Not Another High School Love Story

1. The Arrangement

Everything's about to change. Today started out like any other, I woke up to the same alarm, ate the same cereal, had the same awkward silence with my dad over breakfast, but something's different now. I'd been waiting forever for third period to end when Ms. Montgomery sent for me, and she still hasn't told me why. So here I sit, right across from her as she smiles and makes small talk about what classes I like or don't like. She's nice enough, but this is the first time I've ever been called into the guidance counselor's office, and I'm trying to figure out what I did wrong. I made it all the way to senior year without having to visit her, and I definitely don't need her help now. All my grades are good, I keep my nose out of everyone else's business, and I'm already looking at different colleges. In just a little under a year I'll say goodbye to her, this school, and, hell, even this whole damn town.

But first I've got to make it through the next twenty minutes.

I answer the question she asks about my plans for the weekend. It'll be another quiet one, I'll probably play some video games, work on the yearbook, and hang out with Grace—she's my best friend. Ms. Montgomery pretends to be interested, but she sees so many other kids I don't know how she could be. Then again, this is her whole life, or at least that's what everyone says. She's a middle aged divorcee, but it's not like she isn't pretty. Her dark hair is cut just above her shoulders, and she has dark eyes that match. Some of the guys in my grade are into her, but not me.

I'm gay, no surprise there, but I haven't told anyone yet, not even Grace. I guess I'm lucky, the flames don't seem to shoot out of the side of my face like they do with the one other gay kid at school. Maybe that's what Ms. Montgomery wants to talk about, maybe she figured it out. That seems unlikely though, and she's already talking about something else. Her voice is kind of funny, raspy, shrill and deep at the same time, but I'm trying not to focus on it too much. She says I'm special, but I don't know what's so different about me, I'm pretty sure I'm just like every other teenage boy in America.

I guess I should probably introduce myself. My name is Jonah Pierson, I'm seventeen years old and I live with my dad. I'm always texting, my bedroom's a mess, and I watch way too much porn. Nothing special there. True, there's a little more to the story, like the fact that I really enjoy taking pictures, I'm part of the student council, and I'm president of the yearbook committee. It sucks that this is the last year I'll get to do it, so I want to make sure it's perfect. Shouldn't be too hard, the year's barely started and I've got plenty of time to get it right. Ms. Montgomery knows all that, I wish she'd just get to the point and tell me why I'm here.

The door opens and she stops in the middle of her sentence, sitting straighter in her chair while offering a fresh smile as I look over my shoulder to see who it is. I lock eyes with Brent Fox, and he seems almost as shocked to see me as I am to see him. She makes him welcome too before telling him to take a seat, flicking her wrist towards the chair beside mine. He does as he's told, scoffing under his breath as he throws his backpack down at his feet and shoots one more look my way. I'm more confused than I was before, and even though I can see him out of the corner of my eye I don't dare look.

"Brent, Jonah, I'm glad you're both here. You know each other, right?" Ms. Montgomery asks, taking out a folder as I nod my head quickly. Of course I know him, how could I not? The whole school knows him. I clutch my own backpack tighter in my lap as I dart a glance his way, finding that he only stares at her skeptically. No doubt he has no clue who I am, but she seems oblivious as she prattles on. "I was hoping we could all find a way to work together."

"I don't need your help." Brent says, cocky. It's the same attitude he always has, like he's better than everyone else. He's attractive, I'll give him that, with handsome features, soft yellow hair, and blue eyes that hold up well against his perfect golden skin. Next to him I don't stand a chance, I know that, I'm only average—average height, average build, brown hair and brown eyes—but it takes a hell of a lot more than looks, and I can't stand the way he acts. Suddenly he turns his head in my direction, catching me while I stare, and I face forward, embarrassed as I hear him scoff again. "Or his."