This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to any person, place, or written works are purely coincidental. It may contain consensual sex between young men. Do not read if you find that objectionable or if it is illegal for you to view this content for whatever the reason.
Copyright 2010 Jade, All Rights Reserved. Permission to post electronically is given to www.nifty.org and its affiliated mirror sites only. Otherwise do not post, copy, or use this story in any manner without my permission.
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If You Could Read My Mind
Bailey strolls through the halls of his new school towards his locker, his mind a whirl of random thoughts.
So far the day hasn't been that bad if he's honest. Math class first thing in the morning was bearable. English was actually fun, getting to sit back and listen to the class discuss the book he and Megan had to read over the holidays to get up to speed with his classmates. He gets the feeling that pretty much everyone else has about as much a clue what the George Orwell book is about as they do, totally agreeing inside with one guys assessment about it being the three little pigs from childhood fairy tales all grown up and strung out on drugs, thinking they run a farm. The one kid really cracked up the whole class and Bailey almost felt comfortable.
Just like that his first class in a new school was over. French class was next. Being from Moncton, so close to the French province of Quebec, French is old hat to him. Assuming the same holds true in Charlottetown, just a little further east proves to be a mistake. Happy that he has one class at least that he can excel in, Bailey spent a good amount of time deciding between two guys which he's rather French kiss. Until he gets to know the two guys a decision is too hard, his final verdict is a three-way.
Lunch was lunch; he met up with Megan and Brooke and the three took a table in a less populated area of the cafeteria knowing all eyes were on them. Sure beats hiding in the library like he had to for the last few months at his old school after he became too much heat for his friends. The one thing all three noted is that the rank and order of their peers is hard to discern. No one is visibly different.
Sure there are the obvious geeks, but otherwise there are no cliques to be seen. No goth kids, no jocks and cheerleaders, no anything. Everyone seems a little too similar as if they all just fit in together in one big group. He hopes there's at least one gay guy. Not that he's going to out himself here, he's just like the peace of mind knowing that he's not the only one. Accidentally a little too late on Megan's part, the three agree completely that even Brooke and Megan should keep things quiet about themselves too.
He enjoyed his last class, figuring out the mechanics of how things work is what interests him most. During the latter part of the class while Mr. McIntyre was trying a different way of explaining the theory to a couple guys, Bailey also studied the dynamics of the classroom. The smart kids that caught on right away, the friends that latched onto those ones, the two that seemed smug up in the front row.
Then there was Neville who wasn't focusing on the teacher at all as he moved from one side of the chalk board to the other. Bailey decides that means one of two things. Either Neville is that self-confident, somewhat rebellious cool guy that sits in the back of the classroom because he really is smart and doesn't need to pay attention, or he is the poor loser that is shunned to the back corner. He's dressed a lot better than the unaware geeks in the room, but then again his clothes seem at juxtaposition to him.
Bailey's pretty sure the first James Dean description of Neville is more accurate based on the acid tongue, but he isn't going to rely on him for help just in case, because he's certain he also recognizes the forlorn look Neville seemed to give off. He sported that beaten-down look himself after coming out and before ultimately moving. Down but not yet defeated. He hasn't a clue as to Neville's story but he's sure he picked the right empty seat in that classroom. Plus, he finds Neville incredibly cute.
At his locker Bailey snaps out of his mental replay of the class and smiles at a couple of faces he remembers from English. Everyone seems friendly enough he decides. The first day is almost over. Each day gets easier from here, Bailey repeatedly tells himself. Maybe this group by his locker will soon be friends; they don't turn and whisper or ignore him.
In fact one of the guys nods at him as he stuffs his gym clothes into his bag, "Hey bud."
He exchanges salutations with them, "Hey."
"Got gym now?"
"Yeah, time for some fun," He says along with a nod.
"Well have a blast. Catch you in class tomorrow."
"Thanks, take it easy."
Not exactly an invitation to be friends, but at least it's a start. Making his way to the gym he thinks of walking in late just because, but then decides against it because you really couldn't get lost in this school if you tried.
