Work Text:
It was literally the worst part of fourteen year old Alex Mercer’s school day: lunch.
Hands gripping his lunch tray, Alex could practically hear his heart pounding in his ears as his eyes scanned the cafeteria, looking for…there.
He let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Reggie Peters, who sat in the last table in the back corner, wearing his token black flannel (he wouldn’t get his red one until he was sixteen and snuck over to stay at the studio for the first time, but that was a story for another day), hunched over a textbook with his Walkman headphones already in his ears. Alex’s nerves ticked down at least a notch, having already accomplished the first two most stressful parts of the lunch period- going through the cafeteria line and seeing if his lunch buddy was there yet.
Now for the absolute worst part: the walk to the table.
Drawing in a deep breath, his eyes fell down to the floor as he counted the steps to his usual table, ignoring the looks, ignoring the shouting and swearing that had absolutely nothing to do with him but for some reason he felt threatened by, ignoring the annoyed looks of the jocks and cheerleaders, though he had done nothing to them.
Forty-two.
As he finished the last step, he let out his breath and looked up to find he had safely made it to their usual table. It was one in the back by the window that leaked and the radiator that hadn’t worked in a good twenty years, according to school legend, but it was, nonetheless, their table. Of course, by their table simply meant that he and Reggie both happened to sit there, it wasn’t like they were friends or anything. They were just two like-minded, friendless, losers, who could acknowledge that high school lunch was survived best in numbers.
Well, it probably wasn’t fair to call Reggie a loser, he really didn’t know anything about him. But surely anyone desperate enough to sit with him every day was also a loser.
“Hey,” Alex greeted as he slid into the seat across from Reggie.
There was no response from the other kid, who drummed his pencil against his algebra book and his knee bounced up and down as he listened to…whatever it was that a Reggie Peters listened to.
“Okay,” Alex sighed.
Sitting down his appetizing (not really) lunch of tuna casserole, green beans and canned peaches, he reached into his bookbag for his own lunchtime entertainment: The Catcher in the Rye. He had about twenty-five minutes to figure out what was going on with this book before English, where they would be called on to analyze different parts of it. To say he was nervous about class was putting it nicely…he had almost thrown up twice today just thinking about the pressure.
It was freezing by the leaky window- because of course it only ever seemed to rain and get chilly in L.A. during his lunch period. He tugged his blazer around him tighter, wishing he had a hoodie or anything cozier to wear. Yes, he was one of those losers, the special kind whose mother mostly only bought him church clothes and expected him to go to high school wearing his Sunday best.
“You represent the church wherever you go.”
The church, of course, being his father’s church- the whole reason his life had been uprooted from Oklahoma to L.A. last summer in the first place.
He didn’t want to think about it.
As Alex tried to read and work up an appetite for the Wednesday lunch special, he couldn’t help but to steal glances over to Reggie, wondering how he managed to look so at peace and lost in his own world around the chaos that was the cafeteria. Reggie had also just moved here, from Idaho; Alex supposed it was what destined them to end up at the losers’ table together. Letting out another long breath, he stole a glance up to the clock on the wall: only twenty minutes of hell left.
He could do this.
Reggie abruptly flipped the page in his math book, moving onto the next set of problems; Alex frowned, realizing that these weren’t any chapters any of the freshman math classes were on, these were advanced problems. This kid was literally doing math for fun, during lunch.
The guitar behind him suddenly ripped into a sharp chord as the kid belted Nirvana out, right behind Alex:
Memoria! Memoria!
It wasn’t helping the sensory overload going off like firecrackers in his brain, and Alex was already having enough of a day between English coming up and choir later, he kind of…lost it.
“Hey, do you mind?” Alex snapped, swirling around in his seat.
Alex stopped as soon as the guitarist turned around. He had seen this kid before, this brunette who always carried his guitar around, usually had his guitar instead of his bookbag even. He had heard him playing in the hall before classes, had heard him playing during classes (old man Smith was six months from retirement from a forty-year teaching career and just simply did not care about freshman physical science anymore, more power to him, Alex thought), and he had seen him in gym, singing while he was running laps. This kid had a confidence that Alex couldn’t dream of having, and it was in his nature to shy away from people who were that extroverted.
