By L. Rochelle
(c) 1999 L. Rochelle
lrochelle@zdnetonebox.com
This is my first attempt at writing of any kind, let alone a story. Please keep in mind that this is a work in progress and may be changed to reflect and enhance events that may occur as the story unfolds. I have decided to go ahead and post this story in an uncompleted form to Fiction Mania's Mailing list in the hopes of receiving some input and criticism. Also, I would like to point out that this story thus far contains no sex, but has a TG theme. So, if you are offended by such a story or are underage (-18), please deposit in the circular file.
At this point, I would like to thank several people for their patience and understanding. To ChilliTNG, thank you for editing this hack job and providing the instruction that I sorely needed to be able to write at all. To Janice Dreamer, for your kind words of praise for my developing writing abilities as well as a second editor. Thank you for taking the time to post this story to the list for me. And last of all I give special thanks to Wendy J for your encouragement and input. Your friendship and love has been an inspiration to me. I also thank you for believing in me and my abilities even when I wouldn't believe in myself. To all three of my dear friends I love you all and count myself lucky to consider you as the best of friends.
Sapphire has exclusive rights to archive this story at Sapphire's Place. All rights to "Making Lemonade" is mine alone.
Chapter One
"Lord, have mercy," prayed Marianne O'Connell. "Mark! Mark! Come on, get up!"
"Huh... Wha..." mumbled Mark as he opened one eye slightly. "Oh... Mom," he sighed, closing his eye again.
"Mark, get a move on," she said fiercely. "You're going to be late for school again."
"Okay, in a minute," he mumbled.
"No, not in a minute... Now!" She was getting more than just a little tired of having to wake Mark up every morning. He never seemed to want to get out of bed anymore, not even on weekends.
"Okay! Okay! I'm awake!" Mark cried plaintively as his mother walked out of the room, shaking her head. He opened his eyes wide briefly, then squeezed them shut again. The morning sun shining through the windows of his little room reminded him that he had to face another day. The room was actually a fourteen by seven enclosed porch that he shared with a clothes washer, dryer and water heater. The porch was nestled in a corner formed by the kitchen and the bathroom. The view from the bathroom window was partially blocked by the water heater, but still looked into the room. The remaining two walls were four feet tall topped with windows that couldn't be opened, making the room oppressively hot by mid-morning. The back door to the house was near the end with the appliances and straight across from a doorway that led to the kitchen. A long curtain in the doorway to the kitchen provided what little privacy he had.
Mark's bed was a foldout rollaway with squeaky springs and a lumpy mattress. It was pushed up against the wall, its head in the corner formed by the two windowed walls. At least the sun wouldn't shine in his face until late morning. Straddling the foot of the bed was a rollaway clothing rack with an old navy blue suit, a couple of button up shirts, and a few pairs of dress slacks that he never wore unless forced. Beside the rack stood a small chest of drawers piled high with folded jeans and tee shirts. Next to the head of the bed was his desk with a small lamp and an old coffee cup stuffed with pencils. Several stacks of paper -- homework in progress -- cluttered the top of the desk. The bottom drawer, designed more as a file drawer, was missing its face. The resulting chasm was stuffed with dog-eared scraps of notebook paper and old worn out pocket folders. An old kitchen chair with a tear in the seat provided a sort of catch all for schoolbooks and dirty clothing. Of course, when the desk was in use, the pile on the chair was transferred to the bed.
Granted, the room wasn't much, but at least Mark didn't have to share it with anyone when he went to sleep. Joe and Billy, his two younger brothers, had to share a room. Joe was five years older than Billy and a neat freak. Billy wasn't. They didn't really get along very well. Billy thought that Mark and Joe should have to share a room because they were closer in age and if he caused enough trouble, he'd get his way.
Mark cracked open his eyes and peered at his surroundings through his long lashes. "Oh, man... School again. Why can't I just sleep forever?" He closed his eyes again and rolled over to snuggle up against the wall. A few minutes later Mark climbed, in frustration, to a sitting position, throwing the covers off as he went. He unconsciously rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and began scratching his itchy chest. The huge yawn that showed no sign of ending was abruptly brought to a head when he looked at the alarm clock sitting on the window sill above his bed. He was late again.
