Fic: He's All That
Title: He's All That
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: PG-13. Sorry.
Word count: 6700
Summary: a She's All That AU - Chris is the soccer team captain who makes a bet to turn dorky Zach Quinto into one of the popular crowd by graduation. I may have stolen borrowed a few a bunch of lines: It's affectionate plagiarism homage and as much an exercise in transcription as writing, very much not mine. You don't need to have seen the movie to read this, I hope, but if you have, you'll know it's pure teeny schmoop
A/N: had to get this out of my head as these Pinto teens were interfering with my other Pinto teens. If this has been done before (likely) I shall grovel and flog myself publicly. Again!
“I reckon he upgraded.”
I punch Simon on the arm and he winces,
“What the fuck was that for? I'm only saying.”
“Simon's got a point. Total upgrade. Lots of muscles and that.”
“You guys are shitty friends. He didn't upgrade. So the guy's been in one stupid TV show, it wasn't even in this country. And I have muscles.”
John's slowly unwrapping himself from the meathead that he's been sucking face with ever since he finished introducing me to his new boyfriend, a hundred meters away from me now where I'm hanging out on the steps. Apparently that's how John breaks up with someone. Me, in this instance.
“Besides, John's totally replaceable.”
Karl spits out his soda, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
“John is replaceable? Are you bipolar? John rules this fucking school.”
“John rules the roost, total hot bitch in charge. You're nothing without him.”
“Face it. One second, you're Chris Pine, class president, stand-out athlete, all-round bad ass mamba jahamba. The next thing you know, you're Chris Pine, bitch boy.”
“Bullshit. I'm pretty hot, I can get any decent piece of tail in this whole place to fall at my fucking feet.”
“Like who?” Simon folds his arms, looking at me like I'm losing my mind. “No-one compares with John, you were a total nobody till John showed an interest. Face it - every girl wants to nail him and every guy wants to be him.”
“I don't.”
“No, you had your very own little clique of one, comprising the dudes who wanted to nail him.”
“Fuck of a lot of good that ever did me. Jesus, will you look at that?”
John's grinning widely as that retarded lunkhead Eric shoves a hand down the back of John's jeans for a grope.
“You know what? Fuck John, John's an asshole, John's nothing. I'll prove to everyone that I don't need him or his stupid, cute, tight little - whatever. I don't need him. I'm Chris Pine, captain of the soccer team and all-round hot, popular piece of ass. He's the one who'll lose social standing over this. He's the one who needs me.”
They laugh, clap me on the back while I keep grinding my teeth over the way John's gone back to licking his way around Eric's tonsils, knowing I'm watching.
“Sure he will, whatever you need to believe to get you through this.”
“You don't believe me? I'll prove it.”
“And how exactly do you plan to do that?”
“Pick any guy in school, I'll make him popular by graduation. Hell, you pick a senior, I'll get him voted Prom King.”
“Fuck off, John's Prom King and you know it.”
“Pick any loser. Give him the right look, the right social standing and bam. Six weeks and he's being named Prom King.”
“Any guy?”
“Any guy at all. Seriously.”
“Even that guy?”
I follow the direction of Karl's finger, which starts quivering with barely repressed laughter as the person he's pointing at falls up the school steps dumping a bunch of books and papers everywhere as he trips over his big, ugly-shoed feet.
“That fug dude with the glasses? Who the fuck is that?”
“Zach Quinto.”
“Who the fuck is Zach Quinto?”
“Drama geek.”
“You want me to date a drama geek? And, hell no, by the way.”
“You said any loser. You have to admit, that's one sad loser.”
This Quinto guy, god. He's like the living embodiment of the word loser. Tall and too skinny as he sprawls on the steps trying to gather his shit up and he looks like Crazy Legs Crane, he's even wearing a similar stupid hat. And, fuck, those are some ugly glasses. His clothes are eye-searing, I feel like putting my shades on.
“He has one eyebrow. I can't date someone with one fucking eyebrow. He's Burt off Sesame Street. You can't expect me to date Burt off Sesame Street.” The hat goes flying with one particularly awkward grab at a flying page. “And he parts his hair? Seriously . . .”
“Hey, if you can't do it -”
“I didn't say can't. Just . . . fine. You know what? I can totally do this. Fuck John. You're on.”
That monobrow is even worse up close as I crouch on the steps beside him and start gathering up stray papers. He looks up at me with a smile, I guess to say thanks but then he focuses on my face and the smile drops. Funny, that's not the reaction I usually get from people when I give them my most charming grin. I give a mental shrug and start shoving the armload of crap I've picked up into his messenger bag.
“It's okay. I got it.”
He grabs everything from me, dropping a little of what he'd already picked up in his haste to get his stuff away from me.
“Zach, right? Zach Quinto?”
His eyes narrow in suspicion behind the glasses, like he's perhaps got some idea that this is only the second time I've ever said his name and as if he somehow knows I've just been introduced to it myself. Nice eyes, though. Thank god, it'll give me something to cling to in case I ever need to pay him a totally sincere-sounding compliment.
“Uh, sure. Thanks.”
“I'm -”
“I know who you are.”
“Yeah, I guess I am pretty recognizable around here.”
An even bigger, even more charming smile and I twinkle my eyes at him. He gives me a look like I licked him on the face or something.
“You could say that. I, however, am not. So if you'll just -”
I block his way with my body, get into his personal space a little and notice we're the same height. Rub my hand over my hair all bashful which I happen to know is totally cute because I've watched myself do it in the mirror enough times so I'd get it just right.
“So, uh, Zach - I was wondering if you'd like to . . . horribly embarrass me in front of all these people.”
I'm halfway through the sentence when he shifts around me and walks away, throwing me one little worried look back over his shoulder, tucking the rest of his shit into his bag as he goes. Karl and Simon lose it on the steps behind me, seriously, I think Karl might actually puke he's laughing so hard.
-
“Why so glum, baby bro? Got the feeling someone else is living your life?”
“You heard about - ?”
“Oh, please. Like every single thing John does isn't around this whole place in seconds. So, whose the lucky rebound twink?”
I give Katie a quizzical look. “Rebound twink?”
“It's been a full day, you surely can't still be single. Not you.”
“There might be a sort of . . . project. Although, he kinda blew me off.”
“I like him already.”
“But he totally knew who I was. There must be some kind of mistake.”
“Chris, I know it's tough for a peen-magnet such as yourself to understand, but you could make a little effort. Find out what he likes, where he hangs out.”
-
“Thank you sir, enjoy your meal, have a nice day.”
Zach's smile drops the second the guy in front of me in line collects his food and leaves, and I do my very best not to smirk at his novelty falafel hat but it's near making me break a sweat with the effort.
“You know, stalking is illegal in all states.”
“C'mon, I just want to talk. Don't you have a break coming up?”
I try the charming grin one more time but it falters when Zach rolls his eyes a little and folds his arms defensively.
“I'm not that smart. I know you guys look at me and think, whoa, what a geek, he must at least be smart. So if you want me to tutor you or whatever -”
“Zach, I've got the fourth highest GPA in our class.”
“So, what is this, like, a dork outreach program or something?”
“No! Seriously, are you always this intense? No, it's not. I need to ask you something.”
“God. Five minutes, but that's it.”
He sits across from me in a booth, his arms up on the table and he has these fuzzy, hairy arms, even worse than mine. John barely had any body hair. That I ever got to see, that is.
“I wanted to talk to you about, uh . . . drama! Drama.”
“You don't take drama.”
“How do you know?”
One side of the monobrow lifts. “Trust me, I'd know. I haven't seen you in any of my classes.”
“I'm busy with, uh, sport and stuff. Soccer. They're letting me complete an independent study to make it up. I saw you in that end of year thing last year.” A stab in the dark, I'd never seen him before in my life until a day ago that I'm aware of. “You were really good. You could totally help me out.”
“I don't think that would be a good -”
“Excuse us, one moment.”
