Chapter 8 takes place before, during, and after "Malcolm Dates a Family". Malcolm and Cynthia have gotten much closer, but have yet to start a relationship. So far, their mutual feelings are strong and apparent, but unspoken. A new student that Malcolm dislikes shows interest in Cynthia. This takes place right before "Malcolm Dates a Family"

Appearances

Malcolm sulked at the kitchen table, though nothing in particular had happened. He looked around. Reese sat across from him, staring into his alphabet cereal with a thoughtful expression, and Dewey nodded to the music in his headphones. Hal sat at the head of the table holding a cup of coffee in one hand and trying to keep his newspaper taut in the other. A fly buzzed by and he attempted to ward it off by blowing on it.

"Are you listening to me, Malcolm?" Lois asked, pointing a hard stare his way.

"Yeah," said Malcolm, annoyed.

"Those scholarships don't just show up on your doorstep, not for people like us, anyway. You better not slack off in the hopes that your smarts will save you. You'll be sorely disappointed. I know from experience."

"Mom, I'm a sophomore. Why do I have to worry about that stuff when I'm not even halfway through highschool?"

"Because people like us have to try harder, that's why. Let's face it, Malcolm, you're about the only one in this family with a shot at real success. I'll be damned if you squander it by wasting your time on playdates or whatever you kids do these days."

At some point, Mom decided I wasn't allowed to have a social life because I'm smart. Sometimes, I wish I were like Reese.

Malcolm looked towards Reese, who was now gazing into his distorted reflection in the back of a spoon and giggling.

"She's right, son," said Hal. "What I wouldn't give to have your gift. To think of all the time I wasted in high school goofing off and getting in trouble and partying and hanging out with friends, all those girls I dated, the cheerleaders and the dancers…" Hal trailed off and gazed out the window, a warm smile on his face. Looking back at Malcolm, he straightened up and cleared his throat. "Some of the darkest times of my life. Don't make the same mistakes I did, son."

"Be thankful you have the opportunities you do," Lois added.

Malcolm got up and slung his backpack over his shoulder. He headed out the door and began his long walk towards school.

You know, I thought after I aged out of the krelboyne class, things would go back to normal, but everyone in my life is determined to make sure I stay a loser. I can't even make normal friends anymore.

Just then, a guy from Malcolm's gym class approached. "Hey, Malcolm, right? It's Trevor, from gym class. Didn't know we lived near each other. Maybe we can hang out sometime. Hey, have you seen that movie Death Cry II? Me and some of my buddies were thinking about checking it out. Wanna come?"

"Look, no offense, but I don't see how us climbing up the same dirty rope once a month at school and living on the same street constitutes some sort of significant connection between us, so unless you have a better reason for asking me to see some low-budget crap at a decaying movie theater, there's really no point."

Malcolm stopped and looked around. He was alone.

See? No one wants to hang out with the "smart" kid. It's like a curse.

XXXXX

Malcolm sat sulking, once again, in his accelerated history class. On one side of him was Dabney, on the other side a new kid named Chase.

"So, Malcolm," said Dabney. "What are your thoughts on the new kid?"

"What are you talking about? Who cares?"

Chase turned to Malcolm. "Hey, man. I really liked your presentation on the Fall of Ravenna last week. You really know your stuff. I never would have thought to frame things that way!"

"Thanks…" said Malcolm. He turned to Dabney, whispering. "Did you hear that? 'I never would have framed it that way'? What the hell does that mean?"

Dabney shrugged. "Are you sure it wasn't just a compliment?"

Mr. Herkabe walked in. He was pale, disheveled, his hair a mess. "Before any of you asks, yes I am hungover and yes it is a result of a conversation with my ex-wife. She may think she won this time, but I am more determined than ever to get rid of that ridiculous restraining order. Now, can anyone tell me where we left off yesterday?"

Chase raised his hand and Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"Byzantine empire?" asked Chase.

"Is that a question or a statement, Chase?"

"A statement, I guess. But I didn't want to be presumptuous in case I was wrong."

"Can anyone with confidence in their intelligence tell me where we left off yesterday? How about you Malcolm? Intelligence is about the only thing you can be confident about considering how damned unlikeable you are."

In an annoyed but timid voice, Malcolm said, "He's right. Byzantine empire."

"Wonderful." Herkabe let himself drop onto his desk while opening a large textbook, which he proceeded to read aloud from in a droning, miserable cadence.

Malcolm looked across the room and saw Cynthia watching him with an expression of vicarious embarrassment. He looked down, wounded, and then shot a glance over to Chase, who smiled, unfazed. He caught Malcolm's glare and shrugged.

"What?" asked Malcolm.

