Author's Note: Happy Birthday, Doug! It's not exactly what you wanted but all that I could manage was this odd Nick-centric-four-parter-oneshot-thingy. I still hope your birthday is killer and this is for you. Plus, I have all the time in the world to get it right. Where there's one thing written for you there's plenty more to come. I love you and your amazing ways!
With that said, prepare yourself (yourself being whoever is reading this) for angsty teenage heartbreak, an odd side-kick, a mysterious ex-boyfriend who you want to root for—or might not, a questionable crush and a taste of what it's like to give up on life. All in all, this is one of those stories that will either make you really happy or really pissed off. I'm the latter...and I wrote it.
Pairings: Nick/Blaine, Nick/Sebastian, Nick/Jeff
The Perfect Mistake
-:-
Part One
The Middle of My Life; Where I'm At
Entry #1 – Monday the 23rd, August
Sometimes I have these moments when my body is calm, the air is warm and the house is quiet. In those moments, I take a deep breath and I close my eyes, letting repressed thoughts come to the surface of my entire being. These thoughts bring feelings—which isn't entirely bad, but as a boy who comforts himself in no feelings at all it can become overwhelming. They're foreign to my body, but all too familiar; pain and heartache, bliss and love, hatred and rage. They make the thoughts louder, clearer, sending me in spiral of emotion that leaves me petrified in my bed where I am safe under the covers, like a little kid who's scared of imagined bogeymen. I take another deep breath and will everything away. The numb would find me eventually. Cleanse me of the poison. My eyelids grow heavy and I won't even hesitate to try to keep them open, they close and darkness finds me, allowing my thoughts to slip away and to land on a different plane of being. I fall into a dreamless state that cancels out the rest of the world. Sleep is the only real place that I'm safe.
I wish I could sleep forever.
I sat my pen down on the notebook and stared at my words, re-reading them as if I were the teacher. I tried to see the pictures I attempted to paint from a professional perspective, but all I can see is the complaining mentality of an almost seventeen year old. I wish there was more to see, more to read, but that's all there is. They're simple—normal, even. I'm no different than any other person who is a little more than sad. I brought my thumb up to my lips and grabbed hold of my flesh with my teeth. Maybe I should be more dramatic, I think. Maybe I should make it seem like I'm more desperate for help. I attempted to pick up my pen but instead I continued to chew on the thick flesh surrounding my chipped fingernail. I noticed a presence beside me.
"Nick, have you finished?" my teacher, Mrs. Sampson, asked.
"I'm not sure," I responded. I looked up at her then. "Are we being graded?"
She frowned at me. "Like I told everyone at the beginning of the assignment: this is a yearly project—a journal entry for each day you're in class. Express what you're feeling. Write about the things you see and the life you live. Don't hold back on anything."
I frowned back at her. "But are we being graded? Are you going to read them?"
She sighed and reached for my notebook. In my head I saw myself screaming and lunging for her, knocking her over as I clutched the thing to my chest, growling like a beast at her. Instead I held my breath as she picked it up. It's then that I realized I didn't want anyone to know. I'm not ready to face anything. Thankfully, she didn't open it.
"No, I will not being reading your journals," she announced loudly to the class. "But I will be grading on participation. Turn in your journals by the end of the day and you will get credit."
She walked away with my notebook and I glanced around me, watching everyone scribble down their thoughts. Some were staring off into space, probably stuck on what to write about. Others seemed to be writing an essay's worth of words. It seemed pointless to do this, but I wasn't one to question a teacher. I bent over and pulled out a book from my bag. We still had twenty minutes until the bell rang, time that was meant to be spent on our journals. I could still be writing, but Mrs. Sampson had made up my mind for me. Which was good; I didn't need to ponder too long on how I was feeling, especially on my first day of school.
I was a junior now, which was strange. I wasn't a freshman, someone who was new to the ways of high school. And I wasn't a sophomore, someone who was familiar yet not quite on the high grade status to be something majorly important to the school. Juniors were much like seniors, except for the fact that they didn't have the whole "last year of high school" thing. I wished that I was senior, if only to be able to have that privilege to say I was nearly done with this wretched place.
