Consider this the second edition of my story. I looked back at my early works and saw how much I have improved as a writer and thought it only behooved me to polish up what I had written. So, I went through and edited the story stylistically and structurally. The story is still the same, just shinier.
Note to readers: For those of you who have been asking about Opportunity Cost, I am not done with it. As son as I get done with all the re-writes, it will pick up right where it left off. It just took a while to write the next part because I knew where I wanted the story to go but not how to get there. But I have found the perfect segue and will start writing as soon as I can. Thank you all for your patience
Disclaimer: This is a homoerotic story I have written, so if you aren't allowed legally, morally or ethically to read it, then don't. And don't post this anywhere else without my expressed permission. Feedback is very much encouraged, so hit me up at bluedragon314@gmail.com.
Ch. 1
Well, it's been six months since the night that Brian Fleishman came to my door dripping wet and bleeding. I have never forgotten that night, nor that entire weekend for that matter. But what happened then couldn't hold a candle to what was about to happen next. And it all started in my Global Politics class.
I am still big on chemistry, but somehow the world of political science had wooed me. It's a lot of fun and I seem to have an innate understanding of it. Plus, I don't have to worry about breathing in H2SO4 all the time.
Another fun part of Global Politics is that I get to spend it with my two best friends, Chris and Peter. They both know I'm gay, but they are the only people at school who do and they are both really respectful of my fears of society.
Anyway, it is in just such a Global Politics class that the next part of my story begins. I was sitting at my usual table in the back corner of the room next to Chris. He is about my height with well-trimmed blond hair and he always wears khakis and a polo. The easiest way to describe Chris is uptight. He's not as bad as, say, Cameron from "Ferris Bueller's
Day Off," but his dad is a federal lawyer and everything has to be black and white around him. Also, he's a lot cuter than Cameron.
"Did you finish the homework for last night?" asked Chris.
"Yeah. I think I got all of them," I said.
"Good," he said. "Because here comes Peter."
Peter is very much the skater type with shaggy brown hair, baggy jeans and a t-shirt with some symbol from a rock group on it. If Chris was day, Peter would be night. He is very laid back and is willing to try anything, do anything and say anything. He reminds me a lot of James, and that scares me.
"Hi guys," said Peter. "Hey Kyle, is that the worksheet from last night?"
"Yes," I said. "Why? Want to 'compare answers?'"
"Sure! Unless Chris is willing to share," he said.
"Not a chance," shot Chris. "I don't even know why Kyle lets you copy his answers. This is technically cheating, you know."
"Hey, it's not as if Moony cares," said Peter.
Mooney was the nickname for our Global Politics teacher, Douglas Moonsong, Ph.D. His parents were big-time hippies, but don't let that reflect poorly on him. He knows his stuff and is my favorite teacher.
Moony walked into class just as the bell rang and as Peter was furiously "comparing answers." But today he was accompanied by a student I had never seen before. It was the beginning of the year, so students were still switching around their schedules. The boy was wearing black jeans and a black hoodie that hung over his sullen face. His hair, from what I could see, was black as well.
"Good day, class. Before we start, I'd like to introduce you all to William Brewer," said Moony as he gestured to the boy in black. William looked up at the class and his black hair fell into his eyes. A quick flick of his head and it was back in place around his temples. "He has switched from one of my earlier classes to this one, so he should be up
to speed with the rest of you. So, now that I've embarrassed you enough, why don't you go take a seat over there?"
Moony gestured to our table, because it was the only one that had an open seat. William brusquely walked over to our table and slumped into the chair on the end next to me. Moony began writing the tasks of the day on the board and Peter leaned over and said, "Hey, my name's Peter. This is Kyle and that spaz is Chris."
"Hey!" said Chris, indignantly.
William looked up at Peter with a blank stare then looked back at the table.
"So, Will," said Peter. "Do you--"
"My name is William," said William in a low but cold voice.
Peter was rather taken aback at this response. He was used to people liking him with his everyone's-my-best-friend nature. But he pressed on.
"So, what about Bill? Or Willy? 'There's nary an animal alive that can outrun a greased Scotsman.'" he said in his best Groundskeeper Willy impression.
William shot a look at Peter that was cold as death, except for the blazing fire behind his piercing green eyes. "My name is William," he said. "Not Will, not Bill, not Willy. William. Got it?"
By now the three of us were staring at him in shock. The rest of the class proceeded unawares because, throughout his rant, William had managed to keep his voice down. After what felt like a three on one staring contest, William put his face down in his arms on the table and said nothing else.
Peter leaned over to me and said "Jesus, what an ass!"
"And I thought I was uptight," said Chris, a little louder than Peter had been. If William heard him or not, we didn't know because he laid there silently for the rest of class. He looked like he had fallen asleep.
'He must have just had a long night,' I thought to myself. 'He looks tired and is obviously cranky.'
