The days are creeping along in the direction of the end-of-year dance, and I'm dreading it every inch of the way. Skittery has already made me try on his suit, which fits pretty well as we're close to being the same size, though the pants are just a little bit long for me. Bumlets and Pie Eater agree with Skittery that it looks utterly fantastic on me, so I don't even bother arguing to get out of going.

There are two short days left to go before the dance and I'm completely terrified. Even though I'm going with a bunch of my friends and don't even have a real date, I'm nervous about what I'm going to wear, how I'm going to act, and the fact that I am indisputably the worst dancer ever. I don't even have to voice these fears before my new little clique of friends sense my apprehension.

"You'll live," Bumlets says as I change from Skittery's suit back into my regular clothes. "I mean, half the people here are too busy burying their noses in their art that they don't have time to figure out how to be cool, let alone dance, and the other half will be too busy trying to sneak a glass of champagne to even notice what you're doing."

"Besides, the only ones who care what you look like dancing are girls, and you... well, you've got nothing to worry about there, do you?" Pie Eater gives me a wink and I roll my eyes.

"I'm still not one for making an ass of myself," I say.

"Well, you certainly defied yourself in Bye Bye Birdie, then," Skittery says with a grin. I throw a shoe at him. Everyone just laughs and I shake my head.

"This has been super, guys, but I really gotta motor if I'm gonna make it to that funeral," I grin, standing up. "Thanks for letting me borrow the suit, Skitts."

"It's no problem. Catch you later, Specs."

"Wait," Pie Eater says, scratching his head. "What funeral?"

Skittery smacks him in the back of the head and I laugh. "I gotta go study for my finals."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I go back to my room and I really do study for a while before I drift off to sleep. I wake up maybe an hour later to the sound of an argument voiced in harsh whispers.

"This is just a stupid impulse!"

"How do you know that?"

"Because I just do! We're not gay, Spot. We're just... what'd'ya call it... curious."

"But I'm tellin' you, Race, I think I am."

"You're just sayin' that 'cuz you ain't had a girl in a while."

"No, pretty sure I'm sayin' it 'cuz I got a thing for you."

"Pull your head out of your ass, Spot. I'm no fucking queer and neither are you."

"You say that like being gay is a bad thing."

"It is a bad thing! It's not normal! I just... I'm sorry, Spot, but I can't."

"Get out."

"What?" The tone of Racetrack's voice has changed entirely.

"I said get out, Higgins. I don't want to see your sorry face again."

The door opens and after it clicks shut, I hear the distinct sound of a fist slamming into wood. I sit up and Spot turns around to look at me.

"You heard all of that, didn't you?"

"Uh..." I scratch my head and reach for my glasses. "Yeah." Spot looks so lost and sad, my heart almost breaks in two for him. "Look, Spot--"

"Specs, please," he says, opening the door again. "Just don't. Don't say anything." And he walks out.

I sit for a moment, wondering what just happened. It seems like everyone in this damned school is going from straight to gay to straight again.

Apparently I'm stuck in a really big game of tug-of-war.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A/N: The nifty little line thing in the document manager is not working, so I am sad. But you'll just have to deal with my obnoxious separators until it's fixed.

Anyway, the point of this is, AVTL is now a series. For those of you who are wondering what Oscar DeLancey's "skeletons" are, I suggest you read the second story, titled Coloring Outside the Lines. There are more stories to come. Enjoy! -Layne