livejournal fics//joncer

My Milkshake Part One

Title: My Milkshake
Author: silver_etoile
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jon/Spencer [Frank/Gerard, Gabe/William, Ryan/Brendon]
POV: Third
Disclaimer: Not true.
Summary: Panic at the Sock Hop! Spencer is convinced that, cool, keen, older Jon Walker would never want to go to the school dance with him, and he has no interest in going anyway. Really.

  *

"Didja hear?" Brendon asks excitedly, bouncing in the front swinging doors of the diner and pushing Spencer over where he sits in his booth, an ice cream float in front of him, half-eaten, and staring at his pile of textbooks. "Didja didja didja?"

"What what what?" Spencer asks dully, tugging at his crimson-colored cardigan sweater, leaning back into the bright shiny red vinyl of the booth and tapping his fingers on the plastic table top.

Brendon is already reaching for Spencer's float and eating a spoonful. Spencer doesn't bother to stop him, listening to the jukebox change songs as someone puts in a nickel.

"The dance!" Brendon says, practically vibrating in his seat. "It's gonna be the most!"

Spencer glances at him slowly. "A dance?"

"Like a sock hop only bigger!" Brendon cries happily, the float glass almost empty now as his spoon clinks the bottom. "Isn't that swell?"

"Yeah, peachy," Spencer mutters, tugging at his sleeves but jerking up as there comes a crash from near the kitchens.

"Pete!" comes a rueful voice and both Spencer and Brendon peer around the edge of their booth to get a look at the counter.

The counter is tall and lined with red, vinyl-covered stools. A few are occupied by other kids that Spencer and Brendon know from school. Bright, colorful drawings of keenly-dressed kids sharing floats and burgers are on the wall above the back counter, behind which stands a bored-looking redheaded girl cracking her gum and observing her fingernails coolly. Past the girl, Spencer can see into the kitchen where Pete, the owner, is standing in the kitchen, probably cooking up a burger.

A row of 45s line the wall like a wallpaper border and a large clock above the door tells Spencer that it's just past five in the afternoon. He should be getting off home before his mom gets worried and comes looking for him.

The commotion is coming from a short man who is sprawled on the floor, attempting to climb back to his feet while slipping and sliding all over on the roller-skates attached to them.

"Pete's so kooky," Brendon comments good-naturedly as the guy pulls himself up by the counter.

"I'm gonna cut out if you don't stop with the crazy ideas!" the guy shouts, straightening his paper hat and little white apron.

"Patrick!" Pete calls while Brendon giggles and scrapes at the bottom of the float. Spencer goes back to staring at his pile of textbooks and dreading the thought of dragging them home. He's about ready to cut out too. "You can't split! We're too tight for that! Plus, who'll deliver my burgers to the cats out there waitin'?"

Patrick scowls as he wobbles on the skates. "Ashlee can do it!"

The girl inspecting her nails blows a large bubble that pops with a loud sound and skates smoothly away, grabbing a plate from where Pete pushes it through the back window. She doesn't have any troubles as she comes out and sets the fries down in front of Spencer.

"But I need you!" Pete replies, and Patrick sighs, put upon.

"Then get rid of the crazy skates!"

Brendon turns back to Spencer as they continue to bicker and Spencer picks at his fries.

"So, the dance," he says, as if none of that ever happened.

"What about it?" Spencer asks. He's more preoccupied thinking of his Health class and how the teacher had hinted at some kind of reproduction project. He doesn't want to carry around a sack of flour for a week and pretend it's an ankle-biter.

"I know who you should go with," Brendon replies eagerly.

"Who says I wanna go?" Spencer retorts quickly. He's not interested in some lame dance. It'll be awkward with horrible decorations and punch and, well, Spencer's never been asked to go anywhere with anyone, so there's very little chance he'd get to go anyway.

"Don't be a drag," Brendon says, stealing a fry and slathering it in ketchup. "You should go with Jon."

Spencer can feel his face heat up just at the mention of Jon, Jon Walker, the coolest cat in school. There's no possible way that Jon Walker would want to go with him to a dance. There's a bigger chance of Ryan Ross actually learning to ride his motorcycle than Jon Walker asking him to a dance.

He pulls at the hem of his cardigan, face matching the crimson color, and he shakes his head a little.

"No," he says. "He'd never. He doesn't even know I exist."

"That's not true," Brendon argues, taking another fry. Spencer glances at the clock. He really should be heading home. Dinner is in half an hour and his mom gets mad when he spoils it with food from the diner. "He talks to you!"

"But he's Jon Walker," Spencer insists, cheeks flaming as he thinks about how gone he really is on Jon Walker.

Jon is cool, and smart, and older, and he drives a keen hot-rod, and he's just so much cooler than Spencer, the guy who studies too much and always keeps his nose down in the hallways. He doesn't want to get involved with any of the greasers and that's the best way.

