Everything You've Done Wrong
You've got a thing for me
I can feel it, I can feel it
And I've got a thing for you, too
You can have it
No strings attached
No copy to match
No drift to catch
No plans to hatch
No itch to scratch
Just infatuation
Is all you need
You could tell a million lies
And I'd think they all were true
Trust
That's my trust in you
It's what I value
And it's what I refuse to lose
You've got a thing for me
And I've got a thing for you, too
-Sloan, I Can Feel It
Chapter Eight: Pretty Together
"You okay?" Blink asked.
Race looked up from the drum set, where he'd been tapping his fingers and waiting anxiously for Itey to finish tuning so they could rehearse. Rehearsing without Dutchy was awkward at best, but they did need the practice, and Dutchy had voluntarily taken rehab. Race understood that; if nothing else, it meant he wouldn't have to deal with his friends until he was over the physical cravings, if not the mental ones.
"Fine."
"You just seem really distracted, is all. Just wanted to make sure--"
"No, I'm not on drugs. Thanks, Mom."
"Hey, you're the one who keeps bitching about cravings," Blink sulked, but Mush threw an arm around him and he stopped sulking quickly and got distracted.
Two hours. In two hours, Race would be dropping off his father's package. In two hours, he realized, his entire life might change.
His dad had given him a calm lowdown, as if Race wasn't his son at all, just another mail-boy that got shot off and hidden in the trunk of his right hand man's limo. That was what happened to the guy who was supposed to be doing this.
"Racetrack," Mr. Higgins had rumbled under his breath. "Don't. You. Screw. This. Up."
He didn't have to tell him twice.
The package was downtown, and Race would be driving, inconspicuously, to pick it up at a pharmacy owned by the Paparellis, who Race had always thought were just a nice old Italian couple. He was learning a lot more than he wanted to.
"Dude," Blink said, and grinned. "You got hickeys."
Race rolled his eyes, and felt his neck. "This is becoming a trend," David said from his spot on the couch. "Who from?"
Without hesitation, Race answered "Tracy Marshell."
He didn't shoot a look at Spot; he didn't even have the vaguest idea what was going on between him and Spot now. They had acted surprisingly normal when they saw each other, complete with trading insults, as though nothing had happened. But Spot had pressed a piece of paper, torn out of a notebook, into his hand, and then winked. It was the writing he'd been promised.
So it wasn't like nothing had happened. It was just... Weird. And it was weirder because Race wasn't freaked out by it; he didn't think of himself as gay, but maybe Spot was just some sort of exception, or maybe Spot defied sexuality all together.
Or maybe, he mused, it hadn't sunk in yet.
"Ught, Tracy?" Mush muttered.
"You could do better, Tony," David agreed.
"She's easy." He shrugged. It was true, and Tracy had been chasing him for several months and he was pretty well known in their school for random hookups and make out sessions, so his claim was totally believable. The fact that he couldn't stand Tracy Marshell really had nothing to do with it.
Race checked his watch, for the third time in the past minute, and let out a few Italian phrases under his breath. "Can we get this started?" he said then. "I have to go soon."
"Don't get your panties in a twist," Spot said lazily, drinking a beer. But Itey smiled apologetically.
"I'm almost done." He smiled. Race raised an eyebrow. He was having a hard time seeing Itey as Itey now that...well, Sophia had revealed that Itey was taking her out to dinner. At a Mexican restaurant.
That had sent Race into a panic.
Sure, Itey could date her. But if Mr. Higgins found out about it, and found out that he took her to a Mexican restaurant, he'd go nuts. Mr. Higgins had a thing about keeping the family strictly Italian. Which meant that if friends or significant others were not Italian, he'd try to make them Italian.
It didn't matter quite as much who Race chose to take out, but he did remember what had happened when Isabella had started dating... Shit had definitely hit the fan. Torturing friends of their children seemed to be his parents' hobby; the dinner his friends had been at was an extreme, but very few people actually felt welcome at the Higgins dinner table. Those who did were, with no exceptions, rich and Italian.
"Finished," Itey finally said. "So, should we start?"
Race nodded eagerly, and soon found himself lost in the drums. It was annoying that they weren't as good as the set he used at home; he had begun to think that, since he was rehearsing at Blink's more than at home, he should move his nice set. But he pushed that aside as he played, pushed the worries out of his mind, and just listened.
There was something missing without Dutchy on the guitar, but Itey was finally starting to come out of his shell on the bass. Race wondered if maybe that was because Dutchy was missing, and there was no one for him to worry about keeping up with. He hoped it would continue to work so well when Dutchy came back.
Far more quickly than he'd like, Blink announced it was quarter after five, and that meant time for Race to get going. Race shrugged nonchalantly before he went out to his car--the first time any of the guys had seen it, and it had caused their jaws to drop collectively-- and though he'd said his goodbyes, Spot was still following.
"So," Spot said.
"Yeah." Race paused. "I'll call you tonight, okay?"
Spot bit the inside of his cheek and hooked his thumbs through the belt loop on his jeans. "Yeah."
"I will."
"I'll be waiting by the phone, really."
Race laughed and Spot smirked back, something Race found impossibly sexy, with the addition of the belt-loop stance.
"Tony!" David called from the garage as he helped clean up the beer bottles discarded on the ground--Blink and Mush were saying goodbye and Itey was calling somebody on the cordless phone. "Tony, can I get a ride to school from you tonight?"
Race blinked and then his eyes widened. "Shit, the band concert!"
"Yeah the band concert!" David replied. "Did you practice?"
"I never don't practice, I just forgot it was tonight." Race opened the car with the button on his keys; it made that oh-so satisfying beep noise as he jumped in without opening the door. Ah... convertibles. "I guess I could give you a ride."
"Thank you, Mother Teresa."
"Yeah, yeah. I've gotta run some errands for my family; I'll do dinner early and pick you up afterwards."
"So long as we're on time. I'm not getting yelled at again because of you."
"Well, then stop asking me for rides!" Race called as he started his car. He waved goodbye one last time before he pulled out.
Spot watched him go. "Damn, that's a nice car," he commented as he walked back into the garage.
"It was his birthday present when he turned sixteen." David rolled his eyes.
"Tough break about him and Tracy, huh?" Mush asked, and patted Spot's shoulder in what he probably thought was a reassuring manner. "I mean, I told you he was straight."
"Yeah." Spot managed to sound vaguely dejected; lying was one of his talents. "Yeah, straight as a fucking arrow, that guy." He wondered when Race would call if he had a concert, and decided to ask. "So, what's this about a concert?"
"Band," David replied, rushing by with the empty beer bottles and tossing them in the recycling bin. "Race plays drums, of course. I'm on the piano."
"And I play trumpet!" Mush added proudly. "I got a solo." Blink smiled and snaked his arm around Mush's waist.
"Of course you did, you're perfect." He kissed Mush's cheek. "So, I have to come to this. When and where?"
David cleared his throat and turned to Spot; he'd abandoned the previous comments of Mush and Blink being 'sweet'. "Tonight at 7:30. In our auditorium--we couldn't book a concert hall."
"Oh, la dee da!" Spot replied. "Couldn't book a concert hall, I just don't know if I could come."
Itey and Blink snorted while David looked reprimanding. "Hey, you guys know I live two blocks down, I know I know." He glanced at Mush, who shrugged.
"My dad's in oil, it's not my fault," Mush pouted. "I'm not spoiled like Tony."
"That's true," Blink said, and Itey stood, having finished his phone conversation.
"Tony isn't so bad, he grows on you." Itey smiled. "He grew on me."
"You just have to wait for him to yeah, grow on you, that's all," David repeated. Spot and Blink looked thoughtfully at each other.
"So... if it takes awhile for him to grow on you, how did you two become friends with him?"
Mush and David looked a little started by the question. Spot figured Race had probably done something stupid that they'd helped him with or forgiven him for and they'd just worked up from there. It was Race after all. No matter how much Spot was starting to like him, Spot knew that if Race was better now, he must have been quite the little asshole when he was younger.
"He..." David trailed off and looked helplessly at Mush.
"Yeah, he was..."
"Oh, just spit it out."
David shrugged. "Mush had a thing for him."
Blink actually gaped at his boyfriend. "You WHAT?"
"Well, it was a long time ago," Mush answered defensively. "I mean, David and I became friends pretty easily, and I came out right at the beginning of ninth grade, and it was kind of a big deal. Not a lot of gay people at our school... Well, not a lot who are out, anyway." He rolled his eyes. "And one thing you can say for Tony is he's not a homophobe, and so when I was getting looks from almost everyone who I met, and just miserable, he was an asshole to me. But in exactly the same way he was an asshole to everyone else."
