Short Stories - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

"Go get your mans," Joey whispered over my shoulder, then grunted when I elbowed him hard in the chest.
He sat down at our usual table, but I kept walking on, three tables down, until I reached Aiden's, where there were too many people to fit along it's small round circumference without some sitting on the tabletop or on each other.
Aiden grinned when he saw me. "Hey," he greeted, before turning to his friends and saying, "this is—"
"The hot nerd," the girl sitting across from Aiden—Ashley Parker—said, which I had to admit was pretty gratifying.
Aiden scooted over, somehow making space for me on the bench. "The hot nerd's name is Noah," he said pointedly.
Of those of the people at the table that were actually listening, none seemed to have any problem with me sitting there. "Welcome to the doghouse, Noah," said Hunter Foley himself, the school's optimum jock and resident chlamydia host.
"I'd like to state that literally nobody but Hunter is lame enough to call this place the doghouse," Ashley said with a roll of her eyes.
I chuckled. "I don't know," I said. "Has a nice ring to it."
"Please don't encourage him," Aiden groaned.
Ashley fixed her eyes on me, and I watched as they narrowed. There was something mischievous in the way that she was staring at me. It wasn't unnerving, though. As a matter of fact, if I wasn't seeing things, I was pretty sure I saw a game in her gaze.
"So you're like, a genius, right?"
And, though I was usually never one to sound cocky, I wanted to play along with whatever game this was, so I said, "You could say that."
"Ooh," she said, a sultry smile spreading across her lips. "Intelligence is, like, super sexy."
"Finally," I returned her grin. "Someone sees it."
It was weird. She and I just instantly clicked. Somehow, I knew right away that she was messing around, and we so smoothly dove into what would probably go down as the freakiest exchange of my high school career.
She leaned closer to me across the table, holding herself up on her forearms. "Say something smart."
So I leaned closer, too, and in a low voice, I said, "There's this thing called Castoreum. It's a brown sludge secreted from a beaver's castor gland, right near it's anus. It was commonly used—and FDA approved, might I add—as a vanilla, raspberry, and strawberry flavouring substitute."
I saw the corner of her mouth twitch. "That's hot," she whispered.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aiden looking back and forth between us, his eyes wide and confused, and I nearly burst out laughing. "Is it, now?"
"Yeah. As hot as the sun."
"Do you even know how hot the sun is?"
"'Course I don't," she said. "Please tell me."
"On the surface, about 10,000 degrees Fahrenheit. Or 5,600 degrees Celsius, if you prefer."
"Oh, hotter than that."
"Oh, really?" I bit my lip, forcing myself not to break.
"Mhm," she hummed. Then she leaned in even closer and whispered, "If I wasn't pregnant, I'd drag you off somewhere right now." I could hear the strain in her voice.
"How many months in are you?"
"Two."
"Well it doesn't make a difference, because you can have sex when you're pregnant without harming the baby."
"And how," she turned it up even further, reaching out to play with the collar of my shirt between her polished fingers, "is that?"
"The thick mucus plug that seals your cervix helps to guard your baby against infection, and the amniotic sac and the strong muscles of your uterus keep your baby safe."
"Well then let's—" but she never finished, because she cracked, throwing her head back and laughing hard. Then I was laughing, too, while everyone around us still looked completely and utterly confused.
"Ugh, you are such a gem!" Ashley exclaimed, clapping her hands happily and hurrying around the table to give me a surprising hug. I made eye contact with Aiden over her shoulder, and he mouthed the words what the hell just happened? To which I responded, no fucking idea.
"You just, like, totally rolled with it," Ashley laughed, beaming up at me. "I love that. Aiden," she said, turning to him, "I approve. He's coming with us to the game on Friday."
"He is?" I asked. "I mean, I am?"
Aiden chuckled. "Apparently you are. Ash, you have the weirdest icebreakers on the planet."
It was just about the strangest way I could've imagined ever being introduced to a new friend group.
