Disclaimer: I don't own RENT.

Author's Note: you guys are cool with an update once a decade right?

I Found a Reason

Chapter Thirteen – Shakespeare Scholars and Shoebox Cameras

Roger's POV

Unfortunately for me, my dad answered the phone last night when Mark's mom called to talk to him. I probably would have gotten off pretty light if Mom was the only one who knew. She's not really big on discipline. She's one of those parents who would rather tear your guts out by giving you one of those "I'm so disappointed in you" speeches. Which I got, mostly in regards to smoking. And especially for smoking in front of Molly. To be honest, I'm pretty annoyed at myself about that. I don't really know why I started smoking, but I don't particularly want to encourage either one of my little sisters to start, nor did I really want them (or my parents, obviously) to know I do.

So because of my dad's insatiable need to overcompensate at parenting, I'm currently walking to the bus stop in the same clothes I wore last night and preparing myself to deal with not having my car for an indefinite amount of time. Getting to band practice would be my biggest problem, but I'm banned from that as well. Although I'm fairly certain my mom will budge on that in a day or two. Although being allowed to go doesn't do me any good if I have no way to get there.

I feel like fried hell. My clothes smell slightly of alcohol and strongly of smoke. I haven't showered, washed my hair or even brushed my teeth. I have Dad to thank for that. I was running late as it was and by the time he was done lecturing and listing off the shit I was banned from I had barely enough time to grab my books and get on my way before I missed the bus. I was seriously considering ditching, but I didn't have anywhere to go without a car, and I really wanted to make sure Momma Cohen hadn't killed Mark. So I had to go.

I approach the corner where a group of underclassmen have gathered. The bus is coming up the street toward us so I strut over toward the haphazard line and sneer at the freshman closest to the curb who promptly sidesteps to allow me to get in front of him. No way some underling is getting a seat on this ride to hell over me. A couple kids further back in the line give me dirty looks, but none of them appear ballsy enough to say anything.

I squeeze down the narrow aisle and head for an empty row in the back. I drop into the seat, slumping low and leaning my head against the window while tossing my backpack on the seat next to me. This is so fucking humiliating. I wonder how Mark is faring, hoping his mom went easy on him. I feel pretty bad about getting him in trouble, since the whole thing was my idea. Hopefully we'll both be out of trouble in time for winter break. I can't wait to waste the time doing absolutely nothing but hanging out. I think another sleepover is in order, at least. And a big boozy Christmas party. And for once doing something on New Years instead of watching the ball drop on TV with my mom. Not to mention whole days to dedicate to band practice, which would be amazing. We're getting pretty good, the three of us sound killer together. We haven't worked on much original stuff yet, but we've learned a bunch of awesome covers and we could be performance ready in another month or so, probably, so we've also been looking for venues who will book us. Two of the places we played before as Alchemy's Revenge are willing to let us play, and another place sounded like a good possibility but wants either a demo CD or a preview set first. But we're also really hoping to branch out of the suburbs at some point and start playing in the city. Unfortunately we still need to come up with a name before we can play anywhere.

On the way to the locker room I literally run into Mark. At least someone's parents let him change and have a shower before school, though it doesn't look like he had a chance to comb his hair. He raises an eyebrow, I nod in response and we turn around and head for the wrestling balcony instead. Neither one of us is really in the mood for gym class. I guess we never are, but I felt today our leave of absence from changing into our seldom washed gym clothes and getting dodge balls thrown at us by senior jocks was pretty justified. I pick the lock on the door and we head up the stairs, tossing our bags on the ground at the top. I turn to look at Mark.

"You?" I ask, leaning against the wall and pulling out my last pack of cloves.

He sighs heavily. "No TV, cameras, music, movies, dessert, or leaving the house under any circumstance except for school."

"Shit, your parents are hardcore," I say in amazement.

"Well, what about you?" he asks, adjusting his glasses.

I shrug. "No car, no going out, frequent looks of perpetual disappointment."

Mark winces in sympathy. "Yeah, Dad gave me the disappointment speech."

I nod, flicking open my lighter and holding it to my cigarette.

"I always get it from my Mom. Dad just tries to make up for not being around by giving out hardcore punishments. But since my mom is the one who enforces them, they don't usually last."

Mark is giving me a strange look. "What?" I ask him, confused.

"No car?" he asks. "How did you get to school?"

I scowl and blow smoke at him. "I took the bus," I mumble, not looking at him.

"The bus?" he asks with mock terror. "But you're an upperclassmen, that's social suicide."

"Yeah, well, I'm not doing it anymore. I'm just gonna walk," I grumble. "You know, I thought the bus was bad when we were underclassmen. But riding it now was like doing a walk of shame except everyone knows your clothes are on backwards because you got too drunk to remember how pants worked after indulging in some public urination, not because you got laid."

Mark snorts. "I like how you're pulling that frame of reference completely out of your ass. When the hell have you ever done a real walk of shame?"

"Well, as I just said, it was like a shame strut without the sex. Which are, to date, the only kind I've had."

I roll my eyes when Mark smirks at me. "Yeah, okay, laugh it up, Casanova. But only if you regale me with the epic tales of your many sexual conquests."

Mark shrugs, unfazed. "Why don't I pick you up from the bus stop?" he offers with, still maintaining a slightly smug smile while I glower at him.

"How the hell do you still get your car?" I demand.

He shrugs. "It probably helped that my car wasn't the getaway vehicle," Mark gives me an amused grin. "Plus, I'm not the 'bad influence'."

I straighten up and can't help but smile a little.

"Really? Bad influence, huh?" I ask earnestly and he nods. "Fucking killer."

Mark rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you're such a badass. I'll try to remember that next time I catch you playing Barbies with your sisters."

"I wasn't playing Barbies," I retort, slumping against the wall and flicking some ash off my cigarette.

"No, you were just helping to cut and color their hair like Cyndi Lauper and making little paper guitars. You weren't playing at all," he teases. "And why the fuck are you still smoking?"

"Just a habit," I shrug, taking another drag. Neither parent thought of emptying my pockets before I left this morning and one habit I don't have is wasting cigarettes.

