One More Year 4 ~ Nifty

One More Year

by Bradley Scott

**Note:

This is a rewrite of an older story of mine on here called Another Day, which I never finished, and no longer really like, but I'm hoping to redeem it.

This is written in British/South African English, although almost all similar media I consume is American, so that will probably have its influence, but not on spelling. For the purposes of keeping this note short, I'll include specific non-common words I use in a list at the bottom.

**

**Disclaimer:

No underage sex happens between any of my characters. I tend to make that quite clear in the narrative, but just in case it isn't, I state it here. (This is also more Romance than Erotica, so the sex doesn't happen right away, but when it does, everyone is 18.)**

Chapter 4

I sat up in bed, groaning, as it took my groggy brain a few seconds to catch up to the rest of my aching head. I hadn't had so much to drink the previous night that I was puking or passing out, but it seemed like I had at least done a good enough job to make my morning miserable. It was probably a bad idea to have gone from vodka — cheap vodka, no less — to beer, and then onto gin.

But like so much other alcohol advice from my siblings, I didn't know whether Brian was trying to scare me or Candace was just being an idiot, so I made a mental note that 'mixing is a bad idea' could be considered true. I suppose I was just going to have to do that with all of their drinking wisdom. Ah, the scientific method.

It wasn't as if I'd been about to say no to Jamie's pre-drinks, anyway. I was also unlikely to continue drinking vodka after that either, because the pre-mixed things you usually found at parties were just always way too sweet, and they made me feel sick. I liked the taste of beer better, anyway. Then Eric had kept bringing me those gin and tonics, and I was hardly going to pass on the choice that would make me fit in. I had also been in no state, at that point, to say no to him.

Oh, right. Eric.

I felt a small thrill as I looked over to the other side of the bed, where he was still fast asleep. His shirt was off, and he'd climbed under the covers. I think I could just make out his jeans on the floor, past the edge of the bed. I'd passed out where I was, so I was still lying fully clothed on top of the blanket.

Even though I was in no state to be feeling horny, the sight of him there, shirtless and in my bed, still sent a shock of excitement through me. I possibly should have been more worried — more nervous, like I usually was. I probably would be, once he woke up. My so-called love-life had gone from purely theoretical to very real in just one night. I didn't know yet whether I wanted to high-five myself, or hide from him until he left. I was processing a lot of new information, including my first real hint of a hangover.

Getting up as slowly and as quietly as I could, I wandered over to my mini-fridge, grabbing a bottle of water, hoping that it would get my mouth to stop feeling like a desert. I basically inhaled the bottle, and got another one out and was half-way through it in no time. Water had never tasted so amazing. Just getting rid of the dryness of my mouth already had me feeling a lot better.

I wondered what to do about Eric. There wasn't exactly a clear social etiquette for dealing with a guy who you'd brought home to make out with and was now lying nearly naked in your bed. Not that I knew of, anyway. I didn't quite want to touch him — I mean, I really did, but not while he was unconscious — but I also couldn't just pace around the room all day waiting for him to wake up.

I thought I'd try making a bit of noise, so I went to the bathroom. The door squeaks and drags, so I was kind of hoping that it might be loud enough to wake him, but at the same time not seem like I was trying to. While I was in there, I tried to make sure I didn't have morning breath, but I don't know how successful I was. Of all the mornings to be out of mouthwash.

I'd started to worry that I'd been in there for too long, so I made my way back out. He must have woken up just as I'd gone in, because he'd pulled his t-shirt and jeans back on already, and was sitting on the bed, starting to put on his shoes.

"Are you... leaving?" I wasn't sure how to deal with him, now that he was awake. Maybe I should have gone with hiding.

"Not necessarily." He looked up at me, apprehension showing on his face. "Uh, sorry. I can't sleep in clothes, so I just-"

"Oh, that's okay." I could feel myself blushing slightly. "Do you want anything? I don't drink coffee, but I can make you tea, or hot chocolate."

"Um, no, thanks. Maybe water?"

"Yeah, okay!" I grabbed a bottle from my fridge, and handed it over to him.

"Thanks." He opened the bottle and took a huge gulp, then wiped his mouth and set it down.

I felt a bit awkward looming over him, so I sat down on the bed, putting a modest gap between us. I was still a bit too nervous to look directly at him, so I fiddled absent-mindedly with a cuff button on my shirt while I tried to figure out what exactly I should be saying. My usual strategy was to try and figure out what the most normal thing to say in any situation would be, and say that, but I definitely had no script for this particular interaction.