The bell rang and everyone rushed to get out of the classroom. I shoved my belongings back into my bag and hauled it over my shoulder. But instead of forcing my way out of the classroom, I paused at the teacher's desk, waiting for her to look up from her planner. When she did so, she raised an eyebrow at me.
"Yes?"
"The journals...I just...I want to be able to trust you," I said then, not quite sure where I was going with all this.
She nodded. "Well, Nick, I promise you that I will not read your journal. I understand if you want to be able to express yourself in a secure environment, and I'm glad that you're willing to do so for this year long assignment," she explained, standing up from her desk and walking to the shelves next to the door where everyone dropped off their assignments, or in this case, journals. I watched as she picked up the notebooks/journals and carried them to her desk. She looked up at me and smiled softly.
"You should probably get to class, but I promise that you're journal will only be opened by you."
"Thank you," I replied and rushed off to my next period.
I had Math next. I took a nap. I mean, it was hard to stay awake during the first few hours of school. I had woken up at six after going to bed at two in the morning, and the first day of school is always slow-paced, even though the classes are simple. English had been all about the teacher explaining what we'd be learning and doing throughout the school year, and it was the same for nearly every other class. The first portion of Math was about our curriculum, which I had fallen asleep through, and the second half was the teacher telling a life story about how Math had changed his life, which I had woken up to, mostly because he decided to pull out a booming monologue about why Math was fundamental for our futures.
My next two classes were History and Theatre, and I dubbed the first four periods of being a hazard to me passing this year. Lunched followed Theatre and I quickly made my way out of the school. I got into my car and pulled out of the school's parking lot. I wasn't sure where I was going to eat, but all I knew was that I wouldn't become one of those weird kids who ate by themselves in the massive cafeteria. I preferred sulking over a fresh cup of coffee or allowing myself to munch on some french-fries. Though, I had forgotten that I wasn't the only one who had a license.
I pulled up to Lima Bean, recognizing a familiar, agony-inducing face. Part of me wanted to leave and never return, but another part of me told me that I had to be brave. I parked next to an old busted Volkswagen and pulled my bag out, cringing as the objects inside as it hit against the steering wheel. I shut my door and pressed the button that made it lock up. And then I turned on a heel and headed for the entrance, watching him the entire time.
There was no bell when I entered. I hoped I could keep my presence on the down-low.
I stood behind a group of unfamiliar girls, my eyes finding the back of his head. He turned around then, coffee in hand as he and his friend walked away from the counter. His eyes caught mine. I wanted to smile at him but instead I casted my eyes to the ground, my arms crossed in front of my body as I allowed my weight to rest on my right leg.
He laughed as he passed me. It was nervous and fake. He was probably trying to distract himself from me by keeping in tune with what his friend had been saying. I couldn't help myself as I looked over my shoulder once I was sure he had left the coffee shop. He walked to his car and unlocked it for him and his friend. But before he climbed in, he looked back at me. I looked away again. I didn't want to, but I had to. The girls in front of me moved forward and I followed their lead.
As soon as I got my coffee I left and I went back to school. There was a pressure in my chest that made it hard to breathe, even though I was getting the perfect amount of oxygen. I could feel my eyes sting and I squeezed the steering wheel, as if I could get rid of them by doing so.
"Don't do this, Nick," I said to myself. "Not today. Not ever. Just…fucking…don't." I took a deep breath and blinked back the tears swelling in my eyes. I reached for my coffee and took a long sip, the heat burning my tongue. The sea of cars helped me forget about where I was emotionally. I parked in the same spot I had managed to get earlier this morning. I collected my things and returned to the large building.
As I walked through the parking lot towards the entrance doors, I saw him standing there. He was drinking his coffee and playing with the handle of his bag with his right hand. It seemed to me that he was waiting. I kept my eyes on my feet as I got closer to the building. I watched as my hand reached for the door. My finger tips had just grazed it when he spoke.
"Nick. Hey."
