Mark Watson liked to watch people, and he had been watching a couple of senior girls in short-skirted field hockey uniforms instead of where he was going when the door almost hit him in the face.

His foot stopped the stairwell door before he completely collided with it, but when he tried to twist out of the way his feet went haywire and he toppled to the ground.

“Oh, God,” a girl’s voice said. “I’m so sorry!”

Whatever mumbled, irritated remark he was going to make was swallowed when he looked up and saw her in the doorway. She had long red hair loosely tied back, and piercing green eyes. Her body was slim and athletic and her pale skin was lightly dotted with freckles.

“Here, let me help you up,” she said, offering her hand. Reluctantly, he took her hand, and pulled himself up.

“Thanks,” he said, clearing his throat, and trying to straighten his clothes. Get a hold of yourself!

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m new and . . .,” she was interrupted by the sudden shrill ringing of the late bell. She sighed heavily, and said, “And now I’m late.”

“Well,” Mark said, running a hand nervously through his shoulder length hair. “If you, ah, let me know where you’re going, I might be able to help you get there. I wander the halls with my free time.”

“Well,” she said. “If I remember my schedule right, I’ve got Chemistry this period. I’m just trying to find out where it is. I think it’s in 213.”

Mark tried to hide his sudden thrill. “Is it with Reynolds?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Well, I was heading that way myself. Would you care to, ah . . . walk with me?” he said.

She smiled, and he realized he was too. “Don’t worry,” he said, “Renny rarely cares if you’re late.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’m Christine.”

“Mark.” His hand twitched at his side. Handshake? Wave? Salute? For fuck’s sake stop fidgeting! “This way,” he finally waved down the hallway. Maybe I’ll pretend I have epilepsy.

They hurried down the hall, and Mark found himself falling behind slightly, taking in how she carelessly glided down the hallway, a total opposite to his hunched, drawn-in shuffle. God, he thought, she’s fantastic. It was the kind of instant crush feeling that he would have every once and a while; a magnetic snap that would grab him by the senses and lead him around like a dog, pervading every thought.

His junior year at Cedar Ridge High had started a month ago, and until now it looked like it was going to be the same as always. He’d spend time in his room and Steve and Clara would try to get him out of his shell, and he’d do just enough homework to keep up his straight C average. He’d thought that after getting some wheels this summer he’d be able to turn over a new leaf, but it’d dawned on him this morning that he was simply incapable of changing. The realization clung to him like a lead shroud.

The dream last night didn’t help any either. He’d been having that one, or one like it, for the past few weeks. They were always about that boy, Darren, and they all ended the same way, with the mysterious human shadow sweeping in and capturing him. Every night they’d send him springing from bed still feeling the sting of the blow to his head and the smell of ashes so strong he’d be gagging.

“Is it over here?” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“Yeah,” he said, widening his strides to walk at her side. “It’s the last door on the left.” Easy, Casanova. This is directions, not progress. Your resume still shows that you’re the boy who broke down in elementary school when his aunt died; who Mr. Wallace humiliated at the blackboard in seventh grade for not understanding fraction addition; the kid who got hit in the face with a basketball and cried as the whole class watched in disapproving silence.

Since she was new, maybe he could talk to her without wondering what she knew or who told her what. He could feel a spasm of emotion and hope that was about to explode out of him, but they were at the door of the classroom. He just whispered that they were here, and she mouthed a thank you. Another victory for quiet emotional desperation.

Mark sat in his usual seat near the back, and stifled an incredulous laugh when she took the seat next to him. She gave him another little smile as she got as crisp new notebook out. He smiled back, now fumbling with his pack, putting every fiber of his being into doing it without dropping something.

“So,” he said as they were packing things back up after class, “where are you heading now?” Forty minutes of not studying chemistry had gone into coming up with that. It beat out “You’re a goddess” and “I want to have your babies,” but not by much.

“Lunch.”

“Really,” he said. “Me too.” This was torture.

“Great,” she smiled.

“Would you like to . . . ” Mark started, and then seized. Asking her to eat lunch with him caught in his throat, the very notion of doing so contrary to everything inside him. He had to say something, he realized, not just stand there gaping like a fish.

“Do you think you could show me where the cafeteria is?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “That’s…well, it’s something.”

Cedar Ridge High might have a fancy brick and glass exterior that showed the quiet dignity of age with the fresh breath of the modern, but beneath its comforting exterior lay a place that was neither dignified nor fresh. There’d been places like this before. Sodom, Dresden, Fallujah, and now, CRH cafeteria. Hordes of freshmen and sophomores were clumped together in packs, like a zoo without the cages. Jocks, Goths, thugs, emo kids. All mixed together in a horrific cacophony.

“Well,” he said, having to raise his voice a little to be heard over the crowd. “Here it is, in all its glory.”

She took a step forward, scanning the room for anything familiar. She looked back at him. “Aren’t you coming?”

“No, I usually eat lunch outside.”

“Thanks for warning me,” she smiled. “What, you were just going to abandon me here?”

“What? No! God, no! I just…well, Juniors and Seniors get to eat lunch off campus, so I usually eat outside. You just, well, you said you wanted the cafeteria, so I was trying to help.”

“I know, I’m just messing with you. Want some company?”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’d be great.”

There was a small park behind the school, dotted with some other kids in various clique-sized groups. The late September New Jersey weather was warm and mild. He led her over to a relatively secluded bench under a tree, Mark’s usual spot for lunch.

