In This Secluded Spot I Respond As I Wouldn't Dare Elsewhere

Home Ec

All of his problems, he decided, got worse thanks to one perfectly rising spinach soufflé.

Years of teasing about his hair, his glasses, and his penchant for choosing books over sports was one thing, but the moment he showed a talent for delicate French dishes, life at Flour Bluff High became even harder.

"Hey, faggot," said a voice behind him before he was slammed nose-first into his locker.

He recognized who it was by the laughter that echoed down the hallway, and didn't bother turning around. Sighing, he adjusted his glasses where they had been knocked askew and headed to homeroom.

Realistically, being able to cook didn't automatically equal gay; anyone with a little common sense knew that. If he were an athlete or a member of the right social group, that soufflé wouldn't have been a big deal. They'd laugh about the cool guy who could cook and then forget about it by lunch.

As it was, he was a nobody and a weirdo, the type of kid whose shyness and reserved nature forever labeled him as different. When he finally entered public school in eighth grade, his teachers found him intelligent, artistic, and quick-witted, yet that never carried over into relationships with kids his own age. The years he spent being homeschooled by his English professor mother didn't help, either. He had an extensive vocabulary as a result, and students would tilt their heads in confusion whenever he spoke.

Being picked on meant he expected to be judged and ridiculed. He became suspicious around others and retreated into insular pursuits like drawing and reading, which made things worse.

So when Castiel Agnus, the nerdy loser kid with the funny name pulled his soufflé from the oven, Mrs. Carrigan gave him an A, the girls sniggered, and the boys added homosexual epithets to their repertoire.

He didn't expect things to get better anytime soon, thanks to the school district's new forward-thinking "Preparation for Tomorrow" plan. Every junior, male and female, was required to take a special elective course that gave them hands-on training for the real world. At Flour Bluff, that meant half a semester spent in Home Economics - where Castiel had already unfortunately excelled - and the latter half to be spent in Castiel's nightmare come to life.

Auto shop.

He flinched at the thought of even more taunting while he learned how to fix a flat or change oil. All his tormentors from the first half of the semester in home ec were on the same track as him and were sure to be in auto shop this afternoon. Maybe if he was lucky, Alastair and all his hulking Neanderthals from the baseball team would forget home ec had ever happened. He thought about it, and then sighed again. Based on the encounter earlier at his locker, that was doubtful. Alastair had it out for him.

He entered homeroom as the first bell rang, sending up a silent prayer in the hopes that whoever was up there would get him through the rest of junior year in one piece.