Chapter I- The First Friday
It was the 8th of September, 1998, the first Friday of the 1998-1999 school year at Joshua L. Chamberlain High School. Located in Rockbridge, Maine, an affluent coastal suburb just north of Portland itself, Chamberlain High was famous in Portland and to a lesser extent the State of Maine for a handful of notable reasons. Firstly, it was well-funded and for the most part efficiently run, a little too good for a JROTC program but plenty good enough for everything else. For many years, this prestigious high school named after Maine's Civil War hero and Medal of Honor recipient had been known for its excellent coaches and the superb athletic programs they supervised, as well as some of the highest acceptance rates to prestigious state and private colleges anywhere in Maine.
In recent years, though, Chamberlain High had been seeing some of its best days yet. Chamberlain students had always been reputed to have duel prowess on the court and in the classroom, one of the few American high schools to truly balance the existence of being a proper "student-athlete". This didn't stop many of those athletes from being extremely full of themselves, but in the last couple of years they'd had a right to be. How did they not, after those two brothers showed up in the fall of '95 and by the end of the school year had taken the varsity hockey team to their first state win in twenty years?
Two freshmen did what two decades' worth of juniors and seniors, not to mention the upperclassmen, had been unable to do. And the wins hadn't stopped there- on the contrary, that had just been the beginning. Those two boys had only expanded on that first win, scoring more than a few touchdowns for the football team while also taking home a state championship trophy every year since 1995. They were legends in the halls, virtual gods in the practice fields and classrooms. Underclassmen worshipped them, and plenty of upperclassmen did that too. Both guys and girls did this, though for drastically different reasons. The guys wanted to be like them- good looking, rich, legendary athletes, and near-mythical successes with the girls of the local teenage populace.
That related most closely to why Stephanie Burkhalter was still outside on a cool Friday morning, resolutely pretending she had nothing better to do than hang around out near her high school's front doors perhaps ten minutes before the start of class. It wasn't truly cold out, not yet, but plenty cool enough for a good, strong breeze to make you shiver. Stephanie just leaned against the three-foot wall that lined the front yard of the school, trying to occasionally participate in the chatter going back and forth between some of her friends and not give away how anxiously she was watching the senior parking lot.
Stephanie was a sophomore at Chamberlain High this fall, a pretty girl with shiny black hair flowing down to her shoulders. She wasn't the most popular girl at Chamberlain, or was she the richest, prettiest or smartest- but she wasn't on the bottom, either. Stephanie was a decent-sized fish in a pool that had 1,999 other fish in it, male and female. She knew there was little chance the two she was pretending not to be waiting for this morning would talk to her today. She'd be lucky if one even looked at her. But maybe… maybe they would. Every day was different, even though they were all the same- today could be the day she got noticed.
It was a fleeting hope, really. Everyone who was anyone understood they only dated upperclassmen, and even then really only noticed girls in the senior class. Sophomore girls of any level of social standing were so off the radar it was unreal. Come to think of it, Stephanie remembered hearing that even when Henry and Mark were sophomores they didn't date sophomores- they had gone straight for junior and senior girls, even as underclassmen dating some of the best-looking and most popular girls in the school. Stephanie had no chance at all, and that wasn't pessimism- it was simple fact.
And yet… Stephanie still wanted to hope. She'd washed up very nicely in the shower this morning, worn her best jeans and t-shirt with her most fashionable jacket, and conditioned her hair extra carefully in the hope that it would pass a two-second visual inspection by the two hottest boys in the school. Some might have called Stephanie's actions unrealistic, unreasonable- and certainly not really necessary. But anyone who would say that had obviously not noticed who else was here.
Even this late in the morning a decent-sized crowd of teenagers was gathered around the front of the building, guys and girls- not all of them were here to await the arrival of the two social hot-shots, but they all would take notice once they were here. Even if all you did was cast an admiring- or envious- glance their way, these two were just too much to ignore.
