well, you would be too if you had any musical taste," Race snapped at David. "But no, you listen to freaking Abba--"
"Shut up, Tony."
"Oh my god, I've known you since I was two and I never knew you listened to Abba," Jack snorted. "What a loser!"
"SO." Race jumped to David's rescue. Needling David was his job after all. "What have ya got for me?"
Itey and Dutchy started tuning their guitars, and Dutchy looked up sharply from what he was doing and glared at Itey. "Shut up," he snapped.
"Sorry," Itey apologized and paused, waiting for Dutchy to finish tuning before he started again.
Dutchy gave him a strange look. "Wait, didn't you—" He stopped. "Nevermind."
"You okay?" Itey asked. Dutchy nodded, shrugged, and went back to tuning; he finished and Itey went back to work.
"You know She Says What She Means?" Blink asked when they'd finished.
Race twirled his drumsticks between his fingers. "I know it."
Blink clapped his hands again. He really was quite gay if you looked in the right places. Once again, ignoring the Mush frenching thing.
Race stretched his fingers, cracked his knuckles and sat on the stool behind the drumset, tapping his sticks against the rim of the snare, the way some people impatiently tapped their fingers. Blink shot him a quick glare, and he stopped.
And finally, it seemed that everyone was ready to go. "You want to count us in?" Blink asked. Race nodded, took a deep breath, and hoped for the best. "One, two," he started sharply, and finished the count with clicks of his sticks.
Race knew the song so well, that it was almost like whistling the tune to 'happy birthday'. One of his favorite pastimes was Sloan, thus the songs seemed to come naturally to him now.
He noted that Dutchy was a good guitarist, but he had a tendency to pick up too much speed, as if he was distracted or his mind wandered all over the place. Itey, as a bassist, was too modest--he had to let go.
However, Blink was born to sing for a rock band. And Race fully understood the look of ecstasy on Mush's face.
For a moment, his eyes traveled the room, and found that Spot was actually staring at him.
And the look on Spot's face was almost exactly the same as the one on Mush's as Mush watched Blink.
Oh, Race realized. Well, that sort of explained things.
*
"You joined a what?"
"A band."
"I heard that, Racetrack, but I believe there was another word inserted into the phrase."
"Oh my god!" Maria squealed, jumping up and down at the kitchen counter. "You joined a garage band? That is so cool!"
Race grinned at Maria and ruffled the twelve year old's hair. "Get back to your salad making," he said.
In his household, they all made dinner together. It was tradition. Race baked the bread, Sophia made the salad dressing and desserts, his mother made the actual meal (linguini, lasagna, or something else terribly ethnic on any given night) and Maria made the salad. Mr. Higgins... well, he poured the wine. He was usually late for dinner anyway. Tonight was one of the rare occasions where he liked to bother Race instead of yelling at people he worked with over the telephone.
"A garage band," his father repeated.
"Well, yeah," Race said. "I mean, there aren't a lot of other kinds looking for high school drummers. And I met the guys a few days ago and they were pretty cool, and I found out they needed a drummer, and..."
"And the school band wasn't enough for you?"
"No, sir. I mean... I mean, I love it, of course. I'd never let any other band distract me from my school music or my homework. And it's right by David's house, and since he's pretty much tutoring me in chem anyway, he said that after rehearsals we can work on it in a study group with the two of us and Mush--Michael."
"This is Duncan Jacobs?" his father asked. Race nodded. "And he lives where?"
Race cleared his throat. "David," he corrected. "And, uh...that is, well..."
Then his mother burst by them, with a plate of lasagna in her oven-mitted hands, exclaiming "Move move move, hot plate hot plate!" In Italian over and over again. Their kitchen had three stoves. One of which Race was waiting for the bread to finish, and the other his mother had just used.
"Mama," Sophia said from another part of the counter. "Mama, where's the...oh, never mind." Sophia took the olive oil away from Maria, who was eyeing the ingredients, and poured some in a little dish of vinaigrette she'd prepared.
