Title: Haven't Been Me Lately
Author: kaley/novelized.
Rating: PG.
Length: 8,000 words.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Notes: This was supposed to be one piece of art and a short drabble. I don't know how this happened.
Summary: From this prompt by jerakeen: Kris gets dragged to drama club by the girl of his dreams and once there meets the boy of his dreams.


Kris is copying down the quadratic formula from the board when he feels the brush of paper against his elbow.

At first he’s annoyed, because he’s already been the middle man for one too many written conversations between Sarah and Elizabeth and it's only halfway through January. Can’t they wait until lunch to gossip about how Lindsay’s shoes don’t match her purse, or whatever it is girls talk about? It’s not his fault that his eyesight’s bad and he has to sit dead center front row in order to pass this class.

So he ignores it.

But then it happens again, a little more persistent this time, and he whips his head around to give his best could you please stop doing that... please expression, but to his surprise, it's not Sarah or Elizabeth. It's Matt, and his eyebrows are raised in a triumphant sort of way as he presses the note into Kris's hand.

Kris hasn't gotten passed a note in class since the fourth grade, he's pretty sure, and even then that was just to ask if Kenny Miller could borrow his eraser. But this one's folded three times in the way that only girls can do, and it's got his name on it, and the handwriting is distinctly familiar - it's Katy's. He knows it is.

He shoots an accusatory look to Charles across the room, because so help him God if he's screwing with him, but Charles meets his gaze and shrugs innocently, then nods over his shoulder towards Katy's seat in the back. Her head is bent down low over her paper, but with the forced air of someone who's trying very hard not to look up. Her book's not even open. She's completely faking.

Kris feels a stupid blush creep up his neck as he pulls the note under the desk so Mrs. Blackburn doesn't catch it. He hopes Charles isn't watching. He hopes Katy isn't watching, for that matter; in fact, it'd be nice if his classmates became suddenly and devotedly interested in algebra and focused all their attention on the board. But he does his best to ignore what feels like at least twenty pairs of eyes on the back of his head and slowly peels the paper open.

It's a question, one that requires answering, and he bites back a smile as he fishes his pencil out of his desk and writes back.



Drama club's not very popular with - well, with anyone really, but especially guys. In fact, when he walks into Room 318 after school, he's the only one. Katy flanks his side immediately, looking both surprised and grateful that he actually showed up, and she gives him a quick little hug that totally makes whatever pain he's about to go through worth it.

She casually introduces him to the three girls standing around, even though they've been in school together since kindergarten, and he waves to them as if this is a first-time meeting.

"Where's everyone else?" he asks, craning his neck around the room, like maybe some of them are hiding under a desk somewhere. No one pops out, but then, he hadn't really expected them to.

"This is just about everyone," Katy says sadly, hopping up onto a desk and crossing her legs at the ankle. Kris pointedly doesn't look at her legs.

"Well, not everyone," Stacey interrupts, "my best friend usually comes, but she's doing an art project right now, and of course we're waiting for -"

"Sorry I'm late," someone says from the door, striding into the room with a notebook under one arm and a feather boa - a feather boa - under the other. Kris stares at the newcomer for a moment, because even though he knows who Adam Lambert is, he's pretty sure he's never seen him up close.

There are rumors around school, lots of them, but they're the kind that Kris doesn't care about, the kind his mama taught him not to care about back in seventh grade. That doesn't make him any less curious, though. It's hard not to wonder. And already three or four of his unasked questions are answered, because yes he's wearing eyeliner, and yes he's wearing skinny jeans, and then there is, of course, the boa.

"I got caught up doing -" Adam continues, weaving past Kris to get to the teacher's desk at the front of the room, but then he stops abruptly and does a bemused little double take. Apparently he's just as caught off guard with Kris's presence as Kris is with his.

He looks for a second more, and Kris unconsciously shrinks back against his seat, but then Adam's lips curl into a gentle smirk. "Are you sure you're in the right room?" he asks, in a teasing sort of way.

"Of course," Kris shoots back, surprising even himself, with an exaggerated glance around the room. "This is the football tryouts, right?"

Everyone laughs, especially Adam, and Kris flushes a little with pleasure. He's not usually the witty one. It's kind of nice.

Katy takes control of the situation when they've all calmed down, gesturing at him fondly. "Adam, this is my friend Kris."

"Hi, Katy's friend Kris."

Kris smiles despite himself. "Hi... fashionably late drama club president?"

"Ooh, who let you see my birth certificate?"

He just barely manages to stop himself before blurting your mom, because that joke died freshman year and he doesn't want his new reputation thrown out the window five minutes after he'd acquired it. Adam doesn't seem to be waiting for an answer, anyway; he sets the leather book down on the table and licks his finger before flipping it open to a bookmarked page. Kris watches him attentively without really knowing why. All of a sudden drama club doesn't seem so terrible.

