By the pause before my father's response, I can tell he's most likely eyeing Shelby up and down with that classic judging face he's learned to perfect. Although Shelby is practically James' antithesis (James had a tendency to dye his hair a different color every few weeks, and although he showered every day, it was often questionable whether he just crawled out of a dumpster or not), Shelby still doesn't live up to the Stefan Owens Dress Code. Basically meaning, don't dress like a fag.
"Yes. He's upstairs. Are you his friend?"
"Yeah, and he's not gay, Dad." I step out of the hallway and over to the doorway to grab Shelby's wrist. "You don't have to worry about us screwing upstairs or anything." Shelby's face is surprised and his lips in a little 'o' shape before he lets himself be practically hauled to my room. I still catch him glancing around to take the house in.
"Uh, alright." It's the only thing he says before setting his bag on the table next to my bed. "So, that was some display downstairs."
"Well. I just had to make sure my father was alright with me and some male friends over." I still haven't calmed down enough to have a proper conversation.
"This is a really nice house, by the way. Really nice."
"Thanks. We're filthy freaking rich," I say narcissistically with an unfortunate sniff afterward.
Shelby doesn't buy my sarcasm for a single second. "What's going on?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
Shelby sits by me on the bed. "That does us both no good, since you invited me over for the purpose of talking about 'it'." Shelby cocks his head to the side, stormy-grey eyes somewhat worried, somewhat understanding. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that my little crack at my dad has something to do with the current problem.
I say nothing, choosing alternatively to lay down on the bed facedown. "Can I at least take a guess?" I mumble some kind of 'mhmm' as affirmation. "Uh... you told your Dad about your sexuality? He wasn't very understanding?"
"Nope."
"Well, that was all I had."
I take a deep breath. "Apparently, he's known about it for a long time and secretly hated me for it without telling me. Now he's all 'golly gosh Brandon I'm so sorry sonny-boy for being so mean to ya lets go make up for lost time 'nd throw the old baseball around hmm?'" Shelby holds back a small chuckle at my sarcasm.
It's all bullshit. Here I was thinking that we just didn't get along because of something I did, but it was him all along. And what if he was wrong? What if I didn't like other guys? Five years of the cold shoulder would've been for nothing. The worst part is, he had to get drunk to tell me what the hell was wrong with our relationship. He couldn't even clarify it to me in his right mind.
"He apologized?" Shelby asks softly. Ha, I don't even know what that 'sorry' meant to him. It means nothing to me.
"Yeah, I guess. I don't know what he really apologized f-for," I reply, my voice getting shaky again. "I told him I h-hated him, though."
Shelby says nothing. The room is eerily quiet again. After a pause, I feel Shelby's hand on my back. "You don't hate him, though."
"No, I don't. I wanna tell him I'm sorry for s-sayin' it but I just freakin' c-can't right now, you know?" My breathing starts to race, and those goddamn tears sting the back of my eyes again. I haven't really cried in so long, tears just keep coming like the rain on a dreary day. I never know when they're gonna stop or come back again.
Shelby's hand kneads into the muscles in my back to soothe me. Suddenly, I'm feeling awful for dragging him into this. We met less than a week ago, and he's already taking on my heaviest problems. Never have I ever felt more comfortable sharing my tribulations with someone, not even Logan.
Friendship is an odd thing.
Quarter of a way through my junior year, I'm getting new friends all over the place. Yeah, I seem to be losing them just as quickly as I find them, but that's not the point. I never realized that not all people are shitty and out to get me. Shelby seems to be the kind of guy who would give me the old 'seventy times seven' forgiveness thing, like in the Bible. I really need people like that in my life.
"Did you start writing the poems?" he asks.
I nod. "They're really shitty, and I don't want to read them out loud," I sniff.
"That's okay. Not everyone's a poet. Do you want me to read them?"
"Hell no," I manage to laugh. Shelby gives me a Look, causing me to sigh my lungs out and hesitantly dig through the drawer alongside my bed. I find the little notebook and frown up at the frayed cover with a crossed out 'ALGEBRA 2' in the cover. I never took notes anyway freshman year; had no need to. It's like I hear things once and remember them forever.
