He's the Gay

Prologue

Picture this: just your regular high school canteen, students slumped casually at tables, some talking animatedly whilst others almost fall asleep into their spag bol. Dinner ladies piling tray after tray with barely edible slop, bored to death at the job they've probably been slaving away at everyday for the past thirty years. School pride banners decorate the walls, green and blue swirling into one, the rowdy noise of teenagers shouting to those less than two metres away invading your eardrums.

And, in the table in the left back corner, some kid sits unnoticed, quietly munching on his sandwich, and almost seems to disappear into the wall among the clatter of it all. The high-school chameleon.

Are you picturing this all? 

Is the very image of it engraved into the corners of your mind? 

Good. Now take that tableau and rip it to shreds. The same setting but laden with complete and utter chaos. No student is falling asleep into their spaghetti here- no, sir. Rather, they're throwing it at others, all social groups, all ages, running amok as if they were back in preschool. Your real, cliche, all american food fight; although not quite as glamorous as the movies might have you think. 

I'm pretty sure one kid has slipped in jello and broken his ankle. Helen, the dinner lady, looks shocked, but not necessarily disappointedly so; this is probably the most excitement she's witnessed since her divorce. 

And there, in the middle of it all, stands that very same high school chameleon, covered head to toe in macaroni cheese and knowing, that in some twisted way, that this was all his fault.

Yes, you guessed it, that's me.

How did I get here? I here you scream with anticipation. Okay, maybe you're not that intrigued, but I'd hope you're at least slightly wondering how a respectable young man such as myself allowed this chaos into his life.

Trust me, it wasn't willingly.

Of course, if it had been down to me, this whole thing wouldn't have happened in the first place. I was quite content with how things used to be. 

My downfall however, came during my month year as a student at Pensilvale High, just once I'd acquainted myself with the brash ways of this school, and in the burly figure of Kent Richards. He was the sort of guy that all the guys wanted to be and all the girls wanted to be with. I don't know why, because, from my first impression of him at least, he was an asshole.

And from there it was just one big, disastrous landslide. One giant, one-way road to hell which started the day a certain three words were screeched into my ear with alarming intensity;

"Hey, you, Gay-boy!"