"So you had a thing for him because he was a jerk?"
"No, I had a thing for him because... because he's him."
"Oh, well that explains it." Spot rolled his eyes.
"Hey, you have a thing for him!"
"Whatever."
"He's just... You know, once you get passed the initial asshole thing, and actually talk to him, he's okay. And we started to get along some, and then he had his nervous breakdown with the drugs and all and... Well, you know." He shot David a look, and David nodded.
"You go through that with someone, you end up pretty close," David finished.
"So how did you end up so close with him?" Itey asked David. "Besides the coke... thing."
David ruffled Mush's hair. "Buddy here brought me along for the ride. 'David, he'll never like me,' 'David, he's straiiighhhht', 'David, he's just so hot', 'David-'"
"Shut up," Blink said swiftly, putting a protective arm around Mush. "He did not."
"Well..." Mush drifted off and Blink suddenly looked very horrified, and Mush rolled his eyes before giving him a peck on the lips. "Oh, don't be dumb. I don't feel that way anymore. I only have eyes for you."
"And me when I take bottle caps off with my teeth," Spot supplied. He was answered with glares.
"You just live to mess things up, don't you?" David asked.
"Yeah, pretty much." Spot smirked.
"But," Blink snapped, "to be clear. You're over him."
"Well, yeah. He's straight. And was also totally, totally oblivious to the fact that I was throwing myself at him." He sighed. "It was kind of sad."
"It was extremely sad," David answered.
"Shut up."
"But you're over him."
"Oh, stop that," Mush snapped. "Yes I'm... Well, you know, it's hard to get over your first--"
"Mush!" Blink sounded like someone was strangling him.
"Of course I'm over him; he's my best friend, and we'd be terrible together even if he was gay. He needs someone more..." He paused, and smirked over at Spot. "Bitchy," he finished.
"Fuck you."
"Yeah, you'd like to. But I'm taken." He beamed over at Blink, who looked quite relieved and grinned back.
"Please," Spot snorted. "Don't sicken me."
"You're just jealous," Itey said, though the words sounded odd coming from the usually sweet-talking Itey's mouth. David, Mush and Blink noticed that as well. "You need to fall in love."
The goofy smile on Itey's face was quite sickening.
"What are you saying?" Spot said dully. The word 'love' was not usually in Spot Conlon's vocabulary. He even hated love stories--not because they made him uncomfortable, or because he was 'jealous', but simply because they were lame.
"Nothin'," Itey replied in a dazed voice. "I have to use the phone."
And he floated off to pick up the cordless again.
"Sickening," Spot repeated.
"Hey, Itey!" Blink called after him. "I bet Tony's family will be there to see him, and I'm going anyway. You want to come with?"
Itey paused, and then grinned. "Yeah, that would be... Real nice."
"Jack said he was going," David added. "He's driving Blink and Itey I guess... So, Spot." He cocked his head.
"What?"
"Well, everyone else is going..."
"Yeah, so?"
David grinned. "You have no idea how cute Tony is in our band uniform. They're practically tuxedos. And trust me, you'll want to see Tony in a tux."
Mush nodded, and Blink looked a little jealous, until they started kissing again. Spot made a very loud gagging noise.
"Well?" David asked.
He hesitated. On the one hand, he had no interest in going to see some snob school's band concert. On the other hand... Race, wearing a tuxedo, and apparently doing it well enough that even David (who had never questioned his straight-ness in his life) recognized his attractiveness.
"Fine," he sighed.
An eruption of 'aaaaaaaawwwww's followed Spot's answer, and Mush even went so far as to tickle Spot's stomach.
"Spotty's going to his boyfriend's band concert!" Blink fluttered his eyelashes, and Itey put a hand to his heart and sighed.
"Just think," David choked. "We... we might play your song."
"Shut the fuck up!" Spot snapped, and though he never blushed, what he was doing right now was the closest non-blushing he had ever come to actually blushing.
"He's getting defensive," Itey said in a fake Australian accent. "Such is the nature of the beast, but what does it mean, Tom?"
"I propose aggression, Jim," Blink answered back. "He's being invaded in his natural habitat."
"SHUT UP."
"Hey, chill," Mush said. "You okay, Spot?"
"Fuck you all."
"He's fine," Mush declared, then leaned over and stage-whispered, "Don't worry, getting over Tony isn't that hard. I know from experience."
"I hope you choke and die."
"Oh, come on. You can't expect us not to have some fun with this," Blink said. "Especially if Tony is so oblivious he doesn't notice enough to mock you."
Spot didn't say anything.
There was a pause.
"You didn't do something stupid like tell him, did you?" Mush finally demanded.
Spot shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. And you guys are fucking annoying me now, so I'm leaving."
"Jack's gonna leave around--" Itey started.
"I fucking live with Jack, I think I'll be able to figure it out." Spot stalked off without another word, leaving slightly startled friends behind him.
There was a beat of silence before anyone said a word.
"I think the Australian crocodile hunter thing was a bit much, you two."
*
Race knew it was stupid, but he felt oddly cool. He was currently attempting to be in denial while he waited for Mr. Paparelli to find his package from the storage room in the basement of the pharmacy--which didn't look like a basement for a pharmacy, and required opening four inconspicuous locks to get in.
He figured, until he actually had to get serious and deliver this thing to the two boys from the other Family, he could at least pretend he was in a movie, which meant he'd probably have some trendy shoot out music, followed by getting laid.
That reminded him to call Spot.
It was a few minutes before the package was located, though he suspected that was mostly to make sure the timing was right. The timing, apparently, was vital; and if he arrived a minute or two early, could screw everything up. No one had explained to him how it could screw everything up, but the fact that the consequences were potentially fatal certainly encouraged him to do exactly as he was told.
The package was small and heavy, and wrapped in plain brown paper, placed in a bag from the pharmacy along with a few other odds and ends--things off the shelves, so that anyone glancing in to the bag would assume it was full of normal, pharmacy-bought what nots.
Race didn't like having the weight of it in his hands. But then he remembered Dutchy was in rehab, and thanked Mr. Paparelli and headed back to his car. Part one was finished, now there was just the drive and the drop off.
Now, the daydreaming part was over--the driving was probably the most important part of the entire thing, even more then actually delivering the... whatever it was. He had to be perfect, he had to be smooth, and his father had warned him not to appear the least bit inexperienced. Just deliver and be done with it; if they made small talk, to smile and nod and be charming but not to do it for longer than a minute.
All the rules were clouding his brain, and making him worry. He had to concentrate, make sure he knew where he was going, make sure he didn't make a wrong turn.
Finally, he was nearing his destination, and started to decrease his driving speed.
As he pulled in, he wondered how many people were watching him from windows or rooftops. For all he knew, his father was one of them. For all he knew, someone who wanted to kill his father was one of them. He parked, fumbled the keys slightly as he went to pocket them, took the package out of the bag and headed into the shop where he was delivering it.
It was the right address, and the right store. He'd been shown pictures of it, actual surveillance photos, which he'd found kind of creepy.
The guy behind the desk was a bored teenager, probably no older than he was, and he set the package on the desk but didn't let it go. "I have a delivery for the manager," he said, and managed not to sound like he was reciting a line from memory.
"Yeah, hang on a sec." The kid disappeared into the back, and an older man replaced him.
"You're a day late," the man noted, which would have startled Race if it hadn't been a password to acknowledge that he was the right person.
"Sorry, sir." Race shrugged, tried to appear nonchalant, and let the man take his package. He waited for a receipt before leaving, glad that no small talk had been involved. He was certain his voice would have cracked.
He was sure he didn't breath during the whole ordeal, even when he said goodbye in simple Italian and turned and left. It had seemed so easy, too easy, so he was sure that someone was going to jump on his back and start bashing his head in with brass knuckles, yelling about disobeying Fat Tony or something.
It wasn't until he was a good eight blocks away that he started to almost hyperventilate. "Jeessussss..." He breathed, and then laughed. It had been easy and he wasn't dead.
He really could call Spot later!
He concentrated on Spot for the rest of the drive home. He figured maybe he should work out how he felt about Spot before he got there, but no easy answers came to mind. He was attracted to Spot, that much was obvious. And he liked talking to Spot; they could joke around and be cruel to each other, but they could also talk seriously. In some ways, he preferred spending time with Spot to spending time with Mush and David.
But he was straight.
Somehow, that didn't quite seem to add up.
*
Spot wanted to shoot himself.
