Guyliner

Its funny how one tiny, seemingly inconsequential moment can change absolutely everything. It was one small, harmless kiss but it’s changed my entire thinking.
My first reaction was to be angry at Stuart but I just couldn’t conjure it. As usual, my natural self desecrating character raised its sorry head and strictly told me that it was not Stuart’s fault and the blame should be rested on my shoulders. There were so many things I could have done differently and, instead of throwing my fury at him, I injected it in on myself.
Once I had composed myself and had reached the desperately-gulping stage of my tears, I tried to think why I was crying so hard. It was almost painful to think about. I tried to recall the last time I had cried like that, and the only memory I came up with was when my mother died. That startled me. I was upset but it wasn’t like anybody had passed away. It wasn’t that dramatic-was it?
I knew why I was upset.
That part confused me, too. Upset didn’t cover the body-wrenching grief that had leaked into my veins like acid and was slowly corroding away at my bones. Upset was not the word to describe the shattering I felt in my chest.
I was devastated. Broken. Nothing.
Why?
I’m not prepared to answer that question. It would change everything. It has changed everything.
He shouldn’t mean so much to me. For all of Year Seven, Year Eight and Year Nine, Stuart was just a blonde-haired camp little guy who sat at the back of class, drawing and reading glossy fashion magazines. I’ve only been speaking to him for three months and already, he owns my soul. It’s disturbing how quickly I have fallen for him-it bizarre how quickly I have willingly fallen for him.
There is something so terribly wrong with me; something so awful I can barely stand to think about it. I have tried so desperately hard to be normal yet somewhere along the line, I messed something up, I took a bad turn here and there and now I am right where I never wanted to be.
I sink back into my usual misery-induced laziness, and wake up grouchily around Noon on Saturday. The weekends always manage to dishearten me further. I certainly don’t enjoy school, but at least it keeps me occupied. Saturday and Sunday stretch ahead of me, destined to be eternally fraught with difficulty and boredom.
It was all so much easier when I had Jessica. My weekend plans were decided for me-I ould just spend time with her. In the early days of our relationship, it was actually fun and fresh and exciting. I always enjoyed spending time with her, even if we were just sitting in her room. Of course, towards the end, our time spent together dwindled miserably; whenever we did spend time with each other, she was high or stoned or drunk, and it just wasn’t the same.
I lie in bed for a few minutes, watching the dust motes circle each other serenely, glowing amber as the light hits them. Everything seems so peaceful. Then I remember last night, and I clench my jaw at my own stupidity, and swing my legs out of bed.
Sarah is making breakfast for Wil, perky and dressed in fresh clothes. He’s sitting at the island in his shorts and Fall Out Boy shirt, with his Science revision guide laying, abandoned, in front of him. Dad is talking into his cell to one of his businessman friends. They look like a perfect, normal family.
“Good morning Aaron,” Sarah sings, almost as though she’s happy to see me. I scowl and sit down heavily on a stool at the island. Wil sniggers as my unkept hair, my blanched face and my sunken eyes; I kick him and he yowls childishly.
“Would you like some pancakes too, Aaron?” Sarah continues brightly, undeterred. She slides a spatula under a sticky lump in the frying pan and flips it expertly on to Wil’s plate. He lunges for the syrup and the strawberries like an animal and I pull a face.
“No,” I shrug, trying desperately to be as rude as possible. “I don’t eat in the mornings.”
I turn away and flick through Wil’s revision guide, dragging my eyes across the grey diagrams and the thick blocks of text, with the brackets and the ugly abbreviations and tiny numbers floating in mid air.
Despite my panicky incomprehension of Physics and Chemistry, I just want to crawl in between obstinate black lines and hide myself amongst the white paper particles, where nobody can find me.
“Oh Aaron; why ever not?” Sarah’s voice tinges with utter sadness, and I grit my teeth in aitation.
“I don’t need too,” I argue. “I’m fat enough as it is.”
“You’re not fat!”
“I am so!”
“No you’re not, Aaron, you’re just….cuddly. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Sarah’s cheeks have flushed pink.
Cuddly? What type of word is that? Cuddly is a soft, loving word that implies gentle and nurtured and cute. That is no phrase to describe my grotesque image.
“Well, he’s not exactly fit, is he?” Dad clicks the phone back into its base. “ST Alexander’s will sort that out, Aaron. They’re very keen about Sport. Mountsborough Comprehensive is far too lax on the athletics front. They pamper those soft subjects.”
