Mark woke slowly, distantly hearing his alarm clock buzzing obnoxiously, yet not wanting to get up and turn it off. He got up, ignoring the diversion that greeted him every few mornings. Unhurriedly he brushed his teeth, put on his glasses, and dressed himself. His favorite shirt was dirty, so he pulled on the nearest clean thing he could find. Thankfully, by the time he was ready, his erection had dissipated and he could face his family.

Downstairs, Mrs. Cohen had made breakfast, and she and Cindy were sitting at the table enjoying it. Mr. Cohen, habitually absent at this time of day, was standing by the kitchen counter sipping a mug of coffee as he read the morning paper.

Mark groaned inwardly.

Inevitably, Cindy was the first to speak to him. "Marky," she ground out, her voice sugary, "aren't you excited for your first day as a sophomore?"

He could sense the sarcasm in her words and see the mockery in her eyes.

"Mark, sweetheart, have something to eat," his mother said, beckoning to the table. Mr. Cohen said nothing.

Mark, as if by rote, sat down at the table and took a piece of buttered toast as well as some scrambled eggs for himself. He finished them quickly, wanting to get on his way to school as quickly as possible. He said goodbye to his mother and walked outside.

Though it was early September, the weather was cool enough that it merited Mark putting on his scarf. It was his favorite, a blue and white striped scarf that he wore almost every day.

He got out his bike and headed off, feeling the slight breeze ruffle his short strawberry blond hair. Mark's mind went blank; he was just cherishing the early fall surroundings and thinking about nothing. He rode for a few minutes and was about halfway to school, when another boy on a bike turned the corner and came right out in front of him.

Mark abruptly skidded to a halt, as the other boy hastily did the same. They avoided hitting each other, but just barely.

Mark's glasses had gone slightly askew with the strain of stopping, and he paused to fix them before tripping a bit while trying to get off his bike.

The other boy, a taller, blonder, more stereotypically attractive boy than Mark was, also got off, though much more suavely. They approached each other. Mark held out his hand, acting much more confident than he felt, seeing as this boy looked much older than Mark as well as looking annoyed.

"Sorry about that. I didn't see you."

"Yeah, I figured, seeing as you damn near almost ran me over." Though the words were harsh, the boy's tone wasn't biting.

"Really, I'm sorry." Mark was sure that he looked weak and pathetic, but in his mind weak and pathetic and in one piece was better than strong and arrogant and beat up. That was one point on which he and his father held opposing opinions.

The other boy took pity on Mark, seeing the look on his face, and shook the offered hand. "Roger. Roger Davis. Sorry I was an ass to you. I haven't had a great morning."

"Mark Cohen. Me neither."

"Well, Mark Cohen, I don't really feel like being late for school on the first day, so I'm gonna get going. But nice to have met you."

"You go to Scarsdale High?" Mark asked, on the off chance that the boy was a high school student instead of the college student he looked like.

"Yeah, you?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we should go then. You dropped your scarf."

And indeed Mark had. His trademark scarf was lying on the ground, tangled around some leaves. He reached down and picked it up, wrapping it more securely around his neck.

They both mounted their bikes and took off, pedaling lazing. As they approached the high school, they slowed and Roger spoke once more: "Hey, Mark, what grade are you?"

Mark's cheeks were burning inside and he desperately hoped it wasn't showing. It could be worse, he thought to himself. I could be a freshman.

"I'm a sophomore," Mark answered.

Roger nodded. Mark didn't know what that meant.

Roger started off towards the school building, but paused and turned back towards Mark. "I'm a junior. See you later."

Mark shook his head confusedly. There was something… something different about this boy. He was strange compared to the other guys his age. There was a spark. A spark that Mark saw, heard, felt… he didn't know what was going on.

This was a feeling that Mark hadn't gotten around a person since his first girlfriend.

He had dated Nanette Himmelfarb for all of freshman year and partially through the summer. They had done everything that dating couples do, and Mark had enjoyed nearly every minute of it. He had loved the making out, and the idea of having a "girlfriend", and the—no, he hadn't really like the dancing that she had made him learn once—but most of it he had been a willing, and active participant.

So, Mark knew that whatever he felt about Roger, it wasn't attraction. Because he liked women. Nanette had turned him on, and given him hand jobs and even blown him. Those things he had never thought about doing with another guy. Mark was not gay. Absolutely not. That was the sort of thing that in Scarsdale got you beaten up.

But he shouldn't have been worrying about that. Because Mark knew, without any lack of certainty, that he was definitely not gay.