Do Not Fall Down Stairs

Do Not Fall Down Stairs



Chapter Three



Muffins are just ugly cupcakes.



oooooooooooooo



“So how’s the whole ‘seduce the sexy and probably straight teacher thing’ going, Titty?” Wendy sneered across the table at me. I felt the urge to reach over my lunch and somehow force her to cut her wrists on her dirty pink braces. If she didn’t die from blood loss I was fairly positive the bacteria from possibly months old food, lodged in the wires she neglected to clean, would at least give her a fatal infection. Then the world would be free of her slimy existence and out of sheer ecstasy its population would celebrate Titus Marks Day in honor of my accomplishment. “What a brave and marvelously dashing boy,” they would say, “to have risked life and limb by being in close proximity to the most annoying, foul, and ugly creature (formerly) alive.” And there would be a parade with candy and confetti and penis-shaped balloons and everything. Oh, joyous day.



But in all honesty, my sudden onset of homicidal rage was not a result of the awful nickname that Wendy reserved for me, but rather a frustrated reaction to the fact that her condescending tone was right on. I had yet to make any headway in my pursuit of M. R. Luz. I hadn’t even managed to get him alone in a room due to the constant flow of people around him. He was one of those whom others simply wanted to be around, and thus there was never a moment in which I could find him unaccompanied. It was like he carried a person magnet in his pocket everywhere he went, and like cows in a herd, people followed him. It was maddening, but also one of the very reasons I found myself so enamored, as it were. When I finally did get him where I wanted, my victory would be that much sweeter, because the one they all were after would be with me. Fabulous.



“Here’s an idea, Wendy. Why don’t you take that hotdog and shove it up your cunt? That way you could get some action beyond whatever you do to yourself in the shower. I’m sure it’ll be a nice break for your shampoo bottle.”



Wendy’s face crumpled into intense dislike. Instead of answering she stood up abruptly and stomped away with her tray of food. Score one for me.



Keenan, a black kid who usually sat next to the departed bitch-whore, smiled gratefully at me. “Thanks for getting rid of her, man. It’s torture having her around.”



I returned his smile happily, already planning out the theme song that would be played on Titus Marks Day. Just as I was getting to the chorus, a loud greeting directed my attention elsewhere.



“John! What’s up, dude?”



My eyes flashed to the end of the table, where none other than John Cornwall was standing, lunch in hand. I was heartily surprised by his appearance; the day after meeting him I had searched the cafeteria for his curly-haired head and come up fruitless. I didn’t recall seeing him anywhere else before that day either, and so had come to the conclusion that he did not eat in the lunchroom. Apparently, I had been mistaken.



“Where you been lately, John?” Michael asked, gesturing to the seat that Wendy had just occupied for the blonde to sit down. “I ain’t seen you in lunch in like two weeks.”



“I had work to make up,” John muttered, looking at his tray. The amount of food on it was meager, at best, and I wondered why a growing teenage boy like himself would have such a small appetite.



“For who?”



“Luz.”



“Oh, yeah. You take his sculpting class, right?”



John nodded, confirming this new piece of information. So Sarena’s brother was another artist. I was surrounded by them, it seemed. You would think some of their talent would rub off on me, wouldn’t you? But that definitely wasn’t the case, seeing as how my artwork still sucked beyond all comprehension.



But I digress. The important thing here was that John was at our table. And from the chatter that he had been greeted with it sounded like he frequently sat here when he wasn’t catching up on school work. I grinned to myself. Perhaps getting he and Michael to be close would take less effort than I had assumed.



As John settled onto his seat - directly in front of me, how fortunate! - I donned a charming smile. “Johnny Boy, we meet again!” I gushed, almost flinching when his nickname (that I had just thought up off the top of my head that very second) came out sounding almost overtly sexual, and made a mental note to tone down the sex appeal when speaking to him. I wanted him to like Michael, not me, and not in that way. Then I made another memo to perhaps try using that voice with Luz when I got him alone. If I was lucky it might inspire the professor to get on his knees and-



Well. You get the picture. And what a lovely picture it is. That Greek Adonis between my legs with his gorgeous lips wrapped around my throbbing-



Ahem. Back to the present situation.



John, social as ever, cast me a disgusted scowl in return, and proceeded to nibble at his child-sized meal. He finished it in five minutes easily, and not a moment after he sat back down from throwing his garbage away I distinctly heard the growl of a near empty stomach. Frowning, I picked up the untouched apple on my tray and rolled it across the table to him. It hit his chest, and he glanced down in surprise, then up at me suspiciously.



God, it wasn’t like I poisoned it or anything.