Stopping at the gym office, Bailey introduces himself to his teacher and is directed to the change room. He spots a couple guys that catch his interest in one area of the room and another further into the room that was also in his last class. Something makes his mind go back to Neville. All gym class, while holding his own in volleyball as everyone tests the `new kid' Neville keeps popping up in his thoughts.
Thinking back, he could swear that Neville wasn't even paying attention to the lesson and yet he'd whisper the right answer aloud when Mr. McIntyre asked a question. Bailey is doing much the same right now as he's playing volleyball but his mind is focusing more and more on Neville. Something about Neville has captured him, he hopes the tough guy act Neville tried at first isn't his real personality. The little sighs and other barely audible noises Neville made throughout the class were cute. The growling stomach not so much, but the muted groans that followed definitely were. It also helps that Neville is definitely cute too if maybe a little young looking, with perfectly smooth, unblemished skin. Maybe they can be friends.
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Walking directly from one class to the next Neville is the first person in the room. Returning a series of novels he re-read over the holidays to his teacher's shelf he sighs to himself. `Back to the grind. Maybe Bailey will be in this class too and sit beside me again,' Neville thinks as he takes a seat in the room. The thought both worries and excites him.
A voice just outside the doorway brings Neville back to the world around him. Josh Wharton is in making after school plans with his friends before he enters the classroom. Nice enough guy when he chooses to be, but lately he's been hard on Neville. The fact that Neville almost was friends with him stings a little, but things are better this way. Josh was getting a little too close to the truth and Neville didn't want the shit-storm that would destroy his life that would surely follow, so he did the only thing that he could; he pushed Josh away.
Josh walks into the room and spots Neville. He long ago stopped trying to get too close to Neville. When they first met in science class a year earlier he was a little taken aback at first by how Neville didn't care for whatever was trendy like everyone else. Finally Josh had met someone who he didn't have to struggle to keep up with. In the process he learned that Neville is incredibly private and backed off, but realizes he pushed too hard.
Josh is also pretty sure Neville is gay and likes him, for which reason he's happy their friendship diminished because it unnerves him. He doesn't know how he should feel about it or what to do. Should he say something so that Neville cools it? If he says something about it and he's wrong he'll surely offend Neville. Neville definitely lashed out when Josh was trying to get to know him better and suggested they hang out at Neville's place sometime, suggesting that it can't be any worse than his home. He often thinks about Neville, but he doesn't care enough anymore to try and figure him out.
Josh knows Neville will avoid eye contact and pretend not to see him walking in, even thought he'll be able to catch Neville looking at him at least ten times in the next hour and fifteen minutes ahead. Instead of otherwise being ignored Josh walks behind Neville and pats a hand on his shoulder. Continuing on to the area he usually sits in, he keeps it short, "Hey Nev, hope you had a good vacation."
"Thanks, you too," Neville answers in return as Josh makes his way through the room.
"Oh, see me after class, at my locker," Josh says as an afterthought.
Neville's learned to take the taunts by his peers. He can take the spitballs or other small objects occasionally being thrown at him by the worst of his classmates for being a bit of a weirdo. He's used to that. What he can't take is having to reveal bits and pieces of who he really is. It doesn't matter if it's one on one like with Josh or to the whole class. He doesn't like exposing any part of his true self to those judgmental asses and sneering bitches. `If only they knew' he often finds himself thinking, not letting it get to him.
His last classroom of the day is set up with the desks in a square, each student fully facing each other. With no seating plan and the class barely over half capacity, Neville is almost always afforded an empty desk on either side of him, partly because he's not overly social, partly because of his personal hygiene. Catching a whiff of himself, he's pretty confident today he doesn't smell like the poor and homeless.
He knows he sometimes does, but can't help it. Circumstances in his life don't always let him shower daily at his home and he's too afraid to use the school showers because it would reveal his now wisp of a body. Likewise his methods of laundry unquestionably leave something to be desired, and on top of that he can't tell if the clothes smell fresh enough over the stench of his home.