Zach's little curly-haired co-worker gives me a slightly unsettling wide fake smile and grabs him by the arm, drags him off towards the kitchen and I can't hear what they're saying from here over the background music, but it's definitely about me from the way the curly guy keeps jabbing a finger in my direction and then back at Zach, who throws up his hands in exasperation and comes back over to me.
“Fine. There's a show tonight at the Jester club. Parking can be a problem. Meet me there at eight, don't be late.”
“You don't want to grab something to eat first or - ?”
“No.”
-
Flickering, dancing light fills the small wooden stage along with a thumping, throbbing soundtrack of some sort of trance music, different movie footage, I don't know, bad stuff like atom bombs playing over backdrops around the stage and a big heap of people under this shiny, stretchy fabric, writhing around. What happens next is . . . I don't even know, I've trying not to put my hands over my eyes for most of it, toes curling in my shoes. It's awful, horrible and I have no idea at all what they're going for, this one guy in underpants shouting out a bunch of over-dramatic non-sequiturs while two, uh, little people, I think I'm supposed to call them, swirl around the stage. Then there's a flaming trash can and they all laugh and fall down. I'm totally lost already.
Then someone dressed all in white, like a freaking ballet dancer or something, draws a white transparent piece of cloth across the stage and it's him, it's Zach, I can already recognize that tall, skinny frame, the Crazy Legs Crane thing even stronger now as his legs seem to go on for freaking miles. The monobrow is even more terrifying against a background of white face paint. He wraps the fabric around everyone and they cuddle into a group repeating the lines “Be silent, be still” over and over, and there's movie footage of, like, roses and stuff and I am so, so lost. I have no idea at all what I'm supposed to say about this stuff. Fuck me and my stupid smart-ass mouth, there's no damn way this guy could ever make Prom King. But a mental memory develops like an old-style Polaroid in my head of John wrapped around that Eric asshole and I barely even hesitate when the freakshow in underpants calls me up on stage.
He describes me as a new voice, ironic considering my vocal cords shrivel the second I'm looking into the lights and vague ring of faces all staring up at me. I can almost feel Zach smirking at me from where he's sitting over at the side of the stage now but I don't dare look over to his face. Wow, he's pretty brutal, it's not like I even asked him out or anything yet. Kind of an asshole thing to do, volunteering me for this without any preparation at all, and my mind goes blank. Like, completely nothing as I stare into the lights and the audience, shoving my hands in my jeans pockets as I move from foot to foot awkwardly. Is it possible to actually die from humiliation? Then my hand closes around something familiar, something that I know like he knows all this bullshit: the hacky sack Coach Abrams makes me practice with to develop foot control. I start messing around with it for want of something better to do, repeating under my breath all the stuff Coach says during ball skills practice, You gotta keep bouncing, can't let it drop, never let it drop. Come on Chris, everyone's watching . . .
I don't really know what happens. It comes pouring out of me from nowhere, line by line, that everyone's relying on me. The team, my parents . . . that they're counting on me and I can't let it drop, I can't let the ball drop and, fuck, my hacky skill's are popping, feet flying. But the rush of emotion subsides and I let the sack drop to the stage, a dull thud that reverberates in the quiet air around me as the lights fade and I try to catch my breath in deafening silence. Sooner or later, it has to drop and they actually applaud me. So does he, perhaps a little reluctantly.
“Oh man! I can't believe I just did that!”
“I'm a little surprised myself.”
“Be honest - how bad did I suck? I totally sucked, right? I mean, your thing with the dude in the underpants and the, uh, little people, that was, I don't know, awesome but I just kicked a bean bag around.”
“You were good.”
“Shut up. Your thing was, like, art. I sucked.”
“Yeah. You sucked. You sucked ass. Feel better?”
He grins at me then turns away as the other people from the club spill out around us into the street. I catch something . . . something in his face when he smiles. Look at him closer, trying to figure out what it was I saw.
“What?” Irritation building in his voice again, annoyed by me staring at him when I'd finally made some actual headway.
“Do you always wear those glasses? Can't you wear contacts?”
“Sure, I have them but touching my eyes skeeves me out.”
“That's a shame, you have really pretty eyes.”
Shit. Used up that compliment, now, I guess, I won't be able to save it for later but it's sort of true, his eyes are this warm brown and fringed with soft black eyelashes that sweep down to cover a little of his skin when he blinks at me in surprise.
“Fuck, no. You didn't just tell me I have pretty eyes.”
“What? I was being nice.”
“No, nice is not the word for it. Actually, when the soccer team captain starts telling me, on darkened street corners, that I have pretty eyes, there's only one word for it. In fact, most long-running British twentieth century theater is based on it - farce.”
He jams his crumpled hat down further onto his head and stomps off in his fucking ugly sneakers, pulling his messenger bag tighter around him.
-
His mom is showing me how to stuff an eggplant when he comes into the kitchen, hands on hips. His outfit is indescribable, a mess of stripes and purple and god knows, like, clown pants or something. He's wearing suspenders. Suspenders.
“Mom, would you excuse us a minute?”
“Mind your manners, Zachary.”
“I will.” Zach grabs my arm and pulls me through into his living room, his voice a low hiss. “What are you doing here? In my kitchen with my mom? You can't keep showing up all over, it's, like, harassment.”
“You can't keep avoiding me, either.”
“I've been busy.”
“You've been freaking out.”
“Please. I don't freak out.”
“There was major freaking. You want to come to the beach?”
“No.”
“It's a pretty day.”
“I don't have time for this, I'm leaving.”
“Fine. I'll go back and let your mom stuff another eggplant with me.”
He rolls his eyes, sighs. “God. I'll get my suit.”
And it's okay at first, once he relaxes. His suit is like something out of bible days but his torso is pretty smoking. Like, just barely dusted with the smallest amount of dark chest hair and these broad, strong looking shoulders running down to a taut little waist and flat stomach. Not totally built or anything, definitely nice. He notices me checking him out and colors a little, but doesn't say anything. At least he's quit bitching about water pollution. My friends manage to treat him like just another guy and he even plays a little frisbee with us, long legs flying and that wide smile splitting his face in half when he's not paying attention. He even goes so far as to agree with me that he had an okay time but, when I ask him to come to Karl's thing with me tonight he gets all stupid, ducking his head and muttering something about cleaning the house. Man, it's like trying to pick ticks off a dog with a toothpick, every time I make a little progress he digs in that little bit deeper.
“What? What is this, what do you even want? I said I was busy.”
“Cleaning. Looks to me like you're watching TV with your mom.”
“I'm going to clean in a second. Please leave.”
“You said you couldn't come to Karl's party because you had to do chores and I'm a considerate guy so I listened. How about I save you the time?”
The guys start marching past me into the house, agreeing as they go who is going to clean which room.
“Isn't that the -”
“J.V. soccer team, yes.”
“I still can't go. Look at you. You look -” his shoulders slump in defeat, “You look great, you look . . . I look like a mess.”
“I think that's my cue.” Katie pushes her way past me, tucking her arm into Zach's. “Wow, Chris wasn't wrong, you do have nice eyes. I'm Katie, hair and wardrobe. We'll be upstairs, lil bro.”
She drags off a worried-looking Zach and I hear her telling him how impressed she is over the amount of effort he's making me put in. I settle down with his mom to watch TV, taking his place on the couch, a small dip warmed by his butt. The only sign we've got that they're still alive up there is a series of unearthly yelps that I have to assume is caused by Katie ruthlessly eliminating the monobrow. I feel almost guilty but remind myself it's for a good cause: my reputation. Reminding myself again why I'm doing this isn't such a bad idea as I'm feeling kind of cozy here with his mom, who seems to like me and keeps patting my knee. Then Katie runs down the stairs after, like, an hour and a half or something, her eyes bright with excitement.
“You are going to shit! Sorry, Mrs. Quinto.”
“That's okay, I'm quite anxious to see the results for myself.”
She winks at me and I try not to squirm in embarrassment in my shoes. You don't want your potential fake boyfriend's mom winking at you like that, trust me. Katie throws out her arms dramatically,
“May I present the new, not-improved but different . . . Zachary Quinto!”
