Status: In Progress
I'll Build up a House
Part 1 - A Bathroom Packs More Action Than You'd Think
Alex stared at the blank piece of paper in front of him. He had gotten it out, along with a ballpoint pen, short ruler and highlighter, ready for the lesson, only to be told that as most of the people in his class hadn’t done the homework that was due in that day, they were going to be having a study session instead of learning about operant conditioning like they were meant to be doing.
As the only person in the entire class who had actually completed the homework on time, Alex was sitting at his desk trying to find something else to do. He had done all the homework for his other classes as well, and the extra reading for all the subjects that he knew were coming up, and earlier that morning in a free period he had written up a timetable for band practice, which left him with no work to do whatsoever.
Alex really hated being bored. His form of relaxation was to work, not rest. He got more antsy when he didn’t have anything productive to be doing. After all, it wasn’t like he was a straight A student, captain of the football team, player of three instruments, and member of several clubs outside and inside of school because he spent all day lazing around and doing nothing.
Finally, in frustration, he asked to go to the toilet. Peeing was more entertaining than listening to his classmates argue over who should have been evicted on Big Brother. Alex wandered through the whole school to the toilets on completely the other side of the building – he did have an entire hour and a half to kill – directing a lost and crying Year Seven girl to her classroom on the way, and pulling apart two squabbling Year Eights boys. It was a fairly average and uneventful trip.
The toilets were next to the gym block, and as Alex was washing his hands he remembered that he was meant to go and collect the new football practice timetables from his coach and distribute them round to the other players.
He grabbed a paper towel rather than using the ineffective hand dryer and sauntered out of the bathroom, straightening his blazer as he went. He had the utmost respect for Miss Wilton, his coach, and wanted to look his best. And okay, maybe he had a little bit of a crush on her, but who could blame him? Nearly all of his teachers this year were hot, male and female. Being bisexual was just a minefield of sexual attraction.
He successfully located Miss Wilton and took the sheaf of timetables from her, promising, “I’ll make sure everyone on the team gets it by the end of today, Miss.”
“Thanks, Alex. Anyway, I need to go collect my Year Nines – we’re doing basketball today. This is going to be the longest hour of my life.” Miss Wilton groaned as she headed off to grab her pupils.
“Wait until childbirth!” Alex shouted after her, grinning when she turned around and gave him an unimpressed look, but with a twinkle of humour in her eyes. He stuffed the papers into his pocket and went back to his classroom to wait out another 50 minutes of utter boredom.
Or, at least, he would have done, if he hadn’t realised halfway through his journey that his phone wasn’t in his pockets, and then recollected that he’d balanced it precariously on one of the sinks while washing his hands and hadn’t picked it back up.
Cursing, Alex hurried back to the toilets – and of course, his stupid bladder decided that if they were heading back to the toilets, then, obviously, he needed to pee again – and retrieved his phone. He was debating whether to give in and pee when he didn’t need to, or try and train his body out of its muscle memory, when he heard a muffled thump from one of the stalls, like someone had hit their head on the side, and then a muffled sob.
Well, that wasn’t Alex’s problem. It was probably one of the lower years crying over a two-day long relationship that had always been doomed to failure. Mind over matter, he decided, and opened the door to leave.
The stall door opened at the same time, and Alex made to hurry out faster to avoid whoever it was. He made the mistake of glancing behind him, out of pure instinct, and saw a boy with light caramel skin and a shock of brown hair shuffle towards the sinks. He was going to just head out anyway, when he saw a bloodstain on the sleeve of his white shirt, and paused. Slowly, he let the door fall closed again, and turned on the spot.
“Jack, right?” He recognised the guy from his History class last year. Smart, but quiet. Painfully so.
The boy raised his eyes to meet Alex’s. They were brown, just like his hair, and would have been more attractive if not for the almost violently red rims around them, and puffy skin underneath. He nodded slowly, as if he was afraid that some kind of trick was being played on him.
“Well, Jack,” Alex began, walking over as casually as he could. “We’re going to meet in here again tomorrow, eight o’clock sharp, okay?”
“I…what?”
“Did you not hear me? Tomorrow, eight o’clock, here. We’re going to meet. Phone?”
It took Jack a few moments to understand what he was asking, and then he fumbled around in his trousers pocket, and handed over a rather battered Samsung, already open to the New Contact page. At least he was smart. Alex typed in his name and number quickly, saved it, and then handed it back.
