Mark hadn't been to a first aid course since a summer about ten years before, when he'd wanted to add the certification to his list of reasons why parents should consider him as a private tutor for his classmates. It hadn't helped; parents were almost always home during the sessions, wanting to ensure that they weren't paying Mark to goof off with their sons - or spend time alone with their daughters. He hadn't bothered to pursue the certification again until he'd started student teaching, and he had to renew before the end of the year. Naturally, he'd put it off as long as possible, and judging from the larger than usual number of participants in the course, he wasn't the only procrastinator.
He resisted the urge to groan when the instructor mentioned that they'd have to pair up for the practical portion of the course. Bad enough that there'd be ages-old drool on the dummy. Fresh slobber from a stranger wasn't Mark's idea of a good time. Still, he hurried to claim a dummy when the instructor invited everyone to the front of the gym, silently praying that he'd luck out and no one would partner with him.
That hope was dashed when a familiar face approached; Francis Drake, the high school nurse. Seth's stuffy friend. Mark smiled reflexively at Francis as he approached, but no one spoke. Mark sucked his lip into his mouth, indulging in a pout for a moment before shaking off his disappointment and extending his hand.
"Francis Drake, right? Mark Swafford. I've heard a lot about you from Seth."