"Um," Racetrack says, running a hand through his tangled, matted hair. "Look, Specs, I'd appreciate it if you'd, y'know, kinda keep this on the down-low. It's, uh..." He sighs and looks down at the floor. "Well, this has never happened before."

I smirk, nodding. "Well, I won't tell anybody. But you gotta tell me who it is." Okay, I know exactly who it is. But I'd really get a kick out of hearing him actually say it.

Racetrack stutters, obviously looking for a way to get past me and run far, far away.

Then the door opens and Spot walks in. "So, Race, I was thinking--" He looks at me, eyes wide. "Oh, um, hey, Specs..." His face is starting to turn red. My God, Spot Conlon, the Spot Conlon, is actually blushing.

"Hel-lo, Spot," I say with a grin. I look from Spot to Racetrack, who are both averting their eyes, sweating a little, their faces that deep red of embarrassment and shame.

They stand in silence for a while, shuffling their feet. After a few minutes, Spot clears his throat. "Um, Specs, you... you can't tell anyone. See, this is, um... it's..."

"The first time," I say. "I know. It's cool. My lips are sealed. Won't breathe a word to anybody."

Spot smiles a little bit. "Thanks, Specs. You know, you're a pretty alright guy."

I grin. "Don't worry, Spot. I won't tell anyone you said that, either." Laughing, I grab a towel and my shower stuff and head for the bathroom.

Tuesdays are so much better than Mondays. You don't have that psychological hangover from the weekend, or that Monday feeling of dragging along at a snail's pace. It's one day, one step closer to the weekend.

This particular Tuesday is much better than any regular old Tuesday. I have a really great secret that I have to keep but will probably tell Dutchy anyway, I got the highest grade in the class on the art project I turned in last week, my mom called during lunch and didn't ask if I'd found any nice, Jewish girls, and this Tuesday means Dance Rehearsal Day.

Now, I can't dance to save my life and I hate this musical, so you wouldn't expect me to get excited about Dance Rehearsal Day. But you don't know what Dance Rehearsal Day holds. See, not only do I get to make a complete as of myself, and show everyone in the cast just how white I really am, but I get to see Dutchy in shorts and a black wifebeater getting all hot and sweaty and out of breath.

God, I love Tuesdays.

"You're smiling." Dutchy walks up to me after rehearsal ends, wiping his face off with a towel. "You never smile after rehearsal."

I grin. "You're all sweaty," I say, "and your clothes are sticking to you. What's not to smile about?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "Perv."

"Well, what can I say?" I laugh as he punches me in the shoulder.

"Hey," Jack says as he jogs up to us. "Me and the boys are headin' into town for pizza, you guys wanna come?"

"Nah," I say, shrugging. "I got some homework I really gotta get done for art class. Thanks, though."

Jack nods. "What about you, Dutch-boy?"

Dutchy grins. "No, I think I'll stick around, bug Specs while he's trying to draw."

"It's his favorite pastime," I say.

Dutchy laughs a little. "Plus I gotta take a shower. I'm pretty gross right now."

Jack shrugs. "You're always gross. But, okay, we'll see ya whenever we get back, Specs. And Dutchy, if I don't see you tonight, then I'll see you at breakfast." We nod and Jack heads back to where everyone else is.

"Okay, well, I'm heading back to my room." I grab my bag and look at Dutchy. "Are you coming with me, or are you heading off to do something else?"

"Hmm," Dutchy taps his chin. "Spend all evening harassing you, or go back to my room and listen to Crutchy mumble at his computer... Gee, tough decision."

I jerk my head towards the door.

"So how come your face – I mean, Hugo's face, how come it's all shadowy and stuff?"

This is the eight-millionth question he's asked about what I'm drawing. I adore him, but this is getting a little tedious.

I roll my eyes and adjust my glasses on my nose. "Because even though Kim and Hugo got pinned, Hugo gets pushed into the background when Conrad Birdie comes into town."

"Oh." He cocks his head to the side. "You know, you are so much better-looking than that."

I laugh. "Thanks. But this isn't exactly a self-portrait."

My assignment for art class was to design an advertisement for something. So I decided just to make a flier for Bye Bye Birdie, since I promised Medda I'd do so anyway. I might as well get something out of the deal.

I start drawing a caricature of Medda in the corner, both to amuse myself and to have something to accompany the "Directed By" line. Dutchy laughs.

"Medda's hair isn't that big," he says, snickering.

"Maybe not to her," I say with a smirk.

"She's going to kill her."

"I'm willing to take that risk... you know, for my art and all."

He laughs again and leans his head on my shoulder. I kiss his forehead and start shading. After a few minutes of watching me, he sighs. "You done yet?"

I grin and set my sketchbook on the desk. "For now, yeah," I say, smiling. "Bored?"

He nods. "Out of my skull."

Smiling, I tilt his chin up and kiss him.

I've said before how much I enjoy initiating kissing. Not only do I get to be in control, but Dutchy gets all soft and sweet when I start things – almost tentative, like he isn't quite sure of what to do. It's the sweetest feeling in the world when his lips give way to mine and he slowly wraps his arms around me – God, I want to bottle it up and keep it on my desk next to my bed for when he's not around.

He sighs a little and lays back, pulling me with him. I smile against his lips and he smiles back as he slides his hands under the back of my shirt. I love the way his skin feels against mine. It feels so... natural. How anyone could think this is wrong is beyond me.

Things slide along as they usually do, and before I know it, his shirt has been cast aside and I'm tugging at the waistband of his shorts. Dutchy turns his face to the side and I figure he needs to breathe, so I start kissing his neck.

