(02) Let the Games Begin . . .

Ralph sighed in relief when the lunch bell rang. He had scarcely been able to endure the constant ramblings of his visual arts teacher, Mr. Lei, who spoke more of his family life than he did of actual art. Ralph shuffled his papers into a would-be neat pile and crammed them into his bag, eager to get something to eat. He draped his jacket over his arm and was halfway out of the classroom before he realized that he didn't have a locker to keep his stuff in. Sighing again, he made his way to the main office to register for one.

'Back again, Mr. Macpherson?' the secretary asked, smiling.

Ralph nodded awkwardly.

'How may I help you?' the woman asked him kindly.

'Well . . . it's just that . . . I need a locker to put my things in,' he stammered, shifting his coat to his other arm.

Her face fell.

'Oh, I'm terribly sorry,' she replied. 'There are no lockers left. The boys have already taken to sharing them by now, at least until the school board can order more.'

'Oh, okay then.'

'Might you be able to find a buddy to share with?' She spoke as if he was still a young child in grade school looking for a partner to carve pumpkins with.

Ralph shrugged.

'No, ma'am, but it's all right. I can haul my stuff around.'

She clucked her tongue.

'Are you certain? I'm sure there are many boys out there who will share with you. Besides, you wouldn't really want to carry around books for all your eight subjects if you could help it, would you?'

'No, really, ma'am, it's okay. I'll just—'

'There you are, Ralph,' interrupted a sudden voice. 'I've been looking all over for you!'

Ralph groaned as Jack strolled into the room.

'Good afternoon, Mr. Merridew,' the secretary greeted.

'Hello, Mrs. Kenningburg,' Jack replied. Then he turned to Ralph. 'Why are you in here? You're not in trouble, are you?'

'As a matter of fact,' Mrs. Kenningburg began before the other could reply, 'Mr. Macpherson is here to register for a locker. But as I told him, there are none to be had . . . .Say, I have an idea! Why don't you share your locker with him, Mr. Merridew!'

'Oh, no!' Ralph responded instinctively, hoping his voice didn't betray his agitation at the mere thought. 'I mean, I just couldn't share a locker with Jack because . . . because I don't want to invade his privacy! I would not want to trouble him.'

'Nonsense!'

Ralph was surprised, for it had been Jack who said that.

'You won't trouble me at all,' Jack claimed. 'Besides, a lot of the other students are sharing, why not us?'

'I think Mr. Merridew has made a fair point there,' the secretary said.

Ralph would so have like to tell the woman of his past dealings with Jack and the vengeance that the other clearly sought upon him, but such were the circumstances that he didn't think it would be a good idea.

'Go toddle off now,' Mrs. Kenningburg said. 'Go along to your locker, both of you!' She eyed Ralph pointedly.

'Yes, ma'am,' Ralph murmured; he followed Jack out of the room, barely restraining himself from strangling the other teen. 'What did you do that for!' he demanded once they were out of earshot from the office.

'I'm sorry!' Jack replied. 'I thought I was doing you a favour!'

'A favour? I don't want, nor need, any favours from you!' Ralph spat. 'Why'd you do it? So you can move out and put a dead fish in with my stuff later on? Just this morning, you were giving me all this shit about revenge! Now you want to help me!' He stopped to take a breath, finding it odd that Jack had just let him ramble on and on about . . . crap, really. Ralph didn't really mean half the things he said, because he did need Jack's help. He just found it suspicious that Jack was so eager to help him now, and—though he was loathe to confess it—he was too proud to admit his need for help, especially Jack's. He didn't want to feel as if he owed his enemy something.

'Can't a guy just help his old mate?' Jack said innocently.

'Ha!' Ralph scoffed. 'Old mate? You think we're "old mates"? Nuh-uh, no, no way!' He laughed.

Jack stuffed his hands in his back pockets.

'Well, if you ever change your mind, the locker is on the second floor. Number 264—the combination is 16-45-39.'

Ralph raised his chin in what he thought to be a superior pose.

'Keep your locker, keep your offer . . . I'm better off on my own.' With that said, he turned on his heel and left, knowing he was throwing away his only offer of help.

'Um . . . the caf is that way!' Jack said, inclining his head slightly to indicate a hallway going in the opposite direction.

Ralph blushed and doubled back.

