"Good morning, seniors! Do you know where you're sitting at graduation?"
"Oh my God, Mrs. Wells, no one fucking cares!" Michael groaned. I let out a small chuckle as Michael smacked his head against the desk. "I mean, everyone's graduating anyway!"
My chuckle passed and my face fell. Actually, I just so happen to be not graduating, Michael. But of course, Michael didn't need to worry about not graduating because he's been a fucking straight-A student since freshman year. Sometimes I really hated Michael for being valedictorian—it feels like he's looking down at me for not having stellar grades. Then again, Michael has never looked at my report card, and therefore he can't possibly look down at my grades. Michael's too nice to do that, anyway. At least I hope that's the truth...
"Hello, Mrs. Smith! How are you this fine morning?" Ashton walked into the room with his cheerful aura and the biggest smile on his face. Sometimes I thought Ashton was too happy for his own good. It seemed as if he forgot his contacts today—or he lost them, which, according to Michael, is usually the case—, because he was wearing glasses.
"Hi, Ashton," Mrs. Smith said with a small smile. "I'm all right this morning. What about you?"
"Oh, I'm grand; thank you for asking. Ooh, have you seen Sylvester the Dog?"
Mrs. Smith rolled her eyes. "I'll let you know if I find him, Ashton," she said monotonously. I restrained myself from laughing, partially because my teacher's eyes were glued on her computer screen, and partially because Ashton's been looking for Sylvester the Dog since sophomore year, and not once has Mrs. Smith stopped to look for it. It was most likely in Ms. Rogers's class, anyway. That's where he did the project.
Ashton came over to our desk with a smile on his face. He pulled a chair over from an empty desk as he usually did and pulled it over towards our desk. Michael got up from his seat, giving Ashton the opportunity to rest his feet on it, and Michael sat on Ashton's lap. They were like this almost every morning.
"You look hot with glasses," Michael said with a smirk on his face.
Ashton pouted. "You always made fun of me for wearing glasses."
"Ash, you should know that when I say, 'You look ridiculous in those glasses,' it really means, 'Oh my God, you're so hot, please screw me on this desk right here and now.'"
"I'd rather you didn't!" I exclaimed quickly. I covered my face with my sweater paws in embarrassment.
Michael and Ashton stared at me with amusement, and I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. They're thinking of something evil. I just know it. The pair looked each other in the eyes, staring at each other for no longer than a second, and then they went back to staring at me.
Then, out of the blue, they suddenly started making out, purposely using tongue to bother me.
"My eyes!" I wailed. "I'm too young to be exposed to this maturity!"
Michael and Ashton stopped to laugh at me, and I pouted at them. Jerks. Sometimes I question myself for enjoying their company so much.
✘✘✘
"Okay," Miss Malone said loudly, "can anyone please tell me what happened when Jem and Scout walked home from school?"
I knew very well what happened in that chapter of To Kill a Mockingbird, but I wasn't one to participate in class. Luckily for me, I had an 'A' in Miss Malone's class—my only 'A' besides my elective and language. The only thing keeping me from having a high 'A' was my lack of participation. Malone keeps giving me an 'S' each grading period. She even called out the people who didn't participate, and Lucas Hemmings just so happened to be on the list.
I was sort of iffy about Malone. Don't get me wrong, she was an amazing teacher, and I learned more about the English language in my three years in her class than I ever did. Miss Malone is one of the most brilliant teachers I have ever come across, but at the same time, she was the problem. She was extremely sexist—her favoritism for girls was more evident than the brightly colored posters in her classroom. I'm not the biggest fan of her taste in music either, but I wouldn't mind it if only she didn't discriminate against bands. If she insults The Beatles one more time, I swear my head is going to explode. Malone is very opinionated, and she likes to express her opinions onto people so that they think she's right. About the one thing I absolutely can't stand about Miss Malone is her adoration for Jordan McClennon—I know Jordan was a very good student as she was also a valedictorian, but even Malone said that no one gets a 100% in her class, and Jordan just so happens to have one.
