Dancing with the Devil. ~Phan

Prologue.

There he was, laughing with his friends. Here I am, sitting alone, staring at my lunch rather than eating it. I had a peanut butter and jam sandwich, which is rather hilarious due to the fact my stepfather knows I'm allergic to peanuts. It's not like I eat my lunches anyway, so why do I need to eat it today?

My appetite was not ruined, but distracted, by the not-so-elegant but still mesmerising figure before me. Well, no. Not before me, but he's over there. With his friends, that I'll never have.

Ever since I started kindergarten as a small child, I've had no friends. Nobody likes my flower crowns. They say that it makes me look 'gay'. I still don't know what that means, nobody has told me.
When my stepfather called me 'gay', when I was little, I thought it meant pretty. I thought this because he is my father figure whom is supposed to love me. When my teacher called me 'gay' I thought it meant talented, or unique. I thought a teacher was supposed to be supportive. As I got older, my friends started calling me 'gay' and other things. I thought they meant kindly and compassionate. Until they hurt me, and left.