2 Chapter 2: Trouble

Mark placed some ice on his cheek, and started to unpack his belongings. He picked up a picture, from two years ago, he was seven, and his smile was fake. He stood there with a few of his friends, or, ones who called themselves his friends. They were older than him, and he looked a little out of place. As he looked at the picture, he kind of missed them. They were his classmates, it was taken after the last day of seventh grade. He could still name them off one by one, there was David Shere, John Deflen, Amy Rose, Hannah Smith, and Thomas Jenkins.

He flipped the picture over in his hand, and took off the back cover of the frame. He placed the cover down gently, and grabbed the five pictures hidden in the back of the frame. They were notes to himself, notes telling himself that everything would be okay, that his father does love him, that he can make it. He slowly flipped from picture to picture, seeing his fake smile look more real each time, but only masked the pain inside.

As he placed the back cover on the frame, again, his door was knocked on. Mark jumped, only to see his brother trying not to laugh, “Hi, William, what do you want?” Mark cheerfully broke the silence.

“Oh, nothing much, I mean, I came here to help you, if you stop staring at the photos and actually start to put away the clothes.” William responded, squatting next to his brother.

“Because I’m the one who leaves messes in my room.” Mark laughed, “No, I just started, these boxes sure bring the clutter to the room.”

“Why do you have a bag of water in here?” William asked, picking up a Ziploc bag with cold water inside.

“It was a bag of ice, I guess, I zoned out for longer than I thought.” Mark said, taking the bag, and placing the cool ice remains on his cheek.

“How do you get such good grades with all this day-dreaming?”

“I don’t know, maybe I actually focus during class.”

“Low blow”

“It’s only natural, especially after you said that I was full of clutter.”

“Ok, ok.” William paused, “Hey, Mark?”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Have you ever dreamed of having money?”

“Sure,” Mark responded, hanging up the folded clothes, “But, it’s easier to place that dream in something that is actually achievable.”

“Mark, I’m sure you’ve done the math.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“So, how long would it take to gain one million dollars?”

“That depends, how much money are you investing in? How much money are you gaining per week?”

“Okay.” William slouched.

“A party in Mark’s room, and I wasn’t invited?” Joe said, coming into the room.

“Hey, Joe.” Mark responded, as he placed his pajamas in the dresser.

“Think of all the food one million dollars could buy!” William said, falling onto the floor.

“Because it’s wise to put all of your income on food. Sure, it’s important, but, you’ll have to pay for rent, and utilities.” Mark said, making his bed.

“Oh, I see, you need to put money in those things, so that your girlfriend knows you can take care of her!” Joe announced.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, unless you count food.” William responded.

“Of course you don’t have a girlfriend, we’re nine.” Mark said, folding his boxes.

“You guys don’t have a girlfriend, yet, but, watch this, you’ll get a girlfriend before I do, just wait.” Joe said, sitting on the bed.

“No, no, no. You’ve got it wrong, I guarantee you that Mark will get a girlfriend before me, and you will either be first or last, because you love all of the girls.” William said, sitting up.

“Yeah, because a girl’s gonna fall in love with me.” Mark said, “How’d this get so off topic?”

“Okay, okay. Then what were you guys talking about before I came in here?” Joe asked, laying down on the bed.

“Nothing much, just, finance.” Mark responded, sitting on a plastic tub.

“Finance, spine-dance.” Joe said, throwing a pillow on his face.

“Ugh, stop.” William buzzed.

“Look, I really appreciate you guys.” Mark started out serious, his brothers’ focus was on him now, then, he jumped on them, to give them each a side hug at the same time, “You’re the best brothers, to this triplet, a boy could ask for!”

Joe and William smiled, they looked at each other, than hugged their big brother, and laughed. After a few seconds of rolling on the floor, Joe sat up.

“I have a question, Mark.” he said, serious, for once.

“Yeah, sure, what is it?” Mark asked, standing up to place his math trophies on his dresser.

