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Patrick knows he's been talking about his American history test non-stop recently. But that's only because he's so unbelievably worried about it. He's been studying for it every day and the only thing he can remember are the terms "Panama Canal" and "California Gold Rush", and without any context or explanation, those don't help at all.
He vaguely remembers complaining to Pete about it sometime last week, when Pete took him out to a shitty diner and split a 60-cent milkshake with him. Pete had grimaced, but he always does when Patrick starts talking about school. He claims it gives him war flashbacks to his own time at high school, but Patrick's got very little else going on in his life so he talks about it anyway. Pete orders them a plate of fries to share and grins and tells him it'll all work out. Patrick doesn't believe him.
When the day of the test comes around, Patrick seriously considers playing sick and staying at home. He doesn't get up when his mother calls him for breakfast, but as soon as she comes into the room looking concerned and feeling his forehead for a temperature, he decides he can't go through with the charade and pretends he just didn't hear her calling. He's perfectly fine, and he's going to go into school and fail that test.
Just as the papers are handed out and Patrick gives in to that sinking feeling in his stomach, a short, middle-aged woman lets herself into the room and hurries over to whisper something to Patrick's teacher. He nods solemnly and points… straight at Patrick. The woman turns her sympathetic smile on him, and it's disconcerting when he doesn't know what it's for. His teacher calls his name and tells him Mrs Seymour needs to see him now, no need to worry about the test. Patrick knows he's blushing as he trips awkwardly to his feet and follows her out the room, bag hanging open off his shoulder.
Once they're out in the corridor, she puts her hand on Patrick's arm and tells him she's got some bad news. His stomach twists again, but it's more from the physical contact than it is from her words. He would be worried, except the situation is so surreal. He should be in the classroom making up some bullshit about constitutional rights to answer question five, and he's having trouble accepting that there's a woman about to give him some bad news, bad enough to take him out of class.
"It's your aunt, your aunt Julia," she says softly, moving to grab both of Patrick's hands in her own. "I'm afraid she's had an accident. She's in the hospital."
Patrick nods slowly. He doesn't have an aunt Julia, but can't figure out a way to tell her this.
She makes a strangled sort of noise at his lack of response and wraps her arms around him, pulling him tight against her in a surprisingly emotional hug.
"It's alright, Patrick," she says, rubbing circles on his back. Patrick's not sure what school's policies are on bodily contact with the students, but he's pretty sure this is crossing some sort of boundary. Luckily she lets him go when he pulls back, but keeps hold of his arms, eyes watery. She's smiling sadly at Patrick, but all it does it make him aware that he's just staring at her, wide-eyed and alarmed, like a very confused deer caught in some overly physical headlights.
"Your father's coming to pick you up, Patrick," she continues, voice soft. As she puts her arm around Patrick and guides him out to the front of the school, Patrick thinks that if this were a real family crisis, he'd quite like her to be the one to break the news. Minus all the touching, of course.
Patrick has no idea what he's expecting when they get outside, but somehow seeing Pete's beat-up Ford sitting there like it owns the place makes perfect sense.
"Is that your father?" Mrs Seymour asks, pointing at the rusty piece of junk parked half on the sidewalk. They're at the wrong angle to make out who's behind the wheel, but Patrick can just imagine Pete's shit-eating grin as he watches Patrick standing uncomfortably with the woman who still hasn't let go of him yet.
"Um, yeah, that's him," Patrick mumbles. He's come this far, he might as well follow it through. "I should…" He gestures at the car, and Mrs Seymour makes a soothing little noise and squeezes his arm one last time.
"Of course, Patrick," she says, cooing slightly. "You go ahead and get this all sorted out, don't worry about school for the time being."
Patrick's blushing again as he quietly thanks her and shuffles over to Pete's car. The door opens from the inside as he gets closer, spilling out Pete's preferred new-wave-metalcore-indie-punk band of the week. Patrick fights the urge to roll his eyes and prays Mrs Seymour can't hear the obviously inappropriate music.
"Do you want to be Cameron or Sloane?" Pete asks as Patrick slides into the passenger seat. He's turning down the volume, but Patrick has glanced back at Mrs Seymour and he's pretty sure she's already heard it. He hopes she doesn't get suspicious.
"Cameron," Patrick answers immediately. He realizes he's already been cast as Sloane in Pete's little movie reenactment, but refuses to take it any further than that. Pete laughs, waiting until Patrick's put on his seatbelt before pulling off, away from the school and Mrs Seymour and Patrick's American history test.
