Updated: 4-12-08
Disclaimer: I have no delusions about owning or holding rights over Newsies; you shouldn't either. Don't sue.
Also, any pop culture references...guess what? Don't own those either. Actually...anything that you may have heard of and/or recognized in this story is owned by someone who isn't me.
Warning:Updates may (and probably will be) slow.
This contains SLASH, in other words same sex couples. If this doesn't appeal to you, you shouldn't be here. It also contains drug use, violence, sexual situations, and may contain a(n OC) death. This story is marked for mature readers only, please treat it as such.
Pairings: Will be switching around quite a bit. If you have any preferences please let me know. They probably won't end up together unless I already planned for it to happen, but I can put in a couple flings for you if you ask nice enough
Getting Back Together Again
VII
A Gay Day
"So you just ended up spending the whole afternoon with Swifty and Cowboy? Jesus," Race mumbled as soon as Mush and Blink got done explaining to him why they had never came to try and pick him up the day before.
Currently they were on their way to school, Racetrack driving while looking beside him at Blink and behind him at Mush.
"And what? It was so exciting you just lost track of the time?" Race asked. He wasn't angry, far from it actually. Truthfully he was more amused than anything, and he happily let it show in both his tone of voice and on his face.
"So you aren't mad?" Mush asked to make sure, even though the answer was an obvious one.
" 'Course not, you two can have other friends besides me; I don't get jealous that easily. Plus, my folks were pretty pissy; I bet I couldn't have gone out anyway, so it wasn't as if I could have come with you even if you had come to pick me up," Racetrack explained. "So…who lost the bet? Cowboy or Swifty?" he asked, both changing the subject in order to try and alleviate Mush's guilt for forgetting about him and because of his curiosity.
"Jack ended up getting a strike in his very last frame," Blink laughed, "Swifty was so pissed."
Racetrack smirked, "But it's definitely viable, especially when you realize how much dumb luck Cowboy always seems to have on his side."
"Apparently they make bets pretty regularly," Blink explained, "It leaves you wondering how many times Swifty has managed to win."
"I'd imagine enough to get him to keep doing it," Racetrack answered.
"But if he's anything like you then he could lose a million and twenty-three times and'll still never give up," Blink joked.
"Yeah, we all get it, I'm a gambling addict, " Racetrack mock-snapped, "The joke's a little over done at this point, wouldn't you say?"
"The fact that you of all people are a gambling addict is a joke that could never be overdone," Blink explained, silently chuckling.
"What do you mean 'me of all people'? Why can't I be a gambling addict?"
"You're just so responsible the rest of the time," Mush explained for Blink.
"Exactly, therefore I should be able to gamble because I'm responsible about everything else; I should have at least one thing I can willingly lose myself in," Racetrack defended.
"Hey, you don't need to tell us," Blink replied, "We both agreed with you; it's your parents that need the convincing."
Racetrack scoffed, "You act as if that's an easy thing to do."
"You suck at bowling, Jack; it's a fact of life," Skittery tried to convince his friend, "For you to become anything more than mediocre for even two seconds has to mean the end of the world.
"May I remind you that I'm the one who won the bet?" Jack asked smugly, obviously extremely happy with himself, "Therefore you can no longer say I suck at bowling."
"That's the entire point!" Swifty shouted from where he stood outside the front of the school, "I'm trying to tell you that there are bigger things to deal with now! …The apocalypse for instance! …Or Hell freezing over! Do you even realize what a frozen hell could do to our climate? Because I really don't think you do!"
"I wouldn't have thought it'd have mattered, what with the apocalypse coming so soon and all," Jack smirked, "Though I have to admit I hope we die after you tell Masson you like to undress him with your eyes."
"There's just no possible way you could have won that bet!" Swifty cried out, unconsciously letting everyone within a fifty-foot radius know exactly what was going on and the catastrophe it entailed, "That was probably the first strike you've ever gotten in your entire life! You can't be good at sports that don't involve foreplay! It's like cats are suddenly swimming, and bicycles are suddenly time machines, and trees are suddenly eating people, and grass is suddenly screaming bloody murder when people try to mow their lawns, and-"
"Swifty, chill out," Jack laughed, "You're overreacting. It's not like I didn't still get the lowest score."
"Trees don't eat people Jack, and you don't bowl a strike…ever. I want to know what the fuck is going on here," Swifty replied angrily, acting half-crazed.
"Hey guys," Masson greeted, venturing up to the two friends and looking uncertainly at Swifty, "What's up?"
"When you play sports I picture you and the rest of the team naked," Swifty replied with an obviously forced calm. He watched Masson look from him to Jack and then back to him before asking, "Confused?"
"…Yeah," Masson admitted hesitantly, now training his gaze fully upon Swifty.
"Good, because so am I!" Swifty shouted out before stomping over to the front door, swinging it open with all his might, and continuing his path inward.
"He's coming to terms with his homosexuality," Jack explained to Masson with a whisper loud enough to let the people who were listening around them hear too, "He's a little upset right now; just give him a few days and I'm sure he'll be good as new."
"So? What's the verdict? Gay or straight?" Dutchy asked his friends as they smoked at the usual place before school started.
