The Average Life of Dan [SAMPLE] [boyxboy]

1: Welcome Back, Forest

SUPER IMPORTANT NOTE: This is a sample! The full story is available to read (for free) on FicFun. Click the external link to go there, or continue reading the little bit here.

Thank you for all your support. Enjoy these musings of a 13-year-old mess (aka, me).

 *

I parked in my usual spot, staring at the huge building in front of me.

 School. Oh joy.

It's not like I didn't enjoy school or anything – trust me, I would've buried myself alive if it wasn't for my best friend – it's just the prospect of receiving my daily dose of bullying was rather daunting, as always.

 Luckily, I'd avoided it this summer because my dad refused to let me go anywhere alone. It sucked, but it was better than having my balls crushed into powder.

Oh, where are my manners? I haven't even introduced myself yet.

 I'm Dan Forest. In case you're wondering – no, I do not have green leaves for hair and twigs for arms. My oh-so-easy-to-tease last name has nothing to do with trees or nature or blah blah blah. My grandfather just decided he wanted to be different.

Idiot.

Back to me...um...honestly, there's nothing even remotely interesting to tell.

I'm your average eighteen-year-old gay dude.

 Oh, that's right, I'm gay. Queer. A faggot, as many of my 'intelligent' classmates like to call me.

And no, I'm not interested in glitter or fairies or the idea of magic, in case you're wondering. I don't have the slightest clue as to why any presumably straight guy would assume all homosexuals love glitter. Like, no.

 No.

I grunted, stepping out of my Audi TT – bought for me by my loving parents on my sixteenth birthday – slinging my bag onto my shoulder.

 I kicked the door shut, locked the car and shoved the keys into my pockets as I leisurely began my short journey to hell.

In case you haven't noticed, I hate my school with every fibre of my being. Thankfully, I'm in my senior year, and I've only got to put up with incoherent Neanderthals called the Blue Devils football team for one more year.

 Twelve months. Fifty-two weeks. Three hundred and sixty-five days.

Oh joy.

"Hey you, in the tutu!" A loud voice jeered. I rolled my eyes, not even bothering myself to turn around.

 They must've thought their rhyming skills were rather impressive, but on the other hand, they just chose words that ended in the same letter.

Idiots.

 I continued my already grim walk to the school, hoping the jocks wouldn't attempt to call me again.

"I'm talking to you Queerest!"

 I grunted audibly, still not allowing myself to give them the satisfaction of my response.

Queerest – as many of the beefed-up athletes like to address me as – is a nifty combination of 'Forest' and 'Queer'. Sadly, they assumed they'd invented a new word.

 Once again: idiots.

A hard object hit my back, and I tried my best to keep balanced.

 Unfortunately, my balancing skills are as good as my 'try to act straight' skills.