"Just don't slip up and smoke in front of my parents," Mark says, suddenly serious. "If you hadn't been over all the time the past few weeks pretending to do my homework for me I don't think we'd be allowed to hang out anymore."

"Pretending? I fondly remembering actually doing it," I protest. "Including the assignments that weren't in English."

He smiles half-heartedly at his shoes. And I sigh.

"I'm sorry for getting you in trouble," I offer in a softer voice, nudging his non-broken arm with my elbow. "And I'm glad your parents don't completely hate me yet, but come on. I'm charming as hell, I'll win them over again."

He rolls his eyes again but finally smiles. "It was worth it, I had fun," he assures me. "I mean sure, it was sort of embarrassing, painful and definitely the catalyst that will lead to my swearing off alcohol forever, but still fun."

"Oh come on, Marky. You can't give up on it now. We've got a whole winter break ahead of us to booze it up without having to worry about school."

He winces. "Yeah, assuming we're allowed out by then."

"Don't be such a spaz, even if we're not there are ways around that minor inconvenience," I assure him.

He scowls. "I'm not a spaz. And not to be a downer, but maybe we shouldn't lie and sneak out when we're being punished for lying and sneaking out?"

"Marky when have I ever done you wrong, honestly?" I ask, putting out my cigarette on the gym floor.

Mark raises an eyebrow in response.

I roll my eyes. "Okay besides getting you grounded and breaking your arm and turning your desk around every morning before school when we were in fourth grade, when else?"

Mark glares at me. "That was you?"

"Who the fuck did you think it was? Of course it was me. Thanks to alphabetical seating charts in grade school I got to mess with you all the time."

"Are you the reason I have never once in my younger academic life had a chair that didn't wobble?"

I hide a smile behind the hand holding my clove and nod.

"Oh, what?" I ask when he gives me a dirty look, "Like you don't remember that time you accidentally on purpose directed me to the wrong classroom when I got lost in second grade?"

"How is that comparable to constant emotional torment? Wobbling chairs are like Chinese Water Torture. But worse. You've given me a complex," he snaps, but he's sort of smiling.

"I'd say it was pretty bad considering you sent me to a classroom full of merciless fifth graders."

"Well I only did it because you made me barf on the tire swing during recess."

"You told me you wanted to go really, really fast. I don't see how that's my fault."

"Um, maybe because I was yelling 'stop I'm going to barf'?"

I shrug. "I thought you were being hyperbolic."

Picking on Mark is fun, which is why I've been doing it so long and even though we weren't technically friends, we were usually school acquaintances and got along pretty well. It was just one of those things where you like someone but you have separate friend groups that for whatever reason don't mix. And keeping up that sort of social relationship usually goes beyond the capabilities of an 8 year old. And we weren't always antagonizing each other. There were lots of times when Mark stood up for me. Because while being tall and thin and wearing punky clothes doesn't necessarily leave me free of ridicule now, I've at least learned that looking pissed off at the same time tends to make people think twice before yelling some bullshit at me or trying to get in my face. But as a kid it's a lot harder to deal with when you look different, even if you're doing it on purpose, and I wasn't really a badass yet. It helped to have a likeable kid lots of people got along with on my side.

Mark is rubbing his eyes and looking pretty tired. Which is fair, considering how little sleep we got. I feel the same way and I don't know if I'll make it through the full day of classes, especially after I let out a yawn loud and hard enough to make my jaw feel like it's cracking off. Mark checks his watch.

"Do you think we'd wake up in time for Chem if we took a nap?" he asks. I shrug.

"Probably not. But I don't really care. I'm wicked tired," I say, positioning my backpack near the wall and sliding down to rest my head on it. Mark frowns, probably debating whether possibly ditching two classes in one day after all the trouble we got in last night would be worth it, but eventually fatigue wins out and he lies down as well, but uses his hoodie for a pillow instead of his backpack. We're taking a pretty big risk. Gym is really easy to ditch. They almost never take attendance and even if they miss you it's fairly easy to pretend you were just late and still changing during the roll call. Ditching a real class like Chemistry is bordering on being both stupid and reckless. Walking in more than a couple minutes late, especially if we show up together, will get us each at least detention and possibly a phone call to our parents. Which at this moment would make it a good idea to at least just go and sleep through class, but I'm exhausted and still slightly hung over and my body has punked out on me and is in full sleep mode. I'll be lucky if I wake up before lunch. The last thing I hear is Mark making little whistle snore noises next to me.

Someone is shaking my shoulder and hissing in my ear.

"Roger, wake up!"

I groan and swat at the voice, before rolling over and burying my head under my arms.

"Mark, come on! It's almost fifth period!"

Mark makes an irritated noise of protest and the voice makes an impatient noise and I get a light but pointy kick in the leg. I'm suddenly awake, gripping my shin and glaring up at Violet.

"Why don't you kick him?" I snap, grumpily pushing myself up to sit leaning against the wall. I feel more rested but I have a killer headache. I wonder if Violet has any aspirin in her bottomless purse.

"I'm up, don't kick me," Mark might be saying, but his voice is so garbled by sleep it's hard to make out the exact words.

"Have you been up here since first period?" she asks us, her brow knit in concern. Sure enough, when she sees me rubbing my temples she digs into her purse for a moment and then tosses me a little bottle of pills. I take a couple and swallow them dry before passing them over to Mark.

I nod sleepily. "What time is it?" I ask her.

"It's after 11. We need to go to Geometry," she says. "Come on."

"How did you know we were up here?" Mark asks, gathering up his stuff.

"I didn't. But you weren't in History and I asked Kathy if she'd seen you in Chem and she and her friend Emily swore they saw you two together before gym class. So I wanted to see if you were either ditching without me or you'd forgotten to go to class."

"We're going to be in so much trouble," Mark mutters to himself and I can't help but agree with him. Any chance of leniency during this punishment is going to be nonexistent once my mom finds out I ditched half a day of school.

"Come on, the bell is going to ring in a minute," Violet says, pushing us toward the door. "And holy hell, Roger. You look awful." She fishes a compact out of her purse and shoves the little mirror in my face.

