Three days. Alfred stared at the screen of his iPhone and the glaring numbers of his calendar as he swapped through different applications, not listening at all to the teacher's speech about algebra and what-not. Three days since Gilbert gave him that fated yellow post-it note.
Alfred sighed heavily, looking up at the black board. In the few moments he had been looking at his iPhone, the board had been filled with chalk scribbles, numbers and unintelligible signs, and what was supposed to be their maths assignment for the week. Summarised, it all said: greek, greek, greek and greek.
He did his best to suppress another deep groan, dropping his gaze back to the phone to play Angry Birds. He could just drop it. It was not like his fate was sealed just because he had the president's number, surely loads of people had it. Yes, that was it. He could just drop it, throw the note away and never think about it again. If Gilbert asked, he could just say he had found someone else or some other bullshit like that.
His chest felt immediately lighter as he decided this. Yes, there was no need to go around feeling nervous about something he didn't actually have to do. He nodded to himself, smiling, despite how he had miscalculated and completely missed the little tower on his screen.
However, that also meant resigning to falling silent when others talked about their experiences in that particular field. Sure, he could laugh at a crude sex joke, he knew how to smile, wink and subtly flex his muscles to make a girl go weak at the knees and how to entertain her in a suggestive fashion (he only nearly didn't feel ashamed about that either –what? It was easy). But any farther than that and he was in complete unknown territory, not to mention he would never actually do it with a girl anyway.
"imagine what the girls in your class would say if they knew you weren't actually sexually attracted to them," had been Gilbert's amused reply after he had found out. Alfred smiled grimly. Even if no one ever got to know he was gay, just imagine what they would think of him if it got out he was very much a virgin: He was the guy who made glasses look hot, he was the one who always got invited to parties, and whom everyone seemed to want to socialise with. And that wasn't even bragging. And of course it was sort of expected of someone like him be experienced. Stupid idiotic stereotypes. Oh how he wanted to strangle them.
He felt silly for it, but he wanted so bad to be able to partake in those discussions and actually know what he was talking about (his fellow students rarely seemed to talk about much else for more than five minutes at a time). Yes it was shallow and stupid and stupid and stupid but he couldn't help it. He was frustrated and embarrassed. He hated the feeling of uncertainty that always crept up on him when someone broached the subject, everyone chipping in with their stories, looking expectantly to him. Obviously he oblige them every time with fabricated lies, though he was always worried he would get a detail wrong and get called out on it. Alfred stared blankly into the air, the heavy feeling returning.
Slowly reaching into his pocket he looked at the crumpled piece of paper. It would be nice to join the ranks of those who 'had done it'. He gazed at the numbers. But what if the president started asking questions? He frowned, punching the numbers into his phone, then selecting save. What if the president felt like telling everyone afterwards? Alfred didn't feel like having the entire school –or anyone, for that matter- know of his sexual preferences. Gilbert was the only one in the know and even that was one person too many for his liking. …Maybe the president had some sort of confidentiality-policy-thing?
He opened a new message. Getting rid of his virginity once and for all would solve some of his problems. He didn't need to talk to the president again after that. He only needed to do it once, to have some validity to add to his lies.
What's up? This is Alfred F. Jones.
Yes, play it cool and safe. Just his name first, just to make sure he had the right number. No need to make this more awkward than necessary by saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. Not to mention the tiny (or not so tiny) chance Gilbert was playing a really mean practical joke on him. Half his mind kind of hoped so; the other half was annoyed at the first half. Gah, this was confusing.
Send.
There, he had done it. He had contacted the student preside-
Shit.
He had done it. Shit, shit, shit. Alfred squeezed the phone with both hands, eyes widening. His body went cold. He had actually sent it. Now what? He got the sudden urge to run away somewhere. Too bad the teacher was between him and the door.
"Alright, breathe. This is all going to work out just fine. You can still get out of it. Just say you sent the message to the wrong person. It's fine. You'll do just fine," Alfred mumbled to himself, nodding several times and pulling in too deep breathes. Yes, that was it. He was cool. He was handsome and popular, girls liked him. He was the quarter back of his football team. What was he doing, getting so freaked out over sending one little message? It wasn't like he had written anything stupid or bad in i-
The phone vibrated. Alfred nearly dropped it.
Are you not supposed to be in class?
Any cold sweat, nervous trembling or anything else his body may have just been doing stopped instantly. Alfred lifted his brows, staring at the screen perplexed. Before he could give it much thought, he had replied.
I am. Aren't you supposed to be in class?
Five seconds. The phone vibrated again.
If you are, then pay attention to the teacher.
I'm the student president.
He was the student president? What kind of excuse was that? Alfred frowned, eyebrows still lifted high, getting ready to write a reply when his phone vibrated in his hands again.
When do you have time off?
Alfred looked puzzled at the message.
What do you mean?