"Oh, nothing. Just...Herkabe, you know? Must have switched to decaf," said Chase, with a light chuckle.

Malcolm cocked his eyebrows and nodded with a disingenuous smile.

"Hey, so, what's her deal?" Chase nodded towards Cynthia, who at that moment was setting out an array of highlighters in various colors.

"What do you mean?" asked Malcolm.

"Well, she's kinda strange, but, I don't know. She might be cool, too."

"About as cool as any of us, I guess."

Chase smiled and nodded. "I know what you're saying."

Malcolm looked around the room to see if anyone else was picking up on this strange conversation.

"You do?"

"Totally, man."

"What am I saying, then?"

Chase laughed. "You got me."

Malcolm shook his head and returned to his notes.

Chase continued. "It's just, I thought maybe she was like your girlfriend or something."

Malcolm looked up at him, and then looked across to Cynthia. She noticed them watching and, meeting their gaze, gave a cheerful wave. Malcolm waved back with less enthusiasm.

"I mean, she's... she's not, really. I mean, we are kind of…"

"Kind of what?"

"We're close, I guess."

"But is she your girlfriend?"

Malcolm looked back to Cynthia, who was now writing with ferocity. She stopped only to noisily clear her sinuses and then continued with her frenzied note taking.

"Uh, no. No, we're just friends."

XXXXX

Cynthia found herself in the library, nose almost flush with the pages of a book on the Egyptians, partially due to her rapt concentration and also because she liked the smell. She had been so engrossed that a tapping on her shoulder gave her a near-violent start.

"Whoa," said Chase, "It's just me."

Cynthia let out a deep breath. "I'll let you off the hook this time, since you're new, but you should know that sneaking up on me might result in a crushed windpipe."

Chase laughed. "Duly noted. So what are you doing around here?"

Cynthia looked around the room and then back at Chase. "Reading," she said.

"Right on," said Chase. "So, look, to be honest I was hoping to find you here."

"Me? Why?"

Chase smiled. "Oh, well...just wanted to say hi, get to know you. Me being new and all."

Cynthia scratched her head. "Just me? Not anyone else?"

"Well… you got me, there."

"I don't really understand what you're saying," said Cynthia, smiling.

"Honestly, I don't know either." Chase laughed again. "Usually I'm a straightforward guy, but I guess I'm a little nervous right now

"Why would you be nervous?"

"I think you're really interesting and, well, I know I don't know you that well, but I'd like to. I wanted to ask if you'd want to go out sometime."

Cynthia's eyes widened a little and she looked down. "Oh…"

"Sorry if that's totally weird. I know you don't really know me or anything, but I thought I'd just ask, or else it'd build up and become a whole thing."

She looked back up and tried with intermittent success to meet his eyeline. "Well, I don't know, since— Well, actually…" Cynthia smiled a little. "I might, or do, have someone, I think, maybe."

"Oh, you do?" asked Chase. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had a boyfriend. Malcolm told me you were single."

Cynthia, who had been rubbing her arm and failing somewhat to look comfortable, instantly froze, and her face dropped into a neutral expression.

"So I guess he must have been mistaken," said Chase.

"Uh, well...I…" Cynthia stammered out.

"Are you alright?" asked Chase. "You look a little pale."

Cynthia thought she heard the room get very quiet. She felt her stomach in her throat. Somehow her body was registering the blow before her head.

"He said that?" she asked, quietly.

"Yeah. Is it true?"

Cynthia looked past Chase, focusing on the stacks of old books surrounding them. She began unconsciously reading the titles, trying to disconnect.

"I guess," she said. The thin wall of distraction between the wave of emotions approaching and her facade of normality would soon be of no help.

"Well, cool, then," said Chase. "So, could I take you out sometime?"

In almost a whisper, Cynthia said, "I'll think about it."

"Great, just let me know," said Chase. But Cynthia was already walking away, clutching the books to her chest, her head down.

XXXXX

Reese walked alongside Malcolm as they headed to the school's main door after the last bell.

"I gotta say," said Reese, "being held back doesn't sound so bad, now. If I had known they were gonna make everything harder each year, I wouldn't have tried so hard not to flunk. I mean, if I were still in the fifth grade, I'd be a genius like you."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Do you really want to spend an extra year here? The point is to get out as fast as possible."

"I guess you're right."

Malcolm slowed down.

"What's wrong?" asked Reese. "Aren't you going home?"

"Uh, no, I have to talk to someone first. About a school project"

"Who?"

"No one."

"Cynthia?"

"Shut up, Reese."

"Whatever." Reese turned and began walking away.

"Whatever? That's it?"

Reese turned back to face him. "Yeah, so?"

"You don't want to make some idiotic joke?"