“Wow,” she said when they sat down. “That was something alright.”

“Yeah,” Mark said. “They’ve been trying to get a tighter grip on stuff for years.”

“Still, I’m just glad I talked my Dad into not sending me to private school,” she said, getting a lunch bag out.

“Around here? Your family must be pretty loaded.”

“Yeah, well,” she said. “My dad thinks we’re not rich enough. He’s getting a pretty big raise with this new job, becoming one of the big shots in the New York office. Makes him happy.”

Better and better. Beautiful and rich. If only she’d quit giving him false hope, then she’d be perfect.

“Hello?” she called, waving her hand in front of him with a slight smile. “Are you still in there?”

“Yeah,” he said, blushing. “Just thinking. Sorry ‘bout that.”

She shrugged, “Nothing wrong with it. What about?”

“Nothing important. Just stuff I’ve gotta do.”

She looked at him for a moment and he thought that she was going to call his bluff, but she just ate her sandwich in the sudden, uneasy silence.

“So, ah, where’re you from?” Mark asked, trying not to sound as lame and desperate as he felt.

“Well, I was born in upstate New York, and then we moved to Cincinnati for four years, Cleveland for five, Pittsburgh for three, and most recently Boston for four. This, however, is the first time I was able to get my dad to let me attend public school. The great schools are supposedly why we picked this town.”

Mark smiled. “That’s what a lot of people say. I think the schools were really good in the 70’s or something, but this place has pretty much gone to hell. In the past couple of years we’ve had more fights and stabbings than ever before. A lot of people blame it on an ‘increased gang presence’ or something like that, but that’s just crap.”

She rolled her eyes. “Great. My dad hears ‘stabbings’ and his head’s going to explode and the leftover bits are going to move me to boarding school”

“Well,” Mark shrugged, “there hasn’t been one since last Spring, so I think you’re stuck with us for now.”

“Believe me, I’m glad to be stuck here. Every other prep school, no matter where you go, is full of these prima donna rich kids who think they’re the shit.”

Mark smiled a little bit. “Aren’t you a ‘rich kid’?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. But I like to think that I’m not as full of myself as they are.”

“You’re not,” he said. “Most of the people here, when they run me over, they don’t say a thing. You at least talk to me.” He grinned a little, and she looked up at him with another wonderful smile.

“It hasn’t seemed like they’ve been able to stand to talk to me either,” she said. “I guess we’re stuck together.”

“Well, I hope you don’t feel too ‘stuck.’ I’m kind of a social pariah, so hanging with me may not be wise.”

“I so don’t care about that anymore. I tried so hard to do the whole popular girl thing in Boston, but I just morphed into an uber-bitch. I think I just need some time to chill.”

He nodded. “Well, I know how that goes. I’ve had some things that I’ve had to work out too, and, y’know, it’s just something everyone goes through.”

“Really? What’s your problem?”

“Oh, it was . . . ,” Mark brushed some stray hairs from his face, suddenly finding something interesting across the way to look at. “It was just some . . . family stuff. Nothing too major, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so just prying away, like you’d wanna discuss your crisis of faith or whatever with a stranger.”

Mark chuckled. “No, can’t have a crisis with something you don’t have.” He opened his mouth to say more, and then stopped. “You’re not, like, religious or anything are you?”

“My mom is, kinda, but my dad’s to much of a workaholic for church. Me personally . . . I think that’s one of the things I’m trying to figure out.” She paused. “So you don’t believe in God or anything?”

Mark studied the ground, trying to pick his words before he blurted out more nonsense.

“It’s not that big a deal or anything,” she said. “If you don’t wanna talk about it-”

“No, I’ve had this conversation before, kinda, but my friends are . . . well, they’re a little divided on the issue.” He looked up at her. “But hey, I don’t want to be weird or anything. I mean, we just met and we’re already delving into the big questions and all.”

“Well, I’ve had my fill of stupid conversations about clothes and TV and all that shit. But if you’re not comfortable talking to me-”

“No, no, I’m comfortable!” Mark blurted out.

“I hope so,” she laughed. “I’d hate to see you when you’re uncomfortable.”

“Well, y’know, it’s just that I’m enjoying talking to you, and I don’t want you to flee in terror or anything.”

“I won’t flee in terror, Mark. You’re far too nice.”

“Well, I can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t be nice to you,” he said, trying not to grin like an idiot. “But the whole God thing . . . no, I don’t believe. I don’t believe there’s some big old white guy with a beard sitting in the clouds who’s got Pat Robertson’s back and making sure the teams that pray the most make it to the Superbowl.” She laughed, and he paused to enjoy it. “Seriously, I can’t accept the fact there’s something out there guiding our lives for some master plan. There’s just too much wrong with the world for me to accept that.”

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 I’ll see her in class, replay this conversation in my head and want to die.

“Is this a private party or can anyone jump in?” a cheerful 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 I guess you found some better company.” Steve grinned wide, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he appraised 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.

“Pleased 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. Trust me, you’ll do fabulously.”

She rolled her eyes a little. “Yeah, well, I did all that at my last school and it nearly sucked the life out of me. Now I’m just a normal teenager.”

“Well, 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. I swear to God I’ll kill him.

“How bout that?” Steve said.

The three made more small talk the rest of the period, with Steve carrying on in his usual flamboyant manner, Mark only throwing in a few comments here and there to make sure he wasn’t forgotten. 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.

Copyright Thacher E. Cleveland