fic: Got to Stand It 2/6
PART 1
Mark’s summer gets a hell of a lot more enjoyable after that.
In some ways, things aren’t that different. He still doodles through his seminars and internally mocks all the stupid people in his classes. He still avoids going outside as much as possible and works on coding in their room. He still blows off all the activities. He and Eduardo still eat junk food and watch illegally downloaded movies on Mark’s laptop and make up their own dialogue when the audio is broken.
But now they’re hooking up, so it’s actually completely different.
Eduardo pretty much stops hanging out with his other friends altogether, and stops going to any of the activities. And Mark wasn’t going anyway. Which basically means they spend all the time they’re not in class or at meals in their room. With the door locked.
They end up keeping the beds pushed together, which seems a little weird but it’s practical, since they’re hooking up every night and they always end up falling asleep in the same bed anyway. And it’s not like anyone else who might question it ever comes into their room.
Mark finds that he’s generally in a much better mood now, more patient with stupid people and fairly attentive in his classes and less snarky in general. He even catches himself grinning stupidly to himself at random times, which is rather horrifying.
It’s really shocking. It’s like all his life, all he needed to cure his sour temperament was to get laid. He thinks this is a possibly revolutionary idea, and people could save so much money on antidepressants and therapy if they just had more sex. Maybe one day he’ll capitalize on this idea and become a billionaire.
But that can wait, because right now all he cares about is Eduardo’s mouth, and his hands, and his ass, and his long legs, and his cock. And okay, also his stupid smile, and his stupid fluffy hair, and how he always smells nice and clean. And of course his stupid fucking perfect eyes.
Okay, maybe that sounds really gay, but it’s excusable because the part of Mark’s brain that would censor those thoughts has been altogether wiped out due to too many orgasms. Because trust him, there are a lot of those going around.
They do it at least once a night, and more often than not in the afternoons too. Usually it’s playful, teasing-wrestling each other on the bed which leads to giggly making out which leads to nipping at each others’ ears which leads to clothes being taken off. Sometimes it’s rough and desperate, like that first night, panting hard into each others’ necks and grinding and rutting until they both come.
Only once in a while is it like that second night, sweet and tender and gentle and slow, just kissing for the longest time, Eduardo always looking so amazed and whispering Mark, Mark, over and over. Mark likes those times more than any others, but at the same time they leave him feeling strange, unsettled, with that strange burn in his chest that he doesn’t know what to do with.
They never talk about it, though, even though they’re doing it practically nonstop. After that conversation in the dining hall, they seem to have come to an unspoken agreement not to bring it up again. They still talk about a lot of other things-usually after, when they’re lying next to each other, sweaty, staring up at the ceiling-but never about what they’re doing.
It’s nice though, because other than that, they can talk about pretty much anything and everything, even things they wouldn’t tell anyone else. Mark finds himself opening up more than he ever has with anyone, and if he was ever reserved with his conversations, he sure as hell isn’t now. Maybe it’s because Eduardo is such a good listener, or because it just seems incredibly stupid to be shy with someone who just had your cock in his mouth, but he doesn’t mind telling Eduardo a lot of things about himself. About his family, and how he never met any of his grandparents and can’t bring himself to care about it. About how he always feels guilty for not being more sociable, mostly for his mother’s sake, because he knows how it worries her. About his relationships with his sisters, who understand him in a different way than his parents. He even tells Eduardo about how he really wants to do something incredible, something that will change the world, and how he really feels like he has that potential, like it’s at his fingertips, even if he’s young, even if he doesn’t know what it is yet. Eduardo doesn’t laugh at that, or pretend to agree just to placate Mark, but really listens and then nods slowly as if he really believes, knows, that Mark is right.
Eduardo tells Mark things too, and Mark loves to listen. About what he remembers of Brazil, and his visits to his family that still lives there. About growing up in Miami, about the people he knows at school, about his first girlfriend in eighth grade (but he must notice how Mark gets quiet and kind of frowny at that, because he quickly changes the subject). He talks about his father, too, about how he expects so much of him, how it’s simultaneously motivating and nerve-wracking, constantly trying to live up to his expectations. About how he sometimes has no idea what he wants to do with his life, and he’s only chosen business because it seems like an obvious route, but he could never tell his father that because to him not having a goal would equate being unmotivated, and is simply unacceptable, even at seventeen. Mark never knows what to say to any of that, and he really wishes he did, he wishes more than ever that he had his mother’s ability to say the right thing to people, because if he did he would tell Eduardo that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with not knowing, and that no one does at their age, and the people that say they do are full of shit. And he would say that he genuinely knows Eduardo will do something great, just like Mark knows he himself will, because Eduardo is actually a lot more brilliant than he realizes (and Mark doesn’t think that about a lot of people), and he shouldn’t let his father or anyone else keep him from realizing that.
But Mark doesn’t know how to say that, not without sounding trite or clichéd, not in a way that would show that he genuinely means it, so he just listens to what Eduardo has to say and sometimes squeezes his hand or kisses his cheek when his voice weakens.
---
So that’s how the rest of July goes, with a lot of sex and a lot of talking, but no talking about the sex. Mark doesn’t want to admit it to himself but it’s really lovely, actually, and he feels happier than he has in a long time, which he insists to himself is only because of the sex and nothing else.
