A/N: Okay…this is an idea that I've had for a LONG time. Honestly, I was an itsy-bitsy bit nervous about putting it up, but…here is it (obviously.) LOL! So anyway…

I just can't get over the fact that Mark is Jewish! That's awesome!! And at one point in the film, a reference is made to his Bar Mitzvah--the Jewish initiation of a boy into manhood, usually around age 13. So I felt like reaching back and seeing how this newfound status might effect the relationship he has with Roger, assuming they knew each other before high school. :0)

I don't own…

A Rite of Passage

The two friends were certain that nothing could ever keep them apart--but when one is made to grow up a little, the bond is put to the test. PRE-RENT. MARK/ROGER.

Saturday morning dawned early for the two boys. The late-October day was the perfect kind for doing whatever they wanted. While watching cartoons, they planned it out.

"We can jump in the leaves," Roger suggested.

"Yeah! And then we could…" Mark couldn't think clearly until he'd had breakfast.

"Play football?" the other finished for him.

"Okay." The boys leaned close and did the secret handshake they'd perfected in second grade. The tantalizing smells of bacon and eggs began to waft into the living room from the kitchen. Inhaling deeply, Mark sighed in contentment. This was how a Saturday morning was supposed to be spent. He loved sleeping over at Roger's house; it had become like a second home to him. And though the two weren't truly brothers, they may has well have been. Mark's sister Cindy was always busy with her high school friends, and Roger had no siblings at all. But at least they had each other. A sudden cry jarred the little blonde child from his thoughts.

"Come and eat, boys," Mrs. Davis called. "You don't want it to get cold!" Roger shot his friend a wicked grin.

"Race ya!" he challenged.

"You're on!" Still clad in their pajamas, both bolted to the dining room table. "I won!" Mark declared, a triumphant smile playing at his lips.

"What? No you didn't!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"You're just jealous!"

"Dream on!" It continued this way for a few minutes before the woman decided to intervene.

"No arguing at the table." Truth be known, she rather enjoyed watching them together; it warmed her that her son was hanging out with a positive influence, for once. Neither really spoke much as the food was placed before them: Eggs, toast, milk, juice, and bacon. Roger went right for the bacon, throwing several pieces onto his plate. "Roger," his mother warned, "maybe you should save some for our guest." She turned to Mark, then.

"Would you like some bacon, Mark?" He declined.

"No thank you, Mrs. Davis--I can't eat bacon." His friend was surprised.

"What kind of freak doesn't eat bacon?" Roger questioned, his voice a mixture of shock and a hint of disgust.

"I'm Jewish, remember?" came Mark's answer. "Bacon isn't Kosher--it's not the kind of meat that I'm allowed to eat." Roger shrugged, grabbing a few more pieces.

"Whatever…more for me, then." This latest comment left his mother completely appalled.

"Roger!" she snapped. He cringed, knowing he'd more than likely receive a lecture on politeness after his friend went home.

"Sorry," came the automatic apology.

"No big deal," Mark said with a smile. "It's nothing, really." Nothing more about it was said…at least during breakfast.

Now that Roger thought about it, he'd never truly given much consideration to the fact that Mark was of a Jewish heritage. It had been, he'd figured, one of those traits that had always been mentioned in passing.

Mark has blonde hair.

Mark wears glasses.

Mark is a Jew.

He'd never known there were actual rules to follow! Curious, he decided to find out as much as he could.

"So tell me more about this no-eating-bacon thing," he started, nonchalantly, as the two took turns diving into the piles of fallen leaves in the backyard.

"There's nothing to tell," Mark answered, picking the fragments out of his hair. "It's just a rule--Jewish people aren't really supposed to eat pork, that's all."

"Interesting."

"Yeah…kind of…"

"So what other stuff do you do when you're Jewish?" Roger asked. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mark had to wonder why his friend was suddenly so interested in his background, but nonetheless, he obliged.

"Well, uh…we light candles every year on Hanukkah, we eat a special dinner on Passover…and…my Bar Mitzvah's coming up soon." The other was confused.

