All the Missing Pieces (UNDER REVISION)

One

         I'm stressed. Enough so that my mother has noticed. "Peyton, mi amor, remember what Abuelita always says." I look at her and recite the phrase, "La vida es similar a un rompecabezas, cada pieza tiene una razón, un lugar y un porqué, no insistas en colocar piezas donde no caben." I'm not so sure what Abuelita would think about my current situation, though. It's rather, well, controversial. "¿Por qué esa cara, mijo?" My mom stares at me from behind the enormous stack of boxes on the floor. "Ya sabes." She shrugs as she pushes up her sleeves, preparing to grab yet another box off of the floor. Then she gives me the least useful advice on the planet. "I'm sorry about Emily, but Peyton, Qué sera sera."

"Really mom?"
"Okay, well I promise you that absolutely nothing will happen if you don't tell anyone that you like him too."
"I know that!"
"But you don't want to tell anyone?"
"Precisely." She sighs as she takes the stack of boxes out to the garage. They've been in the living room since May of last year and we're just now getting to putting them away. In our defense, it's been six years since we've actually stayed in one house for more than a year. My parents work for this law firm that focuses on immigrants, but it constantly requires moving to new cities. This time, their firm swore, would be the last move. I'm not sure I buy it.
"Are you going to come and put these on the shelf for me or not?" My mom calls from the garage. "Right, coming."
"So how is James, anyways?" She asks as I take the boxes out of her hands. "Ah James. The source of virtually all of my problems. He's good, I guess." I say. "He hasn't been over in a while. Why don't you invite him over on Saturday?"
"Isn't that when you're having a work dinner?"
"Yeah, so?"
"So you're having people over for drinks and then going to a fancy restaurant, leaving me here, alone, and you want James to come over?"
"Casey will be here."
"You want James to come over when you're not home, and Casey, my 13-year-old sister, to supervise?" She picks more boxes up off of the floor and shrugs. "Why, what's the worst that could happen? I thought you weren't planning on telling anyone." I roll my eyes, "Fine. I'll ask James to come over on Saturday."
"Fine."
"Fine!"
"Put these up there."
"UGH!" She smirks at me and then leaves me alone in the garage with the last of the boxes from the living room.

James is my best friend, though the only thing we have in common is that we're both new to Central Philadelphia Charter School this year. He's an amazing artist and an even better friend. He sees the world through something different, and he paints it as such. It's amazing to see him open up a world I've never known, but that's all he's done since I met him in August. He keeps leading me into a new world and I'll always keep following. Because, of course, I love him.

It started, as I mentioned, in August. Being two of three new kids, we were subject to all of the "New Kid Lunches!" and "New Kid Meet-and-Greets!" and "What to Expect as Central Piedmont Charter School!" meetings. All things said, they're not the most useful meetings, but those meetings were my first encounters with James and our two other friends, Marina and Emily. Like us, Emily was new that year, but Marina was our student tour guide. You know that feeling, where you just look at someone and you just know. It was one of those moments. He sat there with his wavy blonde hair that was somewhat pushed over to the side, and big round glasses that accented his blue eyes. He smiled nervously and waved at me when I walked into the room, and from that moment I knew. The problem is that I'm new. Which means no one else knows. In the entire state of Pennsylvania, the only people who know I'm gay are my parents and my siblings. A grand total of four people. It's harder than people realize, moving every year and having to come out to new people every time, so no one here knows yet. I gave up on telling everyone about two years ago. People will figure it out when they need to know.

"Peyton, ¿Qué estás haciendo?" My mom calls from somewhere in the house. "Sulking."
"Oh, get in here and wash some dishes." I pretend to be annoyed, but secretly I'm glad that I have something to do other than think about James. "You know, you're going to have to tell him at some point."
"That I might be in love with him? No way."
"Not that, but that you like boys. He's your best friend don't you want him to, like, be a part of your life?"
"I don't know, but-"
"Listen, it's your business and I don't care what you do but you cannot keep sulking around the house being sad. It's making me depressed and I don't want to be depressed."
"But-"
"Shhhhh!"
"Fine. I'm going to do my physics homework." I shove the last of the dishes into their places on the shelf. My mom doesn't acknowledge that she heard me, and turns back towards the stove, her sleek ponytail swaying as she cooks. That's my mom, the stunning half Mexican lawyer who's almost always comforting.