Really. He'd sooner be caught dead than attending anything remotely related to school spirit. Which included sports events, pep rallies and especially band concerts, which were not only annoyingly full of school spirit, but consisted only of geeks. At least when Jack dragged him to baseball games, he got to check out some ass.
He had to remind himself that he was doing this for Race.
Spot was seriously disturbed by the fact that he was sacrificing his self-image and well known distaste for things like band concerts, all for the sake of Race being there. It disturbed him more that everyone else knew that, especially Jack, who'd been giving him knowing looks since they'd arrived.
Then Jack moved onto eyeing all the private school girls--some of whom were still wearing their uniform skirts... only shorter. Apparently, they belonged to the all girls school that was sister school to the all boys one Race went to. Sophia and Maria both went there; Isabella had graduated a few years previously. The two schools often held events together, and as a result, the concert was much longer--girl bands to get through as well as the boys'--and there were a lot more girls there than the handful of sisters Spot had expected. Which didn't bother him, until he overheard one asking another in the row in front of theirs, "Is that hot drummer guy still in this school?"
Because that could only be about Race, and the thought of the girls recognizing Race as a hot drummer didn't sit well with him. He wondered if one of the girls was Tracy Marshell, and if he could really be blamed for wanting her dead.
He figured that was probably too far, and sunk down in his seat, Jack on one side of him, Itey on the other. They were in the back, in an attempt to avoid being spotted by Race's family, or at least, by Race's father.
It almost worked. Spot glanced around, looked down the nearest aisle to his seat, and saw Sophia, Maria and Isabella walking towards the exit in the back, talking to each other. He poked Itey's arm, pointed, and Itey practically started drooling. Which would have been fine anyway, except that Isabella happened to glance over in their direction, and her eyes met Spot's with a look that was clearly recognition.
For a moment, dread formed in the pit of his stomach and he was sure she was going to come over and talk to them; she seemed prone to doing things she knew no one wanted her to. But instead, she gave a wave, and the most knowing look that Spot had ever seen.
Spot raised an eyebrow.
Isabella did too. She smirked.
Spot sort of grinned, and shrugged.
Isabella sat down, Spot looked away. Okay. So she had a sixth sense. That was creepy. Suddenly, Spot knew very much how Itey felt.
"Oh my Gawwwwwd, look."
The high pitched, nasal sounds of the girls in front of them (Jack was checking them out far too much) started to form what he was sure were giggles, and Spot looked to the stage.
Race had come out. He was fixing up the drumset, twirling his sticks in his fingers.
Spot stared.
Okay. So David was right; it was worth coming just for that. Jack smacked his shoulder lightly. "Wipe the drool off your chin, Spot," he hissed.
"Fuck you," Spot answered, not taking his eyes away from the figure on the stage. It was like he'd been hypnotized and couldn't even blink until Race happened to look up and scan the audience. His eyes stopped on his friends in the corner, and he looked pleasantly surprised for a second.
Then he saw Spot, and looked outright shocked. Spot waved a little bit, and Race nodded in acknowledgement and went back to fixing his drumset. But somehow, Spot couldn't help but grin.
"Did you see that, Tracy? He totally smiled at you!"
"I know! Gawd, when is he going to ask me out?"
Jack, Itey, and Blink all heard it and turned to Spot, who was very, very tempted to throw the girls down the aisle.
"Look look, you see those drumsticks? I totally signed one of them."
"Really?"
"I want to die," Spot muttered, and the others burst out laughing, loudly, causing the girls in front of them to stop talking and give them strange looks. Spot, not being able to resist himself, raised an eyebrow at the blond in the middle; who he had a hunch was Tracy. "What?"
She stopped giving him a strange look, and instead smiled. Flirtatiously.
"Nothing," she replied, smiling.
"You think he's cute?" Spot asked, and Jack hit him again, which he ignored.
"Yeah." She glanced over Spot again. "Though you're not bad yourself."
"So I've been told." He leaned forward, but Jack grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him back into his seat before he could do something that he, Race, and everyone who knew them would regret. It would be something embarrassing, to say the least; most likely it would have ended with Tracy running out of the auditorium in tears. Jack knew Spot far too well.
"Please ignore him," he said sweetly. "The boy's off his meds tonight, we weren't supposed to let him out of the house, but--"
"Fuck you, Jack," Spot said again.
Tracy giggled nervously, and her friend mouthed, "Oh my gawd."
"Want my number?" Spot offered innocently.
Tracy didn't answer. Spot punched Jack's shoulder, and Jack shrugged. Crisis averted, he figured.
When Tracey turned back around and started chatting with her friends again, Spot made a very obscene finger gesture at her back which caused Blink to snort, and Itey to let out a badly contained snicker. Jack remained mother-hen-esque, giving Spot's shoulder a hard punch.
"You're like some sort of little bitch," Jack muttered. Spot, in a good mood now that he flipped someone off, smiled.
"Just trying to make the world a better place." Then, with a courage he didn't know he had, added, "Just like Tony's tux."
Jack was about to reply, but Itey (whose neck was craned around to stare at Sophia) made a nervous noise.
"Dude, you guys, she smiled at me." He whipped his head around and stared ahead. "What do I do?"
Silence.
"Are you serious?" Jack asked.
"Do I sound like I'm joking?"
"Do this." Spot made dirty tongue movements. "They dig that."
"Spot!"
"Smile back at her," Jack said, leaning in front of Spot. "Wave."
"But what if she doesn't wave back?!"
"Well, you're missing your window of opportunity by freaking out," Jack pointed out. "You should have--" he stopped, as Itey took his advice, and shook his head sadly. "That was painful to watch, man. So forced. She'll think you don't like her."
"Uh, can you see her from where you're sitting?" Blink asked, from the end of the row that was closest to where Race's sister sat.
"No, why?"
"Because she grinned back at him and blew him a kiss."
"Oh." Jack paused. "I really hate you, Itey."
Itey just smiled dreamily.
A hush started over the audience, and the four boys turned to the stage ("It's startiiinnnggg!" Tracey giggled) to see the band file on, Race at the back, the shortest of them all, and Mush beaming like a two year old at the Christmas Pageant.
Blink looked very proud.
David seemed embarrassed beyond belief, despite the fact he'd done this so many times before. But Spot knew that Davey wasn't exactly the stage type.
The conductor, a fat woman in her fifties, looked out at the audience and started to go on about something that Spot didn't give a shit about; besides, he was too busy staring at Race.
Who was staring back at him.
Spot couldn't help it, he smiled, and nodded his head. Race saluted him with his drumsticks, still looking fairly stunned that Spot had shown up at all.
"He's looking at you," Jack mumbled to Spot, though it sounded almost like a question--like Jack didn't get it either.
Spot shrugged. "I know."
"Why the hell is he looking at you?" Jack hissed in Spot's ear.
"Because I'm hot?" Spot suggested. "He's straight, not blind."
"You look like shit tonight."
"No, I don't, but that was a nice try."
Tracy turned around and shhh'd them loudly, and Spot flipped her off again as soon as she went back to watching. He figured she probably thought that Race was flirting with her, and hoped she'd be absolutely crushed to realize he wasn't after the concert, when he went to talk to Spot first. And Spot was certain that he would.
The first song started with a drum roll, and Race turned his attention to his playing, but Spot didn't stop staring. Race was just so hot when he played, his concentration totally on what he was doing but with this smile on his face like he was the happiest person in the entire universe to be up on the stage with drumsticks in hand... And he was wearing a tuxedo. Spot was a little fixated with the tux.
Race ended the drum roll with a smash on the cymbal and then the saxophones started in on some really fast, jazzy sort of beat that Race drummed along to, looking totally in place with himself, and completely natural.
Mush, though his solo had not yet made appearance, beamed and grinned and smiled until the trumpets came in, where, for some reason, Spot was sure the loudest one was Mush.
David hadn't started yet, but when he did, Spot had to admit he was fairly surprised. David was so modest, they forgot about his talent. It wasn't as if he was a prodigy, but he did play very well.
Then it was a drum solo, and Race went nuts.
In a good way.
Spot decided, in a very hot way indeed.
"See something you like?" Itey murmured in his ear.
"He's hot," Spot snapped back. "Even you should be able to tell that."
Itey gave Race another look. "I guess," he said. "He looks kind of like his sister."
Spot made a disgusted face, then it turned thoughtful. "I...dude, he kind of does."
"Who does what?" Blink asked, his mouth full of the peanut M&M's he'd snuck in (they actually had people at the front looking through their pockets).