"Bar-What's-Vuh?" Mark laughed watching Roger's whole face contort over the strange, new word.

"My Bar Mitzvah," he reiterated. "It's the Jewish celebration of manhood." Met with a blank stare, Mark continued to explain. "See, when I turn thirteen, I'll have to go recite a passage from the Torah in front of the entire synagogue, and then…there's a big party afterward."

"But why?" It was clear that Roger was still confused. Perhaps, Mark reasoned, it was because this particular conversation had nothing to do with girls or music.

"It's kind of like, turning thirteen is a big deal. In Judaism, it means that society looks to you as a man, and that you have to act more mature. Make sense now?" It was all starting to come together.

"Yeah, I guess. You know too much about this kinda stuff, Cohen," Roger finally remarked, throwing a pile of leaves in his friend's face.

"Well, I have to," Mark defended, throwing them back, "it's a big deal for me." For a second, the only noise to be heard was the gentle rustling of the leaves. Then, Mark had an idea. "Wanna come?"

"Where?"

"To my Bar Mitzvah. My folks say I can invite some friends to the ceremony and then to the party afterwards."

"Party?" Roger liked parties. "Okay, I'll go." The conversation soon ended, but a nagging thought remained on Roger's mind. A year older than his playmate, he'd already turned thirteen--and he certainly didn't act more mature, so why should Mark have to?

For the rest of the afternoon, the boys ran and played and acted like--well, like boys, though Roger wasn't entirely certain how much longer it would last.

The weekend eventually came to a close, and school once again resumed. The halls of Scarsdale Junior High were jammed with students, and yet, the two always managed to seek each other out.

"Wanna come over after school?" Roger inquired, hopeful. He'd just bought the latest Rolling Stones album, and was dying to show it to someone. Mark shook his head.

"Sorry--I've gotta study."

"But we just took the math test last period--what could you possibly have to study?"

"I've gotta look over the passage I've gotta read for my Bar Mitzvah--it's in two weeks. You're still coming, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure…listen, can't you do that later? Come on--it's the Stones, man!" Mark remained adamant.

"I can't, Roge--Nanette promised she'd help me, so I've gotta meet her." Roger cocked his head. This was new--since when did Mark Cohen have a girlfriend? He was only the scrawniest, pastiest kid in the eighth grade! No girl had ever really given him the time of day, with the exception of their friend Maureen. But she was just plain weird, sometimes.

"Who's Nanette?" Roger asked, trying to keep the jealousy out of his voice. Not even he had a girlfriend yet, though he'd had his eye on a certain redhead whose name he couldn't remember at this moment.

"Nanette Himmelfarb--she's the Rabbi's daughter," came the answer. "We were kinda-friends in Hebrew school and she's my partner in the tango class my mom signed me up for. She told me she'd help me study. "

"You take a tango class?"

"Yeah--it's…" Mark could feel himself blush as he thought of holding a girl and elegantly moving about the dance floor, for once graceful and in control. "fun. It's really fun."

"Nerd," Roger spat, shutting the locker and giving his pal his trademark devilish smile. "I'll see ya tomorrow."

"See ya," the other called, but it was too late--he was already alone.

The next day, the scene replayed itself.

"But you hung out with Nerdette yesterday!" Roger protested.

"I have to make sure I've got it perfect," was the response. And so the conversation ended. Day after day, the situation was the same. Deep down, Roger was convinced that his friend was dodging him on purpose. And it made him angry. But he still wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Wednesday at lunch, he tried one last time.

"Hey, Mark, do you wanna--" He couldn't even finish the sentence before the other declined.

"Roger, we've been through this---I can't. I only have one week left to get ready. One week! I can't make any mistakes! This is really important to me---after Saturday, people are gonna start looking to me as a man. And if I'm gonna be treated like a grown-up, I've gotta at least grow up a little!" Under his breath he added, "Maybe you should, too." This was more than Roger could stand. He slammed his lunch tray on the cafeteria table, and jumped to his feet.

