Straight Boys

Straight As Can Be

I didn't tell my dad that I was going to homecoming. I didn't tell him because I knew he'd worry. He would pester me with texts and reminders of my punishment; and he wouldn't stop until I'd give in. So I didn't tell him I was going to homecoming, only that I was going to study at the library: that cliche lie that everyone tells their parents and they somehow believe.

I mean, I was technically going to the library. I just wouldn't go inside of it, rather walk past it to go to the gym after the football game.

Which, yes, I was going to. Coach Matthews and Mr. Johannes did say I could go after all. It wasn't like I had the strength to argue about it with them anyway. After thoroughly thinking it over so much in the mere week I've had to do nothing but spend my time watching over Lola's progressive healing and mom's steady nothingness, I had actually realized and come to terms with the fact that, yeah, they didn't need me anymore, and I actually should have quit a long time ago. I know I've thought it over before, but this time, I'd really started believing it wholly. This time I was finally all knowing in a sense. I was only still in it for the feeling of kind of having friends.

Once you've realized that you aren't the friend making type, though, you kind of see no point in trying to make them in the first place. But maybe I wasn't only in it for the feeling of having people to talk to on my spare time off; maybe I actually felt like I had a purpose in that team, that I was achieving something by leading the guys to greatness.

It didn't matter anymore, though. So why ponder on what I actually wanted out of playing football and just get on with my life and the fact that I actually felt better not playing it. Even though it was a only seven days I had been out of football, I was already feeling relaxed; less like a punching bag and more like myself.

However, that didn't mean I hadn't felt anything kin to Self-loathing and bitter jealously when I had seen the boys playing a game without me in person.

It was around 8 o'clock on a Friday night and the game was already started by the time I arrived. I was dressed in my nicest button down, which was maroon, and a pair of dark jeans. It was for homecoming, so why dress in a tuxedo? Hell, why put in the effort anyway? I actually had a date, which I guess counted for something.

Mandy, upon seeing my long legs carrying me up the bleacher stairs, had waved at me like one of those car dealership balloons. I couldn't leave her looking just a tad bit like a five year old waving to their best friend, so I sort of waved back. It wasn't a huge one, but it was enough to put a free smile of joy into her toy box of expressions.

It made me smile.

She was cute, in this innocent sort of way, with her short, blonde hair and wide eyes as bright as the moon; she could have been a princess if this was a fairytale.

I mean, I was never going to say this to her face - or anyone's face for that matter - because it would lead to complicated circumstances and I never wanted those with any girls. I only did simple, and if it meant a night of slight chaos mingled between lust and a good time, then so be it; but Mandy Hartfield seemed like a girl more on the lines of being... something different.

She wasn't a Gretchen Yondi, or a Mandy Grace. Fuck she definitely wasn't a Paula Dallas from sophomore year.

She was something new and I didn't know if I wanted to celebrate it or embrace it or... what the fuck ever it was you were supposed to do in things like this.

What not to do was fall in love. Never fall in love with a girl. They only go down roads of trouble. Maybe one day I would, but not any time soon. Not with my family in the hospital and most obviously not with a girl like Mandy Hartfield. She was too good to break.