Mean Boys.
one.
Zack Merrick stands outside his new home and stares at his parents, who are in front of him on the steps. It’s his first day of school. Not technically, since he’s sixteen, but it’s his first day in high school in Baltimore.
Zack’s family are from California, both of them lifeguards on the beach, so he grew up being homeschooled on the warm sands of the south-western state. It’s his first day in real high school.
“My baby’s all grown up!” His mother exclaims, wiping at her eyes. “Come here and give your old mom a hug.”
Zack does so reluctantly, rolls his eyes and his father begins to talk.
“Now, here’s your lunch, there’s a dollar in there so you can buy milk, you’ll have to ask one of the big kid where to do that. Don’t be nervous, alright? You’ll be fine.”
Zack rolls his eyes, takes the paper bag from his father and turns on his heel, crossing the road and stumbling up the sidewalk into school.
He pauses for a second as he passes a group of friendly looking kids sitting in a circle on the grass a few feet from the double door entrance.
“Uh, hi.”
About three of them look up at him briefly, disinterested, before turning back to their friends and speaking quickly in a language he vaguely recognizes as French.
Exchange students. Wonderful.
He carries on walking, passing a group of burly looking assholes who appear to be fighting, a few grungy kids making a bonfire with their Calculus homework and a lone girl apparently fretting over an overdue book from the school library. Zack considers going over and introducing himself to her, but decides better of it in the last few seconds before he moves.
He arrives in his homeroom class a few minutes later, to find a fair few other students already there. He approaches a tall, built woman who he assumes to be the teacher.
“Uh, hi, I’m Zack Merrick, I’m a new student here, I don’t know if anyone told you about me.”
The girl turns to him, raises her eyebrows and shrugs.
“Who cares?”
Apparently not the teacher, then.
He hears someone giggling a few feet away and turns to face the sound.
Two fairly tall and skinny boys are staring at him. One is dark-haired with blonde chunks scattered here and there, with a pretty oversized nose and arms that look too long, while the other is smaller, slightly stockier, but with lighter, longer hair and more organized highlights, and impressively caterpillar-like eyebrows.
Zack frowns at them and goes to take a seat.
“I wouldn’t sit there if I were you.” The smaller one speaks up.
“And why is that?”
“Jersey Moriarty will sit there to be next to his boyfriend.”
As if on cue, a boy Zack assumes to be Jersey walks in, pushes him out of the way and sits down, grabbing the shirt of the boy beside him and kissing him open mouthed.
Zack eyes widen and he grimaces, moving quickly to a different seat.
“Yeah, don’t sit there either.”
Zack sighs.
“Well do you want to carry attendance registers to the office every morning?”
Zack moves seats again.
“Nuh-uh.”
Zack raises his eyebrows.
“He farts a lot.” The boy says, gesturing at the guy in the seat in front of Zack.
Zack makes a face and takes the seat next to the boy. The darker haired one leans around him to talk.
“Did you go to St. Augustin’s last year?”
“Uh, no, why?”
“’Cause you look like the kid who played Link Larkin in their production of Hairspray.”
“Wasn’t me.”
“Thank God. Because he was a terrible actor.”
“This is Jack.” The smaller boy interjects, elbowing the other to shut him up. “He’s almost too gay to function.”
Jack frowns at him, slapping him playfully around the back of the head.
“Uh, nice to meet you.”
A smug looking jock walks by, glancing at the small boy with a smirk.
“Nice sweater Alex, what’s it made out of?”
“Your mom’s pubic hair.” Alex responds flatly, without even pausing a second for thought. Jack laughs, and Zack just blinks in amazement.
Zack looks down at the timetable his mother had printed and tries, in a pathetic attempt, to remember today’s lessons.
“What do you have first period?” Alex asks, leaning over and squinting, trying to read the tiny lettering.
“Eleventh Grade Social Studies. Room J22.”
Alex exchanges a glance with Jack.
“That’s in the back building, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is.” Jack replies with a small smile. “We’ll take you there.”
And they do –Jack insists upon walking with his hands on Zack’s shoulders yelling ‘move out of the way, bitches, new meat coming through!’
“Where exactly is the back building?” Zack asks, confused, as Alex and Jack sit down on the grass a good few hundred feet away from the school buildings.
“It burnt down in 1977.” Jack replies bluntly, tugging a box of cigarettes from his pocket, offering one to Zack and Alex (both of whom decline) before lightly one himself.
“Aren’t they really bad for you?” Zack asks.
“Don’t know, don’t care.” Jack replies, shrugging and taking a long drag.
A little while later, Alex is hunched over a notebook, apparently drawing something, while Jack is on what must be his fifth cigarette.
“So, what classes are you in?” Jack asks, shaking the cigarette lightly to dispel the ash.
“Eleventh Grade everything, except for Statistics.”
“I’m still stuck in sophomore gym.” Jack replies, shoulders sagging.
“How do you spell your name, Zack? K or H?” Alex interrupts.
“Uh, with a K.”
“I’m jus’ gonna call you Zee.”
Jack looks up, stubs his cigarette out on the tree behind him and squints against the sun to look at the gym class trudging their way out onto the field.
“In the name of all that is good in this world, what is Vinny Vegas wearing?”
Zack looks up at the boy he assumes to be Vinny, who is wearing a pair of skin-tight, neon green hot pants, equally as bright legwarmers that don’t match, a shirt so ripped it may as well not exist and a reflective yellow headband.
