One Night and One More Time

Patrick wakes up every morning to the sound of his alarm clock belting out Green Day at the best of its ability. He then proceeds to groan and roll around defiantly in bed for three to seven minutes before finally getting up. He trudges to the shower, standing in a zombie like stupor as the water splashes his back. He then walks back to his room naked because the bathroom is attached so he just can.

He gradually gets dressed, putting on his blocky glasses last because he can hardly stand to look at himself in them. He tops off his look with his mandatory hat, even though kids will repeatedly knock it off of his unsuspecting head for shits and giggles.

He walks to school, even in the biting cold of February. He has his learner’s permit and is quite the little driver, but has no car to drive, so getting a school permit would be a tad unnecessary.

He looks like a proper gentleman in his tweed pea coat and dark red scarf. Of course, to his school mates, he just looks like a pretentious faggot.

He ascends slowly to the fourth floor, taking up as much time as possible. Wasting time means that he has to interact with his peers less.

He drops off his coat and scarf at his locker, unwinding the scarf and undoing his buttons with freezing, shaky fingers. He can feel the eyes of enemy students burning holes through his back.

Finally, he sits down in front of his locker, usually reading until his friend Pete shows up.

Pete is totally the opposite of his friend. He’s actually well-liked by both teachers and students, whereas Patrick is not even respected by students and adored by teachers. Patrick, diligent and polite, is a teacher’s dream. Pete, lazy but respectful, is more of a typical student. When it comes to the other pupils, Patrick, chubby, sensitive and riddled with anxiety, is seen as a pussy and a lost cause. Pete, good looking, outgoing and great with girls, is deserving of actual praise from boys in his grade and crushes from most girls and some boys. Patrick is one of those boys that are desperately tangled in an unrequited love.

He sees his friend appear, and his heart stutters. Pete has hair cut into these really swishy bangs, which conceals about half of his beautiful face. His big, chocolate brown eyes peer out from below the ebony curtain. He has this permanent glisten in them that just add life to such a commonly boring color.

“Hey Ricky,” Pete chirps, sitting down laboriously. He flashes Patrick a heart stopping smile that only Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III can successfully deliver.

“Hi Pete,” Patrick replies dumbly.

“How was your weekend?” Pete questions.

“Pretty good,” Patrick lies. He spent most of it wallowing in self-loathing, then self-pity, and then anger, and then self-loathing again. “How was yours?”

“Really great,” Pete answers, and his eyes light up even brighter as he continues excitedly. “I got invited to play with this band, and guess what?”

“What?”

“The oldest guy is like 20!” Pete boasts. “And they think I’m good enough to be their bass player!”

“That’s great, man! How’d you meet up with them?” Patrick asks.

“Their youngest member is a junior here. Some kid named Frank Iero, I guess he’s been in bands since he was like eleven,” Pete informs.

Patrick knows Frank. Real cute kid, with black hair cut in a fringe even more drastic than Pete’s, a lip ring, nose ring, and these crazy hazel eyes bordering on Patrick’s beloved brown. He’s even shorter than Patrick, which is crazy, considering that Patrick is remarkably short. Frank had talked to him once, and the conversation consisted of Frank talking about getting high and Patrick plastering on a smile so he didn’t seem lame.

Some of Pete’s friends head over. One is Brian, a boy who just can’t seem to keep his mouth shut. Another is Chelsea, who is a grade A bitch to everyone but Pete, as it is common knowledge at the high school that she wants to get in bed with him. Patrick hates both of them.

“Patrick! Nice clothes…. You look like a librarian,” Brian smirks.

Patrick looks down at his clothes. He dresses extremely neat, even though the school’s dress code is pretty loose. Today he’s wearing brown corduroys with a white pin striped shirt and a grey sweater vest.

“Oh yeah and your braces are hardly noticeable,” Chelsea sneers.

