The guys were acting weird.
Like, really weird.
They weren't being mean, exactly. "Distant" was a better word. Every time I was around them, I got the feeling that they knew something I didn't. Something that involved me. And as the days passed, their behavior grew stranger and stranger, until I felt like an alien among my own "friends".
It wasn't that I was particularly sad about their newfound exclusion. It didn't bother me that they kept hanging out without me, or turning their backs to me at lunch. I'd much rather spend my time with Lucas and his family anyways. What bothered me was the underlying threat that came with these actions.
Their opinions of me weren't exactly on the top of my "important things" list, but I feared I would soon be friendless if things continued as they were. Without those guys, I was nothing, and I couldn't afford to be so defenseless. If they were upset at me over something—if they tossed me aside, told everyone whatever it was I'd done—I'd be an outcast before I could even try to salvage my reputation. I wasn't sure I could handle that.
But what was I supposed to do about it? They weren't exactly the type of guys to have a nice heart-to-heart.
Thankfully, I didn't have to do anything at all. After two weeks, when I was nearly positive I'd be at the bottom of the school's social ladder within another, they came to me.
I was walking with Lucas to my car when Damien and Cameron called me from behind. I knew before I turned what was coming. This was more or less the first real attempt they'd made to talk to me in a fortnight, so the chances of them wanting a casual conversation were less than likely. It was time for confrontation.
I told Lucas I'd meet him in the car and joined them wordlessly. They didn't bother to hide their glares as they led me all the way behind the school to the football field. There, Shawn was already waiting with Trevor and Tyler.
"What kind of cult shit is this?" I muttered as I approached the boys, who all stood with their arms crossed.
"Shut it, Jean," Tyler snapped. I had to hold back a snort at this little mini-man trying to puff out his chest and intimidate me.
"Shutting it," I said; I failed to suppress my snicker, and Tyler took a step forward.
"Something funny?"
"Not at all," I said with a smirk. "But seriously, was it necessary to drag me out here and stand around me in a circle like we're about the perform some kind of satanic ritual?"
"I said shut it," Tyler growled, reminding me of an overexcited chihuahua.
I put my hands up in mock surrender. "This is just really extra is all I'm saying."
He looked about ready to fight me, which I found both funny and somewhat disappointing. Funny because I'd squash him like a moth. Disappointing because he had, not long ago, called himself my friend, and now he was trying to square up with me. Things had changed so drastically, and I still had no idea why.
I rolled my eyes in annoyance at the whole situation. "This is dumb as fuck, guys. Just tell me what the hell's had your dicks up your asses for the last couple weeks."
"You really wanna say shit about dicks up asses?" Cameron said with a snort, his eyes narrowed accusingly.
The tone of his voice, the snickers from the other boys—they said everything. I quickly caught his drift, and what he was implying had me paling. A nervous stone settled at the bottom of my stomach, and I prayed that this wasn't about what I had a feeling—a horrible feeling—it was about. "The hell are you talking about?" I asked, trying hard to hide the hesitation in my voice.
"You know damn well what we're talking about," The worse of the Morgans snapped. I did. I knew exactly what they were talking about. Deep down, I think I'd figured this would come eventually, all the while telling myself that it wouldn't. That didn't prepare me at all for the monsoon of nausea that accompanied it now that it was happening, though. I felt like throwing up before Shawn even continued.
"You think we weren't gonna notice the fact that you're butt-buddies with my brother?" As my heart sank and fear rose in its place, I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off quickly. "You take him home every day. You're always looking at him in the hallways. And did you seriously believe I wouldn't realize one way or another that you spend half your time at my house—when I'm not there?"
My heart began racing from the pit of my stomach. This was really it. This was what I'd spent so many years trying to avoid. "I'm not a fag, Shawn," I rebutted instinctively. "Is that really what this shit's about?"
"How are we supposed to believe that?" Damien snarled. "You're at his house, Jean!"
"We have a project," I lied swiftly. "Am I supposed to just fail History because he's gay? You guys are so quick to assume absolute bullshit!" I was talking without thinking now. Anything to dig myself out of this hole.
