The Art of Fading

“So I’m thinking I’d like to hang out with you more.”

I freeze at my locker, willing my eyes to stay locked on the checkered tiles below my feet.

I hate Monday mornings. Not for the fact that it’s Monday and that means school starts again in a five day cycle; but for the fact that if I haven’t stayed the weekend with Ike, he hardly ever shows up. Mondays he likes to sit in his room, playing xbox live with randoms rather than going to school. And his parents really are okay with it. He’s got decent grades despite being a slacker and for the most part he’s beloved by all his teachers. Though this year has been a little different since some of the veteran teachers don’t want to take our crap any longer.

I’m thinking, I don’t have time for this shit.

Shutting the locker with preciseness and control, I face Kenny. He’s standing right near me and there are a few people already staring at the both of us during their passing periods. It’s because Kenny isn’t joking about the gay thing. Even when people have the balls to just straight up ask for clarification he’s got the same story. Gay and proud. So him standing at my locker, chatting me up…it’s suspect, all right.

“Who the fuck are you?” I finally ask, exasperated with how familiar he’s become with me in just the short time he’s arrived at my school. He’s already stalked my locker and house. If he starts showing up at the same parties…I don’t know what I’ll do. My shoot myself of punch a small child.

“And why the fuck are you following me?” I follow up.

Kenny smiles and lifts his shoulder noncommittally. “I want to spend more time around you.”

I snort and shake my head, already turning on my heels and attempting to book it.

“Or I could tell everyone you’re gay.” He says it almost as if he’s speaking over his shoulder, a sly whisper into the loud hum of teenagers buzzing through the halls.

I freeze for the second time, a twitch taking to my features as I turn on him. He’s still standing there. Only, he doesn’t look like the innocent little nerd I’ve pinned him for; sure, he’s still wearing a slightly geeked out jacket and jeans that I’m sure are ages old, but he’s not smiling sweetly like normal. It’s a raw dominance challenging me as I stare back at him, slightly shocked and overly taken aback. But that fades quickly.

I shove his shoulder back into the locker and he winces—I check behind me to make sure no one is really paying too much attention. Of course they are. I have Kenny pinned against my locker, who isn’t staring? But I don’t see any teachers around so I figure I’m okay for now.

“You—shut up,” I say it calmly as I fold the collar back into place on his jacket. Despite the initial shock of me lashing out Kenny just looks a little amused.

The bell rings then and even though I feel the intense urge to stay right here with Kenny and make sure he keeps his damn mouth shut, I just brush my sweaty palms down my sides and head off to class.

►

The whole day Kenny is in my peripherals. He’s not standing right beside me during break but I can see him leaning against the wall near Jamie and I. At lunch he’s not at our table but the one behind mine. All the while I try and ignore him but he seems to be popping up every place I go.

During Mr. Ramsey’s class he finally sits down next to me. It’s unfortunate that it’s a movie day. Again. I do not want to be sitting in the dark next to Kenny the faggot. But here I am, arms twisted around my torso (so I don’t haul off and punch him) and ankles wrapped around the steel legs of my chair, tense and intently focused on the History Channel program that we’re watching.

Surprisingly, Kenny doesn’t say or do much anything suspect. He just takes some vague notes and gives me a single look; it’s one that’s not entirely unfriendly. Just a quick smile and head nod before he turns back to his scribbles. If I see my goddamn name in hearts with his initials I swear…bad things will happen.

I can’t help but scowl and stare down at my blank sheet of paper. For a while, I wonder to myself how the fuck he knows—anything. About me. I don’t give off any high frequencies of being gay. I hardly even think about it. For the most part I don’t even think about it to myself or regarding anyone else. Every time I do I get sick or feel very, very tired and need to lie down. I’m nothing exciting, either, mostly I hang around with Ike and the gang and keep a low profile. No one barely knows my name past my immediately five friends. I am fucking Agent K when it comes to this shit, for Christ’s sake.

After classes and the final bell rings Jamie approaches me. She’s holding Kevin’s hand and I want to roll my eyes but I don’t—because Kenny is coming up behind me and I put more effort into signing than eye rolling. His feet slapping loudly on the linoleum right before he stops in front of all of us.