Across the front walk that lead up to the front doors, Stephanie could see Lisa Doyle and a couple of her friends passing by. Lisa Doyle was tall, blonde and extremely attractive, one of the most sought-after girls at Chamberlain. She was also one of the meanest, and the very worst of her brutal sarcastic streak had for three years been reserved for whoever was currently Henry Evans' current girlfriend. Lisa had been hoping to get asked out by him for years.
"Well, look, Susan," Lisa was saying to a friend beside her who'd been expressing doubts of some kind, "I'm telling you, I heard it from Lauren and she would never make this shit up. Henry's single now. Actually, they're both single. We've been back for a week and you know those two are never single for long."
"Yeah, well, so what?" Susan Davidson said, wondering where her friend's supreme confidence was coming from this particular morning. Lisa was always supremely confident, save for the days when she had apparently crowned herself queen bitch of the universe.
"Yeah, well, so what?" Lisa mocked, then turned back to her own monologue. "I'm the one he'll notice this semester, just you wait. He'll be asking me out for sure this time." She smiled at the thought. "By next week he'll be begging me for a date."
"I just wanna know who Mark's gonna ask out," Brittany Jorgensen said, walking on Lisa's right. Those three were together all the damn time. Given that they talked constantly and sometimes seemed to pick up on each other's monologues and turn them into three one-way conversations, it could be very confusing if you did try to go up and ask one of them out. Even if you found one temporarily alone, whether she said yes or no the other two would inevitably hear about it.
"Maybe it'll be you, Brittany," Lisa said, shrugging. She really didn't know or care either way- her sights were all on Henry. She'd been trying to get him to notice her for three years. He was worth the wait, though. That no one doubted.
Stephanie and her friends watched the three senior girls pass by in silence; she wanted very much to ask Lisa what her chances were, but knew that there were much better ways than that of committing social suicide around Chamberlain High. Like actually committing suicide, for instance. Lisa Doyle was not somebody to piss off, and if she got the idea that Stephanie wanted to take Henry's attention from her… the result, whatever it was, would not be good. Stephanie shivered a bit, and not just because of the cool September air. Suddenly, she glanced off to her right, and down the gradual, gently sloping hill that Chamberlain was built on she spotted something that made Stephanie catch her breath.
A black Hummer had just entered the senior parking lot.
She could see the truck easily, a huge, dark monstrosity of an SUV towering over everything else in the lot. Its huge diesel V8 growling with contempt for the lesser machines around it, the Hummer wagon drove up past rows of already-parked cars and SUVs and then turned right, heading for the front row, the one closest to the main drive of the school where buses headed left to the bus ramp and parents of freshman and sophomores came straight and curved left to pick up their kids or drop them off. Two spaces in the corner of that front row were left open; they always were. There was really no question about it. Henry and Mark Evans were the big-shots at Chamberlain High. What they wanted, they were given, and naturally that included premier parking spaces in the senior parking lot.
The huge black Hummer steered left into one of the open spaces, leaving the corner spot on its right open for another vehicle that Stephanie could see entering the senior lot at that very moment. It halted, the growl of the diesel continuing as the massive truck idled. The Hummer was in many ways a perfect match for the star football and hockey player who drove it- Henry Evans' body rippled with power in an almost casual way, so lazy yet immensely confident in the simplest of movements that one couldn't help but be awed. And just like the giant, hulking four-wheel drive he took to school in the morning, Henry stood head-and-shoulders above everyone else around him, physically- he was quite tall to say the least- and otherwise.
A Jeep Grand Cherokee- the new 1999 model, bigger and rounder, more aerodynamic than the first generation- accelerated into the parking lot, making use of its powerful gasoline V8, supercharged not long after its purchase by the owner's brother. The Jeep was painted a dark metallic red, something that vaguely reminded Stephanie of roses… or the colour of blood. Swift, strong and practically radiating power and good looks, the Jeep was a perfect fit for Mark Evans. The power of the V8 engine corresponded perfectly with the strength of Mark's muscles, while the Jeep's handsome, aerodynamic profile corresponded well with the way Mark was on the football field- or in the hockey rink.
