For some reason, over the last few days, with all my teachers rabidly force-feeding any and all information that may be vaguely pertinent to the looming final exams coming up in just a few weeks, I don’t have much time to investigate what exactly had gone on with Will & Grace over there in Emoville; instead I’m finding myself poring over textbooks I had never opened before, reading facts about events I know I should remember but can’t, and spending a lot more hours of the day with some of the kids that shared most of their schedules with me. Mainly, Greg, Tom, and Kyle.
Throughout high school, they had always been the popular jocks; the dudes that everyone guy wanted to be and every girl wanted to date. You know how on Myspace people rack up thousands of friends in one day, without really knowing any of them? From what I’ve heard, they personally know every single person on theirs...all 350,687 of them. Yeah, they’re that popular. And, I’m sort of surprised that they somehow want to extend their popularity to me; I barely hang out with them outside of school. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m friends with them more for the status than for anything else. They remind me of the baseball cards I used to collect when I was a kid. They’re only really cool to have when other people know you have them...and they’re only useful to have if you’re obsessed with sports– which, granted, I can be at certain times, but not as much as these guys. It’s always baseball season, football season, basketball season with them...hell, even hockey season if there’s really nothing else on. So usually, I wouldn’t normally be hanging out with them, but lately I haven’t been in the mood to hang with Morgue and Emma. I haven’t hung out with straight men so long I can’t even remember the last time I discussed a rerun of a game, or boobs. Oh god, what I wouldn’t give to be able to talk about a chick’s chest without getting either a) my neck cut off, or b) blank stares of confusion. Fortunately, it looks like the conversation Kyle and Tom are having while we’re studying is heading in that direction pretty quickly...however it seems to be about Emma’s chest, which I’m not so sure I’m okay with talking about casually with other guys.
“Hey, Foss, man...you’re dating Emma now, aren’t you? She’s pretty hot.”
Tom pulls away from the maze of math problems we’re attempting to break down and nods.
“On a scale of 1 to 10, she’s definitely at least a 9, dude. You got pretty damn lucky this time. I mean, she’s got it where it counts, you know?” They laugh, and even though I can almost hear Emma screaming her feminist chants at me I join in.
“Yeah, you’re telling– wait, what do you mean I got lucky this time? I’ve had other hot girlfriends. Remember Sara?”
“She had no ass,” Kyle says.
“Or boobs. And her nose was mad fucked up. She should’ve done a Tisdale on that shit,” Tom offers.
“Guys, shut up. She wasn’t that bad.”
“Whatever, but still...Emma’s like the Jenna Jameson of this generation. I fucking want a nude poster of her on my wall...”
“Me too,” Kyle seconds, and I squirm in my chair. I have a feeling this is going somewhere I’m not really comfortable with.
“Can you just imagine fucking her?,” Tom says in a dreamy tone, his eyes gaining a misty quality.
“Yeah....”
“Okay, guys, stop. Dream about her all you want, but don’t say it out loud, Jesus.” Tom and Kyle laugh again in that deep, mildly annoying way and obediently switch subject.
Kyle turns to me. “So, are you going to Greg’s pool party?”
“I didn’t know he was having one...”
His mouth extends in mock-surprise. “Are you kidding me? It’s going to be bangin’,– he has a high-def TV and just about every hot chick in town is going to be there. His parents aren’t home, either.”
“And there’s loads of empty rooms for, you know...bow-chicka-wow-wow.”
Grinning, I roll my eyes. “Naw, that’s alright. I don’t think we’re really ready for that yet.”
Now they both really look shocked. “You...you haven’t done it yet?” Kyle asks disbelievingly.
“Not yet.”
Tom starts chuckling. “You’ve got to be kidding me...how the hell can you possibly stay away from her?”
I shrug. “Well, we’re really close friends...I don’t want to do anything that she’s not comfortable with.”
“Are you?”
“What?”
“Are you, you know, comfortable with it?” Kyle’s looking at me with this really devilish smile, and that, along with Em’s constant presence in the back of my mind, is making me feel guilty.
“Yeah...yeah, I guess so. If she’s alright with it.”
“Then bring her to the party...I’m sure that’ll put her in the mood.”
“And it’ll definitely put you in the mood when you see her in just a bikini...” Tom adds, that same smile smeared all over his face. “Besides, she’ll want to. You know chicks, as long as you say that you love them and shit they’ll fall right into your pants...I mean, hands.”
“Well, I do love her, a lot. And I mean yeah I want to get to that stage in things, but I don’t want to force her into it. Besides, trust me, she’s way too smart to just do anything if I just say ‘I love you’.” And I don’t want to just use her...she means everything to me, I want to add, but that seems to be the exception instead of the rule with these two...and I don’t want to piss them off and make them hate me or anything.
“Yeah, whatever...sounds like someone wants to stay a virgin the rest of his life.”
“Tom’s right, man; you don’t want The 40-Year-Old Virgin to become your life story, do you?”