I pulled back my hand and looked up at him. "Hey."
"I've tried to call you," he said, tossing his coffee in the trash near by.
"I know," I replied, keeping my eyes on his chest.
"You haven't answered," he continued.
"I know," I sighed.
"Would you at least look at me?"
And I did. I met his beautiful hazel eyes and immediately regretted it.
He smiled shyly. "I miss you."
I laughed. It was unnatural and unlike me. "Fuck off."
I didn't wait for him to speak or reach out to me. Instead I stormed through the school's entrance and made my way down a hallway. I wasn't even sure if I needed to be in said hallway, I just needed to get away.
My last four periods were easier. Choir, Spanish, Home Economics and finally Spanish again, where I'd be assisting the teacher with anything and everything. This year would be a breeze; at least, I hoped it would be.
I didn't want to go home at the end of the day, though. My parents would be at work, Mitchell would be out with his friends and without a doubt Grandpa Harold would be sleeping. I'd basically be alone, which I wouldn't have minded if it weren't for the fact that I was trying to get better. But I couldn't avoid not being at home, so I slowly made my way out of the school and took my time driving to my house.
Once there I parked my car by the curb. I checked the mail before going inside, scrunching up my nose at the pointless ads. I unlocked the door and I wondered if maybe I should announce my return, but instead I made my way to the kitchen and tossed the ads on the table before I pulled a Coke out of the fridge. I stood at the counter and I drank the entire thing, not pausing to stop for air. I burped and placed the can in the sink, where someone would move it to the recycle bin.
I proceeded to my bedroom upstairs. Once there I kicked off my shoes and set my bag on the ground. I made sure the door was shut completely and I pulled off my pants. I didn't bother putting on jeans. Instead I tugged my tie and blazer off and flung them towards the direction of my desk and collapsed into my bed. I pulled my sheets up to my neck and turned on my side, my hands finding themselves beneath my face as I allowed myself to succumb to an after-school nap.
A few hours later my mother was waking me up by politely shaking my shoulder.
"Nicky, baby, wake up. It's time to eat," she hummed.
"I'm not hungry." I wasn't.
"It doesn't matter. Come eat, please," she said as she pulled away.
I yawned. "Give me a few minutes."
"You've got ten." With that she left my room and I opened my eyes.
Instantly I regretted sleeping. The right side of my hair was soaked in sweat and my hands were tingling. My body felt achy, almost as if I had a cold taking over each limb. I also had a headache. But the thought of sleeping some more quickly made all of that vanish, at least until my mother hollered at me. I groaned and threw my blankets off my body and walked to my jeans that were lying on the ground near the foot of my bed from Sunday. I slipped them on and made my way downstairs.
My family was sitting at the kitchen table, each with a full plate of food. There was a plate waiting for me. Suddenly I was hungry. I sat beside my brother and he stared at me.
"Why are you sweaty?" he asked as he put a fork-full of chicken into his mouth.
"I was exorcising in my sleep. You should try it some time, fatty," I responded naturally.
My mother scolded me. "Don't be so mean, Nicky! It's unnecessary."
I rolled my eyes and began to eat, not listening as my father and mother talk about their grown-up troubles. My grandpa spoke to his carrots, while my brother texted underneath the table. I sighed and wondered why we even had dinner together if it meant we'd ignore each other like we do. I decided that I'd eat quickly and venture back into my room, but instead my brother turned to me.
"How come you never hang out with Blaine anymore?"
"We broke up," I said. I'm surprised I did.
"When did this happen?" my mother jumped in. Suddenly, all eyes were on me. I stared at my potatoes.
"Last month." Everything I was saying was on autopilot now. The pain returned. Was it normal to feel like your lungs were being smothered by pillows?
"Why didn't you say anything?" she asked.
I shrugged.
"I liked Blaine," my dad stated.
I pushed away from the table and ignored my mother's orders for me to return to dinner. I took the stairs two at a time and ran into my room, shutting and locking the door behind me. I could feel the tears then and there was no repressing them this time. My heart began to beat harshly in my chest and I felt myself gasping for air. I sunk to the floor, the only part of me actually touching it was my feet. I braced my hands on my knees and inhaled deeply through my nose. I released it from my mouth, a sob breaking free.