He really wasn’t even sure what had gotten into him now, and he quickly closed his mouth, wishing he could melt into the floor as wild, blue eyes stared back at him and the guitarist’s friend snorted. He did remember that kid, Bobby- they were awkwardly sat next together in gym on the first day of school but never spoke again, thank God because Alex’s introduction had gone something like:
“I just moved here Oklahoma…you know, like the musical.”
At the time he was pretty sure that had been the first nail in the coffin of his high school reputation (Bobby had forgotten he existed by fourth period).
“Hey, sorry bro,” the guitarist replied coolly, glancing over Alex’s shoulder. “Oh cool! Catcher in the Rye! It’s like my favorite book we’ve read so far. Changed my life, I’m telling you!”
The two stared back at him, and he realized they expected him to say something. They were sitting really close to his table, he realized. Suddenly he couldn’t remember a damn thing about the book.
Breathe, Alex, he pleaded with himself.
He settled with:
“You…like to read?”
“Yeah,” Guitar Guy shrugged. “My aunt teaches college English and does this book club thing. They go into books like way deeper than high school does, it’s totally mind-blowing.”
“He goes for the chicks and the food,” Bobby commented, snorting again, earning a glare for his friend.
“You go for college girls?” Alex repeated, grossed out.
His sister was going to college next year and no way could he imagine her dating someone like this guy.
“Mainly the food,” he mumbled. “And because my mom makes me. She says it can teach me culture or something, I dunno. Music does that, plenty. But it helps with the songwriting, so I don’t super mind. I’m Luke, by the way.”
He strummed again at his guitar, as though this whole conversation hadn’t started because of him playing his music too loud. Alex glanced over to Bobby, wondering if Luke was for real right now, and the other kid only shrugged, shaking his head at his friend. They were both sitting with some girls who were throwing Luke and Bobby both googly eyes over his guitar playing, but Luke didn’t even seem to notice their attention. He wasn’t even sure if Luke realized other people were at his table.
“You write songs?” Alex asked.
“Yeah, he writes songs,” Bobby chimed in, “it’s literally all he does, when he’s not singing other people’s songs.”
“Hey, I’ve got to work on my craft!” Luke complained. “If our band’s going to take off we need songs to go busking with and then to play at small gigs and then stadiums and-“
“Okay, Dave Grohl, we get it,” Bobby smirked, he turned to Alex, mocking, “Luke’s very…passionate.”
“Yeah, so I hear…every day,” Alex admitted. He stole a glance over to Reggie, who wasn’t even paying attention, lost in math land. “So…you have a band?”
Somehow, he felt like if Luke the Guitar Guy really had a band, he would have heard about it, but he had only ever seen him play by himself.
Luke winced, his hand rubbed the back of his neck and he stammered as he admitted:
“Well…I got Bobby, and he plays rhythm guitar.”
“Kinda,” Bobby corrected.
“We’re working on it!” Luke insisted. “And I play lead, clearly. What we really could use is a…HEY! I know where I know you from!”
Oh no.
Alex’s cheeks felt red-hot as he shrank back into his seat, trying innocently to turn back to his book, but Luke jumped over the chair he sat in and slid into the free one at his and Reggie’s table.
“You’re the new preacher’s kid!” Luke exclaimed, grinning as he playfully punched Alex in the shoulder.
“Ow,” Alex grumbled, his eyes glued to his uneaten lunch.
Without asking permission, Luke started playing and singing:
The only one who could ever reach me
Was the son of a preacher man
The only boy who could ever teach me
Was the son of a preacher man
Blinking, Alex wondered if Luke had any idea what he was actually singing about.
“Yeah okay…” he muttered, but Luke ignored him as he kept play, “so…you go to my dad’s church. Cool…cool cool cool.”
Not cool, at all!
Was he too young to fake a heart attack?
“Sometimes,” Luke shrugged, “when my mom really throws a fit about it. You guys have that band though!”
Oh no.
“Our worship band, yeah,” he sighed, “it’s not exactly…what you do though.”
Okay, so truth was the band was Alex and his sister’s idea in the first place, as an excuse to not have to actually, you know, sit and pay attention to his father’s downright scary preaching. It was him on drums, her on piano, his cousin Mark on guitar. It wasn’t much, but it was nice to be able to focus on the music and not all the ways his father warned people they might go to hell.
“But you play drums!” Luke exclaimed, practically bouncing in his seat. “And we need a drummer!”
