Chapter Text
When a man has a crush on a woman, society cheers him on and tells him to go get her and make her his. When a man has a crush on another man, society turns its nose up at him and feeds him to the rabid dogs of living Hell. Sure, society has changed over the years, drastically, coming to accept the term 'gay', but they haven't really come to accept gays themselves yet. Not where I live, and especially not in Vantas High School. It's taboo to mention gay and be serious. Sure, everyone jokes around, calling their friends gay when they'd rather hang out with the guys at a football game than go to Chianti's for a romantic dinner with their girlfriend, but they are never serious. To accuse a man of being gay is to damn their social life to nonexistence. Well, that's almost always true. There are a few exceptions, and in order to be an exception, you have to be someone that nobody, female or male, would think of dating. Ana the freshman is a lovable, sweet, adorable lesbian girl who attends Vantas High, and she's not a social outcast. I doubt anyone could be mean to her because she's such a sweet kid, and nobody could think of her as anything other than a little sister, so nobody minds her being a lesbian. It's a bit stricter with guys, though. We've already had two gay boys transfer out within the first three months of school because of bullying. But, for some reason, the student population of Vantas High let one gay stay without ruining his life. Nobody was surprised when Jessica Abernathy, the head cheerleader and a freshman at the time, accused me of being interested in her older brother, and I didn't deny it.
Now, before you judge, the whole school believing me gay is better than them knowing why I spent so much time with Ryan. As it turns out, the student population didn't mind me "admitting" I am gay, since in our small town we've known each other ever since we can remember. The school never found out about why I spent so much time with a senior, or why we were caught whispering in the hallways most afternoons, and they came to accept who I spent my time with. All I had to do was flirt with the occasional cute guy, offer to show around the freshmen boys, have a happy, overexcited personality, and go shopping with a few girls every now and then. I've managed to be gay for my freshman and junior year, and starting off as a senior this year, my façade still seems to be flawless. The only problem with my life is... I'm not gay.
I've never been interested in men. Sure, I prefer to spend the weekend curled up with a good book and one of the other boys from the soccer team, or out watching the latest horror movie with one of the film study boys, but I've never been into them before. They're just easier to be around than the girls. Less drama, less screeching, less baggage. Unfortunately, that only serves to further the judgement on me. The soccer boys laugh and agree to curl up on the couch with me to play video games or read, thinking of it as my way of hitting on them when really all I want is a sense of normality. Well, all except one. Frederick Elbrook.
Frederick Elbrook, the soccer team's sweeper, fellow senior, and go-to guy of the school, is the exception. Despite teasing me about my supposed sexual preferences, he doesn't think that my weird hangout quirks are attempts to woo him. Instead, he dives head on into whatever I suggest, asking only for an open mind when he requests something in return, like, say, texting me two minutes before a game, asking me to watch him play despite the snow falling outside. And I say yes. The snow wouldn't stop me anyways. He's one of the few males in Vantas High that treats me normally. Even the girls don't.
The girls of Vantas High are some of the most judgemental humans that have ever existed. They trash anyone that they believe could harm the social cycle of the school, which makes their job scaring off the gay population and getting rid of the freaks. Yet, if you don't fall into any of their red categories, and you don't flip their bitch switch, they are the sweetest people on the planet. For some odd reason, they accepted me being gay better than the guys did. For the longest time all I heard while walking down the hallways was "I always knew you were gay!", and "Colin, would you consider coming over tonight to help me pick out an outfit for my date?" Apparently, having a gay guy around that they've known for their whole lives gave them the perfect opportunity to have a male companion. Well-known gay guy equals planning, opinion and shopping buddy that they don't have to worry about impressing. It is kind of nice, having the girls act naturally around me, confide in me. It's like having a giant friend circle of fluttery social butterflies always willing to help or distract me. Still, the only problem being that I am not actually gay.
Not that Nicole Watts cares. Nikki’s one of my best friends since childhood, since we were in kindergarten and she spilt her apple juice on my art project. The tallest of girls, yet she still wears high heels every day; ink black heeled boots to match her flat raven hair, which accents her bright green eyes. The smile on her face is almost permanent in school, since she's got a never ending stream of friends that keep her preoccupied, but she always manages to drop it and be real around me, just like how I can be real around her. And she knows that I'm not gay. I mean, she's known me my whole life, I would have told her if I was even remotely interested in men. She understands why I let people believe that I am gay, and she promised me she wouldn't give my secret up for the world. That's why I love having her around. Nicole is one of those girls that grasp the situation and understands the seriousness. She's been through everything with me, and I her.
Gods, it's hard trying to remember everything.