"No, no, no, no, no," I muttered, shutting my eyes tightly. "Don't. Please, don't."
There was a knock at my door and I stood up. "What?"
"Nick…Can I come in?" my brother, Mitchell, asked.
"The door is locked, stupid," I stated through a sudden sob.
"Then why don't you unlock it, 'tard?" he countered.
I walked to the door and opened it up for him, my back facing him as I walked to the window.
"What's your deal?" I heard my door shut and sniffled.
"Mitchell, do me a favor and never, ever let a girl fall in love with you. Hell, don't ever fall in love."
He sighed. "Don't you think you're overreacting?"
"Probably."
"You realize Mom will kill you if you continue to play drama-queen," he stated.
"Leave me alone."
"Only if you tell me why you and Blaine broke up."
I turned to him and clenched my jaw. "How about you go fuck yourself. Leave. Now."
He glared at me and opened my door. "God, you're such an asshole, you know that right?"
"And you're going to grow up to be a tool," I retorted. He flipped me off and left my room, slamming my door as he did so. I walked over to it and locked it.
My stomach growled. It was then that I remembered I hadn't finished my dinner. Fortunately the pain in my chest ceased and all sign of tears had vanished. I took off my jeans and placed them in my hamper before I returned to the comfort of my bed.
Earlier this morning I wished that I could sleep forever. There was no hurt in trying.
-:-
By morning I was fully rested. I woke up to the sound of my alarm and turned it off before I could get overly annoyed with it. I left my bed and entered my bathroom. I brushed my teeth and peed before I got into the shower. It was a quick one, mostly because I didn't feel like spending most my morning being prune-like.
Before I knew it I was off for another day of school. I did my best to avoid Blaine in the hallways. He hadn't stopped calling or texting me, and I was positive that my inbox was full of emails and notifications from him. I didn't dare check anything on my computer these days; they were all reminders of him and us and what I used to be before last month. It was strange being where I was now, not just physically but mentally and emotionally.
Being depressed was something that I figured I'd never use to describe how I was feeling. Yes, sometimes I'd be extremely sad and maybe I had been a little depressed after the passing of my grandma, but that was normal. Depression after a breakup was normal too, but my depression wasn't just because of that. I wasn't sure what else was causing it, but I didn't really want to know either. Part of me knew I should have figured out what was wrong, but I didn't feel like reaching that deep inside myself to uncover the demons, at least not yet.
I entered the halls of Dalton with my head held high. Today I would not cry. Today I would not sulk. Today I would be happy. Happy thoughts. Happy. Happy. Happy. I smiled to myself as I made my way to my locker, wondering what school had in store for me today. I hoped it would be full of things that kept me busy and didn't allow me to zone out. I was most excited for the choir rehearsal, mostly because I had always wanted to be in it but never was. A few friends and I had planned to take it the beginning of freshman year, but it never happened for some reason.
My locker was near my English class, which was also smack-dab in the middle of most of my other classes, which meant the commute to it wouldn't be too tedious and time consuming. It was bare. I wondered if I should maybe stick photos onto the inner door of it. Maybe some magnets? I could be really playful and silly and buy a dollar pack of those alphabet magnets for children. That sounded fun. But as I stared at the emptiness of my locker, I realized I had yet to need it. The teacher's hadn't assigned text books yet and the most I could do was hang my jacket up. I would carry my bag throughout the day since it held all my personal belongings, but it bothered me to keep my locker so bare. I reached into my bag and felt around, pulling out a pencil that wasn't even sharpened. I set it on the shelf and nodded to myself. That'll do for now, I thought. The pencil began to roll to the back of the shelf. I sighed and shut my locker door.
"Having fun?" a voice suddenly asked, making me jump. I pressed my hand over my heart dramatically and looked behind me. A thin boy in a Dalton sweater stared at me with an amused expression, his hands full with a binder and an apple. He took a bite of the red fruit, smiling and chewing as he waited for me to say something. I looked at his hair. It was flat and blonde, stirringly ordinary.