I pout viciously.
“I’ve just been on the phone to Hugo, you know,” he continues with relish. “His son, Clancy, goes to ST Alexander’s. You remember Clancy don’t you?”
I grimaced. Of course I remembered Clancy Harrington-Bailey. I had met him at one of my father’s annual dinner parties, when I was around eleven years old. He was confident and blonde and pristine, with a cashmere sweater and a blonde fin and beige chinos. I hadn’t seen him for five years, but I heard recent updates about Clancy’s sporting success; Clancy’s great grades and perfect manners and model girlfriend. My father always sought to make me feel inadequate compared to Clancy.
“I’ll request that you’re placed in his tutor group,” Dad says briskly, pouring himself a glass of grape juice. “Maybe then you’ll make some decent friends and stop sabotaging yourself by being dragged down by these delinquents.”
His lip curls and I know he’s thinking of Stuart. A sudden flare of anger rises inside me. He doesn’t know Stuart. He doesn’t know what he’s done for me.
“And of course ST Alexander’s is often associated with ST Dorothy’s.” Dad is smiling smugly, in such a sickly way, I recoil. “You might meet a nice girl, Aaron. How about Saffron Harrington-Bailey?”
Saffron is Clancy’s younger sister. She’s only fourteen, but she’s already taken part in a host of beauty pageants and excels at Netball and Dance.
“Saffron?” Wil suddenly sounds eager. “She’s hot.”
“No, she’s not.” I scrunch up my face in disgust. Her highlighted tresses cannot compare to a startling silver halo; her overly-bright blue eyes are not as dazzling as hazel ones. I wonder, if I was my old self, I would have liked her.
“Of course,” Dad snorts. “If she came with black lipstick and fishnet tights, you’d be interested.”
“No,” I argue, but nobody’s listening to me, as usual. Wil is staring off into space in a moony way, twiddling a silver pencil between his fingers.
“Saffron’s my age, right Dad? You can invite her and Hugo and Clancy over, right?”
Dad laughs, amused by his son’s adolescent infatuations. Sarah begins to tidy away the pancake debris, humming to herself. They’ve set the scene for a perfect family-but I won’t play along.
Later on, I’m sitting down in the basement with a sketch pad and a set of pastels in front of me. For the past hour, I’ve been trying to conjure up some effortlessly amazing idea, but I’m dry. I groan, push my sketch pad away from me and hang my head, letting my hair flop into my eyes. Is this what is going to happen when Stuart breaks my heart? A total shutdown?
The door is suddenly opened, revealing a shaft of light, and then shut again. I snap my head up and glare as Sarah tip-toes down the basement steps and then stops.
“I thought you’d be asleep,” she starts stupidly. I roll my eyes.
“What, so you decided to come snooping down here?” I close the sketch pad and push it under my duvet, so she doesn’t try and glance at my private drawings.
“No, I was just coming to check on you.” Sarah nibbles her bottom lip, a childish gesture I find exasperating. My mother would never do something so ridiculous. “You should be asleep, Aaron. You look exhausted. Did you get any sleep last night?”
“Yes.” Well-I fell into a hot, irritated slumber in the early hours of the morning and tossed and turned, my rest disturbed my nightmares.
Sarah continues to gaze at me sadly, in a motherly, tender way, like she cares. I clench my jaw and curl my hands into fists and look moodily away.
“What’s wrong, Aaron? You seem so down. You’re not yourself.”
“What the Hell do you know?” I fire back, suddenly enraged. I can’t stand her soft, maternal expression. She’s so nice. I hate it. “You’re not my mother. You don’t know who I am!”
Sarah’s face crumples. “Aaron, I’m not trying to replace your mother at all-“
“Yes, you are! You’ve taken over everything, but I’m not gonna fall for it! You’re not my mother, and you never will be, so don’t even think about it.”
Sarah blinks, hurt. “Aaron, I-“
“Just get out.” I point to the basement door. “Seriously.”
She gets up and trails out sadly, hanging her head. I feel guilty, despite myself. I shouldn’t. Furious at myself, I throw myself off my bed and rifle angrily through my CD’s, selecting the heaviest Iron Maiden album I can find and turning it up to eleven, attempting to drown out my own petty emotions.
