Break Free

Chapter 5- Freshman year

Devin's POV

"We made it." My best friend, Frisco Garcia is grinning at me from ear to ear. I'm trying to smile back, but at the moment it's a bit difficult. "We survived eighth grade, Dev." He pats my hand, and it's me who wants to jump ten feet, when it would usually be him. We've changed in that way; he usually didn't like to be touched, and now, I don't. 

"Yeah." I'm pretty good at fake smiles. So good, in fact, that it could be an art form. 

"About time, too." Samantha Taylor chimes in, joining the both of us on the sidewalk. All three of us sit dangerously close to the edge, but it's a cul de sac. Not many cars come up my driveway anyway. 

So. Eighth grade. Done and over. Finished. A freaking nightmare, even with me finally having a friend. Frisco. Sam is...

I look at Sam, sitting dangerously close to Frisco, and him not minding one bit. He's gotten better at touching people. Sometimes, I see them hold hands. 

In August, all three of us will be starting band camp. Me, in colorguard, and Sam and Frisco playing clarinet. 

Colorguard? Could I get any gayer? Seriously? 

I just need to clear my mind. To think of absolutely nothing. Which of course makes my mind drift off to... 

Him. God damn it. 

I made my first friend in over ten years, and I have to like him.

It's sort of been driving me crazy. I can't look at him too much, I can't be to close to him.. because what if he can see it on me, like Ryan did?

Oh, Ryan. 

I haven't thought about him since maybe fifth grade. He's the reason my mom had to move my brother (sorry, Derek) and I from Georgia to North Carolina, and the reason that I found out... that I'm actually pretty gay. 

I wonder where Ryan is now...

Nearly ten years ago, while my family was still whole, I lived in Georgia, and had a normal life at five years old. I had this best friend named Ryan, and to my little five-year-old self, he was the cutest boy on earth. I still kind of remember it...

"Ryan, wait up!" I was pasty and chubby, and at five, I was barely three-and-a-half feet tall. I couldn't run very well, and I wasn't very flexible; this was before I went with Derek to ballet class and became more pliant.

Derek, in ballet class! He wanted to be an NFL football player, and he heard that football players had to do ballet. My older, jock brother is who got me into dance. He was seven, and he had more confidence that I have now, at thirteen. 

Ryan kept running, and I kept on chasing him. He was fast, but I was love-struck. 

"I don't want to talk to you." His voice was high, like mine. Little boy voices- only a few months into kindergarten. I remember that he had wavy brown hair and bright blue eyes, like the sky. I used to write in my little five-year-old diary, and I'd call him 'Sky boy'. Ryan was Sky boy, and I loved him. 

"Why not?"

"'Cause boy aren't supposed to kiss other boys, Devin."

"Who says?"

"My momma says."

"What's your mama know?" I was balling my little fists. "She kisses your daddy, don't she?" Wow. A Georgian accent. I still kind of have it; it's embarrassing. 

He turned to me, red faced. "Just leave me alone, Devin. My daddy says people like you are sick in the head."

"Well, you were smiling when I kissed you, Ryan." I'm bucktoothed and grinning like an idiot. "So if I'm sick in the head, then you are, too."

He looks down at the dirt-gravel road, saying nothing.

"M-my daddy would beat me, if I told 'im." His lip is trembling, and when  I tried to come closer he swung a fist.

"I don't think it's sick in the head."

"Well, maybe you're wrong then, Devin. Daddy says boys like you are called faggots."

And there it was. That famous f-word. The first time I heard it used towards me. I could feel my ears blushing, and my eyes were watering up. Ryan was my best friend. And he just....

"So, we can't be friends no more?"

"No, Devin. I think we shouldn't."

"But-"

He took off through the big Georgian trees, leaving me to follow him. I knew he was running towards his house, but I didn't want him to leave me. Besides Derek, who still treated me as an person back then, he was my only friend in the world.

But he told his dad, and his dad told my mom. 

My dad found out, and he was... so disgusted by me that he left. Derek stopped talking to me, and my mother just told me to pack my bags. His dad was a retired police officer, and he threatened to come to our house and shoot me. Shoot me, for kissing another boy. I was five! Derek stopped talking to me, because he was friends with Ryan's older brothers, and he was scared that they'd think he was like me. Mom didn't let me go to ballet class anymore. I was just starting to really like it, too. 

~~~~~~~~

"Deee-vinnnn are you alive?" Frisco is waving his hands in my face. He's got nice hands; they're long and skinny. I want to hold his hands. 

I've... kind of wanted to do that since the first day he walked into class in October. It was the day after my birthday. He was... a pretty freaking great birthday present. 

"Oh. Sorry, I was just-"

"Ride's here!" Sam pulls on Frisco's hand till he's standing up, then she gives him a hug and waves. "See ya, Frisco!" She's smiling all cheery, and he's smiling back. Me? I'm not smiling. Actually, I want to disintegrate. 

Screw Samantha Taylor and her big easy smile. And Frisco.... 

I can't even risk looking at him for too long. In case he looks at me, and reads my mind. 

Frisco Garcia went from having one friend- that'd be me- to being on the social hierarchy ladder in school. I'm nonexistent on that ladder. He already knows most of the sophomores, and he joined band, so he's really popular now. I keep wondering why the hell he'd stick with me. 

He's the only one who I fully trust, and I think he trusts me too, but it's complicated now with Sam. I know he likes her... and it's killing me. 

He's joining marching band with me this year; me in colorguard and him on clarinet. Samantha basically combusted when he told her he plays clarinet; and he's really good, too. 

We still hang out, but I know his mind is on Samantha. I just hope we'll still be friends by the time band camp rolls around in mid July. 

Band camp with Mrs. Bethany Short. Sam said she's pretty scary, but nice once you get used to her. James said sometimes she acts like she's on crack. She plays clarinet, alto sax and trumpet, and James said she's always yelling at the trumpet section. 

I don't really care about how scary she might be; I'm just scared that when July comes and Frisco turns fifteen, he'll stop being my friend and keep hanging out with the popular crowd. 

It's only a matter of time, isn't it?