When I made it to junior year, I thought that I'd be the complete form of something waiting to blossom. I thought I'd have a special glow or something; I pictured myself with an aura as I walked down the hallways of Degrassi high school. I stood by the entrance waiting for my friend because we had homeroom together. I looked around to see if anybody was looking.

I almost forgot. You're new to this, aren't you? Well I'll tell you what. I'll leave it to the others to describe me to you, because as my current boyfriend says, I'm "hypercritical" of myself.

"You know, I can tell from miles away when it's you, Michael," said my friend Roxanne upon arrival. She was short with long dark hair and a broad face, but surprisingly she was pretty cute. She was wearing…oh, I'm terrible at this…a baby blue top with a black skirt and high heels, and her eye makeup was done with a light blue eyeshadow. I'm still a guy in that respect, I guess.

"Hey, Foxy Roxy!" I replied happily. "Ready for our first day of class? I mean I know about your thirst for knowledge and all."

"Ugh. I'm just looking forward to seeing Peter again, and that is what my year is going to be all about. Finding an excuse to finally talk to him." Peter was, in my humble opinion, this scrawny white guy with preppy clothes and a bad haircut. At least he could have kept the shorter hair; it made him seem a little more attractive. But never something I'd actually fantasize about.

"You could go 'Mean Girls' on him and ask for help in math. You know, show him some of those sugar titties…"

"Shut up! Always the sugar titties with you!"

"WELL, you weren't careful with your churro last weekend at the drive in. I'd say you were advertising, young lady. Felix certainly paid more attention to you after all the sugar went down your shirt."

"MMMMM, Felix…" Roxanne was lost to me then. We walked down the hallway of Degrassi together and made sure to make it to homeroom, which for us was the media immersion room with Mr. Archibald Simpson. Tall, gangly, and white with a short head of hair and a somewhat bird-like face.

I'm sure he is an animal in the bedroom if you wet-whisper to him about hard drives.

I looked around again to see if anyone was looking. It's a curse, this relationship I have with narcissism. I need the validation though. It could be the fact that I'm a homosexual male that I think this way. I pulled down my tank top so that my chest would look bigger. I also felt the top of my head to make sure my hair was spiked the right way.

I can't believe I ever had long hair. But that's a different story.

So many computers! I wonder how many people have tried to look at porn in here.

As the short homeroom session began, I studied Mr. Simpson's face as he welcomed us to Degrassi. What pride he has in this school. To the right of his head on the window was a fact sheet about STD's.

"Let's make this an optimal year!" he said in resolution to all of us. The bell rang and we all got up to go to our first class, which I didn't have with Roxanne. I hate to say this but she wouldn't have had to fake that math problem.

Calculus. I do like math, actually, and I'd be the one to have to fake math difficulties.

Roxanne and I parted ways and I proceeded to Armstrong's Calculus class. You know, I love the rigidity and structure of math, and I also like that at this stage we study things that have been proven. Mathematical laws that have yet to be disproven.

Very much unlike religion. Something that my father embraces dearly. I thought about that article he gave me the other day, the one that I just stuffed in the back of my binder for school.

I took a seat in the front of the class. I always did that; it helped me be more alert and it also made me feel…ahead of the others. I waited for others to sit next to me. To my left was a smart Korean exchange student I knew last year in math. To my right…no one. I waited anxiously.

"This seat taken?" a strikingly handsome face suddenly said to me. I shook my head and he sat down.

"I love when this happens," I thought. It's too early to tell whether he's gay or not, though, and for us homosexuals that's always the tricky part. Maybe he has a myspace I can look at or something. I just need his name…

"Alright, everyone take their respective seats. I'm going to pass around a seating chart and you are going to sign your name in the seat that you're' sitting in…on the paper of course, NOT on the actual desk." Armstrong handed the paper to the first student on the very left. "Now to discuss the first topic…I think we'll review a bit of your precalculus." Armstrong began to write on the board about functions.

Snore. I hate review.

I realize my description "strikingly handsome face" really isn't very descriptive, but us guys…we can't just stare at each other. I was looking straight at the board avoiding my urge to look right again.

"Here," the person behind me said. I turned around and took the chart and signed my name.

At that point I realized that I was about to turn right. Excellent! I prepared for it. I was going to look first and then hand him the chart so I could scan him.

I turned. I was looking at a boy my age with short hair spiked in the front, colored light brown. There was no visible acne on his light, fair skin, and he was slender but had a nice build. I noticed the muscle shirt he was wearing.

"Here," I said. He turned and took it from me and signed his name. No visible sign of interest.

I think I was just percolating there in that moment. I risked having my head at an angle so that I could at least get a glimpse of the name, but that attempt was unsuccessful. I sighed.

* * *

I'm turning off the water. It's time to try to get some sleep. What about physics? Oh, I won't bother with that till the morning. College is pretty tough when you're a math major – or at least I think so.

I hate living here with my boyfriend. I got kicked out of the house because I got into a fight with my parents that went to the extreme with violence and other ugly avenues. I dumped my boyfriend because he has drug and alcohol problems, but he was the only person who would take me in. He's gone right now at the beach with some friends. It's 3:22 AM. I am 19 years old and am with a 32 year old man. It's true that I like older men for their maturity, but in this case I find a maturity cavity in my boyfriend.

I feel very fragile right now. I mean, I'm getting dressed, and I'm going to go to his bed. The bed that I don't want to be in; like a cross I'm nailing myself to.