The Boy Who Knew Too Much

The Boy Who Knew Too Much

V. H. Oldfield

Copyright V. H. Oldfield 2014

Published at Smashwords

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Chapter 1: The Meeting

Once I found out who he'd made his role model, I finally got his style. Before then, I had no idea why the hell he'd set foot in this school looking like his colorblind mother dressed him in a thrift store. But I like it because he somehow manages to pull it off impressively well, and it's what made me notice him. Of course, anyone who doesn't dress in American Eagle, Abercrombie & Fitch, and such stand out here, but we normally don't have many of those people, and the ones we do have are usually Goths or scene kids.

He was different.

The first time I saw him he was dressed in plaid—of the yellow, red, and green sort—trousers, a black and gold band jacket with a striped red and green t-shirt underneath, and dark green shoes that looked like he'd stolen from a bowling alley. His dark blonde hair was messy, falling into his blue eyes and brushing the collar of his jacket. And he didn't walk down the hallway; he glided, twirled, and danced. Everyone he passed stopped what they were doing to stare at him.

Including me.

I followed him with my eyes, and then when he disappeared around the corner a few seconds later, I wanted to follow him physically, too. In that short moment, he'd been able to capture my attention like no one else ever had. He made me want so much—his obvious confidence, how he didn't seem to care about others' opinions, his poise, his name, him—and he made me realize things by just looking at him. I immediately knew that he was special and that I had to know him, talk to him, be with him; I couldn't let him get away. But I also knew that, to get him, there were certain things that had to change.

Me.

Well, not really me. Just what everyone thought of me.

I wasn't the pretty straight boy they all thought me to be. I didn't care about being cool—not that I was that popular; just high enough on the social ladder that people knew who I was and took notice of me when I walked passed them. I couldn't care less about the school football team. And I hated the music I was supposed to love.

No one knew this because I'd never told them otherwise. I'd wanted to fit in—doesn't most people?—since I knew what was said about those who didn't. But seeing him had changed that. He made me see that that was stupid. He made me want to be myself.

So, the next day, I came to school in clothes that I liked—old holey jeans, dirty converses, a plain black t-shirt that was a little tight—but were definitely not the Abercrombie shit that I was supposed to wear, and my hair looked just as it had when I'd woken up. People stared and asked questions, though never to my face. It is he sick? And Does Michael feel okay? all behind my back and to my friends. I found it all hilarious.

Things got even better when my best friend, Alex, tried to hook me up with some girl for the millionth time, even though he should've known it was pointless by then, though he thought it was because he'd never gotten the right girl before. I told him, loud enough for anyone who was close to hear me, that he should try finding me guys to go out with and then maybe his matchmaking would be a bit more successful. Then, I walked away, smiling and ignoring all the gawks, stares and whispers because I was finally free of that constraining cartoon mask of perfection that I'd had to wear.

It felt great.

And even though things no longer happened in a simple, routine motion after that, like they used to, it was well worth it.

Especially when I saw him looking at me with a curious gaze from under his grey fedora as I passed the lockers he was standing next to.

Chapter 2: Conversation with Alex part.1

My school is the epitome of cliques, despite the fact that mostly everyone here tries to act and dresses like the popular kids. You've got the skaters, the stoners, the jocks, the girl-jocks, the preps, the Goths, the scene kids, the dorks, the obnoxious smart kids, the loners, the weirdos, the slackers (though those tend to be the same as the skaters and stoners), the God-worshippers, the drama-rats, the band-geeks—basically any clique you can think of; we got it.

Each clique has anywhere from 5-25 kids in it, and what's hilarious is that every single one of them thinks they're special—different. If you asked any one of them who they're like, you'd most likely get a rant about how unique they are and that there's no one else like them, regardless of the fact that the person they're sitting next to is wearing the exact same outfit as them and will tell you the exact same thing. They don't realize that none of them are different. They don't understand that by being in a clique, they all make themselves ordinary. There's pretty much no one in my high school that stands out. So how, you ask, will I go about this?

Easy.

By being completely normal.

I'll create my own niche, one that surprisingly doesn't exist here yet. Everyone's trying so hard to be different with outrageous actions, that it's not outrageous or unusual anymore. By just being myself—who is actually quite average, if a bit sarcastic—I'm breaking free of the stereotypes here and making myself noticeable. And by loudly announcing my sexuality in the hallway will only help me with this since the last time there was an out-ed gay kid in this school was four years ago when I was a freshman.

Of course, he only lasted in the school for three months after coming out because the harassment got too much for him. So, I know that I'm in for a rough ride, but I don't care. If it'll help me get his attention, then I can deal with it. Besides, I'm sick of my life being simple; I want to complicate it—I want a challenge.

And, naturally, Alex has something to say about this.

What's the matter? Alex asked, raising an eyebrow.

I look away from the balcony window, where I was watching the people below in the courtyard, over to the person who said that. And when I see Alex standing there, with a sincerely concerned expression on his face, I can't help but burst out laughing. His eyes widen and from that expression I can tell that he's honestly scared that I've gone insane. It makes me laugh harder.

Michael! Seriously, man. What's the matter?

Nothing . I said laughing.

Nothing?  He asked incredulously with wide eyes.

Then he splutters for a moment, which I find highly amusing. He's always been a bit of a spazz, though he'll deny it if you ask.

You came to school like this!

He waves a hand at my clothes, looking appalled.

And then in the hallway you announce loud enough for everyone to hear that you're…gay.

Alex whispers the word, shooting anxious looks at the people passing. My amusement immediately disappears and I narrow my eyes at him. He doesn't notice, though, and continues on

So there's something definitely the matter!

Are you trying to say there's something wrong with me being gay?

Alex gives me an unsure look. 

Well.... Alex mumbled.

Don't finish that sentence, until you've thought really hard about whether or not it'll get you punched in the face.

Hey! Man, calm down! I got nothing wrong with it, but… He said holding his hands up defensively.

Alex sends another anxious look at the people around us. I look around too and notice that some are shooting me hostile glares.

So it's begun.

Great... I said pursing my lips when a group of stoners walk pass, making rude and suggestive gestures at me

Alex heaves a huge sigh and settles down next to me on the windowsill. I turn to him with a raised eyebrow. There's a weary expression on his face, which confuses me even further to what his problem is.

What's the matter?

He shakes his head wretchedly and in slight disbelief. My life sucks.

Um…

I blink three times at him, very slowly, then I give him a look that I hope conveys how utterly bewildered I am and how I have no clue to what he's talking about. Of course, he doesn't even see it since he's too busy staring dreadfully across the hall at the lockers.

Care to elaborate?

Because, My best friend just decided to go AWOL and now he's going to get his ass kicked every day for it.

Right. And how does that make your life suck? I said slowly, nodding my head patronizingly.

He shakes his head, shrugging at the same time, still staring that the lockers like he can see his miserable future in them. I stare at him, wondering how I never noticed that my best friend was crazy before this.

Mmhh…well, okay then, I think that if anything sucks here, it's your perspective on this situation.

Alex doesn't say anything or make any indication that he's even heard me; he's too enthralled by reading his future in those ugly yellow lockers. I watch him for a minute, my eyebrows raised, thinking that maybe if I do it long enough, he'll look at me, but no-go. Rolling my eyes, I lean back against the window and take to staring at him so intensely that he'll have to notice sooner or later. If he doesn't, then I'll know that he really is crazy, and go fetch the nurse so she can deal with him.

He's got three minutes.

Meanwhile, I think of how, if I hadn't known him since I was seven, I might actually like him. He's good-looking enough;