Past A Thousand Words (BoyXBoy)

Chapter One

May 4th, 2010

“Tyler,” I cooed, trying to soothe the boy lying in front of me.

He had collapsed today, during study hall. We were going to study for our pre-calculus midterm. It was going to be fun. We would procrastinate the whole time by talking about how gross vagina’s look and maybe I would confess my feelings.

Yet, here I am, sitting by Tyler’s hospital bed, holding his hand and listening to the constant rhythm of his heart monitor. The words from my heart are still left unsaid and at this point, looking at the broken boy, unconscious before me, I don’t know if he’ll ever know how much I love him.

“Tyler, what did you do,” I said to myself, less like a question because I know damn well what he did.

To believe I had just ignored it makes me feel like shit. I saw the symptoms but I chose to ignore them because of my own stupid problems.

“Finn,” my thoughts are interrupted by Tyler’s hoarse voice. What once made me swoon from its tenor tone is now a distant monotonous beast. “I’m sorry.”

That’s all that was said that day.

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August 24th, 2013

So, summer is officially over. Even though it’s still hot outside, we all know, it’s over.

It’s the first day of school and I’m entering my senior year! Yes! Finally, the moment I have been waiting for for three years! The longest three years of my life are finally coming to an end! I say “three years” because I know that senior year is going to be all that and then some. It is going to be my year. Full ride scholarship offers, colleges begging for me to attend their school….

Okay, maybe I’m a bit in over my head, but hey, can’t a nerd dream? I mean, I’ve been working hard enough these past years that I deserve it.

My bus pulls up to my school, interrupting my dreams of wealth and fame. For once, as we all pile off this crowded bus, I have a good feeling about going to school. Familiar faces say hello. I nod back. New faces, full of worry and makeup, glance at my attire.

I’m wearing jeans that are tight at the top but loose around my ankles and a Panic! At the Disco t-shirt I got at one of their concerts over the summer. If they’re judging me now, wait until they see me in two weeks, when all fucks are gone. When all fucks are gone, pajama pants are my best friend.

“FINN!” I hear my Tiffany scream behind me. I turn around at stare at her newly dyed hair. Tiff is always trying out new colors, whether it be blonde, pink or red. I barely remember her natural hair color.

“I’m digging the new look. Very “pull over because I’m a fire truck”. Nice,” I tease her new fire red hair. It’s not too bright. It’s a dull red with hints of black.

“Ha-ha. Very funny. I was thinking more rocker chic,” Tiffany flips her hair and strikes a pose. Yep. Verrrry rocker chic, especially with her thick framed, hot pink glasses. “So, what are your classes?” Tiffany asks. Adjusting her glasses that have slipped from the bridge of her nose. Must be all the rocking.

“First, I have El Espanol. Second, I have Chemistry. Third, I have study hall. Fourth is open. Fifth is choir and sixth is Creative Writing.”

“Oh, cute. We have zero classes together,” Tiffany pouts as I giggle.

“What did you expect? You finished spanish. You’re in AP Physics. You refuse to take a study hall or a free period. You can’t sing worth shit and when it comes to writing, well, it’s about as good as your singing.”

“Mean,” Tiffany simply states.

When the bell rings, we say our goodbyes, like we’ll never see each other again and head in separate ways.

Spanish goes by in a blur of tildes over n’s and reviewing from last year. As I head to the science wing of our school, I notice I’m walking behind someone I’ve never seen before. I know because, I’d have judged him by now.

Black hair swooped to the side that looks like he’s trying too hard to be “scene”. Black skinny jeans and some socially unaccepted band t-shirt under a “leather” jacket. I haven’t seen his face but I’m expecting piercings. Eyebrows, or maybe snake bites.

Ew. I can’t stand people who actually try to stand out. Just blend in and when high school is over, go ahead and express yourself any way you’d like.

In Chemistry, of course, Mr. Taylor already has the class assigned seat chart. The crazy bastard.

“Okay, young scholars,” Mr. Taylor wastes no time.

He jumps right into calling out everyones names. Jake is sitting by Mary. Andy is sitting by Amy. Blah. Blah. Blah.

Finally my name gets called. “Finn, I’m going to sit you here, next to Troy,” Mr. Taylor points to my desk at the back of the class. Figures, the hardest class and I sit in the back with some kid named Troy.

“Troy, how do you spell your name?” Mr. Taylor asks as I turn to the boy flopping down next to me. It was the douche from the hallway. He has his eyebrow pierced. I’m literally Jesus.

“Troy with an ‘e’,” His husky, surprisingly deep voice rings through my empty soul as I scoff. Troy with an ‘e’ eyes me amusingly.

As Mr. Taylor moves on to the remaining students, Troy with an ‘e’ asks, “What’s wrong with my name?”

“Other than you clearly trying to hipster by spelling your name a little different, nothing.”

“I don’t like to consider myself a ‘hipster’ per se. I feel as though the hipster image has been destroyed over the span of two years. I prefer the term ‘indie’,” Troye states like he’s some sort of king.

I scoff again, this time more amused. “Okay, Troy with an ‘e’, welcome to Union, Connecticut.”

“You gonna show me around?” Troye asks sarcastically, I think. It’s hard to tell.

“HA! As if!” I’m such a girl.

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