Brendon, on the other hand, doesn't seem to have a problem with the greasers, or apparently, Jon. He's much more confident in Spencer's ability than Spencer is.

"He's hip," Brendon insists, "and he totally digs you. I know it!"

Spencer isn't nearly as sure, and he doesn't want to talk about it anymore as he glances at the clock for the third time.

"I gotta get home, Bren," he says instead, giving Brendon a little push and edging him out of the booth. He scoops his books up and tucks them under his arm, smoothing down his shirt. The diner is filling with more people as the evening falls. The fluorescent light bounces of the black and white linoleum tiles and Patrick is still struggling to stay upright on his skates. He's not having a very good time of it.

Brendon follows him out the front door and into the falling twilight. The parking lot is half-filled with shiny cars, a few parked in the drive-through slots where Ashlee is cracking her gum and taking their orders.

Just as they step out of the doors, the roar of several motorcycles fills the air and Spencer immediately moves behind Brendon, who simply looks excited.

A group of four or five bikes rumble into the parking lot, guys in leather jackets all perched on top. They park willy-nilly in the lot, something Spencer frowns at. The guy at the front swings off his bike, ruffling his jacket and pulling out a cigarette from behind his ear. He takes a lighter from his pocket and lights it in one go. He's tall and thin, dark, greasy hair splaying messily in his eyes and he doesn't brush it away. He simply tucks away the lighter as another, shorter guy joins him, stealing his cigarette and taking a puff.

As he hands it back, the tall guy swings an arm around the shorter one, pulling him in closer as they head for the front door. The rest of the guys on bikes are already off, following, except for one who seems to be having problems keeping his upright.

"Hi, Ryan!" Brendon calls while Spencer makes a distressed noise from behind him. He doesn't want to talk to the greasers, even if Brendon swears they aren't nearly as scary as everyone says.

Ryan Ross, the guy still struggling with his bike, doesn't respond, finally getting it to stay. He ruffles his jacket, much like the first guy, and tugs at the flowery scarf tied around his neck. Spencer does admit that he, at least, isn't scary.

Ryan follows after the rest of the group, ignoring Brendon, who's practically landing planes to get his attention. Ryan may just not notice, though, as when he tries to pull the comb from behind his ear, he stumbles on the sidewalk and barely catches himself.

The group is almost to the door, and Spencer is halfway through his sigh of relief when another, louder rumble shakes the ground and another pack of motorcycles rolls in. The group at the door pauses, the leader with his arm around the other frowning as they come to a stop and a guy even taller than he is with tanned skin and short, dark hair, swings off his bike with a dark grin.

"The heat after you, Gee?" the guy calls curiously, but his grin is almost feral, and Spencer edges away from both of them. "What's the rush?"

Spencer is just trying to be invisible and tugs Brendon back with him.

"What?" Brendon asks as Spencer pulls him.

"I don't wanna die," he says and Brendon grins despite Spencer's complete seriousness.

"You're not gonna die. They're just arguin' over turf or somethin'."

Spencer isn't really reassured and he's definitely going to be late for dinner at this point. His mom won't be happy.

"I really have to cut out," he says desperately as Brendon shows signs of staying to watch everything go down. Spencer knows it's mostly just for Ryan, who is fiddling with his scarf instead of paying attention to anything the rest of them are saying.

"Yeah, yeah," Brendon mutters, waving him off. "I'll catch you at school tomorrow, huh?"

"Yeah," Spencer agrees, turning and hurrying away.

The leader from the other group doesn't reply, but the guy under his arm ducks out, glaring at the tall, dark-skinned guy.

"Get bent, Gabe!" he spits, and the rest of his gang steps up behind him.

"Don't get so frosted, Frankie," the guy, Gabe, replies, sounding almost amused. "I'm just interested in a little one-on-one with your steady."

Frank glares. "He ain't my steady. We don't need no labels for what we got. And there's no way you're talking to Gerard."

"Hey, Gee," Gabe calls over Frank's head to where Gerard doesn't look pleased at the whole situation. The cigarette is smoldering in his fingers and his shoulders are hunched like an angry cat inside his leather jacket. "How's about a little chat?"

Frank opens his mouth to respond but Gerard is first.

"Cool it, Frankie." Gerard waits for Frank to deflate a little, still glaring at Gabe and the rest of his gang which includes a guy just as tall with long, brown hair, and a girl who looks ten times more dangerous than Ryan Ross. Gerard raises his gaze to Gabe. "No time to chat."

Frank ducks back under his arm, stealing his cigarette again and blowing the smoke in Gabe's direction.

Gabe isn't pleased with Gerard's answer, and he hooks an arm around William, the tall guy lingering at his side. William doesn't look particularly interested, and he exchanges a glance with Vicky and Alex behind him.

"You oughta make time," Gabe calls and Gerard frowns, pulling Frankie in closer and taking his cigarette back. "We'll pound you to the ground."

