Backstage; Wonah/Rester

16: Good Ol' American Bred

Trigger warning: Swearing, Bullying, Homophobia

Reed

"I'm not some frikin emo," I say, "and this is stupid. I didn't ask for this." Although I don't really know who I'm saying this too, which I guess argues all of my points coming from my mouth and bouncing off my reflection in the window. 

"I don't suppose you have any other ideas?" I ask the reflection, which just copies back exactly what I said. Bitch.

For the actual record this is technically not my idea, sort of. Really Goodman and his stupid nerdy therapist brain was the one to say; "maybe you should start your connection through a more simple and less prone to arguments way. Such as writing or acts of kindness."

I asked why I couldn't just send him a meme and he stared dead into my soul. So I didn't ask again.

It's a dumb letter. Probably, although Cyrus fixed all of the spelling and I filled the entire page with all the points I want Lest to know. And now all I have to do is slip it into his locker and hope that we "start our connection again".

I want to do that.

Please god let that happen.

The old librarian lady passes by me and coughs rather aggressively and looks at the ticking clock that reads 4:30pm, signalling that my time is up to stall in her book room. I raise my fingers to flip her off, but something in my head makes a soft "no" noise and instead I find myself quietly walking out of the library without even the push of book stack or stamping my feet.

My steps find Lester's metal cage without a second thought. First level, third hallway, ninth one above, no.167. The familiar view of the health classrooms and Gym reminds me of just how many times I've waited for him out here, and every single time he came.

Putting the note inside the locker, apparently takes more than a second thought.

Just put it in.

That's it. It's not that hard.

If it's not that hard why can't I do it?

What if this blows up in your face? What if it doesn't? Then what are you going to do? No, I'm serious, how do you think this is going to work out?

"Shut up-" I say out loud, realizing how stupid I am for two reasons. 1) Who frikin talks to themselves? 2) It seemed to have attracted other voices.

"Shitshitshitshit-" I curse and stuff the paper down in my front pocket. I know those voices.

"And I thought that was nuts! Coming from someone like that, do they honestly believe-" Oliver's nasally voice fills the air, he's flanked by at least three other boys from the team, all sweaty and covered in the scent of their own. Smelling like that was still something of ranking. It meant you were at least a part of something.

It's gross to think I believed that.

"Reed!" He stops mid-sentence and focuses the spotlight- attention on me, "haven't seen you for an enjoyable second." His excuse of a laugh makes me want to cut his noes off right now. Maybe the mouth too. He would be easier to talk to.

"Hilarious." I mutter, "I see training is going for longer, how do you dogs do it?"

"Well, I don't know how you sissies do it in your tights and tutus but, the starting five need to be on their top game and physical strength to dominate." He takes a step closer, why do people always take a step closer? My fingers find and fiddle with the belt loops of my jeans, head resting cool against the metal boxes, trying to remain as casual as possible.