"Specs," he says, panting a little.

"Hmm," I grunt, nipping gently at his collarbone.

He clears his throat. "Can... can we not?"

I lift my head up. "Can we not what?"

"Y'know..."

I blink, my eyebrows knitting together. "Is everything okay?"

He's blushing. "Yeah. I mean, I want to... like, I really want to..." He trails off.

"So what's the problem?" I brush his hair off of his forehead, looking into his eyes, searching for a clue.

Dutchy looks off to the side, embarrassed. "Um... I'm, uh... kinda sore." He bites his lip and looks up at me.

I laugh a little and kiss his forehead. "Okay. Don't worry about it." I go back to kissing his neck and shoulders. "Tell you what." I kiss down his chest, rest my chin just above his belly button. "You just lay back and relax, and I'll take care of you, okay?"

He lifts his head up to meet my eyes. Nodding, he lets his head fall back to the pillow. "Okay."

Dutchy falls back against the bed, panting. "Wow," he breathes, rubbing his hands over his face.

I laugh a little as I crawl up next to him, laying my head on his chest. "Good?"

He grins, beginning to catch his breath. "Yeah." He wraps an arm around my shoulders. "Fuck, no. Not good. Amazing." We laugh and he squeezes my shoulders. "Thanks."

I wrap an arm around his waist. "Don't thank me."

This is when I realize there's more going on than a stir in my pants and some uncontrollable urges between two overly hormonal sixteen-year-old boys. There's really something going on here. I don't quite know what to call it. I think about that weird, jumpy, fluttery feeling I get in my stomach whenever I think about him. And that flippy thing in my chest when he looks at me... that way that I just completely melt whenever he kisses me.

I don't know what it is. But it's nice. I like it.

Even if it is just a little bit on the frightening side.

"What're you thinking about?" His fingers are tracing little circles around on my shoulders.

I grin, nuzzling a little against his chest. "Nothing, really." I look up at him. "What about you?"

He laughs. "Can't think right now. Ask me later."

Chuckling, I nod. "Sounds like a plan."

We lay like this for a while, silent and content to be so. I play with that little trail of hair coming from his navel and disappearing into his shorts. I love that it's just a couple shades darker than the hair on his head and just as soft. It's my favorite thing on his body.

...Well, second favorite, anyway.

He turns to his side, crooking and elbow and propping his head in his hand. "So," he says with a smile, "what do you feel like doing?"

I sit up. "Well..." I look over at the clock. "You hungry?"

We plop our trays down on a table in the cafeteria and sit down.

"So what do you think of the play so far?" Dutchy asks me, shoving a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth.

"Well, aside from the singing, and the dancing, and the rehearsals, the prospect of having to kiss a girl, Medda constantly barking orders, and eventually having to do this in front of a large group of people, it's okay." I take a bite of my garlic bread. "Are rehearsals always as tedious as they have been?"

He laughs a little. "Unfortunately, yes." Dutchy grins as my face falls. "But don't worry. Now that we've got the ball rolling, the weeks are just gonna fly by. We'll be on-stage before you know what hit you."

I shrug, and before I can say anything, Racetrack pops up beside me.

"Hey, Specs," he says with a grin.

"Um, hi, Race," I look at him quizzically and take a drink of my water. "Can I help you with something?"

"Well, yeah, actually." He leans on the table. "See, I was wondering if you got the math homework done." He smiles and nods at Dutchy, who only raises an eyebrow.

"No, not yet. Well, most of it's done, but I'm stuck on the last section."

Racetrack nods. "Oh. Well, I'm stuck on the first section but I got the rest of it done. I was thinking maybe we could help each other out?"

I blink. "Uh, sure?"

He smiles. "Great. Well, uh, just find me after you're done with dinner or something, okay?" And Racetrack wanders off.

"Weird," I say, shaking my head.

"What was that all about?" Dutchy drinks some water and looks at me, that eyebrow still cocked. "You seeing him behind my back?"

I laugh. "I don't know what was goin' on there. That was bizarre."

"No kiddin'. Racetrack is never all buddy-buddy with anyone like that. Not even Jack."

I sit back and think for a moment. "Oh, you know what? I know what it is."

Dutchy takes a bite of his garlic bread. "And what's that?"

"I caught him with Spot last night."

He chokes on his bread. "What? What were they doing?"

"Well, they weren't doing anything when I walked in. Spot was in the bathroom, but Race was in my room, and he was half-naked and his hair was all messy."

"Oh, my God." Dutchy sits back and grins. "Oh, this is rich. So what happened?"

I laugh. "Well, Race is all stuttering and trying to come up with a cover story, and Spot walks in." I stop and listen to him laugh for a moment, notice perhaps a little too well when my heart does that weird flippy thing. I figure it's best just to keep talking. "So the two of them stand there telling me how it's never happened before and all that and how I can't tell anybody. I guess it's not that big of a deal seeing as pretty much everyone at this school bats for the opposing team, but those two make such a big to-do about how the ladies love them."

Dutchy smirks, shaking his head. "I'm not really surprised. Those two have been skirting around each other since their first day here. It's about time they admitted they wanted in each other's pants." He laughs and polishes off his spaghetti. "But I guess they did more than admit it, huh?"

I laugh. "I guess so." I shake my head and my eyes meet his. "Look, Dutch, I promised them I wouldn't tell anybody, so in all technicality, you don't know, and you can't tell anyone either, okay?"

He smiles. "You can trust me, Specs. I won't tell anybody. Secrets are safe with me."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."