Secondhand Girlfriend

.01

So what, maybe I'm overreacting, but I know I'm right. I don't why they're pushing so hard on this, I don't need to be in a relationship. When I feel the need to date someone, I will, but for now they can all fuck off.

What type of family would pressure their child to date? First it was my sister always pestering me about my love life, and then my father asking when I was going to get a girlfriend. And to that sentence, I told him I liked boys, and he asked when I was getting a boyfriend; glad he doesn't care if I was actually gay. I think my mother doesn't really care much, she asked me if I ever had a crush, and I told her no. That was the end of that.

Now I'm practically fuming as I stomp down the street. All I want is for my family to accept that I'm just not ready for a relationship. For fucks sake, I'm only 17, it's not like I'm getting married right away. And when I do find myself someone, I want it to be the right one.

"Yo! Floptop, what's up kid," my friend Wyatt calls.

He crosses the street to me from his family's bakery. I smile as his apron whips in the wide as he jogs over to me. Any other person would probably be frightened to see a buff teenage black kid barrelling toward them, but to me he is just a giant softy.

Wyatt is, as I described, very bulky, he works out almost every day. Because of this, no one would ever suspect he's the gayest boy they've ever met. Of course, that's because most people have a shitty image of homosexuals, but he is proud of himself.

"What up, Breadboy," I smile up at him.

"You still up for the kickback on Saturday?"

He throws his arm around my shoulder and walks with me for a bit. I nod my head in response and he chuckles, dropping his arm. We stand face to face on the corner as people rush past us, trying to get on with their lives.

"It's been 15 years, and you still go mute on me," he laughs at my silent response.

"What can I say, I'm a silent kid," I shrug.

We both laugh at this until his phone starts to ring in his apron. Wyatt curses under his breath as he looks at the screen before he answers the call. I fist bump him in replacement of a farewell, and he bounds off back toward the bakery. Smiling at my best friend, I continue my walk, thoughts from early completely gone.

Do I really want to go the kickback Saturday? Of course it's not like this huge party, just a couple of friends getting together and chilling out, but do I really want to go? I've kept to myself most of the summer, only going out when absolutely necessary, so maybe I should get out for the weekend. And it would be nice to hear what everyone has been up to. Yea, I'm definitely going on Saturday.

Pulling out my phone, I frown once again at the single crack running diagonally across the screen. I don't even remember how it got there, I was way too high that day and things turned into a haze. Unlocking the screen, I open up my music as I also untangle my headphones. Nothing like the sound of Fall Out Boy in the evening. Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I walk with my head down and focus on feet.

When I glance upward, a very bright sign makes me blink in wonder. Whose ever sign that is, they must really want people to see it. I keep walking past the sign, rounding a corner, until I see another equally as bright sign as the last. Blinking rapidly, I pick up my pace to escape the blinding color of the poster. Every other block or so, I look up to see a brightly colored sign; by the eighth time I see the sign, I think I've gone blind in my left eye.

Tired of seeing the sign practically every where I turn, I rip one from it's post. Right before I crumble the piece of paper, I notice the word at the top of the page in bold black letters.