Chapter 1: Pathetic

Mount Massive Catholic High School looked different. Maybe it was because Waylon was seeing it as a Senior for the first time. Or maybe it was because it was barely light outside. The aging building built in the sixties looked creepy in bright sunlight, let alone the misty glow of dawn. There was another hour before the official start of the first day of school, but Waylon was already trudging through the empty tiled halls. He made his way to the room designated for the yearbook staff and walked inside quickly.

"Hey Waylon," came a familiar voice. Miles Upshur had been on the yearbook staff since he was a freshman, but that year he was the editor in charge. There was a sign on the door and everything. It looked very official and Waylon hoped the perceived authority did not go to Miles' head. "You're late. I've been here for almost thirty minutes."

The two boys made an odd pair. Miles was close to six foot with shaggy brown hair and a perpetual half smile on his handsome face; Waylon was inches shorter with flaming red hair and too many freckles. "You said seven. If you want me here at six thirty, say six thirty."

"First official yearbook assignment. Aren't you excited?" Miles asked. It was a rhetorical question. Waylon sighed and walked to the desk where Miles was sitting reviewing something on the school provided computer. MMCHS was small so the yearbook members were responsible for most publications including the quarterly school newspaper and the yearbook.

Senior year. According to every movie about high school ever created, Waylon should be excited to be the high man on the totem pole, attending crazy parties with his friends, and losing his virginity to some willing person after a dance. Waylon's life was nothing like the movies.

Miles grinned as he offered a camera to his friend. "You won't regret joining. It's actually a lot of fun. You get to attend all the best events. I really appreciate your help on this. I need people I can trust."

"Since I'm such an 'events' kind of guy," muttered Waylon. "I'm grateful for the position, though. Thanks Miles."

"I know you're just doing this for the college application, but you could try to enjoy it," said Miles, pausing to finish buttoning up his white uniform shirt and tuck it into his belted navy slacks. If you shirt was not tucked in properly, you risked a detention for uniform violation.

"I'm just nervous about...holding a camera in people's faces. People are desensitized to you hounding them with a camera. I feel out of place," Waylon mumbled, examining the camera as though it were a living thing that could potentially jump out and bite him.

"Just relax and enjoy yourself," Miles said, shrugging into his navy uniform blazer. "People arrive early on the first day. You better get going."

"See you at lunch?" asked Waylon, draping the camera strap over his neck and dropping his orange school bag on the floor of the yearbook room. He had to adjust it until the strap was centered on his chest over his buttoned white shirt and navy-silver striped tie.

"Definitely," said Miles with a wide grin, shrugging into his navy uniform blazer. Waylon thought it looked dashing on his friend, though he preferred to wear shirt, tie, and slacks without any of the optional coverings.

The lunch question was unnecessary. Miles and Waylon had sat together at lunch since sixth grade. Waylon was in desperate need of a friend, and Miles had the ability to talk Waylon into just about anything. Sometimes Waylon got the feeling Miles used him to make himself look better in social situations—and for homework help. Still, Waylon didn't mind. He would rather have Miles for a friend than spend all day alone. After so many years as friends, the two knew everything about one another—well, almost everything.

Waylon wove through familiar halls and arrived at the front of the school building. A line of cars had already formed past the gate into the high school's property. There was a circular driveway where parents could drop off the younger students that did not drive. It was late summer in Colorado, and the school's landscaping was still green and inviting but the smell of fall was already present in the breeze. Some of the younger kids were already being dropped off and the parking lot for juniors and seniors was filling up with student drivers, laughing and loitering.

Waylon took his place under the arches that led to the main doorway and focused on the figures walking into school. He took pictures of sappy parent farewells and excited friends greeting one another. Waylon was no photographer, but he hoped the shots he took were at least in focus. Miles could fix the rest.

He found his gaze wandering to the parking lot and the students milling about. His peers and classmates. Everyone was dressed the same considering they had uniforms, but some wore the optional navy blazer or vest, and many girls were wearing navy skirts rather than slacks or shorts. Such uniformity required a lot of work for students to make themselves stand out in the crowd, without earning any detentions from Father Martin and his altar boys. There was a small group near the edge of the parking lot with a steady stream of smoke rising between the huddled forms. Waylon was momentarily scandalized. Smoking on campus?!

