𝔍𝔞𝔯𝔞'𝔰 𝔏𝔬𝔤𝔟𝔬𝔬𝔨

#11

I'm so sick of love songs, so tired of tears
So sick of wishing you were still here
Said I'm so sick of love songs, so sad and slow
So why can't I turn off the radio?

- NeYo, "So Sick" 🎵

*

I never imagined victories counted so much at Voltaire High. Two weeks onwards and everyone's still revelling in the memorable goals of Ashish Mehta and Tremaine Hunt. Lake's supporters, in a bid to romanticise their lodestar, debase the efforts of the two males who scored; stating that the school would've had something more than some loose, basic pyrrhic victory. I wonder if it's a thing for his supporters to be as despicable as he is.

I'm currently in the general-purpose hall. Word going round has it that the principal's about to announce the most impressive results in the midterms we had last week for each class. I'm absolutely certain my name won't remotely be in the top thirty, so I frankly quarrel with myself for actually being present at this assembly.

Reese crashes her elbow into mine so I regard her. "What's with the sombre look?"

"I don't think I did too well," I honestly answer her. "Among other reasons, that cursed subject styled maths could actually ruin my GPA. Mum will have my head on a stake if I present something that crappy to her."

"Who says they've got to know?" She winks.

"You probably haven't met my parents," I bleat in agitation. "I live with the most perfectionist parents in all two continents I've been to."

"Don't worry about them." I turn to view Ashish standing with some petite, willowy, bonnie girl locking her fingers intricately—and from her repelling gaze, possessively—into his. He looks her over. "Jara, Reese, meet Maxine."

Reese simply eyes her in the most dismissive manner while I feign a compelled chuckle as I wave at her. Ashish holds her hand and sits right beside me, with Reese to my right such that the girls are on either side of both of us. I notice how he's deliberately rubbing his lap against mine and I swear, if he wasn't straight, I'd just-

Wait. I'm not supposed to be gay. I mutter that repetitively until a palpable silence envelops the hall as the principal's footfalls, exuding unrivalled dominance, ring through the room.

He steps to the lectern, his assistant diligently placing a set of manila papers onto it as the principal wedges them with his hand. He picks the microphone, his demeanour impenetrable. "Good morning everyone."

We all respond in unison. Ashish continues with his rubbing motion as the principal explains the intent of the assembly: commemorating excellence. I rubberneck the papers despite the fact that, given my aerial angle, I can't see even so much as a character.

The principal proceeds to read out names in each category. When he arrives at my grade, I heave dejectedly as he mentions certain subjects and their best students. Dear God, I'd give anything to leave this hall.

"And now, bagging the highest grade point in English, Literature, French and civics; let's hear it for Jara Angelo Blake!"

My head springs up. The hall is at first utterly noiseless until both Reese and Ashish start clapping. I wonder if it's because I'm black or because I'm male, but the ovation on one side is unnaturally wild and typically hesitant on another. I stand as the principal commends me.

"Mr. Blake," he begins. "I advise you to persevere in your intellect. For a new student and an immigrant, you've performed brilliantly. Congratulations are in order."

More claps, more resounding this time, echo through the area. I take a seat just as Reese and Ashish adoringly run excited hands on my either shoulder. I blush tremulously.

Wow. Blessed be God! It's cheesy, yes; but I can't help but be thankful for one reason for Dad to hate me less fervently.

†

I'm beginning to feel numbing breezes all over the place and I'm doubtless it's the first sign of winter. That means only one thing: Christmas is forthcoming! I mean, who doesn't love that unspeakably beautiful time?

Or maybe I'm just being a child infatuated with building snowmen. I know I've never exactly built one before, so there's that.

The school authorities have instructed us to pack up our materials as today's the last day of school. Reese is already gone; she's the earliest of us to leave for the holiday. She tells me she's returning to Tennessee via text, and I honestly wish she's safe.

I haven't seen Ashish much today. My guess is he's with Maxine and they're too busy sucking face and body parts that she doesn't let him do anything else. Oh well, at least he's romantically involved with a person. I, on the other hand, am a single, lonely and currently friendless virgin boy.

I'm wrenched from my train of thoughts to the present by a simultaneous beep and vibration stemming from my pocket. I reach inward and soon and pull out my phone: Tremaine Hunt.

The last time I received a text from the guy, I was nearly killed by some homophobic redneck. I am not going to even consider heading to that locker room a second time. I'm not that eager to die. Hell, I'm not eager to die at all.

I think Trey senses that, because the phone soon vibrates in a prolonged pattern within my hands. It's a call and not a text. I gulp, say an aspiration and then answer it.

"Hey," I croak.

"Meet me in the library in five."

My eyes are wider than a cesspool. "You want me to meet you in the where?" The line goes flat.

Well, I do have a jar of pepper spray on me, so I suppose it can't hurt to meet him in said place. I clasp my fanny pack around me and march to the library.

I'm barely in the common room when Trey pushes me against the wall, his mouth now insatiably ravaging mine. My resistance is about to be activated, but his hands suddenly grasp my member and every shred of provident thought within me completely vanishes.

I reciprocate by clasping my palms around his head and wringing his shirt off, exposing the abs that have once been the subject of my fantasies. I gasp as I observe that they're far more glorious than I'd dreamt they'd be. My mouth travels down to each nipple and I bite them rapaciously.

He pulls my head. "I really like you, Jara. I've been effing waiting for this for so long."

"Mm-hmm," I groan as I resume my kissing. My mouth is unobstructed as I'm headed for his rock when something more prickly than an itch begins to encircle my neck. I pull backwards and hastily plunge my hand into my shirt. I grate my fingers against a metallic chain with a circlet dangling at the centre.

"Oh no," I outwardly curse. It's my medal in honour of Saint John the Apostle. I think he's trying to warm me not to commit a regrettable mortal sin against God. Either that or he's reminding me of Dad and how he'd so zealously pound the gay out of me. "I can't do this," I tell Trey. "Before you ask why," I proceed as keenness laces his features, "please know that this can't happen ever again."

I turn around. Just as I do, I feel Trey's hands grasping my member and gift my jaw a lascivious lick. "Your mind wants something," he breathes gruffly, "your body wants another."

"Leave me alone!" I screech, my eyes faltering as tear droplets roll down. I kick him in the thigh and he winces accordingly. I dart out of the library, bumping my shoulder against a grinning Asha and running with uncharacteristic speed.

I need to get home.

†

This chapter looks boring. Anyway, please vote and comment!