A/N: FFFUUUU-- Hi. :3

I have nothing to say about this, until the end. XD Enjoy~

XI. Clydictionary

I backed up slowly into the chair. The chair squeaked.

"You could play with me, if you want," Kevin offered, without turning around.

I shook my head, but he wasn't looking at me, so I realized that wasn't really helpful. "No, thanks," I said. I actually wanted to scope Kevin's room. Not that I would tell him that I'd be looking through his stuff. I mean, he was so into his game right now. He didn't even say anything to me when I rejected his game offer, which he must have been glad about, because from what I could see, he was really, really kicking ass in that game. There was a lot of shooting and flying, from what I could see, yeah. I was spinning around too much in Kevin's spinny chair, so I was kind of dizzy and the screen and the rest of the room looked more like an acid trip than anything.

I lied my head down on his desk to calm the dizziness. There were loads of papers on his desk. I was lying on a thin layer of papers with like these scribbles on them, and they looked like unfinished drawings. Like, there were a couple of those circle things with the cross thingy across it, to draw the face features. I never understood why they did that. I always skipped that part in art class. I just went straight to the point, eyes and nose and mouth right way, with no plan. I mean, that's what Picasso did, right?

I had to move a few of those empty diet Pepsi cans to get to the rest of the papers. Underneath the piles of scribbly sketches, I started to find these really, really clean and neat drawings of complex characters, whatever that means. Ones with different kinds of armor and stuff, and cool weapons, too. And then underneath those inky black and white ones, there were these awesome colored ones - I swear, they looked like they were printed out from a computer, but when I turned them over, it looked like they were done completely in marker.

If my inference skills are, um, skillful enough, I'm pretty sure Kevin drew these - because, if the initials 'KS' written in the corner of every drawing didn't give away enough, I don't know what did. Plus, these were pretty Star Warsy, if you know what I mean.

His drawings were fun to look at. He drew realistically, but at the same time, it looked cartoony, and kind of exaggerated, whatever that means. But they really popped off the page - I think that's what art critics call it. Or teachers. They say it's good when it pops off the page. That was Kevin's drawings, times like a thousand.

I ended up picking up papers thought I thought I hadn't seen, so I looked at the same drawings like three times each. There were drawers on both sides of the desk, so I quietly slid them open, and there were more drawings. I looked through a bunch of them, and they were really, really amazing.

And then there was this one.

This one. Well-drawn, sort of more realistic than the other ones. Full-color, high-quality paper, whatever that means - anything a good quality drawing could be.

But it just made me go, "Woah," out loud.

Kevin heard it. He turned around. "What?" he said, curiously.

Quick, Clyde, act like you're clueless! "Did you..." I started. Stammering always sounds good for cluelessness. "Did you draw this?" I held it up slowly.

His eyes widened.

"Oh, shit - !" he cried, and stumbled towards me, letting the controller of his precious Nintendo 64 drop to the ground. He grabbed the picture right out of my hands and struggled to find somewhere to put it, like he didn't know where anything else in his room was. "Um, no, I -" He tried to explain himself, but it clearly wasn't working. "Let me - let me explain!"

"Go ahead," I said.

"Well, you see -" he said, not looking at me, but at the picture. "You see, uh -"

"Dude. You don't have to act like that," I said to him. "It's still a really good drawing... you're really, like, an, um, amazing artist."

Kevin then looked me in the eyes. He said, "Thanks," really softly. He was visibly sweating. "I think this picture kind of sucks, actually."

"No, dude, it's like, incredible," I told him, because I meant it.

"You see..." he began, just as softly as before, "most people... like the more popular pairings... like Han with Leia... Luke and Mara... and Anakin and Padmé... but I really like Qui-Gon with Obi-Wan."

I...

Have no idea what he is talking about.

I've only seen like two Star Wars movies in my life. Maybe two and a half. But I'm pretty sure that there aren't any scenes with two guys making out with each other. I'm overall just pretty sure that there is no gayness involved in Star Wars.

Let's see if I can get this right. "Why?" I asked. "Why not just go for the popular pairings?"

"Well," he said. Oh, no, he was about to get started on something, wasn't he? "The other pairings make sense, but I just don't really think they're all that, well, great. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are already pretty close because of their master-and-apprentice relationship..." Watching his lips move. Again. No listening. Again. Something like, "Blah, blah, master and apprentice, blah, blah, blah, dominance, blah, pretty hot, blah, alternate universe where Qui-Gon isn't killed by Darth Blah." That was pretty close, as far as I knew.

So, there was only one grand question I had to ask. "Well, are you gay?"

Kevin dropped the picture. His face reddened a little bit - blushing, was he? Caught the bastard red-handed. I knew any straight guy wouldn't put his hands on his hips.

"Why are you asking?" He put his hands on his hips. Seriously. "Are you?"

