"You look hella suspicious."

Riya says, eyebrows raised. "Why do you keep looking around like a creepy little fucker?" She asks, and I take another wary glance around the hall as all four of us—Dani, Amir, Riya and I— make our way through the hallways, bustling past lockers and students deep into conversations.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I say, glancing over my shoulder where neither of the Chads— excuse me, Chad and Brad—are anywhere in sight. 

"Liar," Amir coughs.

"Fine," I mutter, still glancing about. "I might've lied to the Chads about Coach needing them in the gym yesterday afternoon."

And by now, they've probably realized that I took them on a massive ride. What makes it even fucking better is the fact that Coach Harris wasn't even in the gym at the time—he'd already left the school premises. And I knew that, because I'd seen him leave hours prior.

I shut my eyes tightly, letting out a groan. 

And that means that Chad Number One and Chad Number Two had to wander around the entire school—and ultimately—never actually found him. Meaning, the two of them should know by now that I put them in for a loop, and they're most likely after me.

"And?" Dani asks, eyebrows raised.

"He wasn't there," I mutter lowly, Riya's eyes widened as she lets out a laugh.

"RIP, my friend." Amir nods solemnly, amusement glinting behind his eyes. "I've cherished these years we've spent together."

"Amir, asshole." I say, shoving him. "Fucking help me," I plead, eyes still scouting around the area. And this, this is why I don't go out of my way to help people. It always manages to find a way to bite me in the ass.

"Hey, isn't that—?" Riya asks, her eyes on something behind us as her voice trails off and her lips part in shock.

And with that, the rest of us come to a starting halt along with her, eyes trying to find whatever it is she's staring at, whatever it is that's rendered her absolutely speechless.

And once my eyes latch onto what she's staring at, I see it.

My eyes nearly bulge out of my sockets, because there they are—right at the entrance of the school.

Will McClain and James Jones.

Holding hands.

As in, hands-slipped into each other's. As in, down the halls of T.Boulevard, a school more accepting in the name than it always is in practice. As in, a proclamation to the world. As in, a crying out that they are not ashamed.

Other students take notice too. They nudge each other at their lockers, eyes darting to the two boyfriends, to their clasped hands. Words travel through the atmosphere, quiet and fleeting.

James and Will keep moving, step after step, never unlinking their hands, even though they're standing out like a fucking beacon, and eyes are following their every step. 

It's a statement.

And not just any statement. It's a statement that they are not afraid. It's a statement that heterosexual couples make every day without qualms, without that need to overcome a fear. This is their rebellion, this is their stance, this is their vital step towards normalizing this.

And fuck, for James Perez-Jones to even come close to doing something as fear-inducing as this is shocking. An introvert, he's never been out there with anything. Being out there in this way is earth-shattering, powerful, absolutely unprecedented.

It'd been extremely obvious that they were into each other, even before this happened. For starters, those soft looks, the nudges, the way that Will constantly had his arms around James. But they've always best friends, and most of the kids in our school can be oblivious fucks, so none of these signs would've tipped them off.

I purse my lips.

I remember simple days, and a gaping hole rises to my chest. Days when Will's hands used to be in mine. Days when my toxic habits stopped for a few precious seconds because I had something better than any of these tendencies.

The whole thing that went on between Will and I was always laidback, easy. Because with us— there were no strings attached, nothing else expected. Which is why, once Will went right back to James, it wasn't supposed to bother me, wasn't supposed to piss me off. 

Hook-ups aren't meant to be taken seriously, however, the end of ours fucked me up. An exhale escapes my lips as my mind churns.

Instead of letting Will go, like I always should've— I clinged tighter, said shit I shouldn't have.

You owe me.

The moment those three words escaped my lips, I knew we weren't ever going to be able to re-create what we had. For starters, Will was painstakingly, starry-eyed, completely and utterly in love with his best friend. Secondly, he didn't owe me shit. He didn't have to hang out with me, didn't have to pay me back for anything.

I knew that then. Funny how my mind was ahead, but my mouth was lagging behind, just enough to fuck everything up.