Shawn shook his head disbelievingly. "You're gonna have to try harder than that," he said. "We sure as hell aren't gonna be walking around with a fairy in our ranks. You want us to believe you're not a faggot, you've gotta prove it."
"I don't have to prove anything to you," I snapped. My voice was confident, but I'd long since hidden shaking hands in my pockets. My brain was hot-wired and short-circuiting. Despite the lingering late winter chill, the air around me felt too hot.
Shawn smirked maliciously. "You're right," he shrugged. "You don't. But remember this: whatever we know about you, everyone knows about you."
With those words, my lungs just about closed up. Shawn didn't know it, but he'd just threatened my entire future.
"I'm not gay," I said slowly, trying to even my breathing. "And you're all assholes for thinking I am. But if you need me to prove shit to appease your petty little heads, I'll prove shit."
A satisfied smile spread throughout the group. "Good," Shawn said. "See you later, then."
"Hm," I forced a smile. "Fuck you," I said, my voice sickly sweet, as I turned around and left them there, still grinning like the bunch of tools they were.
Once I was out of their field of vision, I practically collapsed against the school's brick walls. My hand instinctively went to my shirt, under which I could feel the outline of the ring Lucas had given me. My fingers gripped it tightly through the material, hoping to draw some sort of comfort from the familiar item.
Terror—genuine terror—flooded through my veins. If I couldn't convince them that I was something I wasn't, they would start rumors. And at that point, I'd be helpless to their attack. Their word would dominate mine. And it would spread, infecting first the students, then the faculty, and eventually, the whole town. It would find my parents. I had no doubt in my mind that they would cease to support me, if not disown me entirely. My savings wouldn't be enough to get me anywhere.
And so I'd end up stuck, an outcast in my town, for the rest of my life. The stress would lead me to be a horrible boyfriend to Lucas, and we'd quickly near our end. He would find his way to New York and make it big, alone. After some years, I'd see pictures of him and his groom—some handsome, clean-cut fellow with a theater degree, who was never afraid to show his affection—smiling in front of the Statue of Liberty.
That wasn't an option. I had to prove it to them somehow.
I couldn't breathe. My whole body was shaking, my forehead was beaded with sweat. My fingers clutched my ring too tightly through my shirt, my knuckles turning white. I sat there for a long time, leaning my head against the wall and imagining the worst, suspending myself further and further into panic.
When I finally recovered enough to stand, I was shaky on my feet. Nonetheless, I forced myself all the way back to the parking lot. My heart sank impossibly lower when I spotted Lucas still there, leaning against my car.
His eyes widened in alarm when he saw my distressed expression. "Is everything okay?"
I shook my head. "No," I said, my chest still rising and falling rapidly. "No, it's not okay." I glanced around. I saw no sign of Shawn or Damien or any of them. Nevertheless, my anxiety spoke much louder than my bravery, translating itself into the words, "Do you think you could, uh, walk today?"
He blinked in surprise. "Like, home?" I nodded. He pursed his lips, staring into my eyes and trying to figure out what was going on in my mind.
"Could you not analyze me like a cell under a microscope for once?"
I instantly felt bad for snapping. I wasn't mad at Lucas in the slightest. I was just so wound up and stressed, it seemed like the natural response.
I think he knew I hadn't meant any foul, because he nodded. "Sorry. Yeah, I can walk. Can I come over later?"
The answer would usually be a 'yes' without hesitation. Even now, I knew his company would probably ease me. But in that moment, the idea of spending my evening with him was strangely sickening, and I found myself shaking my head. "Not today, alright? We can . . . Tomorrow."
Lucas looked beyond concerned, but he didn't pry. Instead, he nodded again. "I've got theater tomorrow. And you have practice. Thursday?"
"Thursday," I agreed. The word left a bad taste in my mouth.
I had no appetite when I got home. My mouth was dry, but I felt sick every time I drank water. When I tried to focus on homework, desperate for a distraction, my mind refused to go anywhere other than where I didn't want it to go. I didn't read or write a single word. I had a headache. My stomach hurt. No matter how high I turned the AC, the house felt hot and clammy.
