Miss Notorious Attention ***.

A slight humidity hung in the air that following evening and mollified the nippy chill of the late September drafts.

The football stands were packed with high-school students of all ages from each competing school as they avidly watched the Homecoming game before them. The efforts between each team were matched and their unceasing attempts to turn the tables were like an unending tug-of-war contest. The uproars were horrendously loud.

Blaine threaded through the rows of the stands, politely brushing past the strangers that were his schoolmates. He held his composure aloof, but he was keyed-up on the inside, finally having a driving purpose that actually seemed attainable.

He was going to find acceptance, he was going to find a friend.

As if giving him their blessings to pursue friendship, the night sky was clear and fresh, each distant sun pulsating and crystalline. They seemed to smile down on the naive boy and bid him fortune.

For once, Blaine felt like no one could defy his optimism.

For Homecoming night, Blaine was dressed in a simple pair of grey fleece leggings, black pumps, and a pink The Veronicas vintage v-neck which seemed to reveal more of his cleavage that at the same time wasn’t there. Blaine’s cascading blonde hair was pushed back with a black headband to reveal his silver dangling star earrings. His lips were coated a soft, subtle pink, and his aloof eyes were still remarkably emerald as they were framed with his flourish of eyelashes.

He was easily more gorgeous than any of the girls there.

Regardless of his detached composure, eyes pursued Blaine wherever he went like they were bobbing lanterns lighting his way in the dusk. He seemed to glow with that unintentional phosphorescence that followed him like a storm cloud.

Aimlessly, Blaine searched for a seat simultaneously as he looked for a potential friend. The lantern-eyes that followed him struck him as strangers he wished to avoid. Intrigued as they were by his Cinderella atmosphere, they rejected him all the same. He could feel it in their stares; they were all the same, skeptical and scrutinizing.

But then there was someone else.

He resembled a miniscule island in the middle of the ocean as he sat there, alone. All around him was a patch of naked seats. The boy’s lanky legs were crossed good-naturedly and carefree boredom emitted from his eyes.

His eyes.

His eyes were such a deep shade of indigo blue that Blaine felt like he could dive into them and drown before ever reaching the bottom.

He was drowning in the boy’s eyes.

There’re plenty of seats to pick from.

Blaine hesitated.

He heard himself say, “Could I-could I, um- are you saving those- are you saving those seats for any-”

“Of course you can sit down.” His smile was assuring and as pleasant as his easy-going ambiance.

He was definitely different from the lanterns.

Exchanging a fumbling smile of his own, Blaine plucked himself down in the seat to the boy’s right. His detached manner softened from the boy’s infectious pleasantness.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Hmm?” Blaine blinked, distracted by the boy’s aura.

“I said, ‘what’s your name’.”

“Oh.” Blaine blushed profusely. “It’s-err- Blaine.”

The boy’s smiling eyes lit up the night. “Blaine…” he said, tasting the word on his tongue. A pleasant beam, and “That’s pretty.” Blaine couldn’t help but smile back.

“My name’s Blake.”

Blake’s voice was light. It was innocent and open like outstretched, warm arms embracing him into a safe haven. It was warm like the promise of friendship, and suddenly Blaine’s optimism swelled to pure happiness.

***

There was a comfortable silence as the boys’ eyes trailed lazily after the football players when Blake asked, “So what brings you to Homecoming night?”

Blaine pretended to ponder this as he absently chewed on a lock of his hair. He propped up his legs so that his knees would be tucked beneath his chin. “There wasn’t anything on TV,” he joked.

Blake’s soft chuckle seemed to twinkle like the stars surveying the two from above.

“And you?”

“My brother’s the linebacker,” he explained. “My mom dragged me.” He shrugged in his easy-going manner and raked a hand through his hair. It was shoulder-length, untidy, and raven-black. Blaine adored it.

“I’m glad you came,” he said, meaning it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Blake tilted his head curiously and considered him, dark blue eyes sweeping across Blaine’s face and his clothes, like search beams, looking for something beyond visual reach. His eyes dropped down to Blaine’s feet and he said, “I like your shoes.”

He smiled shyly. “Thanks.” Woman’s size eleven heels were hard to find. “They hurt,” he remarked.

“They look like they do.” A smirk played on his lips. “You’re so dressed up.”

“Oh-.” Nervous giggle. “You know me.”

His voice was soft. “Actually, no; I don’t.”

Now it was Blaine’s time to study him. Flawless skin. Heart-shaped face. Delicate nose. Soft lips. And now, as he peered in the dim light, he could see that Blake was also wearing a modest layer of mascara. But, his features were so androgynous that it suited him. The only hints of his masculinity were in his lack of curves and big feet.

