Author's Note: I don't own RENT.

Drummer Wanted

DRUMMER WANTED

NEW ROCK BAND

AUDITIONS TODAY

GYM 4PM

SERIOUS DRUMMERS ONLY

Collins slid down the back wall of the gym, landing with a light thud on the blue mats and pulling out a wad of tobacco and a sheet of rolling paper. He glanced over to Roger who was perched on a balance beam strumming a chord progression over and over.

"Dude, this is hopeless" Collins murmured, absorbed in rolling his tobacco.

"Yeah" Mark agreed. "We've seen, what, twelve kids…and they all sucked."

"Let's be a band without a drummer" Collins suggested. "Play some new age-y shit."

Roger jumped off the beam in frustration, almost bashing his guitar out of tune as he threw it on the mat.

"Look guys, this is serious, okay? I really want this band to work. I'm gonna be a rockstar; I've gotta start somewhere. I'm not just doing this for fun." He paced the polished floor agitatedly, his scuffed sneakers squeaking.

"Chill out man, I was only kiddin'" Collins lit and inhaled his freshly rolled cigarette, causing Mark to cough awkwardly and edge away from him to the next mat. Collins chuckled, exhaling a thick cloud as he did so.

"Be careful Collins," Mark pointed shyly at the ceiling, "You'll set off the smoke alarms."

As Collins opened his mouth to protest, the gym doors flew open and a small figure swamped by a sweater several sizes too big for him hurtled in. The little Latino boy's worn jeans were tight, and his sneakers were even more scuffed than Roger's, though decorated with pink and orange flowers doodled on with a Sharpie. Collins sat up and Roger spun around on his heel.

"Hi," said the boy, "I'm here for the drummer audition."

"Hey" Roger said cautiously, giving Mark and Collins a look of uncertainty. The kid looked like he was still in junior high, if that; his face was so delicate you could call it pretty and his open, enthusiastic smile was bizarre to Roger.

Collins, feeling a strange sort of positive vibe from this kid, got up and walked over.

"Hey, I'm Collins." He intended a casual nod in greeting, the custom among boys, so was surprised when the boy took his hand and squeezed it gently.

"Great to meet you, Collins," his eyes sparkled, "I'm Angel."

It was a few seconds until Collins realised they were still hold hands, and dropped his hand, shoving it clumsily in his pocket. Roger and Mark had also come over and stood next to Collins, forming a judging panel of sorts for Angel.

"So, you are in high school, right?"

Angel laughed a little, "Yeah. I get that a lot. I look young, I know."

"It's cool, I do too," Mark said. He had taken a liking to Angel. He seemed genuine and warm. He looked over at Collins to whisper his impressions (while Roger asked Angel about his previous drumming experience and told him to get set up) and saw that he was watching Angel intently, an unfamiliar kind of enraptured expression on his face. He gave him a quick nudge in the ribs which made Collins jump.

"Woah, man, you scared me." He turned to Mark, almost accusatory.

"Sorry. You were…um…zoning out." Mark trailed off, as Collins was only half listening to him and half engrossed in Angel, who was straddling a 5ft bench, holding two relay batons. When he noticed this, Mark became distracted too. He and Roger looked horrified, whilst Collins was chuckling. Everything Angel did was with a calm air of defiant elegance, as if daring them to mock him, and Collins liked it; it tickled his inner sensibility. Apparently his inner sensibility was located in the bottom of his stomach, because watching Angel beat the bench furiously with the batons, creating an infectious rhythm and fully giving his body over to it, absurdly charming as his face came alive with joy despite his concentration, it felt very ticklish there. It felt good. So that's what all this fuss over girls is about was the thought at the forefront of his mind; though it surprised him so much he could barely acknowledge it.

When Angel finished his improvised piece with a drum roll and a forward summersault off the bench, even Roger was applauding. Suddenly not performing or needing to win them over, Angel became self conscious, giggling a little and pulling his oversized sleeves down over his hands in a nervous gesture. Mark noticed his eyes kept flickering over to Collins as he spoke.

"So I…uh…don't have my own kit…as you can see. But I'm saving up. And I'm pretty good without one, so when I get one I'll be at least three times better."

