Mark bought two hot dogs and a couple of cans of coke at the counter of the seven eleven. It was Friday - he was supposed to have a date tonight, but that wasn't going to happen. So he was going to have to improvise.

The bruises on his face were fading - slowly, too slowly, but they were getting there. He wore a pair of shades while he was in the store, though. He'd found over the last few days that - if he thought people gave him the side eye and skirted around him before - the way they looked at him when he had a black eye was another level. Mothers would hustle their children away from him - like they thought he'd suddenly strike out and deck the kid. An old lady had actually crossed the road to avoid him. It was just easier to hide his bruises behind his shades.

He bagged up his purchases and took them out to the truck, sticking them on the passenger seat and lighting up a cigarette, before he put the truck in drive and pulled out into the traffic. He checked his watch - he wanted to get there before the bell today.

When he pulled into the lot, this time, he didn't stop for a smoke - and he didn't check his hair in the mirror. That would only show him his yellowing bruises and he'd rather not think about them. It was bad enough having to look this way, without spending time staring at his reflection. Instead, he pulled the brown bag off the seat and headed straight into the building.

The bell rang just as he was walking down the corridor. Soon the halls were swarming with students, headed for fourth period or lunch - whatever their timetable demanded. He was aware of some of them staring at him - well he had the bruises to thank for that. Then some of them started whispering, he caught occasional words; the odd, hushed exchange … they knew about the fight. That's what they were all talking about. That's why they were all staring.

They knew Bobby's version of the fight - of course - because he was the one who had come into school the next day and told everyone about it. All these kids - they thought that Mark had attacked Bobby, that he was some kind of psycho who stubbed cigarettes out on people's skin for fun. And that Bobby had won - had kicked his ass. All these bruises came to him at the hands of the Running Back. His two football player friends would have been completely erased from the story. That's why the whispers and the curious glances were following him down the hall.

He didn't care. Becky knew the truth - she believed him, she still wanted to see him. That was all that mattered. He didn't care what any other jerk thought about him.

Instead of hanging by the cafeteria, he headed straight for the room he knew Becky would be in - and waited right outside the door for her to come out. It only took a minute. Her face lit up when she saw him. 'Mark!'

'Hey Becky.'

Then her face clouded over with concern, and she raised her hand up to touch the bruising under his eye. Her fingers were gentle. 'Are you OK? Does it hurt?'

'I'm OK - it looks worse than it feels.' That was true - but only because it looked really bad.

'I still think you should have pressed charges when the cops offered - set the record straight. Everyone's talking about it, they all blame you.'

'Yeah…' he shuffled his feet awkwardly, 'I'd noticed.'

'Anyway - what are you doin' here?'

'It's Friday - I promised you a date. And you're grounded so…' he lifted the brown bag up so she could see it, 'you wanna have lunch with me?'

'Mark!' her whole face split into a wide and happy smile and her skin flushed pink. 'That's so thoughtful.'

'Yeah well,' he cleared his throat and shuffled again, 'I'm a thoughtful guy - don't tell anyone though, I got a rep to maintain.'

She laughed, and slid her hand into his empty one, 'your secret's safe with me.'

They went out to the bleachers and ate their hotdogs up there. There was a football practice going on down on the field. Bobby was there. Mark gave him a cheery wave. He and Becky both laughed - and then turned their backs on the players. 'I figured we could do this as long as you're grounded,' he said to her. 'And even after - if your parents still won't let you see me.'

'Meet up at school?'

He shrugged. 'They'll never know. And if they find out - what they gonna do? Stop ya from going to school? Ring old man Hiller and try and get him to ban me from the site? I still go here … technically. There's nothing' they can do about it.'

'Mark, that's so Machiavellian!'

'Uh … I don't know what that means.'

'Sneaky,' she translated for him. 'Seriously - Roseanne would be proud to have thought of that. Even she would concede this round to you.'

'Yeah … well, I was thinking maybe we could meet up after school as well as at lunch - you know? Once final bell has rung? Meet at my car - I can give you a ride, drop you near your house. We can see each other loads.'

'But final bell is still over two hours away,' she said, frowning. 'What will you do until then?'

He shrugged and took a bite of his hot dog. 'I figure there's an American History class I can sit in the back of until the end of sixth period. Old man Hiller will be thrilled.'

...

He never earned enough credits to graduate, and his SAT scores were dismal … but he stuck it out, most days, until the end of the year. Going to school - even going to class - so that he could spend time with Becky, no matter how often she got grounded.

The End