As I stare at the fraying cover, I realize that I was two and sometimes three math levels ahead of my classmates. Everything I learned I seemed to already put together at an earlier point. It was easy. Why the hell couldn't I put together that my dad already knew I was bisexual? The random conversations we had, all of the question-dodging he did... when he asked about James and my 'friendship', and 'what I considered James to be'... the list goes on and on.
What an asshole.
"So, I'm really smart, you know?" As soon as the sentence slips my lips, my cheeks burn. How cocky does that make me sound? "I mean, like, I can just hear things once and remember them almost exactly."
"Like your math and psychology skills?"
"I guess." I hand the little book to Shelby and flop back on my bed.
"You could be a savant. I doubt it, since most savant behaviors are shown in—"
"Autistic and disabled subjects," I say with him. "But I don't know. It's like I can remember every single time my dad hinted at knowing about my sexuality now. It seems so obvious. I should've figured it out earlier."
"We tend to blind ourselves from the obvious. Like my Aunt. She's always been sketchy. I just made the decision to ignore all of her heinous behavior. Now look," Shelby sighs.
"What's up with your aunt?"
"Still in jail," Shelby sighs. Still? Good lord... Shelby might literally be related to a murderer. He's so freaking calm. The whole town probably has enough information to know what's going on, and he's not freaking out one bit. I mean, I start shaking whenever someone looks at me funny or starts talking lowly, where I can't hear them. My life could be twenty times worse. My dad could be homophobic and an ax murderer.
I sit up and put my shoes on. "When did they arrest her? I mean, if you don't mind me asking."
"Right before Miss Ryan came to teach. They tracked down her ex-husband's phone route, and it turns out she had it a day or two before he went missing. Guess she didn't watch enough crime TV. Where are you going?" Shelby watches me slip my shoes on and search for a jacket.
"Wanna go smoke? I don't think I can read these poems sober," I sigh. "And that really sucks. Scare you a little?"
"Been through worse, honestly. I—" before he can finish his sentence, Aiden bursts through my door in a fit of tears and clenched fists. I guess she hasn't outgrown the tantrums.
"I hate this town!" she screeches. "J-Janie's stupid mom and her mom's s-stupid friends—they k-kicked us out and I heard them say 'oh, that girl looks like a f-fucking drug dealer, Janie, you need better friends'... why would her mom say that?" She takes a deep breath and wipes her eyes to calm down. "I'm sorry. I-I'm just so mad... Janie even agreed with her." Aiden flops on my bed, regardless of Shelby sitting patiently there. The room is quiet for a while, besides Aiden's staggered breathing. "Who's that?" she asks softly.
"I'm Shelby... I think what her mom did was wrong, too... parents really suck sometimes." Shelby looks to me in questioning. I shrug in response and proceed to put my jacket on. "We were going to go out... would you like to come with us?"
"No. I hate everyone and I want to b-burn this town," Aiden blubbers. "I got s-snot all over your bed, Babylon. I'm sorry," she mumbles and curls her tiny body into a ball. Shelby reaches out to rub circles into her back, as he did with me only a while earlier. Honestly, he's such a good person. He doesn't have a clue who Aiden is, yet he's showing her the same kindness and care he showed me.
I wonder if you have to practice to be that pleasant, or if it just comes naturally.
"You should really come with us. We're gonna go smoke, probably. It'll be fun. We wouldn't judge you, ever." Aiden unravels and stands up, proceeding to leave the room. "Is that a yes?" he calls after her.
I answer for her, "Most likely. That's my cousin Aiden. She's living with us now. She's always been a little dramatic..."
"Parents really do suck. Nobody's mom should ever say a girl looks like a drug dealer in front of her face. Good god. And she doesn't even look like— that's just ridiculous," Shelby shakes his head and gathers his coat. Aiden comes into the room dressed in sweats and a t-shirt with the Jamaican flag in the middle.
"Do I look like a crack whore or should I cover up more than this?" she sniffs. Shelby shakes his head.
"I think you look fantastic," Shelby counters.
***
We sit on the hood of my truck with Shelby in the middle of Aiden and me. I chickened out of smoking, so we swung by Shelby's to get beer for me, weed for both of them. The clouds threaten a storm, but I doubt we'll get more than a sprinkle at football practice today. Ugh, football. One more thing to add to the shitty day I've had.
Shelby simply holds my notebook in his lap, but doesn't hint at opening it. Maybe he's waiting for my 'okay'. It's not like I got personal with the little unrhyming poems; most of it is just blubbering and complaining about Logan. Maybe there's something about Conner in there. I don't remember.
