Thursday, September 19, 20XX

I ran into Claire in the hallway earlier. She asked me how things were in the club. I told her it's fine, everything's peaceful, and Mark and I are getting along just swell.

I was lying.

In reality, the club room has become a real savage place. Mark and I are going at eachother relentlessly, or rather, he is beating the crap out of me, while I squirm on the floor in futility. Then we both get up, dust off, and do it again. He's laid out a foolproof plan to get me learn the Marcelotine through various drills. A foolproof plan it is, until it started breaking down. Mark simply revised, tried again, and revised some more, while I tried, failed again, and tried even more. Mark is a relentless teacher. Honestly, I prefer it that way. I'm glad he's not going easy, because I wouldn't learn if he did.

Just in case, I let him know that he's free to go as hard as he wants, because I'm not giving up. He sneered at me, then proceeded to go even harder.

Claire said that she'll be able to go to the club tomorrow, so Mark and I are squeezing out as much practice as we can get.

Why am I doing this? I don't know really. For one, it helps pass the time, and it can be fun...

At times... Usually, I just end up getting destroyed, which is not fun.

But there's also the bonding aspect. I'm spending some real time exploring one of Mark's passions with him. I'm learning a lot about him, primarily by nonverbal language and stuff. (They say that 55% of communication is body language, though that doesn't mean that you can get away with not talking assuming 45% of your message transmitted to the receiving party by OSMOSIS. Middle school years were a dark time).

The biggest thing I picked up is that his words and his actions don't really line up. It's hard to tell under the pressure of face-to-face contact, but if you really get to know him, he's actually...

He's actually a pretty nice guy. It sounds unbelievable, but it's true. Even though he looks like he could kill anyone at anytime, his actions betray that supposed intent. He's pretty reasonable, and caring. During our sparrings, he's gone the extra mile to ensure my safety, and he is quick to hand me snacks to nourish when I'm hungry. He even brought me this strange electrolyte water, literwater, which I assume is just short for "LITERAL" "WATER". I don't know who's the guy who thought rebranding water was a good idea, but I dig it, it actually tastes okay. Better than carbonated water, at least.

I asked him about his plans for the future. One thing led to another, and after another beat-down I happened across this question. He paused, thinking deeply, deliberately.

"None of your damn business," he said, coldly.

It's not going to be easy getting information out of him. I'll have to wait for another opportunity.

Why am I doing this? Well, I'm curious about him. Logically speaking, since I'm going to be spending an indeterminate amount of time with him in this club, it pays to invest a little in smoothening relations. After all, it's a real pain to be forced to awkwardly sit in a room with someone, wishing the time away under an unbearable silence. That's exactly what I want to avoid. This is my first explanation, and it's what I tell myself whenever I get flipped over and folded.

I swear, I'm getting folded EVERY SINGLE TIME. It's crazy. It's bonkers. It's totally untubular. At its worst, I feel like every time he flips me over I just want to flip him the finger. It's frustrating.

Dang, even now just thinking about it makes me want to flip some cheap, plastic, foldable chairs. I hate that he's way too good and even more that that makes me respect him.

Most questions ended in dead ends, but one question did lead somewhere. I asked him about why he eats cup noodle all the time. Maybe he was annoyed by all the questions I've been asking, but he sighed in a way uncharactistic of him. I remember the image clearly. All of Mark's gestures are pretty unforgettable anyway. He crossed his arms haughtily, looked away, and said these words simply.

"It's a bad habit." Nothing more, nothing less. Perfectly so.

Really, every time I hear words come out of the man's mouth, it's always so short, so direct, so succinct. It's a menacing work of art. It makes me tear up.

After today's rowdy session, we reorganized the place, tidied up a bit, and played some music. Unexpectedly, Mark listens to the same jazz-hip-hop channel that I follow. With the pre-assessments almost over, and the hectic school week coming to a close, the both of us reminisce, writing in our lonely journals, together.