"How the hell are we supposed to know? Just because we smoked weed with him you think we suddenly know him inside and out now?" Skittery replied, taking a hit of his cigarette and wishing they had smoked weed later in the night so he could be buzzed this morning…being buzzed the day after smoking weed was the best feeling ever.
"I just thought we'd take a vote," Dutchy tried to defend.
"Someone's sexual preference is not decided democratically, Dutch," Skittery lectured, "We could all vote he was gay; it wouldn't make it true."
"I want to know why our morning conversations always seem to consist of Sean," Bumlets spoke up, "Isn't there anything else going on that we can talk about?"
"I see where you're coming from," Itey told Bumlets, "but truthfully, I'm going to have to go with a 'no' as an answer to your question."
"Wow, that really is pathetic, isn't it?" Skittery asked, "Well I don't know about you, but I'm blaming Dutchy; he's the one that always seems to bring Sean up somehow."
"Oh definitely," Itey readily agreed.
"He can't help it," Bumlets replied, seemingly defending Dutchy, "I think there's something wrong with his brain."
"The fact that I think about-"
"…And talk about…" Skittery interrupted.
"-Sean a lot is not proof that there is something wrong with my brain," Dutchy argued, deciding to simply ignore his friend's interruption.
"And yet you don't argue that there is something wrong with your brain," Itey pointed out matter-of-factly.
"Well obviously," Skittery explained, "It's so easy to see that even he can't deny it. The fact that he gets a new crush on someone every five seconds is a clear indication that-"
"Sean isn't just another crush!" Dutchy tried to argue, "He's different! He talks to me, and he knows I exist, and he kissed me!"
"And yet you don't seem to realize that he's just using us to get rid of David, and that stupid kiss he gave you yesterday meant dip-shit to him," Skittery explained bluntly.
"Then why'd he hang out with us yesterday after school? He had no need to try and get rid of David then," Dutchy argued, passionately hoping that Sean wasn't using him.
"Free weed," Itey answered with a shrug.
"It's nothing different than all your other crushes," Skittery snapped, "Either tell him or stop whining about it, because I seriously doubt anything will change."
"Hey Sean," Bumlets greeted nonchalantly, his words cutting off whatever Dutchy's response would have been, "We were just talking about you."
"Again?" Spot smirked, "I'm flattered; I had no idea I was that interesting."
"It's being debated whether you're that outrageously intriguing or if our lives are that unbelievably boring and monotonous," Bumlets explained casually, putting his cigarette out on the wall.
"I'm betting on the latter; no offense," Itey cut in while putting out his cigarette as well.
"But I'm betting that Dutchy would bet on the former, wouldn't you, Dutch?" Skittery asked, looking towards the other boy for his answer while simultaneously dropping his own cigarette on the ground.
"I should get to class," Dutchy answered before flicking his cigarette and then scurrying off towards the closest door that would take him into the building.
"For not liking pussy he sure does a good impression of one," Spot remarked before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.
"So you know then?" Bumlets asked him. Admittedly he was a little surprised, but overall his brain was telling him that he really should have guessed; Sean was way too observant and Dutchy was way too blatant.
"Well duh, Dutchy is pretty obvious about it," Skittery explained, "And I supposed it didn't hurt that I told him about it."
Spot gave one of his infamous silent snorts, "Don't insult me; I realized before you told me."
"Yeah and listen to what he's going to do about it," Skittery demanded excitedly as he turned to Itey and Bumlets, "I swear to god, this is the best part."
Spot sighed as Bumlets and Itey rounded on him expectantly, "I'm not doing anything. If it's that important he can tell me about it himself; I'm not going to reward him for being a wimp by bringing it up."
"Wow," Bumlets replied first, "I feel like you belong with us even more now."
David shut his locker, careful not to call any attention to himself. At this point he wasn't sure whether he wanted to talk to Specs or not. But still, Specs was his friend and one argument really wouldn't change that, no matter how much of a dimwit Specs could be.
And Specs was a dimwit, that much was clear. He was seriously lacking any observational skills a normal human had and he seemed to have absolutely zero common sense. However, Specs was a good friend (sometimes) and he meant well (most of the time) and he had been friends with David for practically forever.
Unfortunately David was starting to see himself at a dead end. While he knew he was a pushover he also knew that Specs would never be the one to apologize. Realistically speaking, ending his entire friendship with Specs was not something he was comfortable doing. At the same time, however, he didn't want his friend to continue treading on him like some kind of carpet mat.
Stuck at a crossroads that didn't seem to have any solution he had decided that avoiding Specs was probably the best idea at the moment.
"Hey Davey, can I talk to you for a minute or two?" Specs asked, unknowingly throwing all of his friend's plans for ignoring him out the window.
David's thoughts had abandoned him as soon as they had heard the 'Hey'. "Oh hi Specs. Can I help you – I mean… Is there something that you need?" He stuttered, quite thrown off by Specs' unplanned appearance.
"Did you come up with an answer for question twenty-six on our English assignment? Because I can't even begin to guess the possible candidates for the right answer," Specs explained, happy to pretend that yesterday had never happened.
"Yeah, I can let you copy it at lunch if you want," David easily replied, giving in without a second thought.
