Date: Thu, 22 Dec 2011 19:59:56 -0500 (EST)
From: theseholesdidcomewiththejeans@aol.com
Subject: A Little Less Than Perfect (High School, Chapter One)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All the typical warnings apply. Don't read this if you're
underage, if it's illegal to read where you live, or if you're a homophobe
and it'll just piss you off. Having said that, I'm writing this at age 17
and many of my friends read the stories here as well, so I hold no
illusions to the fact that this warning means dick. I just wanted to feel
official, really. X] Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy the story. First
chapters are always the most annoying things to write, so forgive me. This
is an autobiography, and every character in this story has already been
informed of the fact that I'm putting them in it and has given me their
permission. So, if you think you see yourself, I assure you it's a
coincidence. I love feedback, and it would make me oh-so very happy to get
messages from you guys about the story; if it's worth continuing, if you
enjoyed it, or even if it's complete shit. My feelings don't get hurt too
easily. But now I'm ranting, sooo... enjoy chapter one! <3 Jaime.

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"Jaime, so help me God if you are not out of bed in the next five minutes,
I'm going to let you miss the bus and have you walk to school," my mother
shouted from all the way downstairs. How she had the lung capacity for such
feats was beyond me.

I groaned and pushed the silky blonde hair that blinded me out from in
front of my eyes. After three months of summer fun, staying up late and
sleeping until the afternoon, I definitely was NOT ready to jump happily
into the first day of school. All my friends had been working themselves
into a frenzy over the past week about finally being 10th graders. I guess
I was excited to go back, but honestly, I didn't see why a new school would
be any more exciting than Junior High had been.

I looked over at the alarm clock perched on the night stand by my bed, and
it glared back a scarlet 7:30 AM. I yelped. The bus was going to be here in
less than ten minutes!

"Ma-Maurita will take me!," I yelled down to my my mother, though the words
were as much a question as they were a statement. My sister was in the
grade ahead of me and more than eager to drive the shiny new car our
parents had bought her whenever possible, but that didn't necessarily mean
she cared to have me as a passenger.

"She left half an hour ago for Livvy's house, dear." My heart sank. I made
a mental note to scream at Maurita the next time I saw her.

In a flurry of motion, I threw off the mess of blankets that clung
awkwardly to my body and ran across the room to my dresser, half-dragging
them behind me as I went. I pulled off the ragged tank top I wore to bed
and threw it into the corner with the rest of the dirty clothes, then did
the same with my white boxers. My room, like pretty much any other 15 year
old boy's, was an absolute disaster. Clothes were thrown in the corner, the
bed looked like a bomb had just gone off in it, and there were half a dozen
empty cans of soda lying around my desk. I shook my head, making another
mental note to clean the place up a bit before Mom could see it and yell at
me.

I made a conscious effort not to look into the mirror. When I'm fully
clothed, I like to tell myself that my body isn't so bad. And really it
wouldn't be, if I were a girl. I'm 5'8'', not particularly tall or short,
but I weigh all of 100 pounds. My hipbones protrude as sharply as daggers,
as do my collarbones, and my nonexistent waistline could easily be the envy
of any supermodel. I don't have facial hair, or body hair at all, really,
and there isn't an ounce of fat anywhere on me. A lot of me wishes I had a
more boyish body, but that part seems never to be as significant as the
part of me that couldn't be bothered to pick up a barbell. At least I've
got a killer tan.

Ignoring something my mother was yelling from downstairs, I pulled on a new
pair of boxers, then a slim pair of A&F jeans and a skinny blue raglan. My
hair was a flowing golden mess strewn about my face, long enough now to
barely touch my shoulders and upper lip. On a better day, I'd have
attempted to style it, but really any attempt at hairstyling I tried
anymore just made me look girlier, so I opted to keep the California surfer
look before slipping my feet into worn leather flip flops and rushing
downstairs.

"Honestly Jaime, you used to be so good about waking up on time," my mother
chided, handing me a huge vanilla latte from Starbucks. Suddenly I remember
why I love her so much.

"I know, I know," I half-groaned. Though admittedly it was pretty hard to
seem annoyed with 24 ounces of free coffee.

"Just be sure to actually set the alarm tonight, ok dear?" She smiled,
accentuating the same pronounced dimples that she'd passed on to me, and
kissed my cheek before making her way to the door. "You look so cute, I'm
sure you'll have a great day."

I smiled back and nodded as she made her way out the door. I finished my
coffee and spent the next five minutes running around the house until I'd
found my backpack and iPod, then rushed out the door and sprinted to the
bus stop. I checked my phone; it was 7:45. I waited a few minutes until my
mother's BMW pulled up suddenly beside me.