Hate is an emotion despite his situation that he rarely resorts to, never letting himself feel anger towards others for their station in life or for his. Today he reaches hate for his classmates a second time when a pretty smelling girl hangs her backpack over the seat beside him and settles into the desk.
He almost cracks a smile as he recognizes the scent to his left. To him it's like warm cookies fresh from the oven mixed with flowers. Without having to look he can place the owner of the perfume and body spray to one of the girls at a new family diner that just opened up between Christmas and the New Year. She must have just moved here too.
My lord,' he thinks, maybe these new kids are vampires and can smell my decaying body even though my heart is still pumping. I may not have any meat to me anymore but I still have blood for this tribe of Lost Boys. Maybe my end is truly at hand.'
Megan looks at him and smiles.
Neville purposely looks ahead and slightly away from the girl to his left, instead focusing on the swirling snow outside. He can feel the cold of the windows from his seat and his back isn't even towards them. Such is his life; always too warm in the summer, never warm enough the rest of the year. The combination of the seemingly endless snow falling outside and the new girl beside him make Neville think back a few days to when he first met the girl.
Why,' he thinks, why do the new kids sit beside me? Please don't comment that I'm wearing the same too-big orange long sleeve t-shirt that you can't possibly miss and the same jeans as I wore that day. In fact, please don't recognize the fact. Better yet, please, please, please don't recognize me at all.'
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It's a week earlier. The snow is flying and the last scheduled tournament game for the day at Simmons Sports Arena is underway. Downstairs in the underbelly of the arena Neville sneaks into one of the locked change rooms and checks the door. He turns the deadbolt from the inside to make sure no one can walk in.
Davis is the name of the maintenance guy at the arena that knows Neville lives within one of its hidden and forgotten areas. Neville doesn't even know if Davis is the guy's first name or last, but the man is kind enough to allow him a place to live. Davis also secretly lives in cramped quarters within the arena himself, only his rooms are set up to be living quarters. Part of Neville's unspoken agreement with Davis is that he can shower and do his laundry in the gang showers of the change rooms after the arena's doors are locked, but in return he is to clean up the change rooms first and get them ready for the next day.
Before he ever showers he first sets about picking up balls of stick and sock tape, broken sticks, discarded clothing and equipment, candy wrappers, beverage containers, paper towel, discarded chewing gum and whatever else gets left in the dressing rooms. He then has to clean the bathrooms and showers in the dressing rooms and squeegee the floors. He especially hates having to wrap his hands in paper towel and fish chewing gum out of the urinals. It makes him desire men slightly less when he has to do this or hose down spit and phlegm off the walls and floor and anything worse that sick people do. He does however love when guys his age forget clothes or equipment behind.
As per the rules of unspoken agreements, Davis has in a round-about way told him to be quicker about it in the past and that the garbage bags are to be placed by the Zamboni entrance, and lost and found items are to be left in a small room behind the front desk and tuck shop. Further, he is to never enter the dressing rooms during the arena's hours of operation whether they are in use or not, and most definitely to never steal anything from the players. To date Davis has probably heard complaints about things going missing, but never said anything.
Neville is careful in this regard. First of all he doesn't have a key to any of the change rooms, so once a team locks it behind them it should be secure. At least that's the theory. By chance one afternoon a year ago Neville heard some voices he recognised. While he was trying to spy on some schoolmates in dressing room 3, which has unofficially been claimed by his high school hockey team as theirs, he discovered a way into it.
Rooms 3 and 4 are for hockey teams. Rooms 1 and 2 are smaller and for figure skating, with an open area between them for people to lace up for public skating. On the other side of the building, between dressing rooms 3 and 4 is a maintenance room. It is from this maintenance room that Neville sneaks into the hockey dressing rooms while the players are out on the ice by popping out a grate on each side of the wall. The square grates are two feet high by two feet wide, about a foot above ground level and once were part of an archaic heating and return air system.