Of course, in addition to the thing they’re not talking about, there are a number of things Mark is steadfastly not thinking about. For starters, there’s the fact that the plausible deniability regarding his own heterosexuality is shrinking by the day. If that gayness hierarchy thing really does exist, Mark is pretty sure he’s steadily making his way up. (He wonders idly what his parents would think if they knew that the main thing he’s learned at this expensive program is how to give a blowjob.) At least now he knows he’s not horrible at sex, but the fact is that being good at gay sex is not really something to brag about.
Another thing he is not allowing himself to think about is the fact that Eduardo is really good at it, like too good for it to just be a natural talent, which can only mean Mark is not the first guy Eduardo has been with. Whenever Mark thinks about that he gets this horrible clenching feeling in his gut and kind of wants to break something, so he avoids that train of thought altogether.
And then there’s Erica. Of course Mark feels guilty about cheating on her, about lying to her and sending vague, three-sentence responses to her emails a week late. Of course he feels guilty about all that, but it’s that kind of detached guilt, like how you feel guilty about not helping the impoverished people in third-world countries but you always hang up when charities call your house asking for donations. It’s just hard to think about Erica when he’s with Eduardo with his big smile and perfect-well, perfect everything.
But the thing he’s most particularly not thinking about is the fact that July is going by really fucking quickly, and when it ends and this program ends Eduardo’s going to go back to Florida and Mark will go back to New York and they’ll probably never see each other again. And Mark’ll go back to his life there, without a best friend, without whatever Eduardo is to him. But he doesn’t ever, ever allow himself to think about that.
Even though he knows he can’t avoid these things forever, it’s so hard to care about any of that when it’s just the two of them, locked in their tiny room. Sometimes it feels like the whole world is just that dorm room and the two of them are the only people in it. And all that matters is their kisses and their words and their laughter. And Mark thinks that maybe if he holds on to it hard enough the rhythm of the crickets chirping outside will slow down and the sun will take longer to come up and maybe, just maybe, time will stop for just a little while.
But of course it doesn’t.
August 2001
The day before they go home, the air conditioning breaks in their building. Mark is miserable, because it’s about a million fucking degrees out, and he feels disgusting and gross and crabby, and he hates humidity and Virginia and August and crappy building maintenance. He basically hates everything.
“I fucking hate August,” he says.
“Yeah, I got that the first three times,” says Eduardo, smiling.
“It’s just the worst month. Okay, maybe second worst, because January also fucking sucks. But still. No one likes August,” he groans, lying on their bed and wanting to die.
“I don’t mind it,” says Eduardo. He’s meticulously folding up all his clothes and piling them into his suitcases.
“That’s because you’re an optimistic freak who loves everything. Normal people hate it,” Mark spits out, trying to sound spiteful. He feels spiteful, irrationally pissed at Eduardo.
But Eduardo apparently doesn’t get his tone because he just laughs. This makes Mark more pissed, thinking I’m glad my misery is so amusing to you.
“Hey, Mark, you should probably pack soon,” says Eduardo gently.
“Thanks, Mom,” Mark says derisively.
“Mark-”
“I said I’d do it later,” he spits out. “You don’t have to nag me. Unlike you, I don’t have a fucking shitload of stupid button-ups, and I’m not so anal that it’ll take me all day to fold everything perfectly. I can handle it, okay?” He turns his back to Eduardo, hoping the words sound as nasty as he means them.
Eduardo is silent for a minute, then says, “Mark.” He doesn’t sound mad, only placating, like he’s reading into Mark’s bad mood, which pisses Mark off more than anything. He fumes and refuses to turn around. Eduardo says his name again, but he ignores it, knowing he’s being petulant and juvenile but not caring.
After a moment he hears Eduardo walk away and he thinks he’s finally leaving him alone. But a minute later he comes back in and sits next to Mark on the bed. Mark steadfastly ignores him, squeezing his eyes shut, until he feels cold water drip onto his forehead.
“What the fuck?” he turns around, angrily, to see a grinning Eduardo holding a dripping washcloth. “It’ll cool you down,” he says in a playful voice.
Mark glowers. “Don’t do that, you’ll get the sheets all wet,” he snaps.
“Since when do you care about that?” says Eduardo in a teasing voice and flicks water onto Mark’s neck. Mark recoils, slapping his hand away. “Go away,” he says.
“Come on, Mark,” Eduardo says, still smiling, undeterred, and leans forward to lick the droplets off Mark’s neck.
Mark shoves him off, hard, catching Eduardo’s chin with his knuckles. “I told you, it’s too fucking hot for that! Just leave me the fuck alone, Eduardo, Jesus!”
Eduardo stumbles back, stands up from the bed. His eyes are wide and he’s stopped smiling.
“Fine,” he says after a moment, and turns around, shutting the door behind him.
Mark immediately feels horrible about lashing out at Eduardo. He wishes he would come back so Mark could just apologize, but he’s gone for over an hour. (Where the hell is he? Is he using Mark’s hide-in-the-library trick?) Mark tries to nap but he can’t fall asleep in the heat. He eventually gets up and, reluctantly, starts throwing his clothes haphazardly into his suitcase, still angry, frustrated, and now guilty on top of everything.
By the time Eduardo shows up, the sky has darkened and it’s cooled off a bit. Eduardo comes carrying a rusty-looking fan.
“Hey. I got this from the RA in the other building. I don’t know how well it’ll work, but hopefully it’ll cool the room down a little,” he says, plugging it in.
Mark thinks why are you always so nice? I just acted like an asshole, don’t you care? But he just says, softly, “Thanks.”