Race grinned at his mother, who was so damned hilarious when she was cooking, that he jumped when his father flicked his shoulder.
"And Doug Jacobs lives where?"
"Down on Sweetheart and Elm." He paused. "And it's David."
His father repeated the address, as if comparing it to his mental map, and then said flatly, "No."
"But--"
"No."
"But--"
"What did I say?" his father snapped.
Race sighed. "I know you said no, sir, but this just means a lot to me. I mean, they're really great guys--"
"That is not an area where really great guys live, Anthony."
"They are, though!" he protested, and if he'd stopped to think he'd have wondered where the sudden bout of loyalty to David's friends, who he hadn't really cared for even that afternoon, came from. But if it was the only way to convince his father...
"Yes, well, I'll believe that when I see it."
"That settles it, then," his mother interrupted cheerfully. "Tony, darling, invite your friends over for dinner at the end of the week. Your father and I will meet them ourselves, and then make our decision."
Race almost laughed at the phrase, "our decision," since it was his father's word that counted, but nodded quickly. "Thank you, Mama."
Race's father sighed, and then the oven bell went off. Race put on his oven mitts (they all had personalized oven mitts--Race's had black olive patterns on his) and grabbed the bread paddle, opening up the oven, and slipping the paddle under the loaf.
"Mama!" Maria called from her salad. "Mama, we're out of avocado!"
"How can we be out of avocado?"
"Tony ate some this morning."
"I didn't." He had, but, hey. "Listen, if you keep tellin' lies about me, I ain't gonna take ya ta see Lizzie what's her face."
"McGuire!"
"Yeah yeah..."
"But Tony you have to take me, you promised me!" she pouted.
He rolled his eyes and deposited the bread on the counter to cool. "Don't worry, carina, I'll do it."
She grinned. "You're the best brother ever."
Sophia, across the kitchen, snorted.
"Comment, sister darling?"
"Nothing, brother dear."
Race rolled his eyes and turned back to Maria, who was his favorite sister of the three. Isabella was in college now, so she couldn't bother him any more; Sophia was a year younger than he was at sixteen, and Maria was only twelve. He supposed it was the larger age difference that made it easier to get along with her; he could be an older brother, not in competition.
Besides, Maria was the only one in this house, besides their mother, who was as short as Race was. And she looked a lot like him too, perhaps another reason they bonded. Sophia on the other hand, was what Race and his father would call 'off-limits' to any boy they didn't like. It was the only thing they agreed on. But at sixteen, Sophia was probably one of the most stunning looking girls in the state.
Race concluded good-looks were in the family genes.
Purely for the fun of being an older brother, Race dipped his finger in Sophia's bowl of vinaigrette and tasted it, giving her a mean smile as she whapped his shoulder.
He laughed, and she responded by grabbing the rolling pin from where he'd left it when he'd finished with it earlier, and threatening him with it. He grinned and reached back on to the counter for some of the loose flour he'd rolled the dough on, and once she'd finished joking with the pin he blew it on to her, which gave her hair a sudden frosty look.
She let out a yelp and grabbed the pin again, but would never actually hit him with it. Instead, she smacked the back of his head with her palm, reached back for a fistful of flour and dumped it down his shirt.
His mother yelled at them in Italian for a minute, kicked all of the children out of the kitchen to go get cleaned up for dinner, and for just a minute, Race felt like he came from a normal family.
*
Maria was so excited, she was practically bouncing.
Well, she was bouncing, which was kind of embarrassing since they were in a movie theatre lobby, standing in line waiting to buy popcorn. Why did he agree to take his sister to this movie? Oh right. He was 'the best brother ever'. Really, Race would do anything for Maria.
"Can I get a large?" Maria asked. Race shot her a look.
"I dunno... a large is pretty big."
"I can eat it."
"Yeah, Godzilla."
"I am not Godzilla!"
"Tony?"
Race glanced up from poking his sister in the stomach, to see Itey standing behind the counter. In a uniform. Looking miserable. He worked there.