I squeeze my eyes shut, falling back against the lockers. Inhale, exhale.

And the whole Jason saying stupid shit thing didn't stop there. All my grievances came tumbling out to James, turned into anger.

People were constantly walking out—are constantly walking out on me. Mom, Dad, every semblance of a guardian I've lived with.

I exhale softly, tearing my gaze away from the boys who hold each other's hands like their lives depend on it.

 Once I sensed Will McClain was going to be added to the list of people that would inevitably leave me— I had to hold on tighter.

Thing is, when you hold on too tight, you suffocate someone, lose them.

In the type of way where it's impossible to get them back.

***

So, smack in the middle of lunch, while I'm diving into my store bought—somewhat frozen— pizza, I have a mini realization.

And it's weird that I realize this right now, right in the center of the cafeteria where the noise is deafening due to the coming out of two of the school's golden boys. 

But, in that moment, it dawns on me that I owe James Jones an apology. His eyes are careful, blank underneath LED lighting. Maybe somewhat relieved.

Which I've always probably known, but after he virtually came out to the school via some dramatic poem about his non-straightness, it dawned on me that it's far from easy to have the balls to walk onto a stage and come out to your entire school.

And the fact that I'd poured my anger onto him just a couple of weeks before the whole thing, doesn't sit right with me. So, I'm essentially in this weird place, where my conscience is waking up from a 17 (and a half) year old slumber, and I'm realizing that I feel gross about the whole thing. 

So, I pause, pizza halfway to my mouth as my mind runs over everything. Then, leaning back in my chair and pushing my pizza away, I glance up at my friends.

"I have something I need to do." I say, blinking slowly as I glance at them.

"Apologize to James?" Riya asks through a mouth of drool-worthy fried rice.

I don't reply, just rise from my seat and make my way down the cafeteria, hearing Riya's audible hallelujah, as I make my way through the exit, walking into the hall.

James' locker is on the other end, so I take steady steps over to it, leaning against it, mind running over how I'm going to approach this.

But, I don't have enough time to think about it. Why?

Because James Jones is making his way out of a classroom, backpack swinging behind him and tall figure further emphasized by his isolation in the hallway. His eyes scout the area, but once they latch on me, he comes to a halt.

I stare at him as he awkwardly approaches. "Um," he starts, once he's a couple of feet away from me. "That's my locker."

Wordlessly, I push myself off of the locker, stepping off to the side, my eyes still on him as he uncomfortably tries to unlock his locker, peering at me from the corner of his eyes.

After a few moments, it's clear that James Jones has had enough, and his eyes shoot up to me, snapping, "Okay, you're scaring the shit out of me. What do you want?"

I let my shoulders fall into a shrug. "I was wrong."

"Oh, great," he says, lips pursed. 

"Look," I say, voice careful, "we both know that there isn't a high likelihood of us becoming friends."

James finally gets his locker open, a click rising to the air as he opens it up, eyes scouting the inside of the locker. 

"But," I lower my voice, plowing on. "I want to take back what I said that day."

I can practically sense James wince at the memory. A slight one. The slightly uncomfortable réminiscence of me lashing out, saying things I shouldn't have, pouring my hurt onto him. Pouring my hurt onto him when he didn't deserve it.

"Okay," James replies, glancing up at me. 

A few moments of silence pass by.

"Is that an apology?" He asks.

It was simple and it was honest. It was quick, but it was steady. It's the closest thing that I've ever uttered that even resembles an apology.

"Yes," I say, holding eye contact with him for a few seconds, before making my way down to the cafeteria, feeling a little bit lighter as James Jones stares after me.

I make my way down to the cafeteria, sliding into my seat as I delve into whatever conversation Riya, Amir, and Dani are having. 

And something tells me that James Jones is going to forgive me for being an asshole to him. At some point, at least. Why? Because he isn't the school's Golden Boy for no reason. So, I let myself breathe, laugh a little bit with my friends, because I don't feel like complete shit at this moment in time.

