I'm About to Come Alive
Maybe I'm not but you're all I got left to believe in
Don't give up on me
I'm about to come alive
And I know that it's been hard
And it's been a long time coming
Don't give up on me
I'm about to come alive
Days passed and Wes gradually began to relax. It seemed like Travis had decided to drop the subject of his mysterious black eye. For now, at least. He'd come to understand over the last week that Travis never let anything go completely. There was one kid, a brunette underclassman like Wes that he ritually teased about something that had occurred several years ago. Taking that to heart, Wes had begun to concoct a story for Travis' sake, should he be so brazen as to bring it up again.
Until then, he'd bide his time and relish the quiet from the menace residing in the seat beside him.
"Hey blondie," Marks called in greeting, dropping in beside Wes.
His grin was broad and blinding this morning, he must be up to something. That seemed to be his game strategy. Play it cool and loose, warm and friendly before striking at the unaware. Beautiful and deadly, just like a snake, Wes thought uncomfortably. "Hey, Marks."
Wes desperately wanted to find a degrading nickname for Travis, but so far he'd come up empty. Everything that came to mind would only be cannon fodder for Marks and his twisted mind. He'd make each and every jab into a joke or sexual innuendo and that was the last thing Wes needed right now. He was having a hard enough time keeping himself from turning them all into the basis of a late night fantasy.
Phrases like mocha latte and sweet brown sugar rattled around in his brain, disrupting his thoughts and egging his already beleaguered libido on. Wes shifted in his seat, trying to chase away the images those words conjured up. He was doing a piss poor job of it apparently because Mr. Tall, Dark, and Chocolate had focused his eager gaze on him yet again, that damn seductive smile sapping every ounce of willpower from Wes' depleted tank.
"Can I help you, Travis?" Play it cool, Mitchell. Don't let him smell your fear… or your arousal.
The grin broke as Travis opened his mouth to speak. Something surly and teasing was sure to come out, Wes knew, but by the grace of whoever was watching today, he was saved by the bell. That abrasive, ear splitting clatter drew a temporary frown from Travis, but didn't throw him completely off, either.
"Later, sunshine. Later." It sounded more like a threat than a promise.
"Okay, class," Mr. Rejas began, looking around him while doing a quick head count. "Today we are going to be assigning partners for this quarter's project. Our theme this go round is drugs." Muffled cheers and jokes flooded from all over the class leading Rejas to shake his head. "Not like that, class, sorry to disappoint. But more on the effects of short and long term use."
The class gave mock groans and began looking around the room, making quick alliances for the upcoming boring project. Rejas watched for a bit before interrupting with even more bad news. "Now that you've made your little groups, I'm going to burst your bubbles and pair you up myself. Adams and Wright, you've got barbiturates. McDonald and Davis, I'm giving you antidepressants."
Wes groaned inwardly, praying that he wouldn't get stuck with anyone but Travis. Preferably a girl, because maybe then, just maybe, he could do the project as directed. There was no way his father was letting him spend time alone with another boy. Not even for a school project. It'd be hard enough to convince his parents to let him out to study with a girl.
"Mitchell and Marks, since you two seem so overly fond of each other, I'm giving you hallucinogens." Rejas sneered at the boys, begging for some kind of negative feedback. "Rollins and Brooks…"
Rejas continued on, but Wes didn't hear another word. He was too busy crawling within himself, trying not to burst into tears borne of fear. Fear of his father, fear of failing the class, fear of what Travis would say or do when he found out he couldn't be his partner.
It'd finally wipe that maddening smirk off his face, Wes bet, to find out just how screwed up my family is.
Travis watched the disappointment wash across his newly named partner's face. Was he really that bad of a guy to be partnered up with? Or was there something more bothering him? He didn't know – yet – but he would before too long. Although he hadn't shown up with any more black eyes or visible bruises, Wes was still quiet and withdrawn. Too quiet and withdrawn for Travis' tastes, no normal kid should be so wrapped up in himself like that. He'd seen a glimmer of the boy behind the mask that first day, but it'd vanished with the appearance of that black eye. Hopefully not forever.
