I Have Only Myself to Give, Nothing More

You can take the kid of the fight but you can’t take the fight out of the kid.

I’m writing lyrics in the margin of my new English notebook because, why not admit it, this is the most boring English class I’ve ever had the misfortune of attending. The teacher has her back turned to the class and is droning on and on about the difference between past perfect tense and simple past tense. Come on, what sort of idiot doesn’t know this by now? Except I’m an English nerd from a private school, so I guess I’m a little biased …

You’re a regular decorated emergency. The bruises and contusions will remind you what you did when you wake. You’ve earned a place atop the ICU’s Hall of Fame—the camera caught you causing a commotion on the gurney again. (The second highest all time number of curses, swears, and punches.)

“Psst!”

I turn when I hear Brendon’s voice and he discreetly hands me a slip of paper. First class of my first day and I’m already bored enough to be passing notes? I think with a smile and unfold the piece of paper.

What’re you writing? it says in surprising neat handwriting for a sixteen-year-old boy. ‘Cuz I’m pretty sure that’s not past perfect tense …

Lyrics, I scribble back and Brendon gives me a bright smile.

“That’s really cool,” he mouths and slides the piece of paper back. Can I read them?

I hesitate and grit my teeth because everything I write is so personal, so private, so close to me that I don’t know if I can bear another person looking at them. It’s sort of a dick move, but I ignore the piece of paper and I ignore Brendon until I figure out what I’m going to do.

His foot swings over, kicking me in the leg. “Oops,” he says, tilting his head to one side and glaring at me to ask why I’m ignoring him.

I shake my head at him, telling him to fuck off, and he rolls his eyes like he knows what I’m a drama queen I’m being before actually turning his attention back to class.

“Hey! Ross!” he says with a huff after class and I wonder how he knows my last name until I remember that he took my schedule to help me find our English class.

I stop in my tracks and turn around to meet his dark gaze, and I’m waiting for him to call me on my bullshit but all he asks is “What did I do wrong?” in this plaintive, little voice, catching me unawares.

“What?”

“What did I do wrong?” he repeats, looking me right in the eyes. “It was like you suddenly just shut down, stopped working. So what did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say and he gives me look telling me that he doesn’t believe that. “No really. I just … I’m just really touchy about my lyrics.”

Brendon rolls his eyes at me. “Like, you could’ve just said that start off the bat,” he says. “And then I wouldn’t be freaking out about offending you or something stupid.”

“I’m sorry,” I say and give him the most angelic face I can pull off. “Forgive me?”

He blushes and looks at the ground. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he mumbles before looking up at me with clarity in his eyes. “You have Chemistry next and I have Geometry so I can take you to the Chem labs on my way if you’d like.”

“Yeah,” I say and give him a true smile. “I’d like that.”

As we make our way through the crowd, his pinky brushes against the side of my hand and I feel the urge to grab his hand and hold it, but I know that wouldn’t go over well so I just walk beside Brendon, matching him step for step until he holds open the door to the Chemistry lab for me.

“Thanks,” I say, flashing him a smile and giving him a little wave and he lets the door swing closed behind me.

* * *

It’s lunchtime now and I’m delighted to find that I share a lunch period with a couple of the boys I meet this morning.

“So you and Gabe have History at the same time but you’re not in the same class?” Patrick asks for clarification as William pouts.

The skinny boy nods angrily. “Yeah, it’s like they’re teasing us,” he grumbles. “Ooh, look! You both have History now! Ooh, look! You’re not in the same class!”

“Quit being such a drama queen, Bilvy,” Pete says, rolling his eyes and waving a limp wrist mockingly.

I’m shy here, around these boys, these friends who’ve known each other for years, and the only person I feel comfortable around is Brendon, who’s next to me, silently eating his plate of noodles and cheese.

“Quit being such a jackass, Petey,” William snaps back, tossing a lock of brown hair out of his face.

“Calm down, you two,” Patrick says, acting as a mediator between the two other boys.

“I am calm,” Pete says coolly. “It’s William who’s getting antsy.”

“Shut up, you’re gonna scare Ryan off,” Brendon says with a laugh and a bright smile.

“And that’d make you unhappy, wouldn’t it?” Pete retorts with a lazy grin.

Brendon blushes and looks down at his food and I just sit there, quiet as a mouse, taking in all this talking, all this obvious friendship. “I’d just like someone to talk to other than you and your fat ass,” Brendon tells Pete with a scarily serious face.

“My ass isn’t fat,” Pete says back in the same serious voice. “It’s juicy.”

“Ew! TMI!” Brendon squeals, leaning back in his chair and shielding his face with his hands.

Pete grins at me. “Why do you think, Ryan?” he asks in a mockingly anxious voice. “Do you think my ass is juicy?”

I blush at all of the attention suddenly thrown on me and I hesitate because I’m not sure what the proper response in this situation would be, until I look at Brendon and see him give a small shake of his head. “Nah,” I say, forcing a grin on my voice. “And you’re not really my type as it is.”

“What about William?” Pete asks. “Is he your type?”

I tilt my head at the thin boy and study him like I’m actually considering it. William squirms uncomfortably in his seat, glaring at Pete until I can’t keep a straight face anymore. “No,” I say, laughing. “No, no, no, no, no.”

William heaves an overdramatic sigh of relief and smacks Pete upside the head. “You dickhead,” he mumbles. “Why would you ask a question like that?”

Pete shrugs. “Why not?”

I roll my eyes at that; I think I can already tell what sort of person Pete is, though I guess I probably could’ve figured that out from his self-introduction.

“Hey, I have an idea,” Patrick says with a small smile. “Let’s have a conversation that’s not about Pete’s ass.”

Brendon sticks a hand high into the air. “Seconded!” he cries, a silly grin plastered all over his face.

We finish eating lunch in a fit of giggles.

“Ooh, what class do you have next?” Brendon asks, poking the side of my face with his index finger.

“History,” I say, looking at my schedule.

Brendon grins and gives me two thumps up. “Awesome! Me too?” he says excitedly. “What room?”

“205.”

“Me too!”

And we walk together to History.