CHAPTER 38
TRENT
16 years old
I stare at the clock hanging on the wall, counting down the minutes until I’m done with algebra. I mean seriously, when am I ever going to need to know the Pythagorean theorem? Never, that’s when. My teacher rattles on, not even teaching us the material, just reading directly from the book and hoping we can retain enough of the information to pass the standardized tests.
It’s so dumb. I prefer English. It’s full of interpretations, and just because I see something differently from another person doesn’t make me wrong. Plus, my English teacher is so cool that last year when I got behind on my homework, she would let me submit the poems I wrote as extra credit. I’m not the best writer, but she says she enjoys them all the same. I’m so glad she’s the one in charge of all the English classes, or I don’t know what I would do. Actually, that’s a lie. I would definitely fail.
It’s my fault, I know that. I don’t put in enough effort. I don’t always turn in my homework on time. But it’s fucking hard to some days, because walking into my house is the same as playing Russian roulette. Is my stepdad going to be in a good mood and leave me alone? Or is he going to beat the ever-loving-shit out of me for looking at him a moment too long?
Having a job at the grocery store doesn’t make school any easier either. It just helps me know that better days are coming. I’ve saved up almost enough to buy the car from Mrs. Andrews, who lives in the same trailer park as me. It’s a little run down, but it still drives fine. And that’s all I need, something that moves and will take me as far away from here as I can get. One day. One day at a time.
My next class of the day is science, and it’s okay. I like it more than math, for sure. But that’s just because we get to do experiments in science class. Today we’re supposed to be learning about DNA, and we’re going to be extracting DNA from an onion. Which sounds hard, and our teacher is strong for wanting to do that with twenty-five students who don’t pay attention very well.
School just started two weeks ago, and it’s been a hardship having to cut back my hours at the store. I talked to the manager, who promised me she would schedule me as often as I needed on all the school breaks. I think she feels bad for me. Most people who know my home situation do. But how can they help? Call CPS, and then I’ll definitely be asking for it.
It’s fine. I’ve just got to make it two more years. People do it all the time, and people have it worse than me. I just have to survive two more years.
The door to the science building is open, and I feel the welcome breeze from the air conditioner pouring out. It’s not too bad right now, but eventually winter will be here. I don’t like winter much. It’s too cold, and my jackets aren’t thick enough to protect me against the wind or the occasional snow we get. Maybe this year for Christmas, I’ll save up enough to buy one of the expensive jackets I always see the jocks wearing. The little symbol on the chest pocket letting everyone know they spent one hundred dollars on a jacket. That’s how life is, though–the have and the have nots.
When I walk in my classroom, there’s only a few people here already. But someone is in my seat. Their mess of blond curls sticking up at odd angles is kind of cute. It looks like whoever it is just woke up from a nap. Not the point, though. They’re going to have to move, because it’s my unofficial assigned seat. My science teacher doesn’t believe in assigned seating, but I’ll be damned if some random person sits in my seat and messes up my mojo for the year. That’s my seat.
I’ll just ask them to move. No big deal. I don’t recognize them, so they must be new here. And if they’re new here, I can’t fault them for not knowing where to sit. They can even sit beside me. Joshua normally sits there, but I hate it, because he’s an asshole. He’s an asshole to me, specifically, because when he figured out I was gay, he tried to force himself on me. I pushed him off and told him I was saving my first kiss for someone special. Joshua then went around and outed me to everyone and said I tried to force myself on him. I was already the black sheep of our small school, but that practically put a hit on my back.
I tap the shoulder of the boy sitting in my seat, and when he lifts his head up to look at me, I’m stunned into silence. He’s… beautiful, angelic, a dream. He’s a drink of water when I’ve been thirsting in the desert. His bright green eyes are framed by dark lashes, so much darker than the blond curls sitting askew on his head. Is he wearing mascara? Boys don’t wear mascara. I can’t look away from him. The freckles lining his cheeks are a morse code of love letters, and I want to trace my fingers across them and learn the words myself.
His pouty pink lips part, and all I can think about is pressing my lips to his. Are they as soft as they look?
The dimple in his chin is calling for me to press a kiss against it. But what the hell am I thinking? Lusting after a strange boy when I don’t even know if he’s into other boys? It’s not common around here. And as much as I want him to be having the same thoughts about me, that also scares me. I don’t want to subject this angel to damnation like I’ve been through. He has a special spot in heaven waiting for him, and if he is thinking about me the same way, he’s cursed himself.
“Hi,” he says. “I’m Kian.”