Not In That Way

n o w

I am not that pleasant to the eye. I have these forever tiny pimples that take shelter on my face. And I think I have gotten big over the years of stress-eating.

This guy in front of me does not think so though.

/"I was wondering if you wanted to grab some dinner later."/

Or maybe he is just making fun of me and this is some kind of prank he is trying to pull off with his jock of a friends. I have seen this guy and he is the new member of the basketball team of Moordale High. I have not known him that much, but I know the basketball boys were assholes.

This guy standing in front of me is a sophomore and it sucks that he is taller than me. He has brown curly hair, black eyes, and frickeled cheeks. And I think he is pleasant to the eyes, too pleasant.

/"I was wondering if you wanted to grab some dinner later."/

Too straightforward to even be believable. I look boringly back at his eyes, which showed nervousness. He glances at something behind my back. The jockholes look like they are snickering.

I grab the books from my lockers and look back at him.

"Trust me, you don't wanna be like them." I walk away from him and towards my first period.

You see, the basketball players at my school hate me. They hate me for accidentally finding out their secret. I never meant to intrude but they were just not that careful. That's why they left me alone, sadly my proof was shattered by them, my phone, and now I had nothing against them. Just kidding, I backed it up in my laptop. I am not that fucking stupid. One more dirty move, and their parents will know that their precious innocent sons are actually not that innocent anymore.

Wednesday is the best school day. Creative Writing is first period. And I love the subject. And I get to be with Atlas in the same room.

I quickly go to my seat and write my thoughts and feelings of the day. Mr. Harrington has this idea of writing down what we are feeling and I don't know for what purpose.

/I think I will be fine./

He has not yet arrived. I roll the paper and put it in the box of his table.

I turn to my seat to find Atlas already sitting and writing down on his paper. He was 7 seats away from me. He was in front while I was at the back.

In no time, the students filled the room and Mr. Harrington started his lecture of the day. I listened to him properly but my mind keeps bringing me back to what happened this morning.

/"Your mom is coming here tomorrow, please clean your room."/ I hear my dad's voice. It was not my mom, coming to the house, that was bothering me. It was my dad. Sure, he changed. But everything was awkward at the house, he is always early for work and arrives so late. He does not look at me when he says something. We don't eat together. It's like we are two strangers living in the same house. Like housemates that are supposed to get along. We don't get along. He barely even talks to me. It has always been like that. I was always the one initiating the conversation when we eat together, which barely happens. I tell him about school and he would reply with words that are blank and I ask him about work and he'll say it's okay and the conversation ends.

/I think I will be fine/ I snap out of my thoughts and look back at Mr. Harrington who has started reading the rolled papers.

"Whoever you are, remember that it gets better. Your day might have started badly, does not mean it ends badly, do something fun, something you want to do. It's a bad day, not a bad life." Mr. Harrington was good at motivation and making students feel better. I wonder why isn't the guidance councilor when he was better than Mrs. Yuan.

"I beat off three tim..." the class was in hysterics, including me. "Now, what did I say about this stuff?..." He rambled on and on about the use of language and then continued to read the other papers, which of course, had plenty more unclean contents.

I look back at Atlas, whose back I can only see. He is laughing along with the class, his broad shoulders bobbing in the process.

He is good at poetry as well. He is good at everything he does. He is this perfect student, this perfect jock, this perfect son, this perfect boyfriend, but he will never be a perfect friend.

Suddenly, I am so angry. Angry at him. Angry for what he has done. Angry that he gave up on our friendship. Angry that he blamed me for his parents separation when his parents actually had reunited and stayed a perfect family in town. Angry that he did not even reach out and try to recompense. Angry that he chose to be friends with assholes. Angry that he is unattainable.

And I am angry at myself, for not being able to let go. For messing things up. For not being able to save my parents' marriage. Angry at my mother for leaving. Angry at my mother who has build a new family and they are probably talking and not awkward with each other. Angry at my father for cheating. Angry that he isn't proud of his faggot of a son that he could not even talk to let alone look at. I am angry that I chose him.

I am angry at myself for being the way I am. I am angry that as I sit here, my eyes blinking back tears, looking at Atlas' back, I realize that I am jealous of him. That I have always been. And I hate it.

"Mr. Jones, are you okay?" I look back at my 6'4 teacher who is now standing in front of me. I know all eyes are on me. They are probably looking at me weirdly, including Atlas. But I don't look at any.

I clear my throat.
"Um, yeah... I am okay sir."

I will always say I am okay.

/Even when it is obvious that I am not./

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🌻i turned 19 today, nothing special lol🌻