I shrug again, pretending to focus on the algebraic hieroglyphics in front of me. “Whatever. I’ll think about coming, and I’ll see if Em wants to go, too.”
“Hey, you don’t even have to bring her if you don’t want to...there are loads of other chicks there if your little princess doesn’t want to get her hands dirty.”
I shoot him a look of disgust. “Shut up, this is my girlfriend we’re talking about. I love her even if she doesn’t want to fuck yet.”
“How do you know she’s ever going to?” Tom says. “She might be one of those real uptight Catholic chicks who won’t even touch you until you marry them.”
“Or a vegan,” Kyle says in the utmost serious tone. Lowering his voice, he adds, “I heard some of those chicks don’t even shave their legs.”
Tom scrunches up his noise. “Gross!”
“I know– I mean, if I fucking wanted some of that hairy shit I’d be into bestiality.”
“I don’t mind if they’re not like, completely shaved, if you know what I mean...but that’s just sick.”
I groan. “For god’s sake, she’s not a Catholic...or a vegan. At least...not that kind. And can we stop talking about my girlfriend already?”
“Alright, man, don’t get bitchy about it. Just saying, you should bring her...or you know, one of your close female friends. We won’t tell.” Kyle twirls his pencil and leans back in his chair. “So, you coming or what?”
I glance at Tom, then Kyle, before sighing and nodding. “Okay, okay. I’ll bring Em to this party. So who else is going?”
“Everyone,” They both reply.
“Well, everyone except the queers,” Tom notes with a snort.
“Thank god,” Kyle says.
“What’s...wrong with the gay kids being there?” I’m offended, but I’m still only cautiously defensive of the ‘queers’...well, in my case, Morgue.
“Nothing much, I guess...but I sure as hell wouldn’t want them fucking at the party.” Tom has that same look on his face as before, that look that someone gets when they smell something rotten. “No one wants to see that.”
“Gay guys aren’t that bad...my best friend is one.”
They’re taken aback at this surprising bit of information, and I swear to myself silently– I’ve treaded onto dangerous ground.
“Really? Who?”
“Uh, I don’t know if you know him...Morgan Berkeley?”
“Oh, that gay emo kid?” Tom says, sneering. “He’s your best friend?”
“Well...yeah.”
“He’s such a fucking freak. Didn’t he like try to commit suicide one time?”
“Um, well--”
“I wish it had worked,” Kyle continues. “God knows the world doesn’t need people like him around. Fucking useless.”
“Fuck off,” I say, starting to get truly offended. “He may be different but that doesn’t make him any less of a good friend.”
“Alright, alright, man, chill. Just don’t bring him with you to the party, got that?”
“Well it’s his choice if he wants to come, not mine.”
“Whatever, man.” Suddenly, they both slightly shift away from me. Goddamnit! “What’s it like having a queer as a friend anyway?” Tom asks.
“Not any different than having a straight friend...” Well, except for the potential of one little issue, but we just won’t get into that right now, will we?.
“I’d be freaked out about it.” Kyle plays with his bangs as he imagines. “I mean, what if the dude liked you?” Or, okay, maybe we will.
“Yeah, does this Morgan kid like you? He probably does, doesn’t he? He probably wants to like get into your pants...” Simultaneously, both he and Kyle look at each other. “Grosss!”
“No, he...he...” A strange sort of urge is taking hold of me...I really want to tell them, that I’m being crushed on my best male friend and that it’s weird as hell. Gulping nervously because I know this is probably a really stupid idea, I stutter, “He-he does actually like me. I found out a couple of days ago...and I’m actually really creeped out.”
They respond like I just told them Derek Jeter used to work part-time as a stripper. “Are you fucking serious? That fag fucking likes you?”
“Don’t call him that--”
“Fuck, that’s disgusting. Did you tell anyone yet?”
“What?” I look at Tom, confused. “Why would I tell anyone that?”
“Well...it’d make him think twice about it, wouldn’t it?” Kyle says.
“...how?”
“See, if you go around saying that he’s wanting to be all fucking queer with you,” Tom explains, “Then he’ll stop doing it because he’ll be all ashamed about it. It’s like how you train a dog to go to the bathroom outside, by hitting them with a newspaper when they shit on your mom’s rug.”
“But...”
“Trust me, man, it’s how you’ve got to handle these things. In fact, we’ll make it easy for you...won’t we, Kyle?” They share another horrible, horrible grin and I feel something unpleasant brewing in the pit of my stomach.
“What do you mean, you’ll make it easy for me?”
“Don’t even sweat it, Foss, man, we’ll take care of everything.”
“Everything,” Kyle echoes.
...
Ah, sorry, I had read this already, but couldn't comment. Thought I'd raise your writing disposition to broiling degrees, well at least to a full 100. Ha, these new 'jock-type' characters are something; good leverage. I can hardly if ever find any 'holes' in your storyline, you have everything under control; you seem to fully understand the function of minor characters, setting, plot, main characters, motif, mood, etc. Ah, what a stress-inducing hanger. Great job.
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