Ten

"You're seeing him again tonight?" Darcy smirked, jabbing at my arm. "Ooh, what's going on between you two?"

"He told me about why he's not wanting to come back to school, and he invited me to hang out after school. It might be a way for him to get used to being out of the house and in a teenage environment... I'm hoping this will help in the long run. Maybe if he gets used to spending time around his classmates in a non-school setting, it may help him if he comes back."

"And he wants to?"

"Yes."

"He's just not ready?"

"I get why."

"Why?" she perkily asked.

"I can't tell you."

"You promised not to?"

"No, but it's still a sore subject for him. I don't want to say anything unless I know he wants it to be known. He could have been telling me in confidence. I don't want to break his trust."

"You know that guy's a jackass, right?" Jett snarled from the locker a few down from Darcy's. "Why would you willingly want to spend time with him?"

"Because there's something more trustworthy about him compared to you," I stated. "And I'm pretty sure you deserved that punch."

"Sure, blame the victim. All I did was tell him the truth, and he was the one who took it the wrong way and punched me." Jett slammed his locker shut and strutted up to us, as if he was trying to be tough. He wasn't. "I'm telling you this as a friend-"

"We are not friends."

"Devon Quid is a bad guy. And not in the Billie Eilish version. He's dangerous. He picks fights for no reason. He gets triggered over the smallest of things. He's a man whore, always sleeping with other people's girlfriends. Why would you want to be around someone like that?" he whispered frantically.

"Because he's not you," I said. "He doesn't pick fights for no reason. He always has a reason, whether or not it's justifiable. And he's not a man-whore. That's what you look at whenever you see your own reflection." I lightly pushed him away, and he stared at me with wide eyes. "I know for a fact that Devon punched you because of something you did. I don't know what it was, but you better believe me that the moment I find out what it was, I am outing you."

Jett paled.

"Boo," I sarcastically whispered before walking away to my next class, Darcy following behind me.

"Someone is about to be even more ostracized here," she sang.

"Are you leaving me?"

"No. I've got your back."

"Then who gives a shit?"

By the time it was lunch, a few rumors spread around that I snapped at Jett and said horrible things to him because Devon influenced me to. People were staring at me with wide eyes, whispering to each other, but I didn't care. I knew what actually happened. Rumors were rumors, and the moment people found something else to fawn over, they would.

I sat alone at a table made for eight people. No one would dare to sit next to me, especially with the rumors circulating. Buddy stood at a table nearby, and when he saw me, he excused himself before sitting next to me. Every so often a few girls would try to sit next to us, but with no one willing to approach him alone, we typically sat alone. His friends would normally sit with us, but because of the rumors, people seemed to keep their distance.

"I was told not to sit with you today because a certain someone is influencing you to be rude to people."

"Ask Darcy. She saw the whole thing. All we talked was about Devon and I are going out tonight-"

"Seriously?"

"-and Jett was the one to come up to us and tell me not to hang out with him."

"And you said?"

"That I know he did something to set Devon off, and that once I found out what it was, I'd out him." I smirked. "He seemed pretty scared."

Buddy leaned close and asked, "What do you think it was?"

"Jett must have done something to him or someone close to him. I don't know. I haven't even tried to ask Devon. I probably should tonight, but I'm afraid it will bring down the mood."

"Is this an actual date?"

"No!" I exclaimed. "I'm not dating anyone. I have no intentions to date anyone. Band first. Remember? I need to find someone who's looking for a drummer before I can even consider dating someone. Devon is my friend as much as you and Darcy and Petula and everyone else at the Clubhouse. He needs someone who has his back so he can feel comfortable enough to come back to school."

Buddy sighed. "Did he mention why he doesn't want to come back?"

"He's afraid he's going to get triggered and hit someone again. He doesn't like himself when he does that. He's afraid to come back to the source of the problem."

"Poor guy," he whispered.

"Yeah."

He nudged my shoulder with his. "At least he's got someone who has his back."

"You're going to have it too. So will Darcy. We are going to be there for him. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he smirked.

"He's picking you up?" Buddy exclaimed, stopping as we walked to the front doors. "You mean he's already here on school grounds?"

"Yup."

"Can I meet him?"

"Why not? Come on."

Many people were surrounded by Devon's car outside, but no one was close enough. The people who were parked beside him were afraid to walk towards their cars, not wanting to set him off. He stood against his car, arms crossed, and his eyes looking at the doors but not really paying attention.

"Hey, Devon," I greeted as I walked up to him.

When he saw me, he smiled widely. It was a handsome, cheerful smile that surprised a lot of people. They all whispered among themselves. "Hey, Mel." He looked at Buddy beside me and stood up straighter, his eyes widening.

"I want to introduce you to my best friend, Buddy. Buddy, you know Devon."

Buddy held his hand out and smiled. "Great to actually meet you."

Hesitantly, Devon reached out to shake his hand. "You too," he said with a nod. "Are you joining us?"

"No," I stated before Buddy could agree. "He's got stuff to do, but he wanted to say hi."