Eduardo turns around, saying “No problem,” and now that he’s closer Mark can see the beginnings of a bruise forming on his jaw, where Mark hit him.
“Wardo,” Mark says “I’m really-”
“It was an accident, Mark” Eduardo cuts him off.
That’s not what Mark was apologizing for, not entirely. “No, I-”
Eduardo cuts him off again. “It’s okay, Mark,” he says gently. “Forget about it.”
Mark kind of wants to scream, Why won’t you stand up to me? You have every right to be mad! But he’s glad Eduardo is letting it go, and he really doesn’t want to fight. Especially not today.
“Okay,” he says softly. Then he grabs Eduardo’s hand and pulls him toward the bed, whispering, “Come here.”
“Thought it was too hot for this,” says Eduardo, smiling, leaning into Mark’s touch.
“Well, it cooled down,” Mark whispers, tracing his fingers ever so lightly over the mark on Eduardo’s jaw. Eduardo shivers, almost imperceptibly.
“Yeah, I think-I think it’s gonna storm,” Eduardo stammers, his voice turning breathless as Mark kisses his neck.
“Mr. Meteorologist,” Mark says affectionately as he unbuttons Eduardo’s shirt, and Eduardo laughs breathlessly.
Mark pauses for a moment to press a kiss onto Eduardo’s collarbone, which is slightly sticky with sweat. He pulls back slightly and says, “You know I didn’t mean it about your shirts. I like them.” Eduardo smiles and says, “I know.”
“Although,” Mark adds, “I could do without all the damn buttons.”
---
By the time they hear the first crack of thunder outside, they’re both a lot sweatier, and well on their way to being naked. Eduardo’s got one hand in Mark’s underwear and is groping unhurriedly, and Mark is enjoying himself, preparing for a nice handjob. Eduardo pulls Mark’s underwear off and then draws back suddenly. Mark has to stop himself from whining at the loss of contact.
“Mark, do you trust me?” Eduardo whispers, his breath hot against Mark’s ear. Mark gulps, a little uneasy, but nods, because he does. “Okay,” Eduardo whispers, and spits in his hand.
Eduardo slips his hand between Mark’s legs, but reaches around his cock and strokes the spot behind his balls instead, making Mark gasp involuntarily. He keeps touching there, gentle, but his fingers are creeping further back and then he kind of prods right there--
“Whatareyoudoing,” Mark says in one breath, his whole body tense, heart pounding.
“Come on, Mark. You’ll like it, I promise,” Eduardo whispers, but he’s gone still as well.
Mark doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Is Eduardo really trying to do what Mark thinks he is? Because it seems really weird and kind of gross for someone to put their finger there. And definitely gay.
On the other hand, Eduardo is kind of a sex god so Mark is apt to believe whatever he says.
“I can stop if you want me to,” Eduardo says.
Mark stays frozen, but shakes his head almost imperceptibly.
“Okay. Just, uh, just relax,” Eduardo says, and pushes one finger in, slowly.
Mark is trying to relax but it’s not exactly easy at the moment. Once Eduardo gets it all the way in he’s kind of twisting it around and doing all kinds of weird tricks and Mark is trying to imagine how this could possibly be enjoyable for him. It doesn’t exactly, like, hurt, but it’s kind of uncomfortable and weird. He’s thinking is this, like, a thing? That people do? Why?
And then, and then, Eduardo pushes up and does this little twisty thing and hits something inside him, and Mark almost chokes on air.
His whole body is liquid and there are sparks shooting up into his stomach and down into his toes and straight to his cock, which is practically throbbing. Now instead of thinking is this a thing? he’s thinking how the hell is it possible that I didn’t know about this? It must be the best-kept secret ever, because he cannot believe that he could have gone his whole life never hearing about something that feels this incredible.
“Keep going?” says Eduardo. Mark can’t form words so he just groans his assent.
Eduardo slips a second finger in. Mark’s brain kind of short-circuits then, and for what feels like the longest time there are no thoughts, only incredible sensations, heat building in his belly and under his skin, the slick noise of skin moving together, the room filled with Mark’s breathless groans and Eduardo’s pants, thunder rumbling outside and, for an instant, lightning illuminating the room. Finally, Eduardo brushes his other hand against Mark’s cock and it’s all over, the moment ends and Mark comes.
He falls back on the bed, trying to catch his breath, both of them beyond sweaty now. When he finally cracks his eyes open and regains his ability to speak all he can come up with is a hoarse “holy shit.”
“I told you you’d like it,” says Eduardo, grinning.
“Hey. Smugness is only an endearing quality on me,” Mark says, but his lie couldn’t be more transparent. He rolls over on top of Eduardo and, without preamble, takes him in his mouth.
He’s still not exactly a pro at this, but he really wants to make it count, because he feels like he owes Eduardo at least that much after whatever the hell just happened. Besides, this is probably his last chance. But he chases that thought away and sucks harder, relishing the little whimpers Eduardo is making. When he comes, Mark forces himself not to gag and swallows all of it.
After, they lie next to each other, still naked, too hot and exhausted to put on clothes or pull the covers up. The clouds have finally broken outside and the sound of rain battering down is all around them.
“Don’t you love the sound of the rain?” says Eduardo after a few minutes. “I love listening to it, it makes me feel so peaceful.”
Mark has honestly never really thought about it. It’s always the background to some other, more pressing thought. He does feel calm, and there’s some strange feeling lodged in his throat, sweet but also achy in a way he can’t swallow down. He somehow doubts that any of this has much to do with the rain, though.
