Date: Wed, 24 Oct 2001 22:39:34 -0400
From: Elsewhere <dreamer@shell.monmouth.com>
Subject: Humor Me (Part 1/?, High School, m/m)

Disclaimer: This is a story about a romantic relationship between two
teenage males.  If that kind of story offends you, then please do not read
the following story.  Also, if you are under the legal age to read stories
of this type, then don't.  Please do not reproduce this story without
permission, since that is a copyright infringement.

Note: Okay, now that we got all the legal stuff out of the way, let me take
the time to say Hi. Some of you might have read my earlier story, 'Memory,'
over in the Sci-Fi/Fantasy section, and I think those who did send
feedback.  This is an ongoing story that I'm still working on, so feedback
to dreamer@shell.monmouth.com to prod me onto the next chapters is much
appreciated (I'm on the start of Chapter 4 now, and just got around to
posting Chapter 1 here.).  It's is a little slow, but this chapter gives
you, the reader, time to get to know the main characters involved.

Have fun.


				 Humor Me

Chapter 1

	And then, as the waterbed rose and fell beneath my half-asleep
form, I came to a conclusion.  Time is a loop, constantly going in a
straight line from the beginning of history until its end.  And every life
is a test; each decision we make is a judgment on ourselves.  At the end of
our lives, we are judged by God, or the Goddess, or Allah, what have you,
on whether we got our lives right, upon which we enter Heaven, or whatever
passes for a positive afterlife.  If that's not the case, we are sent back
to relive our lives in the hope that the right decisions will be made this
time.  And, once all of humanity through all time makes the right choices,
time itself will end, and we will ascend as a whole to whatever greater
glory awaits us.  This is why some people have strong memories, or even are
said to be psychic.  They're not foreseeing the future as much as they are
remembering their own past that hasn't happened yet.  Or, they're
remembering the same choices made so many times as they relive their lives
over and over.

	By that reasoning, this would make my present as thus: the life of
Jonas Kowalczyk, take 1460.

	I'm about as psychic as a pet rock, but Dani says she has some
psychic ability.  Maybe she's gone around more times than I have.  Do I
believe in such things?  Well, in a way, with the looped-soul conclusion I
thought of.  Again, if I'm right.  But, my memory's above average.  Way
above average.  So, maybe I've read my trig textbook about 1500 times
before and the info just stuck.  It all sticks in that head of mine, so my
IQ is about twice of what most others would have.  I wonder if I was that
smart my first time around.

	Possibly not, I reflected, as the waves under the waterbed lifted
me up again and again, the early spring breeze from the open window playing
across my bare skin.  I tended to sleep in shorts and a loose T-shirt, the
lingering chill in the air raising the sparse hairs on my arms and legs.  I
never told anyone, but I love that feeling, the win dancing across my flesh
like caressing fingers, and it was only for me.  I smiled, the fog of sleep
listing at last as I stretched, the dark green sheets rustling as I
stirred.

	Would I have been happier, not being smart?  Not an easy question
for anyone.  Maybe I wouldn't have gotten my ass kicked so much in school,
and I'd have had more of a social life.  On the flip side, my parents would
not have taken me out of public school and sent me to Weathering.

	Someone had once said that there was a fine line between genius and
madness.  The Weathering School for the Gifted could have been offered up
as tangible proof of that statement.  The positive parts of the school are
many: there were challenging classes, which kept students in healthy
competition with kids of equal intelligence instead of rotting their brains
in an overcrowded public school.  There's also the college prep courses.
Sixteen, and I'm already earning college credits.  I was starting to have
fun with my Comp Sci class, especially once I started combining it with
art.  Computer animation is not the number one career choice I would have
thought of, but I liked the challenge of rendering 2-d and 3-d drawings
onto the school's hard drives.  If anything else, it was a cool hobby, and
always seemed to calm me.

	But with all the good stuff, Weathering has what was, in my
opinion, a rather hideous downside.  The other students were all
intelligent, there was no doubt of that.  But that also meant that they
often had more emotional difficulties.