A little while later, Dad calls me for dinner. I change from my pyjamas into a pair of loose jeans and a Watchmen shirt, and then drag myself up the basement stairs into the main house. Dad, Sarah and Wil are sitting round the dining table, eating a meat-based dish. I sit down at the other end of the table and wait for the onslaught to come.
“Well Aaron, it’s nice to see you’ve finally decided to get dressed,” Dad rips, but he doesn’t scream at me. I glance at Sarah; she’s smiling hopefully back at me. I struggle for a minute, and then fix my face into a scowl. She thinks she’s my best friend just because she didn’t tell Dad I yelled at her? The smile falls from Sarah’s mouth.
“We need to talk about ST Alexander’s, Aaron,” Dad starts, oblivious to it all. “I called the Headmaster earlier on today and he’s willing to have an interview with you. Don’t mess this one up.”
“I didn’t mess the last one up,” I reply bitterly, staring down at the table. “He just doesn’t like me. If he didn’t like me then, he’s not going to like me now. There’s no point.”
“But he will like you this time,” Dad presses on. “We’ll smarten you up, buy you some decent shoes, cut your hair-“
“No way.”
”Aaron-“
“Dad, I am not cutting my hair. No deal.”
“Fine,” he sighs, looking at me irritably. “Slick it back or something.”
“I don’t even know why you’re taking me for the interview,” I complain loudly. “I don’t want to go to ST Alexander’s.”
“Why not?”
“I won’t fit in there. They’re all about sport and I’m into Art.”
Dad smiles broadly. “Exactly. They’ll stomp out all of your peculiar feminine hobbies and turn you into a real man.”
I grit my teeth. “I won’t fit in with the other boys.”
“You will, if you change,” Dad presses. “And it’s not like you fit in with any of the other boys in Mountsborough Comp.”
I think of Stuart’s beautiful slim face, his adorable hazel eyes, his heart-shaped pout and startling silver crop. My chest aches.
“I don’t want to go though, Dad.” My voice pitches to a whine. “I’ve got friends at Mountsborough Comp.”
“Hah! You call Jessica Arrowsmith a friend? Aaron, your so-called friends are pill-popping alcoholics and manic depressives,” Dad snorts. He takes a drink from his glass-it’s actually water, not whiskey. “ST Alexander’s will provide decent friends for you.”
The face of Jaden Lars swims behind my eyelids, with its starry piercings and stiff pink spikes. I curl my lip in disgust as I remember his eager, grabbing hands; his wet, thick lips, leaving steamy prints all over Stuart’s fair, gentle face.
“I’ll get bullied,” I try but Dad simply shrugs.
“You get bullied now. Anyway, you won’t, not if you try hard to fit in with the other boys.”
I sigh. This is obviously hopeless. Dad is going to send me ST Alexander’s, and there is nothing I can do about it.
After dinner, Sarah catches up with me. I’m still sitting at the dining table, this time with my Art homework in front of me. I have to complete my pop art canvas, but I’m just staring at it, chewing the end of my paintbrush. We had to paint a celebrity in the pop art style. Stuart chose Katy Perry and spent the whole lessons lovingly painting her in pinks and blues and yellows.
“That’s very good, Aaron,” Sarah says behind me and I jump, startled. “You’re excellent at Art.”
I scowl. “Hmm.”
“I’m going to talk to Christian, Aaron, about ST Alexander’s. I don’t think he should be sending you there if you don’t want to go. It’s too much upheaval. You have important exams this year, and this transition is completely unnessacery.”
Sarah pauses and smiles, trying to act like my mother again. I dip the tip of my paintbrush into my purple ink and draw it across my canvas.
“Aaron? Don’t worry; you won’t be going to ST Alexander’s.”
Sarah waits for a reply but I continue to paint my canvas, trying very hard to ignore her kindness. I don’t want her to be so nice to me. If she was horrible, she’d be so much easier to hate. I just can’t stand the feeling of betrayal I get whenever I see her. My mother worked hard for this family. She put everything into mine and Wil’s wellbeing and for what? For us to just throw it away for my father’s latest aficionado?
I decide to stay in bed on Sunday and stare at the ceiling, trying to get some peace. The usual household noises are drifting down to the basement. I concentrate on the sound of the radio, the laughter, the sound of pans clinking together; I concentrate so hard, my eardrums might burst from the force of it. Maybe, if I focus on the Suburban household above me, any thought of Stuart might stay hidden at the back of my mind, locked away.
