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the_deep_magicTitle: Somewhere That’s Green (or, Suddenly Christopher) 1/3
Author: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
the_deep_magic
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 21,712
Warnings: underage sexuality (both are 17), past Chris/Beau and Zach/Matt, um… dental roleplay?
Disclaimer: I don’t know these people; this is complete fiction. All lyrics and quotes from Little Shop of Horrors are courtesy of Howard Ashman
Summary: High school drama club AU. Karl just rolled his eyes. “Look, Zach’s my best friend, but he needs to learn how to deal with not getting the lead for once.”
A/N: Written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif){kind=small}
trekrpfexchange Secret Santa for withthepilot. Reposted here with some very minor edits.
Little Shop of Horrors – Cast List
• Seymour Krelborn — Chris
• Audrey — Zoe
• Mr. Mushnik — John
• Chiffon — Winona
• Crystal — Rachel
• Ronnette — Jennifer
• Audrey II (voice) — Karl
• Audrey II (manipulation) / Wino #1 — Simon
• Orin Scrivello, Narrator, Wino #2, Customer, Radio Announcer, Bernstein, Mrs. Luce, Skip Snip, and Patrick Martin — Zach
John gaped at the piece of paper taped to the whiteboard, reading it again in case he’d been having a mini-stroke the first time. It wasn’t that he was cast as the cranky old Polish man – Mr. Abrams did always like to shake things up. No, the real surprise was the name at the top of the cast list. And the name at the bottom.
Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Karl wander up – and then felt a hearty punch to the arm. “I just feel bad for the audience,” Karl chuckled. “Denied the sight of my gorgeous face. My legion of fans will have to settle for my mellifluous voice.”
John just stared blankly at him. “Has Zach seen this yet?”
Karl’s mouth set into a grim line. “Negative. Does it make me a bad person that I kind of want to be here when he does?”
“All I know is I don’t want to be within choking range,” John said with a loud gulp. “Somebody’s gonna die.”
Karl just rolled his eyes. “Look, Zach’s my best friend, but he needs to learn how to deal with not getting the lead for once.”
John probably wouldn’t have said that aloud, but he basically agreed. He didn’t begrudge Zach his talent, but getting lead roles semester after semester did nothing to deflate his ego. For the last few weeks, he’d been talking like it was a given that he’d be cast as Seymour, but instead somebody named Chris had gotten the part. The drama club was a pretty small, tight group, so John was surprised not to recognize the name. “Do you know who Chris is?”
“Never heard of him. But I saw this one guy run in late to audition – that must’ve been him.”
“New kid?”
“I’ve seen him before. I think he’s on the baseball team. Or, I don’t know, maybe not on the team anymore, because he sure as hell can’t go to practices and do the play.”
It was so absurd that John felt his lips curve up into a slightly manic smile. “A jock swooped in and stole Zach’s part? Somebody’s gonna die.”
&&&
Zach knew he was being childish. He did. That didn’t stop him from whining. “Mr. Abrams, I don’t understand.”
The man smiled patiently. “Zach, I know you’re upset.”
“I’m not—” Fortunately, Zach realized how ridiculous it was before he said it. “Okay, I’m a little upset. What was wrong with my audition?”
“Absolutely nothing. It was fantastic. That’s why I cast you as Orin. We need somebody who can play a comedic villain without going too over the top.”
“But—” He dies halfway through the damn play, Zach thought.
“And with the other small roles, you’ll have a ton of stage time, get to do a lot of different things. I think you’ll really like it.”
Zach knew he was being ungrateful and more than a little pathetic, but acting was his thing. It was just what he did. And the fact that some new guy that no one had ever heard of had just waltzed in and taken Zach’s place was just not cool. “What’s the deal with this ‘Chris’ guy, anyway? Where did he even come from?”
“The varsity baseball team,” Mr. Abrams said cheerfully, as though that fact wasn’t going to raise Zach’s blood pressure to dangerous levels. “Apparently, he’s decided to try something new. His audition was really impressive.”
Zach didn’t even know how to respond to that. “Is this a real thing? Like, he’s really into this? His jock buddies aren’t going to show up at rehearsal and make fun of us?”
“Prejudice, Zach,” Mr. Abrams scolded, and Zach wondered if his teacher had ever even met anyone on the baseball team. Most of them looked hot in those tight little pants, but that was about all they were good for.
“This is a good thing,” Abrams continued. “We need some new blood around here. And if you’re going to act professionally, you know you won’t always be working just with your friends.”
