Notes: Sorry, this would have been posted Thursday, but FFN wouldn't let me upload and I wasn't home yesterday. So, here is chapter eight at last. Also, there's mentions of domestic violence in this chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own it.

Seventh grade was an important year for both Mark and Roger. The new grade meant many things, academically, socially, and personally.

For Mark, seventh grade meant honors classes. He could finally learn the wonders of algebraic equations and read classics, such as Harper Lee's To Kill A Mockingbird. Seventh grade meant he was eleven – finally old enough to take photography classes at the community center instead of trudging around his house capturing dinner preparations and homework. It also meant that Cindy would be graduating from high school and going (hopefully far, far) away to college the next summer.

In Roger's book, seventh grade meant respect and honor from the younger kids. The sixth graders would long to be just like him in every aspect. It meant he was old enough – in his mother's opinion – to start taking real guitar lessons. He could start a band if he wanted too. In his father's eyes, he should have a girlfriend. Seventh grade meant that the thirteen year old would be more independent. As the screams, yells, shouts, and fighting increased, Roger was on his own to get his work done and take care of himself. Seventh grade meant more black eyes and more empty bottles in the recycling bin the next morning.

Mark's first day of photography classes started the same day as school. He walked beside Roger towards the large, gray middle school with his blue schoolbag on his back and his camera bag clutched to his chest. His smile illuminated to foggy morning.

"You know, I'm in honors algebra with you," Roger said. It was the first words he uttered to Mark all morning. "I didn't think I was smart enough."

"Sure you are," Mark assured. "If you have any trouble, I could help you. Cindy took it in ninth grade and said it was easy."

He shrugged, removing his left hand from his pocket to rub a developing bruise over his eye.

"What happened?" Mark noticed the purple-black circle around his eye.

"I, uh…" he trailed off. "I walked into a door."

"Oh." Mark nodded, not pressing Roger for what really happened, although he already knew where the black eye came from. "Be careful, those things will jump out at you."

Roger snickered. "Yeah, they do." He noticed the bag that Mark was holding tightly and changed the subject. "What's that?" He gestured toward the black bag.

"My camera," he replied. "Classes start today."

Roger nodded and the boys walked the rest of the way in silence.

--

Honors algebra wasn't as great as Mark thought it was going to be. He tried to tell himself that Mrs. Brake was just starting the class off easy because it was the first day, but he was a bit disappointed that all they did was review the order of operations.

Roger was not disappointed in the least. Rather, he was thrilled that he knew what was going on. He silently thanked his mother for teaching him the PEMDAS method when he was younger and needed help with basic problems. He even almost convinced himself that he really did belong in the class. At least, he told himself, he belonged in the class more than Maureen Johnson, who was currently arguing with the teacher that it was impossible to add and multiply in the same problem and that x was not a number. Roger laughed to himself.

--

After Mark breezed through his homework and wolfed down his dinner, his mother drove him in the old family station wagon to the community center. She walked Mark inside, although he insisted he was old enough to walk on the sidewalk and enter through a door by himself.

"Oh, Mark, look," Mrs. Cohen caught his attention. She was looking at a sign. "They're offering tango lessons here this fall."

"Are you going to sign up?" a new voice asked.

Mark looked behind him and saw Nanette, the Rabbi's daughter. "Uh, no, I'm taking photography classes instead."

"That's a shame, we could be partners," she smiled.

Mark didn't like Nanette much. He knew her from Temple and their parents were friends. He didn't want to spend time with her, much less take dance lessons. "Too bad."

"Mark!" Mrs. Cohen scolded. "I think it would be good for you to get out of the house. Rabbi, where are the sign-ups?"

The Rabbi led Mrs. Cohen to another room, leaving Mark alone with Nanette.

"Well, I have class," he excused himself from the situation, darting towards the dark room to learn about film, aperture, light meters, and lenses.

--

Although the math was simple, Roger found the problems difficult to solve with the background noise of his parents' shouts. Nonetheless, he finished his work around the time he assumed that Mark would be in his own little heaven fiddling with a camera. He rolled over on his bed, casting a look at his guitar. He retrieved it from the other side of his room and played around with the knobs in an attempt to tune it. He was never good at tuning his guitar and hoped to learn how to once his lessons began next month.

When his guitar was as close to in tune as he could get it, Roger began picking out a few songs he had taught himself. It wasn't very entertaining, but it drowned out the fighting until he was called downstairs to dinner.

