Part Two

The reason I was friends with my fellow Preps was because they were my people. We all lived a common lifestyle in which we could relate. We were rich; we had status. We lived off of our fathers' salaries, never having to work for our own. We spent our days in private dormitories during the school years, and spent our summers in vacation houses along the beaches of Nantucket or Cape Cod. We had all grown up together. We were supposed to be friends.

That was the way it worked. That was the reason behind the Greasers' friendships with one another, the Jocks', the Nerds', and the Bullies'. The members of each clique had things in common, hence the point behind forming cliques. They possessed similarities.

The Townies were friends because they had come from similar backgrounds. They were all poor and stupid and had nothing in life to be proud of. They lived in trailers and only showered bi-weekly and would probably spend the rest of their lives in this town, should they avoid being arrested. They lived off of welfare checks and ate microwavable dishes for every meal. They were nobodies, our polar opposites.

So Duncan and I, friends? That was beyond ridiculous. He was ridiculous for believing such a thing. We were completely incompatible to be anything more than acquaintances, and even that may have been a stretch.

Despite our incompatibilities, his kind never ceased to interest me. Of course I wasn't completely entranced by poor people like Pinky, but I'd gladly admit that they were rather intriguing. My reason behind dating that strumpet Lola was a bit deeper than simply failing to understand my sexuality at the time. It was a thrill being with someone underprivileged and trashy. It was fascinating being around someone so different, someone with a rather offensive taste in perfume and a fashion sense leagues below the line of adequacy.

It was fun. Although I doubted I'd ever do it again, I did enjoy spending time with someone of the lower class.

As Pinky might have put it, it made me feel 'authentic'.

But with Duncan, it wasn't anything like that. He was nothing more than a worker to me, an employee (and an incompetent one at that). I paid him to perform a service and that's all I ever wanted from him. That isn't how friendships are initiated. Friendships are started based off of common interests, or lifestyle similarities. I wasn't supposed to befriend someone like him. It didn't work that way.

But clearly he saw nothing wrong with the idea. Typical low class. What did he know about status and reputation and keeping the cliques in order?

Oh, well. At least he was avoidable. He may have thought of us as friends, but he certainly had no way of being in contact with me. The only time I ever saw him was at the carnival when I needed a pack of cigarettes.

Or, apparently, when I was about to crash my bike.

I moaned once the realization struck me and cursed under my breath.

Justin, Chad's bike, my reputation... My thoughts drifted off.

It was far too early the following Monday morning to be concerned with such things, but I couldn't prevent it. Lying awake in bed with a dull ache at the base of my skull, staring blankly at the sponge textured ceiling with nothing to comfort me besides my own anxiety-ridden thoughts, and they weren't doing very good at the job. I just wanted to disappear.

I had just gone through all of that nonsense for nothing. I left empty handed, with not even a bike that resembled Chad's to show for it. That whole thing was a complete and utter waste of time.

It was around eight o'clock when my eyelids forced themselves to pull apart. I didn't really wake up so much as I did merely come into consciousness. I was still exhausted and in pain from the previous night, unable to force myself to rise from bed. I knew it would be completely impossible to make it to my classes that day, so I decided on the idea of having Pinky pay the teachers off for me.

Pinky.

My supposed best friend who had assaulted me last night.

Another moan left my lips as I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands. What on Earth was I going to do about Pinky? What was getting in to her? She must have felt pressured to act out due to the presence of those damned Townies, poor girl.

Still, it was a completely unacceptable thing to do, and I needed to have a talk with her about what happens to young ladies who should exhibit such deplorable behavior.

A knock sounded at my door. "Gord, are you there?" came a voice from the other side. "Come on, we'll be late!"

I physically could not move. "Tad," I called back. "Come here."

He opened the door to let himself in, fully dressed and freshly groomed, dropping his jaw and throwing an arm to the side upon noticing I was still in bed. "You aren't even up yet! Class starts in an hour, and you should know how long it takes yourself to get ready."

I motioned him forward with a single finger, like an overly dramatic hospital patient on his deathbed waiting to make his final requests. He obliged, taking a seat at my side on the edge of the bed. "I can't go today," I told him flatly. "I just can't."

He knitted his brows, leaning down as if to communicate with me better. "Are you sick or something?" he asked, hushed and careful.

"Uh..." Of course he had no clue what had happened the night prior. "...Yes."

He snorted suddenly, lifting himself from my mattress. "Alright, well, I'll be sure to let the teachers know that you've taken ill." He grinned smugly.

I was becoming much too familiar with that particular grin. What did he know?

I propped myself up slowly, ignoring the throbbing pain at the base of my head. He knew something. I narrowed my eyes at him. "What are you grinning about, Spencer?"

He bit his lower lip, as though he were trying to suppress a smile, and failing largely. "Pinky told me she beat you up last night."

I almost gasped, but instead settled on a roll of my eyes. "She did not beat me up, Tad!" My voice cracked, adding to his amusement. "She hit me with a cricket bat! It was a very unfair way to knock me out!" I touched my injured head to emphasize my pain.

"Whatever you say, my man. I wasn't there." He laughed, like someone who'd just been told a casual story.

I almost growled. "This is not funny, Tad Spencer! Pinky should not be behaving in this manner. We were raised better than to assault our own kind!"

Still, that stupid smug grin stretched across his face.

I groaned. There was no getting through to him, was there? "Just... tell everyone I'm sick or something, okay?"

He gave me a nonchalant salute with his first two fingers. "I'll do just that."

I huffed, dropping back down onto my mattress. "Very good. Now, if you'd be so kind." I shooed him towards the hall. I wasn't in the mood to endure his company any longer.

He made his way towards the exit, pausing in the doorway. "Please try to recover by this evening, Gordo. Justin wants us all to hang out." Before I had any chance to inquire, he shut the door behind him, loafers clicking firmly down the oak floored hall.

I grimaced. Damned Vandervelde. He probably just wanted to humiliate me in front of everyone.

For the first time in my life, I welcomed greater pain.