Notes: Sorry for not updating in forever. A lot of people have been asking, so I'll just say it now... This fic is going to stay friendship. No slash, sorry.
Disclaimer: Not mine.

Early on in Mark's photography classes, his teacher and parents had noticed his talent with a camera. For his birthday that summer, they had given him a video camera and Cindy had given him a giant box of film. As his eighth grade year progressed, his artistic eye strengthened and his love for filming deepened. It was at this time that his parents began reconsidering sending him to John Wesley High School, where most students from Wilson Junior High attended.

"Mark?" Mr. Cohen called from the bottom of the steps. "Your mother and I would like to talk to you."

Mark, still short and scrawny, appeared at the top of the steps. "Yeah?"

"In the kitchen," his father said.

Mark obeyed, confused as to why he was talking to his parents. They knew about the low test grade he had received in history last week, but they said they weren't going to punish him for one bad score. He couldn't imagine what they wanted. As he sat down in his usual seat, he saw his mother in her chair, looking rather happy.

Pushing a brochure towards him, Mrs. Cohen offered her son a smile. "Your father and I were talking, and we think with your developing talent, it would be smart to send you to an art-based school. Especially if you really want to pursue a career in filmmaking."

Mark stared at the paper, bewildered. He never imagined his parents supporting this. They always thought it was "just a hobby". To Mark, it was so much more. It was a lifestyle – his lifestyle. After all, they were not very supportive of Cindy's childhood dreams to be a Broadway star. Then again, Cindy couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. Mark, however, was actually good at what he loved. "You'd really let me go here?" He continued through the pamphlet about Mortimer's Art Academy.

"Nanette's older cousin recently graduated from there," Mr. Cohen mentioned. "It was Rabbi Himmelfarb that mentioned it to us, actually. His nephew was a screenwriting major there."

"Wow." Mark continued to page through, reading of all the benefits of an artistic education at this academy. Because this was an art-focused school, he would not need to take many math and science classes. Although he excelled in these subjects, he was not very fond of them.

"Of course you must apply to attend, but we don't think you'll have a problem getting in," Mrs. Cohen said. "You'll get to make new friends too."

Mark's eyes left the paper immediately. Friends. Roger. Roger wouldn't be going to this place; he would go to Wesley like everyone else.

His father caught onto Mark's reaction. "Now, Mark. Don't turn down this excellent opportunity just because your friends won't be going there. You can still talk to them outside of class, and make new friends."

"I'll think about it," Mark said, with less excitement than he had showed upon hearing about the school.

His parents nodded, allowing him to go back up to his room.

--

Mark didn't tell Roger about his dilemma for a few days. Roger was so excited about being the "big dog" in school and having the freedom to shove younger students in locker (but only when the teachers weren't looking).

"You know the same thing is going to happen to you next year," Mark mentioned after Roger elbowed a sixth grader into his locker. "Or one of these days a kid is going to turn around and punch you in the face."

Roger smirked. "They wouldn't dare. They fear me."

Mark sighed. "Of course." Then he thought about being a lowly freshman at Wesley. With his scrawny figure, he was fair game for being picked on and freshman pranks. "I guess I'm more likely to be bullied next year."

Roger laughed. "They lay one finger on you…" he trailed off, but punched the air for emphasis. "No one hurts my Marky." He ruffled the younger boy's hair.

Mark wriggled away from Roger, attempting to fix his now disheveled hair. "Thanks."

"But high school is going to be fun," Roger said. "The two of us… girls… all sorts of new freedoms."

"Uh, yeah," Mark shifted his backpack uncomfortably.

"What?"

"Can we talk at lunch?"

Roger nodded. "Uh yeah, I guess."

"Okay, well, I'll see you then."

"See you."

Both boys turned and went their separate ways down the hall.

--

Mark arrived in the lunchroom first. His cheese sandwich say untouched on his brown paper bag as he waited for his best friend to arrive. Moments later, another brown bag landed across from Mark on the table, followed by Roger sitting down.

"Hey."

Mark looked up. "Hey Rog."

