Categories > Theatre > Rent > Someone to Live For
In the Beginning
0 reviewsIn which Mark attends a dance, and gets some help with his Spanish. (Not at the same time.)
0Unrated
Someone to Live For
In the Beginning
------
In which Mark attends a dance, and gets some help with his Spanish. (Not at the same time.)
Author's Note: Something of a collaborative effort with Quinby, though I'm only posting the bits of this that I've written. Also, we're using the musical timeline as a basis rather than the movie timeline, to which end the first story is in the fall of 1989 rather than events further down the way.
Disclaimer: Borrowing from the late, great Jonathan Larson. Will put back when done.
------
Mark's not the sort of person who goes to school dances for the dancing opportunities. He's not that kind of an idiot - he'd get laughed out of the gym no matter what he tried, and he's having a hard enough time adjusting to the social setting in Buffalo without making things worse on purpose. It's bad enough being the geeky new kid with the camera.
He's there anyway, since his mother thinks his social horizons could use the expanding. Besides, he sees it as a good chance to film the high school's gene pool in action, and just watch people in general when it's too dark to get much on film. Mark doesn't understand why people like their dances dark; you can't see any of the interesting stuff that way.
There's one girl in particular, though, who's practically lighting up the room on her own. He doesn't know if it's because she's having so much fun, or if she's like that all the time, or what, but he's pretty sure he hasn't seen her around before. He'd remember.
The girl disappears for a bit, then turns up next to him with a plastic cup of soda, smiling and sitting down without waiting for an invitation. Not that Mark could have brought himself to chase her away, but still.
"Haven't seen you around before," she says. "You new?"
"...Um. More or less? I mean, I moved here over the summer, but I'm still adjusting."
"Guess we just haven't really run into each other yet - I think I'd remember. I'm Angel, by the way."
"Mark. Nice to meet you." He realizes his camera is still halfway to his face, and sets it in his lap, hoping he can get through this conversation without making himself look like too much of an idiot.
"Nice camera."
"Thanks. Had it since I was ten. I want to go into film after school, if I can manage it."
"Cool. Take it you didn't exactly come here to dance, then?"
"You're kidding, right? All I really know is ballroom stuff, and I'd be doomed if I tried that in here. Besides, just watching people is plenty interesting."
Angel smiles, and Mark almost wishes he was still filming. "Fair enough."
"...I didn't interrupt you, did I? I mean, you looked like you were having fun, I wouldn't want to stop you."
"No, it's all right. Where'd you learn ballroom stuff, anyway?"
"Scarsdale. It's... I don't know whether I miss it. My dad's job transferred him up here."
"I know the feeling. Lived in Cleveland till I was... about six, I think, and then Dad got moved out this way. Don't exactly remember it well enough to miss it, other than my grandparents. We go visit, sometimes, but it's not the same, you know?"
"Yeah, I know." Mark can't help but grin - he can still hardly believe such a pretty, vibrant girl sat down to talk to him in the first place, let alone that she's stuck it out this long. He decides to stop thinking about it before he does screw something up, and then Angel's changing the subject.
Before either of them know it, the DJ's announcing one last slow dance for the night, and people are starting to drift out. Angel smiles apologetically and says, "Didn't mean to monopolize your time."
"I didn't mind. Should probably go wait for my parents, though."
"Me too. Want some company?"
"Sure." They relocate their conversation to the school's front steps, and keep talking until Angel's ride pulls up in the circle.
"See you around," Angel says, and Mark nods and watches her go. He certainly hopes that's not the last he sees of her.
*
Two weeks have gone by since that dance, and Mark hasn't been able to find Angel anywhere. He didn't think someone so bright would be so impossible to track down, but apparently she's also good at hiding.
What he has managed to do is nearly fail yet another Spanish test, and this after barely scraping through the first quarter. It doesn't surprise him in the least; he'd been taking French, back in Scarsdale, but the administration here hasn't listened no matter how many times he's tried to tell them they stuck him in the wrong class. The teacher is at least understanding about Mark's situation, but she can't just go ahead and pass him.