I didn't get a wink of sleep that night. I didn't even try. I stared for hours at my blank ceiling, telling myself over and over that everything would be okay, realizing over and over that it wouldn't. The mere thought of Shawn or Damien or Trevor or Tyler or Cameron or even Lucas made my stomach lurch to my throat.
I wanted to cry, but I didn't want to feel weak. I wanted to scream, but I didn't want to wake Jenna. I wanted to punch Shawn, or the wall, or myself.
In the end, I settled for sitting upright, hugging a pillow as tightly as I could to my chest and trying to cease my body's trembling. I counted my breaths, both for a distraction and to ensure that I still was breathing.
I️ couldn't even look at Lucas the next day at school.
I️ averted my gaze in the hallways. When Damien and Shawn stopped to pick on him, I️ looked away and feigned a snicker. And when the day was over, I️ rushed home before he had even stepped into the parking lot.
I️ felt horrible for ditching him afterwards, but I️ knew I️ couldn't handle giving him a ride. Not after yesterday. There was so much pent up frustration in my head, I️ felt as though my brain would burst at the mere sight of him. When he texted me, I️ didn't open it. When he called, I let the phone ring.
It was unfair, I️ knew. My misfortune wasn't his fault. I️ didn't blame him, yet I️ couldn't help but avoid him.
Thursday was just a repeat of Wednesday. The guys were talking to me now, at least, but it was obvious in their demeanor that they still had their suspicions. I️ didn't know what I️ could do to make them think otherwise without being an even shittier boyfriend to Lucas.
When my doorbell rang that afternoon, I️ felt every inch of my body tense. I'd been pacing the living room for the past thirty minutes, trying to prepare myself for Lucas' arrival. Here he was now, just beyond the door, and I️ wasn't ready.
Nevertheless, I️ forced myself to approach and open the door—he deserved that much after the way I'd been acting. When I️ did, his expression was none-too-pleasant.
"Nate what the fuck?" Were his first words. I️ stepped aside so he could enter and searched my brain for the explanation I'd spent the last two days planning. Now that he was here, the words seemed to have simply vanished.
I️ silently followed him into the living room. When I️ sat on the couch, he remained standing, staring down at me expectantly as I️ struggled to form a suitable sentence.
He sighed. "I️ mean really, Nate. I️ don't want to be all clingy-boyfriend, but really. You won't answer—won't even look at me. What happened on Tuesday?"
Despite the aggravation clear in his voice, there was also obvious concern, which only worked to make me feel worse. I️ forced myself to meet his eyes and suppressed a shudder at the fact that he was, right now, linked to the possibility of my biggest fear becoming a harsh reality.
"I'm sorry," I️ muttered, running a hand through my hair. "They . . . they think they know, Lucas. They have an idea about us, and it's freaking me the hell out."
Lucas's shoulders sank and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's why Shawn's been weird," he grumbled. "Weirder than normal, at least. God, Nate."
He sat down next to me, now seeming to sag under the same weight that was holding me down. It was silent for a moment. Then, his eyes trained on the blank TV in front of us, he said, "What does this mean?"
"For us?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
I️ sighed. "I️ don't know. I️ mean, we're not, like, breaking up or anything. So if you're thinking that, stop it." His lips quirked up ever-so-slightly, and he bowed his head in a breathy chuckle.
"You read my mind, Jean."
The fact that I'd been distant enough to lead him to believe that I️ wanted to end things succeeded in making me feel a whole lot shittier. "I'm sorry for being a prick. I'm just—god, I'm really freaking out. I️ don't know what to do. If I️ can't convince them—"
"You will," Lucas affirmed, sounding much more confident than I️ ever could at a time like this. He turned his head to face me. "I️ can walk home. Anytime we hang, we'll do it here, and I'll make sure Shawn doesn't see me leave. I️ won't text you when I️ think they might see. I️ won't even look at you. It'll all work out. We'll be fine."
I️ groaned aloud. Everything he was saying was what I️ wanted, but I️ hated that I️ wanted it, and I️ hated that he was so willing to comply. "That's so fucked up," I️ breathed. He was the living, breathing embodiment of "too good for me".