“Jesus Christ. Someone get me some sunglasses before my eyes start to bleed.”
Zack’s family are from California, both of them lifeguards on the beach, so he grew up being homeschooled on the warm sands of the south-western state. It’s his first day in real high school.
“My baby’s all grown up!” His mother exclaims, wiping at her eyes. “Come here and give your old mom a hug.”
Zack does so reluctantly, rolls his eyes and his father begins to talk.
“Now, here’s your lunch, there’s a dollar in there so you can buy milk, you’ll have to ask one of the big kid where to do that. Don’t be nervous, alright? You’ll be fine.”
Zack rolls his eyes, takes the paper bag from his father and turns on his heel, crossing the road and stumbling up the sidewalk into school.
He pauses for a second as he passes a group of friendly looking kids sitting in a circle on the grass a few feet from the double door entrance.
“Uh, hi.”
About three of them look up at him briefly, disinterested, before turning back to their friends and speaking quickly in a language he vaguely recognizes as French.
Exchange students. Wonderful.
He carries on walking, passing a group of burly looking assholes who appear to be fighting, a few grungy kids making a bonfire with their Calculus homework and a lone girl apparently fretting over an overdue book from the school library. Zack considers going over and introducing himself to her, but decides better of it in the last few seconds before he moves.
He arrives in his homeroom class a few minutes later, to find a fair few other students already there. He approaches a tall, built woman who he assumes to be the teacher.
“Uh, hi, I’m Zack Merrick, I’m a new student here, I don’t know if anyone told you about me.”
The girl turns to him, raises her eyebrows and shrugs.
“Who cares?”
Apparently not the teacher, then.
He hears someone giggling a few feet away and turns to face the sound.
Two fairly tall and skinny boys are staring at him. One is dark-haired with blonde chunks scattered here and there, with a pretty oversized nose and arms that look too long, while the other is smaller, slightly stockier, but with lighter, longer hair and more organized highlights, and impressively caterpillar-like eyebrows.
Zack frowns at them and goes to take a seat.
“I wouldn’t sit there if I were you.” The smaller one speaks up.
“And why is that?”
“Jersey Moriarty will sit there to be next to his boyfriend.”
As if on cue, a boy Zack assumes to be Jersey walks in, pushes him out of the way and sits down, grabbing the shirt of the boy beside him and kissing him open mouthed.
Zack eyes widen and he grimaces, moving quickly to a different seat.
“Yeah, don’t sit there either.”
Zack sighs.
“Well do you want to carry attendance registers to the office every morning?”
Zack moves seats again.
“Nuh-uh.”
Zack raises his eyebrows.
“He farts a lot.” The boy says, gesturing at the guy in the seat in front of Zack.
Zack makes a face and takes the seat next to the boy. The darker haired one leans around him to talk.
“Did you go to St. Augustin’s last year?”
“Uh, no, why?”
“’Cause you look like the kid who played Link Larkin in their production of Hairspray.”
“Wasn’t me.”
“Thank God. Because he was a terrible actor.”
“This is Jack.” The smaller boy interjects, elbowing the other to shut him up. “He’s almost too gay to function.”
Jack frowns at him, slapping him playfully around the back of the head.
“Uh, nice to meet you.”
A smug looking jock walks by, glancing at the small boy with a smirk.
“Nice sweater Alex, what’s it made out of?”
“Your mom’s pubic hair.” Alex responds flatly, without even pausing a second for thought. Jack laughs, and Zack just blinks in amazement.
Zack looks down at the timetable his mother had printed and tries, in a pathetic attempt, to remember today’s lessons.
“What do you have first period?” Alex asks, leaning over and squinting, trying to read the tiny lettering.
“Eleventh Grade Social Studies. Room J22.”
Alex exchanges a glance with Jack.
“That’s in the back building, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is.” Jack replies with a small smile. “We’ll take you there.”
And they do –Jack insists upon walking with his hands on Zack’s shoulders yelling ‘move out of the way, bitches, new meat coming through!’
“Where exactly is the back building?” Zack asks, confused, as Alex and Jack sit down on the grass a good few hundred feet away from the school buildings.
“It burnt down in 1977.” Jack replies bluntly, tugging a box of cigarettes from his pocket, offering one to Zack and Alex (both of whom decline) before lightly one himself.
“Aren’t they really bad for you?” Zack asks.
“Don’t know, don’t care.” Jack replies, shrugging and taking a long drag.
A little while later, Alex is hunched over a notebook, apparently drawing something, while Jack is on what must be his fifth cigarette.
“So, what classes are you in?” Jack asks, shaking the cigarette lightly to dispel the ash.
“Eleventh Grade everything, except for Statistics.”
“I’m still stuck in sophomore gym.” Jack replies, shoulders sagging.
“How do you spell your name, Zack? K or H?” Alex interrupts.
“Uh, with a K.”
“I’m jus’ gonna call you Zee.”
Jack looks up, stubs his cigarette out on the tree behind him and squints against the sun to look at the gym class trudging their way out onto the field.
“In the name of all that is good in this world, what is Vinny Vegas wearing?”
Zack looks up at the boy he assumes to be Vinny, who is wearing a pair of skin-tight, neon green hot pants, equally as bright legwarmers that don’t match, a shirt so ripped it may as well not exist and a reflective yellow headband.
“Jesus Christ. Someone get me some sunglasses before my eyes start to bleed.”