Roger chuckled and patted Angel on the back when he failed to recognise his cue for a high five. "It's no problem. We'll find something. You could even play on like…an upside down tub or something, for now."

He turned to Mark and Collins. "What do you think, guys?"

"He's great," Mark smiled at Angel.

"Definitely," agreed Collins, who was already locked in a deep smile with Angel; a shared secret that neither of them knew.

"Cool," Roger said, sprinting with rejuvenated enthusiasm over to the mats to grab his guitar.

"So the first rehearsal will be tomorrow after school, is that okay?"

"Sure," said Angel, quietly glowing with restrained pride; his shuffling feet the only sign of his excitement at having made the band. He desperately wanted some friends, his previous attempts since transferring last month having been so far unsuccessful. Only Mimi, a sweet girl from his street, seemed compatible with his unusual personality, and she was in junior high. Plus it was something to do, to keep him out, away from home, in the evenings as long as possible. And there was a thrilling unforeseen bonus in this guy, Collins; who for the last ten minutes had been looking at him like he'd always fantasized he'd be looked at, whose brown eyes were as soft and dreamy as his deep voice. Not that Angel could imagine plucking up the courage to ask him if he liked boys. But there was something between them, a brewing sensation, which resonated with the brewing deep inside Angel, which had been telling him since he could remember that he was meant for something more fabulous than baggy denim pants and short hair and soccer teams.

"Are you all in the band?" he asked, accidentally meeting Collins' eye when he said it and blushing harder when he saw that Collins was blushing too.

"Yeah," Roger called over his shoulder as he zipped his guitar into its case. "I'm lead guitar and singer, Mark is rhythm guitar and Collins is bass. There's another girl, Maureen who's probably doing back up vocals, if she ever makes her mind up about it, but she's in some play tonight; she couldn't come."

"Cool," Angel smiled.

"Okay guys, let's get out of here." Roger led the way towards the wooden double doors. As he reached out to push them open, they swung in the other direction and a blur of hot pink bounded through them, knocking him off balance so that he landed flat on his back on the floor. Mark and Collins doubled over laughing; Angel giggled and waved to his friend Mimi (who'd arranged to meet him there and had clearly arrived) with his floppy sleeve. Roger scowled and struggled to sit up, further obstructed when Mimi plonked herself on top of him, wild curls tickling his face, her eyebrows knotted in concern.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"Fine," Roger grunted, not entirely unhappy about having her well shaped ass in his lap.

Awkwardly, she helped both of them up, scooting around him to dust off his back and give his ass a playful tap as she finished.

"No harm done, good as new!"

Roger was lost for words; she made him nervous, so, wanting to look cool, he just shrugged and muttered something indeterminable, bending to pick up his guitar.

Mark, recovering from the hilarity of seeing Roger knocked flat on his back and mounted by this brazen girl, managed to breathe enough to speak.

"If you're here for the auditions, I'm sorry, we've already found someone."

"Oh no," Mimi grabbed Angel's arm and linked hers through it "I'm meeting Angel."

"Oh," said Mark.

"I could never be in a band; I can't play anything," although she was speaking to Mark, it seemed as though Mimi was directing her speech to Roger; making sure he could hear her and was watching.

"I'm a real good dancer though. I could be a groupie!" she nudged Angel and they both giggled as she began a little routine, mainly comprised of flexing and grinding tugging on Angel's arm until he joined in, self-consciously.

Roger was now wearing a similar expression to Collins' earlier one, and Collins' was back, accompanied with subconscious lip-licking. Mark could see if he wanted to get home in time for the beginning of Xena: Warrior Princess, he'd have to be the one to break this up, as neither of the others was likely to.

Unceremoniously the group was herded through the double doors, splitting into three directions – Angel and Mimi, Roger and Mark, Collins – depending on their route home. They shouted goodbye, Roger calling the time of the rehearsal, and the boys turned to watch Angel and Mimi dance out of sight. A collective breath was taken after they rounded the corner. Collins patted Roger and Mark on the shoulder in turn and half mumbled as he set off around his own corner.

"Boys, we don't need to worry. This band will be very, very successful."