So now it's come to setting up some after-school tutoring with one of the more advanced students. Mark's not entirely sold on the idea, but his dad will kill him if he actually fails something, whether he should have been in the class or not.
"Sorry I'm late - got stuck talking to a friend."
Mark looks up - the kid who just walked into the room can't be much older than he is, for all he's a few inches shorter. There's something dimly familiar about his face, but he just figures they've probably passed in the hallway a few times.
"You're... Mark, right?" the guy says, like he's just now connecting the name to a face. Mark nods, and then it's down to business. He tries, and with the help it does seem a little easier, but as things stand he still can't get a grip on the language.
"...Why are you even in this class?" the other guy says, after fifteen or twenty minutes. "I mean, you seem pretty smart otherwise."
Mark rolls his eyes. "My family moved here over the summer. Can't seem to convince the school I was taking French last year."
"Oh, so admin's being useless at you. Señora Hernandez know that?"
"Yeah. She's been helping me as much as she can, but... well. How'd you get so good at this?"
"Years of practice. My grandparents moved to the States from Havana, back before Castro got power down there - we lived with 'em for a few years, and my grandmother never really bothered to learn much English. When she gets going, she's nearly impossible to keep up with."
"Okay, your family's cooler than mine. More useful, anyway. My mother just tends to lapse into Yiddish without warning."
"Let me guess, it's your fault for not understanding a word of it?"
"Well, naturally. I think parents do that even when they don't have an extra language at their disposal, though."
They get back to the subject at hand, and while Mark still suspects he's in over his head, it might possibly be getting slightly easier. He's not sure if that's because he has help, or if it's finally starting to sink into his brain or if any glimmer of progress is all in his head.
Maybe this after-school tutoring thing won't be so bad as he'd thought it might, though. The guy helping him is easy to talk to, and more than willing to explain things, even when Mark feels like he ought to know it already. It turns out, by way of another digression, that they're in the same English class, which would explain why he looks familiar.
"I think that's enough Spanish for one afternoon. Same time next week work for you?"
"Sure. And, um, I don't think I caught your name?"
"Right, sorry. I'm Andrew. Most of my friends call me Angel, though."
"Nice to... wait a minute." Mark takes a closer look, and he can't believe he missed it before; those are Angel's eyes, all right, and that's her apologetic smile. "You're the... we've met, before. At the dance."
"Yeah. Sorry I didn't say anything, but I didn't know how you'd react."
"I don't know how to react!"
"Clearly. Look, I'm really sorry, we should both just go home, you probably need to think, just... please, try not to let this cloud your judgment?"
When Mark gets home, he sticks his camera on his bike and rides around the subdivision, filming and trying to clear his head. It takes a while, and by the time he goes back home, he's only a little closer to sorting things out. But he's at least figured out the two sides to the issue, and he thinks he's calmed down enough to avoid playing twenty questions with his mother.
On the one hand, Andrew wears skirts, apparently for the hell of it. Mark's pretty sure his parents wouldn't be too fond of the idea, and the school can't be, which is just making Mark wonder all the more how he got away with it at that dance. Probably because he does such a convincing job, to say nothing of the fact that it was nearly Halloween.
But on the other hand... Angel's /interesting/, and Mark's already having to forcibly remind himself that's not his real name. He's fun, he's easy to talk to, he doesn't seem to mind that Mark's an utter geek, so why should it matter how his taste in clothing runs?
It takes a few days for Mark to make up his mind, partly because he ignores the issue as much as he possibly can. By the end of the weekend, he thinks he's got a handle on it, and he heads into school on Monday feeling somewhat better about the situation.
He finds who he's looking for in the cafeteria at lunch, sitting alone at a table by the windows. With that in mind, Mark gets his own lunch, heads over there, and says, "This seat taken, Angel?"