	Wait.  I'm alone.  Why should I couch my words?  They're batfuck
insane!  All of them!  Well, most.  A lot of these kids had problems to
begin with that didn't suit them for public schools.  Add to this the extra
achievement pressure of any private school, and those problems intensify.
Within my last two years there, I quickly learned which were most likely to
have the disease which was, oddly enough, just talked about on the news
last night.  I learned which ones didn't want to talk to anyone else,
seeing the other students only as competition, and which were closer to a
nervous breakdown.  Now, I could tell by sight which ones were alkies,
which dropped acid, and which ones smoked pot sometimes to push their
creativity.  I only smoked pot the one time.  I didn't get creative, but I
did giggle at everything, gorged myself on Chee-tos, and dropped into the
best night's sleep I've ever had; dark and dreamless.  Maybe over summer
break I'll ask to try it again, see what happens.

	So, there you have it.  Take every prime-time teen melodrama you've
ever seen, combine them, amplify them tenfold, and you have good Ol'
Weathering.  Weathering: Where every day is someone's Very Special Episode.

	On my end, it wasn't as serious.  No one gets bullied at my new
school, so I was out of that Hell.  I didn't seem to have any of the
massive issues that the others had.  Maybe that's how I was odd: I /didn't/
have a lot of problems, either outside of self- inflicted.  I was able to
deal with most of the stuff thrown at me without bursting into tears or
contemplating suicide.  Dani said I was a Water child, by my personality
and the way I carried myself.  "Going with the flow," she said.  I never
told her about how I liked the wind in my room.  Maybe I have an affinity
for both?  Does that make me Ice?

	Some days, I wasn't sure.  I had been feeling detached lately.
See, I didn't have any visible hassles, which seemed to draw other people
to me, so they could tell me all of their problems, sometimes with details
I did not need to know.  And they seemed to grateful to have a shoulder to
cry on, especially one that never unloaded their own problems on them.

	They never asked.

	So, this made me ever thankful that I had my own phone line, so I
was never in danger of having these calls overheard.  Helps when your
parents do have money, but I wasn't complaining.  Though, every so often,
I'd go elsewhere, out of my room, and away from that phone.  My parents,
ever the liberals, were keen on any slightly odd things I did, seeing that
sometimes I needed space.

	Don't get me wrong.  It wasn't all bad.  At least Dani seemed
steadier than most.  Her only non-mainstream trait seemed to be a strong
liking towards Pagan religions, Wicca in particular.  Any misconceptions I
had about the religion were dispersed within a week after meeting her, when
a careless comment about cauldrons and broomsticks resulted in a three-hour
impromptu lecture, with dog-eared passages out of numerous books on the
subject, separating it from the common beliefs about witchcraft.

	I wasn't a convert, but at least I was educated about it.  After
that, we became each other's best friends.  She had helped me a bit when I
first came to Weathering.  I had been anti-social at first.  Not that I was
grades-obsessed, just that after getting lots of ass-kickings back in my
old school, I just wanted to avoid people as much as possible.  With Dani's
bull-rush technique to socialization, I started to get out more, and
actually be around others.  She decided my fear was not an option, and
encouraged me to explore Jonas as a person, besides being a point on the
upper-end of the IQ bell curve.  Whatever I asked, she said she would help
the best she could.  Hell, she was the one who had gotten me high, all
because I asked.  She doesn't really push me to do it again, but she
thought the light mood and giggling on my part were cute.  I remember her
telling me it was the first time she had ever seen me smile without putting
thought into it.  I still wonder about that; is that what people see when
they look at me?

	I even kissed her once.  I asked, and she taught me how.  I still
felt awkward, even after knowing each other for so long.  It felt...odd,
somehow.  Incomplete.  And, seeing the look on my face, she laid her hand
on my cheek and smiles.  "Jonas," she said.  "I care about you so much.  I
adore you.  But you're meant for someone else.  I've felt that from the
beginning.  I've seen it."

	"How?"

	"I did a tarot reading early on," she said.  I wasn't all that
surprised.  "Do you like me?"

	"Of course I do."