“Text me after school. I’ll explain then. Right now, I’ve got to get back to class.”
This time he did actually go out of the toilets, and sauntered back to his classroom with his hands in his pockets, and a sense of satisfaction.
LINE BREAK
Jack had already sent him a message by lunchtime; at least, from the content of the message, he assumed it was Jack. He saved the number into his contacts list quickly and then replied.
From: Jack
I don’t do drugs.
To: Jack
Thanks for telling me
He didn’t have to wait long for another reply.
From: Jack
Is that not what’s happening here?
Alex rolled his eyes as he typed out his response.
To: Jack
No, you fucking idiot
From: Jack
Oh. Sorry.
From: Jack
Can I ask what is happening?
To: Jack
Oh my God, I said I’d explain after school ok
Alex pocketed his phone and went back to enjoying lunch with his friends.
LINE BREAK
From: Jack
It’s after school now, so if you could explain?
From: Jack
I just want to know what’s happening.
From: Jack
I’m not sure I’m comfortable with whatever’s happening.
From: Jack
Alex?
From: Jack
Wait. Can I call you that?
Alex sighed and hit the call button next to Jack’s contact name as he shut the front door of his house behind him. It only rang three times before he picked up. “What the fuck else would you call me?” Alex asked, before Jack had the chance to say anything.
“Um,” came the response.
“Eloquent. Now, listen – whatever’s wrong with you, I don’t really care. But I had a few classes with you last year, and you were clever. When you actually spoke, rather than trying to hide yourself under the desk. And I would hate to see that potential going to waste, so you’re going to stop cutting and crying in the toilets and whatever other wimpy shit you do, yeah?”
“…Yeah? But, I can’t just…stop.”
“Which is why I’m going to help you with that. Remember when we’re meeting?”
“Eight. In the toilets. Sharp.”
“See? That’s what I was talking about. You’re smart, Bara-whatever. I can’t remember your last name.”
“Um, Barakat. And why are you helping—”
“Great. Meet me tomorrow, Barakitty.” Alex hit the red ‘end call’ button and then dialled the local pizza place. Being nice to people was such hungry work.
Jack seemed like the perfect project – just the right amount of messed up to keep him occupied. Maybe if Alex was a good person he’d feel bad for telling Jack that he cared about how he did in life, but he wasn’t a good person. It was worth the lie if Jack would cooperate with him, and Alex stopped being so bored that he was seriously considering genocide as a future career option.
As the only person in the entire class who had actually completed the homework on time, Alex was sitting at his desk trying to find something else to do. He had done all the homework for his other classes as well, and the extra reading for all the subjects that he knew were coming up, and earlier that morning in a free period he had written up a timetable for band practice, which left him with no work to do whatsoever.
Alex really hated being bored. His form of relaxation was to work, not rest. He got more antsy when he didn’t have anything productive to be doing. After all, it wasn’t like he was a straight A student, captain of the football team, player of three instruments, and member of several clubs outside and inside of school because he spent all day lazing around and doing nothing.
Finally, in frustration, he asked to go to the toilet. Peeing was more entertaining than listening to his classmates argue over who should have been evicted on Big Brother. Alex wandered through the whole school to the toilets on completely the other side of the building – he did have an entire hour and a half to kill – directing a lost and crying Year Seven girl to her classroom on the way, and pulling apart two squabbling Year Eights boys. It was a fairly average and uneventful trip.
The toilets were next to the gym block, and as Alex was washing his hands he remembered that he was meant to go and collect the new football practice timetables from his coach and distribute them round to the other players.
He grabbed a paper towel rather than using the ineffective hand dryer and sauntered out of the bathroom, straightening his blazer as he went. He had the utmost respect for Miss Wilton, his coach, and wanted to look his best. And okay, maybe he had a little bit of a crush on her, but who could blame him? Nearly all of his teachers this year were hot, male and female. Being bisexual was just a minefield of sexual attraction.
He successfully located Miss Wilton and took the sheaf of timetables from her, promising, “I’ll make sure everyone on the team gets it by the end of today, Miss.”
“Thanks, Alex. Anyway, I need to go collect my Year Nines – we’re doing basketball today. This is going to be the longest hour of my life.” Miss Wilton groaned as she headed off to grab her pupils.
“Wait until childbirth!” Alex shouted after her, grinning when she turned around and gave him an unimpressed look, but with a twinkle of humour in her eyes. He stuffed the papers into his pocket and went back to his classroom to wait out another 50 minutes of utter boredom.
