A new boy has moved in next door. It's extremely hot outside, but I went to his house to talk to him. He sat out on a lawn chair, his bare chest being kissed by the sun. He's only been here for two days and he's already made his front yard like his old home. Next to him was a cold glass of something blue. There were little ice cubes and a mini umbrella perched atop the liquid. I began walking over to him, wearing my best blue shirt with red lobsters on it. I felt the sweat developing on my back as the distance between him and I became less. He looked up at me through his dark sunglasses when I stood a foot away from him.
"Hi," I said, trying my best not to sound shy. "Are you new to the neighborhood?"
Then he replied with a question. Not hi or any other greeting. He asked if I was gay. It didn't sound like he was being mean about it. He just flat out asked me if I was. But still, who asks that? What kind of first impression is this?
I stood there for a moment, trying to let the question sink in like the sweat soaking through my clothes. I mumbled something quiet—even I don't remember what it was—and I walked away. I walked back to my house, took off my stupid lobster shirt, and lied on my bed. I didn't cry; it wasn't something for me to cry about. I just laid down trying to figure out why someone would ask that.
The next day, the new boy was the one to come over. My parents were at work at this time, around nine in the morning, and I was up in my room looking through my old journals. The doorbell scared me, but since it was day, I went downstairs and answered the door. He wore a light blue button-up shirt with crabs on it. He still had on his sunglasses, hidden beneath his messy bangs. Clinging to his lips was a lit cigarette.
I couldn't seem to say anything to the boy, so he was the first to speak this time. He removed the cigarette from his lips, and some ash fell to our porch. His voice was low and cool, like an actor's from an old movie.
"Hey."
I replied with hello, and he walked into my house.
"You're not gonna kill me, are you?" I ask, a forced smile plastered on my face. I was nervous, and the guy was stalking around our kitchen like he was looking for something. I watched him open up one of our cabinets, and I shouted at him. "Hey! What are you doing?"
"Pancake mix," was all he said.
My dad is a truck driver, and he sometimes gets stuff for free. It's a blessing, really, but sometimes I forget that it is when we eat potatoes every day for a week. My dad also just so happens to have the odd privilege to stock up on pancake mix, which is what this boy is oddly requesting.
"Uh..." I say, taking a few steps forward to the boy. "Why?"
"I'm hungry." He puts the cigarette back between his lips. It's kind of gross, but I didn't want to tell him to stop smoking in case he ran away or called me gay.
I told him about my dad bringing home extra food, and he nodded, but he didn't say anything. I gave him a box of pancake mix and he left without saying anything. The crab shirt was enough for me as a "sorry."
After that day, the new boy took me to his house and showed me his pet chinchilla. Weird. Its name is Angel and it is male. He told me that on the plane to here, the chinchilla had to be in a special climate controlled room with other animals. He said chinchillas and heat do not go well together.
"I was so worried the whole time," the boy laughed, looking down at the chinchilla sitting in its cage. "I just wanted to hold him the entire trip."
He's been opening up more to me these days. I think he's introverted, but he seems like he'd be a loud person. He talks too much sometimes, though, but I probably only think that because I am also introverted. I still didn't know his name. Or his age, but I would've assumed it was around mine or older. He's tall and slender, compared to me who is just...average.