I thought sophomore year was bad enough. James moved away, I almost got my first detention, I got two bad grades on my history tests (shut up, 'B's are bad), $100 got stolen out of my bag at a hotel we stayed at once, my car almost got towed...
None of that compares to what's happened in these first months of my junior year alone. Everyone told me junior year would be the best year of high school. So far? It's all lies. I should take them to court.
"What happens to bad people?" Aiden finally asks. "I mean, they're so bad and... meanies..." She's curled up right in Shelby's arms already. We've been out here for half an hour, tops, watching fire ants bustle around huge anthills. There's only a little bit of grass out in Shelby's backyard, but it's nice. "Not when they die, but you can't get away with being so bad, you know?" Aiden says slowly. I guess it's a shame I'm not feeling any kind of buzz after two and a half bottles of Budweiser, but in a way it's good. Can't show up drunk to football practice.
"They melt into a pile of shit," I sigh. "Or go to jail on a murder charge. Or call young girls drug dealers. Or ignore their bisexual sons." The first thing I did when we got out here was tell all about the ordeal with my dad. Yeah, I cried again, too. Only a little.
"Your dad's not a bad person, Brannnon," Aiden groans, leaving out the d in my name. "Janie Frieman's mom isn't bad either. I'm talking about girls like Sydney Mays and Ashley Durst. Girls that would put ketchup on some girl's seat and say it's a period. Or guys like Osama bin Laden and Josef Stalin."
Shelby chuckles and shakes his head while Aiden swipes his joint from his hand. "You're comparing Sydney Mays to Stalin? Stalin who killed almost three times as many people as Hitler?"
"Really? I didn't know thaaa..." Aiden plays with the loose strings in her sweatpants. "White people killed five times more Native Americans, though."
"Oh, history books. So biased," Shelby sighs. "What time is it?"
"Half past two or something," I sigh. Shelby finally opens the little notebook and flips through it twice before stopping. "The first one is called 'I don't have a fucking title for this shit and It's Monday'," I explain. Aiden shivers and buries her head in Shelby's jacket.
"I found it. Can I read it out loud?" he chuckles.
"Yeah, go ahead. Let me run a mile away first."
Aiden butts in. "No! I wanna read it." Shelby hands her the notebook. "Ahem. 'I don't have a fucking title for this shit and it's Monday', by the renowned author, Brandon Shay Owens. Ahem—
'I miss him like crazy.
It's foreign to me.
Missing someone—'" Aiden giggles inevitably. I'm tempted to snatch the book from her tiny hands. "Sorry. I'll be good." She clears her throat for the third time and continues in a soft reading voice.
'Missing someone like him.
Fuck this poem. Fuck you, Violet— why fuck you, Violet?" Aiden stops. "What did she do?"
"Just read, dammit," I grumble and take a sip of my bottle. "I'm going to set myself on fire."
'I miss him like crazy.
Someone special to me.
Missing someone I barely know.
Fuck you Logan.'
"Not so bad, Babylon. I mean, I don't ever want to read it again, but it's not so bad." Aiden hands the book back to Shelby and grabs the joint again. "What do you think, Shelby?"
"What's the next one like?" Shelby says quickly. "Okay. Tuesday: Over."
'Over.
The word in my head a sensitive bell
That rings shrill with every wisp of wind—
Every mention of his name—
Over.
p.s. I'm pretty sure this one already exists'
"That one was actually really nice and sweet. Except you plagiarized. No points to Gryffindor," Shelby chuckles. "You weren't doing terribly, to be honest. It's not the worst I've seen. I mean, it does express your feelings..."
"I'm obviously the best," I say sarcastically.
"I mean, you didn't really try," Shelby nods. "Obviously, you need to express your feelings in a different way, rather than poetry. Maybe you should write a journal of what happened. Break down every feeling you had from when you confronted him about it, to when you were fighting, to whatever else happened."
"Well, I felt like I should've had a giant cock in my ass for sounding like such a—" I stop myself short. That goes on the list of things I shouldn't say. Ever. "Forget it."
