Everything You've Done Wrong
Come together like a foot in a shoe
Only this time I think I stuck my foot in my mouth
Thinking out loud and acting in vain
Knocking over anyone that stands in my way
Sometimes I need to apologize
Sometimes I need to admit that I ain't right
Sometimes I should just keep my mouth shut or only say hello
Sometimes I still feel I'm walking alone
Walk on eggshells on my old stomping ground
Yet there's really no one left
That's hanging around
Isn't that another familiar face?
Too drunk to figure out they're fading away
-Green Day, Walking Alone
Chapter Four: Dining In
Race stared nervously at the clock. They were going to be here in the next fifteen minutes, strategically maneuvered by Maria so they could make sure they saw him and the family actually making the dinner. Which made Race more nervous, not that he would admit it. His father was late, and Race didn't know if this would be good or bad. Over all, he was seriously regretting the entire thing.
But then, it wasn't like he was offered much of a choice. At least they'd agreed to come, which still surprised him, as his friendship with the band members and their friends was shaky, at best.
As though she could sense his nerves and wanted to calm him down, Sophia decided that it would be a good idea to start up their ongoing foodfight again.
Race growled at her. "HEY. Brat," he snapped, and attacked back with a hand full of whipped cream, which had been freshly whipped by Sophia moments before. He pushed it into her shirt with a splat, and Sophia shrieked.
"You jerk!"
"I love you too."
"Sophia!" His mother called. "Oh, Tony, really. Sophia, rosetta, go change."
"But-"
"NOW."
And his friends, being the wonderful people they were, decided it would be a good idea to arrive early, and chose that moment to ring the doorbell.
"Anthony!" his mother half-yelled. "Go let your friends in! Maria and I will finish in here!"
So, side by side with Sophia and with a few dollops of tomato seeds on his shirt, he went to get the door. Sophia started to disappear up the stairs, then hesitated while he opened it and the group crowded in. The three band members, plus Jack and Spot, and then plus Mush and David.
And it seemed that at the same moment, Jack and Itey saw Sophia, who blushed and dashed up the stairs.
They stared, open mouthed. "Who was that?" Jack asked, a grin sliding across his face. Itey didn't say anything. He was still staring at the spot Sophia had just been standing.
Race didn't answer Jack, instead he raised his eyebrows, a threatening look appearing instantly. "Why?"
"This place is fucking huge," Spot broke in, and Race's attention was diverted to him.
"Don't swear, Maria's in the next room!"
"Like she can hear me! You need a megaphone to talk to someone in the next room anyway."
Race gave his friends a critical look, and given the fact that he had still had tomato all over his shirt, they looked better than he did. Sort of. Mush and David were dressed very nicely, but then, they'd had dinner at his house before. He almost laughed at Blink, whose idea of dressing up mostly consisted of Gap apparel, but he did look pretty nice in casual clothes. (Apparently, Mush agreed, judging by the fact that Mush was hanging on him. But then, Mush pretty much hung on him whenever they were in a room together.) Dutchy cleaned up nicely and managed not to look like he played grunge rock, Jack had ditched the T-shirt and jeans for a less worn out pair of cords and a button up shirt, which Race supposed was like dressing up, and Itey had gone so far as to wear a tie.
Almost nervously, Race turned his gaze to Spot.
For some reason, Race's face went hot. He'd expected Spot to show up looking like hell, to be frank. Maybe even go so far as to wear one of his 'fuck you' t-shirts that he was sporting in all of David's photos. But no. Spot was wearing black, kind of shabby, dress pants and a tight, light green-blue striped Sloan-esque polo shirt. He was also donning a spiked necklace.
Race was once again reminded that Spot may have been skinny, but he was gorgeous.
"Yeah," Race said distractedly, then pulled his gaze away from Spot. "Yeah, I guess it is pretty big."
"Big?" Dutchy mocked. "The place is a fucking mansion."
"Seriously, knock off the cursing, would you? My sister is only twelve, and my mother..."
"What the fuck, your mother can't fucking handle the fucking f-word?" Spot asked.
Race glared and would have answered, but David elbowed him hard in the side. "No, she can't," David said. "So knock it off, okay?"
Race gave him a grateful look. David had met his mother before, and though she was startled to discover he was one of Race's good friends, she actually approved of him. After all, he was also Race's unofficial tutor.
"Dad is late, but, I'm still cooking so--"
"You cook?!" Spot exclaimed, then snorted. "God, it's like my freaking birthday came early. Can I watch?"
Race was starting to get really nervous. "I... guess."
"Sweet!" Blink exclaimed, and Dutchy added "Wear an apron, god, that would be even better."
Mush smiled from his spot on Blink's arm. "He has his own oven mitts."
"You have your own oven mitts." Spot was enjoying this way too much. Race just tried to ignore him, and noted that Jack and Itey were still acting fairly dazed.
He waved his hand in front of Itey's face, as Itey was the closer of the two, and rolled his eyes. "Hey, you two bums. Snap out of it; she's my sister, and strictly off limits. Unless you want to see what an enraged Italian father looks like."
"Just the father, Tony?" Mush laughed.
Race shrugged. "...And an enraged older brother," he admitted.
"After all, he is the Best Brother Ever," Spot mocked, and Race glared at him for a second.
"Kitchen's this way," he finally said, and lead the way back to where his mother and Maria were still cooking.
"Tony!" his mother exclaimed. "It's about time, watch the bread, watch the bread!" She said this in Italian, and then turned on a charming smile to the boys. "Ciao!" she greeted. "Tony, introduce me."
"But you just said--"
"Nice to meet you, ma'am. I'm Jack Kelly." Jack had turned on such an over-dose of charm that it was almost like he was meeting his in-laws.
Race made a face, thinking, Oh, great.
"Oh." Race's mother blushed. "Hello, Jack Kelly." His mother blushed for Christ's sake.
Jack seemed to have decided to take care of the introductions, so Race hurried to the oven where his bread was scarily close to burning, and listened while he donned his oven mitts and pulled it out.