'I . . . uh, I knew that!'

-

Jack watched the other's departing back, wishing he had never made the bet with that other kid. The notion of him getting Ralph seemed ridiculous! There was no way the other would even pretend to be his, let alone concede completely. The teen was just impossible! Jack felt like kicking himself for getting into this mess.

"Fuck me and my damn cockiness!" he scolded himself. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

How the hell was he going to get out of this mess!

Maybe he could just find that kid and say he changed his mind about the whole thing. He wouldn't really lose anything, because calling off the bet wouldn't be counted as "losing". Well, no, that wasn't true. That guy would probably tell everyone about Jack's cowardice, and he would lose his pride, his dignity, his reputation! He groaned at the thought. Never again would another guy at this school go out with him. He wouldn't be known as the "big-shot" anymore. If he lost, his friends would probably abandon him, and Ralph . . . he didn't even want to think about Ralph, because whenever he did, his stomach hurt knowing he would never get the teen. Ralph would probably just laugh at him, knowing he can control Jack's fate.

Jack's parents would probably desert him for shaming them so. And he'd get kicked out of school because he had been unable to pay the tuition fees. The teen would become a hobo, begging people for money to buy food, and Ralph would probably toss him a few pennies out of pity. Then he'd eventually die one cold winter morning, and wild dogs would come and eat at his rotting corpse. Then they would die from the sheer bitterness of his body, and . . .

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" he chided his mind, beating his forehead with the heel of his hand. His imagination was soaring again. That stuff wouldn't happen just because he lost one bet, would it? Wouldn't it?

Jack sighed.

'My reputation is at stake,' he reminded himself. 'I have to win.'

-

Ralph pushed the cafeteria doors open and was immediately taken back by the loud, boisterous chatter of his fellow students. He shook his head somewhat to snap himself out of his reverie. Then he started wandering between the tables, looking for a seat.

'Hey, Ralph! Over here!' a voice called out.

A sigh of relief escaped Ralph's lips when he realized that the speaker had been none other than Ray, who was waving him over from a nearby table.

'Come on over, Ralph!' Ray shouted above the din. 'There's plenty of room over here.'

Ralph quickly made his way over to his (only) friend.

'Hey,' he greeted. 'Boy, am I glad to see you.'

'Yeah, glad to see you too,' Ray replied. 'Sit down then, mate.' He indicated the empty seat on his right.

Ralph slumped into the chair and draped his coat on the back of it.

'How has your day been so far?' he asked.

'So-so,' Ray responded. 'Met a few people.'

'Oh, really?' Ralph said. 'I—'

'Ralph!' someone interrupted in a loud voice. The teen unfortunately recognized the voice of the once who called him.

'What, Jack?' he demanded. 'Why won't you just leave me alone?'

Jack looked past him for a moment and set his eyes upon Ray.

'What are you doing here?' he asked, virtually ignoring Ralph.

'Having lunch,' Ray replied casually.

'Um . . . have I missed something here?' Ralph inquired. 'You two know each other?'

'We've met,' Jack said shortly, still looking at the other. Then his gaze returned to the one he had called. 'Listen, I just wanted to know if you wanted to . . . take up on my offer.'

Ray suddenly spilled his can of pop, drenching the polished wooden surface of the table.

'Oh, sorry there, mate,' he said, eyeing Ralph's drenched sleeve, but the latter seemed not to notice.

'I already told you, Jack,' he said, 'I do not want any favours from you.'

Now Ray choked on his sandwich, but Ralph was still indifferent towards him.

'Are you sure?' Jack leaned forward and lowered his voice so only Ralph could hear. 'Just think of it as a temporary truce.'

'And what happens when the truce is over?' Ralph demanded, not bothering to keep his voice low. More than a few heads turned his way. 'Will you even tell me? Or are you just going to think up some sick plot to get me back for what happened all those years ago!'

Jack seemed ready to explode, but he kept his cool.

'Well,' he said through gritted teeth, 'the offer will still be open, Ralph, if you ever change your mind.'

Ralph glared at Jack's back when the other had finally turned to leave.

'What was that all about?' Ray questioned immediately.

'Oh, nothing,' Ralph said. 'I just . . .'

'What "favours"? I know we just met, mate, but I'd at least think you'd have the decency to tell me if you were shagging another guy.'

