Author's Note: Original version edited for continuity error after posting.

Don't know anything, don't know anyone, and certainly don't own anything. Please feel free to review with constructive criticism, etc.

03 - Exposed

"I am such a LOSER," Dave thought as he slammed his locker. He started for the field, his cleats making their familiar popping sound as he walked along the hard floor. "What the hell, I can't get anything right. Fuck, I went all the way to Dayton. What the hell was he doing here? Why the hell was he talking to Mr. D? Hey I wonder if they're together or something. No, he didn't act like he was with anyone. That would figure though, meet a nice guy and he's involved and with one of my teachers at that. I am such a fucking loser!" He arrived on the field and dropped his gear by the table near Coach Beiste.

"Alright ladies, let's get to warm ups," Coach Beiste yelled. "We've got a lot of stuff to get through today!"

Deen squinted as he walked out onto the field. He scanned it and finally found Coach Shannon Beiste leaning against a table near the bleachers.

"Hey, Shan," he said as he approached.

"Hey Danny Boy," she said placing her clipboard on the table. "What brings you way out here?"

"What, I can't just visit?" he said smiling at her.

"Well, it is a little bit out of character," She said laughing as she clapped him on the shoulder.

"True."

"So what's up Danny?"

"I just need to talk to Dave Karofsky for a few, if it isn't too much trouble."

"Karofsky?" she said sounding surprised. "Sure you can have him. I told them five laps and he's on like seven."

Deen arched his eyebrow; the coach just frowned shaking her head.

Waiting until he was within ear shot, the coach yelled, "Karofsky, get your butt over here!"

"Thanks, Shan," Deen said, "I'll be on the bleachers."

Dave slowly made his way over to his coach.

"Come on, shake it Karofsky!" she said and he began to jog a bit faster toward her. "Mr. Deen wants to talk to you," she said glancing over her shoulder toward the bleachers. She expected to find Deen sitting on the first or second bench, but instead found him at the very top. She shrugged it off.

"What does he want?" Dave asked warily.

"I don't know, he didn't say."

"Okay..."

Dave slowly climbed the bleachers, sweat pouring from his brow. "You wanted to see me?" he asked as he reached the top.

"Yeah, have a seat Dave," Deen said, pointing at the bench beside him.

Dave reluctantly sat down staring somewhere between his feet and the bottom of the bleachers.

"Dave, I know where you were Saturday night," Deen began quietly.

"Oh, God, he knows? What the hell do I do?" Dave dropped his head and looked away.

"Dave most of what you do is your business, but driving an hour from home and going to a bar is downright dangerous. Anything could have happened to you."

"I wasn't drinking, all I had was Coke," Dave said defensively.

"I know, Derrick told me," Deen said. "Even if you weren't drinking alcohol someone could have slipped you something. You were lucky; you met a stand up guy."

"Maybe it's just a 'you shouldn't drink' lecture. Maybe Derrick's doesn't want anyone to know either."

"Besides, I'm fairly sure that you weren't there to drink. I know what kind of bar it was."

"Shit, shit, SHIT!" Dave thought. "I ... uh..." Dave was trembling now, from fear or anger Deen wasn't quite sure.

"Look, Dave, I checked your grades for all of your classes," Deen said. "You were making straight A's and B's, but now ... well they're just crap. You're mouthing off to all of your teachers ... probably to you parents too."

Dave still sat silently trembling.

"You're picking fights, and making threats. I think I may know why."

"You don't, you're wrong! You don't know anything!" Dave said jumping up, ready to run. "Oh, God, I have to get out of here!"

Coach Beiste looked in their direction. She had obviously heard the raised voice.

"Dave! Sit ... down!" Deen said through gritted teeth. Dave reluctantly complied and Deen glanced down to make sure that Coach Beiste had returned her attention to her other players before continuing. "Dave, look, I think you were there at that bar, far from home, so no one would know you or recognize you. You said you weren't there for drinks, so I'm guessing you were there for company. The specific type of company you'd find there."

Dave stared at his shoes, fists clenched, his knuckles white as he pressed them into the bench. "No, no, no, no, no!"

"Dave ... Derrick, the guy you met ... he's my little brother."

"What?" Dave's eyebrows furrowed and he glanced in the direction of his teacher's shoes.

"In case you missed it, he was there too, for pretty much the same thing as you. I think you're probably confused. I think you're scared. And I think you're lashing out because you don't think anyone will understand."

Dave's breathing changed, it went from a fuming pant, to trying to hold back tears. A tear found its way down his cheek and Dave quickly scrubbed it off.

"Dave, I saw the pain and the terror in Derrick's eyes when he decided to tell me. He thought I wouldn't be his brother anymore." Deen's own blue-gray eyes were tearing up now. "I saw the relief when I hugged him and told him that I'd always be his brother."

