Chapter 1

Marigold didn’t know how he did it, but Thule Roemer somehow always managed to make his presence in a room known before she’d even seen or consciously heard him. She scowled without looking up from the antiquated Macintosh computer the school had provided her with, waiting for him to speak. He didn’t, instead sitting down at the print server and beginning to type.

“What are you doing here this late?” Marigold asked, the scowl on her face and in her voice.

Thule’s response was non-committal, “The same thing I always do here--fixing one of these machines after you break it.”

Marigold didn’t respond, turning back instead to her own system. As editor of the newspaper, she had her own computer and the big desk at the center of the back wall. Everyone else shared desks and computers as they could.

“Of course,” he went on, “if people didn’t load these systems up with all of their personal stuff, there wouldn’t be nearly so many problems.” As he said it, he pretended not to be looking at her, but was still clearly able to see the ironic smile on her lips.

“I’m been meaning to talk to you about that, Bartholemew,” Marigold said. She was relishing the moment far more than the minor barb of using his given name could account for, “I couldn’t help but notice that an awful lot of the network’s space is taken up by a folder called ‘support’ and, inside of that, a folder called ‘images.’ But, when I try to look in the folder to see what it is, it’s encrypted. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Thule shrugged, “It’s disc images. Unless you’re technical support, you shouldn’t mess with those.”

“Disc images?” Marigold asked, nodding. “That’s interesting. Because you accidentally left a few dozen of these ‘disc images’ inside the support folder.”

Thule stopped what he was doing and turned to face her, “Oh? I’ll have to move those to a safe place.”

“Don’t bother,” Marigold said, going for the jugular, “I’ve already seen them.”

Thule looked worried, “And?”

“I’m sure the administration would like to know that one of its best students is storing porn on the newspaper’s computers.” Her smile was vicious now.

“What?” Thule asked, sounding outraged, “you wouldn’t tell them. That could ruin my whole record... everything I’ve worked for over the last four years.”

Marigold actually laughed, “Yeah, it could. Couldn’t it?” She was already reaching for the phone, “I believe I have Vice Principal Pearce’s phone number at home, for emergencies.”

Thule’s face was blank, “You’d actually do that? Ruin my academic career over something so petty?”

She pressed the first key, “And relish it. It’s an embarassment to the school that a dreg like you could ever be salutatorian.”

“You bitch,” Thule said quietly, “you wouldn’t.”

Marigold kept dialing.

“Please,” Thule pleaded. His voice was almost a whisper.

“Rules are rules,” Marigold mocked.

“Don’t do this.”

Marigold finished dialing. In one swift motion, Thule was up, holding down the hook on her phone. Marigold glared up at him, “Do you really think that’s going to stop me? I have a phone at home, you know.”

“Marigold,” Thule said, “be reasonable. It’s a small infraction. It’s not like I plagiarized my entrance essay for Harvard or something.”

Marigold looked up, alarmed, “No,” she said, trying to cover her surprise, “of course you didn’t. But...”

Now, Thule smiled wickedly, “It’s not like I took someone else’s essay, containing life details I don’t have and charity work that I didn’t do and submitted it as my own.”

She put the receiver down, “Okay. You win. I won’t say anything about the porn.”

“Oh, no,” Thule sat on the edge of her desk, “I don’t think these two are comparable. I might get a few days suspension for the porn, but... Harvard.”

She looked up at him, hoping to see some sign of bluff in his eyes. There was none. She started to tremble, “Bartholomew,” she whispered, “what are you going to do?”

“Call me Thule.”

“What?”

“Call me Thule.”

“Why?”

“It’s what my friends call me. And, I have a feeling that we’re about to be much better friends than we have in the past. You want to be my friend, don’t you, Marigold?”

After a few seconds, Marigold nodded mutely. It was all she could do not to start crying.

“Good,” said Thule, “now, what did you want to ask me?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” Thule shrugged. “Friends don’t turn on friends, do they, Marigold?”

She shook her head no, tears of relief welling up in her eyes.

“Of course,” Thule said, leaning in, “You haven’t done much to demonstrate our friendship in the past, have you, Marigold?”

She didn’t answer, didn’t even move.

His fist slammed down on her desk, ringing out loudly. She jumped at the sound. His voice was still calm and cool, though, “Answer the question, Marigold.”

“Please,” she whispered, “I have money.”

