Nathaniel Jean's Senior Year

12: Nathaniel Jean's Anxiety

Last but not least, the group number from the competition. This is one of my favorite videos of all time bc cute boys + cute costumes + epic dancing = I feel desolate (in a good way)

When Friday finally came around and practice was over, I was practically bouncing with anticipation. In my excitement, I showered extra fast; which made no difference, since I had to wait for the locker room to clear out before I could leave with Lucas anyways. I ended up sitting on a bench, silently glaring at everything as the other boys took their sweet damn time in leaving.

       The seconds lasted an eternity. When the last freshmen left, laughing about dick-jokes on iFunny, I couldn't have been more relieved.

     I stood from the bench and walk around the lockers until I found Lucas, packing his bags to leave. "Ready to go?" I asked, my hands clasped behind my back.

    Lucas hummed in response, shrugged his bag onto his shoulder, and walked over to me. "Let's get out of here," he said with his dimpled smile. He placed his arms loosely around my neck and leaned in to kiss me.

     And I panicked.

    Something in my brain clicked and my hands shot up to push him away, much harder than I'd meant to. He stumbled back, and would've fallen over had he not smacked the lockers for support.

     "What the hell?" He exclaimed, his eyes wide and alarmed. "Are you out of your mind?"

     I couldn't do it. Not here. Paranoia paid me another visit, and he didn't try to be friendly this time. His fear became my anger. "What were you thinking?"

      Lucas gaped incredulously at me. "I was thinking I'd kiss my boyfriend hello! Why are you acting so weird?"

     "You can't just do shit like that!" I fretted, glancing around nervously.

     "Why the hell not?" Aggravation was in his eyes now. "You already having second thoughts?"

     "No! God, no, but you can't . . ." I didn't even know what I was saying. I sounded crazy. I was crazy. "Someone could see us!"

     "Nobody's here!" Lucas snapped. "Nobody's fucking here!"

      "There could be . . . There could be cameras," I breathed. Lucas scoffed.

     "Right," he said, crossing his arms. "In a locker room."

     I knew he was right. I knew I was acting like a freak. But I couldn't control the flood of stress that had crashed over my body when he'd nearly kissed me. This locker room, as obscure as it was, still counted as a public space. Coach Larmon, or a player who'd left a shin guard, or a custodian, could walk through those doors any moment. Maybe there were cameras, displaying the image to a watching eye who would call my parents and share with them the awful news: their perfect son is a fag.

The idea was so incredibly unreasonable, and I knew. I genuinely knew, but it wasn't something I could push away. After so many years of being here and listening to the unkind words so many students and teachers had to offer, this school had become linked in my mind to homophobia and hatred and exclusion. I physically could not stand the idea of getting caught doing anything with Lucas here.