"Do you love him?" Shelby asks. I almost flinch when the words leave his lips. Aiden giggles into her sleeve. Before I think about it, I'm shaking my head vigorously. "You sure? It's okay to say you do." I shake my head again. "Brandon, it is okay to love someone after knowing them for a short time, even a few weeks. You don't have to want to marry him or live with him, you know. Love can be your neighbor who always says hi when you walk by. You'd never want a single terrible thing to happen to that person, because it would devastate you."
Here we go again. Just like his monologue at the party.
"Love can be that teacher you had in elementary school who never gave up on you learning to read because they saw it in you. It's all around you. Love is that one girl who sings musicals throughout the hallway to make everyone's day just a little bit brighter. It's the way—" Shelby pauses to look at me. "It's the reason a mother will get up at 6:30 in the morning to rot her son's teeth out with cinnamon rolls when she knows he's feeling sad." I should've never told him that.
"Oh, god. Don't do this to me, Shelby," I groan and down the rest of my beer.
"You know I'm right! Love is the way you can miss out on seeing your cousin for six years and feel so protective of her when she comes back, like she's a little sister." Aiden giggles even more, as smug as can be. I suppose I have been a little protective, even if I haven't noticed it.
"Can't you use someone else's life?" I sigh.
"When you set aside all your differences of being a smart, talented, hot-shit jock and talk to a loser who enjoys theatre and poetry, that shit is love."
"You're high," I nod and swipe the joint from his fingers, "and you're not a loser."
"When you write poems about some British boy who stole your heart from the moment you kissed him for money at a random party, you're displaying love like it's a fuckin' fairytale, Brandon. It's okay." Shelby gently plucks the joint from my fingers and takes a long smoke. "It's okay, really. To love someone."
I'm shaking my head again. This is stupid movie-shit. Love at first sight doesn't exist. Yeah, I can't get Logan out of my head. But... damnit, I can't shake Conner, either. Christina is still holding on in there somewhere. I don't think I love Logan, but just the opposite. I want to get rid of him. I want to get rid of everyone who hurt me...
That doesn't make any sense. If I wanted to get rid of him, I would have done it by now. The problem is, Logan is the only one I want in my head. But he's wrong, and I don't want him to be. He actually means something to me. I'm so used to taking the blame for everything, and this time, it's different. I know I pushed Conner away. That was my fault. I know I never felt a real connection with Christina; I led her on. That's my fault, too. But it's not my fault that Logan sold me out to the school, yet I'm still trying to take all the blame for him.
God, I can't love him. No, no, no. I'm not stupid. Love is stupid. Shelby is looking at me funny. I probably look like I'm in pain from thinking so much.
"Do you love me, Shelby?" I ask sarcastically. He doesn't respond.
"Probably. I dunno," he finally sighs. "Your cousin is asleep, I think." Aiden raises her hand in response, makes it into some kind of bird, and shakes it back and forth, as if to say 'no'. Shelby hugs her close and kisses her forehead.
Huh.
***
"Number 17!" Troy screams, pitching his baseball cap onto the ground in frustration, like any typical football coach ever. Five out of five for performance; two out of five for lack of originality.
So, maybe I showed up to practice a little later than it started. Maybe I'm a little drunk right now... I mean, I'm not sloshed enough to be stumbling on the field, but I was just a little too buzzed to spot the defense coming Derek's way. Hell, maybe a butt-chewing is what I need.
I didn't follow my own advice and drank another bottle before Shelby took it away from me and drove Aiden and me home. By the time we reached home, Aiden was babbling on about going back to California where no one would judge her and everyone was 'nice and sweet and high and didn't care where you came from'. I feel bad for her. What does that do to someone's self-esteem?
I'm not the only one who was late, though. Conner runs onto the field just in time to witness Coach Troy's mini-fit. "One more goddamn time and yer gonna sit on that bench until yer big ass makes a print in it!" Troy screams just as Conner puts his helmet on. "Where the hell were you?" he gripes Conner's way. Well, snorting cocaine isn't quite so far-fetched. Maybe he was.
Who am I kidding? I'm ecstatic that he's alright.
"Doctor's office. Sorry, I should've texted someone..." Conner says. He's lying. He always shakes his hands like he's flicking water off of them when he's lying. I realized that the moment we became friends. I recall us being at Sonic after our first game, and he blew Tyler off with a lie; said he was sitting alone on the bus when he was actually sitting with me.
