Sarah sat on one of the old wrought iron chairs arranged on the patio at back of the semi-detached house, highlighted in the glow of the kitchen window opposite her. She was rolling a thin, white cylindrical object delicately between her fingertips. From where he stood shrouded in the foliage at the bottom of the garden Mark could discern the far away look in her eyes that he loved so much. It made her look as if she had a secret that no-one else knew. She was wearing a plain black halter neck top and a blood red calf length skirt. Her long dark hair cascaded over her bare shoulders, obscuring one side of her face. Mark noticed the silhouette of Sarah’s mother in the kitchen, outlined in the window. The dishes clattered noisily in the sink, conveying her displeasure more effectively than words.
Sarah twisted the end of the joint then raised it to her lips. Mark focussed the video camera in tightly as she brought the joint to life with the pale yellow flame from a brass zippo lighter. She looked up and in that second she seemed to be staring right at him. A thrill of pleasure rushed through him as their eyes met, albeit through the camera. He ached to be next to her, brushing his fingers against her warm pale skin, running his hand through her dark tresses and sharing the acrid clouds she exhaled sensuously through pouted lips.
Mark walked slowly along the busy main road towards the sixth form college. It was a fine sunny day but his guts felt leaden with the anticipation of what he knew would happen when he arrived. The morning ritual of humiliation at the hands of the gang were unavoidable. He had tried every way into the college, and even being very early or very late. But somehow they always seemed to intercept him. He turned into the main gate and started up the pot holed tarmac driveway. The bushes on either side rustled and disgorged several figures. It was Lance, Helen and Ben. Mark kept walking.
"Hi Mark," said Helen. She was the girl they’d done their so called ‘test’ on him with. She had asked him out to see if he was gay or not and they’d conveniently assumed that a refusal was firm evidence of his sexual preference. Helen had blonde, curly collar length hair, blue eyes and an overdeveloped figure. Definitely not his type. She fell into step beside him and reached for his hand. He quickly switched his bag to the other side to avoid touching her. The other two followed a few paces behind. "Aren’t you going to say hello to me big boy?" The two lads behind laughed and cat called.
"Oh hi Helen." Mark carried on walking. "Why the hurry, big man? Won’t you stay for a fag?" She asked. The laughter increased in volume. Mark continued walking, hoping for a tutor to appear around the corner and put an end to her fun. He heard quicker footsteps behind him. A hand grabbed his shoulder and he was forced to turn.
"Hey, she asked you a question gay boy." Lance leered at Mark. Lance was slightly taller and more heavily built than Mark. Another reason for Mark to fear him. Lance’s mouth seemed to be curled into a permanent sneer, contorting his potentially handsome face, below that his thick set jaw was peppered with so called designer stubble. Collar length slicked back brown hair, bleached denim jacket , drainpipe jeans, black boots and white T-shirt completed the appearance of Mark’s nemesis.
"No I don’t want a fag. Thanks very much." Mark looked around desperately seeking a way out of the situation. A few yards behind them he saw Sarah walking amidst a group of her Gothic friends. His heart leapt. Suddenly, courage filled his body. He pushed Lance’s hand off his shoulder.
"Leave it out grease boy! I’m going out with her." Mark pointed at Sarah. Lance laughed.
"Do you seriously expect me to believe that?" Lance barked incredulously. Mark paused, thinking rapidly. If only he could get Lance and Ben off his back, life would be sweet. His guts turned to water as he realised the humiliation that would follow if Sarah rejected him.
"I’m going to ask her out now!" He turned and walked slowly towards the group of pale skinned, mostly black clad students, desperately trying to come up with a decent way of asking out Sarah. The group was nearly level with him , and began to fan out so they could walk round him.
"Hi Sarah," Mark croaked as she passed him. She stopped, as did the rest of the group. He coughed to clear his throat. He reached out a hand to touch her arm, but stopped halfway, thinking it was probably better not to.
"Did you want something?" One of the Goth boys asked, staring at Mark. Mark was taken aback by the fact that one of them had even spoken to him.
"Erm yeah. I just want to talk to Sarah."
"It’s a free country, so talk."
Mark felt the few fragments of the frantically prepared phrases mixing up in his head.