•••
"I am so proud of you," Joey said, grinning like the cheeky loser he was. We were in his mansion of a house, studying AP Calculus together. "Finally going after your mans."
"How long are you gonna call him that for?" I asked, looking up from my worksheet just to roll my eyes.
"For as long as you two are in sweet gay love with each other," he said. "Which will be forever."
"Please," I groaned. "Don't put ideas into my head. I can live without the false hope"
"You see," Joey said, shutting his textbook. "That's your problem. You're scared of dreaming. So what if it seems like a long shot? It's still a shot, and until you're turned down point-blank, what good is there in giving up?"
"Joey . . ."
"You know how many out gay guys there are at our school?" He said. "Like, two. And given that you aren't even one of them, just imagine how many others there are like you, living their lives from the comfort the closet. Three percent of Americans are lgbt+, and our school has three thousand students, so there are probably at least ninety kids there who aren't totally straight or cis. Out of ninety kids, there's gotta be a few nice gay boys for you, and how do you know that Aiden's not one of them?"
"Aiden's not gay, Joey."
"He could be bisexual! Or pan or something, even though I'm not totally sure what that means."
"You know, I think you're secretly gay and in love with me, and you're projecting your unwanted feelings onto Aiden as some kind of psychological defense mechanism."
Joey scoffed. "Yup," he said. "That's exactly what's happening. Wanna make out?"
•••
In my two prior years of high school, I'd never actually been to a football game. Sad, I know.
My friends never wanted to go, and I wasn't about to be the kid that went alone—or worse, with my parents. So I never went.
Now, though, I was finally going. With popular kids no less.
It didn't hit me until I actually met them at the game that I wouldn't be seeing Aiden until it was over, since he was on the team. Which made me significantly more nervous than I'd been before.
"You have absolutely no idea what you're doing, do you?"
I looked down at Ashley, who had come up to my side. "That obvious, huh?"
She smiled. "Don't worry, okay?" She said. "You've been super cool at lunch all week, and all of us like you, so if you're worried about not getting along, you're an idiot."
I chuckled at her blunt delivery. "I don't know, I feel like I still don't know most of you."
She waved a dismissive hand. "Neither do I. That's the thing about big friends groups—you don't actually have to be friends with everyone. There are circles within the circles. And right now, you've entered the Ashley, Aiden, Hunter, and Britney circle."
"Technically that's a square," I pointed out. "A pentagon, now."
She smacked my arm gently and said, "You suck, Busch." Which made me feel guilty, and I opened my mouth to apologize, but she cut me off. "I'm joking, Noah. Where did all of your confidence go?"
Blushing, I said, "I guess I'm just not really in my element here."
"Well then make it your element."
I figured that was easier said than done. Turns out, it really wasn't.
Ashley was nice enough to take me under her wing, keeping me on her arm all night and making sure I didn't feel like an outsider. I realized she was right about the circle-ception—she spent a lot less time talking to the majority around her than she did talking to me and Britney Mayerson, her best friend. Anytime she left to go buy refreshments or just get away from the packed bleachers for a minute, we were the only two to come with her.
In all honesty, we spent more time away from the bleachers, walking aimlessly on our school's side of the track and talking about whatever we wanted to talk about, than we spent watching the actual game.
And it was actually really fun. I liked Ashley a lot, and Britney, too.
The game ended with a win for our school, and Hunter and Aiden met us outside of the locker room, freshly showered and looking pretty proud of themselves for crushing the first game of the season.
"How'd I do?" Aiden asked, flashing me his winning smirk. "Awesome? I agree."
Usually I would have said something snarky, but the girls had put me in a better-than-usual mood, so I smiled and said, "Yeah, awesome."
And Aiden smiled back, and I was reminded once again of the fact that I was hopelessly falling for the straight, popular, super-hot, jock—the cliché to end all clichés.
"Did you have a good time?" He asked, slinging one arm around my shoulder and the other around Ashley's.
"Yeah," I said honestly, and Ashley smiled at me. "Really good, actually."
