Exotic - Chapter 23: Chapter 23

How often did you feel tired out for no good reason?
I frowned down at the moderately scrunched sheet of paper. I felt like such questions needed room beneath them for excuses to be made, not just a scale. I often felt tired without reason, but I also lived a markedly stressful life, so... that was probably the point. I marked down 4.
"You know it's called homework, not car-work, right?" Max asked from the backseat. I flipped him off, affectionately.
Aaron had surprised me with an early morning pickup on Monday morning. Usually, I only ever caught a ride home with him in the afternoon because our houses were on completely different tracks to school, and Max didn't like waking up at the crack of dawn. It was entirely possible that if I asked, he would still go out of his way to pick me up every day, but I knew that I had to draw the line somewhere, before I tipped over into 'taking advantage' of Aaron's good nature.
How often do you feel nervous?
I marked a 2. Before remembering what Alba had asked and changing it to a 3.
"It should be a rule that if you aren't going to talk, you don't get shotgun," Max grumbled.
"I have earned this seat through my unrivalled adoration and support of your brother," I argued, not taking my eyes off the sheet in my lap. "You were a douchebag in middle school. And you will serve your sentence in the back seat."
"How dare you," Max played offended. "We don't talk about middle school in this car. It's a safe space."
Aaron chuckled. "He'll fight dirty for that front seat."
"Never challenge me again," I added.
How often did you feel so nervous that nothing could calm you down?
2. 3. Maybe 2.5. Was that allowed?
"What are you doing anyway?" Max kicked the base of my chair. "I've hadn't seen your brain working this hard all year."
I folded the paper into my chest, meeting his eyes in the rear-view mirror. "It's nothing. It's... modern history stuff."
"Mmm," Max smirked. "Caleb's little sister got you back on the straight and narrow?"
His comments made it clear that Aaron hadn't so much as hinted at my secret, not even to Max. I knew I had nothing to fear, but the reassurance was pleasant. "She's a ball buster, that one."
Max's shark-grin worried me. "I bet, dude."
How often do you feel restless or fidgety?
Was this thing serious? Fidgeting couldn't have anything to do with anxiety. I marked down a 1.
"Don't be gross," Aaron said firmly. "It's weird enough that you're seeing Georgianna. And she's sixteen."
I glanced up in surprise. "Seriously? You're actually following through?"
"After the shit Aidan pulled last week? I'm all in," Max flopped back against the seat, combing curls off his face. He's been bargaining with Aaron for a month to get a haircut. Aaron didn't seem to have any issues altering his body to look like his own person, but Max seemed fixated with the gimmick. He would only cut his hair if his brother agreed to do the same. "He was a real asshole at the game, too. Apparently, yelling at the guys who actually showed up beats yelling at Proust for bailing."
I frowned. "Aidan's not mad at him?"
"Aidan's never mad at him," Max grumbled. "Caleb Proust can do no wrong. He's the only one who can go up against him without being socked in the jaw. It'd be damn adorable if it was anyone other than McCaffrey."
I considered what Caleb had told me a week back, about their fight. Their relationship clearly wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, but in public, they appeared as a united front. I couldn't imagine how Caleb put up with him, throwing slurs and shoving people who looked at him funny to the ground. There had to be some self-aware part of him that recognised if Aidan knew the truth about him, all his vitriol would turn on Caleb.
Friends close, enemies closer. It was the only reason I could see behind their friendship.
How often did you feel depressed?
I paused, tapping my pen on the corner of the paper, before reluctantly ticking the third box. Middle ground was the easiest to walk.
"So, Caleb's playing next week?" I asked.
"Caleb could run over Aidan's grandmother and take a piss on her body, and he wouldn't be benched for a single game," Max scoffed. "I'm not about to sidle up to McCaffrey for more play time, but I can see the appeal. Favouritism at it's finest."
I changed the fidgeting question to a 3.