Waylon snapped picture after picture until he heard the bell warning five minutes before the first day of classes officially began. Waylon started to walk into school until someone caught his eye. It was a boy, tall and broad, towering above two girls walking on either side of him. His hair was just a stripe of unruly black locks down the center of his otherwise shaved head. He wore the optional uniform vest over his button down white shirt, the untucked shirt tails visible beyond the vest's bottom edge. Large black combat boots peeked out from beneath the uniform navy slacks. Waylon felt sure that he'd seen the boy before, but he could not remember anyone so intimidating. Someone like that would definitely stand out at Mount Massive.

Waylon held up the camera and watched the boy through the viewfinder. He snapped a few covert pictures before he noticed the lit cigarette in the boy's hand. Waylon did not want to risk having photographic evidence of such a serious infraction of school rules. He recognized the girls as two known theater geeks. The new boy remained an enigma.

The trio talked and laughed as they walked into school. The tall boy waited until the last possible moment to flick away the still smoldering cigarette butt. His eyes shifted as he passed Waylon, taking notice of the short ginger with the camera.

"Oh God," the long haired girl said to the group as they approached the doors. "I knew it was only a matter of time before Miles had his little lap dog on the yearbook staff."

"What a loser. Figures he's not a member of any other clubs considering he's top of the class at school," remarked the pink-haired girl. Waylon feigned interest with his camera strap to avoid the group knowing that he was eavesdropping. The tall boy made no remark about what either girl had said.

"I heard that after all that work, he didn't even get into that college. What was it, Harvard or Bakely or something," the first girl said as they passed through the school's double doors.

"It was Berkeley. And that's fucking sad..." replied her pink-haired friend.

"Oh please," came the deeper voice of the boy walking between them. "I bet neither of you get into any college. You're two of the dumbest sluts I know."

The girls looked offended, but not upset, and neither withdrew from the boy's company.

"I don't have to be smart, I'm pretty..." said the brunette girl as they disappeared into the building.

The words hit Waylon like a knee to the gut. Of course that's what his fellow students would be saying behind his back. The honor roll student with no life that had been highlighted as already applying to college early admission. Berkeley was the only college Waylon considered. He had been sure that his near perfect SAT score along with the recommendation from his alumni mother would guarantee him a spot in the prestigious university.

"Hey, I brought your stuff," Miles said, joining Waylon at the school entrance and holding out Waylon's bright orange backpack he had left in the yearbook room. "Did you get anything good?"

"How would I know?" asked Waylon, blushing at being caught staring in the direction the new boy and his entourage had gone.

"Can you believe it? Eddie Gluskin is back," said Miles, taking the camera away from Waylon and putting it into a special camera case for safekeeping. "You can check out the camera anytime you know, just have to sign it out. Any damage is totally on you though, and these things are not cheap."

"Wait, Eddie Gluskin..." that name was so familiar. Waylon worried his lip as he tried to place the name and the face. The entire group was already deep inside the school and out of sight, but Waylon stared after them anyways as though attempting to perceive some afterimage of them.

"You don't remember him? He was in our class in sixth grade. Tall scrawny guy with scary blue eyes. Long hair," said Miles, holding open the school doors and motioning with his head for Waylon to hurry up.

The realization hit Waylon like a truck. He remembered exactly when he had last seen Eddie Gluskin. In the past, he had often found himself staring intently at the tall boy with the long black hair held back in a ponytail. Waylon had not recognized it at the time, but in hindsight, he knew that Eddie Gluskin had been his first crush. In middle school, Waylon had blamed the long hair and pretty blue eyes for making the boy so attractive. In reality, Waylon was just attracted to the handsome boy—and boys in general.

Waylon could not remember having said a single word to Eddie in middle-school, but he definitely remembered staring. He remembered the shame of being caught—almost exactly the way Waylon was staring outside the school that morning. Great. A loser and a creep. The year had started off grand.

"I remember him," whispered Waylon. "He left school suddenly. I wonder what happened."

"Mr. Upshur. Mr. Park," came the quivering voice of the school's principal, Father Martin. "Best hurry along, there's so much to see and do today. You don't want to be late." The older man wore priest's garb and his jowls shook when he talked. Miles and Waylon rushed ahead to class, mumbling their acknowledgments.