Rolling my eyes, I said, “Eat it. I don’t want it.”



Scowling again, he pushed the fruit back at me. “I don’t want it either.”



“Too bad. It’s yours.”



“No, it’s not.”



“Yes, it is!”



“No!”



“Take it!”



“I don’t want it!’



At this point all the others at our table had stopped their individual activities to watch our banter. Their staring and John’s stubborn streak were starting to get on my nerves.



“Oh, come on,” I argued in my mandatory homosexual ‘duh’ voice. “I know you’re hungry. A deaf person could hear your stomach bitching about it.”



Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say. In the next moment, with near superhuman speed - seriously, like, was this boy injected with cheetah blood or something? - John had risen from his seat and high-tailed it out of the cafeteria. He even forgot to bring his bag along with him, and its sad, lumpy, navy blue form was the only trace of him ever having been in our presence.



oooooooooooooo



“I don’t know what that was all about, man. He’s never really been like that about food before.”



Michael and I were walking to his car after school, the subject of what had happened at lunch having come up once more after Wendy the Twat Waffle stopped us just before leaving the building to ask me if my gayness had offended the poor Cornwall boy. I promptly told her to wear longer skirts because the smell of fish made me sick and walked away, but once we were out of her sight the memory of the incident started to bother me and I mentioned it to my friend.



“You mean he ate more than the recommended amount for a pre-schooler?”



Michael nodded. “Yeah. Used to buy double, if I remember right.”



My plucked and groomed brows drew together in contemplation.



A second later, my companion gasped. “You don’t think he’s, like, anorexic or anything, do you? ‘Cause that’s not cool, dude. People die from that shit.”



I already knew this, seeing as how I once had a cousin hospitalized for anorexia nervosa. This meant I also recognized the symptoms and warning signs, and for some reason none of them seemed to fit John. Well, except for the not eating enough part, but there could be a lot of things associated with that.



“No, I don’t think so.”



“Then what could it be? You don’t just start, like, starving yourself for no good reason, man. And- hey, Titus? How long you gonna carry that around for?”



Michael was speaking of the extra backpack in my hand which actually belonged to John.



I shrugged. “Until I see John again to give it back to him.”



“You probably should have left it back there, man. He probably already went looking for it at the table and is, like, freaking out right now ‘cause it’s gone.”



I had thought of this already, but made the decision that I wanted to return the bag to John myself, ask him what the hell was wrong, and perhaps apologize as well to get in his good graces. Or at least to get out of his bad ones, if that was possible. The boy seemed to have already made up his mind to hate my guts for eternity.



“It’ll be fine.”



Sighing, my friend pressed the ‘unlock’ button on his keys twice when we reached his vehicle, causing the head and tail lights to flash. “Whatever you say, dude.” Michael reached for the driver’s side door handle and as he did I noticed something moving in the distance behind him. One squint of the eyes showed me it was none other than Mr. Cornwall himself, walking away from the school.



“I’ll be back in a sec,” I muttered, not particularly caring if Michael heard me or not. My feet carried me purposefully in the direction that would take me to my target quickest, and in thirty seconds I had caught up to John. Before he had time to register that someone was behind him I had tapped him pointedly on the shoulder. Immediately, my free hand fell to my hip while the other held out John’s forgotten bag.



The blonde turned to stare at me. “What do you-?”



I shook the backpack. He glanced down.



“You took my bag!”



What the hell? “Uh, no. I grabbed it so I could give it back to you since you forgot it.”



“I could have gotten it myself.”



“If someone didn’t steal it first. You’re lucky I saved you from being robbed.”



John scowled at me. “Who would steal a bookbag with nothing but homework in it?”



In all honesty, I highly doubted anyone would have taken it, but since I was not about to lose this fight I retorted, “A homework thief, duh.”



“Are you stupid?”



“Are you?”



“No!”



“Then why haven’t you taken your damn bag back yet, genius?”



John paused with his mouth open, about to reply with a snappy comeback. Take that, Cornwall. You don’t start a sass fight with Titus Marks. I will always come out Top Bitch.



My defeated opponent snatched his property from my hand, clutching it tightly as if afraid I might attempt to grab it back. But anyone with eyes would have been able to tell that John’s backpack was just not my style. I happened to be partial to American Eagle shoulder bags, actually, and was wearing my tan and green one at that very moment. Besides that, I certainly had not approached the paranoid boy to argue with him. But now that I had it seemed I wouldn’t get a chance to follow through with my previous plan of appearing gracious and concerned over what had happened at lunch.



Karma’s a motherfucker, isn’t she?



Still, I was determined to leave John on decent - at the least - terms, so I smiled warmly at him and let the bullshit fly.