"Why're you actin' like this, man?! Know what? Whatever. Go ahead, go hang out with your girlfriend, I don't care anymore!" Mark was more than a little confused by his friend's outburst.

"Look, I've just---my Bar Mitzvah---" he started, unsure how to make the other see the impact of what would soon take place.

"Who cares?!" Roger all but shouted. "Know what I think? To Hell with your stupid Bar-Mitzvah, that's what I think!"

"So you don't wanna come?" Mark couldn't deny the pain that was etched across his face; it hurt that his friend didn't want to support him. The older boy was relentless.

"Why would I?!" he spat. "Why would I wanna do anything for some little freak who doesn't eat bacon, who doesn't celebrate Christmas, who's so busy trying to act like a grown-up that he's forgotten all about his best friend?! More like ex-best friend, now." The final few words were spoken with an iciness that surprised them both. Mark said nothing, but turned to leave the cafeteria. On his way out, he could feel the other kids staring at him; after all, it wasn't every day that a geeky little fellow like him got into a shouting match---in the middle of lunch, no less. Turning around one last time, he took another look at Roger, who was busy talking to that same red-haired girl.

Gee, Mark thought, it's amazing how fast seven years of friendship goes up in smoke… For the rest of the after noon, neither spoke to the other. Roger had nothing to say to "the little blonde backstabber," as he'd quickly deemed him. Mark, on the other hand, had quite a bit to say. He wanted to tell Roger that he'd gotten it all wrong, that Nanette wasn't really his girlfriend, that he really did want to start hanging out again---most importantly, that the Rolling Stones weren't, nor would they ever be, one of his favorite bands. But the other simply wasn't willing to listen.

The tension carried over into home life, as well. The boy had been quiet and rather distant for a little over a day---more than enough time for his mother to decide that something was wrong. One evening, she decided to find out what. The woman knocked softly on her son's bedroom door.

"Can I come in?" she asked softly. No answer. She sat down on the bed next to him. It was quiet for a minute. "Sweetheart," she continued, "I can't help but notice that something's bothering you---you know I'll help you in anyway I can, but…I can't unless you tell me what's wrong…"

"Please don't tell Dad," he begged, after a moment.

"Tell him what?" Mark bit his lip, hesitant to say what was on his mind.

"Mom…I---I don't wanna have my Bar-Mitzvah. In-in fact, I…don't think I wanna be Jewish anymore…" Ashamed, he refused to look up. The tension was immense; Mark dreaded her reaction, fearing one of his father's physical punishments. Much to his relieved surprise, his mother's voice was gentle.

"Oh, Mark…what would make you say something like that?"

"Well…I---I get treated differently 'cause of it…"

"By who?" At first, he didn't want to say. But the compassion in her eyes drug the truth out of him.

"Roger…" Mrs. Cohen was puzzled.

"Roger? As in, your best friend Roger?" He'd always been such a polite young man; this didn't sound like him.

"Ex-best friend," Mark mumbled. At that point, he began to disclose the long, sad story about what had happened at school two days before. "Why would he say those things, Mom?" The child's voice quivered; tears began to pool in his crystalline blue eyes. The woman pulled her child close. He nestled his head in her lap, content to let her soothe him.

"I don't think he meant it," she said. "Do you think it's possible that maybe Roger's a little bit scared?" Mark shook his head.

"Uh-uh…Roger's not scared of anything. He told me."

"I think he is. I think he's afraid that because society will look to you as a man, that you'll be too busy to spend time with him. He doesn't want to lose you." The boy thought it over. Now that he thought about it, he did remember Roger saying something about not being able to hang out as much. Maybe Mom had a point.

"But that's silly---just because I'm turning thirteen, doesn't mean I won't wanna spend time with my best friend!" Mark smiled, finally understanding what had been eating away at Roger for all that time.

"But I'll bet he doesn't know that."

"Can I call him and tell him?" They looked at the clock on the wall.

"Not tonight, honey---it's getting late." The child was a considerable amount happier, now. But something troubled his mother. "In a few days, you're going to be a man. And part of growing up and acting mature is being responsible, right?"