"Oh?" Aiden said. Then he looked between us, and some realization seemed to enter his expression. "Oh."
"Nope," I said, already knowing where his brain was heading. "No 'oh'."
"Dude, I wouldn't mind," he said. "Ash and I only hooked up like twice."
I didn't quite need to know that.
"Still standing right here," Ashley said, and Aiden grinned sheepishly.
"Where are we going, exactly?" I asked, because we were all walking towards Aiden's car.
"Ponyo's," Aiden said, and I raised an eyebrow.
"The movie with the fish girl?"
"No," Ashley laughed. "The under-appreciated Italian diner near Walgreens. It's post-game tradition."
"But my car . . ." I said, and Aiden waved me off.
"I'll drive you to school," he said, which was more than fine with me, so I didn't argue.
"Can I dress you up?"
"Uh, come again?" I said, looking quizzically at Britney. We were sat at Ponyo's, gorging on pasta and breadsticks that were surprisingly good for such a low cost, and Britney had been staring at me like I was some kind of lab experiment for the past minute.
"Like, make you over," she said. "Try some looks on you."
Before I could even come up with a way to respond to that, Aiden spoke first. "No way," he said, shaking his head adamantly. "You are not turning my friend into a project."
"Hey, he's our friend, too," Ashley said. "And I like where Britney is going. Not that there's a problem with how you look, Noah."
"Of course not," Britney said. "There's nothing wrong with looking like you should play a gay kid on Glee. And I love cardigans—super classy. But I'm an artist, Noah, and you make a great canvas. Aiden's a shitty canvas, because he won't let us come near him with anything, and Hunter's no good because he's Hunter."
"But you," Ashley continued. "You're pretty, hopefully willing, and not Hunter."
"So you're perfect," Britney added.
"No," Aiden insisted. "I like how he looks. We are not turning him into some kind of Veronica Sawyer. Absolutely not."
Aiden really needed to stop saying things like I like how he looks. It couldn't be healthy for me if it made me turn this red.
"You are so dramatic," Britney whined. "You act like we're talking about a permanent change. I just wanna put a bunch of clothes on him and let him model for me for a bit, then he can go back to his norm. Is that so evil?"
"It wouldn't be, if I didn't know you," Aiden grumbled. "But I do. Zero trust."
"Good thing it's not your decision," Ashley quipped. "Noah, what do you think?"
I looked back and forth between Ashley on my left side, Britney across from me, and Aiden on my right. Three very expectant glances. Hunter was sat next to Britney, paying absolutely no attention to us and giving all of his focus to his fettuccine alfredo.
"A little experimenting couldn't hurt, right?"
Aiden groaned dramatically, while both Ashley and Britney broke into cheers.
"I hope you know you've just signed a contract with the devil," he warned, and I shrugged.
"Maybe I like the devil," I said, earning a raised eyebrow from him.
"Can we do it at your house?" Ashley asked Aiden. "You guys are almost the same height, so it would make sense if we—"
"I'd rather rent out my home to a colony of malaria-infected penguins."
His arguments were futile, however, because the next evening we were all sat in his bedroom—with the exception of Hunter, who had zero interest in attending—and the "makeover" had begun.
The first thing that Britney pulled out of Aiden's closet was a bright purple, sequined bomber jacket that almost hurt to look at. "Okay," she said slowly. "Why the hell do you own this?"
"Aiden has a secret stripper career," I said.
"Hey!" Aiden snapped, a serious expression on his face. "That's Aiden Casanova to you."
And so, we began. The girls would spend a few minutes in the closet at a time, then come out when they'd found their pick and usher me into the bathroom to change. When I came out in whatever they'd assembled, there was obnoxious pop music playing from Aiden's speaker, and I was met with applause, ooh's, and fake-pretentious comments about the look.
Aiden, though reluctant at first, eventually dropped his grudging disposition and took on an amused one, allowing himself to enjoy the show, if you could call it that. He even joined in on the commentating, critiquing me in a way I don't think he even understood and trying to maintain both a snobby British accent and a straight face as he did so.