"Thanks man; you're a life saver," Specs remarked before rushing off again.
"Any time, Specs," David sighed to no one in particular as he mentally yelled at himself for letting Specs get away with everything.
He really, really wished he would stop doing that.
Racetrack stared over at Sean during the first fifteen minutes of his Current Events class. A part of him (most of him, if he chose to be honest) couldn't even begin to believe that a person like Sean even existed, let alone that he was sitting next to him in his first period class.
And even though realistically he knew that Sean must have had to kill people (he had heard so much about people being killed by what was probably the Brooklyn gang leader via the evening news that his logical side had no trouble believing the idea) the rest of him (the emotional, unrealistic part, he guessed) just couldn't see someone as girly as Sean strangling someone to death.
"Are you going to ask me about killing people or are you just trying to paint my portrait?" Spot whispered bluntly, growing quite tired of the other boy's intense staring.
"Well that was rather…straightforward," Race mumbled as he tried to think up a correct response.
Spot sighed, as if already exhausted by the conversation. "The portrait thing was an out, if you want to take it," he pointed out in a rare moment of sympathy, "Just make fun of the fact that I look like a girl and you can go back to staring."
"How did it feel…? …The first time you killed someone, I mean," Racetrack asked, hoping that whatever the answer was it would convince him of at least some of Sean's past crimes.
Spot let off a silent snort to show his amusement, "I'm not talking about this here, of all places; skip lunch with me if you aren't just bullshitting around to waste time."
"I'm not just bullshitting around," Racetrack promised.
"Prove it," Sean demanded with an uncaring air, "by skipping lunch with me."
"I will," Racetrack readily obeyed.
"Good," Spot commented just because Race kept looking at him as if waiting for an answer.
"I'll even skip sixth if we don't have enough time to talk just during lunch," Racetrack offered.
"Aren't we done with this conversation yet?" Spot grumbled, growing more annoyed at continuing a conversation that was probably through five minutes ago.
"Right. Sorry," Racetrack mumbled, forcing himself to finally look away from Sean.
"Meet me by my motorcycle as soon as lunch starts," Spot demanded with a sigh after a long period of an awkward and tense silence. He mentally cursed himself for actually bringing a dead conversation back to life.
"Can Blink and Mush come too?" Racetrack asked, knowing that they would want to come and ask Sean some questions of their own.
"Who?" Spot asked with confusion before deciding to shrug it off. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. I have a motorcycle, meaning I can only bring one person with me," he explained, clearly tired of talking about this particular subject.
"We can just bring my car then; it's big enough to carry all of us," Racetrack suggested, "I'll even let you drive if you want."
"We're taking my motorcycle," Spot argued, "Which means only one person is coming with me; there are no negotiations."
"Why do we absolutely have to take your motorcycle? Why are you so against Blink and Mush coming with me?" Racetrack asked, a little annoyed that Spot was so dead set against anyone else coming.
"We're going to headquarters, where we will be shot on sight if they don't recognize me," Spot explained as plainly as he could. "We're taking my motorcycle. Is this conversation finally over now?"
Race nodded his head and turned to face the front of the class, trying to think of anything besides being shot by a sniper.
"Hiya Skitts," Itey greeted, pulling him out of the herd of people walking in the opposite direction as him. "Come skip second period with me."
"But I have English next, and I'm behind enough in that class as it is," Skitts explained as his excuse, but he stood unmoving with Itey's hand clamped over his wrist.
"I'll just give you my notes from the class," Itey offered. "You aren't fooling anyone; I know you want to skip English."
Skittery furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Itey curiously, as if trying to figure out a puzzle. "Why are you trying to get me to skip class? It's always the other way around. Did you fuck something up?"
"First off: thanks for being so tactful about it," Itey replied sarcastically. "Second off: I did not fuck anything up," he explained a little angrily. He breathed out a sigh to calm himself down before continuing, "I just…feel like being with you right now, okay?"
"I don't know, Itey; that sounds more like boyfriend territory to me, and we're not…you know…boyfriends," Skittery told his friend hesitantly, forcing himself not to trail off at the end.
"It's best friend territory, Skitts," Itey argued, feeling a little guilty because it was, without a doubt, definitely boyfriend territory."
Skitts smiled knowingly, leaning over to peck Itey on the cheek as the last few people in the hall scurried around them. "It's not best friend territory, Itey, it's boyfriend territory. Don't think that I can't tell the difference."
Itey sighed again, leaning his forehead against Skittery's chest as the bell for second period ripped through the empty hallways.
"I know," Itey admitted, his response muffled a bit by Skittery's chest. "That doesn't change the fact that I want to be with you right now though."
Alright," Skitts sighed, "Since I already missed the bell and you're just acting too cute right now…where do you want to go?"
"Back of my car," Itey answered, standing upright and smiling.
Skittery smiled back as the other boy dragged him towards the closest door that led to the outside of the school. "Only if you agree to blow me in the school parking lot," he tried to bargain.
"Kinky," Itey replied, "It's a deal then."
Third period and Itey was still with Skitts in the back seat of his car. They were both devoid of shirts, pants unbuttoned and hair mussed as they lied on one another.