“You know, Michael’s having a party this weekend. You should come.”



In the next instant I had sufficiently managed to make John Cornwall gape at me like I was a madman. In his defense, I suppose one doesn’t often switch from having a verbal slap-fest to being a cordial friend in less than fifteen seconds. This was hardly important though. All I needed was for the slightly off-beat idea to work. And for John not to ask Michael about this party because my best friend didn’t even know he was going to be hosting it yet.



Added to the to-do list: inform Michael of supposed get together. Buy chips and salsa. And beer. High school students liked to drink beer, right? I don’t, in any case, but that is beside the point.



John had yet to answer me, and was continuing his incredulous stare. It was rather unnerving, and thirty or so feet behind me I could hear a car horn blowing that sounded like it belonged to a certain silver sports car - my much needed ride home.



“Just think about it, okay?” I said, before half-jogging back to Michael’s vehicle.



oooooooooooooo



On the way to my house I told Michael of my conversation (could it really be called that?) with John. Any normal person might have been miffed or at least exasperated that I had decided to throw a party at their house, but good old Michael just replied, “Awesome, man,” with a face-splitting grin in place.



I blinked in shock. “Seriously? You’re okay with this?”



“Totally. The ‘rents are gonna be out of town this weekend. Going to some gala shit in D.C. or something. This will be a blast!”



When we pulled into my driveway I thanked Michael and watched him drive off until he turned off my street. I wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as he was about this whole thing. After all, it wasn’t just a good time for me. I would be spending the whole event trying to get John and Michael closer, and perhaps even Michael and Sarena if I could manage it. But first, I thought as I shut the front door of my house behind me, I had to convince one or both of the twins to attend in the first place. What a chore.



“Titus! Is that you?”



The airy voice of my mother floated down the stairs to my ears. I rolled my eyes. Of course it was me. Who else would it be? The two of us were the only ones who lived in here, and unless we were being robbed, in which case I think the burglar would have had the sense to be quiet, no one else would have a reason to be here.



“Duh, Mom.”



“Oh.”



The almost disappointed quality in her tone made me giggle softly. “What? Were you expecting a male stripper or something?”



An offended gasp came from nearby, and I looked over my shoulder as I shrugged off my jacket. My mother was standing there, dainty hands on her nonexistent hips, rose painted mouth parted and flyaway blonde hair sticking out of her messy bun. “Titus Calvin Marks, you know that no such thing was happening!”



“Sure, Mom. I bet you were craving a little firefighter to come to the door. Or maybe a teacher who would punish you with his yard stick?” I couldn’t help but tease the woman; she was so easy to rattle and I always got a kick from seeing her overdramatic responses.



But instead of my barbs having the desired effect and making her stomp away indignantly, my mom suddenly lit up with glee. “Speaking of teachers,” she said, coming forward and smoothing my already immaculate sleeves, “I got a phone call from one of yours today.”



Oh, wonderful. I bet it was Geofrey. That ancient bastard hated me already. He even told me he was not impressed by my ‘obvious lack of respect for the subtleties of the English language’. Tart.



“Who?” I asked, the displeasure obvious in my question.



“Um… I think his name was… Loose?”



If I had been holding anything in my mouth I would have choked on it like a fresh-out-of-the-closet case performing his first blow job.



“Luz?”



“Yes, yes, that’s it. Is that foreign or something?”



“I think it’s Spanish, Mom.”



“Oh, okay. Well, anyhow, Professor Luz called and said he wanted to have a parent-teacher conference! Isn’t that wonderful? I get to meet your art teacher!”



My mother began babbling on and on about the excitement of being acquainted with a fine educator but I had been tuning her out since the words ‘parent-teacher conference’ were mentioned. With my abilities in art and my mission to screw Luz, this meeting could only lead to one thing.



Shit.



oooooooooooooo



I do not own American Eagle, kdon\'tsuemethx. Even if I did I would sell that shit fast, yo.



ANDHOSHITIHAVEARIVAL. Rawr.



Aphelion - Are you happy? Titus used \'fabulous\' in this chapter. Omgwtfcliches. ~w~



Alex - *takes apple piezz and offers up virtual babiez* Nomnomnom. How \'bout you and me gangbang instead, yo? immamissu2roflcopter.



Thx to the restofthereviewers too, lawlz. You guys make me warmandfuzzy in places. Mmmm.



OKAYSO. Now there won\'t be any more updates till I finish chapter four, soooo. Question timez! :DDD



Who is your favorite character so far and why? Reviewnowplz and tell me your answerz. *abuses the \'z\' key some more* Zzzzzzzzzz. Z. Z... Zzzz.