Abomination (Ryden)

Chapter 13

Jon and Spencer decided to come out on a Monday.

I can barely make it three feet down the hall without hearing about it. It's all, 'oh my god, did you hear? Spencer Smith's gay', 'Oh my god, Spencer Smith is dating a guy', 'Oh my god, Spencer Smith is going to hell", 'Oh my god, Spencer Smith can't have my babies.' and my favorite, 'Who the fuck is Jon Walker?'.

Spencer, naturally gets shunned from his old, bible-thumping friends - Dayna included - but, honestly, I don't really think he's all that affected. He's still too busy eye-fucking the hell out of Jon to really pay much attention.

At lunch, Spencer takes a seat at his normal place across from me and beside Jon, and he greets me with a short nod, then a kiss to Jon.

The cafeteria roars with chatter. I think I even see someone pull out a camera.

Three tables over Ryan's sitting with Dayna, and I can't say I'm really surprised.

I suck in my breath and dig my fingernails into my palm, then I look over at Spencer and Jon being all lovey-dovey and cutesy for everyone to see.

They pull apart long enough to look over at Ryan and Dayna, then back to me, before sending me a rather sympathetic look each. "Ryan will come around," Spencer says, and it looks like he's deciding whether to get up and give me a hug or not.

He doesn't, and I'm happy about that.

"Yeah, okay." I mumble, 'cause I'm really sort of starting to doubt that will ever happen. At least, I really don't think we'll ever get to where Spencer and Jon are.

Somewhere, deep down, I'm starting to believe that maybe- maybe choosing him wasn't the best choice.

---

It's about eight o' clock that night, and I'm lying on my bed, bored out of my mind while flipping through channels on my TV, 'cause Monday night television totally sucks balls.

I'm on my like, hundredth round of going through the channels when there's a soft, timid knock on my door. I don't have to ask to know that it's Ryan.

To be honest, I'm still kind of really pissed off at him for spending the whole lunch making out with Dayna, because it's not even her day and Wednesdays are bad enough as it is. But, regardless, I still mumble, "Come in," because it is Ryan, remember.

Sure enough, he's the one to come sliding in with this sheepish look on his face. He slowly closes the door behind him, and I watch as he locks it, and damn, the boy's got nerve.

We stare at each other for a few seconds, and I can tell by the guilty look on his face that he knows I'm ticked off at him. I have to give it to him, at least he's smart enough to know that. He usually doesn't catch onto that kind of stuff.

Eventually, I get sick of staring at his sorry face, and lull my head back towards the TV and say, "If you came here to make-out, I'm not in the mood."

He sighs and makes his way over to my bed. "I'm not," he says, and sits down at the edge of my bed.

I don't reply, and stop on an infomercial for pro-activ that plays like, every five minutes, it seems. I run my hand across my face, because my face is slowly turning into a walking pizza. Because, yeah, God does hate me and decided to make me go through puberty like, three years after everyone else. I'm seventeen, God, seventeen! Why must you do this to me?

Jessica Simpson suddenly appears on screen, and I think, Damnit, if it works for Jessica Simpson, it can work for me!

"Look, Bren," Ryan starts, and whoa, I was so involved in my pimple face problem I almost forgot he was there. "I'm sorry. I..."