Brandon. Yes, THAT Brandon.

Make it Simple

"Well... I mean..." It's not like Michael makes me nervous. Well, he does, but it's the situation that makes me more nervous. The whole 'his brother wants to set me on fire' thing kinda gets to me. 

And we made out a while ago.

Goddammit, I forgot we made out.

"Don't worry, Hot Stuff, I'm not stalking you. I'm gonna see Baby Mitchell play tomorrow. He's probably quitting football, you know." I feel my face scrunch in confusion. "Oh, shit... you didn't know that?" We both move to the left as someone passes us. In the ten seconds nobody seems to be going in or out, Michael shoves me into the biggest stall.

"What—"

"I need to ask you something. I mean, it's not like I have your number or anything. I thought about stealing it from Mitchell's phone, but—"

"Get to the point, Michael," I interrupt. "You know how this looks?" I indicate that there are two pairs of grown-ass shoes in the bottom of the stall. People must be assuming some crazy things right now. Michael takes it upon himself to hop onto the toilet and sit.

"So... do you know if Conner is talking to anyone? Or are you talking to him? I just want to know."

"Yeah, he's making his rounds," I whisper with an eyeroll. "Why?"

Michael shrugs, a defeated look spoiling his face. "I guess maybe I wanted to try things again or something... it's whatever."

I scoff, "I wouldn't get involved with Conner right at the moment. And you're twenty years old, now. Not eighteen." Michael nods in understanding. I chuckle. "Plus, I'm not the person to be talking about relationships."

"I thought you were dating someone," Michael teases. I shake my head, 'no'. "No big deal. More Brandon Owens to go around. And not because you're fat anymore, either."

"Fuck you," I snap quietly. "That's what I'm afraid of." I hear some voices of my teammates as they enter the bathroom. Great.

Michael pokes one of my pecs repeatedly. "You're afraid of being fat again?"

"No, I'm afraid of getting around too much."

"Well, consider this: you just found out you're gay—"

"Ah... no. No, I don't even know that..."

"Oh... don't tell me you're pulling the 'bisexual' crap. I tried it. 'No, Mom, Dad! I could still marry a girl! For now, I'm just gonna fuck every single guy I see because I just realized what I like.' C'mon, Brandon," Michael chuckles. I don't respond. They always say: get a second opinion. Michael, who has been through what I'm going through, says the exact same thing that Jetta does. Seems like a huge wake-up call to me. "Hey... hey, I'm kidding."

"No, you're not," I grumble.

"Yeah, I am. Really. I'm sorry," he chuckles. "Sometimes being bi works for some people... I don't know, Brandon. I guess I just don't get it."

"Whatever, man." I leave the stall without thinking, and come face-to-face with Mitchell, who instantly spots his brother behind me. "Mitch—"

"I swear to god," Mitch groans, instantly whipping around to storm out of the bathroom. Onlookers shift out of his way uncomfortably, glancing from him to me in confusion. Whatever. I couldn't care less what people think of me in this town I'll probably never ever come back to.

I catch the last of Mitchell's tirade out of the restaurant and back to the bus. I thought I had anger problems. Right after Mitchell tells me to stay the hell away from his brother, he finds us walking out of a bathroom stall in the most random place. I can understand.