HEY GUYS LOOK MAGIC WOW UPDATE.

That made pretty much no sense.

But, yes, sorry for the long wait. I'm busy and I'm a teenager and I'm hopeless and, of course, life sucks. As usual. ExceptthatI'mgoingtoEuropethissummerthatdoesn'trea llysuck.

I was feeling sort of... down and nostalgic and deep, so I'm giving ya'll this.

Gosh, I have to find a way to end this fic. o-o

I'm now going to rob you all of what you assumed would be the "I'm-not-done-with-you-yet" part of the story, for two reasons:

#1) There has never actually been an opportunity for more of that Alfie/Iggy time. As of yet, anyway.

And #2) People are mean.

Allow me to elaborate on the latter.

I'm sure you know as well as I do that humans friggin' suck at keeping secrets. Especially children.

So, of course, as soon as that little twit Peter could, he took to that damned Book of Faces or whatever and was like, "BREAKING NEWS! LADIES' MAN ALFRED JONES IS ACTUALLY A MANS' MAN." Or something along the lines of that.

Now, this may come as a surprise to you, but I don't have a profile online. I'm not a fan of social networking. So, I didn't get to see the apparent uproar this "news" had caused. And, therefore, I walked into school not knowing what I was about to face.

Let's start with homeroom; the only one who treated me the same was our 56-year-old teacher. Typically, I'm at least spoken to by three or four other kids, or I get good, thorough answers when I ask someone how they're doing. That day? Nada. Zip. I mean, I could've sworn they'd just announced that Jason Aldean had overdosed or something (we're a country school, if I haven't mentioned it before). And it felt like they knew that I had caused his death. And that they wouldn't take their cold, blank eyes off of me until I was punished.

This is how it went all day; everyone was a part of something that I wasn't, which ticked me off, because, yeah, I'm usually one of those guys who start the something. But I just stayed out of it and tried to ignore all the stares and occassional sniggers, because, hey; maybe there's a surprise party for me during lunch and they won't talk because they're afraid they'll let it slip.

And that brings us to gym class, ladies and gents, where we find out just how terribly wrong my half-assed assumption was.

Let me set the scene for you: cream-colored walls that were last painted about 40 years ago; rows of crappy, old, orange lockers (orange is not one of our school colors); flippin' fluorescent lights (because they totally make this rat hole look better); add in some dark, dusky showers that nobody uses anymore and voila! There's our boys' locker room.

There are multiple rows of lockers, but, generally, Gil and I aren't alone in our row. That day we were, and it was certainly deliberate; while all the rest of my classmates had deserted me, Gilbert had, of course, remained my always-faithful best friend. There's also the fact that he, too, doesn't do social networking, because he's one of the most tech-illiterate people on the planet (true story).

I just changed as usual, carrying on our erroneous conversation, even though I knew that Gilb knew that I was uncomfortable with the day's situation. And then, a group of guys comes walking out to the gym. Normal, right? Heh, not really...

They stopped at the end of my line of lockers. A boy stepped forward (obviously their leader) and addressed me, in a mocking, stupid, stereotypical gay voice:

"Hey, Alfie, tell me; are you the giver or the getter? I'm dying to know!"

My face went red, but I just looked at the group, pushing my glasses up my nose and nervously pulling on the hem of my ratty old t-shirt. I put on my best "What-are-you-talking-about, man?!" face.

"Excuse me? What the hell kind of question is that?" I finally responded.

The boy tilted his head in mock confusion. When he spoke, his fake voice was gone, replaced by a stabbing, accusing tone: "Like you don't know. Fag."

It was right then that I recoiled into myself, both mentally and physically. I had barely begun to cope with the whole bisexual. I had finally had myself somewhat convinced that I'm okay and that there's no way to change myself. And then that word was hurled at me, that horrible, awful word that I will never, ever use again.

Gilbert jumped in for me right away. "Jungen, let's calm down, ja? Let's not throw around words like that. Mein Gott, it's the 21st century! Be more civilized, dummkopf. Where would you get an idea like that, anyway?"

The boy rolled his eyes and snickered. "The fucking guy's brother, that's where."

"God dammit, Peter!" I cursed under my breath. Stupid, stupid Alfred.

"So you admit it! Hah!" The boy and his entourage laughed. "Knew it. Gay. Alfred and Arthur sittin' in a tree..."

And then they were gone. And Gil and I were alone. Wordlessly, I sank down onto the wooden bench that ran between the lockers. Gilbert followed soon after.

It was one of those situations where the right things couldn't be said. I just slumped there, head in my hands, glasses on the floor, contemplating just what the fuck I had gotten myself into. Gil sat with me, and he knew that was all he could really do. Him being there was enough.

In the days following that incident, I was being constantly riduculed. Today, in fact, I've been called some type of homophobic slur 23 times. And each time, it stung.

So, yes. I believe I've made my point. People are mean. And I'm not sure exactly how to deal with it yet, except for keeping my head down, keeping my mouth shut, and keeping as far away from Kirkland as possible. The only thing left that I can think of as of yet is quitting the play.

I haven't shown up for four rehearsals. They probably think I've left already.

And, ja, that was a cliffhanger. Or supposed to be one.

So review and check in for the next chapter! Will she update quickly? Or will she disappear again? I can't say for sure.

Thanks for reading and putting up with the long waits and my lack of proofreading. I love you all! owo