Chapter Text
I stood on the stage in my gorgeous dress and my tiara as they called the prom king’s name. There was laughter sprinkled amongst the applause. I was laughing too, not because of who’d been chosen; that was no surprise. No, everyone was giggling because he was my ex, luckily the one I was on good terms with.
You’d think being the prom queen while your ex is the prom king would be awkward, to say the least, but, you haven’t had the year I have. And I’ve had one hell of a year. You see it all started when a transfer student, named Jay Gatsby, showed up a week into October. It all kind of spiraled from there.
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It was one of those annoying days when it's freezing in the morning and toasty by afternoon, so there’s no way to properly dress. Our school has a uniform, so really there’s only about ten days a year that the weather works well and is neither too cold for knee socks and skirts, nor too warm for wool sweater vests over heavy cotton shirts. Benedict Poacher Preparatory Academy, more often referred to as Egg Academy by it’s students, was alive with excitement over Homecoming which was two weeks away.
I was one of the most excited. My boyfriend, Tom, was the quarterback and captain of the football team. And of course, I was a senior, which on it’s own makes everything more exciting, because it’s the last homecoming, the last halloween, the last Valentine’s day, of your high school career.
Then the whispers started about a new kid in West Egg, the boys building. You see, while Egg Academy is coed, there are two different buildings, officially called the East Building and the West Building (unofficially called East Egg and West Egg): East for the girls and West for the boys, we share some classes (mostly smaller ones that it’d be stupid to have two classes of) but most are single sex. A transfer student was extremely rare, in fact I only knew of two: Myrtle, who’d transferred in halfway through freshman year after winning some scholarship, and Nick, my cousin, who came in at the beginning of sophomore year because his parents are never around so they shipped him to live with my family. So the idea of a new student joining a month into senior year was big, really big. Unfortunately we girls were stuck in East Egg and Nick wasn’t answering the texts I was sending him (he never does), so we waited.
Fourth period: Latin in West Egg, that’s when I first laid eyes on Jay Gatsby. He was tall, strong, and his smile, oh his smile. He waltzed in just before the bell and promptly took the last unoccupied seat next to my antisocial cousin. Nick smiled and greeted Jay, but I knew he was pissed he had to have a seat partner now. There was something familiar about Jay Gatsby, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
I love Latin class, I really do. And my best friend Jordan’s constant commentary on the utter gayness that was the Roman Empire and all it’s inhabitants, is hilarious, but I couldn’t focus that day. Partly because of the puzzle that was Jay’s sudden appearance, but mostly because Nick was talking. Nick never talked in class, unless a teacher called on him, or he felt the need to correct something stupid another student said, he just sits there scribbling something down into his notebook, but I doubt it’s notes. But that day he was smiling and whispering with Jay Gatsby, a bit awkwardly, but Jay didn’t seem to mind.
When the bell rang for lunch I definitely heard Nick invite Jay to sit with him at our table. Jay happily accepted. They walked off together toward the dining hall.
“Holy fuck!” Jordan materialized next to me once more. “Nick’s being social!”
“I know…” I said, utterly baffled.
“We better keep that boy around. There might be hope for Nick, yet.”
“Maybe.” Then we too made our way to lunch, to learn more about the mysterious Jay Gatsby.
Jay was an entertainer. It was in his nature. He told stories in ways that enchanted the listener to beg for just one more like a child begs for another bedtime story. He’d lived a fantastical life, almost too amazing to be true, but not quite. He’d lived in all the cities of Europe, traveling with his parents. Ever since he’d been a child they’d been traveling, seeing the world. When he was eight he lived in India and learned to ride elephants. When he was twelve, they’d been in South Africa, living on a wildlife preserve where he’d met a herd of giraffes. He’d danced with more relatives of famous historical figures than I could count and even briefly dated a girl who was 20th in line for the British throne.
He smiled his perfect smile each time Nick encouraged him to tell us about the time he’d done this, or met that person, or seen that. Nick’s eyes were aglow; he was happier than I’d seen him in a long time. Jordan was right; we did need to keep this boy around.
My boyfriend, Tom, didn’t share my positive opinion of Jay. He grumbled to me later on that his stories were ridiculous and demanded to know how could I believe a word that came out of his mouth. I couldn’t explain it. He’d gotten angry. I’d gotten angry. I threw a shoe at him. He called me nasty things and slammed the door on his way out before speeding off.
“Stupid boys.” I muttered as I slid to the floor, crying just a bit. I took out my phone and dial the first number in my speed dial. “Jordan, we fought again. Can you come over?”
“On my way, sweetie. You need anything?” She promised. I could hear her car keys jiggle as she picked them up.
“Chocolate, lots of chocolate.”
“Coming right up. Be there in twenty.”
And sure enough she was there in eighteen minutes. We made our way to the couch and slumped down in front of the TV.
“This is why I don’t bother with boys. They’re assholes.”
I laughed a bit. “Jordan, you’re gay.”
“This is true.” She said, licking chocolate syrup from her spoon. “However, the point stands, boys are assholes.”
“Nick’s not bad.”
“Nick’s gay. I know he hasn’t come out, but we gays, we know what’s up.”
“I know that, but does he?”
“Who knows? But he’s certainly enamored with that Gatsby boy, maybe there’s love in our Nicky boy’s future.”
“I think Jay’s straight.”
“You’re straight. Jay’s straight. Everyone’s straight. Do you know what else is straight? Spaghetti, till things get hot and wet.”
“Are you plotting to boil all of us heterosexuals?”
“Yes! That’s the real gay agenda, you know?”
There are days I wish I were gay, because I could easily see myself loving Jordan. But alas!