"Right," he agreed.

"And running away from your commitments isn't very responsible, is it?"

"No."

"Right---so you're going to have your Bar-Mitzvah on Saturday, and you're going to do great, I know it." The woman smiled lovingly at her youngest child. She ran her fingers through his hair, picturing his life up to this point, reflecting on this important milestone.

"But what about Roger?" he said. "He says he's not coming."

"Well, all you can do is ask him again---tell him how you really feel, ask him about how he feels. I'm sure you two will be as good of friends as ever when it's all said and done."

"Maybe…thanks, Mom---love you."

"I love you too, baby."

"Hey," Mark shot back, "no fair, Mom---I'm not a baby anymore. I turn thirteen in a week, remember?" Mrs. Cohen laughed.

"Of course I remember---now get some sleep."

"'Night, Mom."

"Goodnight, my little man."

In the darkness, Mark thought of the advice he'd been given. He thought of Roger. He thought of his Bar-Mitzvah, and of becoming a man. He thought of how a man would handle his situation. And he thought of the words he would say when the opportunity presented itself.

The opportunity presented itself Friday afternoon. Mark spotted Roger sitting at the corner table in the cafeteria, alone. Cautiously, he approached.

"Hey, Roger," he said timidly. After all, he thought, they hadn't spoken in a week.

"Hey." The other's tone was deadpan---not quite how Mark had hoped it would be.

"What's up?"

"Nothin'." Though Roger tried to remain indifferent, it became hard when Mark pulled out his lunch. Roger felt his stomach growl; he'd left his lunch on the counter that morning---and he was very hungry.

"Want one?" Mark questioned when he saw his ex-best friend eyeing the bag of chocolate chip cookies. Reluctantly, the other accepted.

"Thanks," he said in that same flat voice. Now, Mark thought, was as good of a time as any.

"Listen, Roge---I know we're not friends anymore, but…I'd still really like it if you'd come to my Bar-Mitzvah tomorrow. You can if you want, but you don't have to. But if you do come, maybe you could spend the night. We could even listen to your new Rolling Stones record, if you wanted. See, doing what I'm gonna do doesn't totally change things, you know…I'm still a kid---I'm just a kid with some more responsibility, that's all." Roger continued to nibble the cookie, not bothering to look Mark in the eye. "Just think about it, okay?" the younger boy pleaded before walking away.

Saturday morning dawned early for the Cohen household. Mark was more nervous than he'd anticipated being by the time they arrived at the synagogue.

"Break a leg, Marky," Cindy told him.

"My friends," Rabbi Himmelfarb told the crowd, "today is a very special day. Today, Mark Cohen takes his place before God and all of us as a man. Mark…" The boy stepped up to the podium that held the Jewish Holy books. His eyes scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Mom, Dad, Cindy, Grandma, Grandpa…he saw a few of his friends from Hebrew School, and Nanette smiled at him from the front row. But he didn't see Roger. Mark swallowed his disappointment and somberly began to recite the passage from the Torah. From the back of the synagogue, Roger listened. He couldn't see for the people that were standing in front of him, but he could hear. And though he couldn't understand a word that was being said, he'd never been more proud to call Mark his best friend.

The after party was held at the Jewish Community Center. Mark liked parties, but being the center of attention was starting to get to him. He was grateful to have a moment to himself at the refreshment table. A sudden voice made him jump.

"Mazeltov, Mark." It was Nanette. "You did great up there."

"Thanks…"

"Would you like to dance later?" she asked. "We can show them how well we tango." She struck a dramatic tango pose. Mark tried to think of a polite way to say no.

"Uh…well, I don't---" he started.

"What he means is, he'd be delighted," came another, more familiar voice. Mark turned around to see Roger standing there.

"You made it!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah---I needed some excuse to get out of the house," Roger said, flashing a smile. "That was really awesome, what you did today. And…I'm sorry I acted the way I did. Pals again?" Mark smiled.

"Pals." The two did their secret handshake. Nanette watched, slightly taken by this handsome new boy.