Zach shook his head. “I still think this is a mistake.”
“Well, you’re entitled to your opinion. But don’t judge him until you’ve seen him do his thing. Remember, he’s the one out of his element here, not you.”
Maybe he should stick to his element, Zach thought, but he said, “Yeah, alright.”
“I think you’re going to love being the sadistic dentist,” Mr. Abrams said with a grin. “Getting in touch with your inner bad guy.”
Who gets fed to a frickin’ plant at the end of Act One. Zach sighed. He had to get going or he’d be late to pre-calc. “Bye, Mr. Abrams.”
“First read-through’s this afternoon!”
&&&
It was a disaster. Well, according to Zach it was.
The glimpses he got of Chris in between eye rolls only made him madder. He looked fresh off the baseball field – lightly-freckled tan, sun-kissed hair. The all-American boy next door. There was no way he should’ve been cast as Seymour. No one would buy Mr. Blue Eyes as the lovable loser struggling to get the girl to notice him.
The girl in this case was, unsurprisingly, Zoe. She plopped down next to Zach on the dirty old couch at the back of Mr. Abram’s classroom. “Don’t look so pathetic. You know you’re looking forward to slapping me around.”
“Yes,” Zach groaned, “I can’t wait to be an abusive asshole. It’s the role I was born to play.”
“Nuh-uh, you are not complaining to me. I’m not going to listen to that. If you’re going to bitch about your part, do it to John or Karl.”
“Nope, not Karl,” Karl said, sitting on Zoe’s other side. “Karl doesn’t want to hear it either.”
“And maybe Karl doesn’t want a ride home after rehearsal,” Zach sighed.
“Karl would rather walk than listen to Zach’s diva ranting about the unfairness of the universe, especially since Karl is now the voice of a bloody plant.”
“Zach is—”
“Oh my god, shut up,” Zoe groaned, elbowing them both in the ribs. “Zoe is wondering when her friends turned into 10-year-old girls.”
“Aww, dammit,” John muttered, surveying the full couch.
“Should’ve gotten here sooner,” Karl admonished.
“Not my fault, I have to walk all the way from the art building. Okay, so whose lap am I sitting on today?”
Zach, Zoe, and Karl all managed to say “Not it!” at the same time.
John just grinned. “Okay, all of you then.” Without further ado, he stretched out across all of their laps, propping his feet on one armrest and his elbow on the other.
Mr. Abrams walked in, Diet Coke in hand. “Guys, we talked about this. The orgy rumors didn’t just spring up out of nowhere.”
“Hey, three-quarters of us have our feet on the floor,” Zach protested. “That’s a pretty lame orgy.”
“Seriously. If the principal walks in, I don’t want to have to explain Cuddle Time to him. Again.”
Karl glanced at Zach and Zoe, and they all jumped up from the couch at once, dumping John unceremoniously to the floor. Before he could get up, the three of them sat back down. Undaunted, John turned around and shoved his butt between Karl and Zoe. “Scootch over, ladies.”
The couch was absolutely not designed for four people, and Zach ended up crushed against the armrest. By then, most of the rest of the cast had wandered in. Rachel, who was both one of the street urchins and the stage manager, was pulling a notebook out of her bag. Jen and Simon were cackling over something Simon had drawn in his notebook. But Chris was sitting off to the side, looking vaguely nervous. Good, thought Zach. A (large, ugly) part of him hoped Chris would realize he was out of his league and leave. Mr. Abrams would be forced to admit his mistake and all would be right with the world again.
But as soon as Zach had the thought, Abrams started clearing his throat loudly until he had everyone’s attention. “Alright, guys, time to get started. Most of you know each other, but I’d like to introduce you all to Chris Pine. Chris will be our Seymour. You don’t scare easily, do you, Chris?”
He looked startled. “No?”
Mr. Abrams smiled. “Good! I try to keep the rest of these guys on their best behavior, but it rarely works. They can come on a little strong.”
“I think I’ll deal,” Chris said, smiling so widely that his absurdly white teeth actually sparkled under the flickering florescent lights.
When Zach looked around, he saw that the girls in the room were all gaping. “Shut your mouth,” he muttered, nudging Zoe. “Bugs will fly in.”
“Don’t care,” Zoe murmured out of the corner of her mouth.
“He’s so dreeeeamy!” John exclaimed in a stage whisper, looking right at Zach and fluttering his eyelashes.
Zach groaned and covered his face with the script. “I hate you all.”
“Alright,” Mr. Abrams said, “enough of that. Let’s get started on the read-through. Has everybody got a copy of the script?”