"Listen," he said slowly, "About last night. I'm sorry if I took advantage of you."

"What?" I asked, flustered. "What do you mean?"

He looked slightly pained. "Do you... remember everything we did?"

I had been mostly sure that I'd remembered everything. I hadn't been anywhere near drunk enough that I thought I'd have something to worry about, and I'd woken up fully clothed. But he looked kind of nervous, and it was beginning to affect me.

"I... think so," I said, cautiously.

"I just..." He sighed. "I don't want you to feel like we did anything wrong. There's nothing to be ashamed about."

"Did we do something wrong?" I was getting confused. What we had done had felt very, very right. Maybe I should have said that instead.

"No." His eyes widened slightly. "It's just that some people... You know, you said it was your first time... kissing a guy."

"OH!" I suddenly relaxed. A little, anyway. "That's... I'm gay. I know that. I'm comfortable with that. That's fine, right?"

I'd never said that out loud before, but it was true, at least in theory. I wasn't comfortable with myself in general, but I was no more uncomfortable with my sexuality than I was with any other facet of my personality. He blinked slowly, and his jaw unclenched.

"Sorry, I just thought... it looked like you were freaking out."

"I am." I laughed — partly nervous, partly relieved. "Just not about that."

"Oh shit. Sorry. Are you okay?" He looked very worried again.

"Yes. Stop apologising. I just... It's very, very new, you know? I'm not good at... Sometimes I have trouble saying the right thing around new people." I don't know why I was feeling so honest. But I guess I felt that once you'd kissed a guy, and dragged him home with you in the early hours of the morning, he deserved some candour. Maybe I was just trying to find the right words. Something I could say to make him stop looking so worried and miserable.

"Oh, okay." He looked a bit perplexed, but more relaxed. "Maybe I should have gone home last night."

"No." I reached across and grabbed his hand, more by instinct than anything else. "I really wanted you to stay."

That made him smile again. He shifted closer, and put his hand on the back of my neck. The remnants of his sandalwood soap mixed with a faint smell of the sea and gin, and the whole thing felt like a scent-based summary of the previous night. A bit of dust would have been a nice final touch, but that was hardly what I cared about at that moment. He pressed his lips against mine, and it was every bit as shocking, and every bit as wonderful as it had been last night. Yet it felt so much more real, somehow.

"I probably have morning breath." I turned my face aside as we broke apart for air the first time.

"You're fine." He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in again, gently turning my head with his hand to bring our lips back into alignment.

It was like we hadn't ever stopped. He was still kissing me slowly, and luxuriously, and I was still impatient and rushed, trying to get as much out of this moment as I could, as if at any second the universe might snatch it away. My head still hurt a bit and I felt like I needed a shower and maybe some breakfast, but none of that mattered as much as his lips against mine, and his tongue in my mouth, and his hand on the small of my back. I couldn't see, smell, taste or even think about anything else.

He pulled away, and held his face a few inches from mine. I waited for him to say something, getting frustrated at the way he just held me there, his vividly blue eyes moving across my face, with an infuriatingly sexy smile on his lips.

"What?" I asked, feeling slightly self-conscious.

"Nothing, I just needed to look at you some more."

I groaned in frustration, eliciting a small chuckle from him. He did, however, have a point. With our faces pressed together, I hadn't been able to study him, and suddenly I could. The way his medium length hair draped down over his face and beautifully framed his eyes. The way his stubble — which had already chafed away half the skin on my lower face — enhanced the sharpness of his jawline. The way his body seemed to loom over me, even though we were similar in height.

"Well, I'm done with that for now." I threaded my arm around the back of his neck and pulled him down to the bed, mashing my face against his.

He only indulged me for a few seconds, and then pulled away again, smiling. I exhaled sharply, and he laughed.

"So impatient. Are you like this with all the guys?"

"Yes." I laughed. "But to be fair, they're imaginary. And they always do what I say."

"Well how do I compete with that?"

"You're doing pretty well so far."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

He smiled, and leaned down to give me a quick peck on the lips.

"I'm going to have to go soon." He pulled himself upright. "But we should do this right. Go on a date."

"A date?"