The Hummer that Henry drove was the same- in that it was a perfect match for its owner- but at the same time was different. The Grand Cherokee Mark Evans drove had an agile, sporty appearance that belied its true power- just as Mark's incredible, movie-star good looks belied how he could bench-press over 300 pounds and probably used truck axles as weights at home. The Hummer, on the other hand, projected power and demanded respect- it was a truck that stood so high it towered over even other sport utility vehicles and four wheel drives. It carried with it an air of incredible arrogance- of something so unchallenged it had no time to even notice lesser vehicles on the road.
It projected a sense of contempt for many things- anyone or anything lesser than it or its owner (which was almost everyone), any regard for ecologically-sound practices, and overall for anyone and anything that was weak. Henry Evans was a blonde modern-day Hercules, and Mark could have modeled for a remaking of the Colossus of Rhodes. They were awesome figures to behold, rich, handsome and gifted with almost incredible physical and mental power. It seemed like there was nothing they could not do, and do better than everyone around them. The trucks they drove, impressive as they were, paled in comparison to the might of their owners.
The dark red Jeep drove past the black Hummer wagon and curved left, pulling into the last open space on the front row. There were eight of them in that front row, the smallest in the whole lot. Anthony Summers had his gold '97 Expedition, Jason Morgan had his '98 Mustang GT, and of course John LaFleur- Henry and Mark's longest-standing friend at school, from as far back as the summer before eighth grade- had his hot red Chevrolet Camaro SS, a classic from 1969. Those were the machines of the most popular boys in school; Stephanie was hardly the only girl who knew their names and cars in painstaking detail. But as hot as they were- all of them- Stephanie was waiting for a glimpse- just a glimpse would be enough- of the two who topped them all.
Henry got out of his truck first, shutting off the engine and swinging open one of the massive, square-edged doors. Originally designed for military use as the HMMWV or Humvee, the Hummer was a civilian version so close to the original it was basically a Humvee with air conditioning and a nice interior. As tall and imposing as the truck was, though, Henry made it less so on both fronts. He stepped down from the truck and stood at well over six feet tall; his wavy blonde hair flashed in the sun and Stephanie's heart fluttered. Then she caught sight of him as he reached back inside to take out his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder and coming around the front of the truck.
Henry was wearing jeans and a black shirt with bold white letters reading KISS- the band, though Henry probably wore that shirt knowing that word was just what so many girls at Chamberlain hoped for from him- and his strong, teenage body-builder's muscles rippled like water under the black fabric. Inside his jeans were powerful athlete's legs, startlingly comparable in size to those strong, bulging biceps on his arms. Stephanie tried to visualize being held in those arms and it made her heart skip a beat. It was… breathtaking to imagine. Henry had a smooth, slightly pale face with naturally-handsome looks- his blue eyes, warm and charming, combined with his smile- and oh, that body- to make him the most eligible bachelor in Chamberlain right now. The word was out that he and his brother were single. So… one of the most eligible bachelors at school. But the only one who competed for that title was Mark Evans, and as it happened he was getting out of the dark red Grand Cherokee right now.
Contrary to his brother, Mark wore a dark blue muscle shirt- hardly any looser than Henry's, though, as both boys liked their t-shirts tight- and had curly, auburn-brown locks. His eyes were a sharper, crisper blue than Henry's, and pierced everyone they set on with their gaze- guys sat up and took notice, and girls hoped their hearts were all right. When Mark Evans looked at you, it was like he was looking into your soul.
Stephanie hoped he'd like to look at her soul sometime. Would there be enough warm weather left in the year for Stephanie to be seen by one of the Evans brothers at a local club pool- sunbathing, perhaps, in her best bikini?
The brothers exchanged smiles that were almost smirks, talking as they closed the doors on their trucks- nobody knew if they even bothered to lock them, as anyone who was even seen trying to find out was likely to die a horrible death soon afterwards. Backpacks over their shoulders, they turned and walked side by side towards the school.
More than a few studied the approach of the Evans brothers with interest; Stephanie felt like she was watching a documentary about modern-day Greek gods. The strong, bulging chest muscles and biceps, the eight-pack abs and athlete's legs of iron- Henry and Mark Evans looked like they could have worked as professional athletes, fashion models and porn stars all on looks alone. Stephanie tried to visualize what they looked like with their shirts off- she hadn't been that lucky yet- and it gave her such a thrill she almost shivered.