"So, Gluskin? Your guess is as good as anyone else's," Miles said once they were away from the principal. They walked into the main school entrance and made their way toward homeroom. "Someone said he went to juvenile hall for a couple years for killing a guy in a fist fight. Someone else said he had a nervous breakdown and had to spend a few years in a mental institution. Lisa heard he had to change schools after he was implicated in an affair with one of the guidance counselors. It makes sense maybe. He was always tall for his age, and seemed mature for a middle schooler," Miles tended to smile obnoxiously when he was gossiping like an old lady at the beauty parlor. He aimed to become a reporter, and claimed gossiping was practice for his future profession.

"That all seems really out there," muttered Waylon as they crested the stairs and turned into homeroom. Rows of desks faced the whiteboard and projector screen. He quickly scanned the room and saw no sign of Eddie Gluskin. That made Waylon feel comfortable enough to continue the conversation. "He seems popular for having just gotten back into school."

"He's been around all summer. He hangs out at Pyro's," Miles said as he sank into an empty chair. Waylon sat down at the desk next to his friend's left and frowned at the marred surface littered with engraved initials and carved skulls. Everyone at Mount Massive knew about Pyro's. It was a local joint that had live music Thursday through Saturday, and a reputation for serving alcohol to minors. Waylon had gone there once, at Miles' insistence, but the pervasive smell of smoke and loud screaming music had scared him away almost immediately.

"I hate that place," Waylon said, making Miles laugh.

"Yeah, you asshole. That girl was so into me. Probably could have gotten to third base. But no, I had to leave early because Waylon doesn't like the way the place smells," Miles griped, as he attempted to get comfortable in his plastic school chair.

"It's too smoky in there. And it smelled weird," said Waylon, wrinkling up his nose at the memory.

"Yeah, it was marijuana," grinned Miles.

Waylon spluttered for a full minute. He needed to get into a good college. He could not afford to even be in the same room as an illegal substance. Colorado may have legalized marijuana, but it was still illegal in California, where Berkeley was located. It was also illegal for anyone under twenty-one, and Waylon was not even eighteen. He glared at Miles as though his friend had betrayed him. "You knew, and you still wanted to stay there? I'm not bailing you out of jail..."

"Lighten up, Waylon," scoffed Miles. "If this is how you're going to be all year, then senior year is going to suck. Try to enjoy yourself a little before we all leave for the high stress world of college."

"Do you know where you're applying yet?" Waylon asked, unpacking his school planner and a pencil. The bell rang, but the teacher was still busy greeting students and had not called everyone to order.

"I'm still trying to find the college with the best journalism department," said Miles. "Besides, there's still plenty of time to worry about this!"

"There really isn't. You realize that, right?" asked Waylon.

The teacher called the class to order, and all Miles offered was a shrug and an irritating, lopsided grin. It was the grin that always made Waylon blush. He sincerely hoped that his friend had not noticed. Waylon really was not ready to have the discussion with his friend about his growing feelings and sexual orientation.

The teacher had almost finished closing the door when Eddie Gluskin pushed his way past. He offered a polite apology before stomping in his boots to the back row and sinking into an empty seat two rows directly behind Waylon.

Waylon sat up taller, suddenly feeling strange. His first crush had been the tall, long-haired boy, but Eddie had changed in the last six years, and it was not just the trendy undercut. Eddie had been tall and scrawny, but he returned with broad shoulders and a chiseled jaw. Those blue eyes were the same. Waylon had caught a brief glimpse of them as Eddie passed.

After homeroom, Waylon found himself looking everywhere for Eddie Gluskin. All of Waylon's morning classes were advanced placement. He only knew a handful of people, and luckily Miles was in his advanced literature class. During lunch, Waylon sat by Miles and ate the healthy lunch his mother had packed that morning. Waylon constantly begged her to send more popular items, but she insisted that good nutrition was necessary for Waylon to perform his best. Waylon really wanted to keep mother happy, for his own well-being—and hers.

Waylon attempted to look nonchalant as he searched for Eddie Gluskin in the cafeteria crowd, but there was no sign of him. Someone that tall and broad would definitely stand out at Mount Massive. Only Chris Walker, the star offensive linebacker on the football team, was taller than Eddie Gluskin.

The last class of the day was Economics, and all seniors were required to take it in order to graduate. Waylon sat next to Miles and prepared for the last class of the day. Just as before, Eddie Gluskin walked in as the door was closing and took a seat in the back of the classroom. Waylon spent the next hour fighting the urge to look backwards under the guise of doing anything else. As soon as the bell rang, Gluskin was one of the first people out the door.