God, he is so gay, he's so totally trying to stay away from the subject. This poor dude must have been so far in the closet that he's found Narnia. But, now he's throwing the question back at me, and it would have been rude to not answer, wouldn't it? I mean, I could have pulled the whole "I asked first, you answer first" thing, but I was the guest. Kind of. There was some really messed up logic going through my mind when this was happening - I mean, no one ever asked me if I was gay before, so I never really thought of an answer. I mean, everyone has asked Craig if he was gay at least like, eight times a week, and all he does is flip them off. But Clyde Donovan doesn't flip people off, now, does he? But, seriously. In all seriousliness, I never really thought about it before and I never, well, didn't consider it. Girls got on my nerves a lot. Just because they have nice boobs and stuff doesn't mean that they can please you all the time, even if they look like they can in fold-out Playboy covers. Why would I, like... huh... what's the word for it? Restrict, limit? I'd feel so... unfree. If that's a word. If I could only like girls, I'd feel unfree. That's probably not a word, but you know what I mean.

Right?

"I'm not gay," I said. "But I could be like, half-gay."

"So, you're bisexual," Kevin said. And it wasn't like a, "so, you're bisexual?" No, it was a statement. He dubbed me bisexual, it would seem.

"Is that the word?" I said. Craig told me that girls didn't like bisexual guys. He told me that they have a philosophy that goes, "If you suck cock, you're gay." But then he also told me that girls think it's more "natural" for themselves to be bisexual. I don't get it! Craig didn't get it! Girls are so confusing. Everything is confusing. I don't like words. I can't remember half the words I'm supposed to know, in case you couldn't even tell - I should have my own dictionary. I'll call it the Clydictionary. And it will sell for big bucks because every word will mean exactly what it sounds like. A rupee will be a fruit, and it would be spelled 'roopee,' an epitome would be a really big book, and it would be spelled 'epitamee.' And every other word that should be a word would be in there. That way, it wouldn't be so confusing. Also, peoplesexual would be a word. Just in case I eliminate (whatever that means) the definition of 'gender,' which should be done in regular English, anyway.

"I'm gay," Kevin just said.

Well, I guess he wasn't so confused.

"That's cool," I said. "That's cool."

"It is cool," Kevin said, nodding his head as nonchalantly as if he were agreeing with me that pepperoni pizza was cool.

"When did you figure it out?" I asked. I think I was allowed to ask him that. I didn't know if it was really a touchy subject or anything, it worked out fine in movies most of the time. It wasn't like Kevin was going to turn into a human-killing robot or something. Or maybe he would.

"Like, a few years ago, I guess," Kevin replied, shrugging. "It wasn't really much of a big discovery. It happened pretty quick... besides. I am a Jedi. We are fair and peaceful mediators. There was no reason for my to look down on my own sexual preference." He leaned on his dresser, and turned the volume down on the record player a little bit. ("I understand about indecision, but I don't care if I get behind. People living in competition, all I want is to have my peace of mind...")

"And do your parents know?" I wasn't so sure that I was allowed to ask that either.

"Nope," Kevin said, as if he were proud. In fact, he smiled more, and he said it with such enthusiasm. It's like he was saying, "Nope, we're not out of Captain Crunch! Go ahead and eat!" or, "Nope, I'm not tired, I'm ready to party!" or something. I'm probably not really all that good at describing how he said it. I don't think I was really cut out for this.

"Um..." I said. Smart, Clyde. "Well, then." If I had a penny for every awkward moment I had with this guy, I might as well be rich. I didn't really want to talk about it anymore. Really, it made me my stomach all... what's the word? It wouldn't be butterflies, because isn't that when you're anxious for something good about to happen? And I wouldn't have a "pit" in my stomach, because that's the feeling you get when you get caught peeing on the side of your school principal's house (this has happened). It's not the same kind of feeling you get when you're really hungry, either. Why would I be hungry? Well, then again, I am always hungry. But that's not what my stomach felt like at the time. Maybe it was just gas or something. Uch.

Well, it probably was, because I found myself running to the bathroom in less than a few seconds. Or something. Some insanely fast amount of time. It was fast, yeah.

The thing was, I didn't even know where the bathroom was - like I said, this house has the craziest layout of them all. I passed by the shiny, new, mirror-like refrigerator again, and when I saw myself in it, I looked like crap. I mean, I think I always look pretty revolting anyway, whatever that means, but my face was really red. Uch. Again.

I saw this half-open door down the hall, and it had that godly lighting peeking out from it that said, "Yes, I am a bathroom." And it invites you in. I ran straight for it.

Damn you, Pepsi.

A/N: KEVIN DRAWING STAR WARS SLASH WAS ZEROMOTION'S IDEA

I SWEARRRR

go pee, Clyde, PEE FOR YOUR LIFE