“Yes.” He says. “It’s beautiful.”
---
The next morning, Mark kind of has a stomachache. He hopes he’s not getting heatstroke or something. All the food in the dining hall at breakfast just makes him feel nauseous, so he doesn’t eat anything.
Before their parents get there, they push the beds back into their original positions. They crank open the windows, but the smell of sex won’t seem to go away, so as a last resort, Eduardo sprays practically an entire bottle of cologne to mask the scent. It does not help with Mark’s queasiness.
Unsurprisingly, Mark’s family gets there before Eduardo’s. He has this horrible fear that as soon they see him and Eduardo they’ll just know, but they don’t seem to notice anything unusual because his mom just hugs him and his father shakes Eduardo’s hand.
Mark feels incredibly awkward as he drags his suitcase out into the car, especially when his younger sister whispers, “Wow, your roommate’s really cute, Mark!” Mark rolls his eyes and asks his parents if they can just leave. His mom says, “Aren’t you going to say goodbye to your friend?”
Mark goes back in the room, where Eduardo looks equally uncomfortable. The room looks strange with everything packed up. They’re alone, but Mark is very aware of the open door, his family waiting outside.
Eduardo hands him a scrap of paper. “That’s my cell number,” he says. “You should, uh, call me. If you want.”
“Sure,” Mark says, throat dry.
They hug awkwardly, stiffly.
“I guess I’ll see you around,” says Mark, even though he obviously won’t. He can’t believe that now, after everything, he can’t think of a single thing to say. It figures.
“Yeah,” says Eduardo. “Good luck with college apps and everything.”
Mark tries to think of something meaningful to say, but it’s like the first time they met again, and he has nothing. “Um, bye.”
“Bye, Mark,” says Eduardo.
Mark leaves.
----
An hour into the car ride, and he’s still feeling sick. Even with the air conditioning cranked up, the car feels stuffy and humid. He rests his head against the window, feeling a little dizzy.
“What was the most exciting thing you did?” says Arielle, who apparently cannot take a hint that Mark doesn’t feel like talking.
“I don’t know,” he says. He’s staring at the seatbelt buckle, remembering that looking at an unmoving spot inside the car is supposed to help with carsickness. Or was it looking at something outside the car?
“Eduardo seems so nice. And cute! I bet you all my friends would have crushes on him,” she says.
“I don’t think your friends are his type,” says Mark, shutting his eyes.
“Oh yeah? How do you know? Does he have a girlfriend?”
“No,” Mark says. He’s trying to take deep breaths but it’s not helping, and his stomach is churning horribly.
“Are you gonna keep in touch with him?” she asks.
“Dad, can you pull over?” Mark says.
“Um…can you wait a few minutes? I think there’s a rest stop at the next exit,” says his dad. His mom turns around and says, “Are you okay, honey?”
“No, I need-I have to get out now,” he says, through gritted teeth.
“Oh my god, don’t puke in the car!” says Arielle.
“Okay, just wait a second,” says his dad, sounding alarmed. As soon as he gets the car onto the shoulder Mark opens the door and jumps out.
He doubles over on the pavement, clutching his stomach. He retches once, twice, but nothing comes up, and it dissolves into coughing. He doesn’t move for a moment, trembling slightly, the asphalt hot and rough under his knees.
His mom comes up behind him, saying “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.” She puts a consoling hand on his neck, soothing. A minute later his dad comes on his other side and hands him a bottle of water. Mark takes it and gulps half of it down, still sweaty, feeling the back of his neck prickle in the sun.
Finally, the feeling passes and he stands up, swaying a little, and goes back to the car.
---
He was right. August sucks.
The weather is horrible, unbearably hot and muggy enough that you get all sticky and disgusting the minute you step outside. If it were up to him, he would spend all his time inside, playing video games or coding or reading. But his parents have decided that since he doesn’t have a job he needs to help out around the house, so he spends a lot more time than he’d like (which is to say, any time at all) doing stupid things like mowing the lawn, or driving Arielle to soccer tryouts, or watering the garden, or driving Donna to band camp, or going to the grocery store, or…well, you get the idea.
The one plus side to all this is that it gives him an excuse not to see Erica.
The thing about repressing guilt is sooner or later, you’re not going to be able to keep avoiding it and you’ll have to face the music. Mark finds this out when Erica comes to visit him, two days after he gets home.
He has this horrible fear that as soon as she sees him she’ll know what happened, just like how he felt with his family, only way worse. But she just hugs him and smiles and starts asking him a bunch of questions about the summer.
“So how was it? Did you have fun?” she says.
How was it? Hm, let me think. Oh yeah. I had a pretty good time. Cheating on you.
“I don’t know. It was okay, I guess.”
“Come on, Mark! Tell me about it.”
Cheating on you with a guy.
“I don’t know. It was pretty much like what I said in email.”
“Well, was I right about it being kind of like college?”
I don’t know, do binge drinking and sexual experimentation count?
“Not really, the classes were pretty easy and most of the events were lame and chaperoned.”
“Oh, that sucks. Well, do you at least feel like you learned something?”
Sure, I learned how to give head.
“Yeah, I guess it helped with some of the programming language stuff I wasn’t too familiar on.”
“That’s good! I knew it wouldn’t be as bad as you were thinking. You know, new experiences are good for you, Mark!”
Oh yeah, and he put his fingers in my ass. That was a new experience.