The girls tried just about every combination possible, from punk-rock chic to borderline drag. They got pretty creative, too, even sneaking into Abigail's room to snatch a few items. Somehow, they managed to make every style imaginable from Aiden's limited wardrobe. I ended up looking vintage, bohemian, goth, preppy, sporty, edgy, flaming, and more that I couldn't describe. I actually put on suspenders for the first time in my life. There were wigs and scarves and boots, not to mention makeup and a shit-ton of hair gel.
"This is literally my new favorite hobby," Britney laughed as I came out of the bathroom in . . . I didn't even know how to explain it. At this point, the whole thing was just a massive joke, but it was a pretty damn funny one, so I was laughing, too. We all were.
Except for Ashley, who was too busy belting along to an old Carly Rae Jepson song.
Britney already had the next outfit folded on her lap. "Here," she said, throwing the entire get-up at me, which was an awful idea, because it just resulted in clothes and shoes ending up all over the floor.
"You're useless," Aiden chuckled, coming to my aid. "Now hurry up and get changed—I don't have all day, you know."
"Uh, yeah you do," Ashley pointed out.
"Ashley, shut the fuck up before I expel you."
"How the hell do you expel someone from your house?"
"You wanna find out?"
"Hell yeah I do."
Britney met my gaze and rolled her eyes at me, and with a laugh, I stepped into the bathroom.
When I tried the clothes on, I found that they were much less abstract and much more normal than what Britney and Ashley had been assembling so far. It looked like something that Aiden might actually wear.
A denim jacket over a gray hoodie, black jeans that only fit me because they were from Aiden's pre-muscular phase, and white shoes that were probably some well-known sports brand or another.
I actually didn't hate this one. I didn't love it, but it wasn't the worst thing I'd seen. Probably because the denim jacket was the most gay-culture thing to ever touch my body.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Britney whistled and Aiden's eyes rounded, probably from surprise that I didn't look like I belonged in museum exhibit entitled Every God-Awful Stereotypy Imaginable. Even Ashley paused mid-way through the chorus of Call Me Maybe.
"Ooh-la-la, what a hottie," she grinned, hurrying over just to put her arms around my torso and rest her head against my chest. "And not even nerd hot. Like, fuckboy hot."
"Thank you?" I said, even though I was fairly certain that was the last thing I wanted to be.
"Wait," Britney said, standing up and practically shoving Ashley off of me so she could run her hands through my hair for a bit. "There," she said once it was quiffed. "Now you look like a fuckboy."
"Alright, I'm taking this off," I said, because I'd rather walk around in Aiden's stripper jacket than dress like—well, like Aiden.
"Don't you dare," Britney said. "I see it now. This is your new aesthetic."
"No," Aiden said, speaking for the first time since I'd come out. Of the bathroom, not the closet. Just to specify. "It's not. Noah, don't you dare let yourself go through some kind of remake."
But when I went back into the bathroom and looked in the mirror again—really looked—I got the feeling that Britney may be right. With the new clothes and hair, I felt like a completely different guy, and I even found myself standing a little straighter. I did look good. And though I felt a bit uncomfortable straying from my usual apparel, I also felt more confident in my own reflection.
It was clear that I'd be hanging out with Aiden, Ashley, Britney, and Hunter more often. They liked me, and I liked them. In cardigans, sweaters, and button-ups, I stuck out like a sore thumb. Maybe a wardrobe change would be good for me. A little remake couldn't hurt.
Which was how I ended up at the mall the next day, letting Ash and Brit drag me from store to store and buying whatever looked good with my debit card. The three of us were there for hours, and when we finally left at the end of the day, I'd spent more than I would like to admit.