Mark dressed quickly in his usual, careless manner and left for school. Usual for Mark was baggy blue jeans that hung low on his hips atop boxer shorts, extra large tee shirt with sleeves that reached his elbows, and knee high tube socks covered by high top basketball shoes. His mom complained, saying he looked sloppy, but she couldn't dispute the fact that it was the style of today's teenager. Many of the kids at church dressed in a similar manner and she felt that if the church could accept it then so could she, despite her personal feelings on the matter. For Mark, being in style was just a side benefit. Truthfully, he dressed to hide his body. Even as a young boy his body resembled that of a girl. The contrast of his thin waist and overly wide hips was an embarrassment to him, so much so that he couldn't even bear to look at himself in the mirror. Hell, even the girls that constantly teased him looked more boyish than he did.
His face contributed to his humiliation as well. Mark's big, brown, almond-shaped eyes were rimmed with long, thick lashes that looked as though they were covered with several coats of mascara. It has been said that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Well, Mark's eyes betrayed a vast intellect and a mesmerizing sense of mystery that one could get lost in. His petite, slightly upturned nose and high cheekbones complemented his eyes perfectly. A scar just below his lower lip gave the appearance of a much fuller set of lips than he actually possessed. He had gotten the scar when he tried to catch a baseball and missed. In fact, unless one knew of the scar, it went completely undetected. His high forehead was as smooth as a baby's bottom and was adorned with thin, naturally arched brows. Many of the girls teased him, saying he looked like Janet Jackson, only prettier.
There was, however, one aspect of his overall appearance of a beautiful teenage girl that he was actually proud of: his hair. Mark spouted several reasons for growing it long but none were very logical. His main excuse was more an act of rebellion. Up until two years ago, his mother cut his hair in a very short style that looked as though she had placed a bowl on his head and cut off everything outside it. He worried constantly whether or not it was sticking up somewhere. He had despised the hair style and refused to let his mom touch it ever again. Now, the long brown wavy locks shined with the fire of amber in the glow of the sun and reached just below his shoulder blades. The weight of it kept it manageable which made it easy for him to ignore and not have to look into a mirror. It showed the care that his mother required. She hated Mark's long hair but accepted his choice as long he took care of it. She wouldn't allow him to look like several of the other boys in the neighborhood whose hair looked as if they never brushed or shampooed. As a result he shampooed and conditioned his hair daily along with brushing it constantly. Actually, he enjoyed the brushing. He could feel the anxiety flow out each strand as the brush went from his scalp to the ends. His hair was so full that even when it was in a ponytail -- which he nearly always wore -- it still flared out to cover two thirds of the width of his back.
The past couple of years worsened his shame because most other boys his age had started developing into young men. Even Joe, Mark's younger brother by one and a half years, began to show changes towards manhood. While Joe started to grow muscular, Mark became softer. His only claim to the onset of puberty was light hair growth in the pubic region and armpit. His voice still had the high tones that he had to live with as young boy. Although Mark could feel his voice changing in pitch, it wasn't changing abruptly like some of the other boys voices. It was mellowing instead of deepening. His soprano singing voice that was the pride of his sixth grade choir director was very much intact. In fact, just last Sunday, the church choir director solicited Mark to join, saying that it was his duty as a Christian to use his God-given gift to sing praises to the Lord. Despite the guilt that the members of the church, including his mother, were so adept at producing, Mark just couldn't get past the extreme embarrassment that he felt about his singing voice and politely refused the invitation.
"Mr. O'Connell!" bellowed Ms. Fairchild, Mark's homeroom teacher. She glared at him over her 1950's style, ice blue framed, cat's eye glasses with the little jewels in the corners. Her glasses were always perched at the very tip of her long nose when she used them. When she didn't, they hung from the fine beaded silver chain that was now hanging in two swaying arcs as she struggled to control her rage.
Her chest rose and fell with her breathing, like an infuriated beast from the Saturday morning cartoons. It was impossible to shake the mental image of steam curling up from her ears and puffing out from those HUGE nostrils. Her mousy brown hair, streaked extensively with silver, was pulled severely back into the tightest bun Mark had ever seen. It seemed to stretch her skin tightly over her pinched, bony features, giving the appearance of an overzealous face-lift. The bun was held in place with two knitting needles. Looking at her hairstyle, Mark knew it had to hurt. The long, pinched nose on which her glasses were perched always seemed to be upturned, even when standing over her while she sat at her desk. Mark always seemed to be looking up into those cavernous nostrils. "I see that you have chosen to display a blatant disregard for ME and your fellow classmates by being late yet again."
