Conflicted Eyes, Confusing Feelings | Complete

e l e v e n

Sage felt something in him drop. The feeling of disappointment you get when you hear something bad about someone or something you love, and for some reason, Sage refused to believe that Xander was that bad. Thinking back to his eyes and the picture the other day, he couldn’t help but feel as though Xander was misunderstood somehow.

Sage strived to find the good in everyone, and he believed that Xander had a good side too, despite his sarcophagus exterior. He was curious to see it, but then he recognized what he was doing. The typical good-girl-breaks-bad-boy scenario you’d find so easily in a typical angst story.

Pushing that thought out of his head, he decided to be realistic and not idealistic in his approach. This was real life and not a story. In real life, the good girl almost never ended up with the bad boy, and to make matters worse, Sage was a boy, despite his girlish mien and demeanor. Xander would never like him back, and he knew it. Judging by the look on his face whenever he saw him was enough to tell.

Resurfacing from the depths of his thoughts, he replied to Randall’s question. “I … I don’t know.”

Randall remained from asking any more questions. They departed from the bathroom, out into the corridors that were bustling with students who were, no doubt, gazing at Sage’s shameful diary entries.

And he was right. That was precisely what the cluster of students was doing, and some even turned to stare at the writer. Sage felt the stinging effect of tears at his eyeballs, but he tried pushing the feeling aside. But what he couldn’t evade was the heat, pooling in either of his cheeks, highlighting them in a faint pink.

Suddenly, Randall was no longer by his side. He’d dived in the crowd, shoving past kids until he reached the source of interest. He ripped it off, crumbling it and tossing it in a bin before sauntering back to Sage, lacing fingers again.

Sage couldn’t help the small bubble of happiness that surfaced within him, causing him to let out a small bubble of laughter. “Thanks, Randall.”

Randall squeezed his hand in a comforting gesture, offering him a small smile. “Don’t mention it.”

They took an unexpected turn, heading in a direction Sage wasn’t familiar with. “Where are we … w-where are we going?”

“Courtyard.”

Some of the tension in Sage’s shoulders seeped out at the realization that they weren’t heading to the cafeteria. The mild feeling of reprieve morphed into shock as he raised his head, his eyes possessing magnetic-like ability as they found themselves drawn to the tousle-haired boy. He was before his locker, staring at something inside, seeming oblivious to everything around him; as usual. A red-head was leaning against the locker next to him, simultaneously talking to, and peering at girls strolling by, who were sending them flirtatious winks and batting of eyelashes, fake or otherwise.

Sage’s shoes suddenly became the most intriguing thing in the world, as his eyes wouldn’t leave it. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could feel his palms building up with sweat – which he wiped in his jeans. He just hoped that he could make it by them, unnoticed, invisible. But that dream came to a lousy crash when Carter spoke up.

“If it ain’t Randall. You a faggot, man?” Carter said in a fake voice of enlightenment and admiration. “And, well, if his lil boyfriend ain’t the homo sophomore.”