Chapter 2

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I did have friends. I was good at keeping my emotionally disturbed, suicidal, depressed piece of shit self on the down low. In fact, a lot of people liked me. Everyone wanted to be friends with the drum major, but they liked Garrett better. He was the lead drum major, the most experienced one. Pictures of him could be found everywhere. He always, always smiled and photographers for the university ate that up. He was so kind, but people still did like me. People liked Cassie the other drum major as well, but of course faced forms of sexism I would never know just because she was a woman in charge. Cassie and I became a little closer over the past summer and during drum major auditions, and it was this trip when she realized how severe the tension between Garrett and I was. She sat next to me and sent me a chat through Snapchat asking "is everything okay?"

I surprisingly texted her "no."

"Let's go to the hallway."

I nodded at her and we walked out of the room, around the corner to the stairwell. We sat on the window sill in the hall, away from everyone else.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

The floor was remarkably clean. The first night we drove through the city we saw two people fighting. Then we entered the hotel and it was the nicest place I had ever been. One street it was slums, the next it was a beautiful arts and garden neighborhood. It was so opposite every which way you looked, and I still couldn't find a single pebble or speck of dust on the floor.

"Garrett and I..."

"Yeah...what's with you two?"

Her shoes were a vibrant gold and black, our school colors. They looked new, and I could see a band aid sticking out above her black sock. Mine were black, faded, old, a few holes. I got them freshman year and never wanted to spend money on new ones. I never had a whole lot of money, but they were getting over used.

"We just...have a lot of history. I can't really say a lot. Like, I just..." What was I supposed to say? I couldn't just tell her I'm gay, in love with Garrett, but terrified of him and being gay because my father likes to beat the failure out of me. "We were friends, and then we weren't, and I'm not sure how to make it right."

"So you at least want to make it right?" she asked.

I finally looked up at her. She had tan skin and black hair, dark eyes. She looked Italian or Greek, and was beautiful. If she wasn't being called a bitch then she was being objectified. Most guys in the band wanted to sleep with her but wouldn't respect her as a leader. Here she was, being a genuine person. A friend. "Yeah. I don't know how though."

"Why aren't you friends anymore?"

"We had a falling out. We were friends freshman year but after that we weren't. I just...I'm sorry. I don't want to talk about it that much, but I don't know how to be...normal."

She nodded, her ponytail bobbing. "I guess, what are you afraid of?"

I looked at her, realizing nobody had ever asked me that. "I don't know. I'm..." How could I tell her I was afraid of everything? "I don't want to be seen as...weak."

She nodded again. She was trying. "I get it. Like, for me it's hard to not be a bitch but also be a leader, and I can see how for you, you want to be strong but sometimes life is really fucking tough."

It was my turn to nod. "I'm not happy," I said, something new coming from my lips.

She gave me a sympathetic smile but I didn't feel pathetic. "Times are tough, but you are tougher, Alex."

I shook my head, looking at the spotless floor. "I'm really not though. Like, I seriously am not tough enough to handle everything."

"If you ever need help, just let me know."

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