Of course Chris didn’t have his yet. Zach was willing to bet he didn’t even know anything about the play. As Abrams handed him the script, Chris asked, “Do I have to… I mean, are we singing today?”
“Not today. Just read the lyrics when you get to them.”
Zach just rolled his eyes. Did this guy know anything?
&&&
Chris lucked out – the A/C in his car didn’t die until he was pulling into his driveway. He sighed at the sputtering noise coming from the vents, not looking forward to fixing his piece-of-shit car again. But at least the thing was still running. Maybe he’d see if Eric could take a look at it. If Eric still deigned to give him the time of day, that was.
Shouting a quick greeting to his parents, Chris headed straight back to his room, dumping his backpack on the floor and flopping down on the bed. It could have been worse, he thought. They could’ve actually thrown rotten vegetables at me. Zach could’ve leapt up off the couch and strangled me like I know he wants to.
After a few long moments of self-pity, he decided he really didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, and headed back out into the living room, following the scent of garlic and tomatoes into the kitchen, where his father was cooking dinner. “Smells good,” he said.
“I’m under strict instructions from your mother to keep stirring this so it doesn’t burn. How was your day? First rehearsal today, right?”
Chris groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
“That bad?”
He opened the toaster oven, where the garlic bread was sitting to keep it warm, and yanked out a large hunk to stuff in his mouth. For once his dad didn’t bother to scold him. “I though’ thea’re people were s’posed to be all accepting an’ stuff,” Chris said around the huge wad of bread.
“They are,” his dad said. “But they also tend to be extremely protective of their own. It’s an insular little world. I doubt they know what to make of you yet. Imagine if one of them suddenly joined the baseball team and took over as first baseman. How would your teammates react?”
“Not well, I guess.” Actually, Chris knew exactly how they’d react, and it was part of the reason he’d left the team. But it was also pretty amusing to imagine the crazy kid with the British accent staking out first base. Did they have first base in cricket?
His dad smiled. “Have I told you how proud I am of you?”
“For what, quitting like a quitter?”
“For realizing you weren’t happy where you were and being brave enough to make a change. And maybe a little bit for giving the family business a shot.”
He just had to bring that up. Chris tried not to roll his eyes – and failed. “Dad, I’m not gonna be an actor when I grow up.”
Eyes twinkling, his dad said, “Don’t rule anything out just yet. And give the other kids some time to get to know you. I guarantee they’ll like you.”
It was such a parent thing to say, so Chris just nodded and went for the silverware drawer when his dad asked him to set the table. Privately, he wasn’t sure any of the people he’d been introduced to today would warm up to him any time this century. Especially not that Zach guy. Chris wasn’t so oblivious that he didn’t know what an upset it was for him to get the lead role – or who he was displacing. Still, it had been a little bit of a shock to see Zach holding court in Mr. Abrams’ classroom, sprawled on the couch like the lord of the manor when Chris had walked in. Chris was used to facing down mammoth base runners who had probably been on steroids since junior high, but the look Zach shot at him had nearly made Chris’ balls shrivel. He’d expected Zach to be a little hostile; he hadn’t expected him to be so… imperious.
Or so hot, a voice in the back of his head said. Chris told it, in no uncertain terms, to shut the fuck up. He had plenty of other problems to deal with.
&&&
Zach spent most of AP U.S. History staring off into space. He’d have to ask Karl for his notes later, but his brain simply refused to focus on the Teapot Dome scandal or whatever. He knew he was obsessing, but he couldn’t help it.
Chris was actually good. Zach had been certain everyone would see what a farce it was until Chris pulled out his glasses for the read-through, shrank down in his seat a little, and became Seymour. All they were doing was reading the lines on the page and Zach could already see why Mr. Abrams had cast him. Maybe that should have made it easier, but it only made Zach feel worse.
The drama club wasn’t just Zach’s groups of friends; it was the one place where he felt most like himself. People said things about them – they were freaks, they were gay, they were all sleeping together – but they didn’t care. This Chris jerk had no right to waltz into his circle of friends. Even as he thought it, he knew how petty it was.
The bell rang and Zach started mechanically shoving his things back into his backpack. Karl loomed over him as he did. “Hey, man, what planet were you on?”
“Huh?”
“Your eyes were completely glazed over the whole time.”
“Oh.” Crap, Zach thought, Karl had noticed. “Stayed up late last night playing Call of Duty. Can I borrow your notes?”
Karl rolled his eyes. “Again?”