"Before we start, do you think you guys could -"

"Sign in?" all four girls chime in at the same time, and Adam rolls his eyes.

"It's a procedure, you know, I'm just trying to follow the rules..."

They form a loose line, chattering away, and Kris meanders to the back of it. Adam straightens out a few boxes on the desk before joining him.

"So do you act?" he says straight away, giving him a quick glance-over.

Kris freezes, wondering if he's going to kick him out if he's honest. His eyes dart over to Katy. What's he supposed to say, no, I'm only here because I'm in love with somebody in the club? Then again, he doesn't really have a choice. Just pretending to be a good actor would be more than enough proof that he was lying.

"No," he says finally, shaking his head. "Not at all."

But Adam merely smiles.

"We'll see about that," he says, and hands Kris a blue pen.



There isn't a set schedule yet, because they're still trying to recruit members, rally up support, but they all decide to meet as often as they can. Kris has the strong suspicion that this is more of a social gathering than an extracurricular activity, but he doesn't care. He's having fun.

Thursday afternoon, by the time Kris shows up, everyone's sitting on the floor in the empty part of the classroom, sifting through cardboard boxes. "Hey," he says, stepping over a plastic decapitated head. One of Adam's. "What's going on?"

Katy looks up from her box and smiles, making Kris's stomach go all warm. "Adam got some donations." She reaches down, her face disappearing beyond the flap, and Kris sees a flash of something cottony. "Look," she says delightedly, reemerging with an Abe Lincoln beard strapped to her face. "Costumes!"

Adam stops attempting to wrestle apart two old wigs and laughs. "Has anyone ever told you that you'd make a really handsome man?"

He winks at Kris. That warm feeling doesn't go away.

Two hours and three impromptu Broadway songs later (Kris hadn't recognized any of them but the last, and that was only because it was on that annoying Hallmark commercial, but he'd hummed along to the best of his abilities), they'd packed up the boxes and begun dispersing, one by one. Kris lingers behind a little. His brother didn't finish cross country practice until five, and it was always better having someone to walk home with.

"Hey Kris, can you help me take these boxes out to my car?" Adam asks, when mostly everything is packed. He's bent over the last one with a Sharpie, tongue poking out his mouth just slightly. "I'd leave them here, but last time I did that, the basketball team got a hold of them and decided my Shakespeare tights were perfect for... well." He shudders. "I'd rather just make sure they're safe."

"Sure, no problem," Kris says, dropping the Aviators he'd been sporting for the last twenty minutes back into their place. He looks over at Katy, who's hovering by the doorway, and then adds, "Just give me two minutes."

Katy beams at him when he joins her. "Do you wanna go get coffee? I figured we could walk there and be back by the time Daniel finishes up."

"Actually, um, I told Adam I'd help him pack up his car," Kris says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Well, that's fine, that'll only take five minutes, right?"

"I don't know, I mean... there's a lot of boxes."

Kris has no idea what he's doing. Why he's turning down the chance to be alone with Katy O'Connell. The girl of his dreams. But he does. He did. He's doing, and maybe that makes him an idiot. But he's got more pressing matters at hand. He wants to ask Adam about his wrist tattoo, like if his parents knew he had it. And he wants to ask about that Muse CD he'd accidentally left behind last week, the one Kris had taken home for safekeeping and played endlessly in loops for three days straight. Important questions. Innocent, but important.

Katy, however, looks completely put out. "Fine," she says stiffly, buttoning her coat up the rest of the way, and then she turns around to leave.

He's an idiot. He is definitely an idiot.

"But I'll call you tonight," he practically shouts at her, not wanting her to walk away angry. He hates when anyone is mad at him. When it's Katy it's ten times worse. She pauses a moment before she turns back, and she does seem to soften a little bit.

"Yeah?" she says hopefully, and he nods. She even manages a small smile. "Okay, then. I'll talk to you later, Kris," and she pulls her hood up and leaves.

He feels weirdly obligated to stand and watch her until she disappears through the double doors at the end of the hallway, but as soon as she's gone, he retreats back into the room. "Sorry about that," he says, hurrying over to take one of the boxes from Adam's arms.

Adam smiles at him gratefully. "It's fine," he says, throwing a bride's veil on top of his haul. He leads Kris towards the lobby. "Girl problems. I know all about them."

Kris looks at him in surprise. "You do?"

"Well, no. But I watch a lot of romantic comedies."

They both laugh, and then they come to a standstill at the doors, with both of their arms loaded. Someone needs to turn the handle.

"Um," Kris says, but Adam just checks over his shoulder, and then he turns around, springs up on his tiptoes, and jiggles the door open... with his butt. It works like a charm in two seconds flat.

"You've done that before," Kris accuses him, bursting into laughter, and Adam neither confirms nor denies it; he simply heads out into the parking lot, head lifted high in dignity.