"And this is my good friend, Sean Conlon," he continued, and Race realized he had no idea what anyone's actual names were, so maybe it was just as well that Jack was introducing them, "and that's Ryan Ballatt, Gabriel Lopez, and--"
"Dutchy," Dutchy interrupted.
"Dutchy?" Race's mother questioned.
"Yeah."
And Race could almost hear Jack's grinning to gloss that over. "And I think you've met David and Michael, right?"
"Of course."
"And may I just say, it's very kind of you to invite us to your lovely home, ma'am."
"Oh, well, we always want to meet our Anthony's friends." Race's mother smiled, waving her hand. Right, Race didn't bring up the fact his mother was still a snob, no matter how cute and Italian she was. Hopefully, Jack's charm would dazzle all the prejudice out of her.
"Mama," Race said. "Mama, your oven's bell went off."
"Oh!" His mother pushed by Race. "Thank you, dear."
Maria was staring at Jack again, her face very red. "Jack, do you have a girlfriend?" Maria asked boldly, and Race glared down at her.
"Carina!" Race snapped. Jack laughed.
"Nah, you're my number one girl."
"Shoot me," Spot said bluntly.
Again, Race started to reply, but was beat to the punch. "Behave yourself," Blink hissed in Spot's ear, and it slowly dawned on Race that Spot must have been lectured, or warned, or otherwise threatened into attempting to make a good impression. Or at least that the other guys were going to take care of him if he wasn't. The thought was uplifting, and Race remembered that they hadn't all seen Maria at the theater.
"Oh, and that's Maria," he said aloud, gesturing slightly with a hand still covered by an oven mitt.
Itey shot a look at Jack, then grinned at the twelve year old. "It's very nice to meet you again," he said seriously, stepped forward, took her hand and kissed the back of it gallantly. Her eyes went wide and her cheeks turned red, and when Race glanced over at his mother, she was actually smiling.
So maybe the night wouldn't be a total disaster.
"Is your sister still changing?" Race's mother asked as she took the food out of the oven and placed it on the counter. Race nodded. "Tell her to hurry, and Maria, set the table."
Maria nodded, looking a little starry-eyed at Itey and Jack.
"You boys, go ahead and take your seats." Race's mother whapped each of them with her oven mitt, and they hurried by her to the dining room.
"You coming?" Dutchy asked Race.
"I have to wait for my bread to cool," Race snapped. "It's my bread."
Dutchy rolled his eyes and took a seat next to Spot. Mrs. Higgins came up next to Race and smiled.
"They seem very... Nice," she said quietly. "And you ought to change your shirt before dinner."
He nodded and his mother headed into the dining room, and Race was almost afraid to leave her alone with his friends, but figured there was nothing too bad they could do. She already liked Mush and David, and seemed to have taken a liking to Jack and Itey. Dutchy and Blink seemed content to stay fairly quiet, and the only person that left as a problem was Spot, who'd be a problem whether he was in the room or not.
Testing the bread once more showed it was still too hot, so he decided it was worth dashing up to change his shirt, and on the way he ran into Sophia. She'd changed entirely and he noted, none to thrilled, she was dressed not as she would for a family dinner, but the way she would have for a date.
"What is that?" Race snapped. Sophia blinked, and looked down at herself.
"A dress."
"A red dress."
"So?"
"So you aren't wearing that, go change."
Sophia put her hands on her hips. "Soak your head," she snapped, and continued down the stairs. Race would be damned if he was going to let her into that dining room without him, so he grabbed her arm, and pulled her up the stairs. "Hey!" she said. "Let go!"
"If you're wearing that, you're damned well going to be supervised by me every single second," Race said, stepping into his room, pulling her in with him.
"Tony, please, I'm not a little girl."
"Exactly," he snapped. "Where's my button up beige shirt..." He looked around, and saw Sophia holding it up between her fingers. "Ah. Thanks."
Sophia was silent as she turned away and Race changed his shirt, then, "So...what's his name?"
Race snorted. "Jack. And he's not your type."
"Jack? The Spanish one?"
It was a good thing Race wasn't drinking anything, because he'd have choked on it or spat it out. "No. No, the Spanish one is..." He trailed off, trying to remember Itey's real name. "Gabriel."
"And is he my type, fratello?"
"Absolutely not."
She laughed, and opened the door for him, and they walked down and into the dining room side by side. And he really didn't like how the eyes of all of the boys in the room--or at least, all of the straight ones--traveled up and down her body as soon as Sophia stepped into sight. But at least she had the good sense to be more interested in Itey than Jack, as Itey didn't have a girlfriend, and seemed far more harmless.
Jack was giving Sophia his best grin, but she took the empty seat next to Itey, blushing slightly.
The look on Jack's face was priceless.
Race, seeing that the only empty spots left were in between David and Spot, and his father's chair at the head of the table, reluctantly sat down next to Spot. Or rather, in between David and Spot.
"Your sister's hot," Spot mumbled to him.
"Shut up." Pause. "Aren't you gay?"
"She's the closest a chick could get to ever turning me straight."
Race just told him to shut up again.
Which suddenly brought up another potential problem in Race's mind; his father had always somewhat frowned on Mush's presence, just because he suspected Mush was gay. His mother didn't mind so much because Mush was a nice kid, but if his father saw Mush and Blink holding hands they way they were currently doing under the table...
Maybe he'd get lucky and his father would be so tied up with work that he wouldn't be able to make it.
"Maria, why don't you go get the salad and the bread so we can start the meal? Your father said he didn't mind if we started with out him."
"Why do I have to?" she sulked.
"'Cause you're the youngest, squirt," Race answered. She stuck her tongue out at him, but disappeared into the kitchen to do as asked.
"So, Mrs. Higgins," Spot said suddenly, and all the boys snapped their heads to peer at Spot. "Tell me, has Anthony always been such a delight?"
Mrs. Higgins seemed to take the question seriously. "Oh well, he's a nice boy. When he's a good boy." She gave Race one of her Italian mother looks. "I do hope he's being nice to you boys. He doesn't often have people over."
"Mama--" Race started.
"Yes, Mama," Sophia interrupted, "he can't help that he's a loser; I'm sure he's being nice."
"Brat," Race muttered at her, and she smiled back.