Lucas shrugged. "I️ wanna help you be okay. If we have to up the hiding a little more, so be it. I️ can handle that."
"I️ don't deserve you," I️ said, putting my head in my hands. I️ was recoiling farther and farther into the closet, and I️ was pulling him with me. It was so wrong.
"Hey," Lucas said, his tone light. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "No one does, so don't feel bad."
I️ chuckled and leaned forward to connect our lips, hoping I️ could convey my gratitude with a kiss. Though he was joking, I️ was fairly certain that he was right. Not a single being on this Earth deserved him. "I'm sorry," I️ said, my voice weak and hardly audible.
"It's okay."
It wasn't fun, but we made it work. We became even more of a secret—a notion that I️ hadn't thought possible. At least it succeeded in making the boys back off—they seemed to believe me now.
Lucas was right; we were fine.
Until, after one week of normalcy, they started being weird again. This time, it was an entirely different kind of weird.
Suddenly, they had plans every single day. Tuesday, they wanted to go hang at Damien's. Thursday, it was Tyler's. Friday, Cameron drove us to the mall. Saturday, Trevor held an "end of the third quarter" party, which had to be the most bullshit reason to throw a party I'd ever heard. If it hadn't been obvious before, that event made it clear to me that they were doing this on purpose. They still didn't fully trust what I'd said. What they thought they'd get from taking up every bit of my spare time, I️ couldn't figure out.
Every time I️ had to text Lucas saying, no, I️ can't tonight, one of my nerves seemed to snap. It didn't help that I️ could practically feel Lucas' annoyance through the phone, even if it wasn't directed at me.
The one time I️ tried to weasel my way out of their plans went a little like this:
"Actually, guys, I've got a shit ton of missing work, and if I️ don't do it tonight my parents are gonna see my report card and castrate me."
"What does castrate mean?" Damien had asked.
Tyler had raised an eyebrow. "I️ call bullshit," he'd said as Cameron tried to explain castration to Damien. "You don't give a shit about grades."
I'd rolled my eyes. "Yeah, but I️ care about my balls, so . . ."
"Or," Shawn had prompted, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You care about running away with a certain someone, maybe?" The other boys had snickered. "You feeling deprived already?"
Arms crossed over my chest, I'd said, "Aren't we past this by now? Really, dude, I️ just wanna do my homework."
Shawn had shrugged infuriatingly then, a smirk present on his face. "Do what you want, and we'll think what we want. Deal?"
I'd glared daggers at him. "You guys are actual assholes, you know that?"
Again, Shawn shrugged. "See you tonight, Nate."
I️ didn't see Lucas until Sunday that week, and for a small window of time since he had to get to NNTC soon.
As we lounged on the couch, Lucas with his head against my chest, I'd apologized profusely. "I️ swear I️ tried, Lucas. They wouldn't give me a break. They're so fucking annoying. You know I'd rather spend that time with you, right? Any day. And I️ wish I️ could, they're just . . . I'm sorry. I'm being such a shit boyfriend, but I️ don't know what else to do."
Lucas had stopped my blabbering with a brief yet effective kiss. "I️ get it, Nate. It's not your fault. If this is what it takes, I️ can deal with it. We're here now, and that what matters, right?"
I️ sighed, my fingers curling absentmindedly in his hair. "Yeah, but I️ hate that you just have to sit here and take it. I'm sorry," I️ said again. Lucas kissed my cheek.
"It's okay."
The next week—Spring Break—was twice as bad. Every damn day there was a different party to go to or house to hang at or drill to practice or place to eat at. I️ didn't see my boyfriend a single time over the course of the break, or over the following week. We might as well have been a long-distance relationship, because we only ever talked over text and FaceTime. I️ was about ready to accidentally push Shawn, Cameron, Tyler, Trevor, and Damien off of a bridge.
I️ would love to ignore them, if it wasn't for the fact—which they made pretty clear—that if I️ didn't obey their beckon fucking call, their rumor would spread like a wildfire on a hot California day.
When Lucas was finally able to come over on Saturday night, he didn't look happy.