His first instinct was to corner blondie and make him confess, but he figured that would backfire spectacularly. It went against his nature to do so, but Travis made himself wait. Wait, watch, and make a plan. Because how could Wes resist him when he turned the charm up to eleven?
Hah. Just let him try.
It'd taken some effort, but Wes had managed to secure himself a secluded spot out on the side lawn of the school, near his fourth period math class. No one ever came out this way during lunch, so it was quiet enough for him to regroup before going back for the second half of his day. No gossiping girls, no rowdy jocks, and most importantly, no Travis Marks.
"Dude."
Aw, crap, he found me. "Travis? What are you doing out here?"
"Looking for you, what the hell does it look like, sunshine?"
Taking a deep breath, he counted to ten, unsuccessfully trying to calm himself somewhat. "Okay, better question. Why are you looking for me?"
"Because I miss that adorable dimple of yours?" That scandalous smile seemed to have an infinite power source considering the way Travis used it at will.
Wes frowned despite the galloping of his heart. "Seriously, Travis?" One hand sneaked its way to surreptitiously cover the offending defect of birth.
"Okay man, okay. Not really, although that dimple is ah-dor-ah-buhl!" Travis scanned the area fleetingly before settling on the spot right beside Wes to park himself. "I wanted to hit you up about how we were going to do this thing."
"Thing?" He scooted marginally to the right, feeling a bit too close to his exuberant lunch partner.
"Yeah, you know, the project?"
He barely stifled a groan. That, of course. "Look, Travis, I have to confess, I…"
"Would love to do all the work and let me put my name on it? Why thank you, Wes, that's just so generous of you, but I'll have to decline."
Too bad as that'd actually be the greatest thing ever. Biting his lip to keep his opinion to himself, he waited.
Travis leaned in, confidentially. "See, thing is, Rejas doesn't trust me and well, he's accused me of cheating before. I didn't, I swear, but still. I have to keep this as on the up and up as I can. It's probably why he paired me with you. He knows you won't let me get away with any funny stuff."
He wasn't sure if it was within the laws of physics for Travis Marks to operate without pulling some kind of funny stuff, but that was a dilemma for later. "Seriously, Travis, I don't know how…"
Wes cringed inwardly at the apprehension in his voice. He prayed it wasn't as apparent to Travis as it was to him – Marks was much too sharp for his own good sometimes.
Travis lifted an eyebrow. "How what?"
"Look, I don't even know why I'm saying this but, well, my parents are ultra-conservative and don't like me to spend a lot of unsupervised time with kids they don't know. I'll… I'll have to do my half of the research on my own and we can put the whole project together somehow. We can figure that out closer to the due date."
The corners of that perfectly pouty mouth turned down a fraction in thought. "Not even for a required school project? Don't they want you to do good?"
This was not what he'd expected, he'd been both respectful and honest, a first. "Yes, they do want me to do my best – demand it, actually – but they're very strict when it comes to how and when I spend my free time. It's hard to explain. I'm sorry, really. Maybe you can ask Mr. Rejas for a new partner?"
Travis lifted his eyes to meet Wes', boring into him, assessing. Wes was certain he could smell the bullshit before it ever left his mouth. Marks really was trying to find a workable solution, making it even harder to twist the truth and find an escape route. He knew he'd never been a very good liar, his father often told him just that, but what choice did he have here? How could he blurt out the fact that the family patriarch strove to maintain absolute control of every detail and ruled with a literal iron fist?
"I like you, Goldilocks, I want you to be my partner. Besides, you're smart. How could I ask for anything better?"
The compliments hit Wes hard. No one had ever wanted him to be their anything. Even with knowing it was very likely that this jerk was teasing him, he couldn't deny the flutter deep in his gut. He had it bad and that was not good. "Trav," he said softly, "you'll fail because of me. Don't do this."