Ms. Fairchild constantly put Mark down. She always found fault with him no matter what he did. His hair was too long. His clothing was sloppy. His grades weren't good enough. His attitude was inappropriate. His posture wasn't right. She even hinted on one occasion that his very existence on this planet was a thorn in her side. Mark could never understand why this middle-aged shrew hated him so. It wasn't as though he had done anything to warrant her wrath. She openly displayed her disgust with Mark back in the seventh grade from the very first moment he walked into her class. All of his other teachers, although at times slightly disappointed with his performance, treated him with genuine affection. Even his gym teacher, Mr. Hamilton, found a few redeeming qualities in Mark and endeavored to nurture them.
Mark, normally shy and reserved, just snapped. He couldn't take it any more. What was her problem with him? Why did she have to go out of her way to humiliate him? "What's the big deal? I mean, this is only homeroom. It's not like there's anything important going on here," stated Mark emphatically. The anger he felt and tried to inject into his remark was lost in the musical quality of his voice.
"How dare you speak to ME in such a manner. You have stepped beyond the bounds of civility and insulted MY authority." Ms. Fairchild's face became redder and redder as she spoke. The fury in her eyes and the severity of her expression reinforced the image of the cartoon beast. Her 1940's style shoes, with the heavy medium heel, were as pinched as her features. She almost shuffled as though she were wearing mules instead of the heavy, ugly, square-toed pumps when she walked to where Mark stood. Her straight mid-calf skirt was always the same style and cut and always matched the color of her ever-present cardigan sweater. She must have bought out the store when they went on sale. Today it was the same ice blue as her glasses. The lace of her high collared Victorian style blouse, poking out at the cuffs of her sweater, seemed as though it had to hurt the way the high collar cut into the soft skin under her chin. She stood ramrod straight in front of Mark. "How dare you imply that anything I am involved with is of no importance. You will report to the principal's office immediately for disciplinary action."
Mark, not even having a chance to take his assigned seat, turned on his heels and proudly marched out of the classroom. By the time he reached the administration building, the adrenaline rush began to wane. "Oh no. What have I done? Mom's gonna be pissed. I'll probably get grounded for the rest of my life. What the hell was I thinking?" he wondered as he sat down on the bench that served as the queue for those needing to talk to the principal. The queue was first come, first served, and Mark was twelfth in line. "Looks like I'm going to be late for algebra."
Sure enough, he entered his first class of the day, Algebra, fifteen minutes late and saddled with ten hours of detention. A test was already in progress. Fortunately, for Mark, Mathematics was like a second language to him and Algebra was a simple dialect in that language. Twenty-five minutes later, the test completed and his depression lifted somewhat, he sat idly, reflecting on the detention situation and how he was going to placate his mother. He began to notice resentment in the eyes of several of the other students in the class as he glanced about the room. This in itself was unusual for Mark. He was usually oblivious to anyone and almost everything around him. It was a practiced art he had honed to near perfection over the thirteen years of his young life. Being an eighth grader in a class with ninth graders and easily grasping the concepts that most found difficult was more than enough to create animosity, but the way Mark dressed set him apart from everyone, even the geeks. He was labeled a "wannabe" and for the most part spent his days alone.
He did have two very good friends, Jay and Chuck. Unfortunately, they both had lunch during fifth period and Mark's was during fourth period. The only chance he got to see Jay was after school and on weekends. Jay's parents owned the house Mark lived in and they had a house on the back of the same lot. Even though Jay was somewhat of a jock, he and Mark were the very best of friends and spent almost all of their free time together. Their relationship was an enigma to nearly everyone since they were complete opposites. It was understandable why Mark liked Jay -- Jay being someone to look up to and admire -- but the same couldn't be said about why Jay liked Mark. The only reasonable explanation was that they practically grew up together and Jay's parents thought that Mark was a positive influence and encouraged their friendship. It was believed that Mark's honest integrity and his shy disposition could temper Jay's wildness. In a very limited way this idea worked but, more often than not, Jay was able to drag Mark into some things that Mark would not otherwise even contemplate. Truthfully, Jay admired Mark for his intellect, plus saw something else he couldn't quite define.
