He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not... (boyxboy)

il m'aime...

I met Stoner Wallis at a family picnic. 

Well, I assume that's what a normal family would call, but my mother had insisted on calling it a 'garden soirée', no doubt trying to impress Mrs. Lindcombe the next estate over. 

"We're too rich for picnics, dear," she'd said to me between berating the gardeners for unevenly trimming the hedges. I'd wanted to point out that using French words didn't suddenly make you fancy, but I knew it was best for my safety not to bring it up. 

My mother had always been touchy about the fact that we didn't come from 'Old Money' like most of those around us. 

"It shows that we've worked hard for what we have, dear," my father would try to reason with her, but it often fell on deaf ears as she tried to be more than she was, in hopes that she could be just like everybody else one day.

Hence the 'garden soirée' that I had been forced to attend, standing to the side as the adults conversed. Even at 17, I was still enough of a child that I had to be "seen and not heard" - all the while just hoping that my mother would release me back to my room before one of her dreaded friends cornered me into a long-winded conversation about my future.

I'd come to loathe these vapid parties, happy to never have to go to one of them ever again. But this particular picnic, I was glad to make an exception, as I spotted a certain rusty-blonde milling about the garden not too far behind me.

Stoner smiled at me as he noticed that I was looking at him, in that lopsided, "I'm cool and don't even need to try" kind of way, and my heart already started to race. "Connor, right?" he said as he approached, white flower in hand.

"Uh, yeah," I'd said nervously in return, trying not to freak out over the first interaction I was having with the guy I'd been admiring from a distance since I was 12. "Stoner?"

"That's me," he replied so smoothly, smiling at me in that way that only Stoner could. "Sixth period chem?"

"And English in second," I'd filled in, not even caring that he'd forgotten about that as I focused on not trying to faint from how light-headed I was feeling. I felt stupid, pathetic even, from a high that was too ironic from a guy named Stoner.

"What's the little rhyme that people say when they pick the petals off of these?" he asked to change the subject, admiring the daisy that he'd just picked from the garden bed.

"You mean, 'he loves me, he loves me not'?" I replied, not caring that Stoner had taken a flower from my mother's award-winning flower garden. She'd have had an aneurysm if she'd seen him. 

But I didn't care. 

I'd let Stoner do anything.

"He, huh?" Stoner chuckled, so sexy in his deep voice, as he noticed my use of pronouns. I just blushed, embarrassed at being caught out. I wasn't out publicly at that point, still deep in the closet, tucked in the back corner with the collection of sex toys that the twins had given me for my birthday.

"I-uh, what I meant was-" I remember spluttering out in a sad attempt to cover up my little blunder. But I'll always be a lame loser who never has things go my way.

Especially with Stoner Wallis.

"It's fine, Connor," he said easily, smiling at me with slight amusement as I noticed a small sparkle in his eye.

Or maybe I just imagined that.

I couldn't bring myself to saying anything, worried I'd just keep tripping over my tongue, so I settled for an uneasy smile. 

"Did you wanna pick the petals off this one?" Stoner asked after a few beats of silence, holding out the daisy towards me expectantly.

I remember looking at that flower, so uncertain of what I should do. I felt like it was some trap, some joke that Stoner was trying to pull on me, and even now, I'm still not sure. Maybe it was some part of one big game for him, but I don't think I'll ever know. 

But I know that Stoner had wanted me to take that flower, so expectant of me to take it off of him that I felt like I couldn't deny him, breath hitching as our fingers touch when taking the delicate white daisy from his hand.

I'd taken a big breath after that, almost in anticipation, as if this would actually mean anything to either of us, as if it were more important than it actually was. 

"He loves me," I said quietly as the first white petal fluttered to the ground.

"He loves me not," I continued, not caring that I was talking about a boy in front of another person.

And on it went.

"He loves me."

"He loves me not."

For 15 petals.

"He loves me." 

"He loves me not."

Until I reached the final "he loves me", the last white petal plucked from the stalk by my pinched fingers. My breath faltered once again, knowing full well which 'he' I was referring to, trying so hard to talk myself down from reading too much into it.

Matters weren't helped when Stoner glanced at the last petal in my hand before looking back up at me, a lopsided smile yet again residing on his face as he remarked, "interesting...", before turning on his heel and disappearing for the rest of the evening with not a single word more.