I sat in my seat, staring at my copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, and I felt the air swish as Ashton's hand rose up quickly. I looked to the side, Ashton now in my view. It wasn't that long ago when I had just realized that Ashton was in my English class, much less that he sat right next to me. His hand moved from side to side like a third grader, and that's when I observed that Ashton was the only boy raising his hand. All the other boys didn't know, didn't care, or were too shy. All the other hands in the air just so happened to belong to girls, and that's when Miss Malone called on Jordan. Jordan then started to explain—in very intricate detail, because Jordan was like that—that Scout and Jem found gum in the hole of the tree when they were walking home from school, and I noticed how Ashton put his hand down sadly.
Ashton looked down at his own copy of the book, skimming through the highlighted notes. I saw handwriting in the book that most definitely wasn't Ashton's—Ashton couldn't right legibly to save his own life.
"Is that Michael's book?" I whispered.
Ashton turned to me, pushed his glasses further up his nose, and smiled sheepishly. "Yeah," he murmured.
"His handwriting is so...neat."
Ashton chuckled. "It is, isn't it?"
"What happened to your copy?"
"I lost it in August."
"We got the book in August."
Ashton looked down, blood rushing to his cheeks. He didn't answer back, and I figured he was too embarrassed to. I looked at my own book, highlighting something that Jem had said.
✘✘✘
"Today we will do an experiment on density, and, as always, you will work with your table partners—"
"Hey, Mike, I get the mass, you get the volume, and we'll both get the density, 'kay?"
Michael looked up from his notebook, and at our other desk partner, Elliot Tate. "It's just Michael."
Elliot looked confused. "But aren't best friends supposed to be on a nickname basis?"
Michael frowned. I wasn't exactly sure if Michael considered Elliot as his best friend. According to Michael, Ashton has been his very best friend since they were in kindergarten (it wasn't until seventh grade when the romance kindled), and I never heard Michael call anyone else his best friend. Based on what I observed (and I observe almost everything), Michael wasn't exactly friends with Elliot, but Elliot clung onto Michael like a barnacle attached to a whale.
"I don't like people calling me nicknames," Michael said, trying to avoid the "best friends" part.
"Doesn't Ashton call you any nicknames?"
Ashton only has about a hundred nicknames for Michael. Even I have a nickname for Michael.
"No, he doesn't," Michael lied.
"Oh," Elliot said. "I understand, man. It's okay."
As Mr. Howell started to pass out the supplies, I wrote in my composition book. My introduction, the procedure, the task, materials needed to perform the task... Howell put the box of cubes on the desk, and just as I was about to reach them, Elliot quickly snatched it.
"I'll calculate the mass," Elliot said, grabbing a few cubes. "You've got the volume, Michael."
Michael grabbed a few cubes from the box and started to calculate each cube's volume. I watched as Elliot calculated the mass on the scale. Michael and Elliot were each doing their own thing, and I sat there, hopelessly watching.
"Erm... What...what can I do?" I asked softly.
Elliot looked at me, and his eyes narrowed to a glare. "You can sit and watch, queer."
I nodded, not saying a word. I pretended to write in my notebook and tried my best not to cry right then and there.
"Don't call him that," Michael said.
"I'm just messing around," Elliot said with a smirk. "Besides, the faggot doesn't even react."
I'm just trying my best not to.
Michael's eyes were icy, which fit their grayish hue. He glared down at Elliot, and he repeated the words through clenched teeth. I found myself frowning—a part of myself didn't want to believe that Michael was sticking up for me. It was evident that he was, and I was mad at myself for not being able to know if I should feel happy or confused.
"Don't fucking call him that!" Michael growled. "I'm gay, for goodness's sake, and you call him a faggot? What the fuck did Luke ever do to you? Huh? I might as well remind you that a faggot is a bundle of sticks. Does Luke look like a bundle of sticks to you? You need to get your eyes checked."
Elliot snarled at me. He looked back at Michael, a firm look on his face. "And why are you sticking up for him, eh? He might as well not even go to this school. He just sits in class and does nothing. He's not even important!"
"He's important to me," Michael said.