"Next weekend, probably. I can't today — my parents will be home in a couple of hours. It's Caitlyn's real birthday today, so that's the hell I have to look forward to." He grinned ruefully.

I just nodded. Between my usual morning grogginess, the unpleasant minor hangover, and the extra layer of cognitive malfunction his presence was causing me, I was having trouble stringing words together. But I didn't feel the need to fill up the silence as acutely as I had before.

"I really do need to go." He looked at the time on his phone. "I've got like less than an hour to get home and get showered and dressed."

"Okay." I sighed deeply, which caused him to look down at me and grin.

"Here, give me your phone."

I unlocked it as I handed it over.

He typed in a number and hit the call button. His phone buzzed in his other hand, and then he hung up.

"There. Now you have my number, and I have yours."

"Cool." I said, grinning like an idiot. I'd gotten a boy's number! Sure, I made out with him first, so that was a bit backwards, but it still felt like a milestone. The order had probably been necessary, anyway. I'd always been such an idiot when it came to recognising if someone was actually into me, that without the helpful context I'd probably just assume it was a completely platonic exchange of contact information.

"Okay, can you let me out?"

"If I have to."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. Just wait here a second."

I opened up the glass door that led to the pool area, and checked to see no one was near any of the other windows in the main house. That was a conversation I didn't need to have with my mother yet. I could have lied, if anyone saw us and she asked about it. I'm not particularly full of scruples, and I've lied to her less over my lifetime than my older siblings, so I feel like I was entitled to a bit of dishonesty. But I still preferred not to have to. I'd never really been all that good at it. Fortunately, it looked like everyone was still asleep, or busy in rooms that faced out onto the street instead of inwards.

"Okay, come on." I waved Eric over.

He followed me as I quickly darted across the open space and into the pathway, with an amused look on his face. As we rounded the corner, and became obscured from the sight of the windows in the main house, he grabbed me and kissed me again. Quickly, playfully — and then he let me go. I laughed, and went to open up the gate.

I grabbed him as he headed out, and kissed him one last time.

"Don't be a stranger," he said.

He turned and started making his way down the street, and I just stood there, watching him. Wishing he didn't have to go. He waved, just before vanishing around the corner at the end of the street. I sighed, then pulled out my phone, and saved his number.

Heading back inside, I got a notification of a message from Ellie.

We need to talk

No, we really don't, I thought.

I left it unread. Whatever she wanted to chat about could, quite honestly, wait. What I needed was a shower and some breakfast, so I could begin feeling vaguely human again. After that, what I wanted was to spend a day luxuriating in the fact that I'd kissed a guy last night, and got his number, and so far it was all just thoroughly not-awful. Ellie, no doubt, wanted to do a play-by-play of the party. She often wanted to talk about that sort of thing, and I'd never really seen the point. She and I had also enjoyed the night for very different reasons, and while I liked Eric's friends, they weren't what I wanted to think about.

The shower helped a lot, and I was feeling a lot better in clean, comfortable clothes. By the time I'd gone through to the main house, only my mom and step-dad were still asleep, and no one had put on breakfast yet, so I took the initiative and started by making pancakes for the twins. Dot and Des were five, and their three great loves were Disney, swimming, and any food they could smear with chocolate-hazelnut spread. Since Candace left for university, I was winning the popularity contest for 'best sibling' and I needed to keep my competitive edge.

For everyone else, I made bacon and scrambled eggs, and periodically emptied the toaster onto a plate and refilled it. My mom always said that, in our house, it wasn't cooking so much as it was catering. Even with the two oldest siblings having had moved out, there were still seven of us. That meant at least ten slices of toast, twenty rashers of bacon and a veritable mountain of eggs. And then the pancakes, of course, because I was pandering.

My stepsisters emerged for food, and ate their breakfast in front of the TV, watching whatever nonsensical cartoons were on because no one was brave enough to disturb the dreadful duo when they were quietly occupied. The little ones themselves hadn't budged — even for pancakes — so I'd just brought them a big stack and the jar of spread, so they could do it themselves. They were very grateful, and I suspected they'd give themselves more chocolate spread than anyone else would have. But I was the fun sibling, and I wasn't going to get in the way of their dreams.