"Have I ever told you how glad I am that you're my best friend?" Itey asked, looking up at the cloth ceiling of his car.
"Have I ever told you how glad I am that you're my fuck buddy?" Skittery answered.
It was a few more seconds before either of them spoke again.
"Did I just ruin the atmosphere?" Skittery asked, his apology coming through via the sound of his voice.
"Maybe if it were with anyone else, but I knew what you meant. It was actually quite sweet," Itey explained.
"Good," Skittery responded, "I'd hate to ruin a moment."
Itey laughed, "You always ruin moments, Skitts. Last time I checked you found some sadistic enjoyment in it. Don't tell me you no longer see the pleasure in something you found so fun just yesterday; that's a sign of depression, you know."
"I still get enjoyment out of it, therefore it's nothing like depression at all," Skittery replied, as if the answer was obvious, "But that's ruining moments between other people, not with you and me. Moments between the two of us are much too important to even think of trying to ruin, let alone doing the actual act."
"That's a very boyfriend-thing of you to say," Itey pointed out with a light-hearted tone and a soft smile, "You do realize that, don't you? Don't even think about telling me that you've gone soft; I don't think I could believe it."
"I never really thought about it like that," Skittery admitted, shrugging as much as he could while tangled up in Itey, "but I doubt sleeping with someone is going to make me a nicer person."
"Yeah," Itey laughed, "I suppose it wouldn't. I like that you aren't a nice person though. I love that you never concern yourself with people's feelings, which I suppose labels me the masochist of the relationship."
"That was never a debate," Skittery piped up.
"But still, saying the first thing that comes into your head just makes everything a lot easier," Itey continued, only allowing Skittery an unimpressed smile for his comment.
"That's what our whole relationship is about though, isn't it? Saying whatever you're thinking and not worrying about hurting the other's feelings; it fits us," Skittery explained.
"Yeah, but I don't think I could ever do the same thing with anyone else," Itey mused before being interrupted by a knock on one of his back windows.
"Moment's over," Skittery pointed out dryly as he saw that it was their vice principal.
A muttered, "Fuck," from Itey was his only response.
"I'm assigning you all new seats today," the teacher announced. "I've chosen to rearrange some things, you see," she explained, pointing at the desks that were not in the same position as yesterday. "I decided a change of pace was in order, so when I call your name please sit in the desk that I point to."
Bumlets rolled his eyes, wandering yet again why he had chosen Honors Calculus as a course this year. Sure, he loved math, but without his friends around it was more than a little dull.
"Diego."
Bumlets jerked out of his thoughts as soon as the teacher called out his name before quickly going over to his new designated seat and sitting down.
"David."
Bumlets only blinked to show his surprise, caught off guard with the idea that his childhood friend whom he hadn't talked to in years would be sitting next to him for at least a few months.
"Mouth," he greeted, making sure that none of the surprise he felt showed on his face.
"Bumlets," David replied, failing to hide his own surprise due to his eyes widening quite a bit, "I didn't know you were in this class."
"I keep quiet," Bumlets explained, making sure to keep his answer short and delivered with a monotone.
"Yeah, I guess you would have to be to…since I've never noticed you before," David struggled to reply before looking down at his desk in what could have been described as shame.
Bumlets just shrugged before going back to ignoring David like he had been doing until the misfortunes of today.
"I kind of wish Specs was here…in this class with me, I mean," David confessed, "But then at the same time I'm a little glad to have some breathing room…does that make any sense?"
"Honestly? No," Bumlets answered, sounding like he wouldn't have cared either way.
"Oh," David replied as a long and awkward silence filled in around them.
"I guess it's complicated," David's voice spoke up, trying to cover up the unbearable silence with words. "Specs is going through a sort of identity crisis right now, and he's kind of pulling me in with him…even though I thought I already had all of this stuff figured out awhile ago."
"If you actually want me to know what you're talking about then you're going to have to be more clear," Bumlets explained, "because right now I don't have any idea that the fuck you're going on about."
"Well, it all started…well…restarted I guess…I mean, the problem right now started when Specs found out about the school thinking he and I were a couple. He completely flipped out, which was exactly the opposite of what I thought he would do because he's always been such a gay rights activist. You'd think the worst outcome would be him just shrugging it off, but no, he's complaining about it every chance he gets. And now I don't know what to do because I'm gay and do I tell him? Will he think I was hiding it from him? Because I wasn't, I just never deemed it important enough to tell him about it. But what will happen to our friendship if I do decide to tell him? And if I don't tell him will he find out later and be pissed at me? I just have no idea what to do anymore," David explained in a quiet, but rushed rant.
"So basically you just want to know whether or not you should tell Specs that you're gay?" Bumlets summed up, still successfully pulling off nonchalance.
"I guess that's the gist of it," David admitted, "…if you had to put it in the simplest terms."
"The conclusions are easy enough to get to," Bumlets explained, "Which one do you think is more important: having Specs know the truth or keeping your business private?"
"Well obviously if I chose the latter I'd just be a selfish asshole, right?" David asked, suddenly feeling very frustrated about his limited options and the whole situation in general.