"Tony looks like his sister."
Blink turned to look at Sophia, then peered at Race. "Huh...WOAH."
"What?" Jack asked. "What, what am I missing?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing."
"Mind your own business, Jacky."
Jack pouted and slumped in his chair.
Spot smirked at him, and went back to watching Race on the stage. Race just looked so content, so genuinely happy at the drums, and so goddamned gorgeous in the tux...
The music wasn't bad either, he noted in the back of his mind. But that wasn't the important part.
The important part was that Race actually looked up from what he was doing, grinned out into the audience, and caught Spot's eye. Somehow, the look on his face--was that lust? Spot wondered--made his attendance at the concert worthwhile.
"Tracy," one of the girls in front of him hissed to the blond. "He's like, not looking at you. I think he's looking behind you."
There was silence, and both girls tried to inconspicuously turn their heads to try and find the culprit who dare take Race's attention away from Tracy.
All they got was Spot giving them a smile.
They paled slightly, and looked confused, then turned back to the stage.
That also made the concert worthwhile.
"Spot," Jack hissed, and poked him in the ribs. "Something is going on, and you're going to tell me what."
"What?"
"You and Tony. Something is going on."
"We talked."
"What?"
Tracy turned around and shhhh'd them again, and Spot rolled his eyes, and continued to Jack, "Last night. We talked and it didn't suck."
"What did you talk about?"
"We just talked, okay? Like normal friends."
"You don't have normal friends."
"You just burned yourself, dumbass."
Jack closed his eyes in what he seemed to think would represent wisdom. "I have come to terms with my abnormal ways long ago. I know you." Jack poked Spot's stomach again, and Spot whapped his shoulder. "Come ON. You talked, okay, about what?"
Spot was silent and he stared angrily at Jack. Unfortunately, Jack was his brother, and he did know him well, and Jack was the only person in the world unfazed by Spot's glares.
Finally Spot shrugged. "About us."
Jack's eyes widened. "What?"
"Us."
"What ABOUT you two?"
Spot smiled and tried to close off the subject--let Jack stew, for all he cared, but Jack wasn't giving up so easily.
"SPOT."
"You're making a scene, Jack."
"You love making scenes, don't make me drag you outside and beat you senseless."
"I'd like to see you try it, jackass. Heh. Jackass."
"That wasn't funny the first time you said it, the first day we met, Spot. And--and fuck you, what do you mean, 'you two'?"
Spot sat there for a minute. "When the band's done," he promised. "Outside. 'Cause..." He nodded his head forward towards Tracy Marshell, and then sideways towards Blink and Itey. Jack nodded.
Spot knew he wouldn't have been able to side step out of Jack's wrath. Now that Spot really thought about it, he and Jack were close. Real close. And Spot wanted to tell someone, because he figured he should have bragging rights--he'd made out with the All Mighty Straight Tony Higgins.
It was more than that, though. There'd been something behind it.
Then Spot paled. He'd given Race some of his writing.
Shit, he'd forgotten about that.
The conductor announced the last song, and Spot went back to ignoring the people around him, and just watching Race, and began to get almost nervous when the band filed off and a band of girls filed on. Tracy Marshell and her friend got up to leave; Spot noticed they were dressed for the girl's chorus, and almost smirked.
Straight Race liked to make out with choir girls. Well, chorus girls. Almost the same thing.
And Straight Race also liked to make out with him. Yeah, he got bragging rights.
Jack swatted his shoulder. "Talk," he said. Spot nodded, got up, and pressed his way out past Itey and Blink to get to the aisle, Jack following behind him.
"What's up?" Itey asked.
"Nothing; back in a few."
"Uh...?"
"Brother stuff." Jack shrugged.
"Spot skip school again, and you gotta lecture him?" Blink asked, smirking. Spot kicked his chair, and walked out, Jack still following.
They didn't say much as they walked up the steps, but Spot caught Sophia's eye as they were leaving and gave her a nod, then indicated the seat next to Itey was now empty. Sophia blushed, and nodded slightly, then apprehensively turned to her father as Spot and Jack left the auditorium.
When they finally filed out of the room and into the large, rich, and ridiculously polished hallway, Jack poked his finger into Spot's chest.
"What. Did. You. Do?"
"What?" Spot shrugged. "I talk to someone and suddenly I raped him?"
"You did, didn't you?"
"No!" Spot leaned against the wall. "He started it."
"...WHAT?"
"Oh, calm down. He called me last night while you were out with Dave, and invited me over to hang out. I went. He cooked dinner. We hung out. I admitted I liked him. We talked some more. He kissed me." He shrugged. "We made out for awhile. I went home."
"WHAT?"
"Jesus, Jack. We just made out, we're not fucking dating or anything. And it's not like it didn't happen before."
"Yeah, but this time he was sober."
"Yeah, so?"
"So he's straight?"
"Guess not."
"Spot--"
"What? Seriously, Jack. I'm okay with it. He seems to be, and he was gonna call me tonight to talk anyway, so what the fuck is the problem?"
"Nothing," Jack snapped. "Not your problem."
"Jack..." Spot muttered, because he knew Jack as well as Jack knew him. 'Not your problem,' meant, 'Tony's problem.'
"Spot, he isn't good FOR you, let alone WITH you." Jack crossed his arms. "I know you like him, okay? But Tony has this problem called narcissism." He said it slowly in Spot's face--when Jack was mad, he was an ass. "And that means he doesn't give two shits about anyone but himself."
"Yeah, well, you fucking don't know him at all then," Spot spat, shoving Jack away from him, not being able to stand the breath. "He doesn't tell you anything for a reason."
Jack rolled his eyes and then let out a laugh. "You are so fucking naive."
Spot's mouth dropped open, literally, and he shook his head. "I'M fucking NAIVE?"
"Yes."
"Oh, fuck you, Kelly!" Spot snapped. "I'm not--"
"You are. About him. Okay? Just shut the hell up and listen to me!"
Spot narrowed his eyes. "Fine," he snapped.
"Look. You haven't had a crush on someone in a long time, and you've forgotten little details like it fucking skews your vision, you can't tell--you make things better than they are. The guy is a fucking cocaine addicted snob, he doesn't give a damn about you, or me, or anyone else but himself.
"He doesn't give a damn?!" Spot snapped back. "The guy got the crap beat out of him by his dad because he dared to like us, yeah, fucking selfish of him."
"Spot--"
"Yeah, and then he fucking went where he knew he was at risk because he wanted to help Dutchy and almost got himself killed. Yeah, real fucking selfish."
"SPOT, you KNOW I'm right."
"The hell you are!"
"Spot, listen to me--"
"No, YOU listen to ME for once!" Spot shoved Jack again, which caused the taller boy to stumble slightly because he hadn't expected it. "You fucking need to BACK OFF. He made mistakes, and he KNOWS he did, but if you haven't forgotten, he fucking gets chewed out every time he comes to see us. And not even just US, have you SEEN how much his sister fucking follows him everywhere he goes? "
"Spot--"
"Dude, last time I checked, everything he did was for his sisters anyway--"
"Spot--"
"You might want to take a few fucking lessons on being a brother. ASSHOLE."
"Hey!" Jack snapped back. "I'm being a responsible brother here, Sean, and the guy is fucking bad for you! He's bad for all of us, and if he doesn't want to deal with his dad he should fucking leave us all alone!"
"Yeah? Then where the hell would Dutchy be, dead?" Spot snarled. "I like him, okay? And--and I think he might like me, and that means he's probably going to freak out and need a lot of support, and he does kind of think you're his friend, so either you give it to him and me, or you leave us both the hell alone."
"Spot--"
"No, Jack. You're in or you're out. If he doesn't want me, or decides he is straight, whatever. I'll fucking hate him for it. But--but you don't fucking get to decide that for him, or me, you GOT that?"
Jack just stared at him for a long second, then nodded. "Yeah. Whatever."
"Good."
"...you are a fucking moron, though."
"Fuck you."
"And I'm a good brother, damn it."
Spot said nothing, Jack punched his shoulder, and then glanced down the hall. Coming from the back door into the auditorium was the last person he wanted to see; Racetrack himself. But what was really strange was that he wasn't alone.
Tracy Marshell was hanging off his arm.
Spot, for the first time in his entire life, blushed. He knew Jack's eyes were on him, knew he looked like an idiot, knew his words now sounded completely and utterly stupid...
He was fucking blushing, that fucking asshole.
"And are we surprised, ladies and gentleman?" Jack muttered under his breath.
Spot didn't reply. He knew he was staring at Race, open mouthed again, still blushing. And he felt like such a fucking idiot.