I didn't really get on with my step-sisters — Dan and Jenny. They'd just been unpleasant enough over the years that it had become pretty impossible to like them. Jenny was five years younger than me, and Dan didn't seem to be going anywhere in life — she was about Candace's age, but she hadn't left for university, she'd just kept living at home and doing some sort of crappy marketing degree with a correspondence-based institution that seemed like a scam. Neither of them were likely to move out soon. They were just another thing I was enduring until the end of this year, when I could finally move out and go to University, like Brian and Candace had.

My mom was the last one, as usual, to come shuffling out of bed. She was a light sleeper who stayed up reading late into the night, so on weekends she tended to enjoy staying in bed as long as she could. I made her a tea, because like me, she was useless before her first cup. We had a lot in common. I had her colouring, although she tended to dye her hair a much deeper red than our natural shade, so we differed there. I'd also been taller than her since I was about fourteen, and I towered over her these days.

"How was your party? Did you have fun?" She asked, once she was capable of speaking.

"It was okay." I'd definitely had fun, but hardly the kind I could've told her about.

"You got in quite late."

"Yeah, we went down to the beach and got ice-creams. With Ellie and some other people." I knew Ellie's name would be enough to stem any excessive questions about who I'd been with — five children of her own was a lot to keep track of, so my mom tended to just fixate on one or two key friends we talked about a lot, and she'd never ask for a long list of names she was unlikely to remember. She also somehow considered Ellie to be responsible, which was a pretty funny thought.

"That sounds nice. You should have watched the sunrise."

"I don't think we could have waited that long."

"Nerds."

"Thanks, mom." I rolled my eyes. "Really affirming."

"It's what I'm here for."

She finished her breakfast, and eventually got up. "We're probably going to go to the waterfront, take the twins up in the ferris wheel. Do you want to come?"

"No, thanks." I loved those kids, but corralling them in public spaces was exhausting. "I'll probably just try to get some homework done."

I had precisely no intention to do homework, but dropping it in there as an excuse guaranteed she wouldn't try and wheedle me into going. She used to basically manage Brian and Candace's academics like a secretary, but — unlike them — I'd never turned anything in late and almost always got decent grades, so she mostly left me to it. Today I was going to relax, and maybe try and build up the courage to text Eric.

"Okay, I'll leave some money for food."

"Thanks."

She went off to get ready, and I headed back to my room to avoid the chaos of their departure. With my family, leaving the house always felt a lot like the launching of an invasion. I pulled out my phone, wondering what sort of things I could say to Eric to get a conversation started. My brainstorming was cut short when I saw I'd received several more notifications of messages from Ellie, sent not long after the first one.

Stop ignoring me!

I know you're awake

You know I can see the path to your gate from my bedroom, right?

I didn't understand that last message at first, and then it hit me. Oh, FUCK. Fuck fuck fuck. Could that mean that she'd seen me and Eric? I couldn't be entirely sure. I'd never actually been up to Ellie's room, but her house did have two floors. As I thought about it, it occurred to me that there was a window at one corner of their building, and it would have looked straight down the path. Shit.

Maybe, my desperate brain reasoned, she only caught me coming back in after Eric had left, and she just meant that she knew I was awake. Maybe she'd seen him, but hadn't seen us kissing, and just thought he'd slept here. I could probably convince her that he had been too tired to walk home and had just crashed on my couch, if I had to. There was still a chance that she knew nothing. If I just played it cool — easy enough to do, over text — then I wouldn't give away anything she didn't know.

Sorry. Got distracted by family.

What did we need to talk about?

It looked like she was typing, but then it stopped. Then it started up again, and stopped again. Waiting for her next message was excruciating.

I'm just going to come over.

I thought about telling her not to, but there was a chance that she probably wouldn't even look at her phone again on her way over. Plus, if she didn't want to tell me what she wanted to talk about over text, I'd basically just have to get paranoid about it until I saw her again — which would happen anyway at school the next day. I took a deep breath, and went out to the gate to let her in.

"Hey Jay!"

She hugged me as she stepped past me, which was pretty strange. She hugged people a lot, but I generally wasn't a person who invited hugs, and it's not something we usually did. We went to sit down in my room. I didn't manage to ask her what she wanted to talk about. I was trying too hard not to give anything away, which was a lot harder in person.

"Sara's going on a date tonight, with that John guy. I really think I have an 'in' with that group now. I found out a bunch of things about them last night. Eric, Vince, Melissa and Louis have been friends since birth. Literally since birth — their moms met in the hospital or something. Weird, right?"