The one bright spot of Mark's day was seventh period, Computer Programming Basics, which was one of three classes Mark had that met everyday. Chuck was in this class, too, which gave Mark an opportunity to actually talk to someone. Mark and Chuck had been friends nearly as long as Mark and Jay and they did share a few common interests. Chuck didn't possess the intellect that Mark did but he had a genuine interest in technology and an intense desire to learn, which can overcome any lack of intelligence. Jay was friendly towards Chuck, mostly because of Mark. Jay found Chuck to be a pain and an embarrassment and rarely associated with him unless Mark was present. Chuck had the look of the stereotypical geek and tended to be somewhat lecherous in the company of girls.
Mark's next class was Biology, another easy subject. Third period was English Literature. Mark had to take an English course and he enjoyed reading, but the class was not what he envisioned. The material that he had to read and report on he found boring. It tasked him to maintain a "C" average in a class with others in the eighth grade. Another problem with the class was that nearly eighty percent of the students were girls. Many years of teasing by most of the girls he'd ever known had created an unnatural fear of them.
From the moment Mark first walked into class, he noticed the blonde girl two seats in front of him sneaking an occasional peek back at him. It was strangely disquieting and disrupted his concentration during yet another test. "What's her problem?" he wondered. Finishing his test, he got up, walked to the teacher's desk, and put his test in the "in" box. Returning to his seat, he saw a note poking out of one of his textbooks. "Oh no, not again," he thought. He took it out and couldn't decide whether or not to read it. Generally, the notes he received were worthy of the circular file. Finally, he decided to go ahead and read it. It was from Nancy and she wanted to meet him at lunch. The note said that she thought he was "cute" and that she wanted to date him.
Nancy was the blonde who had been sneaking peaks in his direction. She was about five feet tall and maybe one hundred pounds. Her most noticeable features were her blonde hair that went down to her slightly plump behind and her very large bust; she was the most well-endowed girl in Mark's class. That day, Nancy was wearing tight jeans, a short sleeved angora sweater, and white tennis shoes. "She's one of the most popular girls in school," Mark thought. "What's she want with me?"
Mark was floored. He couldn't believe that THIS girl wanted to go out with him. He was a nervous wreck and so excited that he was afraid to move for fear of embarrassing himself. Mark's nervousness stemmed from the fact that all of the notes he'd received previously were either anonymous or of a teasing nature. Mark didn't know if he was being set-up but, if experience was any kind of teacher, the odds were he was. "I'm just paranoid, right?" Mark mused. "Yeah, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you." His excitement came from having felt what for him was an unusual amount of sexual frustration. He'd been having dreams of Nancy or another of the girls that were in this particular class almost every night.
Deciding to take a chance, Mark set his mind to meet Nancy for lunch. His paranoia just wouldn't overcome his hopes that he, somehow, might just get a girlfriend. Besides, the way the day had been going, it couldn't get any worse. Could it?
So, after class, Mark went to the Igloo and bought his lunch. The Igloo was a large building that was more a covered patio with a rounded roof. In the center of the building was a smaller building where food was sold. There were several rows of picnic tables to sit on for lunch or studying. This configuration created an area capable of seating nearly one thousand. The Igloo stood in a large open area which was kind of a courtyard between several buildings. To the east was a two story building in which the entire first floor was dedicated to the cafeteria. Just south of the cafeteria was the auditorium with a large grassy area to the west that was also part of the courtyard. The lawn was spotted with several large elm trees, palm trees, and even one avocado tree. There were a few picnic tables, but most of the students just sat on the grass.
Just west of the courtyard, stood a building that was under renovation. It housed the gym locker rooms and showers, along with the gym teachers offices. The building had been condemned due to an earthquake two years earlier. It was decided to renovate the building instead of rebuilding to preserve the gothic architecture that was prevalent throughout the campus. Because of the construction schedule, Mark had been spared the need to shower after gym class. All practices of team sports were held after school and gym classes were minimal. Still, on warmer days, many of the classes were rough on the olfactory receptors.
