Shadow of the Past (3 page)

He leaned back and took a
bite out of his sandwich before he said anything else. She stared
at him intently and Mark inwardly cringed.
This is it. She’s going to get up and walk away and every
time I see her I’ll replay this conversation in my head and want to
die.

“Is this a private party or can anyone
jump in?” a voice called from behind the tree.

Mark jumped with so much surprise that
he crushed his sandwich in his fist. “Jesus, dude. Relax, it’s just
me,” said the lean boy with the long, black leather coat who
stepped from behind the tree.

“Steve, Christ! You scared the crap out
of me!” Mark said, throwing the remnants of his sandwich at
him.

“Sorry, man. I thought I was expected,
but clearly you found some better company.” Steve grinned wide, not
taking his eyes off Christine. “I’ve gotta say, you definitely
traded up.”

“Yeah, this is Christine,” Mark said,
his face growing red as he wiped the mayo and mustard off of his
hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, extending
a hand which Steve took with an even bigger smile.

“Charmed,” he said, clasping it firmly.
“Steve Rhodes, pleased to meetcha.” Steve plopped down between the
two of them. “So,” he said, looking from one to the other, “what
are we talking about?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Mark said, before
Christine could answer. “Just giving her the lowdown on the whole
Cedar Ridge High thing.”

“Ah, you’re a new kid, huh?” Steve
said, grinning even wider. “Well, there’s just one thing you need
to know.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t hang out with us, we’re
losers.”

She chuckled a little, and Mark felt
his whole body cringe. “Seriously,” Steve said, “It’s not that bad.
You’re young and pretty and the world is your oyster. You’ll do
fabulously.”

She rolled her eyes a little. “Yeah,
well, I’ll settle for normal.”

“Better than normal from what I can
tell, but that’s just me being forward,” Steve said.

The three sat in silence for a few
moments, and Mark’s mind raced for some way to regain control of
the situation.

“So, Christine, uh, what class do you
have next?” was all he could come up with.

Christine rummaged through her bag and
pulled out her schedule. “Well, let’s see . . . I’ve got English,
French and Study Hall. And then, it’s the weekend.”

“Any big plans for it?” Steve asked,
looking at her but elbowing Mark at his side.

“Just unpacking,” she shrugged.
“Haven’t been here long enough to find something interesting to
do.”

Steve looked over at Mark and grinned
widely. If he says anything I’ll kill him, Mark thought. I swear to
God I’ll kill him right in the fucking face.

“How about that?” Steve
said.

The three made more small talk the rest
of the period, Mark only throwing in a few comments here and there
to make sure he wasn’t forgotten among Steve’s ADD-charm. When the
bell rang and the three got up to leave, he drew in a deep breath,
turned to Christine and said, “Can I walk you to your next class?”
If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he was calming down. She had
been getting to her feet and putting her backpack back on. She
turned, hair flipping over her shoulder.

“Sure,” she said, “I’d like
that.”

So much for calming down.

Chapter Three

“Well, here you go,” Mark
said.

“Thanks for the walk,” she said.
“You’ve been really sweet.”

“Oh, well, that’s . . . It’s my
pleasure,” Mark said. “Really.”

They stood for a few moments, Mark
trying so hard not to stare at her that he ended up admiring the
tile work.

“Well, I should see you later, okay?”
Christine said, and Mark snapped his head back around.

“Yeah!” He said, and then
took a breath, trying to reel in the enthusiasm. “I guess I will
see you in class and stuff.”
They still
have that most days, and she’ll be in at least one of them,
genius.

“Yeah,” Christine said, smiling over
her shoulder as she walked into class. “See you then.”

Mark stepped backwards, keeping an eye
on the door until Steve crept up behind him and clapped him hard on
the shoulder.

“Man! You are smitten!”

“Shut up!” Mark said, elbowing him in
the ribs and walking away.

“Relax! It happens!” Steve said,
falling in alongside him.