"Hey, I'm a creative problem solver. I'm a performer. That's what we do."

"That, and wear fake eyelashes to Spanish class?"

"Oh my God, that was one time. And look who's talking - you're the one still wearing Elvis's sideburns."

Kris nearly drops the box he's carrying as he realizes in horror that he's been walking around for the past hour like this. "You," he says, balancing the props on his knee as he rips them off his face, forcing himself not to wince, "are such a jerk for not telling me."

"I couldn't help it," Adam protests, wrestling his car keys out of his pocket and clicking the doors unlocked. He sets the box down and pops open his trunk. "I thought you looked cute with them on."

Kris's face goes red, but he refuses to make a big deal out of a little comment like that. He's joking. Obviously he's joking. They both are.

"Good to know," he says, only missing a beat. He hoists his box into the trunk and then reaches for Adam's, shoving it on top. "If I ever need to turn you on, I'll just bring you up to Graceland."

"Are you even old enough to drive?"

"Low blow," Kris says, feigning real insult. "Low. Blow."

Adam laughs and puts both hands on Kris's shoulders, and his body staggers a little without the weight of the boxes, so it's almost like he's leaning in. "How can I make it up to you?" he asks, and it's a touch quieter than normal, and Kris's mouth goes completely dry.

"I... um..."

There's a flash of realization in Adam's eyes and he pulls back just as abruptly as he'd leaned in. "I should go," he says, but he doesn't look convinced of himself. "My brother's probably blown up the house by now..."

"Right," Kris says, because he knows Neil, and that's probably not far from the truth. It has nothing to do with - whatever just happened. Definitely not. "I'll. Um. Talk to you later?"

Adam nods and moves towards the driver's side door, and he then pauses unsurely and doubles back. "Did you need a ride...?" he asks, but he looks like he doesn't know whether or not he wants Kris to say yes.

Kris wants to say yes. But he knows he's can't. Won't.

"Nah," he says, rocking a little on the balls of his feet. "I have to... wait for my little brother. He's -" and he jerks an unconvincing thumb towards the gymnasium.

"Okay. Then... yeah."

Adam smiles, and at least that's genuine, bright white teeth and all, and he pulls his seatbelt on and starts the engine. Kris steps out of the way and lets him pass, gives a little wave as he turns out of the parking lot, and then his car disappears onto the busy two-lane street.

Kris stands there for a while longer, and then he remembers that Daniel's practice was cancelled today, and he walks home alone.



Study hall is sixth period, but the teacher only pops his head in twice a week at most to make sure none of the students have killed each other yet. And he doesn't even take attendance, which makes it absolutely pointless for Kris to actually go.

He should feel bad about skipping class, but he's not doing anything that terrible. Instead of sitting in a stuffy room for an hour and not doing homework, he sneaks down to the empty gymnasium and pulls out his guitar. He keeps his old one at school, locked inside the music room, and she's definitely not the greatest sounding instrument, but she does well enough. He can practice on her, which is what he really needs, and he usually brings along his notebook, in case he's inspired to write down a song.

Today he fills four pages in his notebook in no time flat, guitar in his lap, pick between his teeth while he writes.

He doesn't know what it is that's inspiring him, but it's something, and it's there, and he drops the paper to the side as he picks up his old guitar and he strums, so completely focused on the strings that he doesn't see the gym doors open and a tall, black-haired boy slink down into the back row, listening to him play.



Kris doesn't remember Valentine's Day until 8:37 pm, February 13th. His mom brings it up at dinner, casually over salad, "Did you get that sweet girl Katy anything?"

And Kris just stares at her perplexedly and says, "For what?"

He makes it to Walgreens by 9:56, a whopping four minutes before they close. The cashier glares at him as he enters, and he can't blame her - then again, he's not the only guy bustling around and doing last minute shopping, it appears.

He has no idea what to get for a girl that isn't even his girlfriend, but his mom had shooed him out the door with parting wisdom: "You can't go wrong with flowers, chocolate, or stuffed animals." They don't sell flowers, and he doesn't know what kind of chocolate she likes, so he heads for the toy aisle, amidst a sea of bright red and pink hearts.

There are about three million different choices and Kris's head hurts just from looking at them. Big ones, small ones, brown ones, white ones. Some of them are holding cheesy signs that say "I Luv You!" He bypasses those quickly.

He finally finds one shoved behind a bin of coloring books that's a little bit different than all the rest. It looks soft and almost used, like it was a little beat up, and he figures it's exactly the kind of thing Katy would want. She's tried to take home about sixty shelter cats in the past two months.

So he buys it and he's out of the store by 10:03, which isn't that late, and therefore it's completely unnecessary for the cashier to practically chase him out after he pays. But whatever. He goes home, and he makes a little card shaped like a heart - (he spends ten minutes debating on whether or not to write 'Love, Kris' and wow does that make him feel like a girl) - and he packs it away for the morning, satisfied with himself.

