Page 6

five

Mark

T he words on Mr. Erickson’s chalkboard blur in a never-ending string of numbers that don’t make sense. Calculus is one of my easier classes. While I don’t do well in history or English, math is where I shine.

At least, it is on a good day.

Today is not a good day.

Looking up, I dare a peek down the row of students at Noah busily writing down whatever our professor is talking about. As if he can feel me watching, he looks up, narrowing his eyes before giving me the finger.

I don’t want a relationship with him—in my mind it’s just sex—I didn’t realize until he stopped talking to me how much I relied on his text messages every day.

They’ve become part of my everyday routine, and I really miss them .

. . really miss talking and hanging out with him.

My head’s was firmly up my own ass and I have to make it right.

I’m an asshole.

An asshole who’s going to make this up to him.

BUZZZZZ

Jumping in my seat, I knock over the pencils on my desk and they clatter to the ground in what may as well be a gong. The lecture stops. Everyone’s eyes swing to me. Fucking phone! “Sorry.”

Looking more annoyed by the second, Mr. Erickson returns to his lesson, and I pick up my pencils with as much grace and subtlety as a bull in an antique store. My phone vibrates again but this time it doesn’t scare the living shit out of me or make as much sound with it tucked into my hoodie.

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my heart and ease the anxiety racing through my blood. Finally, I take it out and unlock it. My lunch turns to lead as I read the five missed messages. I know who they’re all from before even looking at them and that I can’t avoid him any longer.

Dickwad:

Meet me at 2 outside the science wing

Mark????

You wouldn’t be avoiding me??!!!??? That would be real fuckin stupid

We need to talk

* media sent*

With shaky hands I open the photo without text. It doesn’t need to have any because the message is loud and clear. Derrick is so graciously reminding me why I’m in this situation to begin with. It’s a photo of me from the night of the bonfire—drink in hand, watch on my wrist.

The same watch that was found at the crime scene.

The same watch that conveniently fell off my wrist.

The same watch that is one of a kind and priceless in more ways than one.

The same watch that my mother would skin me alive for if she knew I didn’t have it.

I need that fucking watch back.

While it may seem like a stupid watch—I mean, who even uses watches anymore—it’s so much more than that. Blinking back the well of tears that spring to my eyes, I try to breathe through the rush of emotion. The last thing I need to do is have a full-on breakdown in the middle of this class.

Every summer my family would go to Sweden to visit my mother’s family.

Those summers meant everything to me. While my father works hard for all of us, he’s not exactly .

. . how do I say this? Loving? I grew up very comfortable, but there were some nights I wished that my father was with us instead of another client, or another crisis.

Those summers with my morfar , though, were life changing.

He taught me the art of watchmaking, and while designing video games may have been something so far removed from what he knew, he always supported me.

I could talk for hours with him about my plans for games I wanted to create.

He’s the reason I fell in love with engineering to begin with, with math and science and learning the way things worked.

He was a master watchmaker, one and only of his kind, and that watch is the last thing he gave me before he passed three years ago. My mother didn’t want me to bring it with me to college, but I couldn’t part with it. It means too much to me.

Now it’s evidence.

For now.

Only until I catch Derrick in his lies.

The bell rings and we all stand. I gather my shit quickly, trying not to lose Noah in the crowd.

He has English after this, and I need to talk to him beforehand.

I shove my way through the crowd, ignoring all the dirty looks as I try to follow him, and spot his curly brown hair as he makes his way down the hall and out of the building.

“Noah!” His head turns before he sees it’s me and starts walking faster. “Noah, come on!” I walk faster, shoving people out of the way. I’m shocked no one decks me. “Wait.” I grab at his hoodie . . . my hoodie I now notice. He has to be wearing it to taunt me. “Not now! I’m busy.”

“Wait, come on. Please. I just want to talk, I swear. Just hold on.”

“Careful Mark, you’re so irresistible I might accidentally jump on your dick right here in front of everyone.”

My face burns. It takes everything in me not to look at anyone around us. Mortification with a side of internal shame. Thank you, Noah. “Okay, okay.” I tug his hoodie—my hoodie—pulling him in between two buildings. “I just want to apologize.”

“Whatever you want, my king.” He curtsies. Jesus. “I am here to serve.”