Mark went to the spot specified in the note - near the wood shop which was north of the courtyard. Approaching the table where Nancy sat, Mark began to quake with fear. There she was, sitting with eight other girls. Mark noticed that there were no other boys nearby and couldn't help but wonder why. Then it dawned on him that these girls were the members of one of the school's most feared groups. They weren't really a gang like the street gangs that were prevalent in LA, but it was well known that one did not cross this bunch. They never resorted to violence but had an ability to make you wish you were dead.
"Hi, Mark! I'm so glad you made it," gushed Nancy as she made room for Mark next to her on the bench. "I was afraid you weren't going to show up."
Putting his tray on the table, Mark sat next to her. "Thanks, Nancy," he said meekly.
Motioning to each in turn, Nancy introduced the girls sitting with her. "Mark, this is Donna, Karen, Diane, Sylvia, Kathy, Judy, Christina and Samantha," she said cheerfully. "And this, girls, is Mark."
"Hi," Mark mumbled, staring at his lunch tray.
Mark only recognized two of the other girls at the table from his classes. Karen was in his English Literature class with Nancy and probably the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Kathy was in his American History class. He didn't know the rest of the girls but he knew of them. Apparently, they had been in elementary school together and had been inseparable ever since. They were almost like a pack of dogs; when you saw one, the rest were usually close by. Donna was the unofficial leader, and Nancy and Diane were the instigators.
Mark blushed as Donna ran her fingers through his hair. "Oh, Mark, your hair is so gorgeous. I love the way it flows down your back. I just can't keep my hands out of it," she said playfully. The rest of the girls sat there giggling.
"Oh look! He's blushing! Are we embarrrrrassing you?" Diane teased.
Nancy looked at Mark; his pain and embarrassment were apparent. Nancy turned to the group and pleaded, "Come on, guys! Leave him alone. He's really shy. We don't want to scare him away."
Turning back to Mark, she said, "Mark, are you okay? Please don't be embarrassed. We really do love your hair, and we think you're really cute."
"I knew this had to be a set up. I should have known better," said Mark as he stood up, grabbed his tray, and walked over to a tree on the other side of the courtyard, holding back the tears that were welling up in his eyes.
"God, I should have known better," he thought as he sat down and leaned against the tree. "Why did I think things could be different? Why would any girl want me? Hell, I look like one of them. I'd cut my hair, but I know that it wouldn't make much difference. Hell, I even have a hard time trying not to cry. None of the other guys ever cry. Why, God? WHY?!? Just let me die, please, just let me die." He put his head down between his bent knees, trying to hide his face... and the tears that were threatening to fall.
Gaining control of his emotions, Mark finished his lunch, leaned back, and closed his eyes. He had about fifteen minutes until his next class, American History. Mark cleared his mind using a trick he learned from a book he'd read on meditation. With all the emotional turmoil he'd been suffering lately, he figured he needed some help. The church and his mother said to put everything in God's hands, and everything would be fine. The problem was, the church and his mother seemed to live in a dream world of columns of fire and parting seas to deliver them from the clutches of evil. The "trust in God" stuff never helped Mark at all, so he turned to books on emotional and mental adjustment. Meditating helped quite a bit; it helped him clear his mind and relax. And when Mark was relaxed, he could suppress his emotions, but lately it was becoming harder and harder.
"Hey Mark, are you awake?" Hearing Nancy's voice, Mark opened his eyes and looked up. Standing in front of him were the girls. They looked chastised, almost as though they'd been scolded.
"Come on, leave me alone," he begged as the tears welled in his eyes, again. "I'm not bothering anyone. Why can't you just leave me alone? I don't hurt anybody and I don't tease anyone. So why does everyone have to tease me all the time?"
"Mark, we're really sorry," apologized Donna. "The last thing we'd want to do is hurt you. Can't we be friends?"
Mark sat there looking up at them for a few moments. He felt as though he was in the Twilight Zone or on Candid Camera. "But why? I mean, look at me. There are a thousand boys in this school who are better looking. Hell, I can't even look at myself. Why would you want to be friends with me?" he asked as a tear rolled down his cheek. "Please, just leave me alone. Please?"