"Mark, who's your friend?" she asked.

"Oh, right. Nanette, this is my best buddy Roger. Roger, this is Nanette."

"Hey," Roger greeted with a wave. Simultaneously, he fought the urge to cringe. This girl was hideous! She was overweight with a mop of curly brown hair on her head. For a minute Roger felt a great swell of pity for his friend, who weekly had to lumber around a dance floor with a girl like that. But an instant later, it vanished. "You know," he continued, "Mark's told me so much about you…" The other boy felt his face flush.

"Roger," he warned, "cut it out…"

"What'd he tell you?" Nanette asked, intrigued. Secretly, she'd kind of always thought Mark was cute…in a shy, nerdy sort of way.

"Hmm…" Roger pretended to think about it. "Well, for starters, he thinks you're gorgeous. Prettiest girl in the whole tango class." Mark was getting a little angry; the absolute last thing he needed was a date with the Rabbi's daughter.

"I'm warning you, Davis," he hissed through tightly clenched teeth.

"Really?!" the girl gasped, enchanted. Roger nodded enthusiastically, trying to keep a straight face.

"Yeah! And he even told me that...that…he wants to hang out together sometime. Maybe catch a movie, or somethin'." Mark couldn't take anymore. He lunged at the other, who quickly got out of the way.

"You're so dead!" he said, fighting his own laughter.

"You'll have to catch me first!" Roger challenged, bolting out the door. As Nanette watched them go, she shook her head.

"Boys..." she muttered.

It was late by the time they arrived home. True to his word, Mark convinced his parents to let Roger stay over. By 10:30, both boys were camped out in sleeping bags on the living room floor.

"She's really something," Roger said at last.

"Who?"

"Nanette. She's just like you said she was." Mark lay on his side, facing his friend. In the dark, he could make out the other boy's silhouette.

"But I didn't tell you anything about her," he interjected.

"I know. You told me her name, that was enough."

"What?" Roger smirked.

"Dude, her name's Nanette---she's gonna be ugly!" Mark giggled.

"That's not very nice, Roge."

"So? Can you imagine her competing in a Miss America pageant? Come on!" This statement caused both of them to snicker. Roger wasn't done. He put on his best announcer voice. "Ladies and gentlemen…Miss Nanette Himmelfarb. Her talents include speaking Jewish and dancing the tango. Look at her go, isn't she beautiful? And you'll just die when you see her in the swimsuit portion of our competition…"

When the rant had ended, both boys were in hysterics. As he lay convulsing with laughter, Roger thought about how much he loved spending time at Mark's house. It had become like a second home to him. And though they weren't truly brothers, they may as well have been. A sudden voice jarred him from his thoughts.

"Get to sleep, boys!" Mrs. Cohen called.

"Sorry, Mom!" Mark called. Again they tried to be quiet. After a time, a new thought popped into Roger's head.

"You fail," he informed Mark.

"What do you mean?"

"You're supposed to be a man, now, remember? You're supposed to be acting mature, remember? A mature person wouldn't be laughing as hard as you are. Thusly, you fail." Mark chuckled.

"Guess that means I've got a long way to go. But we'll get there, someday. In a few years, we'll both be grown-ups." Roger shook his head.

"No. You'll be a grown-up---I'll be a rockstar---just like Mick Jagger." Mark didn't doubt it; not for a minute. "I know," Roger continued, "I'll be a rockstar, and you can film my concerts!" That sounded like fun.

"All right. We can be roommates," Mark concluded.

"Sure."

"In a big, fancy house."

"Of course."

"And we'll have…" Mark was running out of ideas. "really pretty girlfriends."

"Naturally." Roger took one last opportunity to tease his friend. "Well, actually…I'll have really pretty girlfriends…you'll have Nanette." Mark rolled his eyes; once Roger got hold of something, he never let it go. Slowly, sleep came. And before drifting off, the Jewish boy thought about having his whole life in front of him---thirteen was a big step, after all. But he also realized that it wouldn't be half as fun without his best bud to share it with.