"Not really. The whole Cynthia thing used to be funny, but you've been dragging the whole thing out for so long that I don't really have anything else to say. It's just boring now."

Malcolm stared back, unable to form a response.

Reese shrugged. "Good luck, I guess."

He turned again and headed towards home.

Malcolm stood there for a few moments, attempting to recall his interaction with Reese and look for lapses in sincerity, but he found none. Reese truly didn't care anymore; no one did. It struck him, then, that it was the perfect time to act. Their relationship wasn't some big deal, people had stopped paying attention long ago. There were no more expectations, no more fuss. He knew what he wanted. It was time to get it. Cynthia would be walking out that door any second. He prepared to say what he would never let himself say.

After a few minutes, he saw her approaching from the main hall. When she got to the door, he began walking up the steps to meet her. He had built up the moment in the last few minutes, so much so that he couldn't hear anything over his beating heart. He took no notice of things, his objective too clear and strong to allow him to think of anything else. Consequently, he did not notice the fact that Cynthia had seen him and looked down, that she had picked up her pace. He did not notice her recoiling from him. He came within a few feet of her and began to speak.

"Cynthia—" she passed him before he could continue.

He looked back in confusion. She had been walking so fast that by the time he looked she was heading down the street. He turned and followed her, picking up her brisk pace.

"Cynthia, what's wrong?"

She stopped and wheeled around, looking him fiercely in the eyes. Tears streamed down her face, and she sniffed loudly.

"Go away, Malcolm," she said. "Just go away."

She turned and resumed her quick walk.

Without having to think, Malcolm knew what he'd done. He felt numb. In addition to the overwhelming despair he now felt, he thought of only one thing: Chase.

XXXXX

Malcolm sat hunched over his desk, his head in his arms. Across from him, Dewey worked silently on some homework. Malcolm made an audible groan, causing Dewey to look up from his work.

Dewey closed his eyes and set his homework aside, folding his hands together. In a dispassionate tone, he asked Malcolm what was wrong.

"Don't worry about it, Dewey."

"Okay," said Dewey. He smiled politely and picked his homework back up.

"You try and you try and what does it get you?" Malcolm lamented. Dewey dropped his head, and slowly slid the homework back to the side, listening with preternatural calm.

"You might think you have it hard, Dewey, but you're actually lucky. No one expects anything out of you because they put all their hopes into me and all their disappointment into Francis and Reese."

"I see," said Dewey.

"Everyone's always saying what I'm supposed to be, what I'm supposed do, even who I'm meant to be with. Meanwhile you can become a piano prodigy without Mom and everyone else breathing down your neck."

"Wow, this seems to really bother you. Tell me more." Dewey picked his homework back up and began writing as Malcolm stared out their window and ranted for nearly an hour.

At last he sighed and turned to Dewey, who quickly looked up and resumed a listening pose. "So that's it. No matter what I want to do, I have to do the opposite of that! The world might want something for me one minute, but as soon as I want the same thing, I get the rug pulled out from under me. I mean seriously, did she have to get that upset? I was just talking!"

Without missing a beat, Dewey broke in. "Did anyone ever tell you that defying expectations is basically the same as giving in to them? Either way you're basing your decisions on what other people think. That's what you don't get about people like me or Cynthia. We don't let shame or pressure or vanity interfere with our goals. She's a lot more mature than you."

"Well, thanks Dewey! It's good to know I have family on my side."

"Do you want me to be on your side or do you want me to be honest?"

"I want you to think fast."

"What?"

Malcolm quickly gave Dewey a charlie horse on his arm.

"Oww!"

Dewey rubbed his arm as Malcolm stormed out of the room.

"Get a grip, man," Dewey muttered to himself.

Malcolm went to the living room and sat down in front of the TV. He looked down, hoping to expel what Dewey had said from his mind, but the words wouldn't leave him.

XXXXX

Cynthia ignored Malcolm the following day. He'd expected worse, but somehow this hurt more. They were in their last class together. He figured she'd evade him on the walk home, so his best chance to turn things around was catching up to her in the hallway. He'd have to be quick, since she made a point to speed walk away from him at the sound of the bell.

The bell rang. He'd stealthily put his books and notes into his backpack while the teacher was finishing up the day's lecture, and was ready to meet Cynthia right outside the door. Of course, it was in these crucial moments that the universe always decided to remind him where he came from. As soon as he stood up, the bottom of his third generation hand-me-down backpack ripped open and emptied its contents onto the floor.

The brief moment of confusion that followed allowed Cynthia a significant head start. Malcolm quickly redirected himself back to the plan and abandoned his things on the spot. He rushed through the doors at full speed, anticipating that Cynthia would be at the end of the hall, but stopped in his tracks upon seeing her just halfway down, not walking but talking to Chase. He had a wide smile on his face while she looked down, half smiling.

