Homecoming

“Right or left?”

“Um, well whoever takes left can’t write all day…”

“Okay. Right or left?”

Nate bites his lip in thought, “Right.” I squeeze the super glue all over my right hand and quickly extend it to my best friend, who grabs it with his left. And we are officially bound together.

This was today’s dare, which I thankfully received a reasonable time, while I was getting dressed for school this morning. Nate and I had to super glue our hands together for the entire day, to appear that we were holding hands. And we couldn’t tell anyone why and we still had to go to school- meaning we’d have to decide which classes we couldn’t miss and the other would come along.

I don’t really know how I feel about this one. It’s way better than yesterday’s, but I really don’t think it could get worse than yesterdays. The sender actually admitted that yesterday’s dare was a little harsh for a first one, so they gave us this, which they figured would be considerably easier. That one picture. I could have ripped my hair out just at the thought of one single picture of probably the biggest secret I ever have just being out there. Then, the nerve of them to put it into my locker. What’s with that? What are they getting out of this? Why me, really? And I think it’d be so much cooler about this if it didn’t deal with me and my best friend. Nate is the one I tell everything, but since this is about us, I feel I just can’t discuss it with him. Like, it makes everything awkward, like it’d just ruin everything that hasn’t already been from sleeping with him. It’s pissing me off and stressing me out. Ever since that first text, there’s been boiling anxiety in the pit of my stomach that I always feel. That constantly reminds me of what happened.

He laughs and rolls his eyes, “Where the fuck do they get these ideas?”

I shrug and move my arm up and down; being Nate’s along and smirks. “This is so stupid.”

“So maybe we should try to alternate classes? Like go to your first, our second, then my third…?”

I swing my backpack over my shoulder with my free hand and walk out the door of my mom and I’s apartment. “It doesn’t matter, since I don’t have a right hand, I can’t write anything.”

Going out to the car, we pause and stare for a moment, trying to figure out how we’d drive. “Err…we both get into the passenger side then you can drive with your left hand,” Nate suggests. I nod and we move towards my black ford truck and he opens the door. I throw my bag into the back, then take the other boys and do the same before awkwardly climbing in and across the separation. Nate follows behind and closes his door. He then takes my keys and starts the car before we buckle our seat belts and I start driving, one-handed.

“Well in your classes, I could like write for you. You know, I’ll be your right hand and you’ll be my left.”

“Aw, how cute,” I gush sarcastically and we chuckle. “Sure.”

When we finally get to school, just getting out the car on the same side, making people give us awkward side glances.

Those; those half-stares and upwards turned faced glances is what got to me. I’ve never switched schools, I’ve grown up with these kids here, and sure, I may only have this year left before graduating and going to college but I can’t stand people to think badly of me. I don’t want people to think I’m weird or mean or stupid, I only want them to think of me when I leave as that kid; that one kid who everyone just had to love; just because. I want to be that legend, I don’t want my name to fade away when I leave, and I don’t want to end up like my brother. I don’t want, after over twelve years of perfection, for this to be the year that I’m written off.

Andrew and Tate meet us in the parking lot with goofy grins as we’re heading into school.
“Dudes, why the hell are you holding hands?” Andrew asks us, then looks to Tate and they start laughing. Nate chuckles and I look over to him, catching a nervous glint in his eyes. When Andy and Tate are done, they look back to us for an answer; I shrug and continue into school. They rush to catch up with us. “No, really,” Tate asks Nate.

“Because, Connor is my best-est best friend in the whole entire world!” Nate suddenly attacks me in a tight half-hug (because our hands are still together) and I’m a little too surprised to react for a few moments. I look over the shorter boys shoulder to my other two friends, who are half-smirking, half-gaping, then look around. Other people are looking, staring at us- everyone is and pointing and laughing or gaping or smirking and that place in my stomach tightens and clenches and right before the anxiety gets to be too much and I do something irrational, Nate pulls away. “Fuck off,” He tells the boys and glares before pulling me to our lockers.

My throat is dry and my entire body is hot, even though it’s pretty cold outside. I’m sure my mouth is slightly parted and my eyes are irregularly large. I try to make it less obvious as we enter my first hour, a writing class. People look at our hands funny, but no one really stares because everyone knows we’re pretty close and sometimes, though very rarely, do things like this. We go to my seat in the center back of the class and he pushes a desk closer to mines, sitting on my right, our hands together hanging between us. People greet me, then look at Nate a little funny, because he’s not in this class, then say hi to him too.

Hannah comes in a few moments later and raises an eye brow at our hands then laughs, sitting in the seat in front of us; she nods her head to our connection and says, “Nice.”
Nate laughs, “My new accessory.”