Alex was pretty sure he wasn’t going to have to fake a heart attack at this point. There was no way Guitar Guy was actually asking him, Alex Mercer, to be in his rock band.
No way.
This was some really, strange nightmare. A fever dream, maybe.
“I barely play,” he corrected, “it’s like…good enough for ‘Go Rest High on That Mountain’ it’s not rock.”
It was a complete and utter lie, but no one, no one in the world could ever know that- let alone Luke.
“But everybody’s gotta start somewhere, right?” Luke pointed out, placing an arm on Alex’s shoulder.
Alex nearly leapt out of his seat in shock at the touch. Maybe it was because he came from a very much not hugging, touchy-feely family, but he did not get what he had done to already earn enough trust from Luke for him to hang onto him like they were already bros.
“Yeah…no,” Alex shot, slinking away. “I’m really, I’m not…I don’t know anything about rock. I just do this on Sunday’s.”
Luke pointed an accusing finger at him, wearing a wicked grin that made Bobby beam brightly and Alex blush even harder.
“That’s a bold-faced lie and you know it!” His finger trailed down to jab at Alex’s chest. “I know for a fact that you’re hiding a David Bowie “We Can Be Heroes” shirt under that old man blazer.”
Sweating madly, Alex’s eyes dashed around to help- how as Reggie not paying any attention?! He started to grab his things, hoping to just make a dash for it.
“Stay,” Bobby instructed, his voice gruff enough to make Alex plop back down on command. “Trust me bro, you don’t wanna run from Luke Patterson once he has his sights set on you. Dude literally stalked me at lunch every day after I made the mistake of singing ‘Imagine’ in the school talent show in fourth grade.”
“It was a beautiful rendition, bro!” Luke whined. “Own it!”
Eyes twinkling still, Luke turned his attention back to Alex, waving his hand.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged, “I dare you.”
Alex glanced around, feeling sick with nerves but…why? What exactly was wrong with him that he felt like he couldn’t even wear a perfectly normal- totally popular to wear- shirt at school? Sure, his parents would scold him for it but-
“Dude, your dad’s not here,” Luke pointed out, as though reading his mind.
With a sigh, Alex finally unbuttoned his blazer to reveal the hidden Bowie shirt.
“Knew it!” Luke cried out proudly, pounding his hand on the table. “Who else do you like? Top three albums- go!”
“I…uh…”
He looked to Bobby for help, but he only held up his hands uselessly, as though to remind him there was no use running.
“Do you mean like…ever?” Alex asked. “My top favorite or the best? Rock or any genre?”
Luke’s grin only widened; he was looking at Alex like he struck gold.
“Bobbert, I think we found our drummer,” Luke announced.
“I told you not to call me that!” Bobby grumbled.
“I…wait! I never agreed! No, I can’t,” Alex let out a groan of frustration. “My parents would never let me join a rock band. I can’t even play rock music at home! It’s bad enough I have to hide my cassettes from them. No, I can’t…no.”
The guitarist shook his head solemnly at Alex, as though he might as well have told him he hid a whole secret life from his parents. And well…truthfully…sometimes that’s what it felt like. He never exactly felt like he belonged with the rest of the family.
“You and I come from completely different lives,” Alex promised him, “it’s nice and all that your mom lets you do this stuff-“
“Woah woah woah,” Luke cut in, “my mom is not like, a huge fan of music or anything. She got me my guitar because she wanted me to do something besides read comic books all day when I was a kid. But now she wants me to do stuff other than play guitar all day, but I know I’m good at music. It’s like what I was born to do, I swear! And with the right band, we could for real take the world by storm. I mean you get it, right? Music clearly means stuff to you if it’s enough for you to sneak around.”
Sighing, Alex silently agreed that he knew exactly what Luke meant. He’d never admit how closely he connected with David Bowie’s lyrics, or how Freddie Mercury’s performance at Live Aid literally made his whole year in ’85. He’d never admit that the reason he volunteered to take over janitorial duties at the church was so he could sneak into the basement, where his drumkit was kept, and wail away at the Led Zeppelin solos he taught himself.
But…that was all different than actually being in a rock band.
“Let me hear you play!” Luke pleaded, actually placing his hands together like he was praying. “Please dude! I am desperate to have a real band and I can tell you want this! I can see it in your soul!”
“You can’t see my soul,” Alex mumbled.