'Yeah, I suppose I . . . eurgh, WHAT!' Ralph practically screamed. 'I am not "shagging another guy".

'Well, it's an all-boy school and there are some attractive guys hanging about . . . put two and two together, mate.'

Ralph thought Ray had a point there. There were some rather attractive—

"What are you thinking!" chided his conscience, but uncertainty made him ask, 'Even if I was, what's it to you, Ray?'

'If I'd known you'd been dallying with another guy, I would have left you alone,' Ray said, but Ralph had no idea what Ray meant by "leaving him alone". 'Especially if you were fucking that guy over there.' He indicated Jack, who was arguing heatedly with his friends. 'No offense or anything—because it's clear to me now that you don't like him—but you two sounded like an old married couple. Quite cute really.'

'Cute?' Ralph felt like he was going to be sick.

'You all right there, mate? You look a trifle pale.'

-

'What the hell was that?' Lee asked Jack the moment his friend had joined them.

'Jackie boy over here seems to have chosen his newest infatuation,' John said.

'Er . . . yes,' Jack replied, thinking it would be better if that's what his friends believed. 'But you call me "Jackie boy" again, John, and you're in for a sound slapping, you hear?'

'Yeah, promises!'

Terry pulled Jack into a headlock and gave him a noogie.

'That's my boy. Go fuck that shit!'

'Say, Jack,' Lee said slowly, 'are you willing to place a bet on that?'

'I already have,' Jack responded automatically—he felt like slapping himself for saying that! He hadn't meant to.

'Oh, really? With who?'

'None of your business,' Jack replied, flattening his now-ruffled hair.

'Come on then,' Lee urged. 'Just one more bet for your best mate.'

Jack glared at his friend.

'Come on, Jack. Do it for your little buddy, Lee. Please? Please, please, please, please, please, please—'

'Fine!' Jack finally relented, if only to shut him up.

Lee smiled; he had always been the little gambler of their group. He always liked to place bets on the weirdest things, but he especially liked to place bets against Jack and his little infatuations. Ten times out of ten, he lost, though.

"Until now," Jack thought pessimistically. It looks like he was going to lose, so the least he could do (for himself) was ensure the stakes were low.

'Okay then, if you win, what do you want?' Lee asked.

Jack knew what he wanted, but he also knew that Lee would not be able to deliver, so he refrained from replying his heart's true desires (Lee's new big-screen television set) and instead said, 'Ten dollars.' That was less than what he had said all those other times, and Lee seemed terribly disappointed.

'That's it? Okay, fine. Then if I win, I dare you to jump into the school swimming pool buck-naked right before the swim meet.'

'But the whole school will be there!' Jack objected.

'Exactly.' An evil grin twisted Lee's features.

'Aw, come on, Lee, that's not fair,' Fred said.

'Shut up, Fred. Mind your own business.'

'No, I didn't mean it like that! I just meant that almost everyone in the academy has already seen Jack in . . . his birthday suit.' He paused. 'Where's the fun in that?'

'You're right,' Lee said, clapping Fred on the back.

Jack's fists clenched together. He really felt like hitting Fred, who just gave him a wicked grin. Jack sighed, thinking of Fred's position in their group. Fred had always been the sensitive one. Not meaning that he got hurt easily, but that his emotions and senses were more acute than those of the others. He was so tuned-in to his surroundings and often noticed little details that the others did not (much like John). It was creepy sometimes.

So that was the gang. Jack: the slut (though he liked to think himself as the "romantic"), John: the brains, Terry: the muscles, Lee: the gambler, and Fred: the human sensory device.

"We might actually be able to make a not-so-complete person," Jack mused, but his musings were soon ended.

'So, what shall I get if I win the bet,' Lee said, scratching his chin.

'Aw, come on, Lee,' Terry said, 'take pity on the poor soul.'

'Ha!' Lee scoffed. 'Poor soul is hardly the description I would use for Jack. First of all, he's earned tons of money off of us; me, in particular. Secondly, he always wins, hence the load of winnings he's obtained. Last but not least, I just have to keep on betting with Jack until I win! I need my revenge!'

Jack was rather stricken by how much Lee's thirst for revenge mirrored his own. Did he really sound that bloodthirsty?

