A/N: Okay, so this is my first multi-chapter Rent story. It is pre-rent, from Mark and Roger's first meeting and will probably run right up into the beginning of the musical/movie. It may take me a long time to update. Also, I'm only planning one or two chapters for each year of high school. I don't own Rent, Mark, or Roger. Feed back is loved. NO SLASH. Just Mark/Roger friendship.

Through Thick and Thin

Chapter One

I was nervous and late as I rushed towards my homeroom, or what I hoped was my homeroom on the first day off class. Right, left, left, straight, room 242, I check my timetable just to make sure. Perfect. I check again. I wonder about knocking but there are already kids in the room, so I just go, find a seat in the back corner, and plunk myself down. Push my glasses up my nose, and observe.

Our teacher isn't here yet, my first day of high school, and already I see how unruly normal teenagers are. I, of course, am not a normal teenager. I'm not a normal boy. Not normal at all. I'd rather sit and watch, then join in, I'm never upset when someone doesn't pick me, I'd rather read a book, or take pictures then play baseball or play fight with friends. Not that I have any friends. Normal people have friends. Now, I see the normal people.

Some girls sitting in a circle near the teacher's desk, smiling and giggling and showing each other the colors of their nails. Why would you want to color your nails anyway? I never understood that. Anyway, as I watch, I wonder if the red head knows that the dark-skinned girl playing with friend's hair is cutting herself.

I turn and see two boys arguing, loudly, over something I don't quite understand. That doesn't matter, all I know is that these two aren't really fighting, they're teasing each other, I suppose. The taller one punches the curly haired one on the shoulder, and when the curly haired guy flinches, the tall one just laughs.

The room is in a state of chaos. No one is sitting still; the room is already a mess. Airplanes of paper zoom above my head, and not one person seems to give a damn that our teacher is nearly ten minutes late. I wonder if they'll all leave eventually or if the teacher will show up and start the class. I sigh and glance around the room one more time; to make sure I took in everything. I hadn't. I had missed one person.

He was sitting in the back, on the left, while I was on the right, he had spiky bleached blonde hair, and he was hunched over something, I moved slightly to get a better look. It was a notebook, he was writing in, while muttering under his breath, then crossing out the word he had just written to start again. From this end of the classroom, I couldn't here what he was saying, but I bet he was frustrated. With each scribble of a word, he began getting a little more violent. I was intrigued, curious; I wanted to know what was in the notebook. Roger crossed out another few words, and just as our teacher walked in and the classroom quieted down, he said a word loudly enough for all of us to hear. "FUCK!"

I pressed my hand to my mouth to keep from laughing, it was amazing. The teacher looked at him, she was young and nervous looking. Her blonder hair curled around her shoulders and she smiled at him. "Now…I don't tolerate that kind of language in my class Mister…"

"Roger."

"Mister Rogers."

"No. Not Mr. Rogers. Roger. Roger Davis, Roger."

"Right, Mr. Davis, I do not tolerate that kind of language, and if it happens again, you will have a detention."

"Do you think I care? And I told you. It's Roger." He spelt out his name slowly, "R-O-G-E-R, five letters, and two syllables, not hard to say. Use it. I'm not a mister."

Now I was laughing. Carefully hidden in the shadows, but other kids were staring at Roger in awe. The teacher tried again, "Roger, one more comment and you will be suspended."

Roger said nothing more, and the teacher introduced herself, "Hello, I am Miss Katie Hudson." She pushed a strand of hair back and smoothed her denim skirt. "I will be teaching you ninth grade English, this is my first day here, I used to teach grade three, so I'm just as nervous as you all are." She giggled. "So, first things, I think we're gonna get to know each other, right, so, everyone pick a partner, and write down three new things about your classmate, at the end of the period we'll share them." She turned around to write her name and the instructions on the board, as soon as her back was facing him, Roger flipped her off, and mouthed something that look like "Fuck you bitch." And "We are not babies."

Miss Katie Hudson spun back around, wiped chalk on her black t-shirt, and clapped her hands. "Now, everyone find partners! Chop chop!"

There was much grumbling and eye-rolling, as people reached out or went to sit near their friends. I had been home schooled until this time, was left alone, I was friendless. I sighed, and ran a hair through my short blonde hair this was what I had been afraid of. Then I noticed I wasn't the only person who was alone, Roger had not looked up from his notebook, since he gave Miss Hudson the finger.

Unfortunately, Miss Hudson noticed too, and her blue eyes sparkled behind silver framed lenses, and she let out the biggest smiled I had ever seen. "Roger, why don't you go over and sit with Mr."

"Mark. Mark Cohen, I'm Mark." I told her, I knew what Roger meant about last names, I was too young to be a mister, and Mr. Cohen was my father, I never wanted to be my father.

"Roger, why don't you go over and sit with Mr. Cohen."

I cringed at the surname and was surprised when Roger actually got up, grabbing his notebook, and dragged his chair over to where I was. "So, Mark. Give me three things I know about you so I don't fail this class. They don't have to be good; I only need a 50."

I thought for a moment, and then said, "I've been home schooled until now, I'm horrible at making friends, and I've lived in Scarsdale all my life."