Angel looks up, and beams. "No, go ahead and sit down."
In the Beginning
------
In which Mark attends a dance, and gets some help with his Spanish. (Not at the same time.)
Author's Note: Something of a collaborative effort with Quinby, though I'm only posting the bits of this that I've written. Also, we're using the musical timeline as a basis rather than the movie timeline, to which end the first story is in the fall of 1989 rather than events further down the way.
Disclaimer: Borrowing from the late, great Jonathan Larson. Will put back when done.
------
Mark's not the sort of person who goes to school dances for the dancing opportunities. He's not that kind of an idiot - he'd get laughed out of the gym no matter what he tried, and he's having a hard enough time adjusting to the social setting in Buffalo without making things worse on purpose. It's bad enough being the geeky new kid with the camera.
He's there anyway, since his mother thinks his social horizons could use the expanding. Besides, he sees it as a good chance to film the high school's gene pool in action, and just watch people in general when it's too dark to get much on film. Mark doesn't understand why people like their dances dark; you can't see any of the interesting stuff that way.
There's one girl in particular, though, who's practically lighting up the room on her own. He doesn't know if it's because she's having so much fun, or if she's like that all the time, or what, but he's pretty sure he hasn't seen her around before. He'd remember.
The girl disappears for a bit, then turns up next to him with a plastic cup of soda, smiling and sitting down without waiting for an invitation. Not that Mark could have brought himself to chase her away, but still.
"Haven't seen you around before," she says. "You new?"
"...Um. More or less? I mean, I moved here over the summer, but I'm still adjusting."
"Guess we just haven't really run into each other yet - I think I'd remember. I'm Angel, by the way."
"Mark. Nice to meet you." He realizes his camera is still halfway to his face, and sets it in his lap, hoping he can get through this conversation without making himself look like too much of an idiot.
"Nice camera."
"Thanks. Had it since I was ten. I want to go into film after school, if I can manage it."
"Cool. Take it you didn't exactly come here to dance, then?"
"You're kidding, right? All I really know is ballroom stuff, and I'd be doomed if I tried that in here. Besides, just watching people is plenty interesting."
Angel smiles, and Mark almost wishes he was still filming. "Fair enough."
"...I didn't interrupt you, did I? I mean, you looked like you were having fun, I wouldn't want to stop you."
"No, it's all right. Where'd you learn ballroom stuff, anyway?"
"Scarsdale. It's... I don't know whether I miss it. My dad's job transferred him up here."
"I know the feeling. Lived in Cleveland till I was... about six, I think, and then Dad got moved out this way. Don't exactly remember it well enough to miss it, other than my grandparents. We go visit, sometimes, but it's not the same, you know?"
"Yeah, I know." Mark can't help but grin - he can still hardly believe such a pretty, vibrant girl sat down to talk to him in the first place, let alone that she's stuck it out this long. He decides to stop thinking about it before he does screw something up, and then Angel's changing the subject.
Before either of them know it, the DJ's announcing one last slow dance for the night, and people are starting to drift out. Angel smiles apologetically and says, "Didn't mean to monopolize your time."
"I didn't mind. Should probably go wait for my parents, though."
"Me too. Want some company?"
"Sure." They relocate their conversation to the school's front steps, and keep talking until Angel's ride pulls up in the circle.
"See you around," Angel says, and Mark nods and watches her go. He certainly hopes that's not the last he sees of her.
*
Two weeks have gone by since that dance, and Mark hasn't been able to find Angel anywhere. He didn't think someone so bright would be so impossible to track down, but apparently she's also good at hiding.
What he has managed to do is nearly fail yet another Spanish test, and this after barely scraping through the first quarter. It doesn't surprise him in the least; he'd been taking French, back in Scarsdale, but the administration here hasn't listened no matter how many times he's tried to tell them they stuck him in the wrong class. The teacher is at least understanding about Mark's situation, but she can't just go ahead and pass him.