"Get out there and play some offense," Troy snaps. He's so freaking easy on Conner. Derek huffs in frustration, along with the rest of us. He shoves the ball into Conner's chest and takes his spot on defense.
"Don't get crushed, Twinkerbell," Derek snaps, out of earshot from Coach.
"Eat my entire ass, Furst," Conner fires back. The offense 'oohs' at the tension, and we get right back to our game. The odds of Conner getting hell for that comment are 10:1. And I'm not straggling behind to find out what'll happen to him in the locker room.
My hope is that Troy doesn't assign us to the same room for the game on Saturday. I also hope we lose easy, because that night is Halloween. I'm prepared to get fuckin' trashed. We don't know where the party is gonna be, since Janie's parents are gonna be home, but it'll be fun nonetheless. No better way to celebrate a loss than with alcohol and pranks.
Conner ends practice with a good pass to Cill, and we're out. Who are these guys trying to kid? Our season is over. It's done. I mean, Carter is out with a massive concussion, Derek can't play worth a shit, and half the seniors are ready for basketball season to begin (some of the guys play football, basketball, and baseball. I couldn't imagine playing more than one sport a year).
I'm the third to last one in the locker room, and there's already chaos. Mitch and Tyler are nose to nose in some big shit contest, and Carter grudgingly tries to break them up. Another reason football needs to end. Conner and Darian Shields are having a pull-up contest in the corner. Everyone over there roots for Conner, of course. Marshall stole some sophomore's phone and looks through his pictures. Forget football ending; I need to get out of high school altogether.
Derek finally sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles shrilly, causing us to flinch. "Listen up," he begins. He takes a deep breath and runs his hand through his hair, which hangs just a little past his eyebrows now. I think he looks good with it, to be honest. I've heard a few girls complain about not liking long hair, but it looks just fine on Derek. All nice and blonde but dark at the roots...
No. That's Cill's boyfriend. And I've only got one blonde boy on my mind.
"So, most of y'all know this already, but my parents are getting divorced," Derek says in monotone. "It's been really shitty, honestly. I... I just don't really know how to deal with it, you know? They're being really stupid over custody... my point is, football hasn't been on my mind, and I'm sorry for that. I'm also sorry to Freshman." Derek gestures toward Conner. "You've really taken this team by the balls and put us on top, and I shouldn't be complainin'. So yeah. Sorry I've been a piece of shit teammate and co-captain."
"I can feel that, man. My parents got divorced last year," Mitch says out of nowhere. What? For one: the Kerns were gonna be together forever. Just fact. Mr. and Mrs. Kern were the Pleasantville couple of West Crimson. And two: is Mitchell Taylor Kern being... sympathetic? To Derek Furst of all people? What is happening? We might just win on Saturday with all this magic going around.
"Mine got divorced three years ago," Darian shrugs.
"Mine are getting back together. That sucks," Conner adds. A few guys groan and toss socks and used athletic tape at him. "No, really. My dad used to beat the shit out of me," he shrugs. A few guys laugh, but most of us get quiet with awkward chuckles.
What?
"I think you forgot to take your medicine, Freshman," Matt says loudly with an exaggerated laugh. "I bet he is also in the Mafia, yeah?" The team laughs at his sardonic comment. "C'mere. Help me with my tape," Matt says to Conner. He's panicking in his eyes.
What in god's name did Conner mean by that? Is he really off his medicine? I know that people with bipolar disorder tend to say whatever is on their minds; they have no filter. Please please someone tell me that was just a joke. Please tell me Conner's father doesn't hit him.
***
I manage to not say a single word to my dad once I get home. Not even at the dinner table. Mom seems to disregard the tension in the air (by now, it's kind of the norm to have Dad and I disagree about something), and bakes cinnamon rolls like it's the greatest activity in the world. You would think that I'd be tired of cinnamon rolls by now, but no. I could eat them every day.
Just to spite my father, I look for jobs in the newspaper. I'm not going to tell him when I get a job. I'm just gonna work my ass off, and when I save enough dough, I'll present it to him, forcing him to pay up half. I'm getting my damn car; if I don't say a word to him until that point, so be it.
The first person I see on Thursday is none other than— tada! —Matt Evans. It's not my fault that as soon as he catches my eye I picture him on his knees, unzipping my jeans.
