A Determined Person

Staff meeting that Friday was a hell of tapping toes and constant checking-of-the-watch... And then whatever everyone else was doing.

It's honestly a surprise that I was there, anyway, as I'm usually working bus duty, but something big and exciting was happening next Friday, or so said the e-mail that went out in sixth period with the subject line Very important! Regarding budget!

"Okay," Mr. Carson started. He was the principal, and he held up the stereotype of the old teacher, what with his bald-as-an-egg head and crisp bow ties. He annoyed the shit out of me. "Our final order of business: we are moving Faculty Follies up to next Friday."

Shit. I had forgotten about that. Faculty Follies was a staff talent show that was usually put on before the Valentine's dance, and it cost $10 to get in. Just about every student came to see it, so that was a good amount of money into the school budget. And since the state couldn't give less of a fuck about the education system, we had basically no funds. It was no secret that Follies was moved up to help increase budget.

"Who will be performing this year?" Carson asked, looking around the table.

A few of us raised our hands, me included. Also included was the red-haired art teacher. He had come in a few minutes late, sniffing and with red-rimmed eyes, his cheeks flushed with the cold from the outside.

"Mr. Way?" Carson asked, turning to him. "You will performing?"

"I'm a decent singer," Gerard said and shrugged, as if saying 'not really, but whatever'.

"Great," Carson said and have Gerard a smile. It was at that moment that my heart flipped in my chest, and an intrusive thought entered my head.

Only I can smile at him.

Yo, what the hell was that? I retaliated to myself.

He's mine.

Excuse me?

Admit it: I want to fuck him.

I blinked away the thought to find everyone packing up, getting ready to go home. I also found Gerard watching me, slowly putting his notepad back into his bag. I did the same at the opposite speed, and breezed out of the room.

"Frank!" If this motherfucker doesn't stop...

I turned on my heel to face Gerard, shoving my hair out of my face. He was pulling his bag into his shoulder, and walking quickly towards me, and I wanted nothing more than to turn back and leave.

"Frank," Gerard repeated. "I... I was so stupid earlier today. I'm sorry if I did anything that—"

"It happened," I said, detecting a certain harshness in my words. "Let's forget it and move on."

He nodded and asked: "I can walk with you to your car, at least?" I nodded wordlessly and continued out of the building, Gerard with me.

"So, you know my secret, huh?" He laughed when we left the building. "It's, umm... I'm not usually that forward. Or forward at all. I just kind of couldn't help myself." I mumbled the last three words in unison with him, adding a weak "Yeah," onto the end.

"It's fine," I said. "I— sort of— understand."

He giggled— he giggled, Jesus on a fricking tricycle— and continued. "I've been gay for so long, and I've been with, admittedly, not a lot of guys, that it slips my mind sometimes that not everybody is gay. And I assumed—"

"Woah, wait," I interrupted him. "What did you base your assumption off of?"

"Your hair is always kind of..." He started and made a gesture with his hands that made both of us laugh. "And your fingers are the right lengths..."

"Excuse me?"

"It's been proven by science that homosexual males' fingers are different lengths than heterosexual males," Gerard said. "The index finger is either the same length of longer than the fourth finger, whereas, in heterosexuals, the index is shorter. It's different for girls, though. I was able to check when I looked at your knuckle tattoos the other day."

"How in the holy hell do you know that?"

"Proportions," Gerard said. "I had to learn how to draw fingers and that was just something I learned. I was out at that time and I checked with me and a few of my friends... I have all straight friends, it's really weird."

"Well, that's strange," I said. Was I gonna be given away by the length of my fucking fingers? "Why is that?"

"No clue," Gerard said. "But it's just something that happens."

"That's really weird," I said.

Gerard nodded and looked at a silver sedan across the parking lock. "Mikey's waiting for me. I should go."

"Alright," I said. "See you Monday."

"You too," he said and waved a bit as he left.

The house was cold and silent when I got home. It was as if my real estate was trying to keep me aware of the lack of people in my life. It was only six when I got there; fuck it, I'm cold and tired— I'm going to sleep.

I got into my warm pajamas and slid under the covers, thankful for the time change. The sun wasn't out, helping trick my brain into thinking it was time for sleep. Small clicks sounded outside my door, signaling Sweet Pea's presence and the door creaked as she nosed it open.

After a moment, her furry-ness settled herself on my feet, grunting as she laid down. I gripped my spare pillow to my chest, burying my face in it and trying to keep the thought out of my mind.

The thought of, instead of a pillow, it was a very certain person. A certain pixie-like man with bright red hair. I wonder what he feels like, tastes like, sounds like.

God, I was right. I do want to fuck him. Sleep overtakes me as I'm thinking about how, hopefully, one day, I could sleep right next to him.

Notes

I am reading THROAM and I desperately want Fruit Loops. Have a good weekend.

xoøli