It was strange, searching everywhere for the tall boy. Waylon was not sure why he cared so much. Perhaps it was the unrequited crush left over from middle school. Or maybe it was how handsome Eddie had grown and the confident way he carried himself. Waylon wished he had half that charisma.

"You're going down to the field house, right? You didn't forget?" said Miles as they stood near their lockers, packing up books and papers.

"I didn't forget. I really don't want to go anywhere near those meathead football players though..." Waylon complained.

"Afraid Chris Walker will give you a wedgie again?" Miles asked, grinning.

"That was in seventh grade Miles, let it go," snapped Waylon, but it only made Miles laugh louder. "Besides, you're the one Walker seems most interested in tormenting these days. You're sending me down there to avoid having to deal him, aren't you?"

"Please. He's probably forgotten all about that," Miles said, though he did not look so sure. "Here, take this camera for the night. Have it back in the morning. We need pictures of the players practicing—ideally some action shots that make them look good. Get some pictures of the coach too. Something dramatic like watching out over the field..."

"If you have such specific ideas go and take the pictures yourself!" whined Waylon, shrugging into his orange backpack.

"Can't," grinned Miles, handing the camera case over to Waylon and sliding another over his own shoulder. "I'm expected over at the girls' volleyball practice. They went to State last year Waylon. I need to photograph their practice."

"And the fact that their uniforms are skin tight shorts and fitted tanks is..."

"Please, Waylon. I'm a professional. I'm not doing this to ogle girls as they jump around..." Miles said, defensively.

"See you tomorrow," grumbled Waylon, taking the camera and sliding it on his shoulder with his backpack. He stared down the hallway toward the school's back door. A pair of giggling girls talking near their lockers caught his attention.

"I don't care who he killed, he's hot," giggled one of the girls.

"I think he's dating..." the other was saying though Waylon had trouble hearing anything further.

Were they talking about Eddie Gluskin? Waylon could not stop to find out. He rushed down to the field house and began the chore of photographing the football players on their first day of practice. It was boring work, made worse by the teasing from the jocks. The quarterback, Jeremy Blaire, was a known jackass, and his right hand man was the formidable Chris Walker. Waylon tried his best to avoid their notice.

MMCHS was in a small, private school division of football. The field was small but well-groomed and the bleachers were old and rusted. The field house and other buildings were painted with murals of navy and white Wasps, the MMCHS mascot, but were otherwise nondescript and aged.

As practice wound down, Waylon decided he had taken enough photographs for Miles. He packed up and started to walk around the back of the field house. The smell of cigarette smoke hit him first, then the sound of a girl talking. Waylon rounded the corner and found himself face to face with Eddie Gluskin and a blond haired girl he did not know, though he thought he had seen her with the theater kids. He immediately attempted to turn around, but a deep voice stopped him.

"You look familiar. I know I've seen your face before."

Oh God. Waylon turned back around and put on a friendly face. "Oh, hello!" he said with fake cheerfulness. "We uh, I think we had some classes together in middle school. Sixth grade at Sacred Heart?"

"Ah, that's it...Park, right?" smirked Eddie Gluskin. He took a final drag before flicking the cigarette butt away and exhaling smoke through his nose like a dragon. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Thanks," Waylon breathed, looking up at the taller boy with something akin to reverence. Eddie gave a sharp bark of laughter and the girl next to him cackled as though Eddie had told some joke.

"Still as pathetic as ever," grinned Eddie Gluskin as he started to walk past Waylon, the girl lacing her arm around Eddie's middle. Waylon's face turned dark red as he watched Eddie walk away. Of course it was an insult. No one wanted to be the same as they were in sixth grade.

Waylon focused on the points of contact between Eddie and the girl as they disappeared from view. An overwhelming pang of jealousy flared in his chest. Waylon wanted to be the one touching Eddie. He was still staring when Eddie turned around and caught his eye. He smirked triumphantly before turning back to the girl.

"That guy was number one in the school last year, and I hear he got a really high SAT score, but he still didn't get into Berkeley..." the girl was saying as she walked away with Eddie. They were far enough away that it was possible she thought Waylon could not overhear—but he had.

Waylon pressed his body against the field house to stay out of view as he cringed. Great. Eddie Gluskin thought he was pathetic. He probably was pathetic. He was not sure why it hurt so much that the tall, handsome boy thought poorly of him.