"Don't razz our berries," Frank shoots back sarcastically, glaring at Gabe. "You've been on our turf and you know it. So why don't you take your cheap leather and book it?"

"Frankie," Gerard murmurs, and behind him, Mikey and Ray step forward.

Gabe eyes them for a minute before scoffing and turning to his group. "They ain't worth the trouble," he says, nodding them back to the bikes, but he arches a challenging eyebrow at Gerard as he turns. "Better watch yourself, Gee, or we could have a real problem on our hands."

Gerard doesn't respond, glaring at Gabe as he follows his gang back to the bikes and they kick off, roaring out of the lot and into the twinkling darkness.

"Come on," Gerard says, jerking his head at the diner door. As he swings it open, a beat blasts out and he heads inside.

Ryan is last to go, fiddling with his jacket, and Brendon grins at him. Ryan catches sight of him and pauses, fumbling with his comb as he tries to stick it behind his ear.

"Ryan!" Frank calls and Ryan hurries to leave, the music shutting out with the door.

Behind Brendon, Ryan's bike creaks and tilts over, falling onto the pavement.

*

The school is plastered with posters of the dance and Spencer doesn't think he'll be able to escape it. Every corner he turns, he's met with more posters. It's in two weeks and the theme is Spring Fever! Spencer wonders if Brendon had a hand in suggesting that, but it's more likely that Greta Morgan suggested it. She's the head cheerleader, not to mention the social chair, and a completely bubbly, upbeat person.

Everyone is talking about it, the girls giggling amongst themselves whenever a boy walks past, whispering into their hands and blushing when one catches their eyes. They clutch their books in against their tight sweaters, hoping someone'll offer to carry them for them. Spencer's not dumb enough to want that, but when he sees Jon in the hallway between classes, leaning up against his sage green locker, wearing his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair swept back breezily, and smiling at Cassie, the girl who wears her sweaters too tight and her skirts an inch too short, his heart thuds and he ducks away before Jon can spot him and give him that warm smile he always has.

So he secretly wishes Jon would offer to carry his books, but he's not stupid enough to expect it. Instead, he goes looking for Brendon, who he finds lounging outside under a tree reading a book. It's one for class, so Spencer isn't too worried at the sight as he flops down beside him.

"I hate this dance," he says, a little too dejectedly, and Brendon looks up.

"It's gonna be a blast!" he insists, shutting his book and sitting up slightly. He gives Spencer a look, as though appraising his mood and then sighs. "Did you get clutched?"

Spencer frowns, picking at the grass, his eyes falling on the front door to the school where Greta and a few more paper shakers are coming out, looking giggly and excited as they go.

"I'd have to ask someone for that to happen," he mutters with a sigh. He has no desire to ask anybody to go to this dance with him. There's only one person he would even consider, but there ain't no way Spencer's going to do the asking.

"Ask Jon!" Brendon says as though it's the only answer to that situation. "I bet he's keen on you." He winks at Spencer before grinning mischievously.

Spencer only makes a face, throwing his handful of grass back down as Greta and the other girls start practicing a cheer.

"Hey, there, Lions! Show us what you got!
Score that point and take us to the top!
Show that green and white today!
And let's make the other team pay!"

Spencer watches Greta do a cartwheel and turns back to Brendon.

"He's not keen on me," he corrects Brendon, ignoring the jump in his stomach that wishes it were otherwise. "He's a senior. He'd shoot me down."

"And you're a junior," Brendon points out. "Jon Walker would never do that."

"You don't even know him," Spencer argues with a slight huff, picking more grass. "Like I said, I don't wanna go to the dance."

"Don't be a party pooper, Spence," Brendon says easily. He pauses thoughtfully. "I wonder if he'd take you to Inspiration Point."

Spencer blushes furiously at the mention, staring at Brendon. "Brendon!"

Brendon shrugs. "He might."

"No, he wouldn't," Spencer argues, fighting the blush down. He's barely talked to Jon – he's not going to think about what would happen if they ever made it to Inspiration Point. Spencer has only been there once before and he's not keen on going back, at least not without someone he really likes. "Normal people don't go there on the first date, not like Ryan Ross. Not like the rest of those greasers."

Brendon rolls his eyes but tilts his head to the side at Spencer. "So you're gonna ask Jon?"

"No!" Spencer cries, too loudly, and Greta and the girls glance over at his outburst. Greta simply smoothes down her green and white, long pleated skirt, and grabs her pompoms from the ground. Her sweater is white with a large, sage green L stitched into the front. She beckons her girls and they follow her inside. Spencer sighs, restacking his books. "I'm not."

"I'm sure Jon Walker wouldn't be a fake out," Brendon says sincerely. "I bet he's a great date. Maybe you'd go to the passion pit!"

"I don't like movies," Spencer mutters and Brendon rolls his eyes again.