"Y-yeah," Buddy said, scratching the back of his neck. "Also, I hope you come back to school."

Devon was surprised, but he smiled and nodded. "Thank you. I'm just not ready yet."

"At least you were able to make it this far onto school property."

"Yeah, well Mel said she didn't drive, and I didn't want her to walk to the restaurant."

"Although I enjoy walking a lot," I chuckled.

"You say that now, but you're wearing heels," he smirked.

I glanced down at my heeled combat boots and shrugged. "I've walked in worse."

"Still,"–his eyes softened, as did his smile–"I'd hate it if something happened to you on your way over."

I stared at the ground, crossing my arms over my chest. Glancing up, Buddy stared at me weirdly, and he gave the same look to Devon. Confusion, but there was also the jealousy Darcy mentioned. I didn't want to admit it, but maybe there was something for him to be jealous of. Though my friendship with Devon was hardly worth the jealousy. Buddy could never be replaced.

"Before I forget, Mel," Devon said, snapping my attention away from Buddy, "Francine wanted to invite you to come batting with us next week."

"Batting?"

"Yeah, Bella's brother owns a sport's club with a gym, basketball court, swimming pool. And they're about to unveil a batting range. It'd only be our group. We're sort of... beta testing it, I guess," he chuckled. Looking at Buddy, he added, "You should come, too. Do you like sports?"

"Not very athletic, but if Mel goes, I'll go."

"Sure," I nodded. "Sounds like fun."

"Great," Devon exhaled, relieved. "Should we get going?"

"Yeah." I hugged Buddy before stepping to the passenger side. "I'll see ya tomorrow."

"See ya," he said, waving dejectedly.

Devon slammed his car door shut and started it up. We pulled out of the parking lot, and I looked out the back window to find a bunch of girls circle him. They obviously wanted to know every detail of our conversation. Maybe if Buddy could help soften Devon's reputation, then his return would be a smoother process.

"I don't think he liked me much," Devon commented.

"No, he did."

"Are you sure?" His voice was so sad, I actually thought I would cry.

"He's my Francine. He's protective of me. I think I told you about how we were both bullied in middle school. We were the only friends we had. His popularity may have skyrocketed in high school, but he's always going to worry about me. It's nothing personal."

"You didn't see the way he looked at us."

"I did. He was a little jealous. I rarely have friends outside the Clubhouse."

"Clubhouse?"

"It's an art place. Us middle schoolers and high schoolers come together and share in our artistic passions. I have my drum kit there. It's the only place outside of school I can really practice."

"If I came to the Clubhouse, would I be able to see you drum?"

"Definitely. You should come sometime."

"I'm not really an artistic person, though. Far from it, really."

"Who cares? Buddy isn't, and he's a member. Though he never really comes to the meetings anymore- But he's still one of us. So long as you're respectful and encouraging of everyone, you're welcome there. Everyone's welcomed no matter what."

"That sounds like a really nice place," he murmured.

"It is."

He pulled up in front of a fast food place that was essentially a higher quality Chick-fil-a. A few classmates were already there, watching us as we walked in and ordered. No one stared for long, no one left out of fear. Only a few whispers, but more out of shock to see Devon somewhere so casual.

"Mel?" he nervously questioned. "Are you sure you're alright being seen with me?"

"If I gave a shit about what people thought of me, I would have more than just two friends. You're my friend, and I like you. Screw them."

We stepped up to the counter, ordered separately, and sat at a table near the back corner.

"Was there ever a time when you liked school?" I asked.

He perked up. "Oh, back when I was in sixth and seventh grade, before mom left for work. Believe it or not, but I was actually an honor student. I loved to study and learn new things."

"You were a geek?" I giggled. "I can't see it."

"Because I'm not the stereotypical geek," he smirked. "I just happened to like to learn, and I took all high level courses. Even in high school I took a few AP classes. Not too many, because then I'd be swamped with homework. But I'm actually pretty book smart."

"You wouldn't be willing to tutor me or something, would you?"

"Sure. What subject?"

"Seriously?" I gawked.

He laughed. "Of course. What subject do you need the most help with?"

"English. Little math. I'm good with history, but I could use some help with biology."

"So everything?"

"Yeah... everything."

"Hey, it's okay to need help. The only reason I'm any good at these subjects is because I spend a lot of time alone. Back in middle school, I was friends with everyone in my classes, so we were always studying together. And then I moved and became... well, this," he mumbled, "I spent a lot of time alone. And when you're alone, sometimes the only thing you really can do is study."

"Then did you really get all of your assignments done in twenty-four hours?"

"Yup," he proudly stated. "No work the next day means studying all night."

"Damn. I could never study all the time." I slumped into my hand. "I need a break for my sanity."

"I don't study all the time. That's not the only thing I do in my spare time," he chuckled. Blushing, he folded his hands on the table and murmured, "I... I actually write a little."

"Like short stories?"

"Occasionally. I do more poetry than anything."

"Would you consider yourself any good?"

"I hope I am."

"Could I read something sometime?"