I sat with Peter, Joey, Becca, and Lizzie at lunch on Monday, because I hadn't done so all of last week and I had no intentions of ditching them completely. As I sat there, though, I could feel eyes on my back, and I turned around to see Aiden staring at me. When my gaze met his, his eyebrows raised in a way that I could tell, due to the way his eyes looked me up and down, meant what the hell are you wearing?
I shrugged, and he turned back to his table with a roll of his eyes.
Usually, I only saw Aiden when I ate with him and on the weekends, but he asked me to come over on Wednesday after school because he was apparently having a "crisis".
"I'm going to flunk out of life," he said as I stepped into his room, throwing his AP US History textbook onto the floor in frustration.
"Woah, okay," I said, picking up the book and setting it down on his bed. "Calm down. These are expensive."
"Calm down," he mocked. "Easy for you to say, because you've just got it all figured out, haven't you? You know exactly what college you want to go to and what you want to study there, and you've got a bottomless pit of money to use to get there. Not that you'll need it, because you'll probably get every academic scholarship imaginable. Dude, I don't think I can even get into any school!"
"Hey, that's not true," I said, and I meant it. Aiden really was an intelligent guy. He just didn't apply himself enough. "You're smarter than you give yourself credit for."
"But I'm not, though!" He exclaimed. "I'm not the dumbest guy around, sure, but college is so damn competitive these days! Do you think someone like me, who needs someone like you to help me scrape by every damn class, is going to have any hope of competing?"
"You don't—" I began, but he wasn't finished yet.
"And I need to go to college, Noah. I need to get a degree so I can get a job that pays and finally do something to support my family. And that's another thing—how the fuck at I supposed to even pay for college? My parents are in deep enough having to provide for seven damn kids! We can't afford tuition!"
"Aiden," I said, standing in front of him and placing my hands on his shoulders. "You need to relax, okay? You will find a way to make ends meet."
"How?" He said exasperatedly, running his hands through his hair. "What can I possibly do that won't ruin my family more than I already . . ." he cut himself off. "What way is there for me?"
I sat down on his bed and patted the spot next to me so he would follow suit. "What are you good at?" I asked, and he scoffed.
"Nothing," he grumbled.
"That's not true," I said. "You want a job with high pay, right? Have you ever thought about engineering? You make a lot straight out of college."
"I have a C minus is physics."
"Okay," I said, exhaling through nose. "What about a medical career?"
"I'm not smart enough and I can't afford med school."
"Accounting?"
"I fell asleep just hearing that word."
"Law?"
"Sorry, fell asleep again."
"Football? Or basketball or track or swimming or whatever other sports you play?"
He sighed. "I mean, I don't know. I'm willing to do it if I have to. I've thought about it, but I don't think the passion is there. And I feel like passion is important, you know?"
That much, I understood. "So try writing," I said, and Aiden looked at me in surprise. "I read some of your stuff—it was an accident, I swear. I was looking for your history notebook and found your journal instead. It's really good, Aiden. And you must enjoy doing it, because you do it in your own time."
"That stuff's private," Aiden mumbled, and I was about to apologize when he shrugged it off. "Whatever. I don't think I'm good enough to actually make money off of that. It's just a hobby."
"A hobby that you're really, really talented at," I said. Pieces were starting to fit together in my head, formulating a plan. "So here's what you're gonna do. You're going to work your butt off for the next two years, and it's gonna be hell, but it'll be worth it in the long run. Make every football game, basketball game, and track meet count, because those are your strong suits, and if the right person sees that, you could end up with a scholarship. Have someone record your games too, as a backup—I can do that if you want."
Aiden nodded. "Okay," he said. "Say I get scouted. That's not enough, is it?"
"'Course is isn't," I said. "You're going to start studying now for your SAT, and you're gonna work like crazy to maintain a good GPA, because those are the two things colleges look at the most. I can help you with that. Run for student body—that shit's a popularity contest, so you're sure to get in somewhere, and colleges like that kind of stuff, too. And switch whatever dumbass filler class you're taking for a third year of French. Take it next year, too."
"Why exactly do I need to take French?"
