Bonus : Monday

MANY, MANY

YEARS EARLIER

(OR TWO, TO BE EXACT)

MONDAY, NOVEMBER

FIFTEENTH—ONE DAY

BEFORE RUSSELL CHEN'S

FIFTEENTH BIRTHDAY.

TOLD BY

BLAKE TURNER.

Absentmindedly, I chew on the eraser of my pencil. In my experience, the wooden pencils have better erasers for chewing than mechanical ones. There's something about the all-natural wood that just makes it more satisfying (is what I like to tell myself).

My teacher drones on and on about some mathematic formula... or something. Honestly, I don't even know which class I'm in. It's my second month of high school, almost the third, and I really just want to take a nap. Too bad they don't offer that class in MBA anymore. Rumor has it that my parents' generation actually had nap time in high school. Lucky ducks.

My best friend and sort-of-actually-my-feels-like-he-is-my brother, Felix Gray, notices my droopy eyes. He blinks repeatedly, conveying some message in Morse Code. I don't have the patience to decipher it and just wave him off, letting a small groan of frustration slip past my lips as I put my head to the desk. Don't even know why I agreed to learning it to communicate with him. Half the time his messages are harder to understand than the subject matter of the class itself.

Felix huffs and turns back to his notes. At least he was able to sleep last night. But his legs kicking against the shared wall between our dorm rooms was only soothing for one of us, and unfortunately for me, that one was not named Blake Turner.

I force my hand to grip the pencil for a purpose other than chewing and marvel at how weak it feels for a solid two seconds. Wow. Blinking hard to prevent myself from yawning, I drag my hand around my notebook in an attempt at note-taking.

It doesn't work. I glance back at Felix, helpless.

He only shrugs and starts mouthing words to me, words that I don't want to decipher. All the normal methods of communication? Gone.

I shake my head at Felix; he sighs, giving up. His eyes light up, and he sighs again. And again. Again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again... oh, boy. It seems as though Felix has discovered the joy of sighing.

I close my eyes and rest my head against the table, and I begin to daydream.

A certain boy I like floats into the meadow of my fantasies.

Ah, Russell Chen. He does strange things to my heart.

Not to be obsessed or anything, but Russell is basically perfect, and no one can tell me otherwise, because I will slap them in the face until they drop dead or beg for mercy... mercy that I won't give them.

Russell has the best nose I've ever seen on a human. There are better ones on some bears, and I've seen a couple dogs with great noses, but yes, that's where I'm starting off. It's nice and slanted at a good angle, and the end is so bop-able that I want to cry every time I see it. His left eye is also really cute. When he smiles, it scrunches up on the side, and I can already tell that he's going to have smile wrinkles when he's older. Smile wrinkles are the best wrinkles, by the way. His right eye, on the other hand—or, should I say, on the other eye—is what I've dubbed The Hawk Eye. Whenever he is being hot (which is always... but still) my attention is always drawn to his right eye.

Or maybe it's his right eye from my perspective, so actually his left one. I don't know. I still can't tell right and left apart very well.

Anyway, moving on to his lips.

Oh, Russell Chen's lips.

Yeah, this is how I know I'm going crazy. You're in class, Blake—slow your roll.

And his Adam's apple. Dear mother dear and father dear and older brother dear and aunts dear and cousins dear and grandparents dear and Felix dear. It's like perfection rolled up into a ball and shoved down his throat. Well. Not exactly, because that sounded wrong. Um, moving on.

His shoulders are a perfect width for snuggling with, and his collarbone is pretty visible for a guy... so there's that. He has nice arms that are connected to nice, medium-sized hands.

Below his hands lie... okay, yeah.

I'm done here.

On the grassy field of my dreams, Russell sits down next to me. We have a red-and-white, plaid picnic blanket, with a cute, little straw basket filled with ice cream. Ice cream that, somehow, is still cold.

Into the meadow, as well, come Felix and his own crush, Jason. Felix has liked Jason for a while now. I have liked Russell just as long, but I only told Felix this morning. So he doesn't know the true extent of my crush.

Is it even considered a crush at this point?

Instead of pulling ice cream out of the picnic blanket, Russell somehow finds a neat plate of piled-up spaghetti.