"Mark, you're not ugly!" Nancy corrected. "In fact, you're very cute and you're not always trying to act macho and you're smart and you have gorgeous hair and...."
"Cute is for girls!" Mark complained, cutting her off.
"Come on, Mark. Don't be like that. Boys can be 'cute,' too. Just give us a chance, okay?" Donna appealed.
"I don't know," Mark said, undecided. "I could use a few friends. I still don't understand why. Most people don't want anything to do with me, ESPECIALLY girls." He still couldn't believe the events of the day. First, he stood up to Ms. Fairchild, a big mistake that resulted in two weeks of detention. Now, there were nine girls who were probably setting him up for something, but...
"Well, you'd better get used to the attention, 'cause we're not going to give up. We can give you a life beyond your wildest dreams," promised Nancy. She then wrapped her arms around his neck and gave Mark the deepest, most passionate kiss he'd ever experienced. Mark had been kissed before, mostly to just humiliate him, but this was the first one that was full of passion. Nancy stood up and Mark was dizzy, like he was coming out of a dream. "That's what you can look forward to if you were my boyfriend."
"Wow," was all he could say. Mark's world just became something he couldn't even imagine. The prospect of having a girlfriend was too good to be true and too good of an opportunity to pass up. Should he take the chance?
"Cool. We had better get to class," Donna declared.
Mark stood up and picked up his lunch tray and books. He staggered over to the Igloo, his mind still a bit foggy, and returned the tray. When he turned around, the girls were standing around him with huge smiles on their faces. Mark smiled back warily, his paranoia resurfacing. Then Donna walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek. "See ya later, sweetie," she said as she walked away. Then the rest of the girls took their turns. Nancy's kiss was a repeat of the one earlier. By the time they'd all left, except Kathy, he was deeply flushed.
Kathy kissed him on the cheek again and said as she grabbed his hand, "Come on, let's go to class. I guess you're not used to all this attention. Well, you'll get used to it soon. By the way, I don't think Nancy will mind if you weren't exclusive. We believe in sharing EVERYTHING with each other."
They were walking hand in hand to class when Mark began to notice that the boys who had been in the area were looking at him. They seemed to find the situation baffling. They were probably wondering what kind of spell he had put the girls under. To be honest, he was thinking the same thing.
On the way to class, Kathy asked Mark for his phone number. When he reached his seat in their American History class, he wrote his number down as she remained at his side and handed it to her. She put it in her purse, fished out a folded sheet of paper and handed it to him. "Here's our phone numbers. Keep it close to your heart." She smiled sweetly and went to her seat. All of the boys were staring at him with that same dumbfounded look on their faces as the boys on the way to class had.
The rest of the day was really weird, to say the least. In every class that followed, as well as in between classes, it seemed that every eye was on him. Mark did his best to ignore the stares, the hushed whispers behind his back, and the abruptly terminated conversations when he was near, but as the day wore on it became increasingly difficult to do. No one would confront him directly, mainly because if the rumors were true then it didn't pay to risk the wrath of the school's most infamous group of girls. Of course nothing could be directly linked to them, but it was uncanny how everyone who crossed them in any way ended up paying a substantial toll for their mistakes.
Finally, at seventh period, Mark had a chance to talk with someone. Chuck wasn't someone a person could confide in or discuss matters of psychology, at least not seriously. To him, life was a game and
was to be taken lightly. At least Mark would be able to confirm his suspicions about what the other students were so preoccupied with.
Mark entered the computer sciences lab and took his seat next to Chuck. "Hey, Chuck. How's it goin'?"
"Hey, Mark," Chuck said cheerfully. "Umm... I've been hearing rumors that you got the junior justice league wrapped around your finger. That they all kissed you right in the middle of the Igloo. They say that you must have cast some sorta spell on them and...."
"Wait. Wait," interrupted Mark. "First off, what the hell are you talking about? The junior justice league?"
"Yeah, sure. You know. That group of babes that seem to get back at anyone who gives 'em shit. They say that they even mess up people who fuck with others," explained Chuck. "Is it true? Did they kiss you?"