Bumlets rolled his eyes, "I'm not asking you so I can analyze your character; you don't even have to tell me if you don't want to. Putting all circumstances and consequences aside, which one of the two would you rather do?"
"If I were to put everything else aside? Like, pretend everything will go my way once I either tell him or decide not to? I'd want him to know," David finally confessed.
"Well, that's it then; tell him."
"This type of behavior is way beyond just disrespectful," the vice principal ranted, "It's vulgar, crude, ill-mannered, offensive, improper, distasteful, odious, insulting, unseemly, inappropriate…"
"I didn't know blowing someone could be described with so many adjectives," Skittery remarked to Itey in a stage whisper, making sure the vice principal could hear him.
"At any rate," Vice Principal Griffin continued, shooting a glare at Skittery, "You will both be severely punished. This act you pulled was an insult to your second and third period teachers, an insult to this entire school as a whole, an insult to your parents, and an insult to yourselves."
"Sorry sir," Itey apologized when it seemed as if the vice principal was expecting some sort of input from his captives.
"I want you each to write five apology notes; one to each person you've disrespected today with your behavior," Griffin demanded.
"Does that include a note to myself? Because not only do I know the motivation and temptations behind my grotesque act, I also accept myself as I am and want me to only do what I think is best. Therefore, I don't need or even want an apology," Skittery explained.
"You will each be writing your five separate notes in detention, where you'll be spending your time after school until all of your notes have been received and accepted," the vice principal continued, only giving Skittery a glare once again, "After that, you are to both stay after school (Matt on Tuesdays and Thrusdays; Dominic on Mondays and Wednesdays) for a month to clean the building."
"A month?" Skittery mouthed to his partner-in-crime, looking quite revolted with the idea.
"Be thankful I'm not suspending you," Griffin snapped, catching the exchange, "Now get out of my office."
"Yes sir," Itey obeyed, tugging Skittery up and off his chair before shoving him out the door, eager to get away from the vice principal's field of vision before they got in even more trouble.
"What the hell was with all the 'sir' crap in there?" Skitts asked before they were even ten meters away from the main office.
"I was doing it in the hope that we wouldn't get ourselves into even more trouble. I think getting punished skipping school for sex is enough today, don't you? There's no need to add disrespect or talking back to the list, too, you know?" Itey explained.
"Disrespect? Don't make me laugh. He was the one who interrupted us, not the other way around," Skittery argued, "We're the ones who should be angry. And he made us skip half of lunch. For all he knows lunch could be my only meal of the day, but does he care? Obviously not, the bastard."
"Can you rant about it later? I seriously am hungry," Itey replied, "And, by the way, lunch just started; we might have missed two minutes of it at the most."
"You see Itey?" Skittery continued to complain, "This is exactly why America is so corrupt. People who would normally fight for their beliefs decide that being well-fed is more important."
"Yeah Skitts," Itey agreed sarcastically while rolling his eyes, "I'm sure that's exactly the type of thing that happens. When, oh when, will people stop picking food over their beliefs? It's such a travesty!"
"Don't mock me," Skittery demanded, acting extremely insulted, "I'm perfectly serious."
"Then I think it's safe to say you're perfectly crazy," Itey replied.
"Why? Because I enjoy justice?"
"No, because you're ranting when you could be eating," Itey smiled, holding the cafeteria door open for his friend.
Skittery rolled his eyes, smiling at this point as well, "Oh...you and your stomach."
"Do you think he thinks you're gay, or do you think he thinks you think you're gay?"
"I wasn't aware that something like that would matter," Swifty replied, "More importantly, I'm not even sure what you're trying to say."
Sarah sighed before trying to explain again, "If he thinks you're gay then he'll want to kick your ass. If he thinks you only think you're gay then he might try to help remind you you're straight. Understand? They're entirely opposite reacts."
"Personally I've always felt that the opposite of 'kick your ass' was 'fuck your ass', but hey, 'help your ass' is almost the same thing, right?" Swifty asked, looking to Jack for support.
"But I bet you'd like 'fuck your ass' best out of all those choices," Jack joked before taking a bite out of his sandwich.
"I didn't even know 'fuck your ass' was one of my options in the scenario," Swifty replied, laughing along with his friend.
"Okay…so which one is it?" Sarah asked eagerly, bringing them back to the more serious topic, "Which do you think it is?"
"Uh…I guess he thinks I think I'm gay," Swifty answered hesitantly. "But I doubt it matters," he continued, his voice picking up strength, "It was just a stupid joke anyway, so we can always straighten it out if we have to. And who the fuck cares what Masson thinks anyway?"
Sarah rolled her eyes, "Um…I don't know…maybe…the entire school. Seriously, Swift, if Masson thinks you're gay then everyone thinks you're gay…you do realize that, don't you? I mean…you must…right?"
"Oh…yeah…of course I know that," Swifty sighed, giving up and deciding to just let Sarah freak out for him.
"Good. Now are we done?" Sarah asked, suddenly acting as if she was rushed for time.
"I thought you were eating lunch with us," Jack spoke up, sounding surprised, "What's the rush?"
