The Scholarship Student: Chapter Two by ckbald

---

This is the second chapter of a multi-chapter story. It will make more sense if you’ve read Chapter One. It is an homage to, in honor of, an extension and an appreciation of stories written by two of the best, most talented storytellers on this site, Manny and CleanCut.


Chapter Two

Traffic was light driving across town Monday afternoon, and Marshall swung his Ford F-150 into a parking space in the Figgleton County High School parking lot at 2:45. He had plenty of time to find the front office and sign in, and then meet Mikey in the library for their first tutoring session.
Jumping down from the cab, he brushed aside the long lock of chestnut hair that habitually flopped down in his eyes. He’d been thinking about hair, and his hair in particular, a lot since his conversation with Mr. Carson last Thursday. His teacher had smiled at him after he had unknowingly complimented the flattop Mr. Carson had just had tightened up at the barbershop, and then, almost as if he knew he’d get a rise out of Marshall, Mr. Carson had slowly brushed his hand against the closely clipped back of his head, and then across the freshly leveled deck and long, wide landing strip. Marshall still found it difficult to believe that his teacher had once had hair the length of his, and he was eager to hear how he’d lost locks his senior year of high school.
Marshall looked into the side view mirror of the truck, and as he always did, he saw a face that reminded him so much of his late, beloved older brother, Fred. Fred and their father drowned on an afternoon fishing trip that turned deadly when a surprise storm blew in and capsized their boat, which knocked both men unconscious as it flipped through the air. The truck had been a gift from their parents to Fred after he got his first job after graduate school. Marshall couldn’t believe that was already four years ago. If he were still alive, Marshall figured Fred would be close to Mr. Carson’s age. Now the truck was his, and it was Marshall’s pride and joy. He regularly gave teammates on the soccer team, as well as Science Olympiad buddies, rides home after games, competitions, or practice.
"Ya look good," he said to himself. "And Fred would be proud of the young man I’ve become." Then Marshall gave a wistful little laugh when he thought about how much joshing he’d get from him, if Fred could see his hair. Marshall’s thick, chestnut colored hair barely reached below his collar, but Fred, who had sported a number one buzz cut since he was in middle school (when he declared he was going to design and build gardens and outdoor spaces, and that a buzz cut was the only kind of haircut for the kind of outdoor work he planned to do) never understood why Marshall chose to look so "disreputable." As he turned away from the mirror and headed towards the entrance to the school, he thought again of Mr. Carson’s cool flattop, and remembered what he had said about his son Mikey’s hair. While enjoying the fresh cut feel of his flattop for the second time as they were talking last Thursday, his teacher had said, "Talk about a tight cut…wait till you see Mikey."
"Hmmm, am I disreputable?" Marshall wondered aloud, brushing that same lock of hair out of his eyes.
He bounded up the front steps of the school, entered the foyer, announced his business and showed his ID, was buzzed in, and entered the school’s main office.
The secretary asked him to sign in and told him, "If you take a left outside this office and head down the hall, then make a right, you’re going to be at the gym. The bros…I mean the boys, just finished their workouts with Trainer Dougie, so you can meet Michael there, and he can take you to the library."
School had ended for the day, and the hallways were much less crowded than they would have been if it were between classes. The kids Marshall did see looked like they were heading to after school club meetings or sports practice.There was only a low grade hum of activity as he approached the intersection of the two hallways, so Marshall heard it before he saw them. It was a call and response.
"What do we do?"
"Reach higher!"
"Why do we do it?"
"Respect!"
"How do we show it?"
The final response was a roar, "RE-CON!"
Rounding the corner, Marshall saw that about a third of the way down the hallway four guys were high-fiving and chest-bumping each other. A fifth guy, wearing a whistle around his neck and carrying a clipboard, was laughing at their antics as he wrote on his clipboard. Marshall figured this was Trainer Dougie, and that the other guys were the bros, Mikey’s buddies who’d given him the nickname. The bros were all wearing blazing white and pink tank-tops with the Figgleton mascot on the front, workout shorts, and Nike trainers, while their trainer wore a white polo with the Figgleton mascot stitched over the pocket, shorts, and silver Nike trainers. Although Marshall didn’t think "wearing" was the right word for Trainer Dougie. The man was probably only 25, 26 years old, and he was massive. His polo shirt fit like a sausage casing around his bulging biceps and rock solid pecs. His shorts gripped his big, muscular ass like a second skin, and all of this was supported by sequoia-size thighs. The bros, and Marshall was eager to find out which of the guys was Mikey, were replicas of their trainer, high school jocks with huge muscles, probably only a few years away from being the size of a truck, just like Trainer Dougie.
As the group headed up the hallway in Marshall’s direction, there were lots of "Later, bro!" and "Great pump, man!" They were also smacking the back of each other’s head and then gliding that same hand smoothly over the top of the bro’s head, all the while chanting, "RE-con!"
Marshall thought it was all kind of meathead, jock behavior, and at the same time he was mesmerized. He didn’t know it yet, but since it was Monday afternoon, Trainer Dougie had just razor shaved the back and sides of each bro’s head, up over the crown in back, and about two inches over the crown line on each side, and then taken a pair of clippers and buzzed the rest down with a either a number one or two guard, leaving an eighth or a fourth of inch of hair on top. The top was entirely disconnected from the sides, leaving each bro with an extreme recon, one that matched Trainer Dougie’s. Marshall thought it looked like a piece of velvet had been placed on the front part of each bro’s head after it had been completely razor-shaved bald. Marshall grinned. Mr. Carson was right…talk about tight! Tight AF! Marshall sighed audibly.
As the group approached Marshall, one of the bros locked eyes with him, then turned and said a few words to his bro’s, slapped a couple more heads, received a couple more head slaps, grunted a forceful "RE-con", and then separated from the group. He walked towards Marshall, hand extended ready to shake.
"Hey, man! You must be Marshall, right?" he asked. Marshall nodded, confidently gripping the bro’s outstretched hand.
"I’m Mikey. Thanks for helping me out!"
"Happy to help, man. Good to meet ya!"
With his hand still gripping Marshall’s, Mikey steered them both down toward the opposite end of the hall.

To be continued

---