Love Costs

Blondie

God, I wish I could talk to people... I thought. Finally I've made some friends, and I sit with them at lunch and sometimes hang out with them after school, but they're all girls. All I want is a boy-friend. Not a boyfriend-I mean-a friend.. that's a boy.. Yeah.

I looked behind Samantha, one of my friends, and noticed a blonde boy laughing with his friends. Like him, I thought. Why can't I talk to him? After taking a closer look at him I noticed he was actually pretty cute. That's why...

"Hey," Loung snapped her fingers to get my attention. "Stop stalking cute boys and pay attention. Have you told your family yet?"

Michael and Young looked over.

I blushed. "Um, no. I haven't told them yet. I don't think I will. They're too religious."

Young and Michael seemed to catch the drift. Loung frowned. "If your family loves you," she pointed at me with her fork, "they wouldn't care whether or not you're gay." Thanks for the downer of the day.

"You don't get it. They're extremely conservative and religious. They would disown me and kick me out of the house if I came out of the closet. Then what?"

"You could come live with me! We could be roommates!" Michael smirked. He made me smile.

"As much as I'd love to be your roommate, I don't think I want to know what my parents would think of me and my 'lifestyle'. I'd rather just be out of the closet to everyone but them. For now."

Everyone nodded. I stole another look at the blonde boy. Loung turned around.

"What are you staring at?" she asked.

"No one."

"No one?" she smirked.

"I meant nothing." I looked away, still blushing.

Young and Michael turned around. "Oh my god," they said in unison, one in amazement, one in disgust.

Michael asked, "Is it the blonde guy?"

"No."

Loung poked me from across the table. "It's the blonde guy! Where is he?"

As soon as the bell rang I put my stuff together and bolted to class.

...

Being a freshman, I'm not allowed to take any sort of AP class, because clearly I'm not smart enough. So, I'm stuck in regular World History. Every day I would sit by the teacher's desk and write in a notebook. If either the tutor or the teacher noticed I wasn't actually taking notes, they didn't do anything about it.

Today I locked eyes with the tutor as I started writing dialogue. However, she simply kept pacing around the classroom looking for something to do. I continued on with my daily routine.

I rummaged through my backpack until I found a pencil and notebook.

"Again." I wrote.

A sharp pain shot through my rib-cage as I thrust my left leg into the tough pads my instructor held to his right side. Although my leg was injured and gave me a lot of pain, I refused to tell him for fear that he would either go easy on me or not allow me to continue practice at all.

The door to the classroom clicked open and tapped shut. Everyone was still talking loudly, and the teacher had yet to arrive. I turned to see who had entered the room. It was only a brunette girl whose name I didn't know.

However, behind her the blonde boy came in and took a seat ahead of me, also next to the teacher's desk. I stared at him (mostly checking him out *cough* *cough*). He looked at me. We made eye contact. I panicked. Still too shy to say anything, I quickly went back to writing.

"Again" he repeated. He must have said it seven times within the last two minutes.

Stepping forward, I slammed my lower leg into the pads again. It wasn't good enough. He shook his head and said it again, "Again."

Feeling my leg begin to throb, I took a deep breath. I carefully took a step forward on my right foot, lifted my left, pivoted on my right, and slammed my left into the pads once more. He, John, smiled.

"Good, good. Other side... Blondie continued to stare at me. Nervous, I turned and scratched my neck and head. I refused to make eye contact with him and waited for the teacher, who had finally arrived, to begin the lecture.

When he did, Blondie looked away and to his cellphone.

I prayed -and prayed, and prayed, and prayed, and prayed, and prayed, and prayed, and prayed- and prayed that Blondie would take no notice of me again.

For the next few days, I couldn't keep my eye off him. Not in a creepy way; more in a way like I just want to get the courage to talk to someone, and he just happens to have caught my eye, so I keep thinking about what to say, but I never say it.

Ironically, he spoke to me first. After stealing glimpses of me for quite a while in W.H. before class started, he took out a pack of gum and put a piece on my notebook while I wrote. "You a writer?" he asked casually. His face was red.

I looked up. "Y-Yeah. Thanks." Shit, does he even know what I'm thanking him for? Am I making any sense?

"Is it... for English?"

"No." He paused, trying to read it upside down. I turned it over for him. "It's not that good," I said. "It's a rough draft." It took a while, but he eventually said something about it.

"What grade are you in?" he asked.

"I-I'm a freshman." Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck he's going to make fun of me for being a freshman. I bet he's a junior. He won't talk to me now. This is why I never talk to people; and I'm blushing too. Why did I stutter?

"Really? I thought you were a sophomore."

I smiled weakly. "Everyone thinks that. Are you a junior?"

"Senior. I'm Tony."

We spoke of various authors and writings, the annoying teachers here at the school, the annoying English teachers here at the school, and different styles of writing until our teacher finally arrived. He was always late. "Can I read it?" Tony pointed to my notebook. It was still the same story; some martial arts thing I thought of a week ago but never got around to writing.

"Sure, but it's not that good."

Tony smiled and took the notebook. He paid next to no attention to neither the teacher nor the lesson during class that day - for once I was listening, even though I already knew all the material - and instead continued to read until the bell rang. Then he handed it back to me, placing something under the last page as he pulled away, and complimenting me on it.

I hadn't received a compliment on my writing in almost two years.

After I gathered my things, Tony walked with me down the hallway until he reached his class; he waved, and left. I waved, and hurried to the bathroom.

Like a little kid opening a piece of his favorite candy, I took the paper out of the notebook and unfolded it.

It had a phone number written on it.

I think I'm going to like this guy. I thought. When I reached my home that night, I put $15 in a box which already held $25.