"Um…first: we're sitting at one of the many geeks' tables," Sarah pointed out as she stood up from her seat. "Second: here they come," she made her table-mates realize as she pointed at Blink, Mush, and Racetrack just getting finished purchasing their food and coming over before she rushed off to the popular table.
"Should we leave then?" Swifty asked uncertainly, "Because I don't really want to."
"Let's stay here," Jack decided. "If they want to talk to us they'll sit at their regular seats; if they don't want to sit with us then they can find somewhere else to go. We were here first anyway, so it's only fair."
"Yeah? And what's our excuse to everyone if we do end up sitting with them? I doubt anyone would accept that we just wanted to have lunch with our old friends," Swifty reasoned.
"We'll just figure it out as we go," Jack shrugged, shutting up before Blink, Mush, and Racetrack got within hearing distance.
"Is this some April Fool's joke?" Racetrack asked to no one in particular as soon as he got to his regular table and saw the jocks sitting there.
"Now that's not a very nice greeting," Swifty mock scolded, "I'm a little offended. Why wouldn't we want to eat with you?"
Racetrack just shrugged, "You've never wanted to sit with us before."
"Well, I guess that's true enough, but that was before-"Jack struggled to explain before he was cut off.
"Before what? Before realizing that Blink and Mush haven't changed?" Racetrack asked matter-of-factly. "If your heads weren't stuck up your asses you would've noticed that before."
"Race!" Mush scolded, quite surprised by his friend's behavior, "They're just being nice."
"Hey," Spot interrupted loudly, appearing out of nowhere and demanding everyone's attention.
"What the hell do you want, New Kid?" Jack asked menacingly.
Sean seemed less than intimidated. "Race's ass," he answered, "on my motorcycle."
"Oh shit," Racetrack cursed, "I'm so sorry! I forgot all about that."
"I figured," Sean replied, rolling his eyes, "I also figured you'd bug me about it tomorrow if I didn't remind you today."
"Thanks," Race answered sarcastically before following Spot away from the cafeteria without another word.
Several seconds passed before any of the four broke the silence.
"What the hell was that about?" Swifty finally burst out.
Blink and Mush simultaneously shrugged, both looking at the door Race departed through curiously.
"So where are we going exactly?" Racetrack screamed so Spot could hear him over the roar of the motorcycle's engine.
"Can't hear you," Spot shouted back as if he didn't care what Race had to say anyway, and really, he didn't.
"I said 'so where are we going exactly?'" Racetrack yelled as loud as he could.
"Still can't hear you," Spot replied, his voice clear over the roar of traffic and wind even though it didn't sound as if he had raised his voice at all.
"I said-!" Racetrack began before being interrupted.
"Just tell me when we get there," Spot demanded, sounding a little irritated but not saying anything else.
Racetrack nodded against Sean's back, his grip around the other boy's waist tightening as they turned a sharp corner and barely made it back upright. "Are you sure you won't kill us?"
"Still can't hear you," Spot brushed off, not cutting off the motorcycle's pace one bit.
"Sean! Slow down!" Racetrack called out, gripping onto Spot even tighter as they swerved dangerously to pass a truck.
"Can't hear you," Spot reminded him uncaringly, not slowing down at all.
"You're going to kill me," Race mumbled into the other boy's shoulder, feeling resigned to the fate of being killed in a motorcycle accident. He idly wandered if his mom would be more pissed that he was riding a motorcycle or upset that he had died.
"God, you're annoying," Spot remarked, "It's not like I didn't give you a helmet."
"You can hear me!" Racetrack exclaimed angrily. "And a helmet doesn't help everything. If we smash sideways into a truck I'm dead; helmet or not."
"What was that?" Sean asked, pretending as if he couldn't hear the other boy again.
"You're an ass."
"You're the one who insisted on coming with me," Sean reminded him, finally stopping the bike in front of an old building that looked as if it used to be a hotel.
"This is it?" Racetrack asked, looking amazed for a second before apparently realizing he was still on the motorcycle and jumping off the bike as fast as he could.
"You're such a little girl," Spot commented, rolling his eyes before heading into the seemingly empty building.
Racetrack followed behind grudgingly, promising himself to never get close to anything motorized that Sean was driving ever again.
"We're working on our French projects today," the teacher announced happily, "so everyone get with your partner and start planning what you want to do. Feel free to talk, but if it gets too loud I'm going to separate everyone again and give you all worksheets."
Jack rolled his eyes, knowing that no matter how loud it got the teacher wouldn't do a thing; she was too much of a pushover.
David looked across the room to find Jack, hoping that the class would get too loud and they could just do worksheets instead. Of course, he knew that would never happen; the teacher was too much of a pushover.
Jack jerked his head, signaling for David to come to him as opposed to the other way around.
David sighed, not really feeling like moving but doing it anyway, just to avoid an argument. Without farther thought he picked up his books and made his way over to Jack Kelly, slipping through all the desks in his way as gracefully as he could.
"So what do you want to do?" David asked as soon as he sat down in the seat right next to Jack.
"Do whatever you want; it's your project," Jack shrugged of, acting as if he didn't care if he got a good grade on the project.
David jerked in surprise. "My project? It's our project; you're doing some off this too."