So now it's come to setting up some after-school tutoring with one of the more advanced students. Mark's not entirely sold on the idea, but his dad will kill him if he actually fails something, whether he should have been in the class or not.
"Sorry I'm late - got stuck talking to a friend."
Mark looks up - the kid who just walked into the room can't be much older than he is, for all he's a few inches shorter. There's something dimly familiar about his face, but he just figures they've probably passed in the hallway a few times.
"You're... Mark, right?" the guy says, like he's just now connecting the name to a face. Mark nods, and then it's down to business. He tries, and with the help it does seem a little easier, but as things stand he still can't get a grip on the language.
"...Why are you even in this class?" the other guy says, after fifteen or twenty minutes. "I mean, you seem pretty smart otherwise."
Mark rolls his eyes. "My family moved here over the summer. Can't seem to convince the school I was taking French last year."
"Oh, so admin's being useless at you. Señora Hernandez know that?"
"Yeah. She's been helping me as much as she can, but... well. How'd you get so good at this?"
"Years of practice. My grandparents moved to the States from Havana, back before Castro got power down there - we lived with 'em for a few years, and my grandmother never really bothered to learn much English. When she gets going, she's nearly impossible to keep up with."
"Okay, your family's cooler than mine. More useful, anyway. My mother just tends to lapse into Yiddish without warning."
"Let me guess, it's your fault for not understanding a word of it?"
"Well, naturally. I think parents do that even when they don't have an extra language at their disposal, though."
They get back to the subject at hand, and while Mark still suspects he's in over his head, it might possibly be getting slightly easier. He's not sure if that's because he has help, or if it's finally starting to sink into his brain or if any glimmer of progress is all in his head.
Maybe this after-school tutoring thing won't be so bad as he'd thought it might, though. The guy helping him is easy to talk to, and more than willing to explain things, even when Mark feels like he ought to know it already. It turns out, by way of another digression, that they're in the same English class, which would explain why he looks familiar.
"I think that's enough Spanish for one afternoon. Same time next week work for you?"
"Sure. And, um, I don't think I caught your name?"
"Right, sorry. I'm Andrew. Most of my friends call me Angel, though."
"Nice to... wait a minute." Mark takes a closer look, and he can't believe he missed it before; those are Angel's eyes, all right, and that's her apologetic smile. "You're the... we've met, before. At the dance."
"Yeah. Sorry I didn't say anything, but I didn't know how you'd react."
"I don't know how to react!"
"Clearly. Look, I'm really sorry, we should both just go home, you probably need to think, just... please, try not to let this cloud your judgment?"
When Mark gets home, he sticks his camera on his bike and rides around the subdivision, filming and trying to clear his head. It takes a while, and by the time he goes back home, he's only a little closer to sorting things out. But he's at least figured out the two sides to the issue, and he thinks he's calmed down enough to avoid playing twenty questions with his mother.
On the one hand, Andrew wears skirts, apparently for the hell of it. Mark's pretty sure his parents wouldn't be too fond of the idea, and the school can't be, which is just making Mark wonder all the more how he got away with it at that dance. Probably because he does such a convincing job, to say nothing of the fact that it was nearly Halloween.
But on the other hand... Angel's /interesting/, and Mark's already having to forcibly remind himself that's not his real name. He's fun, he's easy to talk to, he doesn't seem to mind that Mark's an utter geek, so why should it matter how his taste in clothing runs?
It takes a few days for Mark to make up his mind, partly because he ignores the issue as much as he possibly can. By the end of the weekend, he thinks he's got a handle on it, and he heads into school on Monday feeling somewhat better about the situation.
He finds who he's looking for in the cafeteria at lunch, sitting alone at a table by the windows. With that in mind, Mark gets his own lunch, heads over there, and says, "This seat taken, Angel?"
Angel looks up, and beams. "No, go ahead and sit down."
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