"I'm sorry I've been so busy," was the first thing I️ said when I️ saw his sour expression. However, he shook his head.
"That's not it," he said.
I️ blinked, confused. "Then what is?"
He didn't say another word until we were up in my room. When I️ joined him on my bed, he held his phone out to me, revealing a picture on Trevor's spam from one of the Spring Break parties, and I️ cringed.
The picture was of Trevor, shirtless and posing like a fuckboy. Next to him, however, was me, dancing a little too closely with Madeleine Montgomery.
"That was . . ." I️ trailed awkwardly. "Well, it was what it looks like, but not because . . ."
Lucas raised an eyebrow.
"I️ was pretty pissy all night," I️ explained, figuring he could guess why. "The guys tried to get me to lighten up, I️ guess. They told me to go dance with Madeleine—she likes me or something—and when I️ told them I️ didn't feel like it . . . Well, you can probably guess what they said."
The story was all true. I️ hadn't wanted to be at the goddamn party in the first place, and they'd more or less blackmailed me into dancing with Madeleine.
Lucas nodded, but I️ could still see annoyance in his gaze. "I️ didn't enjoy it," I️ added. "Obviously. First of all, she's a girl, and second of all, she's not you. But I️ had to."
Lucas shrugged. "You gotta do what you gotta do, right?"
I️ nodded solemnly. "Unfortunately. Can I️ make it up to you?"
Finally, he smiled. His arms went around my shoulders, pulling me closer, and I️ kissed him softly. "You sure can," he mumbled against my lips. I️ tried to ignore the guilt I️ felt at how forgiving he always seemed to be.
When his hands found the hem of my shirt, I️ pulled back just enough to say, "I️ really am sorry, you know."
"I️ know," he said. "It's okay." Something seemed off in his voice, but I️ told myself to ignore it. I️ was just being paranoid.
As I️ approached my car after club practice on Monday evening, I️ heard a scurry of footsteps approaching and turned to see Trevor hurrying to catch up with me.
"What's up?" I️ asked as he placed a hand on my shoulder. He grinned.
"You know you're my best pal, right?" He said. I️ internally rolled my eyes—sure I️ was, when he didn't want something from me.
"Right," I️ affirmed with a nod.
"And you know I️ believe you when you say you're not a fag, right?"
My teeth clenched. Just for saying that, I️ wanted to shove him face-first into the asphalt. "Right," I️ repeated, albeit more tersely.
"Awesome," he said. "Well, issue is, the other guys aren't so sure."
I️ huffed. Of course they weren't.
"And they want you to . . . Prove it."
"I've already proven it," I️ growled. Trevor held up his hands defensively.
"Hey, don't shoot the messenger. It's just that we—they—think it would be a lot more convincing if you weren't so scared of bitching at the fairy every now and then."
"We've gone over this," I️ said. "Many times. I'm what some people call mature, and I️ don't see the need to waste my time picking on people in the hallways."
I️ caught Trevor's eyes narrow the slightest bit. "Right," he said, his voice as chirpy as ever. "And I️ totally get what you mean. But Shawn says he won't really believe you're not into Lucas until you directly show that you don't like him anymore than the rest of us."
"And why couldn't Shawn tell me this himself?"
Trevor shrugged. "He thought I️ should do it since you and I️ are closer or whatever."
We'd reached my car. "Cool," I said as I️ opened the door and climbed in, shutting it loudly in his face. Without another word, I️ backed out and left Trevor standing there.
I️ tried to ignore the sweat on my palms, the fact that my fists were gripping the steering wheel too tight. I️ wasn't worried. I️ was fine. Why wouldn't I️ be? Trevor was clearly bluffing. If Shawn cared, he would have told me himself. I wasn't stressed. I was fine. I️ wasn't going to start picking on Lucas like the rest of them—the idea was ridiculous. I️ wasn't anxious. I️ was fine.
I️ was fine. Absolutely fine.
I️ wasn't tired. That's why I️ didn't sleep that night. Not because I was upset or scared or anything like that. Why would I️ be? I️ was fine.
Are you guys anxious yet???