“But,” Blake continued, bashful, “I would like to get to know you.”

***

By halftime, the two boys were snuggling.

Blaine furrowed himself deeper into Blake’s lap, legs spilling over into the next seat. Blake’s skin was warm against his cheek as he rested his head in the crook of his neck. His pumps were discarded underneath the seat and his pale, black-toenail-painted toes wiggled in the humid air. His new friend’s arm was draped lazily over his shoulder as the two watched the progressing football game with even less of a care. A sort of lazy contentment mesmerized him. He could have stayed like that forever.

Blaine, enveloped in Blake’s warmth, was nodding off when a pair of soft lips brushed against his ear.

“I dunno about you, but I’ve seen enough,” the lips murmured. “Let’s ditch this place.”

Unwilling to move from his spot, Blaine’s eyes sleepily rose to meet his. “Five more minutes,” he whined softly, and closing his eyes before Blake could respond.

He chuckled. “You’re too cute,” he said, and consent.

A few minutes later, as promised, Blaine stirred, rubbing the sleep that had accumulated in his eyes. “Okay,” he yawned, “Let’s roll.”

Blearily, he got to his feet, grimacing at the coldness of the floor sinking into his bare feet. He retrieved his pumps, struggling with the straps for a bit before he managed to put them on. He didn’t know if it was the heels or just him, but he suddenly realized that he was taller than Blake, albeit just a few inches. After stretching out his arms, he turned to the other boy, and the two left the deserted seating area and approached the stairs. They held hands comfortably.

Blaine was happy; he’d finally found acceptance, and it was from a captivating, striking boy. The breeze felt perfect, the night felt perfect- everything felt perfect, for once. And it was then that he realized that he didn’t care if he was popular, or if he had a lot of friends, or if he was the center of envy. All that mattered was that one friend that could make up for all of it. And that friend just happened to be Blake.

As the two went down the main steps of the stands to whatever destination Blake had in mind, reality surged back, along with its noise and insensitivity.

The taunts and soured attention came back as well.

Blaine and Blake were quickly recognized, and jeers started towards their way like waves, increasing the closer they got and threatening to crush them with its magnitude.

“Hey! It’s the dykes!”

“What’re you doing at a football game, you fairies?”

“Faggots!”

“Go home, faggots!”

Blaine tried to turn his face away, but the lantern-eyes were everywhere. Blake squeezed his hand comfortingly and the two quickened their pace. The uproar was beginning to swarm around them.

“Go home!” Someone echoed and threw their Pepsi at the pair. The spray of soda struck Blaine square in the face, trickling down his neck and staining his shirt. His eyes burned from it.

A storm of garbage began to pelt them, always following foul words and more derogatory terms. As they fled down the remaining steps, fresh, hot tears streamed from Blaine’s face.

Leaving behind the malicious din, he broke away from the stands and Blake and raced down the length of the football field. Stadium lights occasionally bathed him in pools of yellow light, illuminating his tears, which were once again blackened by the mascara. His pumps punched small squares into the sod grass as he ran. Soon, he arrived at the admission gate and unlocked it to get to the other side, not bothering to swing it entirely shut as he fled down the concrete steps leading to the field.

Only when he finally approached the western part of campus did he pause for breath. A distant figure advanced towards him, and he could dimly hear it call out his name.

Blake.

Attempting to shrug away his tears, Blaine tried one of the double doors. Although preparations for the Homecoming Dance were still underway, he found the doors leading into the hallway by the auditorium to be unlocked, and he slipped inside.

The heels of his pumps clacked proudly, echoing in the empty hallway. The soda, his makeup and his tears had muddled together and created a sticky residue on his face and his neck. He felt repulsed from himself, a drastic difference from the bliss and ease he felt when he was alone with Blake.

Blake. He couldn’t let Blake see him like this. Panicky, Blaine whirled around towards the doors, biting his lip. He needed to clean himself up. He didn’t need a mirror to feel the monstrosity that was his face.

He pivoted around again, his eyes searching for the nearest bathroom. He found them, soon enough, across one of the school’s trophy cases. He didn’t pause as he approached them; this time, he would pay no heed to his meddling conscious.

He went straightaway to the boys’ bathroom.

He found himself reliving his lunch period from earlier that day as he lurched to his knees in the middle of the grimy bathroom and sobbed unreservedly, clutching his face in humiliation.

Their taunts echoed in his mind.

He griped on the bathroom floor while trying to wash away their words.