	"But it's not Love," she added, and you could hear the capital L.
"And you know it."

	"I don't know a thing about Love," I said.  But, dammit, she was
right.  I cared about her, but...

	"But you will, Jonas."

	"Then why did you kiss me?"

	"Because you asked.  Maybe your first kiss isn't the one of true
love, but it is with someone you care about.  Denying you would have hurt
us both."  She pulled me slowly into a hug.  "You've grown a lot, Jonas.
I'm proud of you."

	As I still lay there on the bed, I wondered how much she knew about
me?  How much did she remember about me?

	It took me a few seconds to realize it, but my phone wasn't ringing
off the hook.  A quick glance to my alarm clock explained why: it was only
6:40.  None of the maddening hordes with their problems were awake yet.  As
I slunk off the bed in a short tumble of sheets, I wished I had remembered
what I had dreamt last night.  I mean, nobody should be this at peace on a
Monday morning.  School and life are supposed to suck when you're sixteen.

	So, while I was seemingly complaining that I had nothing to
complain about, I ended up tripping over Mac, carelessly discarded from my
bed at night in whatever tossing and turning I had done.  I should explain
Mac.  It's my teddy bear.  Yes, you heard what I said.  And that small
bundle of light brown fur and plush is the only friend I have who doesn't
burden me with his endless teenage-angst shit.  It was a Christmas present
from my parents when I was much younger.  As a child, I believed all things
like this should have names.  And where should the name be but on a tag on
the small bear.  My parents and I had a long discussion after I started to
explain to other than the bear's name was Machine Wash Only.  We decided on
Mac as an acceptable compromise.

	Hugging Mac for a second, I placed him back on the pillows on my
bed and went through the morning rituals.  Shower, clothes, and grab a
couple of Pop-Tarts and milk before I beat feet for the bus.  It wasn't one
of those longer, normal school buses.  It was pretty much a black van with
the Weathering logo on the side.  Two years, and the eeriness of 'riding
the short bus' still hadn't lifted from my mind.  I normally just blasted
it out of my consciousness with a Walkman and some random passage from my
lit textbook.  Gee, aren't I exciting?

	As I was listening to 'Duel of the Fates' for the billionth time, I
checked my clothes, before heading to my locker; belted blue jeans with an
olive-green Abercrombie shirt neatly tucked in.  Comfortable, but not
overdone.  I dropped my not-yet-needed books into my locker as I checked
for any spare crumbs on my face in the mirror inside my locker door.  Dirty
blond hair and hazel eyes isn't all that common, where looks are concerned,
but it didn't matter to me.  My hair was cut short, with a simple part on
the side, but all in all I didn't do anything drastic to stand out.  No
real jewelry besides a watch, no piercings, nothing.  Again, how exciting.

	My own self-musing was interrupted when one of my earplugs was torn
out.  A small chuckle signaled who it was, and I turned to see a short
red-headed girl, who almost looked like a sprite from the right angle.
Figures.

	"So, Padawan," Dani said, giving me one of her grins.  She was much
more the morning person than I was.  "In one of your Sith-hunting moods?"

	"As always," I said, leaning against the lockers.  "Except when my
music gets sidelined."

	"Bitch bitch bitch," Dani drawled, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"I was looking for you this morning," she added.  "You weren't answering
the phone."

	"Nope," I admitted.  "I figure I'll find out who's bulimic this
week by word of mouth, like everyone else.  I wasn't in the mood for an
advance report."

	That little comment was greeted with a punch on my shoulder.  "Stop
that," Dani said.  "I...hell, I think I dreamed about you last night."

	Hmm?  Ok, this was new.  "How do you mean?"

	"I mean that I think it was good.  I remember seeing you, and you
were totally peaceful.  You seemed nurturing, and very calm."  She gave me
another look.  "You feeling okay?  I was worried, since I don't dream of
you much."

	I smiled.  "I don't remember what I dreamed last night, but yeah,
I've been very still this morning.  Am I really that much of a schmuck,
then when you dream of me being quiet, you think something's wrong?"