“Hey there Kenny,” Jamie says even before she greets me, a soft smile on her face.

“What’s up?” he nods his head. Kevin shifts slightly and I can see him tighten his grip on Jamie’s hand and he’s giving Kenny the weirdest look.

“I think we’re headed to get second lunch,” she says. “You want to tag along, Bran? Ike is meeting us.”

I nod and head after them. Kenny clears his throat a bit and I stop—if he thinks he’s going to say accusational shit when I leave, he’s wrong.

“Kenny’s coming too,” I say, before he can open his mouth.

I don’t think accusational is actually a word, I think it’s something like ‘anyways’ or ‘irregardless,’ but if it were (you know, a word), I wasn’t going to let Kenny do it. I have to keep him close for now, so later when no one is looking I can throttle him. Kevin is astonished, to say the least. I never invite anyone with us to our second lunch. It’s a strict IBK code that we don’t invite other people. Except the girls, occasionally they’re allowed to tag along but not normally.

“Dude,” Kevin says, sort of nudging Kenny and Jamie ahead of us. “You can’t just invite queen faggot along—“

Kenny turns, and I think he’s heard Kevin’s blunt remark.

“No offense man,” Kevin throws in there, with a dismissive wave. “But really…”

For Kevin. Queen Faggot isn’t an insult. It’s like, referring to someone as “Hey, fat ass” where most likely they are fat—it’s just, he lacks tact and the skill to actually sound sorry for it.

“He can eat with us,” I say. “Besides, we have to work on a project after this so—fuck off. It used to just be IB until your dumbass joined in so I don’t really think you have any room to talk.”

Kevin just shakes his head, clearly irritated with me. He starts popping all the little bones on his meaty fingers and in a way, I think he’s just really trying to be friends with me because Jamie is around and he wants Ike’s nuts super bad. I hate the sound of knuckles popping, so while I could have rode with Jamie in her car, I choose to ride with Kenny. It’s a little drastic but necessary.

He drives a boxy Mercedes and there’s fuzz.

Fuzz. Faggety little fuzzy things hanging from the mirror and I am sitting on a seat with fluffy pseudo-lamb fur cushioning. I see Kevin sniggering as they pass by us, leading the way to wherever it is that Ike is meeting us. Kevin is riding in a Camry and I’m in this goddamn deathtrap!

I toy with the radio station, because up until now I don’t know what to say. I still don’t. So for the ten minute ride I sit shotgun with some kid that I don’t know. Who—incidentally—is on a mission to ruin my life.

I have never done anything to this individual. In fact, even though my friends can be sort of douche-like in nature, and yeah, I’ve joined in on making a joke about more than one person—but the thing is, I’m not a bad guy. I don’t do bad things to hurt other people. I just want to make it through high school and not be noticed. Is it too much to ask? I’m not even asking that my mother stop sleeping around, or that my dad try and come home a little more. I’m asking for anonymity. Is that so farfetched?

“So where do you guys normally go for this?” Kenny asks. When I don’t immediately answer he brings up a few local hot spots. I don’t really hear him. I’m too busy looking through his CD collection. And yes, in year 2010 this kid has CD’s, so…

Usually everyone just pirates and downloads the shit out of everything. But I pull out three Dashboard Confessions and several mix playlists. They’re all labeled in bubbly handwriting and hearts that it leads me to believe a girl made these for him. Though I don’t want to jump to any conclusions because I’m sitting in a fuzzed out Mercedes. I have to take into consideration the circumstances. There’s a strong possibility this is Kenny’s handwriting and he addresses him self in the TO: memo as “KenKen.”

“Hey, moron, it’s this one,” I mutter, waving him over to the exit where Jamie and Kevin are turning.

We end up going into a Denny’s and getting a big booth. Ike is already there and I slide right in next to him, then Jamie, then Kevin and then Kenny.

“Kenster,” Ike greets him, his mouth displaying a smile but inwardly I know what he’s thinking when he glares a me: Why the fuck is he here? “How’s it goin’ man?”

“Good,” he says, very casually, sitting at the end and pulling open a menu.

