“Every morning what?” Mark asked, shaking off his foggy-headedness.
“Every morning he pulls two packages of Pop-Tarts out of his bag, squishes them, and throws them in his locker.”
“Huh,” Mark said. “Yeah. I guess that’s kind of weird. I hadn’t noticed.”
“Obviously.” Katelyn rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling all the same. “I mean, seriously, Mark . . . half the time an elephant could walk past you and you wouldn’t notice.”
Mark cocked an eyebrow at her. “I noticed that you smell like strawberries,” he said. He took a step closer to her.
“You like the way strawberries smell?” she asked.
“I never thought about it much before, but now?” He brushed his lips against hers. “It’s definitely my favorite.” He kissed her—not the kind of kiss that would draw attention, but one that promised. It promised more, later. Soon.
She made a happy little noise and rested her forehead against his chest, just for a moment.
“It’s my—” she began.
“Lip gloss,” Mark finished, before she could. “Your lip gloss tastes like strawberry.”
The warning bell rang, and the two of them headed in opposite directions toward their first classes of the day. After their kiss, Mark’s own lips tasted faintly of strawberry, and he spent most of trig distracted by the thought of Katelyn. He didn’t have a completed assignment to turn in, and when the final bell rang, he realized he couldn’t remember a single thing that Mrs. Alvarez had said during class.
He had it bad for Katelyn and he knew it. Now he just had to keep it from ruining him.
The next day he’d made a point of noticing the Pop-Tarts so that he could prove to Katelyn that he wasn’t always missing things. It was true. In the bottom of Kirby’s locker was a silvery pile of Pop-Tart packets, like a tiny pyramid devoted to some god of the lower middle class. There was other weird stuff in there too. Neat piles of—index cards, maybe? And receipts and—
Kirby slammed his locker shut before Mark could get a better look. Mark pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Katelyn.
Saw the Pop-Tarts! That’s so fucked up. Also now I’m hungry for Pop-Tarts.
Katelyn didn’t text him back until the end of first period, but the long string of smiley faces thrilled him.
You noticed!!!!!! she texted him.
Yeah, he texted back. That’s me. I’m a noticer.
“Yo, MB!” Mark looked up to see Jason Price eyeing him from the doorway of the chemistry lab. “What you grinnin’ at like that?”
“Nothing,” Mark said, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “You wanna eat lunch with us today or what?”
“Us?” Jason folded his arms.
“Yeah, me and Katelyn.”
“Oh, it’s like that now, is it?” Jason said.
Mark touched the phone in his pocket. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s like that.”
“Fine,” Jason huffed. “I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”
* * *
Jason and Mark were already hunched over a couple of slices of greasy, terrible school lunch pizza when Katelyn slid into the empty seat next to Mark. She eyed his tray. “No Pop-Tarts?” she teased.
Mark grinned at her. “Not on the menu today,” he said, “but that’s okay. I know where I can score some later if I need to.”
“What the fuck are you two talking about?” Jason asked.
“You know that weird kid Kirby Matheson?” Mark asked.
Jason thought for a minute. “The one who plays the saxophone?”
“That’s the one. It turns out he has, like, a prepping-for-the-apocalypse-style stash of Pop-Tarts in his locker,” Mark said.
“SMASHED Pop-Tarts,” Katelyn added. She sounded amused and amazed at the same time. “He crunches up the packages before he tosses them in there. I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t he just throw them away?”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Y’all have too much time on your hands, and since you’re together, that says some pretty sad stuff about both of you.” He had a slice of pizza in his hand, and he pointed it at each of them in turn. “I’m just sayin’.”
“Dude. There is no reason—” Mark started, but Katelyn put a hand on his leg.
“Wow, Jason. Since you’re not dating anyone at all, I can’t begin to think what that says about your free time.”
Jason’s mouth dropped open. “Daaaaaaaaaamn.”
With a tiny, satisfied grin on her face, Katelyn pulled a carton of yogurt out of her lunch bag. That was the first time Mark thought that maybe, just maybe, he was in love.