He waited. Five seconds. This student president guy sure was quick. Didn't he have anything better to be doing right now?
You are the boy Gilbert was talking about, are you not?
Oh, right. In the surprise Alfred had managed to completely forget about that. He swallowed a lump materializing from nowhere and tried to ignore his palms as they got clammy.
Yeah.
Was all he replied.
Then when do you have some time off? I have a busy schedule, but it is reasonably flexible, so just name a day and we'll take it from there.
Alfred's mouth was dry. He stared at the phone, completely failing to notice the several heads turning in his direction and the teacher staring at him with that cool, patient-impatience only teachers can pull off.
"Do you have the answer on your mobile phone, Jones?"
The teacher sounded not the least bit amused. The mention of his name jerked Alfred out of his thoughts and he looked up, completely bewildered.
"I don't know," he said, his tongue feeling uncomfortable in his dry mouth. "Sir," he added, deciding that was a smart move. The teacher sighed and clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
"Then it should not be a problem if I look after it for the rest of the lesson."
Alfred nodded dumbly and just watched the teacher confiscate his phone and put it in the drawer of his desk, seamlessly returning to his preaching of… eh… whatever it was he had been trying to teach them the past few weeks. Alfred tried to pay attention, he honestly did -anything to get his mind off of things. Needless to say though, it didn't work very well. One of the girls a few rows in front turned around and mouthed "are you okay?". That certainly didn't make him feel any better.
By the end of the lesson his heart was at the bottom of his feet and he couldn't decide what to do. What he pointedly avoided though, was look at his phone when he got it back. He stuffed it in his pocket and didn't take it out until he was at home (he had even nearly forgotten to wait for Matthew, his brother, before getting on the bus) and gone to bed. He pulled in a deep breath and crept under the covers before he held the phone up in front of his face.
One message.
How about this Friday at nine?
This Friday. Alfred's brain was blank for a split second. Today was Monday. Four days. His heart began to race.
Ok.
He clicked send before his mind could catch up with his actions and stop him. He breathed out slowly, laying the phone on the nightstand. He had only just turned over on the side to try falling asleep when his phone vibrated on the wooden surface again. He nearly levitated off the mattress as he flipped back around, grabbing the phone again.
Good. My place or yours?
His heart hammered away.
Yours.
He could hear the steps of his mother on the other side of the door as he punched send.
Alright.
And that was that. The student president didn't send any more texts. Neither did Alfred. He held onto the phone for a while, simply staring out into the air, his chest all but pulsating with the thumps of his heart.
An unknown amount of time later he put the phone down again and turned over to sleep.
"Good morning, Alfred-kun. …Are you feeling okay?"
Alfred yawned, widely and loudly and waved a hand at the Asian Senior eyeing him with soft worry. Maybe it had something to do with the annoyingly dark bags he had had under his eyes when he looked himself in the mirror that morning. Or it could be something else; Asian's seemed to have this slightly different view of the world, like some seventh – that's right, not sixth, but seventh – sense. Alfred suppressed another yawn.
"Mornin' Kiku. Yea, I'm fine." He ruffled a hand through his hair in a vain attempt at looking more refreshed. "Just homework."
The senior, who had been one of Alfred's best friends ever since he first walked into the computer lab on the second day of school, hesitantly accepted the excuse. He reached into his bag and pulled out a few rectangular plastic cases. "Here, the games I told you about," he said, handing them to Alfred. Alfred's eyes lit up. This was quite the usual routine for the two boys, Kiku having a seemingly endless selection of games Alfred had never tried before. He inspected the covers and grinning widely he could feel his fingers itching. Asian's certainly had both a seventh and eight sense – at least when it came to games if nothing else. If this couldn't get his mind off of things, he didn't know what could.
And so that was how he got through the week, by trying not to think about it. He played computer games for as much time as homework and dinner would allowed him, as per normal. He even obliged Matthew in a few card games now and then. But at night, when he was safe beneath the covers in the darkness of his own bedroom, nothing available to avert his attention, his mind wandered. What was it like, exactly? …How much would it hurt?
Four days seemed like forever and to pass in the blink of an eye all at the same time. When Thursday rolled around, Alfred's stomach had still not decided whether it should be bubbling with excitement or turning with nausea. He hadn't told anyone, not even his twin brother. Only Gilbert knew and had apparently taken it upon himself to track Alfred's progress, regularly checking up on him the past few days. Alfred did his best to play it cool and grin each time. But now the final lesson for the day was drawing to an end, and as Alfred opened his school planner to jot down the teacher's assignments, an odd form of nervousness had manifested in his body.
Paging through the calendar until he reached the date for the next day he raised his pen. Above the few lines designated for each day of the year, a few names were always listed. Alfred idly read them while jotting down the instructions. Arthur.
His pen made a long line across the thin page, crossing into Sunday and Saturday territory. Oh what irony that Arthur's name day was tomorrow. That wasn't even funny.