After a few minutes of small talk, in which I’ve loosened up, barely noticing our hands. But I felt somewhat restrained, I could feel the glue pulling at my skin with every move and our hands we’re getting kind of warm with sweat.

When the bell rings, it seems Mr. Hanley, the teacher, finally takes notice of all the children in the class because as he looks up from the notebook he’s been writing in since we got here and looks a little surprised. He finally stands up, after looking at the time and greets us too-cheerily for this time in the morning. He takes a sip of his coffee, then scans us, taking attendance with his eyes, then finally gets to Nate.

He just looks at us for an extended amount of time, causing everyone else to do so also and before he can, some other kid says, “Hey, Nate, you’re not in this class.”

Nate turns his face up at the kid, then slumps down a little in his chair and says, “I know that.”

Everyone’s still looking. “Well…?” Mr. Hanley sort of asks. “Well?” Nate repeats.
Hannah laughs, “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, “Chillin’…what about you?” I chuckle and Hanley, being the cool, though over-hyper teacher he is just shrugs and starts talking about nonfiction writing. I don’t think he really minds that an extra student is in here, as long as one isn’t missing, or that kid isn’t his “replacement” of sorts.

The next hour we actually have together, it’s free period. We walk into the only classroom with carpet and I immediately look for Kailie. Nate drags me over to one of the couches in the back of the room, our usual spot, except for when we have homework to finish and would sit at one of the desks.

Nate sighs as he falls onto the couch, bringing me down next to him. Kailie isn’t here today, I figure. I sigh and Nate looks over to me slowly. “Well, this isn’t so bad, right?”

I smirk, “Oh but why would being bound to my best friend by hand ever be a bad thing?”
He smiles for a second, but it falters before he says, “People might think you’re gay.”

I gasp on the inside, flush, and my eyes grow for probably millionth time in the last two days. He rests his head on the back, of the couch, looking as if he’s about to take a nap; completely unfazed by his words. Actually, now that I think of it, he’s been so nonchalant about all this. Not even so much as blushed. How the hell can-

My thoughts are cut off the bell ringing and the period supervisor standing by the door with a black with purple in the front, flippy haired and pale skinned boy. He has a lip piercing- this makes him irrelevant and I turn my attention back to my connected best friend to see him gazing in the direction I was just looking at.

“Guys, this is Alexander Valentine. He’s new,” I hear our supervisor say; “You can sit wherever.” Then I hear the talking of peers once again. Nate’s eyes are still in that direction for a few moments before they wander in front of us. I then hear, “Hey.” And see Nate’s light smile before he says, “Hi!”

I finally look away and in front of us to see the new kid standing there. He looks about as tall as me and the only colors he’s wearing are black and white. He nods to me and says, “Hi.” I go to give a short wave with my right hand, but then remember I can’t, so I wave emotionless with my left. He looks own to our hands and I scowl at him.

“I’m Nate, and this is Connor,” Nate says and the boy replies, “Alex.” I stay silent. He smiles with white teeth and I have to admit- he’s going to get a lot of girls. Nate sits up a little more and pulls his legs up Indian style on the couch, “Come sit down.”

The boy- Alexander sits in a tacky rainbow recliner next to the couch and Nate still smiling says, “Nice piercing.” I roll my eyes.

“Thanks.”

“Connor got snake bites over the summer,” Nate looks to me, “But hasn’t worn them since school started.” That’s true. I wanted to do something different so I got them and got so many funny looks the first day of school, I haven’t worn them since.

“Where are you from?” Nate continues.

“Well I’m from Michigan, but I moved to Canada when I was three.” As if I care. I turn my head towards Nate and roll my eyes. He uses a free hand to slap the side of my head and I narrow my eyes at him while rubbing it, trying to get him to feel my pain with my eyes. And it might’ve worked, if only Alex hadn’t started laughing.

We both look to him, he’s smirking and I try my best not to glare. I try my best not to wrinkle my forehead and growl all hour as he and my best friend talk and laugh and smile.
As soon as the bell rings I dash out of the room with Nate in tow so fast he doesn’t even get a chance to say goodbye. I only catch how I’ve acted after we’ve enter the hallway. All this stress is lying on my usually welcoming, nice, love me personality.

In Nate’s next hour, art, we sit in the back of the room because there isn’t another open chair by him; he sits next to Tate.

Nate refuses to stop talking about Alexander. I know everything about that new boy now and really want to punch him in the face.