How often did you feel so sad that nothing could cheer you up?
"You know, Proust's entire family shows up to every game, without failure," Max mused. "Including his sister. You should come on Saturday."
I dragged the pen jerkily through the 3 I had been marking, leaving a long black line through the paper. I cursed, folding the ruined paper and shoving it into my bag. "I think the only thing worse than spending Saturday morning playing soccer would be spending Saturday morning watching soccer."
"Come on," Max compelled me. "We're playing Roman Senior. We might actually win. And literally no one I know is coming. It takes a toll on the ego, Miles."
I frowned at Aaron, who was pouring all his attention into the t-junction before him. I imagined the fight and Greenaway's comments had taken a toll on him, but I didn't think it would physically stop him from attending Max's games. He had about as much interest in the art of soccer as I did, but he was a good brother. Max hadn't ever had a dad to cheer him from the sidelines – absent fathers were another similarity I shared with the Sanchez boys – and the loss of their mother left a hole in his cheer squad. Maya and Colin attended sporadically, but Aaron was the only constant on the sidelines.
I knew Max didn't play for the praise – he self-admittedly played for the female attention and the regular adrenaline rush– but it had to be hard. Especially when his teammates had their entire families attending every game.
"I'll think about it," I told him. "And only if Aaron comes as well."
Aaron shot me a glare of wounded betrayal. "It's going to rain on Saturday. Don't drag me into this."
I nudged him over the centre console. "Come now. Footballers in wet shirts and you might see Aidan McCaffrey stack it? What's not to love?"
He slapped my hand away. I didn't miss his smirk, but to his credit, he didn't say anything. Max slapped my shoulder, smiling like an idiot. "Thanks man."
We pulled up to school and Max spilled out of the car after affectionately slapping the side of his brother's head in place of thanks. Aaron grumbled out your welcome and as I helped him put the sunscreen up on his front windscreen, he grabbed my wrist.
"How're you doing?" he asked earnestly.
I smiled. "I'm good. Seriously."
"You can tell Max to lay off with Lauren," he advised me. "He's only pushing it because he thinks you're pining after her. He won't think anything of it."
"It's fine," I assured him. "Lauren's cool."
His eyebrows scrunched together in the middle. "Yeah, but... you don't have to pretend, just because you aren't out."
I had never wanted to. My punishment for trying it out had been dished out quick and hard, entwining me with Caleb Proust's life in a way I never intended or expected. I considered sharing that conundrum with Aaron, but before I could open my mouth, he smacked his forehead.
"Shit! I had a meeting with the careers counsellor this morning," he groaned. "I need to start labelling my alarms."
I quickly closed my mouth, slipping out of the car as he hurried to lock up. "Chill. He never runs on time anyway."
"I have a punctual reputation to uphold," he hurried to the trunk, popping it open and slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "I've got to run. See you at lunch?"
I nodded, waving him off as he ran up the school steps, fumbling with his loose bag strap. He tripped through the front doors, and I laughed to myself, before digging Alba's checklist out of my bag and reading the last question.
How often did you feel worthless?
I leaned up against the car, checking over my shoulder – as if anyone could care less – and ticked 4. Before I could call myself out as overdramatic and change my answer, I stuffed it into the front pocket of my bag and promised myself to forget about it until I handed it to Alba.
Walking down the hallway to my locker didn't feel any different since coming out. It wasn't as if I'd taken a massive risk coming out to Aaron, but I thought I would have felt a little more at home in my body after crossing that milestone. But I still felt invisible under my baggy uniform. I glimpsed Aidan a few locker lengths from mine, groping Marisol against a pillar and neither of them gave me a second glance. I'd clearly stayed away from him long enough to for him to forget my inconsequential existence and get over his blind hatred. The relief at that realisation crashed over me like a tsunami.
It was quickly soaked up when someone hit the locker next to me, a looming figure with familiar blue eyes but none of the butterflies that usually accompanied them.