I feel myself pale and Mark sniggers at my reaction. I have giant rings of smudged eyeliner under my eyes and oh God… my hair is a mess. It's flat in several places and sticking straight out in others and it's greasy from gel... I close my eyes. I can't bear to look at it.

"Okay," Violet says. "Mark, go to class. I'll try to fix Roger a little."

I give him the finger when he continues to laugh under his breath. He just smiles and heads out the door to the hallway.

Violet dabs some junk on a tissue and wipes it beneath my eyes. Makeup remover, probably. When she's satisfied that I no longer look like a corpse, she digs out a little brush, some baby power and another small bottle. I hear the bell ring as she quickly brushes through my hair, then sprinkles some baby powder on her hands and rubs them together. She catches my confused look.

"It hides grease," she says as she combs her fingers through the worst bits. "Real handy if you don't have time to wash it or are stuck somewhere without a shower." When I'm powdered up she squirts out a little of what is probably hair product onto her hand and gives me an apologetic smile.

"It's girl stuff. You're going to smell like pomegranates," she warns me and I shrug.

"I've smelled like worse," I tell her and she laughs a little and works the product through my hair. When I check out her handiwork I sigh in relief. I still look exhausted but my hair is back in order and the smudged makeup is gone. I give her a quick hug and then we take off jogging toward Geometry together.

Mark and I had been called to the office right before Geometry ended. It hadn't been pleasant, but as far as school punishments went we got off easy. We'd both gotten only a Saturday detention. While annoying and boring, it could have been worse. We know the real trouble will be when we get home after school. But we're trying to be optimistic and enjoy our last few hours before our parents kill us both and report us as runaways.

It's gotten too cold to eat outside during lunch, so the three of us were forced to find a table in the lunchroom. Not an easy feat on a normal day, and today we're running late and nearly all of the tables are already full.

"I could scare off some freshmen," I offer, catching sight of a choice table near a window currently inhabited by some tiny underclassmen.

"Behave," Mark chides me. A moment later he touches my arm and when I look over he points to a smaller table in a back corner. We reluctantly hurry toward it, and steal an extra chair from another table so all three of us can sit down. The cafeteria is loud and we're cramped for space but since Mark and Vi appear to be trying to make the best of it, I sigh in defeat and decide not to whine. Then I roll my eyes in exasperation. I didn't have time to pack a lunch. I let my head fall forward and bang onto the lunch table.

"Want half of my sandwich?" Mark asks me.

"How did you have time to make a lunch?" I ask him, taking the half he offers me. Violet pushes her bag of pretzels to the middle of the table.

Mark raises an eyebrow. "You think my mom would let me leave for school without one?"

Violet asks us about the events that led to us falling asleep in the wrestling balcony and missing four classes. We take turns elaborating, and though there are big gaps in our memory over last night, we're pretty sure they can easily be explained away by two words. Alcohol. Dancing.

After lunch Mark and Violet head off to English together and I spend most of History staring down at my textbook, the words blurring together as I try to keep my eyes open. Today is just all around lame and I just want to get home and sleep for about eighteen hours. But school continues to drag. I can't even pay attention in Music Theory. My teacher notices, but thankfully decides to let it go for today.

Mark is waiting at my locker for me after school.

"You want a ride?" he offers. "I'll drop you off a block or two from your house so your parents won't know."

"Please," I sigh with relief. I was feeling too lazy to walk and dreading the idea of taking the bus again. We head towards his car in silence. One of the best things about Mark is that he knows when it's cool to be quiet. Other friendships I've had have always fallen victim to that awkwardness where you don't have anything to say, but you're not comfortable enough with the other person to just be with them without running your mouth.

After driving for a while, I let him know it's cool to let me out at the corner of my street. He gives me a tight, sympathetic smile and I wave goodbye, bracing myself for another round of parental disappointment.

Being grounded is boring as fuck. It's been a couple days now, and I've listened to every album I own, I've perfected a few of the more recent covers we'd learned for the band, I helped Audrey with her colors and I've played a few rounds of tea party with Molly. I even read a book. But I'm tired of hanging around the house every day, so I've decided to sneak out tonight.

I don't appear to have an end date for my punishment, which leaves me with a perpetual feeling of apprehension. Spending winter break in my room will be reason enough to never break another rule again. Although, as clearly referenced by the fact that I'm already slipping out the side door and pulling my old bike out from behind the bushes (where I'd stashed it earlier that day when Mark dropped me off after school), I have a hard time following rules. And I'm slightly impressed by my ability to piss off my parents. It's very seldom I make it all the way through a grounding without my mom caving in and feeling sorry for me. But I guess getting caught smoking and showing up hung over after being missing all night falls under the category of Very Bad Behavior.

But the biggest problem is that my band is more than a little pissed off at me right now. Since I'm now banned from the phone, no exceptions, Violet had to tell Julian about my situation. And I'm pretty sure she sugar coated his response for me. Especially because I can't tell them exactly when I'll be able to rehearse again. All I could do was promise to learn all my music backwards and forwards and hope that was enough to mollify them for now.

I finally arrive in front of Mark's house. I put down the kick stand on my bike and stare at the house for a minute, trying to remember where Mark's window would be. I know it would be on the east side of the house, but there were a lot of windows on that side. I figured it would be safe to take a guess, since his parents room was on the opposite side of the upstairs.

I pick up a little rock from a landscaping display and throw it at one of the windows, then impatiently throw another one when the first one fails to get a response. Another minute goes by and I'm about to throw one more just to make sure when the window opens and Mark's sister Cindy sticks her head out. I'd forgotten Mark had told me she would be home from college for a month or so.

"Hey, Romeo, Mark's is the next window over," she hisses. "And tell him to go out the back door, it's quieter." She is clearly irritated at being woken up, but she still manages to look amused, giving me a tired smile and waving me away with a yawn. I quietly call out a thanks and an apology but she's already back inside and her window slides shut. I pick up another little rock and chuck it at Mark's real window. A second rock later and Mark opens his window and looks around in confusion while sporting a serious case of bed head. For some reason he looks surprised to see me here.