"Don't jump to your fucking conclusions," Spot snapped quickly. His voice sounded pathetic.
Great. He was blushing and pathetic. And he very much wanted to beat Race's head in for making him feel that way--but at the same time, he didn't want to at all. It was just that he wanted to want to. He knew he ought to; that that was how he reacted to things. But Race... He didn't want to hurt him, even though he was hurt.
And he was hurt.
That was just weird.
Race looked up, saw them, and waved. Tracy giggled again, and Race practically pranced down the hall to them. "Hey, guys," he said cheerfully. "This is Tracy."
"We met," Spot said, his voice acidic, as he looked at her again. And I'm way more attractive than she is, he told himself. Except that didn't matter. Because Race fucking liked girls. The asshole.
"You did?"
"She was sitting right in front of us," Jack explained, then gave her his trademark gentlemanly smile. "Jack Kelly," he introduced himself. "And that's Spot."
"Spot?" she asked.
Spot opened his mouth to make an incredibly inappropriate comment about stained underwear, but Jack not so subtly cut him off by stomping on his foot. He glared in response.
"Yeah. Spot," he snarled, and Race very nearly winced from hearing it. That was something, at least.
"Yeah, they're the guys I told you about," Race interrupted. "From the band. Well, not in the band, but... Fun to party with."
She giggled. "When are you going to invite me to a party, Tony?"
"Uhhhh..." He ran a hand through his slicked back hair, then shrugged. "The chorus'll be on in a minute, you should go get ready, Trace."
She pouted. "But you didn't answer my question."
He laughed, patted her ass, and winked. She sighed, then giggled, and headed back the way she'd come from. Spot glared after her, then turned to Race to do a large amount of very loud cursing, and stopped short when he saw how much Race's expression had changed.
"I fucking hate her," Race muttered under his breath, clearly annoyed, then looked up. "But I can't believe you came to this." And he smiled.
And Spot couldn't help it, he smiled back. "Fucking told you so, Jack," was his only comment.
Jack, for a moment, looked torn between cussing Race out anyway, or letting his pride take a back seat to his common sense.
Finally, Jack gave Spot's back a pat, and grinned a little at Race. "I'm gonna go find Itey and make sure he hasn't screwed over his chances with your sister. Talk to you later."
Race's face darkened. "Yeah, make sure you don't get your motives mixed."
Jack put his hand to his heart. "My intentions are of the honorable sort."
"You are full of so much shit."
"I am." He winked. "Be good, kiddies." Then he strutted off, and Spot couldn't help it, he smiled at his back because Jack left them alone for him.
They were quiet a moment, neither sure of what to say, but Spot had to get it out, so he started. "Fuck, she was so annoying."
Race laughed, and Spot remembered he loved that laugh.
"Yeah, I know," Race replied. "She has these... thoughts in her head that we're meant to be together. Because we made out at a party like, a year ago."
Spot gave him a look. "Hey hey, don't knock making out at parties, sometimes something comes from that." Spot hooked his finger on Race's collar and pulled the shirt down a little to expose Race's lovebites. "Like those. I am so good."
Race swatted at his arm, and glanced around, blushing slightly. "Make sure no one can hear you, okay?" Spot scowled. "No, seriously, people still try and kick the shit out of Mush."
"Let's go somewhere else then, if you're going to get all twitchy about it." Spot turned on his heel and started towards the front door.
Race swore, looked around again, deciding whether or not to go with him. His family might be looking for him, but then again, Sophia was probably with Itey at the moment, and maybe he'd be lucky and his dad would want to go and shake hands with Mush again, telling him what a bright future he had.
On band concert nights, his dad was nice to Mush. Because Mr. Higgins loved the trumpet. A lot.
He hated drums.
With that thought in his head, Race followed Spot's steps and out the front door. The cold wind rushed into his face, and he swore in surprise. Spot laughed a little at his right; he was wearing a coat, the bastard.
"Here." Spot took a tuque out of his pocket and shoved it into Race's hands.
Race blinked. "Thanks."
"Your hair looks like shit."
Race's tone changed. "Thanks."
"You did good."
Then, with a brighter tone. "Thanks!" Spot was giving him an odd look now, and Race cleared his through. "You came, Spot."
"I know."
"Why did you come?"
Spot hesitated, then finally muttered, "Because I fucking like you and... It seemed like the sort of thing a guy does for a guy he likes."
"You're such a romantic." Race nodded over to a picnic table that was set on the front lawn. There were four of them, all perfectly painted, with plaques set in to the benches to commemorate people who'd donated to the school. Spot didn't know if he should be impressed or disgusted; even the fucking picnic tables looked snobby.
Race sat at the closest table, and Spot sat next to him.
"So," Race said. "I guess we should... Like, talk, or something."
"Yeah, that's enthusiastic."
"Fuck you. I'm not good at this."
"You think I am?"
Race shrugged. "Fair enough. But at least you're not having a crisis of... of... questioning your... you know."
"Yeah; I worked that shit out when I was fourteen. I'm gay. It's fun. So what about you?"
"I'm fucking confused." Race fiddled with the hat in his hands for a second, then realized he should probably actually put it on. Then realized he looked stupid with it on, and took it back off. "I mean..." he continued, when Spot didn't respond. "Just, I like spending time with you. And last night, God, I fucking wanted you. But I'm not--I've never--I've never, ever, ever been attracted to a boy before. I like girls. A lot."
"I noticed," Spot said, watching Race wring the hat in his hands. He snorted in frustration, yanked the hat out of his hands and shoved it on Race's head.
"Ow! Hey, it looks--"
"It looks fine, girly girl, and it'll keep you warm."
Race was blushing again--he'd been doing that a lot lately. Since when did Spot care about someone being warm? "Look, Spot, I--"
"If you're not gay, you're not gay," Spot continued, sounding oddly pissed off, but in a mechanical kind of way. Like he was pushing himself to be angry to cover something else up. "I mean, fine, go fuck Tracy or whoever."
Race rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't be stupid. I told you, I like spending time with you. A lot. I've just never felt this way about a guy before."
Spot wasn't looking at him. "You like girls, okay. Have you ever wanted a girl? Actually wanted one?"
"Yeah, I--"
"No, answer me seriously." Spot met his eyes, looking unsure...in a Spot kind of way. "Do you want to screw girls?"
Race stared down at the well manicured lawn in front of him.
"No," he said quietly.
"What?" Spot suddenly sounded like he was choking on something. Like he really hadn't expected to hear that.
"No. I don't... I mean, I've made out with girls, gone a little farther, but... Never really... You know, wanted to go all the way."
"So you want to fuck boys?"
"No!" Race snapped, then, "Fuck, maybe. I don't know, okay? I don't fucking know. I just--you know, if Isabella hadn't gotten home last night..." He was blushing again. "I wanted to screw you a lot more than I ever wanted Tracy."
"Well, yeah," Spot said. "You've got eyes right? And ears? 'Cause her voice is fucking irritating."
"I know. But--I mean, I've never been attracted to a boy before, just... You." He paused. "You're gonna get cocky again, right?"
"Fuck yeah. I just turned a guy gay."
"You did not turn me gay, I'm not--" he stopped. "Okay. So maybe I'm kind of gay, I guess. Since I'd rather be with you than a girl."
"Sounds pretty gay to me."
"Yeah, I guess," Race said quietly.
"You okay?" Spot asked. Race definitely did not look okay.
"I don't know what I am." Race groaned, and let his head fall to the table with a thunk. "I was never gay before this."
Spot gave his back an awkward kind of pat. "Come on, think of one time. There has to be one."
"..."
"One, Tony."
"...well..." Race sat back up, looking emotionally drained. "I mean, maybe when Mush is in the locker room. And David has a really nice smile."
Spot raised an eyebrow. "Mush, I get. David, not computing."
"He does have a nice smile."
"So does Martha Stewart, but I don't want to jump her bones."
Race was looking at Spot impatiently as Spot was grinning in a very smart assed and irritating way. "I don't want to jump David's bones."
"You want to jump my bones."
"Shut up!"
"Well, you do. You said so."
"Fuck you."
"Okay." Spot smirked and pointedly uncrossed his legs.
"SPOT!" Race half-yelped, looking slightly horrified, and punched his shoulder.
"Well, you offered.
"F--go to hell." But Race was smiling now. He looked nervous, but was smiling.
"But seriously, David?"
"Well, I didn't have a crush on him or anything. And besides," he paused to smirk, "he's straight."
"Fuck you."
"You'd like to."