I hear a rumble of voices in the main part of the house, laugher and footsteps. Then the door clicks shut and there’s a crunch of gravel as the car reverses off the driveway. They’ve left me alone.
All my thoughts come tumbling out of the furthest, darkest corners of my mind, slipping over each other and pressing themselves against my closed eyelids, unavoidable.
I have never been depressed like this before. I’ve never reacted like this before. When I discovered that Jessica was popping pills at the kitchen table each morning, I didn’t react as badly. I was unhappy-she was my girlfriend at the time and although I didn’t agree with her heavy drinking, I still loved her-but I didn’t stay in bed all day, gazing morosely at the black ceiling and wishing I was dead. No, I was moody with everybody, striking up arguments over tiny, unimportant things. I stayed away from Jessica for two days before eventually having a big argument with her, too. Of course, she took my hand and fluttered her eyelashes and lisped that she’d never take anything again, and we made out, and I foolishly believed she’d stay clean. When my mother died, I fought constantly with Dad and Wil. I only cried once. I was exhausted and lonely and I burst into exasperated, discontented tears, in front of everybody.
Mum would know what to do. She’d be able to explain to me why I’m acting as though somebody has died. She’d be able to assure me that I’m not sick, I’m not one of them and all of this is just one bad dream.
I won’t be able to ignore Stuart, or argue with him. Of course I can’t. For the first time in my life, I can comprehend what addiction is. Now I can fully understand why Jessica shook and snapped and sulked when she was trying to get clean, and why she gave up so easily. I was too quick to judge her, obviously.
Maybe I should tell Jessica. I know that we’re not exactly close anymore, but we were best friends once-we used to tell each other everything. She’s Stuart’s best friend now. Maybe he’s asking her about me.
Of course he isn’t. I shouldn’t be so hopeful, so ridiculous. That’s impossible. Sure, Stuart is gay but he seems to have a certain taste in men. He’s into piercings and girls jeans and badly dyed hair, obviously. I don’t even know why I care. I’m not gay. His orientation has nothing to do with me.
I’m not gay. I’ve been saying that a lot lately, and each time I say it, it looses some of its certainty. I wear make-up. I still believe in unicorns-the fact I believed in unicorns in the first place is proof enough. I’m terribly feminine.
And I’m hopelessly devoted to my best friend.
I’m fruitless around girls. Instead of blue and green, some of my favourite colours are red and silver. I don’t sleep in my boxers; I wear jogs and band shirts. I don’t like Sport, but prefer to read or draw or write. I’m not aspiring to be a footballer, but an actor instead. I refuse to play Basketball after school, but go home and practise my singing. Maybe I’m more feminine than I thought.
Mum always told me that there’s nothing wrong with being a little different. It made me strong; it made me into who I am, and people would love me for it, and I should just ignore whatever they say. Now, I’ve been ignoring it for a long time, and nobody loves me for it, and I’m not strong, and I’m beginning to think there is something wrong with being different.
I wish I had Stuart’s confidence and blonde beauty and adoration. I wish I was more like him. I wonder what he’s doing right now. He’s probably still in bed, curled up under a Hello Kitty duvet, his silver halo settling around his head, sucking his thumb or doing something impossibly lovely. I bet he doesn’t sleep in his boxers either: he’ll have adorable Disney shirts and little shorts. His alarm will go off, playing I Kissed A Girl, and he’ll roll over and switch it off and stretch like a cat and yawn, wrinkling up his nose in that sweet way.
I know, despite all the heart-break I feel whenever we’re together, that I can’t wait to see him and I want him. That easily surpasses the hurt. Hell, I’ll even let him do it if it meant I could keep up my addiction.
Stuart is there the next morning when I arrive at school. He’s lounging on his desk with a glossy fashion magazine, chewing on a piece of strawberry gum. When he sees me, he slides the magazine into his bag and sits up, smiling like an angel. I immediately smile back. All of my hurt and depression melts away. How could I ever have tried to blame this on him? He’s far too lovely.
“Good morning, Flower,” he starts brightly. I watch as he blows a bubble with his gum and bursts it with his glistening, pointed tongue. The candy folds over his lips; he picks it off with his long, white fingers and runs his tongue over his mouth.
“Hey. Did you have fun on Friday?”