Pete greets the two cheerfully, the subtle insults flying over his head. Pete’s the kind of guy to expect everybody to do no wrong. Patrick always finds himself worrying that one day Pete’s belief of the kindness of human nature will lead him into a dangerous situation.

Pete talks to those two, trying to engage Patrick in the conversation as well, but having difficulty, since Chelsea and Brian do their best to exclude who they see as a dork and a nobody.

The bell finally rings, and Patrick is released from his Hell of having to talk to Pete’s empty headed friends. All Brian cares about is tits and getting high, and Chelsea is completely focused on screwing everyone around her over whilst fooling them into believing that she’s this incredibly nice beautiful girl (She’s fooling no one).

Pete grins at Patrick before leaving for his first class. Patrick sighs, because he won’t see Pete again till lunch after fifth period. Even then, it’s just more opportunity for some more of Pete’s friends to verbally berate Patrick while they make disgusted faces as he eats.

Patrick knows the unspoken rules, and he abides by them. Fat kids can’t get dessert. Fat kids can’t get seconds. Fat kids can’t get ale carte. Fat kids can’t eat quickly. Fat kids can’t eat slowly. Fat kids can never say they’re hungry.

Still, everybody at the table besides Pete looks like the mere sight of Patrick carefully cutting up his food and eating quietly with his mouth fully closed is the most revolting thing to ever plague their innocent eyes.

Patrick goes to P.E., which has its own set of rules for the unfortunate overweight students. No changing in front of others; it must be done in the secrecy of a bathroom stall. No huffing or panting loudly during or after any sort of physical activity. No complaining about running or being tired. No excelling at anything. No doing poorly at anything. Most importantly, absolutely no showering with the other, skinnier boys.

Patrick changes in the bathroom stall, his elbows touching either side as he bends them to step into his shorts. He removes his hat before pulling his shirt off, replacing it with his gym shirt. The only required school wear besides the athletic uniforms are the P.E. clothes. It wasn’t always that way, but girls were wearing shorts with their butts hanging out the back and boys’ shirts with the sleeves cut down so far you could see them completely shirtless just by standing next to them. The changes came a few years ago, which was unfortunate for Patrick. The guys’ blue shorts were shorter than what he’d prefer; especially because he has yet to hit puberty and his nearly hairless legs are an invitation for teasing from his peers. Not only that, but the complexion of them is as pasty as that of his face, which is pale, seeing as he’s a ginger. Oh, blessed, more reason for unhallowed taunting from the kids who are supposed to be his friends. The shirts are fine, short sleeved white t shirts with blue ribbing and the school’s logo on the left breast. The only problem is, you can kind of see the outline of Patrick’s doughy figure in any sort of white top.

Patrick spends P.E. standing in the outfield where the ball is repeatedly kicked to him. The kids batting know that Patrick will have to run over at his slow speed and hunch over to pick it up before throwing it “like a girl” back to the pitcher, which takes a total of about thirty seconds and allows the kicker to run two bases.

Patrick returns to the locker room sweating profusely from the humidity of the gym, hair pasted in strands to his forehead.

Adam, who happens to be one of Pete’s acquaintances, decides to corner Patrick in the locker room against the back wall. The other boys watch, and some even encourage Adam, as he spins Patrick around, pushing his stomach into the wall. Adam pulls down Patrick’s shorts a tiny bit so he doesn’t have to actually reach into his shorts (cause that’d be GAY) and clutches a tight fist around a bunch of Patrick’s grey briefs.

He pulls up, and Patrick cries out, wiggling uselessly against his aggressor. His underwear is yanked halfway up his back until Adam finally lets go, letting the underwear snap loudly back onto Patrick.

Patrick is crimson and so embarrassed that tears are forming in his eyes as he shuffles to his bathroom stall, his gym classmates roaring with laughter.

The old Patrick, like, fifth grade Patrick, would dress quickly in order to get out of the locker room sooner. But, the wiser and more experienced Patrick knows that that would just land him with another wedgie or something of the sort, so he instead dresses slowly as possible, waiting for the locker room to empty out. When he’s positive that only a few kids are left in there, he leaves.