But this isn't about that. I need to know why he jumped into Conner's comment like a shark. I need to know whatever he knows about Conner. I need to know if Conner is really going out of control, or if he's just having a few bad days. I can relate to that.
Sophomore year, I drank so much I passed out and couldn't remember whose house I was at for the life of me. Turns out I didn't even know the girl, but I sure as hell slept with her. Maybe her sister, too. I'm pretty sure it was because Dad and I had a big fight about my friendship with James. Then James was the one who had to spend a whole day fixing me up before I went home.
Matt smiles big and approaches me quickly. "You were drunk at practice yesterday," he teases.
"Was it that—"
"No, not that noticeable, haha. I can just tell. We've been to enough parties together. When Carter is drunk, he always claps his hands on his thighs until someone catches his attention. Derek always throws his head back and stares up at the sky. You—" he points at my chest, "always shake your head randomly. It's funny, really, the things we pick up on."
"Had a rough morning. My dad's a jerk," I shrug, secretly hoping Matt will bring up the topic of Conner since I uttered that statement about my own father. He just shrugs and shakes his head before we get to first hour, where Miss Ryan seems just giddy with excitement in the front of the classroom. "Hey, what's your take on student-teacher relationships?" I jokingly whisper to Matt before we sit down.
"Ah, not my type," he responds. "But yeah. Some teachers here... distract, let's say. I'd definitely like to get into the pants of—"
"You boys are gross," Christina interrupts, overhearing our conversation. "We don't say that about Mr. Arabell or Mr. Windsor."
"You just did. Indirectly," I tease. "Plus, who the hell is Mr. Windsor, and is he better looking than me?"
The bell rings just as Chris gets the chance to punch me in the arm.
***
Conner isn't at school, and I keep on 'forgetting' to ask Matt about him. Maybe I'm overreacting. I mean, Conner and I never should have had sex. I realize that now. We could've had a really great friendship, but we went and ruined it. That thought still lingers in my head, and now I feel so... responsible for him. I don't know when that'll go away.
I mention this to Shelby at lunch. He, of course, has an answer for everything. His answer involves me having major attachment issues. Fuck you, Shelby.
"You should come over after school. Me and a few friends meet up almost every Thursday and rant about things that make us mad in our lives. It's kinda like a time to be selfish; vent about your problems. You up for it?" Shelby asks as we dump our trays at the counter. I shrug.
"I suppose so."
"Aiden can come over, too. I mean, she doesn't have to. I just know she's still finding friends and stuff," Shelby throws in subtly. "We'll be over at seven, probably. Bring five bucks for pizza or whatever."
"Sure. I just can't stay too late." Just then, Janie approaches me. She's upset.
"Aiden is ignoring me and I think— who are you?" she asks Shelby.
"Shelby. You can go ahead and talk. I'm goin' to the bathroom." He leaves hurriedly, almost annoyed. Janie drags me to a corner and wipes her eyes.
"My mom was a real bitch to Aiden when she went to my house yesterday. I-I just feel so bad— this is really dumb and I understand why she's pissed off but can you help her talk to me? I feel horrible. Ashley is already going around saying things about her, too."
The drama never ends.
I assure Janie that I'll talk to Aiden and storm off to find some peace.
What I do find in the nun bathroom? The complete opposite.
I've been lots of things in my life. Cocky, quiet, outspoken, impatient, intolerable, impulsive, a liar, a ball of rage— the list goes on and on. I've never been confident. I've never been confident with myself, my family, my friends, hell, not my sexuality... confidence just seemed so far away. People aren't born confident or timid. For as long as I can remember, I could always tell people what I didn't what and what I didn't like, but when it came to what I really wanted? I didn't have a clue.
I'm a 6'3" joke. I've been what everyone else views me as, simply because I haven't done a thing about it. I've lost things and people because something tells me I didn't have what it takes to keep them.
But right now, I know what I want, and I know what I need to do.
"Hey," Logan says quietly.
"Hey. Let's talk."
*
*
*
Note: Hmmm... what's Brandon gonna say to Logan? This chapter was long, I know, and I'm sorry. I just had nowhere to break it. Unless you wanted a 4K word chapter and a 1K word chapter, haha. As always, thanks for reading. Your comments are fantastic and really inspire me to keep writing. Well, let me know how I'm doing in the comments! Thanks xoxo
P.S. Formatting sucks GIRAFFE DICK