There’s a question in the back of my mind; a question that I’ve been longing to ask since that disgusting Sunday morning-after. A question that goes up and over the awkward line; but if Nate’s been so cool with everything, maybe he’d be okay with me asking?

“Can I ask you something?” I say, quietly, hoping know one else hears. The only reason I’m asking in public is because the class is pretty loud since the eccentric art teacher is very loose.

“Of course, anything,” Nate notes the seriousness in y voice.

“W-Why uh…do you think I-I um- I um…bottomed?” I wince at the word and look away from my friend, hoping to push the awkwardness down a little and make him not notice my blush.

Nate gasps lowly, “Uh-um, well I uh…You…Err…” He takes a deep breath before starting again, “Well you know how some people get like really drunk…but uh like they still have some subconscious morals? Like you know, they wouldn’t fuck their mom, no matter how drunk?”

I look over to him, “How the fuck is that relevant!?” I whisper loudly.

“Maybe you subconsciously realized I was a virgin. Before that…” He looks away slowly as my mouth drops. As if it couldn’t get any worse. I took my best friends virginity. I feel bile rise in my throat but force it down. I breath heavily for a while, a long while. So long that Nate’s stopped talking, and has started sketching.

“I’m sorry…” I whisper, barely audible. But I really mean it. Not just because I think the entire situation is disgusting and I want to puke every time I think about it, but because I really am. I’m not going to say I’m happy I bottomed though now, fuck that shit.

At lunch, people don’t talk about the way out hands are still laced under the table. It’s actually pretty pleasant until Alex walks into the cafeteria, looking lost, and Nate grins and calls him over.

Smiling, he strides over while everyone’s eyes are on him and sits between Hannah and Andrew. He greets everyone and everyone greets he back, excluding me. I’m getting a vibe off this guy. No, really, I can feel it. I feel that vibe that I just need to hate him. And he should feel the vibes of hatred I’m radiating; only if he does, he’s a really good actor because he keeps smiling.

“Oh my gosh, okay, just so you know- girls are going to be all over you,” Hannah flips back brown and blonde hair in a flirtatious way and I smirk. Knew it.
He laughs and everyone’s eyes are still on him, examining, seeing if he can still sit here tomorrow.

“Yeah all the desperate ones,” Nate puts emphasis on ‘desperate’ and directs it towards Hannah who flips him off as we laugh.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Alex shrugs.

“Hun, you’re sexy. Get over it.”

“Yeah, well…I’m gay.” Andrew chokes on a taco, but no one goes to help him. The whole table freezes. Just stops, except him, who is looking around at our stunned faces wondering why.

“What?” Andrew spits, hoping he heard him wrong. Everyone waits, in shock, for his reply.
“I’m gay,” he gives a shrugging, eye narrowing gesture that asks us what’s wrong, “I sat with Nate and Connor because I thought they we’re gay too…they’ve been holding hands for forever.”

And that’s when I shoot up and grab his shirt in my fist. I move the table with my sudden gesture, furious, a lunch falls, I feel the glue tugging at my skin on my other hand and the entire cafeteria is deathly quiet.

“I. Am. Not. A. Fucking. Faggot,” I spit ice cold with venom, staring at him with teeth clamped together hard and fire in my eyes. He better be happy I don’t have a good left hook. I shove him backwards, letting him fall to the floor, tripping over his chair. I look glance around the whole venom, madder than I’ve ever been. I don’t fight. I usually get along with everyone, I’m liked by everyone. The kids who hadn’t heard what Al- that fag, said, are appalled. It only takes a moment for the whispers to start and the gasps and Nate jumps up and shoves me, “What the fuck is your problem!?” The cafe gets silent again. The cafe gets quieter again and I see a couple adults coming over to us to see the problem.

“What the fuck is your problem?! That fag thinks I’m one of them! What the fuck that…” Just talking about it makes smoke fume out my ears and I storm over to the boy, not even caring that I’m pulling Nate along and he’s trying with all his might to stop me. The boy jumps up, and looks at me with enraged brown eyes. It’s kind of a staring match for a while, because I can’t use my right hand, that is until Andy yanks the boy back by the back of his shirt and shoves him back to the floor, he looks at me saying, “I got you, man.” As if I’m not still holding hands with my best guy friend. The lunch aids start calling for us to stop is as they half-heartedly trek towards us from across the room. Andrew’s tall, bulky, on the football team, and I know he could beat that kid to a pulp. He balls his first into his shirt and pulls back his right hand and the kid doesn’t even look away, doesn’t wince, and just looks prepared to take it.