Wow, apparently he does own some decent shoes. Those legs coming down the stairs now, so endless in fitted gray pants that showcase slinky, snaky hips. A seriously nice black leather belt with a heavy silver buckle, further up his torso now as he comes further down the staircase, a black formal shirt tucked in, slightly tailored to show off how lean he is, long sleeves covering those lightly-muscled, fuzzy arms. How come he never wears any of this shit to school? Then he stumbles over his feet in the unfamiliar shoes, half-tumbles down the rest of the stairs and I step forward, grab his hand to steady him as he finds his feet, my eyes focused on his chest. The shirt's unbuttoned a little and I can see just a hint of the hair he has there, the smooth skin at the base of his throat and then, looking up to his face . . .
My jaw hits the fucking floor.
Seriously, scrape my fucking tongue off the goddamn floor.
The glasses are gone and he has two defined eyebrows, still heavy but they frame those amazing, pretty eyes perfectly. Without the glasses he's all deep, dark eyes and cheekbones for days and I notice his mouth all of a sudden, his square, strong jaw and his hair is swept up, a little spiky. He looks . . . he looks . . .
“Holy shit.”
“My thoughts exactly, dear.”
He blushes, grins at me all shy as he pulls his hand out of mine and then his mom grabs him for a hug as he folds himself down to her level. Katie pinches my arm.
“Yow! The hell?”
“I did good, huh? Who knew that hottie was under all that eyebrow? I guess you did. Nice eye.”
“Uh. Yeah. He always did have potential.”
I guess. He must have, right? But, goddamn. I'm half-hard in my pants over Zach Quinto, Drama Dork. It's like I've fallen into the Twilight Zone. I clear my throat, blink a few times as I feel all fuzzy-headed suddenly.
“Shall we hit the road, or - ?”
“Yeah. Mom, I'll be back -”
“Don't sweat curfew tonight, go have fun, both of you.”
-
“You doing okay? You need another drink, right?”
“I can get my own drink, thanks.”
I watch him leave, pushing his way through to the kitchen, little ass all tight and high in those fitted pants. I can't take my damn eyes off him. Well, it. Then a hand slips around my shoulders the same time a slight chill works its way down my spine. I'd recognize that touch anywhere.
“Funny how much better he looks walking away.”
“John.”
“Eric will be over here in a minute, he's fetching me a beer.”
“Excellent, already building on the professional skills he'll need now he's in LA.”
“Oh, jump up my ass, Chris.”
“Been there, done that.”
“In your wet dreams, maybe.”
He raises a lazy hand at Eric who is doing this retarded dance across the room and, fuck, this low anger builds in me. Seriously? I got replaced by that? He's like a fucking Neanderthal or something. I should know something's up when John snuggles a little closer into me, snagging my beer as the crowd parts once more, Zach coming to a halt in front of us, confusion momentarily clouding his eyes and his slight smile dropping. John takes a long draw of my beer then raises an eyebrow at Zach.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was invited.”
“John, don't be a b-” I might as well have been talking to myself as he ignores it totally and speaks over the top of me.
“Oh, I remember you. Your mom used to clean my house on Saturdays. Her second job, my mom said.”
“I really wouldn't know.”
Zach's voice is low and soft, his eyes glittering as he looks at John, who pushes himself up off me to stand and, although it could just about be an accident, it's clearly not when he trips forward an extra step and dumps my beer down Zach, soaking through the shirt and the front of his pants.
“Oops, my bad.”
Zach brushes his hands down his front, sending a few suds and droplets flying to the floor.
“Thank you.”
“Excuse me?”
That low, soft voice, it sounds almost dangerous.
“Thank you, for reminding me why I have always avoided places like this and people like you.”
“Avoided us? Honey, look around you. To everyone who matters, you're vapor. You're spam, a waste of perfectly good yearbook space. Nothing's going to change that, no matter what you're wearing or who you're hanging with. You're nobody.”
John's voice smooth as ever, a hint of pity.
“Oh. You're not - you're not going to cry, are you?”
Zach's jaw works for a split second, his fists curling at his sides as I open my mouth to say something but he turns abruptly, pushing and punching his way through the crowd as I jump up and shove John out the way to run after him.
“Zach! Hey, wait up!”
“Get away from me. Don't touch me.”
“It's okay.”
“No, Chris, it's not okay.”
“C'mon. We were having a good time.”
“No. You were having a good time. Sometimes when you open yourself up to people, you let in the bad with the good.”
“Zach -”
“I want to go home.”
-
He's lying across his bed when I knock, nose buried in a book, ass still all kinds of hot and cute in another pair of really bad pants. He doesn't even lift his eyes to speak.
“I can't believe my mom is okay with you being in my room.”
“I'm good with moms. Can I come in?”
“Is there any point saying no?”
“I like your room. Is that your dad?”
“Yeah.”
“He's handsome.”
“Well, not everything's hereditary.”
A certain tone in his voice tells me not to bother disagreeing with him.
“How did he die?”
“Cancer.”
I put the photo-frame back on his desk. “Zach, you can't keep doing this.”
“Pray tell, what can't I keep doing?
“Shutting everybody out. Sitting here with your nose stuck in a book when life's going on outside your closed door.”
He closes the book with a slam, not even bothering to bookmark his place. He looks pissed, glasses back in place, guarding his face.
“So I shut people out. At least I'm able to make decisions.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Where are you going to college, Chris? I was by the counselor's office yesterday. l believe next to your name it said 'undecided'.”
“Look, there's stuff you don't understand.”
Pushing himself up in a fluid, muscular movement that weirdly but totally turns me on, moving into a seated position on his bed. He spreads his hands,
“Well, you're here now.” Indicates his desk chair with a nod of his head. “Sit down, you might as well explain it to me.”
I card my hands through my hair, rub over my face. Look at him but he simply looks back steadily, those eyes that I realize now aren't pretty at all, they're beautiful and looking at me like I'm completely transparent.
“My dad's an actor, right? He's traveled all over the world. I want to go to Berkley and I know he thinks I'm limiting myself, limiting my horizons. I get it from him every day, Pick a future, Chris but what he's really saying is Pick my future.”
A low, disapproving snort. “Are you listening to yourself? Do you realize how lucky you are? You can go to Berkley or you can go to Borneo and study squid fishing. The point is, you're eighteen and that's old enough to start making your own choices.”
“What about you? Doesn't any of that apply to you?”
“I'm working on it. Why did you really come here, Chris?”
I look at him and don't have any easy answer. “I forget. No, wait. This whole prom thing -”
“Prom?” He glances at his watch pointedly, swinging his legs off the bed. “I totally forgot, I have something to do for Mom.”
“What. Now? I wanted to talk to you about -”
“Yeah, now.”
“Oh. Can I call you later?”
“Sure, okay. Why not.”
Either he's given me the wrong number or he totally ignores my calls.
-
“Chris! Wait up.”
“What do you want, John? I'm kinda -”
“So I was having tux fittings and wasn't sure if I was going with the silk lapels or side stripe, and I remembered we haven't finalized our plans.”
“What? What plans?”
He grins wide, tucks his arm into mine and steers me into walking down the hallway with him, everyone jumping out the way like they always do with him. God, he smells great.
“Prom, dumbass. We always said we'd go together, right? Even as just friends.”
“Wait a sec, I'm confused. What happened to the caveman?”
“Him? That's so over, don't even get me started.”
I take his hand in mine and he smiles gently, looking up into my eyes. The smile falls a little when I unwind his arm from mine and drop his hand like you might do a rabid snake, if snakes got rabies.
“That's a damn shame, John, because I have other plans.”
“Pfh. You're talking about that fugly geek Zach Quinto? If I'm not mistaken, he's already taken.”
“. . . What? By who?”
He looks over my shoulder pointedly where he's led me into the auditorium. I turn around, see Zach up on the stage with . . .