"Yeah, well. I'm not sure but I think that they're setting me up for somethin'," said Mark apprehensively. "Man, I can't believe how quickly word got around. Hell, I didn't think anybody even knew who I was. Now seems like everybody knows me or of me. Man, it's really scary. I thought being anonymous was lonely; now I wish I had it back."
"I can't believe you're talkin' like you wish it never happened. Man, it's like a dream come true. You need to get your priorities straight. Jeez, I don't believe you. You talk like you don't like girls or somethin'."
All of sudden, Chuck looked as though he had just discovered the meaning of life. "Hey, wait a minute. You do like girls, don't you?"
"Hell yeah! You know I do. How long have we been friends? You should know better than that," replied Mark. "Look, Chuck. I just think this whole situation is way out of hand and it's been only four hours since it happened. I really don't know if these girls can be trusted. Hell, you know their reputation. I think that I'm being set up, maybe. But... I don't know. I can't help but think that I might be a bigger fool if I pass up the opportunity. I mean, they did say they would give me a life beyond my wildest dreams. Besides, if what they say about these girls is true, I may not have a choice."
"Well, enjoy it while you can. I would."
"Now, can we get to work? This project isn't really hard, it's just time consuming," said Mark, changing the subject. Talking to Chuck about certain things could be like talking to a brick wall. Most everything went in one ear and out the other.
"Yeah, sure. We can talk about it after school."
"Oh, man! I almost forgot. I got two weeks detention."
"Detention. What the hell you do?"
"I got it mostly for talking back to Ms. Fairchild, but also for being late ten times so far this year."
Chuck's eyes became as big as saucers. Mark was truly full of surprises. "You talked back to Ms. Fairchild? The only person who hasn't smiled since dirt was new? What were you thinking? Man, you know she's had it in for ya since she first laid eyes on you."
"Yeah, I know. I just got tired of her shit and I guess I lost it. Man, she sure was pissed." Mark started laughing silently, a huge smile adorning his face. "I'll never forget the look on her face. She looked like one of them cartoon dragons you see on the Disney Channel."
"Wow. You've had one hell of a day. Just watch yourself in detention. Some of those guys are pretty rough. You know... the dregs of society."
Computer programming class finally ended and all Mark had left to do was to get through detention. Actually, detention didn't sound too bad. Mark could get his homework finished and be done with it. Hopefully, nothing else would happen to him the rest of this very long and very strange day.
Mark reached the top of the stairs and rounded the corner. As he proceeded down the hall toward detention, he vaguely noticed the leader of one of the street gangs in his neighborhood staring at him appreciatively. Mayhem, his preferred name, was leaning against the lockers and his homeys had their back to Mark. Mark, ignoring the boys, looked up to see all nine of the girls waiting by the door to the classroom and stopped dead in front of the boys. One of the boys turned and spotted Mark. "That's the dude," said the boy as he elbowed Mayhem lightly in the arm.
Mayhem's expression changed to one of skepticism, and then he shook his head. "No fuckin' way! That ain't no guy!"
Mark heard Mayhem's loud reply and turned to see him and his crew watching him. "Oh shit. Here it comes. When is this day gonna end?" thought Mark.
Donna was the first to see Mark standing there in the hallway. She immediately went to rescue him from the boys. "Hi, Mark. You know, you really have nothing to be afraid of," she said, leading him away from the boys. Mayhem's surprise left him momentarily speechless.
"We'll be here to protect you and show you how much we care," she assured him loudly. "And to give you something to think about during detention. You know, to make your time go a little easier." She slowly led him to the rest of the girls. During this time the girls formed a sort of a gauntlet. Donna stopped and positioned herself in front of Mark. She placed her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. As she forced her tongue between Mark's lips, Mark was unable to sustain any semblance of coherent thought. After what seemed like hours, she broke away and propelled him into the gauntlet of girls.
He was still recovering from Donna's kiss as the rest of the girls kissed him with equal passion. By the time he reached the end, his mind was without thought and he was dizzy to the point of collapsing. Nancy stood there in front of Mark, waiting for him to recover a bit.