Malcolm saw her look up, not quite at Chase but off somewhere in thought. Then she did look at Chase, and nodded. He said something, and after a pause and nodded again and walked down the hall. Malcolm's stomach dropped. Just then Chase caught his eye and walked up to him in excitement.

"Hey, bud," said Chase. "You'll never believe it."

"Yes I will," said Malcolm in despair.

Without noticing, Chase continued. "I'm going out with Cynthia tonight."

Malcolm felt a lump in his throat when he tried to respond.

"Thanks man, if you hadn't told me she was single, I never would have gone for it."

He patted Malcolm on the shoulder and walked off.

Malcolm hung his head as kids passed him going in both directions, some bumping into him and cursing as they continued on. Malcolm's teacher came out of the classroom holding a black garbage bag.

"Malcolm, I went ahead and put your things together for you. Don't worry, this just had some tissues in it."

XXXXX

At lunch, Malcolm sat with his head in his arms as his three friends looked on semi-pityingly.

"I'd give you some advice," said Lloyd, "but I think it would be lost on you at this point."

Malcolm looked up and glared at Lloyd. "Oh no, what am I going to do without advice from Lloyd, relationship expert?"

Lloyd stood up and took his lunch in hand. "I've had a girlfriend for eight months now," he said. "I wouldn't expect you to know!" He shook his head as he walked off.

"I have some advice for you," said Dabney, rising. "Get over yourself!" He followed Lloyd.

Malcolm looked over to Stevie, who maintained his usual expression of somewhat nonplussed irritation.

"What's their problem?" asked Malcolm.

"Malcolm… " said Stevie.

"You're …

… my friend …

… but you …

… have issues …"

"What are you talking about?"

"You push …

… away the …

… people …

… who care …

… about you …"

"No I don't!"

"Cynthia …

… had enough…

You took her …

… for granted."

"You know what?" said Malcolm. "This is good. I actually wanted this. What's so bad about me that only one girl can like me?"

"Got …

… a few …

… hours?"

"What? You think I can't get a date when I want to? What about that one girl? She has that huge family and the weird last name?"

"Angela …

… Pozefsky?"

"Yeah! The rumor is she's promiscuous, but I think that's just a myth and guys are just too intimidated to ask her out."

"You think …

… you have …

… a chance?"

"About as much as anyone else here. Unless she heard about my mom acting psychotic at Luigi's."

"What …

… happened?"

Malcolm went off into a long rant about his mom's embarrassing behavior at the local pizza place, making Stevie regret ever asking the question. He began tuning out until it seemed like Malcolm was wrapping up.

"And then she stood in the parking lot for half an hour waving cars away! My mom is horrible."

"My mom …

… phoned me drunk …

… on my birthday …

… wanting money," said Stevie.

"I'm sorry, Stevie. I shouldn't complain. Your mom walking out on you was unforgivable. And you know what? Your real friends will never abandon you."

Stevie looked at Malcolm, at a loss for words but feeling grateful to have received such an unexpected and sincere show of support unprompted. Just then, Angela came walking through the quad, and Malcolm was gone before he could say anything.

"Hey Angela!" shouted Malcolm, running away to catch up and ask Angela out.

Stevie stared ahead and took a deep breath. "Jackass."

XXXXX

Cynthia had never felt this before. The date was nice. Chase was nice. What's more, Chase had been kind with more consistency than Malcolm ever had. Still, she couldn't get Malcolm out of her mind the entire date. She felt a pit in her stomach. Am I attracted to toxic men? she thought.

She walked slowly up to her front porch. Upon opening the door, she saw her Mom sitting across the dining room table from her Dad, laughing.

"Oh hi, sweetie," said Irene. "Your Dad was just telling me about that Malcolm throwing a brick through the window! How did I not know about this?"

Cynthia tried to smile, but couldn't.

"Everything alright, honey?" asked Fred.

"Yeah, I'm just tired."

"So how was the study group?" asked Irene.

"Fine."

Cynthia went up to her room and sat down on her bed. On the nightstand sat the bracelet Malcolm had given her. She picked it up and stared at it, holding back the urge to cry. It still looked so beautiful. She didn't care to find out how painful it would be to actually wear it. She thought about simply throwing it out, maybe giving it to someone else.

She got up and found an empty shoebox in her closet. She set the bracelet gently inside and slid the box beneath her bed, right under her headboard.

Once again, she had to go from adoring Malcolm to forgetting about him. She didn't know how many more times she could go back and forth. You bend something enough times, it breaks. Maybe this was the last straw, she thought. Nevertheless, she laid her head down on the pillow, looking out her window and wishing something would break through it.