Erica finally figures out that he’s not going to elaborate and changes the topic to the latest summer gossip, which is a huge relief. Mark is such a bad liar-nervous and twitchy and evasive. He swears it must be all over his face-how can she not see it? He really doesn’t think he’s cut out to be a cheater.
Only, well, apparently he is, actually.
Even worse then avoiding talking to Erica is trying to avoid fooling around with her.
Normally, Mark likes making out with Erica. What guy wouldn’t? It’s fun, it’s not too difficult, she smells good, and she’s a good kisser. Plus she usually lets him take off her bra, which is obviously enjoyable. What’s not to like?
At least, that’s how he felt before.
Now, though, it’s practically torturous. It’s not that she’s suddenly bad at it, or anything, it’s just that no matter how hard he tries not to, his mind always goes in bad directions. Like how it feels so different without the scrape of stubble. Or how when he presses his thigh between her legs he half expects to feel another erection against his own.
He always starts freaking out whenever these thoughts pop up, because there are just so many things wrong with that. But the more he tries not to think about it, not to compare, the harder it is to chase those thoughts away. He tries to just focus on Erica, get into it, but she can obviously tell something’s wrong because she always pulls away and asks him if everything is okay. He tries to come up with some excuse, which works alright at first. But there are only so many times he can say he isn’t feeling well, or he’s nervous because her parents are upstairs, or he thinks his mom will be pissed if he’s home too late. She has to know something’s up. (Or, actually, not up, more often than not, which is not helping.)
So he ends up avoiding her as much as possible. He ignores her calls and texts and then claims his phone was dead, or he says that he has to run errands for his parents and can’t come over, or that he thinks he’s getting sick, again. For awhile she’s understanding, which makes him feel worse, but eventually, of course, she figures out something is going on. She keeps asking him to tell her, but he claim he has no idea what she’s talking about.
Mark feels awful about the whole thing, of course. Erica has always been the nicest girlfriend, and she doesn’t deserve this. But he doesn’t have the balls to tell her the truth, and he can’t face her. He knows it’s fucked up, but he kind of would rather feel like an asshole for treating her badly and avoiding her than for lying and cheating.
And what the hell is wrong with him? She’s a perfectly sweet and attractive girl, why can’t he just enjoy hooking up with her like any normal guy would? It’s not like hooking up with Eduardo suddenly made him lose all attraction to girls. That’s not possible, right? It must be the guilt, really, that’s fucking with his mind.
Needless to say, they never do get to third base.
And that’s how he spends August, getting sunburned and running stupid errands for his parents and avoiding his girlfriend and generally hating life.
A week before school starts, she breaks up with him.
Of course, she’s really nice about it, not bitter or angry at all, which just makes it worse. She tells him that she feels like they’ve been growing apart, and maybe with the stress of senior year coming up, it might be better if they weren’t together. But she’s still glad they had the spring and summer together, and she had a lot of fun with him.
See, this is the problem. Why are people always so nice to Mark when he treats them horribly?
He knows he should be upset about getting dumped, but mostly he’s just relieved. At least now he can stop feeling guilty. Maybe he can just forget this whole summer and all the stupid confusion that went with it.
---
He never ends up calling Eduardo. He keeps the scrap of paper with his number on it for exactly two weeks. He keeps moving it around to hiding places in his room, irrationally paranoid, as if it’s some kind of illegal drug instead of a mundane piece of paper with a phone number on it. First he puts it in his desk drawer, then under his pillow-but that’s way too fucking weird-then between the books on his bookshelf, then back in his desk drawer.
Finally, at the end of the two weeks, he loses his patience and rips it up into a bunch of tiny pieces into the trash can.
But it makes no difference. The number is permanently imprinted in his mind. He can see it when he closes his eyes at night, the string of ten numbers running in an endless loop, seemingly mocking him.
That’s the thing about being a programmer. Once you get a code in your head, there’s no getting rid of it.
---
December 2001
Fucking National Honor Society.
Mark only joined as a last-minute application boost. It’s not like he actually gives a damn about community service. And maybe that sounds terrible, but he’s pretty sure it’s true for ninety-nine percent of the kids in it.
Besides, it’s not like they actually do any real community service. Most of it is just stupid stuff like setting up for the choir concert and washing desks in the library and selling fucking candy-grams. You know, the kind of things that really make a difference in the world.
He tried tutoring, since he’s acing all of his classes, but he ended up making the algebraically-challenged freshman burst into tears. Well, at least now he knows his future doesn’t lie in education.
Through all of fall he kept “forgetting” to sign up for stuff. And now it’s almost the end of the semester and if he doesn’t get four credits they’ll kick him out. (Although, that might be an empty threat.) And he wouldn’t particularly care anyway-he’s already been accepted to college-but that’s just so stupid and pathetic, to be kicked out of National Honor Society.
Which is how he ends up here, chaperoning the seventh-grade Winter Dance.
He can’t believe this. Why does fate always conspire against him and force him to go to school dances, his least favorite things in the world? And to make matters worse, it’s at the middle school, which is even worse than high school as far as painful memories go. He’s surrounded by preteens-as if he doesn’t get enough of that at home-pubertal and pimply and awkward, the girls all taller than the boys. He’s in hell, he’s sure of it.
“It’s so sad. All of the boys think it’s uncool to ask a girl to dance, and all the girls think it’s lame to ask a boy,” says a voice next to him.
It’s Erica. She’s leaning against the snack table. Her hair is done up in some complicated-looking knot. She’s wearing a dark green dress, kind of sheer with a slit up the side, and a plunging neckline that makes her boobs look really good. She looks hot, basically.