"Colin LaFay? Are you even paying attention to a word I'm saying?" The sharp accent of exasperation in the female voice that assaults my ears makes me wince, drawing me back to the situation at hand. Miranda Shantz's narrowed blue eyes come into focus, and she holds up the bundles of fabric in her hands. "Or am I talking to the air?"
"Sorry, sorry, I was thinking about school." Giving her my most sincere apologetic smile, I turn my attention to examining the two dresses. The one in her right hand is a slinky hot pink V-neck with a thin white sash around the waist, cutting off at her knees. The dress in her left hand is a metallic purple strapless with a black rope belt around the waist, cutting off mid-thigh. The pink one would show her body better, make her more seductive, but the purple one suits her personality. "Are you looking for a boyfriend or a date to the Fall Ball?"
She frowns, chewing the bottom of her lip while tilting her head to the side, sending waves of curly brown hair tumbling over her sharp shoulders. "Well, I want him to take me to the Fall Ball, sure, but I'm not certain about boyfriend material. Mason doesn't play any sports, and he's not on the student council. He's essentially a nobody. What do you think, Cole?"
It hurts that she thinks of Mason McCol as a nobody. Sure, he doesn't have roots in the school, but he's one of the coolest guys, having good grades and a great sense of humor. But, I guess to Miranda, all that matters is social status and physical potential after school. "I think he'd be a great boyfriend," I voice, taking the pink dress from her hands and hanging it up in her closet. Staring at the mirror hanging in the back of the neatly organized space, I catch her guilty, downcast eyes and rush to ease her pride, "sure, he doesn't have much in the way of muscle, and he isn't the athletic type, but he's such a sweetheart. He'd treat you right." Turning around to face her, I can't help the smile that spreads across my face when her slim arms wrap around my waist, hugging me tightly to her warm body.
"Thanks Cole, you're a lifesaver" she mumbles, not giving me time to return her hug before she rushes off into her bathroom, leaving me standing in her room, grinning lopsided.
If the girl put as much effort into her grades as she does her appearance, she'd be on the Honours with Highest Distinction chart. But, if she did that, she'd probably never have time to hang out, and that would ruin my Thursday nights. She's one of the few sane girls, other than Nikki. Hah. Nikki would kill me if she knew I just compared Miranda Shantz to her. Sure, they are friends, but Nikki is nice to everyone at school. As soon as we get to her house, she whines about girls like Miranda, or, as she calls them, the Mere Girls: all of the girls that are shallow enough to care about a man's social status, how big their ass looks, and how much money they can squeeze out of their parents. I still haven't figured out whether Nikki chose the name Mere Girls due to the fact that most of them have pools at their houses and are in them almost all of the time, kind of like mermaids, or if she's referring to how shallow they are.
Sighing, I rub the bridge of my nose, pursing my lips and snagging Miranda's pink keys off of her nightstand. Hell will freeze over before I understand how women think. The Mere Girls are nice girls, and sure, they care about material over substance, and yes, they can be annoying, but they are sweet girls. I don't get why Nikki thinks they are so horrible.
The sound of high heels on tile floor alerts me to Miranda finishing up, and seconds later the bathroom door is yanked open from the inside and she steps out, twirling around in her signature white four inch high heels. Her eyes twinkle with energy, and she twirls her fingers together excitedly. "So? How hot do I look?"
"Girl, if you were any hotter I'd make you change." Giving her a thumbs up, I toss her the keys and gesture towards her balcony. How the hell does she walk in those things without breaking an ankle?
Miranda stares at me for a moment, judging my level of sincerity, before shrugging and smirking. "I think that's good enough for a first date."
"Are you kidding? It's more than he'll be expecting. Most guys expect a girl to show up in a nice pair of jeans and a pretty shirt for their first date, not a mix-me-up dress and heels." As if I'd know. Never been on a date with a girl? Check. But that's what the other guys said about their first dates. The only girls that dress up fancy for the first night out are the ones who want something from their dates. I guess, though, in this case, Mir does want an invitation to the Fall Ball. Does that count?
"Oh, shut up." She grins back, flicking my nose as she walks past, swaying her hips and expecting me to follow her as she opens the balcony door, which I do after she steps out. "Oh, hey, you're going to have to walk home. I'm meeting Mason at Chianti's, and don't want to have your gay cooties all over my car if he decides he wants to see a movie after."
The cool fall air assaults my skin through my black hoodie. Shivering, I wrap my grey scarf tighter around my neck and close the balcony door behind us. "Is that your way of telling me that you’re running late and don't have time to drive me home?"
Miranda flashes a smile over her shoulder as she thumps down the stairs, towards her 2012 Toyota Camry. "Glad you understand."
