Nate missed his old life, he missed his mom, his older brother, Alexander who was his counselor (who he "grew out of" as adults say). He missed his old house, his old friends, Sara, Maddie, Brian. He missed the drowning sound of cars passing as they drove past his old, creaky wooden window. He missed when he wasn't gay, yes he missed that.
When you grow up, it's no longer a "phase". Well, he is just sixteen, so maybe it is just a phase. "It's not a phase!" he would scream to anyone who would listen and much to the sadness of the adults, it wasn't a phase. Everyone had known it all along, which he hated. From the moment he was old enough to go to school people had thought it. And they were right. He was gay.
Everyone, well nearly everyone, called him names. Why "nearly" because of what happened next. Getting ahead of myself. It all started with a new kid at his school.
His school was, well, run down is the best way to describe it. Ivy covered the outside walls, in some areas (mostly in small chunks) there were splaters of paint missing (mostly due to the art "students") a large courtyard where large trees shaded picnic benches where the students would sit on warmer days. In the halls, large pastel and black murals line the walls, each of something, it was hateful (in black) or not; most was art. His art.
His art that he had made in the long hours of the night when no one was at school. Well that was, except the art kids.