"Don't rattle your cage, Spence," he says and Spencer scowls. "You do too like movies! Since when don't you?"

"Since... I don't know," Spencer mutters again, defeated. "But he wouldn't make the scene with me anyway."

Brendon is obviously tired of rolling his eyes as he pushes himself up from the ground. He holds out a hand to Spencer as the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch.

"Stop being a wet rag. The dance isn't too far away, and if you don't ask Jon now, someone else will!"

Spencer doesn't tell Brendon again that he doesn't want to ask Jon, because secretly, he's hoping Jon will ask him.

*

Frankie is wrapped up in Gerard and Mikey and Ray have disappeared, probably more likely to get away from the necking going on across the booth.

"I need a smoke," Gerard mutters as they separate for a minute, but Frank surges back for a last, dirty kiss.

"Yeah," he agrees a second later, plucking the one from behind Gerard's ear and grabbing his lighter out.

The diner is jumpin' with the jukebox playing loud in the corner and some people dancing on the floor. Pete's busy in the back and Patrick is slipping all around on his skates. Ashlee is behind the counter, smacking her gum and twirling her long, red hair around her finger as she punches in a check.

The door swings open and Ryan comes in, his bike still wobbling behind him. He looks skinny even in his black leather jacket, but maybe it's just the green and white scarf paisley scarf wrapped around his neck. He makes for Gerard and Frank's booth as Gerard steals the smoke from Frank and takes a puff. Gerard slides an arm over Frankie's shoulders as he hands it back.

"School spirit, Ross?" Frank asks skeptically, plucking at his scarf idly. Ryan smoothes it back, fumbling with the comb behind his ear and combing his hair back.

"There's a dance," he only says, turning the comb over and gazing at the plastic tabletop.

"Think the Cobras are gonna try to step in?" Frankie asks immediately, always on the lookout for trouble, or more likely, a chance to rumble. The Cobras have been overstepping their bounds all year long and it's about time someone taught them a lesson.

"Move over," Ray says as he appears, dumping a basket of fries on the table and giving Ryan a push. Ryan shoves over a little, pulling at his scarf. Ray slides in, stuffing a few fries in his mouth. "What was that about the Cobras?"

"They're encroaching," Ryan pipes in and falters under the three identical dubious expressions.

"They ain't got business over here," Ray mumbles around a mouthful of fries after they all simultaneously ignore Ryan's word choice.

"They just wanna flip us out," Gerard says calmly, but Frankie bristles next to him.

"This is our turf and those Cobras better stay the hell out of it."

"Maybe we should go to the dance," Ryan suggests and gets another three sets of eyes resting on him. "I mean, in case the Cobras are plannin' somethin'. It wouldn't be so bad. It could be really hip."

"We ain't hip, we're cool," Frank replies, stealing the cigarette from Gerard. "Too cool for some dippy dance."

"Maybe," Gerard says slowly, and Frankie turns to him. "Cobras could be planning somethin'. If we ain't there, we can't stop it."

Frank frowns, stealing a fry from Ray's plate even as Ray slaps at his hand and pulls it closer. Frank eats the fry with relish and a sly grin at Ray.

"You wanna go to a sock hop with a bunch of goofs?"

Gerard shrugs noncommittally. "We'll just eyeball it then cop a breeze, cool?"

Frank isn't satisfied. He doesn't wanna show up at some dumb school dance. His attendance record is already as spotty as a kid with chicken pox. He don't need to see it outside of class too.

"Frankie," Gerard says seriously, tapping the cigarette ash on the tabletop and copping a feel underneath. Frank tries his best to glare when Gerard's hand squeezes his thigh. Gerard knows too well the ways to get him to agree. If he promises a little back seat bingo for later, Frank'll agree to anything.

"An eyeball," Frankie insists, taking back the cigarette, and wondering why Ryan looks so pleased with the outcome.

*

After dinner, Spencer meets Brendon on the corner down the street from his house. His mother insisted he put on a sweater, so he's wearing his favorite blue argyle sweater vest over a simple white button-down. He rolls up the sleeves the minute he gets down the front walk, though, heading to meet Brendon.

"Hey, Clyde," Brendon greets him, already turning to walk, kicking a rock along the street. "D'you think Ryan thinks I got cooties?"

Spencer rolls his eyes and they turn the corner, heading for the diner at the other end. It's bright and lit up with neon lights and the cars in the lot are bright and shiny.

"You're definitely the most," Spencer assures him, although he doesn't know why Brendon cares so much about what a greaser thinks of him. Spencer usually tries to steer clear and not make anyone mad.

"Thanks, Spence!" Brendon grins, grabbing his arm and linking them as they near the diner.

The bright, red neon sign reads, "Pete's Diner" in curly letters over the roof of the drive-in where cool cats in t-birds and deuce coops sit with their chicks, swapping hamburgers and milkshakes. Spencer and Brendon pass these to the sparkling interior of the diner and the hoppin' music leaking out.