“Can you stop! I’m sorry about being a complete douche the other day.”

“The other day?”

“And all the other days.”

“And?”

“For being a selfish prick and making you walk home at night each time we hooked up.”

“Ah okay, almost there.”

“And for treating you like shit when all you wanted is to be friends.” He cocks a brow.

“And thinking you’re obsessed with me.” Which now, hearing it back, sounds so dumb.

God, I am people stupid sometimes. Math?

Got it. Science? Got it. Coding? Perfect.

Understanding people and their emotions and social cues? Nope, missed that one completely.

“Great. Have a nice life.” He turns, walking back to the sidewalk.

“Come on, Noah!”

“What!? Why do you want to be friends so bad now?”

I freeze up at the question. Why do I want this now? The answer is easy. I’m tired of being on my own, and if I really let myself think about it, I like Noah, too. Not in that way, but I like his company.

“I didn’t realize how much I like it when we hang out.”

“Sweetie, don’t you remember? We don’t hang out. We fuck, because apparently that’s all I’m good for.” He turns away from me.

“No. No wait. No. That’s not it.” Noah just crosses his arms, pursing his lips.

“I think I was afraid this may turn into more. I don’t want a relationship, so I was trying to keep my distance.

I panicked and it was shitty . . . is, is shitty.

I’m so sorry.” Letting go of my pride, not that I had much to begin with, I look at him. “I want to try being friends.”

“I’m not sleeping with you anymore. It’s not happening.”

“I just want to hang out. As friends. That’s it.

Please.” Noah’s pretty lips purse. Today he’s wearing lip gloss, and I like the shiny pink on him and his give-no-fucks attitude.

“I have to get to class. I’m definitely late now.

You’re just lucky I love to make an entrance.

If you want to hang out that bad, we can have breakfast on Saturday morning and go from there.

If I like it, we can be friends. A frienderview. ”

“A frienderview?”

“An interview for you to be my friend. Ten sharp. Marcie’s Diner down on the West End of town. Don’t be late. I don’t give second chances.”

“Okay, yeah. I uh, yes. Thank you.” Noah gives me one more sharp glare before he storms off.

Okay, progress, right? This is progress.

Step one in being less of an asshole. Adjusting my book bag, I’m too drained to go to any more classes, but I have software design in an hour, and I actually like that class.

Walking through campus, my body suddenly jerks backwards. I panic, thrashing, not knowing what the fuck is happening as I’m dragged into a tiny alcove.

The breath is knocked out of me as I’m thrown against the wall. “What’s the matter, Mark?” Derrick breathes on me, his fingers wrapped around my throat cutting off my air. I struggle but it’s no use. “Wouldn’t be avoiding me, huh?”

“Get the fuck off me!” I choke out, trying to shove him off, but Derrick has mass on me and years of lifting weights and athletic training. “Get off!” His smirk chills me to the bone as he throws his hands up and lets me go. I inhale sharply while clutching my neck. What the fuck!

“Just want to say hi to my good friend.” I hate him. I hate him so fucking much.

“What the fuck do you want?” Wasn’t bullying supposed to end in high school. What the fuck.

He pouts, which looks so ridiculous on a man his size. “I remember when you used to pretend to like me. What happened to that?”

That was before I knew you were a psycho and you started blackmailing me for a crime I know I didn’t commit! “What do you want?”

Derrick sighs, leaning against the opposite wall. Students pass us out in the courtyard, but we’re hidden here in the small alcove and they pay us no mind at all. I’m alone and helpless—which has been pretty much the theme since this summer. “I need you to do me a favor.”

Fuck. “What is it?”

“I need you to take out the captain of the hockey team.”

Um, what the hell?

“What?” While Derrick has always asked me for bullshit favors, they’ve never been violent.

I’m not violent. It’s all just been stupid bullshit—doing his homework for him, taking his notes, lending him money.

All of it was stupid bullshit in the long run.

I can handle stupid bullshit. I cannot handle whatever the fuck this is. “I can’t just hurt someone.”

“Aw, don’t you remember? Kind of already did that.”

No one was hurt! No one. If someone had gotten hurt, innocent or not I would have turned myself in. “No one was there that night. No one was hurt. It isn’t fair to ask me to do this.”