"You know," I croaked out, "it's perfectly fine if I don't do anything. I mean, no one needs me anyway—"
"Shut up, Luke," Michael said, turning to me. "We need you for this experiment. Here, you can calculate the density and buoyancy." He grabbed the box of cubes from Elliot's desk and handed them to me. I didn't do anything for a moment. I could only stare at Michael in awe.
"Thanks, Cliffo," I said with a smile.
Michael's eyes turned back to a light green, and he flashed a big smile at me. "Anything for you, Hemmo."
Elliot grunted. "I thought you don't like people calling you nicknames."
Michael turned back to Elliot, but he didn't glare. He had a mischievous glint in his eye, but he refrained from smiling.
"Only my best friends are allowed to call me nicknames, and you, sir, are most definitely not my best friend."
✘✘✘
"Have I ever told you that I wish Michael was in this class?" Ashton asked me.
"Only every day," I replied.
"Well, I wish Michael was in this class."
"I'm sure you do."
Ashton and I sat on the bleachers at the far corner of the PE field, waiting for the incredibly long day to end. Ashton wasn't practicing for cross country right now because he and the varsity team are going to run after school. I wasn't practicing with the regiment because tonight's football came had been cancelled due to rain. It felt good having another day to relax, but I knew that my fingers would be cramped up next week.
Ashton and I sat in a comfortable silence, and I saw some people coming towards us. James Cabral and Francesca Barlow came up to Ashton and I hand-in-hand, with Killian Gordon right behind them. The three stopped in front of us and smiled. To me, James and Francesca were an interesting couple. They were both valedictorian, but then there was James who was one of the nicest people you will ever meet, and Francesca was not afraid to come off as mean. But they really liked each other, so I guess their relationship was okay. They were really cute together, I'll give them that.
"Hi guys," James said with a smile on his face. Killian only smiled, not greeting, and Francesca looked at us expectantly.
"Hi," Ashton said happily. I only gave them half a smile.
"Hey, Luke," Francesca said, "can you do something for me?"
My eyebrows furrowed, and before I could speak, Francesca continued. "Can you go get Rylee for me? I think she's mad at me."
Wouldn't it make more sense to patch things up yourself? "Okay."
I got up from the bleachers and I made my way towards Rylee. She was dribbling a basketball on her own in the court, as Mr. Bailey hadn't come yet. I didn't know what to do, so I just happed her shoulder.
She stopped dribbling and turned towards me. "Oh, hi, Luke."
"Hi. Um, I think Francesca wants to you."
Rylee cocked an eyebrow. "What does Frannie need?"
"She said you were mad at her? I don't know."
"Well, I'm not mad at her," Rylee said with a shrug. "Hey, have you finished the pushpin book?"
"The pushpin—? Oh, Paper Towns. Yeah, I finished it."
This time, Rylee stopped completely and paid her full attention to me. She had the basketball under her right arm, and she rested her left hand on her hip. "Is it any good? I've been thinking of reading it."
"It's one of my favorite books," I told her.
She smiled at me. "I wouldn't think that a boy like you would read something by John Green."
"A boy like me—?"
"You're really unpredictable, aren't you?" Rylee asked me, putting the ball down. "I mean, your appearance is fierce. You've got the lip ring, band t-shirts, ripped skinny jeans, and worn out Chuck Taylor's. But then people get to know you, and you're one of the nicest people on the planet, I swear."
"What?" I asked.
"I TOLD YOU! I TOLD YOU IT'S GOOD!" I turned around, and Killian and Francesca were racing towards us. Ashton and James weren't too far behind, coming towards us at the sound. Soon enough, Ashton was by my side, and Francesca was laughing hysterically.
"What happened?" Rylee asked Francesca.
Francesca only smiled, and she made a heart with her hands. "Ryluke forever! I ship it!"
Ashton's eyes widened, and he quickly turned to glance at me. Rylee seemed mad, as it was offensive to be shipped with me. Well, thanks, Rylee. There were so many things happening at once—Francesca, Killian, and James were chanting "Ryluke," Ashton had a frown on his face, Rylee was trying to get her friends to stop, and I stood there. I was never one to burst something out. I usually kept to myself.
It wasn't until I unintentionally yelled out "What the fuck?!" when I knew I would never hear the end of this.