There aren't many booths open and Brendon heads to the counter anyway.

Patrick is standing there, adding up a check, and glances up as they approach.

"Hold on a sec, guys," he murmurs, concentrating on the check.

"No sweat," Brendon assures him, turning and glancing around the diner. Spencer doesn't look, gazing up at the 45s tacked up on the wall behind Patrick.

"Okay," Patrick says a minute later, straightening up, and he immediately grabs onto the counter to stop himself from falling over as the roller skates swing underneath him. Looking tense, he sighs as he steadies. "I hate Pete." He pauses, gathering himself together and looks up. "So what'll you have?"

"Two milkshakes," Spencer orders and Brendon bounces over.

"Strawberry, please!"

"Make mine vanilla," Spencer adds, and Patrick nods, scribbling down their orders.

"Be right out, if I don't take a fall and break my back."

"Stop being salty!" comes Pete's voice from the back and Patrick scowls.

"It'll be ready in a minute," he tells Spencer and Brendon, who nod and turn to look for a booth.

Most of the booths are full and Spencer catches a glimpse of a few greasers in one at the end, which he steers clear of, plopping down in one with clear view of the door and the dance area where the girls are twisting to some new beat, skirts too tight and grinning at the boys.

Spencer picks at the hem of his vest and listens to the music for a minute. Brendon is drumming his fingers against the table and craning back behind him over the rest of the booths.

"What are you eyeballin'?" he asks suspiciously and Brendon turns around, smiling at Spencer.

"Nothin'."

Spencer doesn't believe him, but he says nothing, eyes resting on the jukebox across the way. A couple people are punching in numbers and the music changes to faster song.

"Two milkshakes," Patrick says, appearing at their booth. He nearly skates past, wobbles, and nearly falls. He sets down two milkshakes, one pink, one white, and grabs onto the table as his feet slip again.

Spencer grabs his milkshake, poking at it with his straw. Brendon grins up at Patrick.

"What's your tale, nightingale?" he asks cheerfully and Patrick sighs.

"If Pete comes up with one more insane idea that'll have me falling flat on my back, you can count me out of the diner business."

"But you make such great milkshakes!"

Patrick doesn't look convinced and he changes the subject.

"You guys headed to the dance next week?" he asks, and Spencer keeps his eyes determinedly on his shake. He knows Brendon is looking at him, probably with a sly glint or something equally mischievous.

"Maybe," Brendon replies slyly. Spencer glares at his dripping straw. "Should be a swell time, don't you think?"

"I'm not much of a dancer," Patrick allows. "But the beats should be cool. I heard they're getting a real band to come play."

"Oh, that'd be so unreal!" Brendon exclaims excitedly.

Spencer isn't listening to the conversation as his eyes are trained on the door where Jon Walker has just stepped in.

Jon is grinning as Cassie, who's wrapped around his arm and giggling at something he says. Spencer tries not to scowl because it's really none of his business who Jon hangs around with or dates or talks to. Instead, he watches longingly as Jon steers Cassie over to the counter, sweeping back his hair as he goes. Jon is just so cool and Spencer doesn't stand a chance.

Jon's wearing a plain white tee shirt and a dull, red jacket over it, and Spencer is reminded forcefully of James Dean, the dreamy movie star that all the girls swoon over even if he died a few years ago, and he doesn't even notice the milkshake dropping from his spoon and puddling on the table.

"What are you...?" Brendon says after a second. Patrick is already slipping and sliding his way back to the counter, and Spencer sighs pathetically before he realizes. Trailing away, Brendon follows his gaze, an altogether evil grin growing on his face.

Jon is leaning against the counter, still chatting to Cassie, who smiles and reaches out to touch his arm. Something in Spencer's stomach curls into a tight ball and he looks away. Absolutely no chance.

Staring at the tabletop, Spencer catches a glimpse of Cassie heading for the restroom in the back. He knows Brendon is watching him, but he keeps his eyes down.

"Jon!" Brendon shouts and Spencer's head snaps up immediately. Brendon is waving a hand in Jon's direction, and Spencer wants to grab it and push it down, but Jon has already looked over. "Hey, Jon!"

"Brendon!" Spencer hisses. "Cut it out!"

Brendon doesn't stop, grinning as Jon slides off his stool and wanders over.

Spencer's heart is already speeding up, thudding loudly against his ribcage and he fights down the blush that threatens to cover his cheeks. He wishes he could be cooler around Jon, or at least act normal and not like some blushing paper shaker.

"What's buzzin', guys?" Jon asks, smiling first at Brendon and then at Spencer, who feels his cheeks heating up despite his heavy concentration on his milkshake. He just stirs it and doesn't respond.

"Nothin'," Brendon replies with a smile. "Hey, sit down! Want some of my milkshake? It's strawberry!"

