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The classroom drowned in a semi-drowsy silence, broken only by the faint scratching of pens on notebooks and a barely audible whisper from the far corner. Literature. The last class of the day. The board was covered in intricate lines of analysis for some poem, and Miss Hendricks paced steadily with her pointer, explaining the nuances. Yet Mark, sitting at the same second-row desk, hardly noticed any of it. His concentrated gaze was fixed on the board, but his thoughts were far from poetry—or even the boys sneaking glances at him from neighboring desks.
‘Should I say no? Tell him I’ve got tons of stuff to do? That’s normal, right? Damn, why am I even hesitating?’ He absentmindedly bit the tip of his pen, trying to suppress the rising anxiety. Time was running out, but his mind was still a mess of doubts. Dan’s invitation to hang out after school stuck in his thoughts like an annoying splinter. Dan. That damn Dan. Why did Jessica make the decision for him so easily? And why hadn’t he just told her to shove it?
“What does he even want? God, I don’t even want to think about this, but…” He took a deep breath, feeling his hands clench into fists.
“It’s obvious what he wants, and it’s obvious where this could go. Damn it, calm down… Okay, okay, let’s think this through again.” The problem was that his body didn’t seem to share his hesitation. Ever since Dan had spoken to him by the lockers, a strange, irritating warmth had settled in his chest, and Mark couldn’t shake it off. That infuriated him most of all, though he kept it hidden.
“Well, Emma would’ve gone with him, right? It’s her body, and she’s a girl, and he… he’s the cool guy everyone likes. I can’t ignore that anymore, not like before. I know she’d definitely go, especially after he helped me—ugh, I mean, her—that time… But I’m not Emma. So why should I go? I’m still a guy, for God’s sake, and this… this is all wrong! Stop doubting yourself! Damn it, I’ve already decided this a hundred times. Why do I keep questioning it? What the hell is wrong with me?”
His gaze swept across the classroom. Nobody was looking at him directly, but sometimes Mark felt something intangible in the silence, as if everyone could hear his inner monologue and knew about this shameful situation—especially his doubts, which he already hated himself for. But everything seemed fine. The boy at the next desk, Ben, stole a glance in his direction but quickly looked away when their eyes met, pretending to search for something in his textbook.
"Damn, them as well…" Mark thought with a heavy sigh, irritation bubbling up inside him. Every time one of the boys looked at him for too long, he wanted to scream at them to stop. Those looks—admiring, awkward, evaluative—were unbearable and simultaneously reminded him that Emma was now him, whether he liked it or not. And the worst part was that this was all his own doing, the result of wanting to stay true to himself no matter what, which had somehow spiraled into… this strange popularity.
“Shit,” Mark muttered under his breath as the pen slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor and rolling under the neighboring desk. He was about to dive after it, momentarily forgetting his thoughts and frustration, when he noticed someone else had beaten him to it.
The hand reaching toward the floor belonged to Jack, the boy at the next desk. Jack deftly retrieved the pen and, straightening up, handed it back to Mark with a small, nervous smile.
—Here, take it, — Jack said softly, trying to sound confident but betrayed by the flush on his cheeks and the slight awkwardness in his smile.
Mark froze for a fraction of a second as he took the pen, his eyes searching Jack’s expression. He looked… embarrassed? A thought flashed in Mark’s mind: “Shit, him too? But he’s with Lauren!” He muttered a quick “Thanks” and immediately looked away, a strange irritation prickling at him over the whole situation.
An awkward moment hung in the air before Jack quickly turned back to his textbook, pretending to be completely engrossed in it. Behind Mark, a faint whisper broke out, followed by a muffled chuckle and more hushed murmurs, clearly discussing the brief interaction. Lauren, catching on, turned her head, her gaze settling on Jack and then on Mark. Her expression grew cold, with a faint trace of annoyance.