A Bleacher Boy's Perspective (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 4

"Wait, let me get this straight." My best friend Robin mumbles with his mouth full, silencing me with his finger. He swallows. "So what you're telling me is that Derek Williams, all-star quarterback, straight 'A' student and all time teacher's pet--assaulted you?" he says incredulously.

"Wow." I pause for good measure. "You really know how to flatter a girl. Now are you done building the guy his pedestal or can we move on?"

"No. No." He repeats in refusal, shaking his head ferociously. "It's just--well--it's just--"

"Well spit it out." I urge him.

He quiets, expressionless he speaks in mock awe, "Unbelievable."

I glare at him, rolling my eyes at his antics. "Yeah, I got that by your love letter to the dude earlier. Why is it so unbelievable that Derek Williams would talk to me, steal my shirt, or drag me in a closet with him?"

"Uh, yeah. I don't know, because we are us? People like him don't associate themselves with people like us. It was plausible until he yanked you into a closet with him." he says in aghast, taking yet another mouthful of his peanut butter and banana sandwich.

"They aren't better than us." I tell him, but it comes out less than convincing.

"Uh, yeah they are." he argues. "I shouldn't have to explain the school hierarchy to you."

"I think it's stupid that you even believe in that crap. This isn't high school musical." I snort.

"Sadly." he frowns, sighing in discontent. I laugh.

"But seriously, the football teams pays a lot of attention to me. Explain that." I challenge him confidently, sitting up attentively.

"Are we really still on this?" He whines, looking up at me pleadingly, silently begging that we'd return the conversation to toy helicopters or the zombie apocalypse. Anything as long as it didn't revolve around the star quarterback.

I wave him to continue, too intent on getting to the bottom of this to give in this time. Of course we are going to talk about this.

He sighs. Disappointed in my stubbornness. "His goonies may give you the light of day, but not Derek. You're the coach's son. It's the only reasonable explanation."

I huff, throwing my head back. Of course that's what it comes down to. "So that's all I'm ever going to be huh? The coach's son?"

"Michael...you know that isn't what I meant." he attempts to console, repositioning his glasses to settle higher on his thin nose.

"No, I know what you were trying to say." I assure him, a wave of guilt rushing over me. "Doesn't mean that's not how everyone else in this hell hole sees me."

Sighing, Robin sets the remainder of his sandwich beside him, his appetite gone. "Look, Michael. You should be glad you don't stand out. You're either one of them or you're the lowest of the low, like Andrew and then all you get is your ass kicked and dumped on the corner and over-priced therapy sessions. There's nothing to gain from it."

"No, you are right. I'm just being stupid." I smile loosely, bumping shoulders with him playfully.

A smile creeps on his face, the uncomfortableness sinking away, when suddenly his jaw drops, a smirk edging its way on the corner of his lips. "Say if Derek left school what is he doing here in the cafeteria?"

My eyes widen in an odd surge of panic. "Where?" I ask him, looking around the groups of students scattered throughout the cafeteria. A moment later my eyes hit their target, spotting the fit male on the complete opposite side of the room, chatting rambunctiously with his fellow teammates. My stomach churns uneasily. Go figure he'd be with them. The little goody-two-shoes wouldn't miss a day of school. I actually feel pretty stupid for thinking I had the power to change that.

"You're wearing your constipated look again." Robin comments, resuming to his lunch, greedily take bite after bite.

"He came back. And he has a new shirt on." I snarl, turning away, resting my chin on my arm tiredly.

"It's not like he could get in the building without a shirt." Robin points out.

"He's Derek Williams he'd find a way."

"Hey, speaking of shirts why aren't you wearing your Ramones tee?" Ugh, why is he so caught up in the details?

"I already told you. Derek was wearing it."

"Uh, yeah and he gave it back. It's your favorite tee."

"Correction: it was my favorite tee. Now I'm probably going to have to burn it when I get home." I grumble, angrily eyeing the boy as he talks to one of his ex-girlfriends Chole. Of course Mr. Perfect would be able to maintain a healthy relationship with his exes. I roll my eyes.

"Ah, stop being a drama queen and wash it." Robin commanded tearing me from my train of thoughts.

"But it probably has cooties." I wailed jokingly, pouting.

"And this my friend is probably why you upset Derek."

"Cooties?"

"No you neanderthal because you can't say a single good thing about the guy." he elaborates.

"I say good things about him all the time."

"Followed shortly by a wounding comment."

"Wounding? Now you're the one being the drama queen."

"You take anything that literally everyone else likes about the guy and then you twist it to make it sound like a bad thing. You probably just don't like that you're shirt smells like him."

"Thanks for the therapy session. How much do you charge by the hour again?"

Robins sighs heavily. "The guy was concerned about your welfare. How on Earth could you make that out to be a bad thing?"

"Simple." I tell him, sneaking a peek at Derek stepping away from his lunch table. "He's just curious."