"Look, it's really simple: I don't care about my grades; you do. Now, from that information I can easily form the conclusion that you're going to end up doing the project even if I don't join in. So…I'm just going to sit back and watch; this project is all you," Jack explained smugly.
David clenched his teeth in frustration. He sighed as he normally would to let go of his anger, but it didn't work nearly as well as it usually did. "You know what? Fine. If you don't care about the project then I don't either. I can pull off a passing grade if I get a zero on this, so I'm not doing it either," he declared rashly.
Jack just snorted in amusement. "It's not that hard to see that you're bluffing," he claimed with confidence.
David snorted back. "Are you sure I'm the one that's bluffing? Because I think you look a little too worried right now to hold onto the claim that this grade means nothing to you," he replied with just as much (if not more) confidence than his partner.
"You wish I was bluffing," Jack shot back, "But the truth is I don't give a damn about this class. Do the project, or don't do the project; it's all the same to me."
"Good," David answered, "Because I refuse to do it, especially if you actually expect me to do it alone."
"Fine," Jack agreed, "I guess it's just not going to get done then."
"So this is your room?" Racetrack asked to make sure, looking around the large room filled to the brim with what looked like half-dead furniture. "And you actually sit on that?" he asked, pointing to a chair that looked to be once on fire.
"When I feel the need to," Spot shrugged, seeming to not catch the disgusted look the other boy threw at him. "But if those were the type of questions you wanted to ask me then we could have just stayed at school."
"Oh no," Racetrack replied back, feeling a bit more together than he had during first period, "those two questions occurred to me after I got here."
"So? What do you want to know? Hopefully nothing too cliché; I'd hate for this conversation to turn boring," Spot said before plopping down on a loveseat that looked as if someone had started to try and cut it in half vertically.
"Killing someone… What's it like?" he asked with a lot more confidence than he had a few hours ago. He looked around the room hesitantly for a seat before deciding that it would be better to just remain standing.
Sean looked confused for a brief instance. "It feels like any other thing I have to do to keep my gang in working order," he answered. "How do you think it'd feel?"
"I don't know…I always thought it'd be like a wave of pure control washing over you. I mean, how much more control can you have over a person's life than when you kill them, right?" Racetrack explained.
Spot shrugged. "It's a chore, really. My life would be so much easier if they would just kill themselves. Unfortunately, I can't have everyone completely faithful to me; that'd be like asking for the sky to turn green every third day in April."
"So which rumors are true and which aren't?" Racetrack decided for his next question.
"I should think that should be painfully clear to anyone that has even a semi-working brain," Spot answered, dismissing it.
"Well, sure, most of them are, but some others are a bit harder than that. For example, have you heard the rumor that you're actually a girl? Now, obviously at first I thought it was false, but standing here looking at you now I can't be sure," Racetrack mocked.
Spot glared at the other boy before smirking when Racetrack seemed to refuse to tremble under his gaze. "Nice balls."
"Who's got nice balls?" Slingshot asked, coming into the room unannounced and without knocking.
"It disturbs me that you'd actually be interested," Spot remarked, easily dodging the question.
Slingshot just shrugged, "I'm just saying, whoever you say has nice balls must have nice balls, you know? I was only wandering who could actually get a compliment out of you."
"Nice cover up," Racetrack jumped in.
"What do you want? I assume you have a good reason for coming into my room without even knocking," Spot said, looking towards Slingshot with an annoyed look on his face.
Slingshot just shrugged, not at all deterred by his leader's snappish behavior. "I heard you were around and found myself curious as to why. Skipping school to go on a date?"
"Skipping school to answer all of an acquaintance's questions in the hopes that he'll leave me alone," Spot explained, seeming to forget that said acquaintance was in the room with them.
"Oh…harsh," Slingshot remarked, looking towards the unnamed boy to gauge his reaction. "Spot's kind of an asshole; it's to be expected," he explained with mock kindness.
"Duh," Racetrack answered, still looking disgustedly at all the old furniture.
"You better tell me it was more than curiosity that brought you up here," Spot ordered, looking angrily towards his second-in-command.
Slingshot simply shrugged again, still calm under Sean's intense glare. "I'm like a cat," he explained, not at all worried that Spot would actually punish him for walking into a room without knocking.
"Excellent," Spot grumbled, "Just get the hell out, Sling."
"Sir, yes, sir," Slingshot obeyed, jumping into attention and saluting before marching out the door.
"Are there any more stupid questions?" Spot asked Racetrack, getting back to business as soon as he guessed that Slingshot was no longer within hearing distance.
"What made you decide to join a gang of all things?"
Spot sighed, "One day I made a list of all the things I was good at. Upon looking at it a second time I realized that all of my best qualities were qualities that one would find in a leader. Then of course Brooklyn was so close to home anyway I thought, 'I might as well,' and here we are."
"I hope you know I'm not stupid enough to believe that," Racetrack answered, rolling his eyes.
"I think you misunderstood," Spot replied, "You see, that was code for 'it's none of your fucking business and I'm not going to tell you.'"
"But obviously you couldn't just say that," Racetrack explained for the other boy, "You had to lie to me in the hopes that I'd drop the subject before you had to clarify yourself."