"Yeah, no problem." Did I see that coming? Yes I did. A sigh escapes my lips, fogging up the air in front of me. My Converse All Star high tops slip on the thin layer of ice that accumulated on the wooden steps, sending me off balance. Panic shoots through me like electricity, and waving my arms around wildly I manage to catch myself, but not without my cheeks flushing at the embarrassing display.
She turns around at the bottom of the stairs, arching an eyebrow gracefully with amusement in her eyes but she refrains from commenting on my little show. "Are we still up for tomorrow?"
"Of course! I want all of the juicy details about your date!" Squealing, I jump on the stairs, nearly sending myself sprawling at her feet again in my excitement. Mmm. I love hearing about her dates! The fly or fall boys, the sweet moments, it always sounds so magical coming from Miranda. Not to mention the juicy details about who does what, and exactly how cheesy a guy can act! "I want to know everything. Every little detail. What he says, what he does, what he orders. Does he kiss you goodnight, plan another date? I want to know it all!"
Miranda's cheeks flush red and she giggles, clapping her hands together twice before making room for me to finish coming down the steps. "Great! I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"See you tomorrow." Scrunching my nose at a cold breeze and grinning, I thump down onto the pavement behind her before waving half-heartedly and heading down the path that leads around her house. Geeze. It's only October, and a lot colder than I thought it would be. I should have called for a ride. Dad might have picked me up. After a bit of whining, and promising to help with Chemistry homework, Nikki would have picked me up, but I would have to live with her lecture on how she won't jump whenever I ask, though she's a sweet girl and I know that her giving me hell is her way of saying that she's glad I called her for help over everyone else. Ryan definitely would come to pick me up. He jumps whenever I ask him for something. Not that I ask often...
"Have a good night!" Miranda yells, pulling out of the driveway and waving as she drives past, a silver streak in the darkness.
Coming onto the sidewalk, I wave back, knowing that she won't spare a glance in her rear view mirror to see if I even answer. "Same to you" I whisper, smiling softly in her wake. Lovely, shallow girl. I should really call someone. Tugging the Android out of my back pocket, I roll my sleeves higher up my wrists, letting the chilly night air nip at my skin as I fumble with the phone. Menu. Contacts. Friends. God damn it, my fingers are frozen. Growling, I give up and hit Speed Dial.
The crackle of the phone connecting and ringing assaults my ear as I hold it near my face, not wanting to press the cool metal against my skin. Walking faster, the phone continues to ring, testing my patience with its annoyingly perky shrill.
At the seventh ring, the crackle of a connection sounds. The deep male voice that chases the static away calms my nerves and eases the cold. "Hey Colin."
Oh thank God. Ryan. Letting out the breath that I didn't know I'd been holding, I smile. The warmth in my chest doesn't go unnoticed, but I push it to the side, shoving my other hand into my pocket and humming softly. "Hey Ry. Do you have a few minutes to spare?"
"Sure, for you. What's up?"
"I could use a ride home." The pleading, pathetic whine in my voice is wince worthy, but I know the tone works wonders on Ryan's resilience and breaks him down every time. Not that he usually needs much breaking, anyways.
"Sorry, can't help you there. My car's in getting inspected for the winter." The apology is evident in his voice, along with the taxed, tired tone, and suddenly the guilt at having to call him every time something goes wrong weighs heavily on my heart, "but I can send someone over?"
"Sounds good. Thanks." Hitting the end button and slipping the phone back into my back pocket, I sigh. My fingers rub the bridge of my nose, where the cold is making it stuffy. Yuck. I'll have a runny nose when I get back into the heat. I should have called Dad. It's Dad's job to look after me, not Ryan's. Not Nikki's. Geeze. Maybe I should just get my own car. Save people the trouble of having to come pick me up. Oh well. When I save up the money, sure. Still have to finish saving up for University, first. Almost got enough to pay for my first year of University, with all of the classes I need to take to get a bachelors in Biochemistry. Just another two thousand dollars, which shouldn't be hard. Fifteen dollars an hour working at a jewellery store in town is good money, and with a year left to finish saving, I should hopefully have enough for university, and for a used car. Hopefully.
The shrill honk of a horn and flashing headlights draws my attention back, to a red Prius. It pulls up beside me, slowing down to the crawl-like speed I'm walking at, the passenger window rolling down. "Hey, LaFay! Ryan said you were playing hitchhiker and needed someone to play the part of the creepy guy who picks you up and might or might not drive you home tonight safely."
Oh, shite. Out of all of the people that Ryan could have possibly sent, he had to send this one. Why ask him? Why not any number of the drama geeks, or one of the football players? Why call him? Leaning down, I gaze into the car, warm air caressing my face as I offer the teenager inside a wry smile, trying to hide my internal conflict. "Hey Frederick."