So, Patrick’s already been tormented and it’s only first period. Oh, isn’t life full of delightful twists? He goes to his next class, which is art, and located on the fourth floor.

He climbs up the three flights of steps as fast as he can manage, one reason being that he loves art, and another being that he can’t afford to be late. He has to save his tardies for days when he has to break down and cry in a bathroom of a kid decides to pick on him into the next period.

He is puffing by the time he reaches the room, seeing as he just climbed up the stairways at Mach speed. His eyes involuntarily scan the room, searching for a teacher. Teachers are his lifelines; without them; he’d never be left alone.

The teacher isn’t there, so some senior who could give a shit about art and is just taking it his last year for the credits calls,

“Hey, lardass! You need an ambulance?”

The class snickers as Patrick scowls and takes his seat. He pushes his glasses further up onto his nose, which is slick with sweat.

The teacher arrives, and all of the kids shut their mouths as if they were getting paid to. Patrick spends the period silently working while the others talk to their friends. Patrick would think that he would enjoy that; it gets lonely just staring at the same spots, whatever piece he’s currently working on his only companion. But his only friend is Pete, who quote, “Can’t draw or paint for shit.”

Patrick leaves the class somewhat reluctantly. If he could, he’d spend all day in that same room. He’s walking to Geometry (he took Algebra 1 in eighth grade. Meanwhile, Pete is taking Pre-Algebra), when his books are knocked out of his hands by an upperclassman. He groans, dropping to his knees and stacking the supplies before continuing on to Geometry.

Geometry is his best class; Patrick is a very logical person, which he finds to be extremely useful in math. Pete, on the other hand, is more willy nilly and whatever works out works out, so math isn’t exactly his forte. He’s amazing at writing though, since it holds no boundaries to his endless creativity.

Patrick has a very strict, but generally friendly, Geometry teacher, so other than at the end and beginning of class, the students are completely quiet.

Once that class ends, Patrick has to go down the steps to Biology, a.k.a. Open Season on Patrick Stump. Two of his main tormentors, Adam and Jude, are in that class, along with a lot of girls who constantly tease him over a dumb crush he had on one of them in the fourth grade. Joke’s on them; Patrick’s sexuality developed and he realized he was gay. For all he knows, it’s because of her cruelty and disregard.

He’s flicked, fish hooked, and given a pressure point whenever the teacher’s back is turned. When she’s facing them, Adam whispers threats in his ear whilst smiling, so the teacher automatically assumes that it’s just two friends having an innocent laugh. Little does she know, Adam is currently hissing,

“Why don’t you go jump out on the freeway, you worthless fat ass?”

Patrick has become more and more immune to their comments. Sure, it still hurts, but he no longer breaks into tears like he did when he was younger. Because of the fact that he stopped crying, the school district thought that the constant bullying had stopped, when, in fact, Patrick had just learnt to cope with their verbal abuse. As far as the physical abuse goes, there’s not much Patrick can do about being beaten to a pulp or having his own underpants rammed up his ass. He could learn Jujitsu or some other form of self-defense, but that would involve effort and money, which Patrick just doesn’t have.

Patrick leaves the class feeling a little better, knowing that in the period after fifth that he will get to see Pete again. Pete is literally the only reason he gets up in the morning, which is probably sad to a lot of people, including Patrick.

Fifth period is Spanish, which Patrick is also good at. He was already bilingual before signing up for the class, speaking fluent French. If one were to consider Pete as bilingual, they’d have to count sarcasm to be a language.

In Spanish, he sits next to a fellow loser. He figures that they could really hit it off; what with both of them having a horrifyingly small amount of friends and being seen as a punching bag by boys and a perverted loser by girls. That’s another rule to being fat, or even ugly (Patrick considers himself lucky enough to be both): You can’t have a crush on anyone. Even admitting that someone is physically attractive is a big neon sign for you to be laughed at.

