I Still Need ✓

3. I'm gay and I still can't lie

Teacher-student-relationship problems aside, I had other things to worry about. See, during a boring-ass day at school, in the middle of class, Floyd suddenly propped his head upon his fist and started staring at me with an intent look. I had no idea why he was doing it, since our conversation had died down minutes ago, and I pretended to look at the assignment in front of me, but I won't lie and say that I could focus on it. I mean, who would be able to focus on schoolwork, when the person you have feelings for is drilling a hole in the side of your head with his eyes?

He was starting to make me feel uncomfortable, when he finally asked, "Do you like someone?"

"What a sudden question," I remarked, moving my head up from my notebook, and looked at him, Floyd McCarthy, the very person I liked. "Perhaps."

I was hoping he'd drop the subject, but we were talking about Floyd here... Of course he wouldn't. He always wanted to know everything. Every single little detail. It didn't matter if it wasn't important to him. He just had to know.

"Who is it?" he asked. "Is it someone I know?"

It'd be rather odd if he didn't know himself. Imagine that! Not knowing who you are... "Perhaps."

"Come on," he groaned. "Give me a little more than just a 'perhaps'."

"No, it's never going to become something anyway," I muttered. "It's hopeless."

"Ah, don't be so pessimistic, Hugo. Maybe I can help! You never know if she likes you back."

She. Right, he didn't even know I was gay.

It wasn't like I was afraid of him knowing. Like I said, if people knowing about my sexuality didn't bring me in danger, it was fine. And if Floyd wasn't okay with it, I would have noticed. I wouldn't have had to look at Dylan's stupid face every single day for the past years.

But you can imagine I just didn't want my crush to know that I liked him. Or his gender. The idea of him knowing made me uncomfortable. Yet, I would have to tell him sometime. It wasn't easy to keep something so big from my best friend. Especially if I couldn't lie to him. It was getting harder and harder every time. I just had to work up the courage to actually do it.

It annoyed me that he still didn't know though, because he kept assuming I was straight while I was so, so not. Shouldn't he have noticed by now? Dylan, on the other hand, was very aware and kept accusing me, though I think he mostly did it as a joke. His gaydar must be going off full tilt every time we were in the same room or something. I wouldn't know. I didn't seem to have one.

"Ah, it's whatever," I said with a tired sigh.

"Leave him alone, Floyd," Dylan murmured with his deep voice, making me look around Floyd in surprise. I watched him lean over his notebook with no interest. Why was he even sticking up for me?

"If he doesn't want help," he elaborated, "let him ruin it for himself then."

"Thanks, Dylan," I replied sarcastically.

"You're welcome," he smirked back and I wisely chose not to continue this conversation—it would only end in a useless sass-fight. Instead, I explained to Floyd, "You can't help, buddy, but thanks for the offer."

"Maybe Dylan can help!" he suggested. Wow, he still thought Dylan and I could get along. What a silly boy he was sometimes. Had the last few years told him nothing?

"He could, but I don't want him to."

"I second that," Dylan butted in. No surprise there. If I had wanted Dylan's help or advice—which he was more than capable of giving, by the way—and if he would have wanted to give it, I'd have done it ages ago. I doubted it would have changed anything, but I digress.