They walked across the front drive of the school and onto the sidewalk, heading along it and towards the front doors. No cars were coming this close to the start of school, and Mark and Henry would have ignored them anyway- Stephanie had a feeling that if a car tried to hit the auburn and blond-haired brothers they might not have noticed, and a street sweeper would be needed to retrieve what was left of the car. Looking at the star athletes, one wondered if they had any body fat at all- not much, that was for sure. Gazing over at them and shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the breeze, Stephanie remembered Roman paintings of seemingly-impossible figures of men, so strong and fit they looked like they could only exist in paintings. It seemed like Chamberlain High had these two teenage Apollo's to show as exceptions. Such physical perfection might have been beyond reach for most to achieve- but it had been done by Mark and Henry Evans.
Striding up the sidewalk at a leisurely, almost lazy pace, the Evans brothers talked easily with one another, perhaps discussing some upcoming game or practice, or what they'd be doing after school today. You could never tell for sure with Mark and Henry- but you could be sure they were doing something, any given time of any given day. So much of what went on in the social lives of Chamberlain High students was somehow connected to Mark and Henry Evans, they were almost the twin suns around which everyone else revolved. It was a comparison Stephanie found surprisingly fitting; they certainly had a certain… glow to them.
"Isn't he cute?" Cindy Stevens sighed, looking over at one of the two boys as they approached.
"Cute?" Stephanie said incredulously. "Look! They're hot! Scott Shepherd is cute."
"She's right," Nicole Baker said rather matter-of-factly.
"Hey!" Cindy said indignantly, "I wasn't disagreeing-"
"Shh!" Stephanie said hurriedly; she hadn't noticed how close the Evans brothers were getting. Watching the casual, unconcerned pace they took going almost anywhere off the playing field, you tended to assume Henry and Mark moved slowly. But like a freight train, every inch of it packed with awesome, incredible power, the Evans brothers' seemingly-slow pace was hypnotizing, merely another one of the ways they fooled people who dared underestimate them. They were ten or fifteen feet away now, turning to head up the walk into the school and almost certainly within earshot.
Stephanie turned back and immediately blushed when she saw Mark Evans looking her way, having noticed the sound as she tried to hush her friends. Oh, damn it, Stephanie thought in embarrassment, but then Mark Evans smiled. He didn't say anything- just smiled and kept going, turning his attention back to Henry as they accepted a few other greetings, said what's up to some teammates and headed into the school- but Stephanie felt her insides turn to water the instant she felt Mark Evans' gaze on her and knew she'd been the object of that smile. It lasted just a second or two- just a fleeting second- but Stephanie knew she'd treasure that moment for the rest of her life, even if she never so much as saw the Evans brothers again.
Looking around her, Stephanie felt briefly jealous at that moment that morning, acutely aware she was not the only one casting admiring glances the Evans brothers' way. But then she remembered who she was looking at. They were the most handsome, most incredibly strong boys in the school. Everybody admired them. With the girls it was something of a constant rule. No matter who you were dating, no matter how good-looking he was- or what else he was good at- you'd always end up looking at him and thinking, "He's not Henry/Mark Evans". Any girl at Chamberlain High who had dated Henry or Mark regarded that as the high point of their teenage lives, the greatest thing they'd ever experienced. They were kind, generous, so handsome it was almost a crime- and from what Stephanie and her friends had whispered to each other in freshman-year sleepovers, the Evans brothers were amazing in bed. Just flat-out amazing.
And they had class- word was they wouldn't so much as make out with you in the car. They would always insist on going inside somewhere, your house, theirs- but inside, someplace nice. Stephanie thought that in a way, she appreciated that most of all. Too many boys seemed to want to start groping and pawing the minute you were parked somewhere in the dark on a deserted road. The Evans brothers, in their romantic lives- like everywhere else- demanded nothing short of the best. And they treated their girlfriends with nothing less than the best in turn. The high standards the two young colossuses had could be quite a challenge, though; they went through two or three girlfriends a year and were known to be incredibly hard to please. Too many girls had endured such heartbreak after the end of their time with one of the Evans brothers- not blaming the boy, who they adored even after the breakup in many cases, but blaming themselves. Wondering how they hadn't been good enough- what they could have done better.