	Rolling her eyes, Dani said.  "Not really.  Just, it was comforting
to see you like that.  Something happening you're not telling me about,
Jonas?"

	I shook my head.  "Like I know," I said, and then hugged her.  "But
thanks for thinking of me."

	She hugged me back.  "It's okay," she whispered.  "Just be safe,
all right?'

	"Yes, Master."

	"Stop that."

	"Yes, ma'am."

	"Jonas..."

	"All right, all right," I said, conceding as the early bell rung.
"I got class.  Catch you later?"

	"Of course.  Happy computing, you technophile."

	"Have fun, you spacey wannabe hippie bitch," I said with a smile.
And after she gave me a peck on the cheek I was off.

	I've heard from any number of my college-bound cousins that Comp
Sci majors tend to be the types that hate getting up before noon on any
given day.  However, that didn't seem to bother me all that much.  It might
change once I do hit college, but for now, having the class First Period
was a Godsend.  I like doing stuff like this, and I'm pretty good at it.
Which is cool for that early-morning confidence booster.

	I wandered into the classroom, empty in the center, with the
computer desks arranged in a three-quarter circle around it, the remaining
space holding the blackboard and a pull-down screen for when the teacher
wanted to give us screen visuals.  Most of the rest of the students, about
fifteen of them, were already seated, so I took a seat, with Dan Cohen on
one side, and an empty terminal to my left.  Dan gave the usual smile-and-
wave he gives to most students before turning his head towards the door,
waiting for Ms.  Samuels.

	And soon enough, a tall, raven-haired woman in her thirties entered
the room, with a smile on her face.  Morning people.  Ugh.  Well, sometimes
ugh, since she was nice enough, and made enough references to her days in
college when she took hacking as a hobby to keep us entertained.  I'll
respect that in people, those who freely admit to not being above everyone
else, and who like to have fun, too.  We were all kids, once.  Some of us
still are.

	"Hey guys," she said, striding in.  "We have a new student today,
so be gentle," she added, getting a few titters from some of the other
students.  It was only then that I noticed the young man shuffling in after
Ms. Samuels.  "This is Michael Bannon."

	He didn't seem to be cringing under the sudden knowledge that
fifteen pairs of eyes were on him.  Maybe he liked the attention, I
couldn't tell.  But, looking at him, I just stopped my brain for a moment
to take in the sight in front of the room.

	He wasn't overly tall, but was a few inches above my own
five-foot-six.  His face was rounded, and clean-shaven, almost cherubic in
aspect.  His eyes were a deep blue- gray, the expression behind them
concealing some form of suppressed mirth.  His smile matched that look in
his eyes, looking like it was his standard expression, open and friendly.
His hair was parted straight down the middle, hanging in straight bangs
against the sides of his forehead in that 'wet' look, mousy brown at the
roots, naturally darkening to a deeper brown at the tips.  And while his
face was rounded, it didn't seem that his body was.  The bare seemed to
belie an average build, but not really overweight.  Just very...normal, is
the best way I could put it.  Even his clothes were pretty much sane: a
simple pair of dark blue-jeans, and a dark-blue shirt with the Les
Miserables logo on it, worn loose.  On the side I could see a shining
metallic chain, probably connecting his wallet to his front pocket.  I took
that moment to study him.  There's more there.  I can feel it.  What is it?

	"Please," he said, his voice gentle, and joking.  "Call me Mike.
Your Highness also works, or Great One."

	I rolled my eyes, as the rest of the class chuckled with me.  But,
once there, I went back to looking at him.

	"All right, Mike," Ms. Samuels said, making her name decision
immediately.  "Just take that seat next to Jonas there," she added,
pointing to the chair to my left. She then went through her briefcase to
retrieve today's lesson plan.  I smiled as he turned to look at me, and
with my eyes indicated the empty seat.

	The new student plopped down next to me, still all smiles.  "Jonas,
huh?" he asked me, extending a hand.  "I'm Mike.  Bannon."

	"We've already established that," I said, gripping his hand.  His
hand was dry, but not in the unhealthy way, and very warm to the touch.  I
quirked a smile of my own.  "Jonas Kowalczyk-"

	"God bless you."

