Brandon. Yes, THAT Brandon.

Well, Better Start Somewhere

Hello, and thank you for being here! Before you go any further, you should know that this book, my first book, is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real-life situations or people is purely coincidental.

This book contains triggers... There is a lot of mature (or just plain frowned upon) content, including underage drinking, suggestions of drugs, deptictions of sexual intercourse (boyxboy, boyxgirl) , offensive language/viewpoints, so on and so forth. Given that this story is rated 'R'...

This story is also heavy on dialogue and contains a lot of characters, as Brandon's life does not involve only five or seven. A lot. I mean it. It may be hard to keep up.

P.S. This story is just for fun? Like chill people. You want a serious book, check out my story "Jema".

Edit: These first few chapters may be rough, as a few are unedited, and were done quickly. Also, cliches, and a crap ton of inaccuracies, bro. Thank you! Enjoy, 'Brandon. Yes, THAT Brandon', and make sure to tell me what you think!

If a middle name were to blame for someone's ever-growing curiosity, my name would be it.

Shay.

Now, I get that my mom was seventeen when she named me, but... Shay. Really?

Brandon Shay Owens.

If we're going from my first proposition, then my name "Shay" would account for all the rumors that circle around about me, all the times I feel that girls aren't enough for me, and all the times I can't look at half the guys in my class without wanting to run my fingers through their hair.

If we're going from my first proposition, then my name "Shay" would be the excuse for all that itching curiosity. But it's not.

There's no excuse for this... thing. This "thing" I feel. It's that uncomfortable bubble in your throat that you can't get rid of. Like that blemish that you think you decimated, but then you see it two days later. It keeps coming up, sneaking up on me out of nowhere. Especially when I look at my best friend, Conner.

Okay, so he's not my 'best friend'. He's kinda... the little guy I took in. Super great football player, but he's had a hard time fitting in, getting his name out there. I guess there's a definition for best friends, so we're just close acquaintances... who only hang out with each other. All the time.

In case you haven't figured out by now, I've got an itch for him. Not because he's anything special either, but because he's a boy.

I think it started when I was twelve, but who knows, really. All I know is I can't help checking out Conner Trial's ass when he reaches high to grab the scissors from the rusty storage room shelf. I feel off, or out of place being with him right now. Which I shouldn't; he's my best friend. Maybe it's what I need to talk to him about.

It's like the tension just rolls off of me and clouds the air, because Conner has been hesitant toward me since we stepped foot in this room. It doesn't help that every time he's within a foot's distance from me, I blush uncontrollably.

"What'd you need to tell me?" he asks and hands me the scissors. I fumble with them for a second, clicking the plastic handles together before responding.

"Oh... just football," I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant.

"What about it?" he asks with his not-supposed-to-be-adorable head tilt. That's when I realize I described Conner as 'adorable'.

"Ah, forget it. I don't want to sound like a douche. I already look like a douche. Speaking of--"

"Brandon," Conner says in his warning tone. I've never been one to talk about what's really bothering me, but sugar-coating it won't slip by Conner. In the few months I've known him, he's always pointed out my bullshit.