Different Colors

Green

Marcus and I are about the only normal kids in Life Skills, so we are together all the time. Marcus has a hard time moving his hands, due to his ataxic cerebral palsy. During lunch in our Life Skills class, I don't feed him, but I help him lift his arm to his mouth, keeping his spoon from falling out of his hand. He is completely normal, though, which is surprising. Usually, in most cases, kids with cerebral palsy don't think or develop properly. Marcus can talk, especially over text, just like any other bloodthirsty hormonal teenager. He stutters his words, can't walk, and spends most of class time drawing, which, to me, is crazy that drawing is even possible with this condition.

When he's eating, he has to navigate the spoon or fork into his mouth. Whenever he is drawing or painting, he can sit in his wheelchair, lifting his arms up and letting them move freely with the paint, wherever his imagination may take it. It's quite beautiful and his paintings are phenomenal.

Jake is being super pissy, which isn't normal for him. Usually Jake is a very happy "jock." I know for a fact that Jake isn't really a jock. He's actually a music nerd.

Leslie by now had gone to her room, and shut the door, probably playing with some Barbies or something. It was just Jake and I now out in the living room, which was sitting under a twenty foot tall ceiling under a banister railing from the second floor.

"What's bothering you today? Why aren't you at practice?" I ask him, looking down at him as he bites his nails and looks down at his phone. He's hiding something from me. I can tell. I can tell by the way he's biting his nails to the point where blood comes out, I can tell by the way his face his red and his legs are clenched up.

"It's nothing, just let me be. Practice was canceled. Coach is sick. I'm going to go take a shower." He says, leaving his phone sitting down on the bar in the dining room as I sit on the couch in the living room nearby. He takes off his shirt, and walks into the bathroom, slamming the door as he locked the upstairs bathroom door behind him.

I step up, grab the iPhone he left on the bar, and immediately begin to cry.

Jake

Back in the shower again. What a funny coincidence. Maybe this time I can get what I deserve- to slip on my feet and fall hard on my ass.

I step again out of my American Eagle underwear and into the shower, closing the glass shower door behind me. Today has been the absolute worst day of my life. The photo of me grabbing David's ass has been sent to everyone.

I walked into the cafeteria carrying the usual Monday lunch, a piece of pizza, a carton of milk, and some carrots all on a tray. It seemed that all of the tables, including the one I usually sat at, were all full.

To my left were the freshman, whom I didn't want to sit with. To my right, were the cheerleaders (Carbondale's "Plastics"), whom I also didn't want to sit with. Straight ahead of me, all the way against the wall next to the hallway, was the baseball team. I walk, even though some of the ones who had gotten the photo were sitting at the table.

David was sitting at that table. As soon as he saw me, he got up, grabbed his tray, and walked towards the exit of the cafeteria where he would return his dish. I walked over towards the table, where everyone at the table had stood up and was pushing their chairs in. I sat down. Everyone at the table looked at me and snickered.

Clayton Porter walked up to me, and rested his hand on my leg, moving it towards my groin in a mean, childish way.

"Horny yet? Eat this, dumb shit." He stuck his hand down his shorts, rubbed his hand on his privates, and rubbed on my mouth with his hand.

I sat there, alone. Eating my pizza. Clayton, I bet, hasn't washed his balls in weeks. His hand literally smelled like fish. Maybe he's just too much of a wuss to accept that I'm possibly gay and maybe he's actually transgender. Eh, maybe not.

I lost everything in one day; I lost my friends, my hopes of a relationship, my reputation, and everything everyone thought I was.

"Jake, don't bother coming to practice. - Sincerely, Everyone :D"

You have been removed from the iMessage group: Ballers '18

The water temperature is the highest it can possibly go. The shower is very steamy. I sit on the ground of the shower, and begin to cry.
  The tears are being drowned by the hot steamy water splashing my face, but, as I sit on the bottom of the shower, listening to my waterproof speaker play, I think about the horrible things happening to other gay people around the globe and realize that my situation is a little less dangerous or horrifying, but is still embarrassing. The water is making me feel better.
  I stand up, trying not to fall on my bony ass, and walk towards the glass door of the shower. I imagine a boy, maybe tall, maybe short, someone who doesn't want me to be a jock or a douche, but someone who wants me.
    I put my lips up to the door, and kiss it, wishing I could have someone to join me in the shower. It is wet and hot. But as I continue to think about the lack of a love life, I begin to cry again, but this time, sobs. I lay my head and let it rest against the door, feeling the hot, hot water run down my back.
Is it too hot?
I  black out for a moment. Open my eyes, and see David standing in front of me, and then disappearing.