I think I'm in biology.

But who knows, I could be in physics.

No, I'm in biology. Because Julie is sitting on my left, hastily scribbling out notes for both of us. We're sitting in the back. Charlie is two rows in front of us and I can't stop staring at the back of his head. What is he thinking? Does he hate me?

I want to cry, ball my eyes out and scream and kick. But I can't for two reasons. 1) I'm 18, and in class. 2) My friends will not only know I'm gay, but that I've lost my mind.

I saw Guy in the hall. He's sporting a black eye. I don't know who gave it to him, but I wished it had been me. But maybe I'll still get my chance.

There goes the bell and Julie is tugging on my sleeve to get up. I stand, my legs a little like jelly as I see Charlie turn around and begin to walk towards me.

"Can I have a word?" he asks me and Julie gives me a reassuring pat on the arm before walking out the door. Soon, we're alone. "Is this all true?" he asks me slowly.

I nod. "Yeah, it is."

He looks away from me. "I – I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," I tell him softly.

He looks at me, hard in the eyes and I've never seen that look before. It's a look of complete confusion. "I don't even know who you are anymore."

With that, he turns from me and walks out of the room.

My bottom lip quivers and I try to control it. I just lost my best friend.

**

It's Friday and we have a game.

This past week has been hell on wheels. The only Ducks talking to me are Fulton, Julie, Portman and Kenny. The rest avoid me like the plague. But I guess I can't complain, at least I know who my real friends are.

"Banks! Pick it up!" Coach Orion is yelling at me from the bench.

I sigh and skate harder, attempting to get the puck away from a Mt Vernon player. I succeed, only to be slammed into the board by Luis. My own teammate is against me. It seems gay people can't be hockey players.

The whistle is blown and Orion benchs Luis, and Charlie replaces him. It's the hardest of all to look at Charlie. Because in his eyes, I see the disappointment and embarrassment, and it hurts me more than I could ever admit.

We win the game, 12-4. I suppose I should be happy, but it's hard. I avoid spending time in the locker room if I can help it. I can't stand the stares and the whispers.

It's funny, I thought I'd be friends with the Ducks forever. I thought we'd all grow old together, have each other in our lives. Have our kids growing up calling them Uncle or Aunt. And now…I don't know. For once, I can't see where I'm gonna be in 10 years. I always thought the Ducks would be there, and now, it's a void.

I slouch lower in my windbreaker as I walk across the quad.

A heavy hand lands on my shoulder.

It's four big guys I've never seen before.

"You Banks?"

I nodded. And for my efforts, I'm greeted with a devastating right hook that practically knocks every tooth out of my mouth.

I stumbled backwards, dropping my hockey bag and hitting the grass with a thump.

And then the attack begins. I was kicked, punched, spat on.

"This is for being a fucking gay pansy," one of my attackers growled.

"HEY!"

All at once the guys take off, running like it was an Olympic trial, and then, Fulton's face appears.

"Fulton?" I croaked. I can barely see him, my eye is so swollen. But he's there.

"It's ok," he told me, gently picking me up off the grass.

"What?" I muttered, my head spinning as I was lifted upright.

"Shh…It's ok Adam," he said softly as we began walking towards the dorm. "I'm so, so sorry."

I listened to his whispered words as we walked into his dorm room and he sat me down on his bed.

"What the fu – ?" Charlie muttered as he saw me. "What happened?"

"Some assholes were beating him up in the quad," Fulton answered.

I started to sway a little and fell backwards onto Charlie's bed, my eyes closing.

"No, you gotta wake up. Adam!" Fulton called, shaking my gently.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head and smiled. "What are you apologising for?"

I shrugged.

He smiled. "Good. Shut up then."

Fulton busied himself cleaning me up, but I barely felt anything but searing pain. Then gave me two of his extra-strong painkillers and I fell asleep nearly instantly.

It's funny how it took a beating to realise that I wasn't completely alone.

**

"Where am I?" I asked groggily as I sat up, my whole body sore.

"My room," Charlie said, looking over from where he was sitting at his desk.

"Was I ran over by a truck, buy any chance?" I asked him, stretching my body.

He shook his head. "You were beat up, but it doesn't look as bad as it probably feels."

I got up and went into the bathroom. Charlie was right. I had a black eye and three cuts. One above my eyebrow and two on my lip. My arms were bruised, as was my chest. But I wasn't dead. I still couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing.

I went back into the room. "Thanks."

Charlie shrugged. "It was Fulton, not me."

I nodded slowly. Obviously there was still something bothering him.

