West of Mars -- the Meet and Greet

Trevor took a deep drag on his cigarette and motioned at Mitchell with it. "C'mon. Quit being a wuss." It was more a command than a request, but of course, Mitchell wouldn't see it that way. You could command the idiot to eat an entire chocolate cake and he'd quit after two bites and say he was saving it for later.

"I'm not being a wuss, dickhead. I don't want an earring."

"How can you be a respectable rock star without a pierced ear? Name me one single fucking star out there who doesn't have at least one hole in his ear."

Trevor could tell from Mitchell's face that the guy didn't even realize most stars had ears, let alone shit dangling from them. Too, he could tell that the idiot didn't think that image meant a single fucking thing.

Waiting Mitchell out was useless, so Trevor filled the space with his cigarette. When it was all but gone, Trevor sighed. Smoke that hadn't escaped his lungs chose right then to come out his nose; he decided he understood how dragons felt.

"Look," he told Mitchell, "it's no big deal."

"Tell that to Ma. She'll kill me if I let you do this. And then she'll kill you for doing it!"

"No, she won't. Not if you're serious about this band thing."

"I am, Trev, and you know it. You fucking know I am!" Mitchell crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. "But I gotta draw the line somewhere, and I'm drawing it at earrings!"

"No one's gonna think your ass is gay," Trevor drawled. "Despite what Amy did over the end-of-day announcements that one time. No one bought it then and no one'll buy it now." He ground out his cigarette in the ashtray Mitchell's mother had given then when she'd given up the battle to keep her precious baby boy from smoking.

"That's not the problem."

"Yeah, and I'm already a fucking rock star." Trevor eyed Mitchell, convinced he knew what the guy was about to whine: it'll hurt, Trev.

"Dad," Mitchell said instead. "He meant it when he said he'd kick me out of the house if I do it."

Trevor sighed as loudly as he could. How stupid was Mitchell? "That's why you grew your hair out, asshole."

"I thought it was to get girls."

"Well, since it didn't work for you, let this be the reason you did it."

"Amy'll tell."

"I'll handle Amy," he said easily, knowing it was true. His usual methods may not have worked with the wanna-be doc, but Trevor Wolff did not have only one way to get through to a girl. Besides, he had plenty on Amy if it got that far. Which it wouldn't.

Mitchell chewed on his thumbnail, eyeing Trevor, who wanted to jump up and down with glee. The guy was teetering on the edge. All he needed now was one little push and he'd do most of the jumping himself.

"It's a chick magnet."

"Just one," Mitchell said. "One hole, one ear."

Giggling, Trevor ran for an ice cube. When he got back, Mitchell was sitting on the edge of his bed, hair pushed back behind his left ear, hands braced on his knees. "Make it fast."

"The ice's gotta have time to work. You don't want to feel it, do you?"

Mitchell swallowed hard and Trevor handed him the ice. "Hold it on your ear until you think your ear'll fall off." He pulled out his lighter and produced a pin from a pocket.

"You sure you know what you're doing?"

"I did Jeremy and Eliza's after HJ did mine," he said. "Wait. I gotta find the… Put the ice back on!"

It was in his denim jacket pocket. The earring they'd leave in while the hole healed. The same one he'd used, the same one he'd let Jeremy borrow, and the same one he'd stolen right out of Jeremy's head when the dumbshit wasn't looking.

Trevor held its post and the needle in the lighter's flame. Mitchell turned paler than he normally was.

"Okay," Trev said when the ice had melted away and Mitchell was swearing about how his hand felt. The wuss had been impressive in the way he'd held onto that frozen water; if it was a test of manlihood like HJ had insisted, the blonde idiot in front of him had passed with flying colors. "Can you feel this?" he asked, poking at the air beside Mitchell's head.

"Nope."

"Good," Trev said and jammed the pin through Mitchell's ear.

Mitchell swallowed a scream that still managed to get halfway out -- and then passed out. Trevor caught him and laid him gently on his right side, left ear facing out.

"Easier this way," he said to no one in particular since he doubted Mitchell was up for listening and engaging in conversation.

The first hole went so easily that Trevor dug two more starter earrings out of his jacket and gave Mitchell a grand total of three.

He crossed his arms and nodded, satisfied with his work. So what if Patterson and Sonya didn't like it? They'd never throw their precious baby out of their house. Not them. No way, no how.

This is part of Rhian's Poetry Train; jump on aboard. As you can see, you don't have to post poetry. (Wink to Karen)

Also, I hope you're looking for some Hidden Treasures to spend the summer with. The contest begins whenever you want to read; remember to post your reviews online starting July 15. Scroll down for more info; sticky post or something similar coming soon.

Labels: creative writing, earrings, fiction, Mitchell, outtake, Poetry Train, Trevor