“Few weeks of school and you’re running with the wolves already,” Ike continues. “You know there’s a total blood pact you have to sign off on if you’re going to join the IBK.”

“What is IBK?” Kenny asks, shifting in his seat and fiddling with the menu a bit. He looks so oddly placed with us. I mean—we’re not street kids but we’ve always been a little…rough looking.

Jamie’s got major piercings all up her ears and a never wears less than five trashy rings on her hand; I don’t think she’s ever bought a pair of pants that she doesn’t feel the need to rip to shreds, when she’s not looking like ghetto trash she generally is dressed up in sports uniforms and could probably bench Kenny’s full weight. I know I’ve painted a picture of some butch lesbian but it’s her soft face and big warm eyes that are the only thing that save her. That, and the fact that she’s gorgeous. Ike is a trifle bit scruffier and usually doesn’t give a shit if he’s even wearing a shirt. Kevin is just…he’s a fucking meatball. I’m somewhere in between. Point being…

Kenny, he looks like the white version of Urkel, really, in comparison. (Either that or his parents are in a much higher economic pay grade than ours.) Without the giant ass glasses and he’s got angle soft hair—at least it looks that way. His shirt is buttoned up nicely and his pants don’t sag and he actually uses shoelace for his belt rather than a conventional leather stuff. Why the kid even wants to hang around with us completely baffles me.

Ike doesn’t go too hard on him—rather—he resorts to telling me about his latest mission. No, I’m not talking about a real life mission. I’m talking about little pixilated images running around and blasting heads off. And—okay, I can’t be a total hypocrite about this all, because I enjoy killing randoms occasionally. Mainly I really only play xbox because Ike is something obsessive and most of his free time is either spent being a social butterfly or being a reclusive hermit that knows nothing but aerial attacks and stale corn chips as sustenance.

Point being, it’s probably the first time I’ve stopped fully paying attention to Ike. I’m still listening with my ears but the rest of me is pretty focused in on Kenny. I definitely don’t want him to just blabber out whatever bullshit he figured out. He seems pretty content to eating a stack of pancakes while the rest of us converse. The whole thing is pretty off on my part. I don’t feel like eating. I’m afraid if I try I’ll just end up vomiting—my stomach is that twisted up right now.

“We’re gonna go to Jamie’s place,” Kevin says, standing and brushing some crumbs off his shirt.

“Nah. Bran and I are going to Foster’s place,” Ike says dismissively.

“What?” I snap my head back to him. I’ve been staring at Kenny the whole time and I think he’s noticed at this point because he’s sort of smirking.

“Yeah. I need to pick some stuff up. You’re coming with?” It’s posed as a question but not really…

Foster is the name of the kid that strictly deals the high quality bud that’s so fucking out of this world I swear it’s laced with something chemically altering. I can remember the two times I smoked that shit with Ike and it’s…well. We ended up naked in his kitchen the next morning with five cans of olives and all the contents spilled around us. The second time I just remember feeling like everything was a dream. A really hazy, blurry dream—but everyone’s faces were so sharp and pointy that it felt like I was being stabbed every time I tried to look at someone. Thing was though, that Ike only ever let me go with him to Foster’s place. The guy was kind of a shady dealer and the less people and unfamiliar faces, the better.

And as much as I liked going with him—doing our own little thing…I could not leave Kenny’s side. As far as I was concerned, Kenny wasn’t going to wipe his own ass without me being right there. At least until we got this whole situation figured out.

“Actually, Kenny and I have a project we’re doing,” I said, putting down a few dollars to cover my soda and toast I didn’t eat. “For history.”

“In Ramsey’s?” Ike tilts his head. “I don’t remember him mentioning a project…”

I laugh, taking Kenny’s arm in a rough grip and tearing him away from his goddamn pancakes. “That’s probably ‘cause you’re high most of the time.”

“Yeah,” Kenny butts in. “It’s for extra credit.” At least the manipulative douche is trying to help.

“Extra…credit?” Ike eyes me weirdly. “Whatever dude. Call me later tonight then.”

“Yeah, I will,” I nod and push Kenny out in front of me and we start marching. Or at least, I start marching. Kenny sort of sashays his little ass until I kick at his feet in the parking lot and he snaps out of it.

