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Mark arrived at school, barely six-thirty that morning. His Jeep pulled up in the student parking lot, and he found it a refreshing thought that this year was his Junior year of high school. Two years to go… Then, he’s gone, off on life’s journey with Tim and Miranda at his side.
There was nearly no one at the school at that time of morning, and, walking quickly through the halls, Mark felt a tiny bit of freedom. He climbed the staircase, turned a corner, and discovered two crouched figures by the water fountain, both peering over at the office window. Mark hurried up behind them, crouching against Tim to keep his balance. “So, guys, what is it this year?” He whispered. Every year the day school started they played a prank on the school - either teachers, students… Anyone that happened to stumble upon their little tricks. And they heard about it later, with great enthusiasm. It was a tradition Tim brought from his elementary school, when he’d started with bullies and teachers he didn’t like.
“Stink bomb the principal’s office,” Miranda whispered excitedly, showing several small colorful balls with fuses on top of each one.
“This is gonna be wicked!” Tim squealed quietly, grasping for Mark’s shoulder to push himself up. “Come on, we saw Depew leave, like, two minutes ago… Miranda said he went to the bathroom. That gives us another… four minutes.” Tim stealthily rolled under the water fountain, coming to a crouch against the short wall of the large window. He peered into it, saw no one was there, and hurriedly crawled to the door. There, he pushed the door open, and pulled the quarter from it’s place jammed in the door frame. The door locked automatically, so keeping it open was the only logical answer.
Tim crawled inside, stopped, looked around, and hurried under a desk. His head peaked out as he checked the surroundings carefully. Mark and Miranda walked in, letting the door swing shut loudly behind, and causing Tim to jump from his spot, hitting his head on the desk.
“You’re supposed to be quiet!” Tim practically yelled, hurrying after them and clutching his head.
“Oh, go eat a dick,” Miranda said as she crouched beneath Depew’s desk, hurryingly hooking up the small device. It was simple, a match was taped to the smallest chair leg, touching the floor, a small string that was bathed in vodka - the only burning substance available at the time - attached to it that extended to the desk side, up along the inside and parting to the four fuses of the stink bombs, which were taped to the underside corners of the desk.
As soon as all of this was done, we hurried from the office, and Miranda was just closing the door to Depew’s private office, separating from the front office, when Tim whispered, “Duck!”
They threw themselves to the floor, Tim and Mark hurrying under the desk of the secretary, Miranda jumping behind the open door to the nurse’s office. Mr. Depew, a big, burly man, whistled as he unlocked the door to his office, and went inside, closing the door behind. Waiting a second, Miranda, Tim, and Mark crawled across the office to the exit, opening the door, ducking out, and closing it softly behind. The took off sprinting to the nearest boy’s bathroom, laughing all the way.
Mark had arrived at the school, lonely from a recent broken friendship. He was walking along the corridor, early in the morning, trying to find his locker. Normally the students didn’t receive lockers, but his dad being coach, Mark was forced on the soccer team of the school, and had the privilege to receive one. He hadn’t planned on using it, but since he didn’t want to carry his P.E. uniform everywhere with him, he decided to drop it off, and several unread books until needed later.
As he rounded a corner, Mark heard sobbing, and little clicking noises up ahead. He, curiosity peaked, hurried along the short hall, and turned another corner. He was met with a pair of doors with glass panes in each. On the other side a crouching boy was found, tears streaming down his face, hands fumbling with a series of wires and short circuits. Mark pushed open a door, and came up slowly next to the boy, watching as he hooked the wires up to the top locker, the circuit board sitting in the bottom. The boy didn’t look at him, didn’t acknowledge his presence, and merely kneeled, working, wiping away tears as necessary. When he was done, he closed the bottom locker, successfully hiding any wires or any evidence to the small deed. Then, the boy stood, turned to Mark, wrapped both arms around his neck, and sobbed into his shoulder, harder than when he’d been hooking together wires. All Mark got out of the boy’s broken speech was, “Damn him… Dump me… I hate him!” And so on, and so forth. Mark could do nothing but pat him on the back, one arm around his waist, and whisper that “everything was going to be alright.”
Mark hauled him to a bathroom to clean up, and when he had the boy calmed, sitting on the sink counter, the boy said, “Thanks for listening. I’m gay. My name’s Tim.” And they were friends.
First was told to Tim by a girl, Maria Kindling, who had said Mr. Depew had had too many burritos at lunch, and a huge gas attack overcame him. The second was told to Miranda, by a boy, George Lopez, saying a mass of monkeys had come in through the window, seeking revenge for their abused ancestors that had been slaves to the Depew legacy, and had taken severe acts to knock him out and take him to their leader. The third was told to Mark by a teacher, Mr. Sterling, nonetheless, about how Mr. Depew had once had a plant that emitted a strange smell when it wasn’t fed enough. Well, being alone in the office for three months had definitely called for starvation, and the plant let off a stink so bad, that any person that neared it would have their skin melted off by it’s putridity.
So, the whole corridor had been blocked off, and teachers on the same floor had to endure the stink until it had passed. All the windows of the floor had been opened, and anyone that had classes on that floor just before lunch, definitely didn’t eat. The smoke had gotten in the air system, too, which is another Tim had decided to set up, so basically the whole school stunk.
Mark, Tim, and Miranda hung out in the back of the school at lunchtime, sharing their snacks - in Mark’s and Miranda’s case - that they’d brought that day. Tim sat back, enjoying the sun, and talking of past boyfriends. He never brought up the first, though, the same one that caused his bawling the day he and Mark met.
“Kyle was my third boyfriend, and what a great guy…” Tim sighed, taking a sip of his calorie-free diet soda. “It was sixth grade, and we had sex in the bathroom nearly every day at lunchtime. Oh, man. He always made sure to bruise me and go as hard and fast as possible…” He sighed again. “I think I loved him.”
“Could we please not talk about your sex life?” Miranda asked, sounding disgusted, but Mark could see the underlying pleasure taken in the mental images. He shuddered at the though.
“Oh, Mark! Remember that time, in the shower!” Tim squealed gleefully. Miranda threw Mark a undeserved glare. “You know, showers are supposed to make you clean, but we got down and dirty!” Tim threw his head back and laughed when Miranda punched Mark in the shoulder, turning to Tim to give him his. “Ow! Bitch,” he muttered, all laughter gone.
They then sat in silence, until the bell dismissed them from their activities and demanded them to get to class.
