The Jock and the Bad Boy (COMPLETE)

TWENTY TWO

Thayer did eventually come back to math class, but it isn’t the same. It's like he's trying to stay out of my way as much as possible. I miss him.

I know I could always start the conversation, but I don't know how. So we don't talk. 

~

Faye pulls me aside again during Art. "Do you want to try again?" She asks.

What kind of question is that? Sure I'd like to try again. "I guess?"

"Don't guess, Eliott," she says. "one way or the other. Make a decision or you'll break his heart and yours."

I contemplate. Is it worth it? Is any of this worth it? Is he worth it? I think about his voice and his smile and his hair and his jacket. I think he might be.

"I do," I confirm. 

She grins. "He's playing at the school concert in two days. He's usually more agreeable right after he gets offstage."

I nod. "Wait, would he be mad that I showed up? You know, since he's been avoiding me."

She shrugs. "I didn't say you had to surprise him. Actually, it would probably be better if you shot him a message beforehand."

"But what should I say?" I ask.

She smirks. "Just tell him that you're coming and ask if he wants to talk afterwards. It's that simple."

"Oh, that simple?" Lane cuts in. She turns to me. "You should have seen the shit she put me through when she was trying to ask Savannah out."

Savannah looks touched. "Aw, babe…" Faye covers her face with her hands.

~

e: i'm gonna be at the concert on thurs

e: can we talk after?

t: sure

~

The concert starts in twenty minutes and I'm still wearing PJ pants. I know what jeans I'm going to wear, but I'm torn about the shirt. 

Sara knocks on my door. “We gotta go, Bud,” she says. 

“I know, I know, just… help,” I say, waving for her to come in. “I’m stuck.” 

She considers the shirts I’m holding. They’re both short sleeved button downs. One is solid black and one is red with a dark red diamond pattern. She shrugs. “I don’t think it matters.”

“It does,” I huff, “and I can’t pick. What am I gonna do?” I’m getting much more upset than the situation requires, and I realize that, but I can’t do anything about it.

“Is this actually about something else?” she asks wisely.

“No.” Yes. There’s something that’s been nagging at the back of my mind for awhile and I don’t think I can ignore it anymore, which is super inconvenient because we need to leave, like, now.

“Are you sure?” she presses gently.

I shake my head. She doesn’t speak. I guess she’s waiting for me to keep going. I don't know how to say it. I take a deep breath. "Seeing myself in the mirror makes me feel like I'm living inside a plastic box." And that's it. That's the reason I'll never be like my dad, or Jackson, or Carter. I thought I was okay with it, but right now I'm not so sure.

"Wow," Sara says. "I didn't realize you were going through that. I mean, shit, I should've asked you more questions when you came out to me."

I run a hand through my hair. "I should've explained it more, but I didn't know how. No one ever explained it to me. I thought I could just… come out and be the same person afterwards. But now… I don't know if I like being that person."

She nods. "Okay. Do you still want to go to the concert? Because I think I may be able to offer a short term solution."

"What is it?" I ask.

She dashes across the hall to her room and comes back with a little pencil in hand. "It's not going to solve everything, or even most things, but it's good for when you want to look a little bit different."

I shrug. We're running out of time. "It won't make it worse," I decide.

I instinctively close my eyes as she comes toward me with the pencil. "No, open," she grumbles, "haven't you seen me do this before?" Clearly not. She positions the tip dangerously close to my eyeball and starts drawing.

-
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