Katy shrieks when he gives it to her at her locker before first period and throws herself into his arms and presses a short but dizzying kiss on his lips.

"So you liked it?" he says, laughing, and she kisses him again.



The drama club only meets after school, technically, but sometimes they'll gather in their empty classroom during lunch to hang out. It's better than avoiding spitwads from Matt and Charles for half an hour, both of whom refuse to let up about him being the only other guy in the club ("The only guy," Charles has joked about a hundred times, no matter how often Kris tells him to shut up).

Katy's friend Lizzie had slid into the seat next to his during third period English, even though she usually sat across the room. She was a nice enough girl, but for some reason, Kris had always been a little bit afraid of her. She was intimidating. Today, though, she'd just leaned in close and said, "So I hear you and Katy are dating now."

And Kris had said, "We are?" which was never the right answer, and when she looked at him reproachfully, he nodded. "I mean, yeah. We are. Sure." And that was that.

So Kris apparently had a girlfriend now, but the weird thing was, he wasn't even sure he wanted one. ("Two months ago you wanted one," says the little voice inside his head, and the thing is, he's really bad at making little voices shut up.) And that's why he avoids the cafeteria today. That's why he goes to their classroom.

No one's in there except Adam.

The nice thing about Adam is that he always looks happy to see Kris, no matter when and where he pops up. The bad thing about Adam is that Kris is never sure if he actually is happy to see him, or if he's just being a really good actor. Today, though, he pushes those insecurities aside and climbs up onto the desk and swings his feet against the wood without apology.

Adam looks up from his notebook, where he's working on lyrics or poetry or whatever it is he does in there.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he says, studying Kris's expression. "You look depressed."

"I'm not," Kris says flatly.

"But you look it."

"Well, I'm not."

"So then tell me what's wrong."

Kris frowns at the tiled floor without knowing why he's frowning. "I think I have the emotional depth of a cucumber," he says, which is something he heard in one of those romantic comedies Adam loves so much.

It makes Adam laugh, which is what he'd been trying for, so that raises his spirits slightly. Adam closes his notebook and joins Kris on the desk, pulling his feet up underneath him. "You do not," he says, once he's comfortable. "You're a very complex person."

"If by complex you mean screwed up."

"No, I don't mean screwed up." He grabs Kris by the collar and gives him a little shake. "Come on, tell me what's going on with you."

Kris is really bad at not doing what Adam tells him to. He's learned that much about himself in these past few months. "Katy's my girlfriend now," he says, and Adam stops shaking him. In fact, he stops touching him, which is the last thing Kris wants.

"Oh," he says, straightening up a little, blinking in surprise. But he covers it quickly. He really is a good actor. "Well... that's awesome, Kris. Congratulations."

But Kris doesn't want his congratulations. He doesn't know what he wants from him, but it's not that. Only he's too chicken to actually say any of this out loud. Instead, he just nods.

"Thanks."

They sit in silence for a few moments, and Kris goes back to banging his heels against the desk. Adam watches him for a minute, and then he hops down.

"I got you something," he announces, reaching into his back pocket. "For Valentine's Day."

Kris freezes.

"Not like that," Adam says, rolling his eyes at his expression. "Just... I like giving presents, and I don't have anyone to give them to. I got something for Katy and Megan, too." He smiles a little. "Don't feel special."

He opens his mouth to say something, and then he closes it. He feels guilty, and he doesn't know why. "I didn't think -" he starts, and then changes tactics. "I mean, I didn't get you -"

But Adam quickly waves him off. "I don't expect anything from you, okay? I just wanted to do something nice. It's no big deal. So shut up and let me give you your present."

There isn't a whole lot of room to argue, so Kris dutifully closes his mouth and holds his hand out. Adam pushes it away.

"Turn around," he says.

Kris lifts his eyebrows.

"Just do it," Adam says exasperatedly, and Kris obeys.

He climbs down from the desk and turns his back to Adam, so he's facing the empty blackboard, and he hears the soft clink of something metal and then Adam's hands are circling his neck. He has this weird desire to reach up and grab them but he quickly stifles it, instead simply watching as Adam loops a silver chain around his neck. He gives it a gentle little spin and a charm thuds softly against his chest, and then Adam steps away. Kris turns back around and grabs the pendant, holding it up into the light.

He stares at it for a long time before he finally lifts his gaze back up to Adam's. He's watching him almost nervously, eyes flickering between his face and the necklace, and Kris registers that there's not a whole lot of space between them, but he doesn't care.

"How'd you know?" he says at last, which isn't the 'thank you' he'd intended to start with, but at least it's something other than staring.

Adam's forehead crinkles. "How'd I know what?"

"That I... that I play guitar. That I love music."

Kris is only vaguely aware that he's whispering. He's just not sure what to say. Katy had gotten him one of the stuffed bears with the "I Luv You" signs.