“Yeah, I know,” says Mark. “But all the boys secretly wish they had the balls to ask a girl. But they’d never admit it to their friends. Way too dorky.”
Erica smiles at him. He hasn’t seen her much at all since the summer, since they don’t have any classes together and their paths don’t tend to cross.
“Are you here for the Honor Society thing?” she asks.
“Nah, I just like to creep around middle school dances. Good place to pick up chicks,” he says. Erica rolls her eyes and smiles.
“Yeah, I still need four credits. Plus my sister’s here with her friends, so I’m the ride,” Mark says.
She nods sympathetically. “Yeah, me too. I got so busy with the other clubs I'm in that I totally forgot about credits. I should’ve just done the school clean-up in October when I had the chance.”
Mark says, “Yeah, it’s all pretty dumb anyway.” He pauses awkwardly for a moment, rearranging the bowls of Cheetos. “So, um. How’ve you been?”
She shrugs. “Oh, you know. Pretty busy. Stressed out lately, trying to finish all my applications. Plus I have to look for scholarships and stuff…well, I’m sure you know how it is. Have you finished all your essays and everything?”
“Yeah,” says Mark. “I actually, uh, got in early decision.”
Erica’s eyes widen. “No way! Where?”
“Harvard,” Mark says. He tries to sound blasé about it, but he still gets a little thrill every time he tells someone.
“No shit!” Erica says loudly, then glances around a little guiltily to check that none of the seventh graders heard her. “That’s awesome, Mark!” She hugs him.
“Thanks,” he says, grinning.
“Oh my god, Harvard! I can’t believe it! Although, if anyone was gonna get in, it would be you. That was your first choice, right?”
Are you kidding? Harvard is everyone’s first choice, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it, because he’s trying to tone down the douchiness. “Yeah, definitely.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t know about this! You’d think I’d have heard,” she says.
Mark doesn’t really know why she would’ve heard about it. It’s not like they talk much at all, and he isn’t really the topic of many people’s conversations.
“Oh, well, I haven’t told that many people. I didn’t want to seem like I was bragging.”
“I think this is something you deserve to brag about! I mean, it’s Harvard, Mark!” she says, still smiling.
This is the great thing about Erica. She’s always so genuinely supportive of people, not in that fake, spiteful way like some people. Mark suddenly feels a wave of affection for her. He’s tried not to think about her (or any of this summer), much, this fall, but now he really misses her.
“Thanks,” he says again. Then, scratching the back of his neck, “Hey, do you want to dance? Someone has to be the first or they’ll just stay sit on opposite corners of the gym all night, and that is just too painful to watch.”
Erica looks surprised, probably because she knows that Mark usually won’t dance without considerable coercion, but she says “Yeah, okay.”
Mark takes her out onto the dance floor, all too aware of dozens of pairs of eyes staring at him. He wonders if Arielle will give him shit about this later. Jesus, you know it’s bad when you’re worried about a bunch of twelve-year-olds judging you. Whatever, they can suck it. Mark is dancing with a hot girl, and he can drive, and he’s going to college next year, and he can control his erections (most of the time). All of which is more than any of them can say.
She puts his arms around his neck and he puts his on her hips. They sway slightly, not really moving, but that’s pretty much the extent of Mark’s slow-dancing. Erica smells good, like some kind of perfume maybe, and he can see she has little snowflake earrings. They’re kind of cute.
“You look nice,” he says. She smiles. “Thanks, Mark,” she says.
After a moment, she says, “Listen, I’m really sorry about the way things worked out this summer.”
“What?” says Mark. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one who should be-I acted like-I was a jerk, I shouldn’t have-you had every right-” But he can’t say the right thing. He’s suddenly uncomfortable all over again, that old guilt washing back up.
“No, Mark, it wasn’t your fault,” she says. “I mean, we were both-I think we were both just stressed out. And I know I was being too clingy, but I didn’t mean-” she breaks off.
This is bullshit, or course, and she knows it. At least Mark hopes she knows it. But he accepts it, because he has no intention of getting into the real reason they didn’t work out.
“Yeah, well, for whatever reason, I wish we didn’t break up. I was obviously pretty stupid to let you go,” he says, which makes her blush and smile shyly. She leans in and puts her head on his shoulder. Some kid whistles. Mark considers flipping him off behind Erica’s back, but he’s in a good mood, so he doesn’t.
When they get off the dance floor, they are gratified to see a few brave souls have joined them and are dancing together, most looking fairly mortified.
They spend the rest of the night refilling the punchbowl, picking up stray Cheetos, and talking. Erica tells him about the colleges she’s applying to, Mark tells her about his nerve-wracking interview in October, they compare their classes, Erica talks about her annoying friends’ relationship drama, Mark talks about how annoying it is that he has to drive his sisters everywhere. It’s nice, and easy. Easier than he remembers it being, since before…well. Before.
They slow-dance a few more times. She gets pretty close, like crotches-pressed-together close, and Mark is not sure if that’s appropriate for a middle school dance, but on the other hand, he doesn’t particularly give a fuck.
At the end of the night, they do a rather half-assed job of cleaning up as everyone leaves. When all the snacks are put away and the chairs are stacked up on the tables, they walk out to the front of the school.
“Don’t you have to drive your sister home?” Erica asks.
“No, she texted me that she was sleeping over her friend’s house,” Mark says.
“Oh, okay,” says Erica, sitting down.
“Do you have a ride?” Mark says.