"Got you!", she shouted, laughing to herself, "The bus was here half an
hour ago, get in the car before you're late!"

I could've screamed. My mother had a thing for pranks like that. In stark
contrast to the rest of her focused, business-oriented, high-class
uber-Christian personality, she just loved messing with us.

"Are you kidding me?!"

"Nope. Now get in, you're going to be legitimately late to your first day!"

The ride there was pretty uneventful, as they usually are. My general
philosophy is that once my headphones go on, the rest of the world goes
off. Mom hates it, but after a whole lot of trying she's long since given
up attempting conversation when I'm listening to music. My one tiny victory
in a sea of otherwise unsuccessful debates with her. Besides, I'd already
heard the 'First Day Of School' speech so many times that I could probably
repeat it back to her verbatim at this point.

We arrived at school a few minutes later. Our neighborhood really isn't
that far from the high school. In all honesty I could probably just walk
there, but I was far too lazy to even consider that a possibility, so
whenever I missed the bus mom would just drive me. I gave her a quick peck
on the cheek before jumping out of the car and pushing my way into the main
lobby. I didn't get far before I heard a shout.

"Jaime! Slow down!" I didn't have to turn around to recognize the voice.

"Nessa!," I shout back happily, before running over and crashing into her
eager embrace.

Nessa, or Vanessa Eriksson as the teachers called her, was my best
friend. We'd been best friends and neighbors since my family moved to our
sunny little town just above Austin, from the even sunnier San Diego about
10 years ago. She was as tall as I was and just as thin with raven black
hair, forest green eyes, and skin so pale she could have been mistaken for
a ghost. Her mother and father were apparently from Sweden and Iceland,
respectively, and all of them seemed impervious to the effects of the
sun. She was probably the only person in the entire school that had as much
of an interest in art as I did, and the only person I ever had to worry
about during the Art Show contests our school regularly had.

"This school is so unnecessarily spacious!," she exclaimed, "I can't figure
out where ANYTHING is, and I've been here nearly an hour now. What are your
classes?"

I pulled my crumpled up schedule out of my pocket and we quickly
compared. Much to both our disappointment, the only periods we shared were
Study Hall and Studio Art, which were our first and last classes. Study
Hall for first period, how lame is that?

"Why would you ever, ever, EVER want to take 11th grade math?!" she asked,
as though the very concept was completely absurd.

"Uhh... 'cause I like math, I guess." I didn't really see math as the
horrific crime against nature that most kids seemed to think it was. Just
another boring course that took place during the periods in which I wasn't
drawing or painting. Though most of the reason I took that particular
course was because Maurita wanted to be able to copy my homework.

"Well, you've got Mrs. Abrams. My brother had her last year, he says she
gives tons of homework and sounds monotone," she said, wrinkling her nose.

I just shrugged, and opened my mouth to speak before being cut off by the
morning bell. Hearing the bell ring, the two of us rushed to the cafeteria,
where Study Hall took place for us and the only class we could actually
find easily. There were a few teachers in attendance, so we quickly found
the one we had to check in with, and then took our places by the windows
next to the courtyard entrance.

"This doesn't seem too bad. I mean, at least we don't have to awkwardly
socialize," I laughed half-heartedly as I pulled out my sketchpad. She
giggled.

Nessa and I weren't very social kids. In her case, none of the girls she
talked to seemed to understand how she could care so little about eyeliner
and gossip, and none of the boys she talked to could understand anything
because they were all too busy oogling her exotic beauty. As for me, well,
I was just always cursed with shyness. Some kids can just introduce
themselves, make a joke or two, and become instant friends with whomever
they meet. I wasn't one of them. I was quiet, introverted, and incredibly
shy. Maybe it was my feminine rail-thin form, too small and frail for any
self-confidence. Maybe it was growing up in the shadow of Maurita, my oh-so
popular sister. Maybe it was just unlucky genetics. But whatever the
reason, socialization simply wasn't my specialty. It was a miracle I'd even
been able to talk to Nessa, and the handful of other Art Club kids who'd
become part of my tiny circle of friends.

"Don't be ridiculous. Socialize? With these plebians? I'd rather eat dirt,"
Nessa said in her very best snobby British accent. I giggled. Gosh, we were
lame.

"I wouldn't speak too soon, here comes your boy toy," I sneered, motioning
forward.