For the rest of that day at school, even that week, she was the source of much talk and speculation among her friends- did he like her? What did that smile mean? Was Mark Evans going to break from his usual rule of only dating girls in his class or one year below and ask out a sophomore? Stephanie was awed by the way that that one moment's worth of attention brought her brief celebrity status among her friends. It spoke volumes about how esteemed Mark and Henry were at their high school- and as far as Stephanie was concerned, with those sculpted, flawless bodies and those brilliant, flashing smiles, the both of them had most certainly earned it. For the rest of the day she was in a daze, the words going through her head over and over.
He looked at me. He smiled at me.
Henry Evans, for his part, barely noticed the moments' worth of attention his brother was giving to that stupid little sophomore girl. She was fairly pretty, sure- nice legs, curved waist and not bad about the face or chest either- but Henry wasn't especially interested. A girl like that was just not his thing. She was too… ordinary. A moderately pretty girl was hardly even up to Henry's standard for even a weekend fuck with a girl at a party hosted by guys at another school. At best, that brown-haired girl was a 6, and Henry only did sevens and up. These days he hardly even noticed anyone who wasn't an 8.
"Dude," Henry asked, "did you seriously just smile at her?"
Mark shrugged. "She's kinda cute. She was checking me out, dude."
"So?" Henry said, his tone saying just what he thought of that. "Who the fuck cares? I wouldn't even let her lick my-"
"Hey! Mark, Henry!" Anthony Summers called, bounding out the front doors of the school and slapping palms with the two of them. "What's up, guys?"
"You tell me, man," Henry said lazily as they passed through the front door- not even asking if Anthony was gonna hold it open, which of course he did. "I just hate being the one to tell everybody what's up all the time. It's just a fuckin' burden."
Anthony chuckled, laughing like that was the funniest thing in the world as the three passed into the school cafeteria, heading around the sea of tables and towards the serving line at the kitchens, over at the far end of the room. "Hey, hey- you wanna hear about my weekend?"
"Yeah," Mark said, "Why not, man?"
Anthony shifted his own backpack on his shoulders and batted briefly at his jet-black, short-cut hair. He was always doing that, rubbing some kind of gel into it every morning and then batting at it every time he felt a piece of dust or lint was daring to offend him by messing up his carefully-done, Italian-American playboy appearance. It was a look he spent a lot of time to perfect; the only thing he liked more was talking about the results. And of course there were results- Anthony was almost as good-looking as Henry and Mark- almost, worked out regularly, and was a real charmer with people. He was constantly wearing a little smile, like he had a cute, harmless joke and maybe he'd tell you what it was.
"Well," Anthony smirked, "I think I had a pretty good weekend. Hung out with Rachel again."
"That so?" Mark asked.
Anthony nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yeah," he said, grinning. "It was awesome. See, Rachel was totally licking my nuts, right? And I mean, I thought that was good, but she actually fuckin' reached up and started jerkin' me at the same time!" He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and savoring the memory. "I thought I was gonna blow her head off, dude. Like a friggin' cannon."
Mark smirked. "I showed her that last summer," and Anthony blushed. "That was last year, dude," he said, a little irritated. "I'm goin' out with her now."
"Yeah," Mark said, "and I loosened her up for you some. Taught her that thing you like. Say thank you."
"Thanks, I guess," Anthony said, scowling. He didn't like to admit it, but it was true. Not only had Mark been dating Rachel Gray before him- and everybody knew Mark and Henry always went all the way with any girl they dated- but Mark's casual, smirking remark told him he had indeed found the person who'd taught Rachel that little technique that this past weekend had made Anthony think he was gonna go crazy. She hadn't let him finish until she wanted to- Anthony had never seen a girl pace things that well- and then when she had, Anthony had come so strongly he'd left quite a mess on the back of the driver's seat of his Expedition. Worth it, but he'd been out in the driveway on Sunday cleaning up the mess he'd made on Saturday. It was better than explaining it to the guys at the car wash, that was for sure.