"No, thanks," Jon says as Brendon climbs out, letting him slide into the booth across from Spencer.

"So, are you going to the dance?" Brendon asks a second later and Spencer freezes. He barely lifts his head, mostly to glare at Brendon, but he finds Jon watching him almost curiously, and he stops, casting around for something else to stare at instead of Jon. He could stare at Jon all day if he had the time and wouldn't be caught.

"Don't know yet," Jon says slowly, and Spencer can feel his eyes still on him. "You guys got dates yet?"

Brendon shakes his head, glancing at Spencer. "We're just waiting," he says slyly, "for the perfect guys to come along."

Spencer scowls at his straw but doesn't look up for fear that Jon is still looking. His fingers are shaking slightly and he concentrates on counting the number of beats in the song playing. He's gonna kill Brendon for this later.

"Could always go stag," Jon suggests, but Brendon shakes his head.

"I know who Spencer wants to ask," he says instead, and Spencer loses his cool, kicking Brendon under the table. Brendon flinches a little as Spencer's foot connects with his shin, but he doesn't back down. "Hey, I'm gonna get some napkins," he says instead, scooting out of the booth and leaving Spencer alone with Jon.

Jon doesn't glance after Brendon, but crosses his arms on the table and leans forward a little.

The back of Spencer's neck is flushed pink, both in embarrassment and nerves. He keeps his head down, hair tumbling over his eyes. His mother has been begging him to cut it lately, before he starts looking like the greasers.

"Who d'you wanna ask?" Jon asks after a beat while Spencer pokes at his milkshake and tries to think of an excuse to leave without seeming too rude. Excuse me, you're really dreamy and I just want to go to the dance with you and hold hands and share a romantic kiss on my doorstep, but I'm afraid if I said any of this, you'd laugh at me, so I have to go. Oh, and it's past my curfew, isn't exactly the greatest excuse he can think of.

"N-no one," he forces himself to respond finally. "I d-I don't want to go."

He says all of this to the table and not Jon, fearful that if he looks up, he'll say something stupid like, "Gee, Jon, you're so keen. Let's go to Inspiration Point!"

"Oh," Jon says softly, and Spencer frowns down at his hands.

"You're probably gonna make the scene, though, right?" he asks, attempting normal conversation. "With Cassie, right? She seems pretty gone."

"Oh, yeah, Cassie," Jon repeats slowly, still watching Spencer, who sips his milkshake for the first time in five minutes. It has started to melt and is more like flavored milk now. "What if I wasn't thinkin' of asking Cassie?"

"Huh?" Spencer asks eloquently, biting down on his straw. He still doesn't look up, but he can see Jon leaning forward on his arms, closer over the table. Jon's jacket sleeves are folded up to his elbows and his forearms are tanned, and it takes Spencer a minute to realize he's staring. "W-why wouldn't you ask her? You're jacketed, right?"

Spencer has been pretty sure for the past year or so that Jon and Cassie have been an item. She's around him all the time, always giggling at whatever he says, letting him carry her books, leaning up against his car in the lot after school. It all spells happy couple in Spencer's mind.

"If we were, I don't think she'd be happy about this," Jon says after a minute and Spencer's eyes widen. He looks around hopelessly for Brendon, but he's out on the dance floor, dancing with Greta and clearly ignoring Spencer's attempt to catch his attention.

He doesn't say anything, swallowing thickly and keeping his eyes down after a quick glance at Jon.

Jon is leaning in across the table, arms folded on top of it. His head is tilted to the side and a smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and the flush on Spencer's neck is spreading. It always gives him tingles when Jon smiles at him like that, which isn't really that often since they don't talk much. Spencer usually tries to avoid Jon at all costs because he always seems to say stupid things when they do talk.

"I was actually thinkin'," Jon says as another second passes and Spencer concentrates on his hands. "Of asking you."

"What?" Spencer says loudly, blushing furiously when a few people look over from the other tables. He rolls down the sleeve of his shirt unconsciously, fiddling with the cuff.

Jon smiles, brushing his hair back again and still inclined over the table. "Spencer, you wanna go to the dance with me?"

Spencer opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He's frozen in disbelief. This can't be happening, but it is. Jon is still smiling at him, waiting for his answer.

"I—" he tries to say, swallowing his heart as it tries to escape. "Why?" he asks instead.

Jon leans back, eyes flitting over Spencer's features, resting for a second on his mouth before he blinks.

"Can't go stag," he says with a small grin. "And I think you're cute. So go with me, yeah?"

Even if Spencer wanted to say no, which he doesn't, it would be impossible when Jon Walker calls you cute, grinning his adorable smile, brown eyes sparkling in the diner lights as the song changes on the jukebox again.

"Yeah," he mutters finally, breathing shallow as his heart pounds unnecessarily hard. He thinks he might keel over soon.