	"Don't start," I said, chuckling despite myself.  "But yeah, that's
the name.  "And that Lord and Highness bit of yours, you need time to earn
it over those with Royalty complexes around here.  Then we'll be on our
knees before you."

	"I can only hope," he said with a wink.

	And, all of a sudden, I felt my cheeks grow hot.  "Cool," was all I
managed to get out.

	"You okay, Jonas?  You look pale."

	I nodded quickly.  What the fuck is going on?  "I'm fine," I said.
"That bad?"

	"A little," Mike said.  "Might be the air in here."

	"Maybe," I said, letting go of his hand.  There was a small
tightness in my stomach, but I fought it off, promising myself a better
breakfast tomorrow morning.  "So, what brings you to Weathering?"

	"This was better than a few of the other schools I checked out," he
said.  "And it's the closest.  We needed to find a place after my old
school threw me out."

	"They what?" I asked, and was about to add more to then when my
teacher spoke up sharply, starting the lesson.

	It was an accepted fact at Weathering: when the teacher is talking,
shut the hell up and learn.  Most of the kids were smart types anyway, so
didn't have a problem.  But, today, I found myself wanting to listen more
to Mike than the lesson.  Not that I wasn't catching the lecture.  I was
listening along with the other students, the only sound from our end being
our fingers bashing the keys in order to keep up with the lesson in C++.
But, every so often, I let my eyes sidle left to catch a glimpse of Mike.
His first lesson, and he was still smiling, breathlessly chuckling at some
joke in his head as he was keeping pace with the others.  I think I liked
looking at that smile.  I wonder if I could make him laugh?

	Well, eventually, class ended, and we packed up out stuff in the
usual mad rush to get to our next class.

	"Where you headed to next," Mike asked me, as we were stuffing our
backpacks.

	"Trig," I said.  "Then Chem lab."

	He hmmed, pulling out a printed sheet from his pocket.  "Nah, those
I have later," he said.  "Anyway, I'll catch you around?  Tomorrow,
anyways?"

	"No prob," I said, smiling.  "I'll save a seat."

	"Good, dear peasant."

	"Don't even go there," I said.  "I'm no one's servant boy."

	"Understood.  I think I like it better that way, anyway," he said.
And with that, we left the classroom, heading to our next lessons.

	I went through the day feeling strange.  Those are the best words I
could find to explain it.  And it was bugging me, because I woke this
morning feeling so centered.  My attention had wandered in a few classes,
flashing back a picture of a round face with laughing blue-gray eyes.  I
wondered how he was holding up?  That first day at Weathering can be hell
for the unprepared.

	But why was I worried?  How many new students did we get every
year? Why should Michael be any different?  Mike, damn you.  His name is
Mike.

	I was still shaking my head over the whole thing as I meandered to
the lunch line, picking up a wrapped ham-and-cheese on white, and a can of
Coke.  Whatever's in my mind, I'll get over it.

	A slender hand on my shoulder snapped me out of my brooding.  "Hey
you," Dani said, picking up some spare fruit for herself.

	Ah, good, some actual conversation with actual people today.  That
will get my mind off other things.  "Yo," I said.  "What's going on?"

	"Not a whole lot," she said, as we found our way to the cashier.
After paying for our grub, she piped up.  "Say, you seen that new kid yet?
Mike?"

	I sighed.  So much for that.  "I did," I said, finding our usual
table to plop down at.  "He's in my Comp Sci class."

	"I know," Dani chimed.  "He told me?"

	Oh?  Well, this was interesting.  I smiled.  "I can just see it.
'Yeah, you know that pale blond kid, Jonas?  What a doofus.'"

	A kick under the table was Dani's answer to that.  "No backtracking
on your confidence," she scolded.  "Nah, he just mentioned it.  He seemed
really keen on it, actually.  He was asking me things."

	I swallowed, visibly, the lump of sandwich in my throat.  "What
kind of things?"  Why is it warm in here?  The windows were wide open in
the lunchroom, and the weather hadn't really turned yet.