“Pleaseseeeeeeeeee!” Luke begged, reached out to shake his shoulders. “Please! I know you’ve got this in you man! You owe it to yourself and every kid out there hiding his Bowie tapes from his parents.”
Alex stared at him, mouth falling agape. Bobby was right, he was never going to hear the end of this if he didn’t agree, was he? And school was hard enough without living in fear of Luke Patterson popping up out of nowhere everyday begging him to join his band.
“Fine,” he finally sighed. “I’m supposed to clean up at the church after Wednesday services tonight. My parents always leave me there while they go out to dinner and mingle with their new L.A. church friends.”
The two raised their eyebrow, acknowledging how messed up that sounded, and Alex couldn’t help but to flash a mischievous grin.
“It only takes me like a half hour to clean,” Alex explained, “the rest of it I usually spend…drumming.”
The guitarist let out a cheer of approval, and for a split second, for the first time ever, Alex felt like the coolest guy and school.
“No one can know!” Alex pleaded.
“They won’t dude!” Luke promised, clasping his shoulder; Alex blushed again at the touch. “You won’t regret this, this will change your life, I promise! Man, if only we had a bass player we would be set!”
“I play bass.”
The three whipped their heads toward the new voice, who spoke up so small they almost didn’t hear it among the cafeteria chaos. Reggie was rubbing his neck nervously, absent-mindedly returning to his math problems like he had never said anything, like he assumed maybe they didn’t care.
“Wait,” Alex spoke up, pointing to kid’s Walkman. “You were listening to us the whole time?”
With a shrug, Reggie kept his eyes down as he admitted:
“My batteries died over the weekend.”
Alex stared.
“So…you’ve been sitting here all week…pretending to listen to music?”
He had even been pretending to play rhythms along with the music, he was that into the lie, Alex realized.
“Yeah, I…it helps,” Reggie replied, his voice cracking; he was trembling ever so slightly, almost more nervous than Alex usually was to speak. “I like to blend in. No one bothers me if I’m listening to music.”
It was said so casually and earnestly that it actually was painful to hear, and Alex’s heart went out to Reggie, wondering just how often in life he pretended to wear headphones to make sure no one bothered him.
“Dude just…get new batteries,” Bobby pointed out.
Reggie looked up, his eyes looked so tired, Alex thought, the eyeliner did a terrible job to hide it.
“Costs money,” Reggie shrugged.
A couple of batteries cost what…a couple of bucks? Alex considered.
“Go back to the part where you play bass,” Luke cut in, his eyes full of hope.
He was so childlike with his energy, it was a bit mesmerizing. At the same time, he seemed so much older and put together than just any other kid at school. Not in a mature way, per say, but in a Luke’s got life figured out way. He was pretty sure that most of the guys at this school wouldn’t know passion if it slapped them in the face, but he had no doubt Bobby was right about Luke being passionate. Literally the only thing the guitarist cared about right now was music, to his core. He had talent and he knew it, and he had songs to get out to the world. That kind of drive was…well…it was kind of refreshing, admittedly. Better than hanging out with everyone else in school who pretended like the rest of the world beyond their lives didn’t even exist.
Reggie shrugged again, mumbling:
“I play bass,” like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “not like, officially but…I got one. I saved up all my bar mitzvah money and got one at the pawn shop down from my house.”
“All your bar mitzvah money?” Bobby asked, impressed. “Dude, how nice is this bass?”
It was at the same time Alex asked:
“Wait, you’re Jewish?”
How had he sat next to this kid for weeks and never learned that?
“Yeah, sorta,” Reggie replied, to Alex, “on my dad’s side. I don’t normally count that side, but my aunt sent me like a hundred bucks thinking I’d have a bar mitzvah. But my dad is really not religious and my mom is not really like…anything? So I never actually had one. But I mean hey, I will take free money. This is the same aunt that sends two birthday checks every year cause she gets me confused with my cousin, Randy. And we don’t even know where he lives. Our family doesn’t talk to us much? So I spent her money on comics for my brother and bought a bass for me. And some ice cream. And some pizza. But we didn’t tell my dad though, I got the card when I checked the mail while he was at work. Not that he’s never not working. He works in a warehouse and he works at his friend’s tire shop too. I work there sometimes too, well I help him, I don’t get paid so I guess I don’t technically work there. He probably would have put the hundred toward the big tax bill we owe. Which I’m also not supposed to tell…I’m gonna shut up now.”