Nessa's head jolted up from her backpack just in time to see him wave at
her before passing. Aaron Sumers, otherwise known as God's personal gift to
Nessa. He was short with a muscular chest and huge arms, coppery auburn
hair, and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose. He played soccer, and
Nessa had been obsessed with him since I'd known her, though she never made
a move. The two were actually friends, and watching her facial expressions
while they talked was entertainment in and of itself.

"Ugh, I would give my left fucking ovary for him to really notice me," she
moaned hopelessly. I couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Oh my God," I managed between hysterics, "I swear there's something wrong
with you."

"What?! Come on, you know he's fucking gorgeous!." she said, practically
indignant.

"I guess, but he's not really my type. Freckles do nothing for me," I
giggled, before returning to my sketchpad.

This is probably as good a time as any to mention the fact that I'm gay. It
wasn't some intense compulsion for cock or anything, but for as long as I
could remember I just never really felt any attraction to females. It
wasn't until 6th grade that I'd actually come to the conclusion that I
liked boys, while watching my sister's then-boyfriend playing football. I
wasn't ashamed of it, but I held no illusion to the fact that it wasn't
exactly widely-embraced in Texas, so I had always kept it a secret. When I
got to middle school and kids starting using slurs like 'fag' and 'queer',
I knew it was better just to keep my feelings to myself and hope that
nobody else noticed. But during a sleepover with Nessa last year, we'd
stolen a half-full bottle of her brother's Smirnoff and gotten trashed, and
somehow the truth came out. I'd never touched alcohol since then, but she
was amazingly accepting even after we sobered up. Since then, she'd been my
closest confidant, and the only person that I'd trusted enough to keep my
secret.

I put my headphones in and recommenced drawing. My iPod and my sketchpad
were basically my two most important possessions. One helped me block out
the world, and the other helped me create a new one. I'd begun drawing a
scene from my family's summer trip. We'd spent two weeks in Barcelona
because Maurita wanted to practice her Spanish, and I'd taken back so many
pictures of the beautiful architecture and beaches. I had penciled my way
through half of La Sagrada Familia when Nessa shoved me hard. I fell to my
side and my headphones came out.

"What was that for?" I asked, more than a little annoyed. She just motioned
for me to look up. When I did, I let out a quick gasp and my entire body
froze up as I looked at the guy before me. To say that I was awestruck
would've been a grave understatement.

"You wouldn't happen to be, uh.. Jaime Allenger, would you?" he asked in a
rich baritone. I nodded my head like an idiot, my mouth refusing to form
words. My thought process just couldn't make it past staring into his
stunning blue eyes.

He was, by far, the most unbelievably gorgeous guy I'd ever laid eyes
on. He was tall, easily 6'2'', and under a navy blue tank top it was easy
to see that he had the gracefully muscular physique of an athlete. But I
was far too busy taking in his face to notice his muscles. His jaw was
chiseled and defined, his nose straight, and he had billowy full lips and
cheekbones that could cut diamonds. His mess of dark brown bedhead rounded
out his perfect visage.

"Umm... hello? Are you alright?" he asked, chuckling a little. My cheeks
flushed a bright scarlet as I nodded again.

"I, uhh.. yeah. I mean, yeah, that's m-my name. Why?" I stammered out
pathetically. He looked confused.

"Oh good, my name's Kolya. Nice to meet you," he said with a soft smile,
extending his hand to me. He had words tattooed along the inside of his
forearm in a language I didn't know. Russian, maybe? Taking the opportunity
to redeem myself, I extended my own hand and shook his. I almost gasped
again, his hands were strikingly cold. It was strangely invigorating, and I
was a bit reluctant to let go.

"Anyway, your sister wanted me to tell you that if you want a ride home
from school today, you're supposed to meet her by the gym at
2:15. Apparently you guys don't have any classes together."

"Oh, uh.. thanks," I muttered shyly. He just smiled in return, then walked
off. My body was almost shaking. Never had I been more aware of my utter
lack of social graces than at that moment.

"Who was THAT?!," asked Nessa, her face just as painted with shock as
mine. She seemed even paler than usual, if that was even possible.

The whole scene felt surreal. I blinked my eyes together hard and shook my
head, just to be sure I wasn't spaced out or something, but when I opened
them back up I was in the same spot. An actual Greek God in the flesh
introduced himself to me, acknowledged my existence, and then walked right
out of my life just as suddenly.

"I have absolutely no idea...," I replied listlessly, and really I
didn't. I hadn't the slightest idea who or what he was. But if one thing
was absolutely certain, it is that I would. So help me God.