"Because you've already got the bilingual advantage," I said, "But imagine if you were trilingual. You're going to need to get a job while you're in college if you want to lighten the load on your parents, whether or not you get a scholarship. There are jobs you can get that pay way better than a MacDonald's shift that you don't need a degree for. And I've seen you fix broken stuff around this house time and time again—you know your shit. Get into repairs. During the summer when you have more free time, try finding a job, or an internship, or even a training course, because you'll need some kind of work experience."
Aiden blinked. "That's a lot," he said. "It makes sense, but I don't know if I can handle it."
"Of course you can handle it," I said. "You're gonna get into a good school because you'll have a good GPA and a high SAT score. You'll get a football scholarship, which will seriously ease the burden on your family. You're gonna get a job fixing people's ACs or something, because you'll have work experience and the trilingual advantage. And while you're in college, you're gonna use whatever tiny slivers of free time you have to do some freelance writing to make extra money on the side. Sound like a plan?"
"Yeah," Aiden breathed. "A crazy plan."
"I'll help you through it," I promised, and a smile spread across his face.
"Thank you," He said seriously. Then, taking me and my gay little heart completely by surprise, he pulled me into a hug. "Really. This is why you're my favorite."
It took me a moment, but my brain cleared from its initial haze enough for me to hug him back like a normal functioning human. "Your favorite what?" I asked.
"I don't know. You're just my favorite everything."
I cleared my throat and hoped he couldn't hear the pounding of my heart as he let go. "You'll have to make sacrifices," I said, because I was going to explode into a pile of rainbows and purses if I didn't venture from Aiden's you're awesome talk. "Might have to lay off of girls for a while so you can focus."
Aiden made a face. "But girls are so hot," he groaned.
Chuckling, I said, "I don't know, I think college degrees are a lot hotter."
Aiden hummed. "Oh hell yeah," he said. "The image of that sexy diploma is mega masturbation material."
"You're so fucking weird," I laughed.
"Speaking of girls," Aiden said suggestively, "What's up with you and Ashley?"
"What?" I said. "Uh, we're friends."
"As if," Aiden scoffed. "Dude, she's totally into you."
Oh, god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. What would a straight boy do?
"Oh, that's interesting."
Not that. Jesus, I was hopeless.
"Interesting?" Aiden repeated. "Come on, man. Don't leave me in the dark here. Do you like her back or not?"
I wracked my mind for some kind of cool heterosexual answer. Instead, all I came up with was, "She's not really my type."
"Oh," Aiden frowned. "That's lame."
"Do you even know if she actually likes me?" I asked, because I really, really didn't want my friendship with her to become all awkward and shit.
"Well, no," he said, and I internally sighed in relief. "But she totally does."
"You're delusional."
"And you're in denial," he insisted. "I think you are into her. Why else would you have gone through all that trouble to get new clothes and everything after she said she liked how you looked in mine? You're trying to impress her, aren't you?"
It was ironic, because I was certainly trying to impress someone, but that someone had a lot less hair and a lot more testosterone than Ashley Parker.
"Nah, man," was my answer, and it was somehow the most straight-guy-sounding thing I'd ever said, so I felt pretty proud of myself. "I'm not into her like that. She's all yours."
"Damn," he sighed. "And now I can't even hook up with her, because I have to actually focus on school and shit."
I rolled my eyes. "Do you ever actually listen to yourself speak?" I asked. "Because I don't think you realize how much you constantly sound like a douchebag."
He grinned. "Of course I do. Gotta stay on brand, you know?"
"Why am I friends with you?" I breathed, rubbing my temples. "You're insufferable."
Aiden used my shoulder as an elbow-rest. "Because you love me."
He was pretty spot-on, actually.
"Come on, Casanova," I said, reaching behind him to pick up his history book. "Time for Operation-Remake-Your-Future to begin."
"Whatever you say, boss," he said, still grinning like the adorable idiot he was. "And even though you won't admit that you do in fact love me, I know it's true, so I love you, too."