In the lifetime of the arena, before renovations, there used to be three change rooms on each side of it under the seating. What is now the maintenance room between the newer and larger dressing rooms 3 and 4 is divided into two areas. The front part of the room is storage for everything from spare tires for the Zamboni to broken seats, old hockey nets, and even a broken pop vending machine. Behind that a small space opens off of it that has a still working sink and un-enclosed toilet on one wall with a single person shower stall opposite them. The unusable shower stall has cracked and missing tiles, the water taps are removed, and the floor drain is capped.
The one time shower stall is now lined with layers of shredded old newspapers and stolen towels and whatever else can be found. This nest is Neville's bed. A puffy kids winter jacket that was left behind serves as his pillow, more towels serve as his blanket.
Being gay, Neville can't fight off the urge to sometimes lurk in the front part of the room and pop off one grate in order to sneak into the cavity in the wall and watch guys change. He knows the guys from school quite well, who's packing, who strips completely, who he'd like to do, who he'd like to do him. His former friend Josh who's on the senior hockey team this year always factors high on that list. He also enters the rooms when the guys leave them locked behind themselves and explores what they leave behind, helping himself to basic items he needs.
He's quite certain Davis doesn't know how he gets about. More than once Neville has listened with his heart pounding as people suspect his method and even try to remove these grates to test their theory. One time a couple men figured the grates out, but once they got a peek into the cluttered storage space they soon gave up on the mystery, and Neville never heard about it second hand from Davis.
So just at the moment, a week before sitting beside new students Bailey and Megan and having snuck into dressing room 4, a shower isn't what Neville is after. He'll have one after both the teams that are currently playing and the people involved in the tournament clear out for the day. Currently what he is in the room for is money. Quick as can be Neville shakes the coats, jeans, and other pants hanging off the hooks first. These kids are younger Neville noticed when he watched the bantam team change, either 13 or 14. Old enough to have money in their pockets, but also old enough to have the sense to put their belongings back into their hockey bags.
The few garments hanging bear nothing. Neville starts carefully with the hockey bags. The first has loose change in the jeans pockets. He takes two dimes out of more than a dollar. Neville's figured out a system; a little here, a little there and no one questions. Completely empty a pocket and it causes a stink. The next bag is a bust. By the time Neville is halfway around the locker room he has just over 2 dollars.
Yes he needs money, and he knows it's theft but nowadays he rarely takes more than he needs. Just enough for his next meal and only in dire circumstances will he go into a wallet. He does like going through the wallets though, just for fun to see what his classmates and occasional cute boys keep in them.
His bigger crime today is the other theft. Along with the spare change he also swipes a fresh pair of boxers some boy folded up and probably was going to change into after the game from one bag, a large t-shirt with a simple Nike logo on it from another, and from a third bag he takes a mesh shower bag with deodorant, shampoo, soap and a shower sponge that is in way better condition than his.
Judging by the pounding going on above him by family and friends in the stands the game is pretty intense. That sometimes means a kid is getting kicked out or is hurt, either way thereby returning to the dressing room. Neville takes his cue to leave, just in case. He unlocks the deadbolt and retreats through the vents and turns off the lights to the maintenance room and the washroom area he considers to be his bedroom.
He holds the shirt and boxers to his face once he's back in his bed. The scent overwhelms him. One is definitely the same laundry detergent his mother used. Getting back up and navigating in the dark he stops at a stack of Zamboni tires and tosses both garments in the open centre of the stack, onto a pile of other underwear, socks, brand new shower sandals, jeans, and shirts he's managed to steal over the Christmas holidays. The other stack of tires holds some clothes he's appropriated off of locals.
With a tournament in town and teams from all over the country playing in it he's done very well pilfering a new wardrobe. He currently has a change of shirts for every day of the week, always layering two over a `wife beater' undershirt to combat the cold, and 6 pairs of jeans in rotation. Stealing off of out-of-towners gives him clothes he can start wearing almost immediately. He could use some new undershirts, and still needs more pants his size to use right away as hang drying in the winter can take upwards of 4 days to dry alone.