“I sure did.” Stuart settles back on his elbows and I slip into a seat at the desk, watching as he crosses his legs and bops one foot in the air to an imaginary beat. “It was great. I caught up with Jaden.”
“Jaden Lars?” I say lightly, trying not to let on that I hate Jaden, all because he was granted access to Stuart’s mouth and I wasn’t.
“Hmm.” Stuart nods, head to one side. “He’s great. He’s a real funny guy. He-“Stuart stops, then blushes. I look away, clenching my jaw. I know what he was going to say-“he’s a great kisser.”
“So anyway, what did you do this weekend?”
“Oh, the usual,” I shrug. “Sarah was over.”
“Sarah? Is she a new girlfriend?”
“No! She’s my father’s side project. She’s the woman he was seeing behind our backs.”
Stuart laughs suddenly, a flirty snicker that sends my heart into over-load. “Has she forced you to eat poisoned apples yet?”
“No,” I admit grudgingly. “She’s almost too nice. I wish she’d be horrid to me, so I’d have a reason to hate her.”
Stuart raises a slim blonde eyebrow. “You’re nuts.”
I blush, ducking my head, cursing myself for my stupidity. I’ve let him see more of my crazy side-now he’ll think I’m weirder than ever.
“I still love you though,” Stuart adds happily, swinging his legs. I blush with pleasure this time, and try to keep my eyes on the blacktop. It’s at that moment that Li swaggers in, with his effortlessly Japanese good looks. He pauses at the door and kisses Imogene Cole hungrily, his hands two steel vices on hers. I wrinkle my face. I don’t see why everybody treats Imogene as though she’s amazingly gorgeous-looking more closely; I see she’s just an average Mountsborough Comp girl. Her hair is stiff and broken, a result of her over-use of hair dye. Her face is a mask of thick makeup; her eyelashes are firm and frightening with mascara. Her skirt swishes above her knee, flaunting miles of goose-pimpled orange thigh. I don’t see how my old self found her attractive at all.
Li parades over, flicking his jaw-length fringe out of his big, moony eyes. A gaggle of girls sitting in front of Stuart and I sigh longingly as he weaves his way in and out of the desks and stops in front of me.
“Hey,” he says proudly, jutting out his chin in ultimate Alpha-male mode.
“Hey,” I reply, glancing up at him. He looks different somehow-more arrogant than usual. “Haven’t seen you for a while.”
Li slips into the seat beside me and turns his back to Stuart. Stuart just raises an eyebrow, picks up his magazine and squeals excitedly, spotting an article about Katy Perry.
“There are more important things than school,” Li tells me. “Imogene hates school, she thinks it’s a total waste of time, she only comes in for Netball and Dance and Textiles, and I don’t want her hanging out the estate on her own, some guy will try his way with her…”
I tune out of Li’s speech and watch Stuart. He’s crossed one leg over another, holding the magazine close to his face. He flicks through the pages and stops, reading a Top Shop article, stroking his finger over the glossy pictures of girl’s jeans and jackets and Winkle Picker boots. He looks up, catches me staring and grins lazily, flicking his long silver fringe from his eyes.

“Aaron! Aaron, are you even listening to me?” Li scorns sharply. He’s wearing a disgruntled expression of a boy who is used to getting what he wants.
“Hmm? Oh yeah, sure.” I snap my attention back to Li. “So you’ve been skipping school just because Imogene doesn’t like it? Pft. Seems pretty flaky to me.”
“See Aaron, man, this is why it didn’t work out between you and Abby. You didn’t listen to her. You didn’t meet her needs.”
I blush suddenly. “How do you know about that?”
Li laughs. “Dude, everyone knows! Why the Hell did you dump her? People thought you were gay anyway, but now there’s proof.”
“Proof?” I snap. “Dumping Abby is not proof! I just didn’t like her!”
“Sheesh, what’s wrong with you? You are being way too snappy, man!” Li criticises. “Chill out, dude.”
I slump, defeated. I’ve been trying to hold back my weekend unhappiness, for Stuart’s sake if nothing else, but now it rears its ugly head, making me feel even more worthless than usual. Isn’t it if something is said enough times, it becomes truth? Jessica was reprimanded for her outrageous behaviour and told she would become worthless so, in turn, she made herself act even more outrageously and worthlessly until everybody gave up on her. Maybe, I ought to give up on myself too, seeing as though everybody else has.
