Crush

Weak

Oliver

Jenson kept glancing over at me as we strolled side by side along the walkway, watching me out of the corner of his eye. Did he think I was going to make a run for it?

I mean, I couldn't say the thought hadn't crossed my mind. And, after my disappearing act on Friday at the game, I didn't blame Jenson for thinking that I was a flight risk.

I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets to protect them from the cold weather.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, watching as the steam rose out of my mouth with my breath. "It's freezing this morning."

Jenson huffed. "I lost all feeling in my face the second we left your house."

I sniffed. "Should have asked Dad to drive us to school on his way to the office."

"Yeah." He spun his head around to face me. "Why didn't you?"

I shrugged and carried on trudging along.

The truth was that I didn't want to ask Dad to take us to school today. I wanted to use the walk there to process my thoughts, to steel myself, to get ready to face the onslaught of looks, comments, judgements.

But most of all, I wanted to use the time to work out what I was going to say to Asher when I saw him in the halls.

Not a word from him. All weekend. He'd simply gone. Vanished. Clearly, I wasn't the flight risk out of the two of us.

I wanted to hear what he had to say. I wanted to know where he'd been, who he'd been with. I wanted to know every single detail of his weekend. So that I could tell him all about mine. The heartache. The fear. The anxiety so bad it twisted my insides. I'd talk about all the tears, the headaches. I would describe the lack of sleep and how tired I was. Even walking in freezing temperatures was doing nothing to wake me up.

I could hear Jenson's teeth chattering as we walked along, our footsteps getting quicker, our strides becoming wider.

Jenson had lived up to his 'best friend' title this weekend. Not only had he constantly tried to call and visit and wouldn't stop till he'd heard from me, the second I answered the phone, he was on his way to see if I was okay. He'd arrived at my house and I'd all but collapsed into his arms.

He didn't think it was weird that I was hugging him. He never called me out on it. He just hugged me back, squeezed me to him and said nothing. He didn't call me names when I cried on his shoulder. Didn't scoff when all I wanted to do was hang out in my room.

He just stayed in my room with me and listened to me. Not once did he call me a girl, or a pussy. He didn't even blink an eye when I told him that I knew I was gay. He just sat there and listened, eating the food that Dad brought up.

Then he stayed the night, curled up on the floor with the spare comforter wrapped around him, snoring his head off most of the night.

If that wasn't a best friend, then I don't know what was.

I'd wanted to ask him if he'd spoken to anyone else over the weekend, if they'd discussed the photo, or me, or Asher. I wanted to know all about it ... and I didn't. Last night, I'd convinced myself that I didn't want to know, that I was better off not knowing in a bid to give myself a decent nights' sleep.

This morning, however, I was regretting that decision. I didn't know what would be waiting for me at school. I hadn't slept at all last night, despite me offloading my worries and fears on Jenson. I was too worried about what school would be like today.

I glanced sideways at my best friend. The collar of his coat was turned up, his hat was pulled down low over his forehead, his shoulders hunched against the cold and hands stuffed in his pockets.