Devon blushed as he excitedly pulled out his phone. "I actually have some on my phone. I write it out on paper first then save it to my accounts so I always have backups." He slid his phone to me, the title 'A Boy,' at the top of the screen.

A boy, no older than five,

Owns the world as far as he can touch.

Within four walls, he has space to grow.

The black sky folds high,

The sun hangs from silver beads.

He wants to touch the sun,

See how far he can reach.

He'd shoot for the stars, but he doesn't know what they are.

All he knows is stay where he belongs.

So long as he stays in his own world, he is safe.

So long as no one knows he is there, he is alive.

A boy, no older five,

Only knows how to survive.

A boy, no older than eleven,

Begins to dream of a bigger world.

Where walls no longer creep in close

And the sun no longer threatens to burn him.

He dreams of extending his legs,

No longer lying on his back to stretch out the kinks.

He's sick of remaining cramped.

He's sick of bending to fit.

A boy, no older than eleven,

Dreams of a new world.

A boy, no older than fifteen,

Notices that he is growing, and the world is not shrinking.

Four walls stay in place.

Still.

Sedentary.

He struggles to fit comfortably, begging for space to grow.

He knows a way out.

A door, directly in front of him.

All he has to do is reach out and push.

But he knows better.

The other side is dangerous.

The other side equates death.

So long as he stays within four walls, he is alive.

A boy, no older than fifteen,

Suffers to make himself fit.

A boy, no older than twenty-one,

No longer fits within four walls.

Each time he grew, he knew there had to be more.

Death seems better than standing still.

Unable to sit, he leans in pain, waiting for release.

He touched the sun.

He had been burned.

There is no pleasure left in his world.

Reaching out, he pushes.

The door opens. The light blinds him.

He steps forward into a new world.

A man stands outside.

He holds out his hand and says,

"Welcome."

A boy, no older than twenty-one,

Is accepted in the outside world.

"Wow," I whispered. "It's so sad."

"But it has a happy ending," he blurted. "It's all about being trapped in the closet and how you want to come out and be accepted, but you grow up being afraid to come out. You're afraid everyone will hate you, and that no one will accept you. But yet the father at the end was supposed to be God, because I don't believe God hates gay people. I mean, his whole thing is to love other people, so why would he hate someone like me?"

"You're gay?" I smiled.

He shook his head. "No. I guess the term would be pansexual, but I like to think I'm feminine-sexual."

"Feminine-sexual?"

"Like, I'm only sexually attracted to feminine people. Gender doesn't matter. I like feminine women more than tomboys. I like feminine boys. I think they're really cute."

"What about drag queens?"

He groaned out a laugh. "Don't get me started on drag queens. They are some of the sexiest people alive."

"You dig all that makeup and glitz and glam?"

"Depends on how feminine she looks. I know it's weird, but Trixie Mattel caused my drag queen sexual awakening."

"She's that country singer, right?"

He gasped. "You know her?"

I leaned in, and he did the same. "Don't tell anyone since I have a reputation to protect," I smirked, "but I actually like her song, Mama, Don't Make Me Put On The Dress Again."

"No," he said, his grin ever stretching.

"Yeah."

"You're a fake goth."

"I'm not even actually goth. I just like the darker style. Makes me feel more comfortable. Plus, it wards off those with bad energy," I mocked.

"Well, what about you? What do you identify as?"

"I'm just boring ole straight."

"I wouldn't call it boring. Sure, gay people have the rainbow pride flag, and they're always supposed to be colorful and cheery, but everyone has their own sexuality. It's just the way you were born. So long as you aren't spreading around hate for others being who they are, that's all that should really matter."

I smirked. "Thanks." Handing him his phone back, I added, "I liked your poem. It was really bittersweet." Reading his poem reminded me of the same passion I had for drumming. He was working on it, and he cared about what people thought tremendously. But because we were both our own type of artist, I knew I had to be honest in the same way I'd hope he would be honest with me. "Could use some peer editing by other writers, though."

"It's not like I know any writers who would read my work."

"The Clubhouse would. We don't have a lot of writers, but I know the ones there would read your work. They'd give you better critiquing than I could, but they would never try to tear you down to the point you wouldn't want to write anymore. That means they haven't done their job as a critic correctly."

"I might come by sometime. But it will mainly be to hear your drumming."

"I hope you like it. I've been working on it for almost seven years now."

"Then you've got your ten thousand hours in, right?"

"Exactly."

Talking with Devon was fun. The whole time we were out, we did nothing but laugh and ask a million little questions about the other. His favorite color was dark gray, like clouds before it rained. And he loved it when it rained. You could find him sitting on his front porch while it rained, and he'd just sit there and listen and relax. And he preferred movies to TV shows, because the story never seemed to drag out for too long, but he'd rather read books or study than watch TV and play games. But it was always nice to divulge in some mindless TV after a while.

And I gave my response to every question asked, regardless of who asked it. We wound up having a twenty minute long conversation just about Billy Joel's music and why we liked our favorite songs. His was 'This Night', and mine was 'Stiletto.' And by the end of that night, I enjoyed my day more than I could have imagined.