"Hell, yeah."
Race laughed again, and looked away, because he was so sick of blushing and knowing how smug that made Spot.
"...But you're okay?"
"Yeah, just kind of... Shaken up."
"Hey. You're gay. It's fun." Spot put a hand on Race's thigh, and Race looked back, sort of terrified, and stood up quickly.
"Not in public!" he snapped. "I--oh fuck, I can't--"
"Can't what?"
"Can't be gay! At this school? With my incredibly bigoted parents? Oh, Christ..." He sat down again. "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick. He'll disown me."
Spot, for the first time since the conversation had started, turned truly serious. He'd forgotten about Race's father. He knew Race was right; Mr. Higgins, if he knew, would most likely do something drastic. Like disowning his son.
Race had his face in his hands, and was muttering swear words under his breath, breathing kind of hard, looking very vulnerable. Spot checked to make sure no one was watching, and put his hand on the back of Race's neck. Race looked up at him.
Spot had been so ready to tell him not to worry about it, that everything would be fine. But Spot had never once in his life believed words like those. He was such a cynic, used to everything falling to shit.
But he didn't want that to happen with Race. Race was different.
Still, he couldn't think of anything at all to say. He just stared at his... boyfriend? Friend?
"Tony..." Spot muttered. "Come on, he doesn't have to know. He's a bastard, we know this. You keep lots of things from him."
"So what, you won't care if I don't tell my parents we're dating?" Race snapped back, clearly still panicked. "Because I fucking care!"
"No, I don't--" Spot stopped. "We're dating?"
Race froze.
"Uh," he managed to say.
"...Because if you want to, I mean, that would be cool." Race didn't respond. "Tony?" he asked, then waved a hand in front of the seemingly frozen Race's face. "TONY?"
"Yeah," Race said quietly. "Yeah, I'd... I think I'd like that."
"Good."
"...but my family."
"Doesn't have to know."
"You won't be offended?"
Spot smirked. "Just don't ever flirt with Tracy fucking Marshell again, and I'll be fine with it."
"But if we get caught--"
"We won't."
"But my dad finds everything out eventually."
"He won't. Not this. We'll be careful."
Race paused, then, "You must really like me. 'Cause I know I wouldn't want to risk my dad's temper...."
"You don't have to if you don't want to," Spot said, and could have kicked himself for it. He was giving Race an out; he was doing it because he liked Race enough he'd rather see Race happy and safe than with him, but that was just stupid. Because he really, really, really wanted Race to be with him.
Race was quiet for what felt like an eternity, then commented softly, "Maybe he won't find out. And maybe being disowned wouldn't be so bad. Or maybe he'd just be so glad I'm not back on drugs..."
"Tony?"
"Oh, fuck it all. I like you, and you're the first person I've ever liked this much."
"Is that a yes?"
"Why the hell am I saying yes? I asked you out!"
"You did not, you just assumed and I had to ask."
"Whatever."
They were quiet, both feeling kind of giddy over what had just happened, Race's face very red, Spot's smirk slowly turning into an actual smile. Spot's eyes traveled to the top of Race's head and he snorted.
"You look so damned..." He coughed. "The hat. It suits you."
"No it doesn't. I look four years old."
"You saw yourself for two seconds in the reflection of a fucking window," Spot responded, tugging at the top of the hat and bringing it over Race's ears.
"I still look four."
"Not four, just..." He grinned, in a dirty way. "Young." Race edged back a bit.
"Are you trying to tell me you have a Lolita complex?"
"Lolita was a girl," Spot answered.
"You trying to tell me you have a..." Race paused. "Loel complex?"
Spot rolled his eyes, then asked semi-curiously, "Hey... Did you ever read that, uh, thing?"
Race grinned. "During dinner, yeah. Of course I did."
Spot paused, waited as long as he could before demanding, "Well?! What did you think?"
Race began to play with the bottom fold of the hat, and Spot grabbed his hand and yanked it away. "Well?" he demanded again, leaning in towards Race, so close they were very nearly kissing.
"It was good," Race breathed, then abruptly pulled away. "Fuck. We've got to be more careful than that."
"Just good?"
Race looked a little astonished that Spot seemed more interested in what Race thought about his writing than he was in how close they were to kissing. It reminded Race that they actually liked each other; they weren't just horny.
The idea of liking Spot was more scary than the idea of wanting Spot.
"I'm really bad with critiquing." Race cleared his throat. "But..."
"It sucked."
"No, it--"
"I know, I suck, I shouldn't have given that to you."
"It didn't-"
"Fuck, writing is for pussies anyway."
"SPOT, I was GOING to say that if your school has a literary magazine or something--"
"NO."
"It was good."
"It was not."
"Yes it was. You're good at it." He grinned. "You're good at something besides giving me hickeys and being an asshole!"
"Fuck you!"
Race just smiled. "Seriously. You should get it published."
"No way in hell. Writing is for pussies."
"You write. Well."
"Yeah, but no one knows but you and Jack, so it doesn't count."
"It so does."
"I am not a pussy!"
"You write."
"Well, you cook."
"I don't deny that I cook." Race leaned forward, grinning. "In fact, I cook very well. And your writing was..." He searched for words in his head. "Abstract. Morbid. And very, very good."
Spot was scratching at the table with his nails.
"You serious or are you shitting me because we're into each other?" Spot said, sounding distracted as he scratched at the table.
"Don't do that, it looks painful."
"Answer me."
Race grabbed Spot's hand, and Spot turned to look at him. "It was good. Really good."
"Serious?"
"Serious. Can I see more?"
Spot grinned, then ducked his head. "I might have some other shit lying around, I'll see."
"Good. I really liked it. It was... A lot better than I expected from you."
"Uh, thanks?"
"I mean, deeper. You don't seem... Deep. And it was kind of disturbing. Which was less surprising."
"So you think I'm shallow and disturbed. Thanks."
"I also think you're sexy as hell, if that helps."
"Yeah, it does." Spot smirked. "So what did you like about it?"
Race rolled his eyes. "I thought it wasn't a big deal, just something you had lying around, and you didn't care?"
"Fuck you, no one reads my stuff, so no one ever tells me how it is!"
"Well, then you should let people read it!"
"No!"
"Then I don't see how you not getting the attention you're so starved for is my fault."
"I am not starved for attention, fucker," Spot shot back at him. "I'm not the one with the bright red convertible that I drive around with the top down, even in the cold."
Race shoved him. "It's a nice car."
"So is Jack's van."
Race wrinkled his nose. "That van is ugly."
"And warm."
"And ugly."
"And it has a lot of room in it. And I have the keys."
"Spot."
"Just making conversation." Spot shrugged. "But I do have the keys."
"We don't have time anyway; my parents will be coming out soon."
"Heh. I thought that was what you had to do."
"Don't joke about that," Race snapped, then sighed. "But I should get inside before people realize I'm gone, so I can deal with my legions of admirers."
"Your what?"
"See, I'm not attention starved because I get lots of attention on concert nights." Race smirked.
"Yeah, whatever. Just remember, I get dibs on you as soon as they're done."
Race nodded, stood, and added, "By the way, Mush and David and I always go out for ice cream after concerts. If my Dad'll actually let me go, you wanna come with?"
"You asking me on a date?"
Race rolled his eyes. "Sure. We can break the news to Mush and Dave and see if they freak out."
Spot started to answer sarcastically, then stopped and realized there was a slight chance of Mush freaking out. If Mush had really liked him that much when they met... But Mush would just have to deal with that.
"Yeah, I guess I could go."
"Good." Race paused. "I'd kiss you, but parents. And you're not a fan of PDAs."
"I do have those car keys..."
"Come on. Let's go in."
They couldn't resist holding hands for a few moments before reaching the main doors, and Race was the last one to loosen his grip. Spot had rough hands, but the tips of his fingers were smooth, despite the bumps on the edges he got from holding a pencil so much.
Race was surprised by how interesting someone's hands could be.
"You want your hat?" Race asked. Spot shrugged, and tugged at it again, pulling it back over Race's ears.
"Nah." Spot turned and opened the door as he stepped inside. "You look kinda cute."
Race didn't have a chance to reply because Spot slammed the door in his face. "Jerk," Race mumbled to himself, but he was smiling, and pushed the door open before following him in. The lobby was starting to fill with people; apparently the concert was wrapping up while he was having his sexual identity crisis outside. Spot had already managed to weave his over to where Jack, Blink, Itey and (Race was mildly annoyed to note) Sophia were standing.