His smile was not kind, “You’re a Telena. That you have money is a truism. A friend wouldn’t feel the need to rub in such an obvious point. Of course, you haven’t been much of a friend to me, have you, Marigold?”

Marigold shook her head mutely, a fat tear rolling down her cheek.

Thule turned nimbly, sitting Indian-style on her desk, “Do something for me, Marigold.”

Her eyes questioned him, pleading. He seemed content to hold the tableau, so finally she whispered, “What?”

“Show me your tits.”

She laughed, but it rang hollow, “You’re crazy. I’m not just going to undress here because of some stupid essay!”

Thule didn’t move, “With most girls, that would be true. But... Harvard,” he shrugged.

Again, she looked for some mercy in his eyes, but he looked only predatory. She made a mental calculation.

“Please,” she whispered, “not that.”

“What other gesture of friendship do you propose?”

“I can give you money...”

“I don’t...” Thule started to shout, but then got control of himself, “I don’t want your money, Marigold. Money is easy for you. You can’t buy my friendship. If you don’t want to show me your tits, you don’t have to. I’m sure you’d do very well at Brown or...” He paused, making eye contact and said viciously, “... Vassar.”

“You bastard,” she snarled. He didn’t respond.

“Come on,” she wheedled, “there must be something else I can do.”

“Can you suck a golf ball through a garden hose?”

“What?” Marigold looked shocked.

“Never mind,” said Thule quickly, “What do you suggest you could do instead?”

“I...” she steeled herself, “I could give you a hand job.”

“You could not,” said Thule, laughing.

Marigold looked indignant, “I could too. I’ve done it before.”

“To whom?” asked Thule precisely, “that Ken Doll you’re supposedly going out with?”

“Elliot’s not a Ken Doll,” said Marigold defensively. “Why would you call him that?”

“Because he refuses to get undressed in the locker room. And, he stares at the rest of us like he’s never seen a penis before. We call him Magic Earring Ken.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Thule shrugged, “Did he come?”

“That’s none of your business,” said Marigold angrily.

Thule reached out and pet her hair. She flinched away a little, but realized that wasn’t going to help and relaxed as best she could.

“Little flower,” Thule said, chuckling, “If he didn’t come, it’s not a hand job.”

Marigold looked up at him, tears in her eyes, “Why did you call me that?”

Thule looked surprised, “Your name’s Marigold. It’s a kind of...”

“I know it’s a kind of flower,” Marigold interrupted him irritably. “My father used to call me that.”

“Do you like it?”

Marigold pulled away from his hand, the tears flowing freely now, “Not from the man who’s threatening to rape me.”

“Rape you?” Thule laughed, “I’m not going to rape you.”

“You’re not?”

The shrug again, “You can leave any time you want... and live with the consequences. I’m not forcing you to do anything. But, if you’re going to stay, you’re going to do what I say.”

Marigold started crying unabashedly now.

“Hey,” Thule said softly, “relax. I’m not going to fuck the Virgin Marigold on a cold metal desk in a little office that smells like mildew and printer’s wax.”

Marigold looked him in the eyes, “You’re not?”

“You have my word. You’ll still be a virgin when you leave this office. You’re a really awful human being. You’ve helped make so many people miserable over the last four years and probably don’t even know half of their names. You made my girlfriend so miserable, she moved away. But, you still don’t deserve for your first time to be a rape in a high school basement. Remember. We’re going to be friends now. What kind of friend would do that to you?”

In spite of herself, Marigold whispered, “Thank you.”

Thule handed her a Kleenex, petting her hair again, “Now, clean yourself up. Go in the bathroom, splash some cold water on your face, then come out and show me your tits or I’m going to drag you across that desk and rip your clothes off.”

Marigold looked shocked, “I thought you wanted to be my friend.”

Thule chuckled, “Think of it as tough love. Go, now. If you can’t find it in your heart to come back here, I understand. I hear that William and Mary has a wonderful pre-med program.”

Marigold was relieved that there was no one else in the building at this hour. Even the janitors had gone home. As humiliating as this experience had been, it would have been worse if someone had seen her come out crying and looking wretched. Sometimes, image was everything.

She stared at the mirror. Her long straight hair, a rich blonde even under the harsh fluorescent lights, was a mess. So were her eyes, red-rimmed and streaked with what little makeup she wore. It wasn’t until after she combed and cleaned herself up that she realized it might not be in her best interest to look too good for whatever came next.