"What did you want to talk about?" He absentmindedly emptied the contents of his bag, revealing a ham sandwich, a bag of potato chips, and a can of Coke.

"Have you ever heard of Mortimer's Art Academy?"

Roger shook his head. "Why? Are you going to take more photography classes there? Or did they finally ask you to start teaching your own."

Both boys laughed. The lighter mood made it harder for Mark to tell Roger. "No, it's like an art-based high school. The focus is more towards music, drawing, writing, photography, and artsy things like that. Not as many core classes, like math and science."

"That sounds like my kind of school," Roger joked.

"My parents and I are looking into it," Mark said, trying to keep his tone as nonchalant as possible.

"Like for extra classes?"

"No, for an actual high school."

Silence fell over the table. Roger looked across the table at Mark. "You mean… you're going to abandon me for high school?"

"No, Roger, it's not like that. We can still be friends. Lots of people split up before high school and stay friends."

"You know I had the option of going to Presley to finish grade school last year," Roger said. "They have a great music department. I would have gone to Jenkins for high school too. But I didn't. I decided to stay here because I thought that it would make my parents split up a little easier. And I thought it would be cool to finish all of school with my best friend. We started in kindergarten, why not go all the way through?"

"Rog, I'm just thinking about my future."

"Of course." He shoved the rest of his lunch back into the bag before standing up. "When you're finished thinking about your future, think about what I just said. Okay?" And with that, he stormed off to his next class, leaving Mark to finish eating alone.

--

Mark and Roger talked sporadically for the next few weeks. For Mark, it was a blur of putting together a portfolio, filling out an application, and being interviewed by the prestigious academy his parents wanted him to attend.

In late February, Mark received his letter of acceptance, along with a half tuition scholarship. His parents, naturally, we very proud of Mark and his accomplishments. But Mark couldn't even enjoy the chocolate chip cake his mother baked for him in celebration. The small party was more depressing than enjoyable, especially since Roger turned down the invitation to join in the celebration.

Before Mark knew it, March arrived and the deadline to choose a high school was only days away. Roger had yet to forgive Mark for considering attending a different high school than he.

Mark's face never seemed to smile anymore and it had been awhile since anyone had heard him laugh. His parents were growing concerned.

"How's Roger?" Mark's mom asked at dinner. "I miss seeing him stop by the house all the time. He's such a nice boy."

"We haven't really talked much," Mark said, stirring his peas around on his plate.

"Is something going on between you too?" she pried.

He shrugged. "You know, I've been thinking about things," he began. "And maybe going to Mortimer's isn't the best option for me."

Mr. Cohen looked up from his chicken. "Why is that?"

"Well, the emphasis isn't really placed on the academic courses necessary for college. I was thinking of going Ivy League, like you Dad." His dad perked up a bit at that statement. "Besides, I can take as many art classes as I want in college and maybe my mind will change about my future. Maybe I'll want to be a doctor like you." Mark didn't really mean that, but he knew mentioning following his father's footsteps would work to his advantage. Maybe he would change his career objective later on. After all, he wasn't really supposed to have his life planned out at twelve.

"Are you saying you're going to turn down that scholarship to attend the regular, public high school?"

"But Dad, don't you want me to be happy?"

--

As graduation neared, Roger still wasn't talking to Mark. He didn't want to end the year on bad terms with his best friend. As the final bell rang, releasing both boys from math class, Mark hurried down the hall to Roger's locker in an attempt to make amends.

"Hey," Mark began the conversation.

Roger looked up, but didn't say anything. He went back to tossing a few more books into his backpack.

"I just wanted to know if you got your roster for next year," Mark tried again.

"Why? So you can rub it in my face that I have to take math and history while you're taking pictures and calling it art?"

A tinge of hurt flashed in Mark's ice blue eyes. "I was just wondering if we had any classes together." His voice was quiet.

"How could we have…" he trailed off as realization hit him. "You mean you…?"

Mark nodded, smiling a little. "What fun is high school if you can't share the good times with your best friend?"

Roger smiled too, wrapping the scrawny blond in a giant bear hug. For once, Mark didn't mind momentarily losing the ability to breathe.