"Peachy," Jon replies happily, already scooting out of the booth. "Saturday, I'll pick you up at six, okay?"

Spencer can only nod as Jon grins and slides all the way out. He stares after Jon as Jon meets up with Cassie at the counter and leans in to tell her something. Dazed, he sits back in the booth, unsure that any of that was real. Maybe he just made it all up.

"What just happened?" Brendon demands, appearing not minutes after Jon has left.

Spencer blinks slowly. "I... I think I'm going to the dance with Jon Walker."

Brendon's face lights up. "Oh my gosh, I knew it! But you should probably stop calling him 'Jon Walker' before you go."

Spencer doesn't even care and just sits back, a slow grin spreading over his face.

*

Tuesday morning at school, Spencer takes his normal route to school, dodging the vicious Dobermans on Pine street and taking the shortcut through the baseball field behind the elementary school. He has a test in his math class and he'd had the hardest time studying for it the night before, his head full of thought of Jon Walker and how he was going to the dance with him on Saturday, and how he didn't have a thing to wear.

Spencer keeps his head down as he enters the school, avoiding the pack of greasers smoking just across the street from the school, smoking and two of them involved in some heavy necking. Spencer thinks Ryan is in the group, but he doesn't take too close a look, too focused on passing by without catching anyone attention. He heads for his locker and nearly runs into someone as he reaches it.

His books tumble from his arms as he jolts into someone standing right in front of his locker. The books fall to the ground around a pair of sharp-looking shoes, and Spencer's eyes follow the jeans up to the untucked and half-unbuttoned dress shirt (white and blue stripes criss-crossing all ever it) and the white tee underneath.

"Jon Walker," he breathes before he can stop himself, and seconds after, a bright pink blush floods his cheeks and he bites his bottom lip to stop himself from saying anything else stupid.

"You should look up once in a while," Jon says with a smile, dropping down to pick up Spencer's books. Spencer can't move to help him, still in shock at Jon appearing at his locker. Straightening back up, Jon hands Spencer his books. "Might avoid a crash."

Spencer forces himself to nod. "Yeah," he says breathlessly.

The silence is awkward as they stand there for a minute, and Spencer finally realizes that they're at his locker. He quickly turns the lock and pulls it open as Jon lingers beside him, his hand resting casually against the other lockers, a hip leaned against the wall. His head tilts to the side as Spencer stuffs his biology book inside.

Spencer doesn't know what to say, and he's hyper-aware of Jon watching his every move as he shoves books in his locker. He keeps his eyes on the locker until Jon shifts and his glance darts sideways for a second.

"You've always been going to this school?" Jon asks, and Spencer concentrates on the interior of his locker.

"Since freshman year," he replies evenly, taking out his health book and juggling his math book around.

He's not sure when Jon started talking to him in school, although it was probably somewhere around last year when Spencer had been on the committee selling tickets for the homecoming dance. Brendon had somehow talked him into joining the committee. Jon had bought a ticket and smiled at Spencer, and that was pretty much the end of it.

"Hm," Jon says.

Spencer doesn't know what that means and he keeps his head down as he grabs his English book next.

"Wish I'd known sooner," Jon says after a minute and Spencer feels the blush on the back of his neck again as he shuts his locker, shuffling his books.

"I have to get to math," he mumbles, glancing up, and he's surprised as Jon takes his books right out of his hands.

"I'll walk you," Jon says with a smile, already starting off down the hall.

Spencer is frozen again, and he can't believe that this is really happening to him. Jon Walker is carrying his books and walking him to class. Jon Walker.

Maybe Brendon is right and he should stop calling him that.

"Unreal," Spencer mutters to himself as Jon pauses near the end of the hallway and tosses a grin at Spencer.

"You comin' or what?" he asks.

Spencer gives himself a little shake, smoothing down his sweater (tan argyle today), and hurries to catch up with Jon, giving him a small smile.

"Yeah, I'm coming," he manages to say, determinedly not blushing at the way Jon's smile widens and their hands brush as they turn to head to class.

*

The bell rings at eight-fifteen, signaling the start of classes, and Frank merely flicks his cigarette away, watching the last of the late students hurry into school. Technically they're off school property so Principal Schechter can't do a thing about it.

Turning to Gerard, Frank leans up against the stair railing, the one that leads into the abandoned house that sits directly across from the school entrance. No one has lived there for years which has left the front lawn overgrown and now littered with cigarette butts.

Ryan is sitting on the lowest step, messing with one of his infernal scarves and gazing across as a late student, the one Frank thinks is Brendon Urie, hurries up the school steps and disappears inside. Mikey and Ray are discussing the dance, although Mikey looks less than enthusiastic.

"I heard it's formal-wear," Ray says, rubbing his hands against the top his thighs, over the worn jeans.