There are no words in my daydream, but I understand what to do. I take one end of the enormously long spaghetti strand, and Russell takes the other. Felix and Jason cheer as we get closer...

Closer...

Closer...

I fall out of my chair as a surprisingly dense wad of paper bounces off the side of my head.

It wasn't the paper that knocked me over, just to clarify—it was the surprise. I'm not that frail.

"Felix Gray, Blake Turner. Is something amusing?"

I glance back at Felix, glaring daggers into his many freckles. Each spot on his skin gets its own dagger. Now I know who threw the paper. Our teacher only taps his foot, impatient and expectant. With my focus a little sharper than before, I notice that I am, in fact, in math class. Exciting stuff.

Without thinking, Felix nods. My loopy smile slowly fades as the last wisps of my daydream slip out of my weak, tired grasp.

"Would you mind telling the class, then, Mister Gray?"

"Uh," he stutters, his pubescent voice cracking in the middle of the only syllable he's uttered so far, "I was just, um, looking at how Sarah and Nicole were practically drooling over Blake while he was... uh, resting."

The teacher glances at the two girls in question, who giggle in what I suppose must be a charming way. "He's very cute," one of them, a girl called Natalie, says. She winks at me, and I am mortified. I think the same thing about Russell, but it's not like I say it out loud. I have my dignity to worry about. I can't react, choosing, instead, to just hold in my vomit.

"I guess they're kind of like a fan club," Felix muses, not realizing how loud he said that. "The Blake Turner Fan Club. BTFC. Kind of has a ring to it, actually."

Another girl, Eve, squeals. "Oh my God, that's, like, so cute! I want to be in the Blake Turner Fan Club!"

Other murmurs of agreement rise from various places in the room, and my eyes blow wide open. Do these people have no shame? This time, I shoot bullets into Felix's freckles. One for each little spot on the skin of a particularly infuriating human being, who happens not to have one of the most superior noses in the whole wide world. The time for daggers has passed. Does he realize what he's started? Does he have no shame?

I clear my throat. "Uh, guys... I'm gay. None of you—"

"We still like you, Blake!" they manage to chorus together. It sends chills down my spine, and I wince as each vertebra is hit with the freezing blast of dread. "Even if you don't like us!" Do they not take me seriously? Is this not a fact-based fan club? I literally just told them that I am gay.

The teacher also seems horrified by the revolution. It's like a cult was created in just one, short minute.

Blake Turner Fan Club? More like Blake Turner Fan Cult.

And, at the prow of this godforsaken ship, stands Felix. Cowering and afraid.