"Um, yeah, sure." I flinched slightly at the mention of Eric's name, but it seemed as if she hadn't noticed, so I relaxed. She just kept on filling me in about their group dynamic.

"I think there's some drama there that we don't know about, but Sara says she's not sure. John's good friends with Louis and Melissa, and I don't know if there's something weird going on with Jess or not. But Frank's only there because he's dating Jess, and Jared is only friends with Frank."

"Um... okay." I wasn't really following, but she'd barely mentioned Eric. It seemed like a good sign. "Was this what you wanted to talk about?"

"Among other things," she said quickly. "But anyway, the point I'm trying to make about Frank and-"

"Do you want tea or something?" I was just so relieved that this seemed to be what she wanted to talk about so desperately.

"Oh, yes, tea would be lovely. ANYWAY," she said, "What I wanted to say is that Frank and Jared hang out with them because Jessica and Frank are dating, and if Sara dates John, I can be Jared."

"You'd have to take up smoking."

"Not what I mean. You're being annoying." She huffed.

"Sorry. Does Sara know how important it is to you for her to lock down the relationship with John?"

"I don't think she needs the pressure. She's already quite taken with him, and they're going on a date tonight already, which is... sudden. But good, I think."

"Good for them."

"Did Eric say anything about John?"

"Not really..." I almost flinched again. I seriously needed to calm down. "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. I was just wondering if it came up." Her voice took on a funny tone. "You two were just getting along quite well. Anything you want to tell me about that?"

I froze for a second — thankfully I was still facing away from her, making the teas. I wasn't holding anything, which was lucky, because I probably would have dropped it. It took me a split second, but I managed to think of a response and tried to deliver it as casually as I could.

"Not really, no." I shrugged.

"You are SO frustrating." she suddenly sounded a bit annoyed. I still couldn't bring myself to look at her. "Seriously, Jay. I'm really sorry,"

Don't say it, I thought.

"And I know I'm supposed to let you do this on your own terms,"

Don't say it.

"And I want you to know that I will not judge you or tell anyone,"

PLEASE don't say it.

"But... I saw you kissing Eric."

FUCK. My mind had instantly gone to the worst possible place — everyone at school was going to find out. The best I could hope for was isolation. I didn't even want to consider the other possibilities. The school's management was fucked up, so I'd possibly get in trouble for it, get forced to talk to a priest or something stupid like that. Maybe I'd have to leave. Maybe I'd get expelled. This wasn't the PLAN! I was supposed to have finished up my last year, in reasonably miserable silence, and then gone on to better things at university. I should have been more careful.

"Um... Jay?"

"Yeah." I managed to croak out a response.

"Are you okay?"

"Please don't tell anyone," I said, finally turning around to face her.

"I would never." she looked me in the eye. "Seriously, I promise, I would absolutely never do that."

"Okay," I nodded, but my brain was still running around in panic mode. "Did Sara... see anything?"

"No, no. She left at like six. Her family picked her up for church."

"What about last night?"

"What were you doing out there last night?" She arched an eyebrow.

I just froze.

"Oh, calm down. No, she slept in the guest room last night. It faces the other way, and she pretty much passed out as soon as her head hit the pillow. And I didn't see anything either. But you could tell me."

"Okay." I let out a small sigh of relief. My doomsday scenario was receding. Ellie seemed to be taking this seriously, and I was pretty damn sure I could trust her. She liked to gossip, but she was very loyal. I knew next to nothing about Sara. That had to have been a good sign. I grabbed the teas and joined her at the table.

"Can we talk about this?" she asked quietly.

I shrugged.

"Do you like him?"

An unintended smile broke out on my face.

"You do!" she said triumphantly.

"Okay, yes, I do," I said. "I wouldn't have kissed him if I didn't."

"I've made-out with guys I didn't like."

"Why?" I asked.

"I don't know. It felt polite." She shrugged.

"That's pretty weird." I grinned. It was — maybe — getting slightly easier to talk about this with her.

"Yeah, well, I didn't invent the patriarchy." She drummed her fingers on the table. "So did you guys... do more than just kissing?"

Oh well, it had been nice while it lasted.

"Never ask me that again." I blushed furiously and took a sip of my scalding-hot tea, mostly just to have something to do. "But no. Just kissing."

She chuckled.

"Do you think you're bisexual, or is it... you know... only guys?"