"I should go," I told him.

He nodded. "Fulton wanted me to give you this, he had an early class."

He handed me a piece of paper and I didn't read it, just shoved it into my pocket and collected my jacket.

"I'll see you later, Charlie."

He barely looked at me and just turned his attention to his TV.

I walked back to my room slowly, hanging my head in embarrassment. This was not how everything should be going.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Guy demanded as I shut the door behind me.

"Got beat up," I said simply, taking off my jacket and fishing the piece of paper from my pocket. On it read, in Fulton's sloppy handwriting: Intervention. Meet at Student Lounge Hartley Hall, 2:00pm.

"Ouch," Guy commented. I didn't care. He didn't matter anymore.

I lay down on my bed, setting my alarm clock for 1:30. And then fell into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

**

I hate alarm clocks.         

I can't think of even one instance where I've woken up to the incessant buzzing and actually didn't feel like throwing the bastard against the wall.

Today wasn't any different, maybe because it was like the ringing of the bells. It symbolised my interrogation planned with the Ducks.

I didn't really care anymore, through all the crap that had happened, there wasn't much of a reason to look good, or to do well. I just threw on old jeans and a sweatshirt off my floor and stumbled out the door, headed for the lounge.

Every Duck was sitting there sombrely when I entered the room, taking a seat nearest the door, for a possibly quick getaway.

We sat there for a few minutes in uncomfortable silence, looking from one another, wondering what to do or say.

It was Fulton who finally got up the urge to stand up.

"Ok, thanks for coming," he said simply.

I knew by the inquisitive stares on their faces they wanted to know what happened to me. Why I looked like a bruised piece of fruit.

"I was beat up, ok?" I spat at them, hanging my head, my greasy, unwashed hair hanging unceremoniously hanging in my face.

No one said a word.

"Look," Fulton began again, walking around the small space. "All this crap going on between us is stupid. I mean, we're all friends and here we are, judging Banks like this."

Portman nodded and stood up, clapping Fulton on the back.

"If you all think you deserve some kind of a medal for being here, then I feel sorry for you," he said softly. "Because this guy over here –" he pointed to me. "Did nothing to you, and you all betrayed him."

Dwayne coughed.

"I just wanna say that I support Banks. And it would nice if one of you could say it too. But, if it's above you, then don't bother talking to me either. Because, I'm gay too."

Dwayne's cough turned into a choking sound and eyes went wide.

I looked up at Portman and searched his eyes imploringly. 

He avoided my gaze and left the room, Fulton following him close behind. It was just me against the masses. I didn't know what to say to them, or even if I should say anything, but the silence was killing me.

I stood up.

"Look, I know this has all gotta be a bit weird, but it's not as though I'm doing this to freak you guys out. We've all been best friends for what seems like forever, and I'd hate to see us throw it all away over my sexuality."

I looked over at them, my eyes searching their eyes, looking for a glimmer of understanding or acceptance.

Goldberg stood up. "Banks, I don't know what to say…I'm sorry for the way I've been treating you…you can't help who you love, right?"

I blushed furiously when he said that. I could feel Charlie's eyes boring into mine.

"Thanks Goldie," I said softly. "I guess I'm just gonna go now…"

No one stopped me as I strode from the room, my eyes downcast. I didn't know what to think, or to do, or just…anything. I just wanted to crawl into my bed and die. Because without my friends, who was I?

I didn't have much time to ponder the mysteries of my life; I had hockey practice in 20 minutes. I gathered up my gear and trudged over to the rink, thoughts rumbling through my head like thunder in the sky.

I got dressed silently, not surprised that Portman was absent. The Ducks didn't say a word to each other as we filed out and onto the ice, scattering like marbles.

"What's up with you guys?" Coach Orion queried as we all began to skate around, not making eye contact.

"Exams," Connie responded, hitting a puck over to Goldberg.

"Yeah," Averman agreed. "Lot of pressure being the graduating class…"

Orion set us with a steely gaze. "Ok, don't tell me, but get your heads together."

We murmured our cooperation and started practice, our scrimmage a few notches below what it usually was. But Orion didn't say anything else, other than yelling of course. No heart to hearts, or pep talks. And I was glad, the last thing I wanted was a father-figure telling me to do better.

After practice I slipped my helmet off and headed for the locker room.

"Christ, what happened to you, Banks?"

I looked up at Coach Orion. "Uh, nothing," I said. "Just had a losing war with a staircase."

He nodded slowly, and I knew he didn't believe me, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything anymore.