A Boy Named Marcus C4

Chapter Four



  Your last lesson of the day was English and Mr Tungsten had asked you to stay behind. No one said goodbye to you when they left, no one waited for you, but that was normal. You were used to being invisible. You walked over to the desk at the head of the classroom, hearing over again that your essay was ‘outstanding’ when you heard a rustle from the other side of the classroom. It was Marcus; you’d assumed he’d gone ahead with his new friends. It was un-fair how some people became just instantly popular like that. To your surprise Marcus walked towards you, you supposed he was going to call you ‘nerdy’ or something but he merely stood next to you, waiting for Mr Tungsten’s attention. 

“Marcus, I was just looking over your article from today. Some of the language is excellent and you’ve strung it all together just how a real newspaper columnist would’ve. Overall I’ve given it full marks, it really is superb! I do hope this isn’t just a one off, if I see this standard of work all the time I will be most impressed.” You stood there, stunned. You hadn’t expected him to be clever. Well, you’d thought he would be bright but not really clever. You’d expected him to be the sort of person who didn’t really care about exams and more about labels and who would rather go into town or watch a film than sit and study for the good of his future.

  “Don’t worry, you will!” Marcus smiled, and the teacher smiled back. He tapped you on the shoulder, “You coming?” You were still in shock. You smiled politely at Mr Tungsten and left.

  You tried to pick conversation with him as you walked across the playground together but years of standing around in awkward circles with the other swots had taught you nothing. Marcus, however, had already established himself as one of the cool people. He was friends with Russell Perkford and Luke Driscoll and people. He had the really popular girls already drooling over him.

  “So, which schools did you go to before this one?”

  “Well I didn’t really ‘go’ to them. It was more or less half a term here and half a term there but I love the schooling system in England way more than back home.”

  “Oh yeah, you lived in California-”

  “I still do, I still live there part of my life.”

  “Seriously?” He nodded. This conversation wasn’t going as bad as you thought it would be. Even though you were asking most of the questions...but he was probably more interesting than you anyway. “Where abouts...?”

  “Los Angeles, I live near Hollywood actually, in a place called Beverly Hills...heard of it?” You were breathless for a second. This was amazing, the closest you’d ever got to glamour was the centre of London and the only celebrities you’d ever seen were some of the cast of eastenders.

  “Yeah I’ve heard of it.” You tried to sound casual.  “So have you got a place here in England?”

  “Yeah, it’s not very big though. Our LA place is massive.” You raised your eyebrows at him for a second before he looked away;

  “So, do you live there with your parents or what?” Stating the obvious but hoping it would lead to something more interesting to talk about; this was awkward enough.

  “Actually, I don’t have any parents. They’re both dead.” You certainly weren’t expecting that.

  “Oh.” You didn’t know what to say, you were stunned. You weren’t very good at comforting. You remembered when Emily’s Hamster had died. “I’m so sorry.” You guessed,

  “It's okay, not your fault.” He seemed to drift off to another world, “It’s not anyone’s fault but mine.”

  You’d arrived at the cross road outside of your school gates. One way lead straight up onto the high street, the other way lead down to where a lot of busses came and went during the day. If you followed the road down there was a garage then a few shops and eventually it headed onto a main road.

  “Where do you live?” He asked. As blunt as that. Breaking the very thick ice with a powerful hammer.

  “Quite far out of town in a little village called Hammerton.”

  “That’s not that far out, only about forty seven and a half miles away, I could give you a lift.” You were shocked. More shocked than you’d been when you learnt that he was very clever or that he had no parents. You barely knew this guy, he could be anyone. Well he went to school with you so; he could be a lot of people! He was offering you a lift though! Your brain spun through various ideas: It could be a joke, his cool new friends could have asked him to take the nerdy girl out and leave her someplace so she couldn’t do her exams in the morning. Or it could be a friendly gesture but he was expecting you to say no, like when you say to someone ‘if there’s anything I can do...?’ And you don’t actually mean it, you’re just telling them to go away. Or he could really be offering a lift; unlikely.

  Like always, you refused.

  “No, it’s okay. My bus is in like fifteen minutes anyway-” you tried not to look him in the eye because, you knew, if you did your face would blush bright scarlet.

  “That’s loads of time to wait.” He seemed very persistent, this ruled out the second idea. So it was probably a joke.

  “No, I don’t want to trouble you. I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure,” He paused, “Don’t you want to live a little?” His brown eyes sparkled with life. You saw him sky diving or abseiling or climbing vertical rock faces or doing ten metre high ski jumps. You stood there thinking for what felt like ages until finally,

  “Okay then.” He smiled widely. It almost certainly was a joke, but he was good looking so it wouldn’t hurt to spend a little time with him.

  “What was your name again then?”

  “Dalia.”

  “Ah!” The light of day was dawning on his face as he suddenly remembered you. “Sweet Dalia Porter.” You liked the way your very ordinary name sounded, rolling off his tongue and floating through the air, light as feathers but sharp as knives. He was, you just had to say, the most gorgeous boy you had ever seen, it was amazing to believe that he was here, at your school, in your year (though he looked a lot older) and talking to you, especially when, you suspected, he was like your brother. Meaning that he, like tom, could probably pull any girl he wanted.

  You nodded. “Come on then Dalia, your chariot awaits.” He offered you his arm but you thought he must be joking so you blushed a bit instead.

  You got to the small garage which was down the road a bit from the bus stop and newsagents. Marcus walked in and opened the door which had ‘private, no access to public’ written on it in big letters. He seemed to know the big burly men in their quite well as he immediately started talking and laughing with them. You hung back a bit. You were a little shy, and scared of their muscular arms and tattooed backs. Then they all made their way out of the small room and into the main part of the garage. More strong men were there, fixing cars and motor bikes. At the back of the garage there were two steel grids with a keypad in between them. Marcus entered some numbers into the keypad and pushed the grid up.

  On the other side was a massive, gleaming black motor bike. It was as big and as scary as you had anything you had ever seen. Marcus laid a hand on it, stroking it gently. Then started wheeling it out and onto the tarmac in front of the garage.

  “Tell me the truth,” He turned to you, “Do you want a helmet?”

  “What???” You were stunned. For the fourth time in the last ten minutes you were stunned because of him. You weren’t really going to sit on that. In your school uniform.

  “Because,” He continued, “I can get you one but they are expensive things and I’m a bit strapped for cash.”

  “Of course I want one, because it’s against the law not to wear one but-”

  “I have a special licence so I don’t have to!” You could only stare at him open mouthed again. There were so many surprises in this boy. The next this you said you could not believe it was you who was saying it. You, who devoted all her time to studying and learning for her future.

  “C’mon then, let’s go for it! No helmet no leather and let’s go at one hundred mile an hour!” You shouted, wondering what the hell you were doing. He mock saluted you and before you had time to register what you had done or what you had said, you were sitting behind him on the seat of a very large, shiny, black motorbike, growling off into the distance.