I’m not gay.
I’m not, I’m not, I’m not.

Li walks with Stuart and me to Music. It feels horribly uncomfortable and awkward, being wedged between two people who are showing clear disdain for each other. Stuart is coolly polite to Li, but Li just sneers back at him, looking him up and down like he’s repulsive. He steers the conversation and I find myself wishing he’d never come back at all. When we arrive to the lesson, actually on time, Stuart gives me a sad smile and sits at a desolate keyboard while Li follows me to the piano, bombarding me with tedious facts about Imogene Cole. I find myself pining for Stuart; his cute nicknames and flirty giggle and hopeful hazel eyes.
“Aaron. Aaron! Snap out of it!” Li orders in the middle of describing Imogene’s eyes. I have been gazing off into space, thinking about Stuart’s instead. “What the Hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me at all.” I blush and stare down at the glossy keys, letting my fingers dance over them.
“It’s Swann, isn’t it?”
“What?” I snap my head up instantly, reddened and aware. Li has cocked one eyebrow in disgust and folded his arms.
“Swann is getting to you.”
“No,” I protest. Li raises his eyebrow even further, so it disappears under his fringe.
“You like him.”
My hands come down on the piano keys in fists. “No! Li, I’m not gay!”
“Hah! Aaron, I’ve known you since you were eleven! It’s obvious. You wear girls jeans and eyeliner. You don’t have boy hobbies. You sing. You don’t gel with chicks.” Li ticks off my cons on his hand, clearly enjoying it. “You are spending way too much time with Swann, and we all know what he’s been up too.”
“What? What’s he been up too?!” I snap, utterly defensive. Jaden’s face comes to mind again, grinning and pink and eager.
“Well, I’ve heard stories about him and the ST Alex’s guys. Apparently, he’s been in the locker rooms with over half of them,” Li tells me, eyes glittering. I gape silently. Stuart looks so silver, so innocent, so pure-he can’t have. I just can’t see it. I don’t believe it.

I wish that Stuart was sitting beside me instead.

Li darts off to join Imogene at Break and I catch up with Stuart. I glance him up and down frantically, taking in his baby cheeks, the gap between his teeth, his elated walk. He can’t.
“Hey Aaron?” Stuart starts worriedly, staring back at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh…nothing. Li’s just annoying me, that’s all,” I shrug, looking away.
“What’s he doing?”
I sigh. “He’s calling me gay.”
“Well Vermeer, he’s not the only one!” Jamie Perryman jeers behind me. He and Aled and Conner and Liam tug on my hair, sticking paper planes in it. “C’mon Vermeer! We know!”
“We all know what you got up to at ST Alex’s,” Aled giggles. “Was it fun?”
My heartbeat starts ringing in my ears. ST Alexander’s, again. If I go there, will I hear tales of Stuart at every classroom door? Will Jaden recount tales to me proudly, bragging, flicking his pink fin?
“Aaron didn’t go to ST Alex’s this weekend,” Stuart argues. Jamie wolf-whistles.
“Awwh, poor Snowy, didn’t you catch up with him then?”
“Did you see Angel?”
“Did you get any action?”
Stuart rolls his eyes and huffs, pink in the face. I begin to panic again.
“Or did you catch up with Vermeer afterwards?” Jamie asks gleefully. “Ooh, this is juicy! Tell us more!”
“Push off, Jamie!” I hiss, humiliated beyond belief. People are staring at us now, giggling and pointing. It’s becoming more and more painful.
“No, Vermeer didn’t get what he wanted on Friday,” Aled sneers. “Look at him. Real tetchy.”
“Jeez, get a life!” Stuart grabs my wrist and drags me out of the main building and across the courtyard. “Gah, those guys are idiots. Just ignore them.”
I squint off into the distance, past the brawling blue sky and clouds tinged orange and pink. “Excuse me while I go get hit by a bus.”
“Oh Aaron, it can’t be that bad.” Stuart elbows me in the ribs playfully as we wander past the Science block.
“No-it’s much, much worse,” I argue, glancing down at him. He’s looking back up at me, his hazel eyes scrunched up in amusement. “I’m so glad you find this so amusing!”
“C’mon Aaron. There must be one tiny thing worth living for.”
I soften, and look back at Stuart. When I talk, my voice tinges with longing. “Why are you so happy?”
