Not Another High School Love Story

35. You Can't Have Everything

High school's a weird place, in five years I won't know even half the people in my class, and yet we all act like everything has such high stakes. Take Marcus for example, a dimwitted and simple kid who no doubt realized a long time ago how painfully average and disinteresting he really is. He probably feels like he has to prove his worth in every way to stay relevant. I mean, a bad reputation is better than no reputation at all, right? Or take our peers who've gathered in droves like they always do to watch a Popular prey on someone who is just like them.

Queen's right, this isn't the stone ages, and I honestly doubt that most, if not all of them, mind gay people. No, they don't point and snicker and whisper about me because I like guys, they do it because they found out I'm different, and in high school there's nothing worse you can be. The truth is we're all different and everybody has their secrets, and they join in because they have to, because it's the only way they can keep from getting left behind. Maybe it's a little sad, but that's how it goes, and they're all too happy to breathe a sigh of relief, grateful that for at least one more day they aren't the ones left out in the cold.

It's kind of reassuring, knowing that through everything there's at least one thing that hasn't changed—one thing that will never change. How things work. I'm not the same though, I can't be, and I know I'm doing the right thing by standing my ground against Marcus. My heart pounds in my chest and my legs are shaking, but I'm not scared, I'm just angry. He throws the first punch, hitting me in the mouth before I can react. Adrenaline or not I definitely feel it this time, but if I'm going to prove my point to him then I have to be smarter than I've been before, and I fire back immediately.

There are other Populars dispersed in the crowd, but by whatever code they've struck with their master they don't come to his aid this time. Instead they just watch, jeering while the underdogs whistle and call out to encourage me. I might actually think that's sweet of them, but I know they'll switch to cheering for Marcus as soon as he gets the upper hand. Even now, my punch seems to have surprised him more than anything, and his hands land heavily on my chest as he grabs ahold of my jacket and practically lifts me up.

"You're going to regret that. You're dead, faggot!" He spits, pushing back until I'm pinned against the lockers. After his warning he punches me once, twice, and goes to do it again, but I swing blindly as soon as I get the chance. His arm flies up to block my attempt and he thinks he's bested me, but I bring my whole head forward to bust his lip and he loses his hold. I shove him back and try another swing, and this time it lands, earning me another cheer. Wit is my only real option against his brawn, so before he thinks to grab me again I charge, hoping to get him on the ground like the last time we fought.

For once he manages to use his own brain to guess what I'm trying to do, and he wraps his arm around my neck as he catches me and puts me in a headlock. He pulls tighter and tighter until I can't breathe, and no matter how hard I try to struggle I'm at his mercy. My face starts feeling really hot and I kick uselessly, but he won't let go as the favorable clamor of the crowd begins to embolden him. It doesn't surprise me, I've been expecting it, it's just another reminder of how alone I am. Yet there is one person who's willing to help me.

"Marcus! Let him go!" Brent shoves his way through the horde, arriving just in time to swoop in and save the day. Is it weird to say I don't want him here, even if he is my only hope? Marcus pretends like he can't hear, or maybe he's so focused on his homicidal inclinations that he really doesn't, but either way Brent grabs him and tries to set me free.

"Stay out of this!" Marcus snarls, shoving him off. The effort he puts into combating his friend provides the leverage I need to save myself, and I slip out of his hold. For a second he seems to forget about me when he turns on Brent instead, driving him back out of our arena, but I continue feeding off the distraction while I rush to get in another shot. Yet Marcus brings his elbow back viciously when I'm close enough, so hard that I double over and cup my mouth, feeling the blood in my hands. Now I'm the one who leaves myself too open, and he easily shoves me over while I'm in shock.