It was my first day of school — senior fucking year. I made it this far and I was proud of myself.
My First-Day outfit astounded everyone and almost got me expelled — it also established me as the official Fag Boy at my high school.
My jeans were double zero in size and rode on my hips. My shirt ended at my belly button and exposed a dangling black spider web. My pink stackers made me significantly taller. I started backcombing my hair to give it that messy “I don’t give a fuck” look. “Indecent exposure,” my ass.
The principal made me turn my Alien Sex Fiend shirt inside out.
The morning classes — calculus, fashion, and chemistry — bored me into lunch, where I went to my usual tree and sat down, just as lonesome as the past three years. No one bothered to befriend the Fag Boy, and the Fag Boy was very much pleased with that.
I sat there undisturbed throughout the lunch period, happily munching on an apple, spotting two of my ex-boyfriends on opposite sides of the courtyard — one glancing my way, the other happily flirting with other people.
I was happy for them.
The afternoon classes — teacher’s aide for the artsy guy, European literature, and economics — bored me into the end of the school day, where I received hoots and catcalls and shouts and disgusted looks but whatever. Who gave a fuck, anyway?
Why did it matter if I was a fag?
Why did it matter if I looked like a chick?
Why did it matter if no one believed I was a boy?
I told myself that as long as I followed through with what I wanted, and achieved those things, and found the right guy — it would be fine. This last year of school was shit compared to life — a miniscule portion too insignificant to notice.
Senior year would be a breeze, I decided — because life was just starting.
…
AN: Decided to post the turning point in the story (the “climax,” I suppose we can call it — although it’s not very climax-y) before I neglect posting for a while…so we’ll see how this fares.
Laurenz's Fiction: the short, the long, and the craziest of fiends. 