He saw Tracy gossiping with someone and ducked out of her sight, and someone tapped his shoulder. Startled, he turned around and saw Isabella standing behind him.
"Congrats, Fante. You didn't suck."
"I love you too, Izzy."
"I know." She paused, then commented innocently, "You know, if you ever feel the urge to tell me something--if you're afraid that the family might not understand--well, I promise to listen and understand. Okay? So you can tell me anything. You know, if you ever want to."
He gaped at her for a second. "Uh, right. I'll keep that in mind."
"Good, you do that. Dad's busy talking to Professor Aiosa, he and mom will be here in a second."
"And Maria?"
She pointed towards his friends, and he saw that Maria was there too, blushing as Jack said something to her. "I'll kill him," Race muttered.
Isabella ignored him. "Gabriel is really sweet. How did you ever make friends with someone so nice?" She ruffled his hair. "Sophia won't stop talking about him."
"Shut UP," Race snapped. Isabella rolled her eyes.
"Please Tony, it's only talking."
"Yeah, but talking leads to dating which leads to kissing, which leads to sex, which leads to IMPREGNATION."
A silence followed Race's outburst, but he didn't notice. Isabella just snorted and walked away. Race, sure that he'd made his point, walked purposefully over to his friends, and hoisted Maria up from under her armpits.
"Ow! Tony!"
"Don't talk to him, he only wants you for your looks," Race said to Maria. Jack laughed.
"She's twelve, Tony. I was just joking." He looked suddenly startled. "Um, you knew I was joking, right?" he asked Maria.
"I'm twelve, not stupid," she answered.
"I can see she has your family charm," Spot noted, and Race elbowed him in the side. Maria rolled her eyes, which seemed to be the best response to Spot at almost any given point, and Race had to bite back a smile. He was vaguely worried that he found Spot's smartass remarks endearing.
"And as for you--" he said, and pointed a finger menacingly at Itey, who winced.
"Tony!" Sophia snapped. "Stop it!"
He paused, the settled for glaring at Itey for a second. "You just watch it," he finally said.
"Yessir."
"Dude, did you just call him sir?" Blink laughed.
"Oh, don't call him sir," Sophia told Itey, and shot Race a smile. "It'll make his head bigger than it already is."
"Better a big head that a big stomach."
"Shorty."
"Fatty."
"Asshole."
"Bitch."
"You're not fat," Itey said firmly, then turned red when Sophia and Race gave him odd looks--no one had ever interrupted one of their arguments before.
David cleared his throat. "Tony, can we go? Mush needs sugar, he's deteriorating."
Indeed, Mush was slumped on top of Blink, looking ready to snore.
"Yeah, I just gotta..." He sighed. "Ask Dad for permission, because I'm still more or less grounded."
"But he always lets you go."
"But I usually didn't have a relapse three days before." He shrugged. "We'll see." He glanced around the crowded room, saw his father was waiting with his mother and Isabella, and picked his way over to them. It was more difficult than it should have been, as he was stopped about eight times by people congratulating him. But the adoration didn't stroke his ego for a change, it just annoyed him. He wanted to get out of there, with Spot, so they could have a chance to be somewhat alone together...
"Racetrack," his father greeted him, sounding surprisingly pleasant. "The concert was impressive."
"Thank you, sir."
His mother hugged him, and Isabella gave him that annoying look again. "People just keep telling us how wonderful you are," his mother gushed.
"Uh, thanks," he said. "I practice a lot."
"I know," his father said dryly. "You cause quite a racket."
He sighed. That didn't sound inviting, but he had to at least give it a shot... "Uh, sir?" he started. "I was just wondering. Um, usually after concerts Michael and David and I--"
"No."
His shoulders slumped, and he nodded. "Yes, sir," he murmured quietly, his reply practically lost in the noise of the crowd.
"Daddy," Isabella broke in. "It's just ice cream, right, Tony?"
"Yeah."
"Isabella--" his father started, but she interrupted him.
Race still wondered how Isabella, out of everyone he'd ever met, was the only one who could get away with interrupting his father, or talking him down once he'd made up his mind. He supposed it was because she was the oldest child or something.
"Okay, so he screwed up, but what if Sophia and I go with him?" she asked. "I mean, it's just ice cream."
Race didn't have the heart to tell her not to bother, because he really wanted to just be with Spot and tell his friends, and he couldn't do either one with his sisters there. But she looked quite pleased to have a solution.
And even more pleased when his father said, "Fine," and nodded slowly.
Race, with a sigh, and a few more words with his mother and father about being home, made his way reluctantly to his friends, Isabella happily trailing behind him.
"You're evil," Race said.
"How am I evil? I just got dad to let you go."
"You have a hidden agenda."
"Against you? Always!"
Race raised an eyebrow. But what did she have on him? He'd have to keep on his toes... what if she really did like Spot?
Ha.
Over his dead body.
"I can come," he said, sliding up next to Spot, keeping his distance, but allowing his fingers to 'accidentally' brush Spot's. He looked at Maria. "You cannot."
Maria pouted. "But you OWE me. Because you're an idiot."
Race was glad Maria was calling him an idiot instead of holding a grudge about his relapse. Still, he hated how little he'd been spending time with her since then.
"I'll take you out tomorrow, okay?" he said, taking her hand and pulling her out of the circle his friends had formed as they talked with one another. "I promise. Dinner and everything."
Maria looked up at him. "You won't ever do it again, right?"
"Maria, I--"
"You promise?"
As he looked at her, never before was he more determined to never again touch a line. "I...promise."
She kissed his cheek, and without a word, ran over to their parents.
"Sweet kid," Jack noted.
"Extremely," Isabella said.
Race turned to Sophia. "And you, apparently, are also coming. Because Isabella is-"
"The best older sister ever?" Isabella suggested, interrupting, as she seemed prone to do. "I mean, we all have to leave together, but I have this feeling you might want to split up a little after we get out..."
"Izzy, you are so much cooler than Tony is," Sophia declared. Race rolled his eyes, and turned to glare menacingly at Itey again, who held up his hands in surrender.
"I'll be a perfect gentleman," he promised.
"Oh, I know," Isabella answered lightly. "Because I'll kill you if you touch her."
"Uh."
"Well, probably I'll pay someone to do it for me, but really, that's a minor detail."
"IZZY!"
"Is it okay though?" Itey asked Race, looking nervous. "If I me and Sophie head out together and maybe meet up with you guys later?"
Race stared. "You and SOPHIE?"
"Yes, him and me." Sophia blushed. "Tony, come on, stop being an asshole."
Race grumbled. The only reason he was agreeing to this was because he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible so he could sit next to Spot and stroke his thigh under the table of an ice cream parlor. "Fine, but she better be home before I am."
Itey and Sophia beamed.
"Stop smiling."
"Thanks, fratello." Sophia took Itey's arm. "Come on, Gabe."
"Hey hey, lovebirds, we do have to leave together, 'member?" Isabella pointed out. "So how many people are coming, how many cars do we need?"
"Oh, I so call shotgun in Tony's car," Spot said. "That thing is fucking hot."
"Weren't you just making fun of--" Race started, but Spot elbowed him in the ribcage. "Whatever. Okay, so Spot and I can take three more people."
Isabella took over arranging things, because that was what she was good at, and a minute later they were out and on their way; fifteen minutes later they arrived at a local ice cream parlor, the kind that made all of it's own ice cream and was famous locally.
Of course, a block down from the ice cream parlor was a coffee place, which was strategically where Sophia and Itey got 'lost'.
David had had to walk from the coffee shop to the ice cream parlor, muttering something about 'annoying couples' and 'why they always had to be his friends.'
As soon as they were in the shop, Mush's mood brightened and he hurried to the counter, dragging along Blink, who was looking regretfully at his wallet.
"I don't eat ice cream," Spot mumbled, and Race shoved him. "I don't."
"Get a smoothie, then," Race snapped. "I'll buy."
Spot grinned. "Good, 'cause I'm broke."
"Ass."
"Hey, you're the spoiled rich kid."
"...Ass," he repeated, but was smiling as they walked up to the counter.
"So, the couples making you crazy?" Jack laughed at David as he entered the parlor, looking half-frozen himself. "Just be glad Sarah's not here."
"I'm always glad Sarah's not here," David answered flatly.
Spot chuckled. "God, you two are fucking... You're like hetero life partners or something." Which set off everyone else, causing them to get strange looks. The laughter somehow managed to be almost continuous as they all finally got through the line and sat down, pushing two tables together to have enough room.