	She shrugged, but I could swear I saw the ghost of a smile on her
face.  "Just what you were like, what things you liked.  Guess you made an
impression on him."

	Ha!  Revenge is mine, then.  "Pretty cool," I said.  "He's funny,
though.  Always making jokes."  Yeah, I had to admit it then: he made an
impression on me, too.

	"Caught that," Dani said.  "But don't let that fool you," she
added.  "You had to hear him in Advanced Lit.  He had read what we were
reading in class, and just stood out.  He's got a quick mind, and what he
said about the book had the whole class in debate.  It was great!  Doc
Wilson was totally freaking out over it.  Class was getting dull."

	I shook my head.  "So far?  How long til he succumbs to the whole
Dawson's Creek syndrome that's all over this place?  What'll be his
issues?"

	Dani's eyes flashed.  "You know, maybe you should, gee, I dunno,
get to know him?  Maybe he's just who he says he is.  Maybe he's all
issue-free and above everyone else, like someone /else/ I know."

	I sighed, defeated.  "Okay, okay, Gomen, Jonas no baka, I get the
picture."  I smiled.  "Look, when I see him in class next, I'll pick up a
phone number, okay?"  And, the thing was, I wanted to do it.  I mean, even
if Dani wasn't shaming me into it, I honestly think I would have done it
anyway.

	"Good," she said.  "I didn't have to twist your arm that much.
Now, are you going to tell me while you were spacing in Chem lab or what?"
Class started immediately when we walked in, so we didn't have a lot of
time to talk then.  After Lab, I motored here without waiting for Dani.
Maybe that was why she was in one of these substitute mother moods today.

	Oh, the plight of the concerned lab partner.  I shrugged, trying to
blow it off.  "I was just distracted.  Mike said something funny before
Comp Sci, and it just stuck in my eyes."  I blinked, as I caught myself
with the slip of the tongue.  Damn, what the fuck is wrong with me today?
"My head.  It stuck in my head."

	Dani slowly nodded, as a new light came into here eyes.  "Mmm-hmm,"
she mumbled, with a nod.

	"Mmm-hmm what?" I asked?

	"Nothing.  Just remembered I need to review that Chem chapter for
tomorrow.  What you said reminded me."

	I sighed.  I hate it when people lie to me, but Dani never tells me
anything she doesn't think wouldn't mess with my head, so I let it alone.
I had enough shit for today.  So, I finished my lunch in peace, and my
final period after that was my Study hall.  All students get that break in
the day, and I thanked God that mine was the last Period of the day.  Total
wind-down before the bus comes to get me.

	At home, it took me all of about an hour before I decided I needed
to get out of there. Sandy had called, telling me about her latest
conquest, in embarrassing detail, and all I could see was Mike's face in
place of the tall, blond surfer-kind she was describing to me.  I decided
that was enough, cut the call off quickly before my chest broke open, and
went out to the trails.

	Now, at the local park, there's a set of bike trails, clear enough
for people traveling at different speeds, for scenery or exercise, or both.
Today, I was there for pure burnout.  Go as fast as I could, around as many
times as I could until I was ready to collapse from the exhaustion.  Then,
I'd go and sleep, and get away from the insides of my head.

	The going had been easy at first, letting my legs pump faster and
faster on the pedals as I was going for my second pass-by on the skate
park.  The park had one of those, too: a concrete bowl used by the skate
punks for their tricks and whatnot.  Glancing to the side, I saw a blur of
blue and brown come up over the side.  Just some random kid catching some
air.  It didn't hit me for another two seconds.

	A random skate punk in a Les Miz shirt.

	The tires on my bike made a nasty squeak as I gripped the brakes on
my handlebars, the sudden skid almost resulting in a crash with the nearby
water fountain as I tilted to the side.  I fell, crashing in a humbled heap
with my bike on top of me.  I took a quick breath, trying to calm down.
Nothing...felt broken, but I winced a little as I turned up on my side.  I
just hope nobody saw.

	"You know," a familiar voice called out behind me.  "They have
those kickstands for a reason, unless you were attempting a drive-by
drinking."