Something else Anthony didn't much care to admit was that Mark was right about something else he'd suggested. The only guys who swapped girlfriends as much as him were Jason, John, and the Evans brothers, and as one of the school's top athletes and popular boys, Anthony had made a name for himself picking up the girls where Henry and Mark left off. This made him look like a scavenger sometimes, though, and Henry and Mark- while including him among their closest friends- didn't mind reminding him that almost every fun weekend he had was with a girl Mark or Henry had already dated. And had fun with. Anthony didn't say anything about this- he knew how quick these two could get mad if you tried to argue or object, especially about girls- but he had a hard time understanding why they seemed to enjoy making him feel embarrassed once in a while. When Anthony would brag about how tight a girl had felt, Henry would smugly remark she'd barely fit him in at all, or Mark would do like he did this morning- casually claim he'd taught Anthony's girlfriend that 'thing' he liked so much. They seemed to enjoy Anthony's chagrin and embarrassment, and he had difficulty understanding why.
"You wanna work out after school today?" Henry asked, changing the subject. Much as he enjoyed watching Anthony squirm a little- especially when he knew his brother wasn't making up what he'd said about Rachel- he felt Anthony wasn't really the one they should be bothering. After all, there was a whole school worth of losers to make fun of instead. At least Anthony was a playboy who lived up to the name, a prep-jock hybrid who could navigate the worlds of both with ease. He wasn't a loser, and he could bench a fair bit of iron in the gym- though not as much as Mark or Henry. Anthony wasn't a loser, though. Henry didn't care of his brother put Tony Summers down once in a while, but there were much better and more tempting targets. That was what the dorks and losers were for.
"Yeah, man!" Anthony said, his face brightening immediately. "Sure! You wanna hit the gym at four or four thirty?"
"Four-thirty," Henry said.
"Okay," the dark-haired playboy nodded, grinning. "Great!" It seemed like Anthony was always smiling. Fucking always. Well, as long as he was getting laid regularly at least. Anthony seemed to have an internal clock on that; if it had been more than two weeks since he'd screwed some cheerleader silly or let her do the work for a change, something was wrong, and the Italian-American teen got snappy and short-tempered until the situation was rectified. Given how good-looking he was and what a smooth talker he could be, though, it wasn't a problem Anthony had to deal with often. Truth be told, Mark and Henry both liked him- as well as they liked anyone else around here, anyway. They liked Anthony's loyalty to them, how he had lofty standards for most everything and was in excellent shape physically, but never challenged who was number one.
A wise boy, Anthony Summers was quite happy with being number two. Mark and Henry also appreciated- even liked- Anthony's cheery playboy style, and his seemingly-insatiable sex drive. Mark, for his part, tended to get annoyed if he hadn't had some kind of sexual activity with his latest girlfriend in much more than a week, and Henry wasn't much different. The auburn-haired teen could scarcely believe how he'd started on all this, when he was thirteen and just beginning to see the effects and changes puberty made. Back then, still learning how things really worked from Henry, Mark had been quite excited just to jerk off in his room at night- thrilled at the discovery that he was a teenager for real. He hadn't done that in years. Good-looking girls took care of that sort of thing now.
"Hey," Anthony said, "I gotta head to class. See you at lunch, guys!"
"Sure," Mark nodded. Anthony was a strong boy, definitely in with the "cool" crowd- and one of the only guys Mark could actually stand. A lot of the others tended to get on his nerves at times- in fact, just about everybody did. People were just so fucking stupid. They weren't as strong as Mark, as handsome, or as rich- and there were days when Mark wanted to just take the hallways by storm, pummeling everyone and everything he saw for their appalling inferiority.
Mark turned to look at the only exception, but he was over at a corner table in the cafeteria, sitting down in front of one of the skinny would-be "cool" kids, a bronze-tanned boy with messy brown hair called Andy Goldhammer.
