treehouse // bronnie

1

There was a boy at lunch that had these awfully big hazel eyes and messy brown hair. He looked like he was a sophomore, maybe a junior, so when a group of these dickheads sat at his table and started picking on him, Dave, Mark and I decided to take it upon ourselves to protect him. After all, we were just like him a few years ago. Scared and small. Until we decided there was strength in numbers and a group of scared and small kids is better than a scared and small kid alone.

"Hey, leave him the fuck alone!" Mark snapped when we approached the table. Yes, lately Dave and I had been hiding behind Mark. He had this growth spurt over the summer and was suddenly as tall as a tree. His voice became so deep and scary, I didn't recognize him the first day of school.

The dickheads were equally as scared and scurried away. The kid left at the table looked at us, fear in his huge eyes. We sat down, uninvited.

"How's it goin'?" Dave asked.

"Good," the kid replied softly.

"So, uh, you new here or something?" Dave continued.

"Yeah -- I moved here last week."

"Huh. What grade are you in?"

"I'm a senior."

We were all shocked. "Dude, you look fucking 12!" Dave gasped.

To make things worst for himself, he let out a laugh that sounded more like a gentle giggle than anything. "Yeah, I look pretty young for my age," he sighed. He kept his gaze down, still not making eye contact with us. "Actually...you're in my Calculus class." He gazed up at me and I had a heart attack. Making eye contact with eyes that big was proven to be lethal.

"I am?" I spat out.

He shifted his gaze away again. "And you're all in my art class," he sighed, "I don't blame you for not noticing me, I sit in the back and never talk anyway."

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Brandon. What's yours?"

"I'm Ronnie," I gestured to Dave, "this is Dave," then to Mark, "and this is Mark."

"Nice to meet you all." He slowly looked up again, this time a soft smile on his lips. From that point on, I knew I was fucked.

Here's the thing, I figured I wasn't exactly into the female race sometime in middle school, from then I repressed any part of me that was attracted to guys -- when Brandon looked up at me with that soft smile on his pink lips -- it was like the bow broke and all this gayness was pouring out of me.

****

The day continued and eventually I ended up in Calculus. There he was, soft-smile Brandon sitting in the back of the class. Right as I laid my eyes on him I came up with a plan to sit by him. The seating chart had me on the opposite side of the room four rows up from him. All I had to do was talk too much in my assigned seat so the teacher moves me next to him.

Giddy with the thought of sitting near Brandon, I sat at my desk and waited for class to start. Then 30 minutes into the lesson I started talking to everyone around me as much as possible.

"Fuck off, Ronnie," the kid next to me scoffed, rolling his eyes.

I moved to the next person.

"Oh my God, shut the fuck up," the girl behind me hissed in response to my small talk.

"Ronnie, do you have something to say to the rest of the class?" The teacher finally snapped after I embarrassed myself to everyone around me.

"No?" I muttered, the only response I could come up with.

"Okay -- well, I want you to move to that seat next to Brandon and maybe there you can think of something useful to say."

I stood up, trying not to move too eagerly. Slowly, I took my book, pencil, notebook, and bag then slowly moved to the desk next to Brandon. I felt relieved as soon as I sat down, then I heard him whisper, "hey there!"

I looked over at him and was greeted with his soft smile again, a little wider this time. I couldn't help but smile back as I whispered back a small, "hey."

The lesson passed and we were then left to do our homework on our own. "Fuck, I hate Math," Brandon swore next to me, looking between his textbook and his notebook frustratingly.

"Me too," I sighed, "but I could help you if you need me to..."

He grew flustered, "I-I'm fine, I think I can figure it out."

I blushed and returned my eyes back to my own work, thinking that I had gone too far too fast. "Oh -- okay, I just thought I'd offe--"

"Thank you very much, though," he blurted, more flustered now that he had interrupted me.

My cheeks still burning from embarrassment, I peeked up from my paper just to look at him. The deep blush across his face showed that he was equally as embarrassed and made me feel a little better. He began to write furiously in either a way to prove to me that he really didn't need my help or in way that showed he really didn't need my help. I smiled to myself a little as his tongue slowly poked out as he wrote. Butterflies gently fluttered in my stomach as I observed him more. Every feature of his seemed so soft and fairy-like. It was bizarre to me that I'd never noticed earlier. I was glad to have noticed him no later.

****

"Okay, you have that art class next, right?" Brandon blurted at the end of class after 20 minutes of pure silence as we were packed up our stuff.

"Um, yeah," I croaked, a bit taken back by the sudden interaction.

"Can you help me get there?" He asked shyly. "I always get lost and come in late, it'd be nice if someone showed me to the room."

My heart soared despite the rest of my body's protest. "Of course -- uh -- sure, I'll help you," I managed.

His face lit up, "thank you! Gosh, it's nice to finally know someone here."

I was a dead man, he was so un-humanly cute, I started to question if I wasn't really gay and he was just on a god-like level, so everyone felt like I did. The bell rang and he followed me out the door. I noticed he was significantly shorter than me as we walked side-by-side to the art class. "Man, you really look like an underclassman," I chuckled, trying to make some kind of conversation.

He furrowed his eyebrows, "some girl in English yelled at me because she thought I was in the wrong class -- she thought I was a freshman!"

I looked at him and started laughing because even his angry expression was a little cute. The expression disappeared as he observed me laughing and chuckled slightly in return. "You're lucky you actually look like a senior -- all tall and muscly," he huffed.

"Hey, looking young's gonna come in handy in the future, when I'm a saggy-wrinkly 80-year-old, you'll look like a glowing 65-year-old," I pointed out.

That managed to make him smile another soft smile. From then on, his smile to me was an award.