"Oh, hey," Race said cheerfully. "And yes, Maria, if you'll stand still for thirty seconds, you can have a large."
"Yay!"
"I'm going to time you, though."
And she made a big show of concentrating on being still while he turned back to Itey. "How are you?"
Itey rolled his eyes. "Fine. You want anything?"
"Popcorn!" Maria squealed.
"That was only ten seconds, Maria."
"Tony!"
"Um, that's my sister," he clarified.
"I figured." Itey smiled. "So that was a large popcorn?"
"Yes!"
"Yeah," Race sighed. Well, it made Maria happy, and when Itey rang it up with their two sodas he only did it as a medium.
"So," Race said suddenly. "Listen." Itey blinked, and kind of smiled.
"Listening," he answered.
"My dad has this uh...thing, with me having new friends."
"...okay." Itey looked a little amused. "That's wonderful Tony!"
"Ha ha." Race smirked. "But he wanted me to invite the band and you know, Spot and Jack, over to our house. For supper. On Saturday."
Itey looked a little speechless until Maria cut in. "I make the salad."
Itey leaned down a bit. "Do you?" Maria nodded proudly. "Then I guess I'll have to come."
"Cool!" she squeaked.
"Could you maybe, um, ask the other guys? I don't know if I can get to a rehearsal before then, 'cause my dad's kind of..." he looked at Maria, and finished with, "stubborn. And I only have David and Mush's numbers."
"No problem."
"Okay. It's kind of dress nicely, but--"
"Tony, we're missing the movie!"
"--but not too formal or anything," he tried to finish as Maria began to tug him away by the arm. "Talk to you--Maria, just one second!--later, then. Thanks!"
And Maria pulled him towards the correct theater, having somehow memorized the multiplex's layout, and as they were walking in Race muttered a curse word in Italian under his breath. Because walking out of a different movie were Spot and Jack.
He thought for a second they didn't see him until..."Midgito!"
Race winced, and stopped in his tracks, turning his head as Jack and Spot walked up to him. Maria looked ready to whine again until she got a good look at them and turned beat red.
"Hi," Race said tonelessly to Spot, then nodded at Jack. "Hey Jack."
"Hey Tony," Jack said, grinning in a smart ass fashion at Spot, then spotting Maria. "Hey hey, who's the cutie?"
Maria made a squeak noise, and blushed more. Race rolled his eyes. "Maria. My little sister."
"Hi," she said softly, suddenly shy.
"Hey there." Jack waved.
Race started to introduce Jack and Spot to his little sister, but Spot interrupted, "You're going to see Lizzie McGuire?" and started laughing. Maria gave Race a questioning look, and he rolled his eyes.
"She's going to see it, I'm going because..."
"Yeah?"
"Because she's only twelve, someone had to go with her, and unlike some people, I'm not a total jerk."
"Oh yeah--" Spot started, but Jack cut him off.
"You got any other sisters, Tony?"
Race narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Two."
"Sophia and Izzy!" Maria bubbled out. "Sophia's almost Tony's age. And Izzy goes to college and studies something really stupid and boring."
"Well, I bet when you go to college, you won't study something stupid and boring." Jack flashed a smile. Race began to see the essence of a ladies' man slip through.
"Of course not," Maria said. Spot was still watching Race with an amused look.
"You the brotherly type?" Spot scoffed. Maria, picking up on Spot's cynicism, grabbed Race's arm tightly and protectively.
"He's the greatest brother," she said, and glared. "Ever."
Race ruffled her hair fondly, and didn't even have to say anything to Spot, who rolled his eyes. Then the noise of previews started inside the theater, and Maria let out a little eep. "Come on, Tony! We're missing the movie!"
"And you wouldn't want to do that," Spot added.
"Yeah." He paused, then said to Maria, "Why don't you go get us seats, kiddo? I'm gonna just talk to Jack and Spot for a second, I'll be right in, okay?"
She hesitated as she took the bag of popcorn from his hands. "How will you find me in the dark?"
"You could always yell my name."
