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Chapter 2 -- Viz
The first day of school had started out being uneventful. I was starting the eleventh grade, at a new school, in a new town and I'd already decided my fate: I was going to be a loser, like always. Maybe I'd even be considered a freak, especially compared to the kids I'd be going to school with. Money wasn't exactly a deciding factor here and I wasn't sure whether to be grateful for that or resent it. Popularity was measured with the clothes you wore, the sports you played, the parties you attended, the liquor you could hold. I suppose I didn't really know that any of my theories were true, but I could guess--especially after seeing the kids in my neighborhood--that that was how it was going to be.
And when I walked into school that day, my theories were confirmed.
People looked at me like I had two heads, giving me a once over and deciding that no matter who I was under my clothes, I wasn't worth getting to know. You'd think that I'd start to dress like everyone else when I got tired of being judged by my appearance but the truth was that I didn't care enough about what people thought to change. I was content with the way I dressed: fingerless gloves, black nail polish, red-dyed split ends and all.
My day went by smoothly; I figured out what I had to do to get my schedule and how classes worked without asking for help. I sat in the back of every class, trying to blend into the wall and stay invisible. It was easier to be invisible than to be pointed out and singled out. So I tried to blend.
But when Creative Writing class began, I looked up at a precise moment that is making me start to believe in fate. If I hadn't looked up at that moment, I might have never noticed him. There stood a boy, walking over to a desk in the middle of the room with an AP Geometry text book, presumably from his last class, and a bunch of notebooks in hand. He was the most magnificent thing I'd ever laid eyes on, I was sure of it. He had a shaggy cut to his blonde hair and was wearing a striped green and gray polo that stretched against his toned body. He was athletic, I could tell. Maybe a football player, maybe not. He towered at around six foot one or two, compared to my measly five foot nine.
I watched as he took his seat and faced the front of the room. He was adorable in a way I hadn't thought possible until now.
But he was just the type of guy I'd been silently bashing all morning. And just the type of guy that would never talk to me.
I don't know how long I stared at the back of his head, my hand hovering over a blank sheet of notebook paper, so that I could at least pretend to be doing something. After a while of my staring, he scratched the back of his neck, as if he could literally feelmy eyes on him, and turned around casually, as if he was just glancing around the classroom for familiar faces or something. His eyes met mine and I felt electricity run through my body. God, he was gorgeous. And he was looking right at me. I knew I should look away, I was probably starting to seem extremely creepy but something held me there, frozen and staring straight into his amazing blue eyes.
He broke the stare and turned back around but just sat there for a few moments. I quickly started to scribble in my notebook, not taking notes or anything, just writing everything and anything that came to mind. Mostly poems about blue eyes and love. I saw him glance at me out of the corner of my eye and just kept writing. I looked up as he turned around, looking confused, like he wasn't sure if that had even really happened.
I ripped out the sheet with the poems on it and crumpled it up. What the hell was I doing? I'd never been too sure about my sexuality but I'd figured that I was just curious about guys and I hadn't found a girl that I'd been attracted to in a way more than physically but I was lying to myself because I'd never really been physically attracted to a girl. I'd found some girls pretty but nothing more than admiration and acknowledgment that they were attractive. And now this guy comes along and I know I'm gay. That was the first time I'd ever admitted it, even to myself, in my thoughts.
I was gay, and there was no denying it.
I wanted to touch him, feel the softness of his lips on mine, feel the firmness of his muscles, the feather-like softness of his hair. I wanted to stare into his blue eyes forever. I wanted him to hold me in his arms and to feel the same way about me as I did about him. And I didn't even know his name or anything about him! But I wanted to know.
I had to admit to myself that he was hopelessly straight and that I wasn't doing myself any favors by starting to imagine myself with him, hugging him, touching him, talking to him.
And then a mini miracle happened in Film Studies. I was partnered with him. I'd been sitting, trying to listen to what my teacher was saying. I got the part about the project and partners but I wasn't really giving him my full attention. I was too busy sneaking glances at this gorgeous guy who was in another class of mine. I still couldn't believe the way I was thinking about another guy but I couldn't help it.
And then Mr. Graenley started announcing partners and I got all jittery but I never imagined who he'd partner me with.