“Karl? What the hell are you trying to pull?”
“Nice to see you too, mate.”
“Did he ask you to go to the prom?”
Zach's got his contacts in, eyes all hot brown a few inches from mine as I step up close to him.
“Yes, he did.”
“Bullshit! That is such bullshit -”
“Oh, someone asking me to prom is bullshit?” Folding his arms, and I want to grab his hands, wrap them around my waist.
“Karl's not even gay! Plus I thought, y'know, we might . . . go together.”
Karl's hand on my arm, a sympathetic smile. “Alright, mate, enough's enough. I may not be as secure in my sexuality as you are -”
“Bull fucking shit, you're straighter than, fuck, like, a totally straight thing.”
“ - but I actually like Zach and, well, this isn't cool any more. You've got to stop this whole bet.”
I don't want to look at him but I can't help myself. Zach's face barely flickers, barely registers the slightest emotion.
“A bet?”
“Yeah. It was so stupid, Zach. Chris was all bent out of shape over John so he bet he could take even the biggest loser in school and turn him into the Prom King. You were the one he picked. He figures if you go to prom with him, it'll help him win his sick little bet. I'm ashamed of myself for going along with it as much as I did. I'm so sorry. People have feelings, Chris.”
But I can't look at Karl, I'm too busy studying Zach's face for any sign of change. A slight flush growing across his cheekbones now, his lips thinning, his eyes narrow.
“Am I a bet? Am I a bet, am I a fucking bet?”
I can't lie, not any more. I straighten my shoulders. “Yes.”
John's hand tucking into my arm again, his chin against my shoulder. God, not now. His voice is like silk, like molten syrup.
“You didn't think you'd become popular for real, did you? Oh, you did? That's so sweet.”
Zach takes a breath, long and slow, in and out. Half-turns away from me like he's blocking me out, shaking his head before he stalks off out of the auditorium, long legs eating up the meters as Karl gives me a snotty, smug grin before following him. John winds his arms around my neck, presses a kiss to my jaw.
“Pick me up at eight thirty, lover.” His eyes promise all kinds of things in return for my compliance, things I used to want so bad I could practically taste them.
-
Katie pushes away from me the second we get inside the auditorium, now lit with a million twinkle lights and whirling spotlights that pick people out in flashes through the dancing crowd, music pumping loud. She leans into me tight to get heard,
“I can't believe you persuaded me to do this, god, look at this place, I feel about a million years old. Go find him, cut in.”
I don't pretend like there's a single thing I'd rather do more, scanning the crowd for his dark head and Karl's, finding them in under a minute as they stand out, looking seriously fucking hot dancing together. At least it's not a slow dance. I start making my way over towards them, noticing all the way how gorgeous he looks in a totally sharp suit and shirt, skinny black tie, teeth flashing white in the strobing lights as he grins at Karl and a hot squirt of jealously worms its way around my gut just as John appears in my line of vision, grabbing my arms.
“You stood me up. I forgive you. Let's dance.”
I'm about to turn him down but the music works up a notch and everyone goes wild, sucking us into the crowd with them. I try to work us over towards Zach and Karl but we spin away, time after time as I try to keep focused on Zach, what he's doing, if he's having a good time. Then a slow dance starts and he sways towards Karl, and I feel ready to punch through a goddamn wall. But it looks like Karl whispers something in Zach's ear, moving away from him and Zach drifts off the dance floor in the other direction. John pulls me into his body and my arms go around him almost automatically, around his hot, tight frame, his scent warm in my nose as his hair brushes my chin, his lips moving against my neck just as I spot Zach looking at us from across the room. He closes his eyes briefly, turns away.
“If I can have your attention please?” Principal Greenwood thocks on the microphone a few times. “I'll begin the presentation with the announcement of your Prom King.”
John stiffens next to me, his hands clasped in front of his chest and I look through the crowd but can't see Zach's face anywhere. I spot him the second the Principal announces John's name and Zach just smiles a little, nods, John totally oblivious to the few boos breaking out across the room as he punches the air triumphantly and runs up onto the stage. I'm watching him clutch at his crown in complete bliss as I feel a touch at my elbow and turn to see Zach's curly haired co-worker tugging at my jacket sleeve. “Chris, come on. This way.”
“Anton, right? What?”
“It's Zach, he's in trouble.”
“How? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Your friend Karl. I just overhead him talking in the bathrooms. He's taking Zach to a hotel room because, and I quote, he's heard that fags give the greatest head in the world. I somehow doubt he'll be very happy if -”
“Zach says no? Shit. What hotel?”
“I don't know, I just heard that it's room four oh nine.”
-
The sound of a door closing and Zach's mom looks over towards it. “You have a good time, pumpkin nose?”
“Yeah, I actually did, for some of it.”
His voice so low it sends shivers through me. His mom holds her hand out,
“Hey, come here, handsome, let me look at you.”
“Mom, I just want to go to bed - ”
Zach appears from behind the wall dividing the living room from the hallway, still looking incredible in that suit, eyes widening in shock when he sees me standing there. His mom gets to her feet and pulls him down to her for a kiss.
“I've got to get to sleep, early start tomorrow. You kids go in the back yard if you want to talk.”
I barely notice her climbing the stairs as his eyes look into mine, deep and dark and warm like I could fall into them.
“Are you alright? Anton told me he overheard Karl talking about a hotel room and that he wanted -”
“I'm fine, I just figured it out a little late.” He starts walking towards the doors out to the yard and I follow. “You should be aware, fag bashing is still a huge issue these days. It's why I always carry this.” He digs in a pocket and pulls out a tiny personal alarm. “You push this little button and it makes a noise you can hear half a mile away. I pushed it against his ear. I can only hope,” a tiny, faux-regretful hitch of breath, “That it didn't cause any permanent damage.”
We walk out together, his shoulders like pure sex in that tailored jacket as he walks a way in front of me before stopping under the stars and inky black sky, his face half in shadow.
“How long have you been here, anyway?”
I shrug, “I don't know, a little while.”
“You missed your prom.”
“Yeah. Y'know, I made that bet before I knew you, Zach.”
A light wind ruffles his hair and his eyes are too dark in the lack of light for me to know what he's thinking.
“What was the bet over, anyway? What did you end up losing?”
“You.”
“Maybe.”
“Can I have the last dance?”
“No. You can have the first one.”
It's him who reaches out to me first, taking my hands in his and pulling me close enough to see that he's smiling as soft and gentle as the night air. We sway together, no music, nothing but us as he puts his hands on my hips as I wrap my arms around his waist.
“I feel kinda like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Only without the whole hooker thing.”
His body pushing into me. I laugh, ask him “So, what's next?”
“Drama school.”
“I was kind of thinking about drama school myself.”
He snorts, grins, his forehead resting against mine now. “Drama? You don't take drama.”
“Yeah but that whole performance, you know, be silent, be still, be silent, be still . . .”
“Chris?”
“What?”
Shut up.”
Shifting together, his body heat, his scent, soap and laundry detergent, no cologne. I press my lips against his jaw, Zach, just a whisper. He slides his hands under my jacket as I kiss him, and he sighs into my mouth. It's perfect, the most perfect kiss I've ever had.
“Hey. What were the terms, anyway?”
“You'll see. I never back out on a bet.”
-
Principal Greenwood's calling out name after name and we've still got a way to go as we're both pretty close to the end of the alphabet. It's the first time I've seen him today and he looks adorable in his graduation gown a few rows down from me, although I'm still not convinced he can really pull off hats, especially not this one. I sit there, my honors sash over my shoulders, cap on, holding tight to the soccer ball in my lap feeling everyone around start to hold their breath as the principal gets closer to calling out my name. And then I'm on, standing up clutching the ball as it's the only thing covering my privates as I walk, no, strut up to the auditorium stage, totally naked save the sash. I catch Zach's eye and he's grinning, cheeks flushed, dipping his head so I toss him the ball, a straight chest pass and he catches it, laughing his butt off as everyone starts applauding. Hell. It's not like he's not seen it all before.