"Roger?" he asks, adjusting his crooked glasses.

"Come on, let's go for a walk," I grin at him, watching him reach under his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

"I'm grounded," he protests.

"So am I, let's go," I tell him, rolling my eyes. "Oh and your sister said to use…"

"The back door, I know," he says, cutting me off and smirking at my surprised expression. "You're not the only one who sneaks out, Roger. Give me a couple minutes."

I wait in front of his house until he emerges from the back, anxiously patting down his hair with an irritated frown on his face.

"Here, stash your bike on the side," he directs me, pointing to a secluded spot. I dump it on the ground and we head back toward the sidewalk together.

"Where are we going?" he asks, his eyes still half-lidded and sleepy. He pulls his coat a little tighter. I guess it is pretty cold out.

I shrug. "Just felt like getting out. Being confined to the house all day is giving me cabin fever."

"We've been grounded for what, three days?" he teases me. "How do you plan on surviving if this lasts for a few weeks?"

"That's what I don't get! Haven't they seen The Shining? Don't they know what happens to people who have to stay inside all day?"

"You're so dramatic," Mark yawns. "It's not that bad."

"How is it not that bad? You got banned from more stuff than I did."

"I have plenty of time to do my homework now," he jokes, smiling when I scoff at his response. "I've been reading a lot, actually. About film and stuff? I can't try any of it out right now, but it's still pretty cool."

This prompts Mark to tell me about the homemade camera box project he's been doing in his photos class. Apparently there's a way to use a shoebox and tin foil or something and it will take pictures. I have no idea. Mark has explained, on multiple occasions, how cameras work to me. And every time I come away feeling more like an idiot. This shoebox camera sounds like some witchcraft hocus pocus to me and I tell him as much. He rolls his eyes.

"It's not magic, Roger. It's science."

"Considering your usual grasp of scientific concepts, I'm not sure how much stock I should put into your 'it's science' theory, comrade," I tease him and he scowls in response, perhaps remembering our latest catastrophe during Chemistry lab. We make a destructive pair when given chemicals and glassware and that's without factoring in Mark's inability to correctly read instructions.

It's clear that Mark is too tired to take my teasing of him lightly, so to restore his good humor I nudge him and smile when he looks up.

"Please continue telling me about your magic picture shoebox," I request and he returns the smile but shakes his head.

"It's not that cool anyway," he says, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. "It's kind of nerdy, I guess." Damn.

"Hey, don't talk about my best friend like that," I say, giving him an apologetic grin and throwing an arm around his shoulders, determined to drag him back into a good mood.

He finally smiles again and then we're back on track, commiserating over our punishments and once again talking about our art. We walk for a long time, and even though it's cold and we both have to be up in a few hours, it's only reluctantly that we start heading back toward Mark's house. We say goodnight and I start pedaling back home, yawning loudly every couple minutes. I hide my bike back in the bushes on the side of the house and quietly make my way upstairs. It's after four am, and I have to be up in about two and half hours. I'll be tired tomorrow, but I still feel like it was a worthwhile bit of misbehavior.

Our parents didn't go easy on us, but right before winter break started we got permission to leave our respective houses again and I finally got my car back. I was sprung a couple days before Mark, which ended up working out great, as it gave me two days in a row of long rehearsals with the band. Both guys allowed me back in on their good graces faster than I expected. Julian had originally been less forgiving than Ian, who didn't really seem to care either way as long as he still had somewhere to spend time smoking and playing bass. And I couldn't really take offense, it's sort of hard to have rehearsals when you're missing a front man. But since I'd spent my isolation getting all my parts perfect, I was forgiven pretty quickly. We're going to call one of our possible venues, after we've had a couple more days to get back in sync with each other, and see if they'd take us as a cover band. Even if we could get in as the opener, just to get some exposure. We made tentative plans to get together today as well, but not until later in the afternoon.

Today is the first day of break, I sleep in until Molly decides to wake me up by jumping on my bed and singing. Someone like Mark who will sleep all day if undisturbed and gets grumpy if he misses out on his naptime would probably find this behavior irritating. But seeing as how Molly is yelling out the words to 'Rebel Rebel', I have a hard time being anything but proud.

Christmas is in a couple of days, and Violet is having a party tomorrow night for us and other people from school that she promised would include old holiday movies and nog. Molly gets bored waiting for me to completely drag myself out of bed and she skips out of my room and probably back downstairs. As much as I wouldn't mind playing around with my sisters for a few hours, I have lots of shit I need to buy for gifts. Thanks to my last few weeks under house arrest, I've gotten almost nothing done. I finally get up and sort of toss my blanket back over the mattress in my usual half-assed attempt at making my bed. I guess I should shower, especially since I plan to call Mark before I leave and see if he wants to help me pick out some girl presents for my sisters and Violet, since I already got him something a while ago. I hope I eventually remember where I stashed it.

Once I'm dressed and my hair is properly in place, though it's badly in need of another bleaching, I head downstairs to call Mark. Audrey is watching Princess Bride again and Molly is finger painting with my mom on the plastic covered dining room table. Mom smiles at me when I come over to inspect their artwork. Molly's painting looks suspiciously like the cover of Dark Side of the Moon.

"Looking good, ladies," I tell them, tugging on one of Molly's pigtails. She turns around and sticks her tongue out at me before sticking her finger in the puddle of purple paint again.

"Going out?" My mom asks me and I nod.

"Yeah, I'm going to call Mark. We're going to find some strangers to take candy from, or something," I say, giving her a hopeful smile which she thankfully returns, though she still gives me a cynical eye and makes me swear up and down I'll call if I'm going to be late.

When I get to Mark's house Cindy answers the door, possibly looking even cooler than the last time she was visiting. Since I last saw her from a dark window, I couldn't appreciate the new colored highlights (purple in addition to the pink that was there previously), and a nose ring instead of the previous tiny stud. I like her academic punk sort of style. She smirks at me, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe.

"So you're here for my baby brother, huh?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow. "You think maybe you can keep your pants on this time?"

"I'll try, ma'am," I grin back at her and she narrows her eyes.