I found my voice. "What?"
He shrugged and laughed. "I'dunno. I thought I should say something."
"What?" I repeated. He swallowed and paused, setting his binder between his knees and squeezing them, throwing his left hand out towards me.
"I'm Jeff Sterling."
I felt my eyebrows raise at him, but I took his hand in mine and accepted the shake.
"Nick Duval."
"I've never met a Nick before."
I laughed and took my hand out of his. "What are the odds?" It had been a rhetorical question, but I guess he felt obligated to answer.
"Rather slim, I suppose. But that all depends on the generation and place, not to mention where the culture is at, and what's a popular trend. Damn Hollywood influencing our daily lives."
"Can I help you with something?" It was blunt and rude, but I was honestly curious.
He laughed and took another bite of his apple while trying to position his binder correctly in his hand. "I'm new here, to the school, and I just want…um." He stopped talking and glared at the floor between us, his expression changing from embarrassed and antsy to pissed off in one second flat. "Crap, forget it. I'll just…" He looked up at me, his brown eyes meeting mine again. I felt my eyebrow rise and a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
"You'll just what?" I prompted.
He sighed and threw his head back dramatically. "It's just that you're cute and I'm new and I want a friend. How lame am I?"
I felt warmth touch my cheeks. "You've got balls, that's for sure."
His eyes widened and his head came down. "Oh, God, you're with someone aren't you? Who is it? The lead football stud? No, the school doesn't have a football team. Maybe the school president? Or the Prom King? The rich kid? It's someone who has all the power, isn't it? I'm going to get beaten to death. Is it a girl? God, tell me it's not a girl. My gay-dar doesn't work. Shit."
I laughed and it caused him to look eve more scared than he was.
"You need to relax," I told him. "There's no one at this school who has that power, except for maybe the Headmaster. And no, I'm not with anyone. And yes, I'm gay." I wasn't quite sure why I told him that, seeing as how I wasn't ready to have some type of relationship going.
He let out a breath of relief. "Thank fuck."
"And I'm sorry, but I can't be your friend." I secured my bag on my shoulder and waved a goodbye, heading towards my English class.
"Why not?" I heard him ask, the sound of his dress-shoes against the linoleum catching up with me.
"I've sworn off friends." Or rather they've sworn me off.
He snorted. "That's stupid. Why would you do that?"
"Because I can do what I like. This year is about me and passing all my classes. No time for distractions."
"You're one of those guys who care about school more than they do their social status, huh?"
"Yes." No.
He grabbed my elbow and pulled me to a halt. I rolled my eyes and looked at him.
"Look, Nick, I'm not sure what your deal is but I'm rather persistent and stubborn. Fine, don't have friends. That's your choice. But I don't need you to fake it for my sake."
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"I'm new here and I don't know anyone and I'm really, really shy."
I cut him off with a laugh. "Sure you are. Anyone who was shy would not start a conversation out of the blue."
"Fine, I'm not shy. But all my life I've been on the outside looking in and I just want to have a life where things are normal for me for once. I want to be something bigger than I am. I want my name to be legend."
"Jeff, I really hate to be a dick to you but there are some things you need to know if you want to go down the stereotypical path of being a somebody." I felt my hands begin to shake with sudden fury. "Looking still fresh out of your lonely middle-school phase will only cause people to judge you without a second thought. And trying to become anything with me will send you spiraling down the bottom of the heap. Kindly fuck off and figure this shit out for yourself."
I walked away from him then and took a right, leading myself into my first period class. I took a seat in the back, mostly because I wasn't in the mood to seem like I was involved in what the teacher had to say. I thought that maybe my day would be an okay one, but already it was falling to shit and I wanted to scream.