Stuart shrugs, fiddling with a strand of his white halo. “I don’t have any reason to be unhappy.”
“You have everything, right?”
”Not everything.” Stuart suddenly looks up at me, his eyes burning. I practically melt in his gaze. “There’s something I desperately want, but I haven’t got it yet.”
French passes with immense difficulty. Stuart and I are constantly bombarded with cat calls and jeers; fables about infamous happenings behind the ST Alexander’s bike sheds. Stuart sits back in his seat, sighing and flicking his silver fin, but I find it hard to be so passé. I hunch over the desk and try to concentrate, or ignore them, or both. I give up in the end and draw all over my French book: little skunks with pointed noses and bushy tails. Stuart leans over and snickers playfully, but Madame Genevieve is less appreciative. She slaps my book and orders me, in strict tones, to continue with my irregular verbs. When she calls me up to answer a question, I get it wrong and Jamie’s lapdogs laugh from the back.
I hope to escape the torment when the buzzer sounds for Lunch, but Stuart and I are followed down to the canteen by the jocks and chavs. We manage to snatch a table by the window, and Stuart starts to chatter immediately, describing his ‘fab’ night at ST Alexander’s. I finally start to relax a little and laugh along with him, when something white soars through the air and lands in the back of my hair. There comes a chorus of laughter from Jamie’s table. My cheeks flush instantly.
“Jeez, they think they’re so funny.” Stuart leans over the table and plucks the paper plane from my hair. He peels it open and holds it up, one eyebrow raised. “They’re real original too.”
I take the piece of paper from him and read the scrawling, wavering black letters-GO BACK TO ST ALEX’S NANCY BOY. I sigh, scrunch it up into a ball and push it away miserably. Fabulous.
“You’re not having a good month, huh,” Stuart suddenly says, destroying the silence. I look up, eyebrows raised.
“I’m not having a good life.”
“It’ll get better when you’re older.” He hesitates. “House, wife, kids.”
“Wife? Kids?” I mock, snorting. “Hah. Yeah, good one, Bambi.”
“You don’t want the full package?”
“Anything but that! I want to paint, and sing, and play piano, and act, and have my own apartment and do what I want, when I want too, on my own. I don’t want anybody else.”
“I’m sure you’ll change your mind,” he says, almost flirtatiously, and I raise my eyebrows again. He’s grinning his beautiful lopsided smile, eyes dazzling.
“I’m very sure I won’t. Anyway, who would want me?”
“Ugh! Aaron Vermeer, you are hopeless! You know how amazingly good looking and handsome and attractive you are, so stop it. I hate it when beautiful people pretend they’re ugly. It’s so attention-seeking.”
I stare at him, shocked. Has he just said that-all of that? Is this real? I blink, trying to clear my mind of any stupid thoughts, and then blink again.
“Uh oh. I’ve upset you again, haven’t I?” Stuart says. “Darn. Every time I say something nice about you, you go crackers. I’ve got to stop being so good to you.”
I actually laugh and he does too.
“It’s alright. It shocked me a little, that’s all.”
He leans forward on his elbows. “And why would it shock you? You know it’s true really.”
I give him a little smile, trying to hide my pleasure.
“You, Aaron Vermeer, confuse me,” Stuart says, pointing his finger lazily in my face. They’re so long and achingly smooth and soft and white…”Here you are, the face of beauty, yet you think you’re ugly. Why?”
“Because I am!”
“I don’t think you are.”
I allow myself to blush this time and hang my head so my hair falls over my face, hiding my blooming cheeks. Stuart loves it-he laughs joyously, such a cherubic sound. He leans forward even further, until our faces are almost touching, and, reaching out with his elegant hand, tips my face up towards his, leaning closer even still. My heart starts thumping erratically. He can’t kiss me here…not here, in a crowded canteen with steamed-up windows and Jamie Perryman sitting at the other end, laughing at us….he just can’t-
“I’m gay, Aaron.”
I screw up my face and try not to look shocked, even though it is a shock, just hearing the words come from his mouth. His face is clear of any emotion. It’s too lovely…
“Excuse me?”
He sighs and takes the other side of my face in his other hand.
“I like guys, Aaron. I have done since I was thirteen years old.”
I struggle to think of something to say; struggle desperately to work through the thick fog clouding my brain.
“Oh. Do your family know?”