"Are you analyzing me now?" Spot asked with annoyance, "I think I've had enough therapists and psychiatrists try to interpret why I do all the things I do; I don't need another one."
"When was that?" Racetrack asked, not believing the other boy at all. "Because I've never heard anything like that with all the rumors I've listened to."
Sean shrugged, "Another life; it's not all that important."
"Who were you before you joined that Brooklyn gang?" Racetrack asked curiously, just now realizing that Sean must have had a past that hadn't involved ruling over Brooklyn.
Spot rolled his eyes, "What a boring question. I was a normal, law-abiding kid, full of potential and nativity."
"So? What happened to make you the way you are now?"
"I grew out of it," Spot answered simply.
"Oh," Racetrack answered, positive that there was more to it than just that but knowing that the gang leader wouldn't tell him no matter how hard he pressed.
"Any more questions? Or can we go?" Spot asked, "You do realize we're going to be missing some of seventh period, right?"
"Is it that late already?" Racetrack asked before walking out of Spot's room. "Let's get going then; if I miss eighth period my mom's going to be really pissed off."
Blink sat in the corner during art class with an empty seat beside him. He quietly tapped his pencil on his canvas, looking around the room for Sean. Unfortunately the boy was nowhere to be seen and eventually Blink stopped the search, busy now wondering where Sean and Race had gone and why they were taking so long.
Had Sean done something to Racetrack?
Or was it the other way around? It could be a possibility, knowing Race.
Was it a date?
Or was Racetrack just demanding answers from the Brooklyn gang leader?
Or was it Sean demanding answers from the nosy brat who had found out about him?
Was Racetrack in danger?
Should he be concerned about his friend, or trust that Race knew what he was doing?
Was it a good thing or a bad thing that they didn't seem to be back from their lunch trip yet?
Was it weird that Blink missed Sean glaring at him in art class?
When Blink finally brought himself out of his musings he was startled to discover Sean glaring at him. "Hey," he greeted, trying to quell his surprise, "I was wondering what happened to you. You didn't kill Race did you?"
Sean shrugged uncaringly, "Not on purpose, but he was a lot more fragile than I thought."
Blink's stomach dropped and his eyes widened in shock. His mind was completely blank, and all he could concentrate on was the pure horror of what Sean had said.
Sean finally rolled his eyes, "You're so gullible. Racetrack is safe and sound in his seventh period class, learning all about how a bill becomes a law."
"You bastard," Blink hissed in amusement. "God, don't scare someone like that."
"Why the hell is he taking two social studies credits anyway? Isn't that a bit redundant?" Sean asked, changing the subject.
Blink looked thoughtful for a minute, "I guess he just likes government; I never really asked."
"Why are you in my chair?" Spot asked, as if just noticing this fact even though he had been aware since the moment he had stepped into the room.
Blink ran a hand through his hair, "I don't know. Is it a big deal?"
"Depends on what you consider a big deal," Spot explained nonchalantly, "I doubt I'd kill you for it, but I could very likely kick your ass depending upon how much the guy now sitting beside me bothers me."
"I'll sit in my regular seat tomorrow," Blink decided.
"Good idea," Spot congratulated as if the thought had never occurred to him.
"Hey Mom," Racetrack greeted as soon as he entered his eighth period a bit earlier than normal.
"How's school been so far?" the teacher asked, looking up from where she had been grading some papers.
Racetrack shrugged, "Okay, I guess. You know, same as always."
"Really? Because I heard some very interesting news from your sixth period teacher," Mrs. Higgins replied. "Would you care to explain, young man?"
"It's a long story," Racetrack tried to enlighten, "You see-"
"We'll talk about it later," the Italian teacher interrupted as the entire class seemed to wander in at the same time. "I want to see you at home as soon as you've dropped Mike and Ryan off, do you understand? I do not want you spending any more time over at their houses than you have to today."
"Yes Ma'am," Racetrack gave in easily, knowing there was no other way around the command. He quietly turned away to find his seat, all the while cursing his big-mouthed sixth period teacher.
"I hate having my mom as one of my teachers," Racetrack ranted as he took Blink and Mush home, "As if it's not enough that she has to control my life at home. No, of course she has to try and dictate my actions at school too."
Blink and Mush kept silent, knowing that their friend wanted to be allowed at least a few minutes to fume before he had to head home and face his mother again.
"I mean, the only good thing about school is that you get a few hours everyday to be away from your parents, but do I get that luxury? Ha! As if my parents would be that empathetic to my feelings," Racetrack continued angrily.
"You're welcome to stay at my house for a few hours," Mush suggested, wanting to help his friend in anyway he could.
Racetrack gave the boy a sad smile, "Thanks Mushie, but I doubt that would work. It's not like my mom wouldn't know that I was hanging out with one of you. Not only would I get into even more trouble I'm pretty sure your mom would be pissed at you too."
"I guess that's true," Mush admitted reluctantly before dropping the subject.
Silence followed all the way to Mush's house, where both Blink and Mush got out, thanked Race for the ride, and went into the back yard.
Racetrack sighed, pulling out of the driveway. He really didn't want to go home, no matter how much trouble he got into. Making a rash decision he decided to head into Brooklyn. His parents would never think to look for him there.