Growing up as a Milkovich, Marcus knew that his life was missing a lot of things; class and tact, to name a few. He’d heard more times than he could count that it was a family trait, and he’d never cared much to change it. If his mom and uncle Mickey could scrape by that way, why the hell couldn’t he? Taking a hit of the joint he had resting between his fingers, he made himself comfortable on the school bleachers as he waited for the rest of his friends to show up. He was awesome - what was the point in changing?
Marcus raised an eyebrow when he heard his phone buzz in his pocket, pulling it out and rolling his eyes as he read the message. He didn’t take his friends as flakes, but according to Yev the rest of them weren’t making it tonight. Throwing his phone down onto the bleachers, he stretched his legs out, resting his boot clad feet on the riser below them. “Looks like it’s just the two of us,” Marcus grinned, looking over at Kylie - the only one that had bothered to show up. Extending the joint to her, he raised an eyebrow questioningly. While he’d never actually seen her take a hit before, it only seemed polite to offer.