Original Teaser

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QUICK NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This was just a teaser chapter, which I had kept up just in case people wanted a taste of "Candy Gram". I'm just keeping this up for the fun memories and any good feels in the comments. <3


Even though he'd probably knock my lights out for saying it, David Marquez looks cute in a dress.

It's already an effort every morning to ignore him at my locker; a short but incredibly buff little guy with puppy eyes and a dopey smile tries his darndest to talk you whenever he sees you is one thing. The little guy totally being your type – your Gay Awakening, so to speak – is another matter entirely.

And I was doing so well. Oh, God, so, so well.

Every day from him, I'm gifted some sentence that, with anyone else, would be a terrific conversation starter. "Hey, I saw you got the lead in the school musical." "Hey, is that a KeyForge deck? What houses do you have?" "Do you want to be my partner for the Shakespeare project in English?"

Over the past few months, I've become really good at giving one word answers. "Yes. Um. No. Thanks." I can kill a conversation just as easily as David can start one. Except for when he's in a lacy, short red dress, apparently.

"Nick," he says – grinning – as I approach my locker. I stop a few feet in front of him, a sudden heat rising up my neck, and immediately wish I could turn around. Or implode. As a few sophomore girls take in my flush, then David's attire, and go onto burst into a fit of nasally laughter, I step so close to my locker that my nose is almost touching the smooth, teal metal. Exploding would be way more satisfying.

"David," I manage, swinging the door open and blocking his face. And his collarbone, which is partially covered by a thick, white feather boa. And his hair, but toned, so very toned legs. And every part of him that pops into my head when I'm on my own and my guard comes down. "Nice dress."

Fingers wrap around my locker door, pulling it back, revealing various cast photos to the whole hallway. His grin is insatiable. "You think so? It's my sister's." David's voice is low and scratchy, unlike my smooth tenor, and his hair usually smells like chlorine. (Not that I smell his hair. I just . . . it's overpowering, okay?)

I glance over take him in once more, giving him a quick once over before meeting his gaze and looking away indifferently. Well, as indifferently as one possibly can when all the blood from their head is rushing . . . down. "You look very. . . ." I hate hesitating. This is why I don't talk to people – awkward pauses are never great, especially when they're your fault. "Cupid-y?"

He laughs. It's not an attractive laugh, which makes it even more relatable. One of the thin straps of the dress slide down his shoulder. My fingers itch, and I hesitantly reach out to pull it back up. David looks down at my hand – which totally wants to linger, which totally cannot happen – and bites his lip. Receiving the message, I move my hand away and cast a quick, sneaky glance down.

One, one, two, three, five. . . .

Another glance down. Crisis averted. Thank you, Fibonacci.

"Nick! Nick!"

Without even turning around, I know who it is: Edward Flores. Edward is a friend of circumstance, the two of us being the only two (openly) gay guys in the senior thespian club, and thus being grouped together for every. Little. Thing. He embraced it, and for a while, I did, too. Until I realized that he's not exactly a romantic. (I mean, I'm not, either. Which is why we didn't really work. It was just sitting at a lunch table like the two old Muppet men in the balcony and making snarky remarks for an hour. It's not exactly what I'd call a good "relationship".)

I shut my locker door and turn to face him. "Hey," I say, sounding rather snippy. Edward doesn't care. Truth be told, Edward doesn't seem to care much of anything sometimes.

"Hey," he says back, wrapping his arms around my torso tight. I go rigid, before loosely looping my arms over his shoulders in return.

"What was that for?" I ask him as he pulls away, his thick glasses making his dark eyes appear huge.

He shrugs. "It's almost Valentine's day. That's all you're getting from me."

"Not even chocolate?" I cross my arms, grinning.

He crosses his arms in response. "Note how you didn't get me anything."

"I mean, I would have" —I pick up my binder and gently knock his thigh with it— "if I'd have thought you'd get me chocolate."

From the locker next to me comes David's joking voice: "Man, Edward, should have got him something." I look over at him, then down to the floor, where he's crouched and is tying his shoelace. He beams up at me, as if trying to say, Wow, look at how high my skirt is riding up my thigh! Now look at how much higher it can go!

One, one, two, three, five. . . . Crap.

Eight, thirteen. . . . Thank God.

Freaking buff swimmer's legs.

Edward bites the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing. "I got him something. I just didn't get him chocolate." He spits it out, like it pains him to even be talking to David.

I blink at him in surprise, attention turned completely away from Mr. Red Dress. "Wait – really?" A familiar heat creeps up the back of my neck.

Edward huffs an impatient sigh, an all too familiar – and all too annoying – sign of passive-aggression. "Yeah. I'll bring it tomorrow. I . . . I forgot it at home."

David stands, though he has to crane his neck far to even see Edward's Adam's apple. He claps him on the arm. "It's not even Valentine's yet, dude. That's tomorrow." He turns to me and my easier-to-see height. "I'm sure Nick won't mind another day of waiting."

Someone down the hallway whistles loudly, and applause breaks out as David blows a kiss. He pulls his dress up a little bit farther, teasingly, and I turn right around and take off to my first period class. ONE, ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR – NO, FIVE—

I hate Cupid Days.

Our school has this stupid tradition called "Cupid Days" where all the student council-type guys have to dress up in red, pink, white – romantic coloured – clothing and run about the school, giving people cheap candy grams from their admirers. (Or haters. There are some hilarious ones sent by bullies, though I can't say they're fun to receive. They're not. Trust me, I've had my fair share of Cupid Days pranks.)

It should be a totally innocent tradition. And it would be, if the guys didn't dress as skankily as possible. I'm talking white denim miniskirts from their girlfriends that often flash a bit cheek. Tube tops that are practically just a strip covering their nipples. It's disgusting, but everyone seems to find it hilarious. There is literally nothing endearing about Cupid Days.

Except for David, of course.     


A/N - 

I can't believe my computer died right at the moment I hit "publish".  This is one of those awkward, "why does everything have to be this way?" days.  Still - I'm feeling alive and pumped! And ready for . . . THE OPEN NOVELLA CONTEST!  I'm so excited to be part of this community; let me know if you're entering in the comments below!

Love you, guys! I'm excited to start this draft and share it with you all.  See you next time!

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