"Don't sass me, junior," she snaps playfully, moving aside to let me into the house. Mark is halfway down the stairs and he glares at Cindy.

"Stop scaring away my friends," he says, nudging me toward the door as soon as he's by my side.

"Marky, this wouldn't happen to be that little hoodlum Mom was telling me about, would it? The one who takes my little brother on all night drinking benders and encourages him to skip school?" she smirks at me again. "And sneak out of the house?"

"Of course not," Mark says. "And if anyone asks where I am, tell them I'm reading to the elderly and studying for the SATs with some honor students."

"As long as neither parent finds out about the tattoo I showed you, I guess I could pretend you're an upstanding citizen for awhile," she says.

"Can I see your tattoo?" I ask. "Is it anywhere interesting?"

"Shut up, Roger," Mark sighs, pushing me toward the door while Cindy winks at me.

"The one I just got isn't, but you might need a permission slip to see the other one," she says.

Mark gets a pink tinge in his cheeks and finally succeeds in pushing me out the front door.

"Your sister is pretty awesome," I tell him as we get into my car. He scowls at me.

"She acts weird around you," he says finally after a long pause. "Don't encourage her."

"How was that weird? That was normal young person behavior, wasn't it?" I start the car and turn down the music so I can hear his response.

"She's like, all flirty or something," he looks over at me. "Please don't date my sister. It would be really awkward."

"Mark, I don't want to date your sister anymore than I want to date Violet. I just think she's cool."

He looks marginally relieved for a moment, until I ask him if he knows where Cindy's other tattoo is.

"Ew, come on. I'm trying to pretend I didn't hear that," he whines and I laugh at him and turn the music up a little bit.

"Did you get Violet something already?" I ask him. "I don't really know what to get."

He shakes his head. "Just try a mall, I guess?"

"Yeah, probably. I need to get Audrey and Molly something anyway so there would be a toy store there too."

A sudden thought occurs to me and I feel stupid for a second. "Uh, I got you a present but like, do I give it to you for Christmas or for the other one?"

"Chanukah?" he asks, smiling at my confusion. "It doesn't matter. We do both. Although Chanukah isn't actually that big of a deal. Not like, Rosh Hashanah or Passover or something."

At my blank look he rolls his eyes. "Don't worry about it. I'm in no way opposed to receiving Christmas presents."

Our trip is a success, I leave with some art supplies for Violet, a princess game and a doll for Audrey (who despite my efforts is way more into princesses than rock and roll) and a starter guitar for Molly. It's not quite Dad's old Les Paul, which would be way too big and heavy for her still, but I think she can handle something a little more exciting than her current shoebox banjo. And the kid sizes were only about $30 at the record store. Mark got Vi some random cool stuff like plastic glow in the dark stars to hang on a ceiling (the deluxe bag that comes with planets and shit too), and a little stuffed fish from that Disney movie about the mermaid. We took my sisters to see it a month or so ago. I snuck a flask full of rum into Violet's purse and topped off our Cokes at the movie theatre in case it ended up being really stupid. Vi was a big fan the mermaid's little fish friend. I stayed amused by trying to analyze the musical numbers in my head.

"I think I need to head to Julian's for practice now," I tell Mark. "But you can come if you want. I'm sure Violet will be there."

"Do you mind if we stop back at my house first?" he asks. "I want to get my camera and drop off this stuff." He'd also gotten Cindy's present and a couple things for his parents, and possibly something for me, since I'd been firmly ordered to stay away from him for about ten minutes while we were hanging around the music store. I could see why he'd want to promptly hide that in his room rather than have me accidentally on purpose sneak a peek if he left it in my car.

When we get back to his house we head upstairs to dump his purchases in his room. He puts the bags on the floor and kicks them swiftly under the bed just as Cindy appears in the doorway.

"Back already?" she asks. "Where's the mischief? The mayhem? It's not even dark yet."

"Hopefully it's waiting at band practice for me," I grin. Mark shakes his head.

"Don't you have your own friends to annoy?" he asks her. She smiles in response.

"Are you saying you don't value our time spent together?" Mark ignores her and starts gathering up his camera and a couple packs of film. "What kind of band is it?" She asks me.

"At the moment it's a rock/punk cover band, but we're working on original stuff now. You wanna come?"

Mark sighs dramatically when she happily agrees to tag along but I get the feeling he doesn't mind at all. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he's pleased his sister decided to spend most of her break at home instead of in the city with her friends. When we get back down to the car Mark offers to let her ride shotgun, which she declines though she makes me promise to turn my stereo up so she can hear it good in back. Mark seems to have gotten over feeling weird about me and Cindy talking which is good because she gets excited that I have Transformer in the tape deck and starts telling me about one of her friends who met Lou Reed and barely survived to tell about it. Apparently he caught him on a bad day and talked too much about Velvet Underground and Lou was really grumpy and acted like an asshole. Mark finds this really funny.

"What would you do if you met someone famous that you thought was awesome and they were a jerk to you? Would you still like them?" he asks me. "I think that would ruin the illusion a little for me."

"Dude, Lou Reed could punch me in the face and I'd still think he was fucking awesome." I tell him, then shrug. "Most other people, yeah I could see being put off by it. But I don't want to be their buddy, I just want them to make killer music."

I expect Cindy to join in the conversation, but she's opened up a book and appears to have tuned us out for now so we talk more about famous people we hope wouldn't punch us in the face if we ever met them until we get to Julian's house. Violet's car is parked out front, as I predicted it would be. The garage door is open and Vi is sipping a soda and reading a comic book while Julian bangs away on his drums, his mop of black hair swinging with the rhythm. Cindy and Violet look pleased to see each other and to my surprise, scamper off together with far more camaraderie than I would have expected since they only met once before. Mark looks dejected for a minute at being the only spectator without the girls but once he pulls out his camera and opens up a new pack of film to shove inside he looks marginally less put out.

