Til The Last Star Sputters

Chapter 1

        Boy meets boy during seventh period art class.  There is no spark, there is no intrigue, and there’s barely any attraction.  Barely.  They are polar opposites, dark and light, left and right, up and down.  They are children, just children, but one has already been taught to hate and fear the other.  It was a white-bread town with white-bread people, dangerously bland.  They sat next to each other, almost touching but not quite, their elbows trembling as they resisted the magnetic tug that was trying to knock them together.  The teacher demanded a trust exercise, one of those silly get-to-know-you’s, and that is where the story began.

        “Nicholaus Schultz,” said the blond.  He was awkwardly handsome, tall but gangly with a nose that was just a bit too large for his face, and was experiencing the final throes of eighth-grade-acne.  “I haven’t seen you before,” he said, and it wasn’t because his popularity made him blind to the little people that would’ve been swept under the rug if not for his watchful eyes.  He made it a point to notice everyone and everything, and this boy- he was certain he would’ve remembered this boy.  For god’s sake, even as he spoke the imprint of his face was becoming seared into the back of his eyelids, for he had never seen anything like him.

        “Because I’m new here, dipshit,” the other mumbled, but the words bounced off Nicholaus like he was made of rubber, and it was positively infuriating.  

        “You have a name, don’t you?” the blond asked, and swung a leg over the side of the stool to face the other boy.  

        “It’s Levi.”  The boy was sullen and numb, small and huddled in his stool.  His feet didn’t come close to touching the floor, and Nicholaus allowed himself to watch, just for a moment, as his feet swung back and forth, back and forth.  Hypnotizing.  Then, his eyes scooted up, up, up, scanning his baggy clothes, his skinny wrists, the pale roundness of his face, the dark glint of his eyes, and then, finally, the crown of black hair, bangs parted perfectly and the nape of his neck shaved in an oddly military-style undercut.  

        “Just Levi?”

        “You’re too American to pronounce my last name properly.”  

        It’s probably true.

        “Fine, Just Levi,” Nicholaus said, and then they were silent.  Just Levi folded in on himself, hunched over the desk and filled the ‘All About Me’ sheet with complete and utter bull.  They weren’t doing the exercise properly, and that irked Nicholaus, because he liked to get things done and he like to get them done right.  

        “Stop that.  You’re supposed to interview me.  I can do you first, if-”

        “It’s faster this way.  This entire thing is ridiculous.  I don’t want to get to know you and you don’t want to get to know me,” Levi cut him off quickly, pink lips pursed as he scribbled out a fake answer to another question about Nicholaus.

        “Who said I don’t want to get to know you?”

        “A lot of people don’t want to get to know me.  It’s probably safe to assume that you’re the same.”  Levi sounded bored as he explained, like Nicholaus was an utter idiot for not understanding sooner.  “I’m just gonna put that your favorite color is blue and that your favorite pastime is… sports.  And you can do whatever the hell you want on my sheet.  Just… do me a favor and don’t talk anymore.”  He bowed his head quickly, hair falling over his eyes, acting as if the words caused him physical pain.

        “I… okay.”

        Nicholaus regretted agreeing, but there was nothing else to say.