Forbitten

Chapter 2

The students at the school were nice enough. They didn't seem to care about what I was and promptly ignored me. While walking to lunch, I saw the janitor mopping the floor, smoking a cigar. He shot me a friendly smile. It was nothing like that of Mr. Yoi, but I smiled back, half-heartedly, and continued to the cafeteria.

I went to a table by myself and took out my lunchbox containing a small baggie of blood to drink. It was terribly awkward being new in senior year. Everyone had already formed friendships and groups. Most of these kids had been in school together since they were five. I started to feel anxious again when, suddenly, someone sat down at the table with me.

"Hey! Mind if I sit here?" I looked up from my meal at the boy in front of me. He was skinny and had soft brown hair and wide blue eyes. He was cute, but I was not attracted to him.

"Uh, yeah, of course."

"Thanks! I'm Terry by the way. Terry Sectum." He held out his hand with a smile and once he realized I would not shake it in return, pulled it away slowly. His smile faltered, but remained on his cherub face.

"I'm Mos Aedes. Are you new too?"

He shook his head. "Nope, I've gone here for the past three years! You looked lonely, though, so I decided to come over here. Those are my friends at that table." He pointed behind himself where a few different people sat. The group was diverse, and seemed nice. None of them looked back at me.

"You don't think they'll care about what I am?"

"Pshh, no way. It's nothing new to us. We love to accept the differences between people."

That was nice to hear, and I smiled as I finished my blood. "Terry, I have a question. Where's the gym? I have it next but I don't know where to go."

"I have it next, too! I'll walk you there."

A friend. I had a friend.

- - -

I changed into my gym uniform, which was, again, a smaller version of the regular red shorts and tight white t-shirt. Once I arrived back in the gym I saw the janitor again. He stood in the middle of the large, clean gymnasium. The wood under his feet was a light oak and polished for the school's state recognized basketball games. He was no longer dressed in his janitorial attire, but rather an outfit that matched my own and the other boys'. Around his thick neck was a rusted whistle and through his thin shorts you could see his bulge. It pulsated with unforeseen pressure and I could only imagine Mr. Yoi's. Embarrassed, I looked away.

"Mos!" I heard Terry yell as he ran towards me. His legs were skinny and covered in a layer of smooth skin. On his feet were red sneakers and white ankle socks that stopped in their tracks once they were in front of me. "Welcome to gym class!" He smiled. "That's Papa Smoke, he's the gym teacher and the janitor and totally hot," Terry swooned as Mr. Papa Smoke blew his old, aged whistle. His lips puckered around the rim and balls of spit blew from the perimeter of his mouth.

"Kids, we're playing dodgeball today. I'll choose team captains." He scanned the class. "Alright, Richie and..." His eyes passed over me before returning. "You, the new student."

My heart began to race and Terry smiled encouragingly at me. I looked back at the other team captain, Richie. He was lanky with dark hair that swooped into his icy blue eyes. He glared harshly at me and Mr. Papa Smoke handed four balls to each team.

"The winning team gets to rub my famous Gucci ball," Mr. Papa Smoke said.

"That's his basketball trophy," Terry whispered to me before looking down to the gym floor. "I just wish it was something else..." His voice held a suggestive tone. His attraction towards our teacher/janitor was apparent, and it reassured me that my adoration for Mr. Yoi was valid. However, I didn't want to tell Terry about Mr. Yoi, not yet. Our friendship had only just begun.

Soon, the dodgeball game began. Terry protected me for most of it and it was obvious Richie was targeting me. His aim was impeccable. We played numerous games throughout the period and when only ten minutes remained, Mr. Papa Smoke yelled to us.

"Remember the Gucci ball!" With these words, Richie's throw became sharper and faster. One of his infamous whips hit Terry in the ankle, which sent his frail body to the ground with a yelp. He looked to our teacher for help, but his face fell when he realized he was not coming.

My attention on Terry was soon averted, for a ball came flying towards me. I didn't know what to do. I didn't have time to avoid it and I accepted that the impact would heavily injure me. However, it never came.

In front of my face was a hand that belonged to none other than my Religious Studies teacher. His pale fingers grasped the purple ball with so much force his knuckles were white. Richie looked at him in awe and Mr. Papa Smoke blew his whistle to stop the game.

"Loosen up, Richothy Linkin," was all Mr. Yoi said before he was gone.

I spent the rest of the school day thinking of his angered face that glowered at Richie. Even when I was given the chance to stroke the Gucci ball, I was distracted. Eventually, I returned home after the first day at my new, Catholic school. My foster mom, Katherine, greeted me with a fruit platter and a kind smile. She attempted to ask me how my day was, but I only floated upstairs, struggling to understand my own emotions. Struggling to understand his emotions.

What was Mr. Yoi to me?

And what was I to him?