“C’mon, this is like the third time ever. And who always looks over your papers before you turn them in, huh?”
“Not my fault you’re a human grammar-checker,” Karl muttered, but he pulled the notes out of his binder and handed them to Zach. “I need them back by tomorrow, though.”
They walked together as far as the science building, where Karl had to go to physics, and Zach carried on to his English classroom. They were in the middle of Huckleberry Finn. Zach had already read it twice, but with any luck, talking about it would help him get his mind off Chris.
Chris, who darted into the classroom right in front of Zach, seemingly oblivious to him. He went straight to the teacher and asked her something Zach couldn’t quite make out. She picked up a book off her desk – a copy of Margaret Atwood’s The Year of the Flood, Zach knew, he had one just like it at home – and handed it to Chris. Zach could hear her say, “Of course. I didn’t know who else it could belong to. Just promise me you won’t read it during your other classes.”
“Thanks,” Chris said, smiling shyly. “I promise I won’t.”
As Chris turned to go, he caught Zach staring openly at him. They only locked gazes for a second, and then Zach quickly looked away, feeling slightly ashamed. When he looked back up, Chris was on his way out, hurrying to get to his next class. Zach tucked his backpack under his desk and sat down. As far as he knew, Mrs. Barrett only taught AP English. He couldn’t think of any other reason for Chris to have left his book in there.
So it looked like this guy was smart as well as talented. Fantastic, Zach thought. Next thing you know, he’ll show up wearing a striped shirt and Chucks and they’ll just go ahead and get rid of me completely.
&&&
Just about the only good thing about the situation was that Chris didn’t have to try to keep the nervousness out of his voice as he read Seymour’s lines. “Hi Audrey. You’re looking particularly radiant today. Is that new eye makeup?”
Mr. Abrams interrupted him. “Okay, I want you to cross to Zoe while you’re talking. You want to get closer to her.”
Chris nodded as he reached for the pencil tucked behind his ear, but only succeeded in knocking it to the floor for the zillionth time. His numb fingers fumbling as he picked it up, he quickly scribbled Abrams’ directions in his script. Zoe read her next line, turning away from Chris. Then John read, and it was Chris’ turn again.
“Chris, can I get you to cheat out a little bit?” Mr. Abrams asked.
Chris started to move, then faltered. “You want me to… what?” There was a moment of dead silence, and Chris prayed for a sinkhole to open up under his feet and swallow him whole.
Zoe took pity and leaned toward him, whispering “Keep your head facing me as we talk but turn your body so it’s about three-quarters facing the audience. That’s called cheating out.”
“Th-thanks,” Chris stuttered, making another note in his script. He could’ve sworn he heard snickering from the audience, where the actors not in the current scene sat, watching. Where Zach sat. But when Chris looked up, Zach appeared to be simply studying his lines in the script.
Chris tried to shake it off, continuing on through that scene, then the next. Shit, he was on stage a lot. He’d known that going in from reading the script, but it was only now that he was truly realizing it. And he had a ton of lines to memorize. How and when exactly was he going to do that? Before Chris knew it, he had broken out into a sweat and his heart was beginning to pound.
Then the scene was over and Mr. Abrams was saying, “Alright, let’s take a break. Five minutes, everyone.”
After an awkward glance around, Chris perched lightly on one of the folding chairs that was standing in for the flower shop’s counter and muttered, “Not like I’m gonna suck any less in five minutes.”
He hadn’t meant for anyone to hear him, but Zoe said, “It’s not you. Y’know how smokers have cigarette breaks? Mr. Abrams has Diet Coke breaks. He gets the shakes without it.”
“Oh,” Chris said dumbly, still not quite able to look at her.
“You’re kicking ass, by the way,” she said, plopping down on the chair next to him. “And you’ve never acted before?”
“Well, I was Neptune in my second grade production of Meet the Planets.”
“At least you weren’t Uranus.”
“Yeah, I don’t think Andy Mills ever quite got over it. And the girl who played Pluto was doing fine up until a couple years ago when she found out her whole life was a lie.”
Zoe snorted with laughter and Chris finally cracked a smile. “Not like I really absorbed all the theatrical terminology back then,” he said.
“Hey, a few years ago, none of us knew any of this stuff, either,” Zoe said with an indulgent smile. “Well, except for Zach, but he’s been on stage since he could talk. And he never lets anyone forget it. Don’t get me wrong, he’s my friend and a great guy, but he’s not Al Pacino just yet.”