"Just for the record, I think you'd make an excellent Sloane," he says, shooting a disarming smile at Patrick. Patrick shakes his head, turning to look out the window, but he's fighting a smile himself.
"Drive the car, Pete."
---
Pete drives them all the way into the city and parks down a backstreet somewhere. Patrick tells him he’ll get a ticket, but Pete dismisses the concern by waving his arms around and saying everything’ll be fine.
Turns out Pete didn’t have much of a plan beyond making a fake call to Patrick’s school to get him out of the test, so they wander around the city together, stopping whenever something shiny grabs Pete’s attention. They go into countless record stores, several alternative clothes shops and even put in a brief appearance at the art museum. Pete manages to find yet another shitty diner (it’s like he has a sixth sense for them), and treats Patrick to a three-dollar lunch. He flat-out refuses when Patrick offers to pay for it himself.
“No way, Trick,” he says, stealing the pickle that Patrick had pulled out of his burger. “This is my treat. Couldn’t let you suffer through that test, could I?”
Patrick ducks to hide his blush and seriously, what is with all the blushing today? Pete just smirks and steals a handful of Patrick’s fries as well, even though he’s got his own plateful of them.
They find themselves at the top of the Sears Tower somewhere around two in the afternoon, and Pete leans against the glass and stares down at the streets below. Patrick stares at Pete. The whole day has been new and different and completely bizarre in the best way possible. And it’s all because of Pete. Pete listened to him whining about his totally teenage problem and Pete filed it away as something he could fix, something he was going to fix, then he phoned the school - Patrick can’t believe he phoned the school – and pretended to be Patrick’s dad and may or may not have killed off an imaginary family member just to get Patrick out of a stupid American history test.
Then on top of that he drove Patrick all the way out to Chicago and spent the day with him and bought him lunch and Patrick’s pretty sure Pete has a job that he should be at right now but no, there he is, forehead pressed against the window at the top of a skyscraper in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon, all because of Patrick.
A scary sort of feeling settles over him as he watches Pete reacting to the city, the little glimpses of surprise and wonder when something catches his eye way below him. It’s not necessarily the bad kind of scary; more nerve-wracking than anything. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected this change in the way he views his best friend, especially not after one day. He’d never thought like this before, but looking at him now, the feeling is unmistakable.
Pete looks over and catches Patrick staring. He seems fine with it for a second, then something shifts in his expression too and suddenly there’s a knot tying up in Patrick’s chest. He doesn’t know how exactly it happens, but as they’re leaving the Tower and wandering to back to Pete’s car, their hands end up tangled together, Pete’s thumb stroking circles against Patrick’s skin.
---
They get back only a couple minutes after the normal time Patrick arrives home, and Pete pulls up outside his house and stops the engine. Patrick knows this is the time to thank Pete for everything he’s done today, but it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel appropriate. It feels like Pete deserves more.
“Can I change my answer?” Patrick asks quietly, hiding under the brim of his hat. Pete looks confused for a second, eyebrows pulling together slightly before it clicks and of course he knows what Patrick’s about to say.
“Sure,” he replies easily, leaning back in his seat, smirking loosely. If it were anyone else, they’d look smug and arrogant, but Pete… well, Pete still looks smug and arrogant, but there’s something endearing about it and Patrick knows he’s making the right decision.
“I think… I think I want to be Sloane,” he says, finally meeting Pete’s eye. Pete’s smiling so hard he’s probably going to hurt himself.
“Well, as your first official act as Sloane, you have to let me do this,” Pete says, and he leans forward and presses his lips to Patrick’s and oh, Patrick could get used to this. Pete pulls back way too soon for Patrick’s liking, and Patrick has to actively stop himself for doing something embarrassing like whining or licking his lips or pulling Pete in for another kiss with tongues and everything.
Pete’s beaming again, and Patrick decides to be lame and climb out of the car to distract himself from the something warm and fuzzy aching in his chest.
“See you soon, Trick,” Pete laughs, and blows him a kiss before he’s bumping down off the curb and driving away. Patrick watches his car until it turns a corner at the end of his road, then hitches his bag up onto his shoulder and pushes open the front door to his house. His mother’s on the phone, and doesn’t notice him come in.
He hightails it up to his bedroom pretty sharpish when he hears her say, “I’m sorry, you must be mistaken; we don’t have an aunt Julia…”