HIS FAVORITE GINGER ✓

TWENTY.

ALEJANDRO'S WALK HOME FROM SCHOOL has been dreadful since Nolan dearest ruthlessly has dumped his homosexual ass. The latter is now hanging out with another group of people, well at least that's what Alejandro thinks. Someone like Nolan always turned on an antisocial force field laced with electricity, magma, poisoned thorns and daggers. Now he took his car to school. Alejandro is clueless as to what model it is, although he saw it this morning. It seemed like it a Porsche, a red, sleek Porsche. In fact, now that Alejandro thinks of it, Nolan drives it past him everyday without even bothering to give him a ride or spare him a glance.

Alejandro has to guess that is what he rightfully gets for being a fake friend. He blames myself for everything their fallout. If he's told Nolan sooner, then he probably would've ignored it - most likely not - and he wouldn't have to lose his best friend. Alejandro doesn't care anyways. Nolan is out of his life like every other homophobes he's gotten involved with. Sayonara sucker.

Alejandro's mind diverts to his own car, resting peacefully in its sanctuary - the garage at home. He reminisces on the street races he's gone on with his BMW till he finds himself mentally stranded in his old life. It was much more fun the the current piece of crap. He was freer than a bird and wild as a jaguar. His friends were neither bigots nor having minds tighter than a nun's vagina. Except for the snake who slept with Tatum, they were life, Alejandro's life.

Letting out a sigh, he kicks the empty cola can lying on the street and briskly rubs his cold palms together to generate more heat or else he'll go pale at the end of the day. Alejandro hates being pale, Grayson Jackson is the yeti not him. Times like this make him wish he's black.

Thinking of blacks, he casts his mind back to Nolan. Today was different. Nolan's Porsche didn't pass by him this morning and now. Come to think of it, Alejandro barely saw him at school today. Is he being utterly stupid if he says he's missing Nolan's glares?

Frostbites nibble on his nerves as Alejandro's palms grab the frigid iron bars of the gates and yank them open. His eyes scans the vintage-themed compound filled with numerous flowers and species to spot Gilliam, a bald, short and stout man probably in his fifties. He's in his usual tuxedos, glancing at his watch while leaning on a white limousine.

No time is taken in thinking of what's up. He gives Gillie - toddler Alejandro had insisted on the nickname even though the man hated it and it's stuck since - a brisk hug. Alejandro speeds into my mansion like Hannibal is chasing him and straight into my mother's open arms. She is sitting on the couch in the living room gracefully as usual, consuming Ciroc.

Her waist-length, maroon hair is wounded into an exquisite pigtail. She wears a sleeveless crimson dress that is silky to touch. Alejandro loves the feel on his cheek as he snuggles into the hug. A Fendi tiger-striped boa adorns her shoulders while her porcelain pale legs stick out of the short Alexander McQueen dress like fine candles as beige stiletto Louboutins cover her feet. Her emerald-green eyes and her flawless face make her another definition for perfection. She doesn't at all look like the 37 year old she is supposed to be. She looks 22 and acted so. She wore minimal makeup except her habitual, signature red hot lipstick. She is, without doubt, a true female Bale.

"Good gracious! My baby has grown." Her accent always seems thickly scotched with Hungarian and British, it's hard to explain. But that is her descent anyways.

Alejandro has to roll his eyes at his drama. Everybody seemed overdramatic to me nowadays. First it's Kara, then Grayson, now it's Freya. "Mom, it hasn't even been two months!"