Band Camp (boyxboy)

Chapter 2

 ♫I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints

Sinners are much more fun ♫

His mouth moved but I didn't hear any of the words. He was tall and had long fingers, like a pianist or guitarist maybe. He had brown curls and big eyebrows that accentuated his dark eyes. His face was angular; his cheek bones could totally cut glass. I looked at him confused and pulled an earbud out, killing Diana Ross and the Supremes. Don't judge me.

"Hey, dude. Can I snag this seat?" I nodded and grabbed my bag off the seat he was pointing to, shoving it by my feet.

He plopped down with one foot underneath his body and slouched. I still had one hand holding the bass case though, which made the position rather awkward since my arm was practically slung over his shoulders.

I went to put an earbud back in, but became distracted by his phone vibrating on his lap incessantly. He seemed to ignore it easily though, looking down the aisle of the bus absentmindedly. We were still fairly close to home, and I couldn't go through hours of watching his phone go off.

"Are you gonna..." I trailed off and nodded towards his phone. His lips formed an 'o' as he looked down at it, and turned it to silent.

"Sorry, I just broke up with my girlfriend. That's why I had to change seats."

"Wait, you broke up with her on the bus? Isn't that kind of shitty?"

"Yeah, but you can't be tied down for band camp. Haven't you been before?" He raised an eyebrow at me like I was supposed to know that you broke up with your partner before band camp. Like it was socially acceptable. I shook my head, and was starting to really regret not joining Fortuity in Grade 9.

"You look older," he whispered, a tinge of shock to his voice.

"No, no. I'm in eleven, but I didn't go when I was a niner."

"Ah. It's more fun in the older grades anyways, since the twelves are in charge. So if you're in good with one of them, you're set for the week." He elbowed me like there was some sort of inside joke I clearly wasn't getting, but I simply shrugged in response.

"I don't know any grade twelves."

"Now you do. I'm Sidney." He stuck out his right hand and I fit mine inside of it. His hands were soft, so he definitely wasn't a string player.

"Logan."

"Cool bracelet," Sidney commented, turning my hand over to examine it better. It was a wooden beaded bracelet from Africa that my friend brought back for me after volunteering two summers ago.

"Who was your girlfriend?"

"The Frenchie, Marie-Claire. You know her?" He nodded off towards the doe-eyed creation of perfection sitting alone mere rows away, wiping at her eyes in a way that she probably thought was inconspicuous.

"If by know her you mean have been obsessing over her for a year, than yes." I could feel my face flush at my clear lack of a filter, but it didn't seem to affect Sidney.

"You've never talked to her?" I shook my head, blond fringe falling in front of my eyes. I pushed it away immediately, and Sidney smirked a little. I wouldn't dare talk to her, she was a motherfucking French goddess and I was just a typical Canadian city boy. She could have ten of me at the snap of her fingers.

"You should. She's kinda nice, and really great in bed. Like really great," he said simply, raising his eyebrows for emphasis. I stared at him.