"Mark?" Nancy asked. "Are you okay? Come on, sweetie, you're gonna be all right. Just hold on to me and I'll take you to a seat," She took his arm and led him to a seat at the back of the classroom. Mark just went along, being led like a mindless vegetable. He sat down and his semi-conscious brain began to clear. Nancy was still standing there beside him with a big smile from ear to ear. "Feeling better, babe? You'll get used to it soon. I'd better get goin'." She knelt down and gave him another kiss which threatened to return him to the universe of the brain dead. "Bye, sweetie. See ya tomorrow."
Mark sat there for several long minutes, his thought processes rebooting for what seemed like the tenth time that day. He felt like his brain needed to do a defrag procedure just to put things into perspective, which wasn't too far from the truth. So many events occurred during the day that he felt as though his soul had been pulled out of his body and deposited into someone completely different. This couldn't be his life he was experiencing, could it? Things like this just didn't happen, especially to him. To have nine of the most beautiful girls in the school treat him like he was the captain of the football team or something was beyond reality. If it was a dream, he really hoped he would never wake up.
"Mr. O'Connell! Mr. O'Connell! Mark! Are you with us?" Mark became aware of his surroundings as Mr. Jenkins tried to gain his attention. Mr. Jenkins was his Algebra teacher. He had heard all the gossip about Mark and really found it hard to believe, at least until the scene that he just witnessed.
"Oh, Mr. Jenkins. I'm sorry, did you say something?" Mark asked sheepishly.
"Yes, Mark. You know, that sort of behavior is frowned upon in school. I trust you'll remember that in the future," said Mr. Jenkins. He was just doing what was required of him as a teacher, but deep down he was happy for Mark. He could see Mark's pain in everyday life and felt pity for the intelligent and personable young boy who didn't seem to fit in with any group. It was encouraging to see that Mark was starting to gain some of the status he richly deserved. Even if this new found popularity was only temporary, Mark's self-esteem could benefit greatly and just maybe, his attitude.
"Sure. I understand. Only, I don't think I really have a whole lot of control."
"Well, be that as it may, please make an effort," he said. Mr. Jenkins lowered his voice, barely above a whisper and continued, "I wish all the best for you, Mark. You deserve a lot more than life has given you so far, but remember, with that particular group of girls you need to be very careful."
Mark looked up to Mr. Jenkins in amazement. Did he just hear him correctly? "Yeah, I'll remember. Thanks," he replied.
"You're most welcome. Now, you'd better get to work. Detention is not a place to laze around."
Mark started in on his Algebra homework. A few minutes later, someone pulled out the chair next to him and dropped into it, propping his feet up on the desk. Mark peeked out the corner of his eye and recognized Mayhem. "Hey," said the big guy sitting next to him.
"Huh?" Mark responded.
"You're that dude ever'one's jawin' 'bout."
"Huh?" Mark repeated.
"Yeah. You're the guy. I saw it with my own two eyes," stated Mayhem, matter-of-factly.
"Yeah, I guess," replied Mark apprehensively.
"So, like, whaja do? Ya got somthin' on 'em?"
"I'll be damned if I know." Mark wasn't sure if he liked were this conversation was going, but it was a good idea to not be rude to Mayhem. So far, Mayhem and his crew had been vocally abusive to him. Mark could handle the catcalls and lewd remarks, but, now that they were aware of the fact that he wasn't a girl, things could get rough. Mark had counted on his misidentified gender to keep him, hopefully, from physical harm.
"Well, dude. I don't know how you pulled it off, but, man, it's sweet. Shit, what a setup."
Mark looked up from his books for the first time since Mayhem sat down. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was Mayhem actually congratulating him? Mark couldn't hide his shock.
"Hey, it's good to see somebody from the hood makin' it with classy bitches like that."
"Mr. Delmaggio. This is detention. There's no talking allowed. You are here to do schoolwork, not socialize. Now, if you please, do not disturb those who are trying to get a little homework completed," chastised Mr. Jenkins.
"Hey, Mr. Jenkins. I'm just congratulatin' my homey here. This kinda shit don't happen ever'day," replied Mayhem as he patted Mark on the shoulder.
"That will be quite enough, Mr. Delmaggio. Quite enough."
After detention, Mark had the unwelcome company of Mayhem and his crew during the mile and a half walk home. They seemed to have adopted him into their ranks, although Mark wasn't too keen on the idea. The sooner he got away from these guys, the better he'd feel.