* * *
As the weeks went on, the Pop-Tarts became an in-joke between the two of them. Katelyn left a packet of them on his seat in history. He put one, unwrapped, beneath each of her windshield wipers. Mark asked her to the winter formal, officially, and brought her a box of them when he picked her up. Her eyes lit up and she laughed, hard, in that whole-body way that he adored. She doubled over, ribs shaking and completely unself-conscious about it.
He’d practically forgotten how the joke started. Kirby wasn’t at his locker at the same time in the morning anymore, but it didn’t matter. The entire thing had taken on a life of its own, far beyond the initial amusement they’d gotten from one weird kid’s odd habits.
Then, on Tuesday, Mark started the day by his locker, just like usual. He was dawdling, waiting for Katelyn, idly wondering if he should put his lit binder in his bag, even though Mrs. Johansen never said anything worth taking notes about. The sudden presence at his shoulder startled him, and he looked up with a goofy smile on his face, expecting to see Katelyn.
Except it was Kirby. He eyed Mark and smirked as the smile fell from Mark’s face.
“Sorry,” Mark said. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Clearly,” Kirby said. He spun the combination lock on his locker and swung the door open, but he kept his body wedged between the door and the opening so that Mark couldn’t see inside it.
Kirby unzipped his backpack. He reached his hand in, and before Mark could stop himself, he asked “Hey, what’s the deal with the Pop-Tarts?”
Kirby froze, his gaze darting over to Mark even while his body remained completely motionless.
“What do you mean?” he asked. His voice was careful, measured.
Mark shifted uncomfortably. “I mean—why have you been squishing them up and leaving them in your locker? I don’t get it.”
Kirby stared at him. “I don’t like them,” he said finally.
“Well, that seems pretty—oof.” Someone hit Mark hard from behind, pushing him into Kirby, who stumbled.
“Sorry!” shouted the three guys who tore off down the hall like a trio of unruly puppies. Basketball players, Mark thought, and they really shouldn’t—he couldn’t finish the thought. The collision had left him standing directly in front of Kirby’s locker. In addition to the pile of Pop-Tarts, there was a stack of magazines, a copy of East of Eden, a bunch of receipts taped to the back wall, and not a single thing that looked remotely related to school.
“Where do you keep all of your schoolbooks?” Mark asked.
Kirby reached in front of Mark and slammed the locker shut. “None of your business,” he snapped.
Katelyn came racing up to them, completely out of breath. “Ohmygod, are you okay? Those jerks are just—ugh.”
Mark turned to her. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.” He looked back at Kirby. “You?”
Katelyn blinked in sudden recognition. “Oh, hey, you’re the Pop-Tart guy! Where have you been?”
Kirby scowled.
“Oh, come on,” Katelyn said, “Don’t be like that.”
Kirby pointed a finger at them. “You two need to mind your own fucking business.”
“Hey!” Mark stepped in. “What’s your problem? Normal people ask each other questions. And I don’t like you talking to my girlfriend like that.”
Kirby narrowed his eyes at Mark for a moment before hi
s face went completely blank.
Katelyn tugged on Mark’s arm. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s just go, okay? This morning is crappy enough already.”
He let her tug him away from Kirby, but it still bothered him. The weird locker. The blank look. But mostly, yeah, the way he’d talked to Katelyn.
It followed him all morning—the feeling itched between his shoulder blades. Something he couldn’t see, or reach, or quite get rid of.
When he got to lunch, he found Jason and flopped down across from him.
“Jaaaaaysus. What’s your problem?” Jason said around a mouthful of sloppy joe. Mark shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid. Kirby—that guy, with the locker next to mine?”
Jason nodded.
“Yeah. He pissed me off this morning and I can’t shake it.”
“What’d he do?” Jason asked.
Mark told him the story exactly as it had happened. It didn’t make the strange feeling between his shoulder blades any better.
Jason chewed. Swallowed. Shrugged. “Is Katelyn pissed?” he asked.