“Hey!” he protests, nearly tripping.

“Get in the car,” I say, waiting at the passenger’s side. I have zero patience. He fishes out his keys and I ignore the fact that my three others friends are sort of watching us from the opposite end of the parking lot. I can tell they’re talking about us in the way that Jamie keeps glancing over at me and Kevin keeps nodding his fatty meatball head at Ike.

I don’t bother to look at Ike though—he knows something is up. He never legitimately asks me to call him. It’s almost like a code for I-know-something-is-up. That’s what I get for being best friends with the kid for like, more than half my life, right?

“Your place or mine?” Kenny asks as we pile into his stupid, girly excuse for a car. I hate the way he says it too, but through gritted teeth and tightened fists I manage to mutter out a “yours” of some sort—and Kenny nods.

►

I know I have to do something. I’m just not sure exactly what it is I have to do to make this all disappear. It’s so overwhelming that I almost don’t realize when Kenny has parked the car in the driveway.

I stumble over myself a bit before climbing out of the funk-mobile and hurry after Kenny. No one seems to be home at my place—or at least no cars are in the driveway so for now I’m not expected home. Not like I ever really am, but still. Mom likes to bitch if I’m not there and it’s just easier to not deal with it.

“My parents don’t get home until like six, usually,” Kenny says, as he unlocks the front door and pockets his keys. He throws me a friendly smile over his shoulder as he waves me in first. Despite all his politeness I’m not really thrilled about the circumstances. At all.

“My dad works at that new hospital,” he says, tossing his messenger bag on the hook and taking off his shoes. I do the same, holding my ratty sneakers at my side as I follow Kenny. “Well. Not exactly at the hospital, but the buildings along side it. He’s the vagina doctor—which I think is totally disgusting. Like, who wants to fish around in someone’s lady parts?”

He turns on me and starts bursting into laughter. “Ha—“ he breaks in, nearly in tears. “Get it? Fish…lady parts?”

I burst into laughter—ha. Not.

“Where’s your room?” I ask, with a little more purpose in my step I head toward what looks like the hallway. The layout of the house is similar to my parent’s but this is a new model with better furnishing and not the wear and tear of twenty years of living.

“Um—it’s,” Kenny stutters, rushing after me. “It’s a little messy…”

I push him into the room and shut the door behind me. Then I lock it, just for good measure. I turn back to Kenny demand from him how he knows.

“What?” he gives me a puzzled look, and his hair falls a little bit over his face as he slouches in a very large, plush beanbag.

“How do you know?” I nearly snarl. I throw my shoes down and glare at him, my blood is just heating up but one more minute more and it’ll be boiling. This boy is so infuriating and such a fucking tool. Acting all confused and innocent.

“Bran—I—“ he shakes his head. “Know what? What’re you talking about?” he looks genuinely confused and it pisses me off even further.

“Fuck—you little…” I shake my head, hating that I even have to say the words out loud. Maybe it’s some sick power trip for him or something. “How do you know,” I say, and to clarify, “about me.”

“About you what—“

“That I’m gay!” My fist reflexively shoots back and hits his door. Kind of like an annoyed thoroughbred thrashing in a box stall. It’s not a hard hit but it wakes Kenny up. He blinks his huge green eyes a few times like a reptile before swallowing hard.

“You’re gay,” he says and I throw my hands up in exasperation. I don’t know what to do with myself any longer.

“Yes,” I say, very fiercely. “Stop acting stupid. How did you even fucking know?” I’m now standing over the top of him.

He’s still sort of reeling away from me but also scooting his ass up further into a more posture-friendly position than the relaxed one he’d been in before.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” he says.

I snort, “Right.” But something in me stops twitching and starts thinking. I see the way he’s sort of still rapidly blinking like he’s trying to process some serious information and my palms start to grow sweaty and my mouth goes instantly dry—like even my brain is trying to warn me to shut up but I’m too late.

“Wait…what?” Is all I can coherently babble out.