You…don’t…need them…You don’t…need them…

But he couldn’t convince himself.

***

Blaine’s makeup was caked in disarray all over his tearstained face. His head lolled back and the plastic tiles that adorned the walls were cool against his cheek.

He was suddenly attentive as he heard someone call out his name. Their voice was delicately pitched, light and lilting.

“Blaine?”

It’d been at least twenty minutes.

“Blaine?”

His eyes fluttered shut. He was still a mess.

Blake’s voice neared before his calling paused, and soon Blaine was sure that he and his fathomless eyes had discovered him lying there. “Blaine?”

There was the dull sound of his converses against the tiled floor.
He giggled. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Blaine didn’t reply, but instead opened his eyes listlessly and looked up to the boy with jet-black hair.

Blake sighed, and approached him, kneeling down to take a hold of his friend’s hand.

“You okay, dude?”

Blaine licked his dried lips. “Yeah, I guess.”

Blake shook his head. “You should join the cross-country team,” he mused. “You ran like the cops were tailing your ass.” He punched his arm. “Don’t run from me, you doofus.”

Blaine found himself smiling. “Because you’ll always find me?”

“Exactly.” He got to his feet. “Now, let me wash that crap off of your face.”

He got to his feet and withdrew sheets of paper towels from the dispenser. After running some water from one of the sinks over them, Blaine sat back down by his friend and began to dab away the disaster of makeup, tears, and Pepsi. As he worked, Blake spoke to him in calming tones, explaining that the bullying at school was inevitable, but however he chose to fight back- or retreat- was up to him, and it almost always changed their perspectives. “For better, or for worse,” he shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

It was then that Blake’s dabbing revealed something purposely buried away, like beautiful masquerade masks that hide the ugly truth.

He furrowed his brow. “Is that- is that a bruise?”

Self-conscious hands flew up to cover the dark bruise that covered his left cheek. He’d tried to hide it with some blush and concealer.

Blaine bit his lip. “It looks worse than it actually is. Really,” he said quickly, when Blake snorted.

Brashly, Blake asked, “Who did this to you?”

He swallowed. “It was during lunch…I came into the bathrooms to try to-try to fix my makeup…These guys were there…” The same swelling feeling of pressure in his chest was becoming apparent. “They-they knew who I was…and o-one…one of them…” His fingertips apprehensively touched the mauve-tinted bruise.

Blake’s eyebrows drew together, eyes wide unbelieving.

“You mean to tell me that a guy did this to you?”

Sensing oncoming anger, Blaine said uncertainly, “Yes?”

Blake pivoted from left to right, as if searching for the guy himself. An indignant expression was evident on his usually pleasant face.

“This is unbelievable!”

Blaine downcast his eyes as he watched his friend between timid eyelashes.

“Jeez, some guys can be such dicks! And with girlfriends! Unbelievable,” she repeated, muttering. “I can’t believe that they would do something like this to such a sweet and innocent girl like you.”

Taken aback, Blaine snapped to attention. Numerous things were processed through his mind in the few seconds that passed between them, while Blake continued his rant, unaware of the way his friend stared.

Blake doesn’t know that I’m not a girl…but he likes me; I can tell. And I like him too. Would he stop liking me if he realized the truth? Should I lie? Would he care, anyway? Would he find out? And what about his mascara?

Before his thoughts could completely ferment, he heard himself blurt, “But I’m not-”

Blake momentarily broke his tirade. “Of course you are. You’re one of the sweetest people I know.”

“But- you don’t understand-.”

“Those womanizers! Jerks! Fuckers like that will be wife-beaters when they grow up-.”

“Listen to me!” Blaine cried exasperatedly.

Swear to shake it up if you swear to listen.

Shut up shut up shut up.

We’re still so young and desperate for attention.

Blaine tried his best to tune himself out. It was as difficult as it was illogical. His next words came out in a low murmur.

“I’m not- I’m not a girl.” He braced himself.

The other boy furrowed his brow and leaned closer. “Say again? I couldn’t hear you.”

A watery drop of makeup slid down his face. The pressure in his chest was unbearable as he squeaked, “I’m not a girl, Blake.”

A hand flew up to his chest in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” His reaction wasn’t as bad as Blaine had anticipated. Regardless, he bit his lip and waited for the worst.

“Wow. I’m sorry- I really thought you were-”

“It’s okay; everyone always does.” He shrugged. “That’s the point.”

Hesitation.

Blaine released his breath. “Still friends?”