“I know!” Mark said, feeling the eyes
of everyone in the hallway on him. “I just don’t need you
advertising it everywhere, alright?”

“Yeah, fine.” Steve said.

As they entered the gym, Steve turned
to Mark and grinned wickedly. “Hey, didya hear? She’s free this
weekend!”

“Would you shut up?” Of course he heard
and knew exactly why Steve had brought it up.

“Think about it, man,” Steve said as
they headed down to the locker room. “She’s a pretty hot chick, and
if you don’t make your move now, pffftt!” threw his hands apart in
a dramatic gesture. “She be snatched up by some other guy and
she’ll forget you even existed.”

“I wish we could forget you existed,”
called a voice from the other end of the row of lockers. Mark
closed his eyes and prayed for the thousandth time for a world
where Steve knew when to keep his damn mouth shut.

“Hey,” Steve called over his shoulder.
“Not talking to you, Jack.”

“Fuck you,” Jack said. His eyes focused
squarely on Mark, who stared back in impotent silence. Ever since
the sixth grade Jackson Cole went out of his way to make sure that
Mark was miserable. If he wasn’t throwing paperclips at the back of
Mark’s head, he was bumping into him in the halls or finding some
other way to embarrass him. Jack was Mark’s anti-matter; clean-cut,
athletic, social, well-liked, wealthy, and whenever they crossed
paths Jack tried to destroy him.

Towards the end of sophomore year Jack
had been pushing each confrontation with Mark further and further.
The last time Jack and his friends had found Mark heading for the
South Exit after school. It had become typical fare by this point,
especially after school without anyone else around. Before Mark
could get away Jack bounced him off a couple of lockers to the
delight of his minions. Mark just closed his eyes and rode each
shove like a humiliating wave, keeping his eyes shut so he wouldn’t
have to see Jack’s twisted grin every time Mark made contact with
metal.

The ride ended when he grabbed Mark by
the lapels, drawing him close to his face and snarling, “Look at
me!” Mark cracked his eyes open a little, wincing at the fury
raging in front of him. “You’re a loser, Watson,” Jack hissed. “A
failure. A nobody. You could just disappear right now and no one
would ever care.”

Mark felt tears of shame and rage
welling up and he knew that Jack could see them too. He let go of
Mark’s shirt and he slumped to the floor, stripped of his will to
exist, let alone stand. He didn’t open his eyes until he heard Jack
and of his friends leaving.

Mark had hoped that the summer had
given Jack a chance to cool down but Mark could tell that things
were just as bad as before when Jack chose a gym locker in the same
row as Steve and Mark.

Jack strode forward and Mark couldn’t
keep himself from stepping back a bit. “No, fuck you,” Steve said,
his voice wavering. Steve was bigger than Mark but it was all
height and not muscle. Jack didn’t even acknowledge Steve’s
existence, keeping his gaze locked on Mark. The corners of Jack’s
mouth turned up a little and it took every ounce of Mark’s
willpower to not look away.

“You shouldn’t even bother looking for
a girlfriend, Watson. No girl would go out with a pathetic waste
like you.” He snickered and started to turn away. “Besides,” he
said over his shoulder, “I’ve probably already fucked her.” He said
it loud enough for the rest of the people in their row to hear, and
there was a wave of chuckles and smirks.

Mark could tell Steve wanted to say
something to him, but Mark ignored it. It was just going to be his
usual, “Stand up for yourself,” “Don’t let him push you around,”
and “You’re ten times better than he is.”

It’s hard to fight back and
stand up for yourself when you know he’s right, isn’t
it?

When everyone was changed they headed
up stairs and sat in their assigned spots on the gym floor as Coach
Roberts checked off their names. The nets were already set up,
dashing Mark’s hopes that they were doing anything else but
volleyball. The gym had been divided into two separate courts and
the class had been split up into four teams, which they went to
after attendance was taken.