"It's obvious, Kris," Adam says, breaking into a small smile. "You hum all the time. And -" He reaches out and snatches Kris's hands, the way Kris had wanted to do sixty seconds ago. He turns his wrists over and lightly strokes a finger across the callous on his palm. "You have guitarists' hands."

"And I sneak into the gym and listen to you, like, three times a week," he confesses, after a beat. "You're really good."

"Thanks," he says, and then again, hand slipping out of Adam's grip, fingers curling back around the charm, "and thanks... I'm... This is really awesome, Adam."

Overhead, the bell rings, marking the end of his lunch period. Kris tucks the necklace safely inside his shirt.

"Talk to you after school?" Adam asks, and Kris nods. He opens the classroom door and emerges into the sea of rowdy students, feeling the pendant's sleek metal against the warm skin above his heart.



Katy's waiting by his locker for him after school, and she beams and kisses him on the cheek when he approaches. "Did you have a good day?" she asks, and then, before he can answer, "Where were you at lunch?"

"I wasn't hungry," Kris lies, fiddling with his combination. "I went to the library to work on an essay for English."

"Ooh, that's good. I'm almost finished with mine, too. Maybe we can work on them together later tonight?"

Kris hasn't even started his essay for English yet. And he's got five pages of math problems and a take-home biology test on top of that. "Maybe," he says, as noncommittally as possible, throwing his textbooks into his backpack.

"And maybe we can -" Katy stops short, staring at him, and the back of Kris's neck heats up without really knowing why. The look she's giving him is anything but pleasant. "What's that?" she says, in a forcedly calm tone.

"What's what?" Kris asks, looking up and down and all around. He has no idea what she's talking about.

But then next moment she's reaching forward, finger curling around the metal chain that he wasn't even quite used to wearing yet, and she yanks it up and clean out of his shirt, the pendant dangling against her closed fist. He can practically see her eyes narrow in on the hearts.

"This," she says, and her voice has gone soft and sleek.

Kris almost wants to laugh, but he doesn't. It's not funny. He doesn't know what it is. "That was a present," he says tiredly. "From Adam."

"Adam?"

"Yeah."

"Adam Lambert?"

"Do I know any other Adams?"

And then, as if her mood had done a complete 180, she laughs and lets the necklace fall back to his chest. "Well, why didn't you just say so!" she says, giggling, like the last thirty seconds had never happened. "He got me a present too, it's this eyeliner I've been dying to try. Isn't he the sweetest?"

Kris turns his attention back to his locker. "The sweetest," he agrees idly. "Yeah." He pulls his jacket on and closes the locker door, and Katy wraps her arm around his waist, and he wraps his arm around her shoulders, and he hadn't really thought about how nice this would feel, having someone next to him like this.

This dating thing, it wasn't so bad.

A few blocks away from school, Katy disentangles herself suddenly and shivers. "Brr," she says, looking at him. "I'm freezing."

He almost points out that they were only two streets away, and it really wasn't all that cold outside, but he's pretty sure that would land him in bad boyfriend territory. He knows what she wants him to do, and even though he's only wearing a short sleeved tshirt underneath, he stops walking and pulls his varsity jacket off. "Here," he says, wrapping it around her shoulders. "Wear this."

"Oh, Kris, are you sure?" Katy asks, but it's clearly a rhetorical question, because she's already bundled up in the jacket that's too big for her (it's too big for him), and she's smiling down at his name on her chest.

"Does it look good on me?" she says, doing a little dramatic whirl, and Kris has this weird vision of Adam wearing his jacket, and it fitting just right. He shakes it out of his head, though, as quickly as it came.

"Looks great," he confirms, and then he pulls her back into him, her head against his shoulder, his arm around her waist.



"I have had," Adam announces, standing in the center of the room, making sure all eyes are on him. They would be regardless of whether or not he'd spent fifteen minutes leading up to this moment; Adam's the kind of person that demands attention naturally, "the greatest idea."

"So you said," Matt groans, throwing a wadded up piece of paper at him and missing by a mile. Kris had finally convinced him to join the drama club, once he'd learned they were being given free reign to the auditorium, where his favorite piano was locked away during school hours. He was a surprisingly good actor, too, for someone who'd never done it before, outside of a Christmas pageant when he was eight. There were other new members, too; Allison, a fiery red-haired freshman who was almost as dramatic as Adam himself; Cam, whom Adam claimed was a casting director's wet dream; Andrew and Ryland and Cale, who were apparently only doing it for extra credit in one of their English classes and only came to half the meetings; and Neil, Adam's brother, who didn't do a lot of acting but was extraordinarily good at the ancient art of bullshit.

All of them, different though they were, had one thing in common: they were better actors than Kris. All the private lessons and hours spent working with Adam hadn't made much of a difference. He still couldn't act his way out of a paper bag.

