Chapter Fifteen: Silence Overwhelms the Mind

I sit in my car until the bell rings, basically thinking about how much of a fool I am.

Marco treats me like scum stuck to the bottom of his shoe, but I still have feelings for him. I can't convince myself that I don't think about him, I can't not drift off without scolding myself for telling him that I'm dying of an incurable disease….

Now I know how Freddie Mercury felt, telling the world that he had AIDS the day before he died.

Marco stood thunderstruck for about a minute and a half. I would know, I was watching him. He looked so upset, almost to the verge of tears.

I would have laughed if he did cry; Marco has enough in him to leave me in my 'moment of need', but he can't handle snide remarks. It's not like Marco didn't deserve it, he should have a worse comeuppance for what he did. Eventually, though, he walked inside the school and nothing's happened since. I've pondered skipping the rest of the day, I have the right to do that, what with my 'condition'.

Groaning, I get out of my car and reluctantly decide on walking to Math class.

I try to saunter down the hallways without anyone running up to me and going about Marco being back, but that works for about three minutes before Ashley jogs up to me.

"I hear you shot Marco down during the last part of lunch. I was wondering where you went off too," she says, a small hint of amusement in her voice.

"I was going to my car when I ran into him—we seem to do a lot of that—and I, well, wasn't that nice to him," I reply, stopping at my locker quickly to get my backpack.

Ashley tries to frown, but it looks more like a smirk. "He came over to our table. He's pretty shaken up about what you said, shockingly enough. What did you say, anyway?" When Ashley found out what Marco did to me (both the word spray painted on my locker and the yelling/turning his back on me), she hasn't really thought of him that kindly since. She's the one I go to when I need to vent about him which hasn't been that much anymore.

Shutting my locker, we start walking again. "Nothing anyone would sob over. Just that he should watch where he's going and that I didn't miss him while he was gone."

I hear Ashley laugh slightly. "Marco was acting like you tore off his right arm and ran off with it. Well, this is where I leave you. I'll see you later."

Ashley and I part ways, she going off to English and I walk into the Math room. I slide into my seat behind Marco, catching a distraught look on his face, and get out my Trigonometry book.

One good thing about being in the last year of school is Study Hall, the class period in which you can sleep or finish off all your homework—both if you're able to do your work fast enough.

You're allowed to go into the cafeteria if you're one of the people who can hold good grades; the lucky bastards can eat and do whatever they'd like in there. Apparently, I'm not worthy of Commons. I get to sit in a boiling hot room with a teacher that could be Captain Kangaroo's long lost twin brother, and that's no joke.

I'm reading the last chapter of my book, which is finally getting interesting (Thirty-nine chapters and the book is just picking up speed), when Mr. Sawyer stops in front of my desk. I look up, trying not to breathe in his cheep cologne.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," Mr. Sawyer corrects me. Oh! the pain of having an ex-English teacher for Study Hall. "Mr. MacKinnon would like to see you in his office, Arrington. Preferably before the end of the world, please. Thank you." With that he walks away to scorn some person in the back for popping his bubble gum.

I shoot him a glare, readjust my cap and gather my things. "I guess I won't be getting a homework free afternoon today," I think as I'm walking down the corridors to the main office, wondering why the principal would want to see me. Of all the terminally ill kids in this school, Mr. MacKinnon wants to see me.

Arriving at the office I walk in and sit down on a chair in the waiting room like I've done so many times before. The secretary looks up, smiles at me, and takes thirteen seconds away from typing something down on the computer to say: "Hello, Cyril. Having a nice day? The principal will be with you momentarily."

I mutter a "My day isn't half bad, thank you" but go unheard over the resumed pounding of the keys. Is there really any point in sending someone down to the office when you're going to be interrupted in an important class? Why can't principals call you down during a pointless class like History?

After waiting for who-knows-how-long, Principal MacKinnon walks down a hallway half hidden by a sectioning wall. He grins at me and motions for me to come with him to his office. I get up, sling my backpack over my right shoulder, and walk with Mr. MacKinnon down the dark hallway.

"I have some news for you, Cyril," Mr. MacKinnon tells me when we reach his office. "I'm sure you'll be as happy as I am."

Sitting down in a leather chair I look up at Mr. MacKinnon without any expression on my face.

Mr. MacKinnon, his grin somehow widened, sits down behind his desk. "Ah, the Leafs. Very good Hockey team if you ask me," he comments on my hat, something I'm deathly annoyed and accustomed with. "Anyway, I've brought you down here to tell you some exciting news."

"I had no idea."

"Now, I received a letter yesterday." He stops for drama, which never works at all. "You've recieved a scholarship to Ontario College of Art and Design!" Mr. MacKinnon grins even more, crinkling his eyes, and looks at me as if I should jump up and hug him.

I blink. "What? I'm not even a good student, how'd I get a scholarship?"

Mr. MacKinnon's grin fades, a look of annoyance of his face, probably because I'm not squealing with delight over the news. "Well—given your circumstances…."

"My circumstances? Oh, so this is all out of pity?"

Mr. MacKinnon frowns. "Not at all. You're very gifted in art, you've even told the teachers you want to be an artist many times—"

"I'm not going," I say flatly.

"Why not, Cyril? This is a great opportunity."

I scoff. "What if I do go? I'll die in my first or second year, so there's no point in going. It's not like anything's going to happen and even if it does—" I shrug "—I'll never live long enough to make a name for myself."

Mr. MacKinnon sighs. "We've had a talk like this before. Cyril, with your attitude you will die. If you think you won't die, if you don't want to die, you won't. You should go, you know that. It'll be good for you—"

"You mean it'll be good for you and this school. Sending a dying person to a college or any shit like that, that always gets good marks for the school. If I don't go to college, a boy with AIDS, what will people think about Degrassi Community High School?" I get up and storm out of the office, throwing in a "It'll snow on the mountains of Hell before I take that scholarship!" for good measure.

Over the next few weeks I'm scorned for walking out of the office like that. Ashley and Ellie want to take my head for doing something as "stupid" as that.

I talked to Marco once, only because I broke down and had to, and it wasn't that bad. It was great just hearing him talk calmly and seeing his face somewhat back to normal. Corny, I know.

We were outside in gym. He had twisted his ankle the other day, so he sat next to me on the bleachers and watched the other students run around the track. It was like an invisible wall was in-between is, so thick that sound couldn't get through, but eventually one of us said something.

"I came out," Marco had said in a rush, like he was waiting ages to say that.

I looked over at him. "Really? Good for you," I had replied sincerely.

Marco had cast his eyes to his shoes and white socks. "Some people didn't take it too well."

"Like who? Spinner?"

Marco nodded. "It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be though, I don't know why I didn't do it years ago."

"It would've saved us a lot of trouble," I said, the words just slipping from my mouth.

"Look here, but you don't have to believe me. I'm really sorry about everything I put you though."

I turned my head to look at his profile. "I know you are, but that doesn't fix anything you've done."

It wasn't the best conversation in the world.

Marco took back his sad expression and I went back to feeling like a heartless monster, but at least I had talked to him for a short period of time.