Author's Notes: Thanks for all the feedback! I really appreciate it... props to all of those who figured out that Matthew was Roger's stepfather, hence his mother's different last name. Joy, for the record, I'll get cracking on our eulogy as soon as I'm done with this chapter, honest. I just seem to have the flow going on tonight. Maybe it's my mood music. ((Sighs as Adam Pascal starts to sing.)) Teehee, my AIM list moos when someone gets on or off. Homage to Maureen, no? Anyhow, keep the feedback coming. Again, same precautionary warning: heavy content. Thanks!


The night passed quickly. Mark's parents took little notice that he came in four hours late, wearing clothes that were obviously too big for him. They barely acknowledged his haggard appearance, save for a quick 'you look gross' from his sister. He had slipped up the stairs, still contemplating what had happened at Roger's.

What had happened at Roger's?

The next morning, Mark stood, leaning against his locker, waiting for Roger. He had shed the Yankees jersey and ripped jeans into a grocery bag, and donned a loose fitting white tee-shirt and another pair of corduroy pants. Roger, however, had lost the look of jaded rocker. He walked into the building sans his guitar case, and without so much as a smirk. His face was blank, and, Mark noticed, that in spite of the heat of late summer, he was wearing a dark, long-sleeved shirt.

"Hi," Mark greeted the other boy cautiously.

Roger attempted a grin, but failed miserably. His eyes quickly shifted to his feet.

Mark sighed. "Um, here's your stuff."

"Thanks," Roger acknowledged. His voice was barely audible. "I'm sorry dinner turned out so shitty."

"Don't worry about it," Mark replied.

Roger nodded slightly, turning to busy himself with his locker. Mark stared at him, his eyes studying the boy in front of him as they had Mrs. O'Neil the day before. Roger still seemed scared; every movement was hesitant, and he seemed distracted and helpless. His engaging blue eyes darted around nervously, reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights.

"Look, Roger, what hap-"

Roger's head snapped up, almost in alarm. "It was nothing, Mark. Just- just forget it, okay?"

Mark shook his head. "I- well, um, I may not know you very well, but-"

"That's right, you don't know me very well. You don't know me! Just leave it alone, Mark. All right?"

Mark closed his eyes, dropping his head. Roger started rummaging through his locker, and Mark gave up and did the same. He could hear Roger muttering to himself and taking in quick gasps of air every so often. Mark fished his books out of the metal space, and waited silently for Roger. As the other boy reached for one of his books, the sleeve of his shirt slid down, revealing a throng of deep purple bruises, none of which had been there the previous day. Mark gaped at him.

"Oh my God, Roger... what is that?" Mark managed. His battle scars from the day before weren't even that bad.

Roger cocked his head at Mark, oblivious. "What's what?"

Mark pointed at Roger's contusion dappled forearm. "That."

Roger's eyes widened, and he dropped the text book he had been reaching for. He quickly pulled his sleeve back into place, cradling his arm.

"I told you to leave it alone. I'm fine, okay? I just- uh, I-I just tripped on the stairs, that's all." Roger whispered. He looked towards Mark, his eyes pleading and vulnerable.

Mark nodded hesitantly. Roger held his arm to his chest, almost trying to conceal it from Mark's view. Roger was definitely not okay.

"Can we just go to class?" Roger asked, letting go of his arm and picking up his fallen book.

Mark nodded again, and the two started towards class.

Mrs. Fishburn hadn't lost any of her enthusiasm overnight. She ushered her students to their seats, and quickly doled out a set of thick paperback books. To Kill a Mockingbird. The woman launched into a lengthy explanation of the book almost immediately, losing the interest of all of her pupils, more especially Mark and Roger, right off the bat. By the end of her lecture, she seemed pleased with herself. Tacking on a sickening grin, she clapped her hands together.

"Today, you receive your first assignment."

A collective groan surfaced. Mrs. Fishburn shook her head.

"I would like you each to select a partner. You and your partner will read the novel together, and then decide what it's target audience is. Afterwards, you will come up with an effective way to market the book, and present it to the class."

Roger and Mark glanced at each other, deciding that they would partner, and that was that. The rest of the class was creating a dull roar around them, but neither felt like speaking just yet.

The day dragged on, almost uneventfully. Unlike the day before, Roger didn't do much talking. Mark watched him as he carefully cradled his arm, inspecting the bruises as if looking at them would make them disappear. His hackles were up, and he seemed intimidated by everything.

By the end of the day, Mark felt ready to scream.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" Mark asked quietly.

Roger nodded, "I guess so."

"Listen, I think maybe we should work at my house tomorrow, in stead of yours. Um, it might be-"

Roger shook his head. "Drop it already, would you? Somebody needs to be there, or he'll- look, never mind. I've got to go."

Mark stared after Roger as he ran from the school.