Chris flushed. He felt a little guilty for it, but he was secretly glad to have found someone who wasn’t solidly on Zach’s side against him. There were so many things he wanted to say, to ask. “What’s the deal with him, anyway?”
“He’s not used to rejection,” she said, “not when it comes to theatre, anyway.”
“Yeah, I feel… kind of bad about that.”
“Don’t. He’s a big boy; he’ll get over it. And he’s got me and John and Karl to help him along. I don’t think he’ll give you any crap to your face – he shouldn’t, if he knows what’s good for him – but don’t take it. Deep down, he knows he’s being a petty jerk, so if you call him on it, he’ll stop.”
The crack of an opening can heralded Mr. Abrams’ return and everybody scrambled to get back to their places. “Hey, Zoe?” Chris said.
“Mm-hmm?”
“Thanks. I’m really excited about the play, I just…”
“Yeah, it always sucks being the new guy.”
Chris hazarded a glance up at the audience, where Zach was sharing some kind of private joke with Karl and Simon. “Yeah, it does.”
&&&
Zach yawned as he pulled into the mostly-empty school parking lot. Rarely was he happy to be out of bed this early on a Saturday morning, but they were getting a head start on the set construction, which was tough to do during after-school rehearsals. People teased him about getting his hands dirty, but Zach loved the process of creating a little world for the play, surrounded by his best friends.
He’d almost managed to forget that Chris would be there. But since he and Karl, who he’d met up with on the way in, were a few minutes late, Zach arrived at the auditorium to find John and Zoe already chatting with Chris. Zach shot Karl a look, but Karl didn’t return it, and Zach wondered if anyone was on his side anymore.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” said Mr. Abrams. “We were just about to get started.” He turned to the rest of the group. “Alright, people, here’s how this is going to go. Karl and Simon, since you’re both Audrey II, I want you to be the primary ones that build her. Obviously, we don’t have the materials yet, but I want you two to hash out what you want her to look like, how you want her to move. When you’ve got a rough sketch, bring it to me and we’ll talk. The rest of you will be working on the flower shop set today. The main builds are going to be the counter and the display cases. Rachel has the plans and will split you up to work on them.”
Zach had just started to take a step toward the group when Mr. Abrams continued, “Zach, Chris, come with me. I’ve got a special project for you.” Zach managed to stifle the groan, but he knew he’d grimaced when he saw the answering look on Chris’ face.
They both shuffled reluctantly over to their teacher. “Okay,” Mr. Abrams said, an overly cheerful smile on his face. “Our flower shop is going to need some fake flowers. Our budget limits us to the bargain bin at the craft store, but I have faith that you can find us some good stuff for cheap. We’ll need some pretty drab-colored flowers for the beginning – probably end up distressing them so they look mostly dead – but more and more colorful stuff as the play goes on. Talk to Rachel before you go, take a look at how much space you’re going to need to cover.”
Chris just nodded mutely and started over toward Rachel, but Zach hung back. “Mr. Abrams, is it really time to be buying props yet? Shouldn’t we be focusing on the build first?”
“I think the rest of us have the build covered for now.”
“But, I mean… my character has no use for the flower shop. Shouldn’t it be Zoe or John going with Chris instead of me?”
“Don’t treat me like I just fell off the turnip truck and I’ll offer you the same courtesy,” Mr. Abrams said, his smile neither faltering nor giving anything away. “You know exactly why I’m sending you. Zach, you are absolutely essential to this play, but unless you adjust your attitude very soon, I will not hesitate to replace you with a freshman. A really awful one. I may be a well-respected teacher of theatre, but I am not above a bit of spite casting.”
Zach was pretty sure it was an idle threat. Mr. Abrams took too much pride in his work to screw up the play just to teach Zach a lesson. Probably. Zach took quick mental stock of himself and found he wasn’t willing to risk it. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”
“Thank you. I’m not expecting you to be best friends, but you need to be able to work together. I think you’ll find you have more in common than you expect.”
Zach glanced over to where Chris was standing with Rachel, going over the set design. He was wearing baggy shorts and an old, paint-splotched t-shirt with the sleeves torn off, which revealed a stark farmer’s tan. And some really nice arms, Zach’s treacherous hindbrain announced. With a sigh, he ventured over to the two of them just as they both started laughing, Rachel carefully eyeing Chris’ bare arms with a slightly predatory look. Wonderful.
“Alright,” Zach announced. “You ready to go?”
Chris turned to look at him. “I think so. Rachel was saying we’ll have three small display cases and a few shelves to fill, right?