"Just guys. I'm definitely gay." It felt weird to say it out loud again. Twice already, in one morning.

"How long have you known?"

I just gave her a pointed stare.

"Okay, you don't have to tell me. But I'm being pretty damn supportive about this, aren't I?"

"I guess."

"It helps to talk about stuff."

"I guess."

"You're such a boy. Why do I have to absolutely drag everything out of you, kicking and screaming?"

"You could just try not prying into my every last secret."

"If I could, I would."

We sat there in silence for a minute or two, quietly sipping at our tea.

"Okay, fine," I said. "I only really came to terms with it last year. I had my suspicions about it before that."

"Hmmm, interesting. Did you have 'suspicions' when you asked me out?"

"I knew you'd bring that up."

"Well?"

"Not... really?"

"What does that mean? 'Not really'?"

"I had... an inkling." I looked down into my tea. "Can we not talk about that right now?"

"Okay, okay. Sorry." She leaned back. "So... are you seeing Eric again?"

I looked down at my phone, and felt myself smile.

"I think so. He said next weekend."

"Do you have his number?"

"Yeah."

"You can't text him today."

"Why not?" I knew people usually didn't do that, but I hadn't figured out the reasoning behind it yet.

"It's too soon. You'll look like you don't have a life."

"I don't, though." I laughed. "Isn't it a bit early to be lying to him?"

"No, it's exactly the right time to be lying to him. Grow up." She was laughing as well. "This needs to work out."

"Why?"

"You're now my back-up plan to get into that friend group. If Sara and John don't work out."

"Why do you care so much?" It was a bit weird to me that Ellie, of all people, was so desperate about this. "You have lots of friends."

"Not really. Only Sara. And you. I've never had a group, you know? We'll occasionally do things with Caitlyn and Roxanne and the rest, but they're always 'forgetting' to invite us to stuff. Some things are inner-circle only."

It was a pretty big problem at our school. Only about seven of us were new, and only her and Sara seemed to have really lucked out and become best friends. I hadn't really realised she'd considered me a friend, too. I suppose it had become obvious, at that point — I'd just never really thought about it. Our families spent a lot of time together, and she and I would mostly hang out whenever that happened, but I'd always thought she was just being nice.

"What about the girls from Ballet?"

"They're positively satanic. Mia was the only nice one, and she left."

"Oh, sorry."

"You get that, right? You hang out with those horrible..." She waved her hand. "Marc and Derek, and their grizzled band of misfits."

"Yeah, we mostly just play video games." Or misinterpret a mediocre friendship as a romance, in my case. "It's not great either."

"You have Angela and Sue, as well. You guys hang out, right?"

"Not that much. We just sit inside doing homework during breaks and free periods. We don't really go anywhere or do anything. We get together outside of school to do projects, sometimes, I suppose."

"Right. Well, anyway, we're eighteen now, and we're almost done with high school, and I don't want to be one of those kids who goes to university with zero stories and no idea how to have fun. I want to be part of the group that heads down the hill to have ice-cream on the beach after midnight."

"Yeah, me too," I admitted.

Even aside from the excitement of Eric, it had been pretty cool. Exactly what I'd imagined having a group of friends you actually got along with would feel like.

"So we're going to make it happen."

"Sure."

"Okay." She said it so seriously. It felt like we were making some sort of pact. Maybe we were.

"Okay." I tried to be appropriately sombre, to match her tone. "Hey, my mom left money for food. Do you want to get a pizza and watch a movie or something?"

"I assume," Ellie said coyly, "That this is not you asking me out on a date."

"No, and I think we've covered why."

"Just checking." She sighed dramatically. "I am kind of more into you, now that I know you're not available."

"Well, take it up with a therapist." I grinned. "Movie? Pizza? Yes?"

"Yes, please! Ooh, we should watch something gay."

"Fine." I sighed, picking up my phone, not nearly as annoyed as I was pretending to be.

"Really?" She sounded excited.

"Why not? Just don't... look at me or talk to me if there are sex scenes."

"Got it," she said. "Can I ask questions afterwards?"

"Absolutely not."

"You can ask me questions."

"I might need to."

I finished up the pizza order and grabbed my laptop to find an appropriate movie, going to an IMDB list I'd saved. It was a bit of a risk, watching something I hadn't watched before with Ellie, but I figured we were already down the rabbit hole, and if there was an awkward sex scene I'd just hide in the bathroom or something.

