disclamer
Brandon was sitting on the same desk again, swinging his legs back and forth and humming very quietly. Scott sat beside him, sitting on his hands to hide them.
You okay? Brandon called out. Scott nodded. Man, you don't look too good.
Yeah, um, I threw up. He admitted. Brandon shrugged, braiding a section of his long, sleek hair.
I would've thrown up too. Scott flushed. God, even his dreams thought he was sick. If I had to kiss someone I don't like. I bet you're a good kisser.
I don't know. He answered thoughtfully. I've never kissed myself.
Brandon leaned forward and pressed his lips against Scott's. It didn't feel wrong, like with Mr. Sundry. It felt normal. Maybe because it was a dream.
Yeah. Brandon pulled back. You're a good kisser. He smiled, tired and sad. Wake up.
Scott's eyes snapped open, and he sat up robotically. "Christ, what a fucking crazy dream." He muttered. He rubbed his head and looked around. Jack was struggling into a pair of pants, looking bleary-eyed. It was Monday. "Shit."
"Oh, I was gonna wake you up." Jack blinked at him. "Bobby says to get the fuck up or we'll drag you to school asleep, and Ma says honey are you sick?" Scott sneezed. "Oh, I guess you are."
"No!" Scott said, panicking. He had made sure not to miss a single day. Mr. Sundry would be furious. "I got something in my nose. I'm fine." Jack shrugged. Scott struggled with his shirt, digging through the closet and pulling on a ratty black one. He changed from his damp jeans to black ones a few sizes too big and shoved his feet into his sneakers.
"Dude." Jack grabbed the back of his shirt. "You need a sweatshirt." Scott looked at his arms. He nodded slowly and grabbed a zip-up hoodie. "Good boy." Jack reached out to ruffle Scott's hair, but found his younger brother was frozen stiff, a look of anger and pain on his face. "Whoa. Are you okay?"
"I- I'm fine." Scott mumbled hoarsely. He pushed past Jack, down the stairs and onto the front porch. His palm stung, and he rubbed the cut unconsciously.
God, he hated Mondays. More than any other day. Mondays were the day he had to go crawling back to Mr. Sundry like some lovesick puppy, after two days of being free. He bounced on the balls of his heels and stared out at the snow, feeling a ridiculous urge to throw himself into the snow and roll around. Bobby would be furious. After he had seen the bruise, he had been closely monitoring Scott's actions.
"Feeling okay, kid?" Scott glanced to one side, surprised to see Brandon sitting there. "Look like you saw a ghost." Scott stared out at the lawn, rubbing his scar and frowning.
"Maybe I did." He muttered. "What are you doing here?" He shook a cigarette out of the carton and offered one to Brandon, who took one and lit it with a match.
"Jack didn't tell you?" Scott rolled his eyes. "Right, obviously. Bobby has to take his car to the shop, like now, so I'm driving you guys." Jack chose that moment to stumble onto the porch carrying his backpack and a rapidly refreezing waffle.
"You hungry?" He mumbled around his food. Brandon made a face, and Jack shrugged. "Scott, Ma says go get something."
"I already ate." He said quickly. Brandon gave him an odd look. Scott opened the door and leaned inside. "I already ate." He shouted inside.
"Oh, right, right." Jack swallowed his food and pulled Scott around, gesturing meekly between Brandon and the smaller boy. "Brandon, this is my new brother, Scott. Scott this is my friend Brandon, who's giving us a ride today."
"Little slow, Jackie O." Brandon snickered. "We met by now." Scott took a drag off his cigarette, flicking ash into the snow. Brandon, who had already smoked down to the filter, threw the butt into the snow. He stood, unfolding his long legs and jumping off the porch. "Oh, um, I don't let people smoke in my car. Even funny, angry fourteen year olds."