She nodded, reaching in her bag for the money from their tiny prop budget. “And be sure to get vases. Nothing fancy, just stuff for basic display.” She handed the money to Chris, who thanked her ever so politely, and Zach fought an eye roll and the urge to say Get a room.
“Can we take your car?” Chris asked as they left the auditorium. “My air conditioning is broken.”
“Sure, fine,” Zach said, possibly not trying as hard as he could to keep the anguish out of his voice. “I get to choose the music, though. None of that country or hip-hop shit.”
Out of the corner of his eyes, Zach could see Chris’ head drop a little, and he knew he’d just insulted Chris’ taste in music. He felt a little bit bad about it, but whatever, Chris would get over it. Zach wasn’t about to apologize. They rode to the nearest craft store in painfully awkward silence save for the radio, which Zach had set to an oldies station in a partial concession to Chris. Nobody didn’t like the Stones, right?
Once in the store, Chris was all business. “I think these will be cheaper if we buy a garland and just cut them apart by hand. What do you think?”
“Yeah,” Zach said. It actually was a good idea. “And we can use whatever green stuff is left over to fill out the bouquets.” He felt immediately embarrassed to have used the word “bouquets” in front of another guy, especially a jock. “Or, y’know, whatever they’re called.”
Chris didn’t seemed to have noticed, and was already stretching up on his toes to pull a less beat-up looking garland from the top rack. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s bouquets.” His t-shirt rode up as he reached, and Zach caught a glimpse of flat, toned stomach and hips.
He looked away quickly, heading for the display of cheap plastic vases.
They ended up with five bags full of “Florals and Floral Accessories” (according to the sign) and stuffed them all in Zach’s trunk before heading back to school. Shopping for flowers had seemed to put Chris in an irrepressibly good mood, much to Zach’s dismay.
“So, you’re a junior too, right?” Chris asked, drumming his fingers on the arm rest.
“Yep,” Zach said, his eyes glued to the road.
“And you’re in AP English? I saw you there the other day.”
“That was me.”
Zach refused to say more and Chris was quiet for a few moments before trying again. “So, Zoe was saying you have an older brother in college? My sister just started at UCLA last fall.”
Zach couldn’t help himself. “Wow, we have so much in common. Let’s be besties and study together and braid each other’s hair.”
Chris fell silent after that and a pang of guilt hit Zach low in the gut. He really was being a bastard. He opened his mouth to change the subject, but Chris cut in. “Look, man, I get that you hate me. I’d probably hate me, too, if I were in your position. But could you at least do me the courtesy of looking at me when you mock me? I mean, we are gonna have to interact on stage at some point.”
Zach felt his cheeks burn and despised himself for it. “I don’t… I’m trying really hard not to hate you.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Chris mumbled.
“Yeah, okay, I suck. I know it. But I’ve been doing this forever. I’m going to apply to some really high-level musical theatre programs next year, and Mr. Abrams says I’ve got a good shot of actually getting in. This is all I’ve ever wanted to do with my life – acting and theatre. You?”
Chris was quiet for a moment. “No. I don’t know.”
“What do you want to do? Baseball?”
“Oh god, no,” Chris muttered, shaking his head. “It was fun for a while, but I don’t… I don’t know.”
Zach knew he should probably shut up, but he kept going. “So why now? Why quit the baseball team the second half of your junior year and suddenly decide to try out for the school play? Were you bored?”
“I don’t know.”
“You say that a lot.”
Chris sat up straighter in his seat. “Look, I know you’re a better actor than me, okay? You’ve been doing this forever, it’s your thing, and I know absolutely nothing. I don’t know why Abrams cast me, but I want to do this play. I’m going to do this play. I’ll get lost after this semester and you’ll never have to talk to me again. Just try to at least act like you don’t want to kill me.”
“I don’t… shit,” Zach cursed, scrubbing his hand over his forehead. “I’m sorry, alright? I know I’m being a dick, I just can’t help it.”
“Well, try to get your dickitude under control,” Chris said, crossing his arms over his chest and staring out the passenger window.
Zach couldn’t help it – he snorted. “Dickitude?” Chris turned to glare at him. “I like it.”
Chris’ stare slowly softened. “I considered going with ‘dickosity.’”
“Clearly not the superior option. Though ‘dicksationality’ might have worked.”
Chris didn’t smile, exactly, but he relaxed back into his seat. “I defer to your expertise, your exalted dickness.”
Zach did smile. “That’s Lord Dickenstein to you.”