"At least you're pretty and can sing," Adam had told him more than a dozen times now, patting him sympathetically on the shoulder.

Hey, it was something.

"What's your great idea?" Cale asks, looking bored, trying to balance his chair backwards on two legs. Kris was secretly hoping it would fall, which made him feel like a bad person. But still. He would deserve it.

"Not great," Adam corrects him sharply. "The greatest."

"Just spit it out," Megan says, slapping him lightly on the thigh.

He looks frustrated that no one's as excited as he is, but Andrew's about ten seconds from conking out on a desk in the corner of the room, so he doesn't have a whole lot of time. "Okay, my idea," he says, drawing himself up, hands in the air: "...spring musical."

Adam's positively beaming, looking around the room, like he's expecting someone to topple out of their seat at his brilliance. No one moves.

"Guys, think about it! We could get funding. We could use the auditorium! We could sell tickets and raise money... There'd be roles for everyone. We can even let non-members try out, although of course, we'd get first pick. What do you think?"

There's still not a whole lot of motion. Kris can't stand to see Adam's face fall, however, so he speaks out first. "I think it's an awesome idea," he says firmly, and Adam flashes him a grateful smile.

"Well, you would," Ryland says. "Who're you going to play, a tree?"

"Kris can sing," Adam shoots at him before Kris can even open his mouth, more than a tad bit defensive. "And with a little help... a little more help... I think he could be really good."

"What play would we do?" Cam asks, looking interested.

"Actually... remember those costumes and props that were donated to us? Well, we have just about everything we could possibly need to do Grease."

"I love Grease!" Katy says, and pretty much every girl in the room nods her assent. Even some of the guys seem intrigued.

Adam's positively glowing now, falling naturally into his leader position, already flipping to a clean page in his notebook and scribbling down ideas. "So, what do you think? Should we do it?"

"Definitely," Kris says, and then Matt nods, "I'm in," and Katy says, "For sure," and one by one, the rest of the club agrees. Even Andrew, who doesn't seem to be positively sure of what he's agreeing to.

The meeting ends on a high note and Kris lingers behind to help Adam straighten up. "Where'd Katy run off to?" he asks, picking up the piece of paper Matt had very generously left on the floor.

"She had a dentist appointment."

Adam nods. "Gotta love a girl who takes care of her teeth," and when Kris shoots him a weird look he just laughs and shrugs. "Hey," he says, catching Kris by the arm and wheeling him towards him, so they're face-to-face. Only a few inches apart. "Be honest with me about something, okay?"

Kris swallows harder than he'd intended. "Okay."

"Do you really think Grease is a good idea, or were you just sticking up for me?"

There's a pause, in which Kris looks up into Adam's eyes, and then he grins. "A little bit of both," he admits, and Adam wraps his arms around him and pulls him into a rough but friendly hug.

"You're my favorite, you know that?" he says into his hair, and Kris's eyes fall shut for a moment.

"You're mine too."

"Noooo." Adam pulls back abruptly, shaking him by the shoulders. "I can't be your favorite. You have a girlfriend. She's your favorite. I'm your second favorite."

"Nope," Kris says. "Daniel's my second favorite. I promised him when we were, like, eight." He looks at Adam very seriously. "You can't go back on a promise like that."

Adam stares at him for a second and then laughs. "You're the worst brother ever," he teases. "So. Grease. I'm going to be director, obviously -"

"Obviously."

"- and if you weren't such an asshole, I'd ask you if you'd like to be my. You know. Second-in-command. Assistant stage manager, and all of that good stuff."

Kris taps his finger against his chin, being purposefully annoying and taking his time before he answering. "I'll consider it," he says at last, and then ducks Adam's hand when he moves in to shove him. "You know," he says, more seriously, straightening up, "I don't even think I have your number."

Adam locks eyes with him for a second, and there's something in his expression that Kris can't place, but then he pulls away so quickly that Kris forgets all about it. "You don't, do you? We should probably fix that. Do you have a piece of paper?"

There's nothing at hand, but Kris digs into his backpack and passes over the first sheet his hand touches.

"Kris," Adam says, looking at it with squinted eyes. "This is your math homework."

"Don't worry," Kris says, waving his hand. He grins. "There's plenty more like it."



When the bell denoting sixth period rings, Kris doesn't even bother stopping by the classroom first. "See you after school," he says to Charles, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder and heading down to the music room to rescue his old guitar. Mr. Bradley, his former band teacher, gives him a curt nod as he passes, and he flashes him a short smile before hurrying to get out of his way as quickly as possible. He has the sneaking suspicion that Bradley never quite forgave him for quitting the viola only a few months in.

The gym's empty, as always, and Kris takes his normal seat at the edge of the stage, settling his guitar down carefully in his lap, notebook open flat beside him. He'd meant to start working on a cover song today - he was thinking something by Coldplay, maybe - but inspiration strikes and his fingers start moving without his brain's consent.