That and normally he holds off wearing something for a few months at least once he steals it off of someone local just in case that someone recognises it. This has happened, but he's never really been full-on accused to his face yet. Rumour and gossip about him stealing clothes won't go away, but he won't wear something right away regardless. Even then, he tries to make sure not to steal from anyone he's in daily contact with.
Except for Brian and Josh that is. Small for his age, Brian has parents that are doing well financially to Neville's understanding. Under layers of clothes, Neville is roughly the same waist size as Brian, but he tries to limit what he takes from him. Josh was an unknowing donor before the two were ever friends, and the only one to know for sure. When Josh noticed his missing brand new hat on Neville one day, months after it disappeared, he was so surprised that he spoke before he thought it through. Rather than simply deny Josh's accusation or brush it off as coincidence, Neville punched him in the face and fled his house.
Once the game ends and the losing team returns, Neville again spies on the boys he's stolen from to curb his curiosity. As they shower and dress he hears the complaints about a missing shirt. That was a boneheaded move; he didn't realise the kid wasn't wearing a shirt under his equipment. Oh well, too late now. The boxers go untold, but Neville gets a kick out of watching the boy look around and suspect his teammates. The shower bag also gets mentioned and then another kid says his wallet has been emptied. Neville never touched a single wallet, but sees this a lot; kids jumping on the bandwagon and adding fictitious items to the theft list.
After the team has cleared Neville waits almost an hour before he bathes. He'll clean the rooms later; he has a few needs to tend to before that. First he wants to clean himself up and get as presentable as possible, and then he wants to get something to eat.
He particularly likes the scent of soap that is in the shower sponge he now owns, picturing the previous owner naked and rubbing it all over himself. In fact Neville would definitely get down on his knees for that particular kid. He was the goalie that let in the winning goal; maybe Neville could take his mind off it for a few minutes. This thought brings him to laugh out loud at himself and also causes a flow of blood to his penis.
Used to getting only 15 seconds of water at a time and having to press the water button numerous times while doing his laundry and showering, Neville rarely dawdles. He also rarely jerks off in the shower because after the fourth or fifth press on the water button it often gets too hot or too cold to endure. Today is different; he's feeling great because he has money to spend on food at a new diner that just opened, and the sullen boy he spied on definitely aroused him. Crouching against the cleanest part of the walls he gets to work. After an explosive orgasm Neville faints. This isn't new to him. Being malnourished the flow of blood elsewhere for too long often causes him to black out, and that's why he doesn't do it standing up.
Fainting can't break his good mood though. Showered and dry, now that he has new reserve clothes that he can start wearing in a few days once the tournament is over and the teams leave town, he dresses in clothes that he absconded back when the hockey season started up for the year. He even tries to cut his curly sand hair with the scissors of his Swiss-army pocket knife and make it look presentable.
Engraved with his birth-name initials, the pocket knife is the only thing he still has from his previous life. It was a combined gift on his thirteenth birthday from his younger sister Julie and younger brother Trevor. He thinks of them as he trims his hair, it seems like so long ago now. It also seems like years to him since he has sat down and eaten a meal in a proper restaurant. Nothing is going to get him down today. Over and over again he tells himself today is going to be a good day.
He feels like he's going to faint again just from the exertion it takes sneaking out of his hideaway in the arena and walking 7 blocks to a new diner that amoung other things serves breakfast all day. The cold doesn't help either, now that he's outgrown last winter's stolen coat. Still, his spirit won't break.
Pancakes. He wants the fluffy pillows of yumminess so bad he can taste them as soon as he steps into the diner and closes the door behind him.
He quickly adds up the seats in the room. 13 of the 30 odd seats are occupied. Neville thinks that it must be nice that it's doing well for its second day of business. The thought is not spitefully either, but rather genuine. He loses himself in thought thinking how great life would be if he could screw up the courage to ask if they need a dishwasher or cook or someone to clean anything. If he offered to work for food and they hired him he'd be the best worker they ever had.