"Sophia, apologize to your brother," his mother scolded.
She rolled her eyes, muttered a quick, "Sorry, Tony," as insincerely as humanly possibly, and tossed her hair over her shoulder.
Jack was very nearly drooling. Race scowled, but Jack was saved from his date with an enraged older brother by Maria returning to the room, the bread and the salad carefully balanced in her arms.
"Awww, honey, you baked," Spot said, fluttering his eye lashes at Race.
"I bake every night," Race said, then lowered his voice. "You just wish I baked for you."
"An' what does that mean?"
"Nothing."
Race was too busy watching Sophia, Jack and Itey to be concerned with Spot anymore. Sophia, who was usually uncomfortable with how beautiful she was, suddenly seemed very confidant indeed. But he couldn't help but notice that, though he had seen many a male look at Sophia, none of them had looked at her quite like Itey did.
"So, what do you play?" Sophia asked softly. Itey blinked.
"Play?"
"In the band."
"Oh. OH! The band, yeah, of course, uh..." He seemed to have forgotten he was in a band. "I play the, uh..."
"The bass," Dutchy supplied, looking amused. Race was relieved that at least Dutchy wasn't hitting on her, and he was straight as far as Race knew. Though he had definitely checked her out... Well, he wasn't hitting on her, and that was what counted.
"Yeah, bass," Itey agreed, blushing.
"And do you play anything, Miss Higgins?" Jack asked, clearly annoyed that Itey was getting attention from her. "I'll bet you sing--I bet you have a great voice."
"Tone deaf," she answered flatly. "How long have you been playing?"
Race began to relax. If nothing else, her attention to Itey was going to infuriate Jack, which would be fun to watch. He was almost enjoying watching his friends pass around the salad, until he heard the sound of the front door open.
His father was home.
Shit.
Spot poked at his food slightly, not hungry. He didn't eat much anyway, thus his attention was slightly waning, and he couldn't stop himself from sneaking glances at Race's slightly opened button down shirt...Damn it. Why did such a prick have to be so hot and Italian? Granted, Spot never had trouble being a jackass to people, so it wasn't like Race had anything over him.
Spot bit into the bread that Race had made, and almost moaned. Dear God... it was good. Fuck him, he could cook bread. Spot glanced up to mention something (namely, a smart ass comment about Race being real housewife material) but saw that Race looked as scared as a freaking rabbit.
He realized why quickly; there was the sound of footsteps in the hall, and almost on cue the members of the Higgins family stopped eating, fell silent, and looked up. And then Mr. Higgins stepped into the room.
Spot had to admit the guy looked intimidating; sort of like a more grown up version of Race, if Race had been around six feet tall with broad shoulders, a more square jaw, and was starting to gray at his temples. He was wearing a dark gray business suit that was clearly well tailored and probably cost more than all of the clothing Spot owned put together, and as he stepped into the room, Spot couldn't help but notice that all of the Higgins family members stood.
They freaking stood up when he walked in.
Mush and David had done so as well, without hesitation, and then the others shot looks of confusion to each other. Then Blink hastily stood up as well, and the others followed in awkward alacrity. Spot did not. He sized the man up, staring at him, and then saw Race shoot him a quick look of stern pleading. Mr. Higgins hadn't noticed Spot's lack of respect, and with that opportunity at hand, Jack kicked Spot harshly under the table.
Spot started to glare at Jack, and got glared back at. "Spot," Jack murmured, almost under his breath.
Spot stood. He glanced over at Race, expecting to see him smirk, but Race was too busy watching his father.
"Good evening, dear," Mrs. Higgins said finally, and gestured at the table. "We were just starting."
"I can see that." He paused, and glanced over his children, for the moment ignoring the guests. "Sophia," he said.
"Papa, I--"
Something about the look on his face changed, Spot wasn't even entirely sure what it was--it darkened, maybe his eyebrows lowered a tiny bit, it was almost impossible to put his finger on--and she fell silent. He said something in Italian, she bit her lip and nodded, and left the room without argument.
"Anthony, introduce me to your friends, please." Though it was, quite obviously, not a request. It was an order.
Race cleared his throat, and Spot was taken aback by the sudden upright, and stiff posture Race had formed into. "Yes, sir," he said, his voice low and, oddly, more Italian sounding, even in English.
Race looked around the room, gesturing first to Itey. "This is Gabriel Lopez."
"Good evening."
"G-good evening." Itey's voice wavered slightly. Race moved on, quickly, and Itey looked thankful. "That's Ryan Ballatt."
"Hi sir." Blink cleared his throat.
When Race reached Dutchy, he gave him a warning glare, and Dutchy swallowed loudly.
"Hello, Mr Higgins."
Mr. Higgins raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"
Dutchy muttered something.
"Pardon?"
Dutchy muttered again.
"Speak up boy!"
Something about Mr. Higgins bellow made Dutchy burst out with the name in a high pitched voice.
"Hans Mardoslavic..."
Spot managed not to start laughing, but only because Jack grabbed his arm and he didn't feel like getting Jack pissed at him. He'd never heard Dutchy's real name before, only knew that Dutchy refused to say it, had actually enrolled at their school as Dutchy somehow so not even the attendance sheets could give it away, and was planning to have it legally changed the day he turned eighteen. Spot suddenly understood why.
Mr. Higgins nodded, and Race continued quickly, "You've already met Michael and David; I go to school with them." Another nod. "And this is Jack Kelly."
"Hello, sir."
"Good evening."
"...And Sean Conlon."
Spot had a million ways he could think of to answer, and to his very great surprise found himself echoing Jack, saying a simple, "Hello, sir."
Sir? he asked himself. He didn't think he'd ever called anyone sir in his life before. But something about the terrified, pleading look Race had been giving him... He supposed that one lapse into politeness wouldn't ruin his entire reputation.
Mr. Higgins gave Spot an odd look, and no one was surprised. Despite dressing rather nicely (for Spot, and not counting the spiked necklace, which Mr. Higgins had eyed critically), Spot looked horrendously out of place. Spot knew it, but he wouldn't let some old man with a credit card bother him. Just one night of respect for an elder... it wouldn't kill him.