He nods. “I told them when I was fourteen. We were all sitting round together and I just blurted it out. They just totally accepted me. In fact, they were kinda sad I didn’t tell them sooner, though they always knew. Didn’t you realize?”
“I suppose I knew…a little,” I say, remembering Jaden’s grabbing hands.
Stuart smiles but it’s small and brief. He looks around, hesitates and then speaks again. “Is that Okay?”
I pause and nod. “Of course it is. It’s better if we have no more secrets. It’s good that we’re honest with each other. It’s cool. I guess I always knew anyway. It was kinda obvious.”
He laughs but it’s skittish.
“Stuart? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Honestly? I was scared of what you’d say. I…look, you’re my best friend Aaron, and I really like you. I was worried that I might…loose you if I told you. Pretty crash, eh?” He grins.
“Totally understandable but impossible. Bambi, why would I ignore you cause you’re gay? Everybody thinks I am anyway. Look, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care, Okay? It’s just part of you, isn’t it?”
Stuart looks up from the table and smiles his full Bambi smile that makes me smile back.
“Thanks Aaron. I appreciate it.” He trails off. “Okay, got anything to tell me?”
I shake my head. “Stuart, I’m not gay.”
He smiles again, laughing this time. “Give it time.”
“Hey! I’m not gay!”
Stuart raises one eyebrow and twists his mouth into an irresistible, sceptic pout. To tame my desire, I start talking.
“What was it like, when you told your parents?”
“It was kinda scary, but it was relieving afterwards. I’d managed to go for a year and three boyfriends without them noticing, which was impressive but draining. I was so tired of sneaking around without them realizing. I didn’t know if they’d accept me but I thought it would be best if they knew. I just…blurted it out. My grandparents were there and everything. It was such a big relief. I didn’t have to lie about girls anymore. Like I said, my family had always suspected something but they wanted me to come out on my own, and I did. They’re fine with it. At first, my dad was a bit weird but he was just worried for me. He thought that fourteen was way too young to be choosing my orientation and that I might be going through a phase, experimenting, I’d get my heart broken, I’d get bullied, it wasn’t certain, blah, blah,blah. He was just trying to look out for me. He’s grown to accept that this is me now, and he’s Okay if I bring boyfriends home to show off or whatever. He’s met a few, and Mum has too. The only time Dad went mad was when I snuck in at one in the morning after going out with Billie-“
“Billie?”
“He’s this seventeen-year-old. He was only sixteen then but I was fourteen, and he’s really old for his age, y’know? He’s really tall and thin and pale. He only lives in the street opposite ours. He’s pretty cute. He goes to ST Alexander’s. He’s really clever but he’s a bit of a wild child.”
“Like Jessica?”
“Exactly like Jessica! Nah, he’s really sweet but he got caught up with the wrong crowd, y’know? He’s had a pretty messed up childhood and got into smoking and drinking when he was pretty young. He started doing drugs and I decided that enough was enough. We’re still great friends and he never hurt me or tried to push stuff on me or pressure me into taking them or whatever but I was too young for him. You’d like him-he sings and writes this really creepy poetry.”
“Have you dated anybody from this school?”
Stuart pulls an adorable face. “Eww! No way! I have taste, Aaron and you know perfectly well that I am the only gay boy in this school. No, I tend to go for older, ST Alexander’s guys. More of them tend to swing towards men because they’re an all boy’s school. I live close to the school so I hang round there sometimes and flirt with them a bit.”
I wish, more than anything else at this moment, that I had his confidence. He’s smiling, flicking his hair, eyes shining, inhumanly beautiful…
The bell rings and Stuart takes his hands away from my face, swooping down to pick up his bag.
“I’ve got Art Textiles now,” he says, slinging his bag over his shoulder and picking up his blazer. “I’ll see you in RS, Okay?”
I nod and Stuart smiles, waggling his fingers and walking away. I pick up my bag and trail down to Graphics.
I knew it-I knew he was gay-but it still shocked me. I don’t care that he is, but it’s alarming…alarming to know that I can have him if I want him.
I shouldn’t be thinking like this. It’s unhealthy and dangerous for me. But still….I can’t help it. He’s just permantly on my mind, all of the time, and I just can’t stop that. He’s an addiction, my personal ray of sunshine. I can’t survive without him now, and this fact scares me.
I’m not gay.
I am, I am, I am.