Blake’s eyes were soft with the subtle affection that melted the pressure in his chest. “Of course we’re still friends.” He made a show of rolling his eyes before punching Blaine again in the arm. “My God, you’re such a pansy.” But he smiled anyway. His friend smiled back.

Blake looked around the unremarkable bathroom. “I was wondering what you were doing in here,” he said.

Blaine nodded absentmindedly as he got to his feet, looking around as well. “I just went inside without thinking. I’m surprised that there’s even a mirror in here.” It was grimy, but it was a mirror nevertheless.

“I know, right? I thought only the girls’ bathrooms had them,” he mused.

Blaine tilted his head. “You’ve never been in here before?”

“Of course not. The boys’ bathroom is only for-.” Realization dawned on Blake’s face and he stumbled to his feet, horrified.

“What is it?” But even as he asked, his mind was whirling as he processed it all, taking in all of the evidence that had been so obvious earlier that night.

The light voice; androgynous features; the mascara.

Before he could open his mouth, Blake beat him to it.

“You thought I was a boy!” And it was all suddenly clear.

Blaine’s eyes were wide with disbelief and embarrassment. “Oh, my God. I am so- I didn’t- I didn’t know!” He suddenly knew what Hagrid felt like when he discovered that Madame Maxime was in fact not a giantess.

He really needed to stop reading Harry Potter.

Mortified, Blake whirled around and confronted her face in the filth-streaked mirror. He could see it now, the feminine movements and the feminine face that he had taken no notice of. He’d been too busy swimming in her eyes. “Do I really look-.” Her scrutinizing eyes penetrated her reflection’s. Not waiting for his reply, she cried, “Ohmigod, I do!”

Then and there Blaine decided that mirrors were evil and very destructive.

“I never realized I was so…ugly,” she griped, tugging at her hair.

He tried to talk, but the words were lost on his tongue. He licked his lips.

Form. Words.

He tried again. “Don’t be ridiculous. You aren’t ugly, Blake. I’m just stupid.”

She crossed her arms, incredulous. “Yeah,” she huffed, “Right.” As an afterthought, her lips curved in a reluctant smile. “Actually, you were right in saying you were stupid.”

“Can we please just forget this?” he pleaded.

Dark blue eyes regarded him.

“Please? I was genuinely having fun, for once. Until…” he sighed.

Seconds of silence passed between them. Blake glanced back at her reflection quietly as she contemplated her next words. Finally, she sighed as well and said, “Fine.” A smile danced on her lips. “But on one condition,” she said, holding up a single, fingernail-nibbled index finger.

A smirk found itself on Blaine’s face. “And what may that be?”

“Be my date for the Homecoming Dance.”

“But-” his hands fluttered to his hair. His face. His clothes. All of his toiled-over perfection had melted away onto his prized Veronicas shirt.

“No ‘buts’.” Fistfuls of brown paper towels were already in her hands as she moved to dampen them. Surrendering, Blaine let her wash away the last of the muddle that had dried on his face. He felt self-conscious from the naked feeling of no makeup. But, he didn’t protest as she carefully washed away the untouched, faint eyeshadow.

“You know,” she murmured as she wiped the last of it off of his nose, “You actually look really cute as a guy.” She brushed the tendrils of his hair that had escaped his headband out of the way. Shyly, she smiled, and he could feel it form on his own face.

***

Drying his face with a spare paper towel, Blaine asked her, “And what about my shirt?” There was an ugly brown stain obscuring one of the twins’ faces, and it had dribbled all the way down to his abdomen.

Blake studied the v-neck. She said, “That’s one nasty stain,” and removed her leather jacket, handing it over to her friend who accepted it gratefully.

The jacket was warm from her body heat and smelled like pomegranates. Blaine hugged the collar to his chin, and she chuckled.

He looked to her. “You sure you won’t be cold?”

“We’re inside, doofus, and no, I’m not cold,” she retorted. Without her jacket, he could see Blake’s black Jack Daniel’s shirt. The silver lettering was flashy in the lighting. As she brushed away dust on her shirt, she looked doubtfully down at her chest. It was impossibly, embarrassingly flat. “No wonder,” she muttered. She looked up to find him looking at her as well. She said aloud, “There’s a comb in the left pocket.” Blaine found it and quickly ran it through his hair, thanking her.

“How do I look?” she asked, after simply raking her hair with her fingers.

“Good. Me?”

“Better,” she smirked, waggling her eyebrows. He laughed.

“To the dance!” she cried out, jabbing her index finger in the air, and the two left the boys’ bathroom together, arm in arm, their footsteps ringing in the broad hallway.