"Okay!" she decided and bounded off before he could explain that he was kidding. He shrugged and let her go.
Jack was smiling at him. "She's energetic."
"You're telling me," Race answered.
"So... the other sister... Sophia, was it?"
"No."
"Just curious." Jack shrugged, sipping on his pop. He glanced at Spot. "What's eating you?"
"You wish you were."
Race made a disgusted face. "Anyway, I need to ask you two something."
"Yeah?"
"Just--my dad is pretty annoyed that I'm in the band, and he's trying to find a reason not to let me. So he and my mom decided--look, if they can meet all of you, and you can make a half-way decent impression..."
"Sure," Jack agreed. "When?"
"Saturday, dinner at my house. But, um, I should warn you that my dad is kind of... Not..."
"Yeah?" Spot challenged. "Your dad is what, Tony?"
"Never mind," he snapped. "But will you two come?" Jack nodded, and Spot just smirked. He sized Spot up, remembered the look on Spot's face while he'd been playing and added, "Gee, Spot, you don't want more time to stare at me?"
"Shut up, Midget Boy."
Jack rolled his eyes and elbowed Spot. "We'll come."
"Thanks. It's kind of formal dress." He gave Spot a disgusted look. "If you actually own anything formal."
"I'll show up naked," Spot answered. "See how your mom likes it."
"Would you two stop?" Jack whined, then composed himself. "So, this Sophia, she got a boyfriend?"
"Jack, never, ever, will that happen," Race answered. "And what about you and Sarah?"
"We'll be back together in two weeks at most."
"Oh."
"Better get back to your movie," Spot said. "Don't want to miss any of that hot, young, fourteen year old Hilary Duff ass!"
"She's got a nicer ass than you do, Skinny," Race answered, nodded goodbye to Jack, and walked off into the theater. He couldn't see the annoyed look on Spot's face as he left, but somehow was certain it was there anyway.
*
Funkie: Okay, Race drumming is like orgasm with a beat. I've concluded that Spot is a lucky SOB.
B: And Race cooking? Hot damn, I'm jealous of Spot.
F: Also, the lasagna that Mrs. Higgins made? Yeah, I had that for dinner last night. It was delicious.
B: Where as I have set out on an exciting foray of "living on my own and cooking for myself." Which means that anyone who chooses to come and cook for me gets brownie points.
F: I can make you popcorn.
B: Ooooh! Anyway, tune in next time for the Big Family Dinner of Dooooooooom. (Add your own ominous thunderclaps... here.)
NOTE: Little Drummer Boy Race available to play charity events, weddings and bar mitzvas; cheap rates when booked four to six months in advance.
F: Too bad he wasn't at the Bar Mitzvah I went to last Saturday...that was 8 HOURS LONG.
This chapter celebrated with mac'n'cheese, because it's the only thing B can cook.
Shoutouts!
Rumor
F: Indeed, two chappys at the same time is a lot like two plums at the same time. Delicious, and currently being consumed by me.
B: Damn you, I'm hungry!! I mean, um, I love you, Rumor.
F: The action figure is yours!! *tada*
Hotshot
B: First off, we LOVE you for this review. Long reviews = very inspiring.
F: Secondly, your very good questions about Race's distaste for his nickname shall be answered...later. *twilight zone music* OOOH, suspense!!
B: Hmm. It's not just that Italian was his first language; his parents also speak it at home a lot and insist that their children are fluent.
F: Race has a very Italian family. In a lot of ways. Including Emeril!Race, who bakes bread. Now you see how Race knocks the socks off of Blink and his boys because Drummer!Race is like some sort of hot, Italian God.
As for Spot/Race, well... Heh. Just, heh.
F: Spot and Race? BAH. Never happen. *wink wink*
Stage
F: Yes. I did set it on fire. To be fair, it was the third time in my life that I've set a meal on fire. I'm getting better, really.
B: Lucky you. I'm just learning to set things on fire now.
F: I suggest being an idiot. It works wonders for me.
B: I'll try that. But anyhoo, Stage, Race is absolutely the most fun a little bitch can be.
F: You want more Stage-baby? Well well, you GET more. Because you said the magic word: Race
Shadowlands
B: Anything we do to warm you up to Blink/Mush is worth the effort. Because Blink/Mush is just yummy.
F: And, Aah, Spot ad Race. They'd argue about the color of the sky.
Spot: It's BLUE.
Race: It's baby blue you fucker!
It's sweet really.
And sorry my Italian bites. But hey, I'm learning!
Lee
F: Yes, it is fun to write with B. She is so damned wonderful and glomp worthy.
B: Awww. And I love working with Funkie, whose Spot/Race is about the best there is out there.
F: *glomp* I read her everyday! Oh, and we have fun with Bitch!Race. Really, he's just so fun to torture.
B: And glad you liked the Italian. That was aaaaaaaall Funkie. But I'm still glad.
Holiday
F: Yay!! Holiday came to the party! Mush and Blink are so damned perfect for each other. Good Old Mushee is such a doll.
B: And Blink is just, you know, faaaabulous. And sexy. And a god. And it's possibly I'm too much of a Blink fangirl...
F: There's never too much when it comes to Blink.
B: Fair enough. Anyway, agreed on he BLAH to school; it takes away from Fanfiction Fun Time.
Seraph the Second (and the Best)
F: Really, I don't think anyone in high school does their own homework. Especially not the almighty brat!Race
B: I definitely didn't. Would have failed calc if my best friend wasn't a math wiz.
F: Math bites. Mush and Blink? They rock. David is wonderful--he is not naive, nor jerky! He's a sweet little doll. I love him.
B: Me too. I watched the movie a few nights ago and by the end actually found him attractive. That had never happened before. But I do kind of *heart* David.
F: He is attractive, damnit!!!
B: But he looks just like all the boys I know, and that makes it creepy!!
F: I know a guy who looks like Christian Bale. Exactly.
B: I'm jealous.
F: Of course you are. And Spot backstory? We're ON IT.
B: We're on it like alcoholicBlink!muse on a keg. Or something!
Aquachica
F: Dude...B, someone loves Mush/Blink as much as you.
B: Aaaaaah! Yay! I'm not alone!!
F: Fluff is WONDERFUL as are Mush/Blink. Hey, I totally melted when we started putting in the Blink/Mush in part 2. Took me hours to recover.
B: Where as I reveled in it.
Kellyanne
F: Cute asshole! HAH. Now I totally know what to call so many of my friends! Thank you baby-cakes.
B:Thank you so much. Mush is very adorable. :D
Gothic Author
B: Thanks for the compliment. It's probably wrong to drool at our own works, but man. Race is hot.
F: God, he should be illegal. Shirtless!Mush!! He seems to be appearing all over the place now. I think he's becoming the next trend. You don't have a Megatunes?? Then no worries--Naked, Autographed, Drummer Race will be delivered to you by an equally naked Spot.
B: Lucky you. And don't worry, the Sprace cake is baking!
F: Ooooh is it baking.
Shot Hunter
F: Race is just such a musical little sexy bitch.
B: Singer!Race is also fun. I'm not sure our Race sings, but singing!Race is also very droolworthy.
F: Our Race can sing in the shower. Because our Race can do anything in the shower. Just as long as he's in there. Naked.
B: Preferably with Spot.
F: Who should also be naked.
B: Wow, I need a cold shower now.
Thistle
F: Racetrack... Italian... mmm... Can anyone say 'Orgasmic'?
B: We also take perverse pleasure in the drug tests and generally being terrible to Race. That's his punishment for being so... him.
F: Spot is slowly turning into a mystery man. It's sexy. Race wants it. He doesn't know it though...because it's a mystery.
B: Though he's definitely a bitch.
F: A hot bitch.
Leah
B: Are you still reading? Go cook me dinner! ;D
F: Leah, this is for your luscious self.
Until next time, kiddies! Stay in school and stay off drugs!
unlike the kids in the story.