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: PG-13. Sorry.
Word count: 6700
Summary: a She's All That AU - Chris is the soccer team captain who makes a bet to turn dorky Zach Quinto into one of the popular crowd by graduation. I may have stolen borrowed a few a bunch of lines: It's affectionate plagiarism homage and as much an exercise in transcription as writing, very much not mine. You don't need to have seen the movie to read this, I hope, but if you have, you'll know it's pure teeny schmoop
A/N: had to get this out of my head as these Pinto teens were interfering with my other Pinto teens. If this has been done before (likely) I shall grovel and flog myself publicly. Again!
“I reckon he upgraded.”
I punch Simon on the arm and he winces,
“What the fuck was that for? I'm only saying.”
“Simon's got a point. Total upgrade. Lots of muscles and that.”
“You guys are shitty friends. He didn't upgrade. So the guy's been in one stupid TV show, it wasn't even in this country. And I have muscles.”
John's slowly unwrapping himself from the meathead that he's been sucking face with ever since he finished introducing me to his new boyfriend, a hundred meters away from me now where I'm hanging out on the steps. Apparently that's how John breaks up with someone. Me, in this instance.
“Besides, John's totally replaceable.”
Karl spits out his soda, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
“John is replaceable? Are you bipolar? John rules this fucking school.”
“John rules the roost, total hot bitch in charge. You're nothing without him.”
“Face it. One second, you're Chris Pine, class president, stand-out athlete, all-round bad ass mamba jahamba. The next thing you know, you're Chris Pine, bitch boy.”
“Bullshit. I'm pretty hot, I can get any decent piece of tail in this whole place to fall at my fucking feet.”
“Like who?” Simon folds his arms, looking at me like I'm losing my mind. “No-one compares with John, you were a total nobody till John showed an interest. Face it - every girl wants to nail him and every guy wants to be him.”
“I don't.”
“No, you had your very own little clique of one, comprising the dudes who wanted to nail him.”
“Fuck of a lot of good that ever did me. Jesus, will you look at that?”
John's grinning widely as that retarded lunkhead Eric shoves a hand down the back of John's jeans for a grope.
“You know what? Fuck John, John's an asshole, John's nothing. I'll prove to everyone that I don't need him or his stupid, cute, tight little - whatever. I don't need him. I'm Chris Pine, captain of the soccer team and all-round hot, popular piece of ass. He's the one who'll lose social standing over this. He's the one who needs me.”
They laugh, clap me on the back while I keep grinding my teeth over the way John's gone back to licking his way around Eric's tonsils, knowing I'm watching.
“Sure he will, whatever you need to believe to get you through this.”
“You don't believe me? I'll prove it.”
“And how exactly do you plan to do that?”
“Pick any guy in school, I'll make him popular by graduation. Hell, you pick a senior, I'll get him voted Prom King.”
“Fuck off, John's Prom King and you know it.”
“Pick any loser. Give him the right look, the right social standing and bam. Six weeks and he's being named Prom King.”
“Any guy?”
“Any guy at all. Seriously.”
“Even that guy?”
I follow the direction of Karl's finger, which starts quivering with barely repressed laughter as the person he's pointing at falls up the school steps dumping a bunch of books and papers everywhere as he trips over his big, ugly-shoed feet.
“That fug dude with the glasses? Who the fuck is that?”
“Zach Quinto.”
“Who the fuck is Zach Quinto?”
“Drama geek.”
“You want me to date a drama geek? And, hell no, by the way.”
“You said any loser. You have to admit, that's one sad loser.”
This Quinto guy, god. He's like the living embodiment of the word loser. Tall and too skinny as he sprawls on the steps trying to gather his shit up and he looks like Crazy Legs Crane, he's even wearing a similar stupid hat. And, fuck, those are some ugly glasses. His clothes are eye-searing, I feel like putting my shades on.
“He has one eyebrow. I can't date someone with one fucking eyebrow. He's Burt off Sesame Street. You can't expect me to date Burt off Sesame Street.” The hat goes flying with one particularly awkward grab at a flying page. “And he parts his hair? Seriously . . .”
“Hey, if you can't do it -”
“I didn't say can't. Just . . . fine. You know what? I can totally do this. Fuck John. You're on.”
That monobrow is even worse up close as I crouch on the steps beside him and start gathering up stray papers. He looks up at me with a smile, I guess to say thanks but then he focuses on my face and the smile drops. Funny, that's not the reaction I usually get from people when I give them my most charming grin. I give a mental shrug and start shoving the armload of crap I've picked up into his messenger bag.
“It's okay. I got it.”
He grabs everything from me, dropping a little of what he'd already picked up in his haste to get his stuff away from me.
“Zach, right? Zach Quinto?”
His eyes narrow in suspicion behind the glasses, like he's perhaps got some idea that this is only the second time I've ever said his name and as if he somehow knows I've just been introduced to it myself. Nice eyes, though. Thank god, it'll give me something to cling to in case I ever need to pay him a totally sincere-sounding compliment.
“Uh, sure. Thanks.”
“I'm -”
“I know who you are.”
“Yeah, I guess I am pretty recognizable around here.”
An even bigger, even more charming smile and I twinkle my eyes at him. He gives me a look like I licked him on the face or something.
“You could say that. I, however, am not. So if you'll just -”
I block his way with my body, get into his personal space a little and notice we're the same height. Rub my hand over my hair all bashful which I happen to know is totally cute because I've watched myself do it in the mirror enough times so I'd get it just right.
“So, uh, Zach - I was wondering if you'd like to . . . horribly embarrass me in front of all these people.”
I'm halfway through the sentence when he shifts around me and walks away, throwing me one little worried look back over his shoulder, tucking the rest of his shit into his bag as he goes. Karl and Simon lose it on the steps behind me, seriously, I think Karl might actually puke he's laughing so hard.
-
“Why so glum, baby bro? Got the feeling someone else is living your life?”
“You heard about - ?”
“Oh, please. Like every single thing John does isn't around this whole place in seconds. So, whose the lucky rebound twink?”
I give Katie a quizzical look. “Rebound twink?”
“It's been a full day, you surely can't still be single. Not you.”
“There might be a sort of . . . project. Although, he kinda blew me off.”
“I like him already.”
“But he totally knew who I was. There must be some kind of mistake.”
“Chris, I know it's tough for a peen-magnet such as yourself to understand, but you could make a little effort. Find out what he likes, where he hangs out.”
-
“Thank you sir, enjoy your meal, have a nice day.”
Zach's smile drops the second the guy in front of me in line collects his food and leaves, and I do my very best not to smirk at his novelty falafel hat but it's near making me break a sweat with the effort.
“You know, stalking is illegal in all states.”
“C'mon, I just want to talk. Don't you have a break coming up?”
I try the charming grin one more time but it falters when Zach rolls his eyes a little and folds his arms defensively.
“I'm not that smart. I know you guys look at me and think, whoa, what a geek, he must at least be smart. So if you want me to tutor you or whatever -”
“Zach, I've got the fourth highest GPA in our class.”
“So, what is this, like, a dork outreach program or something?”
“No! Seriously, are you always this intense? No, it's not. I need to ask you something.”
“God. Five minutes, but that's it.”
He sits across from me in a booth, his arms up on the table and he has these fuzzy, hairy arms, even worse than mine. John barely had any body hair. That I ever got to see, that is.
“I wanted to talk to you about, uh . . . drama! Drama.”
“You don't take drama.”
“How do you know?”
One side of the monobrow lifts. “Trust me, I'd know. I haven't seen you in any of my classes.”
“I'm busy with, uh, sport and stuff. Soccer. They're letting me complete an independent study to make it up. I saw you in that end of year thing last year.” A stab in the dark, I'd never seen him before in my life until a day ago that I'm aware of. “You were really good. You could totally help me out.”
“I don't think that would be a good -”
“Excuse us, one moment.”