Mr. Higgins picked some of the seafood pasta out of the dish and onto his plate, and took a slice of the olive bread, and sat down. This was a silent indication that they now could help themselves, since the master had been served.
Spot took a bite of the food, and despite it's delicious taste, still could not bring himself to be hungry. Instead, he watched Race, inconspicuously, and suddenly in a whole new light.
Race didn't look like Race. He suddenly looked very small.
"Do you eat?"
Spot didn't know at first that Mr. Higgins was speaking to him until Jack cleared his throat.
"Pardon?" Spot said, his voice low and bordering on defensive.
"Do you eat?"
He started to say something insulting about the cooking, and stopped himself, noting for one that what he'd tasted has been delicious, but also that Race had buried his head in one hand, and looked like someone had just run over his dog. Clearly, his father talking to Spot was not a happy situation for him.
"I--" Spot started, suddenly unsure what to say. He was the master of witty comebacks, and the combination of a friend (or whatever the hell Race was) looking miserable, and a six foot tall guy in a suit glaring at him had thrown him off and he choked on the words.
He was saved because Sophia chose that moment to come back into the dining room, and sit down, her ensemble changed into a boring gray turtleneck, and shapeless black pants. She also wasn't smiling. Spot decided at that moment that if somehow the admiration of Itey, Jack and Dutchy, the only three straight guys who hadn't met her before (though Dutchy's straightness was really debatable at best) wasn't enough, he'd ask her to marry him.
Mr. Higgins said something to her in Italian, and she nodded back.
And then, the bastard turned back to Spot. "Well?" he demanded.
"Dad--" Race started, but Mr. Higgins gave an odd sound from the back of his throat. Without the words coming out, Mr. Higgins had told Race to 'shut the hell up'.
Mr. Higgins did not want Race to be around any of them. Spot, being a skinny pretty boy with a spiked necklace, was the easiest target. And, he wasn't eating.
"I don't know what you mean," Spot finally mumbled. Then raised an eyebrow. "Sir."
Jack kicked Spot under the table again; Spot kicked him right back. He hadn't done a goddamned thing and already this asshole had hounded on him. Wasn't that the story of Spot's life?
"What do I mean?" Mr. Higgins tone was oddly polite. As if they were talking about Spot's education or his interests or anything besides his eating habits. It almost threw Spot off. So did the suddenly protective look on Race's face. Mr. Higgins continued before Race could say a word.
"It was a simple question, boy, which I have already repeated once. I do not stutter, so unless you're slow, I expect an equally clear answer."
Spot was actually impressed; he'd never heard an insult dressed up to sound so classy before. And it was just enough to make his brain start working again. He'd seen, thanks to Race's incredibly wonderful unbuttoned shirt, that he was wearing a necklace with a small cross hanging from it; in fact, every member of the family seemed to be. They were religious.
"Of course I eat, sir," he said pleasantly. "I just usually say grace beforehand."
Mr. Higgins raised his eyebrows, and said nothing for a moment. Then, Spot tore his eyes away from the huge Italian man, and rested his gaze on Race again.
Race was absolutely beaming at him.
So was everyone else.
"What religion do you practice?" Mr. Higgins said back. Spot had to admit, the guy was good. But Race mouthed out 'Catholic', and Spot would have guessed that anyhow.
"Catholic, sir. Born and raised."
"See, daddy? He was just being polite!" Maria insisted, as she suddenly seemed to have taken to Spot's defense. Probably because Jack had.
"Of course." Race's father's expression didn't change at all, but Spot's skin began to crawl under his continued unwavering scrutiny. "Perhaps you'd care to say grace for us then, Mr. Conlon?"
Spot managed a quick glance at Race, who was clearly trying not to wince visibly.
"Sure," he said, and tacked on a quick, "I'd be honored. Sir." Mr. Higgins gestured for him to start, and he tried to remember what he'd learned in his first foster home, where the folks had been extremely religious and convinced he should have been grateful for it. Mostly, he'd just been grateful to get out of there. But the words had been trained in to him.
He said a very simple, short, but polite grace (in Latin, no less; he'd heard it every night and it had been burned into his memory) and then looked around the table. He was being gaped at. By pretty much everyone, except Mr. Higgins himself, who smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile and it looked unnatural.
"Amen," he said, and it was echoed by everyone else present.
Spot sat down with an arrogant grace, and shot a grin at Mr. Higgins. Ha. Take that, Fucker Mc.Asshole, he thought maliciously in his head. If he couldn't say it, he would sure as hell go nuts in his thoughts.
Mr. Higgins was oddly silent as he ate, and soon everyone went back to their food. Spot was making quite an effort to feign hunger; Blink, however, seemed to be quite content with taking a second helping. But in the politest way possible.
Race was grateful they'd all seemed to naturally know what they could and couldn't do.
But Itey didn't seem to notice he was still in awe of Sophia. And Jack was too sure of himself for his own good. So Race's brief, dash of hope, flickered away once more. Like his father would let people off that easy.
Things might have worked out very differently if his friends had been smart enough to just keep their mouths shut, eat, and pretend that this was somehow normal; but no. Blink, apparently considering himself the leader of the band and thus of the people gathered (Race figured that "leader" was probably somehow Jack's job, though the only one who seemed even vaguely responsible was Itey) decided to attempt to make small talk.
"So, Mr. Higgins," he said hesitantly. "What is it you, um, do?"
"I run a construction company."
Spot opened his mouth to say something about a 'walking Italian stereotype,' and as soon as his mouth opened, Jack kicked him again. He rolled his eyes and decided to save the comment to use on Race later; it was always good to have an arsenal of comments built up.
But Blink had to press the matter. "That sounds very interesting, sir. What exactly does it involve?"
Mr. Higgins looked at Blink like he was a piece of something filthy that had somehow mucked his floor. "Construction," he snapped.
Poor Blink. He seemed to think that asking Mr. Higgins questions would help his chances of being liked; but Mr. Higgins was an asshole, not a narcissist.
"What do you build?"
