The Jock and the Bad Boy (COMPLETE)

TWENTY THREE

Somehow I get there on time. The school parking lot is nearly empty. As I walk in, the halls are deadly silent.

~

There are some people in the gym, but not nearly as many as there are chairs. I see Lane's bright pink hair and a couple who must be her and Thayer's parents. I sit down next to the three of them. 

Ten after seven, no one has come on stage. Thayer's parents are clearly furious. I turn to Lane. "Do you know what's going on?"

She shakes her head. "Wait, I'll get yelled at if I leave now, but you should check the bathroom." I nod and get up. 

It's still deadly silent in the hallway as I approach the bathroom. I open the door slowly. "Thayer?"

He's leaning against the far wall with his eyes closed and his hands in the pockets of the hoodie he's wearing. I don't think I've ever seen him in a hoodie. It's too casual, as if I've walked into his bedroom. 

"Thayer?" I repeat. He doesn't open his eyes. "Hey, what's going on?"

"Panic attack," he exhales. "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay," he repeats like an incantation. He doesn't sound like he believes himself. 

"They're not going to start without you," I tell him. His breath picks up. "No, hey, it's fine. It's gonna be okay."

He shakes his head. "I can't, I can't, I can't go on, uh, stage." He takes a few deep breaths. "I'll just freak... freak out again."

"Okay," I say, "you don't have to go on." He looks directly at me for the first time of the night. "But seriously," I continue, "should I go get your parents?"

"No," he sighs, "they'll just tell me I'm being... being stupid."

I feel a flash of anger go through me. I take a deep breath. "So what do you want to do?"

He shrugs. "I... think going out, outside usually... helps."

I nod. "Let's go outside." We walk slowly. About halfway to the exit, he starts holding on to my arm. "You alright?" I ask.

"Yeah, just feeling... kind of, uh, kind of weird," he replies. "Normally doesn't happen... like this."

"Weird how? Have you eaten?" 

He shakes his head. "Can't right now, I'll, I'll, I'll... you know."

"Then I'll get you a juice or something," I decide. He doesn't reply to that so I head to the vending machine and get him an apple juice.

He's sitting on the ground when I return. He gives me a hand and I pull him up and give him the juice. I can't read the expression on his face as he considers it carefully before opening it up and taking a sip. "Thanks," he says. We continue down the hall.

We exit through the main entrance and sit down on the steps where we had our little confrontation. When we're all situated, I finally ask him, "does this happen a lot?" 

"Fair, fairly often," he answers, "once or... once or twice a week."

"And your parents don't know?" I continue.

"I try not to... not to... not to be around them when this happens," he states. "Because normally, I, uh, I get really quiet and, and irritable. And I hide. So they just, just think I'm, I'm being difficult."

"You're not being difficult," I tell him. "You have anxiety."

"Doesn't matter," he says. "There are people, people depending on, on me. And I'm... fuck." He's getting frustrated. He starts again, more slowly. "I'm. Letting. Them. Down."

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter. Your parents' expectations don't matter. The concert doesn't matter. You matter."

When he looks at me, I realize how close together we've been sitting. "Are you wearing eyeliner?" He asks me. Then, we're kissing.

No offense to Jackson but this is how it's supposed to be. I feel as if I've been knocked off balance for a second. I plant my hands on the concrete steps. His are in my hair. He tastes like apple juice. I think I love him.

-

happy late national coming out day

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