Nate suddenly pushes Andy, causing him to lose his grip on the smaller boy. “What the fuck is wrong with you…you both?! You don’t even know the kid!” Nate is easily stressed and I know he’s getting a migraine as he puts his hand in his hair and tugs a little. He looks back at me with eyes that are fierce and hurt at the same time. I know people are still wondering why our hands are still connected. He shakes his head at me, unsure what to say. He bites down on his lip, then looks to the fag on the floor; he extends his hand to help him up. People are still watching. “Are you okay?” The aid asks Alex. After he nods, the aid turns back to me, “Connor, what’s up? You’re not usually like this…” He says before glancing at Alex again, letting me slide without really thinking about the other boy.

Nate, pulling me along, goes to an empty round table behind our regular one and pulls it just a little closer to ours. It’s like Nate is the voice of reason, Andy could have easily bashed him- but he’s still frozen on the floor. Fag sits down in the chair furthest from our table and Nate sits across from him, right behind the chair I was sitting in before the incident. I turn and sit in my chair, our backs facing each other as our hands are connected on our sides. Andrew, fuming, sits back in his chair. I can’t even describe how I feel right now. Infuriated, pained, bewildered. I look down at my lap. I feel a tug on my hand and I know Nate’s moving. Soon, I hear the screech of a few chairs behind me and hear Ginger’s voice, along with some of her friends and after a few minutes, Nate’s laugh.

I really am hurt at the look of pure distress Nate gave me, but at the same time I keep thinking- that fag called me a fag! He fucking deserves it! And also wondering what other people were thinking- what they were saying, are saying. I feel like ripping my hair out, screaming, beating that new kid until…until…

Nate and I walk as far as we can from each other and don’t talk the rest of the day; even when I get called down to the office after school. The principal does want to punish me, I can tell, but he gives me a strong warning. Afterward, we get back into my car the same way we did in the morning. Right before getting in I see the fag laughing with a skateboard in his hand, talking to Ginger and on the way to her car. I still don’t like her.

You can get super glue off skin with acetone; which is usually in nail polish, so we head to my apartment. I’m almost happy my mom didn’t have to work today, she’s a kindergarten teacher, until she sees our hands and gushes, “Oh my gosh, it’s just like when you two were little! You guys look so cute.”

She notices our sour expressions and her forehead wrinkles, “What’s wrong?”
“Do you have any nail polish with acetone, Nicole? This isn’t by will; our hands are super glued together,” Nate asks my mom.

She gasps, “How did you boys do that?!” It’s rhetorical, because she rushes to the bathroom to get the remover and Nate looks at me and scowls. I open my mouth to give some choice words, but my mom rushes back in. She guides us to the kitchen sink and we put our connected hands in.

“So,” She asks, pouring the liquid over our hands, “Other than this, how was your day?” I know what Nate going to say before he does. The connection gets looser and my mom pulls out a nail file, trying to put it between our hands to separate them.

“Connor almost got into a fight with the new boy. He would’ve punched him if we weren't connected.”

My mom gasps and there’s only a little skin that’s still on our hands connected. I send Nate a deathly glare.

“Connor! Why? What did he do to you?”

“Oh, Alex didn’t do anything to Connor. Just told him he was gay and Connor got pissed, called him a faggot in front of a third of the entire school, grabbed him and pushed him down,” Nate continues to snitch.

Our hands come apart and I immediate ball my hand into a fist as he rubs the residue on his hand and thanks my mom, it still stings a little as I bring my first back. My mother gasps once again and catches my arm, twisting it behind my back, like she learned in those self defense classes. I hiss and look up at Nate. He looks shocked and hurt. We’ve never fist fought before and haven’t even gotten into a verbal fight since ninth grade.

“What the hell, Connor?!” My mother finally lets me go once she thinks I won’t hit my best friend.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Nate cries before storming out our apartment. I run to the door and call, “How the fuck are you getting home, dipshit?!”

“Walking, jack ass!” He rushes out the building and I slam the apartment door closed and look to my mom who slaps me, not very hard, but not lightly, across the face and glares at me. I know Nate’s like another son to her.

She doesn’t even say anything as I stomp to my room like a pissed five year old and shut my door hard. I collapse on my bed and try not to think; not think at all.

Three hours later, I’m still on my bed, thinking about not thinking. Keeping my mind black, forcing my eyes closed as my arms wrap around my legs on my bed.

I get a text message from mystery sender and as soon as I read it all my thoughts come rushing back into my head. I scream in fury and throw it into the nearest wall watching the wall dent and the phone break. My mom burst through the door, worried, her eyes dart to where my broken phone lay and so do mines. I start bawling and my mom doesn’t say anything before rushing over and cradling me.

‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder.’