The Locker

3 - Patty

Waking up in the dead of night was something Pete did often. Sometimes it was to sneak out with Joe and Patrick but tonight, it was to be alone in the dark. He knew it wasn't healthy but at least, he told himself that he wasn't an insomniac. He simply enjoyed being blind for am hour and being able to think clearly. When the crickets began to chirp softly and the moon was at its highest was the only time when Pete could understand what was going on inside his head.

"What's wrong with me?" He grumbled into his pillow. Why does he love his bass so much? More so, what is his obsession with music? Why doesn't anyone understand that Pete doesn't want to live his adult life in a six by six square foot cubical? Pete rolled over, letting his arm fall over the side of his bed. He knew he had more important things to be asking himself. Like what really is everyone's fascination with low cut shirts? However, Pete could definitely wrap his head around a good coat of eyeliner. He shut his eyes tightly, dreaming of girls in bands. Even with their messy eyeliner, sweaty hair and the way they used their instruments never got Pete going. He knew it should, he knew that those girls were beautiful and shit. They were just missing something. It seemed that every girl he'd ever seen was missing something.

Pete grunted out of frustration. His finger lingered at the side of his bed, making their way underneath. He always thought that maybe if he knocked some sense into himself, he'd have a girlfriend just like Joe has. He knew that this was a process and to reach his goal, rhwred be pain along the way. He wasn't sure if he was his secret was actually doing any good for him or if he just enjoyed the pain. He'd never find out though, because he'd never stop long enough to doubt his methods.

Waking up the following morning on the bathroom floor was not part of Pete's daily routine. Picking himself up and groaning at the ache in his back, he avoided seeing himself in the mirror. He didn't need an inanimate object to tell him something he already knew. He looked like shit. Yesterday's eyeliner smudged all the way down his cheek, his hair tossled into a mess that would take extra long to brush out and a fresh set of battle wounds.

"Give me a tiara and I'm a beauty pageant gone wrong." He laughed at himself. Shaking his head, he traveled back up to his room, seeing that the rest of his family was still asleep. With an excessive amount of care, he slid the box back into its hiding place. He cringed at memories from earlier this morning, wishing he could convince himself that it was for the best. He came upon his daily reminder that he was a fuck up while choosing his outfit for the day. Pete never understood why he would be self conscious about his arms and only ever buy short sleeved shirts. Sighing at his own stupidity, he tugged one of his many black Tshirts on and threw a jacket over it. Fortunately, winter came quickly in Chicago so he wouldn't have to worry about overheating. After fixing his hair and brushing his teeth, he grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter. Forgetting about breakfast for the countless time, he drove himself to his prison for the past four years.

Making a point of avoiding another close call, he pulled into a spot with at least three empty spaces on either side. Before Pete could get the key out of the ignition, a cubby faced boy was pressed up against his window. "Pete!" The boy exclamied, using the majority of his energy just to keep from exploding. Pete laughed and let himself out of the car. "Hi, Patrick." He smiled. "Good morning, Pete." He replied, purley out of his over bearing politness. "What's the good news?" Pete wondered as the two began towards the entrance. "You remember Elisa, right?" He spoke through his toothy smile. Pete nodded, wondering how he could forget the girl Patrick never shut up about. "I asked her to homecoming, she said yes!" He shouted, throwing his fist in the air. "I told you she would, buddy." Pete laughed, genuinely happy for his friend. They weaved their way through mindless cliches and couples too occupied with eating each others faces to realize two boys who enjoyed music too much for their own good were desperately trying to get into the building.

"What about you, Pete?" He wondered innocently. Pete shrugged, wishing his friends would talk about something besides relationships. Patrick nudged him playfully, "what about Mi-" he began but was nudged back much harder. "Who?" Pete wondered loudly. "Michelle. From your math class." Patrick reminded him, taking a step back from him. "Oh. Sorry." He breathed, realizing he'd caused a scene for nothing. They continued to walk in silence, squirming their way through people who had taken the role of statues. After a while of walking aimlessly through the first floor of the school, Patrick was finally put up with trying to figure things out on his own. "What," he began, signing deeply. Pete stopped suddenly, shocked that someone as shy as Patrick would speak when Pete obviously wanted to be left alone. "What did you think I was going to say?" He whispered. Pete silently debated on telling him about Mikey and everything that had happened yesterday. After all, Patrick is the most trustworthy person Pete has ever known and they have been best friends since first grade. Just as Pete was about to speak, an awfully familiar hand came down hard on his already achingly sore shoulder.

"Hi Petey." He whispered into Pete's ear, making him cringe. "What do you want, Andy?" Patrick asked, apparently not done with his sudden burst of courage. "I want Petey here, to tell me about his boyfriend." He said, making Pete wish he was dead. Before Patrick could question Andy's accusations, he went off again. "Or, are you his boyfriend? Aw, Petey and Patty. How fucking gay." Pete had never seen anyone laugh so hard at their own jokes until then. Patrick rolled his eyes, making it seem like the nickname didn't hurt him but, Pete knew better.

With Andy nearly choking on his rude jokes, the two boys escaped any further bullying.

"Don't worry about what Andy says." Pete said, feeling that Patrick getting hurt was all his fault. Patrick shrugged, never wanting anyone's pity. "It just kind of cuts deep, you know?" He confessed, remebring the time in seventh grade when he ate an entire bag of peppermint patties in one day. After that everyone started calling him Patty. Patrick kept saying that he didn't mind and he'd joke that at least they werent calling him Fatty. Pete knew how much it really hurt him, though. "I know, Patrick, I know." Pete consoled, patting him on the back. "But what did Andy mean by boyfriend?" Patrick wondered. Pete froze for a moment, realizing that Patrick didn't realize just how similar his question before Andy and after Andy were.

Luckily enough, Pete was saved by the bell. With little retailition, Patrick left in the opposite direction. It was then that Pete realized that he did t know what class he had first. Seeing as how he didn't want to run after Patrick and how Joe was no where to be seen, Pete was in a bit of a pickle. Just then, he came face to face with someone he wanted to see even less than Andy.

"We have gym first." He said, without making eye contact.The boys, whose friendship level was unknown walked to the gym quietly. All the while, Pete spent silently cursing.