Zach's little curly-haired co-worker gives me a slightly unsettling wide fake smile and grabs him by the arm, drags him off towards the kitchen and I can't hear what they're saying from here over the background music, but it's definitely about me from the way the curly guy keeps jabbing a finger in my direction and then back at Zach, who throws up his hands in exasperation and comes back over to me.
“Fine. There's a show tonight at the Jester club. Parking can be a problem. Meet me there at eight, don't be late.”
“You don't want to grab something to eat first or - ?”
“No.”
-
Flickering, dancing light fills the small wooden stage along with a thumping, throbbing soundtrack of some sort of trance music, different movie footage, I don't know, bad stuff like atom bombs playing over backdrops around the stage and a big heap of people under this shiny, stretchy fabric, writhing around. What happens next is . . . I don't even know, I've trying not to put my hands over my eyes for most of it, toes curling in my shoes. It's awful, horrible and I have no idea at all what they're going for, this one guy in underpants shouting out a bunch of over-dramatic non-sequiturs while two, uh, little people, I think I'm supposed to call them, swirl around the stage. Then there's a flaming trash can and they all laugh and fall down. I'm totally lost already.
Then someone dressed all in white, like a freaking ballet dancer or something, draws a white transparent piece of cloth across the stage and it's him, it's Zach, I can already recognize that tall, skinny frame, the Crazy Legs Crane thing even stronger now as his legs seem to go on for freaking miles. The monobrow is even more terrifying against a background of white face paint. He wraps the fabric around everyone and they cuddle into a group repeating the lines “Be silent, be still” over and over, and there's movie footage of, like, roses and stuff and I am so, so lost. I have no idea at all what I'm supposed to say about this stuff. Fuck me and my stupid smart-ass mouth, there's no damn way this guy could ever make Prom King. But a mental memory develops like an old-style Polaroid in my head of John wrapped around that Eric asshole and I barely even hesitate when the freakshow in underpants calls me up on stage.
He describes me as a new voice, ironic considering my vocal cords shrivel the second I'm looking into the lights and vague ring of faces all staring up at me. I can almost feel Zach smirking at me from where he's sitting over at the side of the stage now but I don't dare look over to his face. Wow, he's pretty brutal, it's not like I even asked him out or anything yet. Kind of an asshole thing to do, volunteering me for this without any preparation at all, and my mind goes blank. Like, completely nothing as I stare into the lights and the audience, shoving my hands in my jeans pockets as I move from foot to foot awkwardly. Is it possible to actually die from humiliation? Then my hand closes around something familiar, something that I know like he knows all this bullshit: the hacky sack Coach Abrams makes me practice with to develop foot control. I start messing around with it for want of something better to do, repeating under my breath all the stuff Coach says during ball skills practice, You gotta keep bouncing, can't let it drop, never let it drop. Come on Chris, everyone's watching . . .
I don't really know what happens. It comes pouring out of me from nowhere, line by line, that everyone's relying on me. The team, my parents . . . that they're counting on me and I can't let it drop, I can't let the ball drop and, fuck, my hacky skill's are popping, feet flying. But the rush of emotion subsides and I let the sack drop to the stage, a dull thud that reverberates in the quiet air around me as the lights fade and I try to catch my breath in deafening silence. Sooner or later, it has to drop and they actually applaud me. So does he, perhaps a little reluctantly.
“Oh man! I can't believe I just did that!”
“I'm a little surprised myself.”
“Be honest - how bad did I suck? I totally sucked, right? I mean, your thing with the dude in the underpants and the, uh, little people, that was, I don't know, awesome but I just kicked a bean bag around.”
“You were good.”
“Shut up. Your thing was, like, art. I sucked.”
“Yeah. You sucked. You sucked ass. Feel better?”
He grins at me then turns away as the other people from the club spill out around us into the street. I catch something . . . something in his face when he smiles. Look at him closer, trying to figure out what it was I saw.
“What?” Irritation building in his voice again, annoyed by me staring at him when I'd finally made some actual headway.
“Do you always wear those glasses? Can't you wear contacts?”
“Sure, I have them but touching my eyes skeeves me out.”
“That's a shame, you have really pretty eyes.”
Shit. Used up that compliment, now, I guess, I won't be able to save it for later but it's sort of true, his eyes are this warm brown and fringed with soft black eyelashes that sweep down to cover a little of his skin when he blinks at me in surprise.
“Fuck, no. You didn't just tell me I have pretty eyes.”
“What? I was being nice.”
“No, nice is not the word for it. Actually, when the soccer team captain starts telling me, on darkened street corners, that I have pretty eyes, there's only one word for it. In fact, most long-running British twentieth century theater is based on it - farce.”
He jams his crumpled hat down further onto his head and stomps off in his fucking ugly sneakers, pulling his messenger bag tighter around him.
-
His mom is showing me how to stuff an eggplant when he comes into the kitchen, hands on hips. His outfit is indescribable, a mess of stripes and purple and god knows, like, clown pants or something. He's wearing suspenders. Suspenders.
“Mom, would you excuse us a minute?”
“Mind your manners, Zachary.”
“I will.” Zach grabs my arm and pulls me through into his living room, his voice a low hiss. “What are you doing here? In my kitchen with my mom? You can't keep showing up all over, it's, like, harassment.”
“You can't keep avoiding me, either.”
“I've been busy.”
“You've been freaking out.”
“Please. I don't freak out.”
“There was major freaking. You want to come to the beach?”
“No.”
“It's a pretty day.”
“I don't have time for this, I'm leaving.”
“Fine. I'll go back and let your mom stuff another eggplant with me.”
He rolls his eyes, sighs. “God. I'll get my suit.”
And it's okay at first, once he relaxes. His suit is like something out of bible days but his torso is pretty smoking. Like, just barely dusted with the smallest amount of dark chest hair and these broad, strong looking shoulders running down to a taut little waist and flat stomach. Not totally built or anything, definitely nice. He notices me checking him out and colors a little, but doesn't say anything. At least he's quit bitching about water pollution. My friends manage to treat him like just another guy and he even plays a little frisbee with us, long legs flying and that wide smile splitting his face in half when he's not paying attention. He even goes so far as to agree with me that he had an okay time but, when I ask him to come to Karl's thing with me tonight he gets all stupid, ducking his head and muttering something about cleaning the house. Man, it's like trying to pick ticks off a dog with a toothpick, every time I make a little progress he digs in that little bit deeper.
“What? What is this, what do you even want? I said I was busy.”
“Cleaning. Looks to me like you're watching TV with your mom.”
“I'm going to clean in a second. Please leave.”
“You said you couldn't come to Karl's party because you had to do chores and I'm a considerate guy so I listened. How about I save you the time?”
The guys start marching past me into the house, agreeing as they go who is going to clean which room.
“Isn't that the -”
“J.V. soccer team, yes.”
“I still can't go. Look at you. You look -” his shoulders slump in defeat, “You look great, you look . . . I look like a mess.”
“I think that's my cue.” Katie pushes her way past me, tucking her arm into Zach's. “Wow, Chris wasn't wrong, you do have nice eyes. I'm Katie, hair and wardrobe. We'll be upstairs, lil bro.”
She drags off a worried-looking Zach and I hear her telling him how impressed she is over the amount of effort he's making me put in. I settle down with his mom to watch TV, taking his place on the couch, a small dip warmed by his butt. The only sign we've got that they're still alive up there is a series of unearthly yelps that I have to assume is caused by Katie ruthlessly eliminating the monobrow. I feel almost guilty but remind myself it's for a good cause: my reputation. Reminding myself again why I'm doing this isn't such a bad idea as I'm feeling kind of cozy here with his mom, who seems to like me and keeps patting my knee. Then Katie runs down the stairs after, like, an hour and a half or something, her eyes bright with excitement.
“You are going to shit! Sorry, Mrs. Quinto.”
“That's okay, I'm quite anxious to see the results for myself.”
She winks at me and I try not to squirm in embarrassment in my shoes. You don't want your potential fake boyfriend's mom winking at you like that, trust me. Katie throws out her arms dramatically,
“May I present the new, not-improved but different . . . Zachary Quinto!”