***

Music blasts through my ears as I make my way out into the parking lot, my car appearing into view when my phone rings.

I slide it out of my pocket, trying to withhold a swear once I take note of the caller ID.

Willis.

Because I virtually have no choice, I answer the call, lifting the phone to my ear.

"Come home immediately, Jason. The place is a mess."

She's home. Willis is home, meaning my moment of peace is gone, non-existent.

And to think the day was going great. I'd somewhat cleared the air with James Jones, Riya had actually let me try some of her fried rice at lunch today, and I'd managed to successfully avoid the Chads for the entire day.

Probably one of my best days to date.

Until now, of course.

Not like I can tell Willis that. So, biting back any salty response I have in mind, a strained "yes, ma'am" comes out of my throat as Willis hangs up.

***

Once I arrive at the grand gates of the house that doesn't quite belong to me, I park my car and make my way through the front door.

Unlocking it, I push it open, closing it behind me once I'm inside, and coming face to face with some ratty looking guy with snake-like eyes.

Ms. Willis comes up next to him, first few buttons of her dress shirt undone and blonde-dyed hair messy. I practically pale.

Fuck no.

As if it's not traumatic enough to have to live with her, now I have to witness this. I feel sick.

Angie— my sister— is across the room, leaning against the wall as her eyes scout the scene in front of her, meeting mine in a shared expression of disgust.

"Jason," The One Night Stand bellows, clapping me on the back and shaking my attention from Angie Nguyen.

The clap on the back is reverberating, and my skin crawls as his hand rests there for a few moments.

His snake-like eyes find mine against, running a lip over yellowed teeth, an ugly smirk curving onto his lips.

Willis sure knows how to pick them.

The way he's eyeing me— like a wolf eyeing his prey— makes an uncomfortable feeling rise to my stomach, and I try to quash it down, but everything's set to spill out. 

And of course, Ms. Willis either doesn't take notice or care that her flavor of the night is a fucking creep, and most likely a pervert at that. 

I can't say anything, though. So, all I do is tense up, trying to ignore the crawling feeling on my skin, and glancing away from the slithering eyes on mine.

Minutes later, Willis snaps at me to get to work. And I do, sidling around the creep, and making my way towards the living room. Hours of my time are sucked up in the vacuuming and polishing, and I feel like fucking Cinderella.

Just not as pretty.

Once I've made my way to the upstairs living room, a pinging sound rings from my phone, and I slide it out of my pocket, checking the message.

Amir.

tall ass fucker: we're heading to the roller rink

tall ass fucker: you coming?

I type in a quick reply, making my way downstairs once I'm done. But of course, Ms. Willis is waiting for me.

"Ms. Willis." I say, trying to edge around her.

"Where are you going?" She asks, eyes narrowed into a squint.

Out, I want to say. "Roller skating rink," I say, instead.

"Well," She glances around, hands waving around the kitchen, eyes widened. "You've got to finish cleaning the kitchen as well."

"I'll do it later." I say quickly. "I've done practically the entire house already."

"Excuse me?" She asks, leaning forward in her seat, and I let out a heavy breath.

"Exactly," She nods at my silence. "Realize that I can send you back as quickly as you came."

A string of curses fly through my mind, and I envision all the obscene hand gestures that I'm practically itching to reveal to Ms. Willis.

But, I don't. 

My jaw hardens, but I don't say a word.

Her eyes stay on me, cold and devoid of any feeling.

And just like that, the rest of the day is spent cleaning, sliding in one quick text to Amir.

me: i'll have to pull a raincheck. sorry.

Bubbles appear onscreen, but then they disappear. I don't wait to see his response, just make my way further into the kitchen, cleaning everything and anything. Angie watches me from a stool on a chair, lips pulled into a thin line as she flips through her Calculus textbook.

And evening melts into night, and once night arrives, I practically pass out onto my bed, face pressed into my pillows.

It really has been a shit day.

Better than most, though.

***

:(((

so question: is the name 'willis' too much like 'will'?? like is it a bit confusing or is it fine??