Modern Love

Chapter Three (David's POV)

I'm smiling so wide my cheeks hurt as I pack away my saxiphone case. Band class, my last period has just finished. I can't stop thinking about Mick. I know he is probably straight and just very friendly, but a guy can dream.

Before I can step outside, Richard, the short percussionist, stops me.

"John wanted me to tell you to look out for Jagger; he fancies you."

I blush. "Really?"

"Seriously! He said Mick was checking you out in gym class."

"And this isn't just him messing with me?"

He shakes his head and I head out the door. I barely make it off the property before Page comes up to me. The perks of band practice ending at the same time as football.

"Where's your car, Davy? It's a pretty far walk to your house, isn't it?" he says innocently.

I don't respond and act like he's not talking to me as usual. But he won't let me get away with that. He stays glued to my back pestering me with questions. I focus my eyes forward, not letting myself acknowledge his existence. A car horn takes me out of my trance.

"What the fuck, Page? Lay off," Michael yells out his car window.

Jimmy puts his hands up defensively. "I'm not doing anything, sorry," he mutters before walking away.

I smile and turn to Mick. "I can't thank you enough."

He shakes his head. "No problem. Let me give you a ride."

I step into the passenger seat. He has the air conditioning on full blast, thank God.

"Do you want to come over for a little bit? Would your parents be okay with that?" he asks.

"Yeah, my mother won't care."

He nods, then asks, "Does Jimmy mess with you a lot?"

I snort. "You have no idea."

"Then tell me about it."

"He's always just been him picking on me, but it got really bad last year. That's all I want to say."

He nods, and parks on the street outside his house.

"You don't live far from me, I'm in the little yellow house down the block," I say.

"The one with the dog that never shuts up?"

I laugh. "That would be Budgy."

He gets out and runs over to the passenger side before I have the chance to unstrap my seatbelt to open my door for me.

I roll my eyes. "Thank you, Sir."

He enters a pin number for the garage door opener and I follow him through the door in the garage. "Want to go up to my room?"

I nod, and walk with him through a hallway with walls covered in old family photos.

His room is the first one down the hall, and it's the one of the coolest place I've ever been. Out all the little underground jazz cafes, dance clubs, and bars James and I have snuck into, I'd rather hang out here. The walls are covered in posters, he has a mint green turntable with huge bins of albums, he's got an electric guitar that Elvis would be jealous of, a desk with a tall stack of journals and notepads, and a little TV. I look around for a minute, impressed.

"What do you want to do?" he asks.

"Do you have any movies?"

He opens a massive drawer. "Take your pick."

He's got everything from The Exorcist to Toy Story.

I flip through and pull out The Rocky Horror Picture Show. "You like this?"

He's bashful about it. "I hate to admit it, but I listen to the soundtrack like every morning in the car before school," he says quietly.

I raise my eyebrows and give an approving nod. "I wouldn't of guessed."

I can see it in his eyes he's relived I didn't laugh.

"The Producers is really good, I'd love to watch that or Rocky Horror with you," he suggests.

"You must like musicals," I say.

He nods.

"Let's watch Rocky Horror," I say.

He nods. "We can save The Producers for next time."

I bite my lip. He wants there to be a next time.

He kneels down to slide the disc in the DVD player. I have to control myself from not staring, but his shirt rides up a little when he leans over. I swallow thickly, tugging at my collar.

He turns around. "Shit, I forgot you're in a sweater. You can take it off, I don't care if there's grass stains or something."

I freeze up. "I, um, I'm cold."

He knows it's a lie, and walks over to me. Undoing just the fist button, he can see the blood. I don't want to look at him, but I can feel his eyes on me.

"Is it Jimmy?" he asks softy.

I give a small nod, not looking him in the eyes.

"I'll get you another shirt to wear. Or do you want to go to your house?" His voice is still sweet and kind. I hear the garage door, one of his parents must've gotten home.

"If it's not too much to ask, could I borrow one of your shirts?"

He nods firmly. "That would be no problem."

He opens his closet which consists of mostly striped shirts and sweaters and interesting sport coats and suit jackets.

He pulls out a white tee shirt with thick black stripes. "I'll turn around if you want to change in here."

"Okay, thank you," I say.

I unbutton my sweater all the way and shrug it off my shoulders. I toss it on the bed and lift my white tee shirt over my head. The shirt Mick gave me is soft and thin. I look in the mirror he keeps on his door and check myself out. I cringe. The material is thin and the shirt dips down so my collar bones are visible, jutting out from below my skinny neck. I look like a skeleton in a prison uniform. I frown, which doesn't help me look any better.

"I'm done changing, you can turn around now," I tell him.