Wow, apparently he does own some decent shoes. Those legs coming down the stairs now, so endless in fitted gray pants that showcase slinky, snaky hips. A seriously nice black leather belt with a heavy silver buckle, further up his torso now as he comes further down the staircase, a black formal shirt tucked in, slightly tailored to show off how lean he is, long sleeves covering those lightly-muscled, fuzzy arms. How come he never wears any of this shit to school? Then he stumbles over his feet in the unfamiliar shoes, half-tumbles down the rest of the stairs and I step forward, grab his hand to steady him as he finds his feet, my eyes focused on his chest. The shirt's unbuttoned a little and I can see just a hint of the hair he has there, the smooth skin at the base of his throat and then, looking up to his face . . .
My jaw hits the fucking floor.
Seriously, scrape my fucking tongue off the goddamn floor.
The glasses are gone and he has two defined eyebrows, still heavy but they frame those amazing, pretty eyes perfectly. Without the glasses he's all deep, dark eyes and cheekbones for days and I notice his mouth all of a sudden, his square, strong jaw and his hair is swept up, a little spiky. He looks . . . he looks . . .
“Holy shit.”
“My thoughts exactly, dear.”
He blushes, grins at me all shy as he pulls his hand out of mine and then his mom grabs him for a hug as he folds himself down to her level. Katie pinches my arm.
“Yow! The hell?”
“I did good, huh? Who knew that hottie was under all that eyebrow? I guess you did. Nice eye.”
“Uh. Yeah. He always did have potential.”
I guess. He must have, right? But, goddamn. I'm half-hard in my pants over Zach Quinto, Drama Dork. It's like I've fallen into the Twilight Zone. I clear my throat, blink a few times as I feel all fuzzy-headed suddenly.
“Shall we hit the road, or - ?”
“Yeah. Mom, I'll be back -”
“Don't sweat curfew tonight, go have fun, both of you.”
-
“You doing okay? You need another drink, right?”
“I can get my own drink, thanks.”
I watch him leave, pushing his way through to the kitchen, little ass all tight and high in those fitted pants. I can't take my damn eyes off him. Well, it. Then a hand slips around my shoulders the same time a slight chill works its way down my spine. I'd recognize that touch anywhere.
“Funny how much better he looks walking away.”
“John.”
“Eric will be over here in a minute, he's fetching me a beer.”
“Excellent, already building on the professional skills he'll need now he's in LA.”
“Oh, jump up my ass, Chris.”
“Been there, done that.”
“In your wet dreams, maybe.”
He raises a lazy hand at Eric who is doing this retarded dance across the room and, fuck, this low anger builds in me. Seriously? I got replaced by that? He's like a fucking Neanderthal or something. I should know something's up when John snuggles a little closer into me, snagging my beer as the crowd parts once more, Zach coming to a halt in front of us, confusion momentarily clouding his eyes and his slight smile dropping. John takes a long draw of my beer then raises an eyebrow at Zach.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was invited.”
“John, don't be a b-” I might as well have been talking to myself as he ignores it totally and speaks over the top of me.
“Oh, I remember you. Your mom used to clean my house on Saturdays. Her second job, my mom said.”
“I really wouldn't know.”
Zach's voice is low and soft, his eyes glittering as he looks at John, who pushes himself up off me to stand and, although it could just about be an accident, it's clearly not when he trips forward an extra step and dumps my beer down Zach, soaking through the shirt and the front of his pants.
“Oops, my bad.”
Zach brushes his hands down his front, sending a few suds and droplets flying to the floor.
“Thank you.”
“Excuse me?”
That low, soft voice, it sounds almost dangerous.
“Thank you, for reminding me why I have always avoided places like this and people like you.”
“Avoided us? Honey, look around you. To everyone who matters, you're vapor. You're spam, a waste of perfectly good yearbook space. Nothing's going to change that, no matter what you're wearing or who you're hanging with. You're nobody.”
John's voice smooth as ever, a hint of pity.
“Oh. You're not - you're not going to cry, are you?”
Zach's jaw works for a split second, his fists curling at his sides as I open my mouth to say something but he turns abruptly, pushing and punching his way through the crowd as I jump up and shove John out the way to run after him.
“Zach! Hey, wait up!”
“Get away from me. Don't touch me.”
“It's okay.”
“No, Chris, it's not okay.”
“C'mon. We were having a good time.”
“No. You were having a good time. Sometimes when you open yourself up to people, you let in the bad with the good.”
“Zach -”
“I want to go home.”
-
He's lying across his bed when I knock, nose buried in a book, ass still all kinds of hot and cute in another pair of really bad pants. He doesn't even lift his eyes to speak.
“I can't believe my mom is okay with you being in my room.”
“I'm good with moms. Can I come in?”
“Is there any point saying no?”
“I like your room. Is that your dad?”
“Yeah.”
“He's handsome.”
“Well, not everything's hereditary.”
A certain tone in his voice tells me not to bother disagreeing with him.
“How did he die?”
“Cancer.”
I put the photo-frame back on his desk. “Zach, you can't keep doing this.”
“Pray tell, what can't I keep doing?
“Shutting everybody out. Sitting here with your nose stuck in a book when life's going on outside your closed door.”
He closes the book with a slam, not even bothering to bookmark his place. He looks pissed, glasses back in place, guarding his face.
“So I shut people out. At least I'm able to make decisions.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Where are you going to college, Chris? I was by the counselor's office yesterday. l believe next to your name it said 'undecided'.”
“Look, there's stuff you don't understand.”
Pushing himself up in a fluid, muscular movement that weirdly but totally turns me on, moving into a seated position on his bed. He spreads his hands,
“Well, you're here now.” Indicates his desk chair with a nod of his head. “Sit down, you might as well explain it to me.”
I card my hands through my hair, rub over my face. Look at him but he simply looks back steadily, those eyes that I realize now aren't pretty at all, they're beautiful and looking at me like I'm completely transparent.
“My dad's an actor, right? He's traveled all over the world. I want to go to Berkley and I know he thinks I'm limiting myself, limiting my horizons. I get it from him every day, Pick a future, Chris but what he's really saying is Pick my future.”
A low, disapproving snort. “Are you listening to yourself? Do you realize how lucky you are? You can go to Berkley or you can go to Borneo and study squid fishing. The point is, you're eighteen and that's old enough to start making your own choices.”
“What about you? Doesn't any of that apply to you?”
“I'm working on it. Why did you really come here, Chris?”
I look at him and don't have any easy answer. “I forget. No, wait. This whole prom thing -”
“Prom?” He glances at his watch pointedly, swinging his legs off the bed. “I totally forgot, I have something to do for Mom.”
“What. Now? I wanted to talk to you about -”
“Yeah, now.”
“Oh. Can I call you later?”
“Sure, okay. Why not.”
Either he's given me the wrong number or he totally ignores my calls.
-
“Chris! Wait up.”
“What do you want, John? I'm kinda -”
“So I was having tux fittings and wasn't sure if I was going with the silk lapels or side stripe, and I remembered we haven't finalized our plans.”
“What? What plans?”
He grins wide, tucks his arm into mine and steers me into walking down the hallway with him, everyone jumping out the way like they always do with him. God, he smells great.
“Prom, dumbass. We always said we'd go together, right? Even as just friends.”
“Wait a sec, I'm confused. What happened to the caveman?”
“Him? That's so over, don't even get me started.”
I take his hand in mine and he smiles gently, looking up into my eyes. The smile falls a little when I unwind his arm from mine and drop his hand like you might do a rabid snake, if snakes got rabies.
“That's a damn shame, John, because I have other plans.”
“Pfh. You're talking about that fugly geek Zach Quinto? If I'm not mistaken, he's already taken.”
“. . . What? By who?”
He looks over my shoulder pointedly where he's led me into the auditorium. I turn around, see Zach up on the stage with . . .
“Karl? What the hell are you trying to pull?”