--

As the school year progressed, Roger spent more and more time at the Cohen household. He was welcomed in any time for dinner or a sleepover. Although they never let on to Roger or Mark, Mr. and Mrs. Cohen knew Roger's father wasn't the nicest dad around.

Oftentimes, Roger came home with Mark and the boys did their homework in the kitchen. They did their math homework together, since it was the same assignment and because Roger appreciated the assistance from Mark. He was finally starting to believe that he was smart, good at something.

Roger stayed for dinner often, sleeping over most weekends. During the week, Mrs. Cohen wouldn't allow Mark – or Cindy – to have friends stay over past dinner. After supper, Mark would walk Roger the block home, making sure he got in okay.

On this particular Thursday, Roger was reluctant to trudge home alone. Mark had photography class on Thursdays, meaning Roger left by himself after dinner. Backpack over his shoulder, he slowly made the journey home.

The math tests on slope and y equals equations had been returned today. While Mark had received a satisfying grade of a 97, Roger was not happy with his 64. He had failed another test, although this was the first failure in algebra. His other poor marks were in science and reading. Because he was in honors algebra, he was required to have one of his parents sign his test.

"Mom, I'm home," Roger called from the doorway as he entered.

"I'm in here," she called from the kitchen.

He followed the sound of her voice and sat down at the table. He watched his mother clean up the dishes of the small dinner she had made for herself and Roger's dad. "Where's Dad?" he inquired, although he really didn't care much for his father's well being.

"He went out," she answered, turning to face her son. "Said he'd be back around eight."

"Are you okay?" Roger scrutinized his mother's face carefully.

"I'm fine, honey. How was school?"

"You have a black eye." Roger ignored her question. "It wasn't there this morning when I went to school."

"I tripped at work," she answered.

"No you didn't." Roger shook his head. "Dad hit you. Again."

She sighed. "I'm fine, Roger." Her tone had changed

He wanted to press the subject, but he knew better. "I, um, got that test back. The hard one I told you about the other day."

"Oh? How did you do?"

"Not well," Roger answered, fumbling through his backpack for the test. He handed it to his mother. "Can you sign it and not tell Dad?"

She took the test and a pen, scribbling her name near the 64 and nodding at Roger's request.

"I'm going to talk to Mark tomorrow and see if he'll help me and show me what I'm doing wrong."

She nodded. "I actually remember this from high school," she replied. "Want me to try and help?"

Roger smiled. He knew his mother hadn't finished high school (although that was partly because of Roger arriving mid-junior year), but he knew she had always loved math. "Okay."

The two sat at the table, tackling all of the problems Roger had done wrong. Pretty soon, he was a whiz at rise over run and every other element on the test. They hadn't even noticed the time fly and Mr. Davis enter the house.

"What's going on?" He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, near the refrigerator.

Roger looked up. "Nothing, Mom's just helping me with my homework." He tried to cover the grade and return the paper to his math folder.

"Whatever happened to asking me for help?" he asked with scorn.

"You weren't home," Roger replied. "Mom offered."

"Let me see it, I bet she's doin' it wrong," he stumbled over to the table. "I'm smarter than her."

"Umm," he tried to keep the test away from his dad. "No, it's fine. I'm done. Thanks though." He shoved the paper sloppily in his bag and darted towards the exit of the kitchen.

Mr. Davis caught his son's arm in an iron grip. "Show me the homework. Now."

Grimacing at the throbbing pain in his arm, Roger obliged. Shaking, he handed the test to his father, expecting the worst.

"A failure? Do you know what happens to little boys who don't study and fail?"

"I did study." Roger's voice was small and quiet.

"Apparently not." He crumpled the paper, throwing it at Roger. "You're to come straight home after school and not go to that Cohen boy's house. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Roger replied, picking up the paper and his bag. He received a hard push in the back from his father, causing him to stumble into the living room. Dropping his bag by the door, he ran upstairs to his room just as the screaming started in the kitchen.

--

"Tango lessons. Do you believe it? They're making me take tango lessons!" Mark had done nothing but complain about the lessons he was taking. It was now December and his Thursdays were spent at photography classes and Tuesdays were spent dancing with a gross girl his parents liked.

"It's not a big deal," Roger reasoned. "You're out of the house for an entire two hours. Who cares what you're doing?"