"So," she said, "Who else at school do you think is gay?"

"Why would you ask that?" I groaned.

"What? I feel like you'd have a better idea than I do."

"I don't know," I said. "I don't like to think about that sort of thing."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, come on."

"Fine. I had a crush on someone, and I thought he, you know, might be..." I sighed. "And then I found out he really, really wasn't, and I just felt like shit."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "Still though, you have to wonder about some of the guys."

"Sure."

"What about Stephen?" Stephen was loud, camp, and incredibly unpleasant. He was also definitely straight.

"Yeah, no. I'm completely sure he's not."

"SERIOUSLY? Musical theatre Stephen?"

"Yep. I'm pretty damn certain."

"Oh god, is he the one you had the crush on?"

"What? No," I gave her an annoyed look. "Gross. No. I... walked in on him jerking off at camp once. Loud lesbian porn on his phone. I'm fairly sure."

"Oh god, he's so disgusting." She pulled a face. "But yeah, I suppose that's a strong indicator of straightness."

"It's really not good to assume a guy is gay just because he fits a few of the stereotypes, you know."

"I know, I know. So what about Nick then? I guess he could be straight."

Nick was a more severe example. He had an all female group of friends, was very into fashion, was incredibly artistic, and wore outrageous things, given half the chance. I'd also noticed him in the locker room checking other guys out, so there was that. He was pretty subtle, but I — of all people — knew what to look for. He also had a nice body, so it didn't hurt my efforts that I'd been checking him out when I'd first noticed him ogling Matt.

"Nick... doesn't help my point. I'm fairly certain he's gay."

"Why haven't you talked to him?"

"Well, because we have none of the same classes any more, I think we've exchanged like five words since I started here, and it would be mortifying if I was wrong."

"Okay, yeah, that's fair."

"Plus, Sue and I have this... running joke. That we don't like him, because he's kind of Angela's only real competition in Art."

"Hey, I'm in Art! I do okay." She crossed her arms. "But you're not wrong. They run circles around the rest of us."

"It's not a real thing, and Angela would probably lecture us if she found out. I'd just feel guilty trying to buddy up to him after that though, just because he might be gay. It would feel like I was just trying to use him."

"Mmm. Good point."

"Besides, how would I even start that conversation?"

"'Hi Nick. I, too, appreciate the male form. Fancy a frozen yoghurt and a chat about it?'"

"Sounds like your mother."

Ellie burst out laughing. "I swear, she'd probably actually say that to someone."

"Yeah." My phone buzzed, and I passed Ellie my laptop. "The pizza's here. Pick one of these while I go out and get it."

I grabbed the pizza and came back, and Ellie had picked a movie called GBF, which was actually kind of sweet, if a bit campy and corny. Sort of a gay version of mean girls. There was also nothing too graphic, so that was helpful. It was actually a pretty nice day. We even swam with the twins, after she went back to her house to change, and she joined the family for dinner afterwards. She left shortly after that, and only cracked one or two GBF — gay best friend — jokes on her way out.

"I am sorry, by the way," She said, turning back towards the gate before walking off.

"Sorry?"

"Yeah... I probably shouldn't have pushed you to tell me."

"No." I shrugged, and smiled. "But I don't think I'd ever have told you otherwise. And you knowing is not the... worst thing in the world."

She beamed and threw her arms around me, before letting go and making her way out onto the street. I went back inside.

Honestly, I don't know if I could explain it to Ellie without it going to her head. When I'd dated Mila — not real dating, but the brief hand-holding craze that had been sweeping the school — Ellie had dragged all the details out of me. When I was upset after Candy left for university, Ellie dragged it out of me. Her prying into my life, even for this, meant nothing had changed between us. That was kind of nice, and she'd called me her friend. Maybe this could even be great.

I grabbed my phone from my bedside table, and a message was waiting. From Eric.

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Terms: (Not necessarily appearing in this chapter)

• Matric - Final year of schooling in South Africa. (Senior year is the American equivalent, I think.)

• Moderation - Sort of an educational audit, where external moderators check up on the school's standards.

• Prelims - Mock finals, essentially mid-terms, but specifically geared to prepare you for finals.

• Maths - Self explanatory, of course, but I just want to make the point that the are MANY mathematics, so calling it Math is bizarre. Get your shit together, America.

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