I started to feel sorry for him and decided to take an extra set of notes for him while Moony talked about Democratic Socialism.
After class I meant to give William the notes I had taken for him but he was out of his chair and out the door before anyone else in the class. I got my backpack and rushed out to the hall to see if I could find him. Luckily, I saw him at the water fountain down the hall. I went over to him and he looked at me quizzically, like a wild animal trying to determine friend from foe.
"Hi," I said. "Umm, remember me? I'm Kyle, from Global Politics."
"Yeah," he said. "I was just sitting next to you five seconds ago. What do you want?"
"Uh, here," I said, thrusting the notes in front of him. "I took some notes for you in class. I figured you were sleeping or something and thought you might like to know what you missed."
"Why did you do that?" he asked impugningly.
"Well," I said, feeling rather on the offence. "I felt bad that Peter was giving you crap and stuff on your first day in class. And I just thought it was a nice thing to do. Do you not want them?"
William snatched the notes from my hand and looked down at them, his bangs falling into his eyes again. He stared at the paper intently as if trying to determine if it was a trick. Then something caught my eye, because it was the only thing he wore that wasn't black. It was a red bracelet on his wrist. It looked like it was made with a glow stick, but its glow had long since faded.
William looked up at me and the look on his face had changed, but it was really more of a falter for he quickly went back to his cold demeanor and stuffed the notes into the pocket of his hoodie and walked away without a word.
'Wow, he really is an ass,' I thought to myself.
I had never imagined that anyone could react that way to kindness. But I had little time to think about what his problem was because I had to get to English and secure my seat behind the football team's star running back before some cheerleader did. If the class is boring as hell, I may as well have something fun to look at.
That afternoon as I got off the bus by my house, there was an odd smell in the air. As I got closer, I realized it was coming from my house. I went inside and the smell of burnt bread hit me like a punch in the face. There was smoke looming in the direction of the kitchen.
"Damn-it, James," I coughed. "What is it this time?" Since the beginning of August, James had taken up all manner of hobbies from playing guitar to model airplane building, on top of graphic design and tae kwan do. My least favorite of which was his fascination with baking. He had tried muffins, cakes and even a souffle and they all ended up the same way: black as charcoal and smelling terrible.
"Oh, hi, Kyle," said James as he walked from the kitchen waving a potholder to clear away some of the smoke. "Sorry about this. I was trying to make banana nut bread."
"This wouldn't happen if you just read the instructions," I said.
"You know, I think it's our oven," he said. "It must be wired wrong. I mean, you leave something in there thirty seconds too long, and it ends up burning to a crisp."
He tossed what was left of his bread into the trash and started cleaning out the burnt pan, mumbling to himself about all the reasons his baking experiments went awry.
I scoffed at his efforts and ran upstairs to check my e-mail. Over the summer, I had gotten a job at The Movie Dome and saved up to but a laptop. I was quite proud of my little iBook. My friends gave me crap about having a Mac, telling me they were "gay." If that was the case, I didn't mind at all.
Anyway, since Aaron and Brian went gone to college, we had been in close contact through e-mail. I would get updates on how they are doing and stuff and always looked forward to hearing from them. That afternoon, I was excited because I had just gotten a new e-mail from Brian. He talked about having to take a bunch of math classes even though he was a physical education major, and Aaron keeps whining about book prices and comes up with various ways to "stick it to the man." Then it got interesting:
"I received some sad news today. My mom died of a stroke. Aaron was really sad when he heard about it, but I wasn't. I wasn't sure why I didn't feel bad. But then I thought about it. For the past several months, she hasn't been my mom. I'd go and see her and she'd be nice to me, but she never thought I was her son. She was already dead to me. My real mom died six months ago in my living room when a brick hit her in the head. Lara Fleishman died two days ago. The funeral is going to be this Friday, so Aaron and I will be back in town then. We have already talked with James and will be staying with you guys. Well, be there tomorrow night. So, I guess I'll see you soon.
"I have to go. Aaron just got here with the first season of Queer as Folk (British version). I'm glad I don't have any classes in the morning, because I won't get much sleep tonight!
"Later,
"Brian"
'Wow,' I thought. 'This is awesome! Not the whole part about his mom dying, but he didn't seem too bent out of shape about it. The point is that I was going to get to see Brian again. He had been gone two months and I missed him. And Friday was only two days away.
I sent him a reply saying that it was real cool that he was going to come back and that we would see each other again. I also told him that the British version of QAF is totally awesome because Charlie Hunnam is so freaking hot.
I heard James curse loudly downstairs and a pan crashed on the floor.
'He must have grabbed a hot pan again,' I thought.
It was going to be a lot more fun with Brian and Aaron back. And maybe they could figure out what has possessed James and snap him out of it. But I only had to wait until tomorrow night to be back in Brian's arms.
______________________________ That's all for now. Remember to tell me what you thought at at bluedragon314@gmail.com or www.myspace.com/hunnamfan.