"Morning, Miles," Jake Proust sounded suspiciously chirpy as he reclined against the locker across from me. It put me on edge, enough that I nearly dropped my textbooks.
I turned my head, hating how my voice quivered when I spoke. "He- hey?"
His smile didn't reach his eyes. He was leaner than Caleb, with a skinnier face and narrower frame, but he was just as tall, and his lankiness didn't make him any less intimidating.
"I forget how big this school is," he hummed. "You can go three years without even knowing a guy, and suddenly you crash into him, and a week later you find out he's dating your sister. What are the odds of that?"
Jake didn't know the half of it. I would have laughed if I hadn't been temporarily petrified in his shadow. Jake's aura was unreadable. He didn't radiate hate like Aidan, but he didn't look particularly friendly. I couldn't tell whether he was going to shake my hand or slam my face into the lockers.
"I didn't... I didn't know... when we met, that... you were..." I stammered pathetically. "Happy accident?"
Jake looked me up and down, eyes narrowed into slits. But he was still smiling. "Sure."
I swallowed and turned to close the door on my textbooks. Upon doing so, I startled; another person had appeared behind me, leaning their back against the adjacent locker and staring silently up at me with those damn genetic gifts for eyes – Seth – only an inch shorter than me despite being in middle school, with round cheeks and a shaggy mane of hair. His skin was the same olive tone, with a hearty dose of freckles and acne spread generously across his face. I gripped the fabric of my shirt over my heart, bracing a hand against the cold metal wall.
Sandwiched between two Proust's. Despite the way Caleb made my heart do gymnastics with the bare minimum, being caged in by others in his gene pool wasn't half as pleasant as I would have imagined. A nagging voice in the back of my head reminded me that they'd both seen me in full drag, thanks to Caleb's damned photo. I kept my eyes glued straight ahead, hoping they hadn't looked hard enough at the photo to recognise Sephora's facial structure.
"I just can't imagine how you two bumped into one another. She said you were seeing each other before she started tutoring you," Jake continued. "The world can't be that small, right? Unless you've been stalking her."
I didn't know whether to laugh or not. Seth did, a quiet giggle which didn't fit the intimidating character he was trying to play. Jake glared over my shoulder at him.
"Sorry," Seth's voice matched his laugh, not quite broken in yet. "But... come on, Jake, who would stalk Lauren? And why? It's Laur."
Jake hissed at him, holding up a warning finger. "Back me up, or go to class."
Seth blew a raspberry, reminding me of his age. The kid was thirteen, and he had me cowering against my locker. Talk about an early growth spurt. Maybe I was just shorter than I liked to admit to myself. "Look, I wish we'd met under better circumstances but Lauren and me..."
"You're fine, dude," Jake stood up straight, towering over me. "Take a breath."
"You don't follow Lauren on Instagram," Seth piped up. "Your Instagram is also private."
"Hiding something?" Jake accentuated.
"You don't talk much," Seth noted. "How do you keep up with her? Laur never shuts up."
"You made a good impression on our folks, bringing Caleb back like that," Jake's cheek left hollowed where his teeth were gritted. "How long have you two been friends? Is that how you met Lauren? Or was it the other way around, Lauren introduced you two? He's never mentioned you before."
I ran a tongue along the roof of my sandpaper mouth, unable to come up with a response that wouldn't threaten Caleb's anonymity. I considered running. Jake would probably be able to catch me, but if I shoved him first, maybe I could get enough of a head start to hide in a classroom. If I held my breath for long enough, I could probably make myself pass out.
"All right, all right," Jake put up his hands, in a weak attempt to make himself look unthreatening. "Seth, go to class."
Seth was visibly displeased by this instruction. "You can't tell me what to do."
Jake rolled his eyes practically back into his head. "Seth, I swear to god..."
"Whatever," Seth huffed, and held out a fist to me. I bumped it timidly. "Don't fuck with Lauren. She'll take it out on us."