While I pull my guitar out of its case, Julian calls Ian to tell him to come over whenever and then we hang out for a while. Mark listens to us talk about the band and our woes of trying to think of a band name. The girls come back a few minutes later, smiling widely. They settle themselves on the couch with Mark as me and Julian finish setting some stuff up. And then I get almost sort of nervous, which surprises the hell out of me. It's been a while since we've had anyone sit in on a rehearsal, mostly because of my recent hiatus, and we've gotten a lot better in that time. Today we're just basically playing through most of the songs we've learned to see what can be improved. But I've never been in a good band before. I've always played my best and tried to sound awesome, but I never expected anyone to think we were good. Alchemy's Revenge played too many stupid songs, and we didn't play them particularly well. I'm actually still amazed we ever got gigs. It did help that Ryan was always really good with promoting us, possibly his only redeeming quality. But for the first time I'm really proud of our group and how we sound and how we work together. And I don't want Mark (or Vi and Cindy) to think we're horrible. And I know Mark will be honest, which I want, but I have to admit to myself it will really suck if he doesn't like us.

Once Ian pulls up and gets his bass set up, we get ready to play. I really need a cigarette, but I still haven't managed to learn how to play guitar while smoking like Ian can. We huddle around our song list for a few minutes, trying to figure out which ones we really need to work on that we should play through, and also what are some of our best songs, so we can show off a little.

We finally settle on starting with Ever Fallen in Love, the Buzzcocks song. It's one of our best songs and really fun to sing and perform. Mark takes a couple pictures while we play. I convince Julian and Ian to play one of our Elvis Costello songs for him, (Radio, Radio) even though it still needs lots of work. Mark finds this exciting and he grins widely while tapping against the arm of the couch to the beat. We do a couple Clash and Smiths songs, which Cindy thought was awesome, and Violet seems to enjoy our updated versions of Rave On (Buddy Holly) and Angel Eyes (Frank Sinatra).

We took a break for a few minutes to order a pizza for later and get some sodas, and Cindy makes Mark take a Polaroid of her with us and then insisted we autograph it for her.

"Just in case you kids get famous someday," she tells us with a wink. She's half teasing but also a tiny bit serious, which is cool.

While we wait for the pizza we do a few more songs, some of the Lou ones I insisted on, a couple Stooges songs and some X-Ray Spex and Cramps. When I feel our audiences attention waning during the punk songs, we bust out some XTC and Talking Heads. We're finishing up Queen Bitch (Bowie) when the pizza gets here and we lay down our instruments for the night. We dig into the pizza and hang out for another hour or two until Julian suggests his parents might have had enough rock music for one night. Which is understandable, although I doubt the truthfulness of that statement when it becomes obvious Violet is not leaving yet. She says goodbye to Cindy and hugs me and Mark, and reminds us of her party but doesn't pack up any of her stuff and resumes her place on the garage couch. But either way we pile back into my car and head back to Mark's house.

"What do you think?," I ask on our way back to the car. "Am I going to be pumping gas in a couple of years, or do we have a shot?"

Mark smiles in response. "Some of the songs are a little too, I don't know, intense for me? I like the ones where you're singing instead of screaming better."

I nod, not taking that as an affront. I already know Mark's taste runs slightly less hardcore than mine. He looks thoughtful for a minute, before going on.

"I don't really know how to explain what I liked musically, because I don't really know what I'm hearing, not like you do," he says. "But I know that it sounds like actual music and I'm pretty sure you're all in tune. And I really like the range of songs you have and how you've made them work for you."

When I keep staring at him expectantly he rolls his eyes. "And yes, Roger. No one can play a guitar solo quite like you, you fucking rock star. Happy?"

I grin at him and give him a shove towards the car, satisfied with his reaction.

Once in the car, Mark turns in his seat to look back at Cindy. "You and Violet seemed really friendly," he says, with a raised eyebrow.

Cindy smiles mischievously. "We've been keeping in touch."

Mark doesn't seem to have a response for that, so he turns back to the front seat and shrugs at me. I turn the radio on and there's a Devo song playing that gets Mark all excited so I wait until it's over to put my Lou tape back in. I'm feeling really awesome right now. I know we played great and even the stuff we need to work on still sounds concert ready, by shitty suburban bar standards anyway. It's a good feeling to not be embarrassed to invite people to your gigs, and I grin widely when I remember my mom telling me how much she wanted to see me play. I definitely think that that's a possibility now, even if she just came to a rehearsal, since the likeliness of getting my dad to watch Audrey and Molly while she went out to a bar in the evening was nonexistent. I'm still feeling sort of bad about getting her so mad at me recently, and I wonder if inviting her along might help get me further back on her good side. I don't think Julian and Ian would mind. My mom is really cool, as moms go, and she knows more about music than Mark does, and getting her opinion could actually be helpful.

Back at Mark's Cindy immediately heads to the kitchen to pull out a snack and then messes up Mark's hair as she passes us on her way upstairs. Mark makes a face at her, but he's smiling when we head into his room.

"Where are your parents?" I ask him, feeling the oddness of not having Mrs. Cohen hovering over us offering food and parental concern.

"I'm pretty sure they're out with some friends," he says. "Which is good, because mom would probably insist upon supervising your visitations for a while."

I grin proudly. "She really thinks I'm a big badass?"

Mark does not smile. "Sort of, yeah. And it's not funny, Roger! I seriously can't get into trouble for a while, my parents really would ban me from hanging out with you."

"Yeah, whatever. Like I said, that's more inconvenient than anything else. Don't be such a killjoy."

Mark shakes his head, but drops the subject. A few seconds later his face lights up.

"You want to see something cool?" he asks and I nod. He picks up the old camera he got from the thrift store a while back and starts fiddling with the buttons on it, and turning a key looking thing on the side. Then he points it at me and it starts making a whirring sort of noise.

"Is there actually film in it?" I ask him and he nods from behind the camera.

"No sound though, obviously," he says. "But it's still awesome. Do something cool."

"I left my guitar in the car," I tell him. "What do you want me to do?"

He gives me an exasperated look. "No sound, Roger! I don't know, just do what you always do."

I don't really know what it is I always do besides play guitar and look pissed off, so I just sneer at the camera. Mark rolls his eyes.

