I Just Don't Understand

I was shitting myself the moment I left the room. I waited a few moments as I walked to get past the windows before high tailing it out of there. My shoes thudded on the ground, but my heart was beating faster. I was terrified, I'd just kissed a fucking teacher. What the hell was I meant to do tomorrow? Ignore it all, and forget it ever happened? I guess I'd have to.
But his lips tasted like strawberries and h wasn't all spit like everyone else I'd kissed.

That's my next dilemma, I wasn't gay the last time I checked! Okay, so the solution is simple. I act like nothing ever happened and so will he, because he can't have a relationship with a student. It's okay, everything will be fine. I was having a bad day, and I needed to release my anger. I just released it onto his lips instead into shouting at him.
It wasn't really my fault though, his stupid soft hair and bright eyes are enough to distract anyone, and frequently do. Majority of the girls are failing English because they can't pay attention to anything other than his tight trousers and see through shirts. It's not my fault. I'm not gay.

With this knowledge safely in my brain, I walked into English with the swagger of a pirate. The swagger made sense to me, but I think I looked stupid to my friends. But that's okay, because I'm not gay. Mr. Rodgers looked as rugged as ever, running his hand through his hair worriedly as the class filed slowly in, trudging to our seats with a reluctance that only first years could muster.

He looked at me, relieved and panicked at the same time. His face seemed altogether too small to hold so many conflicting emotions at once. "Right class," his voice wasn't as strong as usual, but he cleared his throat and carried on as strong as ever. "Today's lesson will cover the use of apostrophes."

His voice droned on into another boring lesson to fill an hour of my life. I blocked him out, drawing on my page as he talked for the first half of the lesson. He brought out the textbooks and I pretended to work as I added more detailed to the bearded man on my page. Writing is harder than reading, anyway. I would have never finished the work in time, this way he had to spend less time deciphering my five year old's handwriting.

The kid next to me was a shy girl with small framed glasses, who tried to encourage me to do the work. I sighed heavily and made like I was about to start, but curled my page towards the wall and began on the man's companion dog, also bearded. The class was over and it was break time, I tried to escape the classroom quickly with my mates, but he called me back.

"Dylan?" he asked me tentatively, keeping the desk solidly between us. "About yesterday-"

"I'm not gay!" I blurted out quickly. "You made me read out loud and I was feeling angry. I'm not gay."

There was a moment of stunned silence, and no-one seemed able to move. Finally Mr. Rodgers stood up straight and cleared his throat with a loud cough. “It’s okay to be gay,” he said. “It makes no difference to anyone but you.”

Clearly, he’s never been twelve before. “And everyone in the school. No-one likes gays.”

He sighs, and walks over to me, forgetting all previous caution. “It’s perfectly alright to be gay,” he breathes. His lips catch mine and he leans in close. “After all, I am.” And then he’s pressing himself against me, trapping my leg between his.