A dark-skinned hand reached out and settled sympathetically on the other boy's knee. "I won't fail and neither will you. We'll figure it out somehow, even if we have to spend every lunch hour in the library. Got it?"
Sighing, his shoulders relaxed a touch, knowing that that might be their only option. "Got it," he conceded.
"Good. Now, let's go get some lunch. Gotta feed this good-lookin' machine." He grinned, slapping a hand against his chest.
Wes paled. How do I get out of this one, God? He didn't have a lunch because his father was in yet another of his moods this morning, causing Wes to high-tail it out of the house as soon as humanly possible. Going without lunch was easier than dealing with that man when he was in a snit. Nor did he have a penny to his name since his parents were of the opinion he needed no money of his own, believing they'd provide him with whatever he could possibly need. As if.
"How about tomorrow? I – I uh, forgot my lunch I think." Smooth, Mitchell. You're such a spaz, I swear.
Cloudy blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. Wes could see the wheels turning in Travis' head, trying to decide if it was a lack of food or something more nefarious that had kept him from having a lunch today. For some reason, he let it go, and Wes was thankful.
"How about I spring for something today and you can bring me a PB&J tomorrow?"
He stalled. What was the right answer here? He could easily sneak an extra sandwich and, if he got caught, say he didn't have time for breakfast, but… But was it worth anyone finding out the truth?
From what he knew of Travis, he wasn't about to be given a choice. "C'mon, get up. I'm starving. Let's go eat."
Decision made, Travis stood and held a hand out to the blonde still seated in the grass at his feet. Hesitating for a moment, Wes reached out tentatively and took the proffered hand in his own. A firm grip and warm palm met his and with a tug, he was on his feet. Face to face and almost chest to chest with his biggest nightmare ever.
The kind of man who could make him throw caution to the wind. Or make him rush headlong into oblivion without so much as a second thought.
He was, in a word, trouble. Nine kinds of get-your-ass-beat-and-not-even-phase-you kind of trouble.
Bring it on, he thought. Wes was so game.
"Wesley, we've discussed these kinds of matters before. You know you are not allowed to engage in any sort of after school activities with unapproved friends." His mother wiped her delicate hands on a worn dish towel.
"I understand, but…"
"No buts. You'll have to convince your teacher to let you work alone." The dish towel dropped carelessly to the countertop.
"But what if…" As much of a pain in the ass as Travis was, Wes did not want him to fail because of his situation.
"No buts. One more word on this subject and you can take it up with your father. Understand?" Wes nodded, unable to speak. "Good. Prepare the table for dinner, your father will be home momentarily."
Great.
"Can I help you?" Mr. Rejas raised one eyebrow as Wes approached his desk minutes before the bell.
"Yes, actually, you can, I hope…"
"Is this about the project?"
Wes nodded. "Yes, sir, I was wondering if…"
"No." Rejas turned from Wes and began rummaging through the stack of papers on his desk.
"I'm – I'm sorry, what?"
Rejas looked up, meeting Wes' confused gaze. "I said no. No swapping topics and definitely no swapping partners. You are stuck with Marks for the duration of this project."
Wes paled, his stomach sinking as he attempted to tamp down on the panic rising inside. "No, that's not what I meant, I'm okay with Travis but there's a…."
"I said 'no', Mitchell. You really want to push this?" Rejas' dark eyes bore into his own, daring him to say one more word.
"No sir," he said quietly, looking at his hands. "I'm sorry I bothered you."
He raised both eyebrows this time. "Are we done then?"
Nodding, he slunk back to his seat, sitting heavily. This was not good. Not good at all. What was he going to do now? Travis was going to fail the assignment – and because of it, most likely the class – all because of him. Because of Wesley Mitchell and his freaking father's insane, unfounded homophobia.
Once Travis failed, he was going to hate him. Stop speaking to him, stop teasing him, stop being… just there. It was more than Wes could stand.
He had to tell Travis, now, while there was still time for him to salvage his own grade, even if it meant destroying this shaky friendship they'd constructed. It was only right.