"Would you like to take tango lessons in my place?"

Roger weighed the options. Truth be told, he would rather be dancing at the Jewish community center dancing that at his house with his parents.

Not wanting to waste the few remaining minutes left of recess, Mark didn't bother waiting for Roger's answer. "My mom suggested it to my dad and he pulled his head out of the Giants game, and agreed with her! He supports this too!" He wouldn't drop the subject. "What could possibly be worse than tango lessons?"

"Gee, Mark, I don't know." Roger was fed up with Mark's complaints when, in truth, his life was so much easier. "Maybe this?" He pointed to the ring around his eye. "Or this?" Roger rolled up his shirt sleeve to reveal what looked like a cigarette burn on his upper arm. "Maybe coming home and seeing your dad collapsed on the couch complaining about why the Red Sox game isn't on, even though baseball doesn't start until April and it's December? Seeing the bruises on your mother's face and knowing you can't do anything about it? No, that's not as bad as tango lessons." He crossed his arms and set an angry glare at the wall on the other side of the room.

Luckily for Mark, he didn't have time to respond. The bell rang, forcing both boys into silence.

--

Mark endured his tango lessons for Roger, knowing his situation could be worse. He didn't particularly enjoy being that close to Nanette Himmelfarb, but he'd rather that than numerous bruises.

Over the next month, Mark noticed that Roger was absent from school a lot. Everyday, he brought Roger's homework to his house with an offer to help him catch up with math, their only class together besides homeroom. Roger's mom always accepted her son's books with a smile, and politely told Mark that Roger was too sick to learn about math and that she'd help him. Mark always nodded and asked her to tell Roger to call him. He never did. Whether that was because Roger didn't want to, or his mom never gave him the message, Mark didn't know.

Finally, the phone did ring in a call from Roger's house. Mark answered the phone, but instead of Roger's voice, it was Miss Annie's, Roger's mom. Mark handed the phone to his own mom at the caller's request.

When the phone was hung up, Mrs. Cohen instructed her son to wait in the living room for company. Mark just nodded, knowing that company never came over this late on weekdays. The door opened without a knock and two bodies entered with suitcases.

Although the visitors were unexpected, Mark couldn't help but smile. He hadn't seen Roger in a long time. He could see a view fading bruises, but Mark stood up and wrapped his best friend in a gentle hug, which the older boy gratefully returned.

Mr. Cohen came down to take the bags upstairs. Roger, Mark learned, would be sleeping on Mark's bedroom floor and his mother would stay in the guest bedroom.

Mrs. Cohen led Roger's mom into the kitchen. Mark heard the sounds of the coffee machine, soft crying, and his mother's comforting words come from the kitchen before his father ushered the boys up to bed because it was a school night.

--

The boys were tucked in and settled into their new sleeping arrangements. Mark gave up his bed, opting to sleep on the floor beside Roger. They laid there in silence, Roger's hand gripping Mark's as his body shook.

"He kicked us out," Roger said at last, squeezing Mark's hand. "He kicked my mom and me out of the house."

Mark didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say, but now he knew why the late night company had arrived.

"We're going to move in with my grandmom this weekend," he went on. "She lives on the other side of town though."

"You're still going to school at Wilson, right?" Mark asked, concern evident in his voice. They had started together in kindergarten, they had to finish elementary school together, and then high school.

"My mom said I had the option of finishing there or going to Presley with my cousins," Roger replied. "And I hate my cousins."

Mark smiled. Still gripping Roger's hand, he asked, "So are your parents going to get a divorce?"

"Well, no," he said. "They were never married in the first place, so they just have to break up. My dad doesn't want me, so I get to stay with my mom."

"Oh," he said. "You know you can call here any time. And just talk to me about anything. You know I'm here for you, right?"

Roger nodded. "Yeah, I know." He grinned, changing the subject. "You're still up for teaching me about math right? Because neither me nor my mom get these matrixes."

"Matrices, those are easy," Mark replied. "I'll teach you tomorrow morning."

Roger smiled, knowing his math grade wasn't completely shot anymore know that Mark was going to help him again. "One more question."

"Yeah?"

"How are those tango lessons coming along?" His green eyes danced playfully as they met Mark's narrowed blue.

"Good night, Roger." Mark rolled over a little, looking away.

A moment later, both boys broke out in laughter before they drifted off to sleep, their hands still holding tight.