&&&
The great thing about having Mr. Cross for last period study hall was that he generally let class out well before the final bell rang. He definitely wasn’t supposed to, but Chris wasn’t about to rat him out. So the breezeway was empty when Chris got to his locker, which still reeked of sweaty socks despite the lemon-scented air fresheners dangling from various hooks.
Chris knelt to retrieve his calc book, which had made its way down to the bottom of the locker where clods of red clay still remained from the last time he stored his cleats there. He sighed and brushed the book off, unshouldering his bag to cram it in among the textbooks, spiral-bound notebooks, and one script already in there. A shadow loomed over his left shoulder and Chris braced himself.
“I should really beat the crap out of you.”
Ah, so Eric was still talking to him. In a way. “Just fucking try it, Bana. I will mess your shit up.”
As Chris got to his feet, Eric crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the lockers. “Least you could’ve done is told me before you announced it to the entire fucking team, mate.”
“Sorry. Next time I’ll call you first and we can have a heart-to-heart about it. Share our feelings.”
Eric just grinned in a way that was starting to freak Chris out. “So, is she hot?”
“Devastatingly,” Chris said. “Who?”
“The girl you’ve left us for. The drama babe.”
“There’s no…” For a moment, Chris considered just going with it. He could mention Zoe – even if Eric didn’t know who she was, Chris could point her out and Eric would nudge him in the ribs, wink, and then leave him alone. But for some reason, Chris said, “It wasn’t about a girl. I’m just… done with baseball.”
Chris could tell it was the wrong thing to say the second it left his mouth – he might as well have said he was done with oxygen for all the sense it made to Bana, who just shook his head sadly. “You know what they’re going to say about you.”
Chris had to consciously stop himself from grinding his teeth. “No. What are they going to say about me?”
Eric sighed. “Chris, don’t make me say it.”
“Just say it,” Chris spat, slamming his locker door. He supposed he shouldn’t really be angry with Eric – who was just trying to look out for him, in his own way – but he’d been dancing around it too long in his own head. “Look me in the eye and tell me what people are going to say.”
Looking at the floor, Eric mumbled, “Well, they’re not saying it yet. But it’s only a matter of time.”
“I like girls,” Chris said, because it was true. “I’m still hoping to get back together with Beau.” That was somewhat less so.
He had dated Beau for the better part of a year, and even after all that time she was still essentially a mystery to him. She was smart and fun, and honestly, he was just happy that a pretty girl was willing to be seen with him in public. But one week she was giving him his first – and, thus far, only – blowjob (which was fucking awesome, by the way), and the next she was saying that she needed to take a break to focus on schoolwork, and if he wanted to get into a good college, he should do the same. Chris hadn’t been upset so much as utterly baffled. He supposed that was what all those stand-up comedians were going on about all the time about women.
So he did miss Beau, but life had become much less confusing after her. Well, in some ways. More than that, he wasn’t quite ready to think about.
“I believe you,” Eric said. “And I can try to stick up for you…”
“I don’t need you protecting me,” Chris said, keeping his feet firmly planted on the ground to keep from shaking.
“Well, good,” said Eric, looking a little taken aback. “Just… be careful, okay? You don’t want to be lumped in with them.”
He walked away then, and Chris’ face burned with a combination of anger and shame. Anger that wanted to shout better them than you, and shame that he’d never dare do it.
&&&
“Don’t need a ride tomorrow morning,” Karl said as they pulled up to the front of his house. “I think my dad is taking me in.”
“Let me know if you need a ride home,” Zach replied, putting the car in park.
“Thanks. Now, to spend the next twelve hours cramming a month’s worth of physics into my head.”
“Don’t worry, there’s plenty of empty space in there,” Zach said with a grin, and Karl flipped him off, only belatedly looking around to make sure his mom didn’t see. “Bye.”
“See ya.”
Truthfully, Zach was glad of the company to and from school. It wasn’t by any means a long drive, but it was one he’d taken with his brother for the last two years. His brother who was now away at college, and though Zach had inherited his old car, Zach would trade it in a second to have Joe back in the driver’s seat. Not that he would admit it. From what Joe had told him over the holidays, college was the best thing in the history of ever.
Joe’s absence also made his home life more of a challenge. It was just Zach and his mom now, and though he loved her, when Joe had been around, he’d acted as a buffer between them. Now that he was out of the house, Joe was officially the Good Kid, with all the trouble that he’d gotten into gently reinterpreted as humorous childhood anecdotes. Even now, nearly six months after Joe had moved out, Zach was still getting used to being the focus of his mom’s well-intentioned but near-constant nagging.