Patrick speeds his way through Spanish, and when the bell rings, he swings his backpack over his shoulder and practically sprints out the door, eager to see Pete again.

He’s going down the one of the hallways to drop off his books when Adam appears, smirking. He grabs Patrick by the collar and shoves him against the locker, sniggering,

“Hey, piggy. Can you squeal for me?”

Patrick shakes his head. Adam takes Patrick’s hat and throws it to the floor, stomping on it once before glaring at Patrick again.

“Squeal.”

Patrick again, shakes his head. His knees are trembling now. Although Adam’s words may be almost harmless, his fists certainly aren’t.

Adam takes Patrick’s arm, twisting it behind his back. Patrick remains quiet throughout the ordeal, not wanting to give Adam the satisfaction. When Adam finally pushes Patrick’s arm so far in the wrong way that it feels as though it’s about to snap, Patrick yelps.

“Good piggy!” Adam laughs. He then shoves Patrick to the floor, kicking his hat across the hall before leaving.

Patrick mumbles choice words under his breath as he stands, brushing himself off. He collects his hat on the other side of the hall, placing it back onto his head as he heads off in the opposite direction, God forbid he run into Adam again.

When he reaches the lunch room, he sits down at the usual table Pete and his friends sit. It’s a table far from the hood rats, but close to the door. It’s perfect.

“Hey, Patrick!” Pete tells.

“Hey kiddo,” Patrick replies, ruffling Pete’s hair.

Patrick lightly tunes into the table’s intense conversation about American Eagle. He does own a pair of underwear from that store, so maybe he should be more invested, but he isn’t. Again, Pete has numerous failed attempts at including Patrick in their group.

Patrick just kind of drifts off and stares at Pete the entire time. God, is he beautiful. Patrick could look at him for days.

The bell snaps Patrick from his paradise, and signals that it’s time for him to go to English. He stands and bolts out the door, head down.

In the hallways, an older girl sneers at him, “You’re disgusting.”

Patrick had found that even comments these nasty were easy to shake off.

He sits in English class in the back of the room, which he really likes, because it means that the teacher trusts him and believes that he’s well enough behaved to be further away from her line of view. He also likes to gaze out the window, and, on the warmer days, stick a hand out into the chilling winter air.

He then goes to Geography, which he enjoys mostly because the teacher is a cutie pie. There’s been a few unfortunate occasions when Patrick had gotten a boner in class just by looking at him. On one, which was actually just a few months ago, another student saw and immediately pointed it out to the rest of the class. The kid got a detention, but that doesn’t change the fact that everyone had seen Patrick’s hard dick, including the teacher.

Ever since then, things between him and that teacher have been a bit tense. It’s almost as if he had read Patrick’s mind and knew that he was to blame for Patrick’s erection that day.

Patrick can’t get out of that class soon enough; every time that he glances towards the front of the room he is reminded of the entire incident.

His last class is vocal, which puts him on the spot for even more taunting from other pupils. Even worst, Patrick sang with the girls as a soprano in grade school because his voice was too high for any of the boys’ parts. Now that his voice has matured a bit, he’s able to handle being a tenor, even though he secretly misses being a soprano. Not the ass whuppings and teasing over it, but the better parts in songs and the higher notes, which are so much more fun to hit than the lower ones.

Vocal is alright, except there’s a lot of opportunities for other boys to pick on him. He counts his hat being swatted off four times, his glasses taken twice, and his pants pulled down to his ankles once. He turns beet red at his pants being pulled down, especially because he’s wearing briefs. On the plus side, he does have pretty good legs, besides the fact that they’re pale and hairless.

The day finally ends, and Patrick walks home swiftly to avoid bullies on his way out.

That night, he’ll go home, do his homework, eat supper, read, contemplate his life, and then go to sleep, just to endure all of the same shit tomorrow.