They all stared.
Reggie very abruptly turned back to his headphones and homework.
“No…no dude wait!” Luke called before Reggie could go back to pretending to listening to music. “You really play bass?”
“I’m learning, anyway,” Reggie confessed. “When my dad isn’t home, which is most of the time. My mom sleeps a lot, and she sleeps through anything so she doesn’t really care, but he would not like the noise.”
Alex blinked, wondering how he had gone from knowing next nothing about Reggie to hearing his whole life story and all his family baggage in about sixty seconds. Maybe it was just him, he thought- maybe Alex was the weirdo loser, and Reggie didn’t care about talking to him. For all he knew Reggie had plenty of friends during other periods of the day; he somehow didn’t seem to mind talking to Luke at all.
“Give him your church’s address,” Luke instructed, poking at Alex’s shoulder.
He motioned for Reggie to give him the pencil and a piece of paper. Alex glanced around at the three, hesitant, still feeling like this was an awful idea. He had worked so hard to keep his passion for rock music alive and secret, and really, it was enough for him. He didn’t need a band.
But…this was also the most anyone had talked to him since moving to L.A., besides church, and that really didn’t count. He was the preacher’s son, after all. His mom had been wanting him to make friends, and maybe on the off chance she found out that would be enough for her to let him do it.
The guys gazed at him, all looking excited, all full of anticipation- even Reggie. For once, he had the power to make something cool happen.
A band.
He could- potentially, theoretically- be in a band.
“Okay,” Alex finally agreed, voice shaking as he grabbed the pencil and paper.
Luke beamed at him and Bobby patted him on the back, grateful. Even Reggie offered him the smallest, grateful, smile.
“Mark my words, boys,” Luke announced, grabbing his guitar as the bell rang, “tonight, legends are going to be born.”
Alex could only stare as Luke grabbed Bobby by the shoulders, shaking him as the two headed off to whatever classes they had next, leaving him reeling. Reggie quietly gathered his things, like nothing had ever happened.
“Hey,” Alex realized suddenly, “you never ate lunch.”
And now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure Reggie wearing the same black clothes all the time wasn’t just a goth thing. His family really didn’t have money. He slid his tray over.
“I’ve got a headache,” Alex lied; he had some spare change, he could always get some Poptarts from the vending machine.
“Um…thanks,” Reggie’s voice was barely above a whisper as he accepted the tray and picked up the roll from it. “Um, I shouldn’t have said that, about my family. I just…I get nervous, and I talk a lot and say too much, then I say weird stuff.”
Now that, Alex could understand.
“Yeah, talking to people makes me nervous too,” he admitted. “Um…my dad’s church, it has a food bank. You don’t have to be a member or anything to go. I can show you if you want, we can wait till after the guys leave.”
Though Reggie looked completely embarrassed to be offered, he gave him a silent nod, understanding and grateful. Alex reached back into the front pocket of his backpack, suddenly remembering that he had there two coveted spared batteries, just in case his own Walkman ever went out. He handed them to Reggie, who looked like he might cry at being able to actually listen to music again.
“Thanks,” Reggie replied, genuine.
“What kind of music do you listen to, anyway?” Alex asked, hanging around while Reggie dove quickly into his lunch, taking advantage of every spare moment before they had class.
“Country,” Reggie spat out between bites. Their eyes met and they both grinned- it was the last answer Alex expected and he was sure it was the last Luke would expect.
“Top three albums?” Alex dared to ask.
“Coat of Many Colors, At Folsom Prison,” Reggie began, beaming like he might as well be telling Alex the name of his kids, “and Revolver, you know, for good measure.”
“Gotta have some Beatles in a top albums list,” Alex agreed.
“I think it’s like a law or something.”
Letting out an impressed laugh, Alex shook his head. All of a sudden it felt completely natural to talk to Reggie- he of course realized how pathetic this was, like it was a great accomplishment to finally feel comfortable talking to someone that he had sat with at lunch for weeks. Alex felt a little guilty, realizing they probably could have been actual friends this whole time and not just the weirdest lunch buddies ever, hunkering down in the back corner of the cafeteria and surviving together.
However pathetic his social skills might be, somehow Alex Mercer managed to leave lunch that day with three new friends- and a rock band.
Not bad for a Wednesday at the losers’ table.