Mark sat for a minute, thinking. “Not really,” he said, finally. “But it’s not really about that. Not for me.”
Jason eyed him. “You’re telling me you’re pissed because he emasculated you in front of your woman?”
Mark blinked. “You know the word emasculated?”
Jason threw a wadded-up paper napkin at him. “I do actually pay attention in class sometimes. Plus that shit impresses the hell out of girls. Anyway, that’s it, huh?”
Mark nodded grudgingly. “Yeah, more or less. I don’t know. It just seems like you don’t get to be all weird and then be a dick to me in front of my girlfriend for no reason.”
“I guess I can see your point. But now the real question is: What’re you going to do about it? I mean, you’ve got two choices here that I can see. One: Let it go. Two: Remasculate yourself.”
“I don’t think remasculate is a word,” Mark said.
“Bro, I know it’s not a word, but it means the right thing. And it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve only got two choices.”
Katelyn walked into the cafeteria just then, and Mark turned to look at her. She caught sight of him sitting with Jason and smiled, heading toward them.
Was it Mark’s imagination, or was her smile just the tiniest bit smaller than it had been this morning? Was there a fraction less sparkle in her eyes?
Maybe he really only had the one choice. Even if it wasn’t a word.
* * *
It took Mark a couple of days to figure out exactly how to make sure Kirby never smirked at him again. Picking a fight would be easy, but it might also get him suspended . . . or worse. He needed something different. Something better. Something that Katelyn would appreciate.
When the idea came to him, it was so perfect. A couple of blue boxes, some packing tape, and getting to school a little bit early was all it took.
Mark hovered in the chem lab door and waited for Kirby to get to school. He trudged in, head down, dragging that stupid saxophone. Mark could hear, over and over in his head, Kirby’s hissing, angry insistence that he and Katelyn should “mind their own fucking business.”
Kirby didn’t even look up before he got to his locker. It was perfect.
When he saw the boxes of Pop-Tarts taped to the metal door of his locker, Kirby froze. His entire back went so rigid that Mark’s breath caught. It occurred to Mark in that moment that it was possible he’d end up having a fight after all, but he didn’t really care. It might be worth getting a suspension.
Mark watched as Kirby slowly peeled the boxes off his locker, his shoulders creeping closer to his ear with each screeching crackle of the packing tape pulling away from the metal. He opened his backpack and shoved the boxes inside, cramming them on top of each other.
People walking past noticed. There was some eye-rolling. There was some laughing. Kirby hunched even further into himself, which didn’t seem entirely possible. Mark was so focused on watching Kirby that he jumped—badly—when Katelyn whispered in his ear: “What’s going on?”
Mark turned and grinned at her, feeling the sort of triumph that he’d envisioned when he’d first thought of this plan. “Just contributing to Kirby’s Pop-Tart supply,” he said, unable to stop the grin that twitched at the corners of his mouth. He fought to get a serious expression on his face and held Katelyn’s gaze. “I don’t think he appreciates it, though.”
It might have been the two of them talking that caught Kirby’s attention, though the hall was crowded with people. Maybe it was just luck that he turned around. Whatever the reason, though, Kirby did turn. And when he did, he looked straight at Mark and Katelyn.
The victory Mark had been feeling swelled for a moment, crescendoing into a strange sort of joy. Kirby looked defeated.
No, more than that. He looked broken.
The expression in Kirby’s eyes dragged Mark’s joy down with it.
The last box of Pop-Tarts was still in Kirby’s hand. Mark noticed that they were strawberry-flavored. He wondered if Kirby would have the balls to storm across the hall and smash them in his face. Or just flat-out punch him.
He could hear Katelyn’s breath in his ear.
Kirby just dropped the box of Pop-Tarts. Someone else hurrying past kicked the box on accident, sending it skittering down the hall. Kirby didn’t watch its progress. He didn’t walk toward Mark and Katelyn.
He lowered his gaze to the linoleum floor, turned, and trudged off, with his backpack full of crushed Pop-Tart boxes hanging off his shoulder.