What was that kid's deal? It's was creepy. And what made him think that I had some type of high power in the school anyway? The only people who knew my name were the ones who I'd gone to school with the longest, which wasn't many. I was just perplexed at the kid. Never in my life had I seen a scenario like that, even it was merely for flirtation. And if he was so desperate to be on top of the food chain he sure as hell wouldn't have came to school looking like he'd spent looking like he'd been given birth by a male lawyer.
The bell rang and I jumped. The teacher shot a look at me and shook her head.
"Deep in thought, Mister Duval?"
I nodded. "Yeah. It's been one of those mornings."
"Well, grab your journal and jot down everything. It'll help."
I got out of my seat and maneuvered my way through incoming students finding desks. Once they all noticed I was getting my journal, the swarmed in to get theirs. We all had written our names on the front with a large, black marker. No one realized that the journals had been placed in alphabetical order at some point, and even if they did it no longer mattered because the books were being knocked over and shuffled up. I had gone from being the first one to get their journal to being the last, mostly because I didn't feel like being elbowed to death.
I returned to my seat, journal in hand, and I set it on my desk. Some opened there's and began to write, others had last minute conversations with neighbors or texted on their cell phones. I tapped my fingers against my journal and wondered what I should write about, but before I could even figure out anything, the teacher hushed us and told us to put our journals on the ground.
"You'll spend the last half hour of class to write in your journals. For now we'll be concentrating on the lesson."
It was easy to concentrate at first, just like I had planned to do until it was time for me to rant and vent on a piece of paper, but instead I found myself staring at two guys in front of me. They were passing notes, which was totally middle-school and, well, gay. Yet I found it endearing, especially because technology was ruining some of my greatest pastimes. These two, however, weren't being very secretive. And it was obvious the teacher knew what they were doing, but she was on the phone, talking to some authority figure—or parent. Hell, maybe it was her husband.
They were talking about me, though. I could see it in the way they'd occasionally look back at me and snigger. It made my stomach grow tense. What did they have to say about me? Before I could get too worked up about it, one of the boys was setting a folded piece of paper on my desk. I waited for him to turn back around before I grabbed it.
Is it true that you and Blaine split? x
Why should he care? Why should anyone? And what was up with everyone noticing now? It had been nearly two months of he and I being apart. I lifted up my pen and started my reply.
What's it to you?
I wasn't sure how to give it to him, so I tapped his shoulder and he looked back me. He grabbed the note from my hand and sat up straight and pulled off his jacket, almost as if he was getting ready for something serious. I watched him lean over the note then as he scribbled down his answer and gave me the note back.
Rumor has it that he's still head over heels for you. You do realize that anyone would kill to have him right? x
Well they can have him. He and I are no longer together.
Wouldn't give it up for him? x
Give what up?
Don't play innocent. Maybe it is a good thing you two broke up. There's more opportunity for him elsewhere. x
Are you saying you're interested?
Perhaps. x
I crumpled up the note in my hand and he smirked at me. I didn't even know who he was, all I knew was that he was someone that I should watch my back for. Mrs. Sampson hung up the phone and stood up, her hands coming together audibly.
"There's forty-five minutes left of class. Use this time to work on your journal. And remember, if you don't turn them in you won't get credit."
I shoved the balled-up note into my bag and then reached for my journal. I set it on my desk and opened it to the freshest page.
Entry #2 – Tuesday the 24th, August
I feel like today is an omen. My morning started off pretty okay until the new kid came up to me. I've never seen someone act that way. I'm usually not so rude to strangers, but I was just so confused about him. If he really wanted some popularity why didn't he go after someone from the Lacrosse team or someone whose face was plastered throughout the school. Why me? I'm a no one. At least I used to be. I'm starting to think that Blaine's relationship with me was much bigger than I thought it had been. People date each other all the time. And Blaine wasn't popular, neither was I. So why do people seem to suddenly think that what we had was a big deal?
What pains me most about all this is that they're finally noticing. Blaine and I had been together since the end of freshman year. We were practically attached at the hip during school hours. We were an active couple. We always made sure that we were out in the public. And then a month goes by where he doesn't call or drop by. A month goes by of me locking myself away in my room. No one noticed. And then last night they do, but only because my brother pointed it out. And now with the blonde in front of me inquiring about it it makes me believe that something is up.