“I—I didn’t know you’re gay,” Kenny says, slowly standing up and I take a dizzying step back. “It’s just—it’s this thing I’ve done before. Once. I just…I threaten to tell someone’s friends they’re gay if they don’t—I don’t know. I just wanted you to pay attention to me for a second. I didn’t really think…”

I’m very dizzy right now. And so suddenly tired that I have to fight my eyelids to stay open. It’s my body—it doesn’t want to hear what Kenny’s saying. It’s trying not to register the words but at the same time it’s the only thing I’m focused on. His stupid babbling and blushing.

“…you don’t even. You don’t look gay. I was just,” he shrugs helplessly, as if he’s the victim. “I didn’t want to be alone again. But—“ he perks up a bit and steps forward. “This is totally cool. Now we’re like, on common ground.”

He reaches out to me and I shove him. With the last bits of coherency I have left I wrench open his door and fly down the hallway, out into the kitchen and then I’m pulling open the front door. I nearly knock someone off their feet as I storm by. I mutter a sad excuse for a “sorry” and duck into the rain.

I don’t realize it until I’m jogging to my own door that my feet are freezing, and damp. My socks are socked through but I don’t have the time to remember where I put my shoes. My blood is pumping rampantly and adrenaline—for whatever bizarre reason—is coursing through my body. I hear my own heartbeat reverberating in my ears as I bang on the door. Bailey lets me in—eventually. I’m already soaked though and she shrieks a little bit about how muddy I’m getting things.

I slam my door in her face and before I pass out I manage to make it to my bed.

►

I wake up thoroughly embarrassed.

Not only did I exit like a coming out queen, but I passed out due to emotional stress. I see the time on the clock and figure I’ve been sleeping for five hours—respectively. I don’t bother to check my phone and question why my bed is so wet and where the hell my pillow is. I sit up and there’s an odd crick in my neck.

“Shit,” I mutter as the flood of heat and embarrassment rush to my brain, flooding my cheeks.

If I had just…I don’t know. Maybe if I hadn’t rushed out of there—if I had just taken it all as a joke. I could have easily brushed it off.

Instead, though, I just ran. Like a fucking terrified little deer or something. I wasn’t a raging stallion kicking in my cage. I was a fucking petrified bunny rabbit hiding in my hole. God damn.

“Bran!”

“BRAN!” Bailey is shouting. “Wake the fuck up!”

It has to be midnight and she’s bitching about the mess I made or something to do with the front door. I slip out of bed silently and go straight to my phone. Ike has left me seven voicemails. Meaning, either, a) he’s calling me because he truly is worried and wants to know what’s up, or b) he’s stoned out of his fucking mind and he wants me to join him.

I don’t know what to do at this point. It really just feels like there’s a shitload of buzzing going on in my mind and I can’t concentrate on one thing. So I go through the voicemails that Ike has left me. The first one—only about ten seconds—it’s normal. He wants to know what’s up and to call him.

The other six or so seem to get progressively more incoherent—or more coherent, depending on how you see things. Ike high, much like when he’s not, loves to talk. He’s pretty funny too, so nothing different—except for the fact that he has to pretend he’s Freud or some other fucked up psychologist and he starts rambling. About bullshit things. Mostly about how I’m a bailer and he hates me for it and that I’m missing out.

“Dude…it smells like fucking chronic,” is mostly all he keeps saying in the first message. He sounds like he’s probably wandering around his room cleaning out a pipe or something. Message two and three are all about me being a bailer. Strictly. I never do shit with him and he thinks I’m a pussy for picking school over him. I laugh, because I sadistic and keep listening to the messages and feeling the way I do. If I were a smart kid, like all my teachers say I am, I’d hang up the phone and maybe do something. Or sleep. But I don’t. I keep listening, and smiling and running my hand through my hair and shaking my head.

Then Ike goes completely silent and I figure he’s just gone to sleep. Probably tired of calling back every time my voicemail cuts him off. Except, he just sort of ends it by saying he loves me and he’s never going to forgive me. Then the line goes off and I figure he’s really gone to bed now. He loves me, he’s never going to forgive me.

It’s true. By tomorrow he’ll—“

“It’s me. Don’t freak out again, okay? We need to talk.”

It’s Kenny. He’s the last message on my voicemail.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

Somehow, I doubt this.