Dave was actively sobbing now.

"I was there when he told some of his friends. I saw some of them walk away, but most of them stay. I was beside him when he finally decided to tell our folks."

They were both crying now.

"I need you to know two things, Dave," he said placing his hand on Dave's shoulder. "You are not alone ... and it does get better."

Dave turned to face Deen now, tears streaming down his face.

"Derrick was right where you are a few years ago, but now he's successful, he has a great job that he loves, and friends who love him."

Dave's tremors were gone, replaced by the shudders of uncontrolled sobs.

"Dave I've got a piece of paper here," Deen said pulling it from his pocket. "There are a couple of web sites on it and some phone numbers. The web sites have information for guys like you. Guys who think they're alone, guys who don't think they have anywhere else to turn. The number on the bottom is Derrick's."

Dave looked at him with wet, questioning eyes.

"I gave him a call, and he said the two of you kind of hit it off Saturday. He said he'd be more than happy to give you an ear, to be a sounding board," Deen shrugged. "Someone that knows what it's like. Pretty cool of him I'd say, considering the fact that it scared him shitless when he found out that he'd picked up an underage dude at a bar."

Dave smiled and even managed a little chuckle. Deen reached into his pocket and produced a handkerchief and offered it to the younger man.

"Text him if you don't feel like talking, or you don't have mobile to mobile," Deen said. "Just be sure to let him know that you're 'Dave from Ohio' so he can add your number. You don't have any pockets do you?" Deen said looking at Dave baseball practice uniform.

"No, sorry."

"How bout I leave it in your locker for you?"

Dave nodded.

"Is it 214 or 215?"

"214."

"Well let's get you back to practice before Coach Beiste has us both doing laps."

Dave managed a light laugh as he stood. "You're not going to tell anyone, are you?"

Deen shook his head, "It's okay. It's no one's business but your own, but... Please, talk to Derrick, you are not alone."

The two descended the bleachers and stepped onto the field.

"All done with him?" the coach asked.

"Yup," Deen said. "Just discussing a little extra credit." Deen glanced over toward Dave and tipped his head. Dave nodded back at him.

"Great, he needs it!" the coach said. "Alright, Karofsky, I've got pitchers that need a catcher. Get out there!"

Dave jogged over and grabbed his gear then headed for the guys who were pitching.

After practice, Dave stopped at his hall locker to grab his math book. As he opened it the slip of paper fell out. He picked it up and stared at it. "I can't do this. This is wrong." He balled up the paper and started to throw it away. "Shit, someone might find it." He shoved it into his pocket, closed his locker and walked out to his truck.

Dave pulled on his seatbelt and started the engine. The radio suddenly blared; he reached and turned it down. It was a simple, sweet melody, a guitar and maybe a flute, definitely not the country/rock sound he preferred. "Damn it Azimio! I told you not to touch my radio ... probably why he does it."

He reached to change the station back to his usual, but the girl's voice caught him.

Look at me, you may think you see
Who I really am, but you'll never know me
Every day, is as if I play a part
Now I see, if I wear a mask I can fool the world
But I cannot fool my heart

Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?
When will my reflection show who I am inside?

I am now, in a world where I have to hide my heart,
And what I believe in
But somehow, I will show the world what's inside my heart,
And be loved for who I am

Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?
Why is my reflection someone I don't know?
Must I pretend that I'm someone else for all time?
When will my reflection show who I am inside?

There's a heart that must be free to fly
That burns with a need to know the reason why
Why must we all conceal, what we think, how we feel
Must there be a secret me I'm forced to hide?
I won't pretend that I'm, someone else for all time
When will my reflection show who I am inside?

When will my reflection show who I am inside?

As the song ended Dave realized that his finger was still hovering over the preset button. He looked into the rear view mirror and saw the tears in his eyes. "Who are you?" He turned the radio off and quickly looked around the parking lot. "How the fuck do you explain sitting in your car alone and crying."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the handkerchief that Mr. Deen had given him and dried his eyes. Looking down on the seat beside him, he saw the balled up piece of paper. He opened it and smoothed it out.

www . itgetsbetter . org

www . thetrevorproject . org
1-866-4-U-TREVOR
(1-866-4-8-87386)

626-555-4383

He stared at the number at the bottom.

Slowly he took out his cell phone and began typing:

To: (626)555-4383 - This is Dave from OH we met last Saturday. Mr D said I should try talking to you about things.

He stared at what he'd typed, his thumb hovering over the cancel key. Then he took a deep breath and then hit the send key. "I'm tired of being alone."

End notes:

The song - "Reflection" by Christina Aguilera from the Mulan soundtrack

Hope you enjoyed it! Either way, leave me a review and let me know what you think so far.