"Hey," Henry said, brushing at a bit of his blonde hair idly. "What's up, stud?"
"Hey, Henry," Andy said, hoping the blonde giant wouldn't be here long. He had a pretty good reputation among his classmates and hoped to be a big-shot in the senior class for next year. Henry and Mark Evans had mostly left him alone so far- mostly- but that could change at any time.
As Mark sat down at the table across from his brother- all the better to make Andy feel uncomfortable with their presence- Henry looked over at the textbook Andy had out. He had a piece of paper- a worksheet- with him, and was apparently attempting to finish it before class.
"What's that you're workin' on?" Henry said, then without answering snatched it out of Andy's hands. "Thanks!" the blonde beast remarked, casual and smug in the knowledge that Andy wasn't about to do something to stop him. After a moment, Henry looked up at Andy. "Fuck is this?" he said, amusement in his voice. "Biology homework? In the first week of school?"
"Yeah," Andy nodded, hoping he'd get it back soon.
Henry smirked. "Guess you can make up the grade, right?" Suddenly there was a tearing sound, and Andy's eyes went wide- and Mark began to laugh beside him- as Henry tore up the paper, crumpled up the pieces and threw them over his shoulder.
Andy Goldhammer glanced at Mark, who just laughed even harder upon seeing Andy's face. When he looked back at Henry, anger sparked in the Goldhammer boy's eyes.
Henry noticed this right away and met even this vague hint of resistance head-on. He shot out a hand, and a fist of iron suddenly gripped Andy's shirt, jerking him forward against the table so fast he heard a seam in his collar tear. "What?" Henry said, his contempt obvious. "Wanna do something about it? Come on. Come on!"
The other boy was trembling. He didn't want to show it- was desperate not to show it- but he was. "N-no," Andy breathed. "It's okay. Just a homework assignment."
The slight hint of resistance crushed, Henry nodded, satisfied. He let go of Andy's shirt and waved a hand dismissively. "Get outta here," he said, and Andy grabbed his Biology textbook and backpack, hurrying off to class.
Mark just chuckled as he watched the popular junior go. "Wow," the auburn-haired teen chuckled, looking at his brother and crossing his powerful arms over his anvil-hard chest. "You're so nice." Henry's gaze shifted briefly from Andy's retreating back, then back to Andy again. "Whatever," Henry said, remembering that Mark was about the only person who could even make such jokes in his presence. Then Henry looked at Andy- no, Andy Goldhammer, whose cool image seemed wholly dependent on little more than his apparently-cool last name- and just shook his head in contempt. A sneer crossed his face as Henry watched the junior go. "Fuckin' Jew."
"Hey, Mark! Henry!" Both brothers turned; that was John LaFleur, one of other strong, good-looking athletes in Henry and Mark's Class of 1999. John had known Henry and Mark about as long as anyone- he'd been the first friend Henry had made when he'd begun revamping his image late in the 7th grade. John was a tall, handsome boy with an almost pinkish tint to his skin, muscular and with a carefully-crafted mess of pale blonde hair, dyed an almost unnatural yellow early in his eighth grade year. Mark hadn't been too impressed, but John had liked it and stuck with the look ever since. Today, wearing a yellow shirt with some BANANA REPUBLIC nonsense on it, he almost made the look work. Mark liked John, putting him up there with Anthony as one of his few favourites. John had trusted Mark when he'd vouched for Henry, saying that kicking John's ass in that karate match had been a test- seeing if John had what it took. Was up to the standard for being Henry's friend. Trusting Mark had paid off well.
"What's up, John?" Henry said, Andy Goldhammer already forgotten.
"Dude," John said, "We gotta get to class, man! AP Calculus is first hour."
"Same as it always is," Mark said with a casual shrug of his broad shoulders. He looked like with one strong flex of them he could block up a doorway.
"John's right," Henry said, getting up. "Come on, let's go."