He sauntered off down the hallway, bag hanging at his thighs, polo shirt tucked into the waistband of his boxers. Oh, to be thirteen again.
Jake shook his head, visibly exasperated. "Jesus. Alright, walk with me."
I pressed my back into the locker, eyes blown wide. Jake's smile finally stretched up to meet his eyes, crinkling them in the corners. "I'm not going to hit you, dude. I've just got a couple of questions about the timeline."
I wished I'd called Lauren to corroborate our story, instead of just texting her a profuse apology that morning. I swallowed hard, tensing up as Jake slung his arm over my shoulder.
"Now," he navigated us down the hallway, fingers drumming against my shoulder. "So you met completely at random, no stalking, no Caleb interference?"
"Completely at random," I piped up. "I just... she caught my eye, I asked her out, I couldn't believe she said yes."
Jake's fingers stopped drumming. "Now, wait. Lauren said she was the one who asked you out."
I pressed my eyes closed for a second, feeling my heart blocking up my throat. "She did. She did. I just, I'm embarrassed she had to. It should have been my responsibility. Right?"
"See, if you're going to date Laur, you're going to have to get over that mindset," he advised me, and thankfully he didn't seem to cling to his suspicion. At least he didn't have that in common with his sister. "And my brother, you two get on?"
I shrugged meekly. "We've been at school together for five years."
As if that was any sort of reasoning. I used to call it a good day when Caleb had so much as nodded at me in the hallways. Before the whole mess, we'd have virtually nothing to do with each other. We'd shared more interactions in the last week than we had in the four years preceding it. He'd once asked to borrow a pen, in year ten mathematics back when I had felt privileged to share a class with his stupid beautiful face, and I'd been so blown back by the fact he knew my name that I'd almost fallen out of my chair. That had been about the quality of our interactions before the Crescendo incident, and the preceding Aidan incident.
But Jake wasn't as sharp as his sister; for which I was tremendously thankful. "It was cool of you and your dad to pick him up. But I'm not as easy as my folks. I don't see it with you and Laur. You've got to treat her better, alright? If you're only in it for the tutoring and... y'know, you're going to have a bad time when she breaks it off. And that's before I get involved."
I nodded, not wanting to speak lest my voice broke. Jake's smacked my shoulder in a half-way friendly manner and took a gracious step out of my personal space.
"See you soon, Miles," he waved me off. I didn't know whether it was intended to be friendly or threatening; somehow, it sounded like both.
As soon as I was out of eyesight, I whipped out my phone and sent Lauren a message.
look, I'm sorry. again.
can you please call off your brothers.
She responded as I walked to class, accompanied by the frantic ring of the bell.
Shit. I told them not to talk to you.
Karma tho.
When can we break up?
Because you're great and all but
I don't want to be tied down if someone who actually likes me comes along...
I sighed into my collar.
we can break up
i'm sorry I brought you into this
There was a brief pause before her reply came.
Caleb told me your dad is an asshole.
I tensed. Caleb didn't have any right to lay my dirty laundry out on the table for anyone to ponder at. My jaw clenched as my finger flew across the keyboard.
not my dad.
She texted a brief apology, and I had to stuff my phone in my pocket as I walked into English. Once seating, I pulled it into my lap and found another message.
Will it get him off your back if we don't?
I hesitated.
it's not your problem
Her messages came in bursts, one after the other.
I'm cool with it
You can tell not-dad that we're official
And you can come over
And see Caleb
You won't be allowed to if we break up
He'll be expected to hate you
I thought long and hard before I responded.
he won't have to pretend that hard.
Her only response to that was a neutral face emoji, which was somehow more confronting than if she'd sent me a slew of hate. I powered down my phone and tried unsuccessfully to get invested in the works of Wilfred Owen. At least thinking about his miserable life made my problems look pathetic in comparison.