Or, at least, he would have done, if he hadn’t realised halfway through his journey that his phone wasn’t in his pockets, and then recollected that he’d balanced it precariously on one of the sinks while washing his hands and hadn’t picked it back up.
Cursing, Alex hurried back to the toilets – and of course, his stupid bladder decided that if they were heading back to the toilets, then, obviously, he needed to pee again – and retrieved his phone. He was debating whether to give in and pee when he didn’t need to, or try and train his body out of its muscle memory, when he heard a muffled thump from one of the stalls, like someone had hit their head on the side, and then a muffled sob.
Well, that wasn’t Alex’s problem. It was probably one of the lower years crying over a two-day long relationship that had always been doomed to failure. Mind over matter, he decided, and opened the door to leave.
The stall door opened at the same time, and Alex made to hurry out faster to avoid whoever it was. He made the mistake of glancing behind him, out of pure instinct, and saw a boy with light caramel skin and a shock of brown hair shuffle towards the sinks. He was going to just head out anyway, when he saw a bloodstain on the sleeve of his white shirt, and paused. Slowly, he let the door fall closed again, and turned on the spot.
“Jack, right?” He recognised the guy from his History class last year. Smart, but quiet. Painfully so.
The boy raised his eyes to meet Alex’s. They were brown, just like his hair, and would have been more attractive if not for the almost violently red rims around them, and puffy skin underneath. He nodded slowly, as if he was afraid that some kind of trick was being played on him.
“Well, Jack,” Alex began, walking over as casually as he could. “We’re going to meet in here again tomorrow, eight o’clock sharp, okay?”
“I…what?”
“Did you not hear me? Tomorrow, eight o’clock, here. We’re going to meet. Phone?”
It took Jack a few moments to understand what he was asking, and then he fumbled around in his trousers pocket, and handed over a rather battered Samsung, already open to the New Contact page. At least he was smart. Alex typed in his name and number quickly, saved it, and then handed it back.
“Text me after school. I’ll explain then. Right now, I’ve got to get back to class.”
This time he did actually go out of the toilets, and sauntered back to his classroom with his hands in his pockets, and a sense of satisfaction.
LINE BREAK
Jack had already sent him a message by lunchtime; at least, from the content of the message, he assumed it was Jack. He saved the number into his contacts list quickly and then replied.
From: Jack
I don’t do drugs.
To: Jack
Thanks for telling me
He didn’t have to wait long for another reply.
From: Jack
Is that not what’s happening here?
Alex rolled his eyes as he typed out his response.
To: Jack
No, you fucking idiot
From: Jack
Oh. Sorry.
From: Jack
Can I ask what is happening?
To: Jack
Oh my God, I said I’d explain after school ok
Alex pocketed his phone and went back to enjoying lunch with his friends.
LINE BREAK
From: Jack
It’s after school now, so if you could explain?
From: Jack
I just want to know what’s happening.
From: Jack
I’m not sure I’m comfortable with whatever’s happening.
From: Jack
Alex?
From: Jack
Wait. Can I call you that?
Alex sighed and hit the call button next to Jack’s contact name as he shut the front door of his house behind him. It only rang three times before he picked up. “What the fuck else would you call me?” Alex asked, before Jack had the chance to say anything.
“Um,” came the response.
“Eloquent. Now, listen – whatever’s wrong with you, I don’t really care. But I had a few classes with you last year, and you were clever. When you actually spoke, rather than trying to hide yourself under the desk. And I would hate to see that potential going to waste, so you’re going to stop cutting and crying in the toilets and whatever other wimpy shit you do, yeah?”
“…Yeah? But, I can’t just…stop.”
“Which is why I’m going to help you with that. Remember when we’re meeting?”
“Eight. In the toilets. Sharp.”
“See? That’s what I was talking about. You’re smart, Bara-whatever. I can’t remember your last name.”
“Um, Barakat. And why are you helping—”
“Great. Meet me tomorrow, Barakitty.” Alex hit the red ‘end call’ button and then dialled the local pizza place. Being nice to people was such hungry work.
Jack seemed like the perfect project – just the right amount of messed up to keep him occupied. Maybe if Alex was a good person he’d feel bad for telling Jack that he cared about how he did in life, but he wasn’t a good person. It was worth the lie if Jack would cooperate with him, and Alex stopped being so bored that he was seriously considering genocide as a future career option.