Mr. Higgins stopped eating, and Race sighed. That was not a good sign. "Downtown offices; mansions. Places you, young man, probably don't see much of."
Blink looked as if someone had punched him in the stomach, not believing what he'd heard.
"Daddy--" Sophia started, but Race interrupted.
"He was just asking, sir," Race said through clenched teeth.
Mrs. Higgins quickly broke into the conversation, talking for the first time since they'd started eating. "Dear, would you like more pasta?"
"No, thank you," Mr. Higgins said, though he kept his gaze on Blink. But he didn't press the matter, thankfully, and Blink returned to eating, looking miserable. Mush looked almost angry for a second, which was shocking in and of itself; Mush pretty much never got angry. But, being Mush, he didn't say anything, and a minute later the smile returned to his face.
Race wondered how it was possible for someone to have so much inner peace. But he didn't wonder for long, because he was far more occupied with wondering what else could go wrong.
"So, how long have you... have you been playing bass?" Sophia said quietly to Itey. Itey jumped slightly, as if not expecting her to continue their conversation any further. Sophia's confidence had gone with the dress. Now she was shy and slightly insecure looking. Like her gray turtleneck sweater.
"Uh... like, eight years," Itey replied, turning red. "Do you play anything?"
Sophia nodded. "Yes, flute."
Itey smiled a little. "I bet you're good."
She smiled and shrugged, and stabbed at a piece of pasta with her fork. "I'm not too bad," she said after a minute. Itey smiled again. She sounded like when Race had said he was an all right drummer, but the modesty was actually genuine.
"She's good," Maria interrupted.
"And do you play anything?" Jack asked, and Race let out a deep breath. The conversation might actually become normal.
"Mmhmm. I play--I just started playing clarinet, but I wanted to play drums like Tony. But--"
"Maria."
She shrugged. "But I like clarinet, too."
"I used to play clarinet," Dutchy commented, rubbing his nose. "I suc-" He cleared this throat when David mumbled something. "I was awful."
"It sounded like something died every time you played," Jack joked, and David laughed. Mush, who Race could tell was probably clenching the still down-hearted Blink's hand under the table, grinned at David. "Didn't you used to want to be a baton twirler?"
"I baton twirl!" Maria spoke up.
"I did not," David hissed, then to Maria as though he was afraid he'd offended her, "Though I'm sure you're the most lovely twirler in your school. Tony said you were going to a competition for it."
"He did?" she beamed, and Race was suddenly grateful that David actually paid attention to details when people spoke.
"Sure," Mush interrupted, sensing the salvation of dinner being at hand. "He talks about you all the time."
"He does?" she squeaked.
They both nodded emphatically, and she looked over at Race, who shrugged nonchalantly, as though big brotherly pride was nothing special to either one of them.
He glanced around the table, and things didn't look so bad. Maria was happy, his mother had a smile which could have been real, though it could easily have been plastered on, and Sophia was clearly trying very hard not to look at Itey and failing. His father... Well, he didn't look happy, but no one had said anything he could criticize for a few seconds.
Race dared to hope that he'd survive the dinner in tact, without his friends hating him (Blink seemed to have recovered, if only slightly) and maybe, maybe even have his presence in the band approved.
His hopes were dashed the moment Dutchy's nose started to bleed.
Dutchy had been swatting slightly at his nose for awhile before cursing. At the dinner table. "Shit," he snapped. Mr. Higgins's head had shot up, his face turning slightly red, and awaiting to pounce on any victim who would mess up next.
"WHAT did you say ?" He growled.
Dutchy's face went a little white. "Sorry, sir, I uh... I... my nose is bleeding."
Race almost groaned.
He used to get nosebleeds. Every day. Every time he did, his father lost it. Poor Dutchy was stuck with what was most likely an every day nosebleed, and his father was assuming...
But then Dutchy swatted at the air in front of his nose. "'Sorry, who said that?"
Race stood before anyone could react, panicking inwardly, and tried to sound calm as he said, "C'mon, bathroom's this way." Dutchy stood, and Race very nearly dragged him to the closest bathroom.
He handed Dutchy a tissue and waited for a minute, while Dutchy pressed it to his nose. "You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, fine," Dutchy said from behind his hand. "Just happens sometimes."
"Hearing things? Or nosebleeds?"
"Nosebleeds, dumbass. I don't hear things."
"You just did," Racetrack pressed, and Dutchy rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, I thought I heard your Dad say something heartless to one of us, but that could just be because it's all he's said all night."
Race's face fell. "Yeah. I know. I'm sorry."
Which was the last thing that Dutchy expected. Race didn't seem like the sort of person who apologized. Ever.
"What?" Dutchy asked, his voice nasally because of the kleenex.
"I'm sorry. I know he's a jackass."
Dutchy reddened, embarrassed, and shrugged, twice, and flopped his head slightly to the side. "I'm just tired. Don't worry about it. And you know, the air is dry and I get nosebleeds, and I get grumpy. It ain't your fault what he said."
Race nodded, not wanting to continue the topic. But then Blink drifted into his head. And Spot.
"Is Blink mad?"
"Not at you."
"And Spot?"
"What about him?"
"My dad was being kind of... You know, heartless. To him."
Dutchy managed to smirk behind the kleenex. "I think he's just going to be smug. He actually won."
"Yeah." Race leant back against the sink. "He earned the right to be smug."
Dutchy wadded up the tissue, dropped it in the trash, and picked up another one. The bleeding had slowed, but not stopped. "You want to go back? I'll be okay," he offered.
"You joking? I want to stay as far away from that as possible."
Dutchy smiled, but said, "You don't think Spot's busy destroying your chances of ever being allowed near us again?"
"He's..." Race trailed off. "Damn it. Okay, um, you can use any of the towels in here to wash your face, just drop it in the hamper in the corner, okay?"
"No problem."
Race threw him a last apologetic shrug and hurried back towards the dining room. Dutchy watched him leave, shut the door quietly behind him, and reached into his pocket.
Race made his way back into the dining room, and wasn't surprised when all eyes were on him, his father's dead set, critical glare the most intimidating, and expectant of all. But Race instead looked at Blink, and gave him what he hoped was an apologetic smile.