Mark absolutely hated volleyball.
Despite whatever hand-eye coordination he’d gotten from video games
he couldn’t hit the ball to save his life, much less get it over
the net. Accepting his own ball-and-net shortcomings was one thing
but playing out his sports inadequacies for everyone to see was
just cruel.

Jack and his friends being on his team
made it unbearable.

“There,” Jack said, motioning for Mark
to take a spot in the middle of the court after. Mark opened his
mouth to protest but remembered it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good.
He shuffled to his spot, trying not to look as nervous and
mortified as he felt. Mark soon found himself flanked by two of
Jack’s friends, Victor Barnes and Kyle Ferris. It was going to be
bad today, he realized.

The game got underway, and Mark watched
the ball dreading it coming toward him. It came down towards Vic,
who moved out of its path and called, “Get it!” Mark stepped over,
gritted his teeth and swung at the ball. It caromed off his fist
and arced up behind him.

Kyle tapped it straight up in the air
and said, “Send it over.” Mark scrambled to get under the ball and
managed to get it over with a healthy dose of luck.

The pattern soon became obvious. The
ball would come down and Jack’s friends would either move out of
the way, ordering Mark to get it, or send it over towards him
deliberately. Mark found himself racing back and forth, arms
flailing at the ball and sending it off in random
directions.

Finally Mark was rotated back into the
serving position. The ball was dropped at Mark’s feet, somewhere
near his pounding heart and self-esteem. Kids on the other team
rolled their eyes and some took the opportunity to sit and stretch
out. Mark closed his eyes, trying to keep his face from flaring to
red with embarrassment. “Any day, Watson,” Vic snickered next to
him.

Mark opened his eyes and picked up the
ball. It rested in his palm and after a few seconds he pictured
Jack’s head in its place. Hitting it hard no longer was a problem.
He tossed it up and swung as hard as he could. It flew high,
narrowly missing the maze of ducts and pipes on the ceiling. Mark
thought for a second that he’d actually score a point, but it
headed towards one of the few people on the opposite team that was
actually paying attention. The ball went back and forth, and
thankfully Mark’s team lost the point so he didn’t have to serve
again.

When he moved Kyle took his place at
Mark’s right again, and it seemed that the game had changed.
Instead of running him ragged all around the court they went out of
their way to bump, jostle and ram into him. They’d dart to the
sides when a ball was coming near Mark and slam him to the ground
while trying to get at it. Soon exhaustion at running around became
the least of his worries and he found himself too tired to even
move out of the way. As they headed back down to the locker room
towards the end of the period, Steve jogged up alongside Mark.
“Hey, it looks like they were knocking you around pretty bad out
there, huh?” Mark just looked away, not wanting to confirm the
obvious.

“I’m fine,” Mark said, fumbling with
the combination to his locker.

“Look, Mark,” Steve said, finally soft
enough for only Mark to hear. “I know you don’t want to hear this,
but it’s only gonna get worse. You have to--”

Mark slammed his locker door open,
cutting Steve off. “I’m fine,” he said, still not looking Steve in
the eye and feeling the eyes of everyone in the room on his
back.

“Watson that was a great game!” Jack
called from his locker.

“Look,” Steve said, “why don’t you
leave him the hell alone, huh? What the hell did he ever do to
you?”

Jack shook his head and looked down at
his feet. “What did he ever do to me? Y’know, I didn’t realize I
needed a reason. I just figured losers like him deserved
it.”

Steve walked up to Jack stepping
between him and his locker. “Let me tell you something you spoiled
little bastard--” he began, but Jack didn’t give him a chance to
finish. Steve didn’t even know what was happening until he was
doubled over and gasping for breath, his hands at his stomach where
Jack punched him.

Mark rested his head on his locker for
a second and then walked over to Jack, who was staring down at
Steve’s crumpled form with murderous intent in his eyes. “Hey,”
Mark called, his voice squeaking out of his rapidly tightening
throat. Jack looked up and actually smiled.