I stroll over to his desk and sift through a stack of cassette tapes sitting on it.

"Do something," he urges me.

"I am. I'm judging your music," I say and he reluctantly lowers the camera when it stops whirring. He sets it down again, looking disappointed.

"I was thinking of trying to make a film with it," he says. "Obviously it would have to be silent but it could have title cards like old movies did."

"You're not going to ask me to grow a Chaplin moustache and try to act are you?" I ask.

"Well..."

"You need a soundtrack?" I offer. "I am all about the soundtrack making. I will even let you keep taking those kind of awkwardly erotic, uh, artistic, pictures of me standing around shirtless and angry looking. But I don't actually know shit about acting."

"So?" he asks. "I don't know shit about directing. I don't need you to do anything brilliant. It would actually be great to get practice with actors who aren't super invested in how the final product looks. You know, until I get the hang of it."

We stare each other down for a minute and I remember that he sat through more than one Alchemy's Revenge show for me and finally I sigh in defeat. "Fine. But I get at least a couple shots of Jack before you make me put on any wacky costumes."

"Seeing as how drinking makes you considerably happier and more compliant that would actually work out fine," he says, smiling.

The door to Mark's room opens and Cindy pokes her head in.

"Knock much?" Mark asks her and she smirks.

"I could hear your bantering all the way in my room so I figured I was already invited to the conversation," she says. "But you might want to have Benedick get a move on, Beatrice. Mom just called to see if we've had dinner yet, they're on their way home now."

"Does this mean I get to sneak out your window before Momma Cohen can catch me stealing your virtue?" I ask Mark.

"Yeah, go for it. I hope you break your neck on the way down. And why am I Beatrice?" he snaps at Cindy as she disappears back into the hallway, laughing.

"Who?" I ask.

"Couple semesters in college and she's suddenly a fucking Shakespeare scholar," he says. "You should probably go, though. Mom's not banning us from hanging out but I don't want her to give you a hard time or anything."

"All right. Want me to pick you up for Violet's party tomorrow?"

"Yeah, okay. I'm gonna have to tell Mom I'm sleeping over at your house anyway."

I laugh. "Tough call on what would be better, I guess. Coed sleepover or disappearing into the night with the hoodlum who destroyed her baby's innocence."

"Her perception of it, at least," he says as we head out of his room and down the stairs. "And when you do see my Mom again, can you at least act like you're not proud of it?"

When Mark and I get to Violet's house the next evening to help set up, Julian is already there. They're listening to Patti Smith and he peeks out of the kitchen to wave, almost dropping the giant mixing bowl he has clutched against his chest. The bowl is leaving a thick line of flour on the front of the dress shirt that Violet likely bullied him into wearing. We were instructed to dress spiffy, which I ignored and Mark tried to follow by wearing a nice sweater, though sadly not the cheesy holiday one he had to wear in his family Christmas photos. Violet has a dress on and a headband with a bow on it in her hair. She greets us, giving my tight jeans a disapproving look. I try to look earnest.

"These are my nice jeans," I insist. "They're not even torn or anything."

She shakes her head with a smile. "Come on, help us carry the food into the dining room. People should be getting here soon."

Mark and I help to finish setting up the food. There are some generic appetizers like crackers, cheese and one lonely plate of vegetables and dip, but most of the spread is made of plates of holiday related confections. There are several kinds of cookies (though thankfully no sugar cookies which always look misleadingly delicious when nicely decorated but usually taste like cardboard), brownies covered in thick frosting, apple and pumpkin pie, some sort of chocolate fountain thing that sits next to a large plate of strawberries, squares of chocolate fudge filled with nuts and several different kinds of cupcakes all stuck with little toothpicks that have Christmassy drawings taped to them. Violet also sets out several bottles of soda and I help her carry a large bowl of eggnog to put out as well.

"Go easy on this," Violet says to me, frowning back at the kitchen. "I think Julian went a little overboard when he added the rum."

"What's that? Soup?" Mark asks, coming back into the dining room with a couple more folding chairs to set up.

I laugh at him as Violet sprinkles nutmeg across the top of the nog and sticks a ladle into it.

When I tell him it's eggnog he looks skeptically down into the bowl. Smiling, Violet takes one of the plastic cups from a stack next to the bowl, ladles a small bit of nog into it and hands it to Mark. He stares down into the cup for a minute, then hesitantly takes a sip. Violet nods approvingly when he looks pleasantly surprised and then she hurries back into the kitchen to help Julian finish clearing up.

Mark and I have each had a couple cups of eggnog before other people start arriving and Violet has to shoo us away from the bowl so the new people have a chance to taste it. I'm initially grateful Ian came as well, since I figured he'd be someone else I'd be willing to talk to, but soon after saying hello he slips away to smoke on the patio with a pretty girl who I think is one of Violet's art class friends and never comes back. I recognize some of the other people who arrive, but I'm not friendly enough with any of them to attempt more than an awkward hello.

"It wouldn't kill you to talk to people, Roger," Mark says as the girl from his photos class he was talking to waves goodbye and heads over toward the nog table.

"When did you get so social?" I ask him, though I'm figuring it has something to do with him finishing off his fourth glass of eggnog.

"Be nice," he scolds me as Violet heads over to us.

"I've got another bowl of eggnog prepared," she says. "But Julian and I need to drag it out from the fridge in the garage. I've got some tapes set out by the TV in the living room, can you start one up?"

"Do you have any alcohol that isn't mixed with eggnog?" I ask her as Mark heads toward the living room to comply, waving at some guy from our gym class as he goes. "I can't believe I'm going to say this but between the nog and the awesome snacks I think I'm on the edge of a sugar coma."

She smirks. "Or you want to get drunk enough to stop worrying about looking too cool to talk to anyone."

"Hey, I don't need to worry about looking cool. That goes without saying," I grin.

Violet smiles obligingly. "Obviously. Don't worry, a couple other people have asked too. I took some stuff out earlier than my parents won't miss. I'll get it set up."

