The bench we reserve on a daily basis is cluttered with foreign pencil cases and laptops without any students present. "We shouldn't move their stuff without permission, right?" I ask searching the grounds and locker areas shielding my eyes from the blinding sun, "They're probably nearby anyways--"
I turn back to a clutter free surface, Andre sits leaning against the large umbrella pole centre of the table, Scout is seated in Maze's lap, legs dangling off the chair edge. Sydney's ankles are crossed, pressing her tailbone on the bench edge hunch shouldered while Ren picks her fingernails resting both legs on Andre's thighs.
They fail at disguising their guilt unable to act casual or innocent. "--or not." I add pinpointing the equipment across the courtyard on the last vacant bench.
"How the hell did you do that so quickly?" I ask unable to fathom how they migrated the mass of items without attracting my attention. "Us gays are magical." Andre says airily waving jazz hands in an arch, earning an elbow to the obliques from Sky.
"Enough about that, there's only two minutes left of lunch before last period and then we won't see you for a week." Maze addresses me, choking on the last words she coughs to hide her uncharacteristic voice crack, Scout patting her shoulder tentatively.
"You make it sound like I'm moving to another country or something, it's just a Drama workshop. Plus, I haven't seen most of those gays since last year." I declare defensively holding my hands in surrender, offering a neutral smile.
The three canteen windows clank shut in sequential order followed by the bell chiming like the three toned melody played at train stations in advance of an announcement.
"Welp, guess that's my cue--oof!" They attack me with sternum crushing bear hugs, the unexpected collective weight alters our upright stance to a horizontal dog pile landing on the warm concrete pavement, the umbrella no longer protecting our sunburn prone skin.
"We'll miss you, Spooky, the homocidal ghost." Spooky is my gay nickname, honours to Spooky the Tuff Little Ghost.
"Take care, Jordan." Jordan is my biological name, but that's boring.
"Don't forget us." How could I?
Suffocating...losing feeling in my legs...face is turning purple, "I know, I know, please let me go." I plea pinned to the floor like bug. "All righty girls, that was the bell so lets spare Jordan while she can still walk. Come on, up." Mr Nelson is one of those 'cool' teachers, easiest to approach for any subject even those not school related.
His silhouette made distinct by a crew-cut hairstyle and button up electric blue shirt with trademark rolled sleeves situated above his defined forearms. "Sir." I muster feebly. "Jordan." He responds in the same direct tone.
They scramble off me in disorganised pairs elbowing sensitive areas by accident, the relief of fresh air and weightlessness is pure euphoria over the soundless cry of my limbs.
Apologising to Mr Nelson the gays disperse in several separate directions continuing to sing All Star by Smash Mouth off time and out of key. "Thanks, sir." I say holding a weak thumbs up, squinting at the angled suns rays.
"Any chance you can help a girl out?" He subconsciously massages golden brown facial stubble, an amused smirk deepening dimples in his cheeks.
"Oh yeah, sure, that way I can be prosecuted for the mishandling of a student and possibly lose my job, jeopardising my entire teaching career." The courtyard is empty of students now, his words hang in the muggy atmosphere my playful mood doused by his serious tone.
Am I meant to respond? Is he being rhetorical or sarcastic? Mr Nelson stares down at me, unbliking, unmoving, hands buried deep in charcoal grey trousers.
"Was that a superficial way of saying, 'would love to, but can't?' 'cos that's all you had to say, sir." He smirks disguising a distinct chuckle by clearing his throat, I grin despite myself.
Rising to sit hunched forward I wipe dirt grains that cling to my perspiring skin. I hadn't notice my teal and maroon skirt was hitched at my hips, at the same time thankful a habitual routine of mine was wearing black bike shorts even if they made my legs appear unnaturally white.
"Aren't you going to be late for class?" He inquires as I adjust my uniform --which was white this morning-- anchoring my weight on the bench chair I heave myself upward with great effort, dusting my sweaty palms clean, "Free period, sir--"
"Study period." He corrects. Saint Blackmore teachers are expected to remind senior students that class free periods are used for study and homework completion.
For the first twenty minutes of these sessions I might write notes or reread previous chapters, but afterwards I have downloaded episodes of the most recent show I'm watching stored on a desktop folder under, 'Study vids'. "I have a study period, sir." I say imitating his actions, "Alright then, take care."
"You gonna miss me, sir?" He pivots mid stride, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. "Why? Are you finally transferring?" Mr Nelson dramatizes a sigh of relief, "Can it be? It's like Christmas came early."
"Sir, you're breaking my heart." I say pouting, hovering a hand over my chest.
Faster than a speeding bullet he responds, "Can't hurt what you don't have." Mildly dumfounded I shut my gaping mouth, concealing my surprise, "Yeesh sir, I thought we had a better partnership than this."
YOU ARE READING
Chapstick Boi
Teen FictionMeet Spooky or more commonly known as, 'the over involved Lesbian', 'Spooky scary skeletons' and 'JJ'. Doesn't matter what you call her, she's still gay. You've heard all those stories surrounding closeted gays who suffer in silence, hiding their se...
