Boy, Boy, Crazy Boy

Chapter 8: The Beginning Of The Story, In The Middle Of The Story

Looking back on it, Riff probably should've blamed Tony for what happened... but he physically couldn't do that, so he blamed Maria instead. 

It all started in Doc's basement... 

<~•~•~>

Riff tossed Tony a can, watching him closely. 

Seeing his friend like this hurt him more than he could say. He was right there, but a million miles away. He'd grown further and further away from the Jets... and Riff. Their playful banter was rare now, and when it did happen, Tony really didn't seem to care. It brought back memories from when he was a kid, and he'd try to get his dad to play with him, resulting in Riff locked in the closet so his dad could have 'alone time'. Of course, Tony had never hurt him - at least not physically - but... he still felt like an annoyance to the other boy.

"Can."

Tony held his hand out to Riff, referring to the merchandise he was taking inventory of. 

"Come on," Riff whined. "Just for an hour. Only a little hour. You used to like dancin'. No monkeyshines-"

"C'mon, Riff, can." Tony repeated more insistently.

Riff slid off his friend's bed and picked up a can, grimacing at the dust it blew into the air. "Christ a'mighty, y'know, there's dust on everything, ever since-" 

Tony reached for the can, but Riff pulled it away. 

"Hey!" Tony protested as his friend grabbed his wrist and held it away from the can, which had returned safely to his side. 

"I swear on what's holy it's just girls." Tony jerked his hand out of Riff's grip. "Sippin' punch," Riff grinned and ran his fingers under Tony's chin. "and music-"

Tony took a playful swing at Riff's stomach. "And the Sharks."

"And the spics, right?" Riff begrudgingly agreed. 

"And the rumble." Tony added. 

Riff jumped back into salesman mode. "Which all you gotta do-"

"You're on your own, pal o' mine." Tony interjected. 

"-is help me haggle over the terms of the rumble." Riff finished, acting like Tony hadn't said anything. 

"You don't need me," Tony gestured between the two, taking a small step closer and lightly rapping his knuckles on Riff's ribs. "If you don't screw up."

Riff gently hit Tony's chest in return. "You know how I get. I'll start runnin' my mouth. You-"

Tony lightly smacked Riff's ass in warning, and Riff held up his hands in surrender. 

"You got command!" He continued. Tony turned to grab his crate and esca- leave, but Riff followed him. "You are West Side legendary!"

"And Tony. Tony, the Jets," The taller set the crate down and looked back at Riff as he continued. "I gave 'em my word you'd show."

Tony sighed and straightened up. "Why would you do that?"

"Because!" Riff reasoned eloquently. "Because it's a rumble. We need you if we're goin' to war. You can't refuse us now. And because I know you."

Tony ignored him, taking inventory of those damn cans and writing it down on a clipboard. 

"Or I thought I did," Riff stated lowly, watching his friend work. "Before you got all unlike yourself, before you went upstate."