"I'm not wearing a carnation," Mikey replies boredly, pulling out his lighter and flicking it open and shut repeatedly.

"Why do we think the Cobras are gonna be anywhere near here?" Frank asks again, glancing at Gerard, who's on his third cigarette of the morning. "This dance is just gonna be a bunch of squares."

"Gabe messes up everything he can get into," Gerard comments, taking a long drag and hunching over in his leather jacket. "It's our turf."

As he says it and Frank snorts, a girl walks around the corner. She isn't heading for the school, but is heading slowly in their direction. Her dark hair falls down to her shoulders and she's wearing a black jacket and jeans. It's the jeans that give her away, and Frank recognizes her as one of the Cobras. The little red snake stitched into the corner of her jacket would have given her away in a minute anyway as she nears.

Straightening up, Frank glares at the way she comes closer, hips swaying, bangs hanging over her eyes, hands at her sides.

"Howdy, boys," she greets them as she comes closer, her dark eyes resting on Frank as though she knows what he's thinking. "Wouldn't have a light, would you?"

Gerard eyes her cautiously, stepping up to Frank and sliding an arm over his shoulders.

"Where's Gabe?" he asks and Vicky smiles, a sort of devious tilt of her mouth.

"Busy, what with one thing or another," she says as though it's a throwaway comment, but Frank can hear the suggestion behind her words.

"If you're plottin' somethin'—" Frank starts threateningly, but Vicky waves him away.

"Don't have a cow, Frankie," she says easily, ignoring the way Frank immediately glares. "But now that you mention it, we may be seeing each other. But don't worry. Just ice it."

Vicky smirks, fingering the collar of her jacket as her eyes pass over the rest of the gang on the steps.

Ryan meets her eyes for a second before quickly looking away.

"Later, gators," Vicky only says, popping her collar up and continuing on down the street.

Frank stares after her, and Gerard's hand curls around his shoulder, fingers digging into it reassuringly.

"We're going to that dance," Frank says finally and Vicky disappears around the corner.

*

By Saturday, Spencer is pretty sure Jon asking him out was a fluke, and he'd be one hundred percent positive if Jon hadn't shown up at his locker all week with a smile, ready to carry his books. Spencer is also pretty sure that Jon had been about kiss him as they lingered by his locker after school on Friday.

Spencer can finally look up at Jon without blushing furiously or dropping whatever he happens to be holding.

"So I'll see you tomorrow," Jon had said, leaning against the lockers as usual as Spencer put away his books for the weekend.

The heat on his cheeks was just residual, Spencer told himself, from earlier when Brendon had jumped on him outside the cafeteria and declared him to be hopelessly gone over Jon Walker.

He'd nodded quickly, shutting his locker and looking at Jon. "Tomorrow. For the dance."

"Right, the dance," Jon had repeated quietly, and Spencer had realized at that moment how empty the halls seemed to be, even just five minutes after the bell had rung.

There had been something lodged in his throat as he'd watched Jon inch closer, hand falling from the locker and swinging towards him, catching his wrist softly. He can still feel the warmth pressing into his skin where Jon's thumb had lingered. Spencer may or may not have stumbled forward a step, inches from Jon and partially terrified, his stomach twisting with the thrill of Jon being this close.

Unfortunately, Brendon had chosen that very moment to burst out of a bathroom behind them, scaring Spencer half to death and consequently dropping his bookbag and jerking away from Jon.

His heart still beats fast at the memory of Jon so close as Spencer stands in his room staring at his open closet.

"I don't have any threads," he says, discouraged, and Brendon bounces up from where he's been flipping through a catalogue on Spencer's bed.

"There's a suit right there," he points out, dragging out a crisp black suit that Spencer has stuffed in the back of the closet. He can't remember the last time he wore it except maybe to his cousin's cousin's funeral.

"I don't know," Spencer says, flopping down on the bed and pushing the catalogue aside. "Maybe I shouldn't go."

Brendon turns around, eyebrows up, and he tosses the suit on the bed. "You're going, Spencer. You're gonna go with Jon and he's gonna buy you a flower, and afterwards, I bet you go to Inspiration Point and finish what you were about to start yesterday before you chickened out."

"I didn't chicken out," Spencer mutters, and he hates the blush at the mention of Inspiration Point. It isn't that he doesn't want to go – he does – it's just that he doesn't have a lot of experience at that sort of thing and he's sure that Jon does.

"Just put this on, and you'll definitely be on the stick," Brendon says, ignoring him, and rummaging in his drawer for a tie. "No way Jon won't think you're the most."

Spencer isn't exactly convinced, but Brendon is already dressed and there's really no backing out now. Jon is going to be there in half an hour and Spencer isn't even dressed.

"Fine," he agrees finally with a heavy sigh as Brendon shoves him into the bathroom to change.

"And don't try to cut out the window," Brendon calls through the door.

Spencer frowns and takes the suit off its hanger.