"Strumming on my six string, and wondering what this world might bring," he sings quietly, something he'd written a few nights ago. It was what he did in between trying to learn his lines. He sucked at memorization. His brain started to get all jumbled with words that weren't his, and the only way to combat that was to write down some that were - and he'd tried his hand at songwriting before, of course, but it'd never come as easily as this, never this fluidly.

The gymnasium door clicks open halfway through the song. Kris hears it, but he doesn't stop playing. He doesn't even have to look up to know who it is.

Adam doesn't sit in the back of the gym anymore. Now, he comes all the way down the aisle, lowering himself into a seat right near the front of the stage, and he gazes up as Kris plays like he's in the crowd of a concert, standing before a real musician, not a seventeen-year-old with a cracked bridge pin.

Kris finishes the song with a leg kick, just for Adam, and he laughs, but in a quiet sort of way, the kind that means he's still wrapped up in the music.

"Kris," he says, shaking his head. "You are freakin' unbelievable."

But he just rolls his eyes and pretends not to be uncomfortable with that sort of compliment. "I'm okay at best," he counters, and Adam actually snorts out loud.

He climbs to his feet and approaches the stage, reaching for Kris's notebook. He lets him. He doesn't care; he's been through or at least heard most of it already, anyway.

"How many songs have you actually written?"

"I don't know. Thirty? Maybe forty."

"Forty?" Adam pauses in his perusal and stares up at him. "Why haven't you recorded these? Jesus. Okay, here's what I want. Are you listening? I'm serious - Kris. I'm serious."

Kris stops mocking him and settles down. He always gets on this kick, this you-need-to-be-famous-and-live-in-Los-Angeles-and-sell-millions-of-CDs kick. He's so blind, though. If anyone deserves to be famous, anyone Kris has ever met, it's Adam. The guy has more talent in his pinky than most people do in their whole bodies, and he can't even stand to think about that going to waste.

"I want you," Adam says, "to record these songs. No, really. I'm going to find someone who can lend you the stuff - you can make one copy, or ten copies, or two hundred copies, whatever you want. But I want to hear what you can do. Promise?"

He doesn't promise right away, because he's not in the habit of breaking promises to Adam, and that seems like a pretty hefty one. But he doesn't know why he's bothering resisting at all. He either agrees now, or Adam wears him down later. That's how it always is.

"Promise," he says, and then launches into a totally new song, this one titled Adam Sucks, He Really Really Sucks.



Katy invites him over for dinner on Tuesday, and he's run out of excuses. He's already used doctor's visit, sickly family member, and piles of homework - he considers going with the whole I'm grounded for two months standby, but he can't think of anything bad enough that he could've fake-done to warrant such a punishment. So he sucks it up, and he goes.

Dinner's fine. He likes Katy's family; he always has. She doesn't try to hold his hand during dessert, and afterwards, she asks him to follow him up to her room, but it's not with a suggestive little smile.

They sit down on her bed together, surrounded by the sort of silence that Kris has trouble deciphering. It's either comfortable or awkward. He and Adam never have awkward silences.

"Kris," Katy says, turning her whole body towards him. "Can I kiss you?"

He reacts before he means to. His whole body tenses in that weird, uncomfortable way, and he knows Katy senses it. He doesn't know what's wrong with him. He used to think he'd give his right leg to kiss Katy O'Connell.

"That's what I thought," she says quietly, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Katy..." Kris chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment. He can't give the 'it's not you, it's me' speech. He promised himself two years ago he'd never be that guy. But what else could he say? It really wasn't her; it really was him. She was beautiful and smart and funny and he was - not interested. No matter how hard he tried.

"I like you," he says, which is the truth. "A lot."

Katy looks at him, searching. "Just... not like that," and it's more of a question than anything, he still has time to take this back.

He can't lie, though. Not to her. "Not like that," he repeats, looking off to the side.

"Because you like boys like that," she continues, sounding more sure of herself, and Kris's heart nearly jumps out of his chest.

"I - what?" he says, mildly panicking, but she doesn't seem to notice.

"Because you like Adam like that," she finishes, with a dawning sense of comprehension. Like it's a puzzle that she's only just solved.

To Kris's completely disbelief, she's smiling. She's actually smiling.

"Katy, I don't -"

"I don't know how I missed it for so long. You guys are together all the time."

"That doesn't mean -"

"And the way he looks at you." She sighs, like it's one big romantic movie, and Kris half-expects her to put her hand to her face and faint.

"He doesn't -" He pauses, curiosity getting the best of him. "What way does he look at me?"

But Katy just giggles. "Like he likes you," she says, as if the answer was obvious. "Like he looooves you." She straightens up, more serious all of a sudden. "Oh, Kris. I'm sorry if you thought I was pressuring you, or - I mean, I did like you - I do like you - but you being true to yourself is so much more important." She takes his hands in hers, not hand-holding like the way they used to hold hands. He likes this new way much better. "Can you forgive me?"

