This is getting slightly pathetic.

- - -

You'd think I would've learned after getting my own heart cruelly smashed into a thousand tiny pieces. You'd think I would know better than to lead someone on purely for my own gain.

And you'd think I would've just holed up somewhere (like, say, the cozy little nook where I keep my clothes and shoes?) and died, not only putting myself out of misery, but the whole world too.

But I'm hopeless, aren't I? I've managed to make my own pain someone else's. What's that they say again? Misery loves company?

I never thought of myself as a 'cliché' type of dude, even though there are times when I desperate wish I was.

But now…NOW I've decided to be like any old schmuck. And I went and broke the heart of one of the sweetest people I know.

I don't know what she sees in me, though. All I see are the stupid, uneven eyebrows or the matted curls or the misshapen, hairy, hairy legs.

Well…even if I can't remedy some situations, I might as well repair the others.

It occurred to me as I sat on the edge of the bathtub with my Gillette, my iPod blasting old Cyndi Lauper favorites, that I might want a cover story in case someone happens to pop in unexpected while I'm alleviating myself of this horrid mess.

I've got it! I'm joining the track team! Granted, I despise breaking a sweat—but it'll hold up until I'm ready to spill the beans on the boy-lovin' thing.

Just like that other little falsehood of mine…the one that's got a certain freshman in tears a few blocks over?

I suck. I really, really suck.

I'm self-absorbed, stupid, lazy, lame, retarded, unwanted, unwelcome, unpopular, and add 'gay' to that, and I'm all set.

I don't even know why I bother. The minute I open up, everyone's going to hate me more than ever, and I'll be referred to in hushed voices as "Michael, the guy I'm not going within twenty feet of in the locker room."

No one's ever going to love me, are they? I'm never going to love me at this rate.

How is it that Josh Richter has tons of girls infatuated with him? The hair? CREEPY. And believe me, he won't be taking Mother Teresa's place any time soon.

I wish I knew what the secret formula was. You know, to get people to like you. I think I will go lock myself in my closet and light a match, a somewhat poetic departure, if you ask me.

Just let me finish up this leg.

So I didn't off myself. Yeah, I know, millions in Japan are squealing in relief and delight.

But that doesn't change the fact that I've never been more miserable in my entire existence. Not even that time Felix made me sit through Rambo III.

Speaking of Felix, he totally blocked me online. To think I crashed and burned that relationship in all of five seconds…just think what would happen if hundreds of people knew!

As it is, there's only one person who really deserves to know the truth. Who I think could handle it. Who could maybe even help me through this muck.

And that person would be my lovely beard. But ya know what? My shaving yesterday extended past my legs (I'm confined to sweatpants until my dad goes blind)…Mia's no longer my fag hag. My cover-up. My excuse not to expose myself (not in that way…the excuse there is kind of obvious).

Not that she wants anything to do with me. I don't blame her. I don't blame anyone, really.

I had to practically sprint to reach her in the hallway this morning, which is as close to the track team as I'm getting.

"We need to talk," I said in a low voice, once I'd gained her attention. "I feel like I owe you an explanation."

She shook her head, her freshly shampooed bob swishing from left to right. "You don't owe me anything Michael," she said in a slightly quavering voice. "And you explained yourself just fine last night. You don't like me that way, and that's fine."

I don't like any girls that way, which in most circles isn't too fine at all.

But I begged for an audience with her anyway. Puppy-dog eyes…full-blast.

It's a shame I'm not into that sort of thing, because Thermopolis really does look adorable when she's thinking intently about something. "Okay," she said finally. "Come on."

I wasn't quite as relieved as you might imagine, as that was just the first part of the battle. The whole outing myself thing was yet another hill I had to mount.

With growing anxiety, I noted we had quite a while before the bell rang. I don't want 'quite a while'! I just wanna spit it out—"I'm GAY!"—and then dash out of there as quickly as humanly possible.

Once I'd shut the door of an empty classroom on me and Mia, I could already feel my knees trembling beneath me.

"So what is it?" she asked impatiently, apparently oblivious to my twitching.

"I'm sure you've noticed how distant I've been lately…" I began. How distant could I be in about five seconds? 100 yards? A couple of floors?

"Well, I've been going through some stuff," I managed. "Some…issues."

"Michael," she huffed, glancing at her watch. I don't blame her for being annoyed with me. At least she was taking that road, instead of the one I was dragging myself along with Felix (well, not with him). The one where I have XXX-rated dreams about him…the one where I don't want to be around him as much as he doesn't want to be around me…because I think I'll pounce. "I know this. It doesn't take a genius to figure out. Just tell me what it is."

If only it were that simple…"Well, you see…it's hard to just admit this to anyone. I told Felix about it, and he freaked out on me."

Except I didn't really tell Felix. He guessed. In fact, if it weren't for Felix, I might've never known I was into dudes. What a pal.

Mia was looking at me with the weirdest expression. She couldn't possibly already know…could she?

What if Felix was telling people! What if they were already whispering about me? Do my parents know? What about Lilly? I'm sure it's already reached the elderly Moscovitzes down in Florida. I'm never gonna get a Christmas present again. I'll spend the holidays alone in the streets, since I don't have a nice, warm closet any more.

"Oh, God, Michael," said Mia, already confirming my worst fears. "I know what this is about."

"You…you do?"

Just make it quick and painless…that's all I ask.

"Of course I do," she said matter-of-factly. "You…you like Lana."

HOLY SHIT. Thermopolis' idiocy saves the day once more! "What?" I choked out.

She took a deep breath. "You like Lana. But you're too afraid to admit it because you think that your friends, like Felix, will think you're a sell out or whatever. That's why you hate Josh so much. Because Lana's in love with him. Although why you didn't encourage me to stay with him, so you could have Lana for yourself is beyond me. You could have just..."

This had to stop. I was gonna puke if I heard another word in reference to me crushing on that whoracious bitch.

"Mia…I don't like Lana."

"You don't?" she echoed, seemingly flabbergasted. "Then what is it?"

Oh, God. The moment of truth. I'm gonna do it. I won't back down. I'll just…say it.

Did I say it?

Judging by Mia's expression, I haven't even opened my mouth.

"Okay, I think I'm just going to come out…" Good start. "And say it. I think I'm…batting for the other team."

Now I was most definitely sure I'd said it. And that it didn't bode too well with Miss Mia.

- -

Twelve chapters to go, I believe.