As he should be, considering that his freckles have both my daggers and bullets in them.

~~~~~~~~

I slam my tray of slop down on the lunch table, startling Felix out of his own daydream. Good. An eye for an eye. I aggressively sit down... or, at least, I try to. I end up slipping and falling over the side of the chair.

Someone catches me. "Hey, try not to be so clumsy," a voice says, causing all my muscles to stop responding to my brain.

I can only nod at Russell Chen, praising myself for keeping such a well-put-together composure. If I don't embarrass myself with words, I consider it a success. Plus, tomorrow is his birthday. I don't want to make him mad at me the day before I leave an anonymous gift in his locker.

"Wait." Russell raises an eyebrow, enhancing his facial structure more than the universe already has. His concerned look hasn't faded from his eyes, and his hand still rests on my shoulder despite my being upright. "You're that BTFC kid, right? Blake Turner? I heard some girls squealing over you."

Trying to act nonchalant, I lean back and put my elbow against the table. It hits a plate and slips, causing me to fall back off the chair.

Darn.

Russell helps me back up and departs with a chuckle and a pat on the back. Get your act together, Turner. You have a fan club, now. Somehow, that thought makes me feel better. I puff out my chest a little, managing to stay upright on the chair on my third attempt.

Laughter bubbles out of the devil in front of me, his eyes crinkling in an evil way. I refuse to buy his innocent look. This kid—

"Hey, Blake," Felix says once he's calm again, "I'm sorry about accidentally making that fan club."

Don't fall for it don't fall for it don't fall for it don't fall for it don't fall for it don't fall for it don't fall for it don't fall for it don't fall for it don't fall for it don't fall for it don't fall for it don't fall for it don't fall for it don't fall for it, don't fall for it, don't fall for it—

"But look on the bright side. Now you have a fandom! A whole fandom, Blake."

Man, you fell for it.

"It's alright," I tell Felix. "You didn't know what you were doing."

He grins. "Yep, totally."

I can only narrow my eyes at him.

"Also," he adds, "you might want to announce that I am not part of this. No offense, of course. Our plans for Vegas are still on, but I don't want people like Jason to think I'm in a fan club for my best friend."

Our plans for Vegas. I snort and nod, confident. Getting up on the table, I wobble a little. Avoid the plates to avoid slipping again. I glance over at where Russell and Jason are seated with a few more kids. Russell raises a single eyebrow at my display of balance, once again enhancing his facial structure.

"Everyone, I'd like to announce something," I shout through cupped hands. My voice carries farther than I thought it would.

The room becomes very quiet, very quickly.

I shudder.

Internally, of course.

"You may have heard of a new thing, created just a few hours ago, by my lovely friend, Felix Gray. The Blake Turner Fan Club, the BTFC." I sigh, letting my shoulders sag a little for dramatic effect. "Although I don't necessarily agree with its existence, there doesn't seem to be much I can do about it. I'm gay, by the way," I add, throwing in a little rhyme to spice things up.

I internally cringe at myself.

So much for having shame. I can only hope that no one has an issue with me announcing my sexual orientation more publicly than ever before. But hey, it's Misty Bay Academy. If someone does, they're probably realizing they are in the wrong school or are just too timid to bring it up.

"Felix asked me to come up here and let you all know that he is not part of the club; he is merely its founder. And I would like you all to remember that he started this, uh, this magnificent movement."

I nod and bow a little to my audience of 200-something teens. "That is all. Thank you." As I climb back down, Felix curls in on himself. Probably regretting his life choices. I see groups of students sit in surprised silence, not sure what to do with themselves. It takes a moment before the usual chatter rises in volume again.

"You're insane," Felix says in wonder. "I don't think I could ever get up on a table in front of so many people and do something so outgoing like that."

I shrug. Giving the mini, improvised speech was not fun, and I think I broke a world record what with how quickly my heart is beating. I swallow the rest of my lunch without thinking too much about it and make my escape to the bathroom.

Afterward, sitting on a toilet lid, I glance down at my hands. I have a fan club. I just did public speaking, willingly. This is one heck of a day.

"You alright in there, King Fan Club?" someone asks. Russell again. Sigh.

"Don't say 'King Fan Club.' I don't like the acronym, and I don't want to be a fried chicken."

I hear Russell lean against the door of my stall. "Quite the stunt you pulled back there, King Chicken. It wasn't very chicken of you, though."

"Yeah," I say, stupidly blushing. "Public speaking isn't—"

"It was actually quite interesting," Russell cuts in.

"Really?"

Silence.

I furrow my eyebrows. "...Russell?"

He laughs, and the sound of a forehead being smacked follows. "I just nodded, as if you can see me. Why don't you come out?"

I just did. For, like, the fifteenth time in my life. I shrug to myself. Well... "I'm gay," I say. "Didn't you know that already?"

Russell snorts and bursts out laughing. "I meant come out of the stall. But that works, too."

I do leave the stall, and my face must be a brighter color than an apple. A red apple, that is. I don't fancy being green at the moment.

Russell smiles down at me, kind. "I'd be happy to be in the BTFC," he says, making eye contact with me. "You seem like cool beans." But—?

I cut my own thoughts off. "You'd have to bring it up with Felix, the club's Founding Father. We like to maintain separation between the administrative functions and the celebrity function."

"It's been only three hours, Blake," Russell says. My toes curl when he says my name, and more blood rushes to my face. "I bet you have some sort of power to let new members join."

"Oh?" I squeak. "Yeah, I know. I mean, I probably can."

Russell nods. "So...?"

"Yeah. I crown thee Honorable Member of the BTFC."

He laughs again, and his hand brushes my shoulder one last time as he leaves the bathroom. Russell Chen. Noticed. Me. I squeal like a small child and wash my hands, grinning like the stupid idiot I am.

Russell Chen.

Noticed.

Me.

And he wants to be in my fan club, for some reason.

The thought only makes my stupid grin widen.

Maybe this fan club thing isn't as bad as I thought it would be.