“It’s your turn in the barrel,” Joe had said the last time Zach had complained.
Before he knew it, Zach was home, scraping his feet on the mat and walking in the door with an obligatory, “Hey, mom, I’m back.”
“Hi sweetheart!” he heard her call. “I thought you were supposed to be back an hour ago.”
He rolled his eyes. “Rehearsal ran long again. And I had to take Karl home, remember?”
“Oh, yes, that’s right,” she said, bustling into the living room with an armload of clean laundry. “You ought to have a word with Mr. Abrams. Rehearsal seems to run long almost every day.”
“Mom, you’ve only been home, what, fifteen or twenty minutes? It’s not like I’m late for the dinner bell or anything,” Zach said, starting to pair up socks from the pile his mom had dumped on the couch.
“I’m concerned about your schoolwork, Zachary,” she said pointedly. “You’re staying up much too late to finish it.”
“It’s fine, mom. My grades are as good as they ever were.”
She looked at him as though she wanted to say something, but was holding herself back. On another day, Zach might have tried to get it out of her, out of either peevishness or genuine concern, but he didn’t feel like dealing with it, so he just kept folding socks.
Eventually, his mom spoke up. “So, how’s Zoe?”
Oh god, this again. “She’s fine. I swear, she’s already got half her lines memorized. I have no idea how she does it.”
“She’s a very smart girl,” she said with a firm nod, as though that proved something. “You two get along so well.”
Zach felt the blood drain out of his face. “She’s got a boyfriend.”
“Oh,” his mom said, evidently surprised. “Has this been going on very long? Because I don’t remember you mentioning—”
“Not long, I don’t think. I don’t know. She doesn’t tell me everything.”
“Oh,” she said again, more quietly this time. “There’s no need to take that tone with me, Zachary.”
“Sorry, mom,” he muttered. When the socks were done, he moved on to the t-shirts.
&&&
“Okay, did everybody bring their props?” Mr. Abrams asked, looking out across the auditorium seats.
Everyone began digging through their backpacks, including Chris. He pulled out the plastic bag containing the thick-framed tortoiseshell eyeglasses he’d worn in middle school, the frame super-glued back together in two places, as well as a pair of suspenders on loan from his dad. Mr. Abrams had asked them to bring some type of prop or bit of a costume that would help get them into character, and it had been depressingly easy for Chris to nerd it up. He’d even spent a few moments looking at the orthodontic retainer in his medicine cabinet before ultimately deciding there was only so much suffering he wanted to do for his art.
Beside him, Zoe was pulling on a pair of bright yellow stilettos that came to a wicked point at the toe. “Ugh,” Chris said with a grimace. “Those hurt my feet just looking at them.”
Zoe just grinned. “Aren’t they awful? I found them at a thrift store and they almost fit me. I can’t walk in them for more than two steps. I may find myself leaning on you quite a bit.” She fluttered her eyelashes at Chris, who laughed and pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose. They must have worked, because he was blushing already.
He looked to his left, where Karl had a long section of some kind of leafy vine wrapped around his neck like a scarf and Simon was casually tugging on a pair of gloves tipped with long metallic claws, Freddie-style. Winona was clipping a huge sequined bow into her hair and John popped a sour Warhead candy into his mouth.
“Looking good!” said Mr. Abrams with a chuckle. “Alright, I’d like to try to get through Act I today. Remember, off-book date for this is next Monday, so really start learning those lines if you haven’t already.”
Chris didn’t get a good look at what Zach had brought until they were backstage. Well, sidestage, anyway, crammed in the small space near the stage right entrance. As close as they were, Chris actually smelled the leather before he saw it. It probably wasn’t Zach’s jacket – it looked a little too loose around the shoulders – but it was still really fucking impressive: sleek black leather with silver-zippered pockets.
Zach’s whole posture changed right before Chris’ eyes; he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back casually against the wall. “So, what do you think?” he asked, staring at Chris down the bridge of his nose.
“It’s… uh,” Chris stammered, plucking nervously at his suspenders. He was pretty sure Orin Scrivello D.D.S. was meant to be scary, not sexy. “It’s nice.”
“Thanks,” Zach replied with a sharp, toothy grin, then added, “dweeb.”
Chris rolled his eyes. “Dentist,” he shot back, and his heart leapt into his throat when Zach laughed.
Continue to part two
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Date: 2011-08-19 06:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-11 05:05 am (UTC)