On the way to Calculus, Henry and Mark must have acknowledged greetings, compliments, how-was-your-summer and of course the get-any-pussy variety from teammates (they had) and general greetings and signs of respect and admiration a dozen times over. A couple daring, bony freshmen darted up and asked about practice for football or tryouts for hockey in the spring. Guys said what's up and how's-it-going, some hoping for eventual inclusion in their group of friends that they knew they probably weren't getting. Girls said hi in a much more sensual way; every junior and senior girl in the school seemed determined to end Mark and Henry's currently-single status by the time they got to class.
Henry, for his part, barely noticed, taking it all in with a vague, almost contemptuous smirk on his face. This was nothing less than he deserved, and it made Henry feel truly great to know that he, together with his brother, basically owned Chamberlain High. Mark lived it up a little more, having fun when he threw a bit of extra enthusiasm into a greeting to some kid he was gonna ignore the next day. It was so fun to see the hope dawn on their faces, thinking maybe this year their social standing would be moving up for real. Mark didn't even notice the kids who hadn't gained some standing worth talking about yet- those kids were barely even worth strangling and throwing in the dumpster behind the school, let alone talking to or inviting to parties. Mark reminded himself to run the freshmen and sophomore boys extra hard at football practice this coming week.
It was so funny to see one of those scrawny kids puke- especially since most of them would rather eat their own bile off the grass than report the cruel extremes they were put to during tryouts. And it wasn't as if Coach Cressner was gonna say anything- half the time he just stood there off to the side, arms folded over that goddamn clipboard of his. Like Coach Buckner of the Varsity hockey team, Cressner had little reason to complain- teams they went up against in the season almost visibly shook when they saw the name "Evans" on the opposing team's roster. Chamberlain High winning a football or hockey game was like the sky being blue these days. It just happened, plain and simple. What did Cressner have to complain about?
For a while he'd thought there was perhaps something wrong with letting a pair of sophomores basically run the Varsity football team- even if they had taken the Varsity hockey team to a state win as freshmen, something that had never happened before in school history. But when the arguments between the coach and his top two players- featured in Sports Magazine the previous year, no less- came to a head, Henry and Mark had simply gone to Principal Decauter. That mad had such good business sense and marketing skills, he should have been on Wall Street running the stock market instead of a Portland, Maine suburb running a school. When his star hockey/football players- easily the best freshman players Decauter had seen in years- came into his office one day calmly informing him of the ongoing dispute, and that they just wanted to give him the heads-up in case any press wanted to talk to him after the state championship players resigned, Decauter had quickly begun damage control. He could afford to lose a lot of things and even people as head of this school, but after the glory they'd brought the school their freshman year- and the potential they showed to do even more as they rose to become seniors- Decauter knew he couldn't lose the Evans brothers.
The two Evans boys allowed themselves to be talked down from resigning- but only after they had Decauter's solemn assurance that their worries about who would be running the Varsity football team were over. After that Coach Cressner- and Coach Buckner in short order, though he didn't mind as much, being that he was a couple years from retirement. As long as they kept bringing him trophies- which they had so far more than kept their promise to do- Coach Buckner figured Henry and Mark Evans could more or less do as they liked.
In AP Calculus, their first class of the day, Henry was only halfway paying attention to whatever Mr. Wallace- funny how his surname was Henry's father's first- was talking about and drawing on the board. Occasionally he would glance at the whiteboard, his mind immediately tracing out and following the course of whatever problem was up there. He and Mark always sat at the back of the classroom, and they sat side-by-side with John LaFleur off to their left in this class.
They did this for three reasons: so they could sit in the back and see everyone in front- neither boy liked the idea of people they didn't know or like sitting behind them in class- so they could slip in with a better chance of going unnoticed if they were late (not often, but it happened) and because the only desks they could safely use were in the back. Mark and Henry each stood six-foot-six and weighed over 300 pounds; their muscular frames had quickly begun wearing down the ordinary desks they attempted to use over the years, to the point where by junior year the school had given up and purchased custom-made desks for the Evans brothers, moved as necessary so there would always be one- or two- in whatever classes the brothers attended. It had cost thousands to do it, but it was more than worth it. An entire case of trophies in the administrative offices hallway was filled with brass trophies the brothers had brought home- the custom desks, Decauter assured anyone who asked, were more than worth it.