“I know you probably have the answer.” Joe continued. Even William was curious now, and sat up straight, obviously trying to keep his mind off food.

“Okay, what is it?” Mark repeated, shifting the angles of the trophies to look acceptable.

“It doesn’t have to do with you getting your own room.” Joe began to avoid the question.

“Look, Joe, if you don’t have a question, you don’t need to ask it.” Mark said, picking up his language arts trophy from sixth grade.

“No, I do have a question,” Joe responded before William could laugh, “I was going to ask: why do you try so hard?” Mark looked confused, Joe re-phrased the question, “I mean, why are you so invested in your education? You're only ten, and you’ve already reached high school. I don’t get it. All of the friends I have, who aren’t girls, and even the ones who are, don’t really like school that much. They are also my age, in my grade, so why do you educate yourself further?”

“You know, for someone who looks so stupid, you have some smart things to say.” William commented, receiving a slap from Joe, which didn’t really do much.

“So, why am I trying to achieve a grade higher than my age group’s?” Mark confirmed, Joe nodded, “Well,” Mark paused. He looked down at the spelling bee trophy in his hand, it read ‘Mark Joseph Twilighz - First Place - State Championship.’ He looked at his dresser, each trophy read ‘First Place,’ each medal still left in the bin read ‘First Place,’ there wasn’t a trophy he owned that read anything but ‘First Place.’ Why do I try so hard, Dad doesn’t even pay attention. When I put forth so much effort, the least I get is a slap in the face. Mom doesn’t really push me on either. I don’t understand myself. I am an idiot. I try hard, I wait for my father’s approval and yet, I receive nothing. He looked at his brothers, who were both waiting for his response, “I guess,” he began, No, I can’t tell them that, it would ruin their relationship with him, “I try hard because there is… never mind, you two wouldn’t understand.” he said, and turned away from them so they couldn’t see the tears burning into his cheeks.

“Boys! Come eat dinner!” Brooke yelled down the hallway.

“Coming!” William was the first one out.

“Can I have a small portion?” Joe asked as he left his brother’s room.

“Where is your brother?” Mark heard his dad say.

“He is still in his room.” William said, as he sat down.

Mark heard his dad begin to walk down the hallway, as he slid himself against his dresser, and the wall, “No, Mark.” his mom’s voice piped in, “let me talk to him.”

Mark’s hopes began to raise, but fell even before his dad said, “No, you don’t understand him, you pity the boy.” Tears made their way to down his cheeks and dropped onto the palms of his hands. The more he wiped them off, the more they fell. He buried his face into his hands, so that his father wouldn’t see his sad expression.

Mark, Sr. burst through the door, “Mark Joseph!” he said, and turned to the corner where his son had wedged himself.

He walked over to the younger version of himself, and picked him up by the hair, “Mark Joseph Twilighz, if you don’t look me in the eyes you aren’t eating.” He waited for that face that he hated to look him in the eyes, and apologize, but it never happened. His son didn’t even remove his hands from his face, to try to remove the hand on his hair. Mark, Sr. threw his son back down onto the ground, and slammed the door shut.

Mark didn’t bother getting up to open the door, and go out to eat with his family, his father would only get mad. As hungry as he was, he just picked up his books and organized them on the dresser. Before he knew it, his boxes were empty and his bins were pushed aside.

He slowly sat up, but then, he saw that picture again, and noticed something he hadn’t seen before, it was moving, and instead of friends in the photo, it was his dad, and he wasn’t smiling. The fake smile that he placed on his own face was slowly replaced with a face of terror. He shook his head, the picture went back to normal.

Brooke knocked on her son’s door, “Mark, are you alright?” she asked, but without hearing a response, she opened the door and walked in. She smiled. She walked over to the bed in the room, and knelt down next to her sleeping child. He had a picture in his hand, which she slowly removed, and placed on his desk, along with his glasses. She carefully, slowly, and weakly, picked up her nine-year-old, and laid him on the bed, before she covered him with the sheets she just dried.