Kris isn't entirely sure what's happening right now, but he does know that absolutely none of it is Katy's fault. "Me? Forgive you? Katy, I was - I wasn't being honest to you."

She waves his apology away. "We both made mistakes," she admits. "Friends?"

"Friends," he says at once, pulling her in for a hug, and he has no idea how they got here, how they ended up at this, but he's thinking Daniel might have to fight to keep his second-favorite spot.

"Oh, here," she says when they pull apart. "You probably want this back." His varsity jacket is hanging over her computer chair; he starts to protest, say she can keep it for as long as it's cold, but she shakes his head and presses it into his hands. "Oh, and I wanted to show you something!" She reaches across her nightstand then and unearths a scrapbook; it's the same one she's been filling for as long as he can remember. She flips through the pages quickly and lands on one in the back: them.

"Our club," she says with a smile, running a finger across the page, and then gingerly around the picture of her, Kris, and Adam at the bottom.

Kris smiles.

"It's great, Katy," he says truthfully. "I love it."



"I'm going to vomit."

"Don't vomit. You're not allowed to vomit."

"No, seriously, Adam." Kris peels back the curtain for the thirty-seventh time, taking a good long look at the number of people filing into their seats. There are a thousand of them. A million of them. He takes in a horribly gaspy breath and wipes some of the sweat off his forehead. "I. Am going. To vomit."

"Look at me." Adam grabs him by the shoulders and spins him around; he looks almost ridiculous in his Danny Zuko gear, but a good kind of ridiculous. An adorable kind of ridiculous. That in itself is a little calming. "This is just a play, okay? It's just a play, where all the actors are your friends. And everyone in the crowd - well, forget about them. Look, if you need to, focus on me. I'm going to be out there with you the entire time."

"The entire time," Kris repeats, wishing he had a glass of water. Preferably one large enough to drown himself in.

"This isn't working, is it?"

Kris grimaces. "Not even a little bit."

Adam sighs in frustration and tugs on his wrist. "Come on," he says. "Follow me."

"Where are we going?" Kris asks, not bothering to put up a fight. Adam doesn't answer, though; he simply weaves him around props and stage pieces backstage, and then, finally pulling him around Andrew, who's pouring generous heaps of grease into his already slicked-back hair, into a broom closet.

"A closet," he says, looking around. "You took me into a closet. Are you planning on killing me, Adam? Because now's not a good time. You might get blood on your cos -"

"Oh, shut up already," Adam says exasperatedly, and then he leans in and kisses him.

It's the most unexpected thing Kris has ever experienced in his entire life, and yet it's so natural that he falls automatically into an easy rhythm. He does have to prop up on his tiptoes just a little bit, but everywhere else fits just right, from his mouth to his hands to Adam's neck to his chest to his hips to his toes. It's the best kiss he's ever gotten, and when Adam pulls back to catch his breath, his head is reeling.

"I guess Katy told you," Kris says, a little breathlessly, staring straight into Adam's eyes.

But he simply laughs. "She didn't have to," he says, and then he kisses him again, pressing him up against the wall of the broom closet.

They only stop kissing when Allison wanders across backstage for the third time, calling Adam's name, and he rolls his eyes to the ceiling in frustration.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he says, his hand curling around Kris's back. There's a loud crash just outside, and then Cam's screaming, and Matt's yelling, and they really don't have a choice - "Later," Adam promises, giving him one last kiss before letting go.

"Later," Kris agrees, stealing 'one last kiss' three more times.

Adam pauses with his hand on the doorknob, and then he turns back to Kris with a smirk. "Not so nervous now, are you?" he asks, an eyebrow arched, and Kris shakes his head.

"Not even a little bit," he says, adjusting his fake sideburns before they go.



They go to the river for their first official date, and it's oddly cool outside, especially for May. Adam wraps his arm around Kris's shoulder and Kris wraps his arm around Adam's waist, and he decides he likes this much, much more.

"Give you ten dollars to jump in," Adam jokes, nudging him in the side as they walked around the bend.

"Sure," Kris says. "How much do I have to pay you to jump in after and save me?"

Adam does a little spin motion that pulls Kris into him, chest against chest, and he leans in and grins and presses the faintest of kisses against his lower lip. "Baby," he says cheesily, "I'd do it for free."

"I think I'm gonna go grab my guitar," Kris says, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand and peering down at the bank, where they'd parked Adam's car. It wasn't too far of a walk, but before he heads that way, he brushes arms with Adam and notices that he had goosebumps. "Are you cold?" he asks, and then, before Adam can protest, he pulls off his jacket and presses it into his hands.

"Put that on," he orders, and surprisingly, this time, Adam does as he's told.