“I have to wait for my brother to pick me up,” says Erica. “Whatever, no big deal.”
“I can take you home,” says Mark.
“Are you sure?” She says. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Oh yeah, you’re keeping me from all my pressing social obligations,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Come on.”
It’s freezing inside his car. He turns the heat on. “Hold on, I just need to wait for the windows to defrost,” he says.
Erica kisses him.
After she pulls away, he stares at her, slightly stunned. “Um. What was that for? Because I really don’t mind driving you, you don’t have to kiss me.”
Erica laughs a little. Then she says, “I think we should get back together. I mean, if you want.”
Mark blinks, stunned. “Uh. Yeah. I mean, of course I want to.”
She smiles, then pulls him in again, kissing him hard. They kiss for a few minutes. When they’re all jammed up against the steering wheel she pulls away, breathing hard.
“Can we get in the back?” she asks.
“Uh…” Mark looks around, suddenly remembering where they are. It seems pretty skeevy to do this in his mom’s car, in the middle school parking lot, especially if they’re going to do more than make out, which kind of seems like it might be the case from the way Erica is looking at him. On the other hand, it’s not like there’s anyone around. And besides, Mark is so done with making excuses instead of hooking up.
“Sure,” he says.
Once they’re in the backseat, he lies on top of her, still a little cramped, but kissing more fervently. She pulls his hand down towards her cleavage, but the fabric of her dress is surprisingly constricting, and he can’t get his hand in.
“I don’t wanna rip your dress,” he says.
“You won’t,” she says. “And I don’t care anyway, it was half off at Macy’s. Here, the zipper’s on the side.”
Eventually he gets it mostly unzipped. She’s not wearing a bra underneath. The skirt is pushed up, and Mark is hard in his dress pants. Of course he is.
“Mark,” Erica breathes. “Can you…?” she pushes his hand up her leg.
“You want me to…are you sure?” he says, nervous.
She nods, and then says, “Wait. You don’t think this is slutty, right?”
Maybe. Kind of. Mark doesn’t know. He doesn’t really care.
“No, of course not. We were dating for almost four months,” he says.
“Okay, you’re right,” she says.
He puts his hand in her underwear, heart beating hard. He can’t really believe this is happening, now.
He starts rubbing around, but he has no idea what he’s doing, and he can’t really tell if she likes it or not because she’s not really making any noises. Third base is a lot more self-explanatory with a guy.
No no no no no. Don’t even go there. No way. He stops that thought in its tracks.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he must find the right spot because she starts breathing harder and pushing into his hand. He rubs harder and she tenses up, and then goes still.
Well. He made her come. Strangely, he doesn’t feel quite as triumphant about it as he expected.
After a minute, she unbuttons his pants. “Do you have any, like, tissues or anything?” she asks. Mark gestures towards the car floor. Erica grabs some, then reaches into his boxers.
She’s not exactly great at it. The touch is too light, and whenever he starts to get close, she changes the rhythm again. Mark can’t help thinking of how different it was with-
“Is this okay? Am I doing something wrong?” she asks.
Mark shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut and narrows his mind down to his cock. He thinks about thunder crackling, and the smell of cologne, and he comes.
After they’ve gotten cleaned up and buttoned up, he takes her home. When they’re in her driveway, she says “Call me tomorrow, okay?”
He nods and kisses her again. As she gets out he notices that her fancy hairdo is all messed up. He feels weirdly bad about this. It seems like it must’ve taken her a long time.
As he drives home, he muses that a lot of his sexual milestones seem to revolve around school dances. What the fuck is that about?
Well, at least he finally got to third base with a girl. Maybe National Honor Society is good for something after all.
---
March 2002
Erica gets into BU. She’s really excited, because that was her first choice, too.
“I’m not surprised at all,” Mark says, hugging her. “There was no way you weren’t gonna get in.”
“I don’t know, Mark, we can’t all be geniuses like you,” she says, but she’s smiling so he knows she doesn’t mean anything by it.
“This is so cool! We can go exploring in Boston together. We can go on dates in Faneuil Hall and Fenway Park,” she says.
“I thought you hated the Red Sox,” Mark says.
“I meant to boo them,” Erica says, then suddenly she stops smiling. “Wait. I don’t mean to assume…We haven’t even talked about-I don’t even know if you want to stay together,” she says nervously.
“What? Of course I want to stay together, are you crazy? Why wouldn’t I?” he says, which makes her smile again.
“Yay, good,” she says, leaning forward to kiss him.
“But you know I hate sports,” he mumbles into her mouth. She laughs.
---
May 2002
Mark thought people made a big deal over junior prom, but that’s nothing compared to the fervor surrounding senior prom. All anyone can talk about is who they’re going with, whether they’re taking a limo, what parties they’re going to afterwards, who they plan to deflower, where they are getting their hair done, what kind of corsage they want…
And dresses. God, the way the girls talk about their prom dresses, you’d think they were discussing their newborn children.
It’s one of the most inane things Mark has experienced in high school. And that’s saying something.
But Erica is pretty excited about the whole thing, so he tries to be a good boyfriend and go along with it. Even if it means he has to wear a baby blue tie and sit through half an hour of their parents taking pictures.
Also.
Erica decides she wants to have sex for the first time after prom.
Honestly, it’s a little too clichéd for Mark’s taste. It makes him feel like a character in one of those shows his sisters watch, One Tree Hill or whatever. It’s so unoriginal.
