Mark went through the motions of the day until 4th period. He was dreading the terror that was 5th period, i.e. lunch, and wasn't focusing on where he was walking in the halls. He almost tripped over a foot that was extended out past the desk closest to the doorway as he walked in. He caught himself, though he had disturbed the person's foot.

Mark turned to apologize and found himself speaking to Roger. His jaw, lowered from speaking, remained that way for a few seconds until Mark regained his composure.

"Sorry, Roger," Mark apologized, the generally insincere words taking meaning for him.

"No problem. You are pretty clumsy, though, kid," Roger said with a smile.

Mark wasn't sure what he should take from that, so he smiled slightly and moved away to sit down a few rows over. The seat next to Roger was empty, so as soon as Mark started leaving, Roger called his name and tapped the desk, wanting Mark to sit there.

Mark was in total denial of the feelings inside of him. Total and utter denial, and so he sat down, as if to prove to himself that he could sit there and not have a single non-straight thought about Roger.

As Mark was forced to admit to himself at the end of class, he couldn't.

All Mark could think about in class was the way that Roger held his pen and the way that Roger dipped his head down close to his notebook when he was writing and the way that Roger leaned back in his desk when not taking notes, looking languid and elegant. He noticed how Roger bit his lip and scribbled something on the page, as if he were having some sort of intellectual epiphany.

Mark noticed just about everything that Roger did in English class that day. The only think Mark utterly failed to notice was the way that Roger was noticing him.

So maybe Mark was gay. Maybe. But even so, Roger definitely wasn't. Nope, Roger was the straight, big man on campus, attractive, all-the-girls-want-to-be-with-me sort of guy. He could not be gay. Mark would just have to put his (uncertain and totally nonconcrete)

The usual awkwardness Mark experienced in his first lunch freshman year (finding someone, anyone that he recognized) was replaced this year with sitting at a crowded lunch table, sharing a plastic chair with Roger.

The school administration had either been unable to properly count the number of chairs in the lunchroom or had been unable to appropriate lunch times efficiently. Either way, Mark and Roger, along with several other students, due to the extreme lack of cafeteria chairs, had been left to share.

There sat Mark, one butt cheek on and one off the brown chair. He felt extremely uncomfortable, in large part because of the seating situation, but also because of who he was sharing the chair with. Mark tried to keep himself away from Roger, almost afraid of what would happen if he touched him.

They ate lunch, Mark constantly conscious of how and what he was eating. He was thrilled when the bell sounded, signaling the end of the period.

"See you later," Roger said casually, touching Mark's shoulder off-handedly as he passed.

Mark wondered to himself what exactly that motion meant. Though he had no thought whatsoever that Roger could even possibly be gay, he had even less understanding of why Roger would hang around Mark at all.

Mark decided that he was thinking too much. He was wasting his first day away thinking about someone who probably had less than zero interest in him even as a friend. He should be focusing on school. Mark was good at school. School was like work. It was a job, and you could succeed at it.

And Mark did succeed. He got straight "A" grades in all his classes his freshman year and was planning on repeating that pattern this year.

He couldn't let himself get distracted by anything, let alone a boy. His parents appreciated his high grades, since his sister was the exact opposite, and they might understand a girl distraction—they had when he dated Nanette Himmelfarb last year—but for a boy…that would not go well at all.

Not that it was going to go, at all. Because Roger was probably just hanging around Mark because he was so pathetic looking. Tomorrow things would be back to normal. Mark would return to his isolated, detached self and everything would be fine.

But for some reason, there was an itch inside Mark that made him think that "fine" was not going to cut it anymore. He had to be better than fine. Maybe he could even be happy.

So, Mark was incredibly surprised when Roger approached his locker (why didn't he know where Roger's locker was, too?) and asked to ride home with Mark.

Mark nodded dumbly and got his books together before he and Roger set off toward the parking lot.

"How was your day," Roger initiated.

"Good. My classes are interesting, so…"

"Yeah, mine aren't too bad either. Especially English," he commented.

"Hey, why are we in the same English class?" Mark ventured.

"Well, since I'm a transfer this year, my English credit didn't go over. I have to take the Sophomore Class because what we did at my old school was totally different from the same class here. To get credit, I have to have done the same stuff as you guys. It's cool, though. I like English, and you're there, so I'm sure it'll be good."

Mark could only nod.

They rode in silence for a few minutes until they approached Roger's house. Roger stopped his bike, and Mark followed suit.

"Are you okay, Mark. With school, I mean. You seemed sort of uncomfortable at school today. Do you, I mean, don't take this the wrong way or whatever, but… do you have friends? People that you can hang out with or something?" Roger seemed tentative but sincere in asking.

Mark looked down, skidding his foot against the sidewalk as his scarf hung loosely about his neck. "I'm fine. I don't really have much in common with most of the people my age, but it doesn't really bother me."

"Well, I'm your age, sort of, and we get along pretty well, don't we?" Roger seemed strangely eager.

"I guess. Yeah, we do."

"Good, cause I don't have that many good friends either."

"But what about all those…?"

"All those guys at lunch and stuff…some of them I met earlier this summer, and we get along fine. There's some cool people here, but no one really unique. They're all the same bland type of jock, or junkie, or smarty, or whatever. I haven't met a really interesting person here. Besides you, I mean."

Mark looked up at him, obviously surprised. He was starting to feel really uncomfortable with this situation. No guys he knew talked like this.

"This is kind of—" Mark was cut off.

"Weird, yeah, I know. Guys aren't supposed to talk like this or whatever. Don't give in to stereotypes. I mean, I'm bi, but does that mean that I'm automatically emo or a slut or something? No. Don't go with what they make you think. Just be you."

Mark's ears perked. This is new, he thought.

"Right. That will end well," Mark remarked cynically.

"Whatever. If you ever want to hang out with someone who won't judge you, call or come over or something," Roger offered, dismounting his bike and walking it to his house.

When Roger got to his garage, he turned back. "See you tomorrow. Same time? Just watch where you're going next time. I can't be breaking any limbs, now."

He smiled, and Mark genuinely smiled back for the first time in a long while. "I'll try," he said, "See ya."

And Mark rode home, not thinking about a thing.