"Blake Gripling is sooo cute."
"Omg no he's too young!"
"Well he is in our grade..."
"Does he even like girls?"
"Ashley!"
"What, I'm being honest. You know, I heard Carl Foutley was gay. But didn't he...?"
"Take Katie Santo's virginity? Date Vicki for two weeks and then cheat on her by going to third base with Lily Harmon?"
"D, all of the above. But didn't he make out with that one guy last homecoming?"
"He'd try anything once. I heard him and Lily totally got caught by the cops in a car parked by the beach. I think he also had vodka or weed or something."
"Probably both. It's Carl Foutley!"
The girls laugh. Carl overheard them talking outside of the girls bathroom while he was waiting for his next class, AP Literature. But no more. He yanked his backpack from the ground next to him and stormed out of the school. He started to run. Out of the hall, out of the parking lot, into a shitty neighborhood behind the school. He ran until his chest strained for air and then he collapsed in half, hands on knees and gasping for air. Carl's eyes stung with tears but he didn't cry them. He pulled out a cigarette and a lighter from his things and lit it, eyes squeezed shut. High school. What a joke. How impossible to think he'll ever be anything than that beautiful supernova, the resident exploding mess of his town, school, family. Why did he do those things? Why was he so mean to those girls? Carl took a hard drag and kicked the dirt. He felt perfectly alone in the world. Hoodsey couldn't understand, and neither could perfect older sister Ginger. Neither the mother that favored her, nor the father that abandoned them could help him. Carl finished his smoke and lit another. Then another. Then he checked the time:12:32. Still time to make AP Lit. He resolved to finish this tantrum later, and rushed back to class.
Much to his annoyance, the last seat left was next to Blake Gripling. Great, Carl thought. The weirdo with a grudge against me. Completely despite his outburst at lunch, Blake managed a very forced smile in Carl's direction. Carl tried to ignore the confusing blond boy next to him and doodled in his notebook. But of course, the teacher had to demand that everyone break into groups of two. When
chaos ensued she ended up assigning them. Naturally, Blake and Carl were an assigned pair. Figuring if they had to work together they might as well relieve the tension, Carl decided to be straight up. "What's your deal, Gripling? You're being so weird lately." When this elicited only blushing and no response, Carl tried something else. "I heard some girls gossiping about you before class," He waited for a reaction. "Cute, but too young and possibly gay." Blake shot daggers at him with his eyes. "Something like you," he retorted, dryly. "Cute, but too arrogant - and certainly slatternly with either gender."
"And how the hell is it your business who I'm slatternly with?"
"It appears to be everyone's business, as you make sure everyone knows about your...escapades."
"You got a point there, Gripling." Carl gritted his teeth. How hard to believe we used to be friends, he thought. We used to play in stupid pirate ships and dog houses and pretend to be mortal enemies. Well at least the enemies part is the same. The boys silently worked for the rest of the class.
At the end of the school day, Blake slumped into the limousine that took him to and from school each day. He felt dreadful remorse for what he said to Carl earlier, but then again he usually regretted anything he said to the boy. It was so easy when they both were kids, but somewhere along with puberty came self-consciousness for Blake and a tumultuous slew of lovers for Carl. In eighth grade, Blake had been thrilled hearing the news that Carl liked guys… but devastated that the news came intertwined with the rumor that he was seeing one currently. Since then, the blushing and stuttering began. Blake started avoiding Carl, and they hang out less. In fact, beyond keeping up appearances, Blake became more withdrawn altogether.
"Master Blake? Is something troubling you?" Winston glanced in the rear view mirror at Blake's sulky face, which was resting in his hand.
"...No more than the usual, I suppose." Blake sighed.
When they arrived at the Gripling's manor, Blake made a beeline to his room and closed the door. He stripped off his clothes piece by piece. A blazer, a turtleneck, and slacks lied on the floor in a dejected lump. Blake gazed into the mirror before him. Always slender, the 5'5 boy stood at only 115 pounds according to his last weighing. Although he was just a hair above underweight, 115 still felt like too much for him. He pulled on some shorts and began his daily exercise regimen. As he moved he thought of Carl Foutley. Push ups. Carl laughing and punching Blake's shoulder, last day of seventh grade. Sit ups. Terrence telling Blake that Carl likes both, Blake thinking of the late nights alone in the doghouse or on walkie-talkie, wondering what was on Carl's mind all those times. Winter of eighth. Jumping jacks. Carl, clad in a worn-looking suit and half slicked hair with his face pressed against some artsy guy's, some guy who still had a red electric guitar strapped to him. Pure heartbreak, freshman year homecoming. Planks. What the hell was that in English? Why couldn't Carl just slow down his self-destructing rebellion for one second to see that Blake was crazy about him? Mentally counting calories burned, Blake pronounced himself finished. He collapsed into bed, deciding he would sleep through dinner tonight; then he reached into his shorts and imagined being that guitar player at homecoming.