“Whoa,” said Katelyn. “That was, like, super mean,” she said to Mark.
Anger flared in his chest, probably meant for Kirby but directed at Katelyn instead.
“Mean? It was just Pop-Tarts, for fuck’s sake! And he was awful to us the last time we talked. Was I supposed to act like that’s okay?”
“Did you see the look on his face, though? I mean, this isn’t someone like Jason—someone who’s gonna look at a locker covered with Pop-Tarts and laugh and offer everyone breakfast,” she said.
“I didn’t want him to laugh!” Mark exploded. “I didn’t want him to offer everyone breakfast! I wanted him to be sorry he acted the way he did!”
Katelyn crossed her arms. “And you don’t think that’s mean?”
Jason walked up to them, his chemistry book in his hand. “What’s mean?”
“Nothing,” Mark said, at the same time that Katelyn chimed in with, “Covering Kirby’s locker in boxes of Pop-Tarts.”
Jason’s eyes widened. “Whoa.”
“Exactly,” Katelyn said, her voice filled with vindication.
“That’s awesome,” Jason finished.
Katelyn made a frustrated noise. “You two don’t get it, do you? Ugh. I just—ugh.”
She pushed past Jason and turned down the hall toward her first-period class.
She didn’t text Mark that morning.
She wasn’t at lunch.
By the time the school day ended, Mark was practically panicking. Everything he’d done had been to win Katelyn’s affection back after Kirby had made him lose face—this was worse than backfiring. This was . . . this was maybe even a breakup. She’d never gone this long without texting him.
She was waiting by his car, though, and when he noticed her there, he took what felt like his first real breath all day.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
“I’m sorry about this morning,” he said. “I guess—I can see where you’re coming from. But I had to do something, and the Pop-Tarts seemed better than hitting him or whatever.”
Katelyn looked at him. “You really think you did a good thing? I mean, why did you have to ‘do something’ to begin with? You could have just walked away.”
Mark just stared at her.
“Hello?” she waved a hand in front of his face. He blinked. “I mean, I don’t like Kirby either, but this is . . . shitty.”
Katelyn chewed on her lip for a moment. “I don’t know if that makes this better or worse,” she finally said. “And if you never thought about it, I think maybe you need to.”
Mark blinked again. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’re acting like a jerk, and I don’t want to hang out with a jerk.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked. Katelyn let out a frustrated noise. “You don’t get it at all, do you?”
“No! I don’t!”
“Well, call me when you do,” she said tartly. Then she spun on her heel and marched away while he stood there, aching and confused.
* * *
He left her alone for a few lonely, terrible days. How could he have been so wrong about the whole thing? He’d been trying to . . . what? Impress Katelyn? Protect her? Prove himself to her, maybe. And instead, he’d ruined everything and he didn’t know how to fix it.
Then on Monday, he’d looked for her before first period, but she wasn’t there. He was late to third period, trying to see if she came out of the art room after her second period class, but she wasn’t there either. Unable to stand it any longer, he texted her.
R U okay?
I’m home sick, she texted back.
What’s wrong?
Strep throat.
He hesitated for just a moment before he sent the next text. Can I bring you your homework?
He held his phone too tightly, waiting for the little typing bubble to appear.
There was a long pause before she replied.
A very long pause.
Finally:
Yes. Thanks.
Everything in him lightened. His hands and feet tingled with it. It spread across his face in a grin that he couldn’t stop.
His thumbs tapped against the screen of his phone. Ok. See you after school.
All he could think about the rest of the day was getting her homework. What else he should bring her—flowers? Popsicles? Soup?—and most of all, what he would say when he got there.
This was a second chance, and he wasn’t about to blow it.
After school, he put her carefully stacked assignments in his car and drove to the grocery. Simultaneously panicked about needing to find the perfect “get well” things and also not wanting to arrive any later than absolutely necessary, Mark scurried around the store, picking things up and putting them down again.
Violent Ends Page 13
