'What did that guy want?' Bobby grabbed hold of Becky's arm as she headed back towards the cafeteria, and pulled her away from the door. She sighed and gently disengaged her arm from his grip. 'Bobby…' Her voice was ameliorative, consolatory, but with an edge behind it that said they needed to talk but her mind was already made up.

'He asked you out,' Bobby realised '... and you said yes.'

Her whole face lit up into wreaths of smiles, she bit her lip and tried to make her expression more serious. She shouldn't be grinning with delight when she broke up with Bobby - that wasn't fair on him. He hadn't done anything wrong … he just wasn't Mark. 'Yeah - he wants me to go out with him on Friday and I … yeah, I said yes.'

'What about our date?' He was starting to look angry now.

She shook her head. 'I'm sorry.'

'You're breaking it - just like that?'

'Listen, Bobby,' she hugged her textbook closer to her chest, using it to create a defensive wall. This was getting awkward. 'I'm sorry, OK? I didn't want to mess you around. My parents banned me from seeing Mark and - after our last date I figured he wouldn't want to see me again anyway. I was moving on but…' the slow smile spread across her face again - she couldn't fight it. 'He hasn't. He wants to go out again and ... Mark's the guy I wanna be with. If I went out with you on Friday - I'd just be wasting your time. I don't wanna do that.'

'What do you even see in him?'

Her smile got wider still, her eyes became soft and dreamy. That only annoyed Bobby further. 'He's a loser, Becky.'

The softness faded and her eyes flashed, dangerously. Her face began to flush - the heat spreading right the way though her. 'Mark's the greatest guy I ever dated,' she snapped.

'Huh - right,' he made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. 'A high school dropout with no job and no future. Just a truck and a punk ass attitude. And that's enough?' He made the scoffing noise again. 'Women.'

'And what the hell is that supposed to mean?' her voice became high and shrill - and she gripped her textbook even tighter - her knuckles turning white where they were curled round the edge of it.

'It means you're all the same. You all chase dangerous guys that are gonna hurt ya and reject the nice guys who wanna take care of you.'

She pulled herself up to her full height, throwing her shoulders back so she was as tense and as tall as possible. 'I do not need taking care of. I'll date who the hell I wanna date - and you're making it real easy for me to turn you down. Like any girl would wanna go out with a sexist, immature jerk like you.'

'Yeah? Well I don't wanna date anyone dumb enough to wanna date Mark Healy. So I guess that fixes everything.' He stormed off - away from the cafeteria, slamming his fist into a row of lockers as he passed them. She watched him go, her eyes narrowed. 'What a creep,' she muttered under her breath and then she shook her head and decided to forget about him. She had a date with Mark on Friday. That was what mattered.

She pushed the door open, grabbed a tray and went over to the lunch counter - wrinkling her nose as the lunch lady ladled a dollop of … something onto her plate. Then she found Judy and Monica and sat down with them. They looked at her expectantly, wanting to know what was going on - they'd probably been dying of curiosity the whole time she'd been absent.

She didn't tell them about the fight with Bobby - she wasn't even going to dignify him with her head space. Instead, she told her friends about the invite to Rick's party - and how they had to go with her so her mom wouldn't realise she was going out to see Mark.

'Are you sure this is a good idea, Becky?' Monica asked, digging her spoon into her green jello and watching it jiggle. 'Your mom … she can be kinda scary.'

But Becky only rolled her eyes. 'What? Am I gonna let my mother control my whole life? I'm a woman of the 90s - I make my own decisions.'

'But this decision might get you grounded 'til your forty.'

'Roseanne won't find out, not if you guys back me up - and anyway … ' she began to smile again, 'Mark's worth it.'

When they had finished lunch, they left the cafeteria and headed for the next class. Becky was just lining up outside her Geography classroom, waiting to go in, when Jan came up to her - looking excited. 'Did you hear?' Jan asked, 'some dumb punk in the twelfth grade just got kicked out of geometry for smoking in class. They marched him right off the school grounds.'

'No way!' Her eyes went wide and she began to grin. This was good gossip - something actually interesting happening in school. That never happened. 'He was actually smoking in the classroom? Who'd do a thing like that?'

'Um - I think you used to date him…'

...

Mark paid for his beer and then carried the six pack out of the store, under his arm. The cashier had given him a funny look - like they knew full well the id was fake - but they hadn't said anything. And now he had something to drink this evening. He would have preferred to go to the lobo, truth be told - rather than spend the night alone at his place, drinking by himself - but he didn't want to run the risk of bumping into Mr. and Mrs. Conner. Didn't want to remind them he existed. Not when he was taking Becky out on Friday night. So until then, he was gonna lay low and stay home.