"Okay." Roger said, and went back to writing and crossing out words.

"Hey! I need three things too." I protested.

"I'll give you two." Roger replied. "You'll have to guess the last one, or make it up, I don't really care."

"Okay." I said.

"I just moved here, and I don't give a crap about school." He informed me. Then he returned once again, to his notebook. I leaned back and studied him. Since I was gifted at observing, I figured I could learn one thing about him, without him telling me, easily. I studied his hair first, then I moved down to his face, he had started shaving already, I knew because there was a five o clock shadow, on his cheeks and chin, a shade or two darker than the one on his head. He was obviously taller and stronger than me; he didn't care what he looked liked, wearing a wrinkled t-shirt underneath the leather jacket, and jeans with frayed bottoms and holes in the knees. Roger was humming under his breath, I realized, and as he scratched out whatever he had been writing he said, "Wrong word for that chord." I smiled… he was writing a song. Then, guessing that Roger would not like to have that revealed, I glanced at the hands that were doing all the work on the pages. Roger's left hand was blistered, and when he was not writing with his right hand, he had a pick in the hand. I knew what I would say for his third thing about Roger.

All of a sudden, Miss Hudson clapped her hands together in that rhythmic pattern you here only for the primary grades, everyone ignored her. She cleared her throat, "Alright, time to share with the rest of your classmates what you have learned about your friends. Mr. Cohen, and Roger, you're up first." Clearly, she wasn't going to call me by my first name, Roger had intimidated her, I was intimidated by her.

"C'mon Mark." Roger said, standing up.

"Okay." I said, boy, I was starting to use that word a lot. I followed Roger to the front of the class.

"I'll go first." Roger volunteered, and I shrugged, "Mark, here, well, I learned three things about him. He's lived in Scarsdale all his life. That's one. It's his first day of real school, he's been home schooled until now. Finally, Mark, like me, hates to be called by his surname, and especially, Mr. Cohen. So, Miss H, you can call him Mark, just like you call me Roger."

I glanced at Roger, those were not the three things I had told him, well, two were, but he had totally come up with the last one on his own, and told the teacher off. Roger caught my glance and just made a non-committal shrug of his shoulders. "Alright, well, Roger, here. He is new to Scarsdale." I paused, thinking. "Roger, well, I'm fairly sure; he'll be suspended at least once by the time school is out. Finally, Roger is a musician, a guitarist."

This time, Roger looked at me, shocked. I shrugged again; it was just something I had noticed. I always notice. "That's it." We said together, the grinned at each other. Then walked back, Roger grabbed his chair, and sat in our original spots.

I went back to observing, rather than listening to the rest of the class, while Roger had shut his note book, and was slowly strumming an air guitar. At last, the bell rang, and I hurried out the door, towards my math class, "Yo, kid." I turn to the voice, and realize It Roger.

"Yeah?"

"What's your elective?" he asked.

What a weird question, I wonder why he even asked it, and if I should answer, but I say,"Photography… you?"

"Music." He said, rolling his eyes, "See you around then." And he left me in a state of confusion. I wondered what all that was about. And whether or not it mattered… for now, I decided to ignore it, and concentrate on finding my next class.

At lunch, I found a table, in the dark back corner, which was not taken by anyone else. I sat down, and plucked out my camera, I had seen a pattern that involved kids running in the aisles, and I didn't want anyone to step on the camera I had saved up for a year for. Kids didn't even care what they trampled over, or if they slipped in some apple juice that looked suspiciously like pee. I pulled out my brown bagged lunch, and opened it staring at the lack of food inside: One small juice box and a peanut butter sandwich. I was used to lunch at home, which was almost like dinner in my house. I wasn't even sure I wanted to eat this. But I shrugged and took a bite anyway. I wasn't all that impressed, but I was hungry. Sullenly, I pulled the crusts off; I still did this even though I was fourteen. It was more of a habit now, then anything.

Imagine my surprise, when Roger sat down across from me, "Hello Mark." He said looking at me like this was a perfectly normal thing to do.

"Why are you sitting here?" I asked.

"The other kids annoy me." He replied.

"I don't annoy you?" I asked, shocked.

"Well…" Roger smirked, "You do… just less then everyone else. You're the only person I've seen here who doesn't care about this damn place, and every little tradition."

"I don't care about this place." I told him and he smiled. "I want to go somewhere big… be famous for something to do with photography… or if I ever get enough for a video camera… I'd like to be a filmmaker… you can't do that in a place like this."

Roger tilted his head and looked at me, "I'm going to be a famous song writer when I'm finished here. That's my Mom's only rule… graduate high school. Then I'm going to go somewhere big. New York City."

"New York City… I'd love to live there; my parents would never allow it though… not until I finish college, at whatever Ivy League school they want me to go to." I shrugged, happy to find someone to talk to.

"I take it your parents do care for the traditions in this city?"

"Yeah, it sucks. I'm supposed to be the picture perfect little Jewish boy, when I am anything but that." I said.

"Y'know what Mark?!" Roger exclaimed, "I think we're gonna be great friends."

A/N: Hope you liked it, R&R!