On the other hand, Mark is pretty damn eager to lose his virginity, so he’s not exactly going to argue.
The actual dance is pretty boring, but not too bad. Pretty much like any other dance, except it’s in the hotel ballroom instead of a gym and the food is a little less crappy. Pretty anticlimactic. Erica forces him to dance to at least one fast song with all her friends, and he dances with her to all the slow songs. He spends the rest of the time sitting at the table, playing with his phone, and continuously checking that the condom is still in his wallet.
They go up to the hotel room that they somehow convinced their parents to let them rent for the night. Erica has champagne that she got from her brother. Of course neither of them particularly likes champagne, and they make faces when they sip from the bottle.
And then they do it.
Nothing goes too disastrously awry. Mark manages to make it through a full sixty seconds of intercourse before he comes, which he personally considers a massive accomplishment. Erica says it doesn’t hurt too badly, and he shouldn’t worry, because girls hardly ever have orgasms their first time.
So yeah, he considers it a success.
Later, he goes down on her. He’s still pretty new at that too, at not exactly great at it, but apparently he’s good enough because it doesn’t take long until she comes.
So they’ve both had orgasms, and the deflowering was a success, and they curl up under the covers and watch an Adam Sandler movie on TBS, and it’s all good.
She says she loves him, and he says it back.
And yes, of course he means it. Because what more could he want, anyway?
---
June 2002
Mark’s parents throw him a graduation party. It’s pretty boring, just a bunch of his relatives hugging him a lot and eating cake. But he gets a ton of money and a new laptop and of course all kinds of Harvard paraphernalia, so that’s pretty nice.
That night, he and Erica go to stay at her parents’ beach house in Cape Cod. When they have sex, he actually makes her come. It’s the first time that has happened.
He feels very manly. He kind of wishes he had someone to brag about it to. He wishes he could blog about it, but he doesn’t really think she’d appreciate that.
---
August 2002
Orientation is promising.
Okay, yes, a fair number of the other incoming freshmen Mark meets are the douchey types he was expecting. You know, like the Lacoste-wearing, crew-rowing, five-generations-of-Harvard-legacy types. There are a lot of those.
But there are also some people that don’t seem too bad. Like people Mark could actually get along with. And they don’t seem too put off by him, surprisingly. Sure, he’s not going to be Mr. Popularity, but maybe he won’t be total outcast either.
He actually befriends one guy, Dustin, which is more than he was expecting. He’s kind of ridiculous, acts like a five-year-old hopped up on sugar most of the time, but it’s amusing. Plus he’s obsessed with getting laid in a way that makes it obvious he’s a virgin. (Mark really likes to think that about people, now that he’s not one.)
Still, the guy’s also a CS major, and he actually knows his shit about programming, so Mark figures he can’t be all bad. So now Mark knows he’ll have at least one person to hang out with.
September 2002
Mark’s dorm room at Harvard is bigger than the one he shared with Eduardo last summer, but not by much. His roommate is an international biology major who spends most of his time in library or occasionally Skyping his friends in Chinese. Mark does not anticipate that they’ll be particularly close, which is completely fine by him.
Although he meets a number of people, most of them are just acquaintances, and the only person he spends much time with is Dustin, who, as it turns out, lives in the same building as Mark, two floors up. Possibly because of his hyperactive temperament, it turns out Dustin is not a whole lot more popular than Mark, so the two of them spend most of their free time together.
More often than not, they’re joined by Dustin’s roommate, Chris. Chris is pretty cool. He’s a humanities major, so he doesn’t really get the whole programmer mentality like the two of them, but he’s really chill and easy-going, which is a refreshing counterpoint to Dustin’s overexcitability. He’s also sociable, unlike the two of them, and he’s always trying to introduce them to people and make them go to parties and random events. Even though Mark typically has no interest in going, he usually gets dragged along by Chris and by Dustin, who will do anything to meet girls.
---
One Saturday night, towards the end of month, Mark and Dustin are in a restaurant in Harvard Square, waiting for Chris.
“He wants to know if it’s okay if he brings his friend,” says Mark.
“Tell him I said only if it’s a hot girl,” Dustin says. Mark ignores him and texts back thats fine.
“How many of these creamers do you think I can stack on top of each other?” Dustin says. Mark says, “Not many, they’re not stable. Unless you’re gonna make a pyramid or something.”
“Nah, that’s cheating,” says Dustin, carefully turning one of the containers upside down and placing it on top of the stack. “Once I got to eleven, with those little jelly containers.”
Mark scoffs. “Not the same at all. Those are flat so they’re way easier to balance.”
“Whatever, just you watch,” says Dustin. “That’s six…hey, do you think Chris’s friend is like a special friend?” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
Chris is gay. He was completely nonchalant when he told Mark this. Mark doesn’t care. The extent of Dustin’s reaction is hoping that it means Chris knows more girls that he can introduce to him. It doesn’t really seem like anyone cares, actually.
“I doubt it,” says Mark, helping Dustin steady the stack. “If it was someone he was trying to impress, I doubt he’d want him to meet you.”
“Fuck off. That’s ten!” says Dustin, just as Chris walks in, followed by another guy.
“Hey guys, this is my friend from psych-”
“No fucking way,” says Mark loudly. He drops the creamer in his hand and the stack topples over, containers scattering all over the table.
“What the fuck, Mark! I almost beat my record!” says Dustin angrily.
“Mark?” says Eduardo incredulously, his eyes widening in an all-too-familiar way. “What are you doing here?”
PART 3