Blink didn't look angry.
Race was hardly ever nice, but he knew that this dinner was going to cost him. He might even have to lay off the insults for awhile.
"He okay?" Itey asked. Race nodded.
"Dry air," he replied, and shrugged nonchalantly. Just as long as his father didn't...
"'Dry air'," the man scoffed. "Sounds familiar."
"Well, it isn't."
"Dutchy has really low tolerance," Mush jumped in, looking a little frantic. "He...he has allergies."
"Yeah; he gets nose bleeds like that all the time," Blink added, speaking for the first time since he'd been chastised by Mr. Higgins. "He's supposed to see the doctor about it next week."
"All the time?" Mr. Higgins asked.
Race would have argued the point, but didn't feel up to it. 'All the time.' That was really bad. He looked over at Mush and David, tried to catch their eyes, but neither one of them noticed.
"Well, not all the time. Maybe once every day or two," Jack explained. "He's really used to it, but, um, he shouldn't have been cursing. Sorry about that."
"And do you often apologize for your friends' shortcomings?"
"Sure," Spot interrupted. "He does when his friend's not here to defend himself."
Mr. Higgins slowly looked over at Spot once more, and narrowed his eyes. "You don't seem to be finished eating. Are you not hungry?"
Then realization dawned on Race. Spot wasn't hungry, and memories of Race's loss of appetite back when his addiction had been getting worse and worse...
He'd be damned if his father would try to pin something on Spot that Spot obviously didn't do.
"Don't be so paranoid!" Race snapped. "He isn't hungry and Dutchy has allergies."
"I ate before I got here," Spot followed quickly.
"You ate before coming to dinner?" Mr. Higgins repeated the words slowly, carefully. Spot looked caught again.
"Huge lunch. What can I say, I'm a growing boy."
"A lot of growing to do, indeed." Mr. Higgins disregarded Spot, who looked ready to explode. "That boy better not have bled on the new towels."
"Please," Race snorted.
"Anthony."
"What? The towels are supposed to be more important than my friend?" Race snapped.
There was a silence.
Race realized what he'd said.
He didn't apologize, but he did suddenly look awfully pale and slightly shaky. He stared down at his plate and didn't dare look up; the silence continued for another few moments, and finally Mrs. Higgins said, "Maria, Sophia, please help me clear the table."
"Perhaps your friends should help clear the table as well," Mr. Higgins said in his most deep and frightening voice. "It seems only polite, don't you think?"
Race didn't have to look up to know all of them scrambled to take their plates into the kitchen. However, he noted in the corner of his eye that Spot was watching him again, like he'd be doing lately. Only this time it was different.
"You haven't exactly been polite either," Race muttered.
That had done it.
"Anthony. A word with you. Now." Mr. Higgins stood and walked out of the room, without waiting to see if Race would follow.
Race followed, and tried very hard not to shake. This had been a disaster of epic proportion, he was going to pay for daring to like people his father didn't--and the fact that his father didn't like them really cemented the fact that he did--and there wasn't a lot he could do about it.
His father didn't bother to get out of earshot of the dining room and kitchen before he started. He didn't even bother to slide into Italian and leave it so the only people who could hear him humiliate his son were family members.
"I have never allowed your attitude in this house, young man, and I certainly will not begin to do so now..."
Race barely even listened to the words. He knew the speech by heart, with the added twist of the night: his grades weren't good enough or he wasn't smart enough; he wasted his time and ignored his future; he lied, cheated, or stole depending on what he was being berated for at the time, and now...
"...and you dare invite those people into our home?"
Race wanted to yell that he liked 'those people,' and that his father was prejudice. All that managed to come out was a slightly shaky, "But sir--" before his father started again, but this time, in Italian. He was done pretending to be polite, and now was flat out being rude about Race's choice of company.
Race listened as the words cut into his brain, clenched his fists and bit his lip and tried anything to make the sound of his father fade away. Then, in Italian, his father called Spot a woman, Dutchy a junkie, and even went as far as calling Mush a fag.
Race didn't care that they couldn't understand Italian. His father could fuck Race over all he wanted, but for some reason, the last thing Race would allow was attacks on the boys. Because they hadn't done a thing.
"Shut up," Race snapped, cracking his knuckles as he unclenched his fists. "You can't expect to know what the hell you're talking about when-"
Mr. Higgins did not hit often.
When he did, it hurt. A lot.
He grabbed Race by the front of his shirt, and threw him hard against the wall. The sound of Race's back hitting the plaster was loud, and obvious, and when a picture came down to the ground, and the frame smashed, Race knew how it sounded to other ears.
"Go ahead," he said softly. "That'll make a good impression on the scum you're so much better than."
But for his brave words, he was actually shaking now, and wished he could be anyone else, anywhere else.
His father stepped forward, grabbed Race's shirt again, held him pinned against the wall. Race hoped none of the bruises would show in his short sleeved shirt, but never had to deal with it.
"I'm going back to my office; you are to stop spending time with these people as soon as they are out the door. And that includes," he sneered their names, "Michael and Dexter."
Race didn't bother to correct him about David's name as he stalked off, just waited for him to have left the room and slid down the wall to the floor, sat with his knees pulled up to his chest until he could hear normal noises resume in the kitchen.
Race didn't want to move. Everyone had been listening. They'd heard what a bastard his father really was, and Race had a fleeting thought that now Spot might finally give him a break; because he'd proven now that he did know what having a tough father was like. And Mr. Higgins could be much worse.
Race winced slightly. His back hurt. He didn't think about how long he just sat there, because he didn't want to go back to the dining room. He wasn't sure how he could face his friends
"Hey."
Race glanced up. Spot stood there in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. Race looked down at his feet again. He said nothing. Spot did.
"Thanks."
Then Race shot his head up again to look at Spot. "What?"
"For havin' a backbone," Spot said, holding out his hand. "Come on, get up."
Race didn't move for a moment--just watched Spot with a sudden look of companionship. He took Spot's hand, and Spot pulled him up with a burst of strength.
"He's a dick," Race mumbled.
"I can see that."
"Sorry."
"Don't worry about it."