Scott made a face and took one last drag, stubbing it out on the sole of his sneaker. Brandon nodded in approval. Scott got in the back seat and Jack sat in the front seat. Brandon started the car and tore out of the driveway. Scott slid on the plastic seats, grabbing Jack's arm from behind to prevent himself from sliding into the door when Brandon rounded a sharp corner.
"Christ!" He yelped. "Um, please slow down." He said to Brandon. He pushed his sneakers against the door and tried to brace himself against it. Brandon slammed hard on the brakes at a red light. Jack grabbed Scott's arm.
"Maybe, just maybe, if you had a seatbelt, you would be having more fun." Brandon called back to him. He drummed his fingers on the dashboard, and Scott was inexplicably reminded of his dream. He blushed and leaned back. "Yo, Jackie. I think your b- is Scott sick?"
"Scott you all right?" Jack called back. Scott nodded. "You look kinda green around the gills." Scott crossed his legs and closed his eyes. When he was younger, his dad liked to play chicken late at night, so Scott always sat in the backseat while his dad sped towards an oncoming car. His dad always won those games. He wasn't a chicken.
"Don't throw up." Brandon warned. Scott smirked. "I'm serious. That's gross." He hit the gas
"I'm not sick." Scott protested. "I just- don't like fast, um, cars." Closing his eyes was helping. He heard Brandon laughing.
"Don't like fast cars, huh? Kid where are you from?" Jack was laughing too, only less enthusiastically. Scott got the feeling he didn't like going fast either. "Okay, Okay. I'm slowing down."
"Hey, c'mon." Jack said nicely. "Be nice. He's just a kid." Scott leaned forward, opening his eyes so he could push Jack. "Don't be stupid. You're a kid."
He wasn't a kid. He kept this thought to himself. Brandon parked the car. Scott fumbled with the door and stumbled into the snow, staring oddly down at his legs. Great fucking driving. His backpack was heavy on his shoulder. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and felt an arm over his shoulder.
"You okay?" Brandon's voice was low and concerned. "I'm sorry. I won't drive so fast next time." Scott slid away from him.
"It's okay." He muttered, clearing his throat. "I'm- last night was weird." Brandon raised an eyebrow in what may have been confusion, but thankfully, he didn't push the subject. Jack struggled with his backpack.
"Let's go, Brandon. Scott, Brandon is driving us home. Meet us back here."
Scott mock-saluted, sauntering into the school with a confidence he didn't feel. Mr. Sundry's office door loomed in front of him, but he passed it quickly, ducking his head as Mr. Sundry appeared in the doorway.
"Scott. Can I talk to you?" Scott stopped dead in his tracks. Suddenly it was hard to swallow. He glanced discreetly up and down the hallway before unwillingly entering the office. Mr. Sundry closed the door behind them and locked it. "You know, Bobby Mercer- I didn't peg him as a nice guy. Did you?" Scott shook his head. "Yeah. That's why I was so surprised to get to my office and find a message from him. You know what it said?" Scott shook his head again. "Do you know what it said?" Mr. Sundry snarled, lunging forward and fastening his fingers around Scott's shoulder.
"N-no." Scott choked out. Mr. Sundry's face was inches away from his. The guidance counselor reached down and lifted Scott's shirt. "W-what are you-"
"So, you get into the habit of showing your brothers all your bruises?" Scott felt the blood drain from his face. "That's what I thought." He let Scott's shirt fall back down. "What, you're getting sick of me? You told on me to your brothers?"
"I- I don't know what Bobby said. He saw the bruise when I was trying to reach an upper shelf." Stupid Bobby. "Really." Damn it. Mr. Sundry studied his face intently. He slowly let go of Scott's arm, moving his hand to his chin and tilting his head up. "I'm sorry."
"That's okay." Mr. Sundry said quietly. "As long as no one figured anything out." He pressed his lips to Scott's cheek gently, catching the side of his mouth. "Come back before lunch."
Scott stood and left before Mr. Sundry could say, or do, anything else.