I hate to be so paranoid, but how could I not? It's not like people in this school actual give a fuck about me…but I can't help but feel that something's going on.
People are noticing me. Why now?
I shut my journal closed and sighed. I was sure there was more to write but my brain hurt and my eyes were growing tired. Those boys were laughing again and I allowed my forehead to fall down on the top of my hands. I groaned internally and remained in that position until the bell rang. I put my journal on the shelf nearest to the door and exited the classroom.
The hallway was buzzing with students, even more so than yesterday, and I did my best to steer clear of the people who wouldn't bother to watch out where they were going. I always found it slightly odd that there was a left lane and right lane. We weren't on a road and there were no signs that told us this; we just automatically did so. The right side of the hall was going north and the left was going south. Basic. It was a total pain if you had to get across the hall, but you waited for the right gape—which I had been doing when I ran into Jeff.
"Nick, hey!" he said, leaning beside the open doorway of my math class.
I cut across the hallway and entered the room, not willing to stop and talk to him.
"You're in this class? Awesome! We can sit next to each other." He was practically breathing down my neck. I turned around quickly, his chest bumping into me. He took a step back and held his hands up, smiling.
"You need to seriously back off," I warned.
"I'm just being friendly," he countered.
"A little too friendly. Jeff, just leave me alone."
"Yeah, leave him alone." I turned my head to the sound of the voice, watching Thad Richards stand up from his desk and walk over to us.
"All right. You don't have to tell me twice," Jeff said, walking past the two of us and heading to a desk in the back. Thad watched with narrowed eyes before he turned his attention to me.
"You okay, Nick?" he asked, his voice sweet.
I nodded and took my seat in the front row, farthest away from both Jeff and Thad. But before I knew it, Thad was taking a seat behind me, smiling brightly. The teacher wasn't in the classroom yet and something told me he wouldn't be in for a few more minutes. The bell rang and everyone took their seats, regardless of the teacher's lack of presence.
"So, Nick…" Thad began and I turned around unwilling in my seat. "How was your summer?"
"Fine. And yours?"
He shrugged. "Pretty fantastic. I want to France."
I smiled politely. "I heard. I was jealous."
He laughed and nodded. "Yeah, Blaine told me that." I nodded too and started to turn back to face the white-board, but Thad wasn't quite finished speaking to me.
"So, you and Blaine split?" he asked me, hesitant.
"Didn't he tell you?" I asked back.
"No. I only heard about it yesterday."
"Why hasn't he told you? You're his best friend after all."
He shrugged again. "I don't know. I tried to talk to him about it, but he acted as if he had no idea what I was talking about." He paused and let his head fall to the side, his hands coming together on his desk. "Was it mutual or…?"
I was stumped then. Did Blaine not get that we were through? Was I not subtle enough? I didn't officially tell him that we were through, and he certainly wasn't the one ending the relationship. I didn't clarify to him that I wanted to break up…I just stopped. I stopped everything with him.
"I sort of just…ended it…" I told him.
"I don't think Bee knew that. I think he thinks you two are still together." The teacher entered the classroom and called for our attention. Thad stood up and leaned his head towards me. "You should probably let him know." He walked back to his desk two rows away. I kept my eyes toward the teacher and sighed.
Thad was right. It was cruel of me to keep dragging Blaine on an invisible leash. But Blaine was smart, wouldn't he have gotten the hint? It's quite simple: someone stops talking to you and that's the end of a relationship, or friendship. But it could also mean that someone's mad at you or keeping something from you. Perhaps it wasn't that simple after all. Perhaps in some sense he and I were still together.
That was unacceptable. I quickly bent to the left and fished out my cell phone. I kept it hidden in my bag, not quite ready to have the teacher place me on his shit list. I found Blaine in my contacts and sent a text.
We need to talk. Lunch?
I hated that I had to talk to him. I hated that I had to face him. I hated him for making me do this. I hated myself for not making things more obvious.
I hated my fucking life.