"Elijah Cole, you will be working with Jonah McCoy," he said. I looked up at the sound of my real name and scowled, then wondered who this Elijah Cole person was. When I looked and saw that he was referring to the gorgeous guy that I'd been staring at every chance I got, the scowl was wiped from my face and my mouth hung open a little. I quickly shut it and took a deep breath.
My hands shook as I gathered my things and walked over to sit in the chair next to him. "Hey," he said. I looked up.
He'd talked to me! He'd said actual, real words to me with his beautiful lips.
"Hey. I'm Viz," I said and held out my hand. He grasped it firmly but looked confused when I said that my name was Viz so I thought I should explain a little. "I was born Jonah, but, uh, I go by Viz." I instantly felt stupid and searched his eyes for signs that he thought I was. I quickly snatched my hand away when I realized I'd been holding it for too long.
"I'm Eli," He told me."So, um, sounds like a cool project, huh? Beats essays and paper mache."
He was making conversation! He was actually trying to be friendly but all I could think to say was, "Yeah." God, why was I being so shy? And stupid? I was being extremely stupid!
I started nervously tapping my foot and then placed my intertwined hands on the table. I kept sneaking covert glances at Eli and he looked straight ahead, actually being able to pay attention in class. I sure as hell couldn't. Mr. Graenley handed us rubrics and if he didn't, I wouldn't have known what we even needed to get a good grade on the project. I was too consumed with the chunk of blue-eyed sexiness that was sitting next to me, in the form of a teenage boy.
And then, when class was over, a real miracle happened.
He invited me over to his house. Well I kind of invited myself but he suggested working on our project and agreed when I suggested that we did that at his house. I was going to go to his house! A few hours ago, I didn't even think I'd ever talk to him, let alone go to his house, even if it was only for a project.
And when the day was over and I laid down for bed, all I could think about was seeing him again. And the next day was worst than the first, because I was nervous to see him. I almost wanted to avoid him, to avoid the embarrassing things I might do or say, but he was in two of my classes, and even in my lunch, so I would see him no matter how hard I tried not to. He was quiet in Creative Writing class, working diligently on our first real assignment. Apparently, writing was a 'hidden talent' of his.
I tried not to openly stare too much, mostly for fear of what others might say, not for fear of what he would think. For some reason, I wanted him to know how I felt. But at the same time, him knowing scared the shit out of me.
At lunch he sat with a bunch of jocks, who I learned were hockey players and members of other sports teams (along with some cheerleaders), after some eavesdropping. Jocks were the type of people I would never associate with. Jocks were the type of people who made fun of me, called me a freak, a goth, a fag, scrawny fag, anything they could think of. But Eli...well, Eli was different. I just knew he was.
I sat down next to him in Film Studies, nervous that the day was coming to a close and I'd have to go to his house again.
"Hey, man," he greeted me and I gave him a small head nod. What the hell was I doing? Why wouldn't my mouth form words anymore?
Mr. Graenley started the class and Eli started taking notes so I followed his lead, actually learning some stuff about film. But I knew Eli wasn't going to attempt at conversation for the rest of the class period and I probably would, if I didn't have a lump in my throat and if I could remember how to speak. But his very presence next to me seemed to make my brain go haywire.
Soon, class was over and I gathered my stuff from my locker and, walked outside, waiting by the front entrance for Eli. He walked out a few minutes later and said, "Ready to go?" I nodded and we walked to his sisters big truck again, climbing into the back seat.
"Sup, Viz?" Eli's little brother, Josh, said.
"Hey, Josh, " I replied, and he turned back around.
"So, what project are you guys working on, anyway?"
Tabby asked as she pulled out of the school.
"We have to make a five minute film of each other to help the class get to know us better," I responded. I wasn't sure who the question was directed to but she didn't object when I answered.
"Sounds interesting," she replied. I knew she was just trying to make conversation but with the way that conversation died out, it wasn't working very well. The rest of the ride was silent and slightly awkward. Soon, we were back at Eli's house and I followed him up to his room.
"So we should get some footage of you doing whatever it is that you usually do," I said, taking out my professional Canon camcorder. It was bulky but I'd managed to fit it in my backpack.
"Wow, that's a really nice camera," Eli commented.
"Thanks," I said and cleared my throat. "Well, um, let's get started."