	I opened my eyes, and sure enough, there was proof that I could not
escape that feeling inside my stomach.  Mike was there, and coming closer,
his skateboard left forlorn on the edge of the bowl.  He was smiling.  Just
perfect.

	I pushed the bike off of me, which clattered by my side in a crash
of metal.  "I slipped," I said, "and got something caught in my eye."  I
turned over until I was sitting on my butt on the ground, checking out my
left leg.  The pants weren't ripped, but my shin was tender to the touch.
Rolling the pants leg up, all I found was a nasty bruise.

	Mike knelt down beside me. "Can I take a look at it," he asked,
looking concerned, all of the laughter gone from his eyes.

	I nodded, and winced a little as he poked and prodded my leg.  He
smiled, again, and nodded.  "Just a bruise," he said.  "You'll be walking
fine in a few," he continued, patting me on the shoulder before looping his
arm under it.  "Here, let me get you over to the bowl, so you can sit
down."

	I walked, limping on one foot as Mike half-carried me to the bowl
edge, my bike being towed unceremoniously in my free hand.  "You saw that,"
I said.  It wasn't a question, just a statement of disbelief and
mortification.  Why should I care, though?  Why am I embarrassed he saw me
crash?

	"I did," he said, helping me down until my legs were dangling over
the edge.  "Fuck, that scared me," he said.  "I got really worried," he
added, looking dead serious.  Who was this?  He smiled again, and it was
the same Mike I met this morning.  "But, hey, if anything bad had happened,
I'd have stuck up for you.  I'd have said I saw you gunned down heroically
in an inner-city gang war.  Both guns blazing like every John Woo film ever
made."

	Despite the pain, I laughed.  "Even at Weathering, suspension of
disbelief goes so far."  I sighed.  "I'm more embarrassed than dead, if
that's any comfort."

	"More than you know," he said with a chuckle, pulling out a pack of
cigarettes from his backpack.  Lighting one, he offered the pack to me.  I
accepted, and lit up from the lighter he gave me.  The smoke was rather
heavy, and I was getting dizzy from a few drags.  I didn't smoke much, but
I knew what I was doing.  "You okay there," he asked.  "You look a little
out of it."

	"I feel it," I admitted.  "I...just have a lot on my mind today,
even if I don't know what it is?"

	Mike gave me a look askance.  "Wait, wait...you're troubled, and
you don't know by what?"

	I shook my head, exhaling a cloud.  "Not a clue.  I might draw
later on, and see what comes up."

	"What do you mean?" Mike asked.

	"Well, sometimes, I just stare at a blank sheet of paper, with a
pencil in my hand, and draw whatever I think of.  Might give me some sort
of answer."

	Exhaling through his nose, Mike nodded.  "That why you were going
to fast today?"

	"On the trails?'

	"Yeah."

	I nodded.  Why lie?  And I didn't want to lie to him.  Something
about it felt wrong.  "Yeah.  Wanted to drain off the energy so I'd calm
down."

	Mike shook his head, patting my shoulder.  "Don't run from it,
whatever it is.  It'll hurt more in the long run."

	Hmm.  This was starting to feel really weird.  It was like I could
say anything.  "I know."  We smoked in silence for a time, as I was trying
to stop my head from spinning.  "Say, Michael?"

	"Mike.  Call me Mike."

	I sighed.  "Okay, Mike.  I was wondering..." I trailed off.  There
was a hell of a lot I wanted to ask, now that I thought about it.

	His teeth flashed in a grin.  "Yeeessss?"  He seemed pleased by
something, and his smile softened.  There was nothing mocking there, just
that whole 'I'm there for you' vibe, which was making my stomach hurt for
some reason.

	"Why...you said you were kicked out..."

	"Oh," he said, looking crestfallen for a moment.  That wasn't the
question he was expecting.  What was he thinking of?  "Well, in my other
school, I was the class clown."

	"Really?" I said, mock-incredulous.  "I never would have guessed."