A girl approaches the front counter where the cash register is, ripping Neville out of his pie-in-the-sky dream.
Suddenly not sure he has the nerve to eat by himself at a table and have all eyes surreptitiously on him he asks, "How much for pancakes? To go."
"4 for 3.99, 6 for 4.99."
He studied the handwritten menu posted in the window so many times yesterday. Pancakes weren't listed alone, but somehow, based on the price combinations he figured he could get 3 for 1.50. He has exactly 2.02 of stolen change in his pockets, "Why so much?"
"That's the price," the girl says looking past him. Her body language clearly shows that she's already dismissed him.
He normally wouldn't press the issue but this is his only hope before he has to break down and dumpster dive. Man he hates to dumpster dive. Half the time the food he finds makes him ill even if it temporarily satisfies the emptiness. He's well aware that food shouldn't make you throw up or give you cold sweats and the runs. There is a shelter in town, but to eat or sleep there he has to register as homeless, something he just won't do.
He was just so excited about the thought of warm comfort food for the first time in weeks. This place is new, they don't know him. No harm, no foul he thinks and presses on, "But is says two eggs, sausage and bacon are 4.99 add 3 pancakes and it's 6.49. That's like 50 cents for each."
"That's for the special," she says, rolling not only her eyes but her head at him.
Neville is not a fighter, again by this point he'd normally turn and walk away. But today his survival mechanism is kicking in. His stomach needs something else in it other than water and it won't let him just walk away, "I'm not all that hungry and wouldn't want to waste. Can I just get the three pancakes for 1.50?"
The girl suddenly looks concerned. The scrawny boy before her beneath a couple too-big shirts doesn't even have a coat on. It dawns on her that Neville is older than his frame and bad haircut suggest, and is clearly poor.
Neville sees this and presses his luck. He dislikes pity more than he dislikes being picked on, but his stomach is cramped. He fishes out his change, putting it on the counter. He won't bring himself to say it's all he has, "There's even enough for a tip. I'd really just like three pancakes to go if you could somehow maybe bend the rules. I don't need syrup or anything. Not even a container. You could just put them on a paper towel or even in my hand."
Megan Flannigan, the girl at the counter, is conflicted between wanting to help him out and weighing it against the trouble a stray like him might cause. Her parents taught her to be generous, but they also taught her not to feed stray animals. Once you do that very first time you become responsible for them. Does the same work with the poor, she wonders.
She thinks about the diner's owners; what would the Regan's want her to do in this situation? Will this boy be back every day begging? Will he have money the next time? Will he become violent? But he only wants three pancakes and is planning to give her a 33 percent tip, for take-out no less. He has to be harmless. Against her heart she nods her head in the negative to the boy.
"Oh. Sorry. Thank you for your time. Have a good day, Miss," Neville says while turning to leave, forgetting his money on the counter. It's been so long since he ate that his stomach physically hurts. Maybe he'll brave the McDonalds and hopefully have a cheeseburger in hand before someone there recognises him and realizes he's banned from the place. Or maybe he can bribe someone into going in for him. Just then his stomach cramps tighter and groans audibly. Once again he feels faint and needs a second before he can open the door.
Neville unconsciously places a hand on his complaining stomach as Brooke Regan, the other serving girl on the floor, walks over. She visually counts out the change on the counter; money he clearly needs but is walking away from. Her gentle hand on his shoulder stops him. She's shocked at how frail and light he seems based on the minimal effort required on her part, "Wait. Four. We can give you four. Chocolate chip, blueberry, or plain buttermilk?"
Smiling, Megan adds, "And milk or juice. It's an off the menu special, two dollars even. Grab a seat and they'll be up in a few minutes."
Memorizing their nametags Neville thinks Brooke and Megan are truly angels. It may be December 29th but they just made his Christmas, "Blueberry would be amazing. Thank you so much!"
[to be continued]