Writer's Club

Lasagne

Some son of a bitch had stolen Oscar's lasagne. If it was Danny, he'd kill the little fuckwad. He'd gotten up at three AM to get the lasagne and he'd hidden it in BABOON's underwear draw. There were Things in that drawer that Oscar never wanted to think about again, mostly condoms but still. Adults weren't allowed a sex life. Gross...sweaty...parent sex when the boys were out.

He'd suffered enough for that lasagne and he was damned if he wasn't going to eat it.

The kids sat ranged around the entire school. Oscar had taken up permanent residence in the room of a teacher who had an anaphylactic reaction to nuts, and most of the school avoided wasn't allowed in her room. He knew that the Writers Club sat along the side of the main building of the school, A Block, taking up the entire balcony. No one challenged them, even though it was prime real estate.

"Bye, Ms Grant!" Oscar swung his bag over his shoulder. "Danny stole my lunch, I have to get it back."

Ms Grant peered over her enormous spectacles and shook her fist. "Go get 'em, kid." Her entire mess of hair quivered like jelly at her words, heaped on top of her head. Oscar flashed her a peace sign and marched out the door. He was getting his fucking lasagne.

The Writers Club was listening to music, swinging their combat boots and eating their lunch. Drake had his head in Danny's lap, and Cady was ranting about something. They looked like the punkish extras out of a nineties film, skateboards and all.

Connor saw him coming from a while off, waving him over and yelling his name. Cady broke out of her rant and draped her arm around his shoulders.

"Ozzie! You're just in time, come on!" She said, ruffling his hair.

"Please don't-Danny Ramírez Mitchel that better not be my lasagne or I will rip your jaw from your face." Oscar ducked away from Cady and marched over to Danny. The younger boy handed over the food.

"You're a bastard. We should have gone half." Danny said.

"I didn't get up at two AM to go half, bitch." Oscar snatched his fork back and dug in. Danny had warmed it up in the school microwaves and lasagne juice trickled into the container. Perfect.

"That's cold," Drake called. "At least give me some! I'm your best pal!" He jumped off the bench and flung his arm around Oscar's shoulder. He was wearing an MCR shirt that Oscar had gotten Danny for Christmas earlier that year - how the unholy hell had he gotten that, Danny had said that it was lost, and ripped jeans that had band patches sewn over the holes. And, of course, his incredibly Extra coat that came down to his shins and platforms.

Oscar pulled away. "I will fight to the death for this lasagne. Leave me alone."

"Fine." Drake followed him, weaving from side to side. "At least sit with us, man. Cady's teacher asked her which school she went to before in front of the entire class, and so she's been ranting all lunch. Which," he paused and pointed to Cady. "Is a perfectly valid reason to go off, but darling we have a new man to corrupt."

Danny shook his head and nudged Connor, whispering something. He pointed to Connor's sketchbook and said something, pretending that his brother wasn't there. Oscar grinned at him. This really wasn't so bad.

"So," Drake said. "We're going to the park this afternoon." He was, of course, referring to the enormous park near the school. With a large playground, football field, skate ramp, outdoor gym area, and miles of empty grass for dogs, it was a prime hangout spot. Oscar had lost track of the number of times Danny had texted him that he wasn't taking the bus, he was going to the park with The Writers Club. "You wanna come?"

"I know you're free!" Danny yelled. "You don't have any friends!"

Oscar glanced at the ground, rubbing his thumb of his free hand with his middle finger. "Yeah, sure. Um, I don't do drugs."

"Oh honey, you're hilarious," Drake said. "Neither do we. We're gay, not potheads. The potheads sit by C Block, most cover from the teachers. Is that what people say about us? Nevermind, I don't care. See you after school, Oscar."

The end of maths was five minutes away, and it couldn't come fast enough. Oscar's leg jiggled at top speed under the table and his mouth was almost vibrating he was chewing his gum so fast. His ADHD didn't make him jumpy and move a lot any more, but he was about to hang out with not only friends but the coolest kids in the school. The jitters happened.

He wasn't thinking about the equations and k value of parabolae in the context of y=k(x+a)(x+b), it was 0.25 which made the ceiling height four metres. He was thinking about Percy, and Danny, and Drake, and Cady, and Connor, and Alex.

He was thinking about how Drake made his head spin, and Percy made his stomach flip flop like a stranded fish on a deck. He was thinking about how lame it was to be hanging out with your little brother's best friends and how impeccably cool Kate was. He was thinking about Connor's graphic novel and how he should ask Connor if he wanted to work on that graphic novel about a princess who escaped his tower when he realised that he was trans. He was thinking about the fact that Alex had a tiktok.

He was thinking about his clubs, and how he was going to take over the school's gay club. He was thinking about renting the school hall and having a gays-only movie night for everyone, and then he was thinking about how few good gay YA films there were, and then he was thinking about Love, Simon, and then he was thinking about how much he wanted a boyfriend. Then he was thinking about Percy. All at once.

Go crazy go stupid, right?

Neurdivergency had its perks.

The bell rang, sounding always like a fire alarm, and he was out the door before the teacher had dismissed them. Kurt Cobain tapped the snare in his ears, the first few beats of his Smells Like Teen Spirit. That's what the writers club were, untamed and pure teen spirit.