“Nice to see you too, mate.”
“Did he ask you to go to the prom?”
Zach's got his contacts in, eyes all hot brown a few inches from mine as I step up close to him.
“Yes, he did.”
“Bullshit! That is such bullshit -”
“Oh, someone asking me to prom is bullshit?” Folding his arms, and I want to grab his hands, wrap them around my waist.
“Karl's not even gay! Plus I thought, y'know, we might . . . go together.”
Karl's hand on my arm, a sympathetic smile. “Alright, mate, enough's enough. I may not be as secure in my sexuality as you are -”
“Bull fucking shit, you're straighter than, fuck, like, a totally straight thing.”
“ - but I actually like Zach and, well, this isn't cool any more. You've got to stop this whole bet.”
I don't want to look at him but I can't help myself. Zach's face barely flickers, barely registers the slightest emotion.
“A bet?”
“Yeah. It was so stupid, Zach. Chris was all bent out of shape over John so he bet he could take even the biggest loser in school and turn him into the Prom King. You were the one he picked. He figures if you go to prom with him, it'll help him win his sick little bet. I'm ashamed of myself for going along with it as much as I did. I'm so sorry. People have feelings, Chris.”
But I can't look at Karl, I'm too busy studying Zach's face for any sign of change. A slight flush growing across his cheekbones now, his lips thinning, his eyes narrow.
“Am I a bet? Am I a bet, am I a fucking bet?”
I can't lie, not any more. I straighten my shoulders. “Yes.”
John's hand tucking into my arm again, his chin against my shoulder. God, not now. His voice is like silk, like molten syrup.
“You didn't think you'd become popular for real, did you? Oh, you did? That's so sweet.”
Zach takes a breath, long and slow, in and out. Half-turns away from me like he's blocking me out, shaking his head before he stalks off out of the auditorium, long legs eating up the meters as Karl gives me a snotty, smug grin before following him. John winds his arms around my neck, presses a kiss to my jaw.
“Pick me up at eight thirty, lover.” His eyes promise all kinds of things in return for my compliance, things I used to want so bad I could practically taste them.
-
Katie pushes away from me the second we get inside the auditorium, now lit with a million twinkle lights and whirling spotlights that pick people out in flashes through the dancing crowd, music pumping loud. She leans into me tight to get heard,
“I can't believe you persuaded me to do this, god, look at this place, I feel about a million years old. Go find him, cut in.”
I don't pretend like there's a single thing I'd rather do more, scanning the crowd for his dark head and Karl's, finding them in under a minute as they stand out, looking seriously fucking hot dancing together. At least it's not a slow dance. I start making my way over towards them, noticing all the way how gorgeous he looks in a totally sharp suit and shirt, skinny black tie, teeth flashing white in the strobing lights as he grins at Karl and a hot squirt of jealously worms its way around my gut just as John appears in my line of vision, grabbing my arms.
“You stood me up. I forgive you. Let's dance.”
I'm about to turn him down but the music works up a notch and everyone goes wild, sucking us into the crowd with them. I try to work us over towards Zach and Karl but we spin away, time after time as I try to keep focused on Zach, what he's doing, if he's having a good time. Then a slow dance starts and he sways towards Karl, and I feel ready to punch through a goddamn wall. But it looks like Karl whispers something in Zach's ear, moving away from him and Zach drifts off the dance floor in the other direction. John pulls me into his body and my arms go around him almost automatically, around his hot, tight frame, his scent warm in my nose as his hair brushes my chin, his lips moving against my neck just as I spot Zach looking at us from across the room. He closes his eyes briefly, turns away.
“If I can have your attention please?” Principal Greenwood thocks on the microphone a few times. “I'll begin the presentation with the announcement of your Prom King.”
John stiffens next to me, his hands clasped in front of his chest and I look through the crowd but can't see Zach's face anywhere. I spot him the second the Principal announces John's name and Zach just smiles a little, nods, John totally oblivious to the few boos breaking out across the room as he punches the air triumphantly and runs up onto the stage. I'm watching him clutch at his crown in complete bliss as I feel a touch at my elbow and turn to see Zach's curly haired co-worker tugging at my jacket sleeve. “Chris, come on. This way.”
“Anton, right? What?”
“It's Zach, he's in trouble.”
“How? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Your friend Karl. I just overhead him talking in the bathrooms. He's taking Zach to a hotel room because, and I quote, he's heard that fags give the greatest head in the world. I somehow doubt he'll be very happy if -”
“Zach says no? Shit. What hotel?”
“I don't know, I just heard that it's room four oh nine.”
-
The sound of a door closing and Zach's mom looks over towards it. “You have a good time, pumpkin nose?”
“Yeah, I actually did, for some of it.”
His voice so low it sends shivers through me. His mom holds her hand out,
“Hey, come here, handsome, let me look at you.”
“Mom, I just want to go to bed - ”
Zach appears from behind the wall dividing the living room from the hallway, still looking incredible in that suit, eyes widening in shock when he sees me standing there. His mom gets to her feet and pulls him down to her for a kiss.
“I've got to get to sleep, early start tomorrow. You kids go in the back yard if you want to talk.”
I barely notice her climbing the stairs as his eyes look into mine, deep and dark and warm like I could fall into them.
“Are you alright? Anton told me he overheard Karl talking about a hotel room and that he wanted -”
“I'm fine, I just figured it out a little late.” He starts walking towards the doors out to the yard and I follow. “You should be aware, fag bashing is still a huge issue these days. It's why I always carry this.” He digs in a pocket and pulls out a tiny personal alarm. “You push this little button and it makes a noise you can hear half a mile away. I pushed it against his ear. I can only hope,” a tiny, faux-regretful hitch of breath, “That it didn't cause any permanent damage.”
We walk out together, his shoulders like pure sex in that tailored jacket as he walks a way in front of me before stopping under the stars and inky black sky, his face half in shadow.
“How long have you been here, anyway?”
I shrug, “I don't know, a little while.”
“You missed your prom.”
“Yeah. Y'know, I made that bet before I knew you, Zach.”
A light wind ruffles his hair and his eyes are too dark in the lack of light for me to know what he's thinking.
“What was the bet over, anyway? What did you end up losing?”
“You.”
“Maybe.”
“Can I have the last dance?”
“No. You can have the first one.”
It's him who reaches out to me first, taking my hands in his and pulling me close enough to see that he's smiling as soft and gentle as the night air. We sway together, no music, nothing but us as he puts his hands on my hips as I wrap my arms around his waist.
“I feel kinda like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Only without the whole hooker thing.”
His body pushing into me. I laugh, ask him “So, what's next?”
“Drama school.”
“I was kind of thinking about drama school myself.”
He snorts, grins, his forehead resting against mine now. “Drama? You don't take drama.”
“Yeah but that whole performance, you know, be silent, be still, be silent, be still . . .”
“Chris?”
“What?”
Shut up.”
Shifting together, his body heat, his scent, soap and laundry detergent, no cologne. I press my lips against his jaw, Zach, just a whisper. He slides his hands under my jacket as I kiss him, and he sighs into my mouth. It's perfect, the most perfect kiss I've ever had.
“Hey. What were the terms, anyway?”
“You'll see. I never back out on a bet.”
-
Principal Greenwood's calling out name after name and we've still got a way to go as we're both pretty close to the end of the alphabet. It's the first time I've seen him today and he looks adorable in his graduation gown a few rows down from me, although I'm still not convinced he can really pull off hats, especially not this one. I sit there, my honors sash over my shoulders, cap on, holding tight to the soccer ball in my lap feeling everyone around start to hold their breath as the principal gets closer to calling out my name. And then I'm on, standing up clutching the ball as it's the only thing covering my privates as I walk, no, strut up to the auditorium stage, totally naked save the sash. I catch Zach's eye and he's grinning, cheeks flushed, dipping his head so I toss him the ball, a straight chest pass and he catches it, laughing his butt off as everyone starts applauding. Hell. It's not like he's not seen it all before.