	"Quiet, dear wounded peasant," he says, with a smile.  He chuckled,
then went on.  "No, I mean I was really disruptive.  In the classes I was
in, the teachers couldn't get anything done.  I was that bad.  After
checking me out, they found out my IQ was through the roof and I was
bored."

	I nodded.  "I've heard about that happening.  But I hope Weathering
doesn't kill your sense of humor. It really is a nice place, for all I say
about it.  Unless...they have you on medication..."

	Mike started laughing.  "Jonas, I should explain something.  My
parents are ex- hippies who never really left the 60s, deep down.  Should I
explain what their idea of medication is for a hyper teenage son?"

	I smiled, knowingly.  Oh, this gets more interesting by the minute.
"No, but keep me in mind when you get your prescription refilled."

	Mike threw back his head and laughed.  It was normal, but he put
all of himself into it, making it seem larger than he was.  "Down, boy," he
said to me.  "As much as I am happy to see civilization at last, especially
in you, it's not as bad or as often as it may sound."  He looked back to
me, and squeezed my shoulder.  "But yeah, I'll tell you.  Promise."

	I nodded, sinking a little under the weight on my shoulder.  "One
other thing," I said, reminding myself of earlier as the sun was starting
to set, the sky changing color.  "Your phone number?'

	"Sure," he said, and fished out a small notebook from his backpack.
A few ripped pieces of paper between us and we both had each other's phone
numbers, private and house, and e-mails.  He stood up, offering a hand.
"Want me to walk with you home?"

	I almost spit out my answer way too quickly.  "Please," I said,
taking his hand as he pulled me up.  I wasn't limping as bad, and could
probably have made it home by myself.  But, I was really starting to like
his company. "Thanks, Mike.  I mean it."

	He put an arm across my shoulder.  "No sweat, Jonas.  Just be safe,
okay?"  I almost told him Dani said the same to me today, but decided not
to.

	So, the walk home was quiet, as we talked about music, and what
else Mike could expect at Weathering.  He seemed to be happy that students
there were social, so I made him a promise that he could hang out with me
and Dani, at least.  Once home, we said our goodbyes, and I went through my
evening rituals: namely dinner, homework, and explaining to my parents
about the limp.  Mom said she wished she could have thanked Mike, but I
never thought of it when he was at my door.  He did like the place, though,
even though I was embarrassed about having money.  He said it was no real
problem, since he felt the same way.  Weathering isn't cheap.

	Homework was getting to me, about 11 PM at night.  I had snapped my
pencil point umpteen times while going over Trig proofs, barely
concentrating.  I sighed, and went over to my drawing desk.  One of those
desks that architects have, though a bit smaller.  Placing a sheet of blank
paper on the board, I closed my eyes, pencil in hand.

	I let myself sink.  It was a concentration trick Dani taught me:
let go of my conscious self, and draw whatever you hand guides you to draw.
A few deep breaths, and I was in that private place in my head.  I opened
my eyes, barely looking at the paper as my hand flew across it.

	Minutes later, I noticed myself going after the stack of colored
pencils on my desk, my mind going a mile a minute as my drawing
frenzy-fugue kept going.  My breath was coming more quickly, and I felt a
tightness in my stomach, and in my crotch as well.  That was new.  Not new
in that it's never happened before, but new in that it never happened while
drawing.

	A few minutes later, the clock was flashing 11:45, and I stood up,
walking a few paces away to the foot of my bed before I turned around and
looked at what my subconscious was screaming at me.

	I should have expected it.  I really should have.

	It was Mike. There was no mistaking those eyes, and that hair.  In
my drawing, he was perched on the edge of the skate bowl, looking ahead at
something.  What it was, I couldn't tell.  He was smiling, in his own
laughing way, but I caught the glimmer of a single tear on his cheek.
Laughing on the outside, but inside...

	What is it, Mike?  What's wrong?  What can I do?

	Right then, I wanted to reach out and hug the boy in that portrait.
The ramifications hit me all at once, and I felt myself fall backward,
hitting the waterbed with a splash of contained water, and a churning
motion to match the one in my stomach.

	Oh, shit.

	So, this is what a crush feels like.

-End Chapter 1-