Race, still suspicious that Isabella had her eye on Spot, made sure that he and Spot were sitting in the corner so that no one could sit Spot's other side. Mush was still at the counter, taking care of orders, and Blink was looking more suicidal as the list went on.
"Mush has this thing with ice cream," Jack explained to Isabella, who was giving her brother sharp looks.
On cue, Mush hurried over to the table, everything on a tray. "Pay time!" He announced. "Blink is paying for me. Jack is paying for David and Izzy--"
"No I'm not--"
"Ssh. Yes you are. Race, you said you were paying for Spot?"
Race shrugged, hoping he wasn't blushing.
"Good!" He started handing out ice cream, and finally gave a smoothie over to Spot.
"You could be a fucking waitress," he said as he took the smoothie.
"Waiter."
"No, waitress."
"Oh, right. I forgot. Because I'm somehow more gay than you are?" Mush answered, rolling his eyes, then shot an apprehensive look at Isabella. "Uh..."
"Oh, chill, I'm not my parents," she said, then gallantly added, "I'll cover the check."
Blink looked visibly relieved. "Tony, your sister RULES."
Mush swatted him lightly. Race rolled his eyes, and began to dig into his sundae, and put his other hand gently on Spot's thigh. Spot smirked into his smoothie.
"The concert was pretty kickass," Jack finally admitted from around his ice cream cone.
"Well, of course it was. Mush had a solo." Blink grinned at his boyfriend, who grinned back.
"Sickening," Spot muttered.
"Very sickening."
"Incredibly sickening."
"Oh, like they're worse than you two?" Isabella demanded, before the conversation could continue. Race looked over at her, panicked, but she was rolling her eyes, so he figured it was a coincidence and went back to his sundae. He did move his hand off of Spot's leg, though.
But Spot put a hand on his, so it was okay.
"So, Izzy--" Jack started, leaning towards Isabella in his seat slightly. "Tony tells me you're going to school? Where at?"
Isabella raised an eyebrow. "Princeton."
"Oh really? What do you study? I bet it's fascinating..."
David then let out a cough which sounded suspiciously like 'SARAH', but Jack ignored him. With Isabella distracted (more annoyed, really,) Race let his hand linger on Spot's thigh again, and he felt Spot brush his foot against his leg.
Race really wished they were alone.
Mush and Blink were lucky. They didn't care where the hell they were. But at least the two of them had the good grace not to make out in an ice cream parlor when they were out with friends.
"Stop calling me Izzy, only people I KNOW can call me that."
"Oh sorry, Isabella." Jack wasn't fazed. "So, how old are you?"
Race was sickened. But he wasn't protective of Isabella; she was too scary. And Jack was no match for her, really, he thought with a vague sort of pride.
"Old enough that I'm not interested in little boys."
Jack guffawed a little, and Race laughed. "Don't choke on your ice cream, there, Jacky."
"Fuck you."
"You'd like to," he answered without thinking; he'd heard Spot say it enough times that it was just reaction, then he glanced at Isabella again, hoping she wouldn't read anything into it.
She was busily eating her ice cream.
"No, that's Spot," Jack answered.
"Guilty as charged," Spot responded, and under the table, trailed a finger up the inside of Race's thigh. Race squirmed a little in place--it tickled--and Spot smirked at him.
"HEY!" Race yelped.
"Yeah, you like it," Spot answered.
"Fuck you!"
"Yeah, you'd like to, Fante," Isabella muttered into her ice cream.
There was a moment of frozen silence, and everyone turned to stare at her. "What?" she demanded of the table, then to Race and Spot, "Would you two just go make out or something? Because the sexual tension is really starting to irritate me."
There was another long silence.
"That seems to happen a lot in our group of friends," David noted.
"Yeah..." Mush trailed off, looking suspiciously at Race and Spot, who were busying themselves with their orders, looking in every direction but the people at the table. "Tony, do you have something you want to tell us?"
Race was eating his sundae at an amazing rate, and really everyone wondered if he was going to choke himself.
"Tony."
Race said nothing.
"Tony."
More nothing. Then Blink reached across the table and smacked Race sharply on the head. "You listen to my boy when he talks to you!"
Spot punched Blink's arm. "Don't hit him!"
Then Blink punched Spot and Spot punched Blink again and things were really getting ridiculous... And Isabella cleared her throat loudly. Well, sort of. It was more like she actually yelled, "AHEM."
They stopped abruptly. She was scary, after all.
"Tony?" she asked.
He dug around in the gooey remains of his ice cream, looking for the cherry that had gotten buried under there somewhere. "Uh," he said finally.
"Tony, it's really okay," she said. "I'm not going to tell Dad or anything. Jesus."
He looked up and stared at her. "You know?" he squawked.
"Of course I know. I'm not blind, and I'm not stupid, and you two are really not very subtle."
"Oh." He found the cherry in the goop, and wondered when he'd started his habit of saving it for last. "Well."
"So you mean you two are--?!" Blink demanded, his eye widening. "Oh my God, I don't freaking believe it!"
"Well, uh..."
"Since when are you shy?" Mush asked cheerfully, though the cheerfulness sounded a little forced. Blink gave him a concerned look and he smiled and reached for Blink's hand, and Race wondered what the hell that exchange meant.
"I'm not shy. I'm just... That is, we"
"We're fucking together," Spot interrupted. "I mean, we're together, but not yet--yeah. Well, soon, hopefully."
"AHEM," Isabella said again.
"Okay, we're..." Race trailed off. "I uh...well, we're working on it."
"While fucking."
"SPOT."
"Don't talk that way about my little brother," Isabella snapped at Spot, who looked a little startled by the harshness in her voice. Race rolled his eyes.
"I'm not little," he mumbled.
"Neither are his intentions." She narrowed her eyes at Spot.
"To be fair," Jack spoke up, "Spot does like him."
All eyes darted to Jack. "Shut up, asshole!" Spot chucked his wet straw at Jack, and kicked him under the table.
"You had better," Isabella continued. "He's a good boy and a young boy and a huge idiot. So if you don't goddamned treat him right, I'll rip your arm off and feed it to you."
Spot was pretty speechless after that.
"Well, I have a fifteen to twenty page paper to write," Isabella announced, back to her previous cheerful self. "I'm heading out. Nice seeing you all; Tony, be home by 11:30. And you--" She pointed at Spot again. Spot paled. "You better fucking get him home on time."
And then Isabella left the building.
There was a beat of silence.
"Tony?"
"Yeah?"
"Is your entire family insane?"
"Yeah."
*
F: We'll have you know that really, Race and Spot are officially too beautiful.
B: This is the second chapter named for a Sloan album. Because Sloan albums just rule that much.
F: I've decided they're the bible.
B: And goodness only knows how many chapters have Sloan lyrics. We love Sloan. A lot.
F: In fact, did you hear of those stalkers that kidnapped Sloan, tied them up, and locked them in a basement?
....
that was us.
B: I'm sure you're all shocked. But with Patrick Pentland in my basement, I'm getting even less of my schoolwork done... and significantly less sleep. But you know, I'm not that upset about it.
F: Jay is taking me to the prom.
B: But as for the chapter... I can't believe you're still reading. It was really that long. Twenty-eight pages, which is a record, even for us.
F: We're addicts and we have no discipline and there's really nothing to be done.
B: Speaking of addicts, the real reason I've only had 5 and a half hours of sleep out of the last 48? And that I failed one of the midterms I had today? ...Let's just say it's a good thing I love all y'all, 'cause I'm exhausted and flunking out of school.
F: I'm trying to comfort her. If only I was male with an eye patch.
B: ....mmmm, Blink.
F: There we go. That'll keep.
B: Well, I'm in my happy Blink place now, and also my happy SpRace cake place... And just y'all wait until the next chapter, which kicks off a Very Important Story Arch. (Oh, and remember how Dutchy used to be in the fic? He shows up again too, finally.) So... Stay tuned, or something.
F: By the way, the first fan to give us scads of chocolate, pie and beer get our love.
We'd give you cash, but, see, that would require not being broke...
B: And my workstudy doesn't pay that much. Alas.
F: Really, we still love you.
B: We really do... Unfortunately, we're having to temporarily discontinue shoutouts in an effort to get chapters out on a relatively timely basis, because we like to give them the full time it takes to write something unique and fun and interesting and we just don't have that kind of time right now. So in the interest of not making you wait two more weeks for chapters than you'd otherwise have to, we are, sadly, shoutoutless.
F: You do get this naked poster of Spot however.
B: Enjoy. ;)
(This chapter celebrated with too much Diet Coke, non-diet Coke, and about eight blueberry muffins.)