About half the crowd moves into the living room to watch movies while they talk and hang out. Violet brings me a Coke full of whiskey on one of her rounds while Mark keeps slipping back into the dining room to replenish his nog cup and bring us more snacks. We get through Rudolph and the one about the Grinch stealing Christmas and then during the Charlie Brown Christmas I notice Violet and Julian being all cutesy. I nudge Mark and when he catches on we start imitating them, making doe eyes at each other and coyly stealing strawberries off each other's plates. I am feeding Mark some of his carrot sticks when Violet gets wise and just cuddles closer to Julian and lays a big kiss on him. Mark laughs when I put an arm around him and almost chokes on his carrot so I give up and go back to watching the show.

Later in the evening I'm fairly buzzed, Violet and Julian are adorably tipsy, and apparently no one told Mark the nog had alcohol in it because he is about eighty sheets to the wind. Mark doesn't get ridiculously drunk often, but it's hilarious when he does. He's a cuddly sort of drunk who sits too close to people and touches everything and keeps grabbing for my hands when we're talking.

I'm feeling a little lightheaded (someday I'll learn to not mix my liquors), so even though Violet has turned off the TV and put on some dancey music, I grab a water bottle from her fridge and take a seat to get my bearings. The room spins a little bit, but after a minute or two and a couple sips of water I start feeling better.

"Roger, you are sitting," Mark says accusingly, his hand on my shoulder. "Why would you be sitting?"

I smile up at him. I'm pretty drunk but he's completely annihilated and his hangover tomorrow is going to be epic.

"Just a sec, Marky," I tell him. "Too much rum, I think."

He tugs on my arm a little. "You have to dance with me," he insists. "We're dancing now and I need someone to dance with so you have to dance with me." He tugs again, but when he sees I plan on sitting for another minute he actually pouts and then immediately afterwards grins widely.

"I'll just dance here," he says. He goes back into that weirdo flailing style of dancing the two of us have claimed as our own, except he takes my water bottle from me and puts in on the table behind us. He grabs my hands and tries to stand in front of me while dancing. It doesn't work out too well, since he can't figure out where to stand with my legs out in front of me and I laugh at him while he tries to figure out a solution. I look over at where Violet and Julian are dancing together, Violet is giggling loudly and trying to teach Julian some sort of retro-y dance step that it seems like neither one of them is getting quite right, and while I'm not paying attention Mark jumps forward and suddenly I have a lap full of Mark. I turn back to him with a surprised laugh, and Mark looks hilariously pleased with himself. He's still sort of standing over me in my chair, with my legs between his. He moves our clasped hands back and forth to the beat and I try to move with him but he's sort of gyrating his hips right in front of my face and I'm laughing so hard I can barely breathe, especially when somebody makes an obnoxious 'wooo!' at us.

Unable to keep his balance with his legs spread that far apart, he eventually gives up and just sits on my thighs.

"You're heavy," I tell him.

He stares at me for a second then says in a hilariously serious voice, "I think I need to barf."

I try to help him stand up but he sort of just slumps against me and rests his head on my shoulder.

"Not helping, Marky," I say, trying to simultaneously push him off while still holding him up. His face is pressed against my neck when I finally manage to get us up off the chair and headed toward the bathroom. It takes several minutes, as Mark is walking backwards while still sort of wrapped around me. Trying to dislodge him only made him cling harder.

At the door of the bathroom I finally shrug him off after I kick out a couple of girls retouching their makeup and sit him down on the floor in front of the toilet.

"Why are we in the bathroom?" he asks me.

"You said you needed to barf," I say.

"But we can't hear the music in here," he says. "We should go back to the music."

"We will," I assure him. "Are you sure you don't need to barf first?"

"I don't think so," he says. "I think I need to dance. I think we're supposed to be dancing."

I argue with him for a couple minutes, but eventually he stands himself back up and grabs my hand, pulling me back into the party. I roll my eyes but let him drag me.

"If you get barf on me," I warn him. "I'm trading you in."

I wake up to the sound of someone puking loudly in the bathroom. I glance over to the big armchair that Mark had fallen asleep sprawled across last night. It's empty. Not feeling so great myself, but concerned, I roll off of the couch and head toward the bathroom to check on him, stepping over a snoring guy sleeping face down on the carpet on the way. As her mom was apparently out for the weekend and her sister was at another party somewhere else, it hadn't seemed to bother Violet, who had snuck off upstairs with Julian around 2am, that a couple people too drunk to drive home had zonked out around her house. Since I ended up in a similar state myself, I'm glad I told my mom I was sleeping over at Mark's before I came over last night.

"Mark?" I call to him, knocking on the bathroom door.

There's more barfing, then a long pause and an almost inaudible, "go away".

"Mark, it's me. Do you need something? You okay?" I ask, trying to ignore that my own head is throbbing with the beginning of a killer migraine.

He's quiet for a minute and I lean closer to the door.

"Water," he says quietly, in a miserable sounding voice.

I head back into the kitchen and pull two bottles of water out of the fridge. When I knock on the door again I expect him to just reach a hand out for it, but he opens the door all the way and lets me in.

"I'm never drinking again," he mumbles as I sit down beside him on the floor. I uncap one of the waters and hand it over to him. He takes a long drink, looks vaguely sick again, but recovers himself.

"You say that every time we drink too much," I remind him, taking a drink from my own bottle and he attempts to smile.

"I think I actually mean it this time," he says, closing his eyes, leaning back against the wall and holding the water bottle against his forehead.

"Well, you know, everything in moderation, Marky," I take another drink of water and lean back against the wall with him. "I think I ate too much."

"There's something I never thought I'd hear you say," he says, laughing, but stops abruptly, his hand over his mouth. He waits a minute, then takes another drink of water, still looking queasy.

We sit together for a while longer, then I hold Mark's glasses for him while he barfs again.

"You good?" I ask him when he finally sits back on his heels, still looking pale and sweaty but finally somewhat less sick. He nods and I hand him back his glasses, then hold out a hand. He takes it and slowly stands up.

"Come on, Violet has to have real food somewhere. We'll get you some toast or something," I say, and threading my arm under his and around his back to steady him a bit after he wobbles on his first few steps, I lead us out of the bathroom and back toward the kitchen.