He stopped to light a cigarette, adjusting the six pack under his arm so he could use both hands to light his smoke. Then he pocketed the lighter and took a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs for a second and then exhaling slowly. He wondered what Becky thought of his smoking - or smoking in general. She didn't seem the type to light up. She probably knew a whole load of facts and figures that she could reel off, off the top of her head, about just how bad for you it was. She might want him to stop. He took another drag - savouring it … he would be OK with that. If it came down to a choice. He'd quit for Becky.

As he trod his way back to where he had left his truck, he became aware of footsteps on the sidewalk behind him. It wasn't that late but still … there was just something about them that made all the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up. And from the sound of them they belonged to a big guy. He turned back to look - he was right, the guy was tall and wearing a letterman jacket. And as the guy passed under a streetlight, Mark caught a glimpse of floppy hair … it was the jerk from school. The one Becky had been hanging round with. Bobby. Mark picked up his pace, but so did the footsteps.

The truck wasn't far away now, he could just see it down the street. He kept going, determined not to make a break for it and run away but... still moving briskly towards safety. But every time he sped up - so did the footfalls behind him.

'Healy!'

He came to a stop and turned around - now he couldn't pretend he wasn't being followed anymore, he might as well just face it. He raised his cigarette to his lips and took another drag, as Bobby approached him. He waited for the right moment and then exhaled the smoke right into the football player's face. This jerk couldn't frighten him and he was gonna prove it. 'Bobby,' he nodded.

'I got a bone to pick with you.'

'You do?' he took another drag on his cigarette and then held it by his side - his grip on it changing, so it was now held between his index finger and his thumb and not balanced between his fingers.

'You took my girl.'

'Yeah - maybe she was never yours to begin with.' He heard the sound of more footsteps - and glanced around him. Two more guys in letterman jackets were coming out of the shadows, walking towards him. He was surrounded. Great, Bobby had brought back up.

Mark's eyes flicked between them all, before settling back on Bobby. 'You looking for trouble?' He must be - no other reason they'd accost him three on one in a dark street.

'I'm looking at trouble. That's all you are, Healy - and the sooner Becky realises that, the better for everyone.'

'And how you gonna make her realise that?'

Bobby's fist whipped out and struck Mark right on the chin. Mark staggered back, but the football player grabbed him, twisted him round and then brought his arm around his neck - holding him in a choke hold. But this was exactly what Mark had been waiting for… he brought up his cigarette, still gripped between his thumb and finger, and pressed the burning end down into the back of Bobby's hand. Bobby cried out and let go of him. He staggered away a couple of steps - but Bobby was lunging for him again, and this time, when he raised his cigarette - he plunged it against the skin of Bobby's cheek - burning his face.

Once again, Bobby stumbled backward, this time he hands flying to his injured face - and Mark began to run. But there were Bobby's friends to worry about too. Mark didn't run very often, what did he do? He fixed cars and smoked cigarettes, he was out of practice. But these guys - they were taller than him and in training. Of course they caught him, brought him down before he had made it more than a couple of steps.

They all crashed to the ground, his beer hitting the sidewalk with a heavy thud. Mark landed at the bottom of the pile, smashing against the asphalt, knocking the wind out of him. But, before he had a chance to get his breath back, the football players started to pummel him. He twisted round, underneath them, so he was facing up - and swung his fist. He got a lucky shot and his knuckles connected with one guy's nose. Then he head butted the other - as hard and as fast as he could manage.

The guy fell back and Mark wriggled out from under him, elbowing him in the face for good measure - and then he turned and fled for his truck. He felt a set of hands catch hold of him but he kicked backwards, striking whichever one had him in the shins. Bobby cried out, but gripped tighter - so Mark wriggled free of his leather jacket and ran, finally making it to the safety of his truck. He slammed the door, turned on the ignition and drove.

He was in a bad mood by the time he got back to his place. He ached all over and he had left his beer and jacket back at the scene of the fight. He should have just gone to the lobo - at least Mr. and Mrs. Conner wouldn't have actually hit him.

His mood only darkened when he looked in the mirror and saw the damage done to him. Not only had he lost his beer, his favourite leather jacket, messed up his hair and had his shirt ripped … but now he was going to have to go to his date, on Friday, with a face full of bruises.

He guessed Bobby had achieved exactly what he set out to achieve: when Mark met up with Becky for their date, when she saw him with a black eye and cut lip, he would look to her exactly like trouble.