'Lighten up, Lee,' Fred said. 'We're all mates here. Besides, Jack only bet ten bucks. What's ten bucks to you?'

'Everything when it comes to Jack,' Lee muttered. 'But . . . wait a minute! You're right!'

'I am?' Fred asked, clearly confused.

'Jack only bet ten bucks—and why should he if he always wins?' Lee spun around to face Jack. 'What? You think you're going to lose this one, Jack? Is this Ralph character a bit beyond your reach?'

'That's none of your business,' Jack spat.

'Take it easy, Lee,' John squeaked. 'Of course Jack's going to win. He always does! Ain't that right, Jackie boy?'

Jack turned his bitterness on the brain kid.

'I recall that specifically tell you not to call me "Jackie boy"?' he demanded. 'I swear, John, if you call me that one more time, you're a dead man!'

'And I recall that you have threatened me with something along those lines before,' John said innocently, 'and you have yet to carry out your threat, mate.'

'Burn, man!' Terry said, thumping Jack on the back. 'Boy, you had better do something about this or be labeled "weak wimp" forever!'

For a moment, Jack had a good-humoured, indifferent smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, yet the smile was oddly twisted somehow . . . and John soon found out why. Jack's fist sliced through the air, harshly hitting its target—John's face. The latter reeled backward, stunned by the impact.

'What the fuck is your problem, Jack?' John asked angrily, spittle flying from his mouth.

'What the fuck is yours!' Jack retorted.

'What do mean my problem? I—'

'Oh, we are not fighting, boys, are we?' said a cold, dangerous voice.

Jack felt the blood drain from his face.

'N-no, Mr. Lyori,' John stuttered. 'We were just having a . . . disagreement.'

Mr. Lyori glared at him suspiciously, and John immediately wished any teacher but Mr. Lyori had caught them. It was common knowledge amongst the students that the mean, mean teacher was able to convince the principal to expel students as quickly as anyone can say, "Butt monkey", and—worse yet—he gave out detentions twice as fast. He was one of those teachers who hated teaching and constantly waged a war against the students.

'Yes, a disagreement,' Jack clarified.

It was clear that the English teacher did not believe them, but he played along for a while, if only for his own interests.

'Then why is your nose bleeding?' he asked John.

'I . . . uh . . . walked into a wall,' John replied stupidly.

Jack sighed.

'Nice one, John,' he said sarcastically. 'I thought you were smart.'

John glared at him.

Mr. Lyori watched this brief exchange with an unpleasant smile twisting his strict features.

'That is an . . . interesting story, boys,' he said quietly before pulling a pink pad of paper and a pen from his chest pocket. 'I am sure that Mr. Leeaway, the Detention Supervisor, will be very intrigued by your tale.' He wrote something down with a flourish and handed the sheets to the teens, one each for Jack and John. 'Detention for both of you this afternoon,' the English teacher said with a wicked grin.

They took their pink slips without question.

'Yes, sir,' they replied in unison.

Mr. Lyori shot suspicious glares at the remainder of the party. Then he swiftly walked away to tell off a bunch of freshmen, who were blowing spitballs at each other.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!' Jack swore loudly, once he was certain that the professor was gone.

'You can say that again,' John muttered dejectedly.

'Oh, oh, I will!' Lee said enthusiastically. 'Fuck!'

John rolled his eyes.

'I cannot believe we have a detention!' Jack seethed. 'My mum's gonna kill me!'

'Hey, it could be worse,' Terry reasoned. 'At least you're stuck with an ol' buddy.'

'Yes, "buddy",' John repeated absentmindedly.

'Aw, come on, John, Jack,' Fred said, nudging his two friends in their sides, 'lighten up. So Jack threw a punch and John's face is smeared with blood. So what? I just hope it won't be the last time.'

'Hey!' John exclaimed indignantly.

'Just kidding, little buddy,' Fred laughed, clapping John on the back.

'Yeah, Terry's right, I guess,' Jack said with a shrug. 'Things could be worse, John. I'm sorry I hit you. I just . . . lost control.'

'Fine. Whatever,' John responded, shrugging as well.

Terry smiled and draped his arms over his friends' shoulders, almost knocking John to the ground.

'So . . . now that we're all best mates again, what do you say we all get a bite to eat. I really need it.'

'Ter, that's probably the last thing you need.'