They were silent. And Race couldn't help but notice that Spot was still clutching his hand.
Race looked down at his hand. So did Spot. They looked up at each other, and Spot kind of shrugged and smiled, and let his hand drop. Race couldn't help but think that had been some sort of an invitation.
An invitation to what, he couldn't even fathom.
"Come on, Midgito; your sister's serving desert. I guess we get that before we get kicked out."
"My family is nothing if not disgustingly socially perfect."
"Aside from the part where your dad gets his kicks slamming you around?"
"Nothing social about that. We mostly pretend it doesn't happen. So," he said walking into the dining room, plastering on as large a smile as he could manage and in a voice which was just as falsely cheerful, "what's for desert, Sophia?"
*
B: Poor Race. This is the first of many times he gets slammed into walls in this story. It's kind of a running theme.
F: Abusing Race is so addictive. And so wrong. But hey, he's got Spot holding his hand, wearing spiked necklaces. I figure, he's doing okay.
B: Man. I love Spot. Though GapApparel!Blink isn't bad either.
F: May I add that Race's mum's cooking comments are like my own mother's? "Move move!! Matze Ball Soup is hot hot hot!"
B: See, no one in my family cooks. Which is why I can't, except spaghetti, which is now what I live on. But anyway, in not me-centric news, as of the next chapter, this fic is R-rated.
F: Wow...if she thinks she's being me-centric, I must be a freaking narcissist. I love B. And our R-rated fic.
B: And I love Funkie, and also love our R-rated fic, and the reasons it becomes R-rated. Because Race!abuse? So much fun. -cough-
F: We're so sick.
B: We really are.
F: We love it. And this part was celebrated with Diet Coke and Spaghetti.
B: And iced tea.
Shoutouts!
Copper Bandit
F: Someone loves me!!!! [astonished]
B: We'll try very hard not to screw up. That would make us the saddest people of all, as we spend far too much time on this fic.
F: But oh, the fun we have. You are a fabulous reviewer. Long, funny, and full of love that all is slash. I think I may just want you.
Rumor
B: Hee. Wayne's World.
F: Hey hey, all forms of Spot and Race are lovable and hot and do-worthy.
B: Writing the insult war was too much fun. I gotta say, I worship Funkie for the "your mom" line, it made me giggle at my computer for, like, ten minutes.
F: I am the master at "your mom" insults. I swear, four kids at school just want to kick the crap out of me. And oh yes, may I add, that B opens me up for like, every idea. Without her, I am like..."fettuccini without alfredo"
B: Mmm. Italian food... -drool- Wait, hang on, back to the shout out. Please cook for me? -puppy dog eyes- There's no dishwasher, but I'll wash the dishes. I don't mind doing it, especially if I don't have to do the cooking.
F: Cook for her and you have to clean and love her too. A B is a big responsibility.
B: It's true. If you can't take care of your B, you won't be allowed to have one. (In other words... Pamper me. -cough-)
F: The same goes for Race. Any form of Race. You want him, you must be prepared to listen when he whines and wants to go outside.
B: Poor Spot, you just know he'll get woken up at 4 AM because Race!puppy is feeling angsty.
F: Or when he's feeling horny.
B: Heh. Um. We seem to have gotten a bit off track. But the point is that we love you, doll.
Seraph2
F: WOOHOO. Avoiding assignments. I'm so proud.
B: Me, too. A girl after my own heart. Which has 110 pages of reading left to do before class tomorrow. Yep, avoiding assignments is a good thing.
F: Brotherly!Race is adorable and should be illegal he's so goddamned sweet. And he cooks, goddamnit!!
B: He cooks well. I've become a little cooking obsessed since this fic has started, and man. I want me some chef!Race action.
F: Chef!Race will be releasing his cookbook soon.
B: And hosting his own show on the Food Network. We suspect it'll be very highly rated.
Gothic Author
B: Man, you leave us not one, but TWO kickass reviews. You rule!
F: Oh oh, she didn't get the odd exchange. That's okay though. There will be time...[thunder claps]
B: Yes. There will come a time when it aaaaaaall makes sense.
F: Yes. He baked bread. Race's bread is like Race being naked--it's hot and delicious.
B: -drool- Well, the SpRace cake is definitely cooking now. The oven is heating up. I hope the aroma of it will tide you over for a few chapters.
F: You're going to have to fight me for it, Gothee my dear.
B: And me. 'Cause it's yummy stuff.
F: So are you B
B: And Funkie.
Both: And GA.
Frogger No Baka
F: It HAS Been a while! But, we have AOL and LOVE to keep us together. :-) What would I do without my champion reviewer who always always helps me with my atrocious spelling.
B: Our BitchyRace!muse definitely kicks in a literal sense. AnorexicSpot!muse keeps waking up with bruises on his legs. Poor baby.
F: You want a muse? You get EveryoneLovesFroggie!Muse.
Thistle
F: Spot tries to hide it, but he's as much of an idiot when he has a crush on someone as the next person.
B: So, no kiss. YET. Mwahahahahahahaha.
F: We bad?
B: So bad. But you should listen to Sloan. Because Sloan rocks. Even though they'll never, ever get radio play. —sigh-
Gothic Author Again
F: She loves us twice.
B: [singing badly] Love me two times babe... Love me twice today... Love me two times... Um... We love you too, GA. Twice.
Shadowlands
B: Long reviews are good reviews. Yes. As for the comma splice, sorry 'bout that. All the grammar I know I learned by ear, as my school didn't exactly teach it (ah, public education...) but I'll try and watch out for it in the future.
F: A stick master is someone who is the master of sticks. There are very few in the world; in fact, Race may just be the only one. Also, a hissy voice is what my brother does when I steal the last piece of pie.
B: As for Spot being a jerk to Jack all the time... Spot just does that. He's too macho (uh, sorta) to show actual affection, so instead he's a little snot. Hopefully this will eventually show through in the story.
F: Really, he wuvs Jack like a bwuther.
B: And yes. The Higgins family is very special. It's less that they're Italian and more that they're completely insane and kind of dysfunctional but pretend not to be. Though Race actually is that close to his sisters.
F: He's brotherly!Race and they all love him because...well...it's Race.
B: We're very glad you leave lots of comments, good and bad. We love praise, and we love improving our, and your CC is great. Also, that you now like Sloan is VERY great. -high fives Funkie- That was our evil plan.
F: We're pure evil.
Aquachica: Slashgoil
B: I don't think they're forgotten so much as they're often... badly written. They're too easy to do badly. Alas. I'm sorry I haven't read your M/B story yet; I do plan to, but school has just started so my free time is vanishing around me.
F: Again, more Mush/Blink love. Those two are like chocolate. EVERYONE wants it, and too much of it is NEVER BAD. I will also read the story with much love and affection and slash-induced trance. Spot's flirting is funny because Spot is a whore.
B: A very, very sexy manwhore.
Nerikla
F: Wow, we're really turning Race into a porn star. :-D SO glad you appreciate him.
B: Your favorite present day fic? Yay! -squeals- Thank you!
F: You are so sweet! As for Dutchy...DUN Dun duuuuunn
B: Dutchy is a big old mystery. And not part of the reason the fic has to be raised to R at all.
F: -averts eyes- Also, don't cry! We will update! Look look, we just did!
ShadesyDaisy
F: YOU FUCKING ROCK.
B: Thank you! -glomp- You already know I love you, right?
F: She does.
B: I do. It's true.
Lee
F: LAUGHTER IS GOOD. B writes so many funny things and I go nuts. Like lustfilled!Spot. Oh that girl genius.
B: Bah. Funkie is being modest. She makes me laugh all the time. Which is why we love writing this fic so much, and we're glad people actually like it.
F: Imagine if people hated it. We'd be like..."Yay we rock" and all you is like "Boo you suck!" and it would be really quite painful.
B: Hee. And your review made me giggle. "Good" friends, indeed.
F: Mush is always cute. There is never a time when he is NOT cute.
Hilary & Muses
BitchSnob!Race: Of course you like this fic. I'm in it. And pfft, Spot, shag me? I only shag guys I can take out in public.
Asshole!Spot: Yeah, well, your mom don't seem to mind taking me out in public. Bitch.
SuperGay!Mush: Oh, hush, you two. We all know you love each other. You're not fooling anyone.
BitchSnob!Race: Though I do approve of the "abuse Spot" review.
Asshole!Spot: You wish you could abuse me.
Supergay!Mush: Mmmm... masochism.
PhallicMike!Blink: **looks concerned, then turned on**
SuperGay!Mush: **blush**
BitchSnob!Race: **smirk**
Scholarship!David: Your review was wonderful, Hilary, and thank you for keeping us entertained with your fabulous--
FlannelShirt!Jack: Blah blah. So, Hilary, you doing anything tonight? Because I bet you're just a little foxy lady...
NeverAppearsOnScreen!Sarah: JACK!!
FlannelShirt!Jack: **mutters under his breath**
Suspicious!Dutchy: Sweetgoth!me, our ass is always okay. **averts eyes** STOP IT.
Sweet!Itey: I swear to god, I'm not doing anything!
Asshole!Spot: Except Race's sister.
BitchSnob!Race: I HEARD THAT, YOU ASSHOLE!!
Asshole!Spot: Um, I'm "asshole!Spot" for a reason, idiot.
Scholarship/Smartass!David: Which is why you can't get any.
Asshole!Spot: Hello pot? This is Kettle?
Scholarship!David: I respect people, that's all!
BitchSnob!Race: You listen to ABBA, you freak.
Sweet!Itey: ANYWAY. If David can't be responsible enough to tell you we love you (oh, and Funkie and B do, too,) then I'll have to.
Scholarship!David: Hey, why's it always my job to be responsible, huh?
SuperGay!Mush: Are you in the same story we are? I think it's pretty clear.
FlannelShirt!Jack: I'm the leader.
PhallicMike!Blink: Only because Mush lets you.
Sweet!Itey: ANYWAY, AS I WAS SAYING, with no interruptions from the freaking peanut gallery this time, thank you for the fabulous review. You rule. We're out before this gets any sillier...
SuperGay!Mush: Heh. "Out." I thought you liked Race's sister...
BitchSnob!Race: I HEARD THAT!
Stage
F: Wow, she said the magic word...[counts] SIXTEEN TIMES.
B: Wow. It's a good thing we've got two chapters written in advance, 'cause that's a lot of magic.
F: You should see me at all; I swear, I can't go a day without doing something stupid. It's hilarious! AND, you are writing a Spot/Race?...*drools* ALL IS RIGHT WITH THE WORLD. Your Specs/Dutchy's are adorable and deserve to have their own religion.
B: You got me totally hooked on Specs/Dutchy, which you already knew, so it's only fair you do some Spot/Race. Here's hoping it's addictive, too. *g*
F: ITALIAN! Woooot. I am on those songs baby.
B: And you never bore us. So there.
Kellyanne
F: Oh, well, you'll be ooonnneee happy camper in times to come.
B: Heh. What she said.
F: I called Mark a cute asshole. He called me his little whore. I thank you for making this possible. Bigbrother!Race *rocks*
B: Where as most of my friends aren't cute. They can be assholes, but they're endearing assholes. Like Race. But without the sexy drummerness. Unfortunately. :)
F: Race's sexy drummerness is very rare.
B: Again, unfortunately.
F: Love you babycakes!
Shot Hunter
To book drummer!Race, please contact "Sexy Bitch, Inc." He also does strip teases. We highly recommend them.
F: [pulls out clipboard] Currently he's been rated 'Number One Drummer Whore in The World'.
B: We think Spot may have rigged the vote, though.
F: Spot has this thing with Drummer whores.
B: Though if he says Race is the best, he's probably right. He gets around a lot. As he's just a whore, who doesn't even drum.
F: Which is okay. Oh oh, and 'Friday, I'm In Love' is great, keep working at it!
Cards
F